This man receives sinners…

A week or more ago (link) I wrote of choice and consequences, the first a gift from God to us, the second the results of choices made by us. To be sure, free will implies its abuse. That then constellates, in some minds, the problem of evil. God knew that evil would result from his gift; that past tense is just a linguistic nod to our sense of time here. Therefore God approved of that evil? My conclusion was, Not so! Knowledge is not approval. But free will is so great a gift that its price, namely its abuse, is worth it.

Got to thinking about that later along these lines. As knowledge is not approval, so also it is not indifference. And God is not only omniscient, he is also omnipotent. Therefore, in the long run—and never mind “fallen” concepts like eternal hell fire—I have no doubt that in the Great Plan all created beings will be saved. That might, of course, take a long time—but what does time matter in eternity? And also, to honor that great gift, free will, ultimately the created beings will have to choose. But they will. Be sure of it. They will. That God both knows and yet still cares is signaled by the tale of the prodigal son, told in Luke 15:11-32.

That episode is introduced by a brief note about Pharisees and scribes (and I am one of those, a scribe) who, seeing tax collectors and sinners drawing near to Jesus, observe with disapproval: “This man receives sinners and eats with them.” Then follow the parables of the lost sheep, of the lost coin, and of the lost son. In the first case one sheep of a hundred is lost, in the next one coin of ten, in the last one son of two, the younger—which in that culture then meant the less valuable. Rather like that progression. In each case major effort is expended on finding what is lost—or, in the case of the son, lavishly celebrating the prodigal’s return. The older son is angered—but he, of course, is the inheritor: “All that is mine is yours,” his father says.

Now, of course, a dry doctrine of choice and consequences leaves out one of the aspects of God, omnibenevolence. God is love. There is, therefore, more to that choice = consequences equation. Along with free choice we have another great gift, which is God’s absolute love. And it is, in subtle ways—subtle enough not to interfere with the gift of choice—all around us and streaming across the borderzone to envelop us all around. Grace. The first step in being found again would appear to be cultivate our powers to listen for the faint, faint sound of it. But once heard its power grows in guiding us home again.

Innovative Products...in the Borderzone

Early astronomers developed not-quite-accurate cosmologies because they imagined that the cosmos would display perfection. That out there was God’s domain, after all. Planets therefore had perfectly circular orbits, no doubt about it, because the circle is the perfect form. Close, but no cigar. Creation has a peculiar characteristic; in my own private lingo I say that it is “naturalistic,” meaning that it escapes pure geometry while, at the same time, employing geometry—but as a servant. We find law and order out there, but we cannot quite exploit it. We always overlook some aspect of the situation that later comes to bite us. Humility, therefore, turns out to be a practical virtue. Be humble—or else.

One of our geometrical conceptions is that human life is a test. Be virtuous, die in a state of grace, and you go to heaven. Die in a state of mortal sin, and you go to hell. In the intermediate state—and we have experts who can precisely define which sins are venial and which are not—you undergo purgation and then are admitted to the state of bliss. You can also forearm yourself (or so it was once taught) by piling up indulgences. We might think of indulgences as liquid assets that could be turned into the currency of Purgatory to purchase shorter sentences. To be sure I am now describing a period of corruption in Christendom when innovative products, but of a spiritual kind, were introduced into the market and turned into ordinary cash.

We had a kind of financial revamping that swept all this away. It was called the Reformation. But our talent for simplification was not exactly rooted out. A new product came on the market under which faith without works was now the ticket to heaven. Yet other marvelous inventions surfaced. Among these was the belief that you were either saved or doomed even before your mother gave you birth. The art of salvation then became discerning from various tell-tale signs whether or not you belonged to the chosen or not. A fairly reliable indicator was thought to be whether or not you were well off.

But innovation did not end there. The most recent product is a kind of hedge-fund guaranteed to keep you hale provided only that you have the means to keep healthy until the last moment and, in the final days, well supplied with pain-killing drugs. This new product is called “You Only Go Round Once”; it’s also offered by the folk who bring us “Grab All the Gusto That You Can.” Both offer iron-clad guarantees that no claims will be made against your accounts after death because you will have disappeared.

Ah, yes. We’re a creative kind. But I shy from all of these products because observation tells me that reality is naturalistic, meaning that it's hard and lawful, to be sure, but with a strange twist that makes it ultimately unpredictable. It requires a much more comprehensive approach than these simple algorithms promise to deliver. You can’t purchase a winning ticket just by joining this or that group and acquiring all of its good habits. There is more to it than that. Knowledge alone is insufficient. We are not, repeat not, in control. To trust the Merrill Lynches of spirituality—trusting in their size, name, might—is not a sure guarantee of fat portfolios in heaven. Sometimes, indeed always, it is best to mind our own knitting. And a certain amount of holy dread is perfectly appropriate.