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The Electronic Church’s Aesthetic of Evil

I admit to being both fascinated and repelled by my own attraction to these stories. Stories that display the presence of evil possess a strange form of "beauty" that Plato described in The Republic:

Well, I said, once I heard something, and I believe it: Leontios, Aglaion’s son, so it was said, was going up from the Peiraeus under the north wall outside, and saw dead bodies lying beside the executioner. He desired to see them and felt disgusted at the same time, and turned away. He resisted awhile and covered his face, but the desire was too much for him. He ran up to the bodies, and pulled his eyes open with his fingers, calling out, "There, confound you! Stare your fill at the beautiful sight!"

The allure of evil requires an explanation that the allure of the good does not. I used to think that the electronic church’s fascination with evil was merely an extension of commercial television’s preoccupation with crime and violence. A newslike exposé on young runaways offers a seemingly serious form of entertainment, whether it appears on "60 Minutes" or "The 700 Club." Or perhaps the prevalence of these stories attests to Milton’s conviction that sin is more interesting than virtue. The adventures of a runaway capture a larger audience than would the daily routine of the local honors student. More theologically, however, the confessional mode, the darkness before the light, is certainly a legitimate and perennial part of the sin/salvation motif of the Christian tradition. Evil both calls for and justifies the actions of a merciful God.

However, these explanations do not fully explain the phenomenon. I suggest that the presence of such accounts in the church’s programming indicates nothing less than an aesthetic of evil. By this I do not mean that the aesthetic is evil in itself but that attention to evil is an integral part of the electronic church’s sense of what is beautiful.

Evil functions in the electronic church in a way analogous to the functioning of "the ugly" in art. Certain works of art -- the lurid descriptions at the beginning of Spenser’s The Faerie Queene, the studies of degradation in Hardy and Zola, the "Old Courtesan" and the "Ugolino" statues by Rodin -- Contain incontestably ugly features. The "ugly" is not accidental; it is part of the artist’s aesthetic in the same way that evil is a part of the electronic church’s theology. Thus, I find the discussion of the "ugly" in art helpful in formulating my own understanding of the electronic church’s sensibilities.

The first of these is what I will call the transformational theory. According to this theory, the ugly is indeed present, but it remains only so long as it is not transformed by the total context provided by the work. In isolation, one aspect of a picture may be ugly, but when seen within the context of the picture as a whole, it becomes part of a larger beauty. This sort of beauty is all the more beautiful precisely because it is capable of encompassing and harmonizing occasional discords. The ugly is either temporary because capable of transformation, or is rendered relatively unimportant by the larger context provided by the work as a whole.

A variation of the transformational theory attempts to shift attention from the ugly itself to the skill with which it has been captured or conveyed. A certain subject matter may be horrible, may even be repulsive, but we can nevertheless admire the mastery and skill of the artist. A formalist criticism would argue that we can judge the form of a work, the technique and style of the artist, but we cannot judge the appropriateness or beauty of the subject.

The transformational theory of the ugly in art has its counterpart in the aesthetic of the electronic church. Whether it is about something as trivial as a baseball injury or something as serious as international terrorism, whether it is conveyed through an interview or a news report, evil is typically presented by the church in the context of a larger Christian hope. Taken in isolation, starvation in Africa is deplorable, but only so long as it is not transformed by the Christian relief fund. The country is facing moral decay, but we can change it. A family is desperately poor, but they have found genuine faith and reassuring peace. In the aesthetic of the electronic church, every condition of evil is either potentially transformed, and thus temporary, or insignificant in light of a Christian context. All things, even apparently evil ones, contribute to God’s glory.

Where evil exists in a way that is not immediately transformable, attention can be shifted to the sacrifice and dedication of those who are nevertheless working to aid the poor and afflicted. If a nation is unchristian, we can nevertheless admire those who attempt to evangelize its people. If a natural disaster occurs, we can rally behind those who bring relief and aid. Evil in these instances provides an occasion for, and proof of, Christian faithfulness. Many remember the steadfastness of Job; few remember the details of his burdens. Mother Teresa is honored not because she has materially changed the political and economic conditions of India but because she has dedicated her life to the poor in an exemplary way. If the world lacks beauty, there are nevertheless beautiful, saintly people who mitigate the stubbornness of evil. The presence of evil is thus "explained" in a way analogous to that whereby the ugly is explained in art. Therefore an unspoken transformational theory shapes the sensibilities of the electronic church.

The second major theory explaining the ugly in art is the educational or didactic theory. This theory justifies the presence of the ugly because of its reflecting or teaching value. Yes, there are ugly aspects in art, but these are present only because they reflect a corresponding ugliness in the real world. Ugly things exist, and an art that failed to depict ugliness would be false or unrealistic.

Occasionally the ugly will be exaggerated in art (I think of certain scenes in The Deer Hunter and Apocalypse Now, for example), but even exaggeration is justified in light of its educational purpose. Through exaggeration, we can learn something about the nature of war. Augustine may have exaggerated his sinfulness precisely so that his subsequent salvation would seem all the more miraculous.

If we translate that theory into the context of the electronic church, it can certainly be admitted that stories of alcoholism and broken marriages are realistic. I come away from watching "The 700 Club" with the same sense that I have after watching the evening news: I’ve learned something about the real world. I cannot be expected to give to world missions or a united relief fund unless I am first educated about existing needs that I would not otherwise encounter. Just the knowledge that teen-age pregnancy is epidemic reassures me that my Christianity is not escapist but is firmly grounded in the real world and its manifold problems.

At least one variation of an educational aesthetic is peculiarly Christian. Occasionally an account or story is morally educational in the sense that the presence of evil is interpreted as a sign of God’s displeasure. In this instance, the electronic church will prophetically interpret our nation’s loss of economic and military pre-eminence as a sign that we have been unfaithful to God’s commandments. Evil as an indication of God’s disfavor is literally instructive; it has a pedagogical or instrumental value. Evil serves to correct an otherwise deviant path -- individual or collective. Evil’s reflection of the world, as well as its morally instructive value, contributes to the electronic church’s adoption of an educational aesthetic.

Translated into the context of the church, bounded by a commercial on either side, evil is no longer threatening. Abstracted from associated odors and filth, such accounts satisfy my curiosity. Indeed, I can satisfy this curiosity and be self-congratulatory too because I am watching a Christian, rather than a commercial, network. What in real life may be repulsive becomes an opportunity for voyeurism and novelty. The confessions of a former cultist depict a life that is new and different, an exciting change from my routine existence.

This last theory, pleasure in the ugly, best articulates the essential aesthetic of the electronic church. For each of the classic explanations of the ugly in art, there is a corresponding explanation of evil given by the electronic church. These explanations constitute its aesthetic.

What concerns me is that the first two theories, the transformational and educational theories, deny either the permanence or seriousness of evil. Depending on the theory employed, evil is either transformed by a larger Christian context, slighted in favor of focusing attention on a saint, or justified in terms of an educational or moral function. In each instance, the presence of evil is neither intrinsic nor recalcitrant but is instrumental and thus short-lived.

The third theory, on the other hand, is hardly conceivable -- because of the disparity it suggests between pleasure in beholding evil and our own self-images. No one would readily admit that the study of evil is pleasurable. Nevertheless, because the electronic church so often both depicts evil and implicitly denies its seriousness, the pleasure theory best articulates the core of the electronic church’s aesthetic and sensibilities.

Because of this aesthetic core, what otherwise might be conducive to genuine concern and action is frequently transformed into mere titillation. The prominent place evil assumes in the stories broadcast by the electronic church indulges our need for this strange form of "beauty" without granting us an enabling vision.

A Tale That Will Tax the Imagination

A wandering pilgrim I -- a thing of shreds and patches. And midway upon the journey of my life as a humble follower of the Lord Jesus, I found it desirable to improve my station. In the search, I heard that my best bet would be at Caesar’s Palace; so I sought it out.

It was one magnificent layout, making me -- a humble follower of the Lord Jesus -- feel very much out of place. But my need was great so I summoned the courage to beg admittance.

"Welcome!" the doorman said. "You come right on in."

"Thank you," I said, "but you need to know that I am a humble follower of the Lord Jesus."

"Fine, fine," he responded. "We love humble followers of the Lord Jesus. Come on in.

"Thank you," I said, "but I will feel some obligation to make, my witness to the Lord Jesus."

"Well, bless you," he said, "that’s just what we want humble followers of the Lord Jesus to do. In fact, we are ready to give you some breaks and help you finance that very witness. Now you quit worrying your head and come right on in here."

"But that might mean that I would sometimes have to be critical of Caesar."

"Who isn’t?" exclaimed the doorman. "Now come on in."

Behind him I saw the tables and the play going on there. I was chagrined and embarrassed. "You are too kind," I said, "but the truth is . . . well, the truth is that, as a humble follower of the Lord Jesus, I don’t have any money.

"No problem!" the doorman said. "No problem at all! We expect that to be the case with humble followers of the Lord Jesus and are set up to take care of things." He pulled a roll out of his pocket, leafed off a handful of bills (each bearing the image of a U.S. Caesar), and set me up with a generous stake.

"Do you want a receipt?" I asked.

"Of course, not," he responded. "What would we want one for? Don’t you understand? Everything’s on the house. We want everybody -- and particularly humble followers of the Lord Jesus -- to have a good time and enjoy the rewards of their faith. Come on in!"

I came on in. And talk about counting your blessings, I not merely improved my station; I had it made! There was banqueting -- all you could eat of anything you wanted. There were wine, women and song (enough said). There were laughter and jollity on all sides. And none of it cost me one red cent. In fact, the Lord was really blessing his humble servant: at the gaming tables I parlayed my stake into a very sizable bankroll. All mine, mine, mine!

As the night wore on, I made it a point to wander back and speak to the doorman. "Praise the Lord," I witnessed, "who hath blessed us with all spiritual [and material] blessings in the heavenly palaces" (note: Paul had it "places" -- but never mind).

"Praise the Lord," he echoed. "We do want to thank him for his gifts, for we know that all wealth belongs to him. But at the same time, I hope you realize that it was not until you came to Caesar’s Palace that you got yours. God’s wealth through Caesar’s System; right?"

"Right," I mumbled.

"And there is another consideration of which you may not be aware."

"Yes?"

"As you might imagine, there are a great many no-good foreign Caesars out there who would dearly love to crash our System and steal all the wealth and goodies God has given you. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?"

"I should say not! Why, that would be the same as robbing God himself -- after all, my wealth cometh from the Lord."

"Right. But you need have no fear that this will happen. And why not? Because Caesar’s Armies will blast the bastards to bits if they so much as make a move.

"Are you suggesting," I asked, "that I owe my wealth to Caesar’s Armies?"

"Oh, I wouldn’t put it that strongly," the doorman demurred. "Let’s say only that Caesar’s Armies are an absolutely essential part of Caesar’s System and that, without Caesar’s System, very little of God’s wealth seems to get delivered to humble followers of the Lord Jesus. Let me teach you a little trick that will help keep your thinking straight. Before you ever spend a coin or a bill, look at it. What do you see?"

I pulled out a bill (a C-note, I’m proud to say) and saw. "I see a U.S. Caesar," I said,

"Yes, there’s that; but is that all?"

"Oh, IN GOD WE TRUST!"

"Precisely. And that is just where we have it over the coins of Jesus’ day. Ours is a Christian Caesar who loves humble followers of the Lord Jesus and wants to see them prosper as God intends they should. Our Caesar has no desire to be worshiped. No, God’s wealth through Caesar’s System to the humble followers of the Lord Jesus. That’s our motto. Praise the Lord!"

"Praise the Lord," I intoned.

With the help of the doorman’s theology, the rest of the evening went all the better for me. It was good to know that my wealth was of the Lord, God’s blessing upon his humble follower through the offices of his servant Caesar. But then, as the great clock in the hall struck midnight, one of Caesar’s officials appeared and called the group to order.

"It now being April 15," he announced, "I am come to lead you in the ceremony of our annual sacrifice to Caesar. Twenty per cent, please -- or whatever amount is called for on your Form 1040."

I arose in righteous protest. "I refuse to give money to the wicked Caesar and his Armies. I am a humble follower of the Lord Jesus, and I give to God what belongs to God!"

"We know you do," the official said calmly, "and we wouldn’t want it any other way. Don’t forget what it says on our money: IN GOD WE TRUST. And remember that it is precisely Caesar who gives you a tax deduction to encourage your giving to God what belongs to God. Too bad your contribution couldn’t have been a bit more this year -- so the deduction could have been even greater. We aren’t after anything that belongs to God, nor are we in any way discouraging you from giving to him. All we want is enough to continue the operation of the System that gets you the wealth that you can give to God."

"I don’t care," I shouted. "I am not only a humble follower of the Lord Jesus; I’m a righteous one. And I say, ‘Hell no; not my dough!’ I pray for PEACE; and I’m not going to give my money for WAR!"

"Your money? YOUR money?" the man said. "I hadn’t noticed your picture on any of it." The crowd broke into raucous laughter; and in an aside to them, the man went on. "Actually, Caesar staked him -- and all the money he has was won through Caesar’s System at Caesar’s tables, while Caesar’s Armies protected the loot. He sure waited until the right time to get a conscience about Caesar, didn’t he?"

But I knew that God was on my side; and I was ready to stand as a humble follower of the Lord Jesus -- no matter what the cost. "I refuse to pay, I shouted with all the bravery I could muster -- fully expecting Caesar’s minions to descend upon me and cast me into prison, if not crucify me in the likeness of my Lord.

I was ready; but the man took me by surprise. He didn’t even get angry. OK, then, don’t." He turned to the crowd. "We’ll take it out of his bank account."

"Not my bank account," I pleaded, "it belongs to me -- and God" (I was quick to add).

"Will you please quit saying that?" the man requested. Then, to the crowd again, "What he is talking about is U.S. currency, bearing Caesar’s image, resting in the First U.S. National Bank, each depositor insured up to $100,000 by FDIC, an independent agency of the U.S. government -- and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Yet he still insists upon arguing with Jesus about giving to Caesar what belongs to Caesar. Is that what it means to be a humble follower of the Lord’?"

Literary Comments

Although the preceding tale includes what I consider important observations regarding the contemporary practice of tax refusal, I would never want this story to be taken as my primary statement on the issue. For one thing, I would never base my position on just one passage of Scripture -- even though it appears in all three of the synoptic Gospels. Consequently, this story assumes the argument of my article in Brethren Life and Thought (Vol. XIX, spring 1974), "That the World Might Be Judged," in which I do a serious exegesis of all the relevant Scripture.

Perhaps (just perhaps) one reason why Jesus told us to give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar was to say, "Once you have sold your very soul to caesarian [if that’s the word] economics, it little becomes you to get self-righteous about a bit of money. People who live in Caesar’s Palace shouldn’t throw coins." Consequently, I have the highest regard for Christians who choose to keep their income below the taxable level. They at least take steps toward getting out of Caesar’s Palace before denying their obligation to him.

What is more certain is that Jesus’ statement suggests a very different concept of "money" from that assumed by modern tax-withholders. There is no hint of monetary accumulation as a gift of God, as something that represents my life, my investment of sacred time, energy or "person." No, it is the "unrighteous mammon" which I would probably be better off without. It is the creation of Caesar, most likely was acquired by my dallying in his "system," and is more symbolic of its (and his) owning me than of my owning it.

Further, if I do not resist when Caesar comes to confiscate that money for tax purposes, that certainly is not to be interpreted as a show of my personal approval and support of the purposes for which Caesar uses the money. The statement "We pray for peace -- Why should we pay for war?" is a nice-sounding slogan but one with very little thought behind it.

My publisher would be as justified in complaining that he is forced to give me author’s royalties out of his profits (even though he disapproves of the manner in which I will spend the money). But of course, that is a wrong way of stating the case. My royalties had never belonged to him or been within his discretion. From the outset (namely, with the signing of the contract), we were partners; and my percentage has belonged to me from the same moment that his has belonged to him. Just so is there an implied contract when a person is a citizen of the United States and participates in its fiscal system. You are not asked to give Caesar your money. No, your share belongs to you; and, as Jesus recognized, there is that share which belongs to Caesar.

But the most impressive aspect of the story to me (because I believe it to be true to the facts) is the very real leniency and humanity of our U.S. Caesar in comparison to most of the other Caesars of our world -- and particularly the Caesars of whom Jesus was speaking when he said to give them their due.

It is indeed the case that our Caesar does not ask us to deny the Lord Jesus before we are admitted to play at the Palace tables. (Our going to those tables may be a denial of the Lord Jesus; but that was our decision, not Caesar’s requirement.) Our Caesar grants us remarkable religious freedoms.

And part of that religious freedom is an even more remarkable freedom of dissent. Bad-mouthing Caesar doesn’t even get you thrown out of the Palace, let alone persecuted. In fact, it is quite possible in our Caesar-System to become rich and famous precisely as a defamer of Caesar.

And it is true that Caesar will even help this dissent along. He gives tax exemptions to churches (which they ungraciously claim as some sort of "natural right" that Caesar is obliged to recognize), even when they preach that Caesar is of the devil (which he, at least in part, is). Any of our radical Christian magazines that specialize in denouncing Caesar can stay in business only because of government subsidies in the forms of tax exemption and below-cost postage rates. When I was invited to a Mennonite college to speak on peace and simple living (neither of which is Caesar’s favorite topic), I had to sign a formal, legal contract -- because my honorarium was to come out of federal grant money. Our Caesar does help finance dissent against himself -- a truly amazing thing, when you think about it.

Moreover, Caesar deliberately sets up means and channels for dissent and works hard to protect them and keep them open. (Be aware that our legal and judicial systems are as much "of Caesar" as is the military.) We have free and open elections, with campaigning not only allowed but encouraged on the part of all kinds of parties, candidates and viewpoints. Under one Caesar, the government even helps finance the campaign of the Caesar destined to unseat him. And following the election, dissenters of all stripes are guaranteed access not only to the public media but to officialdom itself. As with few other Caesars in history, ours is committed to the freedom of dissent. If the Christian peace witness (as the witness of the Communist Party) seems to be having but little effect, it can be only because it is not winning much in the way of public support and not because of any particular opposition on the part of Caesar.

Then there is the notably mild response when dissenters actually defy and break Caesar’s Law (law, it must be said, which was properly arrived at through democratic procedures and not as arbitrary decree). Our Caesar is generous in granting conscientious exemption from military service. And again, that is not a "right" that Caesar has to grant; very few of the Caesars of this world ever have recognized it. It is to his credit that ours has done so. And regarding tax refusal, it would be expected that any Caesar would get quite nasty about that. Ours does not. He calmly and gently goes about collecting his tax in his own way. And even if balked in that effort, he usually ignores the situation rather than raising a row. Compared with the run of Caesars, ours is wonderfully tolerant of dissent and wonderfully gentle with dissenters.

I am not saying that this is the total picture of our Caesar; but it is a true picture of one side of him. However, it is one that Christian peace dissenters are rarely honest enough to admit, credit or appreciate. They feel that their cause depends upon painting Caesar as evil as possible. So when Caesar becomes lenient about tax-withholding, what do we do?

We move in to take advantage of his very leniency, to use his own leniency against him. Very generally, among our forerunners in all segments of the Christian peace movement, the policy was to use all legal avenues for protesting war and expenditures for war (and to speak much more respectfully of government than we are inclined to do). However, when it came to letting Caesar take what he claimed as his, the word was to resist not and to obey Jesus’ instruction about Caesar-imaged coins. Then, rather suddenly in our day, the opinion has changed, and there is a popular cry ("popular" in the peace movement, that is) for us to withhold taxes. But why the switch? Is it that we are all that much more wise, brave and dedicated Christians than were those who came before us? Of course not; it is because we have discovered that, with our lenient U.S. Caesar, tax refusal is a safe and comparatively easy form of witness -- no real risk, no fear, no cost. In God we trust? No, we trust in Caesar’s leniency.

When, to test him, the Pharisees were going to make Jesus say whether taxes to Caesar should be paid or withheld, withholding would have been the Zealot option (as Jesus and everyone else would know). That Jesus said "Pay" probably indicates that he saw withholding as an act of defiance and rebellion that could be counted upon to incite Rome to violence and lead to anything but peace.

In our day, of course, the situation is quite different. But what changed? The signification and intention of the act of withholding? No. Of course, it is Caesar who has changed. Our U.S. Caesar, very shrewdly, has seen that, by refusing to react as though withholding were defiance and rebellion, he can thwart the whole action more effectively than he ever could by trying to put it down. But is this change to the credit of the withholders? Does it suggest that Jesus now would change his counsel and make withholding the Christian (rather than the Zealot) option? I’m sorry, but I can’t follow the logic of that one!

I wonder, in the present situation, whether our encounters may not come off more as a witness to the leniency of Caesar than to the courage of our Christian convictions. Among our fellow Christians and the American public, does tax-withholding recommend the cause of peace? Or are our actions more likely to appeal to Caesar-hating rebels than to true peacemakers? It is plain that our job of painting Caesar as the beast is made all the more difficult as long as he persists in responding as kindly as he does.

I am not saying that Caesar is acting out of anything like Christian motives; but I wonder whether he does not actually come off better than we do in remaining silent before our slanders, in turning the other cheek, in forgiving our defiance of his law. As humble followers of the Lord Jesus, we, of course, know that we are the innocent party and Caesar the guilty one, in the matter of tax payment as in all others. But is the relationship all that clear in the eyes of the observing world? When, for whatever reason, Caesar chooses to quit feeding Christians to the lions, are we called upon to bemoan that fact and step up our hatred and defiance in an effort at provoking him into showing his worst side?

I propose that we take a good look at the character of the actual witness we are communicating and consider whether Jesus might not have known what he was talking about when he suggested that we give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar.

Those inclined to argue that Jesus now would advise us precisely the opposite of what he did in the New Testament -- this on the basis that, regarding both tax demands and military activity, our U.S. Caesar is so much worse than his Roman one was -- these people should be warned against reading Martin Hengel’s little book Victory Over Violence. The facts would only cause embarrassment.

Freeing the American Pulpit

The pulpit in the Protestant church stands as a symbol of God’s Word. An open Bible habitually adorns it, meaning to signify that the pulpit freely declares that Word.

But "adorns" is probably a most apt verb. After 22 years in the pastoral ministry in the Presbyterian Church in the United States (PCUS), it seems obvious to me that the American Protestant pulpit is anything but free. It is, instead, held hostage by various monied interests.

God’s truth as it is set forth in the Bible cuts diametrically across so many aspects of the American way of life that most church members reject it. Some time ago, I preached a sermon on Jesus concept of the Kingdom of God. I pointed out that I did not think Jesus was talking about a political entity or some kind of chaplaincy to the political establishment. I suggested that he was talking about a radical reorganization of life, and that what he preached was thought of by those who heard him as sedition or insurrection.

One member of the congregation took issue with me as he left the sanctuary. He said, "That is not the idea I was brought up with, and I don’t think you should be saying those things from the pulpit." I replied that his type of response was precisely what I had been alluding to in my sermon. We have not usually understood the radical nature of what Jesus proposed. The parishioner said that he did not want to think about that and that he wanted to continue to believe what he always had. A short time later, he and his family decided to move to another church.

More recently, I preached a sermon on the unity of the church. I pointed out that diverse interpretations of the Scriptures have emerged, dividing Christians. Many of these interpretations, I indicated, are not supported by the Bible. For instance, I said, "The Bible does not say that a belief in the virgin birth is necessary for salvation. But we have sometimes made it so.

Scratch one more couple. They became very upset and have not been back to worship since. It did not help any to tell them that I personally accept the virgin birth. Neither did it matter that they could not substantiate from the Bible the view that that belief is a condition of salvation. They refused to listen to something they did not want to hear, even though no one was insisting that they change.

As I reflect on preaching generally in the church today, it seems to me that the pulpit is devoid of the life-changing truth which it is meant to declare. I do not mean to say that there are no preachers who are communicating biblical truth in its fullness. There are some. But they are the exception rather than the rule. There are few places today, I think, where the preacher feels free from reprisal if he or she preaches something unpopular, even though it be true.

When a minister is installed in a Presbyterian church, the congregation takes a vow "to receive the word of truth from his mouth." But not many church members really mean that. If they do not hear what they like, they will go elsewhere. Most of the time they do not have to look very hard for another church: many ministers who know these facts of life are reluctant to preach anything that might disturb someone.

If the biblical truths were really being preached in all of their fullness, one of two things would result. Either we would see a grass-roots revolution throughout the whole country, or most preachers would be out of a job. Neither is the case. One needs only to note which churches are growing rapidly in membership or which preachers are popular and pulling in millions of dollars. The growing churches are those that concentrate on "saving souls" and avoid any practical application of faith to life. The preachers of the electronic church fill the airwaves with "born again" stories about people who are enjoying the good life because they have accepted Jesus. Preachers of growing local churches "save" their congregations every Sunday morning so that they can return the next Sunday for more navel-gazing.

The Cruel Facts of Life

In 1965 John Knox Press published a book titled The Unsilent South, a collection of 19 sermons preached on the race situation by Presbyterian ministers during the height of the civil rights movement when communities were being torn asunder by demonstrations. Of the 19 sermons in the book, only six were by preachers from churches with more than 500 members. The great majority of the authors were not big names in the denomination. Few of them would be known by their names in Presbyterian circles, and none would be recognized at all outside the denomination. Undoubtedly, more than 19 ministers preached on the subject. I do not know how the editor of the book chose the sermons. But it is likely that the preachers in the large churches where the power lies were silent or skirted the issue.

Of the 19 who preached the sermons, four lost their pulpits as a direct result of their involvement in the issue. There is no way of knowing how many more moved on to "fields of greater service" because of later developments traceable to their preaching on the race issue. It is also interesting to note that these ministers are still largely unknown in the denomination, and none has ascended the ladder to a position of power. Of the 19, only six are listed in the ministerial directory of the General Assembly’s minutes as being in the pastoral ministry. And only one of those six is pastor of a church with more than 500 members.

If a survey were to be taken, I think we would find the same situation with regard to current issues. We are not hearing enough from the pulpit about disarmament, about economic policies which keep people poor, or about any of the other issues which cry out for a word of biblical instruction.

In Old Testament times, there were two types of preachers. Those whose writings we have as Scripture felt the call to proclaim the Word of Yahweh: they were not hired by anyone, nor did they obtain their office through inheritance. They saw the need for the Word of Yahweh in their nation, and they declared the unvarnished truth. Amos cried, "I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet, but the Lord called me from following after the flock and said, ‘Go, preach to my people, Israel.’"

There were also the professional prophets, who usually got their office through family lines or succession. They were on the payroll of the king. So as we read in the Book, their word was quite different from the word of those who were called. They mouthed the words they knew would please those who paid their keep. They were not concerned about bringing the Word of Yahweh to bear on the practices of the nation and individuals. The status quo was good for them, as it was for those "who sold the needy for a pair of shoes," or for those who made entangling alliances with pagan nations and trusted in military might.

It was, therefore, not unusual for the professional prophet to stand against the called prophet. As Isaiah remarked, the professional preached peace -- when he should have been warning the king of impending destruction. Jeremiah stood alone in condemning the immorality and corruption of the nation while the professionals counseled military preparation and treaties with foreign nations.

It would not be far from the mark to say that Protestant clergy today stand in the same danger as did the professionals of the Old Testament. Though we still give lip service to the "call," we are on the payroll. Our keep is paid by those we serve, and that makes it very difficult to speak about concrete sins.

Dazzling the Congregation

The big issue in the church today is survival -- for the preacher, career survival. He or she makes a living by preaching and pastoral work, and any pastor who thinks that pay is not determined in proportion to how comfortable the congregation feels is rather naïve. Not only does the minister’s income not go up if new members are not taken in (and "take in" is often truer than we will admit); neither will that income go up if members leave. It is a very practical matter. And as a minister gets older -- with children to put through college and retirement to plan for -- it becomes even more practical.

Income is not the only career concern; another one is the move to a new pastorate. Unless one can point to a good record in the present church, one is not likely to be in much demand by other churches. This is true not only as it concerns moving to a larger church: it is true of moving, period. Every church, large or small, is looking for that prophet who can dazzle a congregation every Sunday morning, who can make the coins ring in the coffers, who can cause a water shortage by baptizing converts.

There is a real stigma attached to a minister who has not been "successful"; it is generally thought that something must be wrong with such an individual. I do not know how we explain the fact that Jeremiah was thrown into a well and left to die, that Amos was told to go back home and eat bread, that John the Baptist was beheaded, that Jesus was crucified, that most of the apostles were martyred -- as were countless other prophets, down to the present.

In the Bible, and in history since biblical times, it has been the usual thing for a prophet to be in trouble. Always, those who have dared to stand for the right have been martyred or persecuted. And yet, somehow we expect that the parish preacher can denounce sin and still be popular.

But the great majority of churches are struggling to survive, and their goals do not concern mission. They are more concerned to ask: How can we at least stay even on membership; how can we keep up with inflation? In fact, the church that is not growing is not regarded as a success, and neither is its pastor. The nonproductive preacher is expendable; a congregation can get another one. What is important is that the organization be kept intact. (It does not matter that it may not be worth saving.) One is reminded of the comment made by the religious leaders who conspired to get rid of Jesus. One of them said that it was expedient that one man die rather than that the whole nation perish (John 11 :50). It never occurred to them that the nation was already apostate and not worth saving.

No Permission Needed

The real solution for the church’s problems today must begin with the integrity of the pulpit. The preacher must be concerned with preaching the truth no matter how unpopular it may be. The pulpit’s task is not to entertain. Nor is it to tell half-truths, which are never more dangerous than when coming from the pulpit. To preach the grace of God in Jesus Christ without also preaching his demands is a half-truth. There is no salvation apart from responding to the demands to make that grace manifest in life. Reconciliation must become incarnate in this world. And that involves an application of God’s Word to the issues which continue to erect barriers between people and nations, to the practices which alienate and oppress people, and to the false theologies which allow people to think that they are devout Christians when in fact they are not.

The preacher will never make this move by waiting until the congregation grants permission. Indeed, the minister does not need the congregation’s permission; it is his or her solemn duty, by virtue of ordination, to preach the truth. The book on polity for the Presbyterian Church U.S. states that the office of the minister of the word "is the first in the Church, both for dignity and usefulness." "When a Minister, the Teaching Elder, is called by a congregation to labor as its Pastor, it belongs to the office . . . to feed the flock, by reading, expounding, and preaching the Word. . . ."

The pastor alone is responsible for the content of that preaching. No limitations are set by any authority, either in or out of the church, and no approval is required from anyone. That, of course, does not, mean that the preacher can be reckless or irresponsible. He or she owes it to the congregation -- and to God -- to be true to biblical exegesis and exposition, as well as to be accurate about current issues and problems.

One must also avoid being dogmatic about solutions to complex dilemmas; few ministers are qualified to pronounce answers to today’s difficult economic and political questions. But we have too often used that difficulty as an excuse to avoid saying anything about burning issues which demand guiding principles from the Word of God. While dogmatic solutions should not be proclaimed from the pulpit, issues must be raised about which laypeople must think and on which they must be challenged to work for solutions. After all, they are the ones who work in the marketplace; they are the ones in government; they are the ones with lines of influence and power to implement God’s grace in society.

Congregations should be made to realize, that the minister has that authority and to receive preaching for what it is meant to be -- the proclamation of a life-changing Word from God. But they can be brought to that understanding only as the preacher dares to proclaim the Word in all of its fullness. In so doing, he or she demonstrates not only a willingness to risk the consequences of obedience, but also that he or she too stands under the judgment of the same Word, is willing to repent, to change, and to help change the circumstances in which we all live.

Preachers dare not play it safe, thinking they can remain immune to the implications of the Word. They dare not ask their people to risk what they themselves are unwilling to risk. Perhaps that is why church members do not usually take the Word any more seriously than they do. It is only when the congregation sees that the preacher is willing to take a chance that the members will be inspired to do likewise. Of course, a preacher’s risk-taking does not guarantee a hearing. But some will hear and respond, and it is on these that the church must be built.

The pulpit that declares the unvarnished truth will not have a large following. Conditioned as the American public is to the image of success and the false idea that America is a Christian nation, the truth will be viewed as unpatriotic, unbiblical and unacceptable by most of the people who hear it. The church must be willing to accept that. The majority of congregations will be considerably smaller than they are now. But they will be wore vital and truer to the mission given to them by their Lord and Master.

The first step toward obedience on the part of the church is an unfettered pulpit.

The Legitimacy and Limits of Freedom of Choice

The controversy over abortion is frequently reduced to a battle of slogans. "Abortion is murder." "Women should have the right to control their own bodies." Liberals generally are aware that the former assertion is open to question. Thoughtful liberals recognize the limits of the latter claim. But my impression is that the people with whom I usually find myself in alliance are not equally cognizant of the shortcomings of a third claim, which goes under the heading "freedom of choice." My concern here is with the pro-choice argument, although I hope the social and ethical principles I cite may provide a framework in which other partial appeals may be evaluated.

Should a woman with an unwanted pregnancy have the freedom to choose an abortion for herself, or should the state forbid abortions to everybody? This issue is part of a class of problems related to the extent of individual freedom permissible in relation to. the state’s right to limit freedom for social and moral reasons,

The Tension Between Freedom and Limits

Let me begin by stating that a good society will do three things: (1) It will protect and promote the welfare of all its citizens. (2) It will provide a range of freedom for individuals as extensive as possible compatible with equal freedom for all other persons. (3) It will provide rights, opportunities, protections and rewards to all on an equal basis and will not discriminate against any person on irrelevant grounds. These are principles that most Americans would generally accept. But within any society that seeks to be just and good, a tension will inevitably arise between individual freedom and the right of the state to limit freedom for moral and social reasons.

Initially, it seems wise and just to give individuals as much freedom as possible to do as they please, consistent with an equal freedom for everybody else. But we also recognize the right and necessity for the state to limit freedom when its exercise harms other people, infringes upon their rights, or offends accepted moral principles. A simple example: we take it for granted that individuals should be free to go to the ice cream parlor and choose whether to have vanilla or chocolate or tutti-frutti or whatever. However, we also assume that the state should prohibit individuals from going to the ice cream parlor and forcing the waiter at gunpoint to serve up a dish of tutti-frutti. Armed robbery is a crime. The state rightfully limits freedom of choice with respect to armed robbery. It permits freedom of choice between vanilla and tutti-frutti when the ice cream is going to be paid for.

A good many of the issues that baffle us today have to do with the tension between individual liberty and social legislation limiting freedom of choice. If I own a business and want to hire people to work for me, do I have freedom of choice with respect to the persons I will employ? Suppose I am prejudiced against Jews, blacks, women and southerners. Do I have a right to employ only white northern gentile males? The legislative consensus of our society is that we do not have this freedom.

Other issues are even more difficult. When does "affirmative action" to hire minorities become "reverse discrimination" against majorities? The answer is not easy.

We have recently been reading about the case of Chad Green. The courts ordered chemotherapy for two-year-old Chad -- a conventional medical treatment for leukemia. The parents objected; preferring to rely on the unproven effects of the drug Laetrile, they fled Massachusetts and went to Mexico. The child eventually died. Does the state have the right to decide the appropriate medical treatment for children against their parents’ wishes? Most people would probably say, "Well, it all depends." But depends on what?

Mary Northern, an elderly woman, was taken from her home in Tennessee by the police. Her feet had been frostbitten and then burned while she was trying to thaw them by an open fire. Gangrene set in. The doctors tried to persuade her to have her feet amputated to save her life. She refused. The courts ordered the operation anyway, against her will. Did Mary Northern have the right of choice with respect to her own legs and her own life?

In Pittsburgh a judge ordered a man to explain why he should not be forced to give 21 ounces of bone marrow to save the life of his 39-year-old cousin. A doctor testified that removing the marrow presented a minimal risk for the donor and offered the recipient a 50 per cent chance to live. Because they were close relatives, the transplant was likely to be successful. Does the state have the right to force a person to give a part of his or her own body to save the life of another? Or should the individual have freedom of choice?

Mediating Principles

Conflicts arise between individual freedom of choice and the right of the state to protect and promote the welfare of all its citizens. Let me state some principles that may help us mediate between the range of state action and the scope of individual choice: (1) The state should limit freedom of choice when the exercise of that choice will cause significant, irreparable or unnecessary harm to another person or persons. (2) Freedom of choice should be curtailed when actions flowing from that choice have extensive social consequence in violation of widely or universally held beliefs and values (e.g., the Mormon choice to practice polygamy).

Now let us look at the other side. (1) Freedom of choice should be allowed when the consequences are limited to those making the decision or have trivial, or beneficial or nonobjectionable effects on others. (2) Freedom of choice should be allowed in those matters on which a plurality of views are held -- views based on well-articulated principles rooted in cultural tradition or widely recognized moral, philosophical and religious beliefs. For example, the right to conscientious objection to war is recognized in the U.S. and several other countries.

Now these two sets of principles are in tension with each other, but they help us get a bit more specific in trying to decide whether the state should prohibit or permit freedom of choice on certain matters. In the final analysis, intuition and judgment have to bridge the remaining distance between general principles and a particular case. That is where the battle is frequently fought, because our final application of principles puts some of us in conflict with others who come out at a different place.

Finally, let us come to the question of abortion itself. Consider the relationship of a mother to a child or fetus. We would all agree that the state should permit a mother to choose whether she will use Pampers or cloth diapers. We would all agree that the state should not permit a mother to kill her five-year-old child for persistent disobedience. The principles I have stated above will serve very well to tell us why the state should permit choice with respect to diapers and to prohibit it with respect to murder. Now for the tough one. Does the state have the right to prohibit a woman from terminating an unwanted pregnancy by abortion in the early stages -- say, the first trimester of pregnancy? Or should freedom of choice be permitted?

A Basis for Decision

How shall we decide? The question now finally comes down to two points relating to the principles I have stated.

1. How do we regard the status of the fetus? At what point does a developing embryo or infant acquire the full rights and status and protection of a person? Those who believe that human life begins at the point of conception rightly conclude that the state should forbid freedom of choice with respect to abortion. For them, abortion is murder. It is comparable to taking the life of a five-year old child. Those who believe that the full rights of personhood are not acquired until some later stage of pregnancy or at birth can agree that terminating an unwanted pregnancy in the early stages is a morally defensible option. It serves the legitimate rights and purposes of the potential mother without unduly infringing upon the legitimate rights of others. Therefore the woman should have the freedom to choose an abortion.

2. There is a second issue, involving a tension between two of the principles elaborated already. The anti-freedom-of-choice advocates hold to one of them, pro-freedom-of-choice advocates to the other. As I said earlier, the state should restrict freedom of choice when the exercise of that freedom has extensive social consequences violating widely or universally held beliefs and values. Those who say that freedom of choice should not be allowed in the case of abortion can appeal to this principle. I also indicated that the state should permit freedom of choice on matters where a plurality of views are held, based on well-articulated principles rooted in cultural tradition or widely recognized moral, philosophical or religious beliefs. The pro-choice advocates can appeal to this principle.

To summarize, the view that freedom of choice should not be permitted in the case of abortion is based on two principles: (1) Abortion does grievous, irreparable and unnecessary harm to the developing fetus, regarded as deserving the full rights of personhood. (2) It violates widely held beliefs and values in our society and has extensive social consequences.

Those who advocate freedom of choice in the case of abortion base their argument (or could do so) on two principles. (1) It serves the interests of the mother and does not do grievous or unnecessary harm to another person since the fetus is not in fact or claim a full person. (2) A plurality of responsible views are held in our society about the morality of abortion, and the state should not force everyone to live by the standards of one segment of society.

Since my appeal here is primarily to freedom-of-choice advocates, let me suggest two pertinent conclusions from this discussion. First, it should be recognized that those who would forbid freedom of choice are taking a political view consistent with their moral view that abortion is murder. Second, those who advocate freedom of choice have a weak case in the absence of a position on the humanity of the fetus. Freedom of choice is not a moral option for the state to choose if indeed the embryo or fetus is regarded as an "unborn child." Only if the full personhood of the developing fetus can be denied on responsible moral grounds can the freedom-of-choice option arise as a fully defensible social policy. Some pro-choice advocates ignore or avoid this point because it complicates the arguments.

Those who are willing to base their argument permitting abortions entirely on the plurality-of-views doctrine should ask themselves questions like the following: Suppose some people thought it permissible for mothers to kill their disobedient five-year-olds (cf. Deut. 21:18-21). How many people would be required to hold that view before we should grant freedom of choice in this case? Some people believe (often on theological grounds) that it is all right to discriminate against blacks and women. How much weight is to be given the plurality-of-views doctrine in this area as a basis for granting freedom of choice to discriminate?

A weak case can be made for permitting abortions on the grounds that responsible people disagree on the matter. A stronger case would include a defense of the incomplete humanity of the fetus. A person who believes that abortion is wrong is on shaky ground in granting others the option to practice it solely on the basis of freedom of choice. Either abortion must be shown to be a special case, or freedom of choice must be allowed in other cases where a person calls for state action to enforce his or her convictions. I am convinced that there is no position on this issue that does not have highly objectionable consequences. Clarity and consistency are well-nigh impossible, no matter which option we choose. But that is all the more reason for us to think as clearly, coherently and deeply as we possibly can.

A Local Display of World Communion

Is World Communion Sunday a symbol of all believers’unity in Christ or a display of continuing disunity? I saw this issue dramatized one Sunday in the mid-’70s when I feared our World Communion celebration would explode into an ugly demonstration of worldly divisions.

Two women were walking down the aisle to receive the symbols of the body and blood of Jesus Christ. These women represented a conflict that in the previous months had torn apart the church, the community and me. This conflict was a small version of a broader one that had troubled our nation for a decade and today still plagues many parts of the world.

This particular crisis began one Saturday afternoon. I was dressing for a wedding when the telephone rang. The caller, named Mary, said she was a Presbyterian who had recently moved into our area from New Jersey. She had attended a Baptist church near where she now lived, but really had not felt at home there. Could she attend our church?

"Of course," I replied. "Everyone is always welcome at our church."

Those words came out automatically. Churches in every community I had lived in said the same thing. "Everyone is always welcome" was understood by people in each community to mean "everyone like us." The fact that this woman felt she had to ask indicated that either she did not understand unspoken rules or she intended to test them.

As I was going out the door the telephone rang again. This time it was a young woman who was a member of my church. She spoke with some agitation. "The woman you just talked to -- she called from my house. Did you know that she is black?"

"No, but I wondered," I replied.

"It isn’t my fault," she continued. "She came over to use my phone. Then she saw the offering envelopes on the coffee table. I told her we had a friendly church and that you were such a good minister. And she said that she was a Presbyterian, and . . ."

"Don’t worry; you did what was right," I assured her.

The wedding with which I assisted was held in a large Baptist church about five miles from the church I served. Perhaps I was just in a bad mood, but I did not enjoy that celebration. The wedding cake symbolized my perception of the whole affair. It was huge, expensive and garishly decorated, with tasteless layers and sickeningly sweet icing.

Later that evening I learned that this was the church Mary had attended. She had been invited first to witness the baptism of a neighbor’s daughter. After she attended the next two Sundays, the minister was warned in an anonymous telephone call that the church and/or parsonage would be burned down ‘if that nigger keeps coming to church." (Within a year. however, the congregation voted that people of all races would be welcome at their worship services.)

But what would happen at the small church I served? It was located in what had been until after World War II an isolated fishing village. Most of the residents were descendants of English peasants and sailors who had settled on the coast of the New World in the late colonial period. They were warm and friendly to people once they got to know them, but they would not choose to be in the forefront of social change.

The only black woman who had ever lived within three miles of the church was married to a white soldier. People who upheld community tradition seldom spoke to her, and when they did it was with the sort of benevolent bewilderment that others might display toward the village idiot or the town drunk.

On Saturday evening I spoke to all the elders to explain the situation to them. None of them shouted Hallelujah! One expressed fear that this woman was part of a conspiracy, and that if she came one Sunday, the next Sunday there would be a dozen blacks at services not to worship but to make trouble. Another worried that Mary’s participation might cause a drop in contributions, and pointed out that our budget was tight enough already. However, one of the newly elected women elders volunteered to bring Mary to church.

Two minutes before the prelude on Sunday morning Mary slipped in quietly and sat on a back pew. As we began the service, the congregation was tense and quiet. It was as if we were on a small boat, drifting over a dangerous shoal. Everyone was afraid to make a sudden move or speak above a whisper for fear that even such slight disturbances could cause the craft to lurch against the sharp rocks that lay hidden just below the waves.

We made it through that Sunday, and through a dozen succeeding Sundays without an obvious incident. A few people began to speak politely to Mary; others obviously avoided her. Some hoped that she would quietly disappear.

However, this was not to be. Mary began attending the church membership class I taught, and on the Sunday before Christmas she joined our church.

I was, in general, very proud of how the congregation accepted this. One of the people who pleasantly surprised me was Jan. Her only excuse for being a "liberal" in this matter was that the pain and suffering she had endured as an aging widow who had reared a large family alone had purged her heart of the pride that prevents people from loving and understanding others.

When we moved into the living-room for our conversation, I knew it would be a serious one. Sam told me who in the church was most upset, and the comments that some were making about going to another church or canceling pledges of financial support. Then he said, ‘This has been my church for 40 years, and nobody is going to keep me away. But with Margie it is different."

Margie joined in. "I just can’t go back. I wasn’t brought up that way. It doesn’t seem like the same church any more. I can’t go back."

She wasn’t angry, she was afraid. It was as if her husband was trying to walk on water, and though he might not drown, she know what would happen if she tried.

Margie had been taking care of the communion service. Before I left she brought me a box containing the communion utensils and suggested that someone else take over this responsibility.

For the following seven or eight months, Sam came to church alone. Then one Sunday Margie came and sat in her usual seat beside Sam on the next-to-the-last row. I never asked what caused her to change her mind, but was pleased to see her in her seat every Sunday up through World Communion Sunday.

Communion had come to have a growing significance for me and the church. We had studied it in Sunday school and church membership classes. For a year we had been using the liturgy in the worshipbook. Families in the church took turns baking a large loaf to be shared in the service. A widow had donated a chalice, pitcher and plates for the bread in memory of her husband. We set up tables before the front pew and invited worshipers to sit at table to receive the elements.

On World Communion Sunday, everything seemed to be ready when I checked just before the prelude. The larger-than-usual congregation included both Mary and Margie.

The service seemed to move quickly to communion. I gave the invitation to the Lord’s Table: "Friends, this is the joyful feast of the people of God. Many will come from east and west, from north and south, and sit at the table in the kingdom of God."

It soon became apparent that too many were coming. We were running out of cups, and at least a dozen people in the back rows had not been served. I whispered quietly to the person in charge of serving, "We need more cups!"

"We don’t have any more!" she replied in a loud whisper.

What were we to do? A sudden inspiration came to me, and I shared it with the congregation immediately. "We have run out of cups. It is not a Presbyterian tradition, but I invite all those who have not been served, and are willing, to partake of a common cup, the chalice." (I had poured wine into the chalice as a symbolic gesture.)

A dozen people started coming forward. I could hardly believe it when I realized that Mary would be sitting on the end of the front pew beside Margie when I served the cup.

In my heart I thought, "God, why are you doing this to me? I had planned such a beautiful day to honor your name, and you conspired to use it all to destroy me. Open up the floor and let me fall straight into the flames of hell, and get it over with flow!"

When I gave the chalice to Mary, she cradled it gently, drank and passed the chalice to Margie. Margie drank and passed the cup to her husband. He drank, as did all the others at the table. Then all returned quietly to their pews for the closing hymn and benediction.

As the choir sang "Amen" I went to the door of the sanctuary, and as the congregation began to file out I prayed, "Lord, let now your servant depart in peace; for my eyes have seen your salvation."

Indefensible War

The "grave and gathering danger" hanging over the world is not so much the danger that Saddam Hussein presents (as President Bush insists) but the danger of American preemptive war against Iraq. The Bush administration believes that such a war is necessary to remove Saddam Hussein from power, thus preventing him from acquiring nuclear capabilities and deploying them along with the biological and chemical weapons already in his possession. There is no doubt that Hussein’s regime is evil, oppressive and cruel toward its own citizenry, especially minorities, and that it represents a major threat to its near and distant neighbors. As Christians committed to justice and the well-being of all people, we must condemn Hussein’s injustices and work toward a just government in Iraq. These same commitments should lead us, however, to condemn the proposed preemptive war.

Such a war is likely to bring long-term instability to a sensitive and volatile region and inflame Islamic extremism. It would violate standards of international law and create a dangerous precedent for other nations (China, India, Pakistan, Russia) that will decide to engage in preemptive wars that they believe are justified. Such political and legal considerations are reason enough not to start war against Iraq. In addition, Christians must highlight compelling moral reasons against such a war and draw attention to grave consequences it would have for already tense Christian-Muslim relations.

Over the centuries Christians have developed two basic attitudes toward war. Both would rule out as immoral a preemptive war against Iraq. The first is pacifism, which opposes military action in all circumstances and thus condemns a preemptive war. From the perspective of this tradition, such war would be a perversion of Jesus’ basic teachings and therefore not simply unchristian but positively anti-Christian. Whereas Jesus said, "If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also," President Bush, who claims to be a follower of Jesus, says, "If you think that Hussein will strike you on one cheek, hit him, along with innocent bystanders."

According to the "just war" tradition, which does not deem all military action illegitimate, a preemptive war against Iraq would he morally unacceptable. The central criterion is a "just cause. The Christian tradition has consistently understood that, in the words of Thomas Aquinas, "those who are attacked should be attacked because they deserve it on account of some fault." Preemptive war by definition does not satisfy this criterion, since it is waged not to avenge wrongs" actually committed (Augustine), but to prevent wrongs that are only anticipated. Unless it were demonstrated that Hussein’s regime posed a clearly identifiable and imminent danger to the U.S. (or to Iraq’s neighbors), the war against Iraq would be manifestly unjust. No persuasive evidence of such a threat has yet been presented, and no links have been established between Hussein s regime and networks of terrorist organizations (except for a disputed and indirect report about Muhammed Atta meeting with an Iraqi intelligence agent in Prague).

A preemptive war is unjust for a very simple reason: it cannot be just to condemn masses of people to certain death in order to avert the potential death of an equal or lesser number of people. President Bush acts as if the entire population of Iraq consists of one single person. In his speech before the United Nations, Bush referred to the suffering of the Iraqi people -- who oppose American intervention although they dislike their cruel leader -- and cited this suffering as motivation for war. But he never mentioned the horrible deaths that would be an inescapable consequence of the war. The death toll among the Iraqi population in the planned war is likely to exceed the 100,000 Iraqi casualties of the 1991 gulf war. This would pile suffering upon suffering, for Iraqi people already groan, not only under the iron fist of their leader, but also under the sanctions imposed upon Iraq after the gulf war. According to UN statistics, 500,000 to 1 million Iraqi children have died as a consequence of sanctions. And we should not forget the likely American casualties, estimated by some at 20,000 to 30,000.

In addition to being indefensible on moral grounds, a pre-emptive war against Iraq would damage the already difficult relations between Christians and Muslims. In the popular Muslim perception, America is identified with Christianity. A war led by an American Christian president against a Muslim nation -- even if most Muslim nations dislike that nation’s regime -- would he seen as a crusade against Islam. Daily pictures of suffering Iraqis in media throughout the Islamic world would fuel extremism and push young people into terrorist networks. Even more important (if one takes a long-term view of things), the war would make all efforts at dialogue between Christianity and Islam extremely difficult. As a result, current efforts to bridge a gulf and lessen tensions between these two great traditions would be shut down.

The preemptive war against Iraq is not "a great moral cause and a great strategic goal," as President Bush claims. For political, legal, moral and interfaith reasons, it is imperative for Christians to condemn the prospect of such a war unequivocally. Christians must organize demonstrations, the leaders of its churches must make public statements, and individuals must begin collecting signatures -- all to prevent the leaders of our nation from engaging in an immoral and unwise war.

How Moral Can a Business Be?

In the past few years, probably as an aftermath to the Watergate and post-Watergate disclosures of how the American business and political world is sometimes run, ethics has become of lively interest in business and professional schools and among both popular and seriously reflective writers. Most of the popular writings and the case materials used by the schools have tended to be exposes; many make interesting reading. Most are stories of how some businessman broke the law or bribed and otherwise cheated (legally or illegally) his way to a big sale and even bigger success. However, not all of these stories provide good material for discussing ethics. Robert Vesco’s capers are not relevant, for example, because -- it is alleged -- his stock in trade was fraud. No one seriously considers business fraud an ethical issue; both the law and business conventions treat such dishonest acts as so clearly immoral as to be illegal. Yet perhaps a case can be made for defending some business illegality. If the technical violations involved are minor compared to the possible social gains, the illegality may appear trivial. In legal cases involving violations in some species of market behavior, this is often an implied defense (e.g., in market share cases). The recent change in Department of Justice guidelines for mergers and acquisitions is an example of new administrative attitudes toward market shares. When one deals with such borderline areas, the ethical discussions become interesting.

The courts did not judge the Ford Motor Company’s supposed indifference to the safety of the rear end of the Pinto to be criminal indifference or negligence. Yet many, perhaps most, people who heard of the Pinto case decided that the company had acted immorally, even if its conduct had not been illegal. In contrast, public opinion is not outraged by some kinds of price fixing. For years real estate brokers, supposedly in competition with each other, agreed on a schedule of commissions. Only recently have court cases been brought to restrain such price fixing. Has the ideal of morality changed? Although the U.S. Steel Corporation probably is seen by the public as an archetypal monopolist, both the courts and the markets have disagreed with this assessment. The public’s moral perceptions, the experts’ opinions and the court’s holdings all may and often do differ about what propriety is or should be.

Bribing foreign government officials and go-betweens for business favors was not illegal, according to American law, when the practice was exposed by the press in the 1970s. Moral revulsion and indignation in the Congress and elsewhere, however, led to the passing of an antibribery law which makes foreign bribes by American firms an offense. Now some legislators, it is said, are having second thoughts. Although the 1982 exposure of the bribery of foreign agents by American firms led to heavy fines (offset many times by heavier sales), now American businesspersons charged with bribing foreign officials are primarily viewed as having acted illegally rather than immorally.

Obviously, moral and legal behavior are not identical. Indeed, some legal behavior may appear quite immoral to sensitive observers. For example, college students are morally outraged when they discover that their universities and colleges quite legally hold securities in companies that invest in South Africa or that make munitions. It is the confusion between moral and legal acts which tends to mar some of the current discussions of business ethics.

There is a kind of implied double jeopardy in evaluating an action as. both illegal and immoral. In truth, the action may be both, but a functioning legal system should make the charge of immorality unnecessary. Conspiracy is illegal and, in addition, is regarded as immoral by most people. But mergers require a case-by-case analysis to test their legality and/or morality. Economist Milton Friedman’s view that the purpose of a firm is to enhance the economic status of its shareholders within the legal and conventional restraints does not seem to be a very useful guide. To be sure, firms must be profitable in order to survive. But in cases where the law permits questionable practices, should a company be willing to act immorally in order to ensure high profits? Should it permit practices that, though legal, allow industrial accidents to occur or that do not adequately assure the healthful quality of its product? Should morality, an extralegal evaluation, not be an implicit guide from time to time?

The position that obedience to the law is all that is expected of a business is obviously socially dysfunctional in a world in which the managers of business have at their disposal knowledge which permits them to evaluate the implications of the laws and rules which they must obey. Morality begins in going beyond the requirements of the law, although this may also be dangerous. In South Africa, it may be illegal for a manager to direct his firm to treat blacks on a par with whites, even though such an act is moral. In the United States, it might perhaps be moral to hire people with low productivity at less than minimum wages if they otherwise would have been unemployed, although such a practice would be illegal.

Not only is there a dichotomy between profit-making and morality, but moral actions always involve a cost. This cost may be in money, effort, risk or income foregone. It would be strange indeed if we recognized that all income has to be bought, but expected morality, the most precious product, to be costless.

What is the nature of the moral actor in business? Ethical or moral discussion is descriptive, prescriptive or both. Descriptive ethics deals with the why and how of ethical decision-making, while prescriptive ethics defines the good and the evil. The first is an exercise in analysis; the second is definitional (or hortatory). By definitional, I mean that a normative rule such as "Thou shalt not kill" is presented. Faith or bias leads people to accept the precept, although secular moralists usually attempt to distinguish their moral principles from those of religious people by arguing that their moralities are based on reason, experience, human values and/or rationality, while religious precepts are based merely on faith.

The assertion that values and morals are always cut on the bias is probably not far from correct. Faith is implicit in moral definition and injunction. An understanding of ethical precepts and the choice of such values ultimately rest on reason, experience and hunch. Hence, we need to examine the nature of our values before we legitimate them as prescriptions and injunctions. To accept secular normative behavior as a matter of faith is to confuse secular and religious values. We are mainly concerned with reasoned behavior in business affairs.

It appears, therefore, that the secular ethical decisions facing business concerns are always matters of judgment. It then follows that ethical decisions are uniquely limited to people, and can never be the product of institutions. Hence, business as an institution is amoral and, like any other institution, is an artifact rather than a natural person. The Romans called corporations or legally organized institutions personae fictae -- made-up people.

The second example is from Corporations and Morality, by Thomas Donaldson (Prentice-Hall, 1982). Here again the firm, the corporation, is treated as a judging person. Donaldson argues that in order to be defined as moral agents (not necessarily real persons), corporations must be able to use moral reasons in decision-making and control corporate acts, policies and rules. He finds these capacities in corporations. Later he observes that subordinates in the corporation tend to obey the rules and inertia (thoughtless rules) of the bureaucracy, and that "commands then flow from the pinnacle of the bureaucracy to its base, and when the bureaucracy is large, the lines of accountability become overextended." This implies that many people in a corporation take orders or follow rules, but someone or some group of managers makes new rules and allows the old ones to persist. It is the manager, not the corporation, who is the judging agent.

Such business-ethics writers as DeGeorge and Donaldson have opted for the view that the corporation or the firm morally transcends the real person. They are engaging in a kind of sociological "as-if" theology. The mystical body of business is the business or the corporate system. It has no visible head but many leaders and chief executive officers (CEOs). The CEOs are dedicated to maintaining and even extending their minor vicarships, but they are bound by certain restraints and constraints. These limits, requirements and rules have been put in place by some unknown, perhaps religious, force. Particular actions, which are the stuff of business ethics, are measured against this yardstick of righteousness, which sometimes is expressed in law but also is expressed in some values which permeate the society and the marketplace. However, only rarely are there universal rules or agreed-on values for all possible situations.

The minority view, which is more reasonable if less catholic, is that people are the decision-makers. The responsible people in business are the managers. Each manager (really a group of managers) is the representative of the shareholders; he or she must at least act in accordance with the law, but may go beyond the requirements of the law in order to follow his or her own moral values. How a group of managers came by their moral conceptions is analyzed by descriptive ethics, with its reliance on economics, psychology, sociology and all of, the other business and social disciplines. Although it is difficult to explain how moral decisions are made, responsibility and accountability for them cannot be assigned to the institution of business in general or to any particular business. Responsibility and accountability are part of the process of judgment, and judgment is a characteristic reserved for real people. The personal value systems of all those who are involved in business are, then, crucial.

When in 1982 the Supreme Court held that a president of the United States was not accountable at law for his presidential behavior, the court was following a theology of the mystical body of governance. However, several years ago, when lower courts held the managers of the several divisions of different electrical companies to be in violation of the law against market rigging, their logic was based on a belief in personal responsibility.

Standing the Founding Fathers on Their Heads

The most advanced affirmations of religious liberty at the time of the founding of the republic, Thomas Jefferson’s Bill for Establishing Religious Freedom (submitted to the Virginia legislature in 1779 and enacted 1786) and James Madison’s Memorial and Remonstrance Against Religious Assessment (1785), were not widely known until our century. Even the hallowed phrase that the First Amendment built "a wall of separation between church and state" saw the light of day not in a court ruling or piece of legislation, but in a letter from President Jefferson to the Danbury, Connecticut, Baptist Association in 1802. It was not until the 1878 Mormon polygamy decision that the Supreme Court accorded this principle legal recognition.

During the 19th century, evangelical Protestants saw separation as a cornerstone of American freedom -- but interpreted it in the light of their own pre-eminent position in society. But as pluralism increased and evangelical predominance eroded, a broader understanding of the limits of religious freedom became necessary. Although Protestants had relied on it to combat Catholic encroachment in matters like public funding for parochial schools. new questions such as released time for religious instruction, prayer and Bible reading in the public schools, tax exemptions for churches and other religious bodies, and the very meaning of religion itself occupied the attention of jurists. In case after case in the post-World War II decades, Protestant evangelicals found that their views had to compete with others for official acceptance and that their understanding of public religious observances was no longer the accepted norm.

Accordingly, more and more evangelicals have reacted against the doctrine, and some now completely reject it. For instance, Christian television talk show host Pat Robertson angrily declared on the "700 Club" in October 1981 that the wall of separation between church and state was a concept recently created by the federal courts, not the Founding Fathers, and that it was "a deliberate attempt to bring the United States into line with the Constitution, not of the U.S., but of the U.S.S.R." He urged legislative restriction on the federal judiciary and that Christians press for a constitutional amendment "over and above the First Amendment" to guarantee religious liberty. He even said, "We’re the majority, supposedly. Why don’t Christians do something? I’m ready to go out in the streets and revolt" (Church and State, October 1981, pp. 3-4).

Robertson’s statement reflects the current tendency in evangelical circles to fight back against what is perceived to be an ever-increasing constriction of "freedom." Jerry Falwell and other figures in the religious New Right have capitalized on the widespread dissatisfaction among evangelicals by preaching the need for a complete overhaul of the church-state relationship, but they are hardly alone in their endeavors. A whole contingent of evangelical Joshuas has arrived on the scene, hoping to bring down the wall of separation between church and state. That their campaign to bring America "back to God" will, if successful, mean the imposition of their deeply felt religious values upon the nation at large goes without saying.

There are a number of ways in which evangelicals are whittling away at the doctrine of separation, and in effect are "standing the founding fathers on their heads." I would like to focus on three themes that appear repeatedly in the literature now flooding Christian bookstores. Although the writers may be unfamiliar to some Century readers, they appear on Christian talk shows, their works are the subjects of promotional blitzes, and they cite each other as authorities.

A Christian world and life view furnished the basis for this early political thought, which guided the American people for nearly two centuries and whose crowning lay in the writing of the Constitution of 1787. This Christian theism had so permeated the colonial mind that it continued to guide even those who had come to regard the Gospel with indifference or even hostility. The currents of this orthodoxy were too strong to be easily set aside by those who in their own thinking had come to a different conception of religion and hence of government also [pp. 325-26].

Evangelical pop philosopher Francis A. Schaeffer insists that the founding fathers "truly understood what they were doing. They knew they were building on the Supreme Being, who was the Creator, the final reality. And they knew that without that foundation everything in the Declaration of Independence and all that followed would be sheer unadulterated nonsense." Most of those who came to America from Europe "established their own individual civil governments on the Bible. It is, therefore, totally foreign to the basic nature of America at the time of the writing of the Constitution to argue a separation doctrine that implies a secular state" (A Christian Manifesto (Good News, 1981], pp. 33-34).

Attorney John W. Whitehead, who has gained notoriety as a strident foe of separation, maintains in The Second American Revolution (David C. Cook, 1982) that the religion of early America was Judeo-Christian theism, and that it was the glue that held liberty and society together as a whole. The Constitution did not need to mention God because it incorporated the theistic principles of both the Declaration of Independence and the constitutions of the respective states. It "would secure the blessings of liberty" found in the individual states, whose constitutions were openly Christian. Although several states had established churches, they were not theocracies but rather had Christianity as their foundation, and their laws and civil governments were based on biblical principles. Because the laws took the Bible as their reference point, it was possible to upheld liberty of conscience while at the same time restraining external acts like blasphemy which were inimical to good order and government.

Since the founders defined religion in terms of Judeo-Christian theism, the First Amendment was "God-centered." James Madison called religion "the duty we owe our Creator," thus that which was to be protected under the amendment had its reference point in God. But its God-centeredness has been altered by Supreme Court interpretation to the point that it now prevents individual Christians from exercising their beliefs and influencing the society in which they live (pp. 95-96).

Again and again one finds in the current evangelical accounts the novel idea advanced by Francis Schaeffer that American civil government had its origins in "Reformation principles." He holds that the book Lex Rex (Law Is King), written in 1644 by the Scottish divine Samuel Rutherford, had a profound impact on the American constitutional process. It argued that all people, including the king, are subservient to, not above, the law. Lex’s basic presupposition was that government must be based on the "absolutes of the Bible." Schaeffer says these ideas were realized in colonial America through the mediating influence of John Locke and John Witherspoon; the principles that took root here were the concept of a covenant between the ruler, God and the people that precludes the state from claiming absolute power, and that all people are equal because they are born sinners. The former justified the Revolution, since George III violated the covenant by transgressing the people’s rights, and the latter was written into the Declaration of Independence (How Should We Then Live? [Revell, 1976], pp. 109-10; Second American Revolution, pp. 29-30).

Also cited as evidence for theism are the Commentaries of William Blackstone. They allegedly shaped the early nation’s understanding of law by teaching that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom and God is the source of all laws, rights and freedom. As Whitehead puts it, "Unlike the French revolutionaries a few years later, the American colonists knew very well that if the unalienable rights they were urging for were not seen in the context of Judeo-Christian theism, they were without content" (Second American Revolution, pp. 31-32).

The instances of writers stretching the facts of the past to make them fit into some preconceived Christian model are legion. For example, Whitehead declares that neither Thomas Jefferson nor Benjamin Franklin were deists and that "they at least believed in the personal God of the Scriptures even if they denied the deity of Christ." The proof of Franklin’s piety is his oft-cited plea for prayer at the Constitutional Convention. Historians realize that this was a tactic to cool tempers at a time when the deliberations were deadlocked, but the evangelical barrister states that Franklin’s resolution calling for prayers each morning before proceeding with the day’s business in Congress passed, and that the practice of having prayer before the daily sessions of the U.S. Congress continues to this day. Actually there is no record of a resolution providing for prayer. Franklin himself wrote afterwards that "the Convention, except three or four persons, thought prayers unnecessary," yet Whitehead claims that Franklin’s "remarks are clearly derived from the Scriptures" and reveal that "very likely he was operating from Christian presuppositions himself." Further, he "made an appeal for prayer based on the Scriptures," because he was speaking to a group of men "who were predominantly Christians." As for Jefferson, Whitehead says he shared a high view of Christianity, which his statement evidences: "I tremble for my country, when I reflect that God is just," The writer concludes that to call them "true deists is as erroneous as to call Karl Barth an evangelical Christian" (The Separation Illusion [Mott Media, 1977], pp. 20-21).

Gregg Singer reports that evangelical Christianity was held in much higher respect by the majority at the convention of 1787 than it had been in 1776, since so few of the 1776 "radicals" were there. The delegates in 1787 "were willing to accept the benefits of the Gospel in the political and social life of the American people. . . . A more Christian philosophy permeated the thinking and actions of the members" (Theological Interpretation, pp. 44-45).

Even more extreme is the assertion by Schaeffer’s film producer son, Franky V, in his impetuous tract A Time for Anger (Good News, 1982):

Many among the Founders had fled the oppressive monarchies of Europe precisely because they were not given the religious freedom to worship as they pleased, and more importantly, to bring about social change in accordance with God’s law. Far from intending to create a secular, let alone antireligious, state, the Founders wanted to create a society in which the work of the church, once unbound from governmental regulation, might in freedom flower in a variety of forms. They assumed that the Constitution, a distillation of Christian principles (life, liberty, etc.), would be interpreted in the light of the Judeo-Christian tradition, to which even the Deists and free-thinkers among them owed their conception of ethics [pp. 62-63].

Political scientist Robert L. Cord in Separation of Church and State: Historical Fact and Current Fiction (Lambeth, 1982) claims that the religious prohibitions of the First Amendment were designed to be a limitation on the new Congress, denying it the power to establish a national church or religion. The amendment was intended to safeguard the right of individuals to exercise freedom of conscience in religious matters against encroachment by the federal government, and to ensure that such concerns would remain under the control of the several states. Thus Cord labels as "fiction" Justice Hugo Black’s assertion in the Everson ruling (1947) that the First Amendment erected a high and impregnable wall of separation between church and state. Jefferson’s statement to the Danbury Baptists is explained away as applying only to the Congress, not the states. It just curbed congressional power to establish a national religion or provide national restrictions on religious freedom. He insists that the constitutional framers did not envision complete independence of religion and the state, or absolute separation of church and state, and therefore nondiscriminatory or indirect aid to religion and religious institutions was not enjoined by the First Amendment. What Cord overlooks is the process of change and development in American history, which makes the principles that originally guaranteed liberty to Christians of every denominational persuasion equally operative in our highly pluralistic age.

These conservatives believe that pluralism serves as a cover for secularism. Lynn Buzzard, executive director of the Christian Legal Society, avers that this position "excludes religion from participation in the pluralism" and "encourages the expression of all viewpoints EXCEPT those which emerge from a religious commitment." Secularism masquerading as pluralism "is not constitutionally mandated" and is "proscribed as a denial of equal protection" (Freedom and Faith [Good News, 1982], p. 19). Whitehead maintains that secularism is an intolerant religious system that preaches against dogmatism but imposes its own (Second American Revolution, p. 40).

By striking down religious exercises in the public schools on the grounds that they were an establishment of religion and therefore in violation of the First Amendment. the high court made secularism the new "establishment." All religions exist at the pleasure of the secular state and are expected to confine their activities to their designated territory, namely, the church or religious community. Franky Schaeffer decries neutrality as a "myth" which results in a freedom from religion and the exclusion of all those who operate on the basis of religious convictions from involvement in public life (Time for Anger, pp. 19-20). His father adds that separation is used to silence the church. "When Christians speak out on issues, the hue and cry from the humanist state and media is that Christians, and all religions, are prohibited from speaking since there is a separation of church and state" (Christian Manifesto. p. 36).

Many evangelicals -- especially those involved in television ministries, conducting family life seminars, and promoting or operating Christian schools -- emotively inveigh against secular humanism, denounce the godless Supreme Court, attempt to censor textbooks, and trot out the shopworn Humanist Manifestos I and II as proof of an overarching conspiracy to expunge Christianity from the land. Although the very shrillness of the attacks leads people to discount the attackers as fanatics on the fringes of society, their views are too widely shared to be taken lightly. The Supreme Court gave a boost to their conviction that secularism is a genuine competing faith in the ruling in the 1961 Torcaso case, in which "Secular Humanism" was identified as a religion, and in Justice Potter Stewart’s dissent in the 1963 Schempp case, which referred to a refusal to permit religious exercises in schools as not "the realization of state neutrality, but rather as the establishment of a religion of secularism." A lengthy article by Whitehead and former congressman John Conlan in the Texas Tech Law Review in 1978 provided a working definition of secular humanism which has been recycled in various forms and now is widely accepted among conservative evangelicals. Its adherents are said to believe in the irrelevance of deity, supremacy of human reason, inevitability of progress, science as the guide to human progress, autonomy and centrality of the individual, and evolution as an absolute.

To be sure, secular humanism is an elusive concept, a scare word that means different things to different people. It is difficult to pin down someone using the term to obtain an explanation of exactly what is meant. But evangelicals who use it to designate "the enemy" want nothing to do with a pluralistic system that they feel is a smokescreen obscuring the hegemony exercised by an alien, godless ideology. Instead, its hold should be eliminated through disestablishment. Since religious freedoms "have been eroded by the courts" (a phrase used by a prominent evangelical lobbyist in testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee last July), a prayer amendment will enable Christians to regain the right of "free exercise" for their faith in public places, break the "monopoly" that humanism now has, and restore the equilibrium between establishment and free exercise which the courts have taken away.

Obviously, evangelicals do have their finger on something important. They remind us that the separation of church and state is no more an absolute than is the separation of powers. Both are constitutional ideals which should be approximated as nearly as possible while respecting other important principles, Separation should be viewed as a development friendly to religion in a heterogeneous society rather than as a hostile turn of events. Neutrality must not be allowed to degenerate into an establishment of secularism or a device to foster irreligion.

Of course, some excessive limitations on free exercise probably need modification. I, for one, feel that the recent court actions upholding a ban on student-conducted, voluntary religious meetings on school property before or after regular class hours serve unnecessarily to arouse animosity and motivate people to tamper with the Constitution by pushing for a prayer amendment. Schools should also pay more attention to the philosophical issues raised by the controversy over creation and evolution -- although attentiveness should not mean sneaking in sectarian teaching of religion under the subterfuge of "scientific creationism."

On the other hand, evangelicals who promote a warped view of American history in an effort to undo the court rulings on church-state affairs ignore a fundamental point made by Roger Williams more than 300 years ago: "No civil state or country can be truly called Christian, although the Christians be in it." The vague theism of the founding fathers and framers of the Constitution was in effect a civil religion, and this they did establish. The civil faith did draw from the ideals of theism, but it is wrong to assume that therefore the country was founded on Christian beliefs and thus is a Christian nation.

Speaking as an evangelical myself, I agree that such a theocratic construction is inconsistent with Christianity. The kingdom of heaven is in the hearts of people, and its citizens are found throughout the world. It cannot be restricted to a particular locale or people, regardless of formal religious establishments or the enshrinement of pious references to the deity in historic statements, public documents, and speeches by politicians. In a generalized sense America is a nation under God, as all countries are. But it violates our historic tradition as well as the tenets of Christianity to say that we were or are now a Christian nation. That is standing the founding fathers on their heads with a vengeance, and this I categorically reject.

The Shape of an Irreverent Spirituality

The first episode was reading some commentaries on Current Catholicism offered by various newspapers. That week’s issue of the Wanderer featured an article headlined "A Catholic Loyalist Looks at the Herpes Scourge" (September 23, 1982). In terms reminiscent of the fervor of ancient prophets, the writer proclaimed that the current epidemic of venereal herpes was a direct punishment by God for people’s disobedience of the papal encyclical Humanae Vitae. The wrath of God takes painful and ingenious forms, I thought.

Next on the stack of newspapers was the weekly National Catholic Reporter (October 1, 1982). A cursory fingering of its pages revealed the contents to be the usual series of diatribes thundering that true Christianity can be found only in the unique combination of affirming gay Catholicism, fomenting revolution in Latin America, crusading for women’s ordination, and continually hammering away at the banal narrowness of institutional Catholicism.

Well, the mind can take only so much. I sauntered out of the reading room and up to the community bulletin board, where I encountered the latest crisis to invade the peace of the cloister. It seemed that the equipment newly installed in the monastery kitchen was required by contract to be regularly serviced by the company. The serviceman duly arrived and turned out to be -- horror of horrors -- a servicewoman! The spiritual tranquility and perpetual chastity of 150 monks were about to be severely imperiled.

However, all was solved in appropriate hierarchical manner. An abbatial decree posted on the bulletin board announced that the papal enclosure had been "officially lifted" for the areas of the "main corridor, kitchen and pantry" for the specific time of "11:00 AM. to 12:00 noon that day." I wondered what would happen to Cinderella if she hadn’t finished her work by the stroke of noon. (Another monastic wag commented that it would have been easier for the abbot to declare her canonically not a woman.") Honestly, what one has to go through just to be a believing Christian!

And so Jordan grew into his maturity without a God. As a psychiatrist he strove to bring his patients to a freedom which liberated them from the enslaving gods that kept them trapped in the prison of their own fears. But something unexpected happened to Jordan, a series of events which shook him to the depth of his being. One day he happened to glance at a crucifix on the wall of his home (his wife had remained a practicing Catholic). So many hundreds of times before he had glimpsed that same crucifix -- a simple, innocuous religious artifact. In that particular instant, however, an overpowering feeling suddenly swept through him; he felt seized by a mysterious "presence," a Being just beyond the reach of his senses, but absolutely there!

This rush of feeling drained Jordan of all physical strength. As he slumped on the edge of the bed, fearful, weak and aghast at what was occurring, a simple message erupted repeatedly into his consciousness: "Everything will be all right!" This combination of mysterious presence, weakness and consoling message tasted but a few minutes, yet Jordan’s whole life was to be transformed by it. A similar experience occurred a few days later during a quiet moment at his office.

In the weeks that followed, Jordan, for the first time in years, seriously began to reconsider the "God question." Could it be? Is it possible that beyond the projections, beyond the wish-fulfillments and defensive covers, beyond the social conventions divinely legitimated, there may be that "Presence who is watching"? These questions churned for months in his heart and mind and brought Jordan to seek spiritual direction and religious conversation.

The juxtaposition of hours of intense discussion with my psychiatrist friend, the apocalyptic visions of divinely ordained herpes, and the collective monastic angst at a servicewoman’s penetrating the sacred space of the monastery kitchen created for me a psychical religious overload. The human mind may be stretched only so far; then there erupt the beginnings of a strangely different religious attitude. How true it is that to attain to God one must slice through so much distorted drivel that passes for serious religion!

Even in a monastery one has to scream No to the conglomeration of pre-Vatican II trivialities that seem to hang on in the ecclesial body like so many forms of staph become immune to penicillin. However, screaming in the monastery silence is not looked upon favorably, and done too often will result in a forced trip to see my psychiatrist friend with our roles reversed. Instead, the means of survival must be transmuted into another form, into a lifestyle which the anthropologist Paul Radin has shown to be a perennial type in human cultures: that of the skeptic.

In the context of organized churches and ecclesiastical organizations this skeptic might be more accurately named the "irreverent religious." I use the word "religious" in a generic sense; any person, lay or cleric, male or female, vowed or secular, may fit this type. Irreverent religious individuals may be found in universities, suburban homes, monasteries or city parishes. Such people have been appearing more and more in our own day, and it would be profitable to examine the origin, characteristics and shape of the spirituality they practice.

The practitioner of an irreverent spirituality bears a close resemblance to Peter Berger’s man of sociological consciousness. As this individual examines grandiose human motives and ideals, he or she exercises a consistent debunking attitude. The debunking frame of mind is one which, first of all, recognizes that any human choice is composed of a complex mixture of motives and pressures; such is the nature of human motivation and activity. Thus any official or ideal explanation -- even of the most exalted religious positions -- is frequently shot through with motives, desires and intentions that are never acknowledged on the level of explicit interpretation. And frequently these other motives originate in areas that reflect the baser desires of human life.

Along with manifest meanings that are conscious and deliberate functions of social processes, any social action also embodies unconscious and unintended meanings. The debunker aspires to bring these latent meanings and motives to the level of explicit awareness. Oftentimes this involves the unpleasant uncovering of an operative ideology; i.e., an articulated position which espouses high ideals but is actually a rationalization primarily to maintain the vested interests of a particular individual or group. The language of ideology sounds great; it reflects concern for others and notable religious principles, but it also happens to protect a self-seeking, status-quo theory or social practice.

The emergence of ecclesiastical pluralism has served to increase the availability and use of ideological reasoning. Pluralism describes a condition in which differing views and religious practices coexist alongside each other. One may grant the many benefits of pluralism as an ecclesial social policy and still recognize that it has unwittingly increased the common church fund of rationalizing ideology. The current pluralistic situation ripens a harvest of ready-made rationales to support or disprove any prechosen position. Witness such jargon as "gospel obedience to rightful authority," "loyalty to the larger tradition," "a sense of universalism in the church"; or, to justify the other side of the issue, "a sense of the local tradition," "respecting the uniqueness of the local church," "maintaining our individual community charism."

Of course, the same reasonings could be used in reverse order on almost any given issue. The modern pluralistic religious ethos has provided materials for a quantum leap in ideological justifications, and has made the task of honest discernment of social policy more difficult and all the more necessary at all levels of the church.

Needless to say, the irreverent religious who points out possible latent motives in pronouncements by the hierarchy is not appreciated either by the powers-that-be or by individuals adhering to an absolutist position. Their very attitudes require a solemn humorlessness. An irreverent spirituality appears dangerous to such ideologically minded people, for it suggests that pure religious motivation may not be the only factor in publicly stated beliefs and actions -- in fact, might not even be primary.

Since such suggestions obviously relativize or water down the absolute rightness of any single position, the religious debunker will be accused of a lack of faith, a lack of commitment (even worse than a lack of faith), a lack of team spirit, a rebelliousness against divinely established authority and, naturally, an irreverence toward holy and sacred things. An irreverent spirituality has, nonetheless, always had its place in religious history. The true debunker recognizes this and stands firm in the religious value it presents.

Many believers reading Ecclesiastes for the first time are shocked at his attitude and judgments. They find passages concerning the futility of seeking too much religious knowledge (5:1-6), the absurdity of constant effort to push oneself to religious asceticism, the value of not taking religion too seriously or not praying too much, of not straining oneself for any earthly goal, and of not trying to save the world from all the cruelty and injustice in it (3:16-21). The Preacher remains acutely aware of the dangers of ideology; religious leaders and kings don’t always say what they mean, and latent meanings abound in their most solemn statements (8:11-14). Most bureaucracies, including religious ones, are corrupt and primarily concerned with self-perpetuation (5:8-9). All in all it’s better to have nothing to do with them.

Koheleth does offer some positive advice for the irreverent religious, though one naturally expects it to be limited in scope and guarded in attitude. This advice will never spark a wave of religious fanaticism. He advises his followers to cultivate a fundamental reverence for God, but a reverence that maintains a respectful agnosticism about the world God created and God’s plans for it. No one can really explain why so much religious ideology and corruption abounds, so the solution is simply to stay away from it as best one can and appreciate the small, good things we receive from God’s bounty. "The best thing a man can do is eat and drink and enjoy what he has earned. And yet, I realized that even this comes from God" (2:24). Keep your religious practices simple, clean, honest and short! Using too many words or chasing too-lofty ideas usually leads to rash promises, self-deception and ideology. "Avoid extremes. If you have a simple reverence for God you will be successful" (7:18).

One senses a basic healthiness about my friend’s stark religious questioning -- a religious health that flows from confronting the true issues of faith simply, directly and honestly. Much contemporary religiosity, infected with too much piousness, self-righteousness and decaying religious practice, could use a dose of that honest questioning. Hans Urs von Balthasar once commented on atheism’s perennial value to Christian faith: "The frightening phenomenon of modern atheism may, among other things, be a forcible measure of Providence to bring mankind, and especially Christendom, to a more adequate idea of God." The thrust of irreverent spirituality intends the same effect.

To place the issue of radical belief as the central problem of religion permits one to make the evaluation that all the cultural and social expressions of religion -- dogmas, liturgical rituals, moral precepts, ecclesial structures, pious devotions -- are means to an end. They must not be established as authoritative ends (or idols) in themselves, but must always be judged by their usefulness in pointing the believer back to that moment of radical faith. Jordan made this comparison: "Psychotherapy is not mental health; it is a method toward a cure. So a worship service cannot be an obligation, only an invitation to examine one’s faith!" All those involved in the trappings of organized religion would do well to begin each day with a meditation on those two sentences. An irreverent spirituality feels no qualms in deflating the importance of any religious practice that touts itself as absolutely necessary for our faith.

Irreverent spirituality also has a contribution to make in the listing of Christian virtues, though as usual one might suspect that this contribution will be a bit unsettling to traditional religionists. The debunker acknowledges a positive, religious value in anger; there exists an honest-to-God Christian anger, which is a virtue. Sometimes the debunker most vigorously insists that Christianity is being betrayed and perverted by the idolatry shown in some institutions and practices.

Traditional Christian spirituality has always had a difficult time with the emotional response of anger. It seems in such direct contrast to the Greek ideal of the rational human being, the theocratic ideal of the totally obedient churchperson, and the Stoic ideal of the passionless individual -- all of which exerted formative influences on the style and practice of Western Christian spirituality. These attitudes too frequently characterize a sane, conforming, bureaucratic spirituality that bypasses altogether the passionate gospel of Jesus Christ. Precisely because of that contrast the irreverent religious recognizes in anger a positive Christian virtue.

The Christian churches must admit in all honesty that a spirituality may be traditional, ecclesiastical or monastic -- and still not be Christian! Similarly, Christians today need to admit that sin -- a power which separates us from God -- can be as easily encased in official, institutional, approved church structures as in the proud, rebellious, individual will. The severe, revenge-filled spiritualities of the Tridentine era that created legions of scrupulous individuals were sinful. The diocesan structures which allow lethargic and uncommitted priests to occupy important pastorates because of seniority alone are sinful. The monastic policies that, for reasons of traditional obedience, hinder the human maturation and Christian growth of their members are sinful.

The anger which the irreverent religious express through jokes, sarcasm and noncompliance reflects an anger whose Christian roots are found in St. Paul’s fiery Letter to the Galatians. His fervent plea for the emasculation of his opponents stands as a classic expression of holy anger (5:12). This anger qualifies as a Christian virtue precisely because it shocks and jolts those who too facilely accept the prevailing structures of institutional sin. Rightly placed, a bit of scandal can be an awfully good thing.

In this context one goal of an irreverent spirituality challenges all ecclesial traditions: to affirm that the God question can never be closed or fixed. Every church tradition, no matter how extensive or authoritative its dogma, must constantly be subject to a painful examining of its spirituality and theology. We must acknowledge the ever-present tendency to self-deceit, idolatry and institutional pride in its doctrines and practices. An irreverent spirituality has no qualms in affirming that God cannot be only the presupposition of a religion; "God" must also be the last question any religion asks. An irreverent spirituality insists that all aspects of a religion -- all forms of prayer, devotion and ascetical practices -- must be judged as means to prepare one to listen and to ask the hard questions of God’s existence, God’s qualities, God’s presence in human life. No matter how extensive the cultural reach of a religion, its generating power ultimately lies in the search for the simple and honest experience of God. Forgetting that, it dooms itself to a self-serving idolatry.

So, that fateful weekend which brought together divine herpes, prophetic radicalism, papal enclosure and a psychiatrist struggling with the question of God generated for me a renewed appreciation of an ancient form of spirituality. I am amazed at how many people have resonated with these attitudes and thoughts of irreverence. Perhaps Koheleth will become the patron saint of the 1980s. Who knows?

A Question of Catholic Honesty

"In the ‘already but not yet’ of Christian existence, members of the church choose different paths to move toward the realization of the kingdom in history. Distinct moral options coexist as legitimate expressions of Christian choice." This "prochoice" statement recently made by the Catholic bishops of the United States has nothing to do with abortion. Rather, it addresses the possibility of ending life on earth through nuclear war. On that cataclysmic issue, the bishops’ pastoral letter on peace warns against giving "a simple answer to complex questions." It calls for "dialogue." Hand-wringingly sensitive to divergent views, the bishops give all sides a hearing, even the winnable nuclear war hypothesis -- a position they themselves find abhorrent. At times they merely raise questions when, given their own views, they might well have roundly condemned.

Change the topic to abortion, and nothing is the same. On this issue, the bishops move from the theological mainstream to the radical religious right. Here they have only a single word to offer us: No! No abortion ever -- yesterday, today or tomorrow. No conceivable tragic complexity could ever make abortion moral. Here the eschaton is reached: there is no "already but not yet"; there is only "already." "Distinct moral options" do not exist; only unqualified opposition to all abortions moves toward "the realization of the kingdom in history." There is no need for dialogue with those who hold other views or with women who have faced abortion decisions. Indeed, as Marquette University theologian Dennis Doherty wrote some years ago, there seems to be no need even for prayer, since no further illumination, divine or otherwise, is anticipated.

Here we have no first, second, third and fourth drafts, no quibbles over "curbing" or "halting." Here we have only "a simple answer to complex questions." The fact that most Catholics, Protestants and Jews disagree with this unnuanced absolutism is irrelevant. The moral position of those who hold that not every abortion is murder is treated as worthless. Moreover, the bishops would outlaw all disagreement with their view if they could, whether by way of the Buckley-Hatfield amendment, the Helms-Hyde bill, or the Hatch amendment.

As a Catholic theologian, I find this situation abhorrent and unworthy of the richness of the Roman Catholic traditions that have nourished me. I indict not only the bishops, but also the "petulant silence" (Beverly Harrison’s phrase) or indifference of many Catholic theologians who recognize the morality of certain abortions, but will not address the subject publicly. I indict also the male-dominated liberal Catholic press which does too little to dissipate the myth of a Catholic monolith on abortion. It is a theological fact of life that there is no one normative Catholic position on abortion. The truth is insufficiently known in the American polity because it is insufficiently acknowledged by American Catholic voices.

This misconception leads not only to injustice but to civil threat, since non-Catholic as well as Catholic citizens are affected by it. The erroneous belief that the Catholic quarter of the American citizenry unanimously opposes all abortions influences legislative and judicial decisions, including specific choices such as denying abortion funding for poor women. The general public is also affected in those communities where Catholic hospitals are the only health care facilities. The reproductive rights of people living in such communities are curtailed if (as is common) their hospital is administratively locked into the ultraconservative view on abortion, and even on such reproductive issues as tubal ligation and contraception. Physicians practicing at such hospitals are compromised. Academic freedom is frequently inhibited at Catholic universities and colleges -- public agencies that often are federal contractors -- with consequent injustice to the students and to the taxpayers. (In the face of all of this, non-Catholic citizens have been surprisingly and -- I dare aver -- uncourageously polite.)

Ten years ago, Catholic theologian Charles Curran stated in the Jurist (32:183 [1973]) that "there is a sizable and growing number of Catholic theologians who do disagree with some aspects of the officially proposed Catholic teaching that direct abortion from the time of conception is always wrong." That "sizable number" has been growing since then despite the inhibiting atmosphere. It is safe to say that only a minority of Catholic theologians would argue that all abortions are immoral, though many will not touch the subject for fear of losing their academic positions. (As one woman professor at a large eastern Catholic university said, "I could announce that I had become a communist without causing a stir, but if I defended Roe v. Wade [the 1973 Supreme Court decision legalizing abortion in the United States], I would not get tenure.")

To many, the expression "Catholic pluralism" sounds like a contradiction in terms. The Catholic system, however, does have a method for ensuring a liberal pluralism in moral matters: a system called "probabilism." While it is virtually unknown to most Catholics, probabilism became standard equipment in Catholic moral theology during the 17th century. It applies to situations where a rigorous consensus breaks down and people begin to ask when they may in good conscience act on the liberal dissenting view -- precisely the situation with regard to abortion today.

Probabilism was based on the insight that a doubtful moral obligation may not be imposed as though it were certain. "Where there is doubt, there is freedom" (Ubi dubium, ibi libertas) was its cardinal principle. It gave Catholics the right to dissent from hierarchical church teaching on a moral matter, if they could achieve "solid probability," a technical term. Solid probability could come about in two ways: intrinsically, in a do-it-yourself fashion, when a person prayerfully discovered in his or her conscience "cogent," nonfrivolous reasons for dissenting from the hierarchically supported view; or extrinsically, when "five or six theologians of stature held the liberal dissenting view, even though all other Catholic theologians, including the pope, disagreed. Church discipline required priest confessors who knew that a probable opinion existed to so advise persons in confession even if they themselves disagreed with it.

In a very traditional book, Moral and Pastoral Theology, written 50 years ago for the training of seminarians, Henry Davis, S.J., touched on the wisdom of probabilism by admitting that since "we cannot always get metaphysical certainty" in moral matters, we must settle for consenting "freely and reasonably, to sufficiently cogent reasons."

Three things are noteworthy about probabilism: (1) a probable, opinion which allows dissent from the hierarchically maintained rigorous view is entirely based on insight -- one’s own or that of at least five or six experts. It is not based on permission, and it cannot be forbidden. (2) No moral debate -- -and that includes the abortion debate -- is beyond the scope of a probabilistic solution. To quote Father Davis again: "It is the merit of Probabilism that there are no exceptions whatever to its application; once given a really probable reason for the lawfulness of an action in a particular case, though contrary reasons may be stronger, there are no occasions on which I may not act in accordance with the good probable reason that I have found." (3) Probabilism is theologically deep, going back to John and Paul’s scriptural teaching that Spirit-filled persons are "taught of God," and to Thomas Aquinas’s doctrine that the primary law for the believer is the grace of the Holy Spirit poured into the heart, while all written law -- including even Scripture, as well as the teachings of the popes and councils -- is secondary. Probabilism allows one to dissent from the secondary through appeal to the primary teaching of the Spirit of God. It is dangerous, of course, but it is also biblical and thoroughly Catholic.

There are far more than five or six Catholic theologians today who approve abortions under a range of circumstances, and there are many spiritual and good people who find "cogent," nonfrivolous reasons to disagree with the hierarchy’s absolutism on this issue. This makes their disagreement a "solidly probable" and thoroughly respectable Catholic viewpoint. Abortion is always tragic, but the tragedy of abortion is not always immoral.

The Bible does not forbid abortion. Rather, the prohibition came from theological and biological views that were seriously deficient in a number of ways and that have been largely abandoned. There are at least nine reasons why the old taboo has lost its footing in today’s Catholic moral theology. In a 1970 article "A Protestant Ethical Approach," in The Morality of Abortion (with which few Catholic theologians would quarrel), Protestant theologian James Gustafson pointed out five of the foundational defects in the traditional Catholic arguments against all abortions: (1) These arguments relied on "an external judge" who would paternalistically "claim the right to judge the past actions of others as morally right or wrong," with insufficient concern for the experience of and impact on mothers, physicians, families and society. (2) The old arguments were heavily "juridical," and, as such, marked by "a low tolerance for moral ambiguity." (3) The traditional arguments were excessively "physical" in focus, with insufficient attention to "other aspects of human life." (I would add that the tradition did not have the advantage of modern efforts to define personhood more relationally. The definition of person is obviously central to the abortion question.) (4) The arguments were "rationalistic," with necessary nuances "squeezed out" by "timeless abstractions" which took the traditional Catholic reasoning "far from life." (5) The arguments were naturalistic and did not put "the great themes of the Christian faith at a more central place in the discussion." It would be possible to parallel Gustafson’s fair and careful criticisms with exhortations from the Second Vatican Council, which urged correctives in precisely these areas.

Other criticisms can be added to Gustafson’s list: (6) The theology that produced the traditional ban on all abortions was not ecumenically sensitive. The witness of Protestant Christians was, to say the least, underesteemed. Vatican II condemned such an approach and insisted that Protestants are "joined with us in the Holy Spirit, for to them also He gives His gifts and graces, and is thereby operative among them with His sanctifying power." The bishops and others who condemn all abortion tout court should show some honest readiness to listen in the halls of conscience to Protestant views on abortion before they try to outlaw them in the halls of Congress.

(7) Furthermore, the old theology of abortion proceeded from a primitive knowledge of biology. The ovum was not discovered until the 19th century. Because modern embryology was unknown to the tradition, the traditional arguments were spawned in ignorance of such things as twinning and recombination in primitive fetal tissue and of the development of the cortex.

On the other hand, the teachings about abortion contained some remarkable scientific premonitions, including the insight that the early fetus could not have personal status. Said St. Augustine: "The law does not provide that the act [abortion] pertains to homicide. For there cannot yet be said to be a live soul in a body that lacks sensation when it is not formed in flesh and so is not endowed with sense." As Joseph Donceel, S.J., notes, up until the end of the 18th century "the law of the Roman Catholic Church forbade one to baptize an aborted fetus that showed no human shape or outline." If it were a personal human being, it would deserve baptism. On the question of a rational soul entering the fetus, Donceel notes that Thomas Aquinas "spoke of six weeks for the male embryo and three months for the female embryo." In Aquinas’s hylomorphic theory, the matter had to be ready to receive the appropriate form. According to such principles, as Rosemary Ruether points out, "Thomas Aquinas might well have had to place the point of human ensoulment in the last trimester if he had been acquainted with modern embryology."

If the bishops and other negative absolutists would speak of tradition, let them speak of it in its full ambiguity and subtlety, instead of acting as though the tradition were a simplistic, Platonic negative floating through time untouched by contradiction, nuance or complexity.

(8) Vatican II urged priests and church officers to have "continuous dialogue with the laity." The arguments prohibiting all abortion did not grow out of such dialogue, nor are the bishops in dialogue today. If they were, they would find that few are dancing to the episcopal piping. A November 1982 Yankelovich poll of Catholic women shows that fewer than one-fifth would call abortion morally wrong if a woman has been raped, if her health is at risk, or if she is carrying a genetically damaged fetus. Only 27 per cent judge abortion as wrong when a physically handicapped woman becomes pregnant. A majority of Catholic women would allow a teen-ager, a welfare mother who can’t work, or a married woman who already has a large family to have an abortion.

Since the tradition has been shaped by the inseminators of the species (all Catholic theologians, priests and bishops have been men), is the implication that there is no value in the witness of the bearers? Why has all authority on this issue been assumed by men who have not been assigned by biology to bear children or by history to rear them? Are the Catholic women who disagree with the bishops all weak-minded or evil? Is it possible that not a single Catholic bishop can see any ambiguity in any abortion decision? The bishops are not unsubtle or unintelligent, and their pastoral letter on peace shows a surefooted approach to complexity. Their apparent 100 per cent unanimity against all abortion is neither admirable nor even plausible. It seems, rather, imposed.

(9) This leads to the question of sin and sexism. Beverly Harrison (professor of Christian ethics at Union Theological Seminary in New York) charges that "much discussion of abortion betrays the heavy hand of the hatred of women." Are the negative absolutists sinlessly immune to that criticism? Since the so-called "prolife" movement is not dominated by vegetarian pacifists who find even nonpersonal life sacred, is the "prolife" fetal fixation innocent? Does it not make the fertilized egg the legal and moral peer of a woman? Indeed, in the moral calculus of those who oppose all abortion, does not the potential person outweigh the actual person of the woman? Why is the intense concern over the 1.5 million abortions not matched by an equal concern over the male-related causes of these 1.5 million unwanted pregnancies? Has the abortion ban been miraculously immune to the sexism rife in Christian history?

Feminist scholars have documented the long record of men’s efforts to control the sexuality and reproductivity of women. Laws showcase our biases. Is there no sexist bias in the new Catholic Code of Canon Law? Is that code for life or against women’s control of their reproductivity? After all, canon law excommunicates a person for aborting a fertilized egg, but not for killing a baby after birth. One senses here an agenda other than the simple concern for life. What obsessions are operating? A person could push the nuclear button and blow the ozone lid off the earth or assassinate the president (but not the pope) without being excommunicated. But aborting a five-week-old precerebrate, prepersonal fetus would excommunicate him or her. May we uncritically allow such an embarrassing position to posture as "prolife"? Does it not assume that women cannot be trusted to make honorable decisions, and that only male-made laws and male-controlled funding can make women responsible and moral about their reproductivity?

The moral dilemma of choosing whether to have an abortion faces only some women between their teens and their 40s. The self-styled "prolife" movement is made up mainly of men and postfertile women. Is there nothing suspicious about passionately locating one’s orthodoxy in an area where one will never be personally challenged or inconvenienced?

A moral opinion merits respectable debate if it is supported by serious reasons which commend themselves to many people and if it has been endorsed by a number of reputable religious or other humanitarian bodies. Note the two requirements: good reasons and reliable authorities. The principle of respectable debate is based on some confidence in the capacity of free minds to come to the truth, and on a distrust of authoritarian shortcuts to consensus and uniformity. This principle is integral to American political thought and to the Catholic doctrine of probabilism. On the other hand, prohibition represents a despairing effort to compel those whom one cannot convince; it can only raise new and unnecessary doubts about Catholic compatibility with democratic political life.

But what of legislators who personally believe that all abortion is wrong? Those legislators must recognize that it is not their function to impose their own private moral beliefs on a pluralistic society. St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas both found prostitution morally repugnant, but felt that it should be legalized for the greater good of the society. St. Thomas wryly but wisely suggested that a good legislator should imitate God, who could eliminate certain evils but does not do so for the sake of the greater good. The greater good supported by the principle of respectable debate is the good of a free society where conscience is not unduly constrained on complex matters where good persons disagree. Thus a Catholic legislator who judges all abortions to be immoral may in good conscience support the decisions of Roe v. Wade, since that ruling is permissive rather than coercive. It forces no one to have an abortion, while it respects the moral freedom of those who judge some abortions to be moral.

Good government insists that essential freedoms be denied to no one. Essential freedoms concern basic goods such as the right to marry, the right to a trial by jury, the right to vote, the right to some education and the right to bear or not to bear children. The right not to bear children includes abortion as a means of last resort. Concerning such goods, government should not act to limit freedom along income lines, and should ensure that poverty takes no essential freedoms from any citizen. Furthermore, the denial of abortion funding to poor women is not a neutral stance, but a natalist one. The government takes sides on .the abortion debate by continuing to pay for births while denying poor women funds for the abortion alternative that is available to the rich. Funding cutbacks are also forcing many to have later abortions, since they have to spend some months scraping up the funds denied them by the government. The denial of funding is an elitist denial of moral freedom to the poor and a stimulus for later or unsafe abortions.

Abortion has become the Catholic orthodoxy’s stakeout. In January 1983, California Bishop Joseph Madera threatened excommunication for "lawmakers who support the effective ejection from the womb of an unviable fetus." (His warning also extended to "owners and managers of drugstores" where abortion-related materials are sold.) In a bypass of due process, Sister Agnes Mary Mansour was pressured out of her identity as a Sister of Mercy because her work for the poor of Michigan involved some funding for abortions. Despite his distinguished record in working for justice and peace, Robert Drinan, S.J., was ordered out of politics by the most politically involved pope of recent memory. I am not alone in seeing a link between this and the, antecedent right-wing furor over Father Drinan’s position on abortion funding. The 4,000 Sisters of Mercy (who operate the second-largest hospital system in the U.S., after the Veterans Administration) were ordered, under threat of ecclesiastical penalties, to abandon their plan to permit tubal ligations in their hospitals. A Washington, D.C., group called Catholics for Free Choice had its paid advertisements turned down by Commonweal, the National Catholic Reporter and America. This group is not promoting abortions, but simply honestly acknowledging Catholic pluralism on the issue. (Interestingly, the only "secular" magazine to refuse their advertisement was the National Review.) In June 1983, Lynn Hilliard, a part-time nurse in a Winnipeg, Manitoba, clinic where abortions are performed, had her planned marriage in a Catholic parish peremptorily canceled by Archbishop Adam Exner two weeks before the event, even though the archbishop admitted he did not know whether Ms. Hilliard was formally responsible for any abortions. In the face of all this injustice, Catholic theologians remain remarkably silent; they exhibit no signs of anger. Seven hundred years ago, Thomas Aquinas lamented that we had no name for the virtue of anger in our religious lexicon. He quoted the words of St. John Chrysostom, words that are still pertinent today: "Whoever is without anger, when there is cause for anger, sins."