Now and then when I speak of what we are about at the Park Ridge Center I refer to our desire to bring thickness to the discourse about health, faith, and ethics in a diverse society.

Now and then when someone hears that description I get a playful response: Thickness? Do I lisp and mean "sickness," if we are about health? After a bit of bantering, we begin to spell out what thickness can mean. The definitions can be of help to readers of this issue of Second Opinion, since these essays so well exemplify the word.

The concept of thickness comes up when readers and questioners ask what it is that faith, religion, and spirituality bring to the talk about health and ethics.

What do the voices of faith, the repertories of religious options, and the accents on spirituality bring to the ethical questions that plague us? Wouldn't we do well considering only Aristotle and Mills, Kant and Rawls—instead of bringing in Isaiah and Jesus, Buddha and al-Ghazali? Wasn't society better off when questioners referenced what the ethicists and political scientists call secular rationality alone? Or utilitarianism? Or pragmatism?

Why clutter the field with what believers think of as divine revelation, which impels them to act in certain ways and shun other ways? Why let any sets of citizens claim that what they read in their ancient scriptures should gain a hearing, since next door, in the next hospital room, or in the chair next to a scripturalist on an ethics committee, is someone who responds to a different, sometimes opposed scripture, or acknowledges no scripture at all?

What do these introductions of religion solve?

The honest answer: little or nothing. That is the case if "solving" means coming to sure, absolute, encompassing resolutions that all segments of society hold in consensus. Many issues are addressable but not soluble, as the articles in this issue will suggest to critical readers. But, we would argue, addressing them is wise and necessary, and it can yield benefits to those affected by consequent decisions.

On those terms, religion thickens the discourse. Take a moment with me, please, to open the dictionary and see something of what "thick," here used metaphorically, includes:

Here are some of the problems that go with making ethical discourse and reflection thicker:

Those burdened with the responsibility of making decisions, having listened to the voices of pragmatists and Protestants, rationalists and Hindus, Platonists and Catholics, may be bewildered, put off, or converted to "mere" forms of relativism, hoping to avoid sectarian dispute. Those assigned the task of staffing panels of ethicists, counseling legislators, or setting policies for hospitals, may despair: How give a hearing to all these voices? How assure that what they are saying is representative of their faith communities? How keep panelists and counselors from being mere—that word again—demanders of equal time? Why slow down for the variety of voices when secular rationalism will level things out and keep abrasive, not easily satisfied religious representations at a distance?

All those concerns are valid, but there is another side. The words of ancient scriptures and the communities formed in response to them often protect and advance human causes which might well be suppressed in a technological society. Second, the fact that significant elements in the population live by those scriptures and in those communities, means that actions based on ethical debate should find better resonance among the people who must live with them: patients, family members, or those who assess how to make medical resources available. Partisans "can't win 'em all," and the fact that some won't realize it only thickens the talk about thickness. But secular rationalists and pragmatists also bring presuppositions to the debates, presuppositions and positions that tended to be privileged religiously—until thoughtful religious ethicists began to question their privilege, even their monopoly.

In culture wars between philosophical and sectarian extremists, thickness means "having relatively great extension between the opposite sides." Which means: room for compromise; for coming up with resolutions that will not satisfy all, but that at least address the issue. Thickness is "opposed to thinness," which is what strained and constrained philosophical discourse can be perceived to be among laity whose deepest beliefs get overlooked. Thickness means "extending far down below the surface; deep." That is not to say that a principled and philosophical ethic is not probing or lacks depth. It simply probes in limited areas and could appear to be rather shallow.

Thickness in religious ethical language, as reflected in the articles that follow, means "having substance all through; solid, not hollow." Again, we are not making the judgment that secular contention by itself is insubstantial and hollow. Yet to many of the religiously committed it will appear to be just that, unless the spiritual and faith-full voices are at least heard.

Finally, thickness means "composed of numerous individuals . . . densely arranged." That is a pretty good description of North American societies, where people of no faith, my faith, and other faiths live close to each other, and have to converge on complex questions having to do with, say, stem cell research, or the weight given to various religious authorities, or questions that deal with decisions near the end of life.

Introducing and giving a hearing to voices of faith, religion, and spirituality will not solve these questions. It will thicken the responses, and it is likely that all will be better off for what they did not overlook: the depth and solidity that come with informed religious commitment.