I remember my daughter, Robyn, at the comparatively advanced age of fourteen, telling me how
she had taken an airplane under threatening weather conditions. When I registered fear and terror
at what might have been the consequences, she said, calmly, “I wasn’t afraid, because Mamma
was with me and I knew she wouldn’t allow anything to happen to me.”
And when she was nineteen, she was temporarily marooned in Great Britain’s Heathrow airfield
because of a “work action.” She called me long distance (collect) to tell me of her sad plight and
said, with sublime confidence, “Do something!” I was about to try when they announced her
plane was taking off and I did not have to reveal my inability to move mountains.
It is inevitable, however, that all children reach the stage where they realize that their parents are
but human beings and are not creatures of ultimate ability and wisdom. Most children learn it a
lot sooner than mine did because I went to considerable pains to play the role.
Whenever children learn of their parents’ fallibility and weakness, there is bound to be a terrible
feeling of loss. The loss is so intense that there is an inevitable search for a substitute, but where
can you find it?
Primitive man naturally argued by analogy. If human beings can puff their breath outward, then
the wind (an enormous puff of breath) must be the exhalation of a vast supernatural being like a
human being but immensely larger and more powerful, a windgod. By similar arguments, an
incredible array of supernatural entities were built up—an entire imaginary Universe.
To begin with, it was assumed that these supernatural beings were as contentious, as irascible, as
illogical, as passion-ridden as were the human beings on whom they were modeled. They had to
be placated endlessly, flattered, praised and bribed into behaving kindly. It was, I suppose, a great
advance when the idea arose that a supernatural being might be naturally kind, merciful and
loving, and would want to help and cherish human beings.
And when that happened, human beings at last found the father they had lost as they grew up—
not the actual, fallible, human father who might still be alive (and a fat lot of good he was), but
the superhuman, all-encompassing, all-knowing, all-powerful father they had had as an infant.
Thus, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus repeatedly refers to “your Father which is in heaven.”
Of course, it might be argued that the term “Father” is used metaphorically, rather than literally,
but metaphors are not developed without reason.
“Fathers” are also found at lower levels than that of a supreme God, since the search for lost
security can move in many directions. The representatives of God on Earth may get the title, too.
“Pope” is a form of the word “Papa” (it is “papa” in Italian), which is a common word for
“father” in many Indo-European languages. And lest the point be lost, he is also called “the Holy
Father.” Roman Catholic priests and High Church Episcopalian priests are also addressed as
“Father.”
The early theological scholars of the Catholic Church are called “the Fathers of the Church.” It is
even possible to look at certain purely secular individuals who are regarded with particular
veneration in that fashion. We speak of the “Pilgrim Fathers,” for instance.
We lend the name to Earthly abstractions, too. If one is particularly sentimental about one’s place
of birth, its land, its customs, its culture, how can one better describe it than as the “Fatherland.”
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