Christ the Guiltless

"Man is a rational animal."
- Aristotle

Nicholas Gables graduated the seminary with high honors. In his priesthood training he was most outstanding with the logical arguments regarding religion, and the traditional Church philosophers from Augustine, to Aquinas, to the present day. All his superiors noted his logical brilliance, but were disappointed in his impatience with emotional matters of faith. To one father who taught his students that belief in God was a matter of faith, faith on which the Christian religion was founded, Gables turned in a complex proof of the existence of God, made mostly of symbolic logic manipulation, which he said was of his own making. This professor had learned little of symbolic logic, however, and brushed it aside. When this argument was found among the papers in Gables' office later, it was shown to a professional philosophy professor, who said it was valid, that he couldn't see anything wrong with it, and that he would have to copy it down and inspect it later for the error he knew must be there.

After graduation, Gables was assigned to a coveted position, The Church of St. John the Divine in Manhattan. The regional bishop, Bishop MacDowell, was sure he would be a comfort to the mainly Irish Catholics who peopled this church, and had high expectations for his career. He didn't know Gables personally, however, just his record of education. Gables' first sermon struck the congregation as a little strange, but no one was very bothered by it. This sermon focused on the story of Abraham and Isaac, the often mentioned tale where Abraham is asked to sacrifice Isaac and then is told not to at the last minute. Gables read part of Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling, then ridiculed the writer's idea that there was a suspension of the ethical in Abraham's faith and obedience. He went on to explain, in terms made amazingly understandable to a mostly uneducated congregation, the two theories of the source of God's ethical laws. "God," he said, "is either the source of ethical laws, which gives them no foundation other than his will, or ethical laws stand outside of God in a way that makes God submit to what is good and evil, and thus command it of men." The answer was obvious to most people in the church: God submits to nothing. The ethical laws are his invention. "Thus," said Gables, "an action is right if God commands it, whatever that action is, for what is right is by definition what God commands, and nothing else."

Most confessions are about sex, and Gables showed no peculiarity when dealing with these standard revelations every priest has heard a thousand times. But as he sat in the dark box, perhaps feeling himself a little freer to speak his mind due to the sensation of solitude and the blackness which reminded him of sleep, Gables first displayed his true demons to a certain confessor who was particularly vulnerable and sought mere emotional assurance from someone close to God. The man was in his fifties, and said he hadn't been to confession or church in twelve years. When Gables asked if he had committed sins, he said: "It was thirty years ago, in Vietnam. We were taking a hill held by the Viet Cong. The tide turned our way, and we swept from bunker to bunker, cleaning them out. When we got to one, there was a man, one of the enemy, and he rushed at me with a knife. He never had a chance. I was standing there with an automatic rifle, and hit him with at least forty rounds." The man's voice grew shaky. "I can't get that image out of my mind, him getting shot up and his body moving like some doll, his eyes staring and staring long after he was dead."

"And what are you confessing?" said Priest Gables.

"What?"

"Certainly you know that's not a sin."

"But . . . I feel so guilty. You know, 'Thou shall not kill,' 'Love thy enemy'."

"The commandment is: 'Thou shall not commit murder,' " said Priest Gables. "The dictionary says murder is a morally wrong killing. No one believes soldiers killing other soldiers in the context of a war is morally wrong. You had a duty to protect your friends and yourself. Had you let that man kill you or your comrades that would have been morally wrong. Therefore what you did was right, and God's will. I cannot forgive things that aren't sins. This place is for the confession of sins."

"But . . . Father," said the man. "I was full of adrenaline. I felt a high. I think I enjoyed it, Father. I felt a thrill, a pleasure."

"Well and you should," said Priest Gables, "whenever doing something morally right. I should hope you feel pleasure in doing good. But sir, I cannot see why you came to me, in this context. This is for confession of sins. Here you are reminiscing about things that have nothing to do with sin."

"I've got to go Father," said the man in a low and quick voice, before immediately leaving the confessional and the church before anyone could see his tears.

Another notable confession, that came weeks of standard masturbation and adultery confessions later, was by a woman who also hadn't been to confession in years. She said she felt a special need to be forgiven, then told Priest Gables what had happened.

"I was cooking a hamburger," she began, "and the meat was a few days old, very brown. I always give my cat some of the raw beef before cooking it, and I gave it to him. Father, as the hamburger was frying, my can began to vomit. He wouldn't stop, Father. I took him to a vet, but he died. The meat was bad. And then I didn't eat the hamburger."

"What sin are you confessing?" said Priest Gables.

"I . . . I feel like I used my cat to test if the meat was bad," said the woman, through frank tears. "I feel like all that time I was giving him some of the raw meat so that I wouldn't eat bad meat myself. I loved that cat, Father, and now he's dead because of me." She couldn't go on for her tears.

"I cannot forgive you anything."

"What?"

"What you describe is no sin. Sin is always willful and knowing. You didn't know your cat would die." This seemed to comfort the woman a little, and she took it as reassurance that she hadn't been testing the meat on her cat. But Priest Gables went on: "And even if you willfully killed your cat, that would be no sin either. It is never wrong for a human to kill an animal. God demanded the sacrifice of doves upon Jesus's birth. Whatever God demands is morally right, there is no other standard. For a human to kill an animal can never be wrong."

"But Father I loved my cat. I need forgiveness."

"Jesus himself used a miracle to help his disciples catch fish in order to kill them. If I forgave you this act, I will be calling Jesus a sinner. Can you not see that it is not a sin to kill an animal? I asked you what sins you have committed and you tell me some story about a cat that has nothing to do with sin at all. This isn't the place to tell me animal stories."

The woman's tears now had stopped. She was actually afraid of the priest, and her fear had calmed her. She simply said, "I'm sorry Father," and left, bewildered.

A few weeks later a woman who indeed had an active faith, attended church every week, and prayed regularly, came to the priest for counseling. In his office, he sat and listened from the other side of the desk as she sat upright and nervous in her chair.

"A month ago I had a little baby boy," she said. "He would cry every night, and I would get up to care for him. Last week after I put him to bed I went straight to sleep, and slept soundly because he didn't cry. Then I awoke and looked at the clock. It was almost four in the morning and he hadn't yet awoken me by crying. I realized something was wrong, and went to him. He was dead, Father. My baby was dead, and I don't know if I can believe in God anymore. Why would God allow my baby to die? Why would he do this to me? I haven't been able to pray since then, Father, and I fear that I'm losing my faith."

As the woman was talking, Priest Gables was distracted by a wasp that was hovering about the window, trying to escape. Priest Gables kept looking from the woman to the wasp, but he heard everything she said.

When she was finished explaining her grief and doubts, he said: "What you are talking about is the classic problem of evil. Philosophers used to think that there was what you call a logical problem of evil, that the existence of evil was logically inconsistent with an all good, all wise, and all powerful God. I believe Leibniz was the first to explain that, while God is all powerful, he cannot do something that is logically contradictory. He cannot dig a ditch so wide he can't jump across it, or, if he can, then he can't jump across it. Either way there is something an all powerful God cannot do. Evil, then, such as the death of your baby, was somehow logically inconsistent with some greater good that God wished to bring about."

Priest Gables again looked at the wasp. He picked up the Bible from his desk, stood, and said, "Excuse me a moment." He walked up to the window and stood inches from the wasp, waiting. When the wasp landed on the window, he suddenly thrust his book flat into it, crushing the wasp and shattering the window. The crash made the woman jump in her seat. Priest Gables looked at the dead wasp on the other side of the window, which had landed on the sill. He returned to his seat.

"Those windows don't open," he said. "I'll have to clean that up later."

"Father," said the woman, "I don't really understand what you were talking about."

"Let me put it simply," said Priest Gables. "There is no logical contradiction in an all good God, and evil in the world, as long as this is the best logically possible world, with the least amount of evil that the constraints of consistent logic will permit, since God can only do anything that is logically consistent. Therefore, the death of your baby in no way is evidence that God doesn't exist, and should not in the least affect your faith in God."

The woman had gone to Priest Gables hoping he would be some comfort, but not knowing him well she wasn't sure he would be any. After being utterly confused by him, and seeing he had no understanding of her dilemma, she decided to leave. She politely thanked him and walked silently away.

Word soon reached Bishop MacDowell that Priest Gables had turned out a complete disappointment to the congregation. Complaints from many sources all agreed that he had no understanding of the spiritual troubles and needs of the people, and so Bishop MacDowell decided to visit the priest to speak with him personally and assess the situation. When he arrived Priest Gables offered him coffee, which he refused, and then they sat in the priest's office to talk.

"Tell me," said Bishop MacDowell, "have you ever felt guilty about anything?"

"Guilty?" said Priest Gables, sure he knew what guilt was, but nonetheless unsure if he had ever felt it.

"Did you ever do anything you regretted? Any sin or crime?"

"I'm sure I have," said Priest Gables, "as the Bible makes clear we are all under original sin. But I cannot recall any sin of mine, though sure I have committed one or two."

"You don't remember a time you succumbed to temptation? Saint James says that anyone who knows the right thing to do, and fails to do it, commits sin."

"I don't understand why someone knowing the right thing to do would fail to do it," said Priest Gables. "Every time I know the right thing to do, I see no reason not to do it. Why would I do otherwise? That's like taking an exam, knowing the right answer, but failing to write it."

"What does moral right and wrong mean to you?" said the bishop. "What does it mean for an action to be right?"

"Whatever God demands is right," said Priest Gables. "Whatever he forbids is wrong."

"No matter what these actions are?"

"What other criterion could there be?" said Priest Gables.

Bishop MacDowell sighed, and paused for a moment. Not looking directly at the priest, he said, "There have been many complaints that you have not been properly ministering to the needs of the people. I don't act on rumors, but the consistency and number of complaints demanded that I do something. After coming here and speaking with you, I can see that the complaints are justified." Here he turned to look the priest in the eyes. "I am removing you from your current position. Father Gables, I do think the monastery would be the perfect place for you. I am not asking you to leave God's service. I will give you a few days to think over going to the monastery, but I do urge you to do it."

Priest Gables stared at him saying nothing. Bishop MacDowell, normally good at sensing people's states of mind, could not tell the priest's reaction. The priest went on staring at his eyes with a vacant expression, impossible to read. The bishop grew uncomfortable, said simply, "I'm sorry," and left. The priest sat there staring for some time.

There was a little restaurant near the church, and the priest, after the meeting with the bishop, walked over there alone and sat. He ordered a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, and ate it without looking at anyone or saying a word. After paying for his meal, he stepped outside, and looked around him in a trance. He saw a vision of a five dollar bill, the one which he had used to pay for his meal, in the hand of the waitress who had taken it. She handed it to a man, who handed it to another man, who again handed it to another. This went on until the bill was far away, and finally someone handed it to a man standing next to a hog, who took the money, put it in his pocket, pulled out a handgun, and blew the hog's brains out.

Later alone in his bathroom, Priest Gables stared at his face in the mirror, at his unusual protruding forehead, at his dark, thick beard, at his strangely tough skin. He looked down and saw a ball-point pen in his hand, and couldn't remember why he had picked it up. He took the pen to his face, and began drawing designs on his cheeks which were completely unplanned, seemed to come straight from his soul.

In Central Park, on an overcast Thursday one summer, there was a horse whose owner had dismounted and decided to feed it carrots. Some children were nearby, and grew interested in the horse, crowded around him, and asked the owner if they could feed him some carrots. The owner agreed, and showed the children how to feed a horse, to hold the carrot on the palm with the hand flat. The woman who owned the horse laughed as the children screamed in pleasure, talking about how the horse's lips tickled their hands as he took the carrots from them.

Suddenly there were sounds of shock, even a few frightened screams. The woman turned and saw a naked man standing there very calmly, bizarre designs written in black all over his face, with a huge kitchen knife in his hand. The woman and children quickly ran from him to an arbitrary perimeter where people were crowding, safe among the throng, and at a distance from the strange man. The woman who owned the horse noted in particular that the horse was his object of attention, as he stared at the animal with an unfeeling stare. The horse became agitated, and started to walk toward his owner, after she began to call his name. Very suddenly the wild man sprang and stabbed the horse over and over, through his throat and flank, the blood flying through the air with the horse's bucks and animal screams.

When the police arrived with guns drawn, they found the man eating the horse raw, an innocent gaze in his eyes.

End