The Church and Contemporary Culture

Church and Culture

If we abstract the concept of religion from the Great Commandment, we can say that religion is being ultimately concerned about that which is and should be our ultimate concern. Christianity claims that the God who is manifest in Jesus the Christ is the true God, the true subject of an ultimate and unconditional concern. Christianity can claim this extraordinary character because of the extraordinary character of the events on which it is based, namely, the creation of a new reality within and under the condition of man's predicament. Jesus as the bringer of this new reality is subject to those conditions to finitude and anxiety, to law and tragedy, to conflict and death. But he keeps victoriously the unity with God, sacrificing himself as Jesus to himself as the Christ. In doing so, he creates the new reality of which the Church is the communal and historical bearer.

From this it follows, first of all, that the unconditional claim of Christianity is not related to the Christian Church, but to the event on which the Church is based. If the Church does not subject itself to the judgement which is pronounced by the Church, it becomes idolatrous toward itself. This is the tragedy of the Roman Catholic Church. Its way of dealing with culture is the result of its unwillingness to subject itself to the judgement pronounced by itself. Protestantism, at least in its principle, resists this temptation. But actually it falls into it in many ways, again and again.

A second consequence of this concept of religion, which we can call an existential one, is the disappearance of the gap between the sacred and secular realm. If religion is the state of being grasped by an ultimate concern, this state cannot be restricted to a special realm. The unconditional character of this concern implies that it refers to every moment of our lives, to every aspect and every realm. The universe is God's sanctuary. Every work day is a day of the Lord, every supper a Lord's Supper, every work the fulfilment of a divine task, every joy a joy in God.

But we do not find it actually so. The secular element tends to make itself independent, and to establish a realm of its own. And in reaction to this, the religious element tends to establish itself also as a special realm. Man's predicament is determined by this situation. It is the situation of man's. estrangement from his true being. This division witnesses to our human predicament.

The third consequence following from the existential concept of religion as being ultimately concerned, is the relation of religion and culture. Religion conceived as ultimate concern gives substance to culture. And culture is the totality of the forms in which the basic concern of a religion expresses itself. In short, religion is the substance of culture; culture is the form of religion.

Such a relationship definitely prevents the establishment of a dualism between religion and culture. Every religious act, not only in organized religion but also in the most intimate movement of the soul, is culturally formed. The fact that every act of man's spiritual life is communicated by language, spoken or silent, is proof enough of this assertion. For language is the basic cultural creation. On the other hand, there is no cultural creation without an ultimate concern expressed in it. He who can read the style of a culture can discover its ultimate concern. This we now try to do in relation to our present culture.

The Special Character of Contemporary Culture

Our present culture must be described in terms of a predominant movement an increasingly powerful protest against it. The spirit of the predominant movement is the spirit of industrial society. The spirit of the protest is that of the existential analysis of man's actual predicament. One of the great difficulties of analyzing our present culture is its dynamic character, its continuous change, and the influence which the protest has already had on it.

We may nevertheless point out three main characteristics of man in industrial society. The first of these is the concentration of man's activities on the methodical investigation and technical transformation of his world including himself, and the loss of dimension of depth in the encounter with reality. For him the universe has become self-sufficient. A symptom of this fact is that since the beginning of the 18th century, God has been removed from the power field of man's activities. He has been put alongside the world without man's permission to interfere with it, because every interference would disturb man's technical and business calculations. The universe has been left to man as its master.

This leads to the second characteristic of industrial society. Man's possession of

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creative powers, analogous to those previously attributed to God, leads to disregard of his estrangement. The bondage of the will of which the Reformer spoke, the demonic powers which are central for the New Testament, the elements of destruction in personal or communal life, are ignored or dented. Educational processes are regarded as able to adjust the large majority of men to the demand of the system of production and consumption, this "second nature" which man has produced above the given nature.

This reliance on man's own creative powers is accepted not only for man as personality but also for man in community. The scientific and technical conquest of time and space is considered as the road to the reunion of man- kind. The demonic structures of history, the conflicts of power in every aspect of life are seen only as preliminary impediments. Their tragic and inescapable character is denied. Just as the universe replaces God, and as man in the center of the universe replaces Christ, so the expectation of peace and justice in history replaces the expectation of the Kingdom of God.

The attitude of the churches toward this situation has been contradictory. Partly they have defended themselves by retiring to their traditional past, in doctrine, cult, and life. Partly they have reacted by accepting the new situation, trying to adapt themselves to it. The former attitude set a supranatural realm above the natural realm. The symbols in which the depth of being expresses itself were drawn down to two-dimensional experience. The latter method of adaptation tried to interpret the traditional symbols of contemporary terms. But liberal theology in its theological understanding of God and man paid the price of adjustment (in spite of its valid contributions) by losing the message of the new reality, which was preserved by the defenders of a supranatural view. Both ways in which the churches dealt with the spirit of industrial society proved to be inadequate.

Historical providence prepared a third way of relating religion to contemporaneous culture. I am referring to that large movement which, started by Pascal, was carried on by a few prophetic minds in the 19th century and came to a full victory in the 20th century. I call it by the now familiar name existentialist. This movement's protest is directed against the position of man in the system of production and consumption of our society. Man is supposed to be the master of his world and of himself. But actually he has become a part of the reality which he has created. He is an object among objects, a thing among things, a cog within a universal machine to which he must adapt himself in order not to be smashed by it. But this adaptation makes him a means for ends which are in reality means themselves, and in which an ultimate end is lacking.

To this predicament man may make various responses to escape emptiness, meaninglessness, dehumanization, estrangement. He may restrict himself to a limited section of reality. Or he may subject himself to the demands of industrial society, and repress the question of meaning. Or he may have the strength to take anxiety and meaninglessness courageously upon himself, expressing in cultural creation the predicament of the most sensitive people of our time. The great artistic and philosophical works of culture in the first of the 20th century-visual arts, music, poetry, literature, and so on-show in their style the encounter With non-being, and the strength which can stand this encounter and form it creatively.

(In a section of the original paper, omitted here by reason of space limitations, the author deals with this topic: "The Cultural Forms in which the Church Actualizes Itself." One is language, and "religious language is ordinary language, changed under the power of what it expresses, the ultimate of being and meaning." Another cultural form is religious art: the one principle to be emphasized is artistic honesty, not imitation of creative ecstasies of the past. The third example concerns the cognitive realm, and the need for a symbol relating Christianity's ultimate message of Jesus as the Christ, and the human predicament as rediscovered in contemporaneous culture.)

The Influence of the Church on Contemporary Culture

The Church has the function of answering the question implied in man's existence, and the meaning of this existence. One of the ways the Church doe this through evangelism. It must show to people outside the Church that the symbols in which the life of the Church expresses itself are answers. They answer the questions implied in the very existence of human beings generally, and of human beings awakened to their predicament by the disintegrative forces of industrial society.

Because the Christian message is the message of salavtion, and because salvation means healing, the message of healing in every sense of the word is appropriate to our situation. That is the reason why movements at the fringe of the Church-sectarian movements of a most primitive and unsound character-have such a great success. Anxiety and despair about existence itself induces millions of people to welcome any kind of healing that promises success.

The Church cannot take this way. But it must under- stand that the average kind of preaching cannot reach the people of our time. They must feel that Christianity is not a set of doctrinal, or ritual, or moral laws. It is, rather, the good news of the conquest of the law by the appearance of a new healing reality. They must feel, too, that the Christian symbols are not absurdities unacceptable to the mind of our period, but that they point to what alone is of ultimate concern the ground and meaning of our existence and of existence generally.

There remains a last question, namely, how the Church should deal with the spirit of our society, which is responsible for much of what must be healed by the Christian message. Has the Church the power and the task to attack and to transform the spirit of industrial society? It certainly cannot try to replace the present social reality by

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another one, in terms of progress to the realized Kingdom of God. It cannot sketch perfect social structures or suggest concrete reforms. Cultural changes occur by the inner dynamics of culture itself. The Church participates in them, sometimes in a leading role. But in that relation it is a cultural force beside others and not the representative of a new force in history.

In its prophetic role it is the Church which reveals demonic structures in society and undercuts their power by revealing them even within the Church itself. And in doing so the Church listens to prophetic voices outside itself in judgement both on culture and on the Church in so far as it is a part of culture. Most such voices come from persons who are not active members of the manifest Church. But perhaps one could call them participants of a "latent Church".

Sometimes this latent Church comes into the open. Then the manifest Church should recognize in these voices the spirit of what its own spirit should be and accept them even if they are most hostile to the Church. But the Church should also stand guardian against the demonic distortions into which attacks must fall if they are not grasped by the right content of ultimate concern. Creating such a distortion was the fate of the communist movement. The Church was not sufficiently aware of its function as guardian when this movement was still undecided about its way. The Church did not hear the prophetic Voice in communism and therefore did not see demonic possibilities.

Judging means to see both sides. The Church judges culture, including its own forms of life. For its forms are created by culture, as its substance makes culture possible. The Church and culture are within, not alongside each other. And the, Kingdom of God includes both while transcending both.

God on a Mission: A Missional Theology

“Today, salvation has come to this household. For the Son of Man came to seek and save the lost” (Luke 19:9-10).

Jesus says these words to the rich man, Zacchaeus. But we find the message repeatedly in the Bible that God seeks and saves. The missional adventure these words inspire prompts me to wonder:

What would it mean to believe Jesus’ loving pursuit of the lost – which seems to include you, me, everyone, and everything – tells us something essential about who God is?

This question may seem boring. But upon closer examination, I think we’ll find it’s revolutionary! In fact, the missional theology emerging from believing God lovingly pursues creation radically alters the status quo.[1]

The God who seeks and saves is a God on a mission!

Overcoming the Status Quo

“Of course, God wants to save us all,” someone might say. “Who would argue otherwise?”

Unfortunately, a host of theological voices in the past and present argue this way. The theology supporting these voices is sometimes hidden or unconscious. But sometimes the not-really-wanting-to-save-all God is explicitly preached.

Let’s start with the easy pickings.

Those who believe God’s sovereignty and election means God predestines some to hell say God doesn’t want to save everyone. At least they would say God’s effective will doesn’t offer salvation to all. They argue for predestination, despite St. Peter’s claim that God is not willing that any should perish but all should come to repentance (2 Pt. 3:9).

Their peculiar interpretation of this verse, in my opinion, undermines their own doctrine of divine sovereignty. I wonder, why isn’t a sovereign God supposedly capable of anything also able to save all?

Those in the Wesleyan tradition walk in step with theologians who reject this view of predestination. Wesleyans, instead, affirm genuine creaturely freedom. In philosophical terms, Wesleyans affirm “libertarian” freedom. [2]

John Wesley stressed the Apostle Paul’s admonition to “work out your own salvation, with fear and trembling, for God is at work in you both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12). Wesley believes passages such as this one argue that God’s loving action (“prevenient grace”) precedes and makes possible free creaturely responses. He advocates a theology of freedom, not predestination. This freedom has limits, of course. But it is genuine freedom nonetheless.

The God who wants to save all, however, may not actually save all out of respect for creaturely freedom. Wesleyans can affirm a missional theology that says God’s intent is universal salvation. Yet they can also say universal salvation may not occur. After all, free creatures may choose to reject God’s loving invitation. And God respects such decisions, despite their devastating consequences.

God “Wants” to Save Us?

In criticizing predestination, I picked the easy fruit. I said predestinarians cannot account well for the biblical notion God wants to save us all. But let’s stretch to pick some fruit less often noticed.

Many theologies – at least in their sophisticated forms – affirm an idea at odds with the missional notion God wants to seek and save. They say God lacks nothing whatsoever. God is “without passions,” to use ancient theological language.

Only a needy God, say these theologians, has desires. A perfectly complete God wouldn’t want anything. When the Bible says God seeks us, it isn’t saying God’s love desires or wants.

The Greeks called desiring love “eros.” Today, we unfortunately think of eros in sexual terms. But the original meaning of eros isn’t about sex. Eros love might best be defined as promoting what is good when desiring what is valuable, beautiful, or worthwhile. Eros sees value and seeks to appreciate or enhance it.

In addition to denying divine eros, some theologians believe the doctrine of original sin supports their view God doesn’t really have desires related to creation. Their view of original sin denies that anything good remains in creation. Sin – more particularly, the Fall of Adam and Eve – left creation totally depraved, they say.

A holy God would find nothing valuable in a totally depraved world, say these theologians. In fact, God would not associate with such sinful filth. We hear this argument today, in fact, when some say a holy God cannot be in the presence of sin. A holy God, so this argument goes, cannot relate to unholy people, because sin would taint God’s pure holiness.

To which I say, “Hogwash!” (or utter some other holy expletive)

Jesus Christ best expresses God’s desiring love – even, or especially love for filthy people. Jesus was known for hanging around unholy folk. He earned a reputation for befriending with those of ill repute and ungodly character. He wanted – desired – those sick and broken be healed and whole.

In short, the desire for salvation we see in Jesus reflects the desire we find in God. And vice versa: the desires of God are expressed in the desires Jesus expresses in his missional life. In other words, the incarnation is our best argument that God’s desires are so intense and God’s love so radical “that he gave his only begotten son” (Jn. 3:16a).

A robust missional theology, therefore, returns us to the biblical portrait of a God who desires. While God’s nature is perfect and complete, God’s relational experience and passionate heart include wanting something better: the restoration of God’s leadership of love. God’s salvation derives, at least in part, from eros.

Jesus Wept

Continuing my Christological focus, let’s look at another important issue for missional theology: what the ancients called “divine passability.”

Passability might best be described with contemporary terms like “influence,” “affect,” or “sway.” We certainly see Jesus being influenced, affected, and swayed by others. Jesus was passable.

The shortest verse in Scripture describes Jesus’ passability well: “Jesus wept” (Jn. 11:35). Matthew also reports Jesus had compassion on people, because they were “weary and worn out, like sheep without a shepherd” (9:36). In these instances and others, we find Jesus affected by others.[3]

With skewed views of God’s perfection, some theologians have said God is uninfluenced by others. God is impassable, they argue. God only influences creatures; creatures never influence God. Many classic theologies implicitly adopted Aristotle’s view that God is unmoved.

This vision of an unmoved/uninfluenced/unaffected God doesn’t jibe well with the Bible. The God of Scripture expresses love that both gives and receives. God loves as friend (philia), for instance. When believers respond well to God’s love, we find God rejoicing. When they respond poorly, God is saddened, angry, and even wrathful. According to Scripture, creatures really affect God.

Today, many rightly speak of God’s passability by saying our Savior is the “suffering God.” This suffering was most poignant on the cross. In Christ, God suffers pain and death for the benefit of all. In fact, many theologians agree with Jürgen Moltmann and call the one who seeks and saves, “the crucified God.”[4]

A suffering God – one genuinely affected by creation – is the relational God at the heart of missional theology. The influence creation has upon God does not alter God’s loving nature, of course. We best interpret biblical verses saying there is “no shadow of change” (James 1:17) in God as describing God’s unchanging nature.

But creatures do influence the particular ways God relates to creation. Just as a perfectly loving father always loves his children, that same loving father allows his children to influence him, so he knows how best to love them in specific instances. A living God gives and receives in relationship.

To put it in missional terms, the God who seeks and saves does so to best address the specific ways we need saving! Some of us need saving from alcohol abuse; others need saving from dishonesty; others saving from unhealthy pride. God saves from all sin; but the specific ways God saves are tailor-made for creatures.

Kenosis and Mission

So… God wants to save us all. This is God’s loving desire, the divine eros. And the God of robust missional theology is affected by others. God is relational: both giving to and receiving from creatures. This is neither the God of predestination nor the status quo.

Now it’s time to reach for perhaps the most elusive fruit of all. It’s time to talk about the power of a missional God. We can’t ignore the power issue if we want a robust missional theology. Appealing to utter mystery isn’t helpful.

A number of contemporary theologians consider the Philippian love hymn especially helpful for thinking about God’s sovereignty. To refresh our memory, here’s the key part of that profound praise chorus:

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness (2:5-7).

Theologians often focus on the Greek word, kenosis, which is translated here, “made himself nothing.” Other translators render kenosis “emptied himself” or “gave of himself.” These translations suggest that Jesus does not overpower or totally control others. Instead, Jesus reveals God’s servant-style power.

Kenosis suggests divine self-limitation. The Bible says Jesus reveals God’s very nature in this kenosis, because Jesus expresses limited power, like a servant.

Perhaps it’s best to say God empowers rather than overpowers. After all, empowering describes servant-style influence better than overpowering or total control. And empowering fits the notion that creatures possess some measure of freedom to respond well or poorly to God. Presumably, God grants power/agency to creatures to make freedom and agency possible. God is our provider.

There are two main ways to talk about God’s self-limitation revealed in Jesus. The first and more common is to say self-limitation is voluntary on God’s part. This view says God could totally control and overpower others. But God voluntarily chooses not to be all determining – at least most of the time. The voluntary self-limitation model says God could totally control others, however, should God so decide.

The main problem with the voluntary divine self-limitation model is the problem of evil. The God who could overpower those who inflict genuine evil should in the name of love. To put it another way, the God who voluntarily self-limits should become un-self-limited to rescue those who suffer needlessly. At least in some cases, God should become un-self-limited to seek and save the lost. Voluntary divine self-limitation cannot provide a satisfactory answer to why God doesn’t prevent unnecessary pain, suffering, and death.

The other way to talk about God’s limited power Jesus reveals says God’s self-limitation is involuntary. It is self-limitation, in the sense that no outside force or factor imposes constraints on God. But it is involuntary, in the sense that God’s power of love derives from God’s own nature.

Because God is love, God never overpowers others. In love, God necessarily provides freedom/agency to others and never completely controls them. God’s loving nature compels God to empower and never overpower others. We might call this “essential kenosis.”

John Wesley endorses involuntarily self-limitation in one of his sermons: “Were human liberty taken away, men would be as incapable of virtue as stones,” Wesley argues. “Therefore (with reverence be it spoken) the Almighty himself cannot do this thing. He cannot thus contradict himself or undo what he has done” (emphases added).[5] God must be God, says Wesley, and God’s nature of love involves giving freedom/agency to others.

Although often unnoticed, the Bible offers examples of things God cannot do. (E.g., God cannot lie; God cannot tempt.) In my view, however, these examples fall under the general category expressed in Paul’s words: “God cannot deny himself” (1 Tim. 2:13). God’s power as involuntary self-limitation says God controlling others entirely – coercion – would require God to deny God’s loving nature. And that’s impossible… even for God.

Of course, affirming involuntary divine self-limitation requires new thinking about doctrines of creation, miracles, and eschatology. But these doctrines can still be affirmed: God is still Creator, miracle-worker, and hope for final redemption. They may need recasting, however, in light of God’s persistently persuasive love. Such recasting is not new to Wesleyans, because they typically try to propose Christian doctrines in light of divine love.[6]

The main point of this section, then, is that the power God exercises in the missional adventure to seek and to save the lost is persuasive power. Missional theologians may prefer one form of divine self-limitation over the other. But they together affirm that God’s power operates through love. God’s kenotic love, revealed in Jesus, is primarily if not exclusively the power of persuasion. God calls instead of controls.

Those called to missions – which includes us all – ought to follow the kenotic example of Jesus: we should express empowering, relational love.

Free, Free, Set Them Free

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” said Jesus. Standing in his hometown temple, he continues reading a passage from Isaiah: “he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Lk. 4:18-19).

Among the many ways biblical authors talk about God seeking and saving, the themes of healing and freedom from oppression appear often. Healing and deliverance are part of the well-being/abundant life/favor the Lord generously offers. And we desperately need the well-being – shalom – of God’s salvation.

In a world of brokenness, wholeness breaks in. This wholeness is evident in the local church I attend, in which a robust Celebrate Recovery ministry has emerged. Those in this group believe God empowers them to overcome hurts, habits, and hang-ups. God is their deliverer. Through this and other avenues in the church, many find God’s healing and deliverance.

The Apostle Paul says liberation comes from the Spirit and becomes effective through Jesus. “The law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and death,” he says (Rm. 8:2). In this liberation, we see God again empowering us in ways that provide salvation from destruction.

A look at the overall scope of Scripture leads one to believe humans are the focus of God’s seeking and saving. But the Bible also says God cares about nonhumans. [7] In fact, Scripture says God intends to redeem all things. “The whole creation” hopes to be “set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (Rm. 8:21-22).

We play a vital role in this mission. We can be co-laborers with God’s work for the redemption of all things. God acts first to call, empower, and guide us in love – prevenient grace. But God seeks our cooperation. This becomes clear in the Revised Standard Version’s translation of Romans 8:28: “We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him” (emphases added).

We can work for good with God. The healing and deliverance God has in mind involves our participation.

Love is on the Move

A God on a mission is a God on the move. And love is the primary and persistent intent of our God-on-the-move. A robust missional theology is a theology of love.

To love is to act intentionally, in response to God and others, to promote overall well-being.[8] God’s initial and empowering action makes response possible. We live in community with others to whom we also respond. We are not isolated individuals, and God desires the common good.

God’s love establishes the God’s kingdom – or what I call God’s loving leadership. Here again, it is through Jesus we believe such things. Jesus preached God’s loving leadership as both possible and actual here in this life. And he proclaimed its fulfillment in the life to come.

As a young child, I learned a chorus I now sing to my kids. It derives from 1 John 4:7-8: “Beloved, let us love one another. For love is from God, and everyone that loves is born of God and knows God. The one that doesn’t love doesn’t know God, for God is love.” John says our best clue about what love entails is this: God sent Jesus.

The God who seeks and saves is revealed best in Jesus Christ. This God of love desires that all creation live shalom. God works powerfully through love to fulfill this desire, and we are invited to join in this love project. The result is the healing, restoration, and liberation of all held captive to sin and death. This holy God revealed best in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection is on a mission of love.

John takes these truths about God, love, and Jesus a bit further and concludes with this logic: “Since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another” (4:11). Thankfully God makes love possible, says John: “We love, because he first loved us” (4:19). The empowering God enables us to love.

A missional theology supporting the endeavor to seek and save the lost is not based primarily on an evangelistic canvassing strategy. Nor is it based primarily upon duty and obedience to God. It’s not even based primarily upon worship. Strategies, obedience, and worship are all important. But missional theology is based primarily on love.

We ought to be “imitators of God, as dearly love children, and life a life of love, just as Christ loved us...” (Eph. 5:1, 2a). This missional ethic emphasizes generosity, listening and speaking, both influencing and being influenced by, enabling, mutuality, and community. It’s a strategy that cares for the least of these and all creation.

In short: God loves us, and we ought to love one another. We ought to imitate God’s full-orbed love – agape, eros, and philia as we cooperate with God’s mission to seek and save the lost.

The God on a mission invites us on an adventure of love.

Notes

  1. For a short and accessible introduction to the gospel of love, see the evangelistic book I co-wrote with Robert Luhn, The Best News You Will Ever Hear (Boise, ID: Russell Media, 2011).

  2. The distinction about forms of freedom is necessary, because some predestinarians say they affirm creaturely freedom but also the idea God alone decides the chosen few who will be saved. They are, to use the philosophical language, “compatibilists,” at least when it comes to issues of salvation.

  3. For an accessible theology of holiness from a relational perspective, see the book I wrote with Michael Lodahl, Relational Holiness: Responding to the Call of Love (Kansas City, Mo.: Beacon Hill, 2005).

  4. Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and Criticism of Christian Theology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1993; New York: HarperCollins, 1991; London: SCM, 1974).

  5. John Wesley, “On Divine Providence,” Sermon 67, The Works of John Wesley, vol. 2 (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon, 1985) paragraph 15.

  6. See, for instance, my book, The Nature of Love: A Theology (St. Louis, Mo.: Chalice, 2010).

  7. For an exploration of a Wesleyan doctrine of creation, see Michael Lodahl, God of Nature and of Grace: Reading the World in a Wesleyan Way (Nashville, Tenn.: Kingswood, 2003).

  8. I explain the details of this definition from philosophical, scientific, and theological perspectives in my book, Defining Love: A Philosophical, Scientific, and Theological Engagement (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Brazos, 2010).

God’s Response-Empowering Grace and Creaturely Cooperation: God’s Action in the World of Science

Christians in general and Evangelicals in particular typically believe that God acts. These believers want to talk coherently and adequately about God’s action in the world: in their own lives, in the lives of others, and in all creation.

The Bible, which is the Christian’s primary resource for theology, indicates that God is active throughout all creation. The Bible also indicates that creatures are actors in the ongoing story of the God-creation relationship. Significant leaders and theologians in the Christian tradition – both distant and recent past – have affirmed these basic beliefs about divine and creaturely action.

Central to the Bible’s witness of God’s activity and central to God’s desire for creaturely activity is the word “love.” “God is love,” says John in his New Testament letter. Old Testament writers speak hundreds of times of God’s steadfast love. Jesus draws from the Old Testament when saying that not only does God love the world, but the two greatest commandments are that we should love God and that we should love others as ourselves. The apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Church in Ephesus these words: “Imitate God, my dearly beloved children, and live a life of love as Christ loved us.” Although a number of important themes emerge in scripture, none seem more important or more widespread than the themes of love.

The idea that God loves creatures and the idea that we ought to love God and others suggest that God and creatures exert influence in relationship. This relationality involves various kinds of causation. In fact, these notions about love suggest particular metaphysical schemes – to use philosophical language -- that include relationships, causation, mutuality, possibilities, and freedom.

In this essay, I suggest that the categories of love might help us coherently conceive of divine action in and with the world. To put it another way: when asking questions of science and culture, we best conceive of God’s action and creaturely response if we adopt a metaphysics of love. I’m not here appealing to love as a way of blurring differences, ignoring conflicts, glossing over tensions, or wondering, “Why we can’t just all get along?” Rather, I suggest that an examination of the fundamentals of love might help us to think about God’s action in the world.

Two Theological Traditions Not Endorsed

1. Various Christian traditions describe divine and creaturely action. Some traditions regard creaturely actions as entirely determined by God. These traditions typically regard creaturely action as of little consequence with regard to matters of ultimate importance. God alone acts in ultimately significant ways, say these traditions, and God entirely controls -- unilaterally determines -- others.

The 20th century’s most influential theologian of love, Anders Nygren, endorses this way of thinking. I call Nygren’s theory of God’s action “divine unilateralism.” According to Nygren, any creaturely expression of genuine love is actually an act of God not a creaturely act. Creatures contribute nothing.

Nygren says that the only authentic love is agape, and God is the only agent who expresses agape. “The Christian has nothing of his own to give,” says Nygren. “The love which he shows his neighbor is the love which God has infused in him.”[1] Nygren equates creatures to tubes that pass genuine love received from above to others below. Like tubes that pass water on without contributing, so creatures do not contribute to the character or shape of genuine love.[2] “It is God’s own agape,” Nygren asserts, “which seeks to make its way out into the world through the Christian as its channel. What we have here is a purely theocentric love, in which all choice on man’s part is excluded.”[3]

There are many reasons to reject the divine unilateralism that Nygren and other theologians promote. Commentators have noted for centuries that divine unilateralism leads easily to absolute divine determinism, predestination, and lack of significant creaturely value. Divine unilateralism entails the notion that God acts single-handedly to secure any good, because inherently evil creatures are incapable of promoting well-being.

Divine unilateralism should also be rejected for what it implies about science. This theory ultimately says that science cannot tell us anything important about creaturely action or creaturely love. Science is ultimately superfluous if divine unilateralism is correct. This theory requires divine sovereignty to mean that God is in complete control – at least in complete control of what really matters.

I do not endorse this theological tradition.

2. Partly in response to divine unilateralism, other theological traditions say that many – if not most – events in the universe can be explained with reference to creaturely causation. God has a “hands off” approach to most events. God’s occasional action is an “add on” to what occurs naturally. God sometimes intervenes in a natural process that typically functions without divine tinkering.

Another of the 20th century’s leading theologians of love adopts this view. Martin C. D’Arcy suggests that God’s activity is an occasional add-on to the natural processes. D’Arcy says that God occasionally provides supernatural power to enable us to love of those whom we find difficult to love. Science can explain natural love fully. But God supernaturally empowers at least some creatures to go above and beyond nature. To use the Greek love words, creatures don’t need divine help to love with eros. But God must occasionally work supernaturally to make possible creaturely expressions of agape.

D’Arcy puts it this way: “We can advance a high theory of love by making full use of natural love. But … in Christian Agape, the complete revelation of love is given. Here the finite is lifted to a new degree of being. This new life, which is thus set going, is a pure gift and beyond the natural capacity of the finite human person.”[4]

The natural/supernatural scheme that D’Arcy advocates presents several problems. It implies, for instance, that some creaturely love can be adequately understood without reference to God. Divine inspiration is only necessary, says this theory, when nature proves insufficient to empower us to love of those we consider difficult. God must intervene supernaturally in natural processes that can otherwise operate without divine influence.

D’Arcy’s natural/supernatural scheme is also vulnerable to the God-of-the-gaps problem. The God-of-the-gaps theory says that science explains fully most occurrences. Scientifically unexplainable events require appeal to the mysterious workings of God. However, science has over time provided theories believed to explain fully what was previously attributed to divine action. When these scientific theories are deemed plausible, the gaps close, and divine action plays no explanatory role. A God hypothesis becomes unnecessary.

Although I don’t endorse the natural/supernatural scheme, I understand why many in this scientific age find it appealing. If given a choice between 1) the notion that God unilaterally determines all important things – and 2) the notion that nature typically provides explanations of its own, some will opt for the second notion.

The natural/supernatural scheme is especially appealing to Christians who affirm genuine creaturely freedom, in the sense of what philosophers sometimes call “libertarian free-will.” Wesleyan Evangelicals, for instance, typically regard issues of free-will as central to affirming Christian themes related to love, salvation, moral responsibility, the problem of evil, etc.

The natural/supernatural scheme is also appealing to many Christians who work as scientists. In the current discussions, this appeal is illustrated by those who want to affirm metaphysical supernaturalism but methodological naturalism. That is, many scientists believe that God exists and acts, but they don’t want to include divine activity as part of their scientific methodology. One my science colleagues put it this way: “When I write up the summary of my experiments, I don’t think it’s appropriate to add in ‘the Jesus factor’.” In other words, many scientists want a way to go about the work of science without having to deal with God as an explanatory factor in their work. And yet these same scientists believe that affirming God’s existence and creative activity is part of what it means to be Christian.

My argument is that Christians in general and Evangelicals in particular would be wise to reject divine unilateralism and to reject divine “add-on” supernaturalism. There are many reasons these two ought to be rejected. One has to do with the nature of love. I will conclude this presentation with my argument that love is best understood as always involving God’s action and creaturely response. Divine unilateralism allows no room for creaturely contributions to love; and the natural/ supernatural scheme suggests that some creaturely love requires no divine causation.

Intelligent Design Theory as a Case Study

I want to mention briefly, however, a second reason why I believe divine unilateralism and the add-on supernaturalism views ought to be rejected. This reason is well illustrated in the contemporary discussions of Intelligent Design Theory.

If understood in very broad terms, virtually every Christian affirms that God is intelligent and a creative designer. But Intelligent Design Theory has come to stand for something much narrower. And many Christians are uncomfortable with what the theory either explicitly or implicitly says about God and about science.

The broad contemporary scientific community opposes Intelligent Design Theory. It does so in part because contemporary science adopts a methodology that includes no formal place for appeals to or exploration of divine action. Science as currently understood investigates creaturely causation. It makes no claims about God’s action in the world. To put it bluntly, there is no explanatory role for an active God in the reigning scientific methodology.

Given that most theists believe that God is a spirit whose direct actions cannot be perceived with our five senses, many Christians are comfortable with the fact that contemporary scientific methodology allows no explanatory role for divine action. After all, contemporary scientific theory is restricted – at least in theory – to claims about what our five senses can perceive.

Problems emerge, however, when scientists claim – either explicitly or implicitly – to provide a complete explanation of life in general or any particular organism or event in particular. When science portends to provide necessary and sufficient explanations while ignoring theology, Christians rightly object.

Sometimes a scientist’s offer of a complete explanation that allows no role for God is blatant: the work of Richard Dawkins comes to mind. Other times, well-meaning scientists use language that subtly suggests that science has a complete explanation. For example, sometimes I hear scientists tell the story of a particular problem in science. When they talk about a recent hypothesis or experiment that sheds light on or answers the problem, they will say, “But it turns out….” Or they will say, “Actually, science has now shown that ….” These subtle phrases imply that science has a fully naturalistic explanation, and reference divine action is unnecessary. But I think Christians should insist that science cannot provide the whole truth about any particular aspect of existence, if it leaves God out. In the case of evolution, Intelligent Design advocates rightly oppose evolutionary theories that claim to provide a complete explanation to the evolution of life and yet provide no role for God as creator in that evolutionary process.

Intelligent Design advocates often fall into the trap, however, of thinking that the best way to counter the reigning scientific methodology is to demonstrate that particular organisms or events can best or only be explained by God acting alone. To use the language of the movement, some organisms are irreducibly complex and this irreducible complexity is best explained by the activity of an Intelligent Designer rather than by natural evolutionary mechanisms. Often implied in this claim is that an Intelligent Designer is the sole explanation for a purportedly irreducibly complex organism. Natural explanations are unsatisfactory; supernatural causation is apparently required as an explanation.

The rhetoric seems to present Christians in general and Evangelicals in particular with a choice. Either they must believe that evolutionary processes function without any direct divine creative activity, or they must believe that God supernaturally controls creatures – at least periodically – to determine unilaterally a particular organism or event. In other words, Christians feel that they must choose between 1) atheistic evolutionary naturalism and 2) an Intelligent Designer who either entirely controls all things or occasionally supernatural intervenes to determine unilaterally the creation of an organism. I think that there is another, better, alternative.

God’s Response-Empowering Grace and Creaturely Cooperation

The view I offer differs from the views that emphasize divine unilateralism – like Nygren’s view – and from views that emphasize creaturely action with occasional add-on supernatural interventions at the apparent absence of persistent moment-by-moment divine action – like D’Arcy’s view.

I suggest that the centrality of love in the Christian tradition provides a basis for a response-empowering cooperation view of divine and creaturely action. And I believe that this view is most adequate for conceptualizing God’s activity in science and culture. This cooperation view might best be understood in terms of God’s loving action that always and everywhere initiates and empowers creaturely response. The response-empowering cooperation view, therefore, involves a relationality of response-empowering grace.

The view I offer overcomes the deficiencies in the traditions that emphasize divine controlling action and regard creaturely action as not of ultimate importance. It does so by claiming that creaturely responses are a necessary and ultimately significant aspect of existence. What humans and other creatures do in response to God really matters. It matters in the present and for eternity. This means, in part, that the work done in the sciences in general or scientific studies on love in particular are not peripheral or beside the point. And the cultures of the world and in our own society possess ultimate significance. We bear real responsibility for our world as created co-creators with God.

The response-empowering cooperation view also overcomes deficiencies in the natural/supernatural traditions that emphasize creaturely action but leave no real place for divine causation -- except as an occasional supernatural add on. It does so by claiming that God’s initiating activity in each moment of each creature’s life is necessary activity. Any attempt to explain fully creation in general or a creature’s existence in particular will be inadequate without reference to God. A necessary and sufficient explanation for any particular phenomenon must include both divine and creaturely causes.

Those familiar with the history of theology might wonder if this response-empowering grace alternative is merely 21st century Pelagianism. To remind us: Pelagius argued with Augustine about a millennium and a half ago about creaturely freedom and divine control. Although it is difficult to gauge precisely what Pelagius believed, Pelagianism has come to stand for the view that autonomous creatures come to God of their own accord and without divine empowering. Creatures are essentially independent agents free from divine influence unless they should choose to accept such influence.

Unlike the Pelagian view, which says that creatures are essentially independent free creatures that come autonomously to God, the response-empowering cooperation view claims that God acts first – moment by moment – to provide freedom to and create creatures. Creatures are – to use the phrase of Friedrich Schleiermacher – “utterly dependent” upon God. But those whom God creates and to whom God provides freedom can respond appropriately or in appropriately to God. Creatures express love when they respond appropriately to God’s calls. Inappropriate responses are sin. This response-empowering grace is – to use the phrase of Wesleyan theologian, Randy Maddox – “responsible grace” rather than the kind of irresistible grace explicitly advocated in the divine unilateralism of Nygren and considered an occasional occurrence in the natural/supernatural scheme of D’Arcy.

The grace-empowering cooperation view I am proposing has a strong biblical basis. In John’s first letter to believers, he offers valuable insights about the centrality of love both for our understanding God and for living in response to God. At one point, John writes these words: “We love, because God first loved us” (1 Jn 4:19). This passage in its context suggests that God’s loving activity makes possible our loving activity in response. The Apostle Paul also gives priority to God’s initiating activity in his words to the believers in the City of Philippi: “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12). And in his letter to the Church in Corinth, Paul reminds his readers that they are God’s fellow-workers (1 Cor. 3:9).

These passages and others in the Bible support the response-empowering cooperation view that I am proposing. I also suggest a theory of divine action and creaturely response fits best in metaphysical schemes based upon relationality, participation, and cooperation. They fit well with the view that each moment begins with God’s loving empowering that calls for creaturely response. This understanding of a prevenient grace that initiates cooperation suggests that God’s loving activity in the world is not entirely controlling nor occasionally intervening in natural processes. Rather God continually and lovingly acts in and sustains creation in general and creatures in particular. The response-empowering cooperation view suggests that relational love is God’s mode of operation – not coercion or absolute control – and creaturely responses to God make an ultimate difference.

Conclusion

The view that God’s grace empowers creaturely response and cooperation fits comfortably in the Wesleyan-Holiness tradition of Evangelicalism. And its structures help us make sense of the God who loves perfectly and who calls creatures to live lives of love. I offer this view for your serious consideration.

Notes

  1. Anders Nygren, Agape and Eros, tr. Philip S. Watson (New York: Harper and Row, 1957 [1930]), 129.

  2. Ibid., 735, 741.

  3. Ibid., 218, 213

  4. M. C. D’Arcy, The Heart and Mind of Love: Lion and Unicorn: A Study in Eros and Agape (Cleveland: Meridian, 1956), 363, 370. This quote does not represent D’Arcy’s only view on the relation of nature and grace. D’Arcy presents a kaleidoscope of opinions on the relation, with no coherent explanation of the differences.

Grace and Social Science: Nonsensory Perception of God in a Constructive Postmodern Wesleyan Philosophy

I. Postmodernism According to David Ray Griffin

With the variety of postmodernisms espoused or referred to in recent times, a short excursus into what David Griffin means by postmodernism, and how his is a constructive version, seems necessary. Postmodernism, according to Griffin, refers to a diffuse sentiment – that humanity can and must go beyond the “modern” – rather than to any common set of doctrines.[1] In philosophical and theological circles, there are at least two different positions labeled “postmodern” and each seeks to transcend the modern worldview developed out of the seventeenth-century Galilean-Cartesian-Baconian-Newtonian science.[2] However, the manner in which diverse postmodernisms seek to transcend modernity varies.

Griffin refers to the postmodernism inspired variously by pragmatism, physicalism, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Martin Heidegger, Jacques Derrida, and many recent French thinkers as “deconstructive” or “eliminative” postmodernism. This postmodernism, according to Griffin, “overcomes the modern worldview through an antiworldview.”[3] Deconstructive postmodernism

deconstructs or eliminates the ingredients necessary for a worldview, such as God, self, purpose, meaning, a real world, and truth as correspondence. While motivated in some cases by the ethical concern to forestall totalitarian systems, this type of postmodern thought issues in relativism, even nihilism. It could be called ultramodernism, in that its eliminations result from carrying modern premises to their logical conclusions.[4]

To say it another way, deconstructive postmodernists deconstruct various notions, such as rationality, empirical givenness, and truth as correspondence, without which a worldview is impossible.[5] The attempt to undermine horror-producing worldviews is admirable and even necessary. The strategy of deconstructive postmodernists, however, involves eliminating the presuppositions of worldviews as such.[6] Therefore, the deconstructionist approach is both inconsistent and counterproductive. It is inconsistent because freedom, purposive agency, realism, truth, and the distinction between better and worse are presupposed in the very attempt to eliminate them. It is counterproductive because freedom for good cannot be promoted by the approach.[7]

The type of postmodernism Griffin suggests can, by contrast, be called “constructive” or “revisionary” postmodernism. “It seeks to overcome the modern worldview,” he says, “through a revision of modern premises and traditional concepts.”[8] It is concerned with constructing a new worldview involving postmodern persons and a postmodern society with a postmodern spirituality. “Going beyond the modern world,” Griffin explains,

will involve transcending its individualism, anthropocentrism, patriarchy, mechanization, economism, consumerism, nationalism, and militarism. [This] constructive postmodern thought provides support for the ecology, peace, feminist, and other emancipatory movements of our time, while stressing that the inclusive emancipation must be from modernity itself. The term postmodern, however, by contrast with premodern, emphasizes that the modern world has produced unparalleled advances that must not be lost in a general revulsion against its negative features.[9]

Griffin’s postmodernism, therefore, involves a creative synthesis of modern and premodern truths and values. It differs significantly from deconstructive postmodernism in its insistence upon the necessity and possibility of constructing a new worldview for future generations.[10]

It is crucial to note that Griffin’s proposal does not hold to “the naively utopian belief that the success of this movement would bring about lasting peace, harmony, and happiness, in which all spiritual problems, social conflicts, ecological destruction, and hard choices would vanish.”[11] There is truth in the testimony of the world’s religions that a deep evil is present within the human heart, an evil that no new worldview will suddenly eliminate.[12] However, Griffin says, we should not reconcile ourselves “to the present order as if this order were thereby uniquely legitimated . . . . The human proclivity to evil in general, and to conflictual competition and ecological destruction in particular, can be either greatly exacerbated or greatly mitigated by a world order and its view.”[13] While modern worldviews exacerbated it, a reconstructive postmodernism may envision, without being naively utopian, a far better world order than the one we now have.

(See the appendix for a chart that I constructed that indicates the general characteristics of modernism, ultramodernism, and Griffin’s postmodernism.)

II. Nonsensory Perception in Griffin’s Constructive Postmodernism

While David Griffin believes that a constructive postmodernism builds upon the thought of several recent philosophers, he admits that his own postmodern agenda takes its primary orientation from Alfred North Whitehead’s philosophy and only slightly less from Charles Hartshorne’s.[14] From this perspective, says Griffin, “the two fundamental flaws in modern philosophy have been an ontology based on a materialistic doctrine of nature and an epistemology based on a sensationalist doctrine of perception.”[15] He explains:

The sensationalist doctrine of perception said not only that all knowledge is grounded on perception (with which constructive postmodernists agree), but also that perception is to be equated with sense perception (with which they do not agree). The materialistic doctrine of nature — whether part of a materialistic ontology of reality in general or of a dualism between “mind” and “nature” — said that the ultimate units of nature are, in Whitehead’s words, “vacuous actualities.” That is, they are actualities (contra Bishop Berkeley), but they are completely devoid of experience.[16]

An exposition of Griffin’s argument against the sensationalist doctrine of perception and his alternative proposal — a doctrine of sensory and nonsensory perception — serves as the subject for this segment.

The epistemological side of Griffin’s constructive postmodernism involves the idea that sensory perception is not our only means of perceiving the world. In fact, it is not even our primary means of perception, because sensory perception is derived from nonsensory modes of perception.[17] The key epistemological revision for overcoming deconstructive postmodernism’s epistemological chasm – a chasm whose depths have spawned numerous philosophical and theological inadequacies – involves a postmodern affirmation of nonsensory perception.

The recent obituaries for constructive epistemology written by deconstructive postmodernists have resulted primarily from what Whitehead called “the tacit identification of perception with sense-perception.”[18] Modern philosophy’s doctrine of perception was based upon two premises: (1) the only possible source of information about the world beyond our own experience is sensory perception, and (2) sensory perception gives us nothing but sense data. Griffin notes that, given these premises, it is hard to see how one could escape solipsism.[19] For instance, David Hume concluded that we must be content with solipsism, which is based upon a radical bifurcation between theory and practice. In practice, says Hume, we assume that a real world exists while, in theory, we realize there is no justification for this belief.

The equation of perception with sensory perception has led to the shallowness of modern philosophy of religion. If perceptual experience is equated with sensory perception – thereby denying non-sensory perception – we have no perceptual experience of causation, the actual world, or the past. There can be no religious experience, in the sense of a direct awareness of God. There can be no perceptual experience of normative ideals, whether moral, aesthetic, or cognitive, and, therefore, what remains is a multiplicity of perspectives, none of which is more normative than the others.[20]

The idea that sense data are constructed by the perceiver, not passively received, has been, according to Griffin, “a central plank in the extreme antifoundationalism that is central to deconstructive postmodern philosophy.”[21] He responds to this idea by noting that, on the one hand, if nothing is given in perception, then all our beliefs about the world are arbitrary. Furthermore, the very idea that there is a reality beyond ourselves, to which our ideas could somehow correspond, is groundless. Extreme antifoundationalism leads to extreme relativism. On the other hand, various foundationalists have insisted that the outer world is directly given in sensory perception. Contemporary philosophers and theologians, says Griffin, seem to be at an impasse:

On the one hand, there are good reasons to believe, from what we all presuppose in practice (e.g., that a real world exists, that its reality is given to us in perception, and that our ideas are true to the extent that they correspond to this world), that perception must include an element that is given. On the other hand, there are good reasons to believe that sense data are constructed by the perceiver.[22]

The way beyond this impasse is to recognize that sensory perception is not our primary mode of perceiving the world; nonsensory perception is more basic. In this nonsensory mode, we directly (ap)prehend “other actual things as actual and causally efficacious for us,” says Griffin.[23] But the way we prehend other actual things plays a role in our perception. On this basis, we see that there is a constructed character of sense data without concluding that nothing is given to perceptual experience as such. One can agree “with the direct realists,” says Griffin, “who have insisted that, in perception, we directly apprehend other actual things beyond our own experience, while agreeing with phenomenalists that sensory perception, in providing us with sense-data, does not give us this direct apprehension.”[24] The alternative position is open to constructive postmodernists by “either saying that sensory perception is based upon a more primitive mode of perception in which that direct perception occurs, or by saying that sensory perception is a mixed mode of perception comprised of two pure modes, one of which provides (constructed) sense-data and the other of which provides causally efficacious actualities.”[25] Griffin’s position, then, “comes out about half-way between modern phenomenalism and the sensory realism of pre-Humean philosophy.”[26]

Griffin argues that we get direct apprehension of the world in three ways. First, we directly apprehend particular parts of our own bodies as causally efficacious for our sensory perceptions. The most direct perception of one’s body is not one’s perception of sensory organs; it is one’s perception, albeit unconscious, of the brain. “We know from physiology,” Griffin argues,

that our sensory perceptions depend directly upon the brain. Sensory perceptions can be induced, for example, by direct stimulation of certain parts of the brain. By combining what we know from immediate experience with what we know from science, accordingly, we must conclude that it is primarily by means of a nonsensory perception of the brain, with which the mind is contiguous, that we perceive the causal efficacy of various parts of the body for our experience.[27]

Furthermore, the direct apprehension of our own bodies can serve, by analogy, to ground our talk about actualities beyond our bodily members. In other words, one can know, by analogy, the actuality of the world beyond one’s body.

The second way we apprehend the world occurs by prehending our own bodies. When we prehend our own bodies, “we indirectly apprehend the actualities beyond our bodies insofar as those actualities beyond our bodies are present within actualities comprising our bodies.”[28] This panexperientialist hypothesis involves the belief that each actual entity is an experience that prehends, thereby including into itself aspects of, prior actualities. For instance, visual images are present in the eyes by way of the eye’s apprehension of them. The brain apprehends the images present in the eyes; the mind apprehends the brain.

The third way we get direct apprehension of the world is through direct prehension of actualities beyond one’s own body. Although this type of direct prehension of remote actualities is negligible in the conscious experience of most people most of the time, Griffin’s study in the field of parapsychology has lead him to believe that authentic instances do occur.

Perhaps the main explanation of our awareness of nonsensory perception lies within the type of perception we call “memory.” Griffin suggests that memory might be better called “past-self-perception.”[29] Through memory, we directly prehend our own experiences. It is our prehension of the immediate past (one second ago, for instance) that best illustrates our non-sensory perception that the past influences the present. Philosophers in the past have generally failed to think of memory as a type of perception, because they assumed that the human mind is a single, enduring substance. A hypothesis that more adequately accounts for the diverse activity of the mind, however, is one that considers it a serially-ordered society of distinct occasions of experience. Memory is the enduring mind’s perception of prior moments of experiences as antecedent objects.[30] The vision in our “mind’s eye,” then, is not immediately derived from our sensory organs.

If direct, albeit often unconscious and non-sensory, apprehension of that which is both inside and outside one’s body occurs, we have reason to believe that our notions of truth, beauty, and goodness are rooted in our prehension of a realm of values beyond ourselves. Thus, complete relativism is denied. Such direct nonsensory perception also provides a basis for claiming that it is possible to perceive God directly, who is often described as a Spirit undetectable to our five senses. Griffin claims that perception of the divine occurs in this way and his notion will be explored further in my discussion of a postmodern Wesleyan philosophy.

III. Perception of Prevenient Grace in a Postmodern Wesleyan Philosophy

So, what does all this have to do with a postmodern Wesleyan philosophy? I propose that Wesleyans, who aspire to offer a postmodern philosophical alternative to modernism and deconstructive postmodernisms, should utilize various elements in Griffin’s constructive postmodern vision. Postmodern Wesleyans can more easily appropriate Griffin’s constructive vision than those in other religious and nonreligious traditions, because this vision is congenial to many distinctives and theological implications in Wesleyan thought. My discussion in this segment will center on what I believe is one issue central to a postmodern Wesleyan philosophy: one’s apprehension of prevenient grace through nonsensory perception.

The issue at hand can be put in question form: How can Wesleyans account philosophically for their distinctive claim that God’s prevenient, gracious activity necessarily affects all humans (and, perhaps, all creatures) if such affection requires that humans perceive it? How can Wesleyans account for this if God, as an invisible Spirit, is unavailable for apprehension through sensory perception?

John Wesley’s answers to these questions were framed in response to prominent philosophers of his day: John Locke and David Hume. The thought of these two, but especially the latter, provides much of the basis for the dilemmas besetting modern and deconstructive postmodern epistemologies. Although Wesley has little in common with Hume, he self-consciously sided with Locke[31] (and Aristotelian philosophy)[32] who famously expresses the empiricist denial of innate ideas. Wesley several times quotes the empiricist slogan “nothing is in the mind that is not first in the senses.”[33] He argues, “Our senses are the only source of those ideas, upon which all our knowledge is founded. Without ideas of some sort or other we could have no knowledge, and without our senses we could have no ideas.”[34]

Wesley’s strong empiricism leads Randy L. Maddox to conclude that “Wesley believed that all human knowledge of God is derived from experience: (1) our experience of God’s restored initial revelation in nature, (2) our experience of God’s definitive revelation recorded in Scripture, and (3) our experience of God’s direct address to our spiritual senses” (numbers added).[35]

The knowledge of God available in (1) the revelation of nature is indirect because such knowledge is secured through inference from the created order. Wesley is far from alone in arguing for this type of knowledge. In fact, many of his contemporaries – including the deists he opposed – joined him in acknowledging this manner of obtaining knowledge of God. Inferential knowledge is based upon a different kind of perception than direct experience of God suggested in ways (2) and (3). This difference pertains to the mode of perception involved. Knowledge of God through inference is available through (natural) sensory perception and, because the invisible God is not directly available through the natural senses, inferential knowledge of God is indirect.

The final two avenues for gaining knowledge of God – (2) and (3), i.e., our personal experience and our experience of Scripture – were more important for Wesley, and these two are more important for my present purpose. As Maddox says, “it was to the latter two that Wesley typically turned for the ‘content’ of our knowledge of God.”[36] These two are related to one another in that both are predicated upon the notion that humans directly perceive God. This means that God’s direct address to each person (sometimes called the “internal witness of the Spirit”)[37] is of the same kind as God’s direct address to the writers of Scripture.[38] According to Wesley, this direct knowledge of God comes through a special kind of perception: “spiritual” sensation.

Wesley postulated that God has given humans a spiritual sense so that they may perceive spiritual realities not available for apprehension through (natural) sensory perception.[39] Through our spiritual senses, we can have direct knowledge of God.[40] In An Earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion, Wesley explains this perceptual faculty:

Seeing our ideas are not innate, but must all originally come from our senses, it is certainly necessary that you have senses capable of discerning objects of this kind – not only those which are called “natural senses,” which in this respect profit nothing, as being altogether incapable of discerning objects of a spiritual kind, but spiritual senses, exercised to discern spiritual good and evil. It is necessary that you have the hearing ear, and the seeing eye, emphatically so called; that you have a new class of senses opened in your soul, not depending on organs of flesh and blood to be ‘the evidence of things unseen’ as your bodily senses are of visible things, to be the avenues of the invisible world, to discern spiritual objects, and to furnish you with ideas of what the outward ‘eye hath not seen, neither the ear heard.’[41]

Wesley was not the first to claim that humans possess spiritual senses. The hypothesis of spiritual senses, as Rex D. Matthews notes, has enjoyed a long and extensive history in Christian theology.[42] Wesley’s positing of a spiritual senses was a peculiarly eighteenth-century solution to the epistemological problem, however.[43] His postulation of spiritual senses was a response to the dominant Lockean empiricism of Wesley’s day. Locke’s empirical philosophy limited perception to the acquisition of knowledge through the (natural) senses alone.[44] Because God cannot be sensed by a creature’s five natural senses, Wesley’s spiritual sensation hypothesis provided him a way to account for how creatures commune directly with God.

The hypothesis that humans possess spiritual senses raises a question expressed well by Matthews: Does Wesley regard the spiritual senses “as an addition to the natural senses (implying a metaphysical and epistemological dualism), or as an enhancement of the capacity of the natural senses?”[45] On the one hand, Wesley sometimes speaks as if these spiritual senses are common to all humans as a natural part of what it means to be.[46] On the other hand, he sometimes speaks as though a person is incapable of perceiving spiritual data until God has implanted the capacity to perceive this data.[47] This diversity leads Mitsuo Shimizu to argue that Wesley was both a metaphysical and ontological dualist,[48] while leading Richard E. Brantley to argue the contrary.[49] Matthews concludes:

It must be acknowledged that Wesley himself uses an inconsistent and sometimes confusing mixture of language about the “spiritual senses,” sometimes speaking of their “opening” or “enlightening” (as if they were already present but simply “latent in human nature — the “liberationist” theme), and sometimes speaking of the “natural man” as “receiving” them (implying that they do not in fact exist in human nature prior to the prevenient action of the Holy Spirit in creating them — the “transformationist” theme).[50]

Wesley addresses the natural/supernatural scheme underlying this issue in other contexts. For instance, he says of one’s conscience that, “in one sense, it may be termed natural, because it is found in all men; yet, properly speaking, it is not natural, but a supernatural gift from God, above all his natural endowments.”[51] Regarding prevenient grace, he says famously:

For allowing that all the souls of men are dead in sin by nature, this excuses none, seeing there is no man that is in a state of mere nature; there is no man, unless he has quenched the Spirit, that is wholly void of the grace of God. No man living is entirely destitute of what is vulgarly called natural conscience. But this is not natural: It is more properly termed, preventing grace. Every man has a greater or less measure of this, which waiteth not for the call of man. . . . So that no man sins because he has not grace, but because he does not use the grace which he hath.[52]

Despite the confusion of his language regarding the natural and supernatural, one thing seems clear: Wesley remained an empiricist by arguing that knowledge is gained through perception. Because natural sense perception cannot provide the necessary data for apprehension of the unseen divine, however, Wesley adopted the notion that persons possess unique spiritual faculties by which to perceive the spiritual activity of God directly.[53]

It is my belief that a postmodern Wesleyan philosophy should accept neither the metaphysical and epistemological dualisms implied in the notion that God implants supernatural senses alongside natural ones, nor the notion that humans “naturally” possess spiritual senses that need only to be enhanced by a movement of God.[54] However, Wesley’s basic empiricist notion, that knowledge of God – like all other knowledge – comes through perception, should be accepted by postmodern philosophers. What seems to be required is a Wesleyan empiricism that accounts for direct perception of God. Such an empiricism must also be postmodern in the sense that it must not fall victim to the incoherence of modern and ultramodern epistemologies which limit the acquisition of knowledge to sense perception alone.

Enter the constructive postmodern epistemology of David Ray Griffin outlined earlier. Griffin agrees with Wesley and other empiricists that knowledge is gained only through perception. He agrees with Wesley that humans have direct knowledge of God through perception. Both Griffin and Wesley could be labeled “theistic empiricists” in that both are adamant not only that God exists, but also that direct perception of God is possible. Both agree that this direct perception of God is unavailable through natural sensory perception. Because of this, both reject the epistemological claim of Locke, Hume, and other modern and deconstructive postmodernists that all knowledge is garnered through natural sensory perception alone.[55]

Wesley and Griffin differ, however, in accounting for how God can be directly perceived. Wesley is obliged to postulate a sense faculty that pertains to “spiritual” data. Griffin, however, argues that humans, in fact all creatures, perceive God through natural nonsensory perception. Perception of God, according to Griffin, “requires no implanted Sensus Divinitatis, in fact no special religious sense of any sort, given the recognition of a nonsensory mode of perception.”[56] Genuine experiences of God, says Griffin, require “no special religious sense, a priori or otherwise, no supernatural intervention into the normal causal processes involved in human experience, and no special pleading in terms of the beliefs and practices of a particular religious community.”[57]

Process (and Wesleyan) theologian John B. Cobb, Jr., explains this well, “If God is present and working in us, as Wesley (and also process philosophy) affirms, there is nonsensory perception of God all the time. . . . Instead of speaking of new spiritual senses, we can think of nonsensuous experience of the divine presence in our lives and awareness of its salvific effects.”[58] Although modern philosophers, due to their sensationalist proclivities, tend to assume that nonsensory perception must be supernatural, Griffin’s constructive postmodernism offers an account that is theistic and naturalistic. This hypothesis finds evidence for its plausibility in the way we live our lives, i.e., we all act as if we possess knowledge unavailable to sensory perception.

The hypothesis that we all perceive God directly through nonsensory perception provides an additional basis for Griffin’s collapse of the classic natural and supernatural dualism. In its place, he suggests a naturalistic theism or theistic naturalism. General precedence for such a collapse can be found in Wesley’s own writings, noted above, as well as in early Greek theologians and the continuing Eastern Orthodox tradition. Precedence can be found in the writings of contemporary Wesleyans as well. For instance, H. Ray Dunning contends, “the distinctiveness of the Wesleyan view is that nature is so graced that the natural man is but a logical abstraction. The grace extends to the whole of human existence.”[59] Mildred Bangs Wynkoop and John E. Culp also push for such a collapse.[60]

It is my argument, then, that Wesleyans endeavoring to propose a postmodern Wesleyan philosophy are wise to adopt Griffin’s hypothesis that direct knowledge of God is available through nonsensory perception. This hypothesis is postmodern in that it overcomes the difficulties inherent in modernity’s and deconstructive postmodernity’s reduction of perception to sensory perception alone. It is Wesleyan in that it corresponds with (1) Wesley’s empiricist philosophy, (2) insistence upon direct perception of God, and (3) recognition that direct perception of God is unavailable through the natural senses. Its further benefit is in overcoming the spiritual/natural dualism that Wesley’s language sometimes supports. The hypothesis that God can be perceived through nonsensory apprehension allows Wesleyans a realistic and nondualistic basis upon which to articulate their convictions regarding the efficacy of prevenient grace in our postmodern world.

Notes

  1. David Ray Griffin, Founders of Constructive Postmodern Philosophy: Pierce, James, Bergson, Whitehead, and Hartshorne (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1993), vii-viii.

  2. Ibid., viii.

  3. Ibid.

  4. Ibid.

  5. Ibid., 4.

  6. David Ray Griffin, ed., Varieties of Postmodern Theology, with William A. Beardslee and Joe Holland (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1989), 52.

  7. Ibid.

  8. Ibid., viii.

  9. Griffin, Founders, ix.

  10. Ibid., 1.

  11. Ibid., x.

  12. Ibid.

  13. Ibid.

  14. Ibid., 2.

  15. Ibid., 3.

  16. Ibid.

  17. Ibid., 14.

  18. Alfred North Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas (New York: Free Press, 1968; New York: Macmillan, 1933), 231.

  19. Griffin, Founders, 17.

  20. Griffin, Varieties, 32.

  21. Griffin, Founders, 19.

  22. Ibid., 20.

  23. Ibid.

  24. Ibid.

  25. Ibid.

  26. David Ray Grifin, Reenchantment Without Supernaturalism: A Process Philosophy of Religion (Cornell University Press, 2000), 491 (my essay’s pagination reference correspond to a rough draft version of this book).

  27. Ibid., 74.

  28. Griffin, Founders, 22.

  29. Griffin, Reenchantment without Supernaturalism, 75.

  30. Ibid., 494-95.

  31. It is generally agreed that Wesley was profoundly influenced by Lockean empiricism through Peter Browne’s Procedure, Extent, and Limits of Human Knowledge (London: William Innys,1728). Some who have explored deeply the connections between Locke’s and Wesley’s epistemologies include Richard E. Brantley, Locke, Wesley, and the Method of English Romanticism (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1984), Frederick Dreyer, “Faith and Experience in the Thought of John Wesley,” American Historical Review 88 (1983): 12-30, Clifford J. Hindley, “The Philosophy of Enthusiasm: A Study in the Origins of ‘Experimental Theology,’” London Quarterly and Holborn Review 182 (1957): 99-109, 199-210; Rex D. Matthews, “‘Reason and Religion Joined’: A Study in the Theology of John Wesley” (Th.D. diss., Harvard University, 1986), Yoshio Noro, “Wesley’s Theological Epistemology,” Iliff Review 28 (1971): 59-76, Mitsuo Shimizu, “Epistemology in the Thought of John Wesley” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Drew University, 1980), Donald A.D. Thorsen, The Wesleyan Quadrilateral: Scripture, Tradition, Reason, & Experience as a Model of Evangelical Theology (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1990); Laurence W. Wood, “Wesley’s Epistemology,” Wesleyan Theological Journal 10 (1975): 48-59.

  32. That Wesley was influenced in this matter by his study of Aristotelian philosophy is an argument championed by Matthews, “Reason and Religion Joined,” 260-280.

  33. Wesley mentions this in his sermons “On the Discoveries of Faith (Works 4:49); in “Walking by Sight and Walking by Faith,” (Works: 4:51); and in An Earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion; (Works 11:56)

  34. Wesley, A Survey of Wisdom of God in the Creation, Or, A Compendium of Natural Philosophy, third American edition, revised and enlarged (New York: N. Bangs and T. Mason for the Methodist Episcopal Church, 1823), 2:431.

  35. Maddox, 48. Thorsen comments similarly: “In substantial agreement with the British empirical thinking prevalent in his own day, Wesley believed that there is an experiential dimension to all knowledge, both natural and supernatural,” (The Wesleyan Quadrilateral, 83).

  36. Ibid., 48-49. See also 31.

  37. The notion of direct perception of God is important for Wesley’s distinctive notion that one can be assured of their status as children of God through the internal witness of the spirit. See Matthews, “Religion and Reason Joined,” ch. 5.

  38. See NT Notes, 2 Tim. 3:16. Donald Thorsen notes that the apprehension of the Spirit is a means whereby the believer can be assured of the truth of biblical revelation as well (Thorsen, The Wesleyan Quadrilateral. 132-33.

  39. Maddox, 27. See Wesley’s sermons “The New Birth” and “On Living Without God”

  40. Or, in the words of Donald A. D. Thorsen, the felt experience of God “originated in the ‘direct testimony of the Spirit,’ for which Wesley primarily argued from ‘the plain meaning of the text’ of Scripture and from Christian experience.” Thorsen, The Wesleyan Quadrilateral, 186. The phrases Thorsen quotes from Wesley are found in “The Witness of the Spirit, II” (1767, sermon 11), Works (Bicentennial ed.), 1:288-98.

  41. Wesley, An Earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion, 32, Works 11:56-57.

  42. Matthews, “Religion and Reason Joined,” 234. See also Maddox, Responsible Grace, 27-28, 262-63.

  43. Dreyer, “Faith and Experience in the Thought of John Wesley,” 26.

  44. Matthews, “Religion and Reason Joined,” 186; Brantley, Locke, Wesley, and the Method of English Romanticism, 29.

  45. Ibid., 248.

  46. Because of this, George Croft Cell describes Wesley’s religious epistemology as “transcendental empiricism” (Rediscovery of Wesley [New York: Henry Holt, 1935], 93), and Albert C. Outler calls it “transempirical intuition” (Works [Bicentennial ed.], 3:361n1).

  47. Although Wesley sometimes argues for the implantation of spiritual senses, he rejects the notion that God has implanted innate ideas of Godself in humans (see “The Imperfection of Human Knowledge” [1784, sermon 69] Works [Bicentennial ed.], 2:571). This demonstrates his rejection of a Reformed epistemology which appeals to Calvin’s notion that God has implanted in all persons a certain understanding of Godself so that they might know that there is a God and that God is the Creator.

  48. Shimizu, “Epistemology in the Thought of John Wesley,” 171.

  49. Brantley, Locke, Wesley, and the Method of English Romanticism, 99.

  50. Matthews, “Reason and Religion Joined,” 306. Thorsen argues similarly (The Wesleyan Quadrilateral, 193).

  51. "On Conscience,” vol 1.6, Works, VII, 187-88.

  52. Sermon # 85, “On Working Out Our Own Salvation,” 6: 512. In his letter to Mr. John Mason, Wesley writes of the relationship between prevenient grace and the “natural” person: “One of Mr. Fletcher's Checks considers at large the Calvinistic supposition, ‘that a natural man is as dead as a stone’; and shows the utter falseness and absurdity of it; seeing no man living is without some preventing grace; and every degree of grace is a degree of life” (“Letters to Mr. John Mason,” Nov. 21, 1776, 12: 453).

  53. I have used the notion that God is Spirit (analogous to the human soul or mind) as a crucial element for an adequate theodicy. See my essay “A Process Wesleyan Theodicy” in a forthcoming book Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love: Wesleyan and Process Theologies in Dialogue (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon, forthcoming).

  54. Both John B. Cobb, Jr., (Grace and Responsibility: A Wesleyan Theology for Today [Nashville: Abingdon, 1995], 75) and H. Ray Dunning (Grace, Faith, and Holiness: A Wesleyan Systematic Theology [Kansas City: Beacon Hill, 1988], 163) join me in rejecting Wesley’s spiritual senses hypothesis.

  55. Process thought in general, and Griffin’s constructive postmodernism in particular, can agree with the Wesleyan notion that God is the initiator of relationship through prevenient grace (See John B. Cobb, Jr., Grace and Responsibility, ch. 2). In process terms, this refers to God’s activity of providing an initial aim (comprised of various possibilities which can be instantiated) to each actuality prior to each moment of that actuality’s experience. Process thought differs from Pelagianism in that it affirms that God’s graceful action to establish a richer relationship always occurs prior to a creature’s action, thereby making the action of creatures a response to God. It differs from the thought of most in the Reformed tradition, however, in insisting that this response is uncoerced, i.e., resistible.

  56. Griffin, Reenchantment without Supernaturalism, 501. John Cobb argues that few today will find Wesley’s notion of spiritual senses convincing. “It affirms a radical difference between the bases of natural and of spiritual knowledge that does not fit our experience. We can hardly avoid being skeptical of the existence of this second set of senses” (Grace and Responsibility, 72).

  57. Ibid., 98

  58. Ibid., 75.

  59. Dunning, Grace, Faith, and Holiness, 159. See also 432.

  60. See Mildred Bangs Wynkoop, A Theology of Love: The Dynamic of Wesleyanism (Kansas City: Beacon Hill, 1972), 213-221; and John E. Culp, “Supernatural and Sanctification: Comparison of Roman Catholic and Wesleyan Views” Wesleyan Theological Journal vol. 31, no. 2 (Fall 1996): 147-166. See also, from a Wesleyan-Process perspective, Cobb’s Grace and Responsibility and Marjorie Hewitt Suchocki “Coming Home: Wesley, Whitehead, and Women,” The Drew Gateway 57, no.3 (Fall 1987): 31-43.

Types of Wesleyan Philosophy: The General Landscape and My Own Research

“How well do philosophy and religion agree in a man [sic] of sound understanding!”

– John Wesley (Journal, Tuesday, July 3, 1753)

The bulk of this paper entails my descriptions of four elements in a typology. I describe types of Wesleyan philosophy in terms of interests that those in the Wesleyan Philosophical Society might pursue. When discussing the final element, I briefly sketch the direction I personally would like to pursue in my own Wesleyan philosophical scholarship. Part of my rationale for this essays amounts to an apologetic for the Wesleyan Philosophical Society. And part of the reason I offer this essay is to encourage those with philosophical inclinations seriously to consider becoming active in this fledgling society of Wesleyan scholars.

1. Wesleyans Doing Philosophy

The first type of philosophers who belong in the Wesleyan Philosophical Society might be called “Wesleyans Doing Philosophy.” This type is the most inclusive, because it includes all Wesleyans who endeavor to examine an idea philosophically. Those in universities and colleges, graduate and undergraduate students, nonprofessionals and Christian leaders–all Wesleyans who value the philosophical enterprise–are invited to join the Wesleyan Philosophical Society. Welcome are Wesleyans who characterize themselves as analytic, continental, feminist, pragmatist, process, Thomist, etc., and those whose interest lay chiefly in aesthetics, Eastern philosophy, epistemology, ethics, logic, metaphysics, philosophy of mind, philosophy of religion, philosophy of science, political philosophy, etc.

Many contemporary traditions have stressed the philosophical importance of one’s community, identity, and social location. Prominent voices in feminist philosophy have suggested this, and Wittgenstein’s category of the “forms of life” commends something similar. The “Wesleyans Doing Philosophy” type might be understood to acknowledge that one’s location and history often, if not inevitably, affects one’s identity and aims. The broad Wesleyan community will likely shape, at least to some degree, the form, ideas, or issues of philosophy that a Wesleyan philosopher pursues. Of course, how being a Wesleyan shapes one’s philosophy may be difficult to detect. Hindsight often provides a clearer view.

2. Examiners of Wesley’s Philosophical Thought

The second type of philosophers who belong in the Wesleyan Philosophical Society are “Examiners of Wesley’s Own Philosophical Thought.” While John Wesley is not known for writing philosophy, many scholars and laity did not know the great degree to which Wesley read philosophy and attempted to formulate his own thought in reaction to the philosophers of his day. Barry Bryant’s paper at last year’s WPS conference and Laura Bartel’s paper this year, among others, explore the influence that philosophy had on Wesley.

Not only did Wesley study philosophy at Oxford and not only did he become regarded as a formidable logician while a graduate fellow there, but he also often defended the importance of philosophy throughout his life. When mentors like Peter Böhler said, “My brother, my brother, that philosophy of yours must be purged away,” Wesley disagreed. In fact, he read widely in philosophy and recommended that his preachers and others with whom he corresponded read philosophy as well.

Among the philosophers Wesley is known to have read are notables such as Aristotle, Augustine, Francis Bacon, George Berkeley, Boethius, Robert Boyle, Joseph Butler, Cicero, Samuel Clarke, Rene Descartes, Johnathan Edwards, Erasmus, David Hume, Francis Hutcheson, Gottfried Leibnitz, John Locke, Malebranche, Cotton Mather, Isaac Newton, Pascal, Plato, Thomas Reid, and Voltaire.

I have begun a list of philosophy books that Wesley mentions having read or that he recommended. Upon realizing that the list was growing huge, I came to my senses and ask Randy Maddox for help. Fortunately, Randy is in the process of constructing a record of all the books, philosophical and nonphilosophical, that Wesley mentions having read. He culled out a list for me of about 80 philosophers whose works Wesley mentions.[1]

The titles of Wesley’s own philosophical essays reveal his interests: “A Compendium of Logic,” “Of the Gradual Improvement of Natural Philosophy,” “The Case of Reason Impartially Considered,” “The Imperfection of Human Knowledge,” “Remarks upon Mr. Locke’s ‘Essay on Human Understanding,’” “An Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion,” “Thoughts upon Necessity,” and “Thoughts upon Taste.” Most of Wesley’s constructive philosophical writings were in the arena we think of today as philosophy of science and what in his day was referred to as “Natural Philosophy.” In many ways, Wesley worked to integrate truths and theories in the science-and-religion interface.

The importance of philosophy for Wesley is evident in his essay “Address to Clergy.” In this piece, he instructs his ministers to examine themselves by asking a set of questions. I find the fifth line of questioning particularly interesting, and I offer it here in full, despite its length. Wesley instructs ministers to ask themselves:

Am I a tolerable master of the sciences? Have I gone through the very gate of them, logic? If not, I am not likely to go much farther, when I stumble at the threshold. Do I understand it so as to be ever the better for it? to have it always ready for use; so as to apply every rule of it, when occasion is, almost as naturally as I turn my hand? Do I understand it at all? Are not even the moods and figures above my comprehension? Do not I poorly endeavour to cover my ignorance, by affecting to laugh at their barbarous names? Can I even reduce an indirect mood to a direct; a hypothetic to a categorical syllogism? Rather, have not my stupid indolence and laziness made me very ready to believe what the little wits and pretty gentlemen affirm, “that logic is good for nothing?” It is good for this at least, (wherever it is understood,) to make people talk less; by showing them both what is, and what is not, to the point; and how extremely hard it is to prove anything. Do I understand metaphysics; if not the depths of the Schoolmen, the subtleties of Scotus or Aquinas, yet the first rudiments, the general principles, of that useful science? Have I conquered so much of it, as to clear my apprehension and range my ideas under proper heads; so much as enables me to read with ease and pleasure, as well as profit, Dr. Henry More’s Works, Malebranche’s “Search after Truth,” and Dr. Clarke’s “Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God?” Do I understand natural philosophy? If I have not gone deep therein, have I digested the general grounds of it? Have I mastered Gravesande, Keill, Sir Isaac Newton’s Principia, with his “Theory of Light and Colours”? In order thereto, have I laid in some stock of mathematical knowledge? Am I master of the mathematical A B C of Euclid’s Elements? If I have not gone thus far, if I am such a novice still, what have I been about ever since I came from school?

That last line strikes me as especially provocative. Wesley is saying to his preachers, “Don’t stop thinking philosophically or reading philosophy books at graduation!”

Of course, Wesley sometimes said pejorative things about philosophers. He, like us, thought some philosophies more beneficial than others. My favorite derogatory words are his comments on David Hume. He called Hume “the most insolent despiser of truth and virtue that ever appeared in the world” and “an avowed enemy to God and man, and to all that is sacred and valuable upon earth” (Journal, May 5, 1772).

When Wesley speaks of philosophers or philosophy in a negative way, he generally distinguishes the kind of philosophers about which he speaks. He speaks of “senseless,” “brute,” “heathen,” “miserable,” and just plain “bad” philosophy or philosophers. The most common disparaging adjective he uses to label philosophers with whom he disagreed is “minute.” He had read George Berkeley’s work Alcriphon or the Minute Philosopher, in which Berkeley railed against deists. Berkeley designates these deists “minute philosophers” because of their inability to take a large view of things. Wesley seems also to have despised those who never step back and see the big picture. In his mind, Hume was one of these despised “minute” philosophers.

In sum, the Wesleyan Philosophical Society welcomes those who want to examine closely Wesley’s own philosophical thought and its influences.

3. Adherents of Consonant Philosophical Traditions

The third type of philosophers who belong in the Wesleyan Philosophical Society are those who might see themselves as “Adherents of Philosophical Traditions Consonant with Wesleyan Thought.” Of course, at the heart of this type lay questions about the exact nature of what is Wesleyan. Certainly these questions are up for debate. Nevertheless, a fair number of individuals have claimed that some philosophical traditions are especially consonant with what they believe are basic Wesleyan themes. By way of illustration, I briefly mention five such traditions.

First, some have regarded the general tradition of empiricism, exemplified by John Locke among others, as consonant with Wesleyan thought.[2] Wesley himself adhered to the basic empiricist dictum, “nothing is in the mind that is not first in the senses.”[3] Adherents of the empiricist philosophical tradition should feel comfortable exploring the themes of empiricism in the Wesleyan Philosophy Society.

Second, some Wesleyans have noticed basic similarities between Wesley’s thought and the common sense style of argumentation developed by Thomas Reid and the Scottish Commonsense Realists. James E. Hamilton, for instance, has argued that “there was in Wesley and other early Methodists a commonsense approach to theological matters which bore an affinity to Reid’s philosophical method.”[4] Hamilton traces common sense philosophy’s extensive influence upon Methodist scholars to underscore his point.[5]

Third, the contemporary tradition of pragmatism is consonant, in many ways, with the appeals that Wesley made to the relationship between a proposition’s usefulness and its truth. Wesley’s appeal to experience as a test for truth, along with his inclination for what he called “practical divinity,” might provide fruitful ground for explorations into pragmatism’s relationship with Wesleyan thought. Mark Mann points out some similarities in his essay “Postmodernity and Pragmatic Wesleyanism: Peirce, Wesley, and the Demise of Epistemic Foundationalism,” which can be found on the Wesleyan Philosophical Society website.[6]

A fourth philosophical tradition believed to be consonant with Wesleyan thought, and one that appears to be making a comeback, is the personalist tradition. Boston University’s version of personalist philosophy has been particularly associated with Wesleyan thought.[7] Borden Parker Bowne, the instigator of this personalist school, profoundly influenced the work of Wesleyan-oriented scholars in the first half of the twentieth century. Bowne provided Wesleyans, says Thomas A. Langford, with “a generative philosophical foundation for theological construction.”[8] This made Bowne’s philosophy “the seminal source of the most generally influential school of theology produced by American Methodism.”[9]

The fifth tradition, some of whose themes are consonant with Wesleyan thought, is the process philosophical trajectory. A few of these themes are explored in the recent book that Bryan Stone and I co-edited.[10] Other than the essays in our book, John Cobb’s book Grace and Responsibility (on Wesley’s theology), and a few theological articles appreciative of the Wesleyan/Process consonance, not much has been done to explore possible correlations. In fact, the only explicitly philosophical essays comparing process thought to Wesleyanism to be published may be an essay by John Culp titled, “A Wesleyan Contribution to Contemporary Epistemological Discussions,”[11] and my own work that shows David Griffin’s postmodern process philosophy as consonant with themes in Wesleyan thought.[12]

4. Constructors Developing Wesleyan Concerns

Mention of my own work brings me to the fourth type of philosophers who belong in the Wesleyan Philosophical Society. This type consists of “Constructors of Philosophies that Develop Wesleyan Concerns.” Those who wish to do constructive philosophy take steps beyond identifying ways in which Wesleyan thought and various philosophical traditions are consonant. They wish to take Wesleyan-orienting concerns and propose novel philosophical hypotheses that expand such concerns. Let me cite a few possibilities for this enterprise in constructive philosophy.

A philosopher might examine Wesley’s notion of spiritual sensation as a perceptive capacity and then build an epistemology that incorporates Wesley’s concerns and yet transcends his spiritual sensation category. Or, one might take themes in Wesley’s notion of social existence and construct an ethics that assimilates key Wesleyan insights while adding concerns and insights from contemporary ethical discourse. Or, one might take Wesley’s concerns about freedom and its limits and proffer a new theory of causal libertarianism. The possibilities for constructive philosophical work that develops Wesleyan concerns seem immense.

As one whose work fits this fourth type, I should note that my own recent inclinations pertain to developing a metaphysics of prevenient grace. I will sketch out my thoughts on a metaphysics of prevenient grace in the final paragraphs.

By “metaphysics,” I mean a comprehensive proposal for how things work that is empirically oriented, provisional, intentionally inclusive, speculative, and aspiring toward greatest plausibility. As I see it, an adequate metaphysics attains factual adequacy, logical consistency, rational coherence, and explanatory power. By “prevenient grace” I mean God’s loving action prior to every creaturely event. I see God as an interactive person whose pantemporal life consists of successive moments of experience. While God’s nature is unchangingly eternal, God’s experiential life changes in give-and-take relations with nondivine others.

The keys to my thoughts on a metaphysics of prevenient grace surround God’s creative activity as one necessarily related to creatures. As one who is essentially relational, God has always been interacting with some world or another (which entails an explicit denial of creatio ex nihilo).[13] This necessary relationship between God and the world entails that divine relatedness is an aspect of the divine essence. Just as God did not decide various features of God’s “Godness” (e.g., God did not voluntarily decide to exist), an essentially relational deity does not voluntarily decide to be relational. To say it another way, it is a property of the divine essence that God relates to all existing creatures, all of the time.

The essentially- and omni-relational God that I envision acts first to instigate each moment of creaturely life. This action provides non-divines with essential aspects of their event-constituted being. In this sense, all non-divine entities are, in the words of Friedrich Schleiermacher, “utterly dependent” upon God. Among those aspects that God provides to creatures is power for free response, which becomes a necessary dimension of a creature’s ontology. God’s prevenient action also sets the basis for the epistemic dimension of creaturely existence–awareness of truth, beauty, and goodness through perception. And God’s prevenient actions provide creatures with a range of possibilities for moral action, which is the heart of creaturely ethical endeavors.

God’s essential relatedness and omnipresence entails that God cannot withdraw or fail to offer the multi-dimensional gift of existence that creatures require in their moment-by-moment life decisions. This metaphysical claim affords me a basis for overcoming obstacles ostensibly insurmountable for other metaphysical schemes. For instance, it provides solutions to questions in theodicy (God cannot prevent evils committed by free creatures), religious epistemology (God’s communication is never unilateral and thus never absolutely crystal-clear), evolutionary providence (God works cooperatively within the created order to urge creatures toward greater complexity), as well as questions in other domains.

Conclusion

A variety of philosophers, philosophies, and philosophical enterprises are welcome in the Wesleyan Philosophical Society. John Wesley and the Wesleyan tradition grant philosophers a rich resource for what I believe can be exciting and useful philosophical work. Perhaps those involved will both embody in themselves and observe in others the sentiment of these words by Wesley: “How well do philosophy and religion agree in a man [sic] of sound understanding!”[14]

For more from the author Thomas Jay Oord, see his website https://thomasjayoord.com or the Center for Open and Relational Theology https://c4ort.com

  1. Randy Maddox, “Wesley on Natural Philosophy” and “Wesley on Philosophy” (unpublished bibliography, in progress).

  2. Some who have explored deeply the connections between Locke’s and Wesley’s epistemologies include Richard E. Brantley, Locke, Wesley, and the Method of English Romanticism (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1984), Frederick Dreyer, “Faith and Experience in the Thought of John Wesley,” American Historical Review 88 (1983): 12-30, Clifford J. Hindley, “The Philosophy of Enthusiasm: A Study in the Origins of ‘Experimental Theology,’” London Quarterly and Holborn Review 182 (1957): 99-109, 199-210; Rex D. Matthews, “‘Reason and Religion Joined’: A Study in the Theology of John Wesley” (Th.D. diss., Harvard University, 1986), Yoshio Noro, “Wesley’s Theological Epistemology,” Iliff Review 28 (1971): 59-76, Mitsuo Shimizu, “Epistemology in the Thought of John Wesley” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Drew University, 1980), Donald A. D. Thorsen, The Wesleyan Quadrilateral: Scripture, Tradition, Reason, & Experience as a Model of Evangelical Theology (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1990); Laurence W. Wood, “Wesley’s Epistemology,” Wesleyan Theological Journal 10 (1975): 48-59. It is generally agreed that Wesley was profoundly influenced by Lockean empiricism through Peter Browne’s Procedure, Extent, and Limits of Human Knowledge (London: William Innys,1728).

  3. Wesley mentions this in his sermons “On the Discoveries of Faith” (Works 4:49), “Walking by Sight and Walking by Faith” (Works: 4:51), and An Earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion (Works 11:56).

  4. James E. Hamilton, “Epistemology and Theology in American Methodism” Wesleyan Theological Journal 10 (1975), 72.

  5. Ibid., all. See also Hamilton’s “Academic Orthodoxy and the Arminianizing of American Theology,” Wesleyan Theological Journal 9 (1974), and Leland H. Scott, “Methodist Theology in America in the Nineteenth Century,” unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Yale, 1954.

  6. See, for instance, Mark H. Greer Mann, “Postmodernity and Pragmatic Wesleyanism: Peirce, Wesley, and the Demise of Epistemic Foundationalism,” paper given at the Annual Meeting of the Wesleyan Theological Society (1999) and published on the Wesleyan Philosophical Society website (http://david.snu.edu/~brint.fs/wpsjnl/Mann01.htm).

  7. See my discussion of Boston Personalism’s relationship with Wesleyan theology in “Wesleyan Theology, Boston Personalism, and Process Thought,” in Thy Name and Thy Nature is Love: Wesleyan and Process Theologies in Dialogue, Bryan P. Stone and Thomas Jay Oord, eds. (Nashville: Kingswood, 2001), Appendix; and “Boston Personalism’s Affinities and Disparities with Wesleyan Theology and Process Philosophy,” Wesleyan Theological Journal, 37:2 (Fall 2002): 114-129.

  8. Thomas A. Langford, Wesleyan Theology: A Sourcebook (Durham, NC: Labyrinth, 1984), 149.

  9. Thomas A. Langford, Practical Divinity: Theology in the Wesleyan Tradition (Nashville: Abingdon, 1983), 175.

  10. Bryan P. Stone and Thomas Jay Oord, eds., Thy Name and Thy Nature is Love: Wesleyan and Process Theologies in Dialogue (Nashville: Kingswood, 2001).

  11. See Thy Name and Thy Nature is Love, ch. 10.

  12. See Thomas Jay Oord, “A Postmodern Wesleyan Philosophy and David Ray Griffin’s Postmodern Vision,” Wesleyan Theological Journal. 35:1 (April/May, 2000); and “Prevenient Grace and Nonsensory Perception of God in a Postmodern Wesleyan Philosophy,” in Between Nature and Grace: Mapping the Interface of Wesleyan Theology and Psychology (San Diego, Calif.: Point Loma Press, 2000).

  13. The vision of an essentially relational God that I propose corresponds well with the creation narrative of Genesis 1 and with various Christian voices of the early church. Regarding Genesis, Jon D. Levenson leads a growing number of scholars who openly acknowledge that the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is not present therein. “We must face the implication of the affirmation that God, as the creator of the world, confronts forces that oppose divine creation,” he suggests. “To say that creation is directed against something should be taken as a denial of the venerable doctrine of creatio ex nihilo” (Jon D. Levenson, Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence [Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994; New York: Harper & Row, 1987], xix). Early Christian theologians and philosophers, including Philo, Justin, Athenagoras, Hermogenes, Clement of Alexandria, and Origen of Alexandria found no good reason to affirm the creation-out-of-nothing hypothesis. Philo, for instance, postulated “a pre-existent matter alongside God” (Gerhard May, Creatio Ex Nihilo: The Doctrine of “Creation out of Nothing” in Early Thought (trans. A. S. Worrall [Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1994], xiii). My proposed vision of an essentially relational deity finds much in common with these early church scholars and with the Christian canon. For other work arguing the inadequacy of creatio ex nihilo, see Sjoerd L. Bonting, Chaos Theology: A Revised Creation Theology (Ottawa: Novalis, 2002), James Edward Hutchingson, Pandemoneum Tremendum: Chaos and Mystery in the Life of God (Pilgrim, 2000), David Ray Griffin, “Creation out of Chaos and The Problem of Evil,” in Encountering Evil: Live Options in Theodicy, 2nd ed., Stephen T. Davis, ed., (Atlanta: John Knox, 1999), Catherine Keller, The Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming (Routledge, 2003), and Michael E. Lodahl “Creation out of Nothing? Or is Next to Nothing Enough?” in Thy Nature and Name is Love, 217-238. Amos Yong offers an intriguing look into creation possibilities in his essay, “Possibility and Actuality: The Doctrine of Creation and Its Implications for Divine Omniscience,” Wesleyan Philosophical Society Online Journal [http://david.snu.edu/~brint.fs/wpsjnl/v1n1.htm] 1.1 (2001).

  14. John Wesley, Journal (Tuesday, July 3, 1753).

Types of Love and Types of Exemplars: Implications for Virtue Science

Love is primary for any adequate ethic. At least that is what most Christian traditions say. Most Christians also believe that love is the heart of the virtuous life. But can human minds and neural systems – especially of those who love often and well – tell us anything about love and a life of virtue? I explore this question and the issues pertaining to it.

The Bible witnesses to the Christian belief that love is the center of how humans ought to act ethically. Jesus offers two love commands and says they are greater than all other commands. The first is “love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The second command is “love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus concludes: “there is no commandment greater than these” (Mk. 12:29-31). [1]

Biblical authors testify that God believes no one is beyond the possibility of being a recipient of love. God loves the whole world (Jn. 3:16). Biblical writers teach their readers to love friends, neighbors, family, fellow believers, strangers, enemies, themselves, the poor, and all creation. All creatures are potential recipients of Christian love. Above all else, Christians are to pursue love (1 Cor. 13, 14:1).

Christians seek to emulate those who consistently live lives of love. Those who love consistently – love exemplars – are supreme models of God’s own love. The apostle Paul claimed to imitate the supreme love exemplar: Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 11:1). He advised others to do the same: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who…emptied himself…” (1 Phil. 2:5,7a). Jesus washed his disciples’ feet in what many Christians take to be a servant example he intended disciples to imitate. When the washing was complete, Jesus said to his disciples, “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you” (Jn. 13:14-15).

The Apostle Paul also recognized that imitating God required loving as Jesus loved. He commanded his readers to emulate God by living “a life of love, as Christ loved us and offered himself…” (Eph. 5:2). Christians affirm that the best clue as to the nature of divine love is the love example of Jesus of Nazareth (1 Jn. 3:16).

Given that love is central to Christian ethics and God calls Christians to be like Jesus Christ, I explore three issues in the remainder of this essay. The first issue involves considering the nature and meaning of love. I offer a definition of love I believe crucial if we are to make sense of the centrality of love for ethics and Christian theology. The second issue lays out some of what goes into the formation of virtuous people, especially those we might call “exemplars.” In my previous work, I have not given the subject of character development sufficient attention, and I want to begin to rectify this insufficiency here.[2]

The final section is highly speculative. I consider what the neural systems of love exemplars must be like – especially Jesus’ neural system. Considering the complexity and constraints of our neural networks and brain capacity is important for knowing what we should expect when seeking to follow the examples of those we deem virtuous. By the conclusion, we will have addressed some questions about the human mind and the neural system’s role in love.

Defining Love

The majority of Christians recognize the centrality of love for Christian ethics. They claim that God is the source of love. Christians acknowledge that they should respond appropriately to God’s call to love. Love is central to the Christian life and should be the center of Christian theology.[3]

Ethicist Edward Collins Vacek summarizes succinctly why love is the heart of Christian ethics. “Christian ethics is not at bottom a matter of obeying God nor a matter of fulfilling our natures,” says Vacek. “Christian ethics must begin with God’s love for us and it must keep this love central. In acting morally, we Christians cooperate with the God who acted in Jesus and is still acting.” “In one sentence,” Vacek concludes, “the main point for ethical activity is: ‘We are God’s co-workers’” (1 Cor. 3:9).[4]

Despite the centrality of love in the Bible and much Christian ethics, however, few Christian theologians actually think seriously about what they mean by “love.” Love is rarely defined. Even odder, most scholars fail to define love clearly when they appeal to love as the center of their faith. Consequently, the word “love” may be the most used and praised yet least understood word Christians speak.[5]

I seek to rectify this unfortunate situation by offering a definition of love meant to help Christians and non-Christians alike. I intend for my definition to be consistent with and helpful for research in theology, philosophy, and the sciences.[6] Although I admit that no definition is likely to account perfectly for love, I believe that some definitions are superior to others. Having at least some definition is often superior to affirming no definition at all. I think we best define love in the following way:

to love is to act intentionally, in response to God and others, to promote overall well-being.[7]

To say it another way, love purposefully does what is good. Love does what is good in response to others: God, the community, the environment, and/or the lover’s bodily constitution.[8]

I believe love is intentional and relational. It involves cooperating with God to do good. But my definition adds “and others” to account for one’s community, environment, and bodily components. This addition is important for many reasons, one of which – the lover’s relation to his or her own neural system – I address later when talking about the neural system’s role for love and exemplarity.

The relations the lover has with others includes relations both with those outside the lover’s body and with components within the body. Such relations generate and shape emotions and feelings, which are central to the lover’s actions. Emotions and feelings strongly influence without entirely determining the intentional actions of lovers.[9] The “others” noted in my definition include not only those outside the lover’s body and his or her bodily members, it also includes the emotions and feelings that shape a lover’s response.[10]

One strength of my love definition is its ability to clarify the various forms that love takes. Most people acknowledge that we express love in many ways, and love takes many forms. It has become common among theologians and philosophers to use the Greek words agape, eros, and philia to speak about three of the most general love forms.[11] I argue that each form of love promotes overall well-being.

In roughly the last century, the word agape has acquired significant power in Christian theology and ethics. Many who use the word know its frequent presence in the New Testament. But agape has several meanings in the Bible, and contemporary scholars define agape in different ways. The diversity of definitions prompts Gene Outka to say, “the meaning ascribed in the literature to love, in general, and to agape, in particular, is often characterized by both variance and ambiguity.”[12] I agree. Agape is defined variously, and some definitions are internally incoherent or inconsistent with one another.

To offer clarity, I define agape as intentional response to promote well-being when responding to that which causes ill-being.[13] To put it in biblical language: Agape repays evil with good (Luke 6:27-31, Rm. 12:21, 1 Thess. 5:15, 1 Pt. 3:9). This form of love turns the other cheek, does good to those who do harm, and forgives enemies. Agape is “in spite of” love: we express agape in spite of the unloving actions of others. Agape is a form of love, because it promotes overall well-being.

Just as scholars define agape variously, they also afford eros diverse meanings. Plato’s thought influences most of these meanings, however.[14] As classically understood, the affirmation of value is the core of eros. Jules Toner captures the classic understanding when he defines eros as “affective affirmation of its object.”[15] While some have regarded eros as equivalent to desire, such equivalence is problematic if we consider eros a form of love. Love as I define it and as often understood, promotes overall well-being. Desire, as such, does not always promote well-being.

In light of the history of eros and its status as a form of love, I define eros as intentional response to affirm and enhance what is valuable or beautiful. Eros appreciates what is good and seeks to enhance it. Eros not only “thinks on” what is true, honorable, pleasing, and excellent, says the Apostle Paul, it “keeps on doing these things” (Phil. 4:8, 9). Because of the valuable circumstances or individuals we encounter in a world God created and called good (Gen. 1), we appropriately express the eros form of love at least sometimes. Eros is “because of” love: we express eros because of the good or beauty we encounter.

Although the meaning of philia appears often in the Bible -- and occasionally biblical authors even use the word – Aristotle has probably played a more influential role in how scholars think of philia.[16] The philia form of love has typically been identified with friendship, and philosophers and theologians since Aristotle speak of “special” relationships as a way to account for philia.[17] These special relationships have primarily to do with mutuality, reciprocity, or cooperation.

I define the philia form of love as intentionally responding in solidarity with others to promote what is good. Philia works cooperatively for the common good and often seeks to establish deeper levels of cooperative friendship. Philia co-labors for good; it cooperates with God and others to foster shared koinonia. Philia is “alongside of” love: we express philia as we come alongside of others to promote overall well-being.

These are dominant and overarching forms of love. Love may take many lesser forms or other particular expressions. The possibilities are vast and perhaps endless. But I argue there is only one definition of love that correctly unites the legitimate forms and expressions. That one kind involves acting intentionally, in response to God and others, to promote overall well-being.

Becoming Like Those We Admire

Defining love is important. Without a clear definition, we will be unclear about the general ethics we should expect from Christians who seek to fulfill Jesus’ commands to love God and others as themselves. We will spin our wheels and talk past one another, all the while using unrelated languages of love. It is hard to overemphasize how important it is to define love clearly.

Having a clear definition of love, however, does not explain how and why some people develop into persons we call “virtuous.” We all recognize that some people love more consistently and even form a character or general disposition we consider to embody love on a regular basis. If love is an intentional act done in response to God and others to promote overall well-being, we need to determine why some people love more consistently than others do. After all, most humans – and especially Christians – want to become loving people.

Righteous people frequently express love and thereby develop habits of love. Repetitive proper responses to love shape a person over the course of time. Successive moments and ongoing histories of love shape people in ways that change their character in positive ways. Love becomes a habit, and we rightly deem people who habitually love “loving people.” They are “new creatures” who go about doing good (2 Cor. 5:17). The key to developing into a person with a loving character – an exemplar – is frequent intentional responses to promote well-being.

We can think of instances in which a person who normally does not love will uncharacteristically choose to express love. Sometimes, an act of love might even be heroic. For example, in Clint Eastwood’s 2009 movie, Gran Torino, we meet an ornery and cantankerous old cuss who typically acts with indifference or even hostility to his neighbors. He often behaves selfishly, acting apparently only for his own convenience.

Occasionally, however, the old codger acts heroically by promoting another person’s well-being. He rescues those in grave danger, for instance. The movie concludes with the old man giving his life to benefit a neighbor for whom he had earlier seemed to care little. While we find this self-sacrificial love heroic, we also wish the old man consistently loved during the more mundane and normal situations of life.

While we admire those who act heroically in an instant of love, other people repeatedly express love. They serve as examples – exemplars – of steadfast love. The occasional heroic self-sacrifice makes headlines. But we mostly wish the people we know would engage in more mundane forms of love. We would like them to speak kindly to us, take out their trash, treat their children and spouses well, give to the poor, and be patient. We admire people who love on a day-to-day, moment-by-moment basis.

In one sense, love exemplars are experts in love. The nearly one-thousand-page Cambridge Handbook of Expertise and Expert Performance concludes that experts in any number of activities are people who have 1) the desire to perform that activity and 2) practice that activity often.[18] In the case of love, continual practice of love and the desire to show love in both usual and unusual ways is part of what distinguishes moral exemplars from others. Love experts express love in both ordinary and extraordinary ways.

Ideal exemplars love consistently and can rise to the challenge of heroic love. At our best, we want to imitate them. Put in terms of Christianity, we might say Christians want to love like Jesus as they develop lives of love. Jesus loved heroically sometimes, not the least of which was his death on the cross. But Jesus’ life was also characterized by more mundane forms of love. He developed friendships, taught individuals and crowds, healed others, spent time with children, prayed, gave a drink of water to the thirsty, celebrated at parties, forgave sinners, and attended weddings. For Christians, Jesus is the ideal exemplar.

Christians also often say their relationships alongside other believers – those who comprise the Church – profoundly affect their love. Together, Christians can be “taught by God to love one another” (1 Thess. 4:9), and Christians “abound” in love for each other (1 Thess. 4:10; Phil. 1:9). In a healthy community of Christ-followers, love for fellow Christians includes “brotherly affection” (Rm. 12:10a).

In the context of the Church, believers can learn to love their enemies and themselves. Exemplars in the church are living examples of how to care for adversaries who hate us and care for our own bodies when we hate ourselves. Following the example of Jesus and living in community with others who follow Jesus’ example helps Christians develop a Christ-like character.[19] The life of love has both personal and corporate dimensions. Virtuous Christians are those who, “above all, put on love” (Col. 3:14).

The Christian exemplar loves in any particular moment. Consistent expressions of love form various patterns of life. Habitual love develops into a loving character. Those whose characters are distinguished by repeated love are regarded as loving people. We rightly regard loving people – in the Christian tradition – as saints. In the midst of more mundane expressions of love, saints occasionally express heroic acts of love which we regard as supererogatory – acts that go the extra mile (Mt. 5:41).[20]

At their best, then, Christians heed the Apostle Paul’s command: “Let all that you do be done in love” (1 Cor. 16:14). In doing so, they become people with dispositions and ingrained inclinations to love.

Jesus and Implications for Neural Theories of Virtue

My definition of love gives a clearer idea of what love is. The definition also highlights the importance of relationships. I suggest that these relationships occur between people and within each person. Love responds to others. The “others” to which lovers respond include a wide variety of actors, conditions, and constraints.

People who love consistently – exemplars – are people who love in both mundane and heroic ways. At our best, we seek to imitate these exemplars, because their love is profound and steadfast. Exemplars provide insights and information that we may not discover through abstract reasoning. Their examples can stir us to love in specific ways we had either not imagined before seeing exemplars in action or imagined but were not sufficiently inspired to put into practice.[21]

Christians believe the best model of love is Jesus Christ. Becoming like him –Christlikeness – involves expressing love. Christians rely upon God’s acting to inspire and empower them to love in response to God’s initiating – prevenient – action in their lives.[22] They love when they “work out their own salvation,” for “God is at work within” them “both to will and to work” for God’s loving purposes (Phil. 2:12).

In this final section, I focus upon a particular kind of relationship that lovers possess. I have already mentioned that the lover’s relationships with other creatures influence the forms their love takes. An often-overlooked dimension of a lover’s relations, however, is the lover’s own bodily conditions and constraints. In particular, I explore what a loving person’s neural system might be like.

Well before the famous Phineas Gage incident, philosophers and physicians have studied the role of the brain for morality. While working for the railroad in 1848, an explosion propelled a metal rod through Gage’s face and out the top of his head. His prefrontal cortex was severely damaged. Surprisingly, Gage recovered from the blast relatively quickly. Apparently due to the accident, however, he went from being reliable, efficient, and well balanced to being irreverent and unsympathetic. The post-accident Gage was capricious, indecisive, and seemingly unable to plan for the morrow. “Gage was no longer Gage,” his crewmates famously remarked.[23]

The dominant hypothesis in neuroscience is that Gage’s character changed because he suffered damage to his ventromedial prefrontal cortex. In the 1990s, a model developed by the neuroscientists Antonio and Hanna Damasio and colleagues supports this hypothesis. The Damasios also document a number of contemporary cases in which the neural systems necessary for effective use of emotional information for adaptive decisions are destroyed or rendered dysfunctional from brain damage.[24]

In one research project, the team studied thirteen adult patients who experienced prefrontal cortex damage. The wife of one patient with neural system damage testifies that her husband was caring and affectionate prior to his neural system alteration. After it, however, her husband reacted with indifference when she became upset or distressed. Despite the fact that his verbal and performance IQ scores ranked in the high 90th percentiles, the husband lacked empathy. Adults with damaged frontal lobes could not employ social and emotional facts to respond sympathetically.

A second study by the Anderson and colleagues analyzed two individuals in their early twenties who had suffered prefrontal cortical damage. The damage suffered by these two occurred, however, before each reached the age of two. Although both performed normally on standard measures of cognitive performance, both showed signs of deficient behavior control and poor peer interaction. Neither demonstrated a sense of guilt or remorse for actions that would seem obviously immoral to others. This condition is called “acquired sociopathy,” and to date there is no effective intervention, despite the great plasticity of the neural system in infancy and early childhood.

Hanna Damasio concludes that after damage to this portion of the brain, “empathy, as well as emotions such as embarrassment, guilt, pride, and altruism, is not evoked, and personal and social decisions become defective.” “Without the prefrontal cortex,” she says, “empathy, along with other adaptive social behaviors, becomes impaired.”[25] Various regions of our neural systems may influence our capacity to empathize well with others, but these studies show that the ventromedial prefrontal cortex and orbitofrontal cortex are especially important for some forms of empathy.[26]

If empathy is a major factor in our how we respond to others when choosing to love, the lack or severe restriction of empathy will influence the kind and complexity of love we can express. If damage to the neural system can restrict one’s capacity for empathy – which the evidence summarized above suggests – a healthy and well-functioning neural system seems essential for at least some forms or expressions of love.

The issue of neural system damage brings to the fore intriguing questions. For instance, which areas of the neural system are required to facilitate a person acting intentionally, in response to God and others, to promote overall well-being? Are some forms of love possible that do not require complex expressions or even the capacity for empathy? These questions have not been afforded sufficient empirical research.[27]

While some neuroscience research suggests that damage to the neural system constrains the kinds and forms of love possible, other research suggests that our experiences influence brain structure.[28] One of the more interesting studies pertains to the neural systems of London cab drivers. In a study of the brain size – specifically the hippocampus portion, researchers discovered that the complex thinking required for driving a cab apparently generates a larger brain in cab drivers than in the average person. Researchers also found a correlation between the size of some brain regions and the length of time a cabdriver’s tenure.[29]

Taking this very small sample of neuroscience research together with the issues of love and exemplars raised earlier suggests some possible implications. First, the work involving neural system damage suggests that perhaps moral exemplars have qualitatively different organizations of their ventromedial prefrontal and orbitofrontal cortices. If damage to these areas can impair virtuous behavior, could certain organizations of these areas promote virtue?” Some damage to the neural system seems not to negate entirely the capacity to love. [30] But severe damage ventromedial prefrontal cortex and orbitofrontal cortex apparently restricts some capacities to empathize and therefore the forms of love that require these types of empathetic response.

The example of the taxi drivers, and the demonstration of brain plasticity into adulthood, suggests, secondly, that the loving done by exemplars – which is intentional and entails at least some cognitive employment – is expected to have a direct effect on networks in the exemplar’s neural system that support loving action. It may even be that habitual love and repeated loving practices influence the size and structure of a love exemplar’s neural network. More research would obviously need to be done, of course.

I suggest that a research program be undertaken to compare the neural systems of those who are known to have developed habits and characters of love – i.e., exemplars – be compared with those who did not love consistently nor develop loving characters. Obviously, criteria would be needed for deciding who developed a loving character and who did not. But the testimonies of those who knew well both types of persons – those consistently loving and inconsistently loving – could serve as verification of the legitimacy of the specimens in this research program.

All of this has implications for what we might think Jesus’ neural system would be like. Perhaps Jesus’ neural system, so similar to our own neural systems in so many ways, was different in just those networks that contribute to loving cognitions and actions.. For instance, if Jesus expressed the kind of empathy that John suggests when Jesus heard of Lazarus’s death (Jn. 11:35), he must have had functioning neural system supportive of robust empathy.

It may also be that Jesus’ repeated expressions of love – most Christians would confess that his sinlessness included loving perfectly from birth onward – would shape the physical structure of his brain. And perfect love from birth onward would mean his neural system would be unlike any other human neural system in significant ways that go beyond the normal individual variation in human neural systems. In ways that matter for various neural networks, Jesus’ neural system must have been unique only to him. All others would have intentionally not chosen to promote overall well-being at least once in their lifetimes (Rm. 3:23).

In sum, the one whom Christians consider exemplar of all exemplars – Jesus Christ – must have had a neural system both similar and dissimilar to our own.[31]

Of course, we don’t have access to Jesus’ brain to know any of this. But it may still matter. After all, Christians typically want to avoid the Docetic error of considering Jesus’ physical dimensions unimportant for theology and anthropology. Regarding Jesus’ human aspect unimportant has been deemed heretical by the Church. And were exemplars to possess neural structures significantly different from nonexemplars, it might give new meaning to Jesus’ phrase that you know the character of a person by the fruit generated by his or her life. Such fruit might be judged by both moral and neural measurements!

Conclusion

What would Jesus’ neural system look like? We obviously don’t know. But the witness of Scripture suggests that Jesus loved perfectly from birth onward. And biblical authors call Christians to emulate Jesus, their perfect exemplar. In the imitating of Jesus, Christians develop loving characters as they repeatedly respond well to God’s empowering and inspiring call to love. Their neural systems play a role in this responding. And the neural systems of virtuous people may actually end up “wired” in particular ways. If so, those who love others may not only have the mind of Christ Jesus (1 Phil. 2:5,), they may also develop a similar looking neural system.

Notes

  1. Biblical writers and theologians in the Christian tradition employ various words for love. The meanings given these words also vary. For instance, there is no single or uniform meaning for words like agape or philia in the biblical text. Contemporary scholars propose various definitions, some of which account better than others for the more common meanings these love words possess in Christian writings. I explore these issues, Defining Love: A Philosophical, Scientific, and Theological Engagement (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Brazos, 2010), ch. 3.

  2. I explore some issues of love and character development in Defining Love: A Philosophical, Scientific, and Theological Engagement (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Brazos, 2010), ch. 3. The issue is also pertinent to living a holy life, something my co-author, Michael Lodahl, and I address in Relational Holiness: Responding to the Call of Love (Kansas City, Mo.: Beacon Hill Press of Kansas City, 2003).

  3. I offer a sustained argument for why love ought to be the orienting concern of Christian theology in my book, The Nature of Love: A Theology (St. Louis, Mo.: Chalice, 2010).

  4. Edward Collins Vacek, Love, Human and Divine: The Heart of Christian Ethics (Washington, D. C.: Georgetown University Press, 1994), 136, 138.

  5. I argue this in more detail in my book, The Nature of Love.

  6. For a sustained argument for why my definition accounts for scientific research, see my book Defining Love: A Philosophical, Scientific, and Theological Engagement (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Brazos, 2010).

  7. I often preface the word “response” in my love definition with either the word “sympathy” or “empathy” or both. These words identify the affective, emotional, or feeling aspect of love. Scholars contest the precise meanings of sympathy and empathy. Philosophers typically mean by “sympathy” that a person “feels with” others. Psychologists and sociologists typically mean by “empathy” the same thing. L. G. Wispe offers a fine article on the issue of the uses of sympathy and empathy (“The Distinction between Sympathy and Empathy,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 50 [1986]).

  8. This definition of love proves useful for a variety of metaethical schemes, including virtue theory, feminist ethics, utilitarian ethics, divine law ethics, emotion-based ethics, and many others.

  9. Implicit in the definition of love I propose is a view of libertarian creaturely freedom, which states that love involves free actions. Such freedom is greatly limited, however, by various factors in one’s body, environment, and history. But it is genuine freedom nonetheless.

  10. To say that emotion and feeling shape intentional response is to acknowledge that emotion and intentional reasoning are interconnected. While I am not claiming the two are identical, I am suggesting the two are intertwined. For an argument against a neat separation of emotion and reasoning and for the importance of a neuroscience of emotion for moral theory, see Michael L. Spezio, “The Neuroscience of Emotion and Reasoning in Social Contexts: Implications for Moral Theology,” In Modern Theology, 27:2 (April 2011): 339-356.

  11. For examples, see David L. Norton and Mary F. Kille, eds., Philosophies of Love (Totowa, N.J.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1983), Anders Nygren, Agape and Eros, tr. Philip S. Watson (New York: Harper and Row, 1957 [1930]), Thomas Jay Oord, Science of Love: The Wisdom of Well-Being (Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation, 2004), Stephen G. Post, Unlimited Love: Altruism, Compassion and Service (Philadelphia: Templeton, 2003), Irving Singer, The Nature of Love, vol. 1, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), Alan Soble, Agape, Eros, and Philia: Readings in the Philosophy of Love (New York: Paragon, 1989), Paul Tillich, (Love, Power, and Justice: Ontological Analyses and Ethical Applications (New York: Oxford University Press, 1963), Edward Collins Vacek, Love, Human and Divine: The Heart of Christian Ethics (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1994), Daniel Day Williams, The Spirit and the Forms of Love (New York: Harper and Row, 1968).

  12. Gene Outka, Agape: An Ethical Analysis (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972), 257-58.

  13. Agape does not have a uniform meaning in the Bible and has been given diverse definitions by theologians and philosophers. For an essay exploring this diversity, see Thomas Jay Oord, “The Love Racket: Defining Love and Agape for the Love-and-Science Research Program” in The Altruism Reader: Selections from Writings on Love, Religion and Science, Thomas Jay Oord, ed. (Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press, 2008) 10-30.

  14. See Plato’s discussion of eros in his Symposium in The Dialogues of Plato, B. Jowett, trans. (Oxford University Press, 1892). For a detailed analysis, see A. W. Price, Love and Friendship in Plato and Aristotle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989).

  15. Jules Toner, The Experience of Love (Washington, D.C.: Corpus, 1968), 177.

  16. Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, Christopher Rowe, trans. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002) 1155a.

  17. For arguments about the role of philia in Christianity, see Liz Carmichael, Friendship: Interpreting Christian Love (London: T & T Clark, 2004), Thomas A. F. Kelly and Philipp W. Rosemann, eds. Amor amicitiae: On the Love that is Friendship (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), and Gilbert Meilaender, Friendship (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981).

  18. K Anders Erickson, et. al., eds., Cambridge Handbook of Expertise and Expert Performance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).

  19. For discussions on the kinds of virtues that can emerge when following the example of Jesus, see Richard A. Burridge, Imitating Jesus: An Inclusive Approach to New Testament Ethics (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2007), John D. Caputo, What Would Jesus Deconstruct? The Good News of Postmodernism for the Church (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker, 2007), Paul Victor Furnish, The Love Command in the New Testament (Nashville: Abingdon, 1972), William C. Spohn, Go and Do Likewise: Jesus and Ethics (New York: Continuum, 2000).

  20. On supererogatory love, see Andrew Michael Flescher, Heroes, Saints, and Ordinary Morality (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 2003).

  21. For an argument on the importance of virtuous practices among Christian nuns and the benefits of such practices, see Steven R. Quartz and Terrence J. Sejnowski, Liars, Lovers, and Heroes: What the New Brain Science Reveals About How We Become Who We Are (William Morrow, 2002), 241.

  22. For explanations of God’s prevenience, see John B. Cobb, Jr., Grace and Responsibility (Nashville: Abingdon, 1995), Kenneth J. Collins, The Theology of John Wesley: Holy Love and the Shape of Grace (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon, 2007), H. Ray Dunning, Grace, Faith, and Holiness: A Wesleyan Systematic Theology (Kansas City, Mo.: Beacon Hill, 1988), Michael Lodahl, God of Nature and of Grace: Reading the World in a Wesleyan Way (Nashville: Abingdon, 2003), Randy L. Maddox, Responsible Grace: John Wesley’s Practical Theology (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon, 1994), and Mildred Bangs Wynkoop, A Theology of Love: The Dynamic of Wesleyanism (Kansas City: Beacon Hill, 1972).

  23. Malcolm Macmillan, An Odd Kind of Fame: Stories of Phineas Gage (Cambridge: MA: MIT Press, 2000).

  24. Other interpretations exist of the Gage example. Michael L. Spezio cautions against drawing large implications from the case, especially since a great deal of evidence is not available. In addition to damage to portions of the brain commonly associated with emotion for moral reasoning, for instance, damage to portions associated with memory and reasoned judgment is likely. For Spezio, the interconnectedness of emotion and reasoning proves important for taking care to draw conclusions from the Gage case. (Spezio, The Neuroscience of Emotion and Reasoning, 343-44).

  25. Hanna Damasio, “Impairment of Interpersonal Social Behavior Caused by Acquired Brain Damage,” in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue, eds. Stephen G. Post et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 281. Antonio Damasio’s essay in the volume is “A Note on the Neurobiology of Emotions.”

  26. I am grateful to James Van Slyke for his insights on this issue. See his dissertation, “Theology in Mind: Reduction, Emergence, and Cognitive Science,” Fuller Theological Seminary, 2008.

  27. See Amos Yong, Theology and Downs Syndrome: Reimagining Disability in Late Modernity (Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press, 2007).

  28. For a powerful argument for genuine moral responsibility and freewill based on neuroscience and philosophy, see Nancey Murphy and Warren S. Brown, Did My Neurons Make Me Do It? Philosophical and Neurobiological Perspectives on Moral Responsibility and Free Will (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).

  29. Maguire, EA; Gadian DG, Johnsrude IS, Good CD, Ashburner J, Frackowiak RS, Frith CD, “Navigation-related structural change in the hippocampi of taxi drivers,” PNAS 97 (2000): 4398–403.

  30. Kevin Reimer has studied the cognitive capacities of the mentally disabled in the L’Arche communities and found that mentally disabled members of the community possess profound capacities to love. This suggests that “normal” brain activity is not a prerequisite for at least some forms or expressions of love (Kevin Reimer, “Fiat Lux: Religion as Distributed Cognition,” Journal of Psychology and Christianity 24:2 (2005): 130-139.

  31. For insights on theology and neuroscience, see Gregory R. Peterson, Minding God: Theology and the Cognitive Sciences (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003) and the Van Slyke dissertation noted above.

What is Christian Relational Theology? A Very Brief Introduction

In recent days, many Christians are finding the ideas and language of relational theology helpful. As they read the Bible, Christians frequently encounter relational theology’s ideas and language. Unfortunately, however, conventional Christian theologies have sometimes ignored relational ideas and language. The theology that results is sometimes impractical and nonsensical.

The Bible describes the activities and nature of a relational God. This relational God created “in the beginning” and invited creatures to “bring forth” others in creative activity. God’s interactions with Adam and Eve portray God as relational. From the beginning, God instructs, expects, and responds to creatures – all of which are relational activities.

The Bible tells us God makes covenants with Israel and all creation. God’s covenant making demonstrates God’s relationality. Because God is relational, sinful behavior makes God angry. But positive responses and ongoing relationship deepens the relational friendship God shares with creatures. Biblical authors repeatedly proclaim that a God of steadfast love never gives up on the relationship God initiates and seeks to develop.

In Jesus Christ, the relational God is specially incarnated. In him, we have the fullest revelation of God as relational. Jesus teaches that God is our Abba (Father), an intimately relational description. God’s call us to enter into a mutually loving relationship – what Jesus announces as the greatest commandment. Jesus reinforces Old Testament themes about the importance of love relations. Christians are commanded to love believers and unbelievers, friends and enemies, the near and dear as well as the stranger.

The Christian community emerging soon after God raised Jesus from the dead was Holy Spirit empowered. This budding community emphasized from its inception the importance of interrelatedness. As the Church, they ate together and shared things in common. They worshipped and prayed together. They shared the Lord’s Supper as a community. Christians embarked as the Church on a give-and-receive mission of relational love.

If God created a relational universe and relational people, it should come as little surprise that recent developments in science, philosophy, and culture reveal the interrelatedness of all existence. Relationality is present at the quantum level. It profoundly shapes personal and social levels of existence. And relational perspectives influence scientific research of the distant edges of our cosmos.

What makes relational theology distinct is its general approach to thinking about God’s interaction with creation. At its core, relational theology affirms two key ideas:

  1. God affects creatures in various ways. Instead of being aloof and detached, God is active and involved in relationship with others. God relates to us, and that makes an essential difference.
  2. Creatures affect God in various ways. While God’s nature is unchanging, creatures influence the loving and living Creator of the universe. We relate to God, and creation makes a difference to God.

Of course, those who embrace relational theology typically embrace other theological ideas too. For instance, many think God’s primary attribute is love, and many believe God’s chief desire is that people love others as themselves. Most think God relates within Trinity, and Jesus Christ best reveals God’s relational love. Most think God and creatures are genuinely free, at least to some degree. Most emphasize the importance of relationships in the Church, outside the Church, and relationships with all creation. Most think relational categories are central to Christian ethics and should be guides to get along with others – both human and nonhuman – on our planet. The list of other theologically important ideas continues.

People interpret variously what the two main ideas of relational theology entail. Because of these diverse interpretations, relational theology is like a big umbrella idea under which various theological alternatives reside. We might illustrate the umbrella like this:

RELATIONAL THEOLOGY

Many
Missional
theologies

Many
Arminian
&
Holiness
theologies

Most
Feminist /
Womanist
theologies

Open
theologies

Social
Trinity
theologies

Process
theologies

Most
Wesleyan
theologies

Many
Liberation /
Postcolonial
theologies

Other
theologies

Some people adopt one theological alternative but reject another under the relational umbrella. For instance, some people adopt Trinitarian theology as the primary way they think about Christian theology but reject Process theology. Others embrace both Trinitarian and Process theologies. Or, for instance, some feminist theologians do not identify as Arminian. Others do. A person need not embrace all theologies under the umbrella. But these theologies share the ideas about God and creatures being relational.

It is also important to note that some theologians embrace a number of theological traditions simultaneously. For instance, a person might say she is Wesleyan, liberation, process, and Trinitarian. Another person might say he is Arminian, missional, and open. Still others might embrace one theology and not another listed above. For instance, a person might be Process, emergent, and Pentecostal. Many other combinations exist.

Confusion sometimes emerges when people identify relational theology with personalities or character traits we might consider “relational.” People who are friendly, sociable, or highly empathetic do not necessarily embrace the ideas of relational theology. Of course, we usually hope people develop adequate social sensibilities. But a relational theologian is not automatically an expert at relating to other people!

To the extent that Christians seek to be Christlike, however, relational theology can encourage loving interactions and character traits that promote positive relationships. We best understand the Apostle Paul’s command to “imitate God, as dearly loved children, and live a life of love as Christ loved us…” (Eph. 5:1, 2), for instance, in relational terms. Those who consistently heed Paul’s counsel develop into the kind of people we call “virtuous” or “saints.”

We could say much more about the implications of relational theology. But people who adopt relational theology may come to differing conclusions about how an issue might best be understood. Despite these limitations, relational theology can help us explore how we might think, live, and minister.

Evangelicals, the Bible, and Evolution

The best place to begin the story of my exploration of evolution is with the Bible.

That may seem a strange. Many people wouldn’t start with the Bible when talking about a scientific theory. But I’m a theologian, and I take the Bible with utmost seriousness. Talking about the Bible is a natural place for me to begin, both because the Bible was principally important in my youth, and because it remains so for me today.

I don’t mean to snub science. Science is important too. I read a lot in the sciences, and I think the evidence supporting the theory of evolution is strong. I try to take this and other evidence with great seriousness.

But the real story – for me – starts with the Bible.

Centrality of Scripture

Fortunately, my parents were committed Christians. Our family was one of those “attend-church-three-times-a-week-and-more” families. My parents were significant leaders in our local congregation, and I began following their footsteps early in life.

I doubt I missed more than a handful of Sunday school classes before I was twenty years old. And I always attended Vacation Bible School – even winning Bible memorizing competitions on occasion. (John 11:35 was my friend!) I participated on youth Bible quizzing team for a while too.

While growing up, I don’t recall anyone telling me that the Bible was the inerrant Word of God. But my passion for Scripture and my Evangelical community inclined me toward that position. Scripture was central in my life.

Besides, I wanted a failsafe foundation for my beliefs. And how could I convince my Mormon friends to become Christians if the Bible was not true in every sense, including literally true about what it said about the natural world? Witnessing to God’s truth seemed to require that I believe the Bible was without error on all matters, including matters related to science.

An Inerrant Bible?

My view of the Bible began to change when I went to college. It wasn’t that a liberal Bible professor brainwashed me away from the positions of my youth. Instead, I started reading the Bible carefully and the work of biblical scholars. I began to think it important to love God with my mind in a more consistent way.

And then I took a class in koine Greek, the language of the New Testament. In this course, I discovered several things. First, we have differing English translations of the New Testament, because the biblical text allows for a number of valid translation options. (When I later took Hebrew class, I found the diversity of valid translations even greater!) Second, we do not have access to the original biblical manuscripts/autographs. Our Bibles come from later manuscripts, the earliest of which are not complete. And, third, the oldest texts we have differ in many ways – although most differences are minor.

I also discovered discrepancies in the Bible. For instance, in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus curses a fig tree and it withers immediately (21:18-20). But in Mark’s version of the same story, the fig tree does not wither immediately and the disciples find it withered the next morning (11:12-14; 20-21). Mark says that Jesus heals one demon-possessed man at Gerasenes (5:1-20), while Matthew says there were two demon-possessed men involved in that same miracle (8:28-34). Jesus tells the disciples to take a staff on their journey as recorded in Mark 6:8, but Matthew says Jesus told the disciples not to take a staff (10:9-10). Jesus says Jonah was three days and three nights in the whale's belly. Then, making an analogy with his own death, he says the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth (Mt 12:40). But Jesus was not dead three days and three nights!

I mention only a few of the many internal discrepancies. Once I discovered a few, I noticed more. This, of course, made me question whether I should say the Bible is inerrant in all ways.

What’s the Bible For?

I’m persistent. I don’t usually settle for easy answers, ignore problems, or appeal to mystery at the drop of a hat. I want to give a plausible account of the hope within me.

My quest for better ways to think about the Bible prompted me to read theologians and Bible scholars from the past and present. What I found surprised me! I had assumed believing the Bible is inerrant in all ways was the traditional position of Christians throughout the ages. I assumed it was the position of my own Christian tradition. I was wrong.

Few if any great theologians argued the Bible was absolutely inerrant. Augustine did not affirm inerrancy in this way. Thomas Aquinas didn’t. Neither did Martin Luther or John Wesley – a least in a consistent way. And I discovered through reading and conversations that those considered the leading biblical scholars and theologians today also reject absolute biblical inerrancy.

I did find a few teachers who said the Bible was inerrant. But when I read their explanations of the Bible’s discrepancies and their views about the differences between the oldest manuscripts, I found they stretched the word “inerrant” beyond recognition. Their meaning of “inerrant” was nothing like the usual meaning. And it was certainly not what most Evangelicals meant when they called the Bible the inerrant Word of God.

Perhaps even more important was my discovery that great theologians and biblical scholars of yesteryear believed the Bible’s basic purpose was to reveal God’s desire for our salvation. Many giants of the Christian faith could agree with John Wesley who said, “The Scriptures are a complete rule of faith and practice; and they are clear in all necessary points.”

The necessary points of Scripture refer to instruction for our salvation. They indicate that, as the Apostle Paul puts it, Scripture is inspired and “useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work” (2 Tim. 3:16-17). The purpose of the Bible is our salvation!

I also discovered Christian leaders over the centuries did not feel required to search the Bible for truths about science. In fact, they sometimes used allegorical interpretations that seem silly to me now. The vast majority of Evangelical scholars with whom I talked also didn’t think the Bible has to be inerrant about scientific matters.

After my studies, I came to believe that the Bible tells us how to find abundant life. But it does not provide the science for how life became abundant.

Can I Trust the Bible?

When I tell people I don’t require the Bible to tell me truth about science but I trust God to use the Bible to reveal what is necessary for salvation, I’m sometimes asked this question: “If the Bible can’t be trusted on science and all other matters on which it speaks, how can it be trusted on matters of salvation?”

That’s a fair question. Before I answer it, however, we should look at what it seems to presuppose.

Those who ask this question seem to think the Bible is a container carrying a complete set of literally true statements. Those who take this position worry that, like a house of cards, any defect in that complete set means the whole structure will fall. One error, to them, places into jeopardy the truth of the whole book!

Others who ask this question seem to presuppose a view of inspiration that seems to make the writers of Scripture machines or robots. God manipulated these writers by controlling them and their worldviews entirely.

By contrast, I think there are great advantages to thinking God inspired but did not entirely control biblical writers. This symbiotic view of authorship explains the presence of errors in the Bible. And it explains why the limited worldviews of biblical authors don’t fit perfectly with contemporary worldviews informed by science.

I think, however, that the Bible can be trusted about what it says about salvation even though its statements about the natural world – when interpreted literally – may be wrong. After all, biblical scholars say we best interpret Genesis 1 and other Bible creation passages as hymns and theological poetry, not scientific treatises.

My primary answer to why I think we can trust the Bible to be used by God to reveal truths about salvation, therefore, pertains to salvation itself. I trust the Bible on matters of salvation, because God has transformed my life as I read and followed the Bible’s teaching. God continues to transform me – provide salvation – as I pray and read the biblical text.

In fact, the transformation God is doing in my life seems to have increased since I stopped thinking the Bible was inerrant in all ways! I don’t know if there’s a connection, but there may be.

In short, the “proof” of the Bible’s truth about salvation is in the “pudding” of transformed lives – mine and billions of others. The Bible doesn’t have to be accurate in terms of contemporary science or be absolutely inerrant for God to use it for our salvation.

Evolution

What does this have to do with exploring evolution?

At a minimum, my study of the Bible and great Christian thinkers reveals that the Bible and contemporary science are not essentially in conflict. The Bible’s purpose pertains to salvation. The purpose of science is greater understanding of the natural world.

Sure, sometimes a scientist will make statements that seem to allow no room for God. When a scientist does this, he or she moves beyond findings or theories about the natural world and speculate about things beyond the domain of science. I feel free to disagree with these kinds of statements, in part because they go beyond the proper explanatory functions of science.

As a theologian, I find it exciting that science and theology need not conflict. I’m free to think biblical authors operated from a worldview different from mine shaped by contemporary science. But because God uses the Bible in ways to teach me and others truths for our salvation, I’m not worried that ancient worldviews don’t match contemporary science.

Created Co-Creators

It’s one thing to say evolution doesn’t conflict with the Bible’s purpose. It’s another thing to say evolution actually reinforces central biblical truths.

When I say, “reinforce,” I’m not saying the Bible proves the theory of evolution is true. But I do think evolution fits well with important features of the Christian faith other creation theories don’t fit as well.

For instance, Genesis tells us that “when God began creating the heavens and the earth,” “the earth was a formless void” and “darkness covered the face of the deep.” In creating, a “wind from God swept over the face of the waters” (Gen. 1:1-2).

From relationship with creation, God calls forth other things. In this creating, God does not act alone. God says, for instance, “let the earth put forth vegetation” (11), “let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures” (20), and “let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind” (24).

In other words, the Christian creation story says creatures act as created co-creators! That story fits well with the idea God creates through an evolutionary process involving creaturely contributions. It doesn’t fit so well with creation views that say God unilaterally zaps creatures into existence from nothingness.

God is Love

I find the Bible bubbling over with examples of God working in, with, and alongside creatures. And that shouldn’t surprise us. Isn’t that the way love works? It makes sense to think a loving God would create in, with, and alongside that which God previously created.

It’s pretty obvious to most people that love doesn’t entirely control others. Love does not coerce. Instead, love calls, persuades, invites, or influences without overriding freedom.

Evolution helps us realize that giving of freedom and/or agency is a gift God gives all creation. Sure, the tiniest creatures don’t have freedom like we do. But they have some measure of agency. And it would make sense that a loving God would give freedom and/or agency to all God creates. We know that give-and-receive relations require at least some freedom and/or agency from those in relationship.

To say God gives freedom and/or agency to all creation and has always been doing so helps answer some of the biggest questions we have about evolution. For instance, evolution tells us that it took millions of years for creatures to evolve into the complex forms we now see. But if God gives freedom and/or agency to all creatures and they act as created co-creators, it would make sense that creating complex creatures takes time.

Or consider the problem of pain, suffering, and death. An evolutionary theory that says God lovingly gives freedom and/or agency helps explain why things sometimes go wrong. Creatures might use that freedom and/or agency badly. And that’s an important place to start when pondering the difficult issues of evil.

In short, the theory of evolution can help remind us of the central truth of the Christian faith: God is love. And it can help us see why Jesus’ great commandments – love God and love others as ourselves – fits in the fabric of creation.

Cruciform Existence

There is ample support in the New Testament that the death of one (Jesus Christ) brought life to others. “Christ died, and now we can live,” Christians often testify. We Christians make this claim not only based on our experience, but also on the biblical witness. In fact, those who die to sinful habits and come alive in Christ are said to live a cruciform existence. They imitate the crucified One.

In an important sense, the theory of evolution assumes death can bring about new life. Darwn saw very clearly that without death, the planet would quickly become overgrown and overpopulated. In some cases, death is required for more robust and diverse life to emerge. In other words, evolution has a cruciform element in it.

I want to be clear that I’m not saying all death is good or that God ordained death. Death is sometimes evil, but other times not. Christians have affirmed since the beginning that at least sometimes death in necessary for the bringing forth of life.

Jesus Christ, of course, witnesses to this cruciform existence most poignantly. And when we choose death for the sake of something better, our death is similar to Jesus’s death and to death occurring in the evolutionary process. Death can bring life!

God is Doing a New Thing

I could say much more about evolution and the Bible. But I don’t have time and space. So let me conclude.

Not only do I think the theory of evolution best accounts for the scientific evidence. And not only do I think the Bible is compatible with evolution because the Bible’s purpose is to reveal God’s salvation. I also think the theory of evolution is a gift. It’s a gift to Christians like me who take the Bible with utmost seriousness. It reinforces central themes of the Christian faith.

The writer of Isaiah 43 records God saying, “I will do a new thing.” God then immediately asks, “Do you not perceive it?” (19) An evolutionary picture of the world suggests God is in the business of doing new things. And the Bible says creation has been invited to participate.

Perhaps Evangelicals are ready today to perceive that God’s way of doing new things is written into God’s creating through evolution. And in this, the book of Scripture and the book of nature agree.

 

The Divine Spirit as Causal and Personal

Most Christians believe Jesus Christ provides the clearest revelation of God’s nature. Jesus reveals these clues in his life, teachings, miracles, compassion, death, and resurrection. Although Christians believe other clues about divine action are present in creation because God acts as initial and continual Creator, they try to be especially attuned to the revelation of God manifest in Jesus and recorded in Scripture (e.g., Deane-Drummond 2009).

In a biblical passage familiar to many Christians, Jesus says the following: “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes” (John 3:8 NRSV). Following this, Jesus tells an inquiring scholar he must be “born again.” When the scholar asks how an adult could return to its mother’s womb, Jesus says this second birth derives from the Spirit. Biblical translators render the Greek word, pneuma, as “wind” or “Spirit” in this passage. The word refers to moving air (wind), to the divine Spirit, or both.

This passage about wind/Spirit might contribute to constructing a theory of divine action consonant with Christian scripture and much 21st century science. I offer the outlines of such a theory in this essay. While the Christian tradition greatly influences my thoughts on these issues, adherents of other theistic traditions will find my proposals applicable to their own work, at least to some degree. The action of the wind/Spirit offers clues to how we might best conceive of God’s action in the universe.

Philosophical Presuppositions

Research in science and theology is chock full of philosophical presuppositions. Unfortunately, many scientists and theologians fail to identify these presuppositions explicitly or examine them carefully. Very few engage the discipline of philosophy of science and the metaphysical issues pertaining thereto. Exceptions do exist, however (e.g., Clayton 2006; Dodds 2012; Murphy 1990). While a fully adequate engagement of philosophy of science is beyond the scope of this paper, a few brief comments seem necessary.

Philosopher of science, Imre Lakatos, is a favorite of some who think about presuppositions and philosophy of science (e.g., Clayton, 1989; Murphy 1990). While some appreciate the particulars of Lakatos’s work and others do not, the main idea Lakatos advances pertains to the guiding principles of what he called “research programs” (1978). Such programs identify presuppositions and hypotheses both essential and nonessential to the scientific work they support. Research programs are to be judged by their fruitfulness, in light of their essential hypotheses.

Lakatos’s work reminds us that scientists make assumptions about the world, and many of those assumptions cannot be proven. Scientists often unconsciously adopt assumptions a priori. For instance, the vast majority of scientists presuppose some metaphysical view of cause and effect. But they do not think it necessary to prove this causal metaphysical presupposition before doing their scientific work. Scientists also presuppose that some explanations are better than others. But they do not usually attempt to prove in advance the values that support their claim about what is “better.” They simply assume it is appropriate to think some explanations are better than others, based on various criteria.

The Lakatos research program also helps us avoid attempting the impossible: prove with certainty one’s metaphysical presuppositions. Alfred North Whitehead points out the problems with such certainty:

Philosophy has been haunted by the unfortunate notion that its method is dogmatically to indicate premises which are severally clear, distinct, and certain; and to erect upon those premises a deductive system of thought. But the accurate expression of the final generalities is the goal of the discussion and not its origin.… Metaphysical categories are not dogmatic statements of the obvious; they are tentative formulations of the ultimate generalities ([1929] 1978, 8).

Metaphysical presuppositions, in other words, are tentative formulations even when explicitly noted. And everyone either tacitly or explicitly adopts some set of metaphysical presuppositions (Polanyi 1962).

I refer to Lakatos and Whitehead to justify my endeavor to talk, in general, about the relations between science and theology and to speculate, in particular, about divine action. While I think theists can offer convincing arguments for why it is plausible God exists, I set aside such arguments for this paper. Instead, I assume God exists and proceed as if this is so.

Perhaps more importantly, I offer tentative formulations of what kind of God exists and how this God acts. I speculate about God’s nature and how this nature and God’s relation to creation influences God’s actions. I hope to secure greater plausibility for particular ideas about God that I find fruitful for the science-and-theology interface. I believe the result is a research program potentially fruitful for thinking well about contemporary science and divine action.

In what follows, I argue for a particular formulation of divine causation. Some aspects of this proposal draw from what Jesus said to the scholar, when he described the divine Spirit’s action as analogous to wind. Others rely upon inferences from particular biblical passages, creaturely experience, scientific theories, and attempts at rational consistency. The results are, as Whitehead might put it, tentative formulations attempting to give accurate expressions to ultimate generalities.

God’s Causal Role in the World

Identifying the Spirit’s causal activity is difficult for a number of reasons. Those who believe in God but wish to sidestep these difficulties sometimes argue we should not regard divine action an efficient cause in the world. Some worry this “reduces” God to the status of a creature (e.g., Dodds 2012). God acts as a formal or final cause, some conjecture, and science does not deal with such causes -- at least explicitly (e.g., Yong 2011). Some put divine causation is an entirely separate category that it bears little or no resemblance to creaturely causation (e.g., Dodds 2012) And some Christian theologians even argue God causally influences our present circumstances proleptically from a future in which God resides (e.g., Pannenberg 1969). I find these theories about divine causation implausible or incoherent.

By contrast, I argue God’s causal influence is an objective, efficient cause in the world. God acts as an efficient cause, in the sense of a prior event concretely influencing the coming to be of a subsequent event (see Russell 2008). This argument moves the discussion more squarely into the realm typically reserved for scientific explanation. This move seems advisable, in my view, not only for what it means for discussions about the relation between scientific and theological explanations. It also helps us make better sense of the biblical witness to God’s activity (and the witness found in other sacred texts), which seems at least sometimes objective and not merely subjective. Referring to God’s efficient causation seems advisable when accounting for testimonials of those who experience God’s activity in ordinary or extraordinary ways.

The particular way God acts as an objective efficient cause distinguishes my proposal from others. The following sections briefly describe my proposal.

A. Causation, Divine Causation, and Sensory Perception

The passage attributed to Jesus about the Spirit/wind points to at least three general issues important for my proposal: causation, evidence, and perception. Jesus uses the wind analogy to describe how we might have evidence of causation but not know adequately the efficient causes at play. We hear the wind, says Jesus, even though we don’t perceive precisely its origin or future. In experiencing the wind, we may feel its impact on our bodies. And we may see objects swirling around us presumably stirred up by the flow of air. This evidence is perceptible with our five senses, and we can plausibly infer the wind is a causal force at play. But we cannot perceive causation itself with our senses.

Philosophers of science have often admitted we cannot perceive causation – not to mention divine causation – with our five senses. David Hume famously said we perceive “before” evidence and “after” evidence as constant conjunction (1975). We may feel compelled to infer a causal link between the two, but we cannot perceive causation directly with sensory perception. Interestingly, Hume’s claims about causation fit what Jesus says about the wind having causal force and yet our senses being incapable of perceiving this causation directly.

The use of wind also fits what Christians (and many other theists) have said about God as Spirit: our five senses cannot perceive God. In light of God’s spiritual composition, theists throughout the centuries have sometimes called God “the soul of the universe,” “the holy Ghost,” “a spiritual being,” “the Great Spirit,” etc. Both causation itself and the divine Spirit, therefore, are imperceptible by our five senses.

Theists influenced by John Locke and the empiricist philosophical tradition have sometimes proposed ways to talk about God’s direct causal activity though perception not based upon the five senses. Theologian John Wesley, for instance, argues that at least humans (and perhaps all creatures) have a sixth set of senses: spiritual senses. God as Spirit can directly communicate to creatures that have spiritual sensory apparatus (1989, 56-57).

More recently, scholars influenced by Whitehead argue creatures possess the capacity for nonsensory perception of God in what Whitehead calls “the mode of causal efficacy” ([1929] 1978, 169). All aspects of the human body and all creatures perceive God nonsensorily through creaturely “prehension” (Ibid, 21) This argument relies on an ontology speculating that all entities have some measure of perceptive capacity, because all entities have at least some modicum of experience (Griffin 2000, 2001). Speculation about nonsensory perception offers attractive possibilities to theists trying to account for direct experiences of God and attractive possibilities to philosophers of science trying to account for self-causation in creatures (Oord 2010a, ch. 6).

In sum, we do well to remember the following: 1) the widely-held view that causation itself is not perceptible by our five senses; 2) we must make inferences about causal forces based on events we perceive with our five senses; and 3) theists believe God is a Spirit whose spiritual composition as an entity (most Christians would say “person” or “Triune person”) is not available to sensory perception. It should be noted that this third claim does not discount testimonies by those who say they have “heard” from or “tasted” God. But it does mean these testimonies use sensory words in nonliteral ways in the attempt to account for God’s causal influence, or what theists typically call “revelation.”

B. God Present to All and Causally Influencing All

Like many theists, most Christians argue God is present to all creation. God is omnipresent. Divine omnipresence need not be construed as pantheism, however, because God can be present to all others without literally being all. Christians typically distinguish between the Creator and creation, and the phrase, “being present to all,” helps overcome the pantheistic connotations of the more popular phrase, “God is everywhere.” God being present to all, of course, includes being present to the most and least complex creatures. We might say that in God, creation lives and moves and has its being (Acts 17:28), because God is directly and immediately present to everything.

I propose that God is not only present to all, but God exerts causal influence upon all in various ways. To use contemporary terms, God exerts direct, indirect, top-down, lateral, and bottom up causal influence. This multi-level causation comes in many forms, because it is multi-faceted. But multi-level efficient causation does not need to be construed – and I do not construe it – as entailing sufficient causation. Theories of multi-level efficient causation are compatible with creaturely freedom, agency, and indeterminism, so long as efficient causation is not understood to entail unilateral determination.

Affirming God’s omnipresence and omni-influence helps overcome key problems in contemporary science and theology discussions. One common problem, known as the “God of the gaps,” has an epistemic and ontological form. The epistemic form says that, except in some cases, we can explain particular events entirely through scientific statements. We only need refer to God to plug gaps in our knowledge when we encounter events science cannot completely explain. The ontological form of the God of the gaps argument says that, except some cases, creaturely forces alone cause events to occur. Divine causation in the natural causal gaps is occasionally necessary, however, to cause events. The problem for theism arises as what were once regarded gaps are given plausible naturalistic explanations.

To say that God is present to and exerts causal influence upon all creatures overcomes both forms of the God of the gaps problems. Because God is a causal influence upon all, explanations purporting to be sufficient but that do not include divine causation are erroneous. A sufficient explanation would need to account for all causal factors, with God being one such factor. In principle, therefore, all fully adequate explanations of events will include reference to divine causation. Both epistemic and ontological accounts of creaturely causality require divine and creaturely activity.

In sum, I believe we should regard God’s causation as involving God being present to and influencing as an efficient cause all entities that exist.

C. God as Nonintervening and Noncoercive

The question of divine intervention persists in the science and religion dialogue. An impressive list of scholars explores the possibility of non-interventionist, objective divine action -- “NIODA” (Russell 2008; Wildman 2004). What is meant by “intervention,” however, is often not clarified by less-involved participants in the conversation. The word, “intervene,” suggests coming into a situation from the outside. When used in reference to God, “intervention” suggests that God enters a situation from the outside, a situation previously devoid of God’s presence. This view is problematic for several reasons (Oord 2010c).

My claim in the previous section – that God is always present to and always influencing all others – rejects this understanding of divine intervention. God never intervenes from the outside, because God is directly present to all, all the time. God never “interferes,” as if God would not have always, already been influential. Thinking about the universe as causally closed – a universe purportedly persisting without divine influence – fuels much interventionist and interference language. I reject such notions of causal closure. God never intervenes from the outside, because God is always present to all. And the universe is never causally closed to divine action.

Some also use “divine intervention” in a second way. This sense has more to do with God acting as sufficient cause or unilateral determiner. This use of “intervention” refers to God’s total control – ontological coercion – as a sufficient cause of some event. Those who talk about God intervening, in this second way, are saying God determines unilaterally – absolutely and completely – a creaturely outcome or entity.[1]

I propose that God is best conceived as never acting in this second kind of interventionist way. In this, I join a growing number of scholars in the science and religion discussion who reject interventionist coercion (e.g., Barbour 2002, Clayton 2008, Griffin 2001, Keller 2003, Murphy and Ellis 1996, Polkinghorne 1996, Russell 2008). God does not coerce, if “coerce” is defined in the ontological sense of total control, unilateral determination, or sufficient cause. As one always present to and influencing others, however, God acts as a necessary cause in the coming to be and persistence of all things. Nothing can exist without God’s creative influence, and all creation depends upon God’s providentially causal care. But God never – and, I believe, cannot ever – coerce creatures.

One of my presuppositions is that all creatures are, at a minimum, ontologically indeterminate. To say it another way, no creatures are entirely controlled by external forces, agents, or laws. I believe complex creatures are more than indeterminate; they possess libertarian freedom. Such freedom is constrained, of course, by the creature’s environment, genetics, and other factors. But it is genuine freedom nonetheless. The degree of freedom among the least complex creatures is difficult to infer. But I claim that even less complex creatures possess agency God provides. And neither laws, nor genes, nor God can entirely control such creatures by overriding their agency completely.

In other published writings, I provide extensive arguments for why I think we best think of God incapable of coercion, in the ontological sense (Oord 2010a, 2010b, 2010c). My argument says that God’s essential nature is love, and God always acts lovingly. Divine love involves granting freedom/agency to others. Because God’s nature is love, God cannot fail to grant, override, or withdraw this freedom/agency at any time. I call this view, “essential kenosis,” because it says God’s self-limitation derives from God’s eternally unchanging nature.

My view differs from what many in the science and religion discussion call “divine self-limitation” (Moltmann 2001; Murphy and Ellis 1996). This voluntary form of kenosis, or what might be called “conditional kenosis,” views God’s self-limitation as chosen or arbitrary. Voluntary divine self-limitation says God freely chooses to be self-limited, but God could choose otherwise (Wildman 2007). Whether God gives freedom and/or agency is not determined by God’s nature, says this form of divine self-limitation. Instead, God’s giving of freedom is conditioned only by God’s free choice.

Essential kenosis, by contrast, affirms involuntary self-limitation, whereby any constraints God may have derive from God’s essential nature. This theory is rightly deemed “self-limitation,” because external forces do not impose constraints on God. Essential kenosis agrees with John Polkinghorne that robust theology affirms “nothing imposes conditions on God from the outside” (2001, 96). But essential kenosis is involuntary, in the sense that God’s loving nature compels God’s loving gifts of freedom and/or agency to creatures. Essential kenosis says God necessarily loves creation, because God’s nature essentially includes the attribute of love for creatures. God must love, and God cannot do otherwise.

I find support in the Christian scriptures for the essential kenosis notion God cannot do some things. God cannot lie, for instance, says the writer of Hebrews (6:18; also see Numbers 23:19 and Titus 1:2). God cannot be tempted, says James (1:12). God cannot gather us when we are unwilling to be gathered (Luke 13:34). These and other biblical passages fall under the Apostle Paul’s more general claim that God “cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:13). Biblical authors say God cannot do some things.

Essential kenosis says God’s limitations derive from God’s own nature. To put it in popular vernacular: God must be God and cannot be other. My own addition is that God’s nature of love means God necessarily gives freedom and/or agency to others. Because God is love, God must do this. This gift derives from God’s own nature, and God “cannot deny himself.” God cannot fail to provide, withdraw, or override the freedom and/or agency God lovingly provides.

This view of kenosis overcomes the theoretical aspect of the problem of evil, an aspect that plagues theologies affirming voluntary divine self-limitation. God is not culpable for failing to prevent genuine evil, according to essential kenosis, because even as an efficient cause God is unable to prevent such evil. Essential kenosis also rejects interventionist language in the first sense noted above, because no explanation of a phenomenon can be complete if reference to God’s action is missing. It rejects metaphysical naturalism, while providing an alternative to methodological naturalism that is not supernaturalistic, in the sense of God superseding all creaturely causation (Griffin 2000).

In sum, the notions that 1) God does not intervene because always already present and 2) God cannot coerce because essentially loving provides key elements in a theory of divine action suitable for reconciling theoretical conflicts between theology and science.

D. Personal and Variously Efficacious

The final piece in my argument for God’s causal role in the universe builds upon my previous proposals. I have argued thus far that God acts as an objective, efficient cause in the world. We cannot perceive this causation with our five senses, because we cannot perceive causation itself, and we cannot perceive an immaterial Spirit with our sensory perception. God is like the wind. The divine Spirit is present to and influences all entities in the universe – from the most complex to the least. Out of love, God gives freedom and/or agency to all creatures. As a necessary and efficient cause, the Spirit neither intervenes from the outside nor coerces by acting as a sufficient cause. God cannot do so, because God’s eternal nature is love.

What I have argued thus far might fit to some degree with the view that God is an impersonal force field in the universe. This God might be called, to use Paul Tillich’s words, the “ground of being” (1948, 57) or “being itself” (1951, 205). This impersonal causality might be what Whitehead early his career called the “principle of concretion” (1960, 157). I believe Christians can affirm much more than what Tillich and Whitehead do with these terms.

I affirm the classic Christian view that God is personal. By “personal,” I do not mean the divine Spirit has a localized body similar to humans. I mean God both influences others and others influence God. Many theologians call God “relational” to describe this view, because God moves others and others move God (Montgomery, et. al., 2012). In short, God is personal, because God gives and receives in relation to others.

I propose that being personal for God means causally influencing others, in each moment, by calling them to actualize possible ways of being. God does this as an efficient cause involving aspects of what Aristotle says comprise final, formal, and material causes (McKeon 1941). God calls for and seeks creaturely response. While God provides all relevant possibilities in this call when causally influencing creatures, God encourages creatures to choose those possibilities that contribute to the good of the whole. God cares supremely about the common good, and creatures are called to join in promoting that good. Choosing what is good leads to what Jesus calls “eternal life” in a biblical verse (John 3:16) following the one I noted earlier. “Eternal life” refers more to a high quality of life here and now and less to a quantity of life in the future.

God’s calls to creatures take many forms. Which forms God presents is determined in large part by what creatures have done in previous moments. God takes into consideration the moment-by-moment actions of all others when deciding how best to encourage creatures to act for the common good (agape) (Oord 2008). God’s calls are influenced by what is actually possible, given each creature’s inherent capabilities and relations with the external environment (philia). God encourages creatures to actualize possibilities that reflect God’s primary desire (eros) – promoting overall well-being (Oord 2010a).

The efficacy of God’s activity hinges upon several factors. One is the appropriateness of creaturely response to God’s calls. Creaturely response plays a central role in determining how effective God is in the world (Yong 2012). God’s persuasive causation is highly effective when creatures respond well. Positive responses express love, beauty, and truth in their fullest possible expressions, given the circumstances and actors involved. But divine causation is less effective when creatures respond poorly. Sin and/or evil result from poor responses.

The effectiveness of God’s activity also hinges upon the diverse forms of God’s calls. Complex creatures, given particular circumstances, encounter more sophisticated forms of possibilities than less complex creatures. The forms offered more complex creatures vary widely from those God offers less complex creatures. This relative diversity accounts for the uniformity of action occurring at the molecular level, for instance, and the wide diversity of actions humans and other complex creatures express.

The possibilities God offers Mother Teresa, for instance, differ greatly from the possibilities available to a garden worm. While worms in large numbers can greatly affect the good of creation, no single worm has the capacity for goodness (or evil) Mother Teresa possesses. The possibilities at the atomic level are even less wide, accounting for the acute consistency of action at that level. In sum, the effectiveness of divine action is determined not only by how well Mother Teresa and the worm respond to God’s efficient causal calls. It also depends on the particular forms -- among the possible relevant forms -- God offers relative to the past and present situation and that God encourages creatures to actualize (Oord 2010a).

Although God offers various possibilities to creatures, God always exerts the greatest influence possible to persuade creatures to act in ways that promote overall well-being. God does not willingly decide to be more or less influential, because God’s nature of love involves God steadfastly loving all to the maximum possible. God’s love always runs full-throttle, to use an engine analogy. God never completely controls others, but God never takes a holiday from expressing love to the utmost.

The diversity of efficacy – along with the uniformity of God’s intentions to promote love – account for the miracles we see today and reported in Scripture. The miracle of second birth Jesus describes to the scholar in John’s gospel is possible because of God’s loving, diversely formed, efficient causation and appropriate creaturely responses. So-called “natural” miracles can also be appropriately described as God exerting efficient but never sufficient causation at various levels of creation. Acts of “special providence” do not require God to act as sufficient cause. Even in these special miracles, God does not intervene coercively to determine outcomes unilaterally. The novel or unexpected forms of these events may surprise us or strike us as extraordinary, however, as creatures cooperate with God’s loving causal influence (Oord 2010c).

Sum

In this essay, I have argued theists in general and Christians in particular have good grounds for affirming divine action – understood as I have briefly outlined – in relation to 21st century science. Humans cannot perceive with their five senses the causation – both divine and creaturely – at work in our world. But the love, beauty, and truth theists witness can reasonably be inferred to derive from both divine and creaturely causation. Theists can rightly rejoice when creatures respond well to the efficient, causal calls of the Spirit – present in both ordinary and extraordinary events – to express love, beauty, and truth in diverse ways.

References

Barbour, Ian G. 2002. Nature, Human Nature, and God. Minneapolis: Fortress.

Clayton, Philip. 1989. Explanation from Physics to Theology: An Essay in Rationality and Religion. New Haven, Ct.: Yale University Press.

______. and Arthur Peacocke. 2004 In Whom We Live and Move and Have our Being: Panentheistic Reflections on God’s Presence in a Scientific World. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans.

______. 2006. The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

______. 2008. Adventures in the Spirit: God, World, and Divine Action. Minneapolis: Fortress.

Deane-Drummond, Celia. 2009. Christ and Evolution: Wonder and Wisdom. Minneapolis: Fortress.

Dodds, Michael J. 2012. Unlocking Divine Action: Contemporary Science and Thomas Aquinas. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University Press of America.

Griffin, David Ray. 2000. Religion and Scientific Naturalism: Overcoming the Conflicts. Albany, N.Y.: State University Press of New York.

_____.2001. Reenchantment Without Supernaturalism: A Process Philosophy of Religion. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press.

Haught, John F. 2006. Is Nature Enough? Meaning and Truth in the Age of Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Hume, David. 1975. Enquiries concerning Human Understanding and concerning the Principles of Morals. L. A. Selby-Bigge, ed. 3rd edition revised by P. H. Nidditch. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Keller, Catherine. 2003. The Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming. New York: Routledge.

Lakatos, Imre. 1978. The Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes: Philosophical Papers 1. John Worrall and Gregory Currie, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Lodahl, Michael. 2004. God of Nature and of Grace: Reading the World in a Wesleyan Way. Nashville: Kingswood.

McKeon, Richard, ed. 1941. The Basic Works of Aristotle. New York: Random House.

Moltmann, Jürgen. 2001. “God’s Kenosis in the Creation and Consummation of the World.” The Work of Love: Creation as Kenosis. John Polkinghorne, ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans.

Montgomery, Brint, Thomas Jay Oord, and Karen Winslow, eds. 2012. Relational Theology: A Contemporary Introduction. San Diego, Ca.: Point Loma Press.

Murphy, Nancey. 1990. Theology in the Age of Scientific Reasoning. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

______. and George F. R. Ellis. 1996. On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology, and Ethics. Minneapolis: Fortress.

Oord, Thomas Jay. 2008. The Altruism Reader: Selections from Writings on Love, Religion, and Science. West Conshohocken, Pa.: Templeton Foundation

______. 2009. Creation Made Free: Open Theology Engaging Science. Eugene, Or.: Pickwick.

______. 2010a. Defining Love: A Philosophical, Scientific, and Theological Engagement. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Brazos.

_____. 2010b. “Love as a Methodological and Metaphysical Source for Science and Theology.” Wesleyan Theological Journal. 45:1, 81-107.

_____. 2010c. The Nature of Love: A Theology. St. Louis, Mo.: Chalice.

_____. 2011. “Testing Love and God’s Causal Role.” The Science and Theology of Godly Love. Matthew T. Lee & Amos Yong, eds. DeKalb, Ill.: Northern Illinois University Press.

Pannenberg, Wolfhart. 1969. Theology and the Kingdom of God. Philadelphia: Westminster John Knox.

Polanyi, Michael. 1962. Personal Knowledge: Towards a Post-Critical Philosophy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Polkinghorne, John. 1996. The Faith of Physicist: Reflections of a Bottom-Up Thinker. The Gifford Lectures, 1993-94. Minneapolis: Fortress Press.

_____. 2001. “Kenotic Creation and Divine Action.” In The Work of Love: Creation as Kenosis. John Polkinghorne, ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans.

Russell, Robert John. 2008. Cosmology: From Alpha to Omega. Philadelphia: Fortress.

Russell, Robert John, Nancey Murphy, and Arthur R. Peacocke, eds. 2000. Chaos and Complexity: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, 2nd ed. Vatican Observatory Foundation.

Tillich, Paul. 1948. The Shaking of the Foundations. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

______. 1951. Systematic Theology, I. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Wesley, John. 1989. An Earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion, Vol. 11. The Works of John Wesley. Nashville: Abingdon.

Whitehead, Alfred North. [1929] 1978. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. Corrected edition. David Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne, eds. New York: Free Press.

______. 1960. Science and the Modern World. New York: Mentor.

Wildman, Wesley J. 2004. “The Divine Action Project, 1988-2003.” Theology and Science. 2/1:31-75.

______. 2007. “Incongruous Goodness, Perilous Beauty, Disconcerting Truth: Ultimate Reality and Suffering in Nature.” Physics and Cosmology: Scientific Perspectives on the Problem of Natural Evil. Nancey Murphy, Robert John Russell, and William Stoeger, eds. Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory; Berkeley, Ca.: Center of Theology and the Natural Sciences.

Yong, Amos. 2011. The Spirit of Creation: Modern Science and Divine Action in the Pentecostal-Charismatic Imagination. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans.

______. 2012. “Sanctification, Science, and the Spirit: Salvaging Holiness in the Late Modern World.” Wesleyan Theological Journal. 47:2.

  1. Although I do not have space to develop my thoughts here, I believe what we typically call, “laws of nature,” are compatible with the theological notion of divine providence. My view says God does not act providentially or provide laws of nature on an entirely voluntary basis. Instead, I think God’s diverse providential working and any laws of nature express God’s eternal nature of love. This is also part of my essential kenosis proposal (Oord 2010a, 2010b, 2010c).

 

Response to NT Wright: We Can Lament and Explain

I Agree…

Wright begins his little essay by referring to the Christian practices of Lent. He rightly calls some explanations for God’s relation to the Coronavirus “silly.” He rejects the idea God is punishing us, warning us, or giving a sign by sending this pandemic.

I agree with Wright that God is not causing the pandemic for some higher purpose. We should not “explain” suffering as God orchestrated. The Coronavirus isn’t part of some divine blueprint.

I also agree when Wright says our suffering grieves God. God is “in the tears of Jesus and the anguish of the Spirit,” as he puts it. “God also laments,” says Wright.

Perhaps my favorite line is this: “Some Christians like to think of God as above all that, knowing everything, in charge of everything, calm and unaffected by the troubles in his world. That’s not the picture we get in the Bible.”

I couldn’t agree more!

Lament

Instead of searching for answers to God’s will and the Coronavirus (as I have offered in this essay), Wright says our response should be to lament. The essay's final paragraph provides his central argument:

“It is no part of the Christian vocation, then, to be able to explain what’s happening and why. In fact, it is part of the Christian vocation not to be able to explain—and to lament instead. As the Spirit laments within us, so we become, even in our self-isolation, small shrines where the presence and healing love of God can dwell. And out of that there can emerge new possibilities, new acts of kindness, new scientific understanding, new hope.”

I agree lament can be a place “where the presence and healing love of God can dwell.” And from this place, I think new possibilities, acts of kindness, scientific understanding, and new hope can emerge. God can squeeze some good from lament.

But do we have to choose between lament and explanation?

I Disagree…

“Always be ready to give an account of the hope that is within you,” says the Apostle Peter (1 Pt. 3:15). I take this verse to mean we should seek explanations for what God might be doing during this pandemic. I find numerous biblical passages explaining God's action in response to suffering.

Most of the explanations I'm encountering today for what God is doing are “silly.” I don’t think God sends the Coronavirus to punish or teach us a lesson. God has not caused and is not allowing the virus to kill, harm, and cause havoc.

God is not in the evil business.

But it is part of the Christian tradition to offer a plausible explanation to what’s happening. It’s part of being Christian to seek believable answers to the “why” questions. It's part of being a Christian to give an account of the hope we have.

We should lament the suffering in our world. But we can simultaneously seek answers to why God doesn't prevent suffering in the first place!

God’s Uncontrolling Love

The explanation I find most helpful to God's relation to the pandemic says God is not in control. In fact, God can’t control. God is not to blame, because God is neither causing nor permitting the pandemic, as if God could stop it singlehandedly.

The pandemic solidifies in my mind our need to rethink God’s power in light of God’s love.

My reasoning rests on the logic of love. I think God loves everyone and everything. And God’s love is always uncontrolling. Consequently, God can’t control anyone or anything.

Not even God can stop the Coronavirus singlehandedly.

Instead of appeals to mystery or only lamenting the suffering we endure, Christians can say God suffers with us and cares for us. And God cannot singlehandedly prevent the Coronavirus as it wreaks havoc.

The God I am describing is not watching from a distance, eating popcorn. Instead, God actively fights against evil. But God needs cooperation from creatures and creation for love to win.

God empowers and inspires us to love during this crisis. Our decisions matter as we care for the hurting, maintain spatial distance, share with the needy, and help in whatever way necessary. We cannot win without God's empowering love. But God needs our cooperation to overcome this evil.

More Questions?

I realize saying, “God can’t singlehandedly stop the Coronavirus” will raise questions. Many readers will be unfamiliar with the uncontrolling love of God view I’ve mentioned. I explain these ideas in my best-selling book, God Can’t: How to Believe in God and Love after Tragedy, Abuse, and Other Evils. I encourage those with questions to dive deeper.

Let me conclude with a summary.

I agree with Tom Wright on many things. The usual answers for why God doesn’t stop the Coronavirus are silly. Christians ought to embrace lament as we suffer the effects of the virus. And God suffers with us.

But unlike Wright, I think we should seek explanations for what God’s will is and what God's doing. We ought to ask what God’s power must be like in light of God’s love.

We should admit God cannot prevent evil singlehandedly. But God is working against the Coronavirus. And God calls you, me, and all creation to overcome evil with love.