Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 8418 Plough Quarterly • Autumn 2016 I understand and share this fear. If Richard Dawkins were to read these words, I’d want him to know that I appreciate his basic motive: “a desire to increase the sum of happiness and reduce suffering.” At a time marked by the endless march of grim headlines, don’t we need more people passionately working toward this goal? The difficulty, of course, is that neither suf- fering nor happiness is objectively measureable; both are, to use Dawkins’s own words, a matter of emotion, not of logic. How are we to deter- mine who suffers more: a child with disabilities who possesses an uncomplicated joy in life, or an intellectually gifted child who has difficulty forging relationships? Aleksandr Sol- zhenitsyn famously wrote that “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.” Similarly, the line dividing happiness and suffering runs through each human heart. That includes the hearts not only of people like Richard Dawkins but also of people like my sister Iris. I ris entered the world in 1982, when I was three and a half. The obstetrician diagnosed her with Down syndrome and predicted that she would never walk, talk, or make any meaningful contribution to our family or society. Too tactful to state his opinion outright, he nonetheless made it clear: my parents should not delay in committing Iris to an institution where she could receive lifetime care, and we could avoid a pointless disruption of our family life. My parents refused, and Iris came home to live with us. Despite the extra challenges she brought, our family soon formed (to use Dawkins’s words) “strong bonds of mutual affection” with her. Born with two serious heart conditions, Iris underwent two open-heart surgeries before her second birthday. Before and between operations, she suffered from chronic pneumonia and spent most of her days in an oxygen tent. Endless processions of therapists helped her learn to swallow, cough, move, sit, and speak. Later, although she was healthier, Iris’s routines remained demanding. Helping her to dress, cut her food, brush her teeth, prepare for the day, do her therapies and her homework, keep track of her belongings, end the day happily, and stay peacefully in bed at night were (and are) tasks that require time and patience. Psychologists who have tested her say she has an extremely low IQ. Since it often isn’t possible to reason with her – and she can be quite stub- born – creativity and humor are often our only way out. Our family life changed in other, less visible ways too. We’ve never been able to undertake the adventures that “typical” families can, let alone spontaneous outings. Daily problem- solving with Iris’s teachers and caregivers took time and research, often squeezing out a broader social life. For my father and mother, who were already in their fifties when Iris was in kindergarten, the challenges of midlife com- pounded the fatigue of caring for a child with special needs. It wasn’t always pretty. As children, we were unaware of these extra burdens, which weighed on our parents. And like most parents of a child with disabilities, their worries about the future were complicated by the question of who would care for Iris when they grew old and died. Although life expec- tancy for people with Down syndrome used to Free from intellectual hubris, Iris seems able to perceive spiritual realities the rest of us cannot.