Many of my friends don’t speak English as a first language. Often when talking with them, I’m forced to think about what I’m saying, why I’m saying it that way, and where idiomatic speech comes from.
Any ESL teachers out there?
I’ve been thinking a lot (okay, a little) and I’ve come to the conclusion that there is such a thing as Deep Language.
Deep Language betrays Deep Culture – the hidden, unspoken ways of thinking and feeling that make a particular people group tick. I remember my father talking about the old, traditional vocabulary of an African people group – words not often known by the youth, dealing with ancient ritual and tradition, revealing the history of the people.
Deep Language signifies mastery. To master Deep Language is not an act of learning but of becoming, of stepping into a new culture and a new identity. When we know and intuitively use Deep Language, we are living differently. We have truly become.
The English phrase for me that is the the pinnacle of Deep Language, that represents this becoming most profoundly, is that wonderful (in the sense of wonder) and marvelous (in the sense of marvel) phrase, ‘to hock a loogie’.
Think about it.
It is the absolute embodiment of language that is lived. You will never find it in a textbook. Its etymology is an absolute mystery. The ‘hock’ is surely onomatopoeic, but the ‘loogie’… where does that come from? Some archaic or regional form of ‘boogie,’ which itself is a derivative term? Who even knows? How do you even explain it to someone who doesn’t already know?
Using ‘hock a loogie’ requires absolute cultural mastery.
Because it is almost never the correct or proper phrase, knowing when it should be used requires a deft social touch and an intuitive grasp of culture. In fact, finding those few and proper moments to bring it out of the arsenal (an idiom) is such a tricky task that we universally advise newcomers ‘just not to go there’ (another idiom). We give up entirely because it’s just. that. hard. and we don’t know how to teach it. It is Deep Language.
The fact that it is deep, however, does not make it insurmountable, and even though it is not easy to teach, that does not mean it should be lost. As we celebrate this cold and flu season, please take a moment to remember the newcomers among us. Reach out and usher someone into a new realm of cultural knowledge. Happy sniffling. Happy snuffling. Happy hocking.
Yes, I have a cold. And I am miserable. And I want to share this misery Thank you for supporting my in my time of weakness.
And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place,that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us, for
“ ‘In him we live and move and have our being’;[Acts 17:26-28] (emphasis mine)
One of the annoying facts of life is that God is invisible. All of us who have cried out, “God, where are you? Why can’tI see you?” know this truth: the most important Reality is something – someone – we can’t see. Crucially, life also holds drastic times when the ‘annoying fact’ becomes a desperate reality.
There is someone without whose constant sustaining, we would fall into dust… and we can’t see him. He keeps gravity going and electrons spinning… and we can’t see him. He is right beside us, and yet we pay less attention to him than to our coffee tables, our socks , our walls and every other physical object we interact with, treating as unquestionably real and obviously present.
But, by his decision, God is invisible to us. And yet… we need him, and so we grope for him.
We are the groping blind, feeling our way for God. If only we could touch him! If only we could see him! As much as anything else, it is this reaching out, this groping that describes our lives. We want to know the truth. We want to know what is real. Why is God hiding from us?
Samson, the Israelite judge and military hero, knew what groping was. Once colossally strong, he was reduced to helplessness by his own foolishness, pride and disobedience. His enemies captured him and gouged his eyes out. Blind and stripped of all his power, he stood in derision in their temple, feeling about, groping around for the temple pillars.
He wanted to feel the dusty pillars under his palms – the solid stone that gave him assurance. His hands told him the truth. He was in a hostile land, a sideshow in a foreign temple, surrounded by a enemy crowd whom he could only hear. But his hands told the truth. The pillars were real, they were there, and if God gave him strength, he could bring them down.
Isaac, the father of Jacob, also knew what groping was, because he was also blind. His devious wife and his conniving son Jacob tricked him, taking advantage of his blindness – his weakness – to steal a blessing from him. When Jacob approached Isaac, pretending to be his older brother Esau, Isaac groped. He needed his hands to tell him the truth, to grasp the hairy arms thrust before him. He had to feel what he could not see.
When we can’t see, we grope. And who can see God?
As they were talking about these things, Jesus himself stood among them, and said to them, “Peace to you!” But they were startled and frightened and thought they saw a spirit. And he said to them,
“Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me, and see.” [Luke 24:36–39]
There was a moment when God was felt. Jesus brought his wounds forward and invited his disciples to feel the wounds of God, suffered on their behalf. The wounds were flesh and blood and after centuries of groping, hands could finally feel what no hand had ever felt before.
The Greek word for this is pselaphao. It is the word used[lxx] for Isaac, for Samson, the word spoken by Paul for the whole world, the invitation from Jesus… it means to feel about for, to handle, to grope after, to touch… to know with our hands in the middle of our blindness.
It is the word that John uses when he tries to tell people of that stunning moment, that moment when he and his friends experienced what all people in history have been longing for:
That which was from the beginning,
which we have heard,
which we have seen with our eyes,
which we looked upon
and have touched with our hands,
concerning the word of life – [1 John 1:1]
John’s witness, what he wants to tell us, is that that moment was real. It actually happened. It wasn’t a dream or a myth or a hallucination. Flesh met on flesh and neurons fired and God was felt in the flesh. It was a hallmark of human history because God had been felt. John knew with his hands.[hands]
So for all those moments when I’m tempted to think God is distant or removed – or not observing my behaviour – I have to remember: I may not have felt him… but John did. God was groped after – and found.
And I do feel. I feel the satisfaction of his Holy Spirit. I hear him inspiring my thoughts… when I ask. What I feel is not always complete, or overwhelming (although sometimes it is), but I do feel. It is the condition of my life to grope after God… but I have found him – or rather, he has found me. Sometimes I forget him, sometimes I ignore him, but he is still with me.
I am reminded that one of these days, I am going to see what I can’t see now. God was touched before, and he will be seen again. One day I will get to touch him.
God is not far away from me now, and if my physical eyes and hands are just that – physical and finite – then I’m going to have to wait a bit. The fact that I can’t see or run through walls just makes me human. Some days I feel more like the blind Samson or Isaac than I do like John. But the fact that I am human means I struggle and grope in the middle of my limitations, and so I give thanks to God for John and his witness.
God has been felt.
Footnotes (↵ returns to text)
The Holy Bible: English Standard Version, Ac 17:26–28 (Wheaton: Standard Bible Society, 2001).↵
The Holy Bible: English Standard Version, Lk 24:36–39 (Wheaton: Standard Bible Society, 2001).↵
Used in the Greek translation of the Old Testament – the Septuagint, or LXX. It is used only four times in the NT.↵
The Holy Bible: English Standard Version, 1 Jn 1:1 (Wheaton: Standard Bible Society, 2001).↵
… and his ears, and his eyes. John knew in every way it can be known. It just couldn’t have been more proven to him.↵
The other day I ran across this fascinating piece from BBC Magazine, and it brought a couple thoughts into focus for me in new ways. The article is a discussion of the Islamic idea of a caliphate, or unified state. The author of the piece, writing from a secular viewpoint, struggles to come to grips with the idea of a religious state, and why anyone would try and establish one.
The article puts me in, shall we say, a curious position. On the one hand, I live in a beautiful, peaceful, prosperous nation characterized in part by high levels of secularism, horrible moral decay, increasing loneliness and materialism. On the other hand, there is a religious state performing atrocities on the other side of the world.[relig]
Let’s just say I look at the glass houses on both sides of the ocean and question “Why are we throwing stones again?” And then I look at the shambles of my own endeavours and think, “It’s time for me be quiet.”
But I want to talk about this article, because there’s some interesting stuff here. Take for example, the idea of the caliphate.
“Why do so many Muslims subscribe to this apparently unrealisable dream? The answer lies in the caliphate’s history.
“The Arabic khalifa means a representative or successor, and in the Koran it is linked to the idea of just government – Adam, and then David and Solomon, are each said to be God’s khalifa on earth.”
Does this sound familiar?[fam] I find it ironic that what is sought after - just government - is a common goal that no one can figure out how to get to. After all, isn’t that the charge leveled against ISIS by Western parties? That their governance is not just – that it murders children, abuses women, turns people from their homes, oppresses innocents and breaches the sovereignty of nations?[just] It’s the devil’s hand at work.
Of course, let’s not probe too carefully at the moral fabric our own society and the fruits of our own governance, which leaves us largely to do what is right in our own eyes.[rhet] Doing your own thing regardless of social or governmental pressure is the North American way, at least since the 1960s. The bedrooms of our nations have been off limits to any manner of societal/institutional pressure for quite some time. How’s that working for us?
Just ask anyone how much they enjoyed their parents’ divorce. Ask any disillusioned young adult how much they enjoy the idea that a non-committal relationship is the best that they can hope for. (Actually, don’t ask. We don’t like to talk about this stuff much. For whatever reason, it has to stay under the carpet.)[rhet1]
People half a world away look at our society and say things like “Boko Haram – Western learning is forbidden, [because it’s the devil’s hand at work]”. Of course, when they call us the devil, it’s just because they’re crazy and the devil made them say it, right?
So where does the devil live? Here, or there? In thinking about this question, I’m indebted to my friend Mark, who pointed me to this article from Al Jazeera – a sobering read. Where does the devil live, again? There’s a relatively straightforward theological answer to this question[ans]… but we don’t like it. I don’t like it.
So… I find it interesting that we’re all looking for just government[lie], but have arrived at opposing conclusions to how it is established. What works? (One of the interesting observations of the article was that logistically, a Single World Leader model has challenges, because he just gets too busy and needs to delegate )
This is a tricky spot to be. The question of “How do we get there?” is pretty much the whole arena of disagreement, and yet questions of “Whose method is more evil?” or “Where does the devil spend more time?” are deceptive and themselves diabolical distractions. We have to reframe. A child’s life can destroyed by a divorce just as surely as by a knife, and there’s one destroyer equally familiar with both.[distract]
There is one kingdom that offers a path to just government. However, its citizens are required to die, hate their lives, not love the world and become slaves to righteousness – which constitutes blasphemy on both sides of the pond. Until we renew our thinking to accept that there’s only one kingdom that will push out the devil (wherever he may be found), we will keep on building our own kingdoms and getting our own results.
Footnotes (↵ returns to text)
I have an intense personal frustration with the prevalent myth that religion is the source of violence and war. It’s just so… wrong. It ignores the question of evil entirely, that men and women chronically kill, steal and abuse for money, power, acceptance and countless other reasons, regardless of religious profession. And the belief system that gets blamed for this, is (bizarrely) the one that suggests you will be judged and held accountable for all your intents and actions by an impartial judge who loves your victim as much as he loves you.↵
The Greek word “Christ” is a translation of the Jewish word “Messiah”. The word itself means “Anointed One”, and is understood to refer to a Jewish king (chosen by God and representing him – this is shown by an anointing of oil).
This king, being a descendent of David (and, paradoxically, his Lord), will establish righteousness and justice over the whole earth. He will break all the rebellious nations and judge all the wicked, subjecting all who rebel. God will place everything under his feet.
(I was reading Bruce Waltke recently – he observes that the Psalm most quoted by Jesus and the Apostles is Psalm 110. How often do *I* read that one?) One really big deal in Israel’s theology is that they were hauled off into exile… and this king never seemed to appear.↵
Ironically, it’s not hard to see similar charges being laid against North American society on issues such as abortion, glamour magazines, corporate behaviour and the like… But of course it is monstrous to compare our government with theirs, because ours is just and theirs isn’t.↵
See what beautiful rhetoric I use This phrase has a particular meaning found in the book of Judges. It means that people have lost touch with the knowledge and fear of the LORD and, as a consequence, unspeakable things are happening.↵
See what beautiful rhetoric I use Unspeakable things are happening. Observe the… ah… ‘careful’ treatment the media are giving the Jian Ghomeshi story. The allegations involved are so perverted and shameful that they cannot be discussed in public, even by the CBC, which, as my sister observes, has never embraced prudery.↵
This is a lie. We all partially want just government, but we mostly want our own government, one that indulges our own selfishness and pride. Evil is like this. We do want good things, but sadly we all want evil things more. Welcome to being human. John 3:19-21, 1 John 1:15-17 and James 4:1-3 are handy for shining light here.↵
In Christian theology, these questions are barely sensical. Do we really want to engage in a giant measuring match of righteousness? Scripture addresses this kind of attitude and activity, quite unfavourably…↵
… welcome to a question I’ve been mulling over (struggling with?) for a while now. If anyone has any light to shine or stories to share, I’m all ears. I’d really like some feedback on this one…
There’s something that has always confused (bothered? disturbed?) me about how Christians talk about “believing” in Jesus. I’ve been wrestling with what it means to “believe” something for, oh, probably about ten years by now. But… it’s foggy in my mind, and I need help with it.
On the one hand, it’s never seemed quite right to me for ‘belief’ to mean “just professing something”… but, then again, it’s never seemed quite right for ‘belief’ to mean “100% doubt-free”. Otherwise, that means that if you have any doubt ever, you don’t believe.[want] But, doesn’t having faith, or believing, mean not doubting by definition?
If you pushed me to come down one way or the other, I think I would have to say that the belief that Jesus asks us for is absolute knowledge that he is Lord over all that is, the maker of all things and the judge of all men. Jesus wants us to take him as seriously as – no, more seriously than – the food we eat and the walls we walk around and the illnesses and deaths we face.
Of course, if I have this absolute knowledge, it means there’s just no room for any kind of fear, anxiety or rebellion… or any kind of garbage behaviour. Since I have all these in spades, what does it say about my belief? Can I rightly live in peace, knowing my belief falls as far short as it does?
One piece in the puzzle is that, if I reduce ‘belief’ to mentally agreeing with something, I can get away with both believing in Jesus and feeling afraid and rebellious all the time. After all, there’s no reasonable expectation that mental agreement with something should extend to my emotional life. After all, isn’t faith letting your mind agree to something when you don’t feel like it?
This is tough like a rubber cookie. The more I chew, the more my jaw hurts, but it still. won’t. crumble.
One way I’ve been trying to make sense of this is through the Old Testament. It seems to have a different perspective on the question of belief.
Reading the Old Testament, it makes sense that, while Jesus, Paul and others talk about ‘believing’, what they mean extends far, far beyond mental agreement. They are Hebrews, and what they are talking about has as much to do with faith and faithfulness as it does anything else. The Old Testament talks about faithfulness a lot, mostly with respect to God.
When the Old Testament talks about God as faithful it presents God as being unchangeable. Being dependable… established… trustworthy… stable… solid… always there. To be faithful, one must be not only gracious in character, but also established and permanent. Faithful things – large rocks… oak trees… God… are not easily blown over or moved because they have permanence and solidity.
To be a faithful person, then, means to demonstrate that same tenacity with regards to God – permanent belief regardless of circumstance.
Faith then becomes constant, repeated, obedience. Faith is faithful action – action that takes place because of belief. Those who are saved are those who, in the lives they live, demonstrate this faith. It doesn’t matter whether they lived before Abraham, (Abel? Enoch? Noah?) before Moses (Abraham? Isaac? Jacob? Joseph?), before Jesus (David?) or at any time after (Paul?).
In this picture of faith, faith is rightly measured over a long period of time (a life!), and it doesn’t make sense to measure faith in just a moment. We may act faithfully within a moment, but if faith has an enduring quality, then faith can only be fully demonstrated through endurance. And… at the end, after the full distance, we will be judged.
In my mind there is a picture of a criminal, hanging in agony next to Jesus. He cries out, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Is his faith false just because he is about to die? No! If he were given another day to live, would he spend it with Jesus? Yes… he would. Jesus looks at him and says, “You will spend your next day with me in Paradise.” It is not the length of time that proves his faith but rather the quality of it. Long or short is not the question. Enduring quality is the question, and if it is built in a single moment, its enduring quality is true nonetheless.
Now I take this picture of what it means to be faithful, what it means to have faith in Jesus Christ… my thinking changes.
It means that, for better or for worse, a single moment of belief does not necessarily constitute faith.
One disturbing thought is that even those who have really believed can fall away – if faith is enduring, then what does not endure is not real faith, even if there were moments or times of genuine belief. I am torn on this thought. If I reject it, it becomes very difficult to make sense of passages like 2 Peter 2:17-22[pet] or Philippians 3:8-16[phil], which seem quite clear in their intent. It also seems to clarify Hebrews 10 and the entire book of James. I would love to whitewash these passages and say, “They never really believed to begin with”, but these passages don’t seem to be saying that. They seem to be saying that there are those who both believed and fell away.
Scripture is quite clear that we are saved by our faith and judged according to our works.[sort]The faith that saves us is a faithful life lived out – which is rightly assessed when our lives are finished. This leaves us, like Paul, striving for the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. We are running to finish the race we started and receive our reward. We are aware of the fact that if we don’t keep running, we will not finish , and so, we keep our eyes on God Who is Our Strength and who will carry us, with power beyond ourselves, to the end… if we act in faith and submit to him.
Of course, this thinking doesn’t really explain a “moment of salvation” or assurance of salvation well at all. But then a “moment of salvation” doesn’t really address some of the Scriptures listed above.
I am attracted to this thinking because it makes sense of how doubt can co-exist with faith in a real person’s life. It doesn’t have problems with the truth that, in every race, we can take steps back as well as forward. There are moments of doubt as well as moments of faith, and in the same way that a single moment of belief does not justify everything, a single moment of doubt does not wipe away everything.
Like I said, I’m really struggling on this one. Thoughts?
Footnotes (↵ returns to text)
Of course, what I want more than anything is for there to be a place of no doubt whatsoever… and for me to be there.↵
I know two plus two equals four, regardless of feeling. Most of the time.↵
17 These are waterless springs and mists driven by a storm. For them the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved.18 For, speaking loud boasts of folly, they entice by sensual passions of the flesh those who are barely escaping from those who live in error.19 They promise them freedom, but they themselves are slaves[a] of corruption. For whatever overcomes a person, to that he is enslaved.20 For if, after they have escaped the defilements of the world through the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, they are again entangled in them and overcome, the last state has become worse for them than the first.21 For it would have been better for them never to have known the way of righteousness than after knowing it to turn back from the holy commandment delivered to them.22 What the true proverb says has happened to them: “The dog returns to its own vomit, and the sow, after washing herself, returns to wallow in the mire.” –ESV↵
8 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ 9 and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— 10 that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, 11 that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
12 Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. 13 Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. 15 Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. 16 Only let us hold true to what we have attained. –ESV↵
A friend gave me a gospel tract the other day. We were at church; he was showing me some of the Christian materials he was using. He held the tract out for my perusal and I glanced over it. It was a pretty standard gospel tract with a simple gospel message, a sinner’s prayer, and a selection of well known verses. It seemed a little funny to me, though, and I allowed myself a little smile. Of course, the tract ought to be familiar to me – I wrote it.
About a year earlier, our church had held out an evangelism evening and I’d put together a one page reference to help a prayer counselor lead someone through the gospel.
My friend apparently had stumbled across a copy of this and taken it to a local mission organization, who had slapped a picture with a caption on the front (“There is more mercy in God than there are sins in us”) and a copy of the apostles creed on the back and voila! One Gospel tract.
I was now a proud tract author.
My first act as a published author was to cringe at the glaring typo on Step 6 of “The Simple Gospel”. The second was to frown at how jargony and cliched the language of the tract was. I had never asked where these gospel tracts came from or how they got written… but I guess now I know. They come from unsuspecting seminary students.
But most of all, I was greatly encouraged… which is the entire point of this post. I didn’t even know that I had written a tract, and yet here it was before me. A little thing I did had grown into a bigger thing and I realized that what we do can be important, even if we can’t see how or why. Of course, I wish I had written a perfect document with better language and no typos, but it was an encouragement to think that maybe, just maybe, the time I spent laying out God’s message in a simple, readable format might touch someone, somewhere, somehow.
This means, of course, that I have to be prudent in choosing when to mock gospel tracts and their authors. Oh, well. I guess fame has its costs. Thanks be to God.
I am drowning in Real Life Busyness right now and all my wonderful blogdreams are not materializing. But I thought I’d throw something nice up.
I just found out about Andy Gullahorn – a tremendous songwriter. Maybe I like him so much because other (more famous) people sing his songs and he seems so humble about it. Maybe because his songs are great. How can you not love a songwriter who adapts Walt Wangerin Jr.?
I’m trying out a little game I thought up. The game is to retell a fairy tale or children’s story while omitting one of the major characters. In this one, beauty goes missing. Part I. Part II. Part III. Part V comes next Sunday.
“A long time ago, a prince lived in the castle. He was an only child, and his parents spoiled him badly when he was young. He grew up thinking of no-one but himself, and whatever he did was only for his own pleasure.
“There was no one to correct him. The king and queen died when he was still a young man, and he was left alone to rule in the castle.
The soldier made an unhappy little sound. None of this seemed relevant to the town. The priest ignored him and went on.
“One night there was a terrible storm, with howling winds and biting rain and a black, black sky. In the middle of the storm, an old woman showed up at the door of the castle, seeking a place to escape the wind and rain.
“The prince, angered by the interruption, turned the old woman away. She begged and pleaded for him to have mercy, but his heart was hard and he would not listen. Finally, she turned away and went back into the storm. The prince went to bed and thought no more of it.
“In the middle of the night, the prince was woken by a crashing sound. He came down from his chamber and found that the castle door was flung wide open, the wind and the rain gusting in. The prince was furious at being woken in the middle of the night and upset at the rain coming in. At the very moment that he moved to close the door, however, a great flash of lightening struck, right on his doorstep.
The soldier sat up. A prince, killed in an accident? This was worth paying attention to. A lordless town which others might want to claim? That could lead to burnt cottages and a fleeing population.
“The prince was flung backward on the ground, momentarily blinded by the flash. As he sat up…
The soldier sighed.
“… he saw a shining lady standing in the doorway. ‘I am a great fairy,’ she said.”
The soldier let loose a snort of disgust. A fairytale.
“But you’re a priest,” he said, “you don’t believe in that stuff.”
“Well, that depends on what you mean by ‘believe in’, and by ‘that’ and by ‘stuff'” the priest murmured, almost to himself. “Do you want to hear the story, or not?”
The soldier was not at all sure he wanted to waste his time on a fairytale, but as there was not much else he could do, he merely grumbled a bit and was quiet.
“‘I am a great fairy.” the lady said. ‘This very night, I came to you for shelter, and you refused. It was not a great thing, and yet when I begged you for mercy and for compassion, you thought only of your own self and your own comfort.’ This confused the prince. He was so self-centred that he had already forgotten that there had been an old woman earlier that same night.
“‘Only a beast thinks of nothing but itself and of its own welfare’ declared the fairy. ‘A beast you are, and a beast you shall be, until you can learn to love someone outside yourself.’
“The prince felt a horrible energy come all over him. It made him shudder and writhe against his own will; he looked down at his hands and saw that they were not hands, but paws. The prince screamed, but it was not a scream. It was a screeching howl. When he looked back up, the fairy was gone… and he was left a terrifying beast.”
The soldier, in spite of himself, was captivated.
“And?” he said.
The priest shrugged. “He became a beast.” he said. “That is the story as they tell it here.”
“But only until he could learn to love someone other than himself, ” the soldier argued. “How did he come to turn back into a human?”
“Turn back? What makes you think he turned back into a human?”
The soldier struggled. It seemed that the prince must turn back into a human again, however it might happen. The thought of a man turned beast forever bothered him. It wasn’t right, somehow.
Then he realized he was upsetting himself over a fairy tale.
“It’s all nonsense,” he said, and as he did, another thought struck him.
“This castle,” he said. “It is deserted?”
“None of the townsfolk dare go there, ” said the priest. “I’ve never been there myself, though it’s not far from here, just up the road to the north. Is it deserted? The townsfolk say that the beast lives there.”
The soldier was thinking. Obviously there was no lord. If the townsfolk were frightened to go, then it must be deserted.
“I see, I see.” And then, casually, “Much banditry around here? Brigands, highwaymen?”
“No, not around here. Sometimes they come. They never stay for long.” The priest was looking intently at the soldier again. It made the soldier most uncomfortable; the round face was vibrant, it seemed so full of life and energy that when it looked with intent, the soldier was overwhelmed by the sheer force of it. The soldier looked away.
“You’re not thinking of going there?” The priest’s voice had a warning tone rather than a fearful one. “I wouldn’t recommend that. It’s not a good idea.”
The soldier thought that it was a very good idea. A deserted castle and the townspeople kept away by superstition, no robbers to take over the place… There could be anything there. Locked storerooms filled with… he would just have to go and see. Just up the northern road, eh?
His little voices were speaking now, reminding him of ghostly footsteps. The soldier ignored them. Footsteps, indeed. Here was a silly superstitious town with a foolish fat priest who spent his time peddling fairy tales. There could be gold in this, maybe even something better. He glanced in the corner where his musket and boots rested. They had carried him through far worse places than an empty castle.
Hallelujah! It has the right title and asks the right question – “What can a brain scan tell us about free will?” Now this is a subject worth talking about! [fw] (The article even references St. Augustine Unfortunately, the article never really answers its own question – it’s a bit of a puff piece – but it does link to some fascinatingstuff.
I’m going to get to talking about the articles listed in another post, but before I do, I want to explain why they matter to me.
In North America, For a Christian, the world of thought and life depicted in Scripture (and experienced in reality) is worlds away from what is being suggested by these articles. Two worldviews, a secular and a Christian, are struggling over what is true and real. Our minds are at stake – the same minds that the apostle Paul insists we let be renewed.
I was talking with a friend about this worldview struggle yesterday, and I used the phrase, “death by a thousand cuts”. This is how I feel. I live and walk in a world of smothering secularism, and it hurts. I feel like I’m being actively discouraged from believing that God will live and act and cause real things to happen in the world around me. I feel like I’m being choked and smothered and told that comfort is more important than obedience, wealth is more valuable than trust, and ‘being smart’ is more important than belief.
This is death to living faith; it’s a basket being slammed over a lamp, a cluster of thorns crowding out a seedling. It’s a chronic and pernicious unbelief that steals joy and makes me limp and ineffective and dead.
Living in a culture that seems hell-bent on choking out life[strong] wherever it can be found doesn’t make me feel good. I think it makes lots of people not feel good – just google “rise in depression” and see what comes up. The statistics aren’t pretty. What’s going on is a struggle for life, but it hides itself in a thousand tiny little struggles, none of which seem very big, but all of which are critical. The Apostle Paul, for instance, is very stern when he describes this struggle, because life is at stake. What we believe about cause and effect really matters.
And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience – among whom we all once lived in the passions of the flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind — Eph 2:1:3
“And you were dead…” Paul lives in a rich, rich world of cause and effect; a vibrant and complicated sphere that includes not only ourselves and our sinful natures, but also real spiritual forces (“…the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work…”) which have a real impact in our lives and choices. Make no mistake, if we are nothing more than the sum of our desires, we are dead. Indeed, the physical world we interact with is not the full reality, and not even the most important part of reality…
But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ – by grace you have been saved – and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness towards us in Christ Jesus. — Eph 2:4-7
The ultimate reality, the real thing to know, is that we are loved by God. Now, if this passage is true, and God has the ability to seat us “in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,” what does that say about how immeasurably rich and complicated our world is?
What does Paul say about the forces and causality at work in our world? How big or small are they?
“… I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your heart enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power towards those who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him, as head over all things, to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.” — Eph 1:16-23
Paul lives in a world with an awesome power dynamic that is controlled, not by physical forces, but by God acting in a real way (a way that involves the physical resurrection of a man), by Jesus Christ sitting in authority over all things and pouring out his power into the church, by his Holy Spirit. Paul lives in a world where spiritual revelation is a first-class means of knowing real things, where we can know things by the direct causality of God, working his power in mighty ways.
For Paul, we are really, truly hampered in our ability to know things if we are cut off from Jesus Christ. Knowledge for Paul is not a simple, facile thing. It is not bland scientific observation; it is far, far deeper and richer. We depend on, for our very richness of life, a spirit of knowledge and revelation that comes only from God.
Paul is not opposed to scientific observation[sciobs], but he is definitely averse to shallow scientific observation that lies about our experience of Creation. It is stupid (and bad reasoning) to think that because we can observe the world scientifically, that is the only way we experience it. See what he writes:
For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to become wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things. — Romans 1:18-23
Science, for Paul, is also worship. It has to be. Why does Paul talk like this? It’s because he’s a Hebrew man, with a Hebrew view of the world. He has been studying the Ketuvim, the writings. He’s been reading poetry, soaking in a knowledge of God that is more than just academic.
The heavens declare the glory of God and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words, whose voice is not heard. –Psalm 19:1:3
If you are a Jew like Paul, you are not a modern person, and you accept that it is simply wrong to try and experience Creation without letting it draw you closer to God. Scientific observation for Paul is not a small thing; it is a very big thing; it is an act of being human, of having God’s breath in you, of seeing the work of God’s hands, of allowing it to lead you into worship. Interaction with and observation of the world is an act of discovering God; it requires praise and thanksgiving and worship.
Neither do we get to choose or determine what our interaction with Creation is. It is what it is; it is an encounter with the Maker’s Creation. We can only acknowledge and give thanks… or not. Because looking at the world is a big and spiritual thing, if you try and keep the pipette while cutting away the prayer,[divide] it will lead to death:
“…they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.”
When Paul talks about causality in our minds, this is not a separate thing from God, or from the devil at work, or from our own physical desires. There are many forces at work in this struggle, tied into a power dynamic and reality that is far beyond our ability to measure with an MRI.
The secular mind attempts to shift me from a world that is rich, deep, and living into one that is shallow and dead. The real world is complicated and beyond my ability to observe; the world of determinism and strict material causality is, in comparison, trivial and trite. The real world has glorious mysteries and wonders, as well as some things which are deeply disturbing (like my own sin and unrighteousness) and that don’t need to exist in the secular one[exist]…
Now, this I say and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer walk as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them due to their hardness of hearts.
They have become callous and have given themselves up to sensuality, greedy to practice every kind of impurity. But this is not how you learned Christ! – assuming that you have heard about him and were taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus, to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness. — Eph. 4:17-24
The secular worldview presents a very simple, neat and narrow answer to the thorny issues at hand: brain chemistry drives everything! Anything that seems wrong or problematic is just an illusion; you just feel troubled by things, they don’t mean anything. Things which don’t make sense are just that – complex meaningless patterns which don’t make sense, but which are fundamentally the same as things which do make sense.[phil] It’s a nice dodge that conveniently avoids sin.
In contrast, Paul’s picture of causality and thought is very messy. Horror – is Paul really suggesting that our urges and desires might be shaped by our own agency? (I thought it was supposed to be the other way round…) What does it mean to “be renewed in the spirit of your minds”? Is he implying that God can actively cause something in my mind to be different than it would otherwise have been? Does this new self have implications for my physical brain chemistry? How would I know? If I am “putting off” does that have implications for physical manifestations of consciousness and my ability to direct these?[spir]
Living in the real world is difficult; it doesn’t feel good when I realize that my own heart is incredibly hard. But it is. I am stiff with unbelief and burdened by fear. At the same time, I struggle to not run away from it; it’s a daily fight for me to stay and be more in the world that Paul lives in. I struggle to get there.
It’s only by soaking in Paul a while that I think I can read the articles and make sense of what they’re trying to say. This entire post has been an attempt to do just this, and now maybe I’m ready to take a little peek at the article.
All this raises a question for the philosopher – what are the implications of advances in knowledge about human decision-making for our conception of free will? Will scientific progress undermine our sense that we have free will? Will it eventually lead us to conclude that free will is an illusion?
The BBC piece actually says very little on its own. It raises good questions but does little to try and answer them. But it links to an interesting nature.com article on scientists who think they can predict decision making (with the implication that ‘choices’ are driven by brain chemistry) and it presents a story from the New Scientist about a man with a brain tumour which caused behavioral changes.
The article makes a suitably guarded philosophical statement, poking a little at the implications of accepting a fully secular perspective. It does a good job of raising the question of whether or not we can be held responsible for our actions if we’re all controlled by chemicals:
But we are all physical beings in a (largely) deterministic universe. Why is one physical cause – a tumour – different from any other? Might, in future, neuroscientists be brought into court to explain away all manner of transgressions, for example: “This man can’t be held responsible for his shoplifting – it was due to his unusually high levels of dopamine.”
This is a great line of questioning, but the article doesn’t actually go far enough, here, according to its own question. If we’re asking what separates one physical cause from another, we should excuse someone who has normal levels of dopamine, as well. After all, why should we distinguish between the presence/absence of dopamine as a causal factor. The big argument would be, “This is deterministically caused.” Of course, the judge in the court could simply reply, “So is this sentence of life in prison.” because the entire episode would be farce that no one would believe in.
The article goes on to give a brief overview of the history of free will philosophy:
Most of our philosophical concepts go back to the ancient Greeks. Not the concept of free will.
The Homeric Greeks believed in fate, rather than freedom. They believed that circumstances were beyond their control. In the writings of Plato and Aristotle, there is no term that would naturally be translated as “free will”. The emergence of the concept of free will can be dated to about the 4th Century AD, and was an ingenious solution of Christian theologians to the so-called Problem of Evil. If God is all powerful, and God is all good, how come there is evil in the world? The answer, said Saint Augustine, is that man has free will.
Frustratingly, the article ignores the Hebrew world – the world of Paul and of Jesus and of YHWH. Perhaps it is correct to ignore this, however, in philosophical dicussion. It is not, after all, a world of dry philosophical premise. The Hebrew world is big and messy.
In the Hebrew world, men are prompted to do things by the devil or by God himself, sometimes in the same story (2 Sam 24:1 / 1 Chron 21:1). God hardens mens hearts. Men freely choose to act out of jealousy or faith, envy or love. The most righteous of humans gets tormented by the devil in a world where cause and effect seem disconnected and chaotic. Men stand before God and get no answer, but are only awed into humble silence. Humans struggle against their own hearts and wicked characters, trying to gain mastery over a sinful enemy.
This is a world where God warns Cain, “If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is for you, but you must rule over it.” God puts on Cain an expectation of mastery over… what? His own nature? An external threat?
This is a world where YHWH sees the intentions of our hearts are wicked from our youth, and takes the bewildering step of blessing us anyway.
This is a world where men are made in the image of God, and where, more bewildering than that, God changes his mind. He is flexible. He is emotional; he responds to people.
This is a world where God is ceaselessly creative and interactive.
This is a world where smaller armies win precisely because the way things usually seem to work is not ultimate.
This is a world where evil spirits are real and have power.
This is a world where the Spirit of God comes upon someone and their behaviour changes. (1 Sam 10:10)
This is a world where the Spirit of God comes upon someone and their physical ability changes (Judges 14:14)
This is a world where the Spirit of God comes upon someone and their personality changes (1 Sam 10:6)
In the Hebrew scriptures, God brings dreams and visions and he strikes people blind and he interacts with the physical world in all sorts of ways that make simplistic pictures of causality simply untenable. You can’t read these stories for very long and hold a simple view of what makes people do things.
Living in a world this messy forces us to admit that there are things we can’t understand. It’s a shame the article doesn’t explore it.
Augustine didn’t invent free will, it’s right there (in a messy way) in God’s speech to Cain: “If you do well, will you not be accepted?” And it’s also there (in a messy way) in the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart.
The challenge, if we are Christians, is to put things like this together and make sense of them, side by side. Don’t look at me; I don’t know how to do it! But I do know that calling ourselves meat-sacks ain’t gonna cut it. If you’re going to start to ask questions about what sorts of things cause other things, and how they cause them, a good starting point is acknowledging that it’s complicated.
What can a brain scan tell us about free will? Very little that matters. In the next post, I’ll look at the articles linked by the BBC – at the substance of what it talks about, and poke around with how it fits into the big, messy world of the Bible.
Footnotes (↵ returns to text)
If you read my previous blog post, you already know my personal answer to the question of the article: observing brain scans can tell us nothing about what causes what. It can, however give us some interesting data to think about.↵
I’m using strong words here, but I feel strongly. I guess I’m using strong words because how we think and live is a big deal. I’m trying to wake myself up to it.↵
I have been intending to write, and still intend to, the post which explains why a Hebrew understanding of YHWH’s character gave birth to scientific observation as we know it.↵
This is why a divide between our minds and hearts in the name of being “objective” is a terrible thing. We can’t be objective, distant scientists. (I am not saying “we ought to choose not to be”, I am saying we don’t have a choice – we can’t be). Treating science and ethics as different fields of study, for instance, is a big stupid charade, pretending that there are times when we are not fully faceted (thinking, feeling, spiritual, ethical, physical, artistic, etc) humans before God. As such, it is wicked, because it’s telling lies about the nature of the people whom God made and loves. It also allows us to produce abominable things, because we pretend that scientific observation is neutral, trying to force our hearts to look away from the things we’re making.↵
They do need to exist if the secular worldview is going to accurately portray reality. But they don’t fit well into a deterministic view, which raises questions whether or not a deterministic view is sufficient.↵
I’m not going to get into the philosophy of this because it’s way too big and I’m way too ignorant. But it goes very quickly to the question of “Why should we believe anything at all?” which includes the question of “Why should we believe that brain chemistry causes everything to happen?” I only want to point out that the article gives only a brief hat-tip to the thorniness of this – a naive philosophy destroys itself, because if you really are a meatsack, why should you believe anything a meatsack believes, up to and including the idea that you’re a meatsack? Xkcd sums this up nicely.
You can come up with some very tricky questions to answer if you dwell on this topic long enough. I feel like a common answer is to produce a “Spiritual Disconnect” where some things happen spiritually (“Oh, this is a spiritual truth and not a physical one”) and don’t need to have any physical effect. Such a disconnect must eventually fall, however. A neat and tidy spiritual world that is disconnected from the physical one is neat and tidy but it’s also useless.
As just one example, if the Holy Spirit indwells us spiritually, we might be okay with accepting no physical manifestation. But if he’s going to bear fruit in us, then things like joy and peace come into play…. and these are things which necessarily impact our emotional state, which in turn means that somewhere, something spiritual is altering brain activity in a truly causal way.↵
I’m trying out a little game I thought up. The game is to retell a fairy tale or children’s story while omitting one of the major characters. In this one, beauty goes missing. Part I. Part II. Part IV comes next Sunday.
The little face swam before the soldier’s eyes until the world slowly crystallized into focus and his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The head was not disembodied but connected to a set of black robes: it was a priest.
It was a short priest, with a happy fat face and small round spectacles. Behind the spectacles were circular dark eyes that peered inquisitively – and with disturbing intensity – at the soldier. The robes looked like they hid someone rather tubby; chubby appendages with fat little digits barely poked out from billowing sleeves that were just a little bit too long.
The soldier had little use for priests, generally. He had no hatred of them, as such – simply no use for them. He vaguely guessed that they did some people some good, some times, but he rarely bothered himself with the specifics of who or what or when. He was usually too busy shooting and getting shot at to worry about things like that. But here was a man – another human being – and the soldier was glad to see him.
While the soldier was recovering himself, the priest was looking over him, a curious little smile on his face. His little round eyes were flicking back and forth, taking in everything about the stranger in front of him – his shortness of the soldier’s breath, the musket he had flung down beside him, the door barred solid.
“It’s all right,” he said, “you’re perfectly safe in here.”
The soldier bristled, ashamed to be caught unawares and frightened by this dumpy little scrap of a man. He stooped and picked up his musket.
“It’s foolish to leave a door open.” The words came out clipped, brusque. He gave the priest a disdainful glance. “I’m surprised the wolves haven’t eaten you by now.”
“Wolves?” the priest smiled, a genuinely happy smile, but one which disturbed the soldier deeply. “No, I don’t imagine we’ll have any problems with wolves.”
Was there a little extra emphasis on the ‘wolves’? The soldier shifted his musket uneasily. The priest unnerved him. He was all alone in an abandoned town, and smiling as if it were a Sunday afternoon parish luncheon. His voices were starting to murmur, and he glanced around the church sanctuary.
All was quiet; no lights were lit and it was quite gloomy inside. But it looked well kept up – no cobwebs or dust visible, and the altar at the front was laid out in an orderly fashion.
“I’m sorry for the dark,” said the priest. “It’s just me, you see, and I don’t often need a light to get around. I don’t like to use the candles, you know. We’ve lost our beekeeper, and it’s hard for me to get wax now.”
His face brightened. “But now that you’re here, of course we must have a light!” He darted off before the soldier could stop him. The soldier very much wanted to ask him some questions. Why was the town empty? Why was the priest all alone?
The priest came back with a lit candle. It was not an ordinary candle, but a very tall thick one. The priest saw the soldier looking at it, and immediately looked embarrassed.
“I know I’m not supposed to,” he said. “But it is so very dark and I’m sure St. Stephen wouldn’t mind. After all, he is a saint so I’m sure he’s quite forbearing.” The priest looked upward momentarily, presumably making a silent apology to the long dead slighted saint. Then he looked down and smiled again.
“But you must eat!” he exclaimed. “You are tired! You have had a weary day, or at the least a dusty one! And if you have come here…” he paused, “… you have come many miles.”
The soldier opened his mouth to speak but the priest was off again, calling over his shoulder for the soldier to follow him, and waddling away at surprising speed. “Come,” he called, “the rectory’s just out the back.”
It occurred to the soldier that he was incredibly tired. He was a soldier, and wore his fatigue like his old coat, familiar and ever present, but as his battle rush faded he felt empty, drained. He had marched all day, and at the end of it, assaulted an (empty) town. He followed the vanishing candle out the back of the church and into the small house at the back of the church yard.
The house was a simple cottage – a single room with a straw bed in one corner, and a chest beside. Onions and corn and other foods hung in bunches from the ceiling. The furniture was plain – a single rough-hewn chair and a small table. A fire was burning in the fireplace, with a black pot over it, simmering.
The soldier sat at the table while the priest bustled about, preparing supper. The priest was like a little rubber ball, always in motion, bouncing from one place to another, happy and inexplicably full of energy. Even when he stood still he was in motion, chopping vegetables or stirring a pot. “A part of him is always jiggling,” thought the soldier, and it was true.
The soldier had questions, but, tired as he was, he was happy to sit for a while and let the priest bustle around the room. The soldier sat, thinking on what had happened on the road and in the town. Now, warmed by the fire and in the company of a living breathing human, he felt stupid for having ambushed an empty town. What had he been running from? He thought of his embarrassment by the the barred door, the priest looking at him. “All nonsense,” he thought to himself.
Supper was a simple meal of beans and vegetables, but a hearty one, and plentiful. There was no conversation; the soldier was busy eating, and the priest seemed content to let his guest eat, although he watched him intently as he did so.
By the end of the meal, full and satisfied, the soldier had managed to convince himself that he had allowed the loneliness of the road to play tricks on him. But he was curious about what had happened in the town. It was deserted, after all.
“Where is everyone?” he asked.
“Gone.” said the priest. “Everyone gone, except me.”
“Where?” cried the soldier. “Why?”
The priest spread his hands out. “It’s forest all around,” he said. “They left.”
The soldier’s eyes narrowed. Something was definitely amiss.
“There are houses burned here,” he said. “How? Isn’t there a lord over this town? Were there bandits?”
“They left the fires unattended.” murmured the priest.
“But why did they flee?” The soldier was quickly becoming bewildered… and wary. Nothing was making sense. “Who is your lord? How could his tenants just leave?”
The soldier couldn’t understand it. The priest, for his part, was not looking away from the soldier or avoiding his questions. Quite the opposite! He was looking intensely at the soldier, scrutinizing him, evaluating him, making the soldier feel rather uncomfortable. He was trying to ask questions… but felt that he himself was being questioned, somehow.
“There is a lord.” said the priest, quietly. He was not smiling, and the soldier felt even more uneasy. “The people here have an old story about him.”
An old story? About the current lord? This didn’t make any sense.
“Well?” demanded the soldier. “What is it?”
There was a brief pause; the priest was clearly weighing up the soldier in his mind, deciding whether or not he could trust him with the story. And then, abruptly, he decided.
“All right,” he said. “You may not know that there is a castle in the woods to the north, not far from here. That is where the lord lives…”
The soldier was listening intently. It was pitch dark outside and there was no sound except the priest’s voice, quiet in the night. The fire crackled and popped; it set long shadows dancing and flickering on the cottage wall as the priest began his story.