Smuggling Theology? (The interior Abortion debate)

C.S. Lewis famously remarked that "Any amount of theology can now be smuggled into people's minds under the cover of fiction without their knowing it." If that sounds a bit insidious, it's worth noting that he was writing to a friend, not to posterity, and deliberately using "cloak and dagger" phraseology for levity's sake. But the point he was making was very much a real and serious one. The practice of subtly educating children while entertaining them with stories goes back at least as far as the oldest children's stories that still survive (Aesop's fables being, of course, the premier example). Can this be done with adults? Well--yeah. Obviously. I think a strong case can be made that it's even more important (far more important!) to educate adults without their conscious knowledge, because an adult has had, by definition, years and decades to build up a framework of highly intelligent rationalizations to protect the core emotions that actually underlie his or her actions, no less than those of a two-year-old. The entire scholarly corpus of any number of intellectuals (Freud springs to mind), despite their absolutely undisputed genius, clearly boil down to variations on a lifelong chant of "No, no, no, la la la, I can't hear you" directed at traditional morality and God Himself. Nowhere is this more rampantly obvious than in the Abortion debate. There's simply no room left anymore for even the tiniest pretense of scientific justification: it's just fingers in the ears and scalding tides of hate. (Oh, and stacks of money, of course.)

Like so many growing up in the postconciliar wasteland (I didn't hear a Latin Mass till I was twenty years old), I was apostate for a large portion of my later adolescence. Luckily, there's nothing we can do that God can't turn to good: "Whatever you do, He will bring good of it! Is He a leaf, that you can twist His shape, or a beast, that you can stop His path?" (Perelandra, CSL). I now have a detailed knowledge of the inner experience of an American agnostic (and yes, there are better ways of obtaining this, but here we are), as well as many abiding friendships in which I have a chance to witness the Faith simply by trying to be who I'm called to be in my own life (St. Francis of Assisi: "Preach the Gospel always; use words when necessary).

In furtherance of what I believe to be my calling to turn the experience of my apostasy into a particular type of apostolate, I have written a great many science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories aimed specifically at a secular audience. I've never concealed my faith, but I don't go out of my way to call attention to it, either. My hope (and, for the most part, my belief) is that readers who may be on the fence about, or at least not actively hostile towards, the Church might possibly begin to see value in Her if they see value in the other, non-religious works of a writer they enjoy.

But sometimes I read an article like this one and I'm ashamed. Why am I not proclaiming the Truth more openly? Am I smothering the light I've been given under a bushel? Am I embarrassed of my convictions, of my Christ? I don't think so, but my God, how ingeniously we can deceive ourselves!

I just don't know. I have no gift for homiletics, I come off sounding pompous or uncharitable. And I keep telling myself to remember St. Paul: "Do all prophesy? Do all teach? Do all speak in tongues?" (1 Corinthians 12:29-30). And it does make sense--but there are few words more seductive than "You are already doing the right thing."

Thank God it's almost Lent. What better time to sort out one's spiritual life? After all this uncertainty, let me end with St. Padre Pio: "Pray, hope, and don't worry!"