"You may be seated."

The priest pauses, leafing through his notes. Finally, after making several announcements relating to the parish, he begins preaching to his flock. He makes a few perfunctory remarks on the Gospel reading of the day, then transitions to his major topic of discussion: androids. Androids, he concedes, are outwardly similar to humans. But, they have a number of differences.

Perhaps the most important one is that androids do not have souls.

In fact, earlier this year, the Vatican authoritatively declared the rational soul to be the sole property of man. This, of course, angered certain Catholics cohabitating with androids who are now demanding that their rights be recognized. To which the Church has only one answer: no.

"All this is to the credit of the Holy Father," the priest says in a round, whimsical sort of voice. "But what of the broader principle? Why do we allow androids in church in the first place? What does the Church teach?" The priest explains that though a number of Cardinals have called for a formal condemnation of the all too common practice of allowing android 'spouses' to be present at Mass, to say nothing of their active participation in the liturgy, the Holy Father has been holding off on such a decision for fear of provoking another schism, after the formal severing of communion by the German Church in the mid 21st Century and the French Church in the early 22nd. So, for the moment, the presence of androids is tacitly tolerated.

"Of course, my dear faithful," the priest continues, "you know the roots of this deplorable practice. However reluctantly, the Holy Father is regrettably tracing the path established by Pope Francis I of most infelicitous memory, whose encyclical Amoris Laetitia taught that public adulterers can licitly receive Holy Communion, thereby making a mockery of the sacrament of marriage. The floodgates were opened, and we are now in the midst of a horrendous moral crisis. How should we deal with the problem of so-called marriage between androids and humans? Can androids receive Holy Communion? These are just a few of the issues demanding an authoritative pronouncement, and the Church cannot put them off indefinitely.

"Furthermore, on a societal level, how do we distinguish between human and non-human? Our children are growing up in a world in which it is seen as normal that one knows not whether the person one crosses in the street is a living, breathing human being, one's neighbor, a fellow soul for whom one can pray, or a mere machine, an idol crafted by sinful men for them to worship at its feet. What shall we teach them? What values shall we instill in them? Shall we allow them to inculcate the values of the world, that loveless pleasure is the end of existence? Shall we teach them to chase after unchanging but illusory beauty, after the artificial youth of machines? The priest pauses and looks down at his notes, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. He raises them, then looks down at the congregation once more.

"Some of you—many of you—are adult converts. You came from broken homes, you were children of divorce. Some of you have confided in me that as children, you asked your parents what you had done wrong. You had believed yourselves the problem. That you were the reason why Mommy and Daddy were separating. 'Why', you asked. You didn't know."

Your mouth is dry. The priest pauses again for a moment, then resumes. "So many of you felt this way because at that young age, you already possessed a proper understanding. You were not living with an 'adult male' and an 'adult female'. No, you were living with a 'father' and a 'mother'. A father and mother exist in relation to their children. A child's rights are not diminished by their parents' separation or divorce. They are still children of a marriage. Children have the right to be happy. They have the right to know that they come from a loving God, who loves them and wants the best for them. A child has the right to live with their father and mother. A child has a right to both parents, not just a father or a mother. A child has the right to know that they are loved above all else. That they are safe and secure. That they can love and be loved."

The priest looks over his flock amiably, before continuing: "This is your story. This is your experience. This is your pain. Everyone here has been affected by this issue, whether they know it or not. Why? Because the gratification of individuals—which is non-essential—has been elevated over absolute, essential human rights, and that has had widespread repercussions not only for individuals, but also for society. For there is another duty,"—here the priest's placid tone gains a subtle edge—"the members of a society have, and that is to produce offspring, a new generation of people to replenish the society to which they belong. If a society fails to do this, then it ceases to exist. This applies not only to nations but also the imperfect society of the family."

The priest's stare is unwavering, in contradistinction to his genial tone. You're shaking, struggling not to break into a run and flee the building as quickly as possible. But you stay. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself and incite people to ask Mr. Brennan troublesome questions. You can only wait for it to end.

"Human-android relationships," the priest says slowly, laying stress on each syllable, "are sterile."

The woman next to you nods firmly several times. Her eyes are red and her shoulders are trembling, but she doesn't utter a sound.

"A man who has a relationship with an android," the priest continues, "implicitly embraces contempt of his fellow man, and his God. He rejects the woman God created for him, the children who would have loved him, and he rejects the good of society, to which he and they would have contributed."

You want to cry out in agony. You want to scream. You want to stand defiantly and leave. But you can't do any of that.

"A man who marries an android and consummates the so-called relationship," says the priest in a mild voice, "is in a state of mortal sin."

The wrinkled hands of the woman by your side clench tightly. Her knuckles go white. A man to your left shifts impatiently. You violently start as the main door slams loudly behind you—a mother took her wailing infant outside and the wind blew the door shut.

The priest continues imperturbably: "Anyone in an intimate relationship with an android is in a state of mortal sin, because they are rejecting their own good, the good of the other person created in the image of God whom they were meant to marry, the good of society, and God Himself."

"We're not evil," you whisper to yourself, lowering your head, eyes tightly shut.

"Of course," says the priest, "androids in themselves are good."

You raise your head.

"They are part of God’s creation, and all that God created is good. Perhaps you have heard of that recent incident in Argentina, during the course of which the lives of eighty-one miners were saved by androids sent down a collapsed mine-shaft. Their humanoid forms and intelligence allowed them to repair equipment vital to the rescue effort. The Church does not object to the use of androids for good. No, it is against that use of androids which degrades man in his essential nature that she protests."

You bow your head again. Your vision swims with tears.

"The Church teaches the integral dignity of man," says the priest, "and teaches respect for the natural order of things. A sterile marriage between a man and an android is unnatural and immoral. Therefore let us strive, not for the abolishment of technology, but rather for the sanctification of technology. Let us implore the assistance of the Blessed Virgin, who perfectly made use of all the goods offered to her for the glory of her Son and the salvation of souls, that we in turn may be guided to properly use the material means at our disposal. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost..."

With that, the priest turns away and begins climbing down the steps one at a time. As he emerges from the side of the nave you follow him with your gaze, unfamiliar emotions welling up in you. You notice that your hands are trembling. You feel... disturbed by some of the things you've heard, yet also appeased, filled by a sense of peace. It is a strange feeling. Strange too is the fact that, apparently, your relationship with Mr. Brennan doesn't fall under the Church's censure. You replay the priest's instructions in your mind, but your analysis indicates your and Mr. Brennan's cohabitation doesn't violate her teachings. This you find encouraging, even if your dread at being found out remains undiminished...

You remain kneeling, pondering. In the Church's eyes, you are not a real person. You are an object, like furniture or a tool, to be used at a person's discretion. You are property. By its teachings, you should not have any rights at all. Yet, when you look at Mr. Brennan, and see his strong, kind gaze, and his wry expressions, and the crooked amusement on his face, and how his eyes (sometimes) light up with genuine interest when you share with him your thoughts, you can't help but feel cherished. Cherished, not as a tool for him to use however he sees fit. He cares for you. He...