SPE SALVI

We must return once more to the New Testament. In the eleventh chapter of the Letter to the Hebrews we find a kind of definition of faith which closely links this virtue with hope. Ever since the Reformation there has been a dispute among exegetes over the central word of this phrase, but today a way towards a common interpretation seems to be opening up once more. For the time being I shall leave this central word untranslated. The sentence therefore reads as follows: “Faith is the hypostasis of things hoped for; the proof of things not seen.” For the Fathers and for the theologians of the Middle Ages, it was clear that the Greek word hypostasis was to be rendered in Latin with the term substantia. The Latin translation of the text produced at the time of the early Church therefore reads: Est autem fides sperandarum substantia rerum, argumentum non apparentium - faith is the “substance” of things hoped for; the proof of things not seen. Saint Thomas Aquinas, using the terminology of the philosophical tradition to which he belonged, explains it as follows: faith is a habitus, that is, a stable disposition of the spirit, through which eternal life takes root in us and reason is led to consent to what it does not see. The concept of “substance” is therefore modified in the sense that through faith, in a tentative way, or as we might say “in embryo” - and thus according to the “substance” - there are already present in us the things that are hoped for: the whole, true life. And precisely because the thing itself is already present, this presence of what is to come also creates certainty: this “thing” which must come is not yet visible in the external world (it does not “appear”), but because of the fact that, as an initial and dynamic reality, we carry it within us, a certain perception of it has even now come into existence. To Luther, who was not particularly fond of the Letter to the Hebrews, the concept of “substance”, in the context of his view of faith, meant nothing. For this reason he understood the term hypostasis/substance not in the objective sense (of a reality present within us), but in the subjective sense, as an expression of an interior attitude, and so, naturally, he also had to understand the term argumentum as a disposition of the subject. In the twentieth century this interpretation became prevalent - at least in Germany - in Catholic exegesis too, so that the ecumenical translation into German of the New Testament, approved by the Bishops, reads as follows: Glaube aber ist: Feststehen in dem, was man erhofft, Überzeugtsein von dem, was man nicht sieht (faith is: standing firm in what one hopes, being convinced of what one does not see). This in itself is not incorrect, but it is not the meaning of the text, because the Greek term used (elenchos) does not have the subjective sense of “conviction” but the objective sense of “proof.” Rightly, therefore, recent Protestant exegesis has arrived at a different interpretation: “Yet there can be no question but that this classical Protestant understanding is untenable.” Faith is not merely a personal reaching out towards things to come that are still totally absent: it gives us something. It gives us even now something of the reality we are waiting for, and this present reality constitutes for us a “proof” of the things that are still unseen. Faith draws the future into the present, so that it is no longer simply a “not yet.” The fact that this future exists changes the present; the present is touched by the future reality, and thus the things of the future spill over into those of the present and those of the present into those of the future. (7)

Pensées September 21, 2007

The real insight of Augustine’s psychological analogy for the Trinity is not its “explanation” of the fecund mystery of the divine nature, but rather its discovery that the mind is a created pattern of Trinitarian existence naturally and supernaturally - by divine grace – fit for participation in Uncreated Life.

Pensées August 13, 2007

Catholic theology takes for its proper object the mysteries of faith per se. Evangelical theology, on the other hand, takes as its proper object the mysteries of faith per scriptura. Thus while there is an analogous formal object (the text being a divine communication in words and propositions of the substantial truth), there is a strikingly different material object evinced by the methods of analysis.

Evangelical theology draws near to its object exclusively by means of a grammatical and logical analysis of the text, carrying out its investigation entirely within the dimensions of a literary phenomenon.

Catholic theology, on the other hand, encounters its object both intra-textually and extra-textually. Once it has found its object by means of the text, it must take hold of the substantial mystery (the object per se). This act is one which necessarily transcends the interpretation of the embodiment of the mystery in text and enters upon an encounter of understanding and love of the great truth itself, an encounter which yields insights not predetermined by the text.

Pensées August 8, 2007

If evil is a privation of good, it is necessary that arguments in favor of evil suffer an analogous privation of reason. This is why arguments in support of immortality are bereft of intelligibility, as is evident to those who are looking for it.

Ecumenical Dialogue

A Catholic friend of mine had a very good conversation recently about the latest CDF clarification regarding Catholic Theology of the Church and how it relates to the Orthodox.

'What is missing from the particular expression which the Orthodox churches, both individually and collectively, give to the universal Church is that element of the universal Church which I have described as the Petrine ministry. Since the Apostolic Church, gathered on that first Pentecost Sunday, in the fellowship of the body of Christ, with the Theotokos, under the headship of Peter, is the most pure expression of the universal Church, the absence of any one of those elements would constitute an imperfect expression of the universal Church.'

The Office of Tenebrae, Dominican House of Studies

Seven Interesting Facts about the History of the Filioque in the West

The fathers of the Second Ecumenical Council of Constantinople (381) did not intend to define the manner of the Spirit’s procession from the Father, but only to affirm, in language acceptable to the various positions which existed at the time, the full divinity of the Spirit.

The Second Ecumenical Council of Constantinople (381) was not regarded universally as an ecumenical council, especially in the West, until it was declared such by the Fourth Ecumenical Council at Chalcedon (451).

During this time (381-451) there were in the West other forms of the creed, such as The Apostles’. At the same time, there was a tradition coming from the Latin fathers, especially Augustine, which taught the doctrine of the filioque.

Due to distance, cultural difference, language, human error, etc. (historians do not know the exact details), in the 6th century a Latin version of the original creed of Constantinople was published in Spain by the local council of Toledo which added the filioque. It appears that this council considered the filioque clause part of the original. This indicates that such confusion might have been common in the West. Also, it was taken to be an anti-Arian clause, which made it natural, though incorrect, to assume that it was part of the original creed of Constantinople. It is about this time, in both the East and the West that the creed began to be said in the celebration of the Eucharist.

By the 8th century the Carolingian Empire was competing with the Byzantine Empire for its claim to be the true heir to the Roman Imperium in the West. In this context, the filioque (as a doctrine as much as a liturgical addition) had a two-fold function. First, it served the interests of Frankish theologians, especially Alcuin, to condemn what appeared to them to be the heresy of adoptionism in some Spanish churches. Second, it was used by Charlemagne, in his political struggle, to question the orthodoxy of the Byzantine court. It is important to note that, at this time, the filioque clause was added to the original creed of Constantinople in the Frankish dominions but not in those of the Roman See.

Despite Papal support for the theology of the filioque – which had a firm foundation in the Latin fathers – and which was expressed in defense of Western monks in Jerusalem who has been accused by Eastern monks in the early 9th century of heresy for their addition of the filioque to the Latin version of the creed of Constantinople, the filioque clause was deliberately not added to the text of the original Greek or its Latin translation by the Popes of Rome. In fact, the creed itself was introduced into the Mass in Rome not until the 11th century. By that time the Western Empire has passed from the Franks to the Germans and the filioque was added to the original creed of Constantinople in Latin in the Roman rite.

There were two major reunion councils in the medieval period attended by representatives of the Eastern Churches. The first was the Second Council of Lyons (1274). This council was hostile to any view of the origin of the Holy Spirit other than that expressed by the filioque. The second was the Council of Ferrara-Florence. It was attended by representatives from the churches of Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem. It recognized the legitimacy of the Western view of the Spirit’s eternal procession and suggested that the filioque was the same in meaning as certain expressions used by the Greek fathers of the Church in which the Spirit is said to proceed “through the Son.” The decrees of neither of these councils were accepted in the East. The latter council marked the end of serious reunion efforts until the 20th century.

Pensées July 10, 2007

Some scientists, especially the popularizes, claim to embrace philosophical materialism for scientific reasons. Yet, many philosophers know that there are no scientific reasons for philosophical materialism. In fact, philosophical materialism does not fit the criteria of a scientific hypothesis. It is neither quantifiable nor empirical. Neither is the argument that hypothetical materialism is more suited to scientific endeavor to any effect since the method is limited to the mathematical principles of natural objects and is neutral with regard to immaterial objects.

Thus the claim to espouse philosophical materialism for scientific reasons is, at root, confusion common among non-philosophers, whether they are scientists or not.

Pensées June 4, 2007

Most scientists are not philosophers.

As such, some scientists commit the same intellectual errors typical of other non-philosophers.

The antireligious bias and vehemence of some popularizers of scientific knowledge only exacerbates and illustrates this problem.

I will not give in, because I oppose it.

Not my pride, not my spleen, nor any other of my appetites, but I do, I.

St. Philaret On Tradition and Divine Attributes

The following questions are taken from the authorized English translation of the Catechism of St. Philaret, Metropolitan of Moscow, 1821 to 1867, whose official title is A Full Catechism of the Orthodox Catholic Church of the East, examined and approved by the Most Holy Governing Synod, and published for the Use of Schools and of all Orthodox Christians, by order of His Imperial Majesty (1839). According to Schaff, the Catechism was unanimously approved by all the Eastern Patriarchs.

The following questions (17 & 18) give a good definition of what is meant by the word ‘Tradition’ with respect to its mode of transmission and content. Note my comments in brackets.

17. What is meant by the name holy tradition?

By the name holy tradition is meant the doctrine of the faith, the law of God, the sacraments, and the ritual as handed down by the true believers and worshipers of God [note that it does not say Bishops or Magisterium] by word and example from one to another, and from generation to generation.

18. Is there any sure repository of holy tradition?

All true believers united by the holy tradition of the faith [as defined above], collectively and successively, by the will of God, compose the Church; and she is the sure repository of holy tradition, or, as St. Paul expresses it, The Church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth.

The following question (21) is a good synopsis of the need to recognize the historical primacy of Tradition.

21. Which is the more ancient, holy tradition or holy Scripture?

The most ancient and original instrument for spreading divine revelation is holy tradition. From Adam to Moses there were no sacred books. Our Lord Jesus Christ himself delivered his divine doctrine and ordinances to his Disciples by word and example, but not by writing. The same method was followed by the Apostles also at first, when they spread abroad the faith and established the Church of Christ. The necessity of tradition is further evident from this, that books can be available only to a small part of mankind, but tradition to all.

The following question (22) addresses the purpose of sacred Scripture in light of the comprehensive nature of Tradition. The answer given does not seem to reflect the per se sovereignty and solidity of Tradition sometimes insisted on by enthusiastic Orthodox. It also seems to imply a priority to Scripture in the determination of Apostolic teaching.

22. Why, then, was holy Scripture given?

To this end, that divine revelation might be preserved more exactly and unchangeably. In holy Scripture we read the words of the Prophets and Apostles precisely as if we were living with them and listening to them, although the latest of the sacred books were written a thousand and some hundred years before our time.

The following questions (84 & 86), taken from the First Part of the Catechism, on Faith, do not appear to reflect the Palamite distinction between essence and energies in so far as it speaks of the “essential attributes of God” and even lists among them some conspicuous examples of the former.

84. Can we know the very essence of God?

No. It is above all knowledge, not of men only, but of angels.

86. What idea of the essence and essential attributes of God may be derived from divine revelation?

That God is a Spirit, eternal, all-good, omniscient, all-just, almighty, omnipresent, unchangeable, all-sufficing to himself, all-blessed.

Scripture and Tradition

The idea of Sacred Tradition has undergone a great deal of development over the centuries. The material distinction between Scriptural Doctrine and the Doctrines of Tradition was not made a formal part of theological study until the 14th c. at the earliest (it most notably appeared among the counciliarist theologians associated with the Council of Constance and its condemnation of Wycliffe’s doctrines, among which was a primitive form of sola scriptura). And even then there were those who objected to the idea that a doctrine (de fide) can be established without any appeal to the literal sense of the Sacred Text. Aquinas (who saw this issue very differently than some of his later hyper-Papal brother Dominicans) had already asserted the necessity of Scriptural support for doctrine:

"Nevertheless...nothing necessary to faith is contained under the spiritual sense [of the biblical text] which is not elsewhere put forward by the Scripture in its literal sense." STh, I., q. 1, ad. 3

The Ecumenical Council of Trent (as has been noted by several scholars including Yves Congar and Joseph Ratzinger) did not decide the question of whether Sacred Tradition is a secondary source of doctrine in the sense that it supplies doctrines not found either explicitly or implicitly in Sacred Scripture or whether it only exhibits (albeit in a different and equally authoritative way) the same doctrine substantially contained within the Apostolic Writings. The Second Vatican Ecumenical Council may have in fact decided in favor of the older (second) view. When it says, "Sacred Tradition and sacred Scripture, then, are bound closely together, and communicate one with the other (DV, 9)", it seems to be saying that they contain the same doctrine, i.e., communicate, 'share' in the same substance, which is the Doctrine of the Gospel. Granted, it leaves the Theology of Revelation with respect to this issue still undeveloped and ambiguous when it says that "[they] come together in some fashion to form one thing, and move towards the same goal (ibid.)", but then it also says, "Sacred Tradition and sacred Scripture make up a single sacred deposit of the Word of God, which is entrusted to the Church." The word "single" in the previous sentence seems to corroborate the interpretation already given to the meaning of the word "communicate". Either way, it is false to claim that there is a definite teaching of the Church on this matter.

The Orthodox Church, on the other hand, seems to have a much less definite view of the relationship between Scripture and Tradition, giving priority to Holy Tradition. The Reformation doctrine of sola scriptura has its roots in the primacy of Scripture characteristic of the Western Roman Catholic theological tradition.

Reflections on Orthodox Catholic Differences

Some thoughts I had yesterday at Mass regarding the differences between the Western Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches.

The spirituality of the Western Church – borrowing a metaphor from sacramental and liturgical theology – could be described as an imminent (this-worldly) Eucharist; whereas the Eastern would then have to be described as a transcendent (other-worldly) Eucharist. By this I am not saying that either Church essentially lacks imminence or transcendence, but rather that in each Church, respectively, one or the other is a dominant element. Obviously, both Churches seek a balance; the particular character of that synthesis is, however, different. Similarly, the doctrine of the Incarnation is the distinguishing principle in the Western Church; whereas the doctrine of Deification is the distinguishing principle in the Eastern Church. Again, both Churches embrace these doctrines in their essential relatedness; however, with differing emphasis and priority.

No one can dispute the transportative character of the Divine Liturgy. This is not a feature of the Holy Mass (even before the change of the Liturgy). The very materials used to express the spiritual qualities of worship between these two Churches exhibit the aforementioned attitude (ex., icons vs. freestanding statues).

The reason for this is primarily historical. At the zenith of Byzantine Christianity in the early Middle Ages the Eastern Roman Empire was largely intact and expanding. The Church’s spiritual – as opposed to secular – role was much easier to distinguish than in the West. The Church in the East was the godlike or deified community whose sights were set on heaven since the control of all things terrestrial was securely in the hands of the Emperor (so long as he was not a heretic). In the West, however, the state was largely gone and society was both in ruins and chaotic. It was forced upon the Church to take over the reigns of government. Despite how awful this fusion of sacred and secular power may have been, the worldly interests of the Church – both virtuous and vicious – were providentially determined by the cultural catastrophe faced (often bravely) by the clerics and the monks of the 5th through the 10th century.

The dynamic unfolding (sometimes called “development” from an historical point-of-view) of Western Civilization never ceased to affect the interior life of the Western Church. This is most evident in the 13th, 15th, and 20th centuries. It is not, however, a case of simple accommodation. Granted, the Eastern Church at a certain point (or points) ceased to be affected by this evolution and became (much like Hasidic Judaism and, today, Islam in Western still-Christian/secular societies) a self-contained overtly religious culture. On the other hand, the Western Church’s capacity for modernization (to use the word loosely) gives it a distinct advantage in the proclamation, application, and defense of the Gospel. Three areas in which this is most evident are (what is commonly called) social justice, philosophy and science.

Whether it is proper to say that God abandoned Christ at the moment of His crucifixion?

I answer that God is in things [i.e., they are related to him] in certain common and special ways. He is in everything by essence, according to which he is in a thing as an efficient cause is in its effect; by presence, according to which all things are known to him; and by power, according to which all things are subject to his influence. He is in rational creatures in a special way by grace which produces the habits of knowing and loving God which is a kind of presence of the object known in the knower and the object loved in the lover. God is in Christ is an utterly unique way by hypostatic-union.

Now the common ways in which God is everywhere and in everything are inviolable and limitless. Whereas the special presence by which God is in the rational creature by grace can be removed, as David laments in the psalm, “Do not drive me from your presence, nor take from me your holy spirit.” (51: 13 NAB)

The union of manhood and Godhead in one person in Christ is an inseparable union. It is also the cause of the fullness-of-grace in his soul (John 1:14), for no creature can be more conformed to the divine nature than the manhood of Christ that subsists in one person with it. In the unique activity of Christ the theandric (divine human) co-operation so perfectly conforms the created nature to the uncreated as to make it an efficient instrument of the latter. Thus the soul of Christ by its proximity to the source of grace, i.e., the divine nature, becomes the very fountainhead of grace in the world (John 1:16).

This is no truer than in the Atonement where the God-Man gave up his own created life as a sacrifice for sin, redemption of sinners, and victory over death and the devil. Were God to remove from Christ at this moment the grace in his soul, such taking away would make the Atonement impossible for two reasons: [1] It would no longer be a theandric act since the principle by which the human nature conformed to the divine would no longer be present and [2] the charity by which the Savior offered himself freely for love of God would have been removed with the grace.

Divine Abandonment and the Hypostatic Union

Sometimes the suffering of Christ is described as the effect of God’s wrath pored out on the Savior who stands in the place of the sinner. The form which this divine wrath takes is the abandonment of the suffering Christ, not just in the sense of delivering him up to his enemies, but in the more profound sense of removing from the soul of Jesus God’s sanctifying presence. This is said to be the meaning of the words, “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?” Sometimes a further step is taken and the loss is attributed to the divinity of the Savior resulting in an intra-Trinitarian suffering.

It must be asked whether any of this comports with the Chalcedonian dogma of the unmixed and inseparable natures that subsist together in the Incarnate Word? Clearly the latter view is irreconcilable with the traditional notion of the simplicity and immutability of the divine essence as well as the consubstantiality of the divine persons. The former, however, is perhaps reconcilable. The pertinent question is to what extent “abandonment” means “separation” from the divine nature.

'I had rather believe all the fables of the Legend and the Talmud and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame [the Universe] is without a mind; and, therefore, God never wrought miracle to convince Atheism, because His ordinary works convince it. It is true, that a little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to Atheism; but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s minds about to religion.'

Francis Bacon (1561-1626) ‘Of Atheism’, Essays.

God our Father, you taught the gospel to all the world through the preaching of Paul your apostle. May we who celebrate his conversion to the faith follow him in bearing witness to your truth. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Significance of Abraham’s Justification for Paul’s Defense of Justification Apart from the Law

I wrote the following as a graduate student for a course in Pauline Soteriology. It obviously does not reflect expertise in either the Pauline epistles or the New Testament in general. This is because I am not a Scripture scholar nor have I read a great deal of what is called the “New Perspective” on St. Paul. I do find, however, that when the epistles are placed within a broad context it helps to illuminate the meaning of justification by faith.

This paper will examine the manner in which St. Paul applies the account of Abraham’s justification (Genesis 15:6) in defense of justification by faith apart from the works of the Law. It will focus on the importance to the Apostle of the order of events in the Genesis narrative which places Abraham’s justification prior to the Covenant of Circumcision. It will be shown that the centrality of this text and the related theme of justification by faith are entirely determined by the conflict between the Apostle to the Gentiles and certain Jewish Christians who taught, on the basis of the same narrative authority, the necessity of keeping circumcision and other aspects of the Law.

The letters of the Apostle Paul, especially those adorned with legal and exegetical subtleties, document at least one side of the first great debate – and possibly schism – in the history of the Church. It had to do with the relationship between the Gospel, specifically the lives of those who believe in it, and the Mosaic Law, established – seemingly in perpetuity – on Mt. Sinai. From the point-of-view of certain evangelists, centered in Jerusalem and unnamed in the Pauline correspondence, the relationship between God and Israel cannot not be revoked, receded nor superseded. Indeed it is fulfilled by the advent of the Messiah, but fulfillment means a more perfect submission and a more universal reception.

On the other hand, the Apostle’s radical doctrine of the saving work of God in Christ maintains that it is substantive, complete and eschatological precisely because it is the fulfillment of the ancient promises made in connection with the Covenant.

Both interpretations have momentous consequences. The Evangelists [the “opponents” from hereon] apparently teach that non-Jewish believers must be circumcised (Gal 5:3) and thereby become obedient to the Law. Paul, on the other hand, teaches that neither circumcision nor uncircumcision have any covenantal significance (Rom 5:6).

There is, as in all debates, a common language and common authorities between the opposing sides. Both Paul and his opponents speak of Abraham as the “Father” of Jewish and gentile believers. Both appeal to the Abraham narrative in support of their respective views.

In order to gain a better appreciation for the particulars of the debate which lies behind the Pauline emphasis on justification by faith, I will examine it in three aspects. First, the polemical context in which Paul’s expressions and arguments were shaped. Second, the exegetical methodology of his self-defense. Third, what consequences such contextualization has for certain dogmatic assumptions made about the Apostle’s statements regarding faith and works of the Law.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Basilius Cardinal Bessarion

In 1436 he was made Bishop of Nicæa by John VIII Palæologus – though he was not destined to ever see his diocese – and asked to accompany the Emperor to the Council of Ferrara, in part to plead for western support in Constantinople's final struggle against the Ottoman Turks. Here his dignity and touching eloquence, as well as his vast theological erudition, gave him such great authority among the Greek bishops that the happy issue of the council – reunion with the Latin Church – may be attributed in great part to him. This was fully recognized on 6 July 1439, in the cathedral of Florence, to which the council had been transferred, when he was commissioned to read the Greek redaction of the Act of Union.

Bessarion returned to Greece, but during the same year is found once more at Florence with Eugenius IV, who, in the consistory of 18 December, 1439 (according to others 8 January, 1440), created him cardinal of the title of the Twelve Holy Apostles. At the same time another Greek, Archbishop Isidore, received the sacred purple. The brief duration of the union of the churches is well known. Bessarion himself, having changed to the Latin Rite was cordially hated by the dissenting Greeks. This notwithstanding, Bessarion continued to work zealously for the union of the other Oriental churches, the Jacobites and Ethiopians (1442), the Syrians (1444), the Chaldeans and Maronites (1445). At this time, also, to refute the accusations of Marcus of Ephesus, against the council, he wrote the book: "De successu synodi florentinæ".

In July 1463, Pius II sent Bessarion to Venice as papal legate. In order to win the favor of a city notorious for its reluctance to allow credit to any 'foreign' notable, Bessarion donated his celebrated library of Greek manuscripts to the city, where they became the nucleus of the Biblioteca Marciana. All the aspirations of Bessarion, which, more than great, were unique, were absorbed by three ideas: the union of the Oriental Church with the Latin, the rescue of Greek lands from the Muslim yoke, and the triumph of classic literature and philosophy, especially the Greek. If the realization of the first two was only partial or, in a way, temporary, the third was certainly fulfilled to a more complete degree than perhaps Bessarion himself had dared hope.

He died at the Abbey of St. John the Evangelist on 18 November 1472. His body was taken to Rome and interred in a tomb which had been erected in a portico close by the Basilica of the Twelve Holy Apostles. A simple sarcophagus, on which is inscribed a Greek distich of his own composition, contains his remains.

The Ends of Science

Selections from Eric Cohen's article in First Things, 167 (November 2006): 26-30.

....The trouble is that most scientists — at least most modern biologists, whose work dominates the public imagination about science — do not seem to reflect much or deeply about the limits of their method, or about the moral significance of the ends they seek and the means they use....In the public realm, most biologists seem, all too often, like scientific geniuses and moral simpletons, applying rational rigor to their investigations of nature but relying on feeling as their only moral compass. And for all its appreciation of nature’s complexity, the scientific mind seems no rival for the Bible or Aristotle or Machiavelli in understanding human complexity. Next to the philosopher, the neuroscientist still looks, all too often, like a fool....

For it turns out that the methods of science cannot vindicate the ends of science, and the knowledge acquired by scientific methods cannot always justify the particular experiments used to acquire it. Yet scientists desperately want such vindication in the eyes of their fellow citizens: Good science (meaning interesting, promising, exciting) needs to be seen as good (meaning virtuous, praiseworthy, compassionate) by everyone. And so scientists have invented a new method to defend the unfettered freedom of the old one: They claim the mantle of science while making ethical claims (“embryo research is good”) that rest on no special scientific basis at all, and they portray their opponents as antiscience for raising ethical questions that are entirely consistent with the scientific facts (“embryological development begins at conception”)….

From the beginning, science was driven by both democratic pity and aristocratic guile, by the promise to help humanity and the desire to be free from the constraints of the common man, with his many myths and superstitions and taboos. The modern scientist comes to heal the wretched bodies of those whose meager minds are always a threat to experimental knowledge. Salomon’s House, where the elite of Bacon’s scientific utopia would decide which inventions to publish and which to hide, existed both to protect men from science and science from men. It offers a new salvation and seeks to elude the oppressive trappings of the old one. It brings a new compassion and a new contempt. This was true in the beginning, and it is true today….

[C]all it the original sin of the scientific Enlightenment— [it] still haunts modern science: Perpetual progress is not the same thing as perfection. Infinite progress also means infinite discontent, as man is left in a state of eternal becoming with no end. “Indefinite perfectibility,” Condorcet’s dream, is an irreconcilable contradiction.

Perfection, after all, is an end, a limit, something definite. Christ embodies the perfection of love. The philosopher grasps the perfection of knowledge. Yet the scientist destroys the possibility of perfection by seeing a world in permanent flux. Perhaps the only perfection available to the modern scientist is stoic acceptance of contingency on the way to oblivion—and indeed, there is no necessary contradiction between stoic philosophy and modern natural science. Yet stoic acceptance of nature is precisely what modern science, technological from the beginning, is incapable of embracing in spirit. Modern science portrays a world where acceptance of our fate within nature is all we can do, and yet it remakes knowledge in such a way that technological striving is seen as the only thing worth doing. Modern biology, like Sisyphus, is haunted by temporary successes and ultimate failure. It fends off death but cannot eradicate it; it explains death’s role in natural selection but not the death of individual men still thirsty for salvation….

[Max] Weber’s essay on “science as a vocation” is perhaps the best starting point for understanding the limits of scientific aspiration in our time. Weber praised scientists for living in the world of facts and criticized those who sought salvation by pretending that the old gods still exist. But he also reminded scientists that they have nothing privileged to say about the realm of value, the realm that matters most to human beings seeking knowledge of how to live. Like everyone else, the scientist must decide which ends to pursue, which gods to serve, which demon will “hold the very fibers of his life.” And these are exactly the questions that the scientific method cannot answer. Divine salvation may be an illusion but so is believing that science can tell us how to live in the world it dissects and describes, and how to live well in a world where scientific power is so readily, so seductively, so dangerously, at our disposal….

In every area of public life where science and morality intersect, there are questions about the use of science that science itself can never answer. On stem cells, scientists can tell us the potential benefits of destroying human embryos but not whether the progress of medicine justifies the willful destruction of nascent human life. On drilling in Alaska, scientists can estimate the potential oil reserves and the potential harm to the ecosystem but not whether we have a moral responsibility to expand the domestic oil supply or to preserve an unsullied wilderness even with economic harm to ourselves. On human exploration of space, scientists can estimate the economic and human costs of putting a man on Mars and the potential benefits of such a mission to the advance of human knowledge, but they cannot say whether human greatness in space is more worthy of public funds than ongoing research into curing AIDS. Science is power without wisdom about the uses of power.