The Philosophical Case

The philosopher Stephen Schwartz says there are only four differences between born and unborn humans, and none of them justifies depriving unborn humans of their basic rights, especially the right to life. Obviously, you and I have more rights than a fetus or an infant, such as the right to vote, but we all have the same basic right not to be tortured, enslaved, or unjustly killed. Schwartz uses the acronym SLED to summarize these differences between born and unborn humans and then shows that these differences do not justify saying born humans are persons, but unborn humans are not. They are 

• Size 

• Level of development 

• Environment 

• Degree of dependency 

Just as we would ask a racist why skin color makes someone less valuable, we should ask pro-choicers why SLED differences make someone less valuable—or not a someone at all. The SLED critique follows this basic pattern: 

• Affirm that the difference illustrated in the SLED acronym exists. 

• Ask the critic what a person is or why this difference is what makes someone a person. 

• Show that this difference has nothing to do with being a person, because some born people also differ in one or more of these ways. 

Size 

Katha Pollitt dismisses the value of the unborn because they are, according to her, “pea-sized,” “lentil-sized,” and “shrimplike.” Nathan Robinson says, “It is not hard to recognize that a cell barely visible to the naked eye is morally distinct from a live child.”  

Obviously, there is a difference in size between newborns and embryos. They are distinct from one another. But is it a moral distinction? To answer that question, we must ask why the embryo’s size changes his moral worth. I know the difference between an adult woman and a premature infant who is smaller than a football, but I also know that both are equally human even if they are unequal in size. That’s because size is irrelevant to the issue of human value. 

Sometimes, when issues related to “size” come up, the pro-choicer is really talking about appearance. He might say an early embryo simply doesn’t “look human.” But the idea that humans must look a certain way in order to be considered persons is a bigoted idea. 

For example, in the early twentieth century, small African pygmies were put on display in human zoos. This was considered acceptable because pygmies did not “look human,” or they did not have white skin and European facial features. Of course, African pygmies looked just like how humans are supposed to look who live in a certain geographical region of the world. Likewise, a one-celled zygote looks just like how a human is supposed to look who lives in the womb at that stage of development. 

Another reason human appearance is a bad criterion for personhood is that robots and mannequins can be designed to look human even though they are not human. Also, aliens and angels may not resemble human beings, but they would still be persons. This all shows that our size and our appearance are not relevant to what makes something a person. 

Level of development 

Atheist Richard Dawkins says abortionists are obviously persons, whereas the unborn are not, because “an early embryo has the sentience, as well as the semblance, of a tadpole. A doctor is a grown-up, conscious being with hopes, loves, [and&91; aspirations.” However, arguments like Dawkins’s that disqualify unborn children based on their level of development have at least one of these three flaws: 

1. They set the level of development too low so that non-human animals are persons. 

If merely being able to feel pain made something a person, then many non-human animals would be persons. This includes pests we regularly kill like rats, and so fumigating dozens of them would be an act of mass murder. But since rats and similar creatures aren’t persons, it follows that feeling pain is not what makes something a person. 

1. They set the level of development too high so that infants are not persons. 

Some pro-choicers say a person is anyone who can not only feel pain, but also exhibit rationality, or thinking beyond the level of non-human animals. And it’s true that unborn children can’t do that, but neither can newborn infants. But since nearly everyone believes that newborn infants are persons, this shows that having the immediate ability to think rationally is not what makes something a person. 

1. They make the level of development arbitrary in order to exclude the unborn. 

If a pro-choicer says a person is any human being that can feel pain, then ask him why feeling pain matters, since non-human animals that feel pain (like rats) aren’t persons. Since pain didn’t matter when rats were involved, it’s clear this definition was created simply to disqualify the unborn. Also, saying a person is any “human living outside the womb” is as prejudiced as saying a person is any “human who is white” or any “human who is male.” Why not just say all humans are persons? 

However, when we critique pro-choice definitions of personhood, we need to use noncontroversial examples. If a pro-choicer says a person is anyone who can feel pain or think, it’s not wise to ask in response, “But what about permanently comatose human beings who will never think or feel again? Are they persons?” The pro-choicer might simply reply, “No, the irreversibly comatose are not persons.”

That’s why in nearly all my examples, I use newborn infants: because (1) they are close in age and level of development to fetuses and (2) almost everyone agrees that it is wrong to kill newborn infants. As a result, if we can show that human embryos and fetuses do not differ in any relevant way from human infants, then we can direct people’s natural moral outrage against infanticide toward abortion as well. 

Environment 

Pro-choicers sometimes say the unborn aren’t “in the world yet” (i.e., they aren’t born), and so it’s not wrong to abort them. But why does a person have to be alive in a certain environment in order to be a person?  

Keep in mind that women are not merely environments, locations, or vessels that carry an unborn child. Instead, a woman’s body represents intimate space that is shared with another human being. If, when we’re outside the womb, moving from one place to another does not take away our personhood, then how could moving from inside to outside the womb cause someone to become a person?  

Even pro-choice philosophers like Peter Singer recognize the absurdity of basing a being’s value on its location. He writes, “Pro-life groups are right about one thing: the location of the baby inside or outside the womb cannot make such a crucial moral difference. We cannot coherently hold that it is all right to kill a fetus a week before birth, but as soon as the baby is born everything must be done to keep it alive.”  

You can also point out that birth isn’t special to humans and that if the process of birth doesn’t turn a dog or a cat into a person, why would it turn a human into a person? If your pro-choice friend says birth just is what makes a human a person, ask him why that same argument couldn’t also be used to claim that another irrelevant trait, like having a Y-chromosome, just is what makes a human a person.  

Some pro-choicers say birth makes people because we celebrate birthdays, not conception days, and it is only after birth when a child becomes a citizen and is issued official state documentation, such as a Social Security number.  

But aside from the fact that it can take several weeks to get a Social Security card (thus allowing for infanticide), there are millions of immigrants in America who do not have things like Social Security cards, yet they are still persons. And we celebrate birthdays because no one knows exactly when he was conceived. Birthdays celebrate when we met our parents, when other people could see us outside the womb, and when our relationship with our mother changed, not when we began to exist. Although, I know some pro-life advocates who celebrate their approximate conception day. Catholics alsocelebrate the day Jesus was conceived (the Annunciation) and the day Mary was conceived (the Immaculate Conception). 

Ben Bayer argues for abortion until the moment before birth because “it’s the point at which a child first exists: a new being, physically independent of the mother. A child is no longer a necessary physical burden on or potential threat to the mother’s life. Only then can she have no right to destroy it, and its right to live begins.”

First, birth is a process, so is Bayer saying that unless a child is completely born, he is not a person? Could the child’s head be kept in the birth canal so that the abortionist can kill the child by jamming a pair of scissors into his brain? (For more on this horrifying abortion procedure, see chapter 13.) Bayer’s argument also fails because a breastfeeding infant is also physically dependent on his mother (or someone else), but that doesn’t mean he is not a person. His claims that at birth a “new being” exists are simply assumptions without evidence (and incorrect ones at that). 

Finally, Bayer’s argument leads to a conclusion about human embryos he would probably reject. He writes, “Neither a fetus nor an embryo is an individual in any relevant sense. Neither is physically or physiologically individuated from the pregnant woman.” Bayer claims that this individuation happens not at viability (or when a fetus can survive outside the womb), but at birth because the child is no longer inside the woman’s body. But by that logic, a human embryo produced through IVF would be a person since it is “physically or physiologically individuated from the pregnant woman,” and so it would be murder to intentionally destroy it. 

However, Bayer might say the IVF embryo is not a person because a person is something that can “act independently.” He says, “The fetus doesn’t need protection for its ability to act independently—it has no such ability.” But neither do newborn infants, and if they are persons in spite of their helplessness, then so are unborn children—including those who exist the moment before being born. 

Ultimately, birth does not change our personhood, since birth involves a change only of location, and where you are does not determine what you are. 

Degree of dependency 

A pro-choicer could respond to the last argument by saying that at birth, what changes isn’t the unborn child’s location, but the fact that he no longer needs the woman’s body in order to survive. However, a fetus can survive outside a woman’s body several months before the traditional time of birth. The earliest time a newborn can survive outside the womb is called viability, and it is usually dated in the United States at around twenty-four weeks after conception.  

Even pro-choicers have noted how arbitrary it is to set personhood at a point like viability, which constantly changes because of developments in technology. If viability determined personhood, then some poor humans would not be persons simply because they lived in a place where it is more difficult to deliver premature babies. Underdeveloped technology might not be able to help a person, but that fact alone shouldn’t determine if someone is a person. That’s why Dobbs said, “The arbitrary viability line, which Casey termed Roe’s central rule, has not found much support among philosophers and ethicists who have attempted to justify a right to abortion.” 

That’s why when people propose viability as the time fetuses become persons, we should ask: why does a child’s ability to survive outside the womb make him a person?  

Rats can survive outside a uterus, but they aren’t persons. Newborns cannot live on their own outside the womb; they would be dead in a few hours or days if left on a hospital table. If the pro-choicer says that a person is someone who can survive outside the womb even with assistance, then once again, he is just asserting that the unborn are not persons. Why does “assistance” after birth have nothing to do with personhood, but “assistance” before birth proves you’re not a person? 

Or suppose aliens abducted earthlings and put them on Mars, where they would immediately suffocate. What if the Martians defended their actions by saying that humans are not “viable,” and so they are not persons? Of course, this would only prove that humans aren’t “viable” in a certain environment, not that they aren’t persons at all.  

Defining personhood through viability involves an invalid, circular argument: 

Premise 1: A person is any human being who can survive outside the womb. 

Premise 2: A fetus cannot survive outside the womb. 

Conclusion: Therefore, a fetus is not a person. 

But “who can survive outside the womb” is the same as “not a fetus,” so the argument basically says, 

Premise 1: A person is any human being who is not a fetus. 

Premise 2: A fetus is a fetus. 

Conclusion: Therefore, a fetus is not a person. 

This argument merely assumes that the unborn aren’t persons. It hasn’t given any reason to think viability is an essential part of what it means to be a person.  

In fact, the idea that the unborn are not persons because they are dependent contradicts our moral intuitions. For example, acts of violence against innocent adults are wrong, but nearly everyone thinks those same crimes are even worse when committed against infants. This intuition comes from the fact that infants are so dependent on others and cannot protect themselves. But if it is worse to harm an infant because he is so helpless, then wouldn’t it be worse to kill a human being who is even more helpless than an infant, such as a fetus or an embryo? That’s why degree of dependency is irrelevant to what makes human beings valuable. 

Mere emotional assent to holiness will not suffice, even though that can be a part of it. Intellectual assent, although pivotal, by itself won’t suffice either. It is imperative that we rediscover personally this profound truth of the Holy Spirit’s outpouring and seek it daily. We should commit ourselves anew to: 

• daily invocation of the Holy Spirit, particularly in moments of decision-making, temptation, or dryness; 

• regular and devout sacramental participation, especially frequent confession and reception of the Eucharist, to renew and deepen our communion with the Spirit; 

• engagement with Scripture and spiritual writings, allowing the Spirit to illuminate our minds and inflame our hearts; and 

• spiritual direction and communal prayer, fostering accountability and deepening our capacity to discern the Spirit’s movements in our lives. 

May we never tire of praying, “Come, Holy Spirit,” confident in his response, eager for his guidance, and inflamed by his presence to love of Christ and commitment to a life of holiness and evangelization. For indeed, when we yield fully to his divine influence, we will experience the words of Jesus anew: “Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water” (John 7:38). If we commit ourselves to the pursuit of the person of the Holy Spirit, we will become vessels aflame with his presence, renewing ourselves, immersing ourselves in the fullness of revealed truth, transforming our families, our communities, and our world, to the glory of the Father, through Christ our Lord.

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During my conversion in high school, I repented of my sins and received Jesus Christ into my life. Today, I live out my faith in the knowledge that, if I remain united to Christ until death, I will enter into heavenly glory with him. 

That’s all of it: repent, receive, and remain.  

You don’t have to pray the rosary to be saved. You don’t have to perform a certain number of “good deeds” to be saved. And you don’t have to receive all seven sacraments to be saved. (Very few Catholics have ever done that, anyway.) Just repent, receive, and remain. 

One reason Protestants and Catholics often talk past each other on the issue of salvation is that many Protestants view salvation as a single moment in our lives—the instant they “got saved.” Catholics agree that there is a single moment in our lives when we go from being a condemned sinner to being a saved child of God. That’s why I referred in the past tense to having repented and then received Jesus Christ when I was in high school.  

But Catholics also recognize that salvation is a process. It doesn’t consist only of the moment we go from being damned to being “saved.” It has a “first moment” and a “last moment.” Our process of salvation continues throughout our lives, as we choose to remain united to Christ until we die and then go to be with him. That’s why Paul speaks of “the gospel, which you received, in which you stand, by which you are saved, if you hold it fast—unless you believed in vain” (1 Cor. 15:1-2). 

Catholics believe in the gospel. We believe we are saved by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and that this is good news! Catholics and Protestants agree that Jesus’ victory over death is good news that we accept through faith; we just disagree on how God wants us to respond to that good news. 

One of those big differences is on what you must believe to be saved. Whereas Protestants say Catholics overcomplicate salvation, many Protestants, especially “non-denominational” Christians, dangerously understate what we must believe to be saved. And this is where we see the first reason salvation comes from the Catholic Church: the Church reveals what we must believe to be saved.

In Salvation Is From the Catholic Church, Trent Horn answers common objections and explains why the Church is essential to God's plan of salvation. Get your copy today!

St. Paul was martyred in the mid-A.D. 60s, and he wrote his letters in the 50s and 60s, making them very early sources about Jesus—much earlier, Mythicists say, than the Gospels. 

Mythicists frequently state that if Jesus were a real, historical figure, St. Paul would tell us about his life; but he only speaks about Jesus as a heavenly individual. He doesn’t tell us stories about his life, give sayings of Jesus, or relate biographical facts about his life on earth. Consequently, Paul understood Jesus to be a purely heavenly being.  

The first thing to say is that the claim about Paul’s epistles being earlier than the Gospels is overblown. We will argue in a future chapter that the Gospels also were written in the A.D. 50s and 60s, making them contemporary with the letters of Paul.  

More fundamentally, the Mythicist is making an argument from silence—that, since Paul is silent about Jesus’ earthly life, Jesus must not have had an earthly life. But arguments from silence are weak. Just because someone is silent about something doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know about or believe it. When someone is writing a book, or a shorter work like a letter, he inevitably knows much more than he will say in that text.  

Some years ago, I wrote a book called The Drama of Salvation, which was, unsurprisingly, about the Bible’s teaching on salvation. In it, I didn’t mention the atomic theory of matter, but that didn’t mean that I don’t know about or believe in atoms. I simply didn’t write about them because that wasn’t my purpose in the book. The only thing you could reasonably infer from my silence on atoms is that I didn’t think mentioning them would serve my purpose, not that I didn’t know about or believe in their existence.  

This illustrates how arguments from silence only have value if it can be shown that a person would have had a special reason to mention a subject but still didn’t. Without that, an argument from silence is worthless, because without a special reason to mention a subject, an author likely won’t bring it up.  

Paul did not have a special reason to go into detail about Jesus’ earthly life, because he was not writing a Gospel. He was writing letters to deal with situations in churches he was in contact with, to people who were already Christians and already knew the story of Jesus. There was no need for him to repeat that story in his letters.  

Rather than looking to the past, in his letters Paul primarily looks to the present and future. He deals with present problems in the churches and how people can live in expectation of the future coming of Jesus.  

Where is Jesus at the time Paul is writing? In heaven. That’s why Paul spends most of his time discussing Jesus as a heavenly figure. It’s natural he would focus on the heavenly Jesus, because that’s where Jesus was. Paul isn’t writing a Gospel to tell us about Jesus’ earthly life, which belonged to the past. Paul is trying to help people relate correctly to Jesus today, and so it’s no surprise that he doesn’t give a lot of biographical details about him. This argument from silence thus doesn’t work.

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When one traces the golden thread of salvation history, the Holy Spirit is never absent. He is there, veiled or visible, from the dawn of creation to the descent at Pentecost. It was the Spirit who hovered over the deep (Gen. 1:2); the same Spirit who inspired the prophets of Israel (Ezek. 37:1-14); the same Spirit who overshadowed Mary, bringing about the Incarnation (Luke 1:35); and the same Spirit who descended upon Jesus at his baptism, publicly marking him for the messianic mission (Matt. 3:16-17). Likewise, Basil the Great declared that, “through the Holy Spirit comes restoration to paradise, ascension into the kingdom of heaven, and adoption as children of God.”lxxii Indeed, this is what he does. The Holy Spirit restores what was lost, elevates what is inherent and natural, and divinizes what is material and earthly.  

This Spirit of God, this divine breath, was not content to merely hover over the annals of human history. In fact, he has made his dwelling in a very real, personal, and intimate way within the soul of the baptized who lives in a state of friendship and grace of God. This literally means that the sanctifying fire of God’s own life resides in us: in you, in me, and in all the members of Christ’s Body who live in a state of grace. This is no minor detail of theology, it is a central fact of the entire Christian life and the doctrine of elevation in the life of grace. 

The question must be asked by us, however: What does the indwelling of the Holy Spirit look like in our daily lives? It is not, first and foremost, the capacity to perform signs and wonders, nor is it ecstasy or speech in tongues. It is holiness. It is transformation. It is the quiet miracle of a life conformed to Christ.  

The sacraments are the Spirit’s great instruments for our sanctification. Baptism initiates us into divine life. Confirmation seals us with power. The Eucharist becomes the place where, by his action, Christ is made present (CCC 1116). Likewise, in our life of prayer, St. Paul writes that the Spirit intercedes within us with “groanings too deep for words” (Rom. 8:26, ESV), teaching us to cry out, “Abba, Father.” It is the Spirit who convicts us of sin, who grants us the power to forgive, to love, to serve, to persevere. It is he who stirs in us the gifts and fruits that mark divine life: wisdom, counsel, fortitude, and that most necessary of all: charity (1 Cor. 13; Gal. 5:22-23). Augustine of Hippo gives a beautiful meditation on what it means to “have the Spirit of God”: 

In the earliest times, the Holy Ghost fell upon them that believed: and they spoke with tongues, which they had not learned, as the Spirit gave them utterance (Acts 2:4). These were signs adapted to the time. . . . If then the witness of the presence of the Holy Ghost be not now given through these miracles, by what is it given, by what does one get to know that he has received the Holy Ghost? Let him question his own heart. If he love his brother the Spirit of God dwells in him. Let him see, let him prove himself before the eyes of God, let him see whether there be in him the love of peace and unity, the love of the Church that is spread over the whole earth.

The Church is not merely an organized institution; it is, as Aquinas taught, a living organism animated by the Holy Spirit as its soul. Through love, the Church becomes the great sign of the Spirit’s presence in our midst. 

The Spirit elevates nature without destroying it. He infuses our intellect with divine light, strengthens our will against temptation, and empowers our body to become a vessel of holiness. Without him, we are dust that returns to dust. With him, however, we are destined for everlasting, heavenly, divine glory. 

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Then there are those moments—not when you have something difficult to say, but when you sense that the other person may. You have a feeling, or you may know, that he is embarrassed about something or is going through a difficult situation. It may be when you meet a friend who has kept his distance for a time. It may be when you notice that he is avoiding talking about a particular issue or person who would normally be a part of your conversation. Or it may be that you have heard of something that may cause the other person embarrassment or grief. Usually he would talk to you, but not now.  

These situations can be more difficult the closer you are—or were—to the person. It may be trouble in a marriage or at work. It may be the behavior or “lifestyle” of children. It may be the ongoing care of a disabled child or elderly parent. There is a “tiptoeing” around the topic, a noticeable void where information would usually be forthcoming. You sense hesitancy, avoidance, evasion, or silence.  

You don’t want to pry, but you want to be a friend. What do you say?  

It helps to remember that what the other wants is what we want when we’ve had these kinds of issues—simply someone to listen. The other person doesn’t want answers or solutions, however good or correct they may be. He doesn’t want counseling, however true it may be. He may not even want encouragement or consolation, however necessary it may seem. He just wants 

the comfort of saying something out loud to another human being, the comfort of being listened to and getting something off his heart. He wants the wall down.  

How do you break the ice? Be simple, direct, and kind. For example, “You know, Fred, you and I have been friends for a long time, and I’ve heard about X, but you don’t talk about it. I’m not here to give answers, even if I had any, but as your friend I am here to listen if you want to talk about it, and you can be assured of my confidence.”  

Then listen.  

If he is silent, wait. If he says, “I don’t want to talk about it,” or passes on to something else, let it go.  

If he does open up, then, again, just listen. If you sense he wants to keep talking, or you feel the need to fill an awkward silence, ask open-ended, non-judgmental questions.  

“How are you coping with this?”  

“When did you first have an idea?”  

“How is this affecting you [your marriage, your family&91;?”  

“How do you feel about the situation?”  

“Have you talked to anyone about it?”  

“What hurts the most about this?”  

“Is there anything else?”  

Resist the urge to share your experiences by saying, “I know how you feel,” or “I’ve been there.” You don’t, and you haven’t. It’s his hurt and his struggle, and it’s not about you. Don’t, even with the best of intentions, offer consolation by saying, “It will turn out alright.” Maybe it will; maybe it won’t. Some problems last a lifetime. 

Even if the person is deeply spiritual, don’t say, “Prayer will solve it” or “God will help you carry this cross.” He’s heard that before and has probably been giving God an earful already. Don’t attempt to exonerate the other person by saying, “It’s not your fault.” If it’s not, he probably knows it, and you may come off as patronizing. On the other hand, in some situations, he may indeed have some culpability, and he wants or needs to own it.  

Don’t say what you would do. If he does ask, you may have some leeway here, but generally, the best answer will likely be, “I’m not sure. I’d have to think about it.” “I’m sorry you’re in this” and “I’m sorry for your pain” are good options as well. Remember: in these moments, you’re vulnerable, too, and your on-the-spot advice may not be the best. So be careful. 

If he says, “I don’t know what to do,” the best reply may be, “What do you think you should do?” In many circumstances, people do know what to do, but their minds have been so tied up with a problem that they can’t get to that question. The simple posing of it by another often frees them. If the response seems questionable (e.g., “Run away,” “Get a divorce,” “Quit my job”), ask further questions to help him see why that may not be the best solution. “And then what would you do?” “How would that solve it?” “What would that entail?”  

You could also ask, “What are your options?” Again, when we’re going through difficult times, especially difficult times with other people, it can seem so muddled and overwhelming. Getting a person to realize there may be only one, two, or three things he can do can provide clarity and relief.

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We should first briefly consider some objections to the concept of miracles. Today, in the secular Western world, many are skeptical of the very possibility that miracles can occur.  

This is an assumption of secular Westerners, but it is not shared by other peoples. And there is actually a great deal of evidence that miracles do occur, including in today’s world. The Catholic Church has rigorously evaluated many reported miracles throughout history and approved some as genuinely supernatural.  

Yet skeptics claim that miracles are part of a prescientific worldview. Today, they say, we understand that the universe operates according to scientific laws. There is thus no room for miracles to occur.  

This misunderstands the nature of both miracles and science. The ancients knew as well as we that nature obeys particular “laws,” and the idea that there is no room for miracles alongside natural laws reflects an anti-miracle bias, not real science.  

People in the ancient world were more in touch with nature than we. They knew that it behaved according to regular cycles, with things happening in predictable ways. They knew that the sun rises every day, that crops need rain, and that stones fall down rather than up. All of these were regularities that ancient people observed. Ancient people also were aware that, in the ordinary course of nature: 

• Virgins do not give birth. 

• Water does not turn into wine. 

• Loaves of bread do not spontaneously multiply. 

• People who have been dead for several days do not come back to life—much less ascend into heaven. 

It was precisely because they knew the regularities of nature that they were able to identify the latter events as miracles. They saw miracles as unusual events that stood out in comparison to the regular way nature normally operates.  

The difference between then and now is that we have a more detailed knowledge of the regularities of nature. We have precise measurements of many such regularities, and this allows us to describe them with mathematical formulas. Some are so well established that we refer to them as scientific laws.  

But these “laws” are merely descriptions based on observations of how nature usually works. Nothing says that the world always acts this way. Science is based on observation, and the only way we could know that the world always behaves a certain way would be to observe the entire history of the universe and see what nature does at each moment.  

We can’t do that. We have no way of scanning the entire history of the universe. Consequently, the idea that nature must always behave in the ways it normally behaves goes beyond what science can establish. It’s a philosophical assumption, not a scientific fact.  

It’s also an assumption that is not shared in other cultures; and one that flies in the face of the evidence we have for miracles occurring in today’s world. The open-minded way to approach this issue in particular cases is not to begin with an anti-miracle assumption, but to look at the evidence. We can acknowledge that nature normally works in certain ways but still leave open the possibility that unusual, miraculous events sometimes occur.

Evidence for Christ by Jimmy Akin explores the historical, philosophical, and biblical reasons to believe Jesus is who he claimed to be. Order your copy today!

In his book Radical Love: Introduction to Queer Theology, Patrick Cheng claims, “Radical love is ultimately about love [emphasis in original&91;, which, as St. Paul teaches us, is patient and kind, and not envious, boastful, arrogant, or rude. As such, radical love is premised upon safe, sane, and consensual behavior.”ccii This language jibes with a prevailing modern sexual ethic that emphasizes consent and taking precautions against disease and pregnancy. 

But the real Jesus condemned at least one sexual behavior that modern people usually consider to be “safe, sane, and consensual”—remarriage after divorce. And because Jesus did that, we know what principles grounded his sexual ethics; and through those principles we can safely conclude what Jesus believed about the morality of homosexual behavior. 

In the first century there was dispute among Jews over when divorce was permissible. Deuteronomy 24:1 allowed a husband to divorce his wife if “she finds no favor in his eyes because he has found some indecency in her.” The two most important figures in this debate were the rabbis Hillel and Shammai, who founded two opposing schools of thought among the Pharisees. The followers of Hillel believed divorce could be justified for virtually any reason or “indecency,” including a wife accidentally ruining her husband’s dinner. The followers of Shammai, on the other hand, said divorce was only permissible in the case of adultery.  

The Pharisees brought this debate to Jesus by asking him, “Is it lawful to divorce one’s wife for any cause?” (Matt. 19:3). Instead of siding with one group of Pharisees over another, Jesus answered them by going back to a more fundamental law: 

Have you not read that he who made them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one?” So they are no longer two but one. What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder (Matt. 19:4-6). 

In this answer, Jesus presented an interpretation of the moral law that was stricter than the strictest of the Pharisees: no sin could dissolve the marriage bond God created. In response, the Pharisees brought up Deuteronomy’s provision for divorce, to which Jesus replied, “For your hardness of heart Moses allowed you to divorce your wives, but from the beginning it was not so. And I say to you: whoever divorces his wife, except for unchastity, and marries another, commits adultery; and he who marries a divorced woman, commits adultery” (Matt 19:8-9). 

There is a debate over what Jesus meant by “except for unchastity.”  

This can’t refer simply to adultery because the Greek word for adultery (moicheia) is not used but rather the Greek word for general sexual immorality (porneia). Some scholars think Jesus could be referring to an invalid marriage between relatives that can be dissolved because of its intrinsically sinful nature. Or, he might mean that a man can remarry if he divorced his wife on suspicion of sexual impropriety during the period between the marriage ceremony and the marriage’s consummation (which could be as long as a year in the ancient world). In fact, this is what St. Joseph briefly considered before God reassured him in a dream that Mary had conceived by the Holy Spirit.

Whatever it means, the parallel passage in Mark leaves no doubt as to Jesus’ teaching about remarriage after divorce: “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another, commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery” (Mark 10:11-12).  

Some people try to diffuse the force of Jesus’ teaching by saying that he was trying to be ironic, since wives weren’t allowed to divorce their husbands. But although wife-initiated divorce was rare in the ancient near East, it was not unheard-of, either. Exodus 21:10-11 describes how a slave married to her master can leave him without paying any sort of penalty if he fails to provide for her needs, including “marital rights.”  

A second-century divorce certificate (in Hebrew a get) addressed to a husband from his wife was even discovered in the Judean desert in 1951.ccv According to David Instone-Brewer in his study on divorce and remarriage in the Bible, “Normally women would not write a divorce certificate such as this one, but they would ask a court to persuade their husbands to write one. Perhaps this nonrabbinic practice was influenced by the Greco-Roman world where women could initiate divorce, as wealthy Jewish women in the first century are known to have done.”

Jesus did not care if second marriages were, as Cheng says, “safe, sane, and consensual.” He also didn’t quibble with his opponents about possible exceptions in the Deuteronomic code. He instead went all the way back to creation itself and rooted the morality of sex in the permanent, life-giving nature of marital love that God designed in our own bodies (Gen. 2:23-25). If Jesus condemned what critics would today call “harmless thoughts” (lust) and “finding your soulmate” (adulterous remarriage) because these violated that permanent design found in the one-flesh union that only exists between a man and woman, there is no way he would affirm the use of our sexual organs outside of that context within same-sex relationships. 

Jesus did not teach that what mattered most is finding happiness through our bodily desires. After saying lust was a kind of adultery, Jesus advised his hearers, “If your right eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and throw it away; it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell” (Matt. 5:30). Jesus’ hyperbole is not a recommendation of mutilation but of mortification: the disciplined subjection of our bodily desires so that they serve our heavenly destiny. 

Our bodily desires are strong, but the grace of God is stronger so anyone who struggles with disordered sexual attractions (no matter their object) should not give into despair and hopelessness. We all feel the “war in our bodies” (Rom. 7:23) tempting us to reject God’s will for us, and so we should look to Christ, not as a heartless judge but as a compassionate savior. He allowed his body to be mocked, abused, scourged, and crucified so that our bodily desires would not condemn our eternal souls.  

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The Catholic Bible contains the deuterocanonical books because they were part of the biblical tradition that Jesus and the apostles were familiar with and made reference to. Called the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Old Testament that contained these books was widely used in the early Church because Greek (like English today) was a universal language of commerce. 

Some Protestants say we should not include the deuterocanonical books in the canon because Jesus and the apostles never quoted from them elsewhere in Scripture. But those aren’t the only books that aren’t quoted elsewhere. As Protestant scholar Bruce Metzger observes, “nowhere in the New Testament is there a direct quotation from the canonical books of Joshua, Judges, Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, Ecclesiastes, the Song of Solomon, Obadiah, Zephaniah, and Nahum; and the New Testament allusions to them are few in number.”

In fact, the New Testament authors never even allude to Esther, Ecclesiastes, or the Song of Solomon despite the fact that the content of these books was relevant to their own writings. They did, however, allude to the deuterocanonical books, such as in Mark 12:18–22, where the Sadducees question Jesus about a woman who was married to seven brothers who all died consecutively. That story is from the deuterocanonical book of Tobit, yet Jesus doesn’t dismiss it as apocryphal.  

Another example is Hebrews 11:35, where the author mentions how some women “received their dead by resurrection. Some were tortured, refusing to accept release, that they might rise again to a better life.” This refers to persecutions found in 2 Maccabees 7, where a group of brothers suffer martyrdom instead of violating God’s law. Their mother said, “Do not fear this butcher, but prove worthy of your brothers. Accept death, so that in God’s mercy I may get you back again with your brothers” (2 Macc. 7:29). 

Again, when the crowd and the Jewish leaders taunt Jesus because he declared himself to be the Son of God yet God didn’t save him from being crucified (Matt. 27:39–43), it is a clear allusion to the deuterocanonical book of Wisdom, which says, “If the righteous man is God’s son, he will help him, and will deliver him from the hand of his adversaries” (2:18). The crowd’s gloating that God had failed to do this for Jesus makes sense only if they believed the book of Wisdom was inspired in what it said about the Son of God.  

Some Protestants say that at the end of the first century A.D. a Jewish gathering called the Council of Jamnia definitively established the Hebrew canon, and Christians should abide by that decision. But, aside from evidence that there actually was no Council of Jamnia, this argument would justify rejecting the canonical Gospels, too, because they were also allegedly rejected at this council! If certain books of the Christian scriptures were suspect with Jewish authorities, it may well be precisely because these books had become popular with Christians, who in their eyes were just apostate Jews.

So the real question is not, “Why is the Catholic Bible bigger?” Rather, it’s “Why is the Protestant version smaller?” By the time of the Reformation in the sixteenth century, Christians had been using the same seventy-three books in their translations of the Bible (forty-six in the Old Testament, twenty-seven in the New Testament) for more than 1,100 years. This practice changed with Martin Luther, who jettisoned them because they taught doctrines that conflicted with his novel theology. (The most famous example would be 2 Maccabees 12:46, which teaches the efficacy of praying for the dead in order to atone for their sins.i) Protestantism as a whole eventually following his lead, which led the Council of Trent (1545–1563) to infallibly affirm the full canon of Scripture. 

Today, many Protestants do not realize that their versions of the Bible are lacking so much text that was originally included. However, anyone who studies the authentic history of the canon must admit that this is the case. As Anglican church historian J.N.D. Kelly acknowledges, for the great majority of the early Church Fathers “the deuterocanonical writings ranked as Scripture in the fullest sense.”

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The most obvious references to the Virgin Mary are those that mention her explicitly. 

These may be few, but they are the most important. Literal references take priority in any doctrinal discussion and are the basis for all other ways of reading Scripture. 

The Protestant theologian Daniel Migliore reminds us to keep in mind:

The Gospel writers were not interested in supplying us with material for a biography of Mary any more than they were in giving us material to write a life of Jesus. Yet Mary stands before us in the Gospels as a woman of faith. The faith of Mary is portrayed—with economy, beauty, and stunning realism—in several clusters of Gospel stories.

Some Scripture passages reference Mary directly, mentioning her by name. Yet the whole Old Testament—God’s word—prophetically anticipates the Messiah’s coming and his incarnate Word. Due to Mary’s intimate relationship to the historical Christ, Old Testament prophecies foreshadowing Christ may also foreshadow her. And so, before exploring the literal references to the Virgin Mary, let us look at some of the Old Testament prophecies that foreshadow her.

Mark Roberts identifies three of these Marian prophecies: 

Christians see Mary in three Old Testament passages. Two are obvious prophecies. The first is a little more obscure. After the man and woman sin in Genesis 3, God promised that the “seed” of the woman will “strike the head” of the serpent. If the seed is Christ, then the woman is, in a sense, Mary. Isaiah 7:14 refers to a virgin or young woman (same Hebrew word) who bears a child named Immanuel. Micah 5:2-5 refers to a woman who gives birth to a messianic ruler.

Genesis 3 relays God’s prophetic curse of the serpent who tempted Eve: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.” This foretells a special enmity or war between Mary’s seed (Jesus) and Satan. Using this passage, early Christians, such as Justin Martyr (d. 165), began calling Mary the New Eve:

[God&91; became Man by the Virgin so that the course which was taken by disobedience in the beginning through the agency of the serpent, might be also the very course by which it would be put down. For Eve, a virgin and undefiled, conceived the word of the serpent, and bore disobedience and death. But the Virgin Mary received faith and joy when the angel Gabriel announced to her the glad tiding that the Spirit of the Lord would come upon her and the power of the Most High would overshadow her, for which reason the Holy One being born of her is the Son of God.

In Isaiah 7:14, God gives King Ahaz and all of Judah a reassuring sign of his protection against the evil surrounding them: “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, a young woman shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” The reassuring sign of God’s protection in our war against Satan is the young virgin who conceives Immanuel, God with us.

Finally, Micah 5:2-4 prophesies of the town of the Messiah’s birth and his mother’s “travail” as the Messiah brings back his people to God and feeds them.

But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are little to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days. Therefore he shall give them up until the time when she who is in travail has brought forth; then the rest of his brethren shall return to the people of Israel. And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord . . . for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth.

Sarah Hinlicky Wilson notes many New Testament passages reflect customs, rituals, and laws laid out in the Old, reflecting Mary’s religious world:

At the time of Mary’s son’s presentation . . . Mary’s devotion is evident. . . . [She keeps&91; the law: “And when the days of her purifying are completed, whether for a son or for a daughter, she shall bring to the priest . . . a burnt offering and . . . a sin offering, and he shall offer it before the Lord and make atonement for her. Then she shall be clean from the flow of her blood” (Lev. 12:6-7). The offering, “a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons,” betrays her poverty, for she cannot afford a year-old lamb.

Out of the nine times in the whole Gospel that Luke uses the expression “the law of the Lord” or the “Law of Moses,” five of them appear in this report of Jesus’ presentation and early childhood.

Descriptions of Old Testament customs, rituals, and faithful Jewish women were the context of Mary’s motherly relationship with Christ. Pope John Paul II concurs.

Although all Scripture finds fulfillment in God’s incarnate Word (Matt. 5:17), truths about Mary will be mirrored in truths about Christ, as the Second Vatican Council says:

For Mary, who since her entry into salvation history unites in herself and re-echoes the greatest teachings of the Faith as she is proclaimed and venerated, calls the faithful to her son and his sacrifice and to the love of the Father (Lumen Gentium 65).

John Paul II adds,

The council further says that “Mary figured profoundly in the history of salvation and in a certain way unites and mirrors within herself the central truths of the faith.” Among all believers she is like a “mirror” in which are reflected in the most profound and limpid way “the mighty works of God” (Acts 2:11) (Redemptoris Mater 25).

The Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) says, “What the Catholic faith believes about Mary is based on what it believes about Christ, and what it teaches about Mary illumines in turn its faith in Christ” (487). Applying this to the Bible, we derive another key for identifying Marian Scripture passages:

Christ, our true model, fulfills all Scripture. We identify prophecies, laws, customs, and dogmas describing Mary based on prophecies, laws, customs, and dogmas describing Christ.

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