It seems you’re very interested in finding that common ground between the secular and the religious, and putting something on the table that everyone can understand or resonate with. Through your work with the Nathaniel Centre, have you noticed any ways this has shaped legislation or made an impact on people’s imaginations?
It’s hard to say—I’d like to think our submissions have added to the richness of the debates. We consistently got very positive feedback from ACART, which is the Advisory Committee on Assisted Reproductive Technology. Our submissions were always done against a particular framework of principles, which, when you boil them down, can be traced back to the basic principles of Catholic social teaching. When you look at the ethos of the Nathaniel Centre—and this goes back to the way in which I understand Catholic moral theology—it’s about bringing together faith and reason. And that approach goes right back to Thomas Aquinas.
Thomas Aquinas, of course, was one of the Christian scholars who, in the 13th century, revived Aristotelianism. It’s this idea that while the authority for what we teach, what we believe in, is found in the Scriptures, we must also draw on the social sciences and what we know about what it means to be human.
So, when I’m teaching people, I always say that being Catholic, being Christian, doesn’t add a body of knowledge as such. There’s no secret Catholic or Christian book in which all this stuff is written down about bioethics. As I understand it, what my Catholic tradition brings is a set of principles and values that shape the way we think about what it means to be fully human and what it means to flourish as a human being. So, we don’t simply have to rely on quoting the Scriptures or Catholic teaching. And I’m not saying we don’t quote the Scriptures. If you look carefully at the writings of the Nathaniel Centre over the years, I would argue that it’s very, very faithful to the Scriptures and the Catholic moral tradition. But what you don’t often see, particularly when we’re doing submissions to parliament, is a lot of religious language or scriptural references—but they’re there in the background.
Again, even if we’re not quoting Scriptures, even if we’re not quoting Catholic documents, I would say that we’ve been utterly faithful to the tradition. We’re trying to speak about it in terms of human flourishing because, at the end of the day—and this is one of my favourite Scriptures—it all comes back to John 10:10: “I’ve come that you may have life and have it to the fullest.” It’s about human flourishing. God wants us to flourish as human beings.
We know we are beings who are called to be in relationship with other people; we are not isolated nomads. In thinking about the euthanasia law, for example, one of the things we keep coming back to is the growing social isolation that many older people experience and many disabled people experience. That’s not a particularly Catholic insight. And yet it should be a fundamental Catholic Christian concern. By speaking into that space, all of a sudden, we’re able to argue our position on euthanasia because we can show that it ultimately comes back to our concern for the well-being of a particular group of people who we believe, being as vulnerable as they are, will become susceptible to abuse under that law. So, we were arguing against euthanasia on the basis of our concern for people, coming out of a particular understanding of what it means to flourish as human beings, and we didn’t need to quote Scripture to be able to make that point.
You have been at the forefront of many submissions to parliament on bioethical questions, particularly the recent End of Life Choice bill, which was introduced to New Zealand legislation in 2019. As a leader of the Nathaniel Centre during that period of submissions and lobbying, how did you process the disappointment of that law being passed?
It was hugely disappointing. I felt that we’d given it our best shot. I thought we’d put up some really, really good arguments. The Nathaniel Centre was part of the Care Alliance, which was a collaboration between 10 or 12 different groups. Some of them were church based, such as the Salvation Army, but the Alliance included the key providers of palliative care and also groups like Not Dead Yet—a disability advocacy group—none of whom were coming at this from a Christian perspective. Yes, the defeat was very disappointing. A lot of energy went into the campaign. It was quite difficult for me personally to pick myself up and carry on, knowing, “We’ve fought this fight, but we didn’t win it.”
For a long time, I found it very difficult to read material and to engage with that subject. I’ve had to once again because I think there is still a significant challenge. Previously, euthanasia was something that the law didn’t allow—it was theoretical and in many ways an abstract concept. But I think the challenge for us now is to make euthanasia as unthinkable as we possibly can. For example, knowing that social isolation is a factor in why people come to choose euthanasia—there’s been lots of research on that—the question from a Catholic Christian perspective is to say, “Well, how, as Christian communities and as the church in New Zealand are we making sure our elderly people feel cared for and aren’t isolated?”
In a sense, everything has changed, but, in another sense, nothing has changed. The tasks for us, Christian or otherwise, are to work to protect the people who, under this law, are vulnerable. And we also know that, in the future, there are going to be those who seek to make the law even more permissive. That’s exactly what’s happened in other countries, and there’s no reason why it won’t happen in New Zealand as well. So, there is still a huge challenge in front of us.
How did you pray through that disappointment in almost having to pick up the pieces again, still recognising that the challenge remains?
It was just a continuous going back to the Lord in prayer and saying, “Look, you know, I’ve given this my best. Give me the strength to continue; show me how we can go forward.” I did feel like we’d given everything, that we had been faithful, that we had stood up for what we thought was true, what was right. So, there was some comfort, some consolation in that.
I guess, too, over time, coming to an acceptance that this is what it is: people make choices; we live in a society that makes choices that won’t be consistent with what we as Christians think is best for people. But that’s part of living in a democracy and living with other people. We have to get up and keep on working with those people.
One of my favourite verses is from Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd, there’s nothing I shall want.” The Lord is ultimately in charge. And going back to Psalm 139: there is no where we can go, there’s no way our society can go, there’s no where as persons we can go, where God won’t be with us, even in the depths of Sheol. So, I take comfort and a lot of consolation from those particular Psalms and verses. They’ve been a source of spiritual strength.
Living with disappointment, living with the central reality of our own sinfulness, the simple reality of the world, is part of the Christian path, I think. And not losing faith and hope at those times—just being constantly reminded of that, by others, by Scripture, through prayer, by other Christians, by other good people.
What do you make of your working career in light of that difficulty to discern your calling?
In a roundabout way, I thought that I had given up my calling to work for the church when I chose to get married. And yet I’ve now spent the best part of my life working for the church—in a different way from what I originally thought I was being called to, but I know God has called me to this work. I have no doubts about that. And it hasn’t been a straight line. It hasn’t been an easy ride. But through all the ups and downs, I can actually look back and see God’s hand in all of this, that I’m now here doing what I was called to do those many, many years ago when I headed to the seminary.