Lust, the problem with theistic evolution
Sin. That’s the problem with theistic evolution and progressive creationism. For simplicity, let’s focus on sexual lust. Sexual lust, defined in the Ten Commandments as coveting your neighbors wife, is clearly a “natural” phenomena. Just look at the rut of the whitetail deer, some bucks don’t even take time to eat when the does are in heat! They battle other males and chase does in a frenzy of lust. Of course, this scenario is repeated throughout the animal kingdom. Interestingly, the Bible also refers to sin as “natural”:
But if you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your heart, do not be arrogant and so lie against the truth. This wisdom is not that which comes down from above, but is earthly, natural, demonic (James 3:14-15, NAS).
I am aware that there are ways that this can be reconciled with old earth creationism or theistic evolution. Perhaps the story of Adam and Eve refers to the time when god made man aware of himself and his will, and that is when lust became sin.
If lust occured before the fall, even in pre-humans, then we lust, not because of the fall, but because of our physiology, and because of millions of years of evolutionary genetic conditioning. We sin, not because of the fall, but because it has been part of us forever. We sin, not because we have inherited a “sin” nature, but because we were made that way. Sin entering the world then refers only to the commandment entering the world. This hardly seems the Biblical picture. Did God come to man and proclaim that what he had always done ammorally was now to be considered immoral? Did God come to already lustful creatures, so conditioned by millions of years of habit, and condemn them because they could not overcome the conditioning, conditioning that he oversaw? Or did he suddenly reveal to man the immorality of their nature, and proclaim that if he could not overcome it, he would be condemned?
This is the quagmire into which we plunge with theistic evolution and progressive creationsim. Only young earth creationism, Biblical literalism, can save us from this fate. God made Adam innocent, with the true ability to choose, without lust, and yet he turned to it. And lust, which had theretofore existed only in satan and the demons, entered the world, and spread to the animals.
Muad’dib and terrible purpose
Paul Atreides of Herbert’s Dune trilogy felt hemmed in, moved by some terrible purpose. He wondered if his prescience foretold the future, or made the future…
“At some faraway instant in a past which he had shared with others, this future had reached down to him. It had chivvied him and herded him into a chasm whose walls were growing narrower and narrower. He could feel them closing in on him. This was the way the vision went.”
Is this how it is with all of us? It is, if Camus is right. If we should live in such a way so as to maximize our own sense of fulfillment and minimize our own negative feelings, then we are constrained, confined by our past and its influence on our personality. Our decisions today will be determined by the events of our past and the imprint they have left on us. If I was brought up in a Judeo-Christian system, then I must make my decisions accordingly, or else face my own dissatisfaction and feelings of guilt or dishonor. If I act according to my conscience, then I feel fulfilled. Of course, this is an oversimplification. There are also basic natural impulses that come into play, but all of these fit together to fix the course that my life “should” take, if I live for for no higher purpose.
In fact, my life emerges from nothing, like a termite mound, its shape reflecting the balance of forces in my psyche and environment, and those forces emerging from the same process. And all is without true purpose. It is self-organizing, self-created. Alone. Pointless. But growing, advancing, like fate. It is fate, I suppose.
Meursault’s Meaning, Camus’ Conundrum
I just finished listening to The Stranger by Camus. It has moved me a bit closer, I think, to clarity on this whole issue of meaning. The main character, Meursault, is clearly reduced to an animal by his philosophy. He lives only for the sensual, the immediate. How is this different from the animal, the beast?
This much is clear from the book. This does not match the analysis which followed. In interview with an “existentialism scholar” followed the book. He tried (in vain) to explain Camus ethic and his “positive” outlook on life, how Camus believed that the search for meaning was the problem, and that “life” is found in coming to grips with the absurdity of life. I still can’t grasp this. Sure, I can imagine living for today, for the feelings, but I cannot see how this is better than the alternative.
Strange, what Solomon wrote…
I said to myself concerning the sons of men, “God has surely tested them in order for them to see that they are but beasts (Eccl 3:18, NAS).
God, evident?
How do we know God exists? Maybe Romans 1 has the answer:
“For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because what may be known of God is manifest in them, for God has shown it to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse…”
According to Paul, God has revealed himself in a general yet foolproof way through his creation. The phrase “in them” here could also be translated “among them,” so it does not necessarily refer to some inward revelation, and the rest of the passage seems to indicate an interaction between men and creation, men observing creation.
Paul seems to be saying that certain things about God, which must include his existence, are evident to men when they look at creation. This is not to say that there is 100% proof, because in Hebrews Paul says that “By faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that the things which are seen were not made of things which are visible.” Of course, we can know nothing for certain, and all “knowledge” involves some degree of faith, as I have previously discussed. Paul must be saying that there God has revealed himself fully enough that we should believe. This seems evident when one considers the prevalence of religion around the world and through history. Some interesting quotes of Native Americans on this topic can be found here.
I think it is clear that, on its face, the universe gives one the impression that it was created by an intelligent being. This fact is often admitted even by atheists.
So why don’t we? If all of this is true, then why don’t I automatically believe when I look at creation? Why is my mind filled with doubts, questions, and ideas about evolution and an impersonal, mechanical universe?
Paul’s answer is in the next verses of Romans 1:
“…because, although they knew God, they did not glorify Himas God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools, and changed the glory of the incorruptible God into an image made like corruptible man—and birds and four-footed animals and creeping things. “
Instead of acknowledging God (a concept Paul uses later in Romans 1), we start speculating about alternative explanations (the NASB renders this “they became futile in their speculations”), and our hearts become darkened. This darkening of the heart is probably referring to spiritual blindness, an inability to see things as they really are: a paradigm shift. Paul also refers to this as “suppressing the truth.”
A Violent Grace*
I was watching a video of a Hitchens debate on YouTube the other day, and I was struck by how vitriolic Hitchen’s was, especially when he discussed the atonement. This was very interesting to me. Why the hatred? Why such venom?
Last night I saw this picture of Jesus, and it reminded me of this. I thought about the crucifiction. It is the heart of Christianity.
And it is violent. It is bloody. Even horrific.
But it is the heart.
We shrink back:
Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed (Is 53:3b-5).
And that last part is key. Hitchens didn’t like that either. Offensive. The idea of one man paying for anothers sins. Immoral, he said. The whole thing is offensive!
…a stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall (Is 8:14)
But yet it is strangely attractive, like a flame to this moth. Hitchens calls us sadists and masochists, but he’s missed the point. Violence is at the very heart of nature: red in tooth and claw. It has been since the garden. Since the garden. Violence is necessary because of sin. It is not pleasant. We do not lust after it. But sometimes it is necessary. Sometimes war is necessary. In his science fiction novel, Perelandra, C. S. Lewis addresses this issue. The hero finds that he must kill the villain–it is the only way to stop him from destroying the heroine in the story. Is it hard to believe that violence was necessary to save us from ourselves?
But it is offensive. The pain, the blood, anguish. But He did not suffer for nothing, he was not a masochist. He was a soldier, fighting for us, tearing his way through the enemy lines.
After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life and be satisfied; by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many, and he will bear their iniquities (Is 53:11).
…who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God (Heb 12:2).
In high school I had a friend who was a Jehova’s Witness. I remeber him telling me why I shouldn’t wear a cross. “If your friend had been guillotined, would you wear a little guillotine around your neck?” he asked rhetorically. But perhaps I would. If my friend’s death had saved me, perhaps I would.
In the bloody face, the scourge-stripes, there is somehow release, relief. Wounds and blood are to the warrior like sweat is to the athlete, a badge, an honor. Warriors show their wounds with satisfaction.
And they sang a new song: ”You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation (Rev 5:9).”
A man hanging, nailed to a wooden cross, bleeding from many wounds, thorns pressed into his scalp, struggling to breathe, dying of asphixiation in agony. Violent? Of course. Offensive? According to Paul, that depends on our perspective.
but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God (1 cor 1:23).
I’ve been thinking about this. Is the cross the power of God to me?
*Violent Grace is the title of a song by Michael Card.
