This is a re-edited post that I wrote almost two years ago on my other blog.
Two points to start:
1. Just because you have conflicting desires doesn't mean that the strongest desire doesn't ultimately win out. After all you do make choices and, retrospection not withstanding, the choice you make is the choice which comports with your strongest desire at the moment of decision. This is incontrovertible for if the other desire(s) had been stronger (i.e. more pursuasive, appealing, contextually/situationally relevant, etc.) then it/they would have been chosen. If you choose option "C" out of "A", "B" or "C" then clearly option "C" was the most affective choice of the three. Now, option "C" might not have been the best decision, but how often is it that we actually choose the best option of those before us? Rarely is it the case in which there are no choices; an example would be if you were pushed out of a plane then you have no choice but to fall down. However, I would probably want to avoid, with previous choices, getting into a situation in which it would be possible for this to occur.
2. A factor that Christian libertarian free will advocates always seem to neglect including in the discussion about free will: sin. Sin taints and influences our will, our motives, to such an extent that we can do nothing but sin outside of our actions nestled within faith in Christ. What libertarians neglect to consider in the example of Adam and Eve is the sinful influence of the serpent. Take the serpent, who is twisting God's word, out of the picture and humanity's parents have no vested interest in the forbidden fruit. They want to argue that Adam fell by freely choosing a natural, good desire for a good thing over a stronger natural desire for a better thing, but I'm not entirely certain how choosing to disobey God is a "natural, good desire." From the Scriptures it seems clear that both Adam and Eve were deceived into making their decision. The deception is this: having the knowledge of good and evil is better than not having such knowledge, which is patently false in their case as per God's word to them.
Conclusion: Since the fall, the actualization of libertarian free will is an impossibility outside the redemptive work of Christ. Inside this work the effects of sin are still strong and practical freedom will not be realized until after the Second Coming. Pre-fall Adam and Eve had this type of free will and were deceived by the crafty serpent into believing that the benefits of eating the forbidden fruit were better than not eating it, i.e. their desire for the fruit had been altered from a state of prohibited to acceptable on account of the serpent's lies. Their motivations, their wills, towards eating/not eating the fruit were adversely affected. Their choice, however, was still in accordance with that which they most strongly desired at the moment of decision. What's fascinating here is that they had no idea what they were about to do was wrong. It wasn't until after the fact that they realized they'd done wrong. They knew that God said "don't eat" but God did't tell them why; He just gave them a warning about how they would surely die the day they ate of it. Death as a negative characteristic of nature was a concept wholly unknown to them. Then one day the serpent comes waltzing about and convinces them that God would surely not kill them if they ate the fruit. Their desire, in this instance, changed from wanting to obey God to wanting to become like God. The latter desire was the strongest on account of the serpent's clever rhetoric and so they ate.
We can look at another, classic, example. Someone holds a gun to your head in a dark alley and says "give me your wallet or I'll kill you." You have choices to make, a seemingly infinite pool of options to choose from depending on numerous external and internal factors: give him your wallet, give him your life, try to run, scream, try to disarm him, spray him with mace if you have it. Those are just a few general options (there is also many different ways to specifically go about accomplishing each of those options). What do you do? Well, whatever you end up doing will be in accordance with your strongest desire at the moment of choice, again irrespective of restrospection. Now there's lots of things that go into shaping what that strongest desire will be (a la the serpent influencing Eve and Eve influencing Adam) but the end result will always be the same.
Free will in this sense, then, is the ability to choose from a variety of "competing" desires within the framework of any given set of physical and spiritual circumstances. It is not the ability to choose whatever one desires irrespective of those circumstances, nor is it characterized by the ability to choose otherwise than what one does choose. It is also important to note that our responsibility for our actions is not founded upon our freedom, rather it is founded upon the righteousness of God. This is evidenced by the fact that non-believers are held responsible for disobeying in spite of not having the ability to obey. That is to say, their free will does not anywhere include the desire to obey God and, thus, it is not amongst those competing desires from which they can choose; nevertheless, they are responsible for their disobedience.In effect, this view of free will eliminates the problem of sovereignty and responsibility. Free will is understood within the confines of physical (i.e. laws of nature, material circumstances, etc.) and spiritual (effect of sin, influence of the Holy Spirit, etc.) limitation while sovereignty remains largely as it has been tradtionally understood.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Christians, Christians and more Christians
"For the Hellenistic approach, a true Christian is one who is one inwardly, period, stop. And this is true. But I also want to say that we have inward Christians and outward Christians, faithful Christians and adulterous Christians, temporary Christians and Christians forever, slaves and sons, wheat and tares, sons of Hagar and sons of Sarah, washed pigs and washed lambs, fruitless branches and fruitful branches, Christians who die in the wilderness and Christians who die in Canaan, and so on." - Douglas Wilson
I've been lurking on Wilson's blog for the better part of a year now and while I don't agree with everything he says, there are a great number of golden nuggets to be collected from many of his posts. In the Reformed community we tend to take this Hellenistic approach to define what it means to be a Christian. We often say, "Either you are, or you aren't" and, as Wilson says, this is true. But it is not the whole picture. Our definition of "Christian" is far too narrow and no where near dynamic enough for the interpretive paradigm of 'Covenant Family'. What I want to do here is to try and expand our understanding of the descriptive range of "Christian." First, we need to define what, exactly, qualifies one to be called a Christian. Then we need to decide whether or not it's possible to be a Christian and not be saved. Finally, we will look at the characteristics that distinguish and give rise to our traditionally simple inward/outward view.
So, what must one do in order to be considered a Christian? Peter sums it up quite nicely in his sermon preached to the crowd that gathered around the noise of Pentecost (Acts 2). He said, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit" (v. 38) Seems easy enough; if you've repented and you've been baptized, then you're a Christian, right? Well, advocates of believer's baptism would agree here but Peter doesn't stop there: "The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off--for all whom the Lord our God will call" (v. 39). Peter is using the very common language from the Old Covenant (see Gen. 12:1-3, 17:1-9). From this we can see that not only those who repent and are baptized are Christian, but also their children; indeed, for "all whom the Lord" calls. The "promise" in verse 39 is not dependent upon every single individual in the family of the believer repenting and being baptized. This is the primary mistake of believer's baptism advocates. To be considered a Christian, then, one need but (a) repent and be baptized or (b) be a child of one who has repented and been baptized. Thus, a Christian is not necessarily one who has faith in Jesus. In this most generic sense it is possible to be a Christian and not even be aware of the fact. The implications here are astounding, especially given a high view of the physical Church and its role as spiritual mentor and disciplinarian. I don't want to delve deeply here, though, as this will be a long enough post already.
Having set out what qualifies one as a Christian, we can turn and easily answer the next question: is it possible to be a Christian and not be saved. If we define "Christian" in the narrow sense of "God's elected" then the answer is a resounding "No!", God is faithful to those who are His, those whom He has given to Jesus in order to be raised into His likeness. We have gotten complacent in defining "Christian" in only this manner and ignoring the bigger picture painted by all of Scripture. Again, it's not that this definition isn't true, it's that it isn't robust or as full as it could be. Hence Wilson's desire to have not only Christians who are saved, but those who aren't saved (as with Israel in the Old Testament), those who are fruitful branches and those who aren't, etc. Such a definition enables us to broaden our perspective and can help keep our judgmental natures in check. For example, just because a so-called "Christian" (and we would use quotation marks to describe them this way) isn't producing fruit now doesn't mean he shouldn't be considered, and treated, as a brother in Christ. The Father is the one who prunes the branches. This, however, does not free us from the task of accountability and making sure, to the extent that we (i.e. the Church) can, that those who wear the moniker of Christian (especially in the generic sense) are living in an appropriate manner.
How did we come about adopting the inward/outward model as our primary definition? For one, I think it's the easiest on our theology. There's no trying to figure out who is and who isn't as a matter of orthopraxy because, ultimately, this definition leaves it up to God. You are a Christian inwardly and saved (which means you are also one outwardly) or you are a Christian outwardly and are in need of reconciliation/salvation; black and white. The only judgment we make in this instance is whether or not we believe their outward behavior is a genuine reflection of an inward reality. None of this "son of Sarah or son of Hagar" mumbo jumbo. Where we come into error with this definition is when we make it the epitomic arbiter of how we understand the term "Christian." I say let "Christian" be as nuanced as the people it describes.
I've been lurking on Wilson's blog for the better part of a year now and while I don't agree with everything he says, there are a great number of golden nuggets to be collected from many of his posts. In the Reformed community we tend to take this Hellenistic approach to define what it means to be a Christian. We often say, "Either you are, or you aren't" and, as Wilson says, this is true. But it is not the whole picture. Our definition of "Christian" is far too narrow and no where near dynamic enough for the interpretive paradigm of 'Covenant Family'. What I want to do here is to try and expand our understanding of the descriptive range of "Christian." First, we need to define what, exactly, qualifies one to be called a Christian. Then we need to decide whether or not it's possible to be a Christian and not be saved. Finally, we will look at the characteristics that distinguish and give rise to our traditionally simple inward/outward view.
So, what must one do in order to be considered a Christian? Peter sums it up quite nicely in his sermon preached to the crowd that gathered around the noise of Pentecost (Acts 2). He said, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit" (v. 38) Seems easy enough; if you've repented and you've been baptized, then you're a Christian, right? Well, advocates of believer's baptism would agree here but Peter doesn't stop there: "The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off--for all whom the Lord our God will call" (v. 39). Peter is using the very common language from the Old Covenant (see Gen. 12:1-3, 17:1-9). From this we can see that not only those who repent and are baptized are Christian, but also their children; indeed, for "all whom the Lord" calls. The "promise" in verse 39 is not dependent upon every single individual in the family of the believer repenting and being baptized. This is the primary mistake of believer's baptism advocates. To be considered a Christian, then, one need but (a) repent and be baptized or (b) be a child of one who has repented and been baptized. Thus, a Christian is not necessarily one who has faith in Jesus. In this most generic sense it is possible to be a Christian and not even be aware of the fact. The implications here are astounding, especially given a high view of the physical Church and its role as spiritual mentor and disciplinarian. I don't want to delve deeply here, though, as this will be a long enough post already.
Having set out what qualifies one as a Christian, we can turn and easily answer the next question: is it possible to be a Christian and not be saved. If we define "Christian" in the narrow sense of "God's elected" then the answer is a resounding "No!", God is faithful to those who are His, those whom He has given to Jesus in order to be raised into His likeness. We have gotten complacent in defining "Christian" in only this manner and ignoring the bigger picture painted by all of Scripture. Again, it's not that this definition isn't true, it's that it isn't robust or as full as it could be. Hence Wilson's desire to have not only Christians who are saved, but those who aren't saved (as with Israel in the Old Testament), those who are fruitful branches and those who aren't, etc. Such a definition enables us to broaden our perspective and can help keep our judgmental natures in check. For example, just because a so-called "Christian" (and we would use quotation marks to describe them this way) isn't producing fruit now doesn't mean he shouldn't be considered, and treated, as a brother in Christ. The Father is the one who prunes the branches. This, however, does not free us from the task of accountability and making sure, to the extent that we (i.e. the Church) can, that those who wear the moniker of Christian (especially in the generic sense) are living in an appropriate manner.
How did we come about adopting the inward/outward model as our primary definition? For one, I think it's the easiest on our theology. There's no trying to figure out who is and who isn't as a matter of orthopraxy because, ultimately, this definition leaves it up to God. You are a Christian inwardly and saved (which means you are also one outwardly) or you are a Christian outwardly and are in need of reconciliation/salvation; black and white. The only judgment we make in this instance is whether or not we believe their outward behavior is a genuine reflection of an inward reality. None of this "son of Sarah or son of Hagar" mumbo jumbo. Where we come into error with this definition is when we make it the epitomic arbiter of how we understand the term "Christian." I say let "Christian" be as nuanced as the people it describes.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
An Embodied Philosophy
Rationality, reason and abstract thought (such as that found in formal logic and various mathematical systems) are typically understood as those characteristics which distinguish us from the rest of the animal kingdom and creation. The locus of self-awareness is this cluster of distinctly human attributes which allow for critical introspective reflection and definition. These faculties also, along with our physical environments and circumstances, supposedly shape and direct our thought processes depending on how effectively they are implimented. But whence these abilities? I've been reading a book, Philosophy in the Flesh, by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson that suggests they arise as natural functions of our brains. Here's the first few sentences of the first chapter:
The mind is inherently embodied.
Thought is mostly unconcious.
Abstract concepts are largely metaphorical.
These are three major findings of cognitive science. More than two millennia of a priori philosophical speculation about these aspects of reason are over. Because of these discoveries, philosophy can never be the same again.
They have argued, so far (I'm only 40 pages in), that thought/reason is an unconcious metaphorical structuring based on sensorimotor perception. Thought functions the way it does as a result of being embodied in the peculiar way that we are with eyes, ears, arms, legs and suchnot. And not just that we have these various sensing appendages as mere influence, but how they interact with reality actually determines the neurological connections, associations and pathways in our brains which, in turn, give rise to conscious experience of that reality.
For example, if we had only red and blue color cones in our eyes then we would not (could not) see grass as green. The truth of the matter, Lakoff and Johnson argue, is that grass isn't any color at all: "Our experience of color is created by a combination of four factors: wavelengths of reflected light, lighting conditions and two aspects of our bodies: (1) the three kinds of color cones in our retinas, which absorb light of long, medium and short wavelengths, and (2) the complex neural circuitry connected to those cones." They continue on to point out that the wavelengths of light reflected by any given object is not constant; that is to say, an object may be reflecting particular wavelengths of short, medium and long freqencies at one time of the day and reflecting a completely different set of frequencies at another time of the day so there is no consistency in the type of wavelengths being reflected. The only constant is the amount of light being reflected at any given time by any given source(s). Light itself, however, is colorless, "Visible light is elctromagnetic radiation, like radio waves, vibrating within a certain frequency range. It is not the kind of thing that could be colored." Long story short, it turns out that color is "produced" by our particular physiology interacting with the physical world.
So what does all of this mean besides being an elaborate attempt to prove that there's no such thing as colorblindness? Well, for Lakoff and Johnson it means there is a natural (read evolutionary) explanation for our conscious and unconscious thought life. The subtitle for their book is The Embodied Mind and its Challenge to Western Thought, if that helps give a picture of the direction they are going. They believe the concept of the embodied mind has several important consequences for the activity of philosophy. Since reason is nothing more than a complex neuralogical happening, it cannot be seen as something which distinguishes us from the rest of the animal kingdom; in other words, we are not, they say, "uniquely rational" (emphasis mine). In fact, reason is primarily an unconscious activity. No one thinks about reasoning, we just do it. Of the thousands of things that we do every day only a handful of them are things we consciously reason about. Even individuals engaged within the fields of formal logic, mathematics or those dealing with any sort of abstract formal system are primarily using reason unconsciously. This is because reason is neurally structured via conceptual metaphors (such as container schemas or spatial-relation schemas) and sensorimotor perceptions long before we have any conscious access to it.
None of this is new. Christian theology has been teaching an embodied philosophy since its very beginning (e.g. Jesus' incarnation, Word becoming flesh, etc.). While the above "natural" view is capable of explaining 'whence reason', it is not capable of explaining 'that reason'. The fact that we reason is taken for granted and given no explaination; I think it's kind of an important question. I imagine if you ask either Lakoff or Johnson "why?" they would both promptly reply with "survival" or some variation thereof. But watching the news for an hour is more than enough to do away with such a simple abracadabra. Like learning langauges, reason is something wired into the functionality of the human brain by DNA. With the natural view all animals are rational, it's just that their rationality isn't quite as robust as ours, yet. How does self-awareness come into this picture? I don't know, like I said, I'm only 40 pages into the book and I'm hoping they get around to that part. I expect more prestidigitation, but at least it will be educational. Ultimately I think they are heading in the right direction; an incarnational approach to epistemology would look very similar to this embodied philosophy and I believe that is the way to bring every thought captive to Christ.
The mind is inherently embodied.
Thought is mostly unconcious.
Abstract concepts are largely metaphorical.
These are three major findings of cognitive science. More than two millennia of a priori philosophical speculation about these aspects of reason are over. Because of these discoveries, philosophy can never be the same again.
They have argued, so far (I'm only 40 pages in), that thought/reason is an unconcious metaphorical structuring based on sensorimotor perception. Thought functions the way it does as a result of being embodied in the peculiar way that we are with eyes, ears, arms, legs and suchnot. And not just that we have these various sensing appendages as mere influence, but how they interact with reality actually determines the neurological connections, associations and pathways in our brains which, in turn, give rise to conscious experience of that reality.
For example, if we had only red and blue color cones in our eyes then we would not (could not) see grass as green. The truth of the matter, Lakoff and Johnson argue, is that grass isn't any color at all: "Our experience of color is created by a combination of four factors: wavelengths of reflected light, lighting conditions and two aspects of our bodies: (1) the three kinds of color cones in our retinas, which absorb light of long, medium and short wavelengths, and (2) the complex neural circuitry connected to those cones." They continue on to point out that the wavelengths of light reflected by any given object is not constant; that is to say, an object may be reflecting particular wavelengths of short, medium and long freqencies at one time of the day and reflecting a completely different set of frequencies at another time of the day so there is no consistency in the type of wavelengths being reflected. The only constant is the amount of light being reflected at any given time by any given source(s). Light itself, however, is colorless, "Visible light is elctromagnetic radiation, like radio waves, vibrating within a certain frequency range. It is not the kind of thing that could be colored." Long story short, it turns out that color is "produced" by our particular physiology interacting with the physical world.
So what does all of this mean besides being an elaborate attempt to prove that there's no such thing as colorblindness? Well, for Lakoff and Johnson it means there is a natural (read evolutionary) explanation for our conscious and unconscious thought life. The subtitle for their book is The Embodied Mind and its Challenge to Western Thought, if that helps give a picture of the direction they are going. They believe the concept of the embodied mind has several important consequences for the activity of philosophy. Since reason is nothing more than a complex neuralogical happening, it cannot be seen as something which distinguishes us from the rest of the animal kingdom; in other words, we are not, they say, "uniquely rational" (emphasis mine). In fact, reason is primarily an unconscious activity. No one thinks about reasoning, we just do it. Of the thousands of things that we do every day only a handful of them are things we consciously reason about. Even individuals engaged within the fields of formal logic, mathematics or those dealing with any sort of abstract formal system are primarily using reason unconsciously. This is because reason is neurally structured via conceptual metaphors (such as container schemas or spatial-relation schemas) and sensorimotor perceptions long before we have any conscious access to it.
None of this is new. Christian theology has been teaching an embodied philosophy since its very beginning (e.g. Jesus' incarnation, Word becoming flesh, etc.). While the above "natural" view is capable of explaining 'whence reason', it is not capable of explaining 'that reason'. The fact that we reason is taken for granted and given no explaination; I think it's kind of an important question. I imagine if you ask either Lakoff or Johnson "why?" they would both promptly reply with "survival" or some variation thereof. But watching the news for an hour is more than enough to do away with such a simple abracadabra. Like learning langauges, reason is something wired into the functionality of the human brain by DNA. With the natural view all animals are rational, it's just that their rationality isn't quite as robust as ours, yet. How does self-awareness come into this picture? I don't know, like I said, I'm only 40 pages into the book and I'm hoping they get around to that part. I expect more prestidigitation, but at least it will be educational. Ultimately I think they are heading in the right direction; an incarnational approach to epistemology would look very similar to this embodied philosophy and I believe that is the way to bring every thought captive to Christ.
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