Raised by Jesuits: Reason, Conscience, and Complexity in the Modern World

Imagine a parent hesitating before agreeing to an autism diagnosis for their child.   Not because they doubt the truth of it, but because they fear what being on the list might mean. Now imagine that fear becoming widespread, shifting clinical practices and reshaping statistics; not because autism is disappearing, but because honesty is becoming dangerous. This is the ethical and epistemological tangle we face if a national autism registry becomes reality. The Promise of a Registry Let’s begin in good faith. On paper, a centralized autism registry could offer immense benefits: Accurate data could support better resource allocation in schools, clinics, and workplaces. Researchers could access large-scale data sets, leading to deeper understanding and improved therapies. Policy-makers might craft smarter laws rooted in real demographic data. In short, the hope is that if we count people well, we’ll care for them better. But counting is nev...

One of my favorite teachers in high school was a wiry Scotsman named Mr. Ballantyne. He wasn’t a Jesuit, but he might as well have been. His demeanor was no-nonsense, his standards were high, and his wit as sharp as the thorns on a sprig of thistle. He taught Ethics—a required course at my Catholic high school. Mr. Ballantyne didn’t just teach Ethics as a subject; he lived it like a calling. His classroom was where we learned to think about what was right and wrong in a deeper way—not just in terms of rules or punishments, but in terms of what kind of people we were becoming. He taught us that ethics isn’t about having the right answers, it’s about asking better questions. That’s a very Jesuit idea, even if he never said cura personalis out loud. So what is ethics, really? At its core, ethics is a framework of moral principles that guide our actions and decisions. It’s how we navigate the question: What kind of life should I live, and how should I treat others along the way? I...

In another part of my life, I lead a band that plays jazz and blues. I write original songs—some of which have won awards—and perform in venues far removed from the walls of a church. Yet I grew up singing in the church choir (stereotypical, I know), and I was always acutely aware that some religious traditions treat secular music with suspicion, even outright condemnation. But that has never aligned with my lived experience. I’ve felt—viscerally—the healing power of music, both in my own life and among my audiences. I’ve watched music soften the hardened, uplift the weary, and bring strangers into communion. Something sacred happens when sound transcends speech and becomes something more than entertainment. It becomes presence. Connection. Maybe even grace. For a long time, though, I carried the tension between that sacred experience and the religious formation that seemed to draw sharp lines between what was holy and what was profane. That changed a few years ago during a convers...

Reflecting on Waiting, and the Will to Carry On Author's Note: I usually post on weekends, but this past one was so busy I didn't get a chance to do so. Since this post is partly about when everything happens, I thought it was an appropriate one to go with as it's definitely what I experienced this past weekend. - RA Paulo Coelho, one of my favorite authors, once wrote, “Life has a way of testing a person’s will – either by having nothing happen at all, or by having everything happen at once.” Like much of his writing, it’s deceptively simple. A single sentence that manages to articulate what entire seasons of life feel like. In the Jesuit tradition I was raised with, we’re taught to look for God not in the abstract, but in the concrete stuff of our lives: silence, uncertainty, disappointment, exhilaration. This quote offers a framework for naming two of life’s great spiritual tests—the barren stretches where nothing seems to move, and the overwhelming surges when ever...