Time Immortal

I was reading something that Babylon 5 creator Joseph Michael Straczynski said in regard to forgiveness. He was talking, specifically, about an episode of the series that dealt directly with the Catholic concept of atonement, and with forgiveness, and was commenting on how he had enjoyed writing something that he, himself, was so very much at odds with.

His being an atheist, Straczynski explains, means that he cannot believe in forgiveness, and cannot offer it.

And I have lost people. Too many people. Lost them to chance, violence, brutality beyond belief; I’ve seen all the senseless, ignoble acts of “God’s noblest creature.” And I am incapable of forgiving. My feelings are with G’Kar, hand sliced open, saying of the drops of blood flowing from that open wound, “How do you apologize to them?” “I can’t.” “Then I cannot forgive.”

As an atheist, I believe that all life is unspeakably precious, because it’s only here for a brief moment, a flare against the dark, and then it’s gone forever. No afterlives, no second chances, no backsies. So there can be nothing crueler than the abuse, destruction or wanton taking of a life. It is a crime no less than burning the Mona Lisa, for there is always just one of each.

So I cannot forgive. Which makes the notion of writing a character who CAN forgive momentarily attractive…because it allows me to explore in great detail something of which I am utterly incapable. I cannot fly, so I would write of birds and starships and kites; I cannot play an instrument, so I would write of composers and dancers; and I cannot forgive, so I would write of priests and monks and Minbari….

I read this yesterday, and it instantly drew to mind a previous response I had given to Nicholas, who had asked for examples of “sanctifying grace” that could not be explained away by attribution to natural causes. Leaving aside the fallacy inherent in the question, my answer, now as it was then, is that the act of forgiveness is an example of manifest grace that cannot logically be attributed to natural phenomena.

I would posit that the act of genuine forgiveness — and its being regarded as a good thing — cannot always be attributed to natural causes, for the simple reason that forgiveness in its most genuine form does not involve “forgive, but do not forget.” It is more complete than that, requiring us to both grant that we absolve the person who has wronged us and that we will not in any way hold it against them; in any future dealings with them, we will not anticipate the possibility of a repeated transgression.

I think the reasons this is counter-intuitive to nature should be obvious: the instinct to survive should motivate a person to either never forgive a transgression or to forgive the transgression but to treat the transgressor with hesitance in any future encounters.

And indeed, I can observe in my own life that there does seem to be a spectrum at work in people; I’ve noticed, both in my own family and in my wider circle of friends and acquaintences, that the degree to which a person is secular correlates directly to the degree to which they are willing to offer forgiveness to others for wrongs done against them. Certainly, JMS (above) reflects this in his own views which, while incorrect, do have the virtue of consistency.

Complete forgiveness means allowing oneself to again become totally open, and thus vulnerable, to the other, and to a repeat offence. In a purely materialistic/naturalistic framework, since vulnerability is something most human beings naturally attempt to avoid displaying, forgiveness should be non-existent.

And yet, people offer forgiveness in this way quite often. Not always, of course, but often. And to do so, I think, puts a human being far outside of his or her nature. A nun, shot in the back, falls to the ground uttering her last words: “I forgive, I forgive.” A Pope makes a point of visiting in prison the man who attempted to murder him, and offers him his complete forgiveness. A man, nailed to a Cross, begs that the crowd of his murderers be forgiven, for they did not know then the full magnitude of their actions. That’s about as contrary to “natural causes” as one can get.

This was on display again recently, given evidence by Sister Marie Curran in her testimony against the young man who, three years earlier, shoved her to the ground and stole her purse.

Yes, it’s a small example, but the actions of the good nun are telling.

Sister Muriel Curran faced the man who shoved her to the ground and ripped away her purse three years ago. She quoted Scripture. She thanked him for the guilty plea that spared her a trial. And she asked a Baltimore County judge not to send him to prison.

“There is possibility and hope — I believe in it, it’s what I’m about — in rehabilitation and a future,” the 78-year-old nun said yesterday, explaining that she has difficulty believing in a penal system that sometimes leaves criminals worse off than before they went to prison. “I’ve taught too many boys in my life not to believe that growth and change can take place.”

Police officers waiting for other cases listened in astonishment.

The defendant’s aunt and grandmother wept openly. Even strangers sitting in the courtroom sat spellbound and dabbed at their eyes. The veteran prosecutor handling the case fought back tears and later characterized the scene as “the single most profound thing I have ever heard in a courtroom.” And the convicted robber, Charles R. Dodson, 22, hung his bald and tattooed head as he tearfully offered apologies and begged for the forgiveness that the nun had already granted.

Ommitted from the above are the details of the injuries suffered by Sister Curran: five ribs broken, torn rotator cuff, bruises to her face and arm, and a gash above her eye — one of her arms no longer has its full range of motion, and she cannot live alone. And yet, faced with the man who shoved her — then a 75-year old woman — to the ground and impacted her life thusly, she hurried only to offer her complete forgiveness. One is sure that, were she to meet Dobson in the future, she would not do so with any hesitance or reservation — her forgiveness of him was complete.

That is spectacularly contrary to nature.

And indeed, the good Sister attributed her actions solely to the Gospel:

Reading from a card, Sister Curran quoted a letter in the Bible from the Prophet Jeremiah: “For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare, not for woe! plans to give you a future full of hope.” Turning to face Dodson, she said, “That is my hope for you, Charles. I would like to give that to you.”

She reached out to hand him the card. She then extended her arm again. And although the sheriff’s deputies assigned to the county’s courtrooms usually prevent anyone other than defense attorneys from touching a defendant, no one interfered as the snowy-haired nun in the navy suit and white blouse shook the hand of the tattooed man in a dirty white T-shirt who had robbed her three years earlier.

As a living witness to the Gospel and to Jesus, one would strive mightily to do better than Sister Curran. Christ came to bring forgiveness from sin, and bade us all to forgive one another as well. It is ludicrously hard to live up to that ideal, in no small part because it contravenes the natural inclination of the human heart to do so. And yet, people do forgive.

And out of that forgiveness springs all manner of incredible results, results that in many respects defy explanation. Were atheists truly correct in their assertions of God’s non-existence, one would think that the act of offering forgivness wouldn’t have anywhere near the power it would. That it does have that power should, I think, tell us something profound.

Update: Welcome, WebElf and Father Hosea readers!

Nicholas writes in with an additional question, a follow-up to his last.

Sorry, Ken, my question wasn’t clear. There are many possible natural reasons why humans do good deeds. For example, some altruism may be built in (in humans and other social animals) because altruism can help you, or your close kin, survive long enough to reproduce. And, if your parents often praised you for being kind (as kind parents do, partly out of self-interest) you may get into the habit of being kind. And sometimes people do good because they believe they will get a reward in Heaven. (That can occur, of course, independently of whether heaven exists. And it raises a whole other debate about whether acts motivated by a belief in heaven are good, or self-interested.)

My question is, can you give examples of good deeds that cannot be attributed to any such natural causes, but only to what you call sanctifying grace?

I would posit that the act of genuine forgiveness — and its being regarded as a good thing — cannot always be attributed to natural causes, for the simple reason that forgiveness in its most genuine form does not involve “forgive, but do not forget.” It is more complete than that, requiring us to both grant that we absolve the person who has wronged us and that we will not in any way hold it against them; in any future dealings with them, we will not anticipate the possibility of a repeated transgression.

I think the reasons this is counter-intuitive to nature should be obvious: the instinct to survive should motivate a person to either never forgive a transgression or to forgive the transgression but to treat the transgressor with hesitance in any future encounters. Complete forgiveness means allowing oneself to again become totally open, and thus vulnerable, to the other, and to a repeat offence.

And yet, people offer forgiveness in this way quite often. Not always, of course, but often. And to do so, I think, puts a human being far outside of his or her nature. A nun, shot in the back, falls to Earth uttering her last words: “I forgive, I forgive.” A Pope makes a point of visiting in prison the man who attempted to murder him, and offers him his complete forgiveness. A man, nailed to a Cross, begs that the crowd of his murderers be forgiven, for they did not know then the full magnitude of their actions. That’s about as contrary to “natural causes” as one can get.

But Nicholas raises an interesting question of his own, O Reader. He lists many beneficial acts — good acts — that people do, and then asks for a demonstration of good deeds that cannot be attributed to natural causes, as though God could and would only choose to manifest His desire that we be moral in the inspiration of those acts which are contrary to, or at least outside, nature. Is it not equally reasonable that the author of all creation would choose to make His desire that we be moral innate to our nature? That is, is it not reasonable to suggest that the reason that human beings are altruistic, and the reason that altruism can be an advantage to survival in a species of social animal) is because it is God has made altruism to be moral, and desires that we live morally in this (and other) fashions?