The Myth of Secular Humanism, Revisited

At a educational training conference recently, my thoughts were driven back to a topic that has been discussed before on this blog and in several of our meetings, the idea that there is a consensus out there that by sticking to reason, science, and what we can know (practical knowledge) and by throwing off the shackles of superstition, religion, 'the God of the gaps' (or at any rate by relegating such eccentric intellectual hobbies to the private interior of oneself), we gain an objective perspective of reality - the way things really are.

The speaker at the conference was giving a brief commentary on diversity, and he suggested that there are two 'A's - Awareness and Acceptance - which are involved in a healthy, diverse community. When different groups become aware of differences, and then accept the Other notwithstanding those differences, this diversity is achieved, and the community avoids that unnecessary and grim tragedy of violence, hatred, and prejudice. He finished up by noting how the very conference room of us was full of Irish, Italian, Polish, African American, and Latin people... and who cares what anybody is? It's not as important as what we have in common. All this to the nodding of many heads in the room.

Now it goes without saying that all human beings have equal dignity (at least when we've accepted certain dogmas!), but my concern here is not with diversity. Rather, I think it very important and fascinating to note that the speaker's statement was accepted as a description of objective perspective, stripped clean of prejudice and bias, when in fact he had put forth a very strong position built on very particular beliefs.

He demanded to know why people could not put their personal prejudices aside and just accept everyone regardless of race, age, ethnicity, religion, etc. But this of course would mean accepting (either by internalizing or externally conforming to) his view of what is simply right and wrong. What he was really demanding is why everyone shouldn't act and think the way he does. I think this would be made most manifest if we took him to a culture whose beliefs radically differed from his own, say, the antebellum South, to a group of slave-owners. I suspect he wouldn't dream of simply respecting their culture as different, becoming aware of their different beliefs and accepting them.

Which brings us once again to the question of discerning the real, objective moral standard by which different beliefs and attitudes can be judged. More on that another time. For now let it merely be said that what is needed is not no judgment, but right judgment.

The Communion Response to Altruism

Too often people conceive of Christianity as a repression of desire, and hence a repression of the real self. Christianity tells you to live for others, and not yourselves. Christianity hypocritically tells you to be selfish in order to gain heaven – the logical fallacy is clear.

This misses the heart of the faith. Christianity recognizes that our own desires and others’ desires are bound up together – that our very existences as social and relational creatures disallow me to separate my individuality from yours.

Christianity is not purely altruistic; on the other hand, it is not an egotistical self-gorging of the appetite. It is an acknowledgment that my desires and your desires are somehow inextricably bound up in the cosmic story of creation, salvation, and redemption.

More on the 'Eternal Perspective'

I was just reading Benedict XVI, in Jesus of Nazareth (Vol. 1), and encountered a passage of his that seemed to relate to our conversation of the EP. Speaking of the title Jesus uses of himself - 'I am' or 'I am he' - Benedict describes the encounter between Jesus and the Jews on this subject:

"Abraham, Jesus tells us, not only points back beyond himself to God as Father, but above all he points ahead to Jesus, the Son: 'Your father Abraham rejoiced that he was to see my day; he saw it and was glad' (Jn 8:56). At this point, when the Jews object that Jesus could hardly have seen Abraham, he answers: 'Before Abraham came into existence, I am' (Jn 8:58). 'I am' - once again, the simple 'I am' stands before us in all its mystery, though now defined in contrast to Abraham's 'coming into existence.' Jesus' 'I am' stands in contrast to the world of birth and death, the world of coming into being and passing away. Schnackenburg correctly points out that what is involved here is not just a temporal category, but 'a fundamental distinction of nature.' We have here a clear statement of 'Jesus' claim to a totally unique mode of being which transcends human categories' (Barrett, Gospel, II, pp. 80f.)." (page 350).

This reminded me of our discussion of the EP as a more-than-temporal distinction. I don't really have further thoughts yet, but I just thought I would post this quote for others to consider.

Pax.

A Conflict of Perspectives: The “Eternal Perspective” Vs. “The Here-and-Now”

Growing up in a strong Christian-Catholic environment, I was often told to look at everything with the “eternal perspective.” Simply, this means looking at all of our actions, inactions, relationships, etc. through the lens that we will either end up in heaven or hell.

On the one hand, this makes a lot of sense. I want to understand the consequences of my actions in order to better choose. We use this same logic to discuss financial choices: What is the long-term consequence of me spending this money on such-and-such, or investing in such-and-such? Let’s remember that this Christian idea is based in a real belief that life is not over when we are lifted into our graves.

But there’s something in me that finds the idea and phrasing of the “eternal perspective” discomforting. I have to admit that some of has to do with the common issue with preaching this idea: that it seems to be used to give hope to the hopeless, that is gives those whose lives are poor and miserable a bit of meaning. This may not sound too bad. However, it is often argued that the actual preaching of heaven-and-hell and the eternal perspective is used to keep those who are poor, marginalized, and powerless in their same positions. “Blessed are the poor, for the kingdom of God’s is theirs.” Power structures are not prone to change when those outside the system are told that their powerlessness is in fact their greatest strength.

While I don’t doubt that this has been used as such many times, this isn’t the heart of my problem. That the idea has been used incorrectly is no proof for its inherent incorrectness. The idea of heaven-and-hell may lend itself to misuse, but its misuse is not necessary. There is a very positive and healthy approach to the eternal perspective that doesn't partake at all in suppression or oppression; it is simply a reorienting of one’s life in light of the fact that life is longer and more important than most of us treat it.

No, my problem runs a bit deeper. I find that the eternal perspective can sometimes be a rejection of the here-and-now, as if our present life on earth had no real meaning – as if the present is devoid of lasting value, and has no significance apart from its attachment to the end goal: heaven. But isn’t this false? It’s not as if life on earth is essentially illusionary, and once we enter eternity things matter. Aren’t we taking, right now, the beginning steps of eternity?

But to really understand my discomfort, I need to bring up a point I’ve brought up before: the “Rewards/Consequences Version of Christianity.” This is epitomized by a Christian living a good and upright life in order to get to heaven, and for no other reason. I won’t have sex outside marriage, get crazy drunk every weekend, or cheat on my taxes because these aren’t the straightest roads to heaven. It’s not that refraining from sex outside marriage, deciding not to get drunk every weekend, or abstaining from tax evasion are good in-and-of-themselves. They are simply rules followed for their end result: an eternity of bliss.

Camus had this problem with Christianity. He loved most of the tenets the Church preached, and thought it got closest to some of the deepest truths of mankind, such as our responsibility to one another and other like ideas. But he rejected the idea that we should be doing good for and to our brother in order to gain a reward. Now, although I reject Camus on grounds that a Christian isn’t asked to “do good” simply for the reward; but I can’t disregard the fact that there seems to be a lot of Scriptural basis for this interpretation. Doing good should be done for its own sake – and if it happens to lead us to heaven, then so be it. But it’s hard to not separate the ends from the means when the ends are so weighty and potentially glorious.

But shouldn't what is good for us long-term, according to the eternal perspective, be good for us now too? Do I need always to keep in mind what will be leading me to heaven or hell, instead of seeking what is good in the moment, in the here-and-now? (This isn’t a call for “feeling good in the moment,” by the way.) For example, the abstaining from sex outside marriage is not good simply because it helps me get to heaven; it is good because it is a rule that helps me stay physically, psychologically, and spiritually healthy. In fact, it is because of this that it helps me get to heaven.

I understand that a man who thinks the grave is the end and one who thinks there is much more are going to look at individual actions in this life with a different perspective. But does the Christian need always to ground his decisions in the eternal perspective, and not in the simple fact of acting holy in the moment? Is not the eternal grounded in the here-and-now?

The Privatization of Religion

I’m taking a class at Drew this semester called “Religion, Culture, and Conflict.” The name obviously caught my attention, and I decided to take it, even though I know nothing of the professor or class. I’m one class in, and I suppose I have a favorable opinion so far. But there was something the professor said in his opening lecture that nearly got me raising my hand. I restrained, but mainly because, since there’s only seven of us in the class and it’ll be run seminar-style, I know I’ll have time to bring it up sometime soon.

This is a bad paraphrase, but Dr. Golden (yes, that’s his name) said something to this extent: “I’m not with those who point to all of this religious crisis and think the answer is a religion-less world. That Lennon song annoys me. In fact, I think a lot of the answers to these conflicts lie in religion. But what does annoy me about certain religions – or really just certain religious people – is when they impress their beliefs on others. If they just kept their religion to themselves and their religious groups, and didn't take their religious ideas into politics, then I think we’d be pretty OK.”

I’m not the first to point out that what Mr. Golden is doing here is assigning religion to a private sphere, and disallowing it any public power. What I wanted to say (and hopefully will sometime later) is this: “But what if it is intrinsic to a religion – and I think most major religions fall into this category – to be public? What if a religion teaches a way of life that includes how we are to act politically? Aren’t we selling this religion short by limiting it? Aren’t we actually not really talking about that religion if we want it to act against its own tenets?”

Dr. Golden works a lot with religion and religious conflict. He was just awarded a $300,000 Carnegie Grant to jumpstart some inter-religious program to work with religious leaders all around the world. I don’t doubt he does a lot good. But my problem with his approach (as much as I could gauge from one lesson) is that is incorrectly defines religion. He wants to solve the problem by making religions “safe,” assigning them to the comfortably benign realm of the private or small communities.

But this misrepresents religion. Take Catholicism, for example. It is not enough for me to say I won’t perform or be involved in abortion. It’s not enough for me say I won’t engage in homosexual marriage. As a Catholic, I need to take these beliefs into the voting booth and the public sphere. And while this may annoy the heck out of Golden and the like, there’s a sincerely logical reason why: As a Catholic, I believe that the truths taught by the Magisterium are in fact Truths; as such, I believe that all people benefit by a society that lives by them. I don’t simply vote for pro-life or anti-gay-marriage politicians because I’m Catholic; I do it because I abortion is murder, and because I think a society is better for all when children grow up in heterosexual marriages – as well as for other reasons.

Of course, there are “private” Catholic matters. I’m not about to lobby for a national law that forces everyone to go to Mass every Sunday. But there are religious beliefs that lie outside of these strictly religious bounds, beliefs about human dignity that, if you believe them will necessarily change how you vote or approach public policy. We’re not upset when someone’s belief against slavery affected his or hers public actions; and people can’t be upset when we do the same thing. Golden et. al. wants to make all religious beliefs like the Sunday Mass rule.

I can see why Golden wants to do this, though – it’s tempting. It seems a nice approach. However, since at its heart it incorrectly defines religion, it is impossibly naïve. It will never work, since any person with real faith will never accept it. I agree that the reality here is a lot more problematic than Dr. Golden’s theories. Once we throw out these theories, we’re left with some complicated questions. Example: I’m fine taking my religious beliefs against abortion and gay-marriage into the voting both; but am I willing to grant the same right to a Muslim who supports Sharia Law? I understand that I’d be as naïve as Golden if I said, “Hey Muslim, you can bring into the voting booth the things already correspond with our “American” ideas; but the ones that don’t, keep those private.”

Although I don’t suppose the class will directly answer these types of questions, I do hope that the lectures, conversations, and readings will help lead me (privately) to some beginning answers.

Waterboarding: Problem with the Political Discourse of Ethical Issues

I’ve said before that our public discourse concerning political and ethical issues lacks a certain philosophical foundation. The categories and distinctions philosophy provides can prove tedious, but they offer an important common language that we can use to dissect current issues. They allow us to distinguish between issues that are multi-layered and nuanced.

One of the philosophic distinctions missing in political discourse is the concept of inherently disordered acts. Instead of looking at acts in and of themselves, we tend to look solely at their consequences. In this way, our ethics has succumbed to a purely utilitarian outlook. Acts are good if they have a positive outcome – if they bring more pleasure to a larger amount of people – and acts are bad if they have a negative outcome.

For example, in the common discussion of torture, or enhanced interrogation methods, we normally focus on the outcome of the torture. Of course, there is lingering idea in most people’s minds that torture is unpleasant and that this may be a reason for disliking it; but the real determining factor is whether or not torture is effective.

If the pro-torture faction can prove that torture has in fact had positive results – like leading us to Osama – then they are one step closer, perhaps the final step, to demonstrating that torture is justifiable. And the faction opposing torture allows itself to fall into the same argument. It usually spends time trying to convince the public that torture has not had any tangible positive results, as if this is the reason we shouldn’t do it. Yes, it’s unpleasant; but it is really un-justifiable because it doesn’t provide us with anything that a more pleasant means of interrogation can’t.

The discussion should begin with the act of torture – or, more precisely, with the specific act in question, i.e. waterboarding. We must determine whether the act, in and of itself, can ever be performed. If not, then the debate is over. Period. If so, then we can move to questions like the need for torture, or the outcomes of the act.

Until we get back to the original discussion at hand, we aren’t really “doing ethics;” instead, we’re dealing with a form of mathematics, like economics. Just as a business deal is positive if it provides a profitable outcome, so too with moral acts. But this isn’t ethics. Ethics deals with humans as humans, as capable of understanding the world in a non-utilitarian mode.

Perhaps the problem is that a materialistic view of the world only allows for a utilitarian mode of ethics. Perhaps we need to see man as more than simply mass and matter in order to see that ethical debates are more than listing pro’s and con’s.

Defining Lying and Such

Introduction

I vividly remember having a conversation about ethics in high school. It concerned the morality and/or immorality of lying “for a good cause.” As usual in ethical debates, we drew the extreme situation in order to exercise and test the validity of the axioms we were claiming. In this case, we brought up the case of hiding Jews during WWII. If a Gestapo officer were to come into your house and ask you whether or not there were Jews in the house, can you say no if the answer is yes?

This sort of debate resurfaced in a the recent case when members of Live Action, a prolife group, impersonated false identities to uncover real reactions and advice from Planned Parenthood. Peter Kreeft wrote an article in response to this situation, defending the deeds of Live Action, and thereby defending the possibility and reality of lying not being immoral. I don’t intend to discuss the specifics of this ethical situation, but instead focus on the Catholic Church’s perspective on lying. In particular, I want to consider the definition of lying.

The Universal Immorality of Lying

Before diving into the varied and nuanced definitions of what it means to lie (even though it seems awfully obvious), I want to make it clear what the Church, via the Catechism, says about the morality of lying.

“By its very nature, lying is to be condemned” (2485).

“…behavior that is intrinsically disordered, such as lying…” (1753).

Lying is “intrinsically disordered.” Therefore, however, we decide lying is to be defined, no good purpose or positive intentions can make it right. We then get to the real sticking point: Is the definition of lying simply the act of not telling the truth, or is there something other implied? For example, is it lying if you don’t tell the truth to someone who “doesn’t deserve to know the truth?”

Two Definition and Their Issues

It seems obvious that in general use, the term “lying” simply refers to a statement of intentional falsity. If this is how the CCC defines it, then one can never lie, since the act of lying, as defined by the Church, is always disordered. For now, let me call the common everyday-use definition of lying “falsehood-telling.” We will discuss whether or not these two terms are one in the same; but for now, it will be helpful to distinguish between them.

It is important to note, when discussing the definition of the term lying that the CCC switched its definition from one edition to the next. Most online commentators choose the version that best fits their argument. Here’s the first definition:

“To lie is to speak or act against the truth in order to lead into error someone who has the right to know the truth” (CCC 2483).

This feels like the definition that I learned informally in discussing ethics. However, this definition was changed to read:

“To lie is to speak or act against the truth in order to lead someone into error” (CCC 2438).

Absent from this is a distinction made concerning the person to whom the lie is being spoken. In version 1, lying is contingent upon to whom you speak the falsehood. This is not the case in version 2. Of course, in version 2 (the present version) we still get the rather vague phrase “to lead someone into error.” I’ll deal with this at the end.

Why the Switch? Is the First Null?

My first question is, “Why the switch?” Was it because the first version is in fact completely incorrect and false? On the one hand, I want to say yes: that would be why they “corrected” their mistake. On the other hand, I want to say no: I’m not sure it would have made it into the first edition if it were flat-out wrong. So the first question leads to a second: “Is the first version now completely null?”

Perhaps they changed the definition because it could be used too easily to defend some wrong things. For example, since “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23), we could make the claim that no has a right to know the truth. At the very least, with this earlier definition of lying, it may be easy to justify lying to anyone that might seem not-so-pious. And what about the Christian-libertarian who says it’s alright to lie to the IRS since they don’t have a right to know the truth, since the truth in this case would concern our private monies.

So one mode of explanation is to say that the first version, while not incorrect, is just too prone to misuse. Or perhaps it simply isn’t correct. But was it correct while it was in print? And what if a 3^rd version nullifies the 2^nd version? I guess where I’m going with this is to say that perhaps none of the CCC’s statements, in any edition, are incorrect; but those in high places have a right and duty to make sure things are worded in such a way as to avoid misuse. This, of course, doesn’t completely explain the complete removal, from version 1 to 2, of the importance of to whom one is lying.

The Necessity of Second Part

Before deliberating on the meaning of the second part of the definition – “in order to lead someone into error” – let me take a moment to discuss its necessity in the CCC’s definition. I write this in response to an article I read that said that the CCC is saying that all lying is the same as falsehood-telling, since the second part of this definition isn’t really defining the act of lying so as much as dealing with a separate ethical issue, that of the intention; and since good intentions can never redeem an intrinsically immoral act, then lying for good intentions, or not intending to lead one into error, is still lying, and therefore always wrong. But I think this is a rather silly reading of the second version of the definition in the CCC.

Let me state it again: “To lie is to speak or act against the truth in order to lead someone into error” (CCC 2438). Basically, the arguer I was referring to above sees the proper definition as only the beginning of the statement: “To lie it to speak or act against the truth,” while the second part is concerned only with the intention of the act. There are two, somewhat obvious, problems with this.

First, this is not what is stated. The meaning of the sentence above, from a grammatical standpoint, is that the second part of the sentence is necessary; it is part of the very definition of lying. Let me use an analogy: If I were define “double-dribbling” in basketball, I may say something like, “Double-dribbling is when the player begins to dribble the ball again after having come to a complete stop.” The phrase “again after having come to a complete stop” is completely necessary to the definition; it is actually false without it. If I were to use the logic of the above arguer, I would say that double dribbling is “when a place begins to dribble the ball.” And this is obvious false.

The second argument pointing out the necessity of the second part of the definition is simply the fact that CCC chose to write it in. If to lie were simply “to speak or act against the truth” then that’s all that would be written. The second part would not be so closely connected, in a grammatical and meaning sense, to the first part.

Vagueness of Second Part of Definition

Of course, this does nothing to begin to plump the ambiguous depths of the phrase “in order to lead someone into error.” What does this mean? Let me try to tie this definition and phrase back to the Nazi-Jews situation. If I were hiding Jews from the Nazis, and a Gestapo asked me if I had Jews in my house, and I said no, obviously I would be speaking against the truth – but would I be leading someone into error?

On the one hand, yes: I am leading him into error, simply by making him think something that is contrary to the truth. But on the other hand, by saving the Jews, I would be consequently, even if incidentally, possibly saving the Gestapo from doing something very wrong to the Jews, like killing them or sending them to concentration camps. From this perspective, I would not be leading him into error; in fact, I would be preventing an error. But is this simply semantic nonsense? I don’t know.

In a certain way, the term “lead someone into error” can be a more easily abused phrase. If I lie in order to make a person feel better, am I leading them into error? If I lie in order to make someone do something right – i.e. “Don’t perform an abortion, or else you will die before the age of 50” – am I leading them into error? I don’t see the secondary definition clearing up any of the ambiguity of the first one. Perhaps the second version was intended to open up more exceptions rather than stem the tide, and not because Catholics like ethical loopholes, but simply because the issue is not so black-and-white.

Perhaps the second part of the statement simply means something like “intending a person to believe the untruth.” If you consciously lie in hopes of making the person believe the untruth, then you are lying. Perhaps it’s as simple as this. I don’t know. But then all falsehood-telling would be lying and therefore wrong, no matter the intent.

Kreeft’s Point

Kreeft brings up numerous interesting points. One of the most arresting, and I think persuasive, is the fact that the person hiding the Jews has a second and more important ethical claim: his promise to keep the Jews safe. On the one hand, this makes much sense. Even if telling a falsehood to the Gestapo would be lying, if I told them the truth, I would be forfeiting a higher ethical call, that of protecting those God has put in my care.

While I like this, it does potentially make the situation more opaque. Can this same logic let me outright kill people, in the name of keeping the Jews safe? Where is the line that I can’t cross? While the issues in this logic are real, I don’t think the argument should be discarded because of them. Real-life ethics is complex, and many attempts to simplify it often oversimplify and thereby misconstrue it.

Gut Feeling

There is something deep inside of me that rebels against a model of morality that disallows me to lie to the Gestapo to save the Jews. I grant that this is an emotional appeal. However, it feels rooted in my beliefs in the sanctity of life. This is no argument on its own. I have two possibilities that explain this feeling: a) The model is flawed. b) My gut feeling is wrong. I think that our ethical gut-feelings tend to be correct, especially when they are developed correctly. But, of course, our emotional reactions can be incorrect, sometime because of our fallen nature, sometimes for others reasons. For example, when Osama was killed, people rejoiced in his death; people wished him to be in hell. Both are decidedly disordered; in some ways, the latter is the most un-Christian thing to ever wish upon anyone, including Satan. So the “gut” is an important, but most definitely not the paramount, mode of judgment.

But still, a world where you can’t lie to the Gestapo to save a family of Jews? This doesn’t jive with so much other Christian feeling in me. I feel like Ivan Karamazov when I say this rather dramatic line (that I’m not sure I mean): Perhaps I reject a God, even if He is real and in charge, who has a system of ethics such as this.

Final Thoughts / Using the Definition Correctly

I’ll end by returning to the definition discussion, and cautioning our use of throwing around the world “lying” – at least in terms of Catholic ethical thought. Because the CCC doesn’t simply define the immoral act of lying as “telling a falsehood,” because it uses an additional phrase (albeit different phrases at different times), we can’t simply refer to all cases of falsehood-telling as lying. When we do, the case is already settled: the Church definitively states that all lying is always wrong. What we need to do is decide whether a specific instance of falsehood-telling also fulfills the more specific and nuanced definition of lying in the CCC.

For example, we shouldn’t ask the question, “Can a person lie to the Gestapo about hiding Jews?” This is morally settled. No. What we should ask is, “If a person tells a falsehood to the Gestapo about hiding Jews, is this lying, according to the Church’s ethical teaching?” If so, then it’s wrong. If not, then it might not be. You may disagree with my use of falsehood-telling, and say it’s one and same as lying. On the one hand, yes; but only in the usual sense of the term. When the CCC defines lying, it adds a phrase intentionally, and so it adds a level to the sin of lying beyond simple falsehood-telling. When we speak of ethics and grave matter, it is important to be specific.

Reframing Ethics: Our Perspective on Sin and Its Consequences

When it comes to ethics in general, and Christian ethics in particular, I think that outsiders and insiders alike make incorrect assumptions about the nature of sin and its consequences. For example, why does the Catholic Church say that premarital sex is wrong? Well, the argument goes, simply because they do – because they have the power to. There’s a certain level of randomness to sin – or perhaps malice: i.e. premarital sex is pleasurable, so the Church says it’s wrong.

Additionally, we often make incorrect assumptions about the consequences of sin. We can view it like we view legal systems. Punishment should “fit the crime,” when this is possible; but it isn’t intrinsically connected to the act of breaking the law. For example, if I steal a significant amount of money, that money should be returned – and perhaps more, along with jail time – but the stealing of the money doesn’t naturally necessitate the return of the money. We need an outside force – cops, judges, and legal systems – to enact this. And so with sin, we think that God “assigns” a punishment for our sins – a punishment that may fit the crime, but one that isn’t necessitated by the actual act of sin.

We need only look to the Greeks about 2,600 years ago to realize that the human race has often been confused about the nature of ethics. I think people tend to view morality the way Socrates presented religion in the text of Euthyphro. In this Socratic dialogue, Socrates questions Euthyphro, a priest and therefore an expert on piety, about the nature of piety. He asks this simple question: a) Are things pious because the gods say they’re pious, or b) are do the gods say they’re pious because they’re pious? In other words, a) do the gods simply decide what is good and bad, or b) do they simply relay this information?

For Euthyphro, both options are challenging. If he agrees with A, that the gods decide what is good and bad, then he is claiming that piety is arbitrary: things are not pious or impious inherently; an arbitrary decision makes them “thus or thus.” However, Euthyphro can’t find solace in option B either, that the gods simply relay the piety or impiety of things, since this would mean that “the pious” would precede the gods, thereby devaluing the gods themselves – something a priest doesn’t want to do.

A lot of people, Christian and outsiders, view Christian ethics like option A: The Church makes blanket statements about right and wrong – premarital sex is bad; eating meat on Fridays is bad; donating money is good – but these statements are essentially arbitrary. There is nothing inherently wrong with these supposed “sins.” Because people believe in the accidental nature of sin, they believe in the non-causal relationship between the sin and the “punishment.” 10 x premarital sex = 2 years in purgatory, or something like that.

Let me offer a Christian answer to the Euthyphro dilemma, and through doing this, offer a Christian perspective on sin and its consequences. Socrates offers a false dichotomy. He presents two options to Euthyphro, without acknowledging that there could be other options. I don’t blame either Socrates or Euthyphro; I think certain unique and awesome characteristics of God were revealed first through Christianity. Regardless, here’s a third option: Piety (or goodness) is the nature of God. Therefore, what is pious and good – and therefore what is right and wrong – isn’t arbitrary; it’s based on what God is or isn’t. Further, piety doesn’t precede or undermine the eternalness of God, since it is the nature of God.

Even though the world remains other to God, it is made in the image and nature of God. What is good reflects the pattern of reality as in God, and what is bad is somehow a disruption in this pattern. Good is a reflection of God, while Sin a negation or distortion of Him. This may sound all very cosmic and unconnected to practical day-to-day choices; however, we can all chose against life and existence – by giving into the negating and solipsistic tendency to selfishness – and we can all chose life and existence, by living in the communion of man-to-God and man-to-man.

In this light, “living a good life” has less to do with rules and commands, but simply being reflective of existence, living within the pattern of Being – aligning our being with Being. Living this sort of life has less to do with “pleasing the one above,” and more to do with living the sort of life that is most in line with reality; it is about living the sort of life that is that is best for us. So why does the Church say don’t have premarital sex? Because it isn’t good for us – no other reason.

This is a paradigm shift from “It’s bad for you because it’s sinful” to “It’s sinful because it’s bad for you.” Consider someone battling with giving in to premarital sex. He may feel cautious because he thinks it’s sinful; and as a “sin,” it is accompanied with guilt and consequences – perhaps even eternal punishment. But he is battling with “the consequence of the sin” and not the “act of the sin,” unconsciously finding no direct correlation between the two.

But in reality, the consequences of sin are natural by-products of sin itself. Sin is bad because it naturally produces negative results. “The wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23). Therefore, the consequences of premarital sex is what premarital sex naturally causes. The “list of sins” that the Catholic Church has created is simply a list of revealed acts that universally have negative effects on individuals. So the man battling with the temptation to premarital sex shouldn’t think that the sin would be fun and pleasurable, but the consequences, as determined by the Church or God, would be a negative and arbitrary by-product of the pleasure; instead, he should recognize that the act itself is somehow in conflict with reality or existence, and therefore he, in his deepest self, doesn’t in fact desire the act.

Just like the Christian answer to Euthyphro appeals to nature – i.e. piety is the nature of God – so too does the Christian ethics appeal to nature: The consequences of sin are the natural results of the sin. The chemist doesn’t say, “If you take enough rat poison, I will make sure you die, because I just don’t want you taking rat poison.” No; he says, “Enough rat poison itself will kill you.” The Church doesn’t say, “If you sin too much, God will not let you enter heaven.” No; She says, “If you sin too much, you are choosing not to enter heaven.”

I have two potential issues with this – issues I have answers, but not ones in which I’m not completely confident. First, what about sins like “not eating meat on Friday” and “not going to Mass on a Sunday?” I don’t think there’s a natural consequence to eating meat on a Friday, even if we’re in Lent. Second, what about Hell? What temporal action can be taken by fallen man that would naturally results in eternal damnation?

Let me take the former first. It seems apparent that, despite my earlier protestations, that certain sin is arbitrary. God’s first directive is “don’t eat this fruit.” As in Lewis’s Perelandra, perhaps God wants man to choose Him simply for Him, and not because of the natural repercussions of the act. Not eating meat on Friday would fit into this category. Of course, there is reason for this sort of rule: learning to control our natural appetites is an extremely important thing. As for other “arbitrary” rules like having to go to Mass on Sunday, there are reasons, too: God’s desire for us, coupled with our need for Him, is such that a once-a-week encounter with His living presence is so incredibly to our benefit and so essential to our spiritual survival that making this a “rule” is a good thing. But even with rules like these, they are to our benefit, not limitations.

Now to Hell. I’ve always had an internal question about Hell. What is it that man, with an inclination toward sin he did not chose, can do in his temporal existence that would deserve eternal damnation? There’s an unfairness that seems inherent in the very idea of perpetual punishment. For me, CS Lewis explores this idea in the most understandable way in his The Great Divorce. In a world after life, but neither heaven nor heaven – a quasi-purgatory – individuals make the decision to enter the realm of heaven, or travel further away, ultimately distancing themselves from God and others. How the individuals acted in life inclines them one way or the other; but the final decision comes after death. The chosen nature of heaven and hell gives me a reasonable look into the heaven-hell dilemma. Hell isn’t the punishment of sin; it is the chosen path by the sinner, the natural end result of a life without God or Godliness.

Charles Williams, an Anglican like Lewis, has explored the same idea in some of his novels. Like Lewis, often the ultimate decision made by the individual for heaven or hell – for God, life, and communion, or for solipsism, aloneness and selfishness – happens outside of temporal life. I think the reason for positing such a place of decision outside of physical history is to avoid the problem of the seeming limitations that our life on earth forces upon us. Death comes so quickly for many, and who is to say that the deceased has made a final decision for God or not-God? By allowing a space between the unpredictability of life and the finality of the afterlife, even in fiction, these writers offer us narratives concerning hell and heaven in ways that reveal the natural connection between sin and its consequences.