What it Means to be Human

Join me in prayer.

O most high and glorious God, cast your light into the darkness of our hearts.
Give us right faith, firm hope, and perfect charity with wisdom and perception,
that we might know and do your most holy will.
May your light within us burn, shining forth in perfect charity. Amen.

Mary, Mother of the Redeemer — pray for us.

Everybody, good morning. I’m both daunted and touched to be with you this morning.
I’m daunted because I’ve been asked to speak about the theme of the whole conference: what it means to be human.

That’s a very large topic, and I’ve been asked in that context to set the stage for — and the foundation for — all the presentations that come after, which is a heavy responsibility. So I’m daunted.

I’m also touched. I’m moved. I was asked to give this talk by a group of Catholic lay people — and lay people generally know that priests are not normal human people.

We don’t have a spouse to tell us to stop it when we’re being weird, or to tell us that we should RSVP for events or write thank-you notes like normal people.

So I’m both daunted and touched by this invitation.

The Ancient Puzzle: What Is Man?

What it means to be human is a question which is as old as humanity. Every culture, every civilization has grappled with it — devising myths and philosophies, trying to untangle it.

And this isn’t surprising to us because we’re used to it. But there is something, if you think about it, which is very odd about the question.

Why should our own being be so mysterious to us? Why should we find this such an insistent question?

Why should we find it so important — or difficult — to arrive at a definitive answer? Why are we not simply as we are? Why do we have to search around in shadows and half-glimpses in an attempt to find our true identity?

And how is it that so much evident greatness and so much triviality and stupidity are united in the human?

This is a puzzle which goes back, haunting us from millennia up until our own day.

What does it Mean to be Human in Scripture, Literature, and Theology

Listen to the psalmist who sang:

When I look upon the heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars which you established —
what is man that you should call him to mind,
the son of man that you should care for him?
Yet you have made him little less than a god,
crowning him with glory and honor.

Or Shakespeare — remember in Hamlet:

What a piece of work is man!
How noble in reason, and infinite in faculty!
In form and movement, how express and admirable!
In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god!
The beauty of the earth! The paragon of animals!
And yet to me — what is this quintessence of dust?

St. Basil of Caesarea in his Hexaemeron said that we are more likely to understand the heavens than to understand ourselves. And this is echoed by that great Catholic convert Walker Percy in his book Lost in the Cosmos, where he says that science has made us so astute and so proud that now we know more about Jupiter than we know about ourselves.

Christian Revelation is the Key to What is Man

So this question — What does it mean to be human? — is not an easy task. Maybe you should try it if you think I’m doing a bad job.

The good news is that, for us as Christians, we’ve been given a great help in unraveling this mystery — by the revelation of God in Jesus.

Blaise Pascal, the 17th-century French writer, philosopher, and mathematician, put it this way:

The greatness and the wretchedness of man are so evident
that the true religion has to give an account, or teach,
that there is in man some great source of greatness
and a great source of wretchedness —
and then has to offer an explanation for this astonishing contradiction.
And if it is to make man happy,
it must prove that God exists,
that we are to love him,
that we can find our happiness only in him,
and that our sole evil is to be separated from him.

The 4th-century Doctor of the Church, St. Gregory of Nyssa, began to unlock the puzzle a little bit.
He suggested that the mystery of humanity has something to do with our being created in the image and likeness of God.

But in Jesus Christ, the divine Son of God, this mystery that we’re talking about — this odd combination of greatness and misery which characterizes the human — finds a solution.

St. John Paul II was always fond, remember, of quoting that passage from Gaudium et Spes:

“Adam, the first man, was a figure of the one who was to come — that is, Christ the Lord.
And Christ, the final man, through the revelation of the Father and his love,
has revealed man to man himself and made his supreme calling clear.”

A Rich Tradition and a Modern Crisis of Power and Ideology

The Church through all of the ages has grappled with — and shown light upon — this question of what it means to be human.

In revelation, in the most magnificent way.
And we could spend all of our time this week at the Napa Conference mining those riches.

But — bad news — we probably won’t have the luxury to do that. And the reason is that we find ourselves, in respect to this question of what it means to be human, in a very dangerous and precarious set of circumstances.

And it makes sense — that a creature created in God’s image, and God is beyond understanding, would also be mysterious.

St. Augustine agreed with this in his Confessions, when he said that there is in the human person an unknowing, even to the spirit of man in himself.

First: we have seen an enormous rise in power — both technical power and socio-psychological power —
which has placed at our disposal new ways of conceiving this question which our ancestors would not have had the resources to put into play.

Second: the rise in popularity and influence of various new ways of seeing the world — new religions of the day, actually — ideas that have been gaining ground over the course of the past three centuries,
and especially in the course of the last few decades have radically changed and challenged longstanding assumptions about what it means to be human in increasingly radical ways. And so all of a sudden this is a question which touches us very, very deeply with a new urgency.

I think of the popularity of the University of Mary’s Master of Science in Bioethics, which we offer in partnership with the good people of the National Catholic Bioethics Center in Philadelphia and with the wonderful folks of the Jerome Lejeune Foundation, who advocate for those with genetically based intellectual disabilities, and who I was delighted to see are offering one of the many interesting breakout sessions this afternoon.

This question is very urgent right now, and so it’s apt and fitting that this should be the theme for our time together at the Napa Conference. We will be exploring this theme down different avenues, and we have some great speakers who are on the way—so just wait till the end of this talk and you’ll be happy.

Introducing Three Fundamental Truths about What it Means to be Human

What I want to do is something very simple. I want to just wave at—or gesture toward—three fundamental truths and talk about each of them.

First, because they are fundamental truths. And we—especially we as Catholics—should never get tired of returning to the fundamentals, to core principles upon which everything else is built. The world depends upon us to be thoughtful about, and to stick to, and to be deeply versed in core principles and fundamental truths.

But the other reason I’d like to spend a little bit of time on them is these are three truths which are increasingly challenged in the centers of influence in our culture. And so they have come under attack. And so we need to be vigilant and aware if we want to be of use to Christ in our own time—so that we can gird up our minds, as St. Peter says that we should, or as St. Paul instructs, so that we can destroy every argument and every proud obstacle to the knowledge of God, taking every thought captive to obey Christ.

Truth #1: To Be Human Is to Be a Creature

Number one: to be human is to be a creature.

To be human is to be a creature. To be a creature is to have been created. To have been created implies a Creator. And a Creator implies a meaning and purpose in the thing which is created.

And that means that human beings are not some cosmic accident which arose in a random and meaningless way. No. It means that we have a normative nature. It means that the question that we’ve been asking—what it means to be human—has a definitive answer.

Most of the new religions of our time—the proud doctrines and philosophies of our age—call into question both the existence, the potency, the importance of a Creator and the created nature of the human person. And the result of that is that they have no grounding or foundation by which to say that there is something about human nature to be defended, to be guarded, or to be attained to.

What this means is that, more or less, our lives are our own, and we can do whatever we want with them. We can fiddle around with our bodies or fiddle around with our minds. Everything is a will to power. And we never have to deal with the pesky question: just because we can do something, should we do it?

We never have to ask that question: just because we can do something, should we do it?

But we hold that we are creatures. We believe in creation. And this means something to us.

If we are created, it means that we do not simply own our lives or the world in which we live. At a personal level, it means that none of us is his or her own master. It means that none of us simply possess our own lives.

So, think about the ways in which we relate to our own bodies. So, I have a hand and a leg, and I think about them as mine. I would be rightly offended if somebody came and started to use my hand or my leg as if it were their own private property. I act as though my hand and my leg are mine.

How much more, then, do I belong to God? I did not bring my hand and my leg into existence. I do not hold them in existence. I did not design them. But God brought me into existence. He holds me in being and sustains me with every breath. And without Him, I am nothing. There is no life for me. No existence. No purpose. There is no identity. There’s no “me” without God.

That means that one of the first impulses of the Christian heart—one of the most important things that we do in the course of our lives—is to renounce the illusion of ownership over our own lives. As Christians, sometimes we call that “giving ourselves to God,” but it would be more accurate if we said that we were understanding or admitting that we have been God’s. We have belonged to Him all along, from the beginning.

The World Is Not Ours to Use As We Wish

And if our own lives are not our own, so much more the world in which we live is not ours simply to use as we wish.

Also, we’re not ultimately responsible for the world. The activity of human beings is not the end-all and be-all of what happens in creation. We have a position—we have been given by God an office of stewardship, of care for creation—but creation is not simply ours to do with as we wish.

This error of thinking that the world is ours and we can do whatever we want with it manifests itself in many ways. It manifests itself sometimes in the savage destruction of natural resources, or in this strange care for the planet which casts human beings as invaders who are toxic.

They appear to be opposite perspectives, but really they are the same error in different directions. The world in which we live is not ours to use however we want. It is not simply at our disposal.

To Be a Creature Is Also to Be Limited

To be a creature also is to be limited. We have limits—not just limits that are material, not just limits of our body, but also moral limits and spiritual limits. And this is not somehow destructive of or frustrating to our fullness of being and development as human persons. It’s part of the whole texture and tone and meaning of what it is to be human.

I met a woman once who had a t-shirt that said, “My husband and I have a religious disagreement. He thinks he’s God—and I disagree.”

Well, nobody thinks they’re God unless they’re insane. But to act as though there are no limits, to assume that I can do anything that I want, is to take unto myself a privilege and a prerogative which belongs only to God.

And so this is a first truth for us—and it’s deeply important: we are creatures.

Truth #2: We Are Fallen Creatures

The second truth is that we are fallen creatures. The second truth is that we are fallen creatures.

St. John Henry Newman, in his famous Apologia, says that if he met a boy who was of good form and mind, who appeared to have some distinction about him but who was thrown out upon the world and appeared to be destitute, and couldn’t give an account of where he had come from or who his family was or what his history was—then he would have to conclude that that boy somehow had been involved in a great tragedy. And maybe his family was ashamed of him.

And then Newman says: that’s the human race. When you look at the human race, there’s something dignified, there’s something refined, and yet there is something that’s off too. And it points to a kind of aboriginal catastrophe. We are not at ease in our family, and there is some measure in which we are at odds with God. And this is a problem.

And Newman says that it is clear to him—this teaching of original sin, of the Fall—as the existence of the world and the existence of God. G.K. Chesterton agrees with Newman when he says that original sin, the Fall, is the only part of the Christian faith which can be proven.

And yet, though we live in such an empirical time—“believe the science,” people say; their voices quiver with devotion—“believe the science”—we live in this empirical age, and yet the most empirical of all the Christian teachings is roundly mocked, ignored, and rejected.

We live in a time in which every single primary ideology or religion of the day denies this fundamental truth: that there is a downward lurch, there is a profound wound within us which we cannot fix on our own, and from which we need to be saved.

The result of this rejection of the Fall—and I’ve spoken about this here before—is the proliferation of utopian philosophies. If there is nothing defective within me, if there’s nothing within the human person in need of salvation and healing and restoration, revivification—if that’s true—then salvation comes in a different way.

I can perfect the world, and I can perfect my own life, by the rearrangement of external circumstances. And the only thing that stands in the way of progress are deplorable people and deplorable ideas, who get in the way of progress and who intentionally block the road forward by asking annoying and horrific questions—stifling questions—like: Just because we can do something, should we do it?

These utopian philosophies proliferate in our time. And of course, because they don’t map onto reality, because they’re not empirical—but they really are dogmatic religious beliefs of the most superstitious kind—because of that, they have caused untold havoc. From Marxism to transhumanism, the root of all of these dark ideologies is a rejection of the doctrine of the Fall.

But of course, we know differently—not simply from our own personal experience of our weakness—but we know from the scriptures. We know from St. Paul in his letter to the Romans that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and that there is a great sadness in us. This is a fundamental truth: that we are fallen creatures.

Truth #3: To Be Human Is to Be Redeemed

And the last of the truths which I want to speak with you about is that we are—to be human is to be redeemed. To be human is, potentially at least, to be a redeemed human.

So in the face of the darkness of our need—what Pascal called our wretchedness—in the face of our misery, what are we supposed to do? Confronted with the difficulties, the challenges, the heartbreak, and the tragedy of our lives, should we just crawl into a hole and disappear until the clock runs out?

Seems like that’s what we should do. But in fact, we don’t do that. And it’s because we’ve received the Good News. And we believe it to the depths of our being.

If we just take a look at St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, we see it beautifully. He starts by saying:

We all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.

Children of wrath. That’s what we’ve been talking about. To be human is to be a fallen creature.

But then—but then—Paul adds a huge qualifier. And he says:

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together in Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with Him and seated us with Him in the heavenly places with Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace and kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.
For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing—it is the gift of God, not a result of our works so that no one may boast.
For we are His workmanship.

There it is. We are redeemed. We are created. We are His workmanship:

Created in Christ Jesus for good works which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

We were in trouble. And then God changed everything.

You don’t need me—because you’ve listened to sermons all your life—to talk about the mind-blowing, extraordinary joy of the salvation wrought by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

But let’s just take a brief look together at the first letter of Peter, where he lays it all out. He says:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to His great mercy, He has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,
To an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you,
Who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials,
So that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
Though you have not seen Him, you love Him.

That’s us. Though we have not seen Him, we love Him.

Though you do not now see Him, you believe in Him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory,
Obtaining the outcome of your faith—the salvation of your souls.

False Religions and the Rejection of Salvation

The false religions of our time, the dark ideologies that are all around us, deny this. They deny the need for salvation—and so, they deny a Savior.

Some of us are old enough to remember when those dark ideologies were put into popular form in a song in the 1980s:

We are the world, we are the children, we are the ones who make a brighter day… we’re saving our own lives.

And the Humanist Manifesto, which was released in 1933—long before the 1980s—said:

“Man is finally coming to the awareness that he alone is responsible for the fulfillment of all his dreams, and that he has within his power the ability to achieve it.”

Pride as the Root of Denial of What it is to be Human

This is a denial of this great truth: that to be human in fullness of life is to be saved, is to be redeemed. To be human is to be a creature. To be human is to be fallen. To be human in fullness of life is to be redeemed.

These truths—and many aspects that flow out of them—will be explored in the coming days, and the speakers to come will expound on them and many other things with more expertise and with more detail.

I want to only end by pointing out something: the denial of these truths—that we’re created, that we are fallen, and that we’re redeemed by the action of God—and the resulting confusion about the nature of humanity is fundamentally rooted in one thing: pride.

Pride. Not every error starts in pride. But when we see the denial of the existence of God, when we see the claim that our lives are our own and we can do anything we want with them, and that the world is ours to fashion and rule however we want, then we know we are in the presence of the doctrines of demons.

Yes, in this respect, pride is the great adversary.

Anxiety, Not Arrogance, is the Result of Pride

You would expect that the result of this pride would be to form humans who would ride the world as conquerors, who would act and speak with a kind of presumptuous confidence, who would behave as lordly kings and queens in a way disproportionate to their actual stature. And sometimes you see that.

But mostly—strangely—it’s the opposite. Overwhelmed by the enormity of the need to create one’s own self, to rule and govern the whole world, and with that, to be responsible for the suffering and the injustice in the world, the result upon most people who are infected with these proud dogmas is not arrogant self-inflation.

Instead—most strangely—it is a shivering and anxious experience of smallness. A crushing insecurity. A diminishment of all that leads to human fullness.

Among those who are older, it manifests itself as a kind of quiet desperation, resentment, cynicism. And among the young who are caught by it, it looks like anxiety, persistent sadness, and a trembling fragility.

Rebuilding the Church as a Home for the Human Soul

How do we respond to all this? What then is left for us to do?

Well, we as the Church will certainly want to stand against these proud dogmas and counter lies with truth, and take captive every proud obstacle to the knowledge of God, as St. Paul wants us to do.

But more than that, we should energetically build the Church more and more into a true home for the human soul—fostering a culture within the Church of joy, love, humility, beauty—so that what it means to be human springs up from the soil all around us, and the true meaning of the human person envelops the Church like a refreshing fragrance.

The Church is not primarily for controversy, but to be a place for genuine humanity, friendship, and authentic love.

G.K. Chesterton said that the Church is the true home for everything truly human. And all those battered people, wounded out in the world who have been devastated and afflicted by destructive doctrines—they need to find in the Church a refuge from the storm.

A place where they can be nourished and strengthened in their humanity. A place that counters with heavenly light the darkness of a world that has forgotten God.

This is our task: to build up the Church in this way in our own time. And it’s a task which none of us has the luxury of escaping. It’s a task for each of us in our own place.

So, dear friends, let’s aim then to be more and more every day human. Let’s imitate and love that one perfect human, that genuinely normal person—the one who shows us to ourself and manifests what it means to be human: Jesus Christ, the Son of God and the Son of Man.

Life with Him is what it means to be human.

Thanks.