Posts Tagged ‘santa claus’

SERMON: “The Mind of God” by the not-so-reverend bob

Sunday, November 25th, 2012

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”  (Matthew 10: 29-31, New International Version)

I had my computer bag slung across my shoulder, and a sketchbook in my hand as I closed the truck door.  But as I stepped toward the coffee shop, I was reminded that I’d left a large plastic tub full of laundry in the open bed of my pickup truck.  So I turned around, and walked back to my truck to wrestle the heavy tub of clothing into the cab.  Pausing at the edge of my truck, I made the decision to set my sketchbook on the edge of the truck bed, but to keep the computer bag hanging from my shoulder as I unlocked the front door, lifted the heavy bin of clothes out of the bed and wrestled it into the front seat.  I locked the door, retrieved my sketch book, and resumed my short walk into the coffee shop.

So simple, so everyday, these actions I just described.  It’s the kind of thing we do “without thinking about it”.  But, of course, we do think about it.

For starters, there was a message to my conscious, working brain that reminded me of the laundry I’d earlier put in my truck.  And though I can surmise that this “reminder” was attached to memories of my practice of putting the laundry in the cab (when I’m somewhere I consider high risk for theft), the fact remains that this thought originated in a part of my brain linked to, but not the same as, my “conscious” mind.

Once that “reminder” entered my conscious mind, I paused while my reasoning brain made the rapid calculation of theft risk (in the present circumstance).  That accomplished, I then decided I would turn around and initiate the action.

Then came the calculation about how to best accomplish the task at hand.  What to do with the sketch book in my hand and the heavy bag hanging on my shoulder?  I paused for another moment as I mentally tried out a scenario of grabbing the large plastic bin with the tips of my fingers while still holding the sketchbook in my left hand, but I dismissed that idea as being unnecessarily risky.  That meant I then had to decide where to put the book before finally choosing the flat edge of the truck bed.

Having done that, I unlocked the driver’s side door (though this happened pretty much “without thought” — or, at least, any thought I was aware of).  As I positioned myself to lift the laundry, I had to sense where the weight of my shoulder bag was so as to keep my balance (this I was aware of — to a degree), and then — using the edge of the truck as a brace for my lower body —  prepare to lift the heavy bin in a way that wouldn’t re-injure my dodgy lower back.

All that done, I began to lift the bin, and I felt muscles along my torso tighten to meet the load and allow the energy of my movement to lift the tub of clothes.  It was in this moment of muscle (familiar) movement, as I was swinging the tub into the front seat, that a more abstract thought came into my mind — an idea completely unrelated to the task at hand (made possible by the bit of free space now available to my conscious mind now that all those decisions had been made).  What popped into my head (from yet another part of my brain) was the idea for this sermon, and it occupied my mind to a degree that I had no short-term memory of the final movements of this entire laundry-moving episode!

But then suddenly, it seemed, I realized I had been oblivious to what my body had just been doing with a rather heavy, awkward object, and was only now conscious of walking back into the coffee shop, thinking, once more, about God.

Remarkable.  All of it, really.

What all of this lead me to was a consideration of the “mind” of God.  I think it’s safe to say that the fundamental understanding of how God works in the world is that He is conscious of every single action or process that is occurring (not only on the Earth, but in the entire universe and, well, into whatever “beyond” there is beyond that).  Which would mean that there would seem to be nothing that God does unconsciously (or reflexively).  To trot out that old chestnut, it’s not unlike our idea of how Santa Claus knows whether every child on earth has been bad or good.  Like God, Santa has helpers, of course (in Santa’s case, elves, in God’s case, angels).  But no-one believes that these helpers are doing the thinking for their respective bosses (they are more like Odin’s twin ravens that swooped over the countryside, bringing that ancient Norse god news of his domain).

A “Sparrow” that fell.

But let us consider how the only minds we have experience of actually work.  As my rather prosaic example illustrates, we rely on a multilevelled brain in everything we do.  We tend to think of ourselves as (primarily) the conscious, analytical part of our mind, with the emotional, “gut” part coming in a close second.  And yet “beneath” these two levels are other highly active “brains”.  There is, of course, what we think of as the most basic level, the part that runs all of our “automatic” systems.  This is the part that keeps us breathing, our heart beating, our cells regenerating, our hair and fingernails growing.  This part of the brain is almost like the car we drive that keeps rolling down the highway even while our mind is off thinking about where we’re going to eat lunch.  It demands our attention from time to time (such as when we are ill or injured), and can also be influenced by our higher levels of thinking (we can hold our breath, for example, or use cognitive techniques to calm a pounding heart).  But mostly, it just runs and runs and runs without our input.  Until, of course, it stops (at death).

But “above” this level, there is an incredible, constant volume of communication going on below the level of consciousness.  Take for example the chatter between the nerve endings in the gut and the brain that regulate the myriad processes of our physical bodies and maintain the homeostasis that allows our conscious mind to be thinking about football scores or what color of shirt to wear.

And this is where I’m going with this notion of the “mind of God”.

If there is a God (and if we are truly “made in His image”) than it would stand to reason that the mind of God might operate in the way that our minds do (and every other animal with a brain of any complexity).  In short, God would have a conscious mind that can focus attention in one place at a time, as well as an unconscious mind that reminds him of this or that, and a deeper level of “mind” that sees to the hairs on your head and the sparrow dropping dead from out of the sky (as the verse from Matthew describes at the top of this sermon).  It seems to me that there is no other way the mind of God could possibly work, if it were to work at all in any meaningful, personal way.

But this presents a problem for our usual conception of how our “personal” God engages with His creation.

Think about it like this: imagine, for a moment, if you had to use your frontal lobes to consciously monitor the amount of iron in every single cell in your bloodstream at this moment, as well as the amount of glucose being harvested by your gut from your breakfast, while still keeping your speeding car in the correct lane and planning your work day.  What if, while doing all of this, you also felt it every time a cosmic particle ripped through a strand of your DNA, and you had to then consciously command the correct proteins to repair that damage (about 100 billion solar neutrinos pass through your thumbnail alone every second, according to scientists).  You’d also simultaneously be directing every molecule in your skin as it builds new body hair in every follicle (you have over three million hairs, in case you’re wondering), while also deciding when to command a damaged cell to destroy itself to protect the whole (apoptosis).  You’d also be the “mind” of every bit of bacteria in your body or the flora in your gut as the synapses fired in your brain with each thought (and then had to be re-charged before they could fire again).  And all of this (multiplied by a number that I, frankly, can not even comprehend) while paying attention to all of the things in daily life that already often stretch our capacity to its limits!

Now, imagine the mind of God doing that for every living thing.  For every rock, planet, particle and neutron.  This is what we think God does all of the time for all of eternity, while still having time to hear our prayers at night.

Suddenly I can see God as the old-fashioned hard-working father who feels put upon to have to work like a dog all day at the cosmic office and still be there for his family at night, only much, much, much worse.

Clearly, whoever came up with such a notion of God wasn’t thinking very scientifically.  But, then, when our ideas of God were formed, the workings of our own brains and bodies (and nature and the cosmos, for that matter) were opaque mysteries to us.  The Bible (along with other “ancient” religious texts) is very much a pre-science document.  Sure, we had domesticated crops and animals by then, and were employing primitive medicine, but we were doing all of this in the dark, as it were.  It was all trial and error with no knowledge of the biological processes underlying our occasional lucky outcomes.

And yet this original idea of a personal God persists.  How can that be, especially when each of us can’t help but be aware of just how large and crowded our planet is?  The simplicity of our ideas of God makes sense when we look at the complexity of our own brains, and how they have managed to evolve in a way that does not demand that we think about everything all-of-the-time.  Thanks to the hierarchy of our consciousness, I can be thinking about something else while lifting a bin full of laundry.  So I can rather easily think of the God of the Universe as a close, attentive, personal friend any time I want to, free of the dissonance of the logical barriers to such an idea.  Our minds are very good at filtering out “noise” in order to hear what we want (or need) to hear.  Our survival has depended upon it.

So it would appear that it is because we are so good at filtering that we are also so good at believing in an all-powerful (yet personal) God like we do.  To be honest, we don’t really have the time or mental RAM to try to take in the incredible complexity that not only surrounds us, but that is us.  We are natural “simplifiers”, and so in practice we give little thought to how God might actually do what we so blithely claim that he does.  And there is also good reason to let that be as it is.

Most of us have clear memories of the moment we learned that Santa Claus wasn’t “real” (I apologize deeply to any of my readers who are hearing this news for the first time).  And so, perhaps, having lost Santa, we are doubly loathe to replace the grown-up version (or to even equate the two figures).  We provide diligent support for a child’s belief in Santa (up to the day the truth finally comes out), but then as adults we (just as diligently) extend to each other nearly unending social support for a basic belief in God.  (Religion may come in many flavors and brands, but even the weirder ones still buy into the basic notion of an all-seeing intelligence “up there”).

There is an aspect to this that is actually very human.  If God is, indeed, the more durable adult replacement for childhood belief in the jolly red elf, this points to our need for belief, as well as our creativity in seeing to it that such emotional cognitive needs are met.  (I happen to think that some form of belief is actually quite “natural” to us, having the kind of brains that we do).  People such as I could have little problem with such a state of affairs if it ended there: in the warmth of a pleasurable fantasy.  But as we all know, it often doesn’t, and there are believers who take their belief very seriously in a way that weaponizes faith in a manner that produces more misery than magic.

And this is why I criticize irrational religious belief.  Not to remove the enjoyable experience of magic and wonder, but to ward off  the predatory humans who use our cognitive vulnerability for inhumane ends.  (Those whom — if He were truly paying attention to everything, all of the time — God would be flick off the planet in very short order).

I will never be able to state as absolute fact that God doesn’t exist.  This is a question that science cannot answer.  What I am saying is that our idea of God does not hold up to even a fairly low-level of scrutiny.  Some will argue that this is purely a problem with the limited capacity of humans to comprehend the divine.  But this dodges the question, as the human conception of God is the only product on offer — by their own argument they are admitting that we can know no other God than the one we know.  To me, this is the most profoundly quiet argument against the existence of any spiritual reality of the kind that we humans most often imagine: an omniscient God who’s eye is, nevertheless, truly on the sparrow, and who watches over me and you.

t.n.s.r. bob