Satan as a Functional Theodicy, Interlude: Satan and Drive-Through Spiritual Formation


This particular post doesn't really fit with my overall theme of Satan and theodicy but, since we are talking about how Satan functions in contemporary Christianity, I thought this post might fit in.

A few years ago the sociologist Michael W. Cuneo published an interesting book called American Exorcism: Expelling Demons in the Land of Plenty. The book is flawed (the sociological analysis is not as rigorous as I'd want) but the book is a good read and presents an interesting analysis/thesis.

In the book Cuneo documents the rise of demon possession and deliverance ministries (i.e., exorcism) in American suburban mainline churches from the 1970s to the present. I myself have noticed this trend over the last 30 years. In the Churches of Christ I've not seen any direct possession or deliverance situations, but I have noticed a rise in demon-centric formulations of spiritual issues. That is, I've seen more and more church folk move from diffuse formulations of being "tempted" by, let's say, lust to being more specifically "afflicted" by a "demon of lust." I've also seen a rise in prayer formulations where "hedges of angels" are prayed for to protect persons from Satanic or demonic attack. In my church life I saw all this emerge in the 80s with a surge of concern I had not witnessed before regarding things like Satanic cults, Halloween, and Rock and Roll (e.g., Kiss and AC/DC). I recall Frank E. Peretti's book This Present Darkness capturing this zeitgeist in the mid-80s. This Present Darkness transfixed the ACU student body in the late 80s and early 90s. Its demon-afllicted vision dominated the spiritual conversation back then.

Cuneo's book is interesting in that part of his research involved sitting in and witnessing many contemporary exorcisms as practiced in various churches and deliverance ministries. After analyzing these ministries Cuneo offers his thesis regarding the rise of this phenomena.

Basically, Cuneo suggests that the demon-centric or, more mildly, warfare-centric perspective (that spiritual life is largely about battling demonic influences) is a kind of McDonaldification of spiritual formation in contemporary Christianity. That is, Cuneo suggests that suburban Christian America, with its malls and fast food joints, was looking to hit on a way to get quick spiritual fixes for complex spiritual issues. If these fixes could also attenuate moral responsibility so much the better. And Cuneo suggests that pop Christian culture stepped in and created just the fix: A demon-centric vision of spiritual formation. To quote Cuneo: "Personal engineering through demon expulsion: a bit messy perhaps, but relatively fast and cheap, and morally exculpatory. A thoroughly American arrangement."

Let's say I do struggle with lust. With a deflationary view of demons my spiritual struggle with lust is difficult. I must bear the full burden of the blame as well as travel a long difficult road toward holiness. By contrast, in the deliverance demon-centric model where I've been "attacked" and "afflicted" by malevolent spiritual forces I get to reap a couple of benefits.

First, I'm a victim in this scenario. And this reduces my moral culpability. It definately shifts the moral nexus off me and into the spiritual realm.

Second, given that I'm "afflicted" the main intervention is a prayer of deliverance, a prayer to bind the satanic forces that harass me. Well, that seems easy enough. Just say a heartfelt prayer to bind Satan and that problem of lust should be taken care of. As Cuneo suggests, this approach to spiritual formation appears to be a morally exculpatory quick fix. The McDonaldification of spiritual formation.

In recent years, Cuneo notes a decline in this perspective. He charts the disillusionment of many churches who started deliverance ministries. And the disillusionment has everything to do with spiritual formation: Deliverance ministries were not producing holy, Christ-like people. The hard work of discipleship just didn't figure into the equation.

I bring Cuneo's book up for two reasons. First, although the demon-centric models are going away, you still see it here and there in churches. I still stumble upon it with ACU students. So it is interesting to reflect on the spiritual formation implications of this perspective. Second, this series on Satan and theodicy is about how we use Satan to meet certain spiritual and psychological needs. And Cuneo's book is a case study on a different way people might use Satan to meet other needs (to reduce moral culpability and to avoid the hard work of discipleship).

Again, I'm not suggesting that demons don't exist. But I am interested in how people think about demons and how they use those beliefs to to accomplish certain psychological goals. These belief-dynamics are often unconscious and I think a little reflection on the matter is of some use. As a psychologist I tend to reflect not just on what people believe but also on how they believe. For sometimes the how can be more self-serving than we would like to admit.

Satan as a Functional Theodicy, Part 3: The ACU Study


Over the last few posts I've discussed historical and theological perspectives that suggest that Satan serves some theodic functions. Specifically, Satan allows us to shift some of responsibility for the suffering of life away from God allowing relationship with God to be less complicated, conflicted, and ambivalent.

For a psychologist, theological and historical arguments are fine but the real issue for me is, do people really use Satan in this way? Does Satan really function as a theodicy in the minds of contemporary believers? Last year I sought an answer to this question.

The outcome of this research, as I said in the first post of this series, was presented in a paper presented at the annual SWPA psychological conference. Here's a sketch of the study.

First, I needed a means to quantify what I called "the strength of the Satan construct." That is, I needed to measure how active, involved, present, and powerful Satan was believed to be in the believer's life. So, I asked 278 ACU students questions like these:

1. Satan can cause misfortune, accidents, or illness to fall upon good people.
2. In my spiritual life, I feel I am involved in an ongoing battle against Satan.
3. I don’t think Satan can do much to interfere in people’s lives. (R)
4. Satan is a present and active force in human affairs.
5. Satan roams the earth actively seeking to defeat the people of God.
6. I don’t believe Satan attacks, harms, and/or interferes with people. (R)
7. I believe that Satan (or his agents) can influence people to act in evil or destructive ways.
8. Failing to respect the power of Satan in the world leaves you ignorant and vulnerable to his attacks.


Items were rated on a 1-6 likert scale (1 = Strongly Disagree, 6 = Strongly Agree). Note the (R) indicates a reverse-scored item (i.e., low endorsement of this items is scored to indicate high endorsement of the overall construct). Overall, if someone scored high across these items they have a very "strong" view of Satan.

Sidenote: How would you score on this scale? Low or high?

Okay, with a rough measure of the strength of the Satan construct I also needed a measure of what I called "theodicy complaint," the degree to which a person blames God directly for the pain and suffering of life. I created the following items to quantify this construct:

1. The amount of suffering and pain in the world makes me doubt that God cares about the world.
2. I blame God for the amount of pain and suffering in the world.
3. I think God has let the world get out of control.
4. God is responsible for allowing all the pain and suffering in the world.
5. It troubles me that God does not prevent pain and suffering in the world.
6. I am disappointed in God for creating a world full of pain and suffering.
7. It is largely God’s fault for allowing so much pain and suffering in the world.


Again, the scale is rated on the same likert scale as the Satan items.

Sidenote: How would you score on this scale? Low or high?

Okay, with these two measures in hand it is a simple matter to correlate the two scores.

So, here are the ways the correlation could come out:

1. They are positively correlated (as scores on one measure INCREASE scores on the other measure INCREASE). That is, people who have strong Satan constructs are also the ones who tend to blame God most directly about pain/suffering. This outcome would be the exact opposite of what our theory predicts.

2. The scores are uncorrelated. This outcome would indicate that Satan and theodicy issues are unrelated concepts. They have nothing to do with each other. Again, this outcome is against our theory.

3. The scores are negatively correlated (as scores on one measure INCREASE scores on the other measure DECREASE). This is the outcome we predict. That is, if Satan is functioning as a theodicy, people who have strong Satan concepts should be the ones who blame God LESS for pain/suffering. Conversely, those who have anemic visions of Satan are those who will tend to blame God MORE for pain/suffering.

The outcome: A statistically significant negative correlation.

Theology and history aside, it appears that Satan does function, at least partly, as a theodicy. People use Satan to feel better about God.

First-, Second-, and N-Order Complaint People


(Just an interlude to my Satan and Theodicy series. This interlude will be relevant later in that series.)

As I've reflected on how people deal with theodicy issues in the church I've come up with a personal formulation to describe what I see in church. I call it First-, Second-, and N-Order Complaint.

Everyone, at some point, confronts the issues of theodicy. We all suffer and at some point we need to understand WHY? Believers are particularly keen to hit upon a suite of answers that fit with notions of a loving and all-powerful God.

Sometimes these questions are acute and personal (e.g., personal trauma). Sometimes the questions are historical (e.g., the Holocaust). Sometimes existential (e.g., pain in the human condition).

As the first round of theodicy questions I call these initial questions FIRST-ORDER COMPLAINT.

Whenever I've seen these questions raised in a church or classroom you tend to get a standard, well-worn suite of responses. Call these FIRST-ORDER RESPONSES. Some examples:

1. Free will: Lots of human pain is self-inflicted, God isn't to blame.

2. The Fall: After Eden, the earth is cursed. Thus, the Katrina's and tsunami's of life are our lot, the burden of the Fall brought about, again, by humans.

3. The Symmetry of the Nervous System: God wants relationship and love. A loving companion requires a certain kind of experiential capacity, namely a capacity for love. However, such a capacity demands its shadow side: The capacity to suffer.

4. Satan: As in the book of Job, Satan "attacks" us to test and tempt us.

There may be more, but these four first-order responses tend to come up most often.

Okay, at this point in the conversation people start to sort themselves into two different groups. One group is generally satisfied with these first-order responses. They see the first-order responses as, generally speaking, adequate. These people seem to be quickly satiated, theologically speaking.

However, there is a second group (and I am among them) that looks over the first-order responses and is partly or wholly unsatisfied. The first-order responses strike these people as inadequate. All these responses do is succeed in creating another round of questions. This second round of questions, in response to the first round, I call SECOND-ORDER COMPLAINT. Here are some examples of second-order complaint (numbered consistently with the list above):

1. True, humans do hurt themselves. But much if not most of our of suffering comes not from human hands.

2. Is God just and loving if he visits the sins of Adam upon generations of innocent people?

3. Isn't God selfish in desiring this for himself, particularly given the pain we are subjected to, in order to satisfy HIS NEED to love something?

4. Why would God give Satan such scope? Why doesn't God restrict Satan, making Satan pick on people (angels?) his own size? Why would God allow us to be terrorized by a renegade spiritual agent?


Note that second-order questions are more difficult. They are bothersome. Why? Because second-order complaint starts to move pass issues of suffering and begins to ask questions about GOD, about his character and goodness. And it is for this reason that most church going folk don't want to move on to this round of complaint. These questions are a little too bold. You can question why there is pain, but you can't question God. For some, that goes too far.

In short, when I sit in these conversations I see two kinds of people emerge: a FIRST-ORDER COMPLAINT GROUP and a SECOND-ORDER COMPLAINT GROUP. They appear to differ on how adequate they think conventional theodicy responses are as well as in their comfort level in questioning God's goodness.

(Psychological aside: These groups also appear to be different in what psychologists have called NEED FOR COGNITION. High NFC is associated with a need to understand and to solve outstanding intellectual puzzles. Basically, High NFC people think. They like to think. They need to think. Low NFC don't have this inner desire to deeply understand. They don't find thinking all that rewarding.

Note that NFC is different from intelligence. I know a lot of people who are extraordinarily intelligent but low of NFC.

Basically, I think a lot of church conversations get interpersonally sticky due to the competing motives of High versus Low NFC people. Low NFC people don't want to push Sunday School conversations too deeply. They find those conversation unrewarding and unsettling. By contrast, High NFC people want to push the conversation to the next level, to a deeper level.

In my experience, the church is generally a Low NFC kinda place.)

There are responses that can be offered at the second level of complaint. We can call these SECOND-ORDER RESPONSES. However, and I bet you guessed this, the process can continue. We can have another wave of THIRD-ORDER COMPLAINT with THIRD-ORDER RESPONSES. And forth-order. And fifth-order. And so on.

Thus, what I call N-ORDER COMPLAINT, is round upon round of complaint-response.

Some people stop at first-order complaint. Others at second-order. And still others (again, me among them) never stop complaining. We are N-ORDER COMPLAINT PEOPLE. For us, complaint is just a regular feature of the faith experience.

In other writings of mine (see Winter Christianity in my blogbook "Freud's Ghost" or the Summer and Winter Christians article on my ACU webpage), I've used a seasonal metaphor to describe these kinds of believers. I've called them Summer and Winter Christians. Summer Christians tend to have rosy pictures of God. Winter Christians, due to their complaint, have more ambivalent pictures. Schematically:

Summer Christians = FIRST-ORDER COMPLAINT people

Spring/Autumn Christians = SECOND-ORDER COMPLAINT people

Winter Christians = N-ORDER COMPLAINT people


What are you?

(BTW, if you haven't noticed, this blog is a kind of a support-group for N-ORDER COMPLAINT people. I suspect that I tend to quickly lose any FIRST-ORDER COMPLAINT readers.)


Happy Thanksgiving! I'll be back next week.

Satan as a Functional Theodicy, Part 2: The Emotional Burden of Monotheism


Monotheism is a rough emotional ride.

To understand this, let’s back up.

How many gods are there? The Old Testament seems mixed in its testimony. At times, God is seen as a national god or a family god, one god among many gods in the ancient Middle-Eastern pantheon. At other times, the national god of Israel is elevated to High God status within the Middle-Eastern pantheon: God is the God above all gods (my church even sings a song with this lyric). And, finally, at other times, the OT seems to suggest that there is only One God. All other gods are “nothing,” non-existent.

So, is the Other Realm crowded? If so, is it hierarchical? Or, is it populated by One?

The bible seems mixed in its testimony on this topic.

However, as a psychologist, I don’t have much of an opinion on the Census of the Heavens. I do, however, have some thoughts on the emotional toll monotheism places upon a believer.

Specifically, if the Heavenly Census = 1, then the believer will have a very ambivalent relationship with the One. That is, all facets of life--the good, the bad, and the ugly--will be placed at the feet of the One God. God would be responsible, to use OT language, for both “weal and woe.” All our feelings about the justice and pain of our existence will fall at the feet of the One God. And, given that our experiences of happiness and suffering are mixed, our praise and lament intermingle. Our experience with the One God is ambivalence. Or, as psychologists like to say, we are experiencing an approach-avoidance conflict with God.

This ambivalence is amply documented in the emotional landscape of the psalms. Although Israel’s testimony regarding the Heavenly Census is mixed, her emotional experience was decidedly monotheistic. That is, in the psalms all theodicy concerns are taken directly to God and laid at God’s feet. No other supernatural agent (e.g., Satan) is allowed to rescue God from the questioning and accusations of Israel. As a result the relationship with God witnessed in the psalms is complicated and, at times, deeply ambivalent.

By contrast, a dualistic model of the Heavens with two gods could resolve some of our theodic ambivalence, particularly if these two gods were at war. That is, a dualistic warfare model of the heavens functions well as a theodic explanatory apparatus. Specifically, pain is the product of the Evil god and blessing the product of the Good god. Life is a mix of pain and blessing because the cosmos is a mix of Good and Evil. My experience thus reflects my metaphysics.

In the dualistic warfare model life might still suck for me, but my feelings toward the Good god are uncomplicated and overwhelmingly positive. There is no ambivalence in this model as we observed in monotheism.

Interestingly, ancient Zoroastrianism had just his “dualistic warfare” model. And Israel came into contact with Zoroastrianism at just the time when she was undergoing a crisis of theodicy (see prior post). Thus, some have speculated that this exposure to Zoroastrianism pushed Israel and early Christianity to adopt more of a dualistic warfare metaphor to explain pain and suffering.

All of the preceding is nicely summed up by Jack Miles in his Pulitzer Prize winning book God: A Biography:

“When the sole god or even the dominant god in a pantheon doles out weal and woe…the question[s] of [theodicy] don’t come up…[but] as God became both a consistently good god and the only real god the question How could a good god permit…? Suddenly became unavoidable…”

“Just at this point in its history…Israel was massively exposed to a persuasive answer to the new question…Persian Zoroastrianism recognized two competing gods…It is undeniable that after this period of Israelite entanglement with Semitic polytheism a dramatic growth in the importance of Satan, or the Devil, is easy to document…”


In short, the psychology of Satan has two complementary aspects:

First, Satan functions as a theodicy, as a means to explain the pain, suffering and evil in life.

Second, by fleshing out a dualistic warfare model, Satan allows for relationship with God to be less complicated, conflicted, and ambivalent. Satan becomes a theodic wastebasket, where the pain and suffering of life gets increasingly dumped on him. And, as more of the “woe” is attributed to Satan, God gets to be experienced almost solely as a producer of “weal.” And that feels good.

And, thus, the emotional burden of monotheism is lifted.

The Devil: Satan as a Functional Theodicy, Part 1


I've been interested in the psychology of Satan for some time. Not Satan's psychology, mind you. But how Satan, as an psychological construct, functions in the minds of people. How do people use Satan to describe and explain their experiences?

Obviously, such an approach sets aside questions of ontology and focuses on the psychological dynamics. As a psychologist I can't address the question of Satan's existence, but I can study how people think about Satan. I have the tools to do that kind of research.

Currently, I'm in the middle of some research investigating if Satan functions as a theodicy in the minds of religious believers. Last spring I presented some preliminary data on this topic at the annual Southwestern Psychological Association conference held in Austin, TX (a great city!). The title of that paper is the title of this series: The Devil: Satan as a Functional Theodicy.

First, just to get everyone up to speed, what is a theodicy? A theodicy is a theological attempt to reconcile a loving and all-powerful God with the experience of human suffering and pain. C.S. Lewis called it "The Problem of Pain." The lament psalms also speak to this situation. Why would a powerful and loving God allow so much pain and suffering? Answers to this question are forms of theodicy.

Well, there is some theological speculation that Satan functions as a theodicy. That is, Satan, and the warfare metaphor he is embedded in, allows believers to explain the etiology of certain experiences of pain. To wit, Satan is behind the painful experience.

But let's back up a bit. One of the striking features of the bible is the rise of the Satan concept as we move to the NT from the OT. Why is this? In the OT, Satan appears but isn't really fleshed out as a dramatis personƦ. But in the NT we see much more work done on Satan as a dramatis personƦ. Why this increase in characterological development?

Some theologians speculate that this interest in Satan as a cosmic player was due to the failure of prophesy. That is, as the OT comes to a close Israel is facing a prophetic crisis. God promised fidelity to the nation, but exile and enemy occupation have caused some to wonder if the prophecies were wrong.

Two approaches to the failure of prophecy can be noted. First, the prophecies were spiritualized. That is, the "nation" was no longer seen in physical terms. Concretely, the reign of God was not over physical kingdoms but over hearts. Simplistically, God was less interested in being Major of Jerusalem than Lord over our hearts and lives. God is to be enthroned in our hearts. Clearly, Christianity inherited this intertestimental impulse.

The second approach to the failure of prophecy is to adopt a military/warfare metaphor. That is, the fulfillment of prophecy is delayed because we are at war. You begin to see the rise of this metaphor in the book of Daniel. This metaphor tends to solve the delay of prophecy eschatologically, where the physical reign of God will occur after the final defeat of the enemies of God. This impulse is also seen in the NT and many Christians emphasize it (see the Left Behind series).

Broadly speaking, Christians tend to emphasize one or the other of these approaches. Some fully spiritualize the notions of God's reign and see God as disinterested in establishing a physical kingdom. God isn't all that interested in nations or politics. These Christians don't see a failure of prophecy in that they spiritualize prophecy.

The other group tends to believe in a literal fulfillment of prophecy (God will reign on earth) so they believe in prophecy delayed. Specifically, they see the delay as due to cosmic warfare and rebellion. And, to get this cosmic warfare, you need a robust notion of a cosmic general leading the hosts of evil. Specifically, you need Satan to play a bigger cosmic role than he did in the OT. So, in the NT, we see the development and elaboration of the Satan character.

All I want to do in this post is to make this observation: The rise of the Satan construct was due to theodicy concerns. Why had the prophecies failed? Or had they failed? Israel needed to explain her suffering. And one of the ways she did this was to adopt a warfare metaphor and elaborate the hazy OT character of Satan. And the early Christians inherited this theodic formulation.

A "Proof" for the Existence of God, Part 6: The Moral Universe


[Disclaimer: This series is not really going to deliver a proof for God's existence. This is why the word "proof" is in scare quotes. It is, rather, a suggestive line of argument. However, "A suggestive line of argument for God's Existence" isn't a very good blog title. So, the goal of the series is not to arrive at a Q.E.D. moment. It is, rather, to end with a "That's an interesting argument" moment.]

Last post in this series.

First, let me lower your expectations. This series was very "experimental." It was a way for me to determine if some loose associations of mine could cohere in a speculative argument for the existence of God. As I look back over the series, and knowing what I am about to write, the argument has turned out to be very speculative. Very.

In the end, like all other arguments for the existence of God, the argument will only be persuasive if you WANT it to be true. I remember in college hearing Anselm's Ontological Argument for the first time and thinking to myself, "That is the most fishy argument I've ever heard. Who would ever find this argument persuasive?" Anyway, you've probably had the exact same feeling about my argument.

But that's okay. I think everyone should, at least once their life, attempt to prove that God exists in some original fashion. It's a fun but humbling experience. Plus, series like these tend to chase away the casual reader...

Now, on to the final part of the argument!

Consciousness helps to create, or at least preserve, structural complexity against the flow of entropy. Complexity involves structural and functional interdependence. This seems to imply that the telos of consciousness leads toward complex structures where consciousness become becomes increasingly interdependent. That is, functional and structural complexity produces interdependence among conscious systems (e.g., the "web" of life from the last post: interdependent conscious systems).

Eventually, the interdepedence of consciousness will needed to be managed. When? When consciousness becomes self-conscious. That is, when a self-reflective form of agency emerges. Agency will allow self-reflective systems to surf the causal foam of the universe in ways that can exponentially enhance their ability to stave off entropy. But, a self-reflective system will eventually run into an obstacle: the pursuits of other expoentially enhanced causal surfers. This clash brings the implict issues of interdepedence to the fore. The systems depend on and need each other. Entropically speaking, they need each other. Further, they need lots of systems of rudimentary conscious ability (e.g., plants, bugs, etc.). And all this interdependence looks suspiciously like...what?

I think it looks like morality.

Let me unpack the preceding more explicitly:

Self-conscious system surfing the causal foam = You

Exponential ability to enhance our ability to stave off entropy = All the ways you can prolong our own life (e.g., secure
housing, clothing, medicine, hygiene, vaccines)

The pursuits of other causal surfers = The entropic/conscious interests of other people

Clash between surfers and their interdependence = The moral nexus

Pursuing my ability to stave off entropy at your expense = Selfishness

Pursuing mutually agreeable ways to surf the causal nexus for the good of all = Morality

Using the words like "exponential" and "causal surfer" to speak about morality = Priceless


None of these equations seem strained to me. They are only odd in that I've built them up from the bottom.

Here's my point: Morality isn't the by-product of consciousness. Morality isn't a local (as in earth) phenomena. Rather, morality is "in the cards" as it were. Morality is implicit in the laws of nature. It is just a stage (the final one?) in consciousness' inexorable march AGAINST the flow of the universe.

What happens as interdependence increases? Well, morality will attempt to find the best way to manage the interdependence. But, interestingly, we already know the end point of this telos: Love.

Love is where all this is moving toward. Love is the singularity of consciousness. The singularity that is the antithesis the thin entropic spread. Conscious interdependence. Loving you as I love myself. The two become one flesh. Seeing all people, all things as an extenuation of me. It is all One. God will be all in all.

What I'm saying is this: Love is built into the fabric of the universe. Just as the laws of General Relativity predict black hole singularities, the laws of consciousness predict the singularity of love. And consciousness is as brute a fact of nature as the particles of physics. In sum, love is the culmination, the telos of consciousness.

And religious mystics of all stripes have agreed on this point. I've just come at it from a different angle. But I think my arguments and the testimony of the mystics do converge:

God will be all in all.

And God is love.

A "Proof" for the Existence of God, Part 5: Consciousness and Interdependence


[Disclaimer: This series is not really going to deliver a proof for God's existence. This is why the word "proof" is in scare quotes. It is, rather, a suggestive line of argument. However, "A suggestive line of argument for God's Existence" isn't a very good blog title. So, the goal of the series is not to arrive at a Q.E.D. moment. It is, rather, to end with a "That's an interesting argument" moment.]

Back to my "proof" series.

If you've been following, I've lined up the following ideas:

1. Consciousness is not reducible to matter/energy. It is a brute fact and it adheres to matter/energy systems in an identity relationship. More specifically, it appear to adhere to systems involved in information processing.

2. Whatever consciousness does it does this: It moves rudimentary and complex physical/informational systems toward thermodynamic/informational stasis. That is, consciousness moves systems against the flow of entropy, protecting the system from dissolution. Concretely, when a conscious system (rudimentary or complex) begins to lose structural integrity due to internal or external forces (e.g., the environment is too cold, you are hungry, you are near a flame) consciousness prompts the system to relocate or take prophylactic action.

My observations on these two items is this: Why would consciousness do this? Wouldn't a "material world" just involve a lot of particles banging around for infinity?

In short, it seems to me at least, that something intrinsic to the universe "desires" structure to emerge. Or, more conservatively, a potential for structure seems embedded into the causal framework of the universe.

Specifically, like the law of gravity, there seems to be in the universe, a law of consciousness. Roughly it states that IF (and that is a big if) consciousness emerges in a rudimentary physical system, consciousness will preserve the information/structue associated with that system. That is, consciousness will allow the system to persist the attacks of entropy for a season. This feature of consciousness seems universal, regular, and replicable. Lawful.

All this is just a fancy way of saying you eat when you are hungry and get out of the sun when you are getting sunburned. It also is a fancy way of saying that amoebas move away from toxic environs and move toward food sources. This is, upon reflection, a very obvious observation. I just simply want to mark the wonder of it all: It doesn't have to be this way so why is it this way?

Moving on...

Once consciousness emerges it seems, on this planet at least, to produce greater and greater complexity. This complexity is not inevitable, mind you. But if conditions are right consciousness will produce increasing complexity. And, at each level of complexity, you have this big poke in the eye to the Law of Entropy. I mean, things as complex as us just shouldn't exist if there wasn't something, at each step of the way, moving against entropy, maintaining structure. That force is consciousness. Better known as pleasure and pain.

One of the ways consciousness performs this great feat is by harnessing the nonzero dynamic. "Nonzero" is a term taken from game theory. Zerosum interactions are inherently competitive. They have a Me Against You dynamic. Zerosum encounters involve the dynamic of cooperation and interdependence. They have a You Scratch My Back and I'll Scratch Yours flavor.

In his book Nonzero: The Logic of Human Destiny, Robert Wright argues that as physical/informational/conscious systems grow more complex they also grow increasingly interdependent. And that interdependence creates a nonzero-sum dynamic. The system must work together for the benefit of all.

Wright suggests that this cooperative, nonzero dynamic is what got life jump-started in the first place. Specifically, most biologists agree that the real "breakthrough" in the evolution of life was the formation of the eukaryotic cells. The earlier prokaryotic cells (which had no nucleus) were not sophisticated enough to evolve more complicated life forms. But eukaryotic cells, with their nucleus (and DNA inside), clearly can. All plants and animals are made up of these "multiple-part" cells. So how did these cells evolve? Scientists speculate that two prokaryotic cells fortuitously joined forces, harnessing the nonzero-sum dynamic for the benefit of each. We now know these two formerly simple cells as the "nucleus" and the "mitochondria." Note that some of the evidence that each were formerly independent simple cells is that both the nucleus and mitochondria each have their own, different DNA. Once these two simple cells "joined forces" life exploded on this planet. Interdependence fueling complexity. This also happened at the next stage of evolution with bands of eukaryotic cells joining together to create multicellular life forms. And on and on it happened: Interdependence fueling more interdependence fueling ever more complexity. And, at each stage, as we have observed, consciousness drives it forward. Or, at the very least, provides the entropic parking brake, refusing to allow the structure to slide back into oblivion. Consciousness preserves the structure at each step.

My point is simply this: Consciousness and complexity are intimately intertwined with interdependence. What consciousness appears to do is to maintain the structural scaffolding that evolution requires. Something must preserve the structure or evolution has to start from ground zero at each stage. And one of the ways consciousness creates this scaffolding is creating interdependence among structures. Complexity IS interdependence among structures. The interdependence within the eukaryotic cells allows for the interdependence within the multicellular organism (you are just a colony of cells) which allows for the interdependence between multicellular organisms. My son the other day recited for me the "Web (note the interdependence) of Life": sunlight, plants, consumers (herbivores and carnivores), and decomposers. Again, notice the interdependence of the web of life. And notice also how consciousness mediates all this interdependence.

So our list of (inter)relationships expands: Matter/energy, information, entropy, consciousness, complexity, and, now, interdependence.

One more post to go.

Ministering in a Post-Cartesian World


Jason, in the comments to my last post, asked this question: "Of course, it's not my discussion and it's not my blog, but may I suggest a direction from here? What practical steps could preachers, seminar leaders, congregations as a whole take if such insights were implemented?"

Well, Jason, you are going to have me break one of my cardinal rules: Never be relevant. One of my favorite quotes, a sentiment that goes deeply to the heart of this blog, comes from Thorstein Veblen:

"The sole end of the truly inquiring mind should be irresponsible scholarship, idle curiosity, and useless knowledge."

And, if you know me, you know I live by that creed.

Which means, at the end of the day, you should go with Mike Cope's views on this topic (see my last post). Although we differ on psychological models of the mind, he's the one out there changing lives. Recall, he's the shepherd and I'm the sheep. And I am a recalcitrant sheep.

However, I do want to demonstrate the "applications" of my position, so I'm going to get practical.

I can't get systematically practical, I haven’t thought too much about this, but I can offer a menagerie of converging observations:

1. The Civil Rights Museum
I blogged about this a while back. A few years ago I visited the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. Here's what I wrote about that experience:

Last spring I took some students to Memphis for a conference. Late one afternoon a student and I wandered over to the National Civil Rights Museum. What an amazing experience. It is housed on the spot where Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. In fact, the tour ends on that fateful balcony. At one point in the exhibit you get to sit on a Montgomery bus next to Rosa Parks while the bus driver (this is all simulated) screams at you to move to the back.

Needless to say, I was emotionally changed. Right now, as I write, I'm looking at the poster I bought at the end of that day. It is a picture of the Voting Rights March from Selma to Montgomery in 1965. I look at that poster every day.

Why do I tell you this? Because to be a good person I must attend to my moral emotions. And the Civil Rights Museum was good therapy. It tuned both my empathy and my moral indignation. I haven't been the same since.


2. Tony Campolo
A student at ACU made a comment to my last post along the same lines as Jason's comment. Here's what I wrote in response:

When Tony Campolo came to ACU a few years ago he recounted a typical exchange he has with parents of college students. The parents ask, "How can we get our kids passionate about following Jesus?" Campolo's response, "Send them to the Third World." The point being is that once you expose yourself to the plight of the poor your emotions are profoundly changed. This is what happened to Bono. But you don't have to go to the third world to find people to help. We can find those places right here in Abilene.

3. Invisible Children
Awhile back thousands of people participated in an evening sponsored by the makers of the documentary Invisible Children, the Global Night Commute. During the same evening across the country people walked the same distance that these African children must walk to find a place to sleep in safety. Then, having arrived at their destination, people slept outside for the night. It was a powerful evening in our city. What was the point? To mold empathy and compassion via identification/participation.

4. Reducing Racism
How do you reduce racism? In strong volitional models I guess you could say "Racism is a choice. Love is a choice. So choose love!" I doubt this will work. But psychologists do know how to reduce racism. It involves "cooperative equal-status contact." Let me unpack this:

i. Contact: The racial groups must come into contact.
ii. Cooperative: The groups must work together on a common goal.
iii. Equal-status: The groups must be on a level playing field.

It is known that when these three things are in play racism attenuates. Lets' now apply this to a common church intervention: Benevolence.

Benevolence, a common church ministry, is often not very transformative. Why not?

First, benevolence typically has only (i), contact. But the contact is not cooperative (ii), rich and poor are not working toward a common goals (The rich are cooperating with each other on behalf of the poor, but not cooperating with the poor). Further, the contact is hierarchical, with the rich (generally White) feeding the poor (generally Black or Hispanic). That contact is not equal status (iii).

The point being, psychologists know how to reduce racism. The church just has to take those insights and apply them.

5. Liturgy
I'm currently reading a book by Peter Rollins called How (Not) to Speak of God. I will blog about this book in the future because it is the best book on Christianity I have read in some time. Rollins works with a faith community called Ikon in Ireland. The first half of the book gives Rollins' articulation of emerging Christianity. In the second half of the book Rollins walks us through some Ikon liturgies.

In one liturgy the goal is to confront the participant with our consumerism and "health and wealth" notions which are related to our feelings and apathy toward the poor. In this liturgy, after hearing a "testimony" aimed at articulating this kind of consumerism and selfish approach to Christianity, the participants are asked to come up and take the Lord's Supper. But here's the rub...

On the Lord's Table is chocolate cake and champagne.

Obviously, no one wants to go up and partake. And as you sit there uncomfortably refusing that kind of table, you must emotionally confront what exactly the Lord's Table is calling you to: Brokenness and death. Not cake and champagne.

Summation:
In short, I think the applications are endless. We are only limited by our creativity and willingness to experiment.


Now, back to my irresponsible scholarship...

My Preacher and I: Strong vs. Weak Volitionists and Is Love a Choice? (With New Addendum!)


My preacher at the Highland Church of Christ is Mike Cope. Mike is a great friend and an amazing minister. Jana and I came to Highland and remain at Highland largely because of Mike and the direction he has pointed the Highland community.

Mike and I disagree sometimes about the psychological models undergirding ministry and theology. Mike, if I can create a label for him, is a "strong volitionist." A "strong volitionist" is someone who creates ministerial and theological models upon the supositon of "free will."

Well, if you read my blog I'm what I'll call a "weak volitionist." I believe in a "will" that is contextual and contingent.

As I said in a prior post, we are living in a post-Cartesian world and ministers will need to adapt to this new theological landscape. I think "strong volitionists" will need to move toward "weak volitionist" models to be taken seriously in the future.

All this could be seen as an academic debate. But I think there are real-world consequences at stake. I was reminded of this in a recent exchange I had with Mike on his blog (a blog a million times more popular than my own). I've pulled our comments to post here to contrast our models and approaches for your consideration:

In Mike's post of November 9 he asks this question:
Is it possible to have love without freedom?

The comments follow:

Richard:
About love. Just to take a different kind of cut at your question. The parent-child bond is the strongest form of love we know. Yet, the “decisional love model” so often spoken of by preachers fails to capture this love. True, a form of “love” can be the product of a choice, and that truth needs to be spoken. But love is more instinctive. I doubt you choose, of your own free will, to love Diane, I didn’t choose to love Jana. In many ways, love chooses us and restricts our freedom. Love compels.

Lots of following comments from people which basically say:
You have to have a free choice to have love.

Me again:
Again, let me say that no one chooses to love. We don’t choose to love God. You can choose to OBEY God, but that is different from loving Him. So, God doesn’t present us with love ultimatums: Make a choice! Love me! Rather, God is like a lover. He tries to woo us, to capture our hearts. And, once your heart is captured, it’s not a choice you made. Falling in love occurs deeper, below the machinery of choice. You just find, over time, that you love God. Passionately. Again, you didn’t choose love. It chose you.

Mike:
Richard, I think I disagree with you. Have you read C. S. Lewis’s book on The Four Loves? Our limitation in English is that we work with one word: love. But the Greek language had more options available. And the greatest concept, the cross-shaped description of Christian living, is agape. And it is, in face, commanded. Often. Even love for enemies.

Can romantic feelings be commanded? No. You hardly choose them. But we choose daily whether or not we will walk in agape love. When preachers make this point (despite your distaste for it), they’re making a very important point: that God made this world with freedom because wanted a world of love. Love as we have ultimately seen it in Jesus. He creates, he seeks, he woos. But he doesn’t overwhelm. We still choose whether our response will be love or — what? — apathy.


Me:
Mike, there’s a lot to talk about here. Let’s set aside issues of freedom for now (a growingly untenable assumption in a post-Cartesian world). I think the simple “volitional love model” (C.S. Lewis was not the best psychologist) has a grain of truth in it which makes it both rhetorically simple and effective (it’s a good sound bite). But that model is just killing the church. Two quick examples:

1. Political Example: When we emphasize volition like we do, rich Christians look at poor people and simply see laziness, a lack of will. We need to replace this volitional model with a more contextualized and causal notion of will. Only then will Christians see that “will” and “choice” are often a product of circumstance. Strong notions of “free will” undercut calls to social justice.

2. Spiritual Formation Example: A “volitional” view of virtue means that the church must rely on “trying” to effect change. However, if we see virtue (e.g., loving my neighbor) as affective rather than volitional we need new routes to spiritual formation. Rather than “choice” we try to create “empathy” and “compassion.” Again, you don’t choose empathy. It happens to you. And this model moves churches away from pedagogy and rhetoric toward spiritual formation efforts aimed at changing hearts.

I think we can find middle ground with the notion of “acting as if.” We choose to act in a loving way and find, someday down the road, that my emotions have been changed. What was before volitional and behavioral is now emotional and spontaneous. In short, choice and affect are interrelated. I’m just trying to do my part to offer a more nuanced vision of will, character, and virtue because there is great opportunity here. Impoverished views of humans affect the church as much as impoverished views of God.




I think Mike has a good point. A true point. I just don't think it is as strong a point as he thinks it is. What I mean is that when we say "Love is a choice" it seems that we are saying something hefty, profound, and strong. We are not. We are actually saying something very anemic, superficial, and weak.

The trouble is when we set up the following distinction: "Love is a choice" versus "Love as mere feelings."

The rhetorical point here is that we can't be truly loving people if we follow our (mere) feelings. Something more needs to sustain difficult relationships than "mere feelings." Because once infatuation and idealization wears off, we need something bedrock to sustain us. And that bedrock is "choice."

How many times have you heard this formulation in church? Lots I bet. But the whole conversation is just muddled and confused.

To prevent this muddle, I think preachers and theologians should engage the work of psychologists and neuroscientists (how self serving is this recommendation?). For example, when we read the work of Antonio Damasio, arguably the mort influential neuroscientist alive today, we find that this separation between "volition" and "feelings" is an ancient Platonic and Cartesian confusion (see Damasio's book Descartes' Error: Emotion, Reason, and the Human Brain). Damasio's work points to the fact that feelings are critical in anchoring "choice." The "mere feelings" model is a straw man. Feelings a primary, deep, and foundational. Which means if you don't attempt to affect change at that level; appeals to "choice" are doomed to futility.

What really gets pitting against each other in church pulpits and classes, if you scratch beneath a little, is a contrast between the following: "Love is a choice" versus "Love is infatuation" (or "Love as a superficial 'feel good' emotion"). And when you examine this formulation it is truly obvious that love must be more than infatuation or feel good emotions. But who in the world is making that claim? What is the "Love is a choice" model really saying other than the obvious claim that love is not a superficial feeling?

See the Platonism at work here? The notion that "feelings" are wimpy and insubstantial (a formulation Plato gave in his Republic)? But psychologists now know that it is "volition" and "free will" that are the wimpy, insubstantial notions. Emotions are the hefty, substantial entities.

Let me be clear. Let's say the infatuation wears off in the marriage. And more, the marriage grows distressed. Okay, what will keep the marriage going? What will maintain the covenant?

Choice?
Emotion?

Well, it's emotion. For choice will not swing into action unless, at some very deep level, the person still CARES. Feelings are primary and volition follows those deep, often inexpressible emotional commitments (again, see Damasio's work for the scientific evidence). In sum, the conclusion is this:

Agape is not a choice.

Agape is a feeling. But it is not a "mere" feeling. It is a foundational feeling. An identity-marking feeling, A feeling that goes beyond all words. Deeper than poetry. Deeper than choice.

For you do not choose love. One only discovers one is in love (even with an enemy). Choice is just a way to inform the world (and yourself) what you truly and deeply care about...and love.

And Mike Cope, I love you. I feel it inside.

[Addendum:
After the comments I've gotten here and at church today, I'd like to offer some clarifications (and a little more argumentation). A lesson we take away from Damasio's work is that emotion is critical to choice. Damasio describes his patients whose emotional centers of the brain (in the limbic system) have become decoupled from the decision making apparatus of the brain (in the frontal cortex). What we find in these patients is that they can list the options for choice in great detail but they cannot "weight" the choices. Without emotional anchors the choices before these patients are equally attractive. Should I go to the store? Or finish grading papers? Without emotions both options are equally attractive. Thus, these patients simply cycle back and forth. In short, what they lack, without emotions, is a sense of CARING. And, as I've been arguing, this caring isn't chosen. It's in the background of choice, it supports choice. Without this caring, choice is derailed.

Here's an example. When we hear sermons in church about marriage what we tend to hear are volitional models supporting covenant-keeping. That is, "keeping promises" is considered to be critical to sustaining Christian marriages. And keeping promises appears to be all about choice and not about emotion. Again, this assumption is superficial as it sets up choice against the straw man of "mere feelings." But with Damasio's work in hand we now see how foundatonal emotions are to choice.

Let's say I want to walk away from my marriage. And you make an appeal to me to "keep my promise" as a Christian husband. How will this appeal reach me? Well, it will only reach me if I CARE about covenant-keeping. If I don't care about covenant-keeping then an appeal to choice isn't going to do a whit of good. If you don't CARE about covenant-keeping rhetorical appeals to "choice" just aren't going to cut it. Like Damasio's patents, the choice of covenant-keeping just has no emotional Ooph behind it.

The irony is that when we preach or teach about covenant-keeping we think we are making an appeal to CHOICE. As in, "covenant-keeping is a choice, a commitment we make." This is true, but superficial. For the deeper mechanism is CARING, the emotional Ooph. Thus, when preachers preach about covenant-keeping they are not really appealing to choice. They are, rather, trying to get you to CARE. Specifically, to care about keeping promises. For, if they can get you to care about covenant-keeping, then, when hard choices are to be made in a marriage, covenant-keeping has some Ooph behind it. It's a fundamental priority. In short, when preachers preach about covenant they are really not trying to affect choice. They are trying to affect CARING.

So this is why I say below in the comments to this post that choice is a distal effect on agape and that emotion is the proximal effect. In the moment emotion/caring is going to make the call. Caring will prioritize your choices and the thing you most care about will be chosen. Caring is the proximal cause. But, to get to a point of CARING ABOUT GOD'S THINGS, action/choices will need to be taken today, far away from the moment of choice. Consequently, we choose to submit to certain experiences (like listening to sermons on covenant-keeping) with the goal to make me care about the right things. But mind you, choice doesn't produce the caring, the experiences we undergo produces in the caring. Neither does choice produce the final agape outcome.

Choice is prophylactic.]

A "Proof" for the Existence of God, Interlude: Lazarus, Time, Entropy, and Hope


For a break from my "proof" series, here's a weekend mediation on Lazarus, time, entropy, and hope.

In my last post I spoke of entropy.

Now, I really hate entropy.

See, the law of entropy states that the entire universe is heading toward thermal equilibrium. Right now, due to gravity, we have a low entropy hot spot in our neck of the woods (i.e., the sun). And this local low entropy hot spot allows for energy to be harnessed by chemical systems (i.e., plants and animals) to fight the tidal flow of entropy for a season. But eventually the sun will expand and cool and this neighborhood of the cosmos will settle toward equilibrium. All the lights will dim and go out.

If cosmologists are correct, this local conclusion is, in microcosm, the destiny of the entire universe. Continued expansion, continued cooling all leading to a very cold, thin, uniform distribution of matter. It will be so cold, thin, and uniform no physical system of any complexity will be able to organize and persist over time.

Cosmologists call this general directionality of the cosmos "the arrow of time." That is, our sense of the flow of time seems intricately linked to the increase in entropy, locally and globally. For example, if I hand someone a picture of your car the day you bought it and a second picture of the car today could she determine which picture was taken first? How about these pictures:

Picture A: Your baby picture
Picture B: A picture of you today

Picture A: A broken egg
Picture B: An intact egg

Picture A: Milk in a glass
Picture B: Milk split on the floor

Picture A: Bill's corpse
Picture B: Bill alive and smiling

In each case we can easily find the Before and After picture. How? We place the low entropy picture Before and the high entropy picture After. Because everything tends toward decay and dissolution.

Conclusion:
Decay is the Clock of the Universe. Dissolution is how we mark our days, we watch everything around us wind down, stop, and dissolve. Our cars, our homes, our books, our friends, our families, our universe, and, eventually, ourselves.

This is why I hate entropy so much. I'm surrounded, on a daily basis, by dying, decaying things. I myself am a dying, decaying thing. My car is about to hit 100,000 miles. It's a dying, decaying thing. I broke a plate today. It is a dying, decaying thing...

And you can't escape it. It's the flow of time. Death fills every second. Death IS every second.

And theses reflections also bring to mind a weakness in my prior post. Specifically, even if consciousness helps reduce entropy locally, this victory cannot be maintained over the long haul. Even if humans live for millions of years into the future, the sun is still going to go out. Even if consciousness is linked to entropy, it seems a futile and temporary victory.

So, again, I hate entropy.

Which is why I like this particular bible story:

John 11: 1-44
Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, "Lord, the one you love is sick."

When he heard this, Jesus said, "This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it." Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days.

Then he said to his disciples, "Let us go back to Judea."

"But Rabbi," they said, "a short while ago the Jews tried to stone you, and yet you are going back there?"

Jesus answered, "Are there not twelve hours of daylight? A man who walks by day will not stumble, for he sees by this world's light. It is when he walks by night that he stumbles, for he has no light."

After he had said this, he went on to tell them, "Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up."

His disciples replied, "Lord, if he sleeps, he will get better." Jesus had been speaking of his death, but his disciples thought he meant natural sleep.

So then he told them plainly, "Lazarus is dead, 15and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him."

Then Thomas (called Didymus) said to the rest of the disciples, "Let us also go, that we may die with him."

On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.

"Lord," Martha said to Jesus, "if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask."

Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again."

Martha answered, "I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day."

Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"

"Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world."

And after she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. "The Teacher is here," she said, "and is asking for you." When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died."

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. "Where have you laid him?" he asked. "Come and see, Lord," they replied.

Jesus wept.

Then the Jews said, "See how he loved him!"

But some of them said, "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?"

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. "Take away the stone," he said.

"But, Lord," said Martha, the sister of the dead man, "by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days."

Then Jesus said, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?"

So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, "Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me."

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

Jesus said to them, "Take off the grave clothes and let him go."


Here's what I like about this story. It's not a story about death. Jesus had raised other people before. No, this was a big deal because death wasn't the enemy. The enemy was entropy:

"...for he has been there for four days."

The power of the miracle is not just resuscitation, but reversing four days worth of decay of an unembalmed body: Entropy. The miracle is not just about resurrection. The miracle is about the reversal of the tidal flow of time. Stopping and then reversing the Clock of the Universe.

So, yeah, I hate keeping time by watching things die around me. And I know my argument in the prior post only demonstrates that consciousness creates structure only for finite periods of time; that, in the end, entropy will win out.

But when I read John 11, I have a little hope. After the Clock of Entropy ticks midnight for the cosmos, I hope there will be a final Word.

Have a great weekend!

A "Proof" for the Existence of God, Part 4: Consciousness and Entropy


[Disclaimer: This series is not really going to deliver a proof for God's existence. This is why the word "proof" is in scare quotes. It is, rather, a suggestive line of argument. However, "A suggestive line of argument for God's Existence" isn't a very good blog title. So, the goal of the series is not to arrive at a Q.E.D. moment. It is, rather, to end with a "That's an interesting argument" moment.]

The last few posts are not overly critical in their particulars for the larger argument I want to make for (a) g/God's existence. They were mainly to deploy a few ideas and familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land. This post offers what I think is a more critical observation to the larger argument. Again, you might beg off on this post's observation/conclusion, but if you find it plausible please continue on with me.

The critical observation is this: Consciousness is intimately related to entropy.

Given that consciousness "adheres" to matter in some mysterious identity relationship we can ask the question: Does consciousness affect matter in any clear way?

I believe the answer is this: Yes. Specifically, consciousness drives matter into low entropy configurations, toward order and structure.

Let me unpack this.

Let's consider consciousness in its most rudimentary form: Pain and Pleasure. As in our last post, if we examine primitive life forms they appear to have some rudimentary, albeit degraded, "sensations." In petri dishes amoeba will reliability move away from toxic stimuli (of a chemical nature) and toward food sources. Although it is clear that an amoeba "consciousness" cannot say "Ouch! That hurts!," in the amoeba's primitive approach/avoidance responses we recognize rudimentary pleasure and pain. The informational complexity of the amoeba does not allow the organism to represent in any sophisticated way this experience, if one could call it that, of "pain" or "pleasure." But we, given our vantage, recognize it as the experiential primitive and precursor of more robust conscious experiences of pain scaling up to snails, ants, fish, mice, dogs, apes, and humans. At each level of structural/informational complexity the pleasure/pain experience grows more complex. Humans, as the most complex systems known to us, experience pain in ways that are both profound and excruciating. Our consciousness, given its sophistication, makes us the most vulnerable to suffering.

When we look at that amoeba and scale up what we see is this: Consciousness, in its most rudimentary and complex forms, pushes the organism away from high entropy states toward low entropy states. Consciousness, the second it appears, moves the organism away from dissolution and thermal equilibrium. It appears, to me at least, that consciousness has a telos.

But why should this be?

As you ponder that, a little 101 on entropy. Entropy is a term from thermodynamics and is, roughly, the tendency for physical system to move toward thermal equilibrium. In informational terms, entropy is the tendency to move from highly ordered states to disordered, randomized states. Highly ordered and structured systems have low entropy. Disorganized and randomized systems have high entropy. A thermal disequilibrium has low entropy while a thermal equilibrium has high entropy. Perhaps some examples will help:

Thermal example:
You have bathtub full of cold water and pour in a pot of hot water. This creates a thermal disequilibrium at the point of entry. A hot spot in the tub. But, the arrow of entropy will cause the hot spot to dissipate until a thermal equilibrium results: The tub reaches a uniform temperature.

Informational example:
You shelve the books of your personal library in a highly ordered way. But due to time and use, unless you keep putting energy into the system, your books gradually get disordered until one day you realize you can't find the book you want.

Simple examples, yes, but they illustrate the general trend of physical/informational systems: Low entropy (structure) eventually giving way to high entropy (disorganization). Order giving way to dissolution, decay, and randomness.

As a highly ordered physical/information system you, currently, have low entropy. That is, you are highly structured. And, for a span, via the chemical processes in the body, you can maintain your structure (a good reason to eat). But, eventually, entropy will win out. Your structure will no longer be able to maintain itself. And, as entropy takes its toll, your structure will randomize and dissipate. Eventually, the structure will vanish. So it goes for you. So it goes for the amoeba.

But I want to go back and contemplate the role of consciousness in this process. All along, consciousness pushes us upstream against the global tide of entropy. It is consciousness that forces some matter into highly structured states. Think about that ameba moving away from toxins and toward food. Or you for that matter. What you notice, when you think about it, is that consciousness is intimately tied up with entropy. Specifically, it fights against entropy, attempting to create, maintain, and produce more and more structure and order.

Let's now take stock of these posts. First, we've already noted that we don't know why consciousness exists in the first place. Second, we're unclear about how consciousness adheres to matter, but consciousness seems to be related to physical/informational complexity. And, finally, in this post, we have this mystery: Consciousness, apparently for no good reason, moves against the arrow of entropy. Why should this be?

In sum, it appears that consciousness, built into the very fabric of the universe, creates order out of chaos. Matter intrinsically "wants" to self-organize to create greater levels of structure with the byproduct being greater levels of consciousness.

And self-consciousness systems like you and me.

A "Proof" for the Existence of God, Part 3: Consciousness, Information, Complexity, and Morality


[Disclaimer: This series is not really going to deliver a proof for God's existence. This is why the word "proof" is in scare quotes. It is, rather, a suggestive line of argument. However, "A suggestive line of argument for God's Existence" isn't a very good blog title. So, the goal of the series is not to arrive at a Q.E.D. moment. It is, rather, to end with a "That's an interesting argument" moment.]

If consciousness is brute the issue becomes: Why are some physical systems conscious and others are not?

Tables, pens, oceans, and coffee mugs are not conscious. But people, dogs, fish, and mice seem to be conscious (not self-conscious but experiencing creatures). What is the difference between these two classes of objects?

David Chalmers suggests that the difference is that the latter are information processing systems. That is, people, dogs, fish and mice appear to process various physical inputs resulting in physical outputs in a lawful fashion. An ocean doesn't take in external inputs, store inputs, manipulate inputs, or produce outputs. But a dog does. And so do we.

So it appears that consciousness is intimately related to information processing physical systems. True, there is still a great deal of mystery here, but "information processing" does seem to separate conscious from non-consious physical systems.

The next obvious question is, how sophisticated does the information processing have to get to manifest consciousness? For example, the simplest information processing system is a one-bit processor. Like a flashlight. Such as system can process/store one bit of information: 1 or 0 (On or Off). Neurons, as information processing systems, are like flashlights. They can Fire or Not. So, how many flashlights do you need to "connect" to get human-level consciousness?

Chalmers offers an interesting proposal. If consciousness is brute and is connected to information, it seems reasonable (!) to assume that consciousness comes in a "quantum" (i.e., bundled) unit associated with a bit of information. That is, there is something in feels like to be a flashlight. However, this "bit of consciousness" is so degraded that for all intents and purposes we can treat it (from an ethical perspective) as an un-experiencing object.

But when we string enough bits (informational and conscious) together we start getting nervous systems like we see in rudimentary organisms like worms or ants. We can speculate that worms have "pains" and "pleasures." But again, these experiences are so degraded that we don't sweat the ethical status of these creatures (although some religious start to...). If we scale up the informational complexity we see a correlated increase of consciousness. For example, think of a rat scaling up to a dog scaling up to a chimpanzee scaling up to a human. As the informational capacity increases the conscious experience grows richer and richer, and, as a result, ethical considerations begin to kick in at each level of complexity.

Clearly, this vision implies a kind of panpsychism, where consciousness in all its forms, is ubiquitous. Personally, I like the idea of thinking about the feelings of my flashlight. (Or to be more precise, its feel--singular--since it can only process one bit.)

But even if you beg off on panpsychism I don't need it much for my subsequent argument. All I wanted to do in this post is to note the correlation between informational/physical complexity and the richness of conscious experience. I also wanted to highlight the link between consciousness, complexity, and morality. So, for future posts hold this relationship in mind:

Informational/Physical Complexity : Conscious Complexity : Onset of Moral Considerations

A "Proof" for the Existence of God, Part 2: Consciousness is Brute


[Disclaimer: This series is not really going to deliver a proof for God's existence. This is why the word "proof" is in scare quotes. It is, rather, a suggestive line of argument. However, "A suggestive line of argument for God's Existence" isn't a very good blog title. So, the goal of the series is not to arrive at a Q.E.D. moment. It is, rather, to end with a "That's an interesting argument" moment.]

Before proceeding with Part 2 of my argument for the existence of God, I'd like to add to my disclaimer. Each step of my argument is also an argument. Thus, on the road we'll travel people may beg off at various points. For example, in the my last post I said the method of science cannot explain the phenomena of consciousness (i.e., sensation). Many philosophers agree with me. But others do not (see the work of Daniel Dennett for deflationary treatments of the Hard Problem). What this means is that I'm building an Argument on top of arguments. Thus, there will be weak spots, loose ends, and debatable assertions all through this series. So, think along with me until you hit the plausibility wall. I'm guessing many of you might make it all the way to the end with me. For the rest? I'll catch up with you in my next series.

Moving on...

In the last post we confronted the Hard Problem of Consciousness, the inability of science to give an empirical account of sensory experiences. In this post I want to draw out the implications of the Hard Problem.

What does it mean to explain something? In science explanations are of two kinds: Reductive and functional.

Reductive explanations will "explain" a phenomenon at one level of analysis by appealing to a "lower" level of analysis. This lower level of analysis is considered to be more "fundamental" than the higher level of analysis.

For example, why do leaves change color in the autumn? To "explain" this color change appeals are made to the chemical changes going on in the leaves and the tree. This kind of explanation "reduces" the phenomena to some lower level mechanisms or building blocks, in this case botany reduces to organic chemistry. Okay, so let's ask the next question: Why do the chemicals in the leaves behave the way they do? To answer this question organic chemistry reduces to physics, more specifically the physics of atoms and molecules. Fine, but why do atoms behave the way they do? A further reductive explanation would then appeal to even more fundamental entities such as protons, neutrons, and electrons. Great, but why do these particles act the way they do? Moving further down, we deal with quarks and fundamental entities like quantum numbers. Eventually, we hit the explanatory basement. Here, at the most fundamental level, we simply have brute facts, the "givens." Things like spin, mass, and charge. These entities simply have no explanation. They are, rather, the building blocks of all explanations (or at least the empirically reductive ones).

Other explanations are more functional. Functional explanations specify the causal relationships between physical objects. In short, to explain something functionally is to specify the the causes the brought the phenomena into existence.

Generally speaking, science is in the business of providing both reductive and functional/causal explanations. That is what science does.

However, one of the implications of the Hard Problem of Consciousness is that science cannot explain sensation. More precisely, science cannot provide reductive, functional accounts of consciousness. Consciousness is non-reductive.

Recall that science can illuminate the neural correlates of consciousness but that consciousness does not "reduce to" neural functioning. Correlation is not explanation. That is, is seems unclear how a neural account would bridge the reductive gap to account for the different sensations of, let's say, color or the tastes of sweet or sour. Nor is it clear that science could provide a functional/causal account of sensation. (Note that lot's of mental processes do have robust reductive/functional explanations. Memory, for instance. Memory is largely explained via functional models with clearly defined biological mechanisms such as synaptic growth. Color vision, as a general cognitive feature, also has a functional account: To aid in visual discrimination. But colors themselves seem to defy functional accounts: What function does the shade of robin's egg blue serve?)

What this seems to imply is that like mass, charge, and spin--things taken as given or brute--consciousness cannot be reduced. Thus, it appears that the only logical implication of the Hard Problem of Consciousness--the irreducibility of sensation to reductive accounts--is that consciousness must be taken as given. Consciousness is brute. An irreducible feature of the universe. Conscioiusness is like an electron's charge, it must be taken as a funamental constituent, a fundamental building block of nature.

The universe, as a brute fact, feels.



(Post Script: The movements of the post follow the route paved by David Chalmers in his book The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Fundamental Theory one of the most influential books regarding the nature of consciousness and reductive explanations. If you disagree with this post, take it up with Chalmers.)

A "Proof" for the Existence of God, Part 1: The Hard Problem of Consciousness


[Disclaimer: This series is not really going to deliver a proof for God's existence. This is why the word "proof" is in scare quotes. It is, rather, a suggestive line of argument. However, "A suggestive line of argument for God's Existence" isn't a very good blog title. So, the goal of the series is not to arrive at a Q.E.D. moment. It is, rather, to end with a "That's an interesting argument" moment.]

I would like to take you on a Quixotic journey, one you don't see much nowadays. I want to offer a kind of argument for the existence of God.

Now there have been many classical arguments offered for the existence of God, ontological, cosmological, teleological. I would like to offer one from my discipline, let's call it "The Argument from Consciousness."

To start this long argument I want to describe what has been called the Hard Problem of Consciousness.

Now, this description is somewhat silly. All neuroscientific work is "hard." Progress has been effortful and slow. Yet, these problems are considered to be "easy" up against the "hard problem."

So, what is the Hard Problem?

The Hard Problem has to do with scientific accounts of what philosophers call "qualia." Psychologists call it "sensation." Some call it "experience." I'm going to go with the term from my discipline, sensation.

Sensation, as might be guessed, has to do with our sense experiences: Colors, smells, tastes, sounds, and other sensory phenomena.

Now, the "easy" problems dealing with these sensations have to do with identifying the neurological correlates of these sense experiences. And much progress has been made in this area. Grossly we know, for example, that visual sensations are processed in the occipital lobe of the brain and other senses in the parietal lobe. Finer correlates are also known. These mappings of sensory-experience-to-neurological-correlate are called "easy" problems in that we know how to proceed with this research. We just keeping pushing on with our neuroimaging and related research. The finer the picture we can get of the brian the better we will be able to identify sensory-neurological correlates. Progress will require continued breakthroughs, but we generally know how to proceed in this quest.

So what is the "hard" problem? The hard problem has to do with the "Why?" of sensation. Not why we sense generally. That seems obvious: We see, for instance, because it helps us navigate. No, the issue is more like "Why is red the color/sensation it is?" All neural activity is basically the same. The question is why does some neural activity elicit the sensation of purple and other neural activity elicit the color red? When you examine nerve cells or patterns of nerve cells there doesn't seem to be anything going on that could provide an explanation for color sensation (or other senses).

In short, the hard problem of consciousness is hard because we just don't know how to proceed to provide a neural explanation for sense experiences. We don't even know what such an explanation would look like. This makes the problem "hard." We are stymied immediately.

The problem has to do with a disjoint between objectivity and subjectivity. Specifically, the methods of science--our proven explanatory apparatus--proceed objectively. That is, empirically. For most of the things we seek explanations for the empirical stance of science works wonderfully. You want to know where babies come from? Science can explain that. You want to know why ice floats on water? Science can hand you an explanation. But what if you want to know why blue is experienced the way it is? Well, the best science can do is give you a neural correlate: When a subject reports seeing "blue" we see, via neural imaging, activity in Sector W1.89 of the occipital lobe at a frequency of 47hrz for .98msec (I've made this up, it's gibberish; it's just to give you a sense of the coming precision of neuroimaging). All that might sound scientific but if you ponder it, it doesn't explain a thing. A correlation is not an explanation.

This situation arises because there is one thing in the universe that stumps empiricism: Sensation. For where science is objective, public, and empirical, sensation is subjective, private, and experiential. In short, the hard problem of consciousness is due to the disjoint between the method--science--and the object under study--sensation. It is the disjoint between objectivity and subjectivity. How do we bring this gap? How can we provide a scientific explanation for sensation (e.g., why blue looks like blue and red looks like red)?

This, then, is the Hard Problem of Consciousness: It appears impossible to provide a scientific explanation for the "qualities" of sensory phenomena.

(For all this psychobabble the Hard Problem of Consciousness is a very humdrum observation: There is no way you or I can empirically--publicly--verify that you and I have the exact same sensory experience when we look at a rose and say "It's red!" Again, all we will be able to do is identify correlations (e.g., we utter the same color word in the presence of the same stimuli). But these correlations cannot verify that you and I have the exact same color experience.)

To conclude, we start our argument for the existence of God with this observation regarding the Hard Problem of Consciousness: It appears impossible to provide a scientific explanation for sensation. To proceed further along the argument concerning God's existence, however, we will need to strengthen this observation. We'll do that in the next post.

For those interested in a popular exposition of the Hard Problem of Consciousness start with philosopher Colin McGinn's book The Mysterious Flame: Conscious Minds in a Material World.

The Theology of the Workplace: Waiting on Each Other


As the Chair of an academic department at a Christian university, I often struggle with the workplace values of the world versus the values of the Kingdom. I think the Kingdom of God eschews or inverts power hierarchies, yet I find myself at the top of a hierarchy. How to manage this disjoint?

Yesterday I had time to ponder this as our department had to work through issues of “waiting on each other.” Generally, we, as faculty, expect our student workers, graduate assistants, or administrative coordinators to be there when we need them. And if they are not there, and make us wait, we get frustrated. And, given our place in the hierarchy of ACU, we can voice our concerns. But what about the people below us on the hierarchy? What if they have to wait on us? Because I know my students wait on me as does my administrative coordinator. But when “subordinates” have to wait, they have no voice. So, reflecting on this, I sent the following e-mail to my Department today to think about this issue. Perhaps you'll find it valuable to share:

Hello Everyone,
This e-mail may be awkward, but I hope to produce with it a kind of open, transparent dialogue among us. I don't feel passionate about many aspects of the Chair job, but I do feel passionate about this: That ACU should be a different kind of place because we follow the Crucified One. Toward that end, I offer this.

After conversations yesterday, I began to think about the theology of our workplace relationships, specifically the theology of "waiting on each other."

The world is a hierarchical place, with power situated highly and powerlessness situated lower on the ladder. Workplaces are structured the same way. And as we wait on each other it occurred to me that the "superiors" tend to have a voice in expressing their displeasure at having to wait on "subordinates." Generally, subordinates don't have a voice when they must wait on a superior. They, being less vital, less important, simply must wait. In short, there is an asymmetry in waiting. And I want us to collectively engage in some theological reflection on that asymmetry.

For students wait on us faculty all the time. And our administrative coordinators wait on us (to get forms, syllabi, textbook requisitions, PC statements, etc.). We all wait on each other. People wait on me and people wait on you. But the people who wait on me, as the Chair, don't have a voice. They just have to wait.

I know there are more issues on the table than this. Issues of professionalism and efficacy, and those are important. But those are not highly valued issues in the Kingdom. So, I'd like to set those aside concerns for a few minutes and simply reflect on hierarchy, power, voicelessness, waiting, and the way of the cross.
Richard

Why I am a Universalist: Summing Up and Some Links

Dear Reader,
Below are the links to my series Why I am a Universalist along with some additional Internet resources for you to explore if you wish to learn more about Universalism.

What I try to do in this series is to build a plausibility case for Universalism. I think Universalism is the best soteriological position to stake out logically, biblically, theologically, scientifically, and morally. I understand, however, that there will be many who disagree, often with formidable reasons. But I hope, if critics read the entire series, they will draw three conclusions:

1. Universalists do wish to subscribe to a biblically supported vision.
2. Universalists are not adopting the position for naive, "feel good" reasons.
3. Universalists have some very good reasons for adopting their position.

In short, I'd like an informed and charitable critic to say, "I disagree with you, but I see why you have reached that conclusion."

To summarize, I've made the following arguments in this series:

1. Biblical Arguments:
Romans 9-11
I Corinthians 15
Addendum:
A Universalist Reading of Hosea
Amos 9.7: Exodus in the plural

2. Logical Arguments:
Talbott's Propositions

3. Moral and Ethical Arguments:
Justice and Teleological Visions of Punishment
Moral Luck

4. Theological Arguments:Moral Coherence
The Soteriological/Eschatological Interface
Salvation in a Post-Cartesian World
Excursus: On the irascibility of God

5. Pragmatic/Ministerial Arguments:
Non-Thanatocentric
Philosophical Robustness

If you want to explore more about universalism, through this series I've discovered some great Internet resources:

Check out Yale philosopher Keith DeRose's Universalism and the Bible Page.

Also, from Princeton Theological Seminary, check out D.W. Congdon's own series on Why I am a Universalist. For the more theologically inclined, Congdon's series is a much more thorough theological approach than the one I took here (but of course, I'm a psychologist).

Finally, Congdon also maintains a nice Universalism in the Blogosphere resource page.

Thanks to all who participated in the series (and to those who will participate today or in the future). I hope, as always, that I've given you something to think about.
Best,
Richard

Post-Script: 
Since this initial series in 2006 I've gone on to write a lot more about this subject, expanding upon many of the arguments found in the posts above. So, for my more up to date writing on this subject:

Universalism: A Summary Defense (one post that condenses many of the arguments above)

Universalism FAQ and Answers (the best work I've done to date on this topic: a summary post in a Q&A format linking to many other posts prompted by the publication of Rob Bell's Love Wins)

The Best Ending to the Christian Story (a post linking to an exchange I had with J.R. Daniel Kirk from Fuller, hosted by Two Friars and Fool, about universalism being the best ending to the Christian story)

Universalism and Theodicy (a critical post as universal reconciliation is less about soteriology than theodicy for me and many others)