No can eat: a Pawlian parable

Dr. Timothy Pawl has argued that the idea of Incarnation is consistent since we should think the councils understood what one may think are contrary predicates in a way such that a two natured thing may rightly be called both. So if “impassible” means “has a nature that is impassible” and “passible” means “has a nature that is passible,” then Christ will be both “impassible” and “passible” – the former true because of his divine nature, and the latter true because of his human nature. When I heard this several years ago I was inspired to compose this little story. 

I’m an adventurous eater; I like to say that I’ll try anything at least once. But this time I couldn’t decide.

“Do you want a Leo-Burger or not?” repeated uncle Leo. He looked every bit the happy griller, standing belly-out, right up against the grill, contentedly inhaling the fragrant charcoal smoke, his metal instruments poking at the sizzling meat patties in front of him. To his side, there stood a table covered with ingredients, many of which I did not recognize.

“Just what exactly is a ‘Leo-Burger’?” I asked. “Is it good?”

“What is a Leo-Burger!” he repeated, incredulously, as if I should have known. “Son, a Leo-Burger is tasty and yucky.”

I stared back silently, unable to process this answer. Was he joking? No burger could be both of those things. If it’s tasty, it won’t be yucky, and if it’s yucky, it won’t be tasty. He must be joking. But, he’s not smiling, and there is no twinkle in his eye. Is he mocking me?

Unaware of my inner struggle, uncle Leo continued to poke at his patties. I wondered whether or not uncle Leo was crazy. Does he really think he can make a burger with contrary properties? If so, my logic professor would be very interested to know about this.

“Well, can I fix you one?” demanded uncle Leo.

I just stood there, unable to reply. Then I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder. It was cousin Timothy.

“You’ve got to be careful interpreting old uncle Leo.”

“You’re not kidding,” I replied. “I asked him what a ‘Leo-Burger’ is, and I can’t tell if his reply is just a joke, or if the old guy is a bit crazy. He told me that burger is both tasty and yucky. What’s up with that?”

“That’s all true,” said Tim, firmly, “once you understand how he defines his terms. When uncle Leo says that something is tasty, he means that it has at least one ingredient which is tasty. And when he says some food is yucky, he means that it has at least one ingredient which is yucky. ‘Tasty’ and ‘yucky,’ so defined, are not contraries; it is consistent to affirm both of his specialty.”

Leo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Despite Timothy’s evident sincerity, I was not persuaded. “Though I’ll eat almost anything, I do need some assurance from the chef that the food in question is, in his opinion, delicious and not disgusting. But this our uncle Leo has refused to do. He’s told me that the Leo-burger has a tasty ingredient, and a disgusting ingredient. But this could be said of many disgusting foods, like a dead-cat sandwich on whole wheat. Again, it is true of many delicious foods, like clam-chowder. So he hasn’t really told me anything about the whole Leo-Burger. He’s only told me about its parts. But we can’t infer that whole has a certain quality, just because a part of that whole does.”

“That’s right,” my cousin agreed, “that would be a fallacy of composition. In some cases, a whole must have a property that its part has, but in other cases, this isn’t so. Every piece of a pumpkin pie is pointy, but the whole pie isn’t pointy. But from the fact that every part of the pie has mass, it does follow that the whole pie has mass.”

“Quite right.”

“Anyway, what Leo says is surely consistent.”

“Well, OK, but what I want to know is: is the Leo-Burger tasty?”

“He says it is.”

“I know!”

I never did try the Leo-Burger. Maybe I should have. Other people say it’s tasty too.