Why the institution is more important than the victims

The Nobel-Prize-winning physicist Steven Weinberg famously said:

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.

This seems pretty accurate to me, although nowadays I think we need to expand the definition of religion to include football.  Probably not that much of a stretch.

Joe Paterno was a good Catholic, and as a good Catholic he was probably familiar with the idea of giving scandalHere’s a good summary of the concept.  When the sex abuse scandal erupted in the Archdiocese of Boston, the explanation trotted out by some of the clergy was that they didn’t publicize the abuse because they didn’t want to give scandal.  Non-Catholics might misconstrue this as having something to do with the common usage of scandal–the Monica Lewinsky scandal, the Watergate scandal…..  But that’s not the kind of thing we’re talking about.  Here’s the relevant Merriam-Webster’s definition:

Conduct that causes or encourages a lapse of faith or of religious obedience in another

The bishops felt that it was their duty to keep these problem priests secret, because if the faithful found out about them, they might lose their faith.  It’s hard to disagree with this analysis, actually.

The assumption, of course, is that the institution, and people’s faith in it, is more important than individual lives.  If you want to apply this belief to your own life, you can become a martyr.  I expect that some of the bishops involved in the scandal might in fact be willing to become martyrs, if circumstances required it.  Who knows?  But they were willing to apply this belief to innocent young lives that were placed in their care.  And that’s where Weinberg’s quote applies.

So here is Joe Paterno, by many accounts a secular saint–an upright and moral man beloved by one and all.  His institution was a clean, successful football program–not exactly the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church, but close enough in Happy Valley.  And in the end, his institution mattered more than anything, more than morality, more than human lives:

The consequences of the lack of action by Mr. Paterno and others, whatever its explanation, were grim. Mr. Freeh said that by allowing Mr. Sandusky to remain a visible presence at Penn State following his retirement from coaching in 1999, he was essentially granted “license to bring boys to campus for ‘grooming’ as targets for his assaults.”

“Good people” doing evil.

The other Pennsylvania sex abuse trial

I have lived in my bucolic Boston suburb for twenty years.  Not much happens.  The police report in the weekly newspaper features OUIs and shoplifting charges.  People worry about zoning changes and the naming of schools. Everyone gets along.

It turns out that the two worst people who have lived in my town in recent memory were priests at the Catholic church just down the street from me.

One of them, who doesn’t merit a Wikipedia article, was the pastor of the church; he is currently serving a life sentence in prison for sexual abuse of minors.

The other priest, the infamous John Geoghan, was strangled and stomped to death in prison.

In both cases, there is strong evidence that the Archdiocese of Boston knew what was going on and hid the information from the police and potential victims.  But no one in a position of power in the archdiocese was ever charged with a crime.  Cardinal Bernard Law was pulled back to safety in Rome, where he remains influential.  Reports suggest he was behind the recent crackdown on American nuns who were too interested in stuff like, you know, social justice and helping the poor.

But now we have this:

In the first conviction of a high-level Roman Catholic official in the nationwide priest sexual abuse scandal, a monsignor in the Philadelphia Archdiocese was found guilty Friday of child endangerment for covering up allegations of abuse of children.

Msgr. William J. Lynn, who supervised priests for the archdiocese, was accused of reassigning pedophile priests in an attempt to protect the church’s reputation and avoid lawsuits. A jury acquitted him, however, of conspiracy and another endangerment charge.

The Sandusky trial and conviction had a higher profile, but he’s just a guy, and Penn State is just a place.  Lynn is a representative of one of the most powerful institutions in the world. His conviction matters.

After the Church sex abuse scandal exploded in the early 2000s, we took the kids to New York City and popped into Saint Patrick’s Cathedral to take a look.  Turns out Mass was being celebrated, and the priest was giving a homily about the scandal.  And of course he blamed the media.  WTF?  Hollywood has been glamorizing pedophilia?  But he’s not alone.  Here is Pope Benedict’s insightful analysis of the problem:

But in his festive speech – which he traditionally uses to impart key messages to senior Vatican figures – he insisted the abuse scandal should be placed in a wider social context. “We cannot remain silent about the context of these times in which these events have come to light,” he said, citing child pornography, “that seems in some way to be considered more and more normal by society.”

Sexual tourism in the third world was “threatening an entire generation”, he added.

Returning to a theme he had discussed in the past, Benedict said the modern world’s moral relativism was at fault. “In the 1970s, paedophilia was seen as a natural thing for men and children,” he said, arguing that the Catholic church had the task of taking on and defeating relativism.

In what universe is child pornography considered “more and more normal by society”?

I enjoy disputations about theology and science, but let’s face it: religion isn’t going away anytime soon.  But can’t we hope for a religion that is better than this?  The depressing thing is that Bernard Law once represented that kind of religion:

Law was a civil rights activist. He was a member of the Mississippi Leadership Conference and Mississippi Human Relations Council. For his civil rights activities and his strong positions on civil rights in the Mississippi Register, of which he was editor, he received death threats. The newspaper lost many subscribers for whom his civil rights stance was repugnant.

Charles Evers, activist and brother of Medger Evers (activist assassinated in 1963), praised Law and said he acted “not for the Negro, but for justice and what is right.”

If we had more priests like that, it would be harder to make the case for atheism.

Life is stupider than fiction: The Pope’s butler did it; Fox news reporter hired to help Vatican improve its image

I have alluded to this Vatican scandal before: The pope’s personal butler has been arrested for passing secret documents to some journalist.  The head of the Vatican bank has been fired:

The Holy See’s travails became clearly evident on May 17, with the publication of a book, Your Holiness: The Secret Papers of Benedict XVI, in which the Italian journalist Gianluigi Nuzzi reproduced dozens of leaked letters, memos and cables, many of them from within the office of the Pope. Then came the ouster of the head of the Vatican Bank, Ettore Gotti Tedeschi, who on Thursday received a vote of no confidence from the bank’s overseers, in part because he was suspected of passing on confidential documents. Finally, there was the arrest the next day of one of the men closest to the pontiff, his personal butler, Paolo Gabriele, who was caught with sensitive papers in his possession.

And this all presumably has to do with a power struggle within the Vatican:

Many Vatican watchers have speculated that the drama is the fall out of a struggle for power between Pope Benedict XVI’s second-in-command, Secretary of State Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, and rival cardinals and the Vatican’s veteran diplomatic staff, which has resented him since his arrival. “Bertone is effectively under fire,” says Magister. “If the government of the church is in such disastrous condition, then it’s clear that the head of the state needs to answer for these.”

So yesterday the pope came up with a strong response to the scandal: he hired someone from Fox News to be the Vatican’s media adviser.  Smart move!  The Vatican will become fair and balanced!  It reports, you decide!  Here are the other kinds of things this guy will deal with:

Benedict’s now-infamous speech about Muslims and violence, his 2009 decision to rehabilitate a schismatic bishop who denied the Holocaust, and the Vatican’s response to the 2010 explosion of the sex abuse scandal are just a few of the blunders that have tarnished Benedict’s papacy.

Of course, there is no indication that the Vatican will actually change its beliefs or practices as a result of this move.  The Vatican will do what it does; Benedict will believe what he believes; things will presumably just be messaged more smoothly.

Here, by the way, is an exhaustive Wikipedia article about Benedict’s speech that caused such problems with Muslims.  Good job promoting religious dialogue, Benedict!

Anyway, let me just remind folks that Pontiff numbers among its many characters the Vatican secretary of state, the head of the Vatican bank, and the pope’s butler (really, his personal aide).  Plus scenes of Fenway Park!  And it’s currently available for the astonishingly low price of $0.99!

“Treat every goodbye as if it were your last one.”

Tough times in my little town.

The much-loved minister of religious education at our Unitarian church saw her house burn down a few weeks ago.  Everyone got out safely, although she was slightly injured. Her family was just settling down from that trauma when her five-year-old daughter was diagnosed with a rare form of kidney cancer.

What’s up with that, God?

Meanwhile, the much-loved captain of the high school hockey team went to the doctor for a checkup and found out he had advanced testicular cancer.

Last year, a graduating senior was fatally injured in a freak car accident.  The parents kept him on life support long enough for everyone to say goodbye to him.

The class speaker at this year’s high school graduation reminded us of another event that happened fifteen years ago. One evening while the family was visiting their grandparents on Cape Cod, his mother kissed him good night, and he went to sleep.  He never saw her again.  Suffering depression as the result of injuries suffered in a car accident, she apparently abandoned her car and walked into the ocean. Her body was never found.

“Treat every goodbye as if it was your last one,” her son told his fellow graduates.

They cheered him to the rafters.  The town has held fundraisers for the hockey player.  The school started a scholarship to honor the memory of the kid who died in the car crash.  The church has raised money for the minister, organized meals for her family, visited the little girl in the hospital…

One of the benefits of Unitarianism’s theology-free approach to religion is that it doesn’t have to tie itself into knots explaining how God could allow a five-year-old girl to come down with cancer, or a loving mother to feel she had to walk into the ocean to rid herself of the demons in her brain.  Theodicy is stupid and unnecessary.  What matters is how we all — in our church, in our town, in our world — join together to help ease the suffering that is part of the price of being alive.

The “Universe from Nothing” Brouhaha

Or maybe it’s a kerfluffle.  Clearly more than a spat.

When last we checked in on this, Lawrence Krauss’s book A Universe from Nothing had been savaged in the New York Times by David Z. Albert, a physicist/philosopher from Columbia. That’s gotta sting.

Krauss then gave an interview to someone at the Atlantic in which he referred to the reviewer as a “moronic philosopher.”  Ouch!  He also dissed philosophy in general.  He then had to walk that back in the Scientific American.  You can’t be messin’ with philosophers.

Sean Carroll at Discover Magazine attempts to referee the dispute:

Very roughly, there are two different kinds of questions lurking around the issue of “Why is there something rather than nothing?” One question is, within some framework of physical laws that is flexible enough to allow for the possible existence of either “stuff” or “no stuff” (where “stuff” might include space and time itself), why does the actual manifestation of reality seem to feature all this stuff? The other is, why do we have this particular framework of physical law, or even something called “physical law” at all? Lawrence (again, roughly) addresses the first question, and David cares about the second, and both sides expend a lot of energy insisting that their question is the “right” one rather than just admitting they are different questions. Nothing about modern physics explains why we have these laws rather than some totally different laws, although physicists sometimes talk that way — a mistake they might be able to avoid if they took philosophers more seriously. Then the discussion quickly degrades into name-calling and point-missing, which is unfortunate because these are smart people who agree about 95% of the interesting issues, and the chance for productive engagement diminishes considerably with each installment.

But he does grant one of Krauss’s major points, which is that modern physics has removed the need for a Creator:

If your real goal is to refute claims that a Creator is a necessary (or even useful) part of a complete cosmological scheme, then the above points about “creation from nothing” are really quite on point. And that point is that the physical universe can perfectly well be self-contained; it doesn’t need anything or anyone from outside to get it started, even if it had a “beginning.” That doesn’t come close to addressing Leibniz’s classic question, but there’s little doubt that it’s a remarkable feature of modern physics with interesting implications for fundamental cosmology.

You may not think that has interesting implications, but anyone who uses the argument from design will have to contend with this kind of rebuttal, in the way they have to contend with evolution as an alternative explanation for how humans came to be.

On philosophy: Clearly, bad-mouthing philosophers is going to land you in a heap of trouble, but I take Krauss’s point.  When scientific knowledge overtakes philosophical speculation, it must be frustrating for a scientist to see philosophers go on speculating, as if this hard-won knowledge didn’t exist.  But I think the criticism is more properly applied to theologians, for whom belief will always trump knowledge.

Are the New Atheists moving the Overton Window?

The Overton Window is the range of “acceptable” public reactions to some issue, based on some mainstream view of what is currently acceptable. The theory is that you can move or expand the Overton Window by coming up with some new idea that is outside the boundaries of what is acceptable, thereby moving some slightly less extreme idea into the acceptable range of discourse.  So, if someone can say, “I’m not one of those radical feminists, but I do believe in equal pay for equal work,” maybe the radical feminists have done their job, moving the window so that equal pay for equal work is a mainstream idea.

The New Atheists are a group people love to hate.  They are inevitably described as “shrill”.  Of the four million Google hits on “new atheists are shrill”, I picked this one at random:

The New Atheists are much too shrill for my decidedly agnostic tastes. In many respects, they are on a hiding to nothing. The religious impulse will always be with us and so will be a belief in the supernatural. But not all atheists are new atheists: It’s also quite possible for an atheist to admire much of the structure, cohesion and sense of tradition that some religions bring to society, not to speak of the happiness they can bring to many of their adherents.

This guy probably hasn’t done much if any reading of the New Atheists, because they are generally more than willing to admire this stuff; their issue is primarily with the truth of religion, not with the solace it brings to its adherents or the benefits it might bring to a society.  Daniel Dennett labels stuff like that “belief in belief.”

But anyway, I have wondered if the New Atheists have succeeded in moving the Overton Window on religion. Theoretically, they might make it easier for someone to say, “I’m not a believer myself, but I’m certainly not one of those shrill New Atheists.”  But that video of Neil DeGrasse Tyson I showed here gives me pause.  Maybe instead they have simply poisoned the term “atheist,” making it synonymous with “an active hater of religion.”  Whatever Tyson’s personal beliefs are, he doesn’t want to be thought of as that.

This came to mind as I started reading Knocking on Heaven’s Door by Lisa Randall, another one of those Harvard professors who published big popular books in 2011.  The book’s subtitle is “How physics and scientific thinking illuminate the universe and the modern world.”  Randall is certainly a spectacularly high achiever — noted theoretical particle physicist, opera librettist, rock climber, blahblahblah.  The book comes with blurbs by Bill Clinton, Larry Summers, Daniel Gilbert, and many others.

Alas, so far she isn’t a very engaging writer.  Here’s a grammatical error that someone at HarperCollins should have noticed:

For he and others who thought similarly, science and the Bible couldn’t possibly be in conflict if the words were properly interpreted.

Solecisms aside, her style is just very bland, as if writing were a chore for her.  But her section on religion and science made me wonder if she was benefiting from a shifting Overton Window.  She is very pleasant and understanding about religion.  She quotes Saint Augustine.  She talks about a nice lunch she had with Karen Armstrong.  She acknowledges that you can be religious and be a good scientist.  But ultimately she isn’t buying any of it. She says:

But any religious scientist has to face daily the scientific challenge to his belief.  The religious part of your brain cannot act at the same time as the scientific one.  They are simply incompatible.

She believes Gould’s “nonoverlapping magisteria” do in fact overlap.

A religious or spiritual belief that involves an undetectable force that nonetheless influences human actions and behavior or that of the world itself produces a situation in which a believer has no choice but to have faith and abandon logic — or simply not care.

But she seems so intent on being fair-minded that it takes her almost to the end of the section before she says, almost parenthetically, that she herself is a nonbeliever.  Like Tyson, she doesn’t use the word “atheist”; but she doesn’t stop, as he does, at “agnostic”.  Was she helped by Dawkins and company?  I don’t know.  She’s a member of the National Academy of Sciences, so my theory about their insensitivity to social stigma would suggest that she doesn’t need anyone’s help — she’s going to say what she thinks.

I’ll submit a full report when I’ve finished the book.

What explains differences in levels of belief?

This post explored the wide ranges of unbelief in America, ranging from members of Congress (almost no nonbelievers) to elite scientists (very few believers).  Jeff wonders what explains the difference:

And what does it mean that “elite” scientists have, statistically, different views from “regular” scientists?  Are they smarter and more perspicacious about the life, the universe, and everything?  Or are they just really, really smart in their own narrow realm? Just asking.

I’d offer a different (or maybe an additional) explanation: insensitivity to the social stigma of atheism.  As we talked about here, atheists are considered about as trustworthy as rapists.  For most politicians, it would be political suicide to admit that you don’t believe in God.  It probably takes some courage to admit it even to yourself, even to someone else in a confidential survey.  But elite scientists can afford to have the courage of their convictions.  They probably have tenure; they work in areas where atheism won’t get them fired, won’t cause them to be shunned by their associates.  They’re not involved in popularity contests.  There’s little downside to saying what they believe.

For most of them.  I don’t know much about Neil deGrasse Tyson, except that he’s a pretty well-known science popularizer.  Here he is trying to explain his religious beliefs:

Clearly the whole atheist/agnostic thing bugs him.  He obviously doesn’t want to be seen as one of those strident, rabid, shrill, baby-eating atheists.  So he insists on the safe, uncontroversial agnostic designation.  Jerry Coyne, naturally, is not impressed.

It only takes two seconds to call yourself an atheist (you don’t have to write a book on it!), and it would do so much to help disbelief become respectable. His distinction between atheism and agnosticism (the former are “in-your-face”; the latter are not) is completely disingenuous: one can be a Republican and not be an “in-your-face” Republican, and so it is with atheists.

Just as one can be a Christian and not be a Bible-thumping come-to-Jesus you’re-going-to-hell-if-you-don’t-believe Christian.

Of course, Tyson may actually and sincerely be an agnostic.  But the video sure makes it seem like it’s more about how he is perceived than what he believes.

How religious are scientists?

In response to my post on whether an atheist could be elected president, reader Jeff points to a Pew poll surveying the level of religiosity shown be members of the American Association for the Advancement of Science.  This study showed that these scientists were about an order of magnitude less religious than the general American public:

[T]he poll of scientists finds that four-in-ten scientists (41%) say they do not believe in God or a higher power, while the poll of the public finds that only 4% of Americans share this view.

The writeup of the poll mentions that this study more or less agrees with the results of similar polls:

The recent survey of scientists tracks fairly closely with earlier polls that gauged scientists’ views on religion. The first of these was conducted in 1914 by Swiss-American psychologist James Leuba, who surveyed about 1,000 scientists in the United States to ask them about their views on God. Leuba found the scientific community equally divided, with 42% saying that they believed in a personal God and the same number saying they did not.

More than 80 years later, Edward Larson, a historian of science then teaching at the University of Georgia, recreated Leuba’s survey, asking the same number of scientists the exact same questions. To the surprise of many, Larson’s 1996 poll came up with similar results, finding that 40% of scientists believed in a personal God, while 45% said they did not. Other surveys of scientists have yielded roughly similar results.

The writeup doesn’t mention that Leuba did another study in 1914 of the level of belief of “greater scientists,” identified as such in the publication American Men of Science.  For these guys, the level of disbelief was somewhat higher — about 53%.  He replicated the study in 1933, at which point disbelief had risen to 68%.  In 1998 Larson tried to replicate these studies by sending a questionnaire to members of the National Academy of Sciences, which is an elected body of distinguished scientists; the authors believe this sample was probably more selective than Leuba’s samples.  For NAS members in 1998, the rate of disbelief was 72%.  The level of actual personal belief had declined from 27% to 7% (the remainder are agnostics).  The authors write:

As we compiled our findings, the NAS issued a booklet encouraging the teaching of evolution in public schools, an ongoing source of friction between the scientific community and some conservative Christians in the United States. The booklet assures readers, “Whether God exists or not is a question about which science is neutral”. NAS president Bruce Alberts said: “There are many very outstanding members of this academy who are very religious people, people who believe in evolution, many of them biologists.” Our survey suggests otherwise.

So, let’s consider samples of 500 people:

1 out of 500 members of Congress doesn’t believe in God.

20 out of 500 people in the general American public don’t believe.

205 out of 500 regular ol’ scientists don’t believe.

360 out of 500 distinguished scientists don’t believe.

I don’t have anything deep to say here; I just wanted to point out the gap between the religious beliefs of elite scientists and those of the general public — and the chasm between their beliefs and those of members of Congress.

Could an atheist be elected president?

The Ides of March is not a great movie, but it has its moments of liberal porn, where we see presidential candidate George Clooney saying things that we wish liberal candidates knew how to say.  Here is how he responds in a debate to his opponent’s charge that he isn’t a practicing Christian:

I’m not a Christian. I’m not an Atheist. I’m not Jewish. I’m not Muslim. My religion, what I believe in, is called the Constitution of United States of America.

(This is a rehearsed talking point — we see his aide Ryan Gosling reciting it during a sound check before the debate.)

Good enough, I suppose.  But could a presidential really get away with not being a Christian — or worse, being a self-proclaimed atheist?  I mentioned in a comment that Richard Dawkins believes we should judge candidates on their religious beliefs, like the bizarre mythology of Mormonism.  But of course this isn’t likely to happen.  Evangelicals may grumble about Romney, but the mainstream media — and liberals — will both sing from the same hymnal: a person’s religious beliefs are a private matter.  Even if those private beliefs are arrant nonsense.  But what about a candidate’s lack of religious beliefs?

Of course, the problem isn’t likely to come up, because virtually every American politician professes some level of religious belief.  Wikipedia’s interesting article about Discrimination against atheists notes that only one member of Congress — Pete Stark of California — has “come out” as a nonbeliever.  Since the percentage of nonbelievers in Congress is far below that of comparably educated groups, these politicians are probably either self-selecting (atheists don’t even bother going into politics) or lying about their beliefs.

With good reason.  This article states that 52% of Americans wouldn’t vote for a well-qualified atheist to be president — more than those who wouldn’t vote for a Muslim.  The study reported on here puts the number at 45%.  According to the study, atheists are considered about as trustworthy as rapists. Interestingly, atheists also tend to trust religious people more than other atheists.  One of the comments on the article sums up the problem nicely (the spelling is in the original):

The reason people won’t trust an athiest is plain and simple: Athiests have no moral foundation for what they believe in because they do not believe in anything. How can you have faith in someone who has no faith to stand for.

Better to believe in the truth of the Book of Mormon than to believe in science.

Joe Hurley explains why he became a priest

In this scene from Pontiff, Father Joe Hurley explains to Lieutenant Kathleen Morelli, a lapsed and very suspicious Catholic, why he became a priest. They have teamed up to try to track down a possible threat to the Pope when he visits Boston, and are driving back from interviewing someone who might have information about the threat.

This is something of an antidote to the theology I talked about in this post.

**********************

Morelli glanced over at him. She was beginning to think she had misjudged him, somehow. Priests weren’t all alike, she supposed, but still… “So what’s your story, Father?” she asked. “How did you end up—you know—”

“Trapped in Holy Orders?” Hurley suggested. “Doing a thirteenth-century job in the twenty-first century? It’s strange how often I’m called upon to defend my career choice.” He paused, as if considering how much to give back in return for her life story. “Well, to begin with,” he said, “I was raised in what I’d call a relaxed Catholic family. Nothing like yours—which probably says a lot about how to bring up your kids if you want them to be religious. Anyway, we went to Mass on Sundays, but if we skipped it was no big deal, and we didn’t bother with much else. I was mostly a jock growing up—football meant a lot more to me than God. I was a star in high school, got an athletic scholarship to Boston College, and then things sort of went downhill. I had some injuries, and maybe I wasn’t quite as good as I thought I was, so I spent most of my varsity career as third-string quarterback, getting ready for an opportunity that never actually came.

“But looking back, that was all to the good. Gave me a chance to think, to focus on the big picture. And the big picture, much to my surprise, didn’t include football. I had pretty much decided in my senior year that I wanted to enter the seminary, and then I just had to put up with people—including my family—trying to talk me out of it.”

“But why?” Morelli persisted. “Why become a priest? I just don’t get why anyone would want to do that nowadays.”

“Exactly what my family and friends said—and even quite a few of the priests I talked to. I felt like a freak. Perfect strangers would hear about my decision and feel compelled to come up to me and tell me I was making a big mistake. And this was at a Catholic college, right? So I’m a weak person and eventually I caved in. I graduated and I went to work on Wall Street for a few years—and, you know, I wasn’t bad at it. I made a pot of money and my bosses told me I had a great future and I thought about applying to business school. I left religion for Sundays. All my friends breathed easier, as if they’d saved me from becoming a Moonie.

“And it didn’t take. I just couldn’t get the priesthood out of my mind. Now you can keep asking me why, just like my family and friends, and I could give you answers that have to do with helping people and making a difference, but they wouldn’t be the real story, because my reasons are beyond logic, beyond rational explanation. They call it a vocation—a calling. God called me. I have no idea why He called me instead of my roommate or the middle linebacker on the football team or that kid in Economics class who actually looked like a priest; but He did. I’m as sure of it as I’m sure I’m sitting in this car. So eventually I gave up trying to please everyone else and trying to kid myself, and I did what I knew I had to do. And here I am.”

Morelli took the Brighton exit off the Turnpike, and she made her way toward Hurley’s apartment. What about sex? she wanted to ask him—wasn’t that all anyone really wanted to know about a priest?—but she didn’t. He still made her uncomfortable—even more so now, after she had heard his story, and she knew he wasn’t some mama’s boy who had been saying the rosary since he was three and never had a thought of living in the real world. He wasn’t in the priesthood, apparently, to hide from life, or because he had some big problem to work out. He was just like everyone else—except he had chosen to be different.

She decided to ask about something else. “So, with this calling of yours—does that mean you agree with all the Church’s teachings? I’m really not trying to be obnoxious about this, Father. I just don’t know how it works. I’m only used to one way of looking at things—my father’s way.”

“First,” Hurley said, “if you don’t call me Joe, I’m going to jump out of the car.”

“Okay. Joe.”

“Thank you. Second, you don’t check your brain or your conscience when you enter the seminary. At least, I didn’t. This may sound stupid—all right, I know it’ll sound stupid—but I think of it like being on a football team. You may not agree with the play the coach is calling, but he’s the coach, and you know that the only way you can win is through discipline and sticking together. If you worry about why he’s doing what he’s doing, you’re going to mess up. His job is to call the plays, and your job is to execute them.”

“But football is about winning,” she pointed out. “Religion isn’t about winning, it’s about the truth.”

Hurley shook his head. “Religion isn’t about anything,” he responded. “It is. Religion is the sport, the gridiron, the reason you’re out there wearing pads and helmets and cleats and having three-hundred-pound men hurling you to the ground. It isn’t about whether the coach calls a draw play when you think you should be running a play action. It isn’t about punting instead of going for it on fourth down. Those are just… details. It’s a mistake to get lost in the details.”

“That is totally sick, Joe. Those ‘details’ ruin people’s lives, if they can’t get access to birth control or a legal abortion.”

“What I mean is, yeah, they’re important, but we shouldn’t confuse them with the game—with religion itself, I mean. Um, I think my metaphor has gotten out of control.”

Morelli looked over at him, and he was grinning sheepishly, and she found herself grinning back, something she never expected to be doing when arguing religion with a priest.

She parked in a handicapped space near Hurley’s apartment building. Time to call it a night.

“So, what’s next?” he asked.

“Well, I’d say we still need to track down Bandini, if we can.”

“How—the phone number?”

“That’s a start. We can trace it. I’ll let you know what we come up with.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Hurley said. He reached over and touched her arm. “And I appreciate your telling me about yourself, Kathleen. Seriously. I hope you don’t consider me the enemy. I don’t want to be your enemy.”

Morelli could feel herself blushing. Her Jeep seemed far too small all of a sudden. Hurley seemed to realize his mistake, because he retreated immediately, smiling nervously, in perhaps his own version of a blush.

“Of course you’re not my enemy,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean the Church doesn’t have a lot to answer for. Anyway, I hate football.”

“Maybe that’s because you haven’t played enough of it.” He opened his door. “Goodnight, Kathleen.”

“Good night, Joe.”