Fearing the abortion debate

I'm not Roman Catholic, but I know these conspiracy theories about the real loyalties of Catholic leaders are bunk.

So should Michael Coren, as he's been a Roman Catholic more than once in the life-long pinball game that's been his religious pilgrimage.

In a column in yesterday's National Post, Barbara Kay writes:

Pundits Michael Coren of Ontario and Richard Martineau of Quebec don't normally coincide polemically. But they have lately converged on one issue.

Both have elected to gin up fears that Andrew Scheer's campaign promise not to introduce an abortion law might, in the (unlikely) event of a CPC majority, yield to his fervent pro-life convictions. And both have justified their scaremongering through guilt by association.

In a late-August Maclean's article, Coren brings his insider knowledge as a former Catholic to bear on his claim that Canadian women's continued right to unfettered abortion might be compromised by a Scheer government. Scheer, after all, believes abortion is a "grave sin." Therefore, "(c)an we believe Scheer when he says that, given the power to stop it, he simply won’t do so?" Maybe we shouldn"t believe him, Coren muses. Because even though Scheer has not himself labelled abortion as the "crime of murder," "he has certainly associated with people who do."

[Barbara Kay: Stop the Conspiracy Theories About Canadian Catholics in Government]

In the last 50 years, nearly every Canadian prime minister has been a Roman Catholic. (The two who weren't are Kim Campbell [Anglican] and Stephen Harper [Christian and Missionary Alliance]). So what were these past (and present) Prime Ministers' positions on abortion over the years?

On plant confessions and "non-human persons"

Rod Dreher is my favourite apostate. And, if he happened to lift my title for a recent blog post about Union Seminary holding a plant confession in chapel, then I'm also flattered. (It also could very well be that in my quest to write original post titles, what I find terribly witty is really just blindingly obvious.)

The "cockamamie piece" in Sojourners that Dreher is reviewing, by Cláudio Carvalhaes, raises a good question:

When we confess to plants, to forests, to each tree, every meadow, to birds, fish, rocks, animals, rivers, and mountains, we repent, mourn and reconnect ourselves to a much larger web of life, made of people, animals, creatures, and ecosystems that we have lost, taken away from our common home.

This understanding demands a reinterpretation of democracy. When are we going to consider the seeds and the panther and the zebras and the cows and horses as part of our democracy?

[Why I Created a Chapel Service Where People Confess to Plants]

By "good question," I mean apropos. In fact, it's kind of a stupid question. Seeds and cows are not capable of participating in democracy; everybody knows that. At best, we would have a sort of benevolent hegemony where we humans decide what's best for the ficus plants and wombats, and lord it over them with or without their consent.

I say the question is apropos because not long before I ran into Dreher's post, my roommate and I were perusing the list of registered political parties in Canada, in anticipation of the upcoming national election. At the top of the (alphabetical) list was the Animal Protection Party of Canada. The APPC claims to be "Canada’s only true multi-issue party because we are inclusive of all species. We cannot talk about any societal structure without including all affected by public policy." Their platform includes amending the Criminal Code to recognize animals as "non-human persons." What the author of the Sojourners article wants to do in church, the APPC wants to do in government. Fortunately, with (by my count) only 17 candidates running, the APPC is as unelectable as any other single-issue fringe party.

None of which is to say I don't care for the earth or its animals. Care for creation is perhaps the one place in my politics where I would tend to the left rather than the right. I think climate change due to the combustion of fossil fuels is a real thing. I regard it as a problem that should be solved, though, rather than a portent of impending doom. The Chicken Little-ism that says we have only 10 years before irreversible damage is done, on the other hand, is laughable. (It's always 10 years until Climate Armageddon, and has been for decades.) We should be listening to climate scientists, not pundits, politicians, and adolescents, even though they don't look as cute berating the United Nations.

I didn't come by my views by listening to Al Gore, Alexandria Occasio-Cortez, or Greta Thunberg; I got them from Francis Schaeffer, whose book Pollution and the Death of Man¹ rightly says the things in the natural world have intrinsic value and are worthy of our respect, because God made them and put them there. Our relationship to the world is expressed in the creation mandate: "The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it" (Genesis 2:15). We are not merely one species amongst the many that populate this planet, nor are we its masters, having the right to "conquer" and exploit nature's resources as we please. God is the earth's master; we are his caretakers, entrusted to cultivate the earth. If our lax environmental policies cause the extinction of, say, the rhinoceros, then to that extent we have failed as caretakers. On the other hand, if the radical policies of groups like the APPC are put into effect and cause the rhinoceroses to flourish but humanity to go extinct, we have also failed. If I ever have children, I want to leave them a world in better condition than I found it. If we have environmental sins to confess, it is to God, who entrusted us with his creation to care for it. We won't get absolution from the plants.

Footnotes

¹ Francis A. Schaeffer, Pollution and the Death of Man: The Christian View of Ecology (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1970). I own the 1992 Crossway edition, with an added concluding chapter by Udo Middelmann.

It's October . . . Please resume normal reading

I always love Science Fiction Free September. Not only do I get to read some great books I wouldn't otherwise consider, but it's a great time to see exactly how much of a failure I am at this.

For example, when I started this month, I intended to read through Andrew Roberts' history of World War II, The Storm of War. Granted, it's a longer book at 700+ pages. But I've read longer, in less time. Granted, the public library has lost or removed its copy. But I found another.

So, how far did I actually get?

About 30 pages.

Heck, the Battle of Britain hasn't even started yet.

Given that I started the book about two weeks into September, that works out to an average of two pages a day. Worst SFFS showing ever.

Still, it's a good read, and I'm looking forward to finishing it. I might even get a good run at it by the end of the weekend.