Philosophy, Science and Divine Action

Philosophy, Science and Divine Action

Philosophical Studies in Science and Religion Edited by

F. LeRon Shults, University of Agder

VOLUME 1

Philosophy, Science and Divine Action Edited by

F. LeRon Shults, Nancey Murphy and Robert John Russell

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Philosophy, science, and divine action / edited by F. LeRon Shults, Nancey Murphy, and Robert John Russell. p. cm. — (Philosophical studies in science and religion, ISSN 1877-8542 ; v. 1) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17787-1 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Providence and government of God—Christianity. 2. Philosophy and religion. 3. Christianity—Philosophy. 4. Philosophical theology. 5. Religion and science. I. Shults, F. LeRon. II. Murphy, Nancey C. III. Russell, Robert J. BT135.P45 2009 231.7—dc22 2009026641

ISSN 1877-8542 ISBN 978 90 04 17787 1 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS

A Philosophical Introduction to “Divine Action” ........................ F. LeRon Shults

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Chapter One Five Models of God and Evolution ..................... Ian G. Barbour

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Chapter Two The Sound of Sheer Silence: How does God Communicate with Humanity? .......................................... Arthur Peacocke Chapter Three The Metaphysics of Divine Action .................... John Polkinghorne Chapter Four Describing God’s Action in the World in Light of Scientific Knowledge of Reality .................................. William R. Stoeger Chapter Five Evaluating the Teleological Argument for Divine Action Wesley J. Wildman ......................................................................... Chapter Six Constraint and Freedom in the Movement from Quantum Physics to Theology .......................................... Philip Clayton Chapter Seven Creation, Providence and Quantum Chance ..... Thomas F. Tracy

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Chapter Eight Divine Action in the Natural Order: Buridan’s Ass and Schrödinger’s Cat .......................................... Nancey Murphy

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Chapter Nine Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action: The Nexus of Interaction .............................................................. George F.R. Ellis

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contents

Chapter Ten Divine Action and Quantum Mechanics: A Fresh Assessment .......................................................................... Robert John Russell

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Appendix: Overview of the CTNS/VO Series .............................. About the Authors ............................................................................. Index ....................................................................................................

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A PHILOSOPHICAL INTRODUCTION TO “DIVINE ACTION” F. LeRon Shults

The slow process of the European construction of the spheres of “science” and “religion” and the hardening of the boundaries between them during the 17th and 18th centuries created an intellectual milieu in which traditional Christian ways of interpreting “religious” experience in the world increasingly came into competition with new “scientific” explanations of the world. The idea of divine action was relatively unproblematic and generally presupposed within Western medieval cosmology, with its philosophical mixture of Neo-platonic active principles and Aristotelian final causes, both of which were ultimately grounded in the divine (the Form of the Good, the Unmoved Mover). However, as early modern science (especially classical mechanics) progressively filled the gaps in human knowledge about natural causes within a mechanical universe, the necessity (and plausibility) of appealing to divine causation gradually diminished. The rise of deism and protest atheism in the 18th and 19th centuries was partially in response to the growing philosophical challenges to the coherence of the notion of divine action, and its alleged incompatibility with human freedom and natural evil. All of this is well known. But where does the discussion stand in light of contemporary science and philosophy?

Philosophy, Science, and Divine Action In our late modern philosophical context might there be new ways to make sense of the claim that God can act in or interact with the world? Many scholars still find such questions irrelevant (at best) and dangerous (at worst). Some scientists believe that discourse about events in the natural world ought to exclude references to theological hypotheses. Some theologians believe that discourse about the supernatural events of divine revelation ought to be insulated from scientific hypotheses. The voices at these polar extremes are often the loudest. In the last few decades, however, a growing number of scholars have been exploring

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new ways of constructing a discourse that teases the boundaries of these academic disciplines in order to pursue more holistic and integrated interpretations of human life in the cosmos. One exemplar of such interdisciplinary exploration that stands out for its scholarly breadth and depth is the Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action (SPDA) project, co-sponsored by the Vatican Observatory (VO) and the Center for Theology and Natural Science (CTNS). This multiyear collaboration involved over 50 authors meeting at five international conferences, resulting in as many volumes: Quantum Cosmology and the Laws of Nature (1993), Chaos and Complexity (1997), Evolutionary and Molecular Biology (1998), Neuroscience and the Person (1999) and Quantum Mechanics (2001). Each volume carried the subtitle: “scientific perspectives on divine action.” The historical background, bibliographic details, unique interdisciplinary process and impact of the project and the series are described by Robert John Russell in the Appendix (below). This allows me to focus my attention in this Introduction on some general observations about the function(s) of philosophy within the SPDA project, which is the main rationale for showcasing these ten essays in the current book. The 91 essays in the five volumes of the CTNS/VO series could be classified and analyzed in a number of ways. For example, we could group them theologically, exploring ways in which particular themes such as the doctrine of God, creation or anthropology are treated across the volumes. Or we could examine the role played by developments or debates within specific scientific disciplines, such as physics, evolutionary biology or neuroscience. Such mining of the resources within these volumes has already begun in the capstone volume to the project, Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action: 20 Years of Challenge and Progress (CTNS/VO, 2008). Our task here, however, is to provide a more general overview of the major philosophical themes and developments that played a more or less explicit role in the SPDA project. The volumes in the series offer analysis of specific philosophical concepts within both science and theology (such as space, time, matter and causality), as well as engagement with broader philosophical systems that aim to incorporate both science and theology, such as neo-Thomism and process philosophy. As Russell notes in his overview of the series in the capstone volume: “The overarching goal was to engage theology, philosophy, and natural science in a process of constructive dialogue and creative mutual interaction.” He observes that 30 of the 91 essays in the series explicitly

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treated philosophical issues. I think it is also fair to say that all of the essays involve philosophical engagement at least implicitly, insofar as they utilize philosophical categories and attempt to contribute to our understanding of topics that have a long history of philosophical disputation. The chapters in the current volume were selected for inclusion first and foremost because they demonstrate the value of explicitly attending to the philosophical issues that shape the dialogue between science and Christian theology about the idea of divine action in the world. Below I will provide a brief preview of each of these chapters. First, however, I want to back up and briefly outline three of the classical themes in philosophy (epistemology, metaphysics, and ethics) and three of the shifts in philosophical categories in late modernity (relation, kinesis, and difference), to which we can then make reference as we preview the chapters.

Classical Philosophical Themes and Late Modern Trajectories Many of the particular issues within the complex history of the development of philosophy that are relevant for understanding the role of the idea of divine action in the contemporary dialogue between scientists and Christian theologians are outlined and analyzed in the context of the ten essays that comprise this book. For the purposes of this Introduction, therefore, it suffices to note three of the general areas into which philosophical discourse is often divided: metaphysics, epistemology and ethics. While treatments of these themes are clearly interconnected, for the sake of analysis we can distinguish between the kinds of questions that typically exercise philosophers: What is real? What is true? What is good? Broadly speaking, we are dealing here with the conditions for the human experience of being, knowing and acting in the world. Scientists and theologians operate, more or less self-consciously, within and across these spheres of discourse. One of the main goals of this book is highlighting the way in which philosophical themes and categories function within the dialogue among the disciplines. Like just about everything in philosophy, the meaning of the term metaphysics is highly contested. In general it has to do with discourse about “being,” about the nature and structure of reality. Presuppositions about “that which is” inevitably impact both scientific and theological argumentation. One’s assumptions about the order of the world

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(cosmo-logy) constrain one’s options for thinking about the relation of the divine to (or in) that world. On the other hand, theological ideas about the nature of God (or ultimate reality) shape one’s interpretations of experience within the cosmos. Moreover, concepts such as causality may prima facie appear to be simply neutral scientific notions, but they are wrapped up within broader (or deeper) metaphysical notions about the order of things and their intelligibility. This is perhaps most easily seen in the function of concepts such as space and time. The shift from a Newtonian to an Einsteinian understanding and use of these concepts was clearly of metaphysical import; the idea of “matter” itself was reconstructed in a new vision of the dynamic structure of reality. Such issues cannot be divorced from epistemology. How do (or can) we know what we (think we) know about reality? After the demise of classical foundationalism and the rise of post-positivist philosophy of science, we have become acutely aware of the limits of human knowing. In the most popular interpretations of quantum theory, and in some interpretations of chaos theory, particular kinds of processes and events are viewed as unpredictable in principle, which leads many physicists to acknowledge an intrinsic limit to scientific knowledge. Awareness of the limitations of human knowing is intensified in theological discourse, which is distinguished by its attentiveness to the human experience of being-limited, and the ultimate boundary conditions that ground this experience. In neither discipline does the rejection of apodictic knowledge of the object of inquiry entail the denial of any knowledge of (or valuable engagement with) reality. As a middle way between naïve realism and anti-realism, we find an increasing number of scholars, including several included in this volume, embracing some form of “critically realist” epistemology. If ethics has to do with “acting” then we might expect an interdisciplinary project on divine action to have special bearing on this arena of philosophical discourse. As we will see in the preview below, most of the philosophical energy of the project was devoted to issues of metaphysics and epistemology. However, it will also become clear that questions about morality (divine or human) are almost always in the background and quite often in the foreground in these discussions. This is particularly evident in the significant attention given in the project to two specific philosophical issues: theodicy and freedom. First, there was widespread agreement among the participants that any postulate of “special” divine action in the world exacerbates the theodicy problem. In fact, this is a primary reason that the next series

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sponsored by CTNS/VO is focusing on the issue of natural evil.1 Second, if events in the world (including human actions) are completely (or even partially) determined by God (or the laws of nature), then in what sense can we speak plausibly of human freedom and responsibility? Clearly metaphysical (and epistemological) claims about the relation between necessity and chance in the world are relevant for moral discourse as well. Attending to these three general areas of philosophical discourse provides a synchronic overview of some of the most significant issues in the SPDA project. But we can also see the influence of philosophy if we think diachronically, pointing out historical shifts in the meaning and use of key categories. For most of its history Christian theology has been couched in the categories of Platonism and/or Aristotelianism, and has shared the resistance of both of these ancient philosophical schools to Stoicism. Many early modern scientific developments, however, were motivated by renaissance retrievals of aspects of Stoic philosophy, including some of its atomistic and deterministic elements. This contributed to an intellectual milieu that increasingly challenged Platonic-Aristotelian categories, as well as the Christian doctrinal formulations that relied heavily upon them. Our purpose here is not to recount the difficulties this caused for early modern theologians but to point out three specific categorical shifts in late modern philosophy that have shaped the conceptual space within the dialogue now occurs: the growing preference for relation, kinesis and difference over substance, stasis and sameness. Whence and whither these philosophical trajectories? In Plato’s Sophist the “visitor” convinces Theaetetus that there are five general kinds (genōn): “that which is” or “being” (to on) “rest,” (stasis) “change” (kinesis) “the same” (tauton) and “the different” (heteron). For the most part traditional Western philosophy (as well as science and theology) has followed Plato in starting with the category of being, which has to do with the essence or substance (ousia) of things, as distinct from their relations (or accidental attributes). Plato also tended to value rest over change (or motion) and sameness over difference, tendencies that were hardened in Neo-platonism and registered a profound effect on

1 Nancey Murphy, Robert John Russell and William R. Stoeger, S.J., eds, Physics and Cosmology: Scientific Perspectives on the Problem of Natural Evil, vol. I (Berkeley: CTNS/VO, 2007).

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Western thought. Although Aristotle challenged Plato’s division between the realm of (unchanging) Forms and the realm of (changing) matter, he still—perhaps even more than Plato—valorized substance (ousia) over relation, rest over movement, and the same over the different. For both of these philosophers the categories of being, rest and identity were dominant in their metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics. In late modern philosophy, however, one can trace a growing dissatisfaction with this dominance and a struggle to reverse (or at least balance) these tendencies through an emphasis on the philosophical significance of the categories of relationality, dynamism and difference. These trajectories have been motivated by scientific and theological as well as philosophical concerns. In the turn from substance to relationality, Immanuel Kant played an important role, explicitly reversing Aristotle in his first critique by making “substance and accidents” a sub-category “of Relation.” The shift is also evident in physics: from the Cartesian-Newtonian concept of material substances to post-Einsteinian concepts of relativity and field theories. Although they are not included in this volume, several theologians who participated in the SPDA project (e.g., Moltmann, Edwards) also illustrate this trajectory, articulating ideas of God that begin not with abstract notions of unitary substance, but with robustly relational (trinitarian) categories. We can also see a late modern trajectory toward a metaphysical privileging of kinesis (or motion) over stasis (or rest). This is connected to the question of the relation between being and becoming, classically illustrated in the extremes of Parmenides and Heraclitus, whom Plato tried to balance. In his theory of the two realms, however, the temporal movement of material things is not the Ideal; for Plato true knowledge is contemplation of the (static) Forms. Newton’s laws of inertia also presupposed a privileged realm of stasis—the unchanging three-dimensional structure of Absolute Space. Here too Einstein is the easy comparison. The shift from F=ma to E=mc2 represents a new awareness that dynamic energy—kinesis—is an essential and generative feature of the cosmos. According to Einstein (contra Newton), mass, the inertial property of matter by which bodies resist change of motion, should be identified with the energy of that motion. Developments in the fields of quantum mechanics and chaos theory have also confirmed and intensified this philosophical valuation of the dynamic over the static. This has led to non-deterministic and non-linear conceptions of temporality and causality as well, which many believe can open up new ways to imagine the “action” of God in relation to the world.

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One can also trace a third late modern philosophical trajectory in which alterity (as opposed to identity) is increasingly embraced as a key generative category. Here we can point, for example, to Emmanuel Levinas’ emphasis on the primordial relation to the other, which always resists the imperialism of the same, to Jacques Derrida’s notion of differánce and his broader project of deconstruction, to Gilles Deleuze’s portrayal of the arrival of the Disparate as the force that generates intensities of difference, and to Paul Ricoeur’s reflections on the ipseity of the self as it emerges in relations to others. Each of these thinkers (and others) has been influenced in various ways by Kierkegaard and Heidegger, both of whom privileged the category of difference in their philosophical speculations and psychological analyses of human relationships. Already in the late 17th century attention to difference began to transform the field of mathematics, leading to a shift from a substantial to a functional (relational) concept of “number.” This contributed to the emergence of differential calculus, which had a profound influence on physics and related sciences. However, the philosophical turn to alterity (or difference) has not (yet) played as significant a role in the science and theology dialogue.

A Philosophical Preview The essays included in this volume are exemplary in several ways. They are all examples of state-of-the-art contributions to the debate over divine action among scientists and Christian theologians. They also represent the work of some of the most active participants in the SPDA project, and the broader international theology and science dialogue. Mostly importantly for the purposes of this book, they illustrate the care with which and depth to which the project attended to the role of philosophy in this dialogue. The following preview does not attempt to summarize the complex arguments of each essay; rather, it alerts the reader to some of the key philosophical concerns and concepts that are relevant for understanding and assessing the ongoing discussion. The first three chapters included here were written by the three scholars who are widely acknowledged to be the leading figures of the contemporary resurgent interest in international dialogue among scientists and Christian theologians, which picked up momentum in the 1970s and has grown consistently to the present: Ian Barbour, Arthur Peacocke and John Polkinghorne. The fourth chapter is by William

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R. Stoeger, S.J, one of the foremost Roman Catholic participants in and sponsors of the SPDA project. Wesley Wildman’s contribution in the fifth chapter represents an important (but minority) voice within the project, a voice that challenges the idea of divine agency itself. The remaining five chapters all deal with the more specific question of special divine action in relation to quantum theory. It makes sense for the bulk of the book to focus on this theme, because the desire to construct a plausible model of “special” (or “objective”) divine action was shared by the majority of participants, and engaging theories of quantum phenomena was an important part of the majority of such attempts. As we will see this holds for our last five authors as well: Philip Clayton, Thomas Tracy, Nancey Murphy, George Ellis and Robert Russell. This volume begins with a chapter by Ian Barbour, whose influential taxonomy of “Ways of Relating Science and Theology” first appeared in the precursor volume to the SPDA series, and was later developed in more detail in several places.2 The essay that is included here is the second of Barbour’s contributions to the project: “Five Models of God and Evolution.” Because theologians cannot avoid using philosophical categories in the systematic elaboration of ideas, Barbour commends the explicit and integrative use of philosophy in the engagement between science and theology. In this context Barbour himself illustrates this in two ways. First, he explicitly demonstrates the way in which four particular philosophical issues in contemporary biology (self-organization, indeterminacy, top-down causality, and communication of information) play a role in various models of divine action in an evolving world. Second, Barbour attempts to show the illuminative power of process philosophy, especially the categories developed by Alfred North Whitehead and Charles Hartshorne. He argues that this philosophical system is able both to integrate the valuable insights of the other views and to move beyond them by better accounting for the human experience of interiority and novelty. This engagement with process philosophy, which explicitly challenges substance-accident dualism and begins with relational and dynamic categories, also illustrates the way in which the first two late modern trajectories (outlined above) have impacted the science and religion dialogue. 2

Barbour, ”Ways of Relating Science and Theology,” in Russell, et al., eds., Physics, Philosophy and Theology: A Common Quest for Understanding (Vatican Observatory, 1988), 21–48. The four ways are conflict, independence, dialogue and integration. Cf. Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science (New York: HarperOne, 1990).

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Arthur Peacocke introduces his essay with a reference to the ancient Israelite prophet Elijah, who experienced the “sound of sheer silence” in his encounter with “the Lord” (1 Kings 19). This story illustrates the way in which the idea of divine action in general, and “personal communication” in particular, play such an important role in interpretations of religious experience, especially in the Abrahamic traditions. Peacocke wants to maintain this intuition, but to articulate it in such a way that makes sense in light of contemporary science. He argues that the most adequate way (philosophically) to account for 20th century discoveries in sciences such as physics and biology is “emergentist monism,” which provides a model of whole-part causation that challenges the ontological dualism and epistemological reductionism of much early modern philosophy. Peacocke challenges interventionist conceptions of the God-world relation, which often presuppose a dualism between immaterial and material “substance,” and offers a “panentheistic” model in which the world is in some sense “in God.” Here too we see the influence of the philosophical privileging of relationality and becoming on the dialogue between science and religion. Like most of the other participants in the project, Peacocke recognizes that his proposal does not solve the “intractable” problem of evil, but he believes it does mitigate the conceptual problem of plausibly imaging the possibility of (personal and moral) divine action in the world.3 John Polkinghorne should also be counted as part of the trio of leading figures who have most significantly contributed to the contemporary resurgence of the dialogue between Christian theology and science. Although the title of his contribution included here is “The Metaphysics of Divine Action,” he makes it clear early in the essay that questions about being cannot be divorced from questions about knowing. Polkinghorne favors a version of “critical realism” whose motto is “epistemology models ontology.” Like most physicists, he accepts the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum phenomena, which argues that the indeterminacy displayed in sub-atomic particle experiments is not a result only of the epistemological limits of human observers, but an indication of real openness in the natural world. Unlike many other participants in the series, however, Polkinghorne wants to expand this

3 Peacocke’s engages these and other philosophical issues (including the epistemological implications of critical realism) in more detail in Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural, Divine and Human (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993).

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openness to chaos theory, which deals with macrophysical objects and events. In the context of this particular essay, Polkinghorne focuses on ways in which metaphysical assumptions about the nature of time and epistemological assumptions about the knowability of the future shape our conceptions of divine action in (and divine knowledge of ) the world. The main point for our purposes here is that he too illustrates the importance of explicitly attending to the philosophical mediation of the dialogue between science and religion.4 William Stoeger, S.J., was one of the leading organizers of the SPDA project (representing the Vatican Observatory) and the most active Roman Catholic contributor to the book series. In the essay included here, Stoeger argues that the distinction between primary and secondary causality, which was developed by Thomas Aquinas in his adaptation of Aristotelian metaphysics, provides us with a useful philosophical tool for clarifying the nature of divine action. Variations of this approach, which are often classified as “neo-Thomistic,” comprise one of the most significant and widely shared strategies among contemporary Roman Catholic theologians in the science and religion dialogue. Stoeger suggests that these philosophical categories are “more adequate to both the scientific and the theological data, and lead to fewer difficulties in explicating the essential differences between God and his/her creation, and the ideas of divine immanence and transcendence.” For the purposes of the current volume, this essay provides a clear example of an attempt to maintain and refigure a medieval set of categories in dialogue with contemporary scientific discoveries such as information theory and top-down causality. Wesley Wildman’s essay addresses one of the key issues that has dominated the traditional dialogue between science and theology: the role of “teleology” in arguments for divine action. Most medieval and early modern Christian interpretations of God’s creative and providential relation to the world appropriated (to some extent) the Aristotelian notion of “final” causality. This way of making sense of the apparent purposiveness in nature was increasingly eclipsed by the emphasis in classical mechanics on “efficient” causality. Wildman demonstrates how the problem of linking teleology and divine action was further complicated not only by developments in evolutionary and molecular

4 For an overview of Polkinghorne’s approach to the dialogue, cf. his Belief in God in an Age of Science (New Haven: Yale, 2003).

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biology, but also by the fundamental metaphysical ambiguity that characterizes philosophical discourse. Based on his analysis of the notion of “having an end” throughout the philosophical tradition, Wildman offers several schemata for making sense of this complex conceptual debate. For example, he distinguishes between four types of teleological views in biology, outlines three stages that must be included in any teleological argument for divine action, and delineates the way in which six modes of divine action can be correlated with “teleological loci” in nature. Wildman’s essay illustrates both the material significance of metaphysical questions and the methodological value of philosophical distinctions in the ongoing debate. He also represents the inclusion within the project of a minority position among Christian theologians in the dialogue. In light of the problem of evil and other conceptual issues, Wildman is willing to give up the idea that God acts (intentionally, or in a way analogous to human agency) in the world, and prefers to speak of God (or ultimate reality) as the ground of being.5 The remaining five chapters explicitly try to maintain the idea of intentional or “special” divine action in the world, and do so in a variety of ways, all of which heavily engage quantum theory. We begin with an essay by Philip Clayton: “Tracing the Lines: Constraint and Freedom in the Movement from Quantum Physics to Theology.” Like most of the other contributors to this volume, Clayton argues that the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum indeterminacy opens up new possibilities for making sense of divine action. However, he emphasizes the importance of balancing metaphysical courage with epistemic humility as we explore these possibilities. Clayton suggests that instead of thinking of physics and metaphysics in dichotomous terms, we should imagine them as falling at different points on a continuum of abstraction. Questions about divine action require us to move further along the continuum toward abstraction, but should nevertheless be connected to (and in some sense constrained by) questions about the concrete nature of the physical world. On the other hand, Clayton also acknowledges the insight of post-positivist philosophy of science that metaphysical decisions are not simply determined by the data of physical theories. Like Peacocke and others, Clayton commends a panentheistic metaphysics as

5 In his contribution to the capstone volume, Wildman makes this argument more extensively in the context of his classification of the project’s participants. Cf. Wildman, “The Divine Action Project,” Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, 176.

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offering the best current option for tracing the lines between quantum physics and theology.6 In his essay “Creation, Providence and Quantum Chance,” Thomas Tracy also (like William Stoeger) utilizes the philosophical distinction between primary and secondary causality. On the one hand, God primarily and directly causes the (continual) existence of all finite things. On the other hand, God can also act through “secondary” causes, producing results indirectly through the operation of finite things. Tracy suggests that quantum theory has led to a philosophical challenge to exceptionless causal determinism, long accepted by scientists and theologians, which opens up a new way to think of God’s special (and objective) action in the world. The kind of divine action in history that is central for the faith of the Abrahamic religions, argues Tracy, requires that there be gaps (of the right sort) in the causal structures of nature. These gaps appear to him to be provided in the indeterminacy of quantum events. For Tracy, such gaps are not created ad hoc in the world by God’s special acts of intervention but are built into structure of the world created by God ex nihilo. Like most of the other contributors who engage quantum theory, Tracy also explicitly makes the connection between metaphysical decisions (about compatibilism and incompatibilism for example) and issues that bear on ethics, such as the plausibility of the idea of human free will and responsibility. Nancey Murphy was another one of the most active of the participants in the project, serving as co-editor for three of the volumes in the series as well as the capstone volume. In the paper included here, “Divine Action in the Natural Order,” she outlines a theory of causation that attempts to account for both scientific phenomena and religious experience. Murphy stresses that the problem of divine action is, at base, a metaphysical problem. “Nothing short of a revision of current metaphysical notions regarding the nature of matter and causation is likely to solve the problem of divine action.” Murphy’s essay also demonstrates the importance of the first two late modern philosophical trajectories outlined above. For example, in her treatment of the metaphysical considerations that shape the dialogue, she traces the role of concepts such as matter, substance, change, and motion in

6 In his chapter in the capstone volume, “Toward a Theory of Divine Action that has Traction,” Clayton commends emergence theory as a valuable and viable metaphysic for incorporating both scientific and theological concerns.

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the shift from Aristotelian to Newtonian cosmology. In Murphy’s own proposal for understanding divine action in dialogue with contemporary science, chaos theory and top-down causation play a subsidiary role; God acts at the quantum level, activating one or another of the innate powers of a quantum entity, from the “bottom-up” without changing the laws of nature. As she makes clear throughout, Murphy’s philosophical efforts are also motivated in part by a theological desire to avoid exacerbating the problem of evil while making sense of the experience of free-will.7 George Ellis’s chapter is, as he notes, intended largely as a response to Murphy’s, with which he basically agrees. Ellis’s concern is to clarify and make use of the distinction between “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action.” For the purposes of this introduction, two points about his essay are particularly salient. First, Ellis’s overview of the relevant scientific developments, such as chaos theory and emergent order, shows the significant impact of the late modern philosophical shifts toward privileging relationality and dynamism over substance and stasis. Second, Ellis provides a more detailed treatment of the role of the problem of evil in reflections on divine action. He acknowledges that theories of extraordinary divine action are susceptible to the charge of capriciousness. If God can, and occasionally does act, why does God not act to stop Hitler (for example), or to alleviate contemporary experiences of pain and suffering? Ellis’s own view is that God acts (extraordinarily) only to give revelatory, spiritual or moral insight, not to alter a physical outcome from what it would have otherwise been. This proposal offers a clear example of the way in which moral concerns can play an important role in the treatment of metaphysical and epistemological issues within the science and theology dialogue.8 The final chapter included in this book is by Robert John Russell, director of CTNS, and the main organizer of the project. He was the leading editor of each volume in the CTNS/VO series, and arguably the person most familiar with the general contours of the ongoing debate among the participants during the process as a whole. “Divine Action and Quantum Mechanics: A Fresh Assessment” was the last chapter

7 Nancey Murphy’s chapter in the capstone volume explored “Emergence, Downward Causation and Divine Action,” outlining several key philosophical issues and evaluating a variety of approaches to these themes. 8 Cf. George Ellis and Nancey Murphy, On the Moral Nature of the Universe (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996).

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in the fifth and final volume of the series, and it offers a summary of the key issues in the field, outlines a constructive proposal and suggests directions for future research. Throughout the essay, Russell pays special attention to philosophical aspects of the dialogue, including the metaphysical and epistemological questions that shape the interpretation of quantum mechanics. His own proposal involves the appropriation of theologians like Jurgen Moltmann and Wolfhart Pannenberg, for whom trinitarian reflection plays a central role in articulating the relation between God and the world. Russell also explicitly addresses the two main ethical (or moral) questions that shape Christian discourse on divine action: the problem of human freedom and the challenge of theodicy.9

Conclusion Although showcasing these influential essays from the SPDA project would be sufficient warrant for the production of the current book, its inclusion in the Brill series “Philosophical Studies in Science and Religion” suggests that another motivation lies behind their compilation. Both individually and as a group these chapters illustrate the significant role of philosophy in the dialogue between science and Christian theology over the question of divine action. This is so amply demonstrated in the various essays that I have limited myself in this Introduction to alerting the reader to some of the major philosophical themes and shifts that shape the general context of the dialogue and the particular material and methodological argumentation of each contribution. The project was not intended to offer a final anwer on the question of divine action but to press the dialogue between Christian theology and natural science further in light of the significant scientific (and philosophical) developments of the last century. No single project can accomplish everything, and the organizers self-consciously focused their interdisciplinary exploration by limiting themselves to dealing with those scientific fields that appeared most promising for opening up new opportunities for reconstructing Christian interpretations of the experience of God’s action in the world. Although they welcomed and

9 For a more detailed treatment of these and related issues, cf. Russell, Cosmology—From Alpha to Omega (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008).

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encouraged discussion of the ethical issues raised by the problems of human freedom and theodicy, most of the philosophical analysis focused on metaphyical and epistemological issues. As indicated above, a new series that explicitly treats the problem of natural evil has now been launched, demonstrating that its participants are well aware of the need for ongoing interdisciplinary dialogue about the various and complex questions that must be faced in discussions of divine action. As this dialogue continues to widen, geographically and conceptually, it will be necessary to complement the insights gained and progress made by the CTNS/VO series on divine action by examining the topic from other perspectives and continuing to welcome new voices into the conversation. This will open up new opportunities for critically engaging the deeper philosophical presuppositions that shape the very idea of divine agency in Christian theology. To what extent might early modern metaphysical assumptions about the dyads “natural vs. supernatural” and “immanence vs. transcendence” constrain our options for interpreting encounters with ultimate reality? To what extent might western epistemological assumptions about the capacity of reason and the function of “analogy” in theological language constrain our options for conceptualizing the relation between human and divine intentionality? To what extent might individualistic ethical assumptions about the powerful role of desire for future goods in finite agency constrain our imaginative articulation of the relation of God to time? Our exploration of these and other challenging questions will be enhanced as we increasingly engage the resources of the late modern philosophical turn to alterity and of other (especially non-western) religious traditions.

CHAPTER ONE

FIVE MODELS OF GOD AND EVOLUTION Ian G. Barbour

Is evolutionary theory compatible with the idea that God acts in nature? Through most of Western history it had been assumed that all creatures were designed and created by God in their present forms, but Darwin claimed that they are the product of a long process of natural selection. His theory of evolution not only undermined the traditional version of the argument from design; it also explained the history of nature by scientific laws that seemed to offer no opportunity for God’s providential guidance. However several themes in the biological sciences offer promising new ways of conceiving of divine action in evolutionary history without intervention or violation of the laws of nature. The first section of this essay traces the development of evolutionary theory from Darwin himself to molecular biology and recent hypotheses about complexity. The second explores four themes in recent writing about biological processes: self-organization, indeterminacy, top-down causality, and communication of information. Subsequent sections examine theological models of God’s action in nature based on analogies with each of these four characteristics of organic life. I will suggest that a fifth model from process theology avoids some of the problems arising in other models of God’s relation to nature.

1. Darwinism Evolving Evolutionary theory has undergone significant reinterpretation and modification since Darwin. First, the growth of population genetics and molecular biology is briefly described. Then the expansion of Darwinism is discussed, particularly the recognition that other factors in addition to natural selection influence the direction of evolutionary change. Finally, recent theories of complexity and self-organization are considered.

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1.1. From Darwin to DNA In Darwin’s day, Newtonian mechanics was looked on as the form of science which other sciences should emulate. The Newtonian viewpoint was atomistic, deterministic and reductionistic. It was believed that the behavior of all systems is determined by a few simple laws governing the behavior of their smallest components. Change was thought to be the result of external forces, such as gravity, acting on bodies which are themselves essentially passive. Darwin agreed with the philosophers of science who held that Newtonian physics represented an ideal for all the sciences, and his theory of evolution shared many of its assumptions.1 Darwin held that evolutionary change is caused by natural selection acting on variations among individual members of a species. Under competitive conditions, those individuals with a slight adaptive advantage will survive better to reproduce and pass on that advantage to their offspring. His viewpoint was “atomistic” in assuming that selection acts on separate traits in individual organisms. For him, as for Newton, change was the result of external forces; he held that the direction of change is determined by natural selection, not by the efforts of organisms themselves as Lamark had believed. The assumptions which Darwin shared with Newton are explored in detail in a recent volume by Depew and Weber.2 By the end of the nineteenth century, probability was an important concept in several areas of physics. Maxwell and Boltzmann showed that the probability of different configurations of gas molecules can be calculated even when the motions of individual molecules are too complicated to describe mathematically. Statistical averages can be used to predict the relationship between large-scale variables such as pressure, volume, temperature, heat flow, and entropy. In statistical mechanics and classical thermodynamics, equilibrium macrostates can be calculated without knowing the initial distribution of molecules. Probabilistic reasoning was also important in the merging of population genetics and evolutionary theory early in the twentieth century in the theories of Fisher, Wright, and Dobzhansky. Fisher acknowledged

1

Michael Ruse, Philosophy of Biology Today (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1988), 6; idem, The Darwinian Paradigm (New York: Routledge, 1989). 2 David P. Depew and Bruce H. Weber, Darwinism Evolving (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1995), Part I.

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the influence of nineteenth-century physics on his ideas about calculating gene probabilities in individual organisms and gene frequencies in populations. The “modern synthesis” in which Julian Huxley, G.G. Simpson and Ernst Mayr were prominent, continued the Darwinian belief that the evolution of species was the result of a gradual accumulation of small changes. If some members of a population are geographically or reproductively isolated from other members, accumulated changes may result in a new species that can no longer interbreed with the original population. In a very small isolated population, gene frequencies may differ, purely by chance, from those in the larger population; the direction of evolutionary change (“genetic drift”) would then be the result of chance rather than natural selection. But natural selection was still viewed as the principal agent of evolutionary change.3 The discovery of the structure of DNA in 1953 led to the identification of the molecular components of the genes which population genetics had postulated. The “central dogma” of molecular biology asserted that information is transferred in one direction only, from the sequences of bases in DNA to the sequences of amino acids assembled by the DNA to form proteins. It was claimed that the environment has no direct effect on genes except to eliminate or perpetuate them through selective pressures on the organisms that carried them. Molecular biology has been immensely fruitful in illuminating almost every aspect of evolutionary history, but some of the assumptions initially associated with it have more recently been questioned. 1.2. The Expansion of Darwinism Most of the challenges to the modern synthesis in recent decades should be seen as part of an expanded Darwinism (or neo-Darwinism), rather than as a rejection of earlier insights. For example, it has been claimed that selection occurs at many levels, and not just on the level of organisms in populations. Dawkins speaks of selection at the level of genes; he views organisms as mechanisms by which genes perpetuate themselves. E.O. Wilson speaks of kin selection and others defend group selection. Both philosophers and biologists have argued that selection occurs also at the species level. Whereas an organism produces other organisms by reproduction, and it perishes by death, a species produces other

3

Ibid., Part II.

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species by speciation, and it perishes by extinction. The speciation rate of a species may be as important in the long run as the reproduction rate of individual organisms. Variation and selection occur at several levels at once, and of course changes at one level will influence those at other levels.4 Darwin himself stressed the struggle and competition for survival, but more recent interpretations point to a larger role for cooperation and symbiosis. The idea of punctuated equilibrium defended by Gould and Eldredge challenged the earlier assumption that macroevolution is the result of the gradual accumulation of many small changes. They point to fossil records that show millions of years with very little change, interspersed with bursts of rapid speciation in relatively short periods, especially in the early Cambrian period when all the known phyla and basic body plans appeared in a very short period. They postulate that alterations in developmental sequences produced major structural changes. Their view is holistic in directing attention to polygenic traits, the genome as a system, and the role of regulatory programs in development, rather than to small changes due to mutations in single genes governing separate traits that might be subject to selection. The directions of change are determined by the possibilities of developmental reorganization as well as by selective forces acting on organisms.5 Gould and Lewontin hold that evolutionary change arises from many differing causes, and they criticize explanation by natural selection alone (“panadaptationism”). They point out that one can always postulate a possible “selective advantage” for any trait by making up a “just-so story” of how it might be adaptive, even in the absence of independent evidence for such an advantage.6 But most biologists probably follow Stebbins and Ayala in claiming that all the known data are consistent with an expanded and enriched version of neo-Darwinism in which variation and natural selection are still the main factors in evolutionary

4 R.N. Brandon and R.M. Burian, eds., Genes, Organisms, Populations: Controversies over the Units of Selection (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1984); Niles Eldredge and Stanley Salthe, “Hierarchy and Evolution,” in Oxford Surveys of Evolutionary Biology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 5 Stephen Jay Gould, “Darwinism and the Expansion of Evolutionary Theory,” Science 216 (1982), 380–87; S.J. Gould and Niles Eldredge, “Punctuated Equilibrium Comes of Age,” Nature 366 (1993), 223–27. 6 S.J. Gould and Richard C. Lewontin, “The Spandrels of San Marco and the Panglossian Paradigm: A Critique of the Adaptionist Programme,” Proc. of Royal Society of London B 205 (1979), 581–98.

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change.7 The communication of information from DNA to proteins is indeed crucial, as the “central dogma” asserted, but other sources of information are significant in determining how genes are expressed in living organisms. Some of this information is in the cytoplasm outside the cell nucleus, and some comes from elsewhere in the organism or wider environment. A complex feedback and regulatory system turns particular genetic programs on and off. Outside influences can also affect the transposition of genes.8 Some biologists have noted that the internal drives and novel actions of organisms can initiate evolutionary changes. The environment selects individuals, but individuals also select environments, and in a new niche a different set of genes may contribute to survival. Some pioneering fish ventured onto land and were the ancestors of amphibians and mammals; some mammals later returned to the water and were the ancestors of dolphins and whales; some forest woodpeckers began to hunt in the mountains. In each case organisms themselves took new initiatives; genetic and then anatomic changes followed from their actions through “genetic assimilation” (the Baldwin effect). The changes were not initiated by genetic variations. Lamark was evidently right that the purposeful actions of organisms can eventually lead to physiological changes, though he was wrong in assuming that physiological changes occurring during an organism’s lifetime can be inherited directly by its offspring.9 Finally, some biologists, including Mayr, Gould, and Lewontin, consider themselves exponents of an expanded Darwinism but insist on the autonomy of biology from physics. They say that even the probabilistic physics of classical thermodynamics cannot serve as a model for evolutionary biology because chance and contingent historical contexts play such crucial roles. We can describe evolution through a unique historical narrative but we cannot deduce its path from predictive laws. These authors also defend the distinctiveness of biological concepts

7 G. Ledyard Stebbins and Francisco Ayala, “Is a New Evolutionary Synthesis Necessary?” Science 213 (1981), 967–71. 8 John Campbell, “An Organizational Interpretation of Evolution,” in Evolution at the Crossroads, David P. Depew and Bruce H. Weber, eds. (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1985). 9 C.H. Waddington, The Strategy of the Genes (New York: Macmillan, 1957); Robert J. Richards, Darwin and the Emergence of Evolutionary Theories of Mind and Behavior (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), chap. 10.

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and their irreducibility to the concepts of physics and chemistry, as I will note later.10 1.3. Beyond Darwinism? Darwin’s theory shared many of the assumptions of Newtonian physics; the modern synthesis was influenced by the probabilistic reasoning of statistical mechanics. Future understanding of evolution may be enhanced by recent work on chaos and complexity in the physical sciences. Whereas the linear systems of classical thermodynamics are insensitive to small initial differences and attain predictable equilibrium states, nonlinear thermodynamic systems far from equilibrium are extremely sensitive to very small initial differences and are therefore unpredictable. Prigogine and others have described the emergence of new types of order in dissipative systems far from equilibrium. An infinitesimal difference in initial conditions will lead to alternative endstates and new levels of order described by system-wide relationships rather than by interactions at the molecular level.11 Stuart Kauffman draws from theories of complexity in arguing that evolution is the product of self-organization as well as chance and selection. He looks at the common properties of diverse systems, for example those in embryonic development, neural networks and computer networks. As we will see in the next section, he argues that dynamical systems can achieve new ordered states without any external selective pressures.12 Jeffrey Wicken has insisted that we cannot understand evolutionary history without looking at the entropy, order, and flow of energy in the wider ecosystems within which organisms co-evolve. Moreover, he says, structural and thermodynamic constraints drastically limit the stable combinations when amino acids are randomly assembled to form proteins. These authors adopt a holistic approach

10 Ernst Mayr, The Growth of Biological Thought (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982); idem, “How Biology Differs from the Physical Sciences,” in Evolution at the Crossroads, Depew and Weber, eds. 11 Ilya Prigogine and Irene Stengers, Order Out of Chaos (New York: Bantam Books, 1984). 12 Stuart Kauffman, The Origins of Order: Self-Organization and Selection in Evolution (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); idem, At Home in the Universe: The Search for Laws of Self-Organization and Complexity (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995).

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that attempts analysis at a variety of levels, avoiding the reductionism evident in much of evolutionary theory. They claim that natural selection works on a field of already selforganized systems.13 In the past, the phenomena of embryology and developmental biology have been poorly understood and have been difficult to incorporate into neo-Darwinism. How do cells differentiate so that the right organs are formed at the right place in the growing organism? Some biologists postulated a “morphogenic field” which imposes a pre-existing plan that guides cells in their differentiation. Others postulated “developmental pathways” which direct growth toward specific anatomical forms. These hypotheses appear increasingly dubious in the light of recent research on genetic and molecular mechanisms in embryological development. Regulatory genes produce proteins that act as “switches” to turn on secondary genes, which in turn control the tertiary genes responsible for protein assembly in cells, tissues, and organs. In recent experiments, the master control gene that initiates the program for the development of an eye in the fruit fly was introduced into cells on its wings, legs, and antennae, and complete eyes developed at these sites. If the control gene for eye development in a mouse is inserted in cells of a fly’s wing, a fly’s eye will develop, suggesting that the control genes for eyes in the two species are virtually unchanged since a common evolutionary ancestor, even though the eye structures of insects and mammals evolved in radically different directions.14 Our understanding of such processes is still very limited, but research on the molecular basis of development holds great promise for broadening our understanding of evolutionary history. For example, the Cambrian explosion of new phyla may well have been caused by changes in the genetic networks that regulate very early development. Even after recognizing the power of molecular explanations, however, one can argue that developmental patterns are constrained by principles of hierarchical organization and the possible forms of physiological structures. The variability of phenotypes is limited by the architecture and dynamics of developmental systems. Goodwin, Ho, and Saunders have defended a structuralism in which a relatively autonomous

13 Jeffrey Wicken, Evolution, Thermodynamics, and Information: Extending the Darwinian Program (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987). 14 George Halder, Patrick Callaerts, and Walter Gehring, “Induction of Ectopic Eyes by Targeted Expression of the Eyeless Gene in Drosophila,” Science 267 (1995), 1788–92.

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developmental dynamic is the main source of macroevolution.15 Their ideas are controversial and outside the mainstream of current biological thought, but should not be dismissed if they might be able to account for observed phenomena more adequately than neo-Darwinist theory. These authors see themselves as having moved beyond even an expanded Darwinism. If these ideas prove fruitful they may lead to what Kuhn would call a paradigm shift, in which the basic assumptions of Newtonian and nineteenth-century physics will be replaced by an alternative set of assumptions. Or perhaps we could say, in Lakatos’ terms, that the core of Darwinism (the importance of variation and natural selection) will have been preserved by abandoning some of its auxiliary hypotheses (such as gradualism and the exclusive role of selection as a directive force). We could also follow the philosophers of science who hold that in studying complex phenomena we should seek limited models applicable to particular domains, rather than universally applicable predictive laws. Natural selection may be more important in some contexts than in others. As a minimum we can say that we should consider other factors in addition to variation and natural selection, and that we should look at what is going on at a variety of levels. In the discussion that follows, I will be drawing primarily from the advocates of “the expansion of Darwinism,” but I will refer to the work of Kauffman, who considers himself “beyond Darwinism.”

2. Philosophical Issues in Biology Four concepts in recent biological thought require more careful analysis: self-organization, indeterminacy, top-down causality, and communication of information. Each of these concepts is crucial in one of the theological interpretations explored in the subsequent section.

15 Mae-Won Ho and Peter Saunders, eds., Beyond Neo-Darwinism (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1984); Brian Goodwin and Peter Saunders, eds., Theoretical Biology: Epigenetic and Evolutionary Order from Complex Systems (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1989); see also Robert Wesson, Beyond Natural Selection (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1991).

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2.1. Self-organization Evolutionary history does indeed show a directionality, a trend toward greater complexity and consciousness. There has been an increase in the genetic information in DNA, and a steady advance in the ability of organisms to gather and process information about the environment and respond to it. The emergence of life, consciousness, and human culture are especially significant transitions within a gradual and continuous process. But evolution does not display any straight-line progressive development. For the majority of species, opportunistic adaptations led to dead ends and extinction when conditions changed. The pattern of evolution does not resemble a uniformly growing tree so much as a sprawling bush whose tangled branches grow in many directions and often die off. Nevertheless, there is an overall trend. Who can doubt that a human being represents an astonishing advance over an amoeba or a worm? Some authors have argued that if the amino acids in primeval oceans had assembled themselves by chance to form protein chains, the probability of being assembled in the right order to form a particular protein would be fantastically small. It would be highly unlikely to occur even in spans of time many times longer than the history of the universe.16 The argument is dubious because amino acids do not combine by chance with equal probability, for there are built-in affinities and bonding preferences and structural possibilities. Some combinations form stable units which persist, and these units combine to form larger units. Organic molecules have a capacity for self-organization and complexity because of structural constraints and potentialities. Other authors have used hierarchy theory to indicate how advances to a higher level of organizational complexity are preserved. Imagine a watchmaker whose work is disrupted occasionally. If he has to start over again each time, he would never finish his task. But if he assembles groups of parts into stable sub-assemblies, which are then combined, he will finish the task more rapidly. Living organisms have many stable sub-assemblies at differing levels which are often preserved intact and only loosely coupled to each other. The higher level of stability often arises from functions that are relatively independent of variations in the microscopic details. Evolution exhibits both chance and directionality 16 Fred Hoyle and Chandra Wickramasinghe, Evolution from Space (London: Dent, 1981).

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because higher levels embody new types of order and stability that are maintained and passed on.17 Let us examine Kauffman’s thesis that evolution is a product of selforganization as well as of random variation and natural selection. He finds similar patterns in the behavior of complex systems that appear very different—for example, in molecules, cells, neural networks, ecosystems, and technological and economic systems. In each case feedback mechanisms and nonlinear interactions make cooperative activity possible in larger wholes. The systems show similar emergent systemic properties not present in their components. Kauffman gives particular attention to the behavior of networks. For example, an array of 100,000 light bulbs, each of which goes on or off as an adjustable function of input from its four neighbors, will cycle through only 327 states from among the astronomical number of possible states. Genes are also connected in networks; in the simplest case, gene A represses gene B and vice versa, so only one of them is turned on. Kauffman notes that there are only 256 cell types in mammals, and suggests that this may be the result of system principles and not merely an historical accident.18 Many of Kauffman’s ideas are speculative and exploratory, but they reflect a new way of looking at evolution. He finds that order emerges spontaneously in complex systems, especially on the border between order and chaos. Too much order makes change impossible; too much chaos makes continuity impossible. We should see ourselves not as a highly improbable historical accident, but as an expected fulfilment of the natural order. In his book, At Home in the Universe, Kauffman calls for awe and respect for a process in which such self-organization occurs. 2.2. Indeterminacy Many features of evolutionary history are the product of unpredictable events. The particular pair of organisms that mate and the particular combination of genes that are inherited by their offspring cannot be predicted; genetic laws can only be expressed probabilistically for individuals in large populations. Many mutations and replication errors

17 Stanley Salthe, Evolving Hierarchical Systems (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985). 18 Kauffman, At Home in the Universe, chap. 4.

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seem to occur at random. A few individuals may form a small isolated population which happens to differ genetically from the average of the larger population, leading to “genetic drift.” Such unpredictability is compounded when co-evolving species interact competitively or cooperatively in historically contingent ecosystems and environments. An asteroid collision at the end of the Permian period may have drastically altered Earth’s climate and its evolutionary history. We can only describe evolution by a historical narrative; we could not have predicted its course. Many of these “chance events” seem to represent the unpredictable intersection of separate causal chains. Two causal chains may each be determinate, but if they are completely independent of each other, no lawful regularity describes their intersection in time and space. The idea of a causal chain is of course an abstraction. When we speak of “the cause” of an event we are selecting from among the many necessary and jointly sufficient conditions the one to which we want to direct attention in a particular context of inquiry. But our ignorance of the immensely complicated and ramifying web of causal influences in evolutionary history does not in itself imply that it is not determined. But an indeterminacy in nature itself seems to be present at the quantum level. In quantum theory, predictions of individual events among atoms and subatomic particles give only probabilities and not exact values. A particular radioactive atom might decay in the next second or a thousand years from now, and the theory does not tell us which will occur. Some physicists think that this unpredictability is attributable to the limitations of current theory; they hope that a future theory will disclose hidden variables that will allow exact calculations. But most physicists hold that indeterminacy is a property of the atomic world itself. Electrons and subatomic particles apparently do not have a precise location in space and time; they are spread-out waves representing a range of possibilities until they are observed.19 Among large groups of atoms in everyday objects, indeterminacy at the atomic level averages out statistically to give predictable largescale behavior. However, in some biological systems, especially in the genetic and nervous systems, changes in a small number of atoms can have large-scale effects. A mutation could arise from a quantum event

19 Ian G. Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1990), 96–104.

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in which a single molecular bond in a gene is formed or broken, and the effects would be amplified in the phenotype of the growing organism, and might be perpetuated by natural selection. Such evolutionary unpredictability would reflect indeterminacy in nature and not merely the limitation of human knowledge.20 In chaos theory and nonlinear thermodynamic systems far from equilibrium, an infinitesimally small uncertainty concerning initial conditions can have enormous consequences. In chaotic systems, a very small change may be amplified exponentially. This has been called “the butterfly effect” because a butterfly in Brazil might alter the weather a month later in New York. The effect of moving an electron on a distant galaxy might be amplified over a long period of time to alter events on Earth.21 Deterministic laws can be applied only to closed systems; they are an approximation to reality because actual systems that are extremely sensitive to initial conditions can never be totally isolated from outside influences. According to Stephen Kellert, the unpredictability of chaotic systems is not merely a reflection of temporary human ignorance. Prediction over a long time period would require more information than could be stored on all the electrons of our galaxy, and the calculations would take longer than the phenomena we were trying to predict. Moreover chaotic systems would amplify the quantum indeterminacies that set limits to the accurate specification of initial conditions in both theory and practice. Kellert also notes that in classical physics the behavior of a larger whole is deduced from predictive causal laws governing interactions of its constituent parts. Chaos theory, by contrast, studies the qualitative form of large-scale patterns that may be similar even when the constituents are very different. Chaos theory examines holistic geometrical relationships and systemic properties rather than seeking microreduction to detailed causal mechanisms. Order is a broader

20 On the topic of quantum indeterminacy and its possible role in mutations, see Ellis, Murphy, Tracy, and Russell in Chaos and Complexity: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, Robert John Russell, Nancey Murphy, and Arthur R. Peacocke, eds. (Rome: Vatican Observatory, and Berkeley, CA: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1995). 21 James Gleick, Chaos: Making a New Science (New York: Penguin Books, 1987); John Holte, ed., Chaos: The New Science (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1993).

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concept than law because it includes formal, holistic, historical, and probabilistic patterns.22 2.3. Top-down Causality Living organisms exhibit a many-leveled hierarchy of systems and subsystems. A level identifies a unit which is relatively integrated, stable, and self-regulating, even though it interacts with other units at the same level and at higher and lower levels. One such hierarchy is identified structurally: particle, atom, molecule, macromolecule, organelle, cell, organ, organism, and ecosystem. Other hierarchies are identified functionally: the reproductive hierarchy (gene, genome, organism, and population), or the neural hierarchy (molecule, synapse, neuron, neural network, and the brain with its changing patterns of interconnections). Human beings also participate in all the social and cultural interactions studied by the social sciences and humanities. A particular discipline or field of inquiry focuses attention on a particular level and its relation to adjacent levels. We can distinguish three kinds of reduction between levels. a. Methodological reduction is a research strategy that studies lower levels in order to better understand relationships at higher levels. Analysis of molecular interactions has been a spectacularly successful strategy in biology, but it is not incompatible with multi-level analysis and the study of larger systems. b. Epistemological reduction claims that laws and theories at one level of analysis can be derived from laws and theories at lower levels. I have argued that biological concepts are distinctive and cannot be defined in physical and chemical terms. Distinctive kinds of explanation are valid at differing levels. But inter-level theories may connect adjacent levels, even if they are not derivable from the theories applicable to either level alone. A series of overlapping theories and models unifies the sciences without implying that one level is more fundamental or real than another.23

22 Stephen Kellert, In the Wake of Chaos: Unpredictable Order in Dynamical Systems (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). 23 For analyses of reduction, see Ian G. Barbour, Issues in Science and Religion (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1966), 324–37 and Religion in an Age of Science, 165–69; Francisco Ayala, “Reduction in Biology” in Evolution at the Crossroads, Depew

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c. Ontological reduction is a claim about the kinds of reality or the kinds of causality that exist in the world. It is sometimes asserted that an organism is “nothing but organized molecules,” or that “only physical forces are causally effective.” I have defended ontological pluralism, a multi-leveled view of reality in which differing (epistemological) levels of analysis are taken to refer to differing (ontological) levels of events and processes in the world, as claimed by critical realism. In evolutionary history, novel forms of order emerged which not only could not have been predicted from laws and theories governing previously existing forms, but which also gave rise to genuinely new kinds of behavior and activity in nature. We can acknowledge the distinctive characteristics of living organisms without assuming that life is a separate substance or a “vital force” added to matter, as the vitalists postulated. Bottom-up causation occurs when many sub-systems influence a system. Top-down causation is the influence of a system on many sub-systems. Higher-level events influence chemical and physical processes at lower levels without violating lower-level laws.24 Microproperties are not referred to in the specification of the macrostate of the system. Network properties may be realized through a great variety of particular connections. Correlation of behaviors at one level does not require detailed knowledge of all its components. The rules of chess limit the possible moves but leave open an immense number of possibilities that are consistent with but not determined by those rules. So, too, the laws of chemistry limit the combinations of molecules which are found in DNA, but do not determine them. The meaning of the message conveyed by DNA is not given by the laws of chemistry.The holistic and anti-reductionistic character of chaos theory has been described by one of its best-known exponents, James Gleick:

and Weber, eds.; Arthur Peacocke, God and the New Biology (London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1986), chaps. 1 and 2. 24 On top-down causation, see Donald Campbell, “‘Downward Causation’ in Hierarchically Ordered Biological Systems” in The Problems of Reduction, Francisco Ayala and Theodosius Dobzhansky, eds. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974); Michael Polanyi, “Life’s Irreducible Structures,” Science 160 (1968), 1308–12; Elizabeth Vrba, “Patterns in the Fossil Record and Evolutionary Processes” in Beyond Neo-Darwinism, Ho and Saunders, eds.

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Chaos is anti-reductionist. This new science makes a strong claim about the world, namely, that when it comes to the most interesting questions, questions about order and disorder, decay and creativity, pattern formation, and life itself, the whole cannot be explained in terms of the parts. There are fundamental laws about complex systems, but they are new kinds of law. They are laws of structure and organization and scale, and they simply vanish when you focus on the individual constituents of a complex system—just as the psychology of a lynch mob vanishes when you interview individual participants.25

We know little about how memories are preserved in the brain, but computer simulations of neural nets suggest that memory may be stored in distributed patterns rather than at discrete locations. In some computer networks with parallel distributed processing, the nodes in a series of layers can be connected by links whose strength can be varied. In one experiment, the inputs are groups of letters, and the outputs are random sounds in a voice synthesizer. Every time the correlation between an input and the correct output is improved, the strongest links are strengthened, so the network gradually improves its performance. The network can be taught to pronounce written words. The connective patterns involve the whole network and they are learned by experience rather than by being directly programed. Patterns develop in the whole without prior specification of the parts; the readjustment of the parts can be considered a form of top-down causation.26 We should also note that the brain of a baby is not finished or “hard-wired” at birth. The neural pathways are developed in interaction with the environment and are altered by the baby’s experiences. Of all the sciences, ecology is the most holistic in its outlook. No part of an ecosystem can be considered in isolation because changes in one component often have far-reaching ramifications elsewhere in the system. The participants in an ecosystem are linked by multiple connections and cycles. The oxygen inhaled by animals is exhaled as carbon dioxide which is in turn taken in by plants and converted back to oxygen. The food chain connects various life forms. Predator and prey are dependent on each other in maintaining stable populations. A holistic approach is also used in the field of systems analysis which 25 James Gleick, address at 1990 Nobel Conference, Gustavus Adolphus College, quoted in Steven Weinberg, Dreams of a Final Theory (New York, N.Y.: Pantheon Book, 1992), 60. 26 C. Rosenberg and T. Sejnowski, “Parallel Networks That Learn to Pronounce English Text,” Complex Systems 1 (1987), 145–68.

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studies the dynamics of urban, industrial, and electronic systems. In all these cases, there are of course lawful relations among the parts, but their behavior is analyzed in relation to a larger whole. Holism is both a rejection of ontological reductionism and a claim that the whole influences the parts. Attention is directed to the parts of a particular whole, even though it is in turn a part of a larger whole. The whole/part distinction is usually structural and spatial (for example, a larger whole). Top-down causality is a very similar concept, but it draws attention to a hierarchy of many levels characterized by qualitative differences in organization and activity (for example, a higher level). Levels are defined by functional and dynamic relationships. Patterns in time are emphasized, though of course they are inseparable from patterns in space. 2.4. The Communication of Information Information has been an important term in many fields of science. In the thermodynamics of gases, systems of low entropy are highly improbable molecular configurations, which tend to degrade into the more probable configurations of uniform equilibrium states. This entails a loss of order and pattern that is also a loss of information. Information theory was first developed in World War II in studies of the communication of messages by radio. Communication is more reliable if the signalto-noise ratio is high and if a coded message contains regularities and redundancies which allow the detection of errors. With the advent of computers, instructions could be encoded in a binary representation (0/1 or off/on) and quantified as “bits” of information. The computer responds to the instructions in the program which specify the connections in its electrical circuits. It manipulates the electrical representations of the symbols fed into it (“information processing”) and then activates some form of output. The letters on a printed page are of course the classical case of the communication of information to a reader.27 Information is an ordered pattern (of alphabetical letters, auditory sounds, binary digits, DNA bases, or any other combinable elements) which is one among many possible sequences or states of a system. Information is communicated when another system (reader, listener,

27 Jeremy Campbell, Grammatical Man: Information, Entropy, Language, and Life (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982).

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computer, living cell, etc.) responds selectively—that is, when information is coded, transmitted, and decoded. The meaning of the message is dependent on a wider context of interpretation. It must be viewed dynamically and relationally rather than in purely static terms as if the message were contained in the pattern itself. The information in DNA sequences in genes is significant precisely because of its context in a larger organic system. In the growth of an embryo, a system of time delays, spatial differentiation, and chemical feed-back signals communicates the information needed so that the right proteins, cells, and organs are assembled at the right location and time. Complicated developmental pathways, with information flowing in both directions, connect genes with molecular activities and physiological structures. A genome contains an immense number of possible developmental scenarios, of which only a few are realized. In The Ontogeny of Information, Susan Oyama argues that the meaning and informational significance of genetic instructions depend on what cells and tissues are already present, and on the actual functioning of the developmental system. In place of a one-way flow of information we must imagine interactive construction in a particular context.28 An enzyme speeds the interaction of two molecules by recognizing them (by shape and chemical affinity) and holding them at adjacent sites where they can react with each other. Molecules of the immune system recognize an invading virus, which is like a key that fits a lock, and they are activated to release a specific antibody. The communication between molecules is dependent on properties of both the sender and the receiver. A receptor is part of an embodied action system that implements a response to signals. Stored in the DNA is a wealth of historically acquired information including programs for coping with the world. For example, a bird or animal uses specific visual or auditory clues to recognize and respond to a dangerous predator which it has not previously encountered. Individuals in some species are programed to communicate warning signals to alert other members of the species. Higher primates are capable of symbolic communication of information, and human beings can use words to express abstract concepts. Human information can be transmitted between generations not only by genes and by parental example,

28 Susan Oyama, The Ontogeny of Information: Developmental Systems and Evolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985).

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but also in speech, literature, art, music and other cultural forms. The storage and communication of information is thus an important feature of biological processes at many levels and it must always be understood dynamically and relationally rather than in purely static and formal terms. Even at low levels, reality consists not simply of matter and energy, but of matter, energy, and information.

3. Models of God’s Action in Nature What models of God’s relation to nature are compatible with the central affirmations of the Christian tradition and also with a world which is characterized by self-organization, indeterminacy, top-down causality, and communication of information? I will examine theological proposals that draw from each of these four characteristics. All four models reject the idea of divine intervention that violates the laws of nature. In none of them is God invoked to fill particular gaps in the scientific account (the “God of the gaps” who is vulnerable to the advance of science). God’s role is different from that of natural causes. In each case, a feature of current scientific theory is taken as a model (that is, a systematically developed analogy) of God’s action in nature.29 Some authors in the first group below do propose a new version of natural theology in which evidence from science is used as an argument in support of theism, even if it does not offer a proof of God’s existence. The other authors are proposing ways in which a God who is accepted on other grounds (such as religious experience in a historical interpretive community) might be reconceived as acting in nature. I have called such an approach a theology of nature rather than a natural theology.30

29

Barbour, Myths, Models, and Paradigms (New York: Harper and Row, 1974). Barbour, Religion and Science: Historical and Contemporary Issues (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1997), chap. 4. 30

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3.1. God as Designer of a Self-organizing Process Until the nineteenth century, the intricate organization and effective functioning of living creatures were taken as evidence of an intelligent designer. After Darwin, the argument was reformulated: God did not create things in their present forms, but designed an evolutionary process through which all living forms came into being. Today we know that life is possible only under a very narrow range of physical and chemical conditions. We have seen also that in the self-organization of molecules leading to life there seems to have been considerable builtin design in biochemical affinities, molecular structures, and potential for complexity and hierarchical order. The world of molecules seems to have an inherent tendency to move toward emergent complexity, life, and consciousness. If design is understood as a detailed pre-existing plan in the mind of God, chance is the antithesis of design. But if design is identified with the general direction of growth toward complexity, life, and consciousness, then both law and chance can be part of the design. Disorder is sometimes a condition for the emergence of new forms of order, as in thermodynamic systems far from equilibrium, or in the mutations of evolutionary history. We can no longer accept the clockmaker God who designed every detail of a determinate mechanism. But one option today is a revised deism in which God designed the world as a manyleveled creative process of law and chance. Paul Davies is an exponent of this position.31 A patient God could endow matter with diverse potentialities and let the world create itself. We can say that God respects the integrity of the world and allows it to be itself, without interfering with it, just as God respects human freedom and allows us to be ourselves. Moral responsibility requires that the world have some openness, which takes the form of chance at lower levels and choice at the human level. But responsible choice also requires enough lawfulness that we have some idea of the probable consequences of our decisions. An attractive feature of this option is that it provides at least partial answers to the problems of suffering and death which were such a

31

Paul Davies, The Cosmic Blueprint: New Discoveries in Nature’s Creative Ability to Order the Universe (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1988); idem, The Mind of God: The Scientific Basis for a Rational World (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992); idem, “Teleology without Teleology” (CTNS/VO, v. III).

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challenge to the classical argument from design. For competition and death are intrinsic to an evolutionary process. Pain is an inescapable concomitant of greater sensitivity and awareness, and it provides a valuable warning of external dangers. My main objection to a reformulated deism is that we are left with a distant and inactive God, a far cry from the active God of the Bible who continues to be intimately involved with the world and human life. One could still argue that God has an ongoing role in sustaining the world and its laws. Some theologians maintain that the world does not stand on its own but needs God’s continual concurrence to maintain and uphold it in what is known today to be a dynamic rather than a static process. According to neo-Thomists, God as primary cause works through the matrix of secondary causes in the natural world. William Stoeger argues that there are no gaps in the scientific account on its own level; God’s action is on a totally different plane from all secondary causes.32 Many neo-Thomists maintain that divine sovereignty is maintained if all events are foreseen and predetermined in God’s plan. God does not have to intervene or interfere with the laws of nature; divine action occurs indirectly and instrumentally through natural processes. This view respects the integrity of science and the transcendence of God, whose action is not like causality within the world. Some theologians hold that God sees all events in timeless eternity without determining them, but I would argue that predestination is not compatible with human freedom or the presence of chance, evil, and suffering in the world. 3.2. God as Determiner of Indeterminacies I suggested earlier that uncertainties in the predictions made by quantum theory reflect indeterminacy in nature itself, rather than the inadequacy of current theory. In that interpretation, a range of possibilities is present in the world. Quantum events have necessary but not sufficient physical causes. If they are not completely determined by the relationships described by the laws of physics, their final determination might be made directly by God. What appears to be chance, 32

Austin Farrer, Faith and Speculation (London: Adam & Charles Black, 1967), chaps. 4 and 10; William R. Stoeger, “Describing God’s Action in the World in the Light of Scientific Knowledge of Reality,” in Chaos and Complexity, Russell, Murphy, and Peacocke, eds.

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which atheists take as an argument against theism, may be the very point at which God acts. Divine sovereignty would be maintained if God providentially controls the events that appear to us as chance. No energy input would be needed, since the alternative potentialities in a quantum state have identical energy. God does not have to intervene as a physical force pushing electrons around, but instead actualizes one of the many potentialities already present—determining, for example, the instant at which a particular radioactive atom decays.33 We have seen that under some conditions the effects of very small differences at the microlevel are greatly amplified in large-scale phenomena. In nonlinear thermodynamics and chaos theory, an infinitesimal initial change can produce dramatic changes in the larger system. Similar trigger effects occur in evolutionary mutations and in genetic and neural systems today. Scientific research finds only law and chance, but perhaps in God’s knowledge all events are foreseen and predetermined through a combination of law and particular divine action. Since God’s action would be scientifically undetectable, it could be neither proved nor refuted by science. This would exclude any proof of God’s action of the kind sought in natural theology, but it would not exclude the possibility of God’s action affirmed on other grounds in a wider theology of nature. If we assume that God controls all indeterminacies, we could preserve the traditional idea of predestination. This would be theological determinism rather than physical determinism, since nothing happens by chance. But then the problems of waste, suffering, and human freedom would remain acute. Nancey Murphy has proposed that God determines all quantum indeterminacies but arranges that law-like regularities usually result, in order to make stable structures and scientific investigation possible, and to ensure that human actions have dependable consequences so that moral choices are possible. Orderly relationships do not constrain God, since they are included in God’s purposes. God grants causal powers to created entities. Murphy holds that in human life God acts both at the quantum level and at higher

33 William Pollard, Chance and Providence (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1958); Donald MacKay, Science, Chance, and Providence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978).

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levels of mental activity, but does it in such a way that human freedom is not violated.34 An alternative would be to say that most quantum events occur by chance, but God influences some of them without violating the statistical laws of quantum physics. This view has been explained by Robert Russell, George Ellis and Thomas Tracy, and it is consistent with the scientific evidence.35 A possible objection to this model is that it assumes bottom-up causality within nature once God’s action has occurred, and thus seems to concede the reductionist’s claim that the behavior of all entities is determined by their smallest parts (or lowest levels). The action would be bottom-up even if one assumed that God’s intentions were directed to the larger wholes (or higher levels) affected by these quantum events. However most of these authors also allow for God’s action at higher levels which then results in a top-down influence on lower levels, in addition to quantum effects from the bottom up. The model can thus be combined with one of the models discussed below. 3.3. God as Top-down Cause The idea of levels of reality can be extended if God is viewed as acting from an even higher level than nature. Arthur Peacocke holds that God exerts a top-down causality on the world. God’s action would be a constraint on relationships at lower levels that does not violate lowerlevel laws. Constraints may be introduced not just at spatial or temporal boundaries, but also internally through any additional specification allowed by lower-level laws. In human beings, God would influence their highest evolutionary level, that of mental activity, which would affect the neural networks and neurons in the brain.36 Within human beings, divine action would be effected down the hierarchy of natural levels, 34 Nancey Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order: Buridan’s Ass and Schrödinger’s Cat,” in Chaos and Complexity, Russell, Murphy, and Peacocke, eds; Nancey Murphy and George F.R. Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology and Ethics (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996). 35 Thomas F. Tracy, “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps,” and George F.R. Ellis, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action: The Nexus of Interaction,” in Chaos and Complexity, Russell, Murphy, and Peacocke, eds. 36 Arthur Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural, Human, and Divine, enlarged edition (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), chap. 3, and his “God’s Interaction with the World” in Chaos and Complexity, Russell, Murphy, and Peacocke, eds.; idem, in CTNS/VO, v. III.

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concerning which we have at least some understanding of relationships between adjacent levels. (Peacocke gives a table showing the hierarchy of academic disciplines, from the physical sciences to the humanities, which study successively higher levels, with some disciplines addressing inter-level questions.37) His use of top-down causality seems to me more problematic in the case of divine action on inanimate matter; we would have to assume direct influence between the highest level (God) and the lowest level (matter) in the absence of intermediate levels—which has no analogy within the natural order. Peacocke also extends to God the idea of whole-part relationships found in nature. He proposes that God as “the most inclusive whole” acts on “the-world-as-a-whole.” But this spatial analogy seems dubious because the world does not have spatial boundaries, and it has no temporal ones if we accept Stephen Hawking’s version of quantum cosmology. Moreover the rejection of universal simultaneity in relativity theory makes it impossible to speak of “the-world-as-a-whole” at any one moment. The whole is a spatio-temporal continuum with temporal as well as spatial dimensions. In such a framework God’s action would presumably have to be more localized in space and time, interacting more directly with a particular part rather than indirectly through action on the spatio-temporal whole. One version of top-down causality uses the relation of mind to body in human beings as an analogy for God’s relation to the world. Some authors urge us to look on the world as God’s body, and God as the world’s mind or soul. In using the analogy, we can make allowance for the human limitations that would not apply to God. We have direct awareness of our thoughts and feelings, but only limited awareness of many other events in our bodies, whereas God would be directly aware of all events. We did not choose our bodies and we can affect only a limited range of events in them, whereas God’s actions are said to affect all events universally. From the pattern of behavior of other people we infer their intentions which cannot be directly observed; similarly, the cosmic drama can be interpreted as the expression of God’s intentions.38

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Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age, 217. Grace Jentzen, God’s World, God’s Body (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1984); Sallie McFague, The Body of God: An Ecological Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993). 38

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But the analogy breaks down if it is pressed too far. The cosmos as a whole lacks the intermediate levels of organization found in the body. It does not have the biochemical or neurological channels of feedback and communication through which the activities of organisms are coordinated and integrated. To be sure, an omnipresent God would not need the cosmic equivalent of a nervous system. God is presumably not as dependent on particular bodily structures as we are. However, we would be abandoning the analogy if we said that God is a disembodied mind acting directly on the separate physical components of the world. It appears that we need a more pluralistic analogy allowing for interaction among a community of beings, rather than a monistic analogy that pictures us all as parts of one being. The world and God seem more like a community with a dominant member than like a single organism. 3.4. God as Communicator of Information In radio transmissions, computers, and biological systems, the communication of information between two points requires a physical input and an expenditure of energy (the Brillouin-Szilard relationship). But if God is omnipresent (including presence everywhere at the microlevel), no energy would be required for the communication of information. Moreover, the realization of alternative potentialities already present in the quantum world would convey differing information without any physical input or expenditure of energy. Arthur Peacocke has used a rich variety of analogies in addition to top-down causality. Some of these involve the communication of information. God is like the choreographer of a dance in which much of the action is left up to the dancers, or the composer of a still unfinished symphony, experimenting, improvising, and expanding on a theme and variations.39 Peacocke suggests that the purposes of God are communicated through the pattern of events in the world. We can look on evolutionary history as the action of an agent who expresses intentions but does not follow an exact predetermined plan. Moreover, an input of information from God could influence the relationships among our memories, images and concepts, just as our thoughts influence the

39 Peacocke, Creation and the World of Science (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), chap. 3, and Theology for a Scientific Age, chap. 9.

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activity of neurons. Peacocke maintains that Christ was a powerfully God-informed person who was a uniquely effective vehicle for God’s self-expression, so that in Christ God’s purposes are more clearly revealed than in nature or elsewhere in history.40 John Polkinghorne proposes that God’s action is an input of “pure information.” We have seen that in chaos theory an infinitesimally small energy input produces a very large change in the system. Polkinghorne suggests that in imagining God’s action we might extrapolate chaos theory to the limiting case of zero energy. (This differs from quantum theory in which there actually is zero energy difference between alternative potentialities, so no extrapolation is needed). Polkinghorne holds that God’s action is a nonenergetic input of information which expresses holistic patterns. God’s selection among the envelope of possibilities present in chaotic processes could bring about novel structures and types of order exemplifying systemic higher-level organizing principles.41 The biblical idea of divine Word or Logos resembles the concept of information. In Greek thought, the Logos was a universal rational principle, but biblical usage also expressed the Hebrew understanding of Word as creative power. The Word in both creation and redemption can indeed be thought of as the communication of information from God to the world. As in the case of genetic information and human language, the meaning of the message must be discerned within a wider context of interpretation. God’s Word to human beings preserves their freedom because it evokes but does not compel their response.42 But the divine Logos is not simply the communication of an impersonal message since it is inseparable from an ongoing personal relationship. The Logos is not a structure of abstract ideas like Plato’s eternal forms, or like a computer program that exists independently of its embodiment in a particular medium or hardware system. If we believe that one of God’s purposes was to create loving and responsible persons, not simply intelligent information processors, we will have to draw our analogies

40

Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age, chap. 9. John Polkinghorne, Reason and Reality (Philadelphia: Trinity International Press, 1991), Chap. 3; idem, “The Metaphysics of Divine Action” in Chaos and Complexity, Russell, Murphy, and Peacocke, eds; idem, The Faith of a Physicist (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 77–78. 42 John Puddefoot, “Information Theory, Biology, and Christology,” in Religion and Science: History, Method, Dialogue, W. Mark Richardson and Wesley J. Wildman, eds. (New York: Routledge, 1996). 41

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concerning the communication of information primarily from human life, rather than from the genetic code or computer programs.

4. God’s Action in Process Theology Process theology shows similarities with each of the four models above, but also differs because it adds a fifth idea, that of interiority. Christian process theology combines biblical thought with process philosophy, the attempt of Alfred North Whitehead and his followers to develop a coherent set of philosophical categories general enough to be applicable to all entities in the world. Process theology is advocated by Charles Birch and John Haught.43 4.1. Biology and Process Philosophy Many features of contemporary science are strongly represented in process philosophy. Whitehead was indebted to quantum physics for his portrayal of the discrete, episodic, and indeterminate character of all events. He was indebted to relativity for his view that all entities are constituted by their relationships. Process thought is evolutionary in stressing temporality and change. Becoming and activity are considered more fundamental than being and substance. The continuity of evolutionary history implies the impossibility of drawing absolute lines between successive life forms historically, or between levels of reality today.44 Each of the four themes outlined earlier can be found in process philosophy: a. Self-organization is a characteristic of the basic units of reality, which are momentarily unified events (Whitehead called them “actual occasions,” but I will refer to them simply as “events,” which reminds us of their temporal character). No event is merely a passive product of its past. All events are also products of present creative activity in which organization is realized—that is, pattern and structure which are temporal as well as spatial. But self-organization is analyzed by 43

Charles Birch and John Haught, in CTNS/VO, v. III. Alfred North Whitehead, Science and the Modern World (New York: Macmillan, 1925); Process and Reality (New York: Macmillan,1929). See Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, chap. 8, or Religion and Science: Historical and Contemporary Issues, chap. 11. 44

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process thought in a distinctive way. Interiority is postulated in every event, providing a unifying center for the organizing activity. b. Indeterminacy is assumed by process thought not only in the quantum world but at all levels of integrated activity. Both order and openness are present at all levels. At lower levels, order predominates, while at higher levels there is more opportunity for spontaneity, creativity, and novelty. c. Top-down causality is defended in process writings. Process thought is holistic in portraying a network of interconnected events. Every event is a new synthesis of the influences on it; it occurs in a context which affects it and which it in turn affects. This can be called a relational or ecological view of reality. Not even God is self-contained, for God’s experience is affected by the world. More specifically, reality is taken to be multi-leveled. Events at high levels of complexity are dependent on events at lower levels. But genuinely new phenomena emerge at higher levels which cannot be explained by the laws describing lower-level phenomena. Charles Hartshorne’s version of process philosophy makes extensive use of the concept of hierarchical levels with differing characteristics, and he gives a careful critique of reductionism.45 d. The communication of information is not prominent in early process writings, which is not surprising since its scientific importance was not recognized prior to World War II. However the idea that a concrescing event takes other events into account resembles the contextual and relational character of information in action. James Huchingson notes that information always involves selection from among possible states; he proposes that Whitehead’s “actual occasions” are information-processing entities that select from among the possibilities provided by God and previous events. Moreover information from the world feeds back to God; this feedback leads to relevant readjustment, as in cybernetic systems. Huchingson finds holism and top-down causality in the role of information in both process thought and systems theory. A system works as a whole to restrict the ability of its components to realize all possible states. New forms of order are generated at higher levels of organization, according to both process and systems thinking.46

45

Charles Hartshorne, Reality as Social Process (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1953). James Huchingson, “Organization and Process: Systems Philosophy and Whiteheadian Metaphysics,” Zygon 11.4 (1981): 226–41. 46

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4.2. Interiority Interiority is the most controversial theme in process thought. Reality is construed as a network of interconnected events which are also moments of experience, each integrating in its own way the influences from its past and from other entities. The evolution of interiority, like the evolution of physical structures, is said to be characterized by both continuity and change. The forms taken by interiority vary widely, from rudimentary memory, sentience, responsiveness and anticipation in simpler organisms, to consciousness and self-consciousness in more complex ones. Human life is the only point at which we know reality from within. If we start from the presence of both physical structures and experience in human life, we can imagine simpler and simpler structures in which experience is more and more rudimentary. But if we start with simple physical structures totally devoid of interiority, it is difficult to see how the complexification of external structures can result in interiority.47 The approach and avoidance reactions of bacteria can be considered elementary forms of perception and response. An amoeba learns to find sugar, indicating a rudimentary memory and intentionality. Invertebrates seem to have some sentience and capacity for pain and pleasure. Purposiveness and anticipation are clearly present among lower vertebrates, and the presence of a nervous system greatly enhances these capacities. The behavior of animals gives evidence that they suffer intensely, and even invertebrates under stress release endorphins and other pain-suppressant chemicals similar to those in human brains. Some species exhibit considerable problem-solving and anticipatory abilities and a range of awareness and feelings. Conceptualizing interiority requires that we try to look on an organism’s activities from its own point of view, even though its experience must be very different from our own.48 We noted earlier that evolutionary change can be initiated by the activity of organisms in selecting their own environments (the Baldwin effect). Their diverse responses and novel actions may create new 47 Charles Birch, A Purpose for Everything (Mystic, CT: Twenty-Third Publications, 1990); Birch and Cobb, The Liberation of Life: From the Cell to the Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981). 48 Donald Griffin, The Question of Animal Awareness: Evolutionary Continuity of Mental Experience (Los Altos, CA: William Kaufmann, 1981); Charles Birch and John B. Cobb, Jr., The Liberation of Life.

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evolutionary possibilities. Among the creatures who were the common ancestors of bison and horses, some charged their enemies head on, and their survival would have been enhanced by strength, weight, strong skulls and other bison-like qualities. Others in the same population fled from their enemies, and their survival depended on speed, agility, and other abilities we see in horses. The divergence of bison and horse may have arisen initially from different responses to danger, rather than from genetic mutations related to anatomy. Emotions and mental responses are not uniquely determined by the genes, though they occur in nervous systems which are the product of an inherited set of genes. Organisms participate actively in evolutionary history and are not simply passive products of genetic forces from within and environmental forces from without.49 In the study of human beings, psychology was once dominated by behaviorists who correlated observable stimuli and responses and claimed that mental life is inaccessible to science. But the more recent cognitive psychologists talk about perception, attention, memory, intention, mental representation and consciousness. These issues are highly disputed today, but some authors have been trying to relate data from three sources: phenomenological self-description, neurological research on the brain, and computer simulations of neural nets.50 Others insist that subjectivity, which always involves a particular perspective or point of view, cannot be represented in the objective framework of science.51 We are each aware of our experience despite the difficulty of studying it scientifically. It is this direct awareness that leads us to attribute subjectivity to other humans, animals, and even to lower forms of life. While the terms consciousness and mind should be restricted to organisms with a nervous system, it is reasonable to attribute rudimentary forms of perception and experience to organisms as simple as the amoeba. I would argue that in the light of evolutionary continuity and in the interest of metaphysical generality we should take experience as a category applicable to all integrated entities, even if consciousness appears only in higher life forms.

49 C.H. Waddington in Mind in Nature, John B. Cobb, Jr. and David Griffin, eds., (Washington DC: University Press of America, 1977). 50 Owen Flanagan, Consciousness Reconsidered (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1992). 51 Thomas Nagel, The View from Nowhere (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986); Colin McGinn, The Problem of Consciousness (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991).

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4.3. Christianity and Process Theology In process thought God is the source of order and also the source of novelty. God presents new possibilities to the world but leaves alternatives open, eliciting the response of entities in the world. God is present in the unfolding of every event but never exclusively determines the outcome. This is a God of persuasion rather than coercion. For process theologians, God is not as an omnipotent ruler but the leader and inspirer of an interdependent community of beings. John Cobb and David Griffin speak of God as “creative-responsive love” which affects the world but is also affected by it. God’s relation to human beings is used as a model for God’s relation to all beings.52 Process theologians stress God’s immanence and participation in the world, but they do not give up transcendence. God is said to be temporal in being affected by interaction with the world, but eternal and unchanging in character and purpose. Classical ideas of omnipresence and omniscience are retained, but not even God can know a future which is still open. Compared to the traditional Western model, God’s power over events in the world is severely limited, especially at lower levels where events are almost exclusively determined by their past. The long span of cosmic history suggests a patient and subtle God working through the slow emergence of novel forms. Christian process theologians hold that the life and death of Christ are the supreme examples of the power of God’s love and participation in the life of the world. The cross is a revelation of suffering love, and the resurrection reveals that even death does not end that love. Process thought shares insights with each of the theological models described earlier, but it differs at crucial points. a. Like God the designer of a self-organizing process, the God of process thought is the source of order in the world. But the process God is also directly involved in the emergence of novelty through the interiority of each unified event. Deism is avoided because God has a direct and continuing role in the history of the world. b. Like those who say that God determines quantum indeterminacies, process thinkers hold that God influences systems that are not fully determined by past events. It is never an absolute determination, 52 John B. Cobb, Jr. and David Ray Griffin, Process Theology: An Introduction (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976).

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for God always works along with other causes. In process thought God’s activity occurs at higher levels of organization in addition to the quantum level. This avoids a reliance on quantum events alone which would perpetuate the reductionist’s assumption that only bottom-up causality operates within natural systems. c. Like those who postulate God as top-down cause, process thinkers stress God’s immanence and participation in an interdependent many-leveled world. But process thought has no difficulty conceptualizing the interaction between the highest level (God) and the lowest (inanimate matter) in the absence of intermediate levels, because God is present in the unfolding of integrated events at all levels. Hartshorne has indeed used the analogy of the world as God’s body, though we must remember that in the process scheme the body is itself a community of integrated entities at various levels. Most process theologians, however, insist on a greater divine transcendence and greater human freedom than the analogy of a cosmic body suggests. Using a social rather than organic analogy they imagine us, not as cells in God’s body, but as members of a cosmic community of which God is the preeminent member. d. The idea that God communicates information to the world is consistent with process thought. God’s ordering and valuation of potentialities is a form of information within a larger context of meaning. God also receives information from the world, and God is changed by such feedback. The communication of information occurs within the momentary experience of integrated events at any level, rather than by bottom-up causality through quantum phenomena alone, or through the trigger points of chaos theory, or by top-down causality acting on the whole cosmos. God, past events, and the event’s present response join in the formation of every event. Process thought uses a single conceptual representation for divine action at all levels, whereas some of the authors mentioned earlier assume very different modes of divine action at various levels in the world. At the same time, process thought tries to allow for differences in the character of events that occur at diverse levels. The idea of God’s self-limitation or kenosis in recent theology is in many ways similar to the assertions of process theology. Some theologians have suggested that God voluntarily set omnipotence aside in creating a world. They hold that the life and death of Christ reveal a God of love who participates in the world’s suffering. They suggest

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that, like a wise teacher or the parent of a growing child, God respects the integrity of the created world and the freedom of human beings, but does not abandon them. They balance the classical emphasis on transcendence, eternity, and impassibility with a greater emphasis on God’s immanence, temporality, and vulnerability.53 Feminist authors have urged that patriarchal images of power as coercive control be replaced by the images of empowerment, nurture, and cooperation that are associated with women in our culture. They propose the image of God as Mother to balance the traditional image of God as Father.54 Many feminists are sympathetic to the idea of kenosis, but with the caveat that divine vulnerability and suffering love must not be cited to support the submission and self-abnegation of women. Power as control is a zero-sum game: the more one party has, the less the other can have. Power as empowerment is a positive-sum situation and does not imply weakness in either party. Empowerment and the nurturing of growth and interdependence also seem to be appropriate features of a model of God in an evolutionary world. Proponents of self-limitation hold that God is in principle omnipotent but voluntarily accepts a limitation of power in order to create a community of love and free response. The goal is relationship and transformation, not kenosis in itself. Moreover, the use of personal images of the relation between God and the world suggests that God might influence events in the world without controlling them, so we do not end up with a powerless or deistic God. God’s dialogic relation to human beings serves as a model of divine activity throughout nature. Process thought agrees with many of these assertions. However, it holds that the limitations of God’s power are not voluntary and temporary but metaphysical and necessary—though they are integral to God’s essential nature and not antecedent or external to it. The role of God in process thought has much in common with the biblical understanding of the Holy Spirit. Like the process God, the Spirit works from within. In various biblical passages, the Spirit is said to indwell, renew, empower, inspire, guide, and reconcile. According to 53 W.H. Vanstone, Love’s Endeavor, Love’s Expense (London: Dartmon, Longman, and Todd, 1977); Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), 86–93; Paul Fiddes, The Creative Suffering of God (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988); Murphy and Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe. 54 Sallie McFague, Models of God: Theology for an Ecological, Nuclear Age (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987); Elizabeth A. Johnson, She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse (New York: Crossroads, 1992).

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Psalm 104, the Spirit creates in the present: “Thou dost cause the grass to grow for the cattle and plants for man to cultivate. . . . When thou sendest forth thy Spirit, they are created; and thou renewest the face of the ground.” The Spirit represents God’s presence and activity in the world. This is an emphasis on immanence which, like that in process theology, does not rule out transcendence. Moreover, the Spirit is God at work in nature, in human experience, and in Christ, so creation and redemption are aspects of a single activity.55 Process thought similarly applies a single set of concepts to God’s role in human and nonhuman life, and it is not incompatible with the idea of particular divine action and human response in the life of Christ. The Holy Spirit comes to us from without to evoke our response from within. It is symbolized by the dove, the gentlest of birds. Other symbols of the Spirit are wind and fire, which can be more overpowering, but they usually represent inspiration rather than sheer power. I have elsewhere tried to show that the process view of God is consistent with other aspects of the biblical message.56 4.4. Some Objections Let me finally note some possible objections to process thought. a. Is panexperientialism credible? Process thinkers attribute rudimentary experience, feeling, and responsiveness to simple entities. They hold that mind and consciousness are present only at higher levels in more complex organisms, so they are not panpsychists as the term is usually understood. Rocks and inanimate objects are mere aggregates with no unified experience. There are no sharp lines between forms of life in evolutionary history or among creatures today. It appears that for matter to produce mind, in evolution or in embryological development, there must be intermediate stages or levels, and mind and matter must have some characteristics in common. No extrapolation of physical concepts can yield the concepts needed to describe our subjective experience. Process thought interprets lowerlevel events as simpler cases of higher-level ones, rather than trying

55 G.W.H. Lampe, God as Spirit (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977); Alisdair Heron, The Holy Spirit (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1983). 56 Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, 235–38.

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to interpret higher-level events in terms of lower-level concepts or resorting to dualism. However, Whitehead himself was so intent on elaborating a set of metaphysical categories applicable to all events that I believe he gave insufficient attention to the radically different ways in which those categories are exemplified at different levels. In that regard, Hartshorne, Griffin, and other more recent process thinkers are more helpful. I have also questioned whether Whitehead’s understanding of the episodic character of moments of experience provides an adequate view of human selfhood. I would argue that we can accept more continuity and a stronger route of inheritance of personal identity, without reverting to traditional categories of substance. b. Is this a God of the gaps? In earlier centuries, God was invoked as an explanation for what was scientifically unexplained. It was held that God intervened at discrete points in an otherwise law-abiding sequence. This was a losing strategy when the gaps in the scientific account were successively closed. According to process philosophy, by contrast, God does not intervene unilaterally to fill particular gaps. God is already present in the unfolding of every event, but no event is attributable to God alone. God and the creatures are co-creators. The role filled by God is not a gap of the kind that might be filled by science, which studies the causal influence of the past. The contribution of God cannot be separated out as if it were another external force, for it operates through the interiority of every entity, which is not accessible to science. God’s influence on lower-level events would be minimal, so it is not surprising that the evolution of new forms has been such a long, slow process. c. Can we worship a God of limited power? The God envisaged by process thought is less powerful than the omnipotent ruler of classical theology. But different kinds of power are effective in different ways. The power revealed in Christ is the power of love to evoke our response, rather than the power to control us externally. Moreover, the God of process thought is everlasting, omnipresent, unchanging in purpose, knows all that can be known, and has a universal role and priority in status reminiscent of many of the traditional divine attributes. But I would grant that the numinous experience of the holy and the Christian experience of worship seem to require a greater emphasis on transcendence than we find in Whitehead himself. We can adapt Whiteheadian categories to the theological task

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of interpreting the experience of the Christian community without accepting all of his ideas. d. Is process thought too philosophical? Metaphysical categories seem abstract and theoretical, far removed from the existential issues of personal life which are central in religion. Some process writers use a technical vocabulary which is understandable only after considerable study, though process ideas can be expressed in a more familiar vocabulary. No theologian can avoid the use of philosophical categories in the systematic elaboration of ideas. Augustine drew from Plato, Aquinas from Aristotle, Barth from Kant, and so forth. However, we do always need to return to the starting point of theological reflection in the formative events and characteristic experiences of the Christian community. Imaginative models are more important than abstract concepts in the daily life of the church. No model is a literal or exhaustive representation, and we can use different models to imagine different aspects of God’s relation to the world. In our search for universality we must be in dialogue with people in other social locations, since economic interests, cultural values, and gender affect all our interpretive categories. Perhaps, after all, we should return to the biblical concept of the Holy Spirit. This will help us to avoid the separation of creation and redemption that occurred in much of classical Christianity. It is free of the male imagery so prominent elsewhere in Christian history. It will help us recover a sense of the sacred in nature that can motivate a strong concern for the environment today. The Spirit is God working from within, both in human life and the natural world, which is consistent with process thought. The theme of the 1991 assembly of the World Council of Churches in Canberra, Australia, was a prayer in which we can join: “Come, Holy Spirit, renew thy whole creation.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE SOUND OF SHEER SILENCE: HOW DOES GOD COMMUNICATE WITH HUMANITY? Arthur Peacocke1

[Elijah] got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. I Kings 19: 8–13 (NRSV)

1 This essay amplifies and extends a train of thought concerning the significance of “whole-part constraint” in relation to divine action which has engaged me since 1987; cf. fn. 1, p. 263, of my “God’s Interaction with the World,” in Chaos and Complexity: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, Robert J. Russell, Nancey Murphy and Arthur Peacocke, eds. (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory; Berkeley, Calif.: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1995), henceforth CAC. I have used the term “wholepart constraint” to avoid any possible Humean implications of “downward/top-down causation” previously employed in this context. Perhaps this was unnecessarily cautious (cf. my guarded language in fn. 22, p. 272, in CAC!), since I continued to envisage a causative influence of the “whole” on the parts in complex systems (i.e., of the system on its constituents), as my essay in CAC, 272–76, 282–87, shows. Here I take the opportunity to emphasize this and to take account of other concepts that have been used to describe the whole-part and the mind-brain-body relation so that the inclusive notion of “whole-part influence” (as I here denote it) can be applied as an analogy for divine action, especially in relation to God’s communication with humanity, that is, with possible divine effects on human consciousness (an approach which I developed earlier in my Theology for a Scientific Age, 2nd enlarged edition, [London: SCM Press; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993], esp. in chap. 11—henceforth TSA).

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When Elijah in extremis and in flight from the wrath of Jezebel sought a message from God and stood expectantly on the “mount of God,” Horeb, what brought him to the mouth of his sheltering cave was not the great wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but—we are told—“a sound of sheer silence,” from the depths of which Elijah is addressed by God.2 The story encapsulates the directness and immediacy of such experiences and at the same time exemplifies their baffling character. For it is not only these archetypal figures and events in the tradition which have this character, but also the widespread “religious” experiences of humanity—both those inside and those outside of religious tradition.3 The content of such experiences will be the concern of the last section of this essay, but their very existence raises questions about the general nature of God’s interaction with the world and with humanity, especially when both are viewed in the contemporary perspectives of the natural and human sciences. The track of inquiries into “scientific perspectives on divine action” in the CTNS-Vatican Observatory series of research conferences has inevitably led to the question of how God possibly can communicate with a humanity that is part of the natural world and evolved in and from it. The natural and human sciences clearly provide a context entirely different from the cultural milieu of the legends concerning Elijah—and indeed from that of even a hundred years ago. The dominance of the essentially Greek, and unbiblical, notion in the Christian world that human beings consist of two distinct kinds of entity (or “substance”)—a mortal, physical body and an immortal “spirit” (or “soul”)—provided a deceptively obvious basis for envisaging how God and humanity might communicate. The divine “Spirit” was thought then to be in some way closely related to, and capable of communication with, the human “spirit”—both were capable of being, as it were, on the same wavelength for inter-communication. This ontology of “spirit” was not physicalist insofar as it was understood that “spirit” was not part of the

2 I Kings 19: 12 (NRSV). The implicit paradox is well illustrated by the alternative translations: “a low murmuring sound” (NEB); “a faint murmuring sound” (REB); “a sound of gentle stillness” (RV, footnote); and, of course, the familiar “a still small voice” of AV and RV. 3 See also sec. 4.1 below, “Revelation and ‘Religious Experience’,” and fn. 80.

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causal nexus of the physical and biological world which the natural sciences continue to explicate. The basis for such an ontology has been undermined by the general pressure of the relevant sciences towards a monistic nondualist view of humanity. In what follows we shall examine (2.1) the perspectives of science on the world4 and advocate an “emergentist monism” as the epistemology and ontology most appropriate to these perspectives. The relation of wholes to parts in the systems of the world, which bears upon how effects and influences are transmitted in the world, is discussed (2.2) and the idea of “whole-part influence” is again utilized (2.2.1). Other terms used in this context are also surveyed and related to this notion (2.2.2). The idea of a “flow of information” between, and even in, systems proves to be illuminating (2.3), especially when the world is viewed (2.4) as a “System-of-systems.” The mind-brain-body relation is considered (2.5) in the light of the foregoing and it transpires that the details of the relation between cerebral neurological activity and consciousness (the concern of many of the essays in this volume [Ed: v. IV of CTNS/VO Series, Neuroscience and the Person]) cannot in principle detract from or particularly illuminate the causal efficacy of the content of the latter on the former. In other words, “folk psychology” and the holistic language of personhood are held to be justified and vindicated. The nature of communication between persons is then analyzed (2.6) and found to be mediated entirely through patterns within the physical constituents of the world, consistently with the monist feature of this approach and without eliminating the place for consciousness and intention in interpersonal communication. With this as background, the inquiry can then move on to considering God’s interaction with the world (3) and to distinguishing between various modes of this relation (3.1). In section 3.2, reasons for eschewing any attribution of “intervention” by God will be given, while recognizing that the key problem of the “ontological gap(s)” at the “causal joint” of divine interaction may, in principle, never be soluble—though its location can usefully be discussed and affirmed to be holistic and everywhere. How God may be best conceived as bringing about events, or patterns of events, in the world will be addressed in section 3.3, and an earlier hypothesis of the author—of divine holistic action on the

4 Here, and elsewhere, the “world” = “all-that-is,” including humanity—that is, everything other than God.

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world-as-a-whole by “whole-part influence”—will be further developed. This leads to a reinstatement of the traditional model of God as a personal agent in the world, albeit in a new perspective. On this foundation it proves possible to move on to the question of how God could affect the content of human thinking instantiated in human-brains-in-human-bodies—that is, of how God could communicate with a humanity embodied in the natural world. This will entail consideration (4.1) of the status of what has traditionally been called “revelation” in human experience and, more particularly, religious experience. Finally, we can then examine (4.2) how God might be considered as communicating with humanity and whether such communication can be regarded as “personal.” As it happens, a perceptive—indeed magisterial—treatment earlier this century by Oliver Quick, in relation to sacramental theology, provides a useful conceptual framework for linking the steps in this inquiry.5 His approach was based on a working distinction in human experience which can be extended to God’s relation to the world. There are two ways, he suggested, in which “outward” things or realities—those which occupy space and time and are in principle, at least, perceptible to human senses (basically, the “physical”)—may be related to our “inward” mental lives, which do not occupy space and time and are not perceptible to the senses. The “outward” things or realities may take their character either (1) from what is done with them in implementing “inward” mental states; or (2) from what is known by and through them of “inward” mental states. The first is an instrumental relation and the second a symbolic one. This broad distinction in human experience has a parallel in God’s relations to the world, to “all-that-is,” which, in the Jewish and Christian monotheistic traditions, may be viewed (1) as the instrument whereby God is effecting some purpose by acting on and doing something with and through it; or (2) as the symbol in and through which God is signifying and expressing God’s eternal nature to those who have the ability to discern it. We need to postulate ways in which God can effect instrumentally particular events and patterns of events in the world, in order to render intelligible how God might be known symbolically through particular events or patterns of events. These are what they

5 Oliver C. Quick, The Christian Sacraments (London: Nisbet, 1927; repr. 1955), chap. 1.

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are, and not something else, because of God’s intention and purposes to communicate to humanity. Quick’s analysis points to the need to clarify the instrumental mode of God’s interaction with the world in order to underpin the possibility of God’s symbolic, communicating action on human-brains-in-human-bodies, that is, in our thinking. So what are the features of the world unveiled by the sciences that are relevant to such an inquiry?

2. The World 2.1. Scientific Perspectives on the World—Emergentist Monism The underlying unity of the natural world is testified to by its universal, embedded rationality which the sciences assume and continue to verify successfully. In the realm of the very small (the subatomic) and of the very large (the cosmic), the extraordinary applicability of mathematics—the free creation of human ratiocination in elucidating the structures, entities, and processes of the world—continues to reinforce that it is indeed one world. Yet, the diversity of the same world is apparent not only in the purely physical—molecules, the Earth’s surface, the immensely variegated denizens of the astronomical heavens—but even more strikingly in the biological world. New species continue to be discovered, in spite of the depredations caused by human action. This diversity has been rendered more intelligible in recent years by an increased awareness of the principles involved in the constitution of complex systems. There is even a corresponding “science of complexity” concerned with theories about such systems. It will be enough here to recognize that the natural (and also human) sciences increasingly give us a picture of the world as consisting of a complex hierarchy—or more accurately, hierarchies—a series of levels of organization of matter in which each successive member of the series is a whole constituted of parts preceding it in the series.6 The wholes are organized systems of 6 Conventionally, the series is said to run from the “lower” less complex systems to the “higher” more complex systems—from parts to wholes—so that these wholes themselves constitute parts of more complex entities, rather like a series of Russian dolls. In the complex systems I have in mind here, the parts retain their identity and properties as isolated individual entities. So the systems referred to are those which, loosely speaking, were the concern of the first phase of general systems theory. In those systems the parts (“elements”) of the complex wholes are physical entities (e.g., atoms,

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parts that are dynamically and spatially interrelated—a feature (sometimes called a “mereological” relation) which will concern us further below (section 2.2). This feature of the world is now widely recognized to be of significance in relating our knowledge of its various levels of complexity—that is, the sciences which correspond to these levels.7 It also corresponds not only to the world in its present condition but also to the way complex systems have evolved in time out of earlier simpler ones. What is significant about this process in time and about the relation of complex systems to their constituents now is that the concepts needed to describe and understand—as indeed also the methods needed to investigate—each level in the hierarchy of complexity are specific to and distinctive of those levels. It is very often the case (but not always) that the properties, concepts, and explanations used to describe the higher level wholes are not logically reducible to those used to describe their constituent parts, themselves often also constituted of yet smaller entities. This is an epistemological assertion of a nonreductionist kind, and its precise implications have been much discussed. With reference to a particular system whose constitutive parts (or “elements”) are stable (see footnote 6), I think it is possible to affirm that there can be “theory” autonomy in the sense indicated above (that is, the logical and conceptual nonreducibility of predicates, concepts, laws, etc., of the theories applied to the higher level) without there being “processautonomy” (defined to mean that the processes occurring at the higher level are more than an interlocking, in new relations, of the processes in which the constituent parts participate).8

molecules, cells) which are either individually stable or which undergo processes of change (as, e.g., in chemical reactions), themselves analyzable as being the interchange of stable parts (atoms in that case). The internal relations of such elements are not regarded as affected by their incorporation into the system. 7 See, e.g., TSA, 36–43, 214–18, and figure 3, based on a scheme of W. Bechtel and A. Abrahamson in their Connectionism and the Mind (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991), figure 8.1; for a bold extension of the schema developed there, see Nancey Murphy and George F.R. Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology and Ethics (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), chaps. 2, 4. 8 See the Appendix to this essay and my God and the New Biology (London: Dent, 1986, repr. Gloucester, Mass: Peter Smith, 1994), chaps. 1, 2, henceforth GNB. Whether or not this statement about theory- and process-autonomy applies to the relations between distinctive systems is a matter which will be examined further in sec. 2.4 and the Appendix. [Editors’ Note: the appendix to this essay is not included in the current volume].

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When the nonreducibility of properties, concepts, and explanations applicable to higher levels of complexity is well established, their employment in scientific discourse can often, but not in all cases, lead to a putative and then to an increasingly confident attribution of a causal efficacy to the complex wholes which does not apply to the separated, constituent parts, for “to be real, new, and irreducible . . . must be to have new, irreducible causal powers.”9 If this continues to be the case under a variety of independent procedures and in a variety of contexts, then new and distinctive kinds of realities at the higher levels of complexity may properly be said to have emerged.10 This can occur with respect either to moving synchronically up the ladder of complexity, or diachronically through cosmic and biological evolutionary history. This understanding accords with the pragmatic attribution, both in ordinary life and scientific investigation, of the term “reality” to that which we cannot avoid taking account of in our diagnosis of the course of events, in experience or experiments. Real entities have effects and play irreducible roles in adequate explanations of the world. We have been assuming, with the “physicalists,” that all entities, all concrete particulars in the world, including human beings, are constituted of fundamental physical entities—whatever it is that current physics postulates as the basic constituents of the world (which, of course, includes energy as well as matter). This is a monistic view (a constitutively-ontologically reductionist one)—everything can be broken down into fundamental physical entities and no extra entities are to be inserted at higher levels of complexity to account for their properties. I shall denote this position as that of “emergentist monism,” rather than as “nonreductive physicalism,” for those who adopt this latter label for their view, particularly in their talk of the “physical realization” of the mental in the physical, often seem to me to hold a much less realistic view of higher level properties than I wish to affirm

9 Samuel Alexander, as quoted by Jaegwon Kim, “Non-reductivism and Mental Causation,” in Mental Causation, John Heil and Alfred Mele, eds. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 204. 10 William C. Wimsatt has elaborated criteria of “robustness” for such attributions of reality for emergent properties at the higher levels. These involve noting what is invariant under a variety of independent procedures; this is summarized in GNB, 27–28, from Wimsatt’s paper “Robustness, Reliability and Multiple-Determination in Science,” in Knowing and Validating in the Social Sciences: A Tribute to Donald T. Campbell, Marilynn Brewer and Barry Collins, eds. (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1981).

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here—and also not to attribute causal powers to that to which higherlevel concepts refer.11 If we do make such an ontological commitment about the reality of the “emergent” whole of a given total system, the question then arises: How is one to explicate the relation between the state of the whole and the behavior of parts of that system at the micro-level? The simple concept of chains of causally related events (A→B→C . . .) in constant conjunction (à la Hume) is inadequate for this purpose. Extending and enriching the notion of causality now becomes necessary because of new insights into the way complex systems in general and biological ones in particular behave. This subtler understanding of how higher levels influence the lower levels, and vice versa, still allows application in this context of the notion of a “causal” relation from whole to part (of system to constituent)—never ignoring, of course, the “bottom-up” effects of parts on wholes, for the properties of wholes depend on the properties of the parts being what they are. 2.2. The Relation of Wholes and Parts in Complex Systems A number of related concepts have been developed in recent years to describe these relations in both synchronic and diachronic systems—that is, respectively, both those in some kind of steady state with stable, characteristic emergent features of the whole, and those which display an emergence of new features in the course of time.

11 My view of emergent monism is in harmony with that of Philip Clayton, to whom I am much indebted for his shrewd and useful comments on this essay. Note that the term “monism” is emphatically not intended (as is apparent from the nonreductive approach adopted here) in the sense in which it is taken to mean that physics will eventually explain everything. Note also that this position is distinct from that of “dual-aspect monism” or “two-aspect monism,” which could appear to be purely epistemological, being about how an entity is viewed from two different perspectives. Even when the “two” and “dual” refer to distinct properties of a single entity, there is not in these terms any implication of a causal relation between the “aspects” (any more than between the wave and particle aspects of the single entity of the electron). Talk of “two aspects” is not strong enough to include an affirmation that the higher level is real and has causal efficacy.

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2.2.1. Whole-Part Influence (or Constraint) The term “downward-causation” or “top-down causation” was, as far as I can ascertain, first employed by Donald Campbell12 to denote the way in which the network of an organism’s relationships to its environment and its behavior patterns together determine in the course of time the actual DNA sequences at the molecular level present in an evolved organism—even though, from a “bottom-up” viewpoint, a molecular biologist would tend to describe the organism’s form and behavior, once in existence, as a consequence of those same DNA sequences. Campbell cites as an example the evolutionary development of efficacious jaws made of suitable proteins in a worker termite. There are imprecisions and a lack of generalizability in Campbell’s example and I prefer to use actual complex systems to clarify this suggestion. One could cite, for example, the Bénard phenomenon13—at a critical point a fluid heated uniformly from below in a containing vessel ceases to manifest the entirely random “Brownian” motion of its molecules, but displays up and down convective currents in columns of hexagonal cross-section. Moreover, certain auto-catalytic reaction systems (for example, the famous Zhabotinsky reaction and glycolysis in yeast extracts) display spontaneously, often after a time interval from the point when first mixed, rhythmic temporal and spatial patterns the forms of which can even depend on the size of the containing vessel. Many examples are now known also of dissipative systems which, because they are open, a long way from equilibrium, and nonlinear in certain essential relationships between fluxes and forces, can display large-scale patterns

12 Donald T. Campbell, “‘Downward Causation’ in Hierarchically Organized Systems,” in Studies in the Philosophy of Biology: Reduction and Related Problems, Francisco J. Ayala and Theodosius Dobzhansky, eds. (London: Macmillan, 1974), 179–86. A valuable and perspicacious account (with which I entirely agree) of emergent order, top-down causation (fully illustrated by its operation in the hierarchical organization of the modern digital computer), and the physical mediation of top-down effects has been given in Murphy and Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe, 22–32. For brevity here, I refer the reader to that recent excellent exposition. For earlier expositions of the hierarchies of complexity, of the relation of scientific concepts applicable to wholes to those applicable to the constituent parts, and of top-down/downward causation and whole-part influence (as discussed below), see GNB, chaps. 1, 2; TSA, 39–41, 50–55, 213–18 (esp. figure 3); and CAC, 272–76. 13 For a survey with references, see Arthur Peacocke, The Physical Chemistry of Biological Organization (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983, 1989), henceforth PCBO.

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in spite of random motions of the units—“order out of chaos,” as Ilya Prigogine and Isabelle Stengers dubbed it.14 In these examples, the ordinary physico-chemical account of the interactions at the micro-level of description simply cannot account for these phenomena. It is clear that what the parts (molecules and ions, in the Bénard and Zhabotinsky cases) are doing and the patterns they form are what they are because of their incorporation into the system-as-a-whole—in fact these are patterns within the systems in question. This is even clearer in the much more complex, and only partly understood, systems of genes switching on and off and their interplay with cell metabolism and specific protein production in the processes of development of biological forms. The parts would not be behaving as observed if they were not parts of that particular system (the “whole”). The state of the system-as-a-whole is affecting (that is, acting like a cause on) what the parts, the constituents, actually do. Many other examples of this kind could be taken from the literature on, for example, self-organizing and dissipative systems15 and also economic and social ones.16 We do not have available for such systems any account of events in terms of temporal, linear chains of causality as previously conceived (A→B→C→ . . .). Hence, in my recent writings I adopted the term “whole-part constraint” to describe the effects on the constituent parts of their being incorporated into systems of this kind, because the term “causation” often has tended to denote simply a regular chain of events (sometimes, too, simply in terms of a Humean conjunction). A wider use of “causality” and “causation” is now needed to include the kind of whole-part, higher- to lower-level, relationships that the sciences have themselves recently been discovering in complex systems, especially the biological and neurological ones. Here the term “whole-part influence,” will be used to represent the net effect of all those ways in which the system-as-a-whole, operating from its “higher” level, is a causal factor in what happens to its constituent parts, the “lower” level. Such a “causal” relation within a particular system is one that relates entities which are, because of the mereological

14 Ilya Prigogine and Isabelle Stengers, Order Out of Chaos (London: Heinemann, 1984). 15 PCBO; Prigogine and Stengers, Order Out of Chaos; Niels H. Gregersen, “The Idea of Creation and the Theory of Autopoietic Processes,” Zygon 33 (1998): 333–67. 16 Prigogine and Stengers, Order Out of Chaos.

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nature of the system, in some sense the same; so this “causal” relation might, adding confusion, entice some to regard the higher level as possessing a somewhat “metaphysical” character. 2.2.2. Other Analyses Various interpretations have been deployed by other authors to represent this whole-part relation in different kinds of systems (and notably the mind-brain-body one—see section 2.5), though not usually with causal implications. a. Structuring causes. The notion of whole-part influence is germane to one that Niels Gregersen has recently employed17 in his valuable discussion of autopoietic (self-making) systems—namely that of structuring causes, as developed by Fred Dretske18 for understanding mental causation. Gregersen and Dretske refer to the event(s) that produced the hardware conditions (actual electrical connections in the computer) and the word-processing program (software) as the “structuring causes” of the cursor movement on the screen connected with the computer; whereas the “triggering cause” is usually pressure on a key on the keyboard. The two kinds of causes exhibit a different relationship to their effects. A triggering one falls into the familiar (Humean) pattern of constant conjunction. However, a structuring cause is never sufficient to produce the particular effect (the key still has to be pressed); there is no constant relationship between structuring cause and effect. In the case of complex systems, such as those already mentioned, the system-as-a-whole often has the role, I suggest, of a structuring cause in Dretske’s sense. This idea helps in responding to two features that Thomas Tracy19 has found to be problematic in my own earlier use of “top-down” explanations.20 Tracy was, firstly, concerned with the supposition that 17

Gregersen, “The Idea of Creation.” Fred Dretske, “Mental Events as Structuring Causes of Behavior,” in Mental Causation, 121–36. Another example of his is as follows. A terrorist plants a bomb in the general’s car. The bomb stays there until the general gets into the car and turns the ignition key and then is killed by the detonation of the bomb. The “triggering cause” of his death is his turning on the engine, but the “structuring cause” is the terrorist’s action. 19 Thomas F. Tracy, “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps,” in CAC, 306–7, fn. 39. 20 In the first 1990 edition of TSA and before my espousing the of “whole-part constraint” in the 1993 enlarged edition of TSA and, more especially, in CAC, 263–87. 18

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“top-down explanations cannot be analyzed in terms of structures of bottom-up explanation.”21 The particular examples of systems already given and the considerations which lead to distinguishing structuring from triggering causes serve to explain why such “top-down” explanations could not, by their very nature, be analyzed in “bottom-up” terms. That is the whole point of identifying them as such. For example, in the Bénard case, it is not the properties, as such, of the individual molecules of the water in a heated beaker which explains why they suddenly abandon random collisions and move in serried ranks with the same velocity in one direction at the critical point—or why suddenly, in the Zhabotinsky reaction, in a particular spatially defined band at certain (periodic) positions vertically in the reaction test tube, all the cerous irons should become ceric. In both examples, it is a distinctive structuring property of the whole, and of the new relations among the constituents involved, that is the operative factor. Tracy also finds problematic “the move from whole-part explanation to treating the whole (or the nature of the system) as a cause.”22 I have shared this concern, for that is why I moved away from Campbell’s terminology of “causation.”23 However, provided “causation” is given a wider than chain-sequence (Humean) sense consistent with the holistic behavior of complexes, as already discussed, it can still be applied to the whole-part relation. b. Propensities. The category of “structuring cause” is closely related to that of propensities developed by Karl Popper, who pointed out that “there exist weighted possibilities which are more than mere possibilities, but tendencies or propensities to become real”24 and that these “propensities in physics are properties of the whole situation and sometimes even of the particular way in which a situation changes. And the same holds of the propensities in chemistry, biochemistry, and in biology.”25 Hence Popper’s “propensities”26 are the effects of Dretske’s structuring causes in the case that triggering causes are random in their operation (that is, genuinely random, no “loading of the dice”).

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Tracy, “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps.” Ibid. 23 In CAC, 272, fn. 22. 24 Karl Popper, A World of Propensities (Bristol: Thoemmes, 1990), 12. 25 Ibid., 17. 26 Cf. my urging in TSA that there are propensities in biological evolution, favored by natural selection, to complexity, self-organization, information-processing and–storage, and so to consciousness. 22

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c. Boundary (limiting) conditions. In the discussion of the relations between properties of a system-as-a-whole and the behavior of its constituent parts, some authors refer to the boundary conditions that are operating.27 It can be a somewhat misleading term—“limiting condition” would be better but I will continue to use it only in this wider, Polanyian, sense. A more recent, sophisticated development of these ideas has been proffered by Bernd-Olaf Küppers: [T]he [living] organism is subservient to the manner in which it is constructed . . . Its principle of construction represents a boundary condition under which the laws of physics and chemistry become operational in such a way that the organism is reproductively self-sustaining. . . . [T]he phenomenon of emergence as well as that of downward causation can be observed in the living organism and can be coupled to the existence of specific boundary conditions posed in the living matter.28

Thus a richer notion of the concept of boundary conditions is operative in systems as complex as living ones. The simpler forms of the idea of “boundary condition” as applied, for example, by Polanyi to machines are not adequate to express the causal features basic to biological phenomena. Indeed the “boundary conditions” of a system will have to include not only purely physical factors on a global scale, but also complex inter-systemic interactions between type-different systems (see section 2.4 below). Willem Drees has also emphasized, with respect to the Bénard phenomenon, the role of the conditions at the actual, physical boundary of the fluid in its physical environment in determining the behavior of the billions of constituent molecules. He asserts that in this case one could replace the term “top-down” causation by “environment-system” interaction. The environment determining the temperature is simply a physical system so, he argues, . . . There is no sense in which the system-as-a-whole has a specific, “emergent” causal influence. All the causal influences can be traced locally

27 For example, Michael Polanyi, “Life Transcending Physics and Chemistry,” Chemistry and Engineering News (August 21, 1967): 54–66; and idem, “Life’s Irreducible Structure,” Science 160 (1968): 1308–12. In his discussion, and mine in this essay, the term “boundary condition” is not being used, as it often is, to refer either to the initial (and in that sense “boundary”) conditions of, say, a partial differential equation as applied in theoretical physics, or to the physical, geometrical boundary of a system. 28 Bernd-Olaf Küppers, “Understanding Complexity,” in CAC, 100.

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arthur peacocke as physical influences within the system or between the system and its immediate environment. Boundaries are local phenomena, rather than global states of the system-as-a-whole.29

But the system is what has a boundary—and only the system can have it. It is because the system-as-a-whole is an entity, immersed in a conditioning environment with which it has a boundary, that it undergoes holistic reorganization of its constituent units. Indeed the Bénard phenomenon is independent of the shape of the container provided its dimensions are large with respect to convection cell size (the very condition that makes physical boundary effects negligible). The theory that has to give an intelligible account of all this has to deal with properties of the system-as-a whole—the temperature dependence of the viscosity and density of aggregates of molecules, their thermal conductivity and the mutual interplay of all these factors together in the behavior of the whole assembly. It is not enough, therefore, to pinpoint only the “environment-system” interaction as uniquely determinative. For it is only because of the nature of the entire system-as-a-whole that under such boundary conditions the constituent molecules manifest their unexpected, bizarre behavior. It is a case of “whole-part influence” in the sense defined above. There is a sense in which the system-as-a-whole, because of its distinctive configuration, can constrain and influence the behavior of the parts to be otherwise than if they were isolated from this particular system. Yet the system-as-a-whole would not be describable by the concepts and laws of that level and still have the properties it does have, if the parts (in the Zhabotinsky case, the ceric and cerous ions) were not of the particular kind they are. What is distinctive in the system-as-awhole is the new kind of interrelations and interactions, spatially and temporally, of the parts. d. Supervenience. Another, much debated term which has been used in this connection, especially in describing the relation of mental events to neurophysiological ones in the brain, is that of “supervenience.” The term, which does not usually imply any “whole-part” causative relation, goes back to Donald Davidson’s employment of it in expounding his view of the mind-brain-body relation as “anomalous monism.”30 The 29

Willem B. Drees, Religion, Science and Naturalism (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1996), 102. 30 Donald Davidson, “Mental Events,” in Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980).

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various meanings and scope of the term in this context had been formulated and classified by Jaegwon Kim as involving: the covariance of the supervenient properties with, the dependency of the supervenient properties on, and the nonreducibility of the supervenient properties to, their base properties.31 Another definition has been proposed elsewhere by Nancey Murphy.32 In the wider context of hierarchical systems (prescinding from the mind-brain-body problem, for the moment—see section 2.5 below) the term “supervenience” may be taken to refer to the relation between properties of the same system that pertain to different levels of analysis . . . higher-level properties supervene on lower-level properties if they are partially constituted by the lower-level properties but are not directly reducible to them.33 One can ask the question: [H]ow are the properties characteristic of entities at a given level related to those that characterize entities of adjacent levels? Given that entities at distinct levels are ordered by the part-whole relation, is it the case that properties associated with different levels are also ordered by some distinctive and significant relationship?34

The attribution of “supervenience” asserts primarily that there is a necessary covariance between the properties of the higher level and those of the lower level. When the term “supervenience” was first introduced its attribution did not imply a causal influence of the supervenient level on the subvenient one.35 Its appropriateness is questionable for analyzing whole-part relations, which by their very nature relate, with respect to complex systems, entities that are in some sense the same. Yet, in the context of the physical and biological (and, it must also be said, ecological and social) worlds, the mutual interrelations between whole and parts in any internally hierarchically organized system often, 31 Jaegwon Kim, “Epiphenomenal and Supervenient Causation,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy 9 (1984): 257–70; repr. in Supervenience and Mind: Selected Philosophical Essays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 32 Nancey Murphy, “Supervenience, and the Downward Efficacy of the Mental: A Nonreductive Physicalist Account of Human Action,” in CTNS/VO, v. IV. 33 Murphy and Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe, 23. 34 Kim, “Non-reductivism and Mental Causation,” in Mental Causation, 191. 35 However, utilizing her definition of supervenience, Nancey Murphy has suggested (personal communication, July, 1998) “that the supervenient level may involve additional circumstances that cannot be described at the subvenient level, and these additional circumstances can have a causal impact on the series of events. Thus, the causal connections will show up (be intelligible) only at the supervenient level of description.”

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we have seen, appear to involve causal effects of the whole on the parts. We shall continue, therefore, to use the term “whole-part influence,”36 rather than the terms 1–4 above, to refer to the subtle interlocking influences of the whole of any particular hierarchically organized system on its constituent parts. 2.3. Flow of Information A general concept which has often been found to be applicable to understanding the relation between higher and lower levels in a single, hierarchically stratified complex system is that of there being a flow of information from the higher to the lower level. The higher level is seen as constraining and shaping the patterns of events occurring among the constituent units of the lower one. Although “information” is a concept distinct from those of matter and energy, in actual systems no information flows without some exchange of energy and/or matter. Nevertheless, as an interpretative concept it is useful not only in the more obvious context of the mind-brain-body relation but also in considering the relation of environment to biological processes, including that of evolution.37 Thus, the case of the worker termite cited by Donald Campbell could well be interpreted as manifesting a temporal flow of information: information about the environment is, over a long period of time, impressed indirectly (via the effect of the environment on the viability of organisms possessing mutated DNA) on the DNA. This DNA then shapes the functioning of the organism that is capable of producing viable progeny. The concept of information is indeed apt for situations in which a form at one level influences forms at lower levels. This process can at least be conceived as a process of transfer of information, as distinct from energy or matter. John Puddefoot has usefully distinguished between: a. “Information” in the physicists’, communication engineers’, and brain scientists’ sense, that of C.E. Shannon—the sense in which “information” is related to the probability of one outcome or case

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It must be stressed that the “whole-part” relation is not regarded here necessarily, or frequently, as a spatial one. “Whole-part” is synonymous with “system-constituent.” 37 Cf. Jeffrey S. Wicken, Evolution, Information and Thermodynamics: Extending the Darwinian Paradigm (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987).

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selected out of many, probable outcomes or cases. In this sense it is, in certain circumstances, the negative of entropy. b. “Information” in the sense of the Latin informare, meaning “to give shape or form to.” Thus, “information” is “the action of informing with some active or essential quality,” as the noun corresponding to the transitive verb “to inform,” in the sense of “To give ‘form’ or formative principle to; hence to stamp, impress, or imbue with some specific quality or attribute” (quotation from the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on Historical Principles, sense II). c. “Information” in the ordinary sense of “that of which one is appraised or told” (Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, sense I.3).38 Puddefoot points out that information 1 is necessary to shape or give form, as information 2, to a receptor. If that receptor is the brain of a human being, then inter alia information 3 is conveyed. In this essay the term “information” (as well as its associates) is being broadly used to represent this whole process of 1 becoming 3—and only modulating to 3 when there is a specific reference to human brain processes in which 1 acquires meaning for human beings. Briefly, the mathematical (often digital) information 1 is the necessary basis of 2 (often “syntax”) which can in human mental experience become 3, with semantic content. I am not intending here in any way to imply that 3 is reducible to 1—that semantics is reducible to syntax—only that 1 is the necessary pre-condition for the manifestation and emergence of 3.39 Information 1 and 2 are often applicable to the higher- to lower-level interactions in hierarchically stratified physical and biological systems. The transition from information 1 and 2 to information 3 is, of course, ambivalently related to the opaque mind-brain-body relation, though it has been widely employed in that context. The concept of information 1, or its flow, has been used to attempt to define living entities40 but biologists have often been skeptical as to its general usefulness in,

38 John C. Puddefoot, “Information and Creation,” in The Science and Theology of Information, C. Wassermann, R. Kirby, and B. Rordoff, eds. (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1992), 15 (my numbering). For further discussion, especially in relation to biological complexity, see PCBO, 259–63, and in relation to evolution, 263–68. 39 The transition from 1 to 3 is also closely akin to that from semiotics to semantics and coheres well with the emergentist-monist position. 40 See PCBO, 259–63; Frank J. Tipler, The Physics of Immortality (London: Macmillan, 1995), 124–27.

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for example, understanding development,41 though it has an obvious application—one which was of historical significance—in interpreting the relation between nucleotide sequences in DNA and amino acid sequences in proteins and so in relation to heredity, that is, to “genetic information.” The notion of “flow of information” is therefore a conceptual tool ready to hand, as it were, to interpret the relation of higher to lower levels in a particular hierarchically stratified complex, but it must be used warily. But what of the relation between distinct systems? To this latter issue we must now turn. 2.4. The World-as-a-Whole 42—An Interconnected and Interdependent “System-of-Systems” The world consists of myriads of individual systems which are themselves very often hierarchically stratified complex systems of stable parts. We have been exploring their internal (“whole-part”) relationships. But these individual systems themselves can interact in a highly ramified manner across space and time. For distant events in space (for example, flaring spots on the Sun shower cosmic rays on the Earth which affect its climate and the evolution of its living organisms); and in time (for example, the elliptical orbits of the planets about the Sun, hence the seasons of terrestrial life; and the relation of the Earth’s axis to the plane of its motion to the north-south seasonal patterns). The individual systems of the world are increasingly demonstrated by the sciences to be interconnected and interdependent in multiple ways with, of course, great variations in the strengths of mutual coupling. Thus all wave functions of all sub-atomic particles (indeed of all matter) only go asymptotically to zero at an infinite distance from their maximal value, so that there is a finite, if small, chance of finding that particular particle anywhere.43 On the Earth’s surface, the ecological interconnectedness of

41 Michael J. Apter and L. Wolpert, “Cybernetics and Development. I. Information Theory,” Journal of Theoretical Biology 8 (1965): 244–57. 42 By the “world-as-a-whole,” I here mean all-that-is, or ever has been; all that is created, i.e., all that is not God. (The outer dashed circle in figure 1 on p. 85 is meant to denote this). 43 Recall also the notorious gravitational effect of the motion of an electron at the edge of, say, our galaxy on the collisions of macroscopic billiard balls; Michael Berry, “Breaking the Paradigm of Classical Physics from Within,” Cercy Symposium on Logique et Théorie des Catastrophes, 1983.

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all forms of life (including human), as well as their matter and energy cycles, themselves related to atmospheric and geological ones, has in recent years become increasingly apparent in all its baffling intricacies. These interactions between individual systems over space and time are as real in their mutual influencing as anything else described by the natural sciences, and their existence cannot be ignored in our reflections on the nature of the world and of God’s relation to it, simply because we can never have one comprehensive theory of them. This character of the world-as-a-whole suggests that it is metaphysically plausible to perceive it as a System-of-systems (using the word “system” with the weight already attached to it in the light of complexity theory of individual systems). Such an epistemological assertion would have, as always, a putative ontological significance. In that case, the “world-as-a-whole” is not “simply a concept”44 nor “an abstract description,”45 but could at least provisionally be regarded as an holistic reality at its own level—even if the coupling between systems is much looser and more diffuse, and therefore less classifiable, than it is within a particular individual hierarchically stratified system clearly demarcated from its environment. The apprehension of all-that-is in its holistic unity as a System-of-systems is, of course, scarcely vouchsafed to the limited horizons and capacities of humanity, though every advance in the sciences serves to reveal further cross-connections between its component systems. Such interconnectedness would be transparent to the omniscient Creator, who continuously gives its constituents and its processes existence and in Whom all-that-is exists, from a sacramental, panentheistic perspective. The relation between higher and lower levels within an individual hierarchically stratified system I have been designating by the pantechnicon term “whole-part influence.”46 This influence, I suggested, can often be regarded as a flow of information. We now have to ask: Can these notions be applied to the relations between systems in the world-as-a-whole? In order to respond to this question, it turns out

44 Niels Henrik Gregersen, “Providence in an Indeterministic World,” CTNS Bulletin, 14.1 (Winter, 1994): 26. 45 Idem. “Three Types of Indeterminacy,” in The Concept of Nature in Science and Theology, part I, vol. 3 of Studies in Science and Theology of the European Society for the Study of Science and Theology (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1995), 175. 46 See sec. 2.2 above.

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to be necessary to clarify the relation between theory- and processautonomy and this issue is discussed in the Appendix. There I conclude that, although theory-autonomy can occur without process-autonomy with respect to the internal relations of a particular system of stable parts, in the relation between two mutually interacting type-different systems both the theories applicable to and processes of each can be autonomous with respect to the other. From that discussion it transpires that we shall have to recognize that the interactions and relations between distinctive systems are unlikely to be describable in the same way as those within hierarchically stratified systems of stable parts. We are regarding the world as a “System-ofsystems,” but not as a hierarchically stratified one, so that the principles of “weak” nonreducibility do not have to apply to the relation between the component systems of the world.47 Indeed, if we could have a cosmic-global science of the world-as-a-whole as a System-of-systems, the theories (and predicates, concepts, laws, etc.) of that science would be expected to manifest not only theory-autonomy but also ex hypothesi process-autonomy since the processes going on in that whole System consist of the changing relations among type-different component systems (often containing type-different component parts). Earlier we noted that when a particular hierarchical system was considered, the idea that there can be envisaged a “flow of information” from the higher level to the lower one could sometimes be usefully employed. Is this notion of the “flow of information” any help in thinking of the multiple interactions between individual systems in the world “System”? Such interactions are obviously highly variegated, multiple, and overlapping, as Gregersen says, for “we face a criss-cross interpenetration of different kinds of operational systems . . . a world of naturally polycentric systems . . ., a nexus of realities,48 or “a network of influences.”49 47 For “weak” nonreducibility, see the Appendix. If the systems in question are themselves part of an actual hierarchy of organization and are themselves stable, then the analysis may well revert to that applicable to the internal relationships within a larger hierarchical system of stable parts, each of which is then itself a system. For the world-as-a-whole, it is the interaction between systems not so described that is chiefly under consideration—“ . . . the reality of the ‘world as a whole’ is itself a result of the interpenetrations between the type- and code-different systems observed . . . ” (Gregersen, “The Idea of Creation and the Theory of Autopoietic Processes,” 337). 48 Ibid. 49 Gregersen (personal communication, 12 November, 1996), describing my own view.

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The world may be conceived of as an interconnected web of type-different systems interacting in specific ways and mutually influencing each other.50 A common factor then discernible in the multiple interactions between such systems (in the whole cosmic System) is the transfer of information whereby patterns of events in one system affect patterns of events in another—and the interchange between the myriad systems of energy and/or matter are ex hypothesi variegated beyond the possibility of generalization. The use of the concept of information is thus particularly apt for elucidating these interactions since it is, conceptually at least, independent of those of matter and energy—though in nature it never occurs without their exchange. 2.5. The Mind-Brain-Body Relation and Personhood Much of the discussion of the relation of higher levels to lower ones in hierarchically stratified systems has centered on the mind-brain-body relation, on how mental events are related to neurophysiological ones in the human-brain-in-the-human-body—in effect the whole question of human agency and what we mean by it. A hierarchy of levels can be delineated,51 each of which is the focus of a corresponding scientific study, from neuroanatomy and neurophysiology to psychology. Those involved in studying “how the brain works” have come to recognize that properties not found in components of a lower level can emerge from the organization and interaction of these components at a higher level. For example, rhythmic pattern generation in some neural circuits is a property of the circuit, not of isolated pacemaker neurons. Higher brain functions (e.g., perception, attention) may depend on temporally coherent functional units distributed through different maps

50 Gregersen (personal communication, March, 1998) has expressed this point to me thus: “[P]erhaps the most curious feature about our universe is that it starts out as a unity and ends up in a plurality of systems . . . . forever based on the same uniform matter, always interacting with one another in ever-new constellations of mutual influences (thus certainly interlocked) but nonetheless appearing in type-different forms, thus also operating by virtue of type-different causalities” (emphasis original). 51 As indicated in the legend to fig. 1 on p. 85, where the schema of Patricia S. Churchland and T.J Sejnowski is depicted (“Perspectives in Cognitive Neuroscience” Science 242 [1988]: 741–45). The physical scales of these levels are, according to these authors, as follows: molecules, 10–10m; synapses, 10–6m; neurons, 10–4m; networks, 10–3m; maps, 10–2m; systems, 10–1m; central nervous system, 1m, in human beings.

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and nuclei.52 So that even an in-principle physicalist, such as Patricia Churchland, can express (with T.J. Sejnowski) the aim of research in cognitive neuroscience thus: The ultimate goal of a unified account does not require that it be a single model that spans all the levels of organization. Instead the integration will probably consist of a chain of models linking adjacent levels. When one level is explained in terms of a lower level this does not mean that the higher level theory is useless or that the high-level phenomena no longer exist. On the contrary, explanations will coexist at all levels, as they do in chemistry and physics, genetics and embryology.53

The still intense philosophical discussion of the mind-brain-body relation has been broadly concerned with attempting to elucidate the relation between the “top” level of human mental experience and the lowest, bodily physical levels. In recent decades it has often involved considering the applicability and precise definition of some of the terms used above in section 2.2 to relate higher levels to lower ones in hierarchically stratified systems. The question of what kind of “causation,” if any, may be said to be operating from a “top-down,” as well as the obvious and generally accepted “bottom-up,” direction is still much debated in this context.54 Earlier (section 2.2), when discussing the general relation of wholes to constituent parts in a hierarchically stratified complex system of stable parts, I used “whole-part influence” and other terms and maintained that a nonreductionist view of the predicates, concepts, laws, etc., applicable to the higher level could be coherent. Reality could, it was argued, putatively be attributed to that to which these nonreducible, higher-level predicates, concepts, laws, etc., applied; and these new realities, with their distinctive properties, could properly be called “emergent.” When this emergentist monist approach is applied to the mental activity of the human-brain-in-the-human-body then, “we must look to vernacular [“folk”] psychology and its characteristic intentional idioms of belief, desire, and the rest, and their intentional analogues in systematic psychology” in order to elucidate its nature.55

52 Terrence J. Sejnowski, C. Koch, and P. Churchland, “Computational Neuroscience,” Science 241 (1988): 1299–1306, see p. 1300. 53 Churchland and Sejnowski, “Perspectives in Cognitive Neuroscience,” 744. 54 See, for example, the collection of papers in Mental Causation, Heil and Mele, eds. 55 Kim, “Non-reductivism and Mental Causation,” 193.

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Mental properties are now widely regarded by philosophers as epistemologically irreducible to physical ones, indeed as “emergent” from them, but also dependent on them56—similar terms have been used to describe the relation of “higher” to “lower” levels as in the context of nonconscious, complex systems (see section 2.2.2). In the mind-brain-body case the idea that mental properties can be “physically realized” has also been much deployed.57 Jaegwon Kim has argued that, if this latter concept (which overlaps that of supervenience in many treatments) is taken to mean that a microstructure physically realizes a mental property by being a sufficient cause for that property, and if for mental properties to be real is for them to have new, irreducible causal powers, then the nonreductive physicalist is thereby committed to downward causation (in a strong nomological sense) from the mental to the physical levels.58 Kim then argues that, because there is complete causal closure at the physical level alone, mental properties cannot, in fact, have real causal powers irreducible to physical ones. Hence there is a conflict between the postulate of downward causation (derived from the nonreducibility, and the need for causal efficacy, of the mental) and the physicalist’s assumption that a complete physical

56 Broadly, this is the “nonreductive physicalist” view of the mental-physical relation, which has been summarized (ibid., 198) as follows: a. Physical Monism. All concrete particulars are physical. b. Anti-reductionism. Mental properties are not reducible to physical properties. c. The Physical Realization Thesis. All mental properties are physically realized; that is, whenever an organism, or system, instantiates a mental property M, it has some physical property P such that P realizes M in organisms of its kind. d. Mental Realism. Mental properties are real properties of objects and events; they are not merely useful aids in making predictions or fictitious manners of speech. 57 The idea of mental states being “physically realized” in neurons was expanded as follows by John Searle, Minds, Brain and Science, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984), 26 (emphasis added): Consciousness . . . is a real property of the brain that can cause things to happen. My conscious attempt to perform an action such as raising my arm causes the movement of the arm. At the higher level of description, the intention to raise my arm causes the movement of the arm. At the lower level of description, a series of neuron firings starts a chain of events that results in the contraction of the muscles . . . [T]he same sequence of events has two levels of description. Both of them are causally real, and the higher-level causal features are both caused by and realized in the structure of the lower level elements. What follows in the main text here shows that I am not satisfied with Searle’s parallelism between the causality of the mental and physical; it is not enough. I argue later on in this essay for a joint causality whereby the mental influences the physical level in the brain. 58 Kim, “Non-reductivism and Mental Causation,” 202–5.

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theory can in principle account for all phenomena (causal closure). Steven Cain has succinctly summarized these conclusions of Kim: “. . . the nonreductive physicalist cannot live without downward causation, and the nonreductive physicalist cannot live with it.”59 Crain argues (and I agree) that it is Kim’s assumption that a physical microstructure in “physically realizing” a mental property is its sufficient cause, which leads to the exclusion of any causative role for mental properties, for in the wider range of physical, biological, and other systems discussed in section 2.2, the causative effects of the higher levels on the lower ones were real but different in kind from the effects the parts had on each other operating at the lower level. Thus, what happens in these systems at the lower level is the result of the joint operation of both higher- and lower-level influences—the higher and lower levels could be said to be jointly sufficient, type-different60 causes of the lower-level events. When the higher-lower relation is that of mind/brain to body, it seems to me that similar considerations should apply. Up to this point, I have been taking the term “mind,” and its cognate “mental,” to refer to that which is the emergent reality distinctive especially of human beings. But in many wider contexts, not least that of philosophical theology, a more appropriate term for this emergent reality would be “person,” and its cognate “personal,” to represent the total psychosomatic, holistic experience of the human being in all its modalities—conscious and unconscious, rational and emotional, active and passive, individual and social, etc. The concept of personhood recognizes that, as Philip Clayton puts it, We have thoughts, wishes and desires that together constitute our character. We express these mental states through our bodies, which are simultaneously our organs of perception and our means of affecting other things and persons in the world . . . [The massive literature on theories

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Steven D. Crain, in an unpublished paper, kindly made this available to me. See the illuminating discussion of type-different causalities by Gregersen in his “Three Types of Indeterminacy,” 173–74. He remarks: The Humean concept of causality that still prevails in the philosophical debate . . . . thinks of causality in terms of general laws applicable on systems of events and processes . . . Non-Humean concepts of causality normally think of causality in terms of influencing conditions and events that in their totality make up the effect. . . . My suggestion is that there exist quite different types of causality that can neither be subsumed under general laws nor be measured through additions and subtractions” (173). In line with this, he espouses an “holistic” supervenience theory as against Kim’s “physicalist” one, as in his “Divine Action in a Universe of Minds,” paper presented at the ESSSAT Conference, Durham, March 31–April 4, 1998. 60

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of personhood] clearly points to the indispensability of embodiedness as the precondition for perception and action, moral agency, community and freedom—all aspects that philosophers take as indispensable to human personhood and that theologians have viewed as part of the imago dei.61

There is, therefore, a strong case for designating the highest level, the whole, in that unique system which is the human-brain-in-the-humanbody-in-social-relations as that of the “person.” Persons are inter alia causal agents with respect to their own bodies and to the surrounding world (including other persons). They can, moreover, report on aspects of their internal states concomitant with their actions with varying degrees of accuracy. Hence the exercise of personal agency by individuals transpires to be a paradigm case and supreme exemplar of whole-part influence—in this case exerted on their own bodies and on the world of their surroundings (including other persons). Thus, the details of the relation between cerebral neurological activity and consciousness cannot in principle detract from the causal efficacy of the content of the latter on the former and thus on behavior. In other words, “folk psychology” and the real reference of the language of “personhood” are both justified and necessary. 2.6. Communication Between Persons We are aiming at understanding better, in the light of what we now know through the sciences about human nature, how God might be conceived of as communicating with humanity. Let us remind ourselves first how human persons communicate with each other. How do we get to know each other, not only by description, but also by acquaintance—that is, get to know what is, as we say, “in each other’s mind”?62 All communication at its most basic level is mediated through the senses—hearing, sight, touch, taste, and smell. The physical

61 Philip Clayton, “The Case for Christian Panentheism,” Dialog 37.3 (Summer 1998): 201–8 (quotation on 205); see also his “Rethinking the Relation of God to the World: Panentheism and the Contribution of Philosophy,” chap. 4 in God and Contemporary Science (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1997), in which the nuances of panentheism are well developed. Broadly, they amount to a stronger form of immanence in which God is seen as in, with, and under the very processes of the world almost in a sacramental modality. See also TSA, passim. 62 See the articles in CTNS/VO, v. IV by Leslie Brothers and Marc Jeannerod.

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intermediaries are vibrations in pressure in the air, electromagnetic waves, physical pressure, changes of temperature, molecules, etc. Our genes, culture, nurture, and education have enabled human beings to decode patterns of these physical intermediaries so as to convey information about the content of the consciousness of the one attempting to communicate. These patterns can be immensely complex, associated with long histories, for example, in language and in the objective carriers of a cultural heritage such as books, tapes, paintings, sculptures, CDs, etc. They can be woven in time, as in music, drama, and language; and they can be more bodily based, as we now know from research into “body language” and communication through “eye-to-eye” contact. In all these ways individual persons communicate with each other and also with the wider human community—past, present, and future. The receptor of this “information”63 in the individual person is the individual human brain which stores this variegated “information” that constitutes knowledge of an other’s state of consciousness (which is, under a different description, of the state of an other’s brain). This occurs at different levels and is integrated into a perception of the other person. Such knowledge of the other person can be recalled, with varying degrees of rapidity and accuracy, into consciousness. On a nondualist view, this process can be regarded as a re-activation of the brain to reproduce the original patterns that previously constituted this conscious awareness of the other person64—as long as it continues to be recognized that these conscious “mental” events are a nonreducible reality that is distinctive of the human-brain-in-the-human-body. It seems that all the processes involved in inter-communication between human persons can be investigated and described at different levels by the methods and concepts appropriate to the level in question without invoking any ontologically distinct, special, “psychic” medium, unknown to the natural sciences, as the means of communication. This is not to say that the meaning of what is communicated can be reduced simply to physical patterns in the media in question, for the interpretation of these necessitates a recognition of their distinctive kind 63 The scare quotes around “information” are meant to indicate that I in no way wish to pretend that the mind-brain-body relation will be eventually subsumed entirely into information theory, useful as that is in delineating key aspects of the relation; see sec. 2.3 above. 64 Presumably it is therefore at some point in brain development and function that autism, in which interpersonal communication is impaired, is to be located, as was suggested to me by John Marshall in the conference discussions.

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of reality. But it is to stress that all communication between human beings, even at the most intimate and personal level, is mediated by the entities, structures, and processes—that is, by the constituents—of the world. The subtly integrated patterns of these means of communication do in fact allow mutual comprehension between two human individuals of each other’s distinctive personhood. This knowledge of two persons of each other, this knowledge by acquaintance, is notoriously not fully expressible in any of the frameworks of interpretation appropriate to the various modalities of the interaction process. There remains an inalienable uniqueness, and indeed mystery, concerning the nature of the individual person and of the interaction between two persons. Both the sense of personhood, of being a person, and also awareness of interpersonal relations are unique, irreducible emergents in humanity. Recognition of the rootedness of the means of interpersonal communication in the constituents of the world does not diminish or derogate from the special kind of reality that constitutes persons and their mutual interactions. For in such communication between persons there occurs a subtle and complex integration of the received sense-data with previous memories of that person, under the shaping influence of a long-learned cultural framework of interpretation that provides the language and imagery with which to articulate the relation in consciousness. So recognition of the physical nature of the means of communication between persons in no way diminishes the uniqueness and “in depth” character that can pertain to personal relationships at their most profound level for the individuals concerned, which are, indeed, often the most real and significant experiences of people’s lives.

3. God’s Interaction with the World 3.1. Modes of Interaction This interaction has been variously classified in the history of Christian thought:65 (1) the creative activity of God; (2) the sustaining activity of God; (3) God’s action as final cause; (4) general providence; (5) special providence; (6) miracles. Since we human beings are individuals, the

65

For example, by Michael J. Langford, Providence (London: SCM Press, 1981), 6.

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question of how God can communicate with us is an instance of 5, God’s special providence—namely, how God can affect our thinking and so events, or patterns of events, in our brains. That God might be able to do so at all is, of course, an aspect of 4 that results from the character of 1 and 2, into which 4 is often subsumed.66 For the purposes of the ensuing discussion, I shall be taking a broadly panentheistic view of the relation of the being of God to that of the world.67 When more distinctly Christian theological matters are under consideration, I have a broadly “modalist” understanding of the Trinity insofar as such a view is apophatic (that is, reticent) concerning the ontology of God, but recognizes the threefold character of the Christian experience of the personal God as transcendent, incarnate, and immanent (the “economic” Trinity).68 3.2. Intervention? The successes of the sciences in unraveling the intricate, often complex, yet rationally beautifully articulated, web of relationships among structures, processes, and entities in the world have made it increasingly problematic to regard God as “intervening” in the world to bring about events that are not in accordance with these divinely created patterns and regularities that the sciences increasingly unravel. Indeed for most scientifically educated Christians, their very belief in the existence and nature of the Creator God depends on this character of the world. The 66

As discussed in TSA, chap. 9, where references are given. For my understanding of panentheism, see TSA, 158–59, 370–72. Briefly, it is “the belief that the Being of God includes and penetrates the whole universe, so that every part of it exists in Him but (as against pantheism) that His Being is more than, and is not exhausted by, the universe,” Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, 2nd rev. edit., Frank L. Cross and Elizabeth A. Livingstone, eds. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983), 1027. In contrast to classical philosophical theism with its reliance on the concept of necessary substance, panentheism takes embodied personhood for its model of God—cf. Clayton, “The Case for Christian Panentheism”—and so has a much stronger stress on the immanence of God “in, with, and under” the events of the world. This was the thrust of my essay, “Biological Evolution—a positive theological appraisal,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory; Berkeley, Calif.: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1998), namely, that “God is the Immanent Creator creating in and through the processes of the natural order,” and that the very processes of biological evolution, as revealed by the biological sciences, “are God-acting-as-Creator, God qua Creator. . . . The processes are not themselves God, but the action of God-as-Creator.” This, of course, is why I also do not wish to resort to any micro-interventionist action of God to steer evolution. 68 See TSA, 347–49. 67

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transcendence of God, God’s essential otherness and distinct ontology from everything else, always allows in principle the theoretical possibility that God could act to overrule the very regularities to which God has given existence. But, setting aside the immense moral issues about why God does not intervene to prevent rampant evil, more fundamentally this gives rise to an incoherence in our understanding of God’s nature, for intervention suggests an arbitrary and magic-making agent far removed from the concept of One who created and is creating the world science reveals. That world appears increasingly convincingly as closed to causal interventions from outside of the kind that classical philosophical theism postulated (for example, in the idea of a “miracle” as a breaking of the laws of nature). So the problem is: How can one conceive of the God who is the Creator of this world affecting events in it without abrogating the very laws and regularities to which God has given existence and all the time sustaining it in existence? It has been intensified by the general skepticism among philosophers, theologians, and scientists (if not in the general public) about the existence of a “supernatural” world which, by postulating an ontological category of immaterial “spirit,” provided a route or channel, as it were, along which divine influences could operate to manipulate matter and human beings. Such dualism is not intellectually defensible today, and has few supporters, not least with respect to human nature. Theists find themselves asserting that the only ontological dualism to which they are committed is that between God and the world—that is, to the absolute difference between an infinite and necessary being and the contingency of the entire created order. This is also a premise of this essay. But, as Austin Farrer, long since noted,69 this inevitably leads, in all hypotheses concerning how God might bring about particular events (5 in section 3.1) to the problem of the “ontological gap(s) at the causal joint,” for if God in God’s own Being is distinct from anything we can possibly know in the world, then God’s nature is ineffable and will always be inaccessible to us so that we have only the resources of analogy to depict how God might influence events.70 From a panentheist point of view, the problem of God’s interaction with the world is mitigated—though the intractable problem of evil

69 70

Austin Farrer, Faith and Speculation (London: A. & C. Black, 1967). For a fuller discussion see TSA, 148–52.

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remains—because the total web of natural events, in this perspective, is viewed as in itself the creative and sustaining action of God but, of course, not identical with God.71 This points us in the direction of postulating that the “ontological gap(s)” between the world and God is (are) located simply everywhere72—or, more precisely, because the world is “in God,” God can influence the world in its totality, as a System-of-systems. 3.3. Whole-Part Influence as a Model for God’s (Special, Providential) Interaction with the World I have elsewhere expounded this model (using the term “constraint,” now replaced by “influence”) in an attempt to render intelligible how God might be conceived of as influencing particular events, or patterns of events, in the world without interrupting the regularities observed at the levels the sciences study; the reader is referred to those texts for a fuller account.73 Only with a plausible account of how God can affect the world “instrumentally” can we proceed to address the question

71 For panentheism, see TSA, chap. 9 and fn. 67, above. The metaphor of natural events as, in some sense, God’s actions should not, in my view, be stretched to include a metaphor employed by some authors of the world as God’s body. The first has, like all metaphors, an “is/is-not” aspect—namely, in this case, my emphasis on the ontological distinction between God and the world. The second might tempt us unwarrantedly to seek for a divine analogy for the human brains and nerves whereby human decisions effect events in their bodies! 72 Cf. my remarks in CAC (p. 287, first para.) which apply here too: “[T]he present exercise could be regarded essentially as an attempt, as it were, to ascertain where this ontological gap, across which God transmits “information” (i.e., communicates), is most coherently “located,” consistently with God’s interaction with everything else having particular effects and without abrogating those regular relationships to which God’s own self continues to give an existence which the sciences increasingly discover.” This concurs with Gregersen in his article, “Three Types of Indeterminacy” (fn. 14, p. 184), in which he says: “We cannot expect to find the causal ‘routes’ of divine action and their subsequent ‘joints’ with natural causes. The most we can do, is to suggest meaningful localizations of possible divine actions.” 73 TSA, passim, especially 157–60; and CAC, 272–76, 282–87, where I proposed: If God interacts with the “world” at a supervenient level of totality, then God, by affecting the state of the world-as-a-whole, could, on the model of whole-part constraint relationships in complex systems, be envisaged as able to exercise constraints upon events in the myriad sub-levels of existence that constitute that “world” without abrogating the laws and regularities that specifically pertain to them—and this without “intervening” within the unpredictabilities we have noted [I had in mind here the inprinciple, inherent kinds, i.e., quantum events, though the remarks would also apply to the practical unpredictabilities of chaotic systems]. Particular events might occur in the world and be what they are because God intends them to be so, without at any

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of how God might communicate “symbolically” with humanity (see section 1). Initially, I will prescind from any analogy with the mind-brain-body relation or with personal agency. The model is based on the recognition that the omniscient God uniquely knows, across all frameworks of reference of time and space, everything that it is possible to know about the state(s) of all-that-is, including the interconnectedness and interdependence of the world’s entities, structures, and processes. By analogy with the operation of whole-part influence in real systems (see section 2.2), the suggestion is that, because the “ontological gap(s)” between the world and God is/are located simply everywhere in space and time, God could affect holistically the state of the world (the whole in this context). Thence, mediated by the whole-part influences of the world-as-a-whole (as a System-of-systems) on its constituents, God could cause particular events and patterns of events to occur which express God’s intentions. These latter would not otherwise have happened had God not so intended. This unitive, holistic effect of God on the world could occur without abrogating any of the laws (regularities) which apply to the levels of the world’s constituents74—by analogy with the exercise of whole-part influence in the systems discussed in section 2.2. Moreover, this action of God on the world may be distinguished from God’s universal creative action in that particular intentions of God for particular patterns of

point any contravention of the laws of physics, biology, psychology, or whatever is the pertinent science for the level of description in question (283). Ernan McMullin has raised the question of how this proposal of mine relates to quantum indeterminism in his, “Cosmic Purpose and the Contingency of Human Evolution,” Theology Today 55 (1998): 407 and fn. 50. As he points out, in my view God does not definitively know the future, but has a maximally conceivable capacity to predict it based on total knowledge of present events and of the laws and regularities of natural processes (TSA, 128–33). In the case of quantum events, this would, to respond to his query, have to refer to God’s prediction of the statistical outcome of multiple quantum events and not individual ones—if the standard “Copenhagen” interpretation of quantum mechanics is assumed. In his article, McMullin’s other query about the proposal concerns how the interaction between an ontologically distinct God and the world might be conceived of without being the forbidden sort of intervention. This is met by the suggestion of the interaction being analogous to a flow of information, as described later in this section. 74 Note that the same may be said of human agency. Also, this proposal recognizes explicitly that the “laws” and regularities which constitute the sciences usually apply only to certain perceived, if ill-defined, levels within the complex hierarchies of nature.

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events to occur are effected thereby—and the patterns could be intended by God in response inter alia to human actions or prayers. The ontological “interface” at which God must be deemed to be influencing the world is, on this model, that which occurs between God and the totality of the world (all-that-is), and this, from a panentheistic perception, is within God’s own self. What passes across this “interface,” I have also suggested,75 may perhaps be conceived of as a flow of information, but one has to admit that, because of the “ontological gap(s)” between God and the world, which must always exist in any theistic model, this is only an attempt at making intelligible that which we can postulate as being the initial effect of God seen from our side of the boundary, as it were.76 Whether or not this use of the notion of information flow proves helpful in this context, we do need some way of indicating that the effect of God at this, and so at all, levels is that of pattern-shaping in its most general sense. I am encouraged in this kind of exploration by the recognition that the concept of the Logos, the Word, of God is usually taken to emphasize God’s creative patterning of the world and so God’s self-expression in the world. The panentheistic inter-relations of God and the world and the interaction of God with the world, including humanity, I have attempted to represent in figure 1 (overleaf ).77 This is a kind of Venn diagram and represents ontological relationships. It has the limitation of being in two planes so that the “God” label appears dualistically to be (ontologically) outside the world; although this conveys the truth that God is “more and other” than the world, it cannot represent God’s omnipresence in and to the world. This limitation may be surmounted by noting that “God,” in the figure, is denoted by the (imagined) infinite planar surface of the page on which the circle representing the world is printed. For, it is assumed, God is “more than” the world, which is nevertheless “in” God. The page underlies and supports the circle and its contents, just as God sustains everything in existence and is present to all.

75 TSA, 161,164; CAC, 274–75, 285. John Polkinghorne has made a similar proposal in terms of the divine input of “active information” in his Scientists as Theologians (London: SPCK, 1996), 36–37. 76 Morever, I would not wish to tie the proposed model too tightly to a “flow of information” interpretation of the mind-brain-body problem (see also fn. 63 above). 77 This is an elaboration of fig. 1 of TSA to include a depiction of the multi-leveled nature of human beings. While it hardly needs to be said, the infinity sign represents not infinite space or time, but the infinitely “more” that God’s being encompasses in comparison with that of everything else.

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∞ GOD

∞

G O D

G O D

∞

GOD

∞ GOD

is represented by the whole surface of the page, imagined to extend to infinity (∞) in all directions the WORLD, all-that-is: created and other than God, and including both humanity and systems of non-human entities, structures, and processes the human WORLD: excluding systems of non-human entities, structures, and processes Gods interaction with and influence on the world and its events tip and shaft of a similar double-shafted arrow perpendicular to the page; Gods influence and activity within the world effects of the non-human world on humanity human agency in the non-human world personal interactions, both individual and social, between human beings, including cultural and historical influences

Mental experiences [conscious and unconscious] Brain and CNS Systems Maps Networks

Multi-leveled HUMANITY

Neurons Synapses Apart from the top one, these are the levels of organization of the human nervous system depicted in fig. 1 of Patricia S. Churchland and T.J. Sejnowski, “Perspectives on Cognitive Neuroscience,” Science 242 (1988): 741–745.

Figure 1. Diagram representing spatially the ontological relation of, and the interactions between, God and the world (including humanity).

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So the larger dashed circle, representing the ontological location of God’s interaction with all-that-is, really needs a many-dimensional convoluted surface78 not available on a two-dimensional surface. The point and tail of a double-shafted arrow have been placed at the centre of this circle to signal God’s immanent influence and activity within the world. The present form of this figure is meant to stress particularly the many-leveled nature of the human recipients of divine communication. 3.4. God as “Personal” Agent in the World I hope the model as described so far has a degree of plausibility in depending on an analogy only with complex natural systems in general and on the way whole-part influence operates in them. It is, however, clearly too impersonal to do justice to the personal character of many (but not all) of the most profound human experiences of God. So there is little doubt that it needs to be rendered more cogent by the recognition that, among natural systems, the instance par excellence of whole-part influence in a complex system is that of personal agency. Indeed in the previous section, I could not avoid referring to God’s “intentions” and implying that, like human persons, God had purposes to be implemented in the world. For if God is going to affect events and patterns of events in the world, then one cannot avoid attributing the personal predicates of intentions and purposes to God—inadequate and easily misunderstood as they are. So we have to say that though God is ineffable and ultimately unknowable in essence, yet God “is at least personal” and personal language attributed to God is less misleading than saying nothing! That being so, we can now legitimately turn to the exemplification of whole-part influence in the mind-brain-body relation (section 2.5) as a resource for modeling God’s interaction with the world. When we do so the ascendancy of the “personal” as a category for explicating the wholeness of human agency asserts itself and the traditional, indeed biblical, model of God as in some sense a “personal” agent in the world is rehabilitated—but now in a quite different metaphysical, nondualist

78 Recall Augustine’s representation of “the whole creation” as if it were “some sponge, huge , but bounded” floating in the “boundless sea” of God, “environing and penetrating it . . . everywhere and on every side” (Confessions, VII.7).

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framework and coherently with the worldview (cf. section 3.2, above) which the sciences engender.79 When I was using nonhuman systems in their whole-part relationships as a model for God’s relation to the world in “special providence,” I resorted to the idea of a “flow of information” as being a helpful pointer to what might be conceived as crossing the “ontological gap(s)” between God and the world-as-a-whole. But now as I turn to more personal categories to explicate this relation and interchange, it is natural to interpret a “flow of information” between God and the world, including humanity, in terms of the “communication” that occurs between persons—not unlike the way in which a flow of Shannon-type information metamorphoses in the human context into information in the ordinary sense of the word.80 Thus whatever else may be involved in God’s personal interaction with the world, communication must be involved, and this raises the question: To whom might God be communicating? We would not be deliberating here on “scientific perspectives on divine action” if it had not been the case that humanity distinctively and, it appears, uniquely has regarded itself as the recipient of communication from an Ultimate Reality, named in English as “God.” But in what ways has the reception of communication from God been understood and thought to have been experienced?

4. God and Humanity 81 My account so far of how God interacts with the world has been chiefly concerned with devising a model for (1) the “instrumental” kind of relation. Now we have to think through the implications of this model for explicating (2) God’s “symbolic” relation, that is, God’s communicating relation to the world. It is clear that all mutual interactions between human beings and the world (the solid and dashed single-shafted, double-headed arrows of fig. 1) are through the mediation of the constituents in the physical

79 See TSA, 160–66, and, more recently, CAC, 284–87, for an elaboration of this move and a discussion of the extent to which it is appropriate, if at all, to think of the world as the “body” of the ultimately transcendent God, who has a panentheistic relation to that same world. 80 That is, Puddefoot’s 1 → 2 → 3; see sec. 2.3 above. 81 The sequence of thought in this section is more fully amplified in TSA, chap. 11.

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world of which human beings are part and in which human actions occur. Furthermore, all interactions between human beings (the pairs of solid single-headed arrows in fig. 1) also occur through the mediation of the constituents of the physical world, including the cultural heritage coded on to material substrates.82 Such interactions include, of course, communication between human beings, that is, between their states of consciousness, which are also, under one description, patterns of activity within human brains. This raises the question: How, within such a framework of understanding, can one conceive of God’s self-communication with humanity? This in turn raises the traditional question: How might God reveal Godself to humanity? How (in what way) can we conceive of God communicating with and to humanity in the light of the foregoing? 4.1. Revelation and Human Experience In communication between human beings some of our actions, gestures, and responses are more characteristic and revelatory of our distinctive selves, of our intentions, purposes and meanings, than are others. “It’s not what you say but the way you’re saying it.” This prompts us to seek in the world those events and entities, or patterns of them, which unveil God’s meaning(s) most overtly, effectively, and distinctively— constituting what is usually called “revelation,” for in revelation God is presupposed to be active. The ways in which such a revealing activity of God have been thought to occur in the different ranges and contexts of human experience can be graded according to the increasing extent to which God is said to be experienced as taking the initiative in making Godself explicitly known. a. General Revelation. If the world is created by God then it cannot but reflect God’s creative intentions and thus, however ambiguously, God’s character and purposes;83 and it must go on doing so if God continuously interacts with the world in the way we have proposed. Hence there can be a knowledge of God (and by inference, of God’s purposes), however diffuse, which is available to all humanity through

82 83

Cf. sec. 2.6 above. The locus classicus is, of course, Romans 1:19–20.

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reflection on the character of the created world, its entities, structures, and processes, and in personal and social experience. b. Revelation to members of a religious tradition. Belonging to a religious tradition provides one with the language and symbols to articulate one’s awareness of God at any instant and as a continuing experience. The tradition provides the resources that help the individual both to enrich and to have the means of identifying his or her own experience of God. Thus there is a general experience of the ordinary members of a continuing religious community which may properly be regarded as a mode of revelation that is an enhancement of, and is more explicit than, the general revelation to humanity. This kind of what one might call “religiously general” revelation arises when there is a confluence between, on the one hand, the streams of general human experience and general revelation and, on the other hand, those of the recollected and re-lived particular and special revelations of God that a tradition keeps alive by its intellectual, aesthetic, liturgical, symbolic, and devotional resources. These all nurture the unconscious of the adherents to that tradition and so shape their conscious awareness of God. c. Special revelation—revelation regarded as authoritative, and so as “special” in a particular tradition. Some experiences of God by individuals, or groups of individuals, are so intense and subsequently so influential that they constitute initiating, “dubbing” experiences which serve in the community to anchor later references to God and God’s relation to humanity, even through changes in the metaphorical language used to depict that ultimately ineffable Reality. The community then regards them as special, even if not basically different from those referred to in 2 above. So it is not improper to seek in history those events and entities, or patterns of them, which appear to have revealed God’s meaning(s) most overtly, effectively, and distinctively. That there should be such a knowledge is entirely coherent with the understanding of God’s interaction with the world as represented in figure 1. The double arrows denote an input into the world from God that is influential in the whole-part constraining manner already discussed and thereby conceivable as an input of “information” in the sense of altering patterns of events in the world. The states of human brains can properly be considered to be such patterns so, in the model I am deploying, there can be a general revelation to humanity of God’s character and purposes in and through human knowledge and experience of the world.

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The Jewish and Christian traditions have, more than most others, placed a particular emphasis on God’s revelation in the experienced events of a history. Such “special” revelation, initiated (it is assumed) by God, has been regarded by Christians as recorded particularly in the Bible. How we are to receive this record today in the light of critical and historical study is a major issue in contemporary Christianity since it involves a subtle dialogue of each generation with its own past. d. Revelation and “religious experience.” My attempt to discriminate between modes of revelation according to the degree to which God is experienced as taking the initiative in making Godself explicitly known is helpful only up to a point, for there must be avoided the not uncommon tendency to press the distinctions too sharply and to ignore the smooth gradations between the different categories of revelation already distinguished. It is notable from a wide range of investigations how widespread such religious experience is, even in the secularized West, and that it is continuous in its distribution over those who are members of a religious community and those who are not.84 The evidence suggests that the boundary between “general” revelation and revelation to members of a religious tradition is very blurred. But so also is the boundary between the latter and “special” revelation, for there are welldocumented non-Scriptural accounts over the centuries of devotional and mystical experiences, regarded as revelations of God, among those who do belong to a religious tradition. It is also widely recognized that the classical distinction between “natural” and “revealed” theology has proved difficult to maintain in modern times, for it can be held that the only significant difference between supposedly “natural” and supposedly “revealed” insights is that the former are derived from considering a broader (though still selected) range of situations than the latter. The same could also be said of the subsequently more widely favored distinction between “general” and “special” revelation, for the range of, and overlap between, the

84 See, for example, David Hay, Religious Experience Today: Studying the Facts (London: Mowbray, 1990). Typical questions concerning “religious experience” to which positive responses from between one third and one half of people in “Western” countries were obtained were: “Have you ever been aware of or influenced by a presence or power, whether you call it God or not, which is different from your everyday self?” or, “Have you ever felt as though you were very close to a powerful spiritual force that seemed to lift you out of yourself?”

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means whereby insights are gained into the divine reality has had to be recognized.85 There is therefore a gradation, but there are also differences in intensity and the degree of explicitness with which these “religious” experiences are received as revelations of God as their initiator—rather as a variegated and rough terrain may be accentuated to give rise to distinctive hills and even sharp peaks without loss of continuity. The questions now that follow are: How does our understanding of God’s interaction with the world, including humanity, relate to human revelatory experiences of God? How can the notion of religious experience be accommodated by, be rendered intelligible in, and be coherent with, the understanding of God’s interaction with the world that we have been developing?86 4.2. How Does God Communicate with Humanity? If God interacts with the world in the way already proposed, through a whole-part constraining influence on the whole world system, how could God communicate with humanity in the various kinds of religious experience? It has been noted that the interpersonal relationships which we know of occur through the mediation of the constituents of the world. This suggests that religious experience that is mediated through sensory experience is intelligible in the same terms as that of the inter-personal experience of human beings. It is therefore plausible to think of God as communicating with human persons through the constituents of the world, through all that lies inside the dashed circle representing the world in figure 1—that is, via the nonhuman constituents represented by the inner dotted circle in the figure. God is seen as communicating “symbolically” through such mediated religious experiences by imparting meaning and significance to constituents of

85

As David Pailin (“Revelation,” in A New Dictionary of Christian Theology, Alan Richardson and John Bowden, eds. [London: SCM Press, 1983], 504–6) puts it, the ultimate justification of a supposed “revelation” is “by showing that the resulting understanding is a coherent, comprehensive, fruitful and convincing view of the fundamental character of reality.” 86 These questions are rendered more pertinent by the recognition of the important role played in recent years by “religious experience” as part of inductive and cumulative arguments which claim to warrant belief in God.

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the world or, rather, to patterns of events among them.87 Insights into God’s character and purposes for individuals and communities can thereby be generated in a range of contexts from the most general to the special. The concepts, language, and means of investigating and appraising these experienced “signals” from God would operate at their own level and not be reducible to those of the natural and human sciences. The interpretation of mediated religious experience would have its own autonomy in human inquiry—“mystical” theology cannot be reduced without remainder to sociology or psychology, or a fortiori to the biological or physical sciences. What about those forms of religious experience which are unmediated through sense experience? Brown subdivides them into the mystical, “where the primary import of the experience is a feeling of intimacy with the divine,” and the numinous, “those experiences where awe of the divine is the central feature.”88 Swinburne divides them, on the one hand, into “the case where the subject has a religious experience in having certain sensations . . . not of a kind describable by normal vocabulary,” and on the other hand, religious experiences in which “the subject . . . is aware of God or of a timeless reality. . . . [I]t just so seems to him, but not through his having sensations.”89 The experience of Elijah at the mouth of the cave on Mount Horeb was of all kinds: God communicated to him, not only through the natural phenomena of wind, earthquake, and fire, but eventually, apparently, and paradoxically, in an unmediated way—through “a sound of sheer silence,” an image of absolute nonmediation. In such instances, is it necessary to postulate some action of God whereby there is a direct communication from God to the human consciousness that is not mediated by any known natural means, that is, by any known constituents of the world? Is there, as it were, a distinctive layer or level within the totality of human personhood that has a unique way of coming into direct contact with God? This was, as we saw in section 1, certainly the assumption when the human person was divided into ontologically distinct parts, one of which (often called the “spirit” or the “soul”) had this particular capacity.

87 This may properly be thought of as a “flow of information” from God to humanity, so long as the reductive associations of such terms are not deemed to exclude—as they need and should not—interpersonal communication. 88 David Brown, The Divine Trinity (London: Duckworth, 1985), 37, 42–51. 89 Richard Swinburne, The Existence of God (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 251.

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Now, we cannot but allow the possibility that God, being the Creator of the world, might be free to set aside any limitations by which God has allowed his interaction with that created order to be restricted. However, we also have to recognize that those very self-limitations which God is conceived of as having self-imposed are postulated precisely because they render coherent the whole notion of God as Creator with purposes that are being implemented in the natural and human world we actually have and which the sciences increasingly unveil. Such considerations also make one very reluctant to postulate God as communicating to humanity through what would have to be seen as arbitrary means, totally different in kind from any other means of communication to human consciousness. The latter would include the most intensely personal inter-communications, yet even these, as we saw above, are comprehensible as mediated subtly and entirely through the biological senses and the constituents of the world (section 2.6). So, to be consistent, even this capacity for unmediated experience of God cannot but be regarded as a mode of functioning of the total integrated unity of whole persons—persons who communicate in the world through the world’s own constituents. For human beings this communicating nexus of natural events within the world includes not only human sense data (“qualia”) and knowledge stored in artefacts, but also all the states of the human brain that are concomitant (or whatever word best suits the relation of mind-brain-body) with the contents of consciousness and of the unconscious. The process of storage and accumulating both conscious and unconscious resources is mediated by the various ways in which communication to humanity can occur—and all these have been seen to be effected through the natural constituents of the world and the patterns of events which occur in them. When human beings have an experience of God apparently unmediated by something obviously sensory—as when they are simply “waiting upon God” in silence—they can do so through God communicating via their recollected memories, the workings of their unconscious and everything that has gone into their Bildung, everything that has made them the persons they are. All of this can be mediated through patterns in the constituents of the world, including brain patterns. Experiences of God indeed often seem to be ineffable, incapable of description in terms of any other known experiences or by means of any accessible metaphors or analogies. This characteristic they share with other types of experience, such as aesthetic and interpersonal experience, which are unquestionably mediated through patterns in the events of this

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world. Experiences of God could take the variety of forms that we have already described and could all be mediated by the constituents of the world and through patterns of natural events, yet could nonetheless be definitive and normative as revelations to those experiencing them, for if God can influence patterns of events in the world to be other than they otherwise would have been but for the divine initiative—and still be consistent with scientific descriptions at the appropriate level—then it must be possible for God to influence those patterns of events in human brains which constitute human thoughts, including thoughts of God and a sense of personal interaction with God. The involvement of the constituents of the world in the so-called unmediated experiences of God is less overt and obvious because in them God is communicating through subtle and less obvious patterns in the constituents of the world and the events in which they participate. The latter include the patterns of memory storage and the activities of the human brain, especially all those operative in communication at all levels between human persons (including inter alia sounds, symbols, and possibly Jungian archetypes), and the artefacts that facilitate this communication. On the present model of special providential action—as the effects of divine whole-part influence—it is intelligible how God could also affect patterns of neuronal events in a particular brain, so that the subject could be aware of God’s presence with and without the mediation of memory in the way just suggested. Such address from God, whether or not via stored (remembered) patterns of neuronal events, could come unexpectedly and uncontrivedly by the use of any apparently external means. Thus, either way, it would seem to the one having the experience as if it were unmediated. The revelation to Elijah at the mouth of the cave had both this immediacy and a basis in a long prior experience of God. On examination, therefore, it transpires that the distinction between mediated and unmediated religious experiences refers not so much to the means of communication by God as to the nature of the content of the experience—just as the sense of harmony and communion with a person far transcends any description that can be given of it in terms of sense data, even though they are indeed the media of communication. We simply know we are at one with the other person. Similarly, in contemplation the mystic can simply be “aware of God . . . it just seems so to him” (as Swinburne puts it), and both experiences can be entirely

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mediated through the constituents of the world. So it is not surprising that those experiencing such communications from God experience them as intensely personal, for this is the kind of experience closest to them in ordinary life. What the treatment in this essay has therefore been pointing to is that an intelligible account can be given of how God can communicate personally to human beings within a world that is coherent and consistent with the descriptions of that world given at other levels by the natural and human sciences. Certainly, for Elijah, “the sound of sheer silence” left no doubt about the personal nature of the command he had received and its meaning for him personally.90

90 Editor’s note: the original chapter included an appendix on the distinction between theory-autonomy and process autonomy, which has been omitted for this edition.

CHAPTER THREE

THE METAPHYSICS OF DIVINE ACTION John Polkinghorne

1. Introduction ‘Metaphysics’ is not a popular word in contemporary culture but, in fact, no one can live a reflective life without adopting some broad view of the nature of reality, however tentative and subject to possible revision it might need to be. Even militant scientific reductionists, for whom “physics is all,” are metaphysicians. They claim to be able to extend the insights and laws of physics into regimes, such as human behavior, in which their total adequacy is an untested hypothesis. They are certainly going beyond (meta) physics. Anyone who wishes to speak of agency, whether human or divine, will have to adopt a metaphysical point of view within which to conduct the discourse. The conceptual edifice thus constructed must be consonant with its physical base, but it will no more be determined by it than the foundations of a house completely determine the character of the building. In each case, there is constraint but not entailment. Metaphysical endeavor in general, and talk of agency in particular, will inevitably require a certain boldness of conjecture as part of the heuristic exploration of possibility. In our present state of ignorance, no one has access to a final and definitive proposal. The test of the enterprise will be the degree to which it can attain comprehensiveness of explanation and overall coherence, including an adequate degree of consonance with human experience. The principal strategy of nearly all writers on divine agency has been to appeal in some way to an analogy with human agency, though our ignorance about the latter makes this a precarious undertaking.

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Metaphysical theories are ontologically serious. They seek to describe what is the case. It is a central philosophical question how what is the case is related to our knowledge of the world. There is clearly no certain and simple way in which to make the connection. There has been a strong tradition since Immanuel Kant which emphasizes the unknowability of “things in themselves.” The spectacles we wear behind the eyes (the presuppositions we bring to our interpretation of the world) and the epistemic blinkers imposed by our having to view reality from the limitations of a human perspective are held so to refract and limit our perceptions of the way things are that reality is inaccessible to us. It is not necessary to give way to such metaphysical despair. Of course there is no deductive way of going from epistemology to ontology. In fact, an important aspect of the connection is precisely the problem of induction: what degree of knowledge could lead to an ontological conclusion? Yet almost all scientists believe that they are learning about the actual nature of the physical world that they investigate. Consciously or unconsciously, they are critical realists. One could define the program of critical realism as the strategy of seeking the maximum correlation between epistemology and ontology, subject to careful acknowledgment that we view reality from a perspective and subject to pushing the search for knowledge to any natural limits it may possess. Its motto is “epistemology models ontology”; the totality of what we can know is a reliable guide to what is the case. It has to be a critical realism because in some regimes (such as the quantum world) what is the case is so counterintuitive in terms of common sense expectation that it cannot be reduced to a simple-minded objectivity. We have to respect its idiosyncrasy, but that does not prejudice its reality. One can see how natural this strategy is for a scientist by considering the interpretation of the uncertainty principle in quantum theory. Heisenberg’s original discovery was epistemological; he showed there were intrinsic limitations on what could be measured. Very shortly, he and almost all other physicists were giving the principle an ontological interpretation. It was treated as a principle of actual indeterminacy, not mere ignorance. There was no logical necessity to make this transition. It could not be deduced. This is clearly established by the existence of alternative interpretations in which there is complete determinacy, but in ways that are hidden from human knowledge. One such interpretation is Bohm’s

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version of quantum theory,1 where a hidden wave guides the perfectly determined motion of purely classical particles. Another is many-worlds quantum theory,2 in which the perfectly deterministic Schrödinger equation controls all that is, but its consequences are spread between parallel universes, not simultaneously open to human observation. Neither of these interpretations has commended itself to the majority of physicists. They have freely (and in my view rightly) made the metaphysical decision to interpret quantum theory as indicating an intrinsic indeterminacy in physical reality. I have been arguing3 that it is a rational and attractive option to pursue the same strategy in relation to other intrinsic unpredictabilities which we discover in nature. We should treat these epistemic limitations as being ontological opportunities for fruitful metaphysical conjecture.

3. Some Questionable Metaphysical Strategies 3.1. Primarily Science-Based: Physicalism Our growing recognition of the remarkable powers of self-organization displayed by complex physical systems far from equilibrium has encouraged some to adopt a refined form of physicalism. They suppose that this will enable the completion of an adequate descriptive program of human experience on the basis of natural science alone.4 I have already stressed that such a claim is metaphysical in character, however much it may seek to hide that fact behind the language of physics. 1 David Bohm, Wholeness and the Implicate Order (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1980); Bohm and B.J. Hiley, The Undivided Universe: An Ontological Interpretation of Quantum Theory (London: Routledge, 1993). 2 H. Everett, Reviews of Modern Physics 29 (1957): 454. See also, Alastair Rae, Quantum Physics: Illusion or Reality? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), chap. 6. 3 John Polkinghorne, Science and Creation: The Search for Understanding (London: SPCK Press, 1988) chaps. 3 and 5; idem, Science and Providence: God’s Interaction with the World (London: SPCK Press, 1989), chap. 2; idem, Reason and Reality: The Relationship Between Science and Theology (London: SPCK Press, 1991), chap. 3; and idem, “The Laws of Nature and the Laws of Physics” in Quantum Cosmology and the Laws of Nature: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, ed. Robert John Russell, Nancey Murphy, and C.J. Isham (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1993; Berkeley, CA: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1993), 437–448. 4 See Bernd-Olaf Küppers, “Understanding Complexity” in CTNS/VO, v. III.

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Such a strategy may be defended on the grounds that science has already explained much which was not understood by previous generations and why should we set limits to its eventual successes? Indeed it can be argued that the lessons of history encourage this point of view. The boundaries between organic and inorganic matter, between living entities and inanimate objects, are no longer perceived as total barriers to the advance of scientific explanation. Why should consciousness or human agency be thought to be different? I would respond by pointing out that the lessons of history are more ambiguous than this argument acknowledges. Even within physical science itself there are many phenomena (the stability of atoms, superconductivity, the energy sources of stars) which only proved intelligible in terms of an extremely radical revision of then currently accepted physical principles, represented by the advent of quantum theory and relativity. When one considers the big ugly ditch which seems to intervene between physical talk (however complex and sophisticated in terms of neural networking or whatever) and mental talk (even at the most elementary level of perceiving a patch of pink), there seems no reason to suppose that its bridging will not require the most drastic revision, in unforeseeable ways, of our understanding of the nature of reality. In the words of the sharp-tongued theoretical physicist, Wolfgang Pauli, it is no use simply claiming “credits for the future,” waving one’s hands and hoping that one day present understanding will turn out this way. Physical science seems light-years distant from the unaided understanding of the mental or the intentional, an indispensable requirement for an adequate metaphysical strategy. Moreover, the reductionist program that underlies physicalism is threatened by developments in physical science itself. The non-locality found in quantum theory shows that the subatomic world is one which cannot be treated atomistically.5 The vulnerability of chaotic systems to the smallest influences from their environment, consequent upon the exquisite sensitivity of such systems to fine details of their circumstance,6 shows that they are never truly isolable. Physics is taking a holistic turn. The possibility of the existence of holistic laws of nature is one which should not be discounted. 5

See, e.g., Polkinghorne, The Quantum World (London: Longman, 1984), chap. 7. See, e.g., James Gleick, Chaos: Making a New Science (London: Heinemann, 1988), chap. 1. 6

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Certainly such laws would be more difficult to discover than the familiar laws governing the behavior of parts, and their form would surely be different from that of the differential equations which are the staple of current localized mathematical physics. Yet it would be a Procrustean imposition on science to deny that it could have access to such laws. It is clearly worthwhile to pursue the program of reductionist explanation as far as it can legitimately be pursued, but that is a methodological strategy for investigation, not a metaphysical strategy determining the total nature of reality. The dawning holism of physics points in a more hopeful direction if science is eventually to find a satisfactory integration into a comprehensive and adequate metaphysical scheme. One final criticism of too great a reliance on the principle of selforganization needs to be made. The insights of non-equilibrium thermodynamics seem helpful in relation to the generation of structure and long-range order. Agency, however, seems to correspond to an altogether more flexible and open kind of time-development than that corresponding to typical self-organizing patterns, such as convection columns or chemical clocks. 3.2. Primarily Theology-Based: Primary Causality At least since Thomas Aquinas, there has been a tradition of theological thinking which seeks to explain divine agency by appeal to the distinction between primary and secondary causality. A notable modern exponent of this point of view has been Austin Farrer with his idea of double agency.7 The secondary web of created causality is treated as being complete and unriven. Yet the primary causality of God is supposed nevertheless to be ineffably at work in and through these created causalities. How this is so is not explained. Indeed Farrer would regard it as risking monstrosity and confusion if one were to attempt to discern the “causal joint” by which divine providence acts. It is not clear to me what is gained by so apophatic an account of God’s action. In the end, the answer seems to be “God only knows.” I agree with Arthur Peacocke’s judgment on the paradox of double agency that it “comes perilously close to that mere assertion of its truth . . . since

7 Austin Farrer, Faith and Speculation: An Essay in Philosophical Theology (London: A&C Black, 1967).

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Farrer on his own admission can give no account of the ‘causal joint’ between the agency of the Creator and even human action.”8 This seems to me to be a strategy of absolutely last resort, only to be undertaken if it proves impossible to make any satisfactory conjecture about the causal joint of God’s agency. I do not believe we are in so desperate a case, and I make my own suggestion in the course of what follows. 3.3. Top-Down Causality The causality which physics most readily describes is a bottom-up causality, generated by the energetic interaction of the constituent parts of a system. The experience of human agency seems totally different. It is the action of the whole person and so it would seem most appropriately to be described as top-down causality, the influence of the whole bringing about coherent activity of the parts. May not similar forms of top-down causality be found elsewhere, including God’s causal influence on the whole of creation? It is an attractive proposal, but it is important to recognize that without further explanation top-down causality is a far from unproblematic concept. Its uncritical use would amount to no more than sloganizing. It seems to me that two important difficulties have to be faced and discussed. The first is one I have already referred to in discussing the limitations on the insights provided by the principles of self-organization. If one is to give an account of intentional agency, it will require something much more open and dynamic than simply the generation of long-range order or the propagation of boundary effects. Striking as instances of this kind can be (involving the coherent motion of billions of molecules), they are often fully explicable in terms of a bottom-up approach, generating long-range correlations between localized constituents (phase transitions in physics are good examples of this kind of phenomenon). True top-down causality will have to be more open and more non-local than that. I believe that chaotic dynamics, with its picture of the open exploration of proliferating possibilities within the confines of a strange attractor, may offer an important clue to

8 Arthur Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural and Divine (Oxford: Blackwell, 1990), 149.

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how this might come about. Self-organization offers the prospect of the generation of different patterns of spatial order; chaotic dynamics offers the prospect of the generation of different temporal patterns of dynamical history. The latter seems much closer to notions of agency than the former. The second point, closely related to the first, is that if there is to be room for the operation of true top-down causality, then there will have to be intrinsic gaps, a degree of underdetermination in the account of the bottom-up description alone, in order to make this possible.9 It is to the possible identification of the source of this intrinsic openness that I now turn.

4. Ontological Gaps It seems to me that our experience of human agency is basic and by itself sufficient to indicate that a metaphysical scheme affording no scope for top-down causality would be seriously defective. Yet metaphysics must be consonant with its physical basis and so it is necessary to consider whether there are appropriate intrinsic gaps already known to us in the bottom-up description of the physical world. There seem to be two broad possibilities: 4.1. Quantum Theory May not agents, human or divine, act in the physical world by a power to determine the outcomes of individual indeterminate quantum events, even if the overall statistical pattern of many such events may still be expected to lie within the limits of probabilistic quantum laws?10 This form of causality would actually be effected in the basement of subatomic processes. The proposal requires, of course, the adoption of the metaphysical strategy of interpreting quantum theory as involving

9 See Thomas Tracy, “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps” (CTNS/VO, v. III). 10 William Pollard, Chance and Providence: God’s Action in a World Governed by Scientific Law (London: Faber, 1958); see also Nancey Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order: Buridan’s Ass and Schrödinger’s Cat” (in this volume); and Tracy, “Particular Providence” (CTNS/VO, v. III.).

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intrinsic indeterminacies, but that is a strategy consciously or unconsciously endorsed by the great majority of physicists. For agency thus exercised, these microscopic determinations would have to have their consequences amplified up to the macroscopic level. There are a number of difficulties about this proposal in relation to human and divine agency. One relates to the amplification effect. Exactly how the quantum world interlocks with the everyday world is still a question of unresolved dispute. In essence, this is the measurement problem in quantum theory.11 Until this question is settled, the micro-macro boundary is a difficult barrier to cross with confidence. One might hope that a way around this might result from the sensitivity of chaotic systems to small triggers. Very quickly, there seems to be established a dependence of the behavior of such systems on details of what is going on at the level of quantum indeterminacy. Yet the grave and unresolved difficulties of relating quantum theory to chaos theory,12 or of what is often called “quantum chaos,” makes this a perilous strategy to pursue. There is a particular difficulty in using quantum indeterminacy to describe divine action. Conventional quantum theory contains much continuity and determinism in addition to its well-known discontinuities and indeterminacies. The latter refer, not to all quantum behavior, but only to those particular events which qualify, by the irreversible registration of their effects in the macro-world, to be described as measurements. In between measurements, the continuous determinism of the Schrödinger equation applies. Occasions of measurement only occur from time to time and a God who acted through being their determinator would also only be acting from time to time. Such an episodic account of providential agency does not seem altogether satisfactory theologically. 4.2. Chaos Theory The exquisite sensitivity of chaotic systems certainly means that they are intrinsically unpredictable and unisolable in character. In accordance

11

See, e.g., Polkinghorne, Quantum World, chap. 6. Joseph Ford, “What is Chaos, that we should be mindful of it?” in The New Physics, ed. Paul Davies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). 12

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with the realist strategy already discussed, I propose13 that this should lead us to the metaphysical conjecture that these epistemological properties signal that ontologically much of the physical world is open and integrated in character. By ‘open’ is meant that the causal principles that determine the exchange of energy among the constituent parts (bottom-up causality) are not by themselves exhaustively determinative of future behavior. There is scope for the activity of further causal principles. By ‘integrated’ is meant that these additional principles will have a holistic character (top-down causality). The deterministic equations from which classical chaos theory developed are then to be interpreted as downward emergent approximations to a more subtle and supple physical reality. They are valid only in the limiting and special cases where bits and pieces are effectively insulated from the effects of their environment. In the general case, the effect of total context on the behavior of parts cannot be neglected. Of course, with present ignorance, it is no more possible for me to spell out the details of the subtle and supple physical reality I propose than it is for the physical reductionist to spell out how neural networks generate consciousness, or for those who rely on quantum indeterminacy to spell out how it generates macroscopic agency, or for those who rely on an unanalyzed notion of top-down causality through “boundary conditions” to spell out how it actually operates. We are all necessarily whistling in the dark. I prefer the tune I have chosen because it has a natural anchorage in what we know about macroscopic physical process and because it exhibits certain promising features which I will now discuss. For a chaotic system, its strange attractor represents the envelope of possibility within which its future motion will be contained. The infinitely variable paths of exploration of this strange attractor are not discriminated from each other by differences of energy. They represent different patterns of behavior, different unfoldings of temporal development. In a conventional interpretation of classical chaos theory, these different patterns of possibility are brought about by sensitive responses to infinitesimal disturbances of the system. Our metaphysical proposal

13 See n. 3 above. See also Polkinghorne, Science and Christian Belief: Theological Reflections of a Bottom-up Thinker (London: SPCK Press, 1994; printed in the United States as The Faith of a Physicist: Reflections of a Bottom-up Thinker [Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994]), chap. 1.

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replaces these physical nudges by a causal agency operating in the openness represented by the range of possible behaviors contained within the monoenergetic strange attractor. What was previously seen as the limit of predictability now represents a “gap” within which other forms of causality can be at work. Because of the unisolability of chaotic systems, this new agency will have a holistic top-down character. It will be concerned with the formation of dynamic pattern, rather than with transactions of energy. In a vague but suggestive phrase I have proposed that it might best be thought of as “active information.” There seems a hope that here we might discern a glimmer of how it comes about that intentional agency is exercised, either by our minds upon our bodies or by God upon creation. It is important to recognize that, in this scheme, the significance of the sensitivity of chaotic systems to the effect of small triggers is diagnostic of their requiring to be treated in holistic terms and of their being open to top-down causality through the input of active information. It is not proposed that this is the localized mechanism by which agency is exercised. I do not suppose that either we or God interact with the world by the carefully calculated adjustment of the infinitesimal details of initial conditions so as to bring about a desired result. The whole thrust of the proposal is expressed in terms of the complete holistic situation, not in terms of clever manipulation of bits and pieces.14 It is, therefore, a proposal for realizing a true kind of top-down causality. It may fittingly be called contextualism, for it supposes the behavior of parts to be influenced by their overall context. This implies a strong form of anti-reductionism in which processes are capable of being modified by the context in which they take place. This will be so for “cloudy” chaotic systems, but there will also be some “clockwork” systems, insensitive to details of circumstance, in which the behavior of the parts will be unmodified. Thus, one can understand the successes of molecular genetics in describing the (mechanical) behavior of DNA, without having to suppose that this justifies a claim that all

14 The discussion of Peacocke in Theology for a Scientific Age, p. 154, does not correctly represent my view. I have never supposed agency to be exercised through (calculated!) manipulations of individual atoms and molecules. See n. 3 above.

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aspects of living systems are adequately described in this reductionist fashion.

5. A Metaphysical Proposal The classical metaphysical options were materialism, idealism, and dualism. None seems satisfactory. Materialism implausibly devalues the mental. Idealism implausibly devalues the physical. Dualism has never succeeded in satisfactorily integrating the disjoint realms of matter and mind and it faces the problem of how to account for the apparent continuity of evolutionary history, in which a world which was once a hot quark soup (apparently purely material) has turned into the home of human beings. In consequence, in the twentieth century some have felt encouraged to explore the possibility of a dual-aspect monism, in which the mental and material are conceived of as being opposite poles (or phases, as a physicist might say) of a single (created) reality. A key idea may well be that of complementarity. Quantum theory discovered that the apparently qualitatively different characters of wave and particle were present in the nature of a single entity, light. This proved possible to understand when quantum field theory identified the feasibility of reconciling these complementary descriptions as due to the presence of an intrinsic indefiniteness. (A wavelike state is associated with the presence of an indefinite number of photons.) The essence of complementarity is its ability to hold together apparently irreconcilable characteristics (spread out wave and point-like particle) in a simple reconciling account. We experience the apparently qualitatively different realms of the material and the mental. May not the understanding of this duality be found in the intrinsic indefiniteness associated by our hypothesis with the behavior of chaotic systems, influenced by both energetic transactions and by active information? Of course consciousness is a much more profound and mysterious property than history formation by active information, but at least the latter seems to point in a mildly hopeful direction. In common with all the other metaphysical proposals here discussed, a dual-aspect monism based on a complementary mind/matter metaphysic, is largely conjectural and heuristic. We do not have the knowledge to produce definitive proposals of a fully articulate kind.

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Nevertheless, I believe this is a sensible and hopeful direction in which to look for an understanding consistent with our knowledge of physical process and with our experience of human agency. It would afford a picture of reality which would also be hospitable to the theological concept of divine providential interaction with creation. Motivation for belief in divine providence is found in the religious experiences of prayer and of trust in a God who guides.

6. Some Comments There are well-known relationships, due to Leon Brillouin and Leo Szilard, which connect the transfer of units of information (in a communications-theory sense) with minimal transfers of energy. This might seem to imply that for a physical system there could not be a totally pure distinction between energetic action and active information. Careful analysis would be required before such a conclusion was firmly established. It is not clear that active information is subject to exactly the same constraints as communications theory imposes on the storage of elements of passive information.15 Even if that were so, it would simply reflect the embodied character of human beings. We are mind/matter amphibians and are never in the state of being pure spirits. God, in any case, is not embodied in the universe and there does not seem to be any reason why God’s interaction with creation should not be purely in the form of active information. This would correspond to the divine nature being pure spirit and it would give a unique character to divine agency in a way that theologians have often asserted to be necessary. (God is not just an invisible cause among other causes.) A world open to both bottom-up and top-down causality is a world released from the dead hand of physical determinism. It is a world of true becoming, in which the future has novel aspects not predictable from the past. It is a world of true temporality.16 God knows things as they really are and this surely implies that God knows the temporal in its temporality. Divine knowledge of temporal events must be knowledge of them in their succession, not just that they are successive.

15

See the discussion in Bohm and Hiley, Undivided Universe, 35–38. Cf. C.J. Isham and J.C. Polkinghorne, “The Debate over the Block Universe” in Quantum Cosmology, 135–144. 16

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This implies, I believe, that the God who is the creator of a world of becoming must be a God who possesses a temporal pole as well as an eternal pole.17 Because the future of such a world is not yet formed, even God does not yet know it. This is no imperfection in the divine nature. God knows all that can be known, but the future is still inherently unknowable.

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Polkinghorne, Science and Providence, chap. 7.

CHAPTER FOUR

DESCRIBING GOD’S ACTION IN THE WORLD IN LIGHT OF SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE OF REALITY William R. Stoeger

1. Introduction I intend this brief essay as a “trial balloon.” I shall sketch how we can describe God’s action in the world, accepting with critical seriousness both our present and projected knowledge of reality as we have it from the sciences, philosophy and other non-theological disciplines, and our present knowledge of God, his/her relationship with us and our world, and his/her activity within it. By saying that we shall accept the knowledge we have from both ranges of experience with “critical seriousness,” I mean accepting it as indicating something about the realities it claims to talk about, after carefully applying the critical evaluations of such claims which are available within the disciplines themselves, and within philosophy and the other human sciences. This obviously involves beginning with a number of definite presuppositions, some of which favor neither the sciences nor religion and spirituality, and some of which do. But it also involves the presupposition that the claims of each have been carefully examined in the light of the different ranges of experience and certain principles of interpretation and validation. I shall not spend time here going through that process step by step, but instead shall simply assert some general results in each area which derive from such a distillation. It will be somewhat obvious to those in the respective fields what critiques I have applied to reach the results I shall assert. Then I shall attempt to marshall these results into a roughly-sketched, integrated theory of God’s action in the world. The input into this integrated, coherent theory of God’s action will not consist of highly technical assertions—either from science or from philosophy and theology—but rather assertions which more or less describe the general character of the world as we know it from the contemporary sciences and the limits of our knowledge of it, and

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the general character of God’s action in the world as we know it from contemporary Christian belief and theology. The latter has already developed a great deal in response to the input and challenges mediated to our culture by the sciences. In other terms, we wish to attempt to describe more adequately God’s action in the world, given that we know that the world, its structures, and processes, are presently best described in such and such a way (from the sciences and philosophy) and that God and his/her relationships to the world are presently best described in such and such a way (from theology and philosophy). What we know from each set of disciplines must critically interact with what we know from the other set according to certain principles (which we shall later outline). This interaction should modify each set of disciplines—particularly in our interpretation of the conclusions each one reaches at a philosophical level—and allow us to describe God’s action in the world in an integrated way. Implicit here, as Stephen Happel has pointed out to me,1 is the methodological problem of how these two languages are to be integrated. This is an issue which is important, but one which is best treated after allowing the interaction to occur via the critical apparatuses which are already available and functioning. The two languages of science and religion/theology, though different, are not isolated from or out of contact with one another. They continue to be in dynamic interaction in our common cultural and academic fields. In describing what we know about the world and about God, and his/her relationship to us and to physical reality, I need to employ a language, a set of categories, and certain philosophical presuppositions. In particular, I assume a weakly critical-realist stance and use some of the language, categories, and metaphysical presuppositions of Aristotelianism and Thomism, most notably the notions of primary and secondary causality. Other categories might have been chosen and other assumptions might have been made instead. I have chosen these because, in my opinion, they are more adequate to both the scientific and the theological data, and lead to fewer difficulties in explicating the essential differences between God and his/her creation, the relationships between them, and the ideas of divine immanence and transcendence. It is important to note also that I use the term ‘law’ in the context

1 Personal communication. Here and elsewhere in this paper I am indebted to Happel’s very helpful comments.

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of both physical processes involving inanimate entities—“the laws of nature”—and free human actions. ‘Law’ is any pattern, regularity, process, or relationship, and by extension that which describes or explains a pattern, regularity, process, or relationship. Thus it applies, in the range of the ways I use the word, not only to the inanimate and non-human, but also to the human and the divine. ‘Law’ is a word used to specify, describe, or explain order. It does not necessarily imply determinism. As I use it throughout the paper, modified by various adjectives and adjectival phrases, its meaning should be clear. 1.1. Presuppositions An obvious presupposition we make in pursuing this discussion is that the sciences give us some knowledge of reality. We are not able to specify that correspondence precisely, because we do not have an independent handle on reality as it is in itself. Furthermore, our knowledge of it is always only provisional and corrigible, and its certainty is only relative, not absolute.2 But we are still reasonably persuaded to maintain that there is correspondence, however precarious and uncertain it may be. The care we exercise in validating and confirming scientific knowledge indicates that this is what we as scientists are intending to do. And unless reality is extraordinarily malevolent and contrary, the intersubjectively applied criteria used in scientific observation, theory, and experiment assure us that the sciences give us some purchase on the structures and the dynamics of the physical, chemical, and biological world of which we are a part. We presuppose in doing this that in its interaction with us, reality reveals something of what it is. It could be very devious, it is true, but we presume it is not so devious as to reveal nothing of itself in the phenomena we observe. The other key presuppositions we make here may not be so obvious or common. They relate to God and to divine action, and to our knowledge of it through Christian belief and theology, according to the critical principles of discernment, validation, confirmation, and interpretation

2 See Frederick Suppe, The Semantic Conception of Theories and Scientific Realism (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1989), 475; and William Stoeger, “Contemporary Physics and the Ontological Status of the Laws of Nature,” in Quantum Cosmology and the Laws of Nature: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, ed. Robert John Russell, Nancey Murphy, and C.J. Isham (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1993; Berkeley, CA: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1993), 209–34.

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which are applied in these areas. First of all, we presuppose that God exists and is and has been actively present and involved in our lives and in our world. How this action, presence, and involvement are to be described and understood will be modified—even significantly modified—in the conversation with the natural sciences. We are not attempting to prove Christian doctrines by appealing to scientific evidence, but rather attempting to re-articulate and understand theological truths in a more satisfactory way by looking at the relevant knowledge available to us in the sciences and other disciplines. As Happel has said, “religion and theology are put in conversation with the data, concepts and language of scientific performance and theory.”3 Secondly, we presuppose that the sources of revelation, the scriptures, tradition, and our living experience as believers who are individually and communally open—more or less—to God and to God’s action, do give us some reliable knowledge about God and about his/her action in our world. As in the sciences, this is very limited and corrigible knowledge, subject to error and modification, particularly with regard to interpretation and understanding of that revelation, and of our overall response to it. And, as in the sciences, it too is dependent on the careful application of critical principles of interpretation, discernment, and confirmation suitable to the experiences being examined. We might also mention that the limits and uncertainties of this knowledge derive both from the extraordinary but limited character of the revelation we have available, and perhaps most of all from our own limitations and lack of openness to receiving, interpreting, and living out that revelation. 1.2. The Aim of Our Discussion The aim of our discussion is simply to describe God’s action in the world in terms which are faithful to Christian sources of revelation and consistent with what we know from the sciences about reality, its structure, evolution, and processes, especially in view of the self-organizing capabilities of matter, from the chaotic and dissipative structures evident even in inanimate systems to the complex systems of living organisms themselves. One of the key issues here is causality. How can we speak of divine causality within the world as we know it,

3

Private communication.

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without compromising scientific and philosophical principles—without using an interventionist model, for instance? But how can this aim be pursued? Where is the common mode of inquiry to be found? How do we distill relevant information concerning God’s action in the world from the sciences and from the sources of revelation? Those questions are very difficult foundational ones. But I do not think they can be answered from an a priori perspective. As I have mentioned already, I am assuming that we have used and are using the relevant tools of philosophy, philosophy of science, the critical methods proper to scripture studies, historical and systematic theology, and hermeneutics to do this. I am also assuming that we can begin to integrate these results through the common ground of understanding and language which our various specialized languages share with one another. They are not, as I have stressed above, completely isolated from one another, nor are the experiences to which they appeal.

2. What the Sciences Tell Us about Ourselves and Our Universe If we generalize from the vast knowledge of the universe and all that makes it up, including living and conscious beings like ourselves, we can say that at every level there are self-ordering and self-organizing principles and processes within nature itself, which can adequately describe and account for (at the level of science) its detailed evolution and behavior, the emergence of novelty, possibly even of consciousness, the inter-relationships between systems and levels, and even the various laws of nature themselves—and the unfolding of all this, its diversification and complexification, from an epoch very close to the “initial singularity” or Big Bang. Some of these principles and processes are well known and understood, and others are at present only conjectured or suspected. No outside intervention is necessary to interrupt or complement these regularities and principles at this level. Nor is an élan vital called for to explain living things—nor an élan spirituel at the next level of development. At the level of the sciences there are no “gaps,” except the ontological gap between absolutely nothing and something.4

4 Some—for instance Ellis, Murphy, and Tracy—consider the indeterminacy at the quantum level to be an essential gap which requires filling (see their papers in this

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This general conclusion is strongly supported by detailed conclusions from physics, chemistry, biology, molecular biology—particularly from those emanating from the studies of complex systems, information theory, molecular biophysics, and by the promised or envisioned advances in these fields. The gaps in scientific knowledge have not all been filled, but they are gradually being filled by new discoveries. And it has become clear that appealing to divine intervention is not an acceptable means for doing so. Nature itself is open and capable of realizing new possibilities in a whole variety of ways. Even in the surprising transitions from inanimate beings to living ones, from living ones to conscious ones, from conscious ones to human ones, it seems very unlikely that any intervention from outside natural processes was involved. Material, physical reality is much richer in its possibilities, particularly when it is in a highly organized form, than we usually think. At the same time, an analysis of the sciences, the theories and the laws of nature which derive from them, makes us very aware of their limitations. The knowledge given us by the sciences—like all human knowledge—is imperfect, provisional, corrigible. In particular, it only very imperfectly describes the regularities and underlying inter-relationships, necessities and possibilities, and structures which constitute reality.5 Through the sciences we do not know reality as it is itself; we do not know it directly, interiorly, comprehensively, exhaustively, as we would like to know it—as God must know it. So, although we have through tremendous sustained effort and genius come to unravel a great deal about reality, we are far from comprehending it at its ultimate depths. In particular, from the sciences we still are unable to answer the questions, why there is something rather than nothing, why there is order rather than disorder, and why there is openness to novelty—to new and more complex entities—rather than just sterile uniformity.

volume). Though this view needs much more careful discussion than is possible here, my assessment is that indeterminacy is not a gap in this sense, but rather an expression of the fundamentally different physical character of reality at the quantum level. It does not need to be filled! To do so, particularly with divine intervention, would lead in my view to unresolvable scientific and theological problems. The demand for a cause to determine the exact position and time of an event misconstrues the nature of the reality being revealed. Quantum events need a cause and have a cause, but not a cause determining their exact time and position of occurrence, beyond what is specified by quantum probability (the wave function). 5 See Stoeger, “Contemporary Physics.”

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That is, why are there “laws of nature” in the first place? And why these “laws of nature” and not some others? In fact, not even philosophy can adequately answer these questions. A third conclusion stemming from the sciences is one which is not usually mentioned but one which I believe is quite important—but not for the first reason that will probably occur to us: The laws of nature and nature itself constrain but underdetermine what develops or occurs. Great possibilities are left open in nature. It is very pliable. This does not mean that nothing happens, obviously, but it does mean that uncorrelated coincidences often end up “filling in” what is needed to complete determination. It is this pervasive feature of reality—along with others, such as its knowability and its localizability—which enables human beings and other animals to manipulate and harness reality, and even to know it. We can fly in airplanes, build bridges, and heal the sick, precisely because the laws of nature as we know them, and perhaps even as they are in themselves, underdetermine events. In fact we are who we are as human beings because of this important feature—we can decide to do things which otherwise would not happen within the constraints imposed by physics, chemistry, and biology. Some of this underdetermination is due to the indeterminism and unpredictability of physical systems at the quantum level and to the unpredictability of both simple and complex systems on the macroscopic level. As we have seen in studying the behavior of chaotic, nonlinear, or nonequilibrium systems, very slight changes in the initial conditions or the boundary conditions can severely alter how they will behave, and what sort of self-organizing behavior they will manifest. However, the underdetermination of phenomena by the laws of nature is due to much more than these important sources of indeterminism and unpredictability. It is due primarily to the freedom that exists in establishing initial conditions and boundary conditions throughout nature. An agent can, with some expenditure of energy, change initial conditions and/or boundary conditions of a system or, even more importantly, construct new systems, thus determining outcomes much different from those which would otherwise occur. “Aha! You have pointed this out in order to leave room for divine intervention!” someone might say. In fact I have not, because, as we shall see, this underdetermination of reality by the laws of nature does not easily allow for divine intervention—at least not direct divine intervention—because that would involve an immaterial agent acting

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on or within a material context as a cause or a relationship like other material causes and relationships. This is not possible; if it were, either energy and information would be added to a system spontaneously and mysteriously, contravening the conservation of energy (and we just do not have substantiated cases of that happening) or God would somehow be acting deterministically within quantum indeterminacy, which presents a number of serious scientific and theological difficulties.6 No, I have pointed out this feature of reality in order to emphasize the potentiality, flexibility, and scope for newness that is within nature, as well as the many different levels of agency which operate within it, including the types of agency we exert as human beings. Before going on to summarize what revelation tells us about God and divine action, we should point out that the sciences themselves are limited in dealing with personal agency and personal relationships. In some ways psychology and sociology deal with the phenomena related to these, but I think we are all aware of the limitations under which they labor in their quest for knowledge in these profound and mysterious areas.7

3. What We Know from Revelation and Our Reflection upon It From revelation, and partially from reason, we know that God exists, created the universe and all that is in it, reveals him/herself to people, loves and cares for us, continually acts within material creation, particularly now through Jesus and the presence of his spirit among us, and calls us to share his life and mission forever—a promise which will be fulfilled only after our deaths.8 Here a couple of conclusions stand out in reference to the issue we are probing. Though it is not the primary revelation of God, the first is that he/she is somehow the answer to the question, “Why is there something rather than nothing?”—and to the other similar fundamental questions we posed above. He/she created what is not God from 6

See n. 1 above. Arthur Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural and Divine (Oxford: Blackwell, 1990). 8 As Happel points out (private communication), this creedal summary is deceptive. The meaning of the language used is neither static nor agreed on by all who accept it. It will change, even radically so, as we live out of and reflect upon our individual and common experience of God’s presence and action among us. 7

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nothing. But how that was done is still very much a mystery, as well as whether or not creation is eternal—does God create from all eternity? How that was done is understandable only to God, at the very depths of the divine being. We know in a very limited way how it was done by looking at nature as revealed to us by the sciences—or let us say, we know how it was not done! A second conclusion from revelation is God’s motivation for creation and for his/her interaction with the world—it is God’s goodness, God’s innate drive as God to share that goodness, and God’s love both for him/herself and for all that he/she creates and holds in existence. So, interpersonal relationships are of paramount importance to God—as are the values of goodness and truth. This is true of God in him/ herself—God as Trinity. But it is also true of God’s relationships ad extra. This divine priority is most fully expressed in the Incarnation of the Son of God in Jesus, and in the sending of the Spirit. But it is manifest throughout creation at every level. A third conclusion is that creation itself is good, and an expression of God’s goodness and love. Therefore, it makes perfect sense that it should reflect to some extent who God is and what his/her characteristics are. Also, the more complex and capable beings are, the more they reflect who God is—including humanity, which is made in the image and likeness of God. This perspective—the priority of the values of goodness and truth, along with reverence and respect for all that is—is consistent with the importance and value God gives to personal relationships. A fourth conclusion is that, although God reveals him/herself through everything in creation, God’s most particular revelation is in terms of persons and personal relationships involving generous, self-sacrificing love and forgiveness. And our principal way of responding to God’s revelation is in those same terms. So we experience revelation as personal and social, God among us—as creator and source of life, yes, but also as a personal presence and force who loves, invites love, gives and invites giving, forgives and reconciles, and invites forgiveness and reconciliation. The created, inanimate, and non-personal levels of reality, though they exist in their own right and reveal God and God’s goodness, power, and love in their own way, and give glory to God in their own way (they cannot do otherwise!), exist also to enable the development and maintenance of persons to whom God can reveal him/herself and with whom God can maintain a personal relationship leading to the full and harmonious union of the divine with created

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reality. The degree to which this is desired by God is expressed in creation itself, in the Incarnation and all that follows from it, and in the sending of the Spirit.9 These are the principal conclusions flowing from Christian revelation which I wish to highlight. Our endeavor now will be to bring these conclusions into critical interaction with what we know about reality from the sciences, as outlined in the preceding section. As I have already emphasized, these conclusions will have to be re-articulated and modified as a result of this interaction. For instance, the strong anthropocentrism of this particular articulation would have to be significantly mitigated. And the radical non-objectifiability of God would have to be factored in, on other, more theological and religious grounds.10

4. God’s Creative Action and Science—Primary Causality I have already emphasized that the sciences—physics in particular—do not explain or account for existence or for the general order of the universe. They presuppose it. They do not answer the question, Why is there something rather than nothing? They can deal very well with questions of origin in which—as is usually the case—the origin of a structure or an entity derives from something else which already exists, for example, the origin of children from their parents. But the sciences do not deal with ultimate origins. They cannot bridge the gap between nothing (which includes no potentialities and no physical laws—absolutely nothing) and something—or even between God and nothing else and God and something else not God; and it is not clear that any branch of human knowledge can adequately address this fundamental issue. The God of Christian revelation, belief, and spirituality, however, is an adequate answer to this question—though this answer, adequate as it may be, is somewhat impervious to adequate understanding on our part. It does not adequately tell us how God bridged that gap. God is the one who in some way has brought something out of nothing; God

9 My emphasis here on the priority of persons does not deny the wider role the Spirit has throughout the created order, and the impact of the Incarnation on the cosmos. Nor does my formulation properly describe the relationship of non-conscious entities to the divine presence and their essential mystery. 10 José Porfirio Miranda, Marx and the Bible (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1974), 40ff.

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is the agent of creatio ex nihilo. In one way this is not accurate, for, as I have already implied above, God has always existed as a “necessary” being. He/she is, as the uncaused cause, or primary cause, as Christian theology has traditionally described him/her. So something (i.e., God) has always existed. There was never “absolutely nothing,” if something exists. What we really want to say is that the only explanation for something created to emerge from the absence of anything created is God. This affirmation, as I have just said, does not particularly deepen our understanding—how this happened, the details—but it is, strictly speaking, an adequate answer to the fundamental question we are considering. It should be clear, furthermore, that this is not basically a temporally weighted answer to the question of existence. It does not necessarily imply that there was a state or situation when there was nothing besides God, and then at some juncture God created entities other than him/ herself, and with them time, space, etc. As Thomas Aquinas11 realized, it could be that God has created from all eternity—that created reality is eternal in the sense that it has no temporal beginning (there was never a state in which God existed and created reality did not), but it is still radically contingent on God.12 There may have been a beginning of time, but that is by no means essential. Ultimate origins are essentially ontological, not temporal. In fact, I believe a good argument can be made for eternal creation on the basis of who God must be as God. If God is of his/her very nature bonum diffusivum sui, infinite love, and therefore creator, then he/she was always and eternally such. Therefore, in order to fully realize who he/she is, creation must in some sense, at least in intention, be an eternal process. This may at first seem to infringe on God’s freedom to create. But it really does not do that at all. His/her creating is perfectly free, but is also a natural consequence of God’s very nature. Nor does this mean that God or God’s love is dependent on creation for self-origination. God and God’s love must be sovereign. But God’s love must also be fruitful, and that one principal manifestation of its fruitfulness be an eternal created order is not surprising.

11

Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, 1.44. See Ernan McMullin, “How Should Cosmology Relate to Theology?” in The Sciences and Theology in the Twentieth Century, ed. A.R. Peacocke (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981), 39ff.; and Stoeger, “Contemporary Physics.” 12

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This primary divine, existence-endowing causality is always operative, holding things in existence, charging them with realization. It is essential to conceive primary causality very differently from the causes—secondary causes—we discuss and deal with each day. The primary cause is not just another one of these—it completely transcends them and provides their ultimate basis in reality. There are no gaps is the secondary causal chain, but the whole chain demands a primary cause to support and sustain it. Without the primary cause there is no explanation for its existence or for its efficacy.13 But it is not just a question of existence. It is also a question of order. What accounts for the order which exists in nature—in the universe? Why is there order rather than complete disorder? Again this is not a question which can be answered by the sciences. In the same bald and impoverished way as before,14 however, the existence of God does provide an adequate answer: God is the ultimate source of order in nature and in the universe, and of both necessity and contingency—and therefore of any possibilities which might emerge from their interaction. A consequence of this, of course, is that God is ultimately the source of the underlying regularities, constraints, and behavioral relationships and patterns which are imperfectly described by laws of nature we formulate.15 The question why the world behaves this way rather than some other logically possible way can only have an ultimate answer in God as creator. He/she is the well-spring of both necessity and possibility in nature.

5. God’s Creative Action—Creatio Continua and Secondary Causality There is an important corollary to the foregoing discussion, which takes us into a brief consideration of God’s continuing creative action in the universe, conceived now more richly than simply as just divine existential conservancy. It is that a principal mode of God’s activity in the world

13 Stoeger, “The Origin of the Universe in Science and Religion,” in Cosmos, Bios, Theos, ed. Henry Margenau and Roy A. Varghese (LaSalle, IL: Open Court, 1992), 254–69. 14 Ibid. 15 See ibid.; and idem, “Contemporary Cosmology and Its Implications for the Science-Religion Dialogue,” in Physics, Philosophy, and Theology: A Common Quest for Understanding, ed. Robert John Russell, William R. Stoeger, and George V. Coyne (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1988), 219–44.

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at the level of inanimate and non-personal beings is precisely through the underlying regularities, constraints, and relationships he/she has established in nature, and which we sometimes refer to as “the laws of nature.”16 This is a very rich way of looking at nature—as the expression of God him/herself and as one of the fundamental ways in which God acts within the world. The regularities, constraints, and relationships are as they are by God’s allowance or choice—he/she works through the secondary causes of our world. They give God’s presence and action concrete form. As new possibilities are realized God becomes present and active in new ways.17 They express how God desires the world to be—the necessities that are imposed along with the contingencies, the possibilities and the openness to development and to novelty. If we put this into an evolutionary context, then, and consider what we know of the complexification of structure and the diversification of physical, chemical, and biological processes from a time shortly after the Big Bang, we see that we can conceive of God’s continuing creative action as being realized through the natural unfolding of nature’s potentialities and the continuing emergence of novelty, of self-organization, of life, of mind, and spirit, as the universe expanded and cooled. Within this perspective, God’s direct intervention—in the sense of operating outside of the regularities, constraints, and relationships he/she has established, or abrogating or mitigating them in any way, either ad hoc or regular, to fulfil some higher purpose—fails to make much sense if God is really God, though it cannot be ruled out. Even if intervention in the underlying principles, relationships, and regularities as they are in themselves sometimes occurs, it is still clear, from critical reflection upon both scientific knowledge and the knowledge we have from faith, 16 I prefer to reserve this term for our imperfect formulation of the underlying regularities, constraints, and relationships we discover, or our models for those. However, we must distinguish between “the laws of nature” as God knows them, and the “laws of nature” as we have imperfectly and provisionally formulated them. 17 Though the general primary-cause-secondary-cause approach to the problem of God’s action in the world is very traditional, I believe that it is the only one that holds much promise. Owen Thomas (“Recent Thoughts on Divine Agency,” in Divine Action, ed. Brian Hebblethwaite and Edward Henderson [Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1991], 35–50.) arrives at a similar conclusion, that in the current state of discussion only the theories involving either primary and secondary causality or process theology even approach adequacy. I am thankful to Russell (“Introduction,” in Quantum Cosmology; and in CTNS/VO, v. III) for this reference. In my view, the approach of process theology, though attractive in some ways, has unresolved philosophical and theological problems, particularly with regard to the doctrines of God, creation, and Christology.

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that the operation of the laws of nature, from the divine perspective, is a principal channel of God’s active presence in our world, and as such is an expression—inadequate and imperfect though it may be—of who he/she is. Thus, our investigation of these regularities, constraints, and relationships, and our imperfect formulation of them in scientific theories and in our “laws of nature,” articulates an important mode of divine activity in created reality. I shall have more to say about this later when we discuss God’s action within personal and social contexts. Looking forward briefly to the issues which will emerge there, we see that it is crucial to distinguish carefully between the “laws of nature,” the regularities, constraints, and relationships realized in nature, as we have conceptualized and formulated them, and the “laws of nature” as they in fact function in created reality—from God’s full and complete point of view, so to speak—which somehow includes the internal or interior relationship he/she has with nature, with us, and with other created entities.18 We immediately see the importance of this distinction—since our very limited account and formulation of these “laws” may leave out crucial relationships (even constitutive relationships) which organize the inanimate and unconscious world at a very profound level, which function to subtlety link the personal and the non-personal, or which subordinate the non-personal to the personal. We are not fully able to see how this might happen, but we begin to see something of it in the underdetermination of physical reality and its vulnerability to human agency, which can mold it within its constraints to our intended use, for better or for worse.19 From our point of view, manifestations of this may be interpreted by us as contravening the “laws of nature” simply because we have not fully understood them, whereas in fact they are in perfect accord with the “laws of nature” as they are in reality. In other words, God may act in a purely “natural” way within the relationships and regularities he/she has established and maintained, but in a way which we see as supernatural intervention simply because we have not yet come to comprehend fully the relationships and regularities (the “higher laws”) which obtain.20 18

Stoeger, “Contemporary Physics.” Cf. Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age. 20 Will all events be ‘lawful’ in his extended sense? Referring to how I characterized ‘law’ in the introduction and in this section, that may very well be the case. However, it 19

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In light of this, it is clear that the distinction we often make between the natural and the supernatural really derives from our limited perspective on reality, and our imperfect knowledge of it. We simply do not know enough to put everything together. Where there are gaps in our knowledge we always seem to insert God’s direct intervention, with the implication that there is a concomitant abrogation, mitigation, or suspension of the “laws of nature.” Again, the distinction between the two rather different meanings “the laws of nature” may have is some help to avoiding this confusion.

6. Problems of Conceiving Direct Divine Action and the Need for It God’s action in the world through the regularities, constraints, and relationships he/she enforces, as we have sketched it in the previous section—through the “laws of nature” as they are in themselves—is indirect.21 God establishes an order within which processes occur and constraints are imposed. These processes and constraints lead to the evolution of structures and even of other, higher-level processes which govern their behavior, and to the emergence of new and more complex entities which are able to reproduce and evolve further. The whole process culminates in entities which are conscious, able to know, free and capable of making decisions, and able to harness and control reality within certain limits. All this has been orchestrated by God—so to speak—through the divine establishment and maintenance of the “laws of nature.” We can easily understand God’s indirect action, because we are familiar with analogous instances of indirect action in our human experience—using an instrument, making a machine, or constructing a program which will perform some function for us, setting an organization or a group into action to carry out some series of commands directed toward fulfilling some desired end we have conceived. God does something analogous in establishing and maintaining the “laws of nature.”

needs more careful consideration than I can give it here. Certainly, relative to a more restricted notion of law—as what is generalizable—some events will fall outside its comprehension, e.g., what is important and significant in its radical particularity. 21 By ‘direct’ I mean unmediated; by ‘indirect’ I mean mediated.

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But conceiving or modeling God’s direct action is a very different kettle of fish. We have the experience of what “direct action” means within human experience. It means active involvement without an intermediary—the agent does what he or she intends personally, without asking someone else or triggering something else to do it. Any action will always have a direct component and indirect components. No action by an agent can be completely indirect. When I contract a firm to repair my roof, I indirectly repair the roof by doing so, and the supervisor indirectly repairs the roof by directing his subordinates to do so and telling them how to go about it, but I directly act to initiate the contract with the roofing firm (picking up the phone to call them, showing them what needs to be done, making and communicating the decision to accept the estimate on the proposed work, signing the contract, etc.) and the supervisor directly acts to put his roofers “into motion.” It will be the same in God’s indirect action in the world. We see the results of the indirect components, and even have access to the agents through whom God is acting indirectly. But we know or conclude that there must be a component of God’s perceived indirect action which is direct. At some stage—some “initial” stage—he/she acts without intermediary to initiate the intended action or create a range of necessities and possibilities, for instance, by directly establishing fundamental laws of nature and the fundamental constants or their primordial antecedents. At some level we know that God’s direct action was and is necessary to ground and maintain existence of everything that is not God, and to enforce the regularities, constraints, and interrelationships which we refer to as the “laws of nature” and which endow reality with its interlocking levels of order, necessity, and possibility. But our ability to model God’s direct action seems to encounter an insuperable barrier at this point. Our experiences of acting directly no longer provide a helpful analogy or model for what divine direct action must be. Essentially, even though we know that at some fundamental level God is and must be acting directly, we never have direct experience of his/her doing so! We always experience divine action as indirect—even though the action may sometimes seem to operate outside of the “laws of nature” as we understand them. And we never have experience of God acting directly—even though we have assurances from revelation that he has and does, in creation, in the Incarnation, within the realm of the personal. We would apparently not be able to determine if a particular consequence were the result of God’s direct action, instead of God’s indirect action through a channel or instrument

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we are not aware of or do not understand. Thus, an apparent divine intervention on our behalf—a miracle—in answer to our prayers, for instance, a healing of a disease of paralysis which cannot be explained by contemporary medical science, does not of itself manifest the direct action of God, though it does manifest God’s personal loving and life-giving action towards us. We always experience it through some intermediary datum or agent—through some sacrament. Even when there is no obvious cause—we just find ourselves well whereas before we were ill and dying—our experience of this is mediated by what has occurred unexplainably in our bodies. Our experience is not of any direct encounter with God, however mystical (in the extraordinary sense) that may have been. Furthermore, there is no assurance that the proximate cause of the healing, miraculous as it is, was not effected by God operating through a “regularity or law of nature” which is beyond our present knowledge or understanding or through an intermediary agent, that is, a prophet or an angel. My point is that, though the extraordinary character of the event, which is outside what we normally expect in similar situations, leads us to believe that God is personally responding to our needs and prayers, this does not of itself indicate that the divine action is direct. It may indicate, however, that it is special, particular, and personal; I shall have more to say about this later. Even in terms of the Incarnation, no one, not even Mary, had an unambiguous experience of direct divine action, however personal and gratuitous it was. Another possibility for divine action, however, is what St. Ignatius of Loyola refers to as “consolation without previous cause,” as being an unequivocal sign of God’s active graced presence in a religious experience.22 This may be, but it still is not at all clear that it is an experience of direct divine action! It may be an unequivocal sign of God’s presence and action, but it is very difficult to assess critically as an experience of God as a direct, unmediated cause. Perhaps the only place where we shall experience that is in the beatific vision.23

22 St. Ignatius of Loyola, “Rule for the Discernment of Spirits,” The Spiritual Exercises. See Karl Rahner, The Dynamic Element in the Church, trans. W.J. O’Hara, vol. 12, Quaestiones Disputatae (New York: Herder & Herder, 1964), for a theological account of this. 23 Cf. F. Suppe, “The Scientific Vision and the Beatific Vision,” paper presented at the “Notre Dame Symposium on Knowing God, Christ, and Nature in the Post-Positivisitic Era,” University of Notre Dame, April 14–17, 1993.

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The key point to this discussion is simply that we have no experiential basis upon which to model God’s direct action with regard to created reality.24 Thus, although we know it occurs, it is apparently inaccessible to our experience and therefore to our detailed understanding. The case of God’s action in creating from nothing and maintaining in existence is essentially direct divine action—perhaps the clearest case of it. But here again, that extraordinary and pervasive relationship of creatures with the divine, in which we ourselves participate, occurs at the very core of our beings and is hidden from our eyes.

7. The Problems of the Primary-Secondary Causal Nexus, of Double Causality, and of Top-Down Causality There are a series of unsolved problems related to divine action, which flow from this discussion of the impossibility of adequately articulating or modeling God’s direct action towards a creature. From what I have said above, it is clear that God’s direct creative action ex nihilo is not susceptible to experiential “detection” or probing. In a sense, in order to answer how it happens, we would have to be God! We have some access to the “why” because of revelation—in terms of God’s goodness and love. When we turn to other categories of direct divine action, the same obstruction is found.25 7.1. The Primary-Secondary Causal Nexus A key issue is the direct action of God with regard to secondary causes, through which he/she acts indirectly. How does God operate on a secondary cause, other than by bringing it into existence and conserving

24

Russell (private communication) insists that we distinguish three different ideas which I have tended to conflate here: (1) knowing where God acts directly (such as at the quantum level or in the free moral agent); (2) having an immediate experience of such a direct act; and (3) being able to model the act itself. My point here is that, though we may know or suspect that God acts directly in a given place or situation, we are never in the position to model it, simply because we do not have access to it in its immediacy. We have mediated experience of it, but no experience of the direct action itself, which is precisely what is in question. 25 Arthur Peacocke discusses this problem at length—the problem of the “how,” or what he refers to as the “causal joint” (Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age). He suggests that the resolution of it can be approached by locating creation “in God” and applying “top-down” causality, God acting on created reality.

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it in existence, so that it is the instrument for carrying out his/her intentions? In some cases this is just by maintaining it in existence and continuing to endow it with the nature or properties it has, and we do not know how that is done. But in some other examples, there is more going on—that is, in the sacraments, in the prophets, who are inspired to speak for God, in individuals who are in personal relationship with him/her. In other words, the causal nexus between God and any other cause or entity—incontrovertible as it is as a necessary condition for what we experience—is shielded from and inaccessible to our probing. Does God simply inject information or intention into secondary causes, inducing them to act on his/her behalf? Does this happen within the framework of the physical and other laws of nature, as we imperfectly know them? Or does it instead at least sometimes involve an abrogation or a fulfillment of those laws in terms of higher laws operating in the realm of the conscious and the personal and transcending those of physics, chemistry, and biology? We do not know for sure. I would strongly suspect that the last is often, though not exclusively, at work, simply on the basis of the priority the personal seems to have for God, as is clear to us from revelation.26 But it seems extraordinarily difficult to substantiate that suspicion independently and to model such a causal nexus in concrete terms. One of the difficulties here is simply that, in speaking of God’s causal activity, we are trying to speak about a cause which is radically different from any other cause we experience—God is the primary cause. And we have no direct experience of this sort of causality. He/she is never one cause among many others, and cannot be conceived in his/her activity on the pattern of the created causes which we are and which we experience.27 God’s causal activity completely transcends secondary causality, and at the same time is perfectly immanent in secondary causality, supporting it and giving it efficacy. To use metaphors, God as primary cause is much more interior and present to creatures than they are to one another as secondary causes. But at the same time, on the basis of our lack of direct experience of it, God’s causality is extremely subtle and hidden, and does not interfere with necessities, regularities,

26 At the same time, however, we must find a way of avoiding an overly anthropocentric theology. 27 Stoeger, “Origin of the Universe.”

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and freedoms with which secondary causes are endowed, except in response to a higher or more personal law. 7.2. Double Causality Another problem with God’s direct action in the world which is connected with this issue of the causal nexus is what we might call double causality. This is not so difficult in light of the conclusions we have already reached, but it bears mentioning. It is essentially: How can we have two adequate agents causing the same effect—God as primary cause and the secondary causes through which God is working? There are several rather different issues which must be distinguished here: (1) God as primary cause acting to maintain secondary causes in existence, with their own particular capabilities, tendencies, and limitations, without further determining how they act to produce their effects (the underdetermination we were speaking of earlier); (2) God not only acting as primary cause to maintain secondary causes in existence, but possibly working through secondary causes to produce an effect God desires, a special or particular effect, outside of the ordinary pattern of what we would expect; (3) God inviting secondary causes to act in a certain way, but not determining or forcing them to do so; and (4) God apparently being a sufficient cause for an effect—directly or indirectly—and some created cause apparently being a sufficient cause for the same effect. Regarding this last issue, I believe that the only problem here may be our confusion concerning what constitutes a sufficient cause—or reason—in a concrete case, along with whether the sufficient cause is acting directly or indirectly. For example, if one cuts the stem of an apple hanging on the tree and the apple falls to the ground, we might at first think that the person cutting the stem is the sufficient cause for the apple to fall, but that sufficiency presupposes a context in which other causes are acting, namely gravity. Without the action of gravity the apple would not fall. Nor is gravity a sufficient cause for the apple to fall; nor is God, who at some level instantiated the “laws of nature,”—they are necessary conditions, but not sufficient ones. The apple must be free to fall before gravity can cause it to fall. Applying this example to divine action, we see that God is never the sufficient condition for an effect occurring—though he/she is always a necessary condition for what occurs and sometimes contributes (in situations involving free moral agents) to the further conditions needed to consti-

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tute sufficiency. Correlatively, a secondary cause is never an absolutely sufficient condition for an effect, only what might be called a relatively sufficient condition—given that other normal conditions are fulfilled, that is, that gravity is acting. Again God as a necessary condition for the existence of something, or of anything, is not in doubt, but God as sufficient condition is always in question. This is undoubtedly an aspect of divine kenosis (or self-emptying) and hiddenness in created reality—that God withholds his/her capability of being the sufficient condition of particular effects. For instance, God is not the sufficient condition of my existence—by relying on secondary causes (my parents and the processes of reproductive biology) divine causal sufficiency is surrendered. This is true even with respect to an event like the Incarnation. God invites it, but does not force it. The fiat of Mary was essential to the concrete realization of the Incarnation. Now that they have been distinguished, the other issues, (1) through (3), lead to fairly straightforward resolutions. I shall not discuss (1) and (3) further, as the only one which may cause a problem is (2), that of God possibly determining a special or particular effect through secondary causes. The situations where this occurs are in God’s personal action towards a person open to his/her presence and activity, in God’s activity through impersonal, animate, or inanimate beings or causal chains, and more clearly in the cases where God apparently has directly or indirectly rigidly fixed general patterns of physical behavior, relationships, and structures in the “laws of nature.” In the first situation, God somehow communicates love and mercy— God’s life-giving presence—in a particular experience or concrete event to a person or group. This rarely involves even the appearance of abrogation of the laws of nature, but instead a certain coming together of events which seem purely coincidental but which speak strongly of God’s care and love to the person concerned. Does God really marshall such natural occurrences in these ways? Or is it rather that God sensitizes or inspires the person to whom he/she wishes to communicate the divine active presence in whatever naturally occurs, by means of the laws of nature we normally experience, and those higher laws of which we have no adequate understanding? In either case we are dealing with God’s intended action toward a particular individual or group as a perceived response to faithfulness, openness, prayer, petition. And in either case, we must deal at some juncture with God’s direct action on secondary causes and how that direct action is effected.

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In these personal secondary causal situations, there is always some form of personal relationship between God and the created person—an openness and free initiative of God towards the person, and of the person towards God. And this mutual relationship is expressed in a whole network of manifestations. Furthermore, the person’s cooperation is not forced, but free. How does this personal communication take place? Something analogous occurs in human relationships and in human agency involving other persons—acting to have someone else do something, either by command, by suggestion, by request, usually based on a previously established relationship of some sort between the persons. The key problem, as always, in this relationship between God and the created personal agent is that of the causal nexus—how does God influence or inspire someone? Oftentimes it is indirect—through an event, another person, reading and reflecting upon scripture, an idea or an emotion. But at some point there must be—at least according to our analysis so far—some direct connection, communication, or component of divine action with respect to the created agent. There must always be, it seems, some direct divine communication involved at some stage in the designation of a prophet, in the issuance of a call or vocation, and certainly in very special events like the Incarnation and the Resurrection. How is this direct link realized? And then there is the second situation, God’s action through impersonal secondary causes, in which the agents or instruments are not free to act or not act. Despite this difference from the previous case, the same issue arises—the way in which God directly causes or constrains some created beings to act as secondary causes. In either case how does God do this? What is the nexus between God and the secondary causal instruments? We do not know. But perhaps we can begin to understand in terms of human agency and action. We do something very similar, do we not? We act through secondary causes. We decide to do something—to build a bookcase, to type a letter, to make a pot of coffee. And working through our bodies—directing our eyes, our hands and our fingers to perform very complex, goaldirected series of operations using tools and instruments, we bring all sorts of secondary causes together to aid in finishing our bookcase, completing the letter, and brewing the coffee. Undoubtedly, God is able to do the same thing, but with great reverence for both his/her creation and for the freedom and independence of the persons with whom God is communicating, for the character and the individuality of the beings, whether they be personal, animate, or inanimate, and

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their interrelationships, through which he/she is working. Although this is a description of top-down causality, which will be briefly discussed later, my point here is not its character but rather whether and how we can describe or model the causal nexus between God and secondary causal instruments. We understand something about our interaction with the material world around us, because we are material (but we certainly do not yet understand the relationship between our minds and our bodies!). It is considerably more difficult to understand the direct causal nexus between God, who is immaterial and uncreated, and the material secondary causes. And yet a profound nexus there must be—whether it is more “interior” to the created causes, or more top-down and “exterior.” I shall very shortly suggest how the immanence and transcendence of God may provide the key to understanding this problem of the “causal joint.”28 Before doing so, it is worth pointing out that, as we come to understand that the material and the immaterial are not essentially different, but intimately united at every level, and how this sameness in difference functions, we will perhaps come to some better appreciation of God’s direct interaction with secondary causes. This will be paralleled, I hope, by progress in understanding how mind-body issues can be resolved. Both advances will help our analogy between human agency and divine agency to yield more fruit. Answering this question “how?” concerning the direct causal connection between God and secondary causes requires a detailed knowledge and understanding of God and of God’s causal and personal relationships with persons and with other creatures. Our inability to answer that question reflects the profound inadequacy of our knowledge of the divine. Still, to the extent that we know something about God—thanks to revelation and our reflection upon it—we can move in a promising direction. As I have mentioned, this is in the direction of God’s immanence and transcendence, particularly as they are realized in God’s transcendent primary causality as a cause unlike any other. The key point is that God acts immanently in nature—in every “nook and cranny” of nature, at the core of every being and at the heart of every relationship—to constitute and maintain it just as it is and just as it evolves. God constitutes things as they are and as they act—with freedom or without freedom, personal

28

Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age.

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or impersonal—and maintains this constitutive relationship with them, with great efficacy, but also with great reverence and respect for the individuality and character of each and of the network of relationships they have with one another. This constitutive presence of God at “the heart of things” is so pervasive that from a strictly scientific perspective we do not notice it. There is nothing we experience or encounter, either exterior or interior, that is without it. God is fully and actively immanent precisely because God is fully transcendent. Transcendence implies complete availability, accessibility, and active presence at every level—that is, immanence. What is transcendent is not trapped or constrained by a given level of being, a given relationship, or a given perspective, and so is available to all. There are no principles or regularities or relationships needed other than the secondary causes, regularities, and relationships which are vulnerable to scientific and philosophical investigation. But God’s transcendent/immanent primary causality is always immediately and immanently endowing them with existence and with the intricate and dynamic order and interrelationships they enjoy. Creation is a limited expression of the divine being. The direct causal nexus is the active, richly differentiated, profoundly immanent presence of God in created beings and in their interrelationships. It is at the same time their limited and specific participation—inclusion—in God’s own existence and interrelationships as Trinity, which is utterly transcendent and immaterial but also radically open to and available for the realization of finite possibilities. The presence of God in each entity constitutes the direct, the immediate, relationship of that entity with God, and therefore is the channel of divine influence in secondary causes. This approach by no means resolves the mystery or answers the question, but it serves to locate it where the answer almost certainly lies. I shall discuss some of these issues again when I deal with God’s personal action. Here I have briefly looked at the causal problems associated with this approach. There I shall focus more on the experience and intention involved in such modes of divine action. The final situation in which God has determined an effect through secondary causes is where either directly or indirectly he/she has rigidly fixed (determined) general patterns of behavior, structures, relationships, constraints—the structure of atoms, for instance, and the periodic table with all the chemical laws embodied in it, the operation of the “laws of physics.” Among all the possible and apparently internally consistent ways in which physical reality could behave, only this one

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is realized. And, if God exists and is the primary cause, he/she must have either chosen this realization, or allowed it to develop from some other more primordial laws. In either case, God at some point or in some way acts directly to effect them, and continues to act directly and immanently to conserve them. Again, we have the “nexus problem,” for which we have no real solution—other than the observations made above concerning the immanently and transcendently interior active presence of God in all that is. God chose to make the world the way it is, however much he/she allowed it to develop on its own. God implements that choice by initiating and maintaining an existence-endowing (constitutive) relationship with the possibilities he/she wishes to realize. The choice of a particular instantiation and its direct implementation—whatever the number of allowed outcomes—was necessary at some level. From revelation, we appreciate some of the motivations directing that choice, in terms of freedom and the primacy of love, dictating a world in which God remains involved and caring, but in which we remain free and able to freely give or refuse love and service to God and to one another.29 Top-Down Causality In this discussion we are already aware of the final problem we shall briefly discuss, that of top-down causality. The brief discussion of human agency above provided examples of top-down causality—a human being building a bookcase, typing a letter, brewing a pot of coffee—in which an entity of higher complexity or possessing greater versatility determines or causes entities at lower, more fundamental levels to behave in a certain way—in a more organized and coherent way than they would do otherwise. In the hierarchical layers of organization and complexity which characterize our universe, top-down causality is pervasive. Although some causal influences operate from lower levels of organization to higher levels, constraining and also enabling what more complex entities do, other causal influences act from the top down to marshall and coordinate less organized constituents into coherent, cooperative action in service of the more complex organism or system. A precondition for this being possible is the radical underdetermination of effects

29 Cf. George F.R. Ellis, “The Theology of the Anthropic Principle,” in Quantum Cosmology, 367–405.

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by the “laws of nature” at lower levels (the freedom and the need to establish initial conditions, or boundary conditions)—rendering nature very pliable within certain limits. There is really no problem here—just a characteristic of reality which requires proper recognition and careful analysis. Obviously in the case of divine action, we have the ultimate case of top-down causality, in which the essential issues challenging our understanding are those which we have already discussed.

8. Divine Action within the Context of the Personal The realm of divine action which is especially important for the meaning, orientation, and direction of our lives is that of the personal. In fact, within the context of Christian revelation at least, the focus of divine action is on the personal and the communal—God’s continual active presence with and on behalf of his/her people, drawing them closer to God, and sharing the divine life ever more fully with them as individuals and as groups. God takes the initiative in our regard, invites us and enables us to establish a relationship with him/her, gives life, reveals Godself, heals, punishes, reconciles, forgives, transforms, renews, saves—out of love and care for persons. The ultimate manifestation of this is in the Incarnation, and in the life, death, resurrection of Jesus, and sending of the Spirit of the Incarnate One, who is Wisdom, Word, Child of God. It is only as an afterthought, so to speak, but a very important afterthought, that revelation and our response to it in faith speaks of God’s creative action with regard to the whole context within which God personally directed saving and transforming activity takes place. It is obviously important from many points of view, but falls outside the primary focus of attention in much of revelation.30

30 See Richard J. Clifford, “Creation in the Hebrew Bible,” in Physics, Philosophy, and Theology, 151–70. In saying this, however, we must not separate what is personal and self-conscious from God’s action in its deepest form in inanimate creation. The focus of much of revelation on the personal should not insulate us from attending to and celebrating God’s active presence in all creation. In fact, in light of both what we know from revelation and from contemporary sciences, part of our commitment must be to emphasize our profound unity with the rest of creation, to learn from it by contemplating it, and to take a more enlightened responsibility in caring for it and fostering reverence for it. Though we must be faithful to revelation in terms of the priority of the personal, we must be faithful to all that it offers us, and we cannot continue to indulge in an overweening anthropocentrism.

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Within the context of our present interest in articulating more adequately divine action in light of the self-organizing capabilities of material systems, we may think that God’s personal action falls outside our primary focus. There is a sense in which this is true. But there is also a sense in which it is completely false. If our understanding of God is primarily as a Trinity of persons—with all that that implies within the Christian tradition—then all divine action, however impersonal it may seem, in its consequences or manifestations, must be seen in terms of the personal, of personal relationships, and of the preconditions for the emergence of the personal within the universe. This is certainly true from the standpoint of our faith and the knowledge which we have based on divine revelation. However, it is far from clear simply from the standpoint of the physical and the other natural sciences, even though there are indications that point in that direction (e.g., the coincidences which point towards an “anthropic principle,” however vacuous the actual logic of those arguments may be without the presupposition of God’s existence). Our procedure is really to take both areas of knowledge seriously and let them critically interact with one another, as we have already done in dealing with other issues. What are the consequences of doing so on this subject of the priority of the personal in divine action and on manifestations of divine action at the level of the impersonal and inanimate through the underlying physical constraints and regularities and the self-organizing capabilities we see in reality? The clearest answer would be that all of what we see manifested in the natural world has been established for the purpose of securing the priority and dominance of the personal and of personal relationships within creation, and to enable created persons to relate freely and lovingly with one another, with the rest of creation, and with God. Profound as this is, there is nothing new here which we would not have known before delving into the self-organizing behavior of matter. But is there anything else? Yes, I believe that in George Ellis’s “Christian Anthropic Principle,”31 we see a deep compatibility among the autonomous ways in which physical, chemical, and biological laws operate at every level of nature—particularly in the self-organizing capabilities of matter and systems composed of matter at every level. The core of this compatibility

31

Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.”

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is the relative independence and freedom of created reality to evolve and organize at every level without direct divine intervention or interference (except at the most radical ontological level) with a richness of inherent potentiality and possibility. Correlative with this, as I have already mentioned, is God’s relative hiddenness in creation; God has created and is creating it, but at the same time is radically setting it free to become itself, to discover itself, to become conscious of itself, to become free and to become independently personal and social, to discover its roots and its ultimate origins, to respond freely to the invitation to enter into relationship with the community and society of persons which is God, its source and origin. In a sense the fact that we are made “in the image and likeness of God” necessitates an infrastructure like we have. One which needed the constant intervention of God—divine direct action to fill gaps and to negotiate the difficult transitions between nonliving and living, living and conscious, conscious and knowing—would be a creation which would be very unfree and incapable of becoming itself, discovering God as a person (and not just as a demiurge and problem-solver), and entering into a loving relationship with that God. Nor would such a creation be very compatible with God’s self-communication to it. In short it would be a creation unworthy of God, and one which did not adequately reflect who God is. If we take this point of view, then there is one other point that falls into place. If the personal has priority, then relationships are of the utmost importance. And what we see throughout creation is a reflection of this—the central role that constitutive relationships play at every level. Entities are as they are at every level not just because of the parts that constitute them but because of the relationships which exist among the components. The whole is always greater than the sum of the parts because of these relationships. And the different interactions which obtain—for instance those of gravitation, electromagnetism, the weak and strong nuclear forces in physics—and the behaviors they allow and forbid help to determine these interrelationships. We are able to some extent to describe these regularities, patterns, constraints, and relationships through the “laws of nature” we formulate. But, as I have insisted before, these are only imperfect descriptions of the intricate network of regularities, constraints, and relationships which actually operate, linking everything with everything else, but also constituting each entity’s individuality and relative independence.

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If there are phenomena which seem to fall outside of the regularities we are able to describe securely, or situations in which they do not seem to hold, then undoubtedly there are “higher” laws at work. These laws somehow reflect more fully the dominance of the personal, or the essential role of relationships. These in turn are more intricate, complex, or subtle, than we are yet capable of understanding and modeling, but they would be thoroughly compatible with the nature of all the entities involved and of their relationships with one another, with the personal, and with God, if we were to completely understand those relationships.

9. Conclusions This has been a sketch of my synthesis of a model of God’s action in the world, taking seriously both revelation and the knowledge of reality we have from the sciences. There are aspects of divine action which we are able to understand somewhat better by letting these two areas of our knowledge critically interact and dialogue with each other. There are other aspects which seem to be thoroughly resistant to our understanding, particularly that of the nexus between God and the secondary causes through which God acts or between God and the direct effects of divine action, as in creatio ex nihilo. The analogue of human agency is of some limited help here. However, the principal barrier seems to be that we can only know that critical nexus—an adequate answer to “how” divine causality operates in this circumstances—if we are divine, or if God reveals such knowledge to us. Otherwise we do not have enough knowledge of the key term in the nexus—God.32

32

My special thanks to all those who have given me comments on a previous draft of this paper or who have discussed aspects of it with me, especially Stephen Happel, Ian Barbour, Tom Tracy, Nancey Murphy, George Ellis, Arthur Peacocke, Denis Edwards, Bob Russell, Wim Drees, and John Polkinghorne.

CHAPTER FIVE

EVALUATING THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT FOR DIVINE ACTION Wesley J. Wildman

1. Introduction 1.1. Divine Action and Evolutionary Biology There are many ways to conceptualize divine action in nature and history, ranging from attribution to God of natural-law suspending miracles or natural-law conforming activity, to virtual identification of the laws and processes of nature with the initiating creative act of God or with the divine nature itself. It must be recognized from the outset that some of these conceptions cannot possibly profit from insights drawn from the natural sciences, including evolutionary biology. One example is Rudolf Bultmann’s assertion that divine action occurs only in the realm of human existence and leaves no traces in history and nature; this depends upon a dualism of being or language. Another is John Locke’s reliance on the miraculous as a mode of special divine action. To the extent that miraculous and various forms of dualistic theories of divine action are defensible—and I think they are if the right approach is taken—a theory of divine action that is independent of considerations from the natural sciences, including evolutionary biology, is still feasible. Theories of divine action that take the natural sciences to have something crucial to offer, however, have much better chances of achieving the virtues of specificity and plausibility. If we accept this, then we will be inclined to try to establish substantive connections between theories of divine action and all kinds of scientific theories, including evolutionary biology. One type of connection begins with the appearance of purposes or ends in nature and attempts to construe this as evidence of the reality of divine action by means of the argument that such apparent ends indicate genuine teleology in natural objects and processes, and that this teleology (in any of a number of possible forms) is the mode of God’s action. I shall

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call this argument “the teleological argument for divine action.” The English divine William Paley appealed to the teleological argument for divine action when he drew his famous analogy between a watch and the wondrous structures and processes of nature: both demand a designer.1 Likewise, Alfred Russel Wallace, co-discoverer with Charles Darwin of the principle of natural selection, found the complexity of some features of biology so amazing that he invoked an active designer God to explain it.2 This peculiarly aggressive form of the teleological argument for divine action (the so-called design argument) is comparatively rare in our day because evolutionary biology has made impressive advances in explaining how complex organs and biological systems developed from simpler forms. That has made it exceedingly difficult to attempt to move from the products of biological evolution to divine action by means of the argument that the beauty and functionality of those products is so wonderful as to demand a divine mind whose intention they are; or from the process of biological evolution to divine action by means of the argument that the evolutionary process requires occasional divine moderation, adjustment, acceleration, or specific directing to account for the forms of life that exist. The theory of evolution is increasingly well justified in asserting that wonderful forms of life result from the evolutionary process regardless of what any mind intends, and that this process is automatic, in need of no occasional, special adjustments.3 The argument from design has been thoroughly undermined as a result. The teleological argument for divine action, however, has more modest, more viable forms. One is driven by the question of the significance and possible “ultimate purpose” of the evolutionary trajectory that has produced human life.4 Another finds a congenial starting point in one of the intuitions guiding neo-Darwinian evolutionary theory, namely, that increases in biological complexity probably occur at different speeds

1

William Paley, Natural Theology—of Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of the Deity Collected from the Appearances of Nature (Oxford: J. Vincent, 1802; 2nd ed., 1828). 2 This is so according to Michael Shermer, Why People Believe Weird Things (New York: W.H. Freeman, 1997), who cites an article of Wallace in Quarterly Review (April, 1869). 3 For marvelous descriptions of many particular case studies, see Richard Dawkins, The Blind Watchmaker (New York, London: W.W. Norton, 1986), and even more impressively, Climbing Mount Improbable (New York, London: W.W. Norton, 1996). 4 See, for example, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The Phenomenon of Man (London: Collins, New York: Harper, 1959; tr. from 1955 French ed.), and Man’s Place in Nature (London: Collins, New York: Harper, 1966; tr. from 1956 French ed.).

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(albeit virtually always gradually) within the evolutionary process5 suggesting the possibility of higher-level laws of complexity,6 and leading to the question about whether teleological categories are needed for the adequate description of the conditions for the possibility of punctuation in evolutionary equilibrium. Yet another seeks to move from the laws and capacities of nature—the conditions of the possibility of biological evolution—to the reality of divine action by means of an argument that nature is purposefully designed by God to have the laws and capacities it has, in which case divine design of nature is the primordial divine act. There are other motivations for exploring the teleological argument for divine action, but what has been said is enough to show that this form of the connection between evolutionary biology and divine action might be well worth examining closely. The special virtue of the teleological argument for divine action is its promise of relevant, detailed support for the reality of divine action. Other advantages of centralizing the category of teleology when examining the relation between divine action and evolutionary biology will become evident later. 1.2. The Argument of this Paper and its Significance The argument of this paper leads to my provisional conclusion that no relevant, detailed, supportive relation between evolutionary biology and the reality of divine action is possible using this approach. This is a negative result as far as the teleological argument for divine action is concerned, but it does not imply that evolutionary biology bluntly rebuts the claim that God acts in nature and history. Rather, evolutionary biology is one of many considerations that can influence theories of divine action without having much evidentiary effect one way or the other. This argument will merely confirm what many theorists of divine action seem already to hold, but it may challenge the assumptions

5 See, for example, Stephen Jay Gould, Wonderful Life: The Burgess Shale and the Nature of History (New York: W.W. Norton, 1989), and Niles Eldredge, Macroevolutionary Dynamics: Species, Niches, and Adaptive Peaks (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1989), and Time Frames: The Rethinking of Darwinian Evolution and the Theory of Punctuated Equilibria (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1985). 6 This topic is explored perhaps most vigorously by Stuart Kauffman. See The Origins of Order: Self-organization and Selection in Evolution (Oxford and New York: Oxford University, 1993), and At Home in the Universe: The Search for the Laws of Self-Organization and Complexity (New York and Oxford: Oxford University, 1995).

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of some. For example, those who think that an argument can be constructed leading from apparent purposes in nature to the activity of God will need to refute the conclusion of the present argument. Similarly, those who think that evolution—particularly its portrayal of ends in nature as epiphenomenal side-effects of the evolutionary process—destroys affirmations of divine action will need to grapple with the argument of this paper. It might seem, therefore, that I am preaching to the converted, and that the argument of this paper is only problematic for those whose views can be depreciated in many other ways besides that taken here. Making the argument has other benefits, however. Most importantly, it exhibits in detail a small part of the diversity of possible connections between evolutionary biology and theories of divine action, and drives home the scope of the metaphysical ambiguity that attends every step of the movement from one to the other. This means that the argument may be of value even to those who would be inclined at the outset to agree with its conclusion. The argument from apparent ends in nature to the affirmation of the reality of divine action—the teleological argument for divine action—has three logically distinguishable stages. The first stage (section 3) must conclude that apparent ends in nature are indications of genuinely teleological capacities of natural objects and processes. This necessarily involves grappling with the problem of reductionism, and with the evolutionary critique of teleological terminology. The second stage (section 4) must situate the affirmation of the genuinely teleological capacities of natural objects and processes in a wider metaphysical context that is rich enough to refer to fundamental teleological principles, because it is only through metaphysical generalization that particular teleological capacities can be connected with God, who is assumed to be the ontological ground of such capacities, or at least metaphysically connected with them.7 The third stage (section 5) must show that these fundamental teleological principles support particular theories of divine

7 This is not the place to defend the possibility of such metaphysical reflection. Suffice to say that I do not suppose that Kant’s strictures on metaphysics can be set aside lightly. On the contrary, the pragmatism of C.S. Peirce offers a way around them while taking them with proper seriousness. My interpretation of the task of inquiry, and my general indebtedness to pragmatism (not, however, to Richard Rorty’s neo-pragmatism), is laid out briefly in “Similarities and Differences in the Practice of Science and Theology,” CTNS Bulletin 14.4 (Fall, 1994).

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action. Any argument from apparent ends in nature to the reality of divine action includes these three stages. Some preliminaries are also needed. To that end, I address some basic philosophical concerns about the definition and application of “having an end,” and propose a schema that draws attention to key features of a number of views of teleology in the evolutionary process (section 2). Each stage of the evolutionary argument for divine action is negotiable only with complex and subtle argument. I will try to show that the argumentative link in each stage is relatively weak in the sense that each of the intermediate conclusions required for the overall argument to work cannot be secured without recourse to metaphysical presuppositions that have far more influence on the conclusions than do considerations from evolutionary biology. That is, there is no chain of sound implications from appearances of ends in nature, to the reality of the teleological capacities of natural objects and processes, to the identification of fundamental teleological principles in a wider metaphysical theory, to particular theories of divine action; each proposition is crucially underdetermined by the previous one, and other premises are required to make the implications valid. This paper will examine what some of those additional premises might be. It will turn out that, for every such premise that facilitates the movement of the teleological argument for divine action to its next stage, there are many equally plausible premises that lead not in the direction of divine action but in other directions altogether. In concluding this introduction, I want to make two further remarks. First, with regard to limitations, because the examination of teleology in what follows will concentrate on the place of teleology in biological evolution, I forgo the chance to state or criticize cumulative arguments for a fundamentally teleological universe—and this is unquestionably where many of the debates in the theological literature focus their attention. The narrowing of focus is needed, however, and it does not interfere with my more limited goal of assessing the teleological argument for divine action.8 Second, with regard to my motivation, this essay seeks to do partial justice to the many criticisms of the very idea of divine action in history

8 For an example of such an ambitious undertaking, see William R. Stoeger’s paper in CTNS/VO, v. IV.

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and nature. These depreciations range from the denial of the reality of God and the God-affirming denial that “divine action” is a meaningful phrase, to the rejection of nature and history as metaphysically significant categories, as a result of the contention (typical of much Indian and Buddhist philosophy) that ultimate reality lies deeply beneath its misleading natural, historical appearance. Centralizing the category of teleology helps here, because it is possible within limits to specify its meaning for a wide variety of metaphysical and religious traditions; the idea of divine action cannot be generalized to the same degree. After conclusions about the conceptual relations between teleology and biological evolution are drawn, the possibility will then exist of relating these conclusions to other concepts, such as divine action—or, for that matter, the Indian philosophical concepts of samsara and maya, though I will not be pursuing this.9 The teleological argument for divine action follows this procedure precisely.

2. Speaking of Teleology Teleological categories have been generally out of favor in the West for some time, so it is necessary to clear some terminological ground. 2.1. The Meaning of “Having an End” The ancient Greek philosopher, Aristotle (384–322 BCE)10 contended that the essence (and so the behavior) of a thing is understood when four questions about it can be answered: What is it made of? What are its essential attributes? What brought it into being? What is its purpose? (Physics II.3, 194b.16–195a.2; Metaphysics V.2, 1013a.24–1013b.2.11 These questions correspond to what scholastic philosophers aptly called

9 This two staged approach to the problem of teleology and divine action has been adopted before to good effect, notably and influentially as the distinguishing principle for the two books constituting Paul Janet, Final Causes, tr. From the 2nd French ed. by William Affleck (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1892; 1st French ed., 1876). 10 The following translations of Aristotle’s works are referred to or quoted in what follows: Physics (Physica), tr. R.P. Hardie and R.K. Gaye; Metaphysics (Metaphysica), tr. by W.D. Ross; On the Parts of Animals (De partibus animalium), tr. William Ogle; On the Gait of Animals (De incessu animalium), tr. A.S.L. Farquharson; and On the Generation of Animals (De generatione animalium), tr. Arthur Platt. 11 References are in the form book.chapter, pagecolumn.line of the Berlin Greek text.

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the material, formal, efficient and final causes.12 The fourth of Aristotle’s questions is answered by identifying the “end” of a thing. But how was this conceived? Aristotle implicitly defined an end when he spoke of the cause of a thing “in the sense of end or ‘that for the sake of which’ a thing is done, e.g. health is the cause of walking about” (Physics II.3, 194b.33). Thus, an end “causes” its means by virtue of the fact that the means (as cause) are capable of securing that end (as effect). Now, the end, since it lies in the future relative to the means, cannot obviously be their cause, though the idea of the end can certainly be the cause of the means. Thus, we arrive at a definition: An end, E, is the cause of means, M, insofar as E is the foreseen effect of M. This is a common definition of “having an end,” and fits Aristotle’s view rather well. It captures the meaning of “end” through being explicit about how it is that ends cause. The usual way of allowing for literal application of teleological categories is through the concept of intending: since human beings and some other animals intend, their behavior is genuinely purposeful and causal. In the context of intentional agents, therefore, since “foreseeing effects” can be spoken of literally, the definition of end just given is uncontroversial. Extending this definition to cover some cases of habitual, preconscious, unconscious, goal-directed, and even some acquired and instinctive behavior poses comparatively few problems. Outside the realm of intending and its physiological derivatives, however, making sense of “having an end” is far more difficult. Aristotle accepted human beings as free agents and allowed human intending to be the metaphysical ground of many kinds of events that are for the sake of something, such as habitual and what we would call unconscious behaviors. Contemporary philosophy will go that far with Aristotle, but rarely much further. In particular, Aristotle’s attribution of ends to inanimate natural processes is genuinely difficult to justify. Aristotle was fully aware of the problems with this more ambitious usage of “end.” In the context of a discussion of the various kinds of processes that have ends.13 Aristotle dealt with the problem of assigning

12

Aristotle himself used only nouns or nominal phrases to designate the four causes (e.g. to telos); the adjectival forms are later Latin creations. 13 For details of the classification, see Physics II.5, and especially the discussion of spontaneous and chance processes in Physics II.6, 197b.18–21.

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ends to spontaneous natural processes—an important consideration in the context of evolutionary biology—by distinguishing between intelligent and natural ends. When an end is consciously entertained or habitually assumed by a moral agent, it can be spoken of as an intelligent end; other ends are natural. What intelligence does for the one by way of foreseeing, nature does for the other in a kind of natural, teleological analogue of foreseeing (Physics II.6, 198a.1–12). The definition of end given above will work for every sphere of nature if this natural, teleological foreseeing is legitimate. Philosophers who have affirmed ends in this more ambitious way have also tried to offer compelling arguments for their interpretations. Alfred North Whitehead’s argument turned on a sophisticated theory of causation that had the attractive virtue of solving the freedom-determinism problem. Aristotle’s argument flowed from a grand teleological vision of reality in which nature itself is a vast teleological organism and each object and process has natural ends fitted to the actualization of its natural potential—a view notable for its explanatory and ethical power. In these two cases and all others of which I am aware, the reality of natural ends is affirmed as a consequence of a wider metaphysical theory that commends itself based on numerous considerations apart from the question of the reality of natural ends. 2.2. A Criterion for “Having an End” If we are to maintain the distinction between apparent and real ends— and the teleological argument for divine action demands that we make the attempt—there needs to be a criterion for “endedness” in natural objects and processes that does not beg the question about the reality of ends in nature. Forcing the definition of “having an end” to serve as criterion for detecting apparently-ended natural objects and processes does not meet this condition. A widely held criterion for “endedness” that does meet this condition is as follows: a natural process or object can be said to be ended (to have an end) if it exhibits a tendency toward some endpoint that persists through changing circumstances.14

14 Something akin to this is defended in R.B. Braithwaite, Scientific Explanation (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1953), and in many other writers. Dawkins, whose uses the term “designoid” for “apparently designed,” introduces statistical measures that reflect human intuitions about what is designed and what is not designed. This approach seems useful also for furnishing an approach to apparent endedness. See Climbing Mount Improbable, chapter 1.

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This criterion is especially apt for designating processes that might be called “closed-ended”—in which the process really does have a particular endpoint. It is less useful for the situations of most interest in biology, the “open-ended” processes, because an open-ended process potentially yields very different outcomes, and so there can be no definitely known “endpoint”.15 Open-ended processes, however, do have the predictable appearance of closed-ended processes in their stable regimes (typically when they are close to thermodynamic equilibrium). In practice, therefore, it is possible to apply the criterion for endedness even when we are dealing with open-ended processes of some kinds. We just need to remember to allow for the possibility that the final outcome of an apparently ended process may not be known in advance, even when a proximate endpoint is known, because of: (1) the complexity of the process; (2) the ability of the environment to alter available end states of the process; or (3) the role that chance factors play in the transition of a system between relatively stable regimes of behavior. Our criterion might not capture all open-ended processes, therefore, but it does include all of the processes with a relatively stable appearance, whether part of a larger open-ended process or not. In view of what we need it for, this is sufficient. With this criterion in place, we have selected out a class of nominally ended natural objects and processes that is even richer than Aristotle’s class of events and processes that are for the sake of something. It is important to note that this class is stratified, as in Table 1.16 The items at the top of the table are better placed to win assent from contemporary thinkers to the thesis that teleological categories are

15 This appears to be the reason for Francisco J. Ayala’s approach to the problem. He begins with a vague and general criterion: “An object or a behavior is said to be teleological or telic when it gives evidence of design or appears to be directed toward certain ends.” He then partially overcomes the vagueness of this definition by distinguishing between artificial (external) teleology, due to deliberate purposefulness, and natural (internal) teleology, when no deliberate purposefulness is involved; and then again by further distinguishing within the category of natural teleology between determinate teleology (what I am calling closed-endedness) and indeterminate teleology (open-endedness). The vagueness of the initial definition is understandable in view of what it must cover. See Theodosius Dobzhansky, et. al., eds., Evolution (W.H. Freeman, 1977), p. 497; reprinted as “Teleological Explanations” in Michael Ruse, ed., Philosophy of Biology (New York: Macmillan, London: Collier Macmillan, 1989). Also see Ayala’s contribution to CTNS/VO, v. IV. 16 Edwin Levy presents a hierarchy that is a subset of this one in “Networks and Teleology,” pp. 159–186, in Mohan Matthen and Bernard Linsky, eds., Philosophy and Biology, Canadian Journal of Philosophy, Supplementary Volume 14 (Calgary: University of Calgary, 1988).

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Table 1. Hierarchical class of events, objects, and processes with nominal ends Realm of Nature

Characteristics

Self-conscious animals (human beings)

Conscious, deliberate (e.g. strategizing) Habitual (e.g. walking, talking) Preconscious (e.g. subliminal perception) Unconscious (e.g. projecting desires) Goal-directed (e.g. seeking food) Acquired (e.g. learning skills) Instinctive (e.g. self-protection, mating) Feedback-guided, goal-seeking (e.g. thermostat, metal detector) Appropriately systemic (e.g. operation of organs, body parts) Functional (e.g. anything in its functional aspect)

Other higher animals All animals Human-made objects Biological organisms Everything

necessary for adequate explanations, while those lower in the table are less well placed. Unsurprisingly, it is Aristotle’s intelligent ends that are at the top of the table (especially conscious and habitual behavior). For each of the objects and processes falling under one of the categories in this table, it is possible—and this is the point of the criterion for endedness—to ask: Is the appearance of endedness in this instance due to real ends in nature, or is it merely a misleading epiphenomenon of complex natural processes without ends? If the epiphenomenal explanation is to be preferred in every case, then this constitutes a strong argument for eliminating the more metaphysically loaded usages of teleological language from all descriptions and explanations of nature, though of course speaking of ends and purposes may still serve a useful heuristic function. If in some cases the explanation for apparent ends is that they are real, then teleological categories will be needed for adequate explanations of the processes in question, and some mediating metaphysical theory of causality and teleology will be needed also. 2.3. Dangers and Virtues of Teleology If the teleological argument for divine action is to move even a step forward, then it is necessary first to deflect a fundamental objection to teleology. To that end, let us venture a brief evaluation of Aristotle’s teleological vision so as to illumine the modern suspicion of teleological categories. According to Aristotle, everything has a natural, in-built purpose, a purpose fitted to its nature (the ambiguity of the English word “nature”

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reflects Aristotle’s viewpoint). This purpose is expressed in the form nature gives to each thing, which makes the purposes of things immanent within the things themselves. For example, the oak tree has a life principle that explains both its development from an acorn, and its shape, color, and acorn-producing capacity. This life principle cannot be abstracted from the oak, as if the purpose of the acorn-to-oak growth process were in the mind of some other being, or the tree’s death were the result of the withdrawal of the life principle from the tree’s essence. By extension, therefore, nature can be likened to a vast, integrated, purposive organism, with ends fitted to each thing for the optimal fulfillment of that thing’s potential: “nature is a cause, a cause that operates for a purpose” (Physics II.8, 199b.32). The final teleological principle of this great organism resides with a perfectly unified, fully actualized prime mover that transcends the world, and toward which the world is drawn.17 This magnificent vision of reality was the basis for much of Aristotle’s philosophical achievement, from his ethics to his studies of plants and animals. In practice, however, his own answers to the four questions that were intended to guide the investigation of nature (the four “causes”) were of limited use because he failed to maintain a balance among them, emphasizing final causes and muting efficient causes. Aristotle’s studies of plants and animals18 for example, while taxonomically brilliant, were occasionally contaminated with implausible explanations of behavior in terms of supposed natural purposes. Now, it must be admitted that Aristotle had generally excellent success in interpreting the parts and motion of animals with the aid of such telic assumptions as: “Nature makes the organs for the function, and not the function for the organs” (On the Parts of Animals, IV.12, 694b.13);

17 This makes the prime mover something like the life principle of the entire cosmos, which might seem inconsistent with Aristotle’s rejection of life principles in living beings. It is his view nonetheless. This tension is closely related to a complex corner of Aristotle interpretation having to do with his distinction between active and passive reason. Aristotle’s need to find in human beings something akin to Plato’s indestructible soul is the basis for attributing a mixture of active and passive reason to them. Active reason suggests a life principle that requires no body and it is active reason that is generalized and perfected in Aristotle’s concept of God. Nonetheless, Aristotle insists in relation to all beings apart from God that their soul is their principle of unity and not a mystical life principle separable from their constitution as formed matter. 18 The works on zoology include, in addition to those mentioned above, On the Motion of Animals (De motu animalium), tr. A.S.L. Farquharson; History of Animals (Historia animalium), tr. D’Arcy Wentworth; and the so-called Short Physical Treatises (Parva naturalia).

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“Nature never fails nor does anything in vain so far as is possible in each case” (On the Generation of Animals, V.8, 788b.22); “Nature creates nothing without a purpose, but always the best possible in each kind of living creature by reference to its essential constitution” (On the Gait of Animals, 2, 704b.15), and “Nature never makes anything that is superfluous” (On the Parts of Animals, IV.11, 691b.4). The very fact that this kind of interpretation is ever successful is testimony to the ubiquity of apparent purpose in nature. However, Aristotle was so enamored with his guiding presuppositions about nature’s purposes that he described mollusks as a “mutilated class” owing to their odd means of locomotion; he called the seal and bat “quadrupeds but misshapen” (On the Gait of Animals, 19, 714b.10–15); and he explained the small amount of blood in the chameleon by means of its timid nature (inferred from frequent color changes), and the principle that “fear is a refrigeration, and results from deficiency of natural heat and scantiness of blood” (On the Parts of Animals, IV.11, 692a.25). Likewise, in his ethics19 Aristotle was insufficiently suspicious of his readings of the natural purposes of certain types of people. For example, Aristotle held that women should be treated with honor fitting to their place as the helpers of men; this was (we might say) the Golden Mean between Plato’s admission of them to the ruling class and the common treatment of women as virtual slaves. This view of the place of women was determined by Aristotle’s view of their natural purpose, which flowed from his interpretation of their essential nature. He assumed, on the basis of experience, and admitting a few “contrary-to-nature” exceptions, that women have a partially ineffective reasoning faculty. Slaves have no reason at all, and so need to be ruled outright, according to Aristotle, but the kind of partially irrational soul possessed by women determines that their natural purpose and thus their social place is to be the helpers of, and ruled by, men, who have fully functional faculties of reason, and can regulate the irrational tendencies of women20 Though Aristotle’s view, in his context, was relatively generous toward women—though not to slaves, whom he regarded as “living tools” and “living possessions” (Politics I.4, 1253b.23–1254a.17)—it is evident that

19

See especially Nicomachean Ethics (Ethica Nicomachea), tr. W.D. Ross; and Politics (Politica), tr. Benjamin Jowett. 20 See Politics I, esp. I.12–13, 1259a.37–1260b.25; and Nicomachean Ethics V.11, 1138b.5–9, VIII.11, 1161a.10–1161b.10.

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his analyses of purposes are too often indistinguishable from conservative rationalizations of social practices he found desirable. The more dubious aspects of Aristotle’s use of final causes were amplified in much subsequent philosophy, some of which was not characterized by a steadying critical instinct to the extent that Aristotle’s was. Thus, it is unsurprising that modern Western thinkers have frequently been quite aggressive in banishing consideration of purposes from most natural, and even many ethical, inquiries. This anti-teleological posture has secured many desirable results, including protection of scientific research and social policy from the negative effects of unchecked speculation, and increased efficiency of the powerful process of scientific discovery and theorizing. The main reason for the decline of interest in teleology, however, is that analyses based on efficient causation proved to be far more specific and fruitful than teleological analyses. Instead of resting content with the statement that the final, internal purpose of an acorn is to grow into an oak, for example, the dynamism of natural change is now explained primarily through efficient causes: the acorn’s genetic capacities decisively constrain the chemical processes of growth made possible by the causal interactions between acorn and environment. That is an explanation that fosters further detailed development, and leads out into testable consequences, so it is far better suited to scientific theorizing. This abandonment of the explanatory contribution of final causes in favor of the greener pastures of efficient causes also has a significant disadvantage. It obscures some important perspectives that the teleological approach keeps in the forefront, such as the question of the ultimate basis for the amazing capacities of acorns. For this reason, final causes have never vanished into the realm of philosophical curiosities. There have always been thinkers willing to argue forcefully that ultimately satisfying explanations of nature cannot be achieved in isolation from the category of purpose, that ethics is untenable without final causes, or that God’s action in the world is impossible to discern if teleological categories are not admitted—into metaphysical explanations, if not physical ones. Moreover—and for my purposes this is crucial—ends in nature seem to be everywhere, and denying their reality on the basis of an efficient-causal reduction carried out only part-way in theoretical detail and the rest of the way in the imagination is probably hasty, and is certainly difficult to justify. Thus, there is no way preemptively to block the teleological argument for divine action by invoking the achievements of modernity against Aristotelian natural science and ethics.

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2.4. A Schema for Views of Teleology in the Evolutionary Process There have been many systematic interpretations of teleology, especially from West Asian philosophical traditions, but also from South and East Asia. Most influential in the West, without question, has been Aristotle’s vision of nature as a vast teleological organism. Most notable during the last two centuries is Hegel’s theory of the ever more profoundly reflexive, and logically determined, self-realization of Geist in history. Important in the last half of the twentieth century has been Whitehead’s cosmology, which offers an elaborately worked out and fundamentally teleological doctrine of causality in which the basic entities (occasions) of reality become actual through resolving prehended, antecedent influences under the sway of an initial aim fitted to the character of each occasion. As to South Asian philosophy, the basic concepts shared by many Indian philosophical schools, both Hindu and Buddhist, also yield the possibility of the literal application of teleological categories, though in a quite different way. In this case, generally speaking, nature is for, and only for, the sake of the liberation of souls; indeed, liberation consists in attaining the discrimination required fully to grasp (to put it in Hindu terms) that human consciousness is fundamentally different from, and actually more real than, nature. Another instance of understanding reality in teleological categories is the East Asian conception of the natural and social world as fundamentally a flowing together of events in harmony—originally and always at least potentially—with some larger cosmic pattern that is usually described as heaven or principle. There are other teleological visions of the world that, like these, have been developed in great detail over many centuries by philosophical traditions whose achievements are comparable in grandeur. All of these theories remain useful for rendering teleological categories literally applicable to natural objects and processes. Recent years have seen newer theories that are typically less philosophically developed but peculiarly well placed to deal with current understandings of nature from biology, chaos and complexity, and self-organization. In fact, the creation of these contemporary views of teleology in the evolutionary process has been inspired as much by evolutionary biology and the natural sciences generally as by the need to extend long-standing philosophical traditions, and so they are of special interest for my purposes. This is not the place to offer a survey of such views, however, because the book within which this article stands already contains a number of them. It is enough to note that they have been marked in recent years by a

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number of controversies that are relevant (positively or negatively) to the question of divine action. A review of four of those controversies permits a schematization of part of the range of theoretically possible positions on the issue of teleology, evolution, and divine action. 2.4.1. First Dispute: Teleology or No Teleology? To take a position on this issue is to answer the question posed in the first stage of the teleological argument for divine action about the possibility of finding a place for teleological categories in furnishing an ultimately satisfying account of apparent ends in nature. Obviously enough, apparent ends can be taken to be only apparent, leading to the denial that there is a fundamental, teleological principle at work in nature. This is the view of Richard Dawkins, who expounds Darwin’s theory precisely to show that ends in nature are only apparent. Picking up (as it were) William Paley’s analogy of the watch, mentioned above, Dawkins’ thesis is as follows: The analogy between the telescope and the eye, between watch and living organism, is false. All appearances to the contrary, the only watchmaker in nature is the blind forces of physics, albeit deployed in a very special way. A true watchmaker has foresight: he designs his cogs and springs, and plans their interconnections, with a future purpose in his mind’s eye. Natural selection, the blind, unconscious, automatic process which Darwin discovered, and which we now know is the explanation for the existence and apparently purposeful form of all life, has no purpose in mind. It has no mind and no mind’s eye. It does not plan for the future. It has no vision, no foresight, no sight at all. (5)

Dawkins freely admits that nature appears to be full of ends.21 It is this apparent design he intends to explain, and to explain away as apparent, without impugning its beauty and complexity. But the entire argument is directed toward the conclusion that the explanatory reduction achieved by Darwin and later theorists can be extended to an ontological reduction.22 A more strident or colorful statement of this case can scarcely be imagined. 21

The Blind Watchmaker, chapter 2 is an extended appreciation of the apparently designed character of so much in nature, and this is also a prominent theme throughout Climbing Mount Improbable. 22 Dawkins’ approach begins from an idiosyncratic definition of biological complexity, which functions as a criterion for the class of objects and processes equivalent with apparent ends. After dismissing a few problematic alternatives, Dawkins defines a complex object as “statistically improbable in a direction that is not specified with hindsight” (15). He is quite prepared to work with an alternative definition for the

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The opposite position is that at least some objects and process in nature appear to have ends because they really do have them in some metaphysically profound sense. This view has been affirmed in a variety of ways, corresponding to various strategies for locating the teleological grounding for apparent ends in natural objects and processes, as we shall see. Between these two opposed views lie intermediate possibilities that take a yes-and-no position in relation to the first dispute. An intriguing instance of this is based on—perhaps it is an imaginative extension of—Jacques Monod’s account of molecular and evolutionary biology in Chance and Necessity.23 Monod analyzes the appearance of ends in nature specifically in the realm of living beings. Living beings, he argues, have two distinguishing primary characteristics: teleonomy (being endowed with apparent purposes or projects), and reproductive invariance (the ability invariantly to pass information expressed in the structure of a living being through reproduction to other living beings). The interlocking of these two characteristics is what makes possible the increase of complexity through invariant reproduction in spite of the second law of thermodynamics: [I]nvariance is bought at not one penny above its thermodynamic price, thanks to the perfection of the teleonomic apparatus which, grudging of calories, in its infinitely complex task attains a level of efficiency rarely approached by man-made machines. This apparatus is entirely logical, wonderfully rational, and perfectly adapted to its purpose: to preserve and reproduce the structural norm. And it achieves this, not by departing from physical laws, but by exploiting them to the exclusive advantage of its personal idiosyncrasy. (20–21)

This interlocking of teleonomy and invariance is not only wonderful, Monod argues, but also in flagrant contradiction with what he calls the “cornerstone” of the scientific method: nature’s objectivity. While objec-

sake of argument, however, as the crux of his argument lies elsewhere. Note that he includes human-made objects as “honorary living things” (1–2,10). He considers that this class of objects and processes will be explained when an account of it is provided that is consistent with, and relies on nothing other than, the basic laws of physics. Chapter three is devoted to spelling out the special way that the laws of physics are deployed in evolutionary theory. 23 Jacques Monod, Chance and Necessity: An Essay on the Natural Philosophy of Modern Biology, tr. from the French by Austryn Wainhouse (New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 1971). Monod advances a form of existentialist polemic against all manner of vitalisms and animisms, superstitions, and self-deceptive metaphysics, in the name of a materialist “ethic of knowledge.”

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tivity, on Monod’s reading, requires “the systematic denial that ‘true’ knowledge can be got at by interpreting phenomena in terms of final causes” (21), it also calls for the frank recognition that living organisms realize and pursue purposes in their structure and activity (22). This is the epistemological contradiction that biology sets out to resolve. And resolve it biology does, with its answer that invariance is logically and physically prior to teleonomy. In a beautiful sentence, Monod describes this solution as: the Darwinian idea that the initial appearance, evolution, and steady refinement of ever more intensely teleonomic structures are due to perturbations occurring in a structure which already possesses the property of invariance—hence is capable of preserving the effects of chance and thereby submitting them to the play of natural selection. (23–24)

This is the key to Monod’s argument that the explanatory reduction of apparent ends in nature can be—must be—extended to an ontological reduction. Invariance only is ontologically primary; teleonomy is entirely derivative. In the logic of the case, this is the only conclusion possible if biology is to be epistemologically coherent (24). Monod does not fail to draw out the philosophical significance of this viewpoint. As he insists, it is spectacularly opposed to all other answers to the question about the strangeness of living beings. These answers Monod classifies into two groups: the vitalist identification of a teleological principle that operates in the sphere of living beings, and the animist affirmation of a universal teleological principle. Both the vitalist and animist views are well represented in religious, philosophical, political, and even scientific ideologies. Moreover, both assume the opposite answer to the one defended by biology, namely, that invariance is a manifestation of a metaphysically fundamental teleological principle (24). Why do so many powerful ideologies find themselves at odds with biology? According to Monod, “All religions, nearly all philosophies, and even a part of science testify to the unwearying, heroic effort of mankind desperately denying its own contingency” (44). This, then, is the entry point to Monod’s urging that the choice be taken—it cannot be scientifically or politically compelled—to embrace an ethic of knowledge. The ethic of knowledge, contrary to the ethic of vitalism or animism, distinguishes rigidly between value judgments and statements of knowledge. But it needs to be adopted, and this requires a subjective commitment to the fundamental value affirming the objectivity of knowledge.

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wesley j. wildman This is a crucial decision, because modern societies owe their material wherewithal to this fundamental ethic upon which knowledge is based, and their moral weakness to those value systems, devastated by knowledge, to which they still try to refer. The contradiction is deadly. It is what is digging the pit we see opening under our feet. The ethic of knowledge that created the modern world is the only ethic compatible with it, the only one capable, once understood and accepted, of guiding its evolution. (177)

More importantly, for my purposes, the existential commitment to the ethic of knowledge requires the rejection of metaphysically fundamental teleological principles. This takes courage, in Monod’s view, because we are culturally and (he thinks) probably genetically predisposed to desire security. The vision of ourselves as the products of teleonomic structures, grounded on reproductive invariance, and functioning essentially as amplifiers of random noise, brings us face to face with our contingency. Of course, it is the structure of natural laws and not chance that accounts for the emergence of complexity and the generally upward driving character of evolution. Nevertheless, natural selection “operates upon the products of chance and can feed nowhere else” (118–119). And just as chance bespeaks the contingency of our origins and development, so in the encounter with it, “man knows at last that he is alone in the universe’s unfeeling immensity, out of which he emerged only by chance. His destiny is nowhere spelled out, nor is his duty. The kingdom above or the darkness below: it is for him to choose” (180). While Monod clearly states and argues for the ontological reduction of teleonomy to reproductive invariability, therefore, he also speaks of chance as the feeding ground of natural selection, and as the great revealer of the contingency of all life, including especially of human beings. This indicates that, in Monod’s view, what might perhaps be called an “anti-teleological” principle is at work in nature. This principle of anarchy is necessary for all complex systems, and so potentially fruitful; yet it is also infinitely threatening, driving entropic dispersal of energy, promising the ultimate destruction of all order, and kept in check only by the capacity of natural selection to make creative use of it. In fact, to put the point so as to make its irony more evident, nature is utterly dependent on chance for its ability to stimulate adaptations in nature capable of deflecting the threat of chance. While Monod clearly denies fundamental teleological principles, therefore, his viewpoint is pregnant with suggestions that nature is something like a battle between teleonomic and chaotic tendencies; more precisely, it is ultimately an

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inexplicable, symbiotic dualism between a disruptive, anti-teleological principle (chance) and a constructive, ordering principle (natural laws). This is what makes his view an intriguing middle position in relation to the first dispute. 2.4.2. Second Dispute: Teleology Permits Achievement of Specific Goals? Another dispute bears on whether the fundamental teleological principle affirmed in any case is so constituted as to be amenable to the realization of specific purposes. To convey what is meant here requires first saying what is not meant: To use language introduced earlier, teleological processes can be open-ended, in which case they have a trajectory without a specific goal; or closed-ended, in which case they do have a specific goal. Though the question of whether there are any closed-ended complex systems is debated by some, and there are others who argue that evolution itself is closed-ended, these are peripheral views. All thinkers in the mainstream in this respect hold that complex systems are open-ended. The dispute is not about open-endedness versus closed-endedness. So, what is meant by this second dispute? It is possible to ask whether a fundamental teleological principle allows for the possibility that one specific goal out of the possible ends of an open-ended teleological process could somehow be achieved. This is easiest to conceive when an intentional agent (such as some tricky supernatural entity, perhaps) is thought to be the ultimate ground of, or to know how to manipulate, the fundamental teleological principle. In that case, would the supposed fundamental teleological principle permit this agent to bring about an intended goal? The point would need to be generalized from the case of an intentional agent to make sense of the views of the historicalevolutionary process expressed in Hegel’s logic, Rahner’s Christology, or Teilhard’s Omega Point, but this can be done. We must note that a fundamental teleological principle could be confined to the laws of nature, in deistic fashion, with the result that there is in this case no possibility of the principle or its divine wielder selecting out a particular end for realization in a teleological process.24

24

Paul Davies interprets what I am calling the fundamental teleological principle in this way. See The Cosmic Blueprint: New Discoveries in Nature’s Creative Ability to Order the Universe (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1988), and The Mind of God: The Scientific Basis for a Rational World (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992). Also see Davies’ essay in CTNS/VO, v. III.

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Alternatively, a fundamental teleological principle could embrace both law and chance, thus making conceivable a process of top-down causation or whole-part constraint whereby God might elect to manipulate complex systems so as to select out for realization one particular end out of all those permitted by natural laws.25 This would be a form of teleological realization that is consistent with natural laws in the sense that it does not involve breaking or suspending them. 2.4.3. Third Dispute: Internal Relations or Complexity? Most thinkers involved in evolutionary biology hold that high-level characteristics of living systems are due to the complexity of arrangement of component parts. On this view, for example, the biological feature of the human brain called consciousness is only the highest level property of a hierarchy of large scale characteristics of the brain, including in the middle reaches its structure and function, and at the lower levels its texture, color, weight, and size. On the other hand, some thinkers hold that emergence due to complexity of arrangement is inadequate as an explanation of the products of biological evolution. Rather, complex organisms must be interpreted as communities of fundamental elements, each of which has the character it does only in relation to the other constituents of the organism. This is the doctrine of internal relations, and it promotes the contention that properties of 25 This approach is taken by many theologians. Arthur Peacocke in Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural, Divine and Human, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, London: SCM, 1993) tends not to use explicitly teleological categories, but he does take this approach to divine action. Also see Peacocke’s essay in this volume. Process philosophers and theologians are interesting on this point. Some would allow that the fundamental teleological principle could select out a particular end for realization in an open-ended teleological process, as appears to be the case in Marjorie Hewitt Suchocki’s Christology, for example, though not everywhere in her writing. See God, Christ, Church (New York: Crossroad, 1989), especially Part III, “God as Presence.” Other phases of that book appear to be in sharp tension with the tendency to require specific outcomes of open-ended process that appears at times in connection with the Christology, especially as regards the perfection of Jesus’ response to the (divine) initial aim. Others (such as Alfred North Whitehead, Charles Hartshorne, and Charles Birch) would reject this possibility. John Cobb usually tilts decisively in the latter direction, but on rare occasions, perhaps anxious to find continuities with traditional Christian teaching, he seems to lean in the former direction. See, for example, the view of Jesus Christ espoused in John Cobb, Christ in a Pluralistic Age (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975), which I would say requires certain specific outcomes to be effected in openended teleological processes. This is a complex case, however, and cannot be argued here. Process philosophy does, however, allow that nature is open to persuasion toward specific, possible outcomes at every point.

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a living organism do not emerge inexplicably from thin air, but from incipient possibilities already present in its constituent elements.26 On one view, the doctrine of internal relations is superfluous, a metaphysical enthusiasm; while on the other it is necessary to make sense of self-organization, and is even an unacknowledged implication of the emergence-due-to-complexity-of-arrangement view.27 2.4.4. Fourth Dispute: Ground of Teleology—Laws, Chance, or Basic Constituents? When a fundamental teleological principle is affirmed, it is natural to inquire as to how it shows up in nature. Perhaps it is expressed only in the laws of nature. Perhaps it is expressed also in anarchic chance or—which probably amounts to the same thing in view of the sensitivity of complex systems close to bifurcations—in boundary conditions. Or perhaps the fundamental teleological principle is also expressed in the basic constituents of nature, which we might expect to be the case for some forms of panpsychism or dipolar metaphysics. It is certainly the case for those views affirming the doctrine of internal relations. There is an important correlation between positions taken on the first three disputes and positions taken on the fourth. This correlation appears in the similarity between the pairs of columns marked A, B, and C in the following table, where “Y” and “N” denote “Yes” and “No” respectively, “N/A” denotes “not applicable,” and “Disputes” refers to the disputes described in this section. Four hypothetical positions are assigned Roman numerals in the first column; I have already mentioned examples of each. The great virtue of this schema is that it highlights some of the metaphysical decisions that need to be settled in the three stages of the teleological argument for divine action. In so doing, it illumines the complexity of that argument and the difficulty of prosecuting it— especially its second stage—without heavy reliance on highly contentious

26 Here again, process philosophers make an interesting contribution. See, for example, the affirmation of the doctrine of internal relations in Charles Birch and John B. Cobb, Jr., The Liberation of Life: From the Cell to the Community (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University, 1981), and Birch, A Purpose for Everything: Religion in a Postmodern Worldview (Kensington: New South Wales University Press; Mystic: Twenty-Third Publications, 1990). 27 This contrast is most evident when Davies’ view is compared to that of Birch and Cobb.

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wesley j. wildman Table 2. Four types of views on teleology in biological evolution

Views

Type I Type II Type III Type IV

Key disputes about teleology

How teleology is expressed in nature

Dispute 1: Teleological categories are nonreducible? [A]

Dispute 2: Teleology permits specific goals? [B]

Dispute 3: Internal relations are needed? [C]

Dispute 4: In the laws of nature?

Dispute 4: In chance or boundary conditions?

Dispute 4: In the basic constituents of nature?

[A]

[B]

[C]

N Y Y Y

N/A N Y Y

N N N Y

N Y Y Y

N N Y Y

N N N Y

metaphysical premises. The column for “Dispute 1” corresponds to one aspect of the first stage of the teleological argument for divine action, from apparent ends in nature to affirmation of the teleological capacities of natural objects and processes. The column for “Dispute 2” corresponds to one of the factors influencing the third stage, which moves from a metaphysical theory affirming a fundamental teleological principle to an interpretation of divine action. The columns for “Dispute 3” and “Dispute 4” correspond to some of the aspects of the second stage—though the correlation between the pairs of columns marks A, B, and C means that the whole diagram is needed for understanding the character of the second stage. It must be pointed out immediately that, although these four types of views cover some interesting metaphysical waters, the range of options is much wider when the metaphysical net is cast deeper into the richness of Western metaphysics or wider to East and South Asian philosophy. Even so, this schematization offers one way to conceptualize part of the range of views that may be taken (with varying degrees of justification) on the question of teleology in the evolutionary process.

3. The First Stage: Teleology and Nature From physical cosmology’s cosmic anthropic principle to zoological morphology, from the status of natural laws to the analysis of toolwielding animals, from the interpretation of literature to the ascribing of responsibility in legal traditions, the appearance of ends is ubiquitous. The first stage of the teleological argument for divine action begins with this observation and attempts to establish that real purposes give rise

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to at least some of these appearances. But this raises the question: How can we tell whether ends are merely apparent or real? More generally: Do teleological categories have some advantages in spite of the objections to them in contemporary science.28 3.1. The Evolutionary Objection to Real Ends in Nature The debate over the reducibility of natural ends has classic status in Western philosophy. It is evident, for example, in Aristotle’s critiques of his predecessors, especially Democritus: Democritus, however, neglecting the final cause, reduces to necessity all the operations of Nature. Now they are necessary, it is true, but yet they are for a final cause and for the sake of what is best in each case. . . . [T]o say that necessity is the only cause is much as if we should think that the water has been drawn off from a dropsical patient on account of the lancet, not on account of health, for the sake of which the lancet made the incision. (On the Generation of Animals V.8, 789b.3–6,11–15).

Leaving aside Aristotle’s questionable agreement with Democritus on the necessity of nature’s processes, but following his main point, this debate can be expressed briefly in the form of a single question: Does the usefulness of efficient-causal explanations of apparent ends in nature justify the conclusion that apparent ends are only apparent? Evolutionary biology has produced the strongest possible reason for answering this question affirmatively, thereby threatening to bring the teleological argument for divine action to a grinding halt before it has completed its first step. The evolutionary objection to real ends in nature in its philosophical form is actually ancient in origins. Aristotle himself, drawing on the thought of Democritus, stated and attempted to refute it: [W]hy should not nature work, not for the sake of anything, nor because it is better so, but just as the sky rains, not in order to make the corn grow, but of necessity? . . . if a man’s crop is spoiled on the threshingfloor, the rain did not fall for the sake of this—in order that the crop might be spoiled—but that result just followed. Why then should it not be the same with the parts in nature, e.g. that our teeth should come up of necessity—the front teeth sharp, fitted for tearing, the molars broad

28 It is because of this bias that Richard Feynman’s demonstration that classical mechanics can be based entirely on least action principles (which are teleological in a certain sense) is so striking.

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wesley j. wildman and useful for grinding down the food—since they did not arise for this end, but it was merely a coincident result; and so with all other parts in which we suppose that there is a purpose? Wherever then all the parts came about just what they would have been if they had come to be for an end, such things survived, being organized spontaneously in a fitting way; whereas those which grew otherwise perished and continue to perish, as Empedocles says his ‘man-faced ox progeny’ did. (Physics II.8, 198b.17–32)

This is a remarkable passage, partly because it mentions ideas such as fitness for survival and spontaneous organization, which eerily anticipate contemporary discussions, and partly because of its sensitivity to the logical possibility that the appearance of natural ends may not be due to the existence of ends in nature. But Aristotle’s multi-pronged attack on this beautiful statement of the evolutionary objection is ineffective (Physics II.8, 198b.34–199b.32), so I will not take space to criticize his replies. What is the logical force of this ancient objection after more than a century of development of the theory of biological evolution? It is clear that evolutionary theory imparts tremendous momentum to the evolutionary objection: whereas Democritus was simply speculating, Darwin and others adduced powerful evidence that those speculations were right on target. But I do not think the evolutionary objection is any more logically forceful because of evolutionary biology. To see this, consider the two-fold logical point of the evolutionary objection, in either its ancient or modern form. The most forceful argument flowing from the evolutionary objection is not that evolutionary biology furnishes proof that Aristotle’s teleology is mistaken—after all, metaphysical speculation can render almost any hypothesis secure from threat—but only that it is arbitrary, a charge fierce enough to worry a metaphysician. If the evolutionary theory of Darwin (or Darwin’s successors or Democritus; it makes no difference) is correct, real ends in nature are superfluous: explanations in terms of ordinary efficient causes can account for all apparently ended natural objects and processes. In this way, evolutionary biology supposedly removes all of the good reasons in support of grand teleological visions, leaving their assertion in any form—from Aristotle to Whitehead—merely an imposition of philosophical taste. Thus, the evolutionary objection undermines arguments for real ends in nature without directly attacking the teleological hypothesis itself. To develop a direct attack—again, in Democritus’ time or our own—it

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is necessary to invoke an Ockhamistic minimalism that seeks to keep the metaphysical shelves as free as possible of amusing but pointless metaphysical trinkets such as real ends that do not explain anything. This brings to the evolutionary objection a more metaphysical cast, as follows: theoretical explanations based on efficient causation account fully for apparent ends in nature, and human (and perhaps other animal) intending lies at the basis of everything with real purpose in nature and history. Therefore, there is no need to clutter the shelves with a second level of pseudo-explanations in the form of ends in natural objects and processes. Keep things simple, and the apparent ends in most of nature are justifiably concluded to be epiphenomenal appearances of a complex and wonderful biological process. The ground of that process as a whole is a separate question that may call for a teleonomic answer with regard to the fundamental laws of nature—that is, one that ascribes inherently telic characteristics to those laws—but it does not change anything about the conclusion just reached concerning the ends of most objects and processes of nature being epiphenomenal. It is common to see rhetorical flourishes in which this argument overextends itself—perhaps by hiding its reliance on Ockham’s razor, by ignoring the final caveat about the need for an explanation of the laws of nature themselves, or by trying to treat even conscious human purposes as epiphenomenal.29 When its conceptual forcefulness is not squandered in these ways, however, the evolutionary objection is genuinely impressive. It forces the first stage of the teleological argument for divine action—and indeed any assertion of real ends in nature—to overcome the reasonable principle of metaphysical minimalism and the blunt charge of metaphysical arbitrariness. Is this possible? 3.2. Evaluating the Evolutionary Objection The two points at which the evolutionary objection is vulnerable are its heavy reliance on a principle of metaphysical minimalism, and its sweeping claim that all ends in nature outside of purposes associated with the act of intending can be exhaustively explained by means of efficient causes and without reference to final causes. First, there are plenty of good ethical and theoretical arguments for metaphysical minimalism, but both ethics and the theory of inquiry

29

For a similar critique, see George Ellis in CTNS/VO, v. III.

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demand that a balance be achieved among all relevant considerations. It is conceivable, then, that real ends could sneak back in through being necessary for theoretical consistency, even though efficient causes exhaustively explain the appearance of ends. That is the essence of the reply to the evolutionary objection that teleological metaphysicians from Aristotle to Whitehead offer. For example, Aristotle’s failure to rebut the evolutionary objection in detail makes little difference, because he relies most heavily on his constructive metaphysical theory to establish that ends in nature are more than merely apparent. This heavy reliance on a more general metaphysical theory is typical in this area. As I said before, though in absence of a definite argument to support my claim, affirmations of real ends in nature can be made only indirectly by means of arguments for a large-scale metaphysical theory that imply real ends in nature. We simply cannot read through apparent ends to real ends, as Paley famously contended we could. So, then, we are able to state a necessary condition for the success of the first stage of the teleological argument for divine action: it requires that a metaphysical scheme postulating real natural ends can be shown to be superior to its competitors. And in this battle, the principle of metaphysical minimalism is but one of many criteria for superiority that must be collectively evaluated. Of course, such a metaphysical scheme must also be consistent with some interpretation of divine action, but that is a mere detail at this stage. Second, and more pointedly, how we are to decide that evolutionary explanations based on efficient causes do indeed exhaustively account for the appearance of ends in the biological sphere, so that we may justifiably conclude that explanations based on final causes are superfluous? This is a much more perplexing question than it may seem at first glance, and the perplexity has both scientific and philosophical wings. On the scientific side, recent attempts within some branches of neo-Darwinian evolutionary theory to theorize about and perhaps to identify higher-level laws of self-organization and complexity suggest that the biological data itself may not admit of exhaustive accounts in terms of efficient causes. But this enterprise is still in its infancy, and thus too difficult to evaluate. On the philosophical side, where debate on this question has been extensive, the considerations are too many to evaluate in passing. I will therefore mention just two issues; both are representative of the wider discussion. On the one hand, at the most basic level, the theory of efficient causation faces many famous problems, some of vagueness and others of

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consistency. With regard to vagueness, if the theory of causation is to be spelled out in any detail, the door is opened to inherently teleological accounts such as Whitehead’s, and then real ends in nature come flooding back in with enough conceptual integrity to overcome the objections of Ockhamistic minimalism. With regard to consistency, quantum mechanics and quantum cosmology seem to demand an atemporal theory of causation, which throws the common sense account of efficient causation—with its fundamentally temporal cast—into profound doubt. The need for reconstruction invites many visions of causation, including possibly some for which teleological categories are basic.30 On the other hand, the very task of showing that evolutionary theory exhaustively accounts for apparent ends by means of efficient causation is challenging. The efficient-causal story in any instance is more complex than we can now, or possibly ever, manage in detail. Some process metaphysicians and other thinkers leap into this gap and predict that the efficient-causal account will always remain incomplete on its own terms because teleological categories are essential even for an adequate empirical analysis of nature (this is the third dispute, above). Other thinkers, including some other process metaphysicians, see no gap at all but simply assume that achieving completeness of the efficientcausal account on its own terms is a task limited only by time, energy, money, and other practical considerations. I have little confidence in the intuition of the former group and, based on the ever-increasing detail of efficient-causal accounts of episodes in evolutionary biology, I am inclined to throw my lot in with the latter group. The weaknesses of the evolutionary objection, it seems, are thoroughly metaphysical in character. If so, then empirical tests will be unable ever to demonstrate that teleological categories are indispensable for adequate efficient-causal accounts within evolutionary biology. Does this, then, constitute victory for the evolutionary objection to the first stage of the teleological argument for divine action? Has this objection demonstrated that the use of teleological categories is metaphysically arbitrary, allowing the clean use of Ockham’s razor to cut away all teleological speculations? No. The evolutionary objection is much more ambitious than merely establishing the efficient-causal accounts can do the explaining without help from teleological categories, as I have shown. It seeks to justify

30

See, for example, the contribution of Robert John Russell to CNTS/VO, v. III.

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the use of the metaphysical criterion of Ockhamistic minimalism to block the use of teleological categories, and showing metaphysical arbitrariness in the use of those categories is the means for achieving that end. The first stage of the teleological argument for divine action has a strike against it because teleological categories are superfluous in empirical explanations, but it has not yet struck out. To avoid striking out, it is necessary to engage the metaphysical questions associated with judgments of arbitrariness—and that is precisely what the second stage of the argument seeks to do. The burden of proof has shifted, though: the evolutionary objection has seized the initiative and the teleological argument now must show good cause why anyone ought to think that teleological categories might have some virtue. To that end, consider a simple example. A genetically-based capacity more effectively to regulate blood composition conferred on animals possessing it a survival advantage that could be transferred to at least some offspring. Random variations, sometimes in competitive environments, then led both to the development of extremely efficient wasteprocessing organs, such as kidneys, and to the misleading appearance that kidneys are for the sake of waste processing, that waste processing is their natural end. Good point, of course, but—dare Aristotle’s reply to Democritus be invoked here?—kidneys are for the sake of waste processing. What precisely is wrong with the teleological language here: “for the sake of”? How is it ruled out by the furnishing of a detailed story of the origin and development of the kidney? This problem can be cast into a helpful light by noticing another misleading appearance of kidneys, namely, that they look designed for the sake of waste processing, in the sense of being the result in their current form of a specific intention. This really is a misleading appearance, because it suggests some other story at the level of efficient causation than actually applies. The history of the design argument (in William Paley’s form, for example) bears this out: to the extent that it made any suggestions about efficient causation, it has collapsed, and has only been able to reestablish itself at the level of the laws of nature, removed from the realm of efficient causation to the realm of the condition for the possibility of the operation of efficient causes, in which context “design” is a thoroughly abstract notion. Saying that the kidney is for the sake of waste processing, however, says nothing about efficient causes. It is much easier to push the appearance of design off the playing field of efficient causation, therefore, than it is to provide an exhaustive explanatory reduction of apparent ends in terms of efficient causes.

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If nothing else, this shows that Aristotle thought a lot harder and more clearly about causation than is sometimes assumed. This is essentially his reply, after all. But more needs to be said, and to take the discussion further, it is necessary to ask about the nature of those ends on account of which we say “kidneys are for the sake of waste processing.” Two levels of answer present themselves, and the distinction between these two is of the utmost importance for the teleological argument for divine action. On the first level, “being for the sake of ” may be a functional way of speaking about the properties of the thing in question in some larger context. For example, waste processing is a property that is only functional in the context of a living body, and “being for the sake of ” expresses that context silently. To see this, imagine a change of context, which for me brings up memories of having to eat steak and kidney pie as a child. In that case, kidneys are for the sake of eating. The examples can be multiplied. The signification of “for the sake of ” shifts with the context in which the kidney is considered. Now, if this was all there was to be said about the ends, then ends in nature could be admitted without interfering with efficient-causal explanations, and the richer structure of a teleological metaphysics really would be superfluous. On the second level, however, one context may have priority over the others in the sense that it is the natural context for thinking about the natural end of kidneys. This is, of course, a way to say that the functional analysis just given may not exhaust what of significance can be said about the end of kidneys. Indeed, it is the story furnished at the level of efficient causation about the development and function of kidneys that determines the natural context for assessing the natural end of kidneys. In that context, asserting that “kidneys are for the sake of waste processing” has a more fundamental status than the statement “kidneys are for the sake of eating” has in any context. It is the fundamental status of the natural end that so impressed Aristotle; it has always driven, and will continue to drive, teleologically minded thinkers to try to speak of natural ends as a way of capturing what is important in nature, even if such ends have no part in functionalempirical accounts of evolutionary biology. This is a subtle point, so let me be as clear as I can. We know roughly how kidneys developed the capacities and functions that they have. We can tell this story of origins and development in some detail without recourse to categories of purpose. We can show how this process gives kidneys the appearance of having been designed, even though no self-

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conscious, intentional designer needs to be invoked for the empirical story to work—and this exclusion of an intentional designer in no way inhibits our sense of wonder about kidneys. We can also show how this process gives kidneys a purpose relative to their function in the animal bodies that have them. But we can’t treat the appearance of purpose in the same way as we do the appearance of design. A better analogy is this: we can speak of qualia without affecting neurobiological accounts of brain function one way or another, so the decision about whether to speak of qualia must turn on other issues. Likewise, our speaking of purposes (or not) has no effect on the causal story of biological evolution, so other reasons must decide whether to use teleological categories. Just as there is a reason to speak of qualia (they just seem so indispensable for saying what is important about a person even though we know they are biologically produced), so there is a reason to speak of purposes (they just seem so indispensable for saying what is important about nature even though we know they are biologically produced). The question is, therefore, whether the reasons for speaking of real natural ends are good enough to outweigh the contention of the evolutionary objection that their use is philosophically arbitrary. 3.3. A Place for Teleology With this, then, we come to the crux of the debate about natural ends (other than purposes associated with acts of intending). The first stage of the teleological argument for divine action cannot be resolved without a metaphysical judgment about the value of using teleological categories. They are arbitrary in respect of not helping empirical accounts of nature (that’s bad) but they are useful for expressing what is important and natural about natural processes (that’s good). Weighing all such considerations together is the only alternative. Naturalness is an aesthetic category like beauty, however, so “accounting for naturalness” is not a task to which efficient-causal explanations are well-suited. The same goes for accounting for value, importance, and the like. If teleological categories help us deal with such matters, then it is genuinely difficult to remove the need for a metaphysical articulation of teleological categories in any complete explanation of biological evolution (notwithstanding the completeness of the efficient-causal account on its own terms). At this stage, with teleology reappearing, it is vital to remember that the evolutionary objection has had an effect on this debate. For example,

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due to its influence, any claim that teleological categories are necessary for efficient-causal explanations of apparent ends is desperately weak. But teleological categories can no more be kept from the task of “accounting for naturalness” than can metaphysics in general be kept from the human imagination. Kant thought of these as understandable but misleading impulses, but I see no sound reason decisively to ban either, Kant to the contrary notwithstanding. Teleology may only appear as teleonomy, at the level of the laws of nature, but appear it ought. So, while admitting that this is a complex judgment involving balancing competing considerations, I conclude that there is a place for teleological categories in accounting for apparent ends in nature. But exactly what place is this? This question brings us to the first metaphysical crossroads of the teleological argument for divine action, with two more to come later. The way teleological categories are actually wielded varies. Some philosophers, theologians and scientists would be inclined to find real ends underlying apparent ends by virtue of the laws of nature (for example, Davies). Some would make use of a philosophical strategy hinging on supervenience, whereby multiple independent descriptions of the same process can each be true on its own level (for example Murphy).31 Some (such as myself ) are inclined to resort to teleology to engage the topics of value and importance in nature. And, as I have mentioned, there are even a few (including some extremists in the process philosophy camp) who contend that teleological categories are needed even to produce adequate efficient-causal accounts of apparent ends in nature. I have argued only that teleological categories cannot be entirely ruled out of comprehensive explanations for apparent ends in nature, and I have suggested that I find the causalgap prediction of the last option breathtaking but implausible. To that I will add only that the other options seem compatible, and that every option, even the supervenience strategy, requires contextualization in a wider metaphysical theory to achieve intelligibility.32

31 See Nancey Murphy’s essay in CTNS/VO, v. III for a definition and discussion of supervenience (primarily with regard to ethics). See also William Stoeger’s use of this concept in CTNS/VO, v. III. 32 Nancey Murphy denies this; see her essay CTNS/VO, v. III. Murphy adopts the supervenience strategy in order to argue for the feasibility of higher-order language about ethics and theology, yet feels no need to explain how those higher order languages relate in detail to other levels of discourse about the world, for which metaphysics is indispensable. This freedom from the worries of metaphysics is held to be a desirable state of affairs to which we are propelled by Wittgenstein’s later philosophy. By

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wesley j. wildman 4. The Second Stage: Teleology and Metaphysics

The second stage of the teleological argument for divine action attempts to situate the affirmation of the reality of natural ends in a broader metaphysical theory that is capable of presenting real natural ends as instances of a more general fundamental teleological principle. This metaphysical context is the bridge between real ends in nature and a theory of divine action, and must be compatible with both. It is clear that real ends in nature can be metaphysically contextualized in a variety of ways. The question for evaluation here is whether the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action can successfully move from real ends in nature to only those metaphysical theories that are amenable to divine action (in some sense), avoiding all otherwise adequate metaphysical theories that are antagonistic to divine action. The answer to this question is negative, I shall argue, notwithstanding the fact that the science-religion literature at the present time exhibits views with a strong correlation between being friendly to teleology and being friendly to divine action. This, therefore, is the second crossroads at which a wealth of metaphysical choices obstructs the clear lines of inference needed by the teleological argument for divine action. 4.1. Counterexamples: Teleology without Divine Action The obvious place to begin is with arguments that the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action cannot succeed. For this, it is necessary to find examples clearly illustrating that real ends in nature can be contextualized in metaphysical systems that are both antagonistic to divine action and otherwise adequate, or at least comparable in adequacy to metaphysical systems within which divine action can be imagined. There are a number of such counterexamples, and I shall mention several from a variety of philosophical traditions here.

contrast, I take this attempt at maintaining higher-order worlds of discourse while bypassing questions of metaphysical and all manner of intellectual connections to other language games to be strategically futile (it fails to secure the long-term stability of ethical and theological discourse) and philosophically wrong-headed (it is mistaken in its assumption of substantial independence between such language games and presupposes an inadequate theory of inquiry). A partial argument for the operating theory of inquiry from which these critiques may be inferred is in my “Similarities and Differences in the Practice of Science and Theology.”

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First, and most obviously, Aristotle’s teleological metaphysics posits real natural ends but is antagonistic toward divine action in all of the usual senses. On the one hand, by holding that the universe is everlasting, Aristotle tried to block the specter of creation, which he seems to have thought robbed the God-world relation of its aesthetically pleasing necessary character. On the other hand, God’s role as the ground of the giant teleological organism that is the universe was understood by Aristotle as thoroughly automatic, which is to say, precisely the opposite of deliberate. To be the prime mover in Aristotle’s understanding does not imply that God undertakes any specific actions. On the contrary, just as motion has to be understood as change in accordance with the fulfillment of the nature of a thing, so a thing’s nature or purpose cannot be understood unless there is a principle of order in which all natures participate. God is this principle, for Aristotle. God neither begins a chain of efficient causes as an efficient cause, nor interferes with it, nor creates the universe in which this dynamism of change occurs. Perhaps it might be argued that Aristotle’s God does act in the sense of being creative; after all, God does at times seem to be thought of by Aristotle along the lines of the creative part of human rationality. Furthermore, this is how God acts in Whitehead’s teleology. But Aristotle’s God neither persuades nor reconciles the actuality of the world in the consequent nature, as Whitehead’s God does. And the analogy for God of the active human intellect goes nowhere when such creative characteristics are not affirmed. Whitehead’s God does act, even though not through creation as such, nor through the expression of particular, specific intentions (which has not stopped process theologians from affirming the divine expression of such intentions necessary to speak of special events within “salvation history”). But Aristotle’s God does not act, because it is fully actualized with no potential. It is not creative, but rather the serenely all-present principle of nature. This view of Aristotle’s was arguably also present in Plato, in a related way. By the middle Platonists, however, it had already weakened because the forms came to be identified with the ideas of God, thus making God more closely analogized by the active intellect of human creativity. Slowly and unsurprisingly after the middle Platonists, the concept of creation became firmly established in Western and especially Christian philosophy—creatio ex nihilo, no less—and then, no matter what else is said about God, God at least acts in creating determinate reality. After the time of Aristotle, therefore, his view is hard to find in the West, even though conceiving nature as a vast teleological organism cannot

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easily be argued to be less metaphysically persuasive than thinking of it as the result of an act of divine creation. Indeed, the former view has the advantage of a less stringent form of the problem of theodicy. Outside of the West, views similar to Aristotle’s are found in Chinese philosophy, both ancient and modern. In this case, the concept of li, in the sense of principle, is central. It is what is expressed in the nature of individual objects and processes, and in their coming together to make an orderly world. Yet it is usually not considered as an active principle, but rather as changeless. Divine action makes little sense on this view, too, yet it is one of the greatest and stablest metaphysical systems the world has known. A second type of teleology-without-divine-action viewpoint is widespread in South Asian philosophy, but requires a shift in the focus of teleology. Madhyamaka Buddhist philosophy—say, in the thought of Bhavaviveka—offers an example. Here we have a metaphysics without God, and so without divine action. Yet nature has a definite purpose, albeit one that dissipates into nothing as properly discriminating human beings see the world for what it really is. What is that purpose? Nature is dependently co-arising with human consciousness; the suffering, frustration, and weary repetition of nature reflect our own delusion. We achieve liberation when we attain the discrimination needed to end all attachment to conventional reality, including our own being. Western philosophers are quick to ask why our attachment results in so interesting and public a delusion. Buddhist philosophy, and South Asian philosophy in general, has been relatively weak in answering this question, but for a good reason. To appeal to a famous image from the Buddhist fire sermon, when a house is burning down around you, the only important thing to do is to escape; studying the intricate patterns on the wallpaper on the way out is absurdly, dangerously beside the point. Somehow, our deluded state creates impressions of things with apparent reality, including ourselves, and it is neither possible nor ultimately interesting or important to know why it is so. However, the suffering ubiquitous in this dependently co-arising world is the great clue to its ultimate unreality, and so to its ultimate purpose: to help us wake up, and flee the flames. Here, then, we have a teleological principle for nature as a whole and for individual instances of suffering (including most ordinary events and processes in one respect), but it has little explicit to say about real ends in natural objects and processes. However, this teleological principle is embedded in a truly powerful metaphysical perspective with

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an enormously sophisticated history of development. Conceivably the development of this view could lead to the answering of wallpaper-type questions about evolutionary biology, in which case it could be rendered a more fully fleshed-out counterexample to the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action. Though Buddhist philosophy typically has not been interested in such explanatory possibilities, it may have to become more engaged in them if it is effectively to engage the natural science of the modern world. Indeed, signs of growing interest are already evident as Buddhism becomes better established in the West. A third type of counterexample derives from certain mystical theologies in theistic traditions. These theologies have two characteristics: the affirmation of nature as a telic process within the life of God (in a sense) and the denial that talk of divine action makes religious or philosophical sense. God on this view is infinitely hard to describe: every symbolic characterization of God is needed in the path by which the soul ascends to unity with the divine and yet each fails decisively and must be contradicted and refused on that same path. This embrace of contradictions and frank acknowledgement of the failure of human cognition are neither needed nor desirable for the comprehension of much in nature and human life, but they are essential in approaching divine realities. Thus, this view is not irrational but rather supremely rational through clearly recognizing the limits of human wisdom at precisely the point where reason’s self-deception can have the most harmful effects. This view can adopt a highly teleological analysis of nature along any number of lines and yet typically will speak of divine action and divine intentions only as a first-order approximation to a deeper mystery; better approximations leave intentional and personal categories for God behind. Here again, then, we have a viewpoint that can be highly sympathetic to fundamental teleological principles in various forms and yet is finally profoundly uninterested in talk of divine action. This view has made its presence known more recently in the radical theologies of the twentieth century. The blending of atheism and religious sensibility in these theologies is profound, in my judgment, and truly expressive of the richness of Western theological insight. Moreover, in all such cases, the category of divine action is ultimately inapplicable. It is interesting to me that there are so few examples in the West of metaphysical systems that are teleological in character and yet unsympathetic to all three classes of divine action: creation, creativity, and

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the expression of specific divine intentions. The perspective of mystical theology has usually been marginalized in the history of Western theology, and Aristotle is ancient. We might be inclined to suppose, by sheer weight of Western habit since the invention of the concept of creation, that the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action is successful in moving from real ends in nature to metaphysical theories of fundamental teleological principles that are only ever amenable, and never antagonistic, to divine action in some form. Even a rudimentary knowledge of South and East Asian philosophy will save us from this mistake. But just one counterexample is sufficient to block the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action, and the ancient Western example of Aristotle fills the bill, providing it is a basically viable metaphysical view. To assess this crucial caveat, some evaluation of these teleological metaphysical views is in order. 4.2. Evaluating the Counterexamples To give the teleological argument for divine action its due, let us continue by noting how constrained are the options for providing a metaphysical framework for real ends in nature without introducing a conception of a God who acts: there are just two. On the one hand, we may decline to furnish a fundamental teleological principle as an explanation for real natural ends. That is, we could try to affirm real ends in nature while denying that any fundamental teleological principle is expressed therein, which prevents real natural ends from ever receiving a metaphysical contextualization that might be relevant to divine action. This amounts to denying that real natural ends are coordinated with each other, much as human intentional ends are frequently uncoordinated with each other (as human societies demonstrate). The key philosophical move here parallels the pluralistic rejection of metaphysical monisms. This view threatens to be philosophically unstable, however, because it is probably simpler to drop real ends and dispense with teleology in nature at large altogether. That is, this view is likely to trip over the criterion of metaphysical adequacy I have been calling Ockhamistic minimalism. On the other hand, we might admit a fundamental teleological principle—called God by some, li by others, and strategically unnamed by yet others—and conceive this principle so as to block any further move toward divine action. This fundamental teleological principle would be impersonal, without specific intentions, neither creative nor a creator,

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so it could not meaningfully be said to act. All of the candidates for counterexamples in the last section are of this kind. Yet in all of these cases the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action retains a fighting chance. Even a small philosophical nudge—by the questions about there being something rather than nothing, or about the public character of nature—threatens to push such a fundamental teleological principle into a conception of God that creates or is creative. While this threat can be effectively rebuffed, I think the history of Western philosophy shows how difficult it is (at least for that philosophical tradition) to resist the impulse of such questions toward positing a God that acts as a creator or as creative. This accounts for the fundamental attractiveness of the teleological argument for divine action: if only we can show that there are real ends in nature (supposedly the hard part), then it is only a short hop to the reality of divine action (supposedly the easy leg of the journey). Well, the second stage of the argument does not live up to this promise, but it is interesting to see how close it gets. It gets close enough, in fact, that another question presents itself: What more, if anything, can be done to make the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action successful? It would be necessary to solve the problem of the conflict induced by a plurality of (at least superficially) adequate metaphysical contextualizations of real ends in nature. It may be that some would assert that these alternative teleological-metaphysical visions are fundamentally inadequate, perhaps just because they are not amenable to divine action, or for other reasons. That certainly takes courage, at least at this early stage of the process of systematic comparative metaphysics. This is not the place to establish the relative adequacy of a rainbow of metaphysical views. But it is appropriate to insist here that such well-attested, long-standing views of reality cannot be dismissed cavalierly. Indeed, at least with regard to such majestic worldviews as those I have mentioned, the presumption of adequacy must be granted until a preponderance of evidence to the contrary is established. Nor will it do to satisfy oneself with identifying a weakness merely in one respect, for all metaphysical systems have weaknesses, and evaluating overall superiority must comprehend questions of balance and emphasis. The task of comparative metaphysics is genuinely difficult. Reality seems susceptible of description by multiple, conflicting, adequate metaphysical schemes, and a non-arbitrary approach finds soundly-argued decisions among such theories infuriatingly difficult to construct. This is the famous problem of metaphysical ambiguity.

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4.3. Metaphysical Ambiguity This problem of metaphysical ambiguity has been the chief source of despair over metaphysics in the West from ancient times. The Sophists cited it as evidence of the intellectual corruption of Socrates, Kant of his Leibnizian heritage, Kierkegaard of Hegel, Ayer and Wittgenstein of the entire metaphysical tradition. Every philosophical tradition worldwide shows signs of skepticism induced by the specter of metaphysical ambiguity. Now, we ought to recall that the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action does not need to justify the one true metaphysics (though the third stage needs more) but only the more modest result of merely excluding teleological views antagonistic toward divine action. Perhaps, after all, the problem of metaphysical ambiguity can be overcome to the extent needed through an ongoing process of diligent comparison and analysis in relation to carefully examined and constantly revised criteria for theoretical adequacy. Unfortunately, it is obvious that the problem of metaphysical ambiguity is very far from being overcome, even to this modest extent. Moreover, we appear to lack even some crucial tools for accomplishing it, such as a tradition of systematic inquiry into categories used in cross-cultural, metaphysical comparisons.33 We must ask, then, exactly how bad is the problem? The dimensions of the problem of metaphysical ambiguity can be estimated from the side of metaphysics in the following way. Systematic metaphysical contextualization of real ends in nature by means of a fundamental teleological principle does not require the idea of a God that acts, nor even the idea of God, as I have pointed out already. However, it is usually Western traditions that have been explicitly interested in teleology, so the idea of God has appeared frequently in teleologically concerned metaphysics. If the idea of God does show up, it may not be (and often has not been) a deistic or theistic idea of God. And if deism or theism is implied in the teleological metaphysics, it may or may not be one of the traditional ideas of God familiar to the major Western theistic religions: Judaism, Christianity, or Islam.

33 An attempt to develop such a tradition of inquiry out of fragmentary, extant efforts has been funded for 1995–6 and subsequent years by the National Endowment for the Humanities in conjunction with some private foundations. The Principle Investigator for the three year project is Robert C. Neville, and the Co-Investigators are Peter Berger and John Berthrong.

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To be a little more specific at the level of this sprawling metaphysical wildness that is closest to the sphere in which divine action can be conceived, there is important variation even in traditionally recognized forms of theism, both within and among the three major Abrahamic traditions. One debate that appears within all three is that over whether or not God is ontologically fundamental. In Christianity, it is usually debate over omnipotence and creation that signals the presence of this question, with process and classical theism taking opposed views on both doctrines. In Judaism it appears in legal debates over the ontological primacy of the law, and in metaphysical and ethical debates surrounding Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) over whether God needs “salvation” through human cooperation. In Islam it shows up in some of the ethical and legal debates between the competing medieval Mu`tazilite and Ash`arite schools, as when they argued that God forbade killing because it is bad, and that killing is bad because God forbade it, respectively. All three traditions, therefore, have ways to think of God either as subject to fundamental teleological principles, or as their absolute ground—and kenotic theories of creation try to have both at once. Thus, it appears that, even when systematic metaphysical accounts of fundamental teleological principles include some form of theism, multiple ways of envisaging the relation between God and teleology are still possible. 4.4. Metaphysical Ambiguity and Evolutionary Biology In spite of this staggering diversity, these metaphysical views of teleology in the evolutionary process do have common features. Three of these common characteristics become evident from the point of view of evolutionary biology. In fact, these shared characteristics apply even to metaphysical contextualizations of teleology that reject teleological categories. There are metaphysical ways of understanding teleology that do not have all of these characteristics, and so stand outside of the diverse mainstream I seek to characterize here, but they seem to be relatively rare and theoretically fragile. These common features suggest a somewhat skeptical conclusion about the usefulness of biological evolution for resolving debates about teleology in the short term. The first common characteristic is that: Current knowledge of biological evolution is consistent with all of these views of the place of teleology in the evolutionary process. The obvious upshot is that none of these views can be rejected on the grounds of simple inconsistency

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with the contemporary account of biological evolution. Of course, process philosophers sometimes argue that the doctrine of internal relations is indispensable for any satisfactory account of the emergence of life and consciousness. This subtle debate seems to be unresolvable on the basis of biological considerations alone; certainly the doctrine of internal relations is not a popular position, in view of the fact that virtually all biologists appear to believe that emergent properties such as life and consciousness can be explained on the basis of complex, stratified organization. Granted, on this view, the mystery of life as such persists. However, it is not demystified in the doctrine of internal relations, but only shifted to another level of discussion—the level of the ultimate constituents of nature and the theory of causation. This may well be the right level on which to conduct the debate. However, the debate at any level is sufficiently complex that there is scant justification for the expulsion of views that hold to a doctrine of emergence based simply on complex organization. The second common characteristic of the diverse mainstream views is that: All of these views of the place of teleology in the evolutionary process are neutral toward all short-term controversies in biological evolution. These short-term controversies include, with regard to biological evolution, whether or not gaps in the biochemical story about the origin of life can be filled; whether or not apparent variations in the rate of variation and selection can be explained; and whether higher level laws or tendencies of complex systems can be identified. Further debates likely to be short-term in nature pertain to evolutionary psychology: whether or not law-like relations can be identified between gene-perpetuation interests and social practices; and whether or not it is possible to specify the senses in which human freedom mediates between gene-perpetuation and other, possibly competing, interests. Mainstream views are indifferent to the outcome of such inquiries. At worst, there might be a failure of the new paradigm to turn up solutions to some of these problems, and that may threaten the progressive status of the research program it defines. That, however, would not be a short-term crisis. It must be admitted, of course, that this is a rather curtailed list of short-term puzzles, because there are hundreds of major research problems that can reasonably be expected to find solutions in the relative near term in the ordinary course of scientific advance. But I am aware of no short-term controversies whose resolution could justify the exclusion of any of the large class of mainstream views.

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The third common characteristic is that: Each of these views of the place of teleology in the evolutionary process is vulnerable (if at all) only to long-term metaphysical controversies that are unlikely to be affected by biological evolution. The class of long-term disputes includes many debates that may not be resolvable in principle, and others that may not be resolvable in practice. Long-term controversies include, with regard to biological evolution, whether or not compelling evidence can be adduced for the irreducibility of teleological categories to the description of what is essential in complex biological systems; whether or not God acts undetectably to influence evolutionary development; and whether or not any given form of life can be demonstrably, exhaustively accounted for in detail in terms of specific chemical processes and evolutionary principles. Another long-term debate, pertaining to evolutionary psychology, is whether or not culture, ethics and religion can be exhaustively explained in terms of gene-perpetuation interests, or other principles connected to genetic heritage. It is important not to be too presumptuous about what might or might not eventually fall under the auspices of the scientific method. While the long-term problems just mentioned are presently at least as much metaphysical as biological in character, it is possible that some of them might one day be considered more completely a part of evolutionary biology and biochemistry than they are now. In any event, the point is that all of the debates in which views of teleology in biological evolution have something at stake lie in the class of longterm-disputes. Mainstream views that reject fundamental teleological principles (for example, Dawkins and Monod) have the most to lose, since they could potentially stumble on an unfavorable result in every one of the long-term disputes mentioned. I take such vulnerability to be a sign of profound intelligibility, for the intelligibility of a hypothesis partly involves being able to indicate clearly what counts as evidence against it. However, such vulnerability by itself is not necessarily a reliable indicator of truth.

5. The Third Stage: Teleology and Divine Action It remains now to consider the third stage of the teleological argument for divine action—and after what has been said, this is relatively simple. Here again, for the third time, the specter of metaphysical options

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interferes with the easy inferences that would make the teleological argument for divine action simpler than it is. 5.1. The Connection between Teleology and Divine Action Some dimensions of the question of divine action are not highlighted when teleology is the source of illumination, but there are compensating advantages. Among these is the fact that, because apparent endedness is a highly effective category for expressing what is interesting about nature, it is useful as a principle for organizing conceptions of divine action. So, then, what possibilities for divine action are suggested by this discussion of the place of teleology in biological evolution.34 Let us begin by noting that, if the apparent ends of objects and processes are only apparent, then the rough and ready conclusion—certainly the one that we are entitled to assume Dawkins would draw—is that there is no possibility of divine action. Strictly speaking, I suppose it is conceivable that God might act without leaving apparently teleological traces, but the metaphysical and theological viability of such a view is low, as it would shut creation, all patterns in nature, and all stories in history out of the domain of divine interest, leaving miscellaneous, unintelligible (to us) interference as the sole mode of divine action. Similarly, if Monod’s view is correct, then traditional deism and theism are highly misleading accounts of ultimate reality. The more natural metaphysical contextualization of his view (Monod does not propose this himself) is the dualist one of a primal battle between principles of order and anarchy, such as was and is still found in Zoroastrianism, except that these two principles must be symbiotically related. If this symbiosis itself is named God (rather than the more obvious Nature), then we are speaking of a kind of pantheism in which divine action is synonymous with “event,” which renders this God profoundly morally ambivalent and evacuates divine action of specific meaning. Against

34 Owen Thomas distinguishes six ways to parse the question “How does God act?” in God’s Activity in the World: The Contemporary Problem (Chico: Scholar’s Press, 1983): By what means? In what way or manner? To what effect? With what meaning or purpose? To what extent? On analogy with what? (234–236). While these six questions considerably enlarge the ordinary sense of the original query, they also helpfully draw attention to the fact that divine action probably cannot be discussed thoroughly without suggesting answers to all or most parts of this six-fold battery of questions. The following discussion focuses chiefly only on the first two questions, and so stops short of complete thoroughness.

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these anti-teleological views is ranged an array of metaphysical contextualizations of fundamental teleological principles, many of which are not amenable to divine action. I will not revisit these views here. It is enough to see that the teleological argument can break down when trying to speak of divine action even in the context of emphatically teleological metaphysics. Now, moving by these open metaphysical options, let us suppose for the sake of argument that the second stage of the teleological argument for divine action has been successful and that we begin the third stage from within the ambit of the traditional deistic, theistic, or panentheistic worldviews that allow us to speak in recognizable ways about divine action. In this case, the locus in nature of the fundamental teleological principle—the fourth dispute discussed earlier—will be the key insight into the possible modes of divine action. So let us reflect on the relations between the locus of teleology in nature and divine action. When the locus in nature of this fundamental teleological principle is natural laws only, then divine action cannot include the expression of specific divine intentions in the context of an ongoing providential relationship with that creation because this requires the fundamental teleological principle also to be expressed in chance (or boundary conditions), as discussed earlier. Nor can divine action presuppose teleological characteristics within the constituents of nature. That leaves two modes of divine action, both bearing on creation, and both expressed in the laws of nature: the universal determination of natural possibilities and the ontological grounding of nature. The locus in nature of this fundamental teleological principle might include chance, understood as a general category including the influence on complex systems of their boundary conditions. If so, then divine intentions (or analogues thereof ) can conceivably be expressed either directly—there are a number of proposals for such mechanisms—or less specifically in the striving for general ideals of harmony, complexity, and intensification of value in history and nature (as in Whitehead’s version of process philosophy). Finally, when the locus in nature of this fundamental teleological principle also includes the constituents of nature, two other ideas of divine action come into play. On the one hand, process philosophy stipulates a rich theory of causality that posits specifically teleological characteristics in the fundamental constituents of nature. In this case, divine action consists in the performance of the necessary regulative tasks associated with that theory of causation: offering initial aims

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to concrescent actual occasions from out of a primordial envisagement of possibilities, and reconciling the actuality of the world in the maximally harmonized consequent nature. On the other hand, it is possible to conceive of God as furnishing the material conditions for the possibility of the emergence of complex, self-organizing systems through creation. These conditions would be realized in the constituents of matter itself, but the mode of divine action would be creation rather than creativity, the latter being the category to which process metaphysics appeals in explaining the emergence of complex and novel forms of self-organization. This view of divine action is implied whenever complexity and self-organization require the constituents of nature to have particular capacities in addition to the constraints on their interaction stipulated by the laws of nature. An example of such a view is the philosophy of Robert Neville whose theory of causality is similar to Whitehead’s process philosophy, but affirms the metaphysical theory of creation ex nihilo, and denies that God furnishes initial aims to actual occasions.35 5.2. A Schema for Further Discussion These six modes of divine action and their relationships to the loci in nature of fundamental teleological principles are represented in the following diagram. Note that all three classes of divine action appear here. Creation appears in modes 1, 2, and 5; creativity shows up in modes 3 and 6; and the expression of specific divine intentions is covered in mode 4, which can be specified in a number of different ways. It is clear from this table that there are a lot of possibilities for envisaging modes of divine action, even after the philosophical contextualization of real ends in nature is specified to be compatible with one or more types of divine action. If the locus in nature of teleology is limited to the laws of nature, then there are fewer options. If it extends into the processes and constituents of nature, however, the possibilities multiply rapidly. Deciding among them depends not upon teleological considerations but upon other metaphysical issues including such tough problems as causality and time. Note, too, how the contrast between essentially deistic proposals (Davies) and more traditional theistic proposals (Peacocke, Russell)

35 See Robert Cummings Neville, Creativity and God: A Challenge to Process Theology (New York: Seabury, 1980).

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Table 3. Correlation between fundamental teleological loci in nature and modes of divine action Locus in nature of teleological principle

Mode of divine action

Laws of nature

1. Creation as universal determination of natural possibilities (e.g. creatio ex nihilo) 2. Creation as ongoing ontological grounding of nature (e.g. divine faithfulness) 3. Creativity as striving for harmony, complexity, intensification of value (e.g. creatio continua)34 4. Expression of specific divine intentions via: – top-down causation or whole-part constraint (e.g. Arthur Peacocke) – manipulating boundary conditions of chaotic systems (e.g. John Polkinghorne) – chaotic amplification of quantum field actualizations (e.g. Robert Russell) – lawfully widening the canalizing of complex processes (given feedback mechanism from environment to operation of natural laws) – means associated with atemporal theories of causation35 – and perhaps other means as well . . .

Fundamental constituents of nature

5. Creation as furnishing the material conditions for the possibility of the emergence of complex, self-organizing systems (e.g. Robert Neville, but not process philosophy, which denies creation) 6. Creativity as expressed in a theory of causation that assigns a necessary regulative role to God (e.g. Whitehead, Birch and Cobb)

34 This use of creatio continua is problematic on some views of causality. It is, of course, quite natural in the context of process metaphysics. On some other views, however, the teleological capacities of natural laws as currently understood are by themselves sufficient for fostering trajectories toward complexity, which implies that divine action would not be needed for the maintenance of processes of complexification, except in the most basic sense that God, on this view, is the ultimate ground of all natural processes (this is mode 2). This narrows the meaning of creatio continua as it applies in these cases, accordingly. It also illustrates the intimate connection between the meaning of creatio continua and metaphysical theories about causality and the fundamental constituents of nature. 35 For example, it has been proposed by Troy Catterson in conversation with me that superspace versions of quantum cosmology, in conjunction with an interpretation of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle that applies to the relation of space and time, allow for the possibility of understanding natural-law-conforming action of a non-temporal deity in temporal nature.

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appears here. Their difference, while genuine, is not so conceptually large as is often thought. In fact, both affirm a fundamental teleological principle expressed at least in the laws of nature, which is an agreement of considerable proportions in view of the fact it involves assent to the irreducibility of teleology, and dramatic, almost identical narrowings of the breadth of metaphysical possibilities. The move from deism to theism is then accomplished by a relatively minor enlargement of the locus of teleology so as to include chance (or boundary conditions). This suggests that the move to theism from deism is hard to block from the deistic side without arbitrariness.

6. Conclusions The main conclusion to be stated here is that the teleological argument for divine action is not very teleological. That is, there is no sound chain of implications from analysis of apparent ends in nature to judgments about the ontological irreducibility of those apparent ends, to estimations of the locus in nature of fundamental teleological principles, and then to specification of the modes of divine action. In fact, the implications run more smoothly in the reverse direction. In the order stated, the chain breaks down at each link, at least when biological evolution remains the sphere of discussion. Additional premises are needed to move from apparent ends in nature to the affirmation of real ends, from there to metaphysical theories affirming a fundamental teleological principle consistently with divine action, and from any such teleological metaphysics to the reality of divine action in particular modes. None of these missing premises is furnished by biological evolution, and I have tried to spell out what some of them might be at each stage. Because the additional premises needed to make the teleological argument for divine action valid characteristically have little specifically to do with teleology, we need to conclude that the argument does not depend as much on its starting point of the ubiquity of apparent ends in nature as the way it is stated promises. Discussions about divine action in connection with biological evolution must not casually assume that these missing premises are unproblematic. In particular, it would be easy to fall into a kind of blinkered or perhaps ideological ignorance of alternative, profound teleological visions that are antagonistic toward divine action and that are as well supported by biological evolution as any that permit us to speak of

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divine action. I have adverted to a number in this essay. In discussions of divine action in the context of teleology in nature, and especially in evolutionary biology, therefore, let us hesitate to conflate articulation of theories about divine action with justification of those theories. The gap between what is possible by way of divine action and what can be justified is rather large.38 The failure of the teleological argument for divine action, especially the second stage, has been traced to the problem of metaphysical ambiguity, and I argued that the specter of metaphysical ambiguity is largely immune from considerations drawn from contemporary biology. Therefore, just as it is unwise to expect to be able to decide among competing views of teleology in biological evolution based on any shortterm considerations from biology, so it is over-hasty to expect to narrow the range of possibilities for metaphysical construals of divine action on the basis of considerations drawn from contemporary biology. A second, subsidiary conclusion is, I hope, a sound conjecture. It is related more to teleology than to the teleological argument for divine action itself, but is strongly suggested by the various pieces of argumentation presented here. It is this: the case for affirming a fundamental teleological principle is far stronger than that for rejecting it, given the premise that the cosmos (note: not ultimate reality) is meaningful rather than absurd. This premise seems not infrequently denied by biologists and philosophers of biology who dare to treat such questions. And philosophically it is notorious for being impossible to justify except in obviously self-referential ways. But, if it is granted, then it is genuinely difficult to maintain, as many popular writers in evolutionary biology do, that the universe has no overarching teleological sweep. How do they do this, then? It seems to me that all attempts to avoid postulating a fundamental teleological principle require either an arbitrary arresting of inquiry, or the assumption of an absurd cosmos. Dawkins and Monod, who have been mentioned a number of times by now, make interesting case studies at this point. In Dawkins’ case, in both The Blind Watchmaker 36 The scope of this essay prevents me from arguing to the more adventurous conclusion that the gap between what is possible by way of divine action and what can be justified is large, no matter what the context of discussion. That is, this fundamental kind of metaphysical ambiguity can be found not only in relation to evolutionary biology, but also in relation to everything from cosmology to religious experience, from history to mysticism, from sociology to hermeneutics. This is perhaps equivalent to a thesis as to the limitations of human rationality.

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and Climbing Mount Improbable, curiosity is inexplicably terminated, at least by my standards. His assumption of a self-explanatory and ontologically self-sufficient universe ought to be examined, if only to understand why his other apparent assumption that the universe is a meaningful and wonderful place is to be believed. That is, Dawkins denies both cosmic absurdity and a teleological sweep to the cosmos, and the conceptual strain that results forces the contrived truncation of his inquiry. Future books may correct this, perhaps by extending his intriguing images of the biosphere as a distributed supercomputer, of the cosmos as dancing, or of evolution as an enchanted loom, “weaving a massive database of ancestral wisdom.39 These are images whose precise articulation and evaluation demands metaphysical categories and argument that Dawkins so far seems unwilling to engage. By contrast, it is possible to construe Monod as abandoning inquiry not arbitrarily, but in recognition of cosmic absurdity, in the context of which humans are simply confronted with the choice to create proximate meanings or not. That is, Monod denies a teleological sweep to the cosmos, but courageously and consistently pays the intellectual price by explicitly surrendering the hypothesis of cosmic intelligibility. This marks out a genuine intellectual possibility, albeit a paradoxical one, for it admits the possibility of inquiry (it does not affirm ultimate absurdity, which is extreme skepticism, but only cosmic absurdity) while characterizing it as an anomalous activity that peters out into deferential silence—existentially in our experience through ubiquitous limitations and contradictions, and in history and nature through the eventual vanishing of all life. The cosmic absurdity view is affirmed systematically in Vedanta philosophy (notably and with important differences in Sankara and Ramanuja). It is also expounded in Madhyamika Buddhism, especially in the thought of Nagarjuna and Bhavaviveka, who denied that any fundamental metaphysical principle (teleological or not) can be identified without distorting more than illumining. Many other thinkers and sub-traditions of Buddhism affirm more or less the same position, as do various strands of apophatic mysticism in the West. These views tend to use the conjunction of apparently contradictory statements as a form of reference to “states of affairs” essentially beyond categorial experience, and so beyond discussion. This form of reference (the so-called

39

Dawkins, Climbing Mount Improbable, p. 326.

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“Middle Way,” which is the meaning of “Madhyamaka”) is similar to that used in the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, and corresponds functionally to Monod’s deferential arresting of inquiry. The choice to move beyond the cosmic absurdity thesis in any direction, including by means of affirming a fundamental teleological principle, cannot be coerced, for neither the circumstances of life nor argument can force the abandonment of the vision of cosmic absurdity. However, it is a choice that can still be entertained. My conjectural conclusion amounts to the contention that every move beyond the cosmic absurdity thesis involves positing a fundamental teleological principle. Put differently, this conclusion fails only if there is a way simultaneously to affirm the overall meaningfulness of the cosmos (against cosmic absurdity) and yet to deny a fundamental teleological sweep to that cosmos—and, based on the absence of actual examples in addition to the other reasons I have given, I think there is no such possibility. Of course, this is not to say that a meaningful cosmos necessitates a God; that is a separate case, and (as I have already said) there are many ways of speaking of fundamental teleological principles that do not advert to divine action, or even to divinity. Nor is it to say that the cosmos must be meaningful; in fact the case for cosmic absurdity in the idiosyncratic sense in which I have used the term is, I would say, every bit as strong as the case for its rejection. But that, too, is a separate case. The final conclusion does, however, significantly narrow the metaphysical choices available to those who affirm that biological evolution suggests a meaningful (as against an absurd) cosmos: to say this is implicitly to be committed to a fundamental teleological principle of some kind. And that is an awkward conclusion for a number of writers on the philosophical significance of evolutionary biology.

CHAPTER SIX

CONSTRAINT AND FREEDOM IN THE MOVEMENT FROM QUANTUM PHYSICS TO THEOLOGY Philip Clayton1

1. Introduction—Should One Apologize for Trying to Do Theology? Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Many of the essays in this collection—essays by theologians as well as by professional scientists— describe the difficulties of our shared project. In fact, this book is replete with warnings about how hard it is to determine the viable options for interpreting the quantum mechanical results, then to interpret quantum theory, and finally to specify which theories of action (human or divine) are or are not consistent with the physics of the very small. Perhaps more wisely than I, the majority of the authors have remained at the descriptive level with regard not only to the physics but also to the theology (if any) about which they write. I am about to dive into the morass of constructive metaphysics, and perhaps even constructive theology, in a rather less cautious manner. Preparing to do so causes one to worry about what flaws of mind (or character?) might be responsible for this lack of reticence. Do I not realize—as James Cushing has shown in many fine publications—that the empirical data underdetermine the interpretive position that one takes? Even if this underdetermination should be contingent on the current state of science rather than expressing some necessary limitation, am I not aware that experts are deeply divided on interpretive (“ontological”)

1 Acknowledgment. I am grateful to the entire workshop group for criticisms that have improved the argument of this essay. Once again, the CTNS/Vatican Observatory project has demonstrated the virtue of detailed and sustained critical interaction. Indeed, importing the ethos of scientific critique into theology may be the greatest long-term contribution of this fifteen-year project. I thank in particular John Polkinghorne, Owen Thomas, and Kirk Wegter-McNelly for their criticisms during the final writing phase.

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questions regarding quantum physics, making forays into this field by non-experts all the more precarious? Finally, do I not realize that theology as a discipline is itself highly suspect, if not downright unsavory, to many scientists; that profoundly difficult questions are raised by any attempt to draw connections between technical science and theology; and that—even if scientists did agree on the interpretation of quantum mechanics—additional premises and arguments would be required to reach even the most rudimentary and tenuous of theological conclusions? And if I am aware of these things, why would I still wish to do constructive theology in dialogue with quantum physics? Two reasons come to mind. First, if there is to be any contemporary theology, it cannot be carried out in ignorance of natural scientific results, even the most difficult ones. The one thing worse than a theology that attempts to draw connections between physics and God is a theology that believes it has no need of any such connections, a theology that believes it can concoct the divine out of metaphysical whole cloth. An intellectually responsible theology has no choice, I suggest: theologians either wrestle with the best physical knowledge available or condemn themselves to the subjectivity that sola fides has come to represent in the modern world. The second reason for proceeding is that I am willing to countenance a type of theology (and metaphysics, for that matter) that is much more hypothetical, fallible, open to revision, and provisional than was traditionally allowed. Call it eine Theologie von unten: theology from below, theology in the trenches. In various publications over the last decade2 I have defended a view of theology that allows for multiple models, openended discussion, and the underdetermination of theological theory by data. Now admittedly it is significantly harder to specify exactly which parts of such a pluralistic theology are true, since one acknowledges both the viability of competing truth claims and the malleability of one’s own claims. But to acknowledge that one does not yet know which of the competing claims will finally turn out to be true does not mean that one must then become a relativist about all arguments. Sometimes a stronger case can be made for one theological option than another, so that—given the state of the data and the discussion at some particular 2

Philip Clayton, Explanation from Physics to Theology: An Essay in Rationality and Religion (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1989); idem, God and Contemporary Science (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997); idem, The Problem of God in Modern Thought (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000).

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time—one is more justified in assenting to one position than to its competitors. We won’t know until we try. One way to ensure that theological discussions do not amount to “tennis without a net” is to tie them where possible to existing fields of empirical study. In order to do this, one first considers the array of interpretive models in a specific scientific field, looking for areas of compatibility (or incompatibility!) with existing theological models and reevaluating one’s theology, or perhaps even one’s science, as a result. One then repeats this activity across a variety of scientific (and, if the questions are theological, also nonscientific) disciplines, attempting to discern which theological options become more and which become less credible in light of the overlap between the various fields. A theology subjected to these sorts of rigors becomes a sort of third-order discipline: reflections on the “data set” of theories from multiple disciplines, which are in turn responses to the data within those disciplines. Like a complicated Venn diagram that contains many more than three circles, this synthetic task entails looking for common points and exclusion relationships between rather diverse fields of data and theoretical options. In the present essay I will be satisfied if I have been able to illustrate how this process might work when the starting point is the difficulties associated with the interpretation of quantum physics.

2. Why Physics Might Provide Constraints on How God Might Act Physicists regularly comment on the ways that quantum mechanics has transformed our view of the nature of reality. Authors often use classical or Newtonian physics as the background in order to dramatize the transformation brought about by the twentieth-century understanding of quantum processes. The technique is effective: even the lay reader is struck by what a radically different world it is that she encounters in the realm of the very small.3 It is as if one were confronting a new level of reality, a new metaphysical space. (This fact alone demands theological response!)

3

See e.g., James Cushing, Philosophical Concepts in Physics: The Historical Relation between Philosophy and Scientific Theories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); John Polkinghorne, The Quantum World (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1985).

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The conceptual space defined by the quantum mathematical formalism and the associated empirical observations neither proves nor disproves the existence of any divine being. Nor will it, by itself, establish—or rule out—any claims about divine action. But it may tell us something about how a being (human or divine) must act if it acts in the physical world and in conformity with physical law. That is, the conceptual space of quantum physics may constrain the ways such a being could be manifested and the sorts of actions a human observer could in principle detect. All this assumes, of course, that any inklings we might have of a divine being would have to be drawn from its creative actions (as reflected, say, in the structure of the physical world or the evolutionary development of the cosmos) or from its interactions with us (as reflected in human experience, including claims regarding religious experience and revelation in the various world religions).4 Let me use the word ‘God’ to designate whatever might be the actual nature of the divine and ‘divine action’ to designate the manifestations of God (if any) in the cosmos and its history. If God exists and has not “acted” at all, or if these actions fail to indicate anything about the divine nature—and especially if the actions lead us to infer things about the divine nature that are false—then we are completely sunk, epistemically speaking (and perhaps in other ways as well!). In such cases our best reflection will yield only false conclusions about the divine. On the other hand, it is possible that the constraints of physics do represent the context within which God chooses to act; thus it is possible that the constraints imposed by the physical order themselves tell us something interesting about the nature of that order’s Creator. Of course, when one reads “possible” rather than “probable” or “necessary,” one realizes that this is theology in a hypothetical mode—rather unlike the old certainties of the faith. If theologians must proceed with this sort of tenuousness, one is always justified in choosing not to play. The same holds, by the way, for any theology of divine action in light of contemporary science. Whether one plays will depend on how “expensive” one judges the wager to be (do I lose credibility by even considering the God-hypothesis seriously?) and how valuable one

4 This is a more philosophical formulation of what theologians call “Rahner’s Rule.” See Wolfhart Pannenberg, Systematic Theology, vol. 1, Geoffrey Bromiley, trans. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991).

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thinks the possible outcome is. Clearly one’s decision on these questions depends on subjective factors that go far beyond the context of this (or any) academic essay. The most I can show here is that the wager is not irrational. There is no point in wagering on an impossible option, making bets one can only lose. But it is not irrational to wager on a possible outcome. What, precisely, is the wager? Formulated negatively, the wager is that none of the three “if ’s” in the sentence two paragraphs above is true. It is a wager because no empirical result can determine the answer, at least at present. Nonetheless, it is the positive side of the wager that sets the agenda for the present essay. Put positively, one can wager that the structure of the physical world sets parameters on—and thus gives us some knowledge of—the manner in which God could act. The physical world would thus provide us some epistemic access to divine action (if God acts); it would be conducive to knowledge of the source of these actions and of the nature of that hypothetical source. Indeed, if there is a God who creates, the bet’s not a bad one, for wouldn’t one expect the nature of the Creator to be represented in some way in the structures of what has been created?5 As Owen Thomas has pointed out in conversation, my approach also amounts to the wager that there is some analogy between human and divine action, for our actions are certainly constrained by the physical world. Hypothesizing some similarity between the human and divine agent gives us some basis for understanding divine action (if it exists), whereas hypothesizing 5 James Cushing refers to the problem of evil at this point. My approach, rather than dodging this difficult set of issues, puts them right at the center. The history of evolution in general, and human history in particular, includes incredible waste and suffering, and the wager suggests that the biological and psychological structures that cause this suffering are somehow indicative of the nature of the underlying divine cause (if any). One pursuing this method must therefore introduce the categories of evil and good, ask whether God can consistently be called good, and examine the reasons that a divine being might have had for allowing biological and psychological structures of this sort. Such debates belong to the field of theodicy; see e.g., John Hick, Evil and the God of Love (New York: Harper & Row, 1966); John Feinberg, The Many Faces of Evil: Theological Systems and the Problem of Evil (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1994); Thomas F. Tracy, ed., The God Who Acts: Philosophical and Theological Explorations (University Park, Penn.: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994); David Ray Griffin, Evil Revisited: Responses and Reconsiderations (Albany, N.Y.: SUNY Press, 1991); Jane Mary Trau, The Co-existence of God and Evil (New York: P. Lang, 1991); Richard Worsley, Human Freedom and the Logic of Evil: Prolegomenon to a Christian Theology of Evil (Houndmills, Basingstoke: Macmillan Press; New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996). Needless to say, I cannot resolve the debate in this essay, though the successful outcome of my argument requires that I eventually address it.

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that divine action is utterly sui generis would rule out any general knowledge of it.6 But why treat quantum physics separately? If we had a unified science in which the interrelationships between the various special sciences were fully understood, as in the third-order form of theology proposed above, we could use the shared structures common to all scientific fields as the starting point for asking about the nature and action of the divine. The task would be difficult, of course, even with an agreed upon empirical and theoretical basis on which to draw. At present, however, we are far from unified science; and major areas of physics, such as quantum physics and gravitational theory, remain theoretically distinct. There is no other option, then, but to consider the various scientific fields seriatim, asking what divine action would mean in that context, how it might occur (if it occurs) and, given the laws and structures in question, what the nature of the divine source might be. Whether or not the conclusions that one reaches within the various fields—for example physics, evolutionary biology or genetics, the neurosciences, and the social sciences—fit together into a single picture is a separate question.7 I recognize that these proposals are controversial; there are opponents on all sides (“Cannon to the left of them, cannon to the right of them/Volleyed and thundered . . .”) and the debates are often heated. If one uses not only the present book but also other recent publications as data, one finds at least five alternative positions:8 a. No reasons can be given, other than purely subjective ones, for any theological position (Cushing); b. Serious theological positions can be defended in light of science in some cases, but quantum physics is too unclear, and subject to too much difficulty, to give rise to helpful theological conjectures (Polkinghorne); c. Some constructive theology can be written on the topic of divine action and quantum physics, even if our conjectures remain highly 6

This is the opposition of faith and reason first formulated by Tertullian and associated in the twentieth century with the “No!” of Karl Barth in his debate with Emil Brunner. 7 In The Emergence of Spirit (forthcoming) I argue for the affirmative, but obviously that case cannot be made here. 8 Predictably, each of these schools view those to their “left” as unnecessarily empiricist and positivist and those to their “right” as insufficiently aware of the power and rigor of scientific thought.

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speculative (the present essay, but also, inter alia, those by Chiao, Russell, Stoeger and Tracy); d. Rather strong theological conclusions can be reached on the basis of modern physics, presumably including quantum physics. Thus, for example, the physicist Cyril Domb finds clear evidence of the Creator in the world, and the “intelligent design” theorists (William Dembski, Michael Behe, et al.) argue that evolution requires a prior intention and in-built design on God’s part. e. The convergence between scientific conclusions and the teachings of the religious traditions is so great that they should no longer be viewed as separate realms that need to be connected but rather as one integrated whole. The “Mystics and Scientists” conferences have produced a variety of calls for their unification;9 Fritjof Capra has long been famous for touting the role of intuition and holism in quantum physics; and much popular and “New Age” thinking presupposes that the science-religion separation is now defunct. For many of these individuals quantum physics actually serves as the central argument for their position. Those of us who write in the neighborhood of (c) make the plea to advocates of (a) and (b) that they would at least consider our proposals with an open mind, recognizing that they are not excluded by sound empirical science and that they are different from many of the dogmatic and unquestioning theologies of the past. Likewise, we caution advocates of (d) and (e ) to be aware of the hypothetical and contingent nature of all such theological reflection, as well as to observe the continuing distinctions between theology and the sciences.

3. Some Quantum-Mechanical Constraints on the Possibility of Divine Action In the following paragraphs I explore three examples of issues that have arisen in debates concerning the interpretation of quantum mechanics: the role of subjectivity, the “many-worlds” interpretations, and the debate over indeterminacy and free will. Note that these classic debates have arisen independently of theological concerns and need

9

See David Lorimer, ed., The Spirit of Science: From Experiment to Experience (New York: Continuum, 1999).

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not presuppose belief in God or divine action. Nevertheless, it is my hypothesis that debates such as these are deeply relevant to the question of divine action. These are the sorts of “level-two” discussions that naturally emerge out of the field of quantum physics and that the theologian of type (c) must master before she proceeds to any constructive theological work. 3.1. The Role of the Observer One fundamental issue in the interpretation of quantum physics is the role of subjectivity. Since the early days of quantum theory, many leading physicists have held—to put it briefly—that the observer’s choice regarding what to measure determines which quantum propensity becomes actual. In opposition to the subjectivity theories, other interpretations dispense with any real reduction of the wavepacket, or argue that the reduction occurs automatically as quantum systems interact with macrosystems, or appeal instead to “consistent histories” or “many worlds” in the effort to avoid giving any indispensable place to conscious intentions in explaining quantum phenomena. Those who do posit an irreducible role for the observer may do so either as minimalists or as maximalists. Minimalists introduce the smallest amount of metaphysics necessary to explain the reduction of the wavepacket through the act of observation. They dispute the need for a theory of the conscious observer, arguing that it is enough for there to be some macrophysical act of measurement or recording by an observer. No lofty metaphysic is at work here, they assert, since it is trivially true that it takes human agents for there to be science in the first place. All we need to note is that the observer is never within the quantum mechanical system being studied. For there to be an observation there must be an observer; hence, according to minimalists, the notion of observation is irreducible in quantum mechanics. For maximalists, by contrast, these answers stop half-way; there is no way around a metaphysics of the observer. Concepts such as the subject, subjectivity, consciousness, free will, and spirit must be introduced in order to explain what happens when a scientist constructs an experiment and makes an intentional measurement. Now it is true that many leading quantum physicists have taken maximalist views, and we will return to these below. Still, it is important to ask why many others are committed to finding an interpretation that avoids the need for any

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theory of subjectivity. What are the intuitions that underlie their effort? At the deepest level, as Jeremy Butterfield has argued in the context of the CTNS/Vatican conference, physics has an inherent resistance to invoking subjectivity. Subjectivity is certainly not part of that family of physical properties (such as mass, charge, location, time, and entropy) that makes up standard physical explanations. It does seem true that one does not immediately need to invoke a full metaphysics in order to interpret the transition from quantum propensities to actual measurements. Some level of analysis lies between the straight physical report and the robust metaphysics of subjectivity or holism that some interpreters favor. In this middle level of analysis one can formulate a more minimalist account of the transition. What occasions the move from quantum coherence to decoherence? Is it a sheer result of size, of the number of particles in a system, or does the act of measurement, or even the intent to measure, play a crucial role in this occurrence? The minimalist wants to know only what is entailed by the physics—or, to put it differently, whether anything is presupposed in doing physics and formulating physical theories that (presently, or perhaps necessarily) lies outside the scope of physics. Some minimalists thus argue that an observer is presupposed by quantum theory, and that there is no place for the observer within that theory as currently formulated. It is important to ask how strong a role is played in this debate by another assumption that has been a part of the history of physics in the modern era. We might call it the “ladder of disciplines” or “ladder of the sciences” assumption. That is, the success of science is based on the explanatory reduction of one discipline to another. If chemistry were a unique domain of its own, not connected via physical chemistry to the fundamental laws of physics, then (it is argued) we would have a situation very similar to the age of alchemy: chemistry would be a completely separate discipline, governed by its own rules, laws, and principles. But (they argue) such isolation of explanatory fields would cast questions on the unity of science and thus on the prospect of the completion of science, or even of genuine scientific advancement. Likewise, if some unique principle of “life” characterized all the biological sciences, such as the striving for perfection or self-development (entelechy), then biochemistry would not be sufficient to explain the functioning of living beings, and again the ladder of the sciences would fail. Isn’t some such concern, at any rate, at the root of the resistance to allowing the

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interpretation of quantum mechanics to rest on a “higher-order” principle such as conscious observation rather than on a principle proper to physical theory itself? Now consider an alternative metaphysical framework—if only as a Gedanken experiment.10 On this imagined view one expects interconnections between scientific disciplines but not relationships of reduction between all of them. More complicated natural systems are sometimes genuinely or “strongly” emergent from underlying physical systems. New emergent levels presuppose the law-like relations that we find at the lower levels, but they are not fully explainable in terms of those laws. Indeed, phenomena occurring at the “higher” levels are sometimes actually constitutive of the lower-level processes. Systemic patterns describable only at higher levels of analysis affect what occurs at the lower levels—whether it be epigenesis affecting the way a cell’s genetic code is actually expressed, or qualities of an ecosystem influencing the behavior of particular organisms in the ecosystem, or the observations of a “subject” affecting which of the quantum mechanical probabilities are in fact observed and become a part of the macrophysical world. The choice between these two models, which we might call the reductionist and the emergentist models respectively, is a difficult one, and there is much to be said for both and against both. At the most cautious level, it may suffice to note that the interpretation of the quantum mechanical formalism is deeply affected by one’s metaphysical inclinations on this matter. But there is also a less cautious response to the question—one that a number of well-known quantum physicists have pursued. An additional set of conclusions can be drawn about the measurement problem by those who are inclined to postulate that observers are a basic part of the furniture of the universe. In its strong form (cf. the strong anthropic principle) this view holds that subjectivity in certain important respects makes the physical world to be what it is. Perhaps as a result of being more strongly dualist in its theory of the human person than the emergentist view sketched above, the “subjectivity is basic” view opens the door more readily to a theory of God and God’s actions. If subjectivity has this sort of foundational role in the becoming of the physical world, and if a divine being exists, then

10 I have developed these ideas in more detail in the above-cited works; I list them here only to illustrate some of the effects of alternative metaphysical or theological frameworks.

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it would not be unreasonable to imagine that the divine subject plays a role in influencing the outcome of all (or at least a significant number) of the quantum mechanical events in the world. Like many physicists, I shy away from an overtly robust metaphysics of subjectivity as a tool for interpreting quantum phenomena; and the stronger claims about divine action at the quantum level raise some perplexing problems.11 But I must at least grant the inherent interest of a metaphysic that, were it successful, would solve the measurement problem and offer a synthesizing perspective on both quantum physics and theology. 3.2. Everett and DeWitt’s Many-Worlds Interpretation Versus Subject-Based Interpretations A particularly interesting set of methodological issues is raised by the famous many-worlds interpretations of quantum mechanics. Manyworlds theories hold that there is no need for a shift from an indeterminate to a determinate state of affairs, no need for a transition from quantum superposition to definite states by means of the so-called collapse of the wavepacket. Instead, the set of possible measurements of a quantum mechanical event constitutes a (large) number of branches, each of which represents a different actual universe. The observer, when she makes the measurement, finds herself to inhabit one of these worlds rather than the others. The other universes continue to exist, even though we can have no further causal contact with them. Note that there are some philosophically important differences among many-worlds theories. Hugh Everett’s original formulation emphasized memory: the different memory traces in one or another observer separate the universe as remembered one way or another.12 In the original 1957 article in Modern Physics Everett does not appeal explicitly to multiple (actual) universes. By contrast, Bryce DeWitt appealed to multiple actual universes from the start. When the observer observes the precise location (or momentum or spin) of a subatomic particle, she causes a branching among the various universes, which were identical up to that point; after the observation she inhabits one 11

See Nicholas Saunders, Divine Acnun and Modern Science (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), which explores some of the difficulties associated with this view. 12 See David Bohm and Basil J. Hiley, The Undivided Universe: An Ontological Interpretation of Quantum Theory (New York: Routledge, 1993), 296ff.

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of these actual universes and not the others. In either case, no actual reduction of the wavepacket occurs. It’s not that the physical world changes from indeterminate to determinate; it’s rather that a branching of universes occurs and the observer subsequently finds herself in only one of them. Everett was explicit that his interpretation was designed to avoid the consequence that some mysterious subject should cause an ontological change in the physical world, namely the collapse of the wavepacket. He was thus reacting against the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, which held this sort of view. Consider, for example, the position of Werner Heisenberg, who explained the Copenhagen interpretation by taking a fundamentally Aristotelian view of quantum mechanics. Heisenberg believed that quantum indeterminacy was like the world of Aristotle’s metaphysics, in which (actual existing) potentials strive to become actual. In this theory the subject acts as a sort of final cause, pulling a certain (real) potential into actual existence. Note that this view reverses the stance of classical (Newtonian) physics, which requires that the subject ultimately be explained in terms of physical laws. For the Copenhagen theorists, by contrast, when a definite measurement is made at the subatomic level, the resulting macrophysical state is a combination of a quantum-physical probability distribution and the scientist’s decision of what, when, and how to measure. Indeed, on this view the subject’s role is in one sense the primary one: the “world” is merely potential until the moment of observation, when the conscious observer resolves it into an actual state. In its most extreme form, the form propounded for instance by John Wheeler, the entire universe may have existed in a state of quantum potentiality until the first observer emerged, at which point it was retroactively resolved into macrophysical structures such as stars, planets, and the like. Wheeler even applied this view backwards to the creation of the universe: Is the very mechanism for the universe to come into being meaningless or unworkable or both unless the universe is guaranteed to produce life, consciousness and observership somewhere and for some little time in its history-to-be? The quantum principle shows that there is a sense in which what the observer will do in the future defines what happens in the past— even in a past so remote that life did not then exist, and shows even more that “observership” is a prerequisite for any useful version of “reality.”13

13 John Wheeler, quoted in Paul C.W. Davies, Other Worlds: A Portrait of Nature in Rebellion, Space, Superspace, and the Quantum Universe (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1980), 126.

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The debate between the many-worlds and the subject-centered interpretation cannot yet be physically resolved. (It may be resolved in the future if many worlds is an entailment of string theory or hyperspace or a cosmology of universes birthing universes, as some claim—and if these theories are in fact empirically checkable. Of course, it would also be resolved if one could produce a physical theory that explained the collapse of the wavepacket.) It is therefore at present a philosophical debate, and one that, as I hope to show, is deeply influenced by metaphysical intuitions or assumptions. At the risk of oversimplification, we might state the basic opposition in this way: if you take it to be crucial that the explanation of the world be given ultimately in physical terms, then you will be justified in rejecting explanations that are essentially subject-based—even at the cost of an incredible loss of parsimony. For it certainly seems like ontological exuberance (or over-kill) of the worst sort to assert, with DeWitt, that “our universe must be viewed as constantly splitting into a stupendous number of branches” and that “every quantum transition taking place on every star, in every galaxy, in every remote corner of the universe is splitting our local world into myriads of copies of itself. Here is schizophrenia with a vengeance!”14 But if one holds, as many many-worlds theorists have, that this is the only viable scientific interpretation that interprets quantum mechanics in a purely physical fashion, and if one has a strong enough commitment to avoiding any reference to conscious observers, then it may be a cost one is willing to pay.15 But what if you believe that subjects are irreducible parts (inhabitants) of the one universe? In this case your metaphysical belief will incline you to see quantum mechanics as evidence for a metaphysics of the subject—as a number of its leading theorists have in fact maintained (Eugene Wigner, John von Neumann, Henry Stapp). Instead of multiplying worlds unnecessarily, you’ll argue, one should see quantum mechanics as a (the?) point at which the physical and the mental connect. Thus the quantum physicist Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker argued in the 1950s that quantum physics was the vindication of Kant’s dualism, his sharp separation between the kingdom of causes and the

14

Ibid., 136. Put more strongly, it sometimes seems that the major motivation for many-worlds theorists is that Copenhagen or subjectivity-based views would stand in the way of a strong, unambiguous reduction of all sciences, including the sciences of human subjectivity, to physical objects, forces, and laws. 15

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kingdom of means and ends.16 This was also the view taken by Eugene Wigner and his followers. Wigner used the quantum revolution to argue that “the minds of sentient beings occupy a central role in the laws of nature and in the organization of the universe, for it is precisely when the information about an observation enters the consciousness of an observer that the superposition of waves actually collapses into reality.”17 Interestingly, one of Roger Penrose’s arguments against many-worlds theories also appeals to subject-based considerations. He calls them “zombie theories of the world” because “the continual branching of the world and the threading of my own consciousness through it would seem to result in my becoming separated from the tracks of consciousness of all my friends.”18 Penrose insists that one needs an adequate theory of consciousness before one can make sense of the many-worlds view as an interpretation of quantum mechanics. Now there are also serious objections to the subjective interpretation, objections that emphasize its counterintuitive features. Every text on the philosophy of quantum physics includes diagrams of the counterexamples of Schrödinger’s Cat and Wigner’s Friend. Another form of the objection imagines that a meter is set up to permanently register whether the radioactive particle has decayed at the end of a minute (assuming an experimental set-up in which there is a 50% probability of this occurring). Two photographs are then automatically taken of the meter reading, first photo A and then photo B. The photographs are developed but no one looks at them. Imagine that ten years are allowed to pass during which no subject observes either the meter or the photos. At the end of that time a subject looks at photo B, and suppose that she observes the meter to register a radioactive decay. On Wigner’s view—according to the critic—at that moment, but not before, the superposition of states will be collapsed, the particle will (retroactively) have decayed, the meter will (retroactively) register its decay, and photo A (which no one has yet looked at) will suddenly show a picture of the meter in its “on” position. Before that moment

16 Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker, Zum Weltbild der Physik, 4th ed., revised (Stuttgart: S. Hirzel, 1949). 17 Eugene Wigner quoted in Davies, Other Worlds, 132f. 18 Roger Penrose, “Singularities and Time-Asymmetry,” in General Relativity—An Einstein Centenary Survey, S.W. Hawking and W. Israel, eds. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979).

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photo A was still indeterminate; the observation of photo B makes A determinate—despite the fact that A was taken before B. At this point you may be inclined to dismiss both options, if not the entire field of subatomic physics, as hopelessly counterintuitive. Yet counterintuitiveness seems to go with the quantum territory; after all, our intuitions have been nurtured on millennia of macrophysical experiences. The formalism is extremely well supported; it’s the interpretation that is raising the difficulties. Can theological intuitions (or, for the critic, the intuition that theological intuitions are mistaken) help us at all here? 3.3. Indeterminacy and Free Will On the subject of quantum physics and free will, at least, it is not only the philosophers who tend toward speculative exuberance; the early founders of quantum mechanics and the initial architects of the Copenhagen interpretation were already quick to draw connections.19 According to defenders, the free choice of an observer to decide where, when, and how to measure plays an irreducible role in the outcome of quantum physical experiments. The observer thus helps to determine whether the world will be this way or that way, and he does so in a manner that (thanks to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle) is completely consistent with the laws of physics. Since quantum indeterminacy is an inherent feature of the physical world and not a hole that further advances could plug, these physicists argued, physics and genuine human freedom are fully compatible. Indeed, quantum physics opens the door again to free will for the first time since Newton. Of course, the quantum argument for free will has been widely criticized as well. Indeterminacy at the quantum level may well be cancelled out by the time one reaches the macrophysical level. Thus it might be that the microphysical world is indeterminate but that this indeterminacy disappears when one reaches systems as large as the ones encountered in biology and psychology. If so, quantum physics cannot support the doctrine of freedom at the level of human actions. Also, physical indeterminacy—the claim that our epistemic limitations

19 Werner Heisenberg, Physics and Philosophy: The Revolution in Modern Science (New York: Harper and Row, 1958); Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker, Zum Weltbild der Physik (Stuttgart: S. Hirzel, 1949).

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in knowing the quantum physical world reflect genuine indeterminacy in the way things actually are at that level—may not be sufficient for human freedom. After all, human freedom is normally parsed in terms of choice, conscious decision, rational selection among multiple alternatives, and similar notions. None of these factors are, as far as we know, operative at the quantum physical level. And, of course, the Copenhagen defense of strong ontological indeterminacy, especially if it is to be transformed by the “choice” of a particular subjective agent, is only one of multiple viable interpretations allowed for by the empirical data.20 Even if it is the majority view in the field, this fact cannot be taken as decisive support for this interpretation. Nonetheless, there are various respects in which quantum indeterminacy (assuming it exists) is significant for metaphysical discussions of human and divine action. First of all, indeterminacy seems to be a necessary condition for free will. This debate, which philosophers know as the debate about compatibilism, has been a subject of attention for most major modern philosophers and an absolutely central question in twentieth-century philosophy. Compatibilists hold that a fully deterministic universe is compatible with one type of freedom (the freedom necessary for moral responsibility), even if it rules out another traditional type of freedom (“counterfactual” freedom: the freedom that one might have done otherwise, even in precisely the same situation). Thus if a causal chain of events results in some action A, such that, given the first event in the chain, A would necessarily result, compatibilists would still call A a free action as long as the penultimate link in the causal chain (A–1) happens to be the will of the agent in question. On this compatibilist definition an act is free as long as it is the result of the agent’s will, whether or not the agent could have willed differently (counterfactual freedom). Conversely, incompatibilists reject this argument. An agent’s action is only free if the agent could have done otherwise, all previous moments of her life (and of the universe’s history, for that matter) remaining the same. This notion of counterfactual freedom continues to have strong intuitive appeal, even though it has been subjected to some pretty vigorous criticism and, at least until recently, was clearly the minority view among philosophers.21 20

James Cushing, Quantum Mechanics: Historical Contingency and the Copenhagen Hegemony (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 21 See, e.g., the numerous publications by Donald Davidson; cf. also Richard Double, The Non-Reality of Free Will (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991). Neuroscientists

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There is no danger that we will resolve this debate here, though some progress has been made in recent years.22 In this context we can ask only about the effects of the debate on the interpretation of quantum mechanics and theology, and vice versa. If one accepts compatibilism, then the whole issue of physical determinacy or indeterminacy is clearly irrelevant to the question of freedom and deserves no further mention here. By contrast, what happens if one shares the incompatibilist intuition and holds that humans are, at least on some occasions, genuinely free (as I do)? One answer is to side with a strongly dualist view of the physical and mental realms. For the dualist (of the Cartesian as well as the Kantian variety), it doesn’t matter if the physical order is deterministic, since the action of the mental agent23 is by itself sufficient to guarantee that the action is free, whatever the state of the physical world. But many of us do not find such dualistic views credible as a theory of human nature and action. For nondualists who are incompatibilists, there must be some place or places in the physical order where an outcome in the natural world is not determined by the set of antecedent conditions and states. Call it the Nondeterminism Postulate. As Robert Russell has written, an ontological indeterminacy of this type seems necessary if human beings are to enact their own choices in the world. We might look, for example, to see whether brain functioning allows for an openness of outcome that is sufficient for counterfactual freedom. Could the same complex brain state result in more than one subsequent outcome (assuming that we had the knowledge to establish that it was the same brain state that was correlated with two different outcomes in two different cases)? Those of us who accept the Nondeterminism

have also weighed in on this side, e.g., Richard M. Restak, The Modular Brain: How New Discoveries in Neuroscience are Answering Age-old Questions about Memory, Free Will, Consciousness, and Personal Identity (New York: Scribner’s, 1994). But the incompatibilist side has, if anything, become stronger in recent years. Among many examples see especially Peter Van Inwagen, An Essay on Free Will (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983); Timothy O’Connor, ed., Agents, Causes, and Events: Essays on Indeterminism and Free Will (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995); John Martin Fischer, The Metaphysics of Free Will: An Essay on Control (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994); Derk Pereboom, ed., Free Will (Indianapolis, Ind.: Hackett Pub. Co., 1997); Robert Kane, The Significance of Free Will (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). 22 Van Inwagen, An Essay on Free Will represents a particularly strong example. 23 By “agent” I mean here Descartes’s res cogitans, or a member of the “kingdom of means and ends,” as in Kant’s Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals.

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Postulate argue that there must be this sort of openness at least somewhere in the hierarchy of natural phenomena. And, given what we know of the microphysical world, it’s at least plausible that the required openness of outcome has its first (and perhaps only) source at the quantum level. As long as the openness could be amplified up through the causal chain so that it remained relevant to the description of some of your actions—e.g., to the complex physical state underlying your choice to commit a crime or not—then you could be said to be free and thus responsible for your actions. Only in this sense could quantum indeterminacy (if it exists) be said to be the necessary condition for human free will. Incidentally, note that nothing in this account makes indeterminacy sufficient to establish robust free will in humans; it is only a prerequisite, a first step in showing how genuine freedom might arise at the level of complex organisms like ourselves. In this third example there is again room for one to engage in some serious metaphysical reflection, though not all will wish to do so. Imagine that you accept incompatibilism as defined above, as well as some version of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics: you hold that the quantum world is genuinely indeterministic. Suppose also that you do not think that indeterminacy arises at any other or higher physical level than quantum mechanics. The minimal formulation of your view is that quantum indeterminacy is a necessary condition for human freedom. But you might also postulate and look for other kinds of openness as well. You might hold, for instance, that the hierarchical structure of the physical world, rather than eliminating the indeterminacy, actually augments or amplifies it. You might look for expressions of indeterminacy at multiple levels of the physical hierarchy, from the macrophysical level of measuring devices through genetic variation to indeterminacy in neuronal firing within the brain and the resulting behavioral plasticity. In your more philosophical moments you might argue that the existence of mentality in general, and free will in particular, are among the results of this openness of the world at whatever levels it occurs.24 Your view would then commit you to giving some account of how quantum indeterminacy could find macrophysical expression. Could you suggest a physical mechanism for making this indeterminacy

24 Having said this, I must add that I am not currently aware of any concrete results that suggest such openness at any other level than the quantum level.

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matter at the level of human decision makers? There are a variety of physical processes that augment quantum mechanical effects (see the essay by George Ellis in CTNS/VO, v. V). Or perhaps you would look (more speculatively) for the augmentation of quantum indeterminacy via chaotic systems to the point where they might have discernable macrophysical impacts. Or perhaps you would attempt to specify the mechanisms within the brain whereby quantum mechanical indeterminacy might directly contribute to the brain processes that underlie and give rise to conscious experience.25 If you were convinced of the strength of these empirical accounts and were also interested in integrating the results with a theological position in the fashion suggested above, it would be natural to take an additional step. You might then postulate that God created a world with indeterminacy at the most fundamental level in order to allow the freedom required of human agents. In this case, the existence of these mechanisms would reveal something of the nature and intentions of the Creator of this physical order. For example, God would have to be such that God could intend to create conscious agents such as ourselves. Clearly I have stopped short of a complete defense of quantum indeterminacy as the touchstone for human freedom. But I have tried to show the significance of the sorts of connections that might be drawn and to defend the type of reflection that is required for developing and assessing these various possibilities. It may not be the case that the different metaphysical alternatives would entail physically distinct observations. Yet from the perspective of a theory of human nature,26 at any rate, they do represent significantly different options.

4. Taking Stock In examining these three classic areas in the interpretation of quantum mechanics it has been my goal not so much to decisively establish one set of systematic conclusions as to defend the importance of this

25 Henry P. Stapp, Mind, Matter, and Quantum Mechanics (Berlin: Springer, 1993). 26 See e.g., Robert J. Russell, Nancey C. Murphy, Theo C. Meyering, and Michael A. Arbib, eds., Neuroscience and the Person: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action (Vatican City State/Berkeley, Calif.: Vatican Observatory/Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 2000), hereafter NAP.

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type of discussion. This task is necessary, since many scientists are constitutionally opposed to speaking of science and divine action in the same sentence, such as occurs in this book’s title. Such scientists pride themselves, in fact, on the distance of their own work from any theological subject whatsoever (whatever their own private religious stance might be). 4.1. The Continuum of Abstraction Such outbreaks of animosity are not without precedent: for much of the twentieth century, and perhaps since Kant, a bipartite opposition was set up between physics and metaphysics. This contentious dichotomy unfortunately managed to obscure a third realm, wedged in between the two, in which interesting and productive philosophical interactions regularly take place. In its professional form this realm is known as the philosophy of physics and includes (among many other topics) the questions of the status of objects and entities in physics, the nature of physical law, the nature of inference and justification in physics, and the relations of physics to chemistry, biology, and mental events.27 But this in-between realm has in fact a rather broader scope than the formal discipline of the philosophy of physics. Bench scientists engage in it on a regular basis—sometimes during the work day, and sometimes over a glass of wine afterwards. It is inevitable that both theorists and experimentalists spend time thinking about the specific conceptual problems raised by their field: quantum indeterminacy, observation, nonlocality, entanglement, and so forth. The preceding section provides a good example of questions raised by physics even though they are no longer physical questions in the direct sense.

27 Recent introductory texts to the philosophy of physics include James Cushing, Philosophical Concepts in Physics: The Historical Relation between Philosophy and Scientific Theories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Peter Kosso, Appearance and Reality: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Physics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998); Roger G. Newton, Thinking about Physics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000). Significant works (among many others) in the field include Jarrett Leplin, ed., The Creation of Ideas in Physics: Studies for a Methodology of Theory Construction (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1995); Bernard d’Espagnat, Veiled Reality: An Analysis of Present-Day Quantum Mechanical Concepts (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley, 1995); Jeremy Butterfield and Constantine Pagonis, eds., From Physics to Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Elena Castellani, ed., Interpreting Bodies: Classical and Quantum Objects in Modern Physics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998).

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I would like to call this type of reflection meta-physical, using the hyphen to indicate its borderline status. In one sense these questions come “after” (hence the Greek meta-) the physical work. Yet in another sense they are close cousins to physical questions, insofar as they arise directly out of experimental and theoretical work in mathematical physics. To grant their close kinship with physics is to acknowledge that physics and philosophy lie on a continuum. At the one endpoint—e.g., solving problem sets in your physics textbook—few, if any, philosophical questions are raised. At the other extreme, as one moves into the more lofty realms of metaphysical speculation, empirical questions and the controls of physics play a decreasingly significant role. But many of the most interesting questions (the ones I have called meta-physical) fall in the middle regions of this continuum. Many factors influence how far along the continuum from problem sets an individual thinker is willing to go. These include taste, scientific training and field, intellectual influences, cognitive style (e.g., philosophical or anti-philosophical mind-set), and level of intellectual curiosity. When the topic is divine action, one’s religious commitments become crucial. If one is a theist—and if one believes that her theism should be responsive to the results of the natural sciences—then she has a strong motivation, and perhaps obligation, to travel further along the continuum toward metaphysics and theology. 4.2. Taking the Next Step One is often told that the problem is metaphysics: statements about divine action are metaphysical statements, and some physicists deny that there is anything interesting at all to say about any metaphysical topic. Indeed, there were some in this working group who took this position, maintaining that issues about the mathematical formalism and concrete experimental results represent the sum total of decidable questions; all else is subjective preference and hence beyond the scope of argument. But most who work on questions of quantum physics think that some interesting things can be said about at least some meta-physical issues raised by physics.28 28

Indeed, many have actually published on meta-physical questions raised by quantum physics, and some even have books in which the word ‘metaphysics’ appears in the title! So the problem cannot be that all metaphysical statements are strictly speaking meaningless and to be eschewed, as Professor Ayer famously held; A.J. Ayer, Language,

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We found that what might at first appear as a dichotomy (physics or philosophy) is in fact a continuum. There are interpretive statements one can make about quantum theory that, although they are not themselves part of physical theory, stand quite close to it; what I have called meta-physical debates are determined even less fully by the body of physical theory; and classic metaphysical debates are speculative in yet a stronger sense. Clearly statements about theology and the quantum world will fall in the latter category. Thus d’Espagnat’s comments about quantum fields are only mildly interpretive; his postulation of a “deeper reality” begins to be speculative; and his advocacy of a strong Spinozistic monism, one phenomenal manifestation of which is the physical world, is a fully metaphysical position. Still, at no particular point does one encounter a definite point on the continuum, such that assertions made prior to that point reflect purely empirical knowledge and assertions made after it are purely speculative. I have attempted to show that there is value in reflecting one’s way across the entire spectrum of this continuum. It may be that there is no point of contact between those physicists whose various publications span the whole continuum (in this group, Heller, Polkinghorne, Russell, Stoeger, and Shimony) and those who have not engaged in theological or metaphysical reflection of this sort. But the idea of a continuum suggests that constructive contact is at least possible—especially if we avoid labeling the side closest to actual physical theory “good” and the side closest to classical metaphysical reflection or theology “bad.” (The opposite value judgment must be avoided as well.) It is not intrinsically questionable to explore the more speculative reaches of the continuum, for example by engaging questions at the interface of theology and physics. Of course, claims about physics and theology can be poorly or dogmatically argued, and participants in the discussion (especially in more popular publications) sometimes substitute lofty global claims for serious argument. But there is no intrinsic reason why good argumentation cannot take place at any point along the continuum.

Truth, and Logic, 2nd ed. (New York: Dover, 1946). For positivists in Ayer’s tradition, metaphysical questions are unacceptable whenever they introduce any entities or categories that cannot be directly justified by the mathematical formalism and the empirical data. On this view, debates about the foundations or interpretation of quantum mechanics might or might not be acceptable, depending on how they are pursued.

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One protection against sloppy or dogmatic treatments of theology and physics is to take a pluralistic approach to the discussion, tracing the multiple interpretive possibilities of quantum mechanics rather than siding immediately with one or another. The reasonableness of a given position in speculative debates is not immediately obvious, as if one interpretation could be proven to have exclusive rights as the best interpretation of the data. Rather, like the owl of Minerva, judgments of reasonableness must come at the end of the day. Reasonableness in metaphysical debates lies in one’s ability to tie multiple discussions together within a single interpretive framework. The more comprehensive the claim, the more domains will have to be part of the explanatory story. Clearly, explanations that include the term “God” lie at a rather high point on the scale of comprehensiveness; they certainly cannot be less comprehensive than the field of physics as a whole. Now the more comprehensive one’s explanation becomes, the more difficult it becomes to decide on its truth, whereas, famously, claims about more limited data sets are easier to resolve. Strict and rapid decidability will not be the hallmark of debates about physics and theology. Thus a certain shyness about advancing any position at all is in order. But the shyness need not be stultifying. Science has often been advanced by this or that risky hypothesis; why shouldn’t the same be true of the metaphysics of science as well? Hence, if we are to make any progress at all on research questions that involve moving further along the physics-philosophy continuum, it will be necessary to develop an even greater willingness to entertain speculative hypotheses and to look rigorously for reasons to select one and to abandon others.

5. Three Metaphysical/Theological Options An entire genre of writings on the interpretation of quantum mechanics moves in this more speculative direction. These authors take the sorts of interpretive debates described in section 3 and attempt to provide a more systematic framework within which to address them. Here the goal is not only (for example) to solve the measurement problem, but also to construct an adequate systematic philosophical position. As test cases for this sort of discussion we might take the topics of philosophical monism, treatments of quantum physics in the context of Eastern philosophy, and theistic accounts of divine action.

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5.1. Bernard d’Espagnat’s Spinozistic Monism Bernard d’Espagnat has developed an ontology based on quantum theory that represents a particularly interesting way of drawing lines between physics and metaphysics—and refusing to draw others. As he writes, in quantum field theory particles are viewed as quantized states of a field that extends over the whole of space. But quantum fields are not appropriately interpreted as things. The mathematics associates them with “operators” like the operators associated with observable properties in elementary quantum mechanics, properties such as position or momentum. To d’Espagnat a French example comes to mind: quantum fields are less like the Eiffel Tower than like some qualities that are in (or: that we observe in) the Eiffel Tower, such as its height, size, or shape. So we must ask: what is it that these qualities are qualities of ? According to d’Espagnat, the only possible answer is that the state vector expresses properties of some deeper underlying reality. Since we know its manifestations to us—we know what it’s like when measured—and since quantum physics forbids us to speak about what it’s “really like” when not measured, d’Espagnat speaks of it as a “veiled reality.”29 His is a sort of realism at a distance: we can’t say that reality is “just this way or that,” since our observations and what we observe are intertwined; and yet we can say that the-world-as-observed is a manifestation of the real; reality really takes this or that form in our observations. D’Espagnat develops these insights into a strong form of philosophical monism.30 There is just the one reality, since quantum physics requires us to think of the world as interconnected and nonseparable. And yet this reality can take quite diverse forms. Take consciousness: it is not a separate kind of force, as in the “dualistic” or subject-based interpretations of quantum mechanics; rather, it is one “property” of that one reality—not a property of the particles in the brain. The brain particles and consciousness both represent properties

29 See Bernard d’Espagnat, In Search of Reality (Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 1983). More recently, see his Veiled Reality. See also idem, Realism and the Physicist: Knowledge, Duration, and the Quantum World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), and his article in W. Schommers, ed., Quantum Theory and Pictures of Reality: Foundations, Interpretations, and New Aspects (Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 1989). 30 Several critics are right to point out that d’Espagnat’s monism is not a strict entailment of his interpretation of quantum theory. The point of the continuum and the pluralistic model I am advocating is that broader metaphysical discussions are underdetermined by “formalism + empirical data,” and even by the basic interpretive options, without thereby becoming purely arbitrary, “bad metaphysics.”

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of the veiled underlying reality. Thus, d’Espagnat writes, “the whole set of consciousness” and “the whole set of objects” are in fact “two complementary aspects of independent reality”; neither exists in itself, but “each one comes into existence through the other, somewhat in the same way in which the images of two mirrors facing one another give rise to one another.”31 With this parallelism (or “dual-aspect monism”) d’Espagnat’s allegiance to Spinoza comes to light. For Spinoza there was just one reality, which he called both God and nature: deus siva natura. Likewise for d’Espagnat, “ ‘God’ means Being, and above all the unity of Being common to the indications of physics and to the most essential of Spinoza’s intuitions.”32 D’Espagnat is an ally to the divine-action theorist in several respects. He clearly makes the empirical world depend on a deeper order, and he allows that empirical science can at least hint at some of its qualities. Science cannot however provide definitive knowledge of this realm, since “the very nature of science is that its domain is limited to empirical reality.”33 Thus he does not try to derive subjectivity from (or reduce it to) the realm of the purely physical. On the other hand, d’Espagnat has also formulated the greatest competitor to divine action theories: Spinozistic monism. He reminds us that there are ultimately three major options for interpreting the physical world: there is no God, and physics ultimately defines reality; there is a God (and presumably also subjects), in which case Spirit is the more ultimate explanation of the physical universe; or there is the One that has both mental and physical qualities. Following the third option, d’Espagnat maintains that there is no God apart from the world; we don’t need one, since the existing world admits both mental and physical properties as qualities or attributes or operators. 5.2. Eastern Mysticism The best known exponent of the Eastern approach has been Fritjof Capra, whose book The Tao of Physics spawned a school of similar books, essays and disciples. Capra finds close parallels between modern physics and certain key tenets of Eastern religious thought. Kevin

31 32 33

d’Espagnat, In Search of Reality, 96f. Ibid., 101. Ibid., 167.

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Sharpe provides a concise summary of the nine central parallels that Capra advocates: Eastern mysticism and modern physics perceive the cosmos as a unity, holding together opposites in a complementary yin and yang manner rather than in a conflicting dualism; they comprehend spacetime as [a] relative construct of the mind and not objective; the universe as dynamic and not static; that elements of matter cannot be understood as being isolated, but only in relation to the physical vacuum in which they are; that matter is performing a “dance” and not just quietly inert; he further sees a similarity between the paradoxical nature of quark symmetries and Zen koans; and between their both seeing no basic elements of matter, but only patterns of change and interpretation within the mutual interrelation and self-consistency of all phenomena (the “bootstrap” hypothesis).34

A host of authors have followed a similar tack. Dennis Postle, for example, finds a similar stress on the interconnectedness, interpenetration, and interdependence of all things in both Eastern philosophy and modern particle physics.35 Both approaches, he believes, preserve a role for consciousness in affecting what the world becomes. In physics, Postle holds, an experimenter’s attitude towards the experiment changes what is then looked at. But Eastern teaching goes further: “what we can know depends on our consciousness,” and “knowledge is structured in consciousness.” Physics (allegedly) points toward the Eastern unity of all things, though in the end it doesn’t go quite far enough for these authors. Bohm in his more mystical writings also seems to advocate a similar position: One is led to a new notion of unbroken wholeness which denies the classical idea of analyzability of the world into separately and independently existing parts. . . . We have reversed the usual classical notion that the independent “elementary parts” of the world are the fundamental reality, and that the various systems are merely particular contingent forms and arrangements of these parts. Rather, we say that inseparable quantum inter-connectedness of the whole universe is the fundamental reality,

34 See Kevin J. Sharpe, “Mysticism in Physics,” in Religion and Nature, K.J. Sharpe and J.M. Ker, eds. (New Zealand: The University of Auckland Chaplaincy, 1984), 43f. 35 Dennis Postle, Fabric of the Universe (London: Macmillan, 1976), 8f.

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and that relatively independently behaving parts are merely particular and contingent forms within this whole.36

Bohm turned this interconnectedness into an ethical or religious view: “Indeed, the attempt to live according to the notion that the fragments are really separate is, in essence, what has led to the growing series of extremely urgent crises that is confronting us today.”37 Atomism leads to confused questions, which indicates the need for new forms of insight.38 Based on the “quantum inter-connectedness of the whole universe,” Bohm concludes, “one can no longer maintain the division between the observer and observed (which is implicit in the atomistic view that regards each of these as separate aggregates of atoms). Rather, both observer and observed are merging and interpenetrating aspects of one whole reality, which is indivisible and unanalyzable.”39 This leads to his main thesis: “So approaching the question in different ways, relativity and quantum theory agree, in that they both imply the need to look on the world as an undivided whole, in which all parts of the universe, including the observer and his instruments, merge and unite in one totality.”40 Entanglement phenomena in quantum physics have often been cited as evidence for holistic conclusions. One finds mainline physicists who appeal to entanglement to defend an overarching interconnection of all things. Thus Henry Stapp defines the concept of local causality: “The principle of local causes asserts that what happens in one spacetime region is approximately independent of variables subject to the control of an experimenter in a far-away spacelike-separated region.” Stapp shows how Bell’s theorem conflicts with the principle of local causes: “The statistical predictions from which this result follows . . . have been experimentally tested and confirmed. . . . Bell’s theorem shows that no theory of reality compatible with quantum theory can allow the spatially separated parts of reality to be independent.”41 Ken Wilber then uses Stapp’s comments and the empirical tests of Bell’s theorem to defend the holism of the Eastern traditions:

36

Bohm and Hiley, The Undivided Universe, 96, 102. See David Bohm, Fragmentation and Wholeness (Jerusalem: The Van Leer Jerusalem Foundation, 1976), 1f. 38 Ibid., 8. 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid., 10. 41 Henry P. Stapp, “Theory of Reality,” Foundations of Physics 7 (1977): 313–23. 37

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philip clayton It is common among the “new-paradigm” thinkers to claim that the basic problem with science is that, under the “Newtonian-Cartesian” worldview, the universe is viewed as atomistic, mechanistic, divided, and fragmented, whereas the new sciences (quantum/relativistic and systems/complexity theory) have shown that the world is not a collection of atomistic fragments but an inseparable web of relations. This “web-of-life” view, they claim, is compatible with traditional spiritual worldviews, and thus this “new paradigm” will usher in the new quantum self and quantum society, a holistic and healing worldview disclosed by science itself.42

The problem, in other words, was not that the scientific worldview was atomistic instead of holistic, since it was basically holistic from the start. No, the problem was that it was a thoroughly flatland holism. It was not a holism that actually included “all of the interior realms of the I and the We (including the eye of contemplation).”43 When concepts such as these are fleshed out in full form by the more radical Eastern mystics, the results can be startling: . . . in quantum physics the elements are not physical themselves; they do not exist as objects. Their very existence depends on the idea of their existence beforehand. They are treated as “tendencies to exist” rather than as already existing possibilities like the sides of a flipped coin. In the quantum world the quantum coin’s sides do not appear unless someone calls for them to appear. . . . Thus we conclude that the “new physics” introduces the element of consciousness into the material world. This consciousness will not arise from the molecule itself, as seen as a material unit, but will arise as a “risk-taking” psyche—that is, one that chooses. These choices cannot be made willy-nilly. “Reason” must begin to make its appearance, which surpasses the simple mechanism of cause and effect. We know that atoms do not follow the laws of cause and effect except statistically or on the average. To explain the evolution of learning, associative memory, and possibly even the more primitive forms of memory called habituation and sensitization, we must face the quantum. States of consciousness, feelings, emotional states, and psychology as a science may depend on the recognition that mind, the consciousness of the universe, arises through quantum physics.44

Now there may be inherent interest in the Eastern metaphysics that these thinkers are seeking to express. The problem arises when the

42 Ken Wilber, The Marriage of Sense and Soul: Integrating Science and Religion (New York: Random House, 1998), 38. 43 Ibid., 57. 44 Fred Alan Wolf, Star Wave: Mind, Consciousness, and Quantum Physics (New York: Macmillan, 1994), 17–9.

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authors couch their conclusions as if they were implications of the quantum physics. Physics needs metaphysical interpretation, and some quantum mechanical results do support a form of interconnectedness not unlike the metaphysics of holism. But physics does not directly support a particular metaphysic on the speculative end of the continuum. Of course, the founders of quantum mechanics were the first to stress that the resulting ontology, whatever it turns out to be, will be radically different from the everyday ontologies that we encounter in the macrophysical world and in traditional philosophical theories. Clearly the physics requires some radical rethinking, though it is not clear that this particular direction is the best way to go, and it is certainly not the only one. 5.3. Theistic Metaphysics In this final example I compare and contrast the previous two approaches with the tradition of theistic metaphysics, briefly considering both classical theism and panentheism. No pretense can be made that physics will determine the choice between them, any more than it can decide between theism and its competitors. Thus our only goal can be to show the coherence of one particular account of divine action with the physical constraints as we know them. 5.3.1. Classical Theism Theism has generally been characterized by a two-fold assertion. On the one hand, the way the world appears to us is not an illusion: there are indeed multiple physical objects, law-like regularities, and so forth. On the other hand, this world has its origin in an ultimate principle characterized primarily as “spirit.” This means, at least, that the divine is an active principle and that the actions of this principle are more like that of a person than like the operation of impersonal natural law. There are certain advantages to theism’s double assertion in comparison to some of the views encountered above. Surely it is some advantage to be able to incorporate the real existence of the world into one’s philosophy rather than having to label it all illusion. But it is also an advantage to be able to grant the real physicality of the world—the existence of distinct physical objects that obey natural laws, change and develop, and have a beginning and an end in time. At the same time, postulating the existence of a God allows one to make sense of the

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existence of mental objects, or at least mental properties, in the world.45 For theists, mental properties are not utterly different in kind from the deeper reality that underlies our everyday experience as creatures, since God, the creative source of all things, also manifests consciousness and agency. Indeed, from an explanatory perspective it would be a clear advantage if ultimate reality has (quasi-)personal features, since it would then have the resources to explain the higher-order features of human persons. By contrast, an impersonal ultimate principle (karma, say, or traditional materialism) must reduce mental or personal phenomena to the terms of its own ultimate principle(s). On the other hand, classical philosophical theism (CPT) faces a few difficulties of its own.46 Since God is understood purely as disembodied spirit, it is more difficult to specify in detail how God is to be presently related to the physical world. (I will assume for now that CPT can adequately answer questions about the initial creation of the world through the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, though certain difficulties arise here as well.) Further, God’s nature becomes perhaps too different from our own. Human agents exist only as embodied,47 whereas CPT understands the divine agent to be essentially disembodied. At worst, one worries that no analogy will remain between human and divine agency, which would mean that one could no longer speak without equivocation of both humans and God as “agents.” But what CPT cannot provide in terms of a model, it can protect by means of a sharp separation between God and world. God dwells ultimately in mystery, and as the tradition noted, “his ways are not our ways.” The theist may not be able to say how God is an agent, if he is utterly unlike us, nor how he makes a difference in the world. She may therefore be unable to supply a theory of how God can act in a purely physical world governed by natural laws. But she can always claim that

45

Classically, Christian theology claimed that there were mental objects or “souls” that constituted the essence of (at least) each person. Recent dialogue with the neurosciences has led many theologians to think instead of mental properties rather than essentially mental things. See, e.g., the essays in NAP. 46 I cannot do justice to the complicated criticisms in five sentences. In addition to other works cited here, see Philip Clayton, “The Case for Christian Panentheism,” Dialog 37 (1998): 201–8; idem, “Panentheist Internalism: Living within the Presence of the Trinitarian God,” Dialog 40 (2001), in press. 47 Even Christian theologians are now arguing that the notion of a (dualistically understood) soul does not make sense. See, e.g., Warren S. Brown, Nancey C. Murphy, and Newton Malony, Whatever Happened to the Soul? Scientific and Theological Portraits of Human Nature (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1998).

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God acts miraculously in the world, that God is not constrained by natural law, that God acts in time from outside of time, or that God is a co-cause of every event alongside inner-worldly causes. Surely the inaccessibility of such divine causes to explanation by human agents is disturbing. But it cannot be argued that it is incoherent. 5.3.2. Panentheism As I have argued elsewhere,48 a panentheistic form of theism avoids some of these difficulties. Panentheism is usually defined as the view that the world is within God, although God is also more than the world. If God includes the world with Godself—perhaps somewhat on analogy with the relationship between your mental properties and your body—then the question of divine action within the world is made less intractable than when God and the world are understood as fully ontologically distinct. Specifically, we can imagine the regularities of the natural world as analogous to our bodies’ autonomic functioning. Of course, a being that is omni-aware will know all the regular functions that are occurring in the universe and can be said to be in control of them to an extent far beyond a human’s control over her autonomic bodily functions. This means that each physical event, no matter how law-like, can be understood as an expression of divine agency. In addition to such regular functions, panentheism also allows us to speak of focal divine actions, similar to the way that a human can carry out focal conscious actions through an act of attention and will. It is a matter of dispute among theists how many such focal actions God accomplishes in the world. But if they occur in a “top-down” manner, acting as a lure or partial motivation for individual human agents, then no natural laws need to be broken and hence no contradiction with the results of science needs to be introduced. It is particularly fascinating to note the parallels between this sort of panentheism and some of the interpretations of quantum mechanics given above. One theme that has already been introduced in the reflections of several quantum physicists is the distinction between empirical appearances and an underlying reality. D’Espagnat distinguished between the manifest and the “veiled” or “hidden” reality, Bohm between the implicate and explicate (or implicit and explicit)

48

Clayton, God and Contemporary Science; idem, The Problem of God.

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order: “That is, there is a universal flux that cannot be defined explicitly, but which can be known only implicitly, as indicated by the explicitly definable forms and shapes, some stable and some unstable, that can be abstracted from the universal flux.”49 Some label this the fundamental metaphysical move: to distinguish between the world of appearances and something deeper. Think of Plato’s distinction between the phenomena and the realm of the forms—or, for that matter, any of the other Greek attempts to specify the arché—or ultimate principle. Note also that what the world ultimately turns out to be will depend on the nature of this deeper principle. Consider some candidates for the nature of this underlying reality. In the Spinozistic tradition with which d’Espagnat aligns himself, the One is not an active principle; it is neither mind nor matter (though it manifests itself as both); it is unchanging, eternal, and in itself unitary and undivided. Contrast this position with the view of Bohm and the physicists who draw on the process philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead,50 for whom the deeper reality is process or movement: “What is is a whole movement, in which each aspect flows into and merges with all other aspects. Atoms, electrons, protons, tables, chairs, human beings, planets, galaxies, etc. are then to be regarded as abstractions from the whole movement and are to be described in terms of order, structure, and form in movement.”51 One must then ask whether or not this reality-in-motion is conscious. The Hindu traditions, for example, have often understood it as a universal ground of consciousness. Thus the Hindu quantum physicist Amit Goswami solves the measurement problem by imagining all conscious observers to be manifestations of a universal, omnipresent ground of consciousness.52 For Spinozists, by contrast, although mentality appears among the infinite attributes of the One, mind is no more basic to reality than matter. Panentheism can be seen to split the difference. It does not draw the sharp separation between this material world and its purely spiritual source that we found in CPT. On the other hand, it does not equate world and God, physical

49

Bohm, Fragmentation and Wholeness, 10. See the two special issues of Process Studies—vols. 26.3–4 (1997)—edited by the physicist Tim Eastman and containing articles by (among others) the physicists David Finkelstein, Lawrence Fagg, and Eastman. 51 Bohm, Fragmentation and Wholeness, 39. 52 Amit Goswami, The Self-Aware Universe: How Consciousness Creates the Material World, with Richard E. Reed and Maggie Goswami (New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1993). 50

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and mental, as Spinoza does. Rather, the relationship between them is analogous to our own relationship between our mental properties and our physical properties, which a number of thinkers have understood as a relationship of supervenience.53 Panentheistic theology tends to unify the world, understanding all its behaviors as expressions of the one unified divine will, whereas CPT conceives God as present to all parts of a world that is radically plural. Of the two, CPT is somewhat more dualistic in its understanding of the God-world relationship54 and more pluralistic in its conception of the physical world. By contrast, panentheism shares with the Eastern traditions, with d’Espagnat, and with the later Bohm, a certain tug toward monism over atomism. This fact links it with those developments in contemporary physics that reveal a deeper level of interconnection within nature. Entanglement phenomena, for example, reveal this sort of interconnection in the quantum world, if indeed they show that several apparently discrete parts of the world are in fact best viewed as a single system or particle. The theory of quantum fields offers another framework in which apparently discrete objects (subatomic particles) are reconceived as manifestations of a unified field. The extent of such interconnections is of course contested. But if the best interpretation of quantum mechanics should turn out to be the one that emphasizes some degree of holism, interconnection, and interdependence, then panentheism becomes a level-three metaphysic that evidences a natural fit or coherence with quantum physics so understood.

6. Conclusion In this essay I have attempted to trace some of the lines that connect quantum physics and theology. Admittedly, we have not found the sort of tight conceptual connections that sometimes arise within the philosophy of physics; in this sense there is certainly more freedom than constraint. At least five tentative conclusions have emerged out of the discussion:

53

On the supervenience relation see several of the essays in NAP, e.g., Murphy and Clayton, and the literature cited therein. 54 See Bede Griffiths, “The Vision of Non-Duality in World Religions,” in The Spirit of Science, Lorimer, ed.

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a. Strong connections or constraints would suggest a “tight” model of the science-theology relationship as involving strict entailments from one to the other. The much more tentative and inconclusive nature of the constraints defended here suggests a rather different model. Instead of working with a “physics versus metaphysics” dichotomy, we explored a three-level division of labor (physics, philosophy of physics interpretations, metaphysical interpretations) that, I believe, more accurately reflects the actual order in which the questions are raised. Interpreting the quantum results naturally gives rise to second-order philosophical debates; and these second-order options are in turn amenable to various theological interpretations, some of which may evidence a slightly better fit than others. b. Such theological interpretations are admittedly speculative in nature. Whether this speculation is acceptable or unacceptable depends in part on what one’s goals are. If your goal is to interpret, say, quantum physical entanglement with the absolute minimum metaphysical commitment, then something like Abner Shimony’s seven features of potentiality will suffice. If you want a philosophically rich interpretation of quantum physics but nothing more, then one or more of the standard interpretations of quantum mechanics presented in this volume will do. By contrast, if you want an interpretation broad enough to also include (say) biological structures and the existence of creatures with psychological experience, then you will need a metaphysics at least as extensive as those developed in this volume by Chris Clarke and George Ellis. Finally, if you wish to reach a metaphysical dimension broad enough to include human religious experience, then you will have to go as far as the sorts of hypotheses covered in section 5 above. To characterize such a project in advance as “bad” or unacceptable is to use one’s own disinterest as a criterion of epistemic adequacy—not a particularly powerful argument. c. Imagine that one is looking for a level of theorizing that encompasses both quantum physics and theology. Of course, this project is not mandatory, yet neither have we found anything to suggest that it is incoherent. What we have discovered is that one cannot engage in such a project—one cannot do constructive work in science and theology—unless one includes the relevant intervening fields. Again, the essays by Clarke and Ellis in CTNS/VO, v. V55 reveal that the

55

Cf. Nancey C. Murphy and George F.R. Ellis. On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology, and Ethics (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996); Arthur Peacocke,

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best way of including these fields is by considering the pattern of emergence that characterizes the relation between them. In the case of quantum physics and theology, the relevant intervening data are (at least) biological structures and mental properties or experiences. d. Even if conclusions (a)–(c) are granted, there remain multiple theological or metaphysical options. It would have been nicer for orthodoxy, perhaps, if a decision mechanism existed for making a clear rational decision between the theological options, but we have not found this to be the case. In a situation in which the metaphysical options are radically underdetermined by the theories and data of science, one must content oneself with affinities and compatibilities, with (at best) a fit or coherence between groups of concepts in radically disparate disciplines. Panentheism may represent an attractive middle ground between the complete holism of the Eastern mystical approaches and the stronger ontological separation of God and world that has often characterized CPT (section 5.3 above). But the looseness of the connection with physics—not to mention the deep ambiguities in the interpretation of quantum physics itself—proscribe any lofty claims on its part. e. For those who begin to study the possible interrelationships between quantum physics and theism, and who are interested in the problem of divine action, panentheism offers a certain attraction. It provides a way of speaking of the law-like regularities of dynamics and mechanics as expressions of regularities within the being and character of the divine (autonomic divine action). At the same time, it allows (in principle) for focal divine actions that are consistent with physical law—as long as divine action is construed as a top-down (or wholepart) influence that lures the wills and mental dispositions of conscious agents. Now there may be some reason to wonder whether divine action actually occurs that is focused and specific in this sense. Certainly if the divine mental influence were understood as able to determine human thoughts and actions, it might begin to constrain human freedom and, by implication, to make God responsible for non-interventions that leave suffering and evil unrequited (the socalled problem of evil). For this reason, again, theologians are better advised to limit their claims to how God could act than to commit

Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural, Divine, and Human (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993); Harold J. Morowitz, Emergences: Twenty-Eight Steps from Matter to Spirit, forthcoming.

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themselves to strong knowledge claims about how God must act in the physical world. Quite a come-down from the old-style theology as “queen of the sciences”? Perhaps. The type of hypothetical theology that I have here advocated is keenly aware of its limitations and the difficulties of the task. These may not be awe-inspiring results. But they are accurate expressions of the difficulty of the task—but also of the opportunities— that face theists who wish to listen closely and respond to the scientific results. Our exploration does not, at any rate, represent a null result. And if I am right, it does provide at least the outlines for a continuing research program in the field of quantum physics and theology.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CREATION, PROVIDENCE AND QUANTUM CHANCE Thomas F. Tracy

1. The God Who Acts in History One of the central challenges of modern theology has been to explain what it means to speak of the “acts of God.” The biblical texts at the foundation of Judaism and Christianity include a rich deposit of stories that depict God acting in history to advance the purposes for which the world was called into being. The extraordinary “main character” to whom we are introduced in these narratives is not a distant and impassive observer of the course of history. On the contrary, this God engages individuals and communities in a relationship that unfolds as a compelling drama full of tensions and surprises, reversals and renewals. The narratives present a vivid and often poignant account of a long history of divine initiative and human response, stretching from the covenant with Abraham to the liberation from bondage in Egypt and the giving of the law at Sinai to the establishment of an independent kingdom and the building of the temple and to the eventual bitter loss of both. Christians later take up this story, reading it in their own way and carrying it forward in the Gospels toward a “surprise ending” of stunning boldness. These stories do not simply remain artifacts of ancient faiths. Rather, they continue to play a central role in shaping life within the religious traditions that preserved them as scripture. The liturgical practices of worshiping communities, for example, typically involve a movement back and forth between the biblical texts, in which God’s “mighty acts” are depicted, and the contemporary context, in which the ongoing presence of God is affirmed. In telling and retelling these stories, communities of faith renew their understanding of who God is and of what God is up to in the world. We might say that the narratives serve to delineate the character of God by showing the divine agent in action,

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not unlike the depiction of human character in a well-told story.1 In light of this narrative understanding of the nature and purposes of God, the faithful seek to make sense of their own lives and of the world around them. This meaning-making process, as H. Richard Niebuhr has pointed out, involves not so much an incorporation of the story into one’s life, as an incorporation of one’s life into the story.2 The biblical narratives provide patterns for discerning how God is at work in the world, for glimpsing this deepest of “plot-lines” in history. In understanding the world this way, the faithful come to see themselves as living out, even now in their own stories, a moment in the larger biblical drama. 1.1. Modern Challenges Despite the central role that narratives of God’s acts play in the biblical traditions, theologians in the modern era have persistently found themselves stumbling over the language of divine action, uncertain about what to make of it. To be sure, circumspect theologians throughout history have recognized that there is no direct and simple route from the biblical stories to a theology of divine action, and they have grappled with questions of interpretation. Some degree of hermeneutical selfconsciousness is virtually forced upon thoughtful readers by the biblical texts themselves, which do not all speak with a single voice but rather reflect an internally diverse tradition; in order to construe these texts as a relatively unified story of God’s acts, a whole series of important theological decisions must be made. This interpretive enterprise has become particularly problematic for modern theologians, however. There are several interrelated reasons for this, two of which are especially worth noting here. First, the development of critical historical and literary techniques has deepened our understanding of the contingency and complexity of the biblical text. In particular, the application of historical criticism to biblical narratives has progressively loosened the connections between story and history. It now requires great determination to persist in taking biblical stories of God’s acts at face value as descriptions of historical events. But if God does not, after all, perform just

1 Hans W. Frei, The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative (Haven: Yale University Press, 1974), and The Identity of Jesus Christ (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975). 2 The Meaning of Revelation (New York: Macmillan, 1941), especially Ch. 3.

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the actions described in the biblical stories, then what if anything does God do? If, for example, we are not prepared to say that God sent a series of plagues to Egypt, parted the waters of the Red Sea to let the Hebrew people pass, guided them with pillars of cloud by day and fire by night, and fed them heavenly mana in the desert, then in what way is God the agent of their liberation?3 Having granted that the biblical narratives should not be read as direct reports of God mighty deeds, modern theologians confront a host of difficult questions about how to interpret these stories and about what claims they warrant regarding divine action in the world. Second, the rise of the natural sciences has profoundly changed the intellectual context within which this theological enterprise of interpretation is carried out. Since the sixteenth century, the various sciences have progressively disentangled themselves from the explicitly religious conceptions of the universe to which they initially were tied. For example, the periodic divine interventions that Newton introduced to correct the planetary orbits were replaced by the deterministic causal closure of Laplace; traditional flood geology gave way to the uniformitarianism of Hutton and Lyell; the exquisite divine design of each creature for its place in nature (that Paley illustrated in his anatomical studies) was succeeded by Darwin’s theory of natural selection. At every point the sciences have proven their ability to provide powerful explanations of events in the world without appeal to a transcendent cause. Laplace spoke for the modern sciences generally in his famous remark, when asked about the role of God in his astronomical theories, that he had “no need for that hypothesis.” The sciences, for their own explanatory purposes, not only get along perfectly well without God, they systemically exclude appeals to such an agent from their battery of explanatory strategies.

3

Langdon Gilkey famously pressed this question with great effect against the biblical theology movement (“Cosmology, Ontology, and the Travail of Biblical Language,” The Journal of Religion 41 (1961), pp. 194–205). The biblical theologians, e.g. G. Ernest Wright in The God Who Acts: Biblical Theology as Recital (London: SCM, 1952), argued that nineteenth century liberal theology made a fatal error in identifying revelation with certain modifications of human religious consciousness. By contrast, Wright and others contended that we come to know God in response to God’s self-revealing mighty acts in salvation history, as narrated in the biblical texts. Gilkey pointed out that the biblical theologians were unwilling to take these stories at face value and yet offered no alternative account of what they meant by an act of God. As a result, they were left in the embarrassing position of proclaiming God’s self-revelation in action without being able to say what God has done.

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1.2. A Dilemma for Divine Action Modern theologians have been acutely aware of these features of contemporary natural science and many have drawn the conclusion that we must give up, or at least profoundly qualify, talk of God acting in the world. This is often held to be a consequence of recognizing either that 1) scientific methods in principle rule out divine action or 2) scientific findings in fact are inconsistent with the affirmation that God acts in the world. Neither of these claims will bear critical scrutiny. From the observation that “God” cannot appear as a term in explanations offered by the sciences, it does not follow that theologians, for their own distinctive purposes, cannot develop an account of divine action in the world. And while it is evident that scientific explanations sometimes refute particular religious claims about divine action (e.g. that God brought the universe into being in 4004 BCE), it is at least not obvious that anything the sciences have so far taught us about the world rules out the possibility of divine action within it. It is a mistake to conclude that modern human beings have adopted, in general, a “scientific way of knowing” and/or a “scientific world-view” that rules out talk of divine agency developed within a theological interpretation of the world. The theologians who have made these claims, and used them as the basis for far-reaching theological revision, have almost always uncritically presupposed a deterministic picture of the natural world. We can see this in a long line of religious thinkers, from deists in the eighteenth century to Schleiermacher at the founding of liberal Protestant theology in the early nineteenth century to contemporary theologians like Rudolph Bultmann and Gordon Kaufman.4 For these thinkers, a general metaphysical picture of the world as a closed causal continuum came to be invested with the authority of science by being treated either as a methodological given of scientific inquiry or as a well-established empirical result. This is one of the most important points at which theological appropriation of the sciences during the twentieth century lagged well behind the emerging openness and deep uncertainty of sci-

4 See Friedrich Schleiermacher, The Christian Faith, ed. H.R. Macintosh and J.S. Stewart (New York: Harper & Row, 1963), Para. 46; Rudolph Bultmann, Kerygma and Myth, ed. H.W. Bartsch (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1961), and Gordon Kaufman, God the Problem, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972). Also see Langdon Gilkey, op. cit.

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entists themselves as they explored multiple ontological interpretations of their own results. Once universal causal determinism is assumed to be an essential feature of modern science, however, it is not difficult to see why one might think that scientific explanations are incompatible with theological claims about divine action in such a world. It appears that God will be able to affect the course of events in a deterministic world only by 1) setting the initial conditions and laws of nature which jointly determine each event in the world’s history, and/or 2) interrupting this deterministic causal series to turn events in a new direction. This presents the theologian with a dilemma. The first option accepts the deliverances of science but does not give us divine action within nature and human history, only divine action at their foundation. The second alternative provides for divine action within the world, but does so by countenancing “violations” of the laws of nature, and so requires that we abandon a strictly deterministic world view. It is now seems clear that the natural sciences do not require (on methodological grounds) or establish (on evidential grounds) an exceptionless causal determinism, though neither do they rule out a metaphysical interpretation of this sort. This point alone is sufficient to disarm the dilemma that would force a mutually exclusive choice between modern science and the religious traditions that speak of a God who acts in history. But this by no means solves the problems that theologians face in interpreting this language in the contemporary world. A host of difficult questions remain concerning the relation between theological talk about God’s activity in the world and scientific descriptions of events as integrated within a lawful (even if not closed) causal structure. The scientific commitment to seeking explanations formulated strictly in terms an intelligible network of efficient, rather than final, causes has been enormously successful. This explanatory paradigm has come to carry tremendous authority, and it has had a deep impact on our expectations about how to make sense of particular events in the world around us. We look at the world very differently than did, say, the Irish monk who wrote the story of St. Brigid miraculously producing a vast quantity of good Easter ale from a small bag of malt.5 Our initial skepticism about this story is based not so much on an assessment of the available evidence as on a general picture

5 Anonymous, Bethu Brigte, ed. Donncha O hAodha (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1978), Sect. 21.

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of the world and on habits of explanation that have been shaped by the natural sciences. Accordingly, miracles are very much out of favor, if by “miracles” we mean events that a) are brought about by God and b) depart from the laws of nature. Although nothing in the sciences entitles us to say that such events cannot occur, we know that there are important evidential hurdles facing any particular claim that one has occurred; on this point, critical approaches in historical analysis and our scientifically shaped understanding of nature reenforce each other. We have grown instinctively resistant to picturing the world as a place where God persistently breaks in with astonishing displays of divine power. So while the modern theologian’s predicament is not as severely constrained as our initial dilemma suggested (viz. to a choice between the scientific enterprise as a whole or the God who acts in history), the options appear quite limited. We can speak of God as the creator who sets the terms of cosmic history, which then unfolds according to the natural laws God has established. But if we want to go on to affirm that God acts within that history, then it appears that we must take up the epistemic burdens associated with miracles. There are, I think, at least two ways to respond to this theological predicament. The first argues that God’s relation to the world as creator, properly understood, provides the basis for an account of God’s particular actions in history that is sufficiently robust for theological purposes. This is to challenge the claim that constitutes the first horn of the dilemma we constructed; the strategy here is to show that traditional claims about God’s special providence in history can be explicated by reference to God’s activity as the creator of history. The second response addresses the other horn of the dilemma; it challenges the claim that if God acts to redirect the course of events in the world, then this must constitute an intervention that departs from the lawful structures of nature. If a) the structures of nature include events that are not fully determined by the past, and b) these events have effects that sometimes are amplified in the causal sequences that flow from them, then God could shape the course of history by acting in these open interstices of creation without disrupting its immanent structures. It is at this point that quantum mechanical indeterminism may be relevant. I want to explore some of the strengths and weaknesses of each of these approaches. Much of the discussion of the relevance of contemporary natural science to the theology of divine action has focused on variants of the second approach. In this paper, I would like to counterbalance this tendency by including extended consideration of the

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prospects for a position of the first type. There are two reasons for this. First, it is important not to underestimate the resources available in the classical theological tradition for giving an account of special divine action in history that does not appeal to causal openness in the structures of nature. Note that if a position of this type could be sustained, there would no longer be as clear and pressing a theological need to need to develop a position of the second type; the theological stake in scientific debates about (for example) deterministic interpretations of quantum mechanics would be considerably reduced. Second, if we do go on to claim that God acts through indeterministic structures in the natural world, it is important to root this claim firmly in an account of the basic creative relation of God to nature.

2. God as Creator God’s fundamental action is the act of creating the world, i.e., the totality of non-divine things. As this idea developed in the theological traditions in the West, it came to include three elements. First, creation is a free intentional action, rather than a necessity of the divine nature. Because God’s being is complete quite without the world of created things, creation is an act of gracious generosity. The effect of affirming the freedom of God’s creative action is to emphasize the utter contingency of the existence of created things. This stands in contrast, for example, to Neo-Platonic conceptions of creation as a necessary and involuntary emanation of the super-abundant plentitude of the divine being. This classical understanding of creation also contrasts with the views of most process theologians. Whitehead’s metaphysical scheme, for example, specifies that every individual entity must be a creative integration of relations to other entities. God is no exception to this scheme; God makes a uniquely pervasive contribution to the creative becoming of the world, but God and world are co-eternal. Second, God’s creative act cannot be understood on the familiar human model of refashioning materials already at hand. There is no prime matter, no chaotic primordial stuff, that is presupposed by and constrains God’s creative work. Rather, God creates ex nihilo; apart from God’s creation action, nothing but God would exist. Creation accounts for the very being of the creature, and not just for the way it is or for its properties over time. It follows that the divine creative act cannot be regarded as a species of change; in creating, God does not

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transform or modify the state of things, but rather brings it about that there are finite things at all. Third, God’s creative action includes the continuous “giving of being” to the created world in its entirety. Creation is not a particular event, completed at some time in the distant past, which leaves behind (as it were) a world that gets along perfectly well on its own. This understanding of creation was characteristic of eighteenth century Deism. But the mainstream of the theological tradition has held that created things do not possess a power of continuing in existence on their own; rather, the existence of the created world depends absolutely at every moment upon God’s creative action. This has typically been expressed by saying that the act of creation includes the activity of sustaining, or “conserving,” the existence of each creature.6 If God were to cease this continuous creative action, finite things would cease to be. 2.1. Direct and Indirect Divine Action This understanding of God’s relation to the world provides a rich context within which to interpret talk of divine action in history. God is universally and intimately present to every creature at every moment, and nothing takes place without God’s agency. Thus we can speak not only of creatio ex nihilo but also of creatio continua, a continuous creative activity expressed in the unfolding history of the world. There is a sense in which everything that happens can properly be described as God’s act, but we must be careful about just what sense this is. The theistic traditions have wanted to affirm that God gives to created things active and passive causal powers of their own, that is, the capacity to affect other things and to be affected by them. Aquinas held that this is part of God’s providential governance of creation. “Divine Providence works through intermediaries. For God governs the lower through the 6 The idea of divine conservation of the existence of created things should not be confused with the scientific idea of conservation of mass and energy. The latter is concerned with physical interactions between entities, and it specifies that these interactions and the transitions they bring about cannot involve the creation or destruction of matter/energy. This does not conflict with the theological idea of continuous divine conservation of the being of finite things; on the contrary, the two ideas compliment each other, since both assert that interactions between created things involve changes of state but not the giving of being. For an extended discussion of this point, see J.L. Kvanvig and H.J. McCann, “Divine Conservation and the Persistence of the World,” in Divine and Human Action, ed. Thomas Morris (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988), pp. 13–49.

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higher, not from any impotence on his part, but from the abundance of his goodness imparting to creatures also the dignity of causing.”7 God could simply cause, say, a kettle of water to become increasingly warm until it begins to boil. But God instead grants to created things “the dignity of causing,” so that the water is heated by the fire. This contrasts with the view of those “who have taken God’s working in everything that acts to mean that no created power effects anything in the world, but that God alone does everything without intermediaries.”8 The position that Aquinas rejects here has come to be called “occasionalism,” because it holds that the created entities (or events) identified as causes are merely occasions for God’s own direct action. If we are to avoid occasionalism we must make a distinction between direct and indirect divine action. In causing the being of creatures ex nihilo God acts directly, without employing any subordinate agency as a means, since there are no such agents until God creates them. But in bringing about particular events in the world, God ordinarily acts through secondary causes, producing the result through the operation of created things.9

7 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, ed. Thomas Gilby, O.P. (Garden City, NY: Image Books, 1969), Ia, 22, 3. 8 Ibid., Ia, 105, 5. 9 We can borrow a distinction from the philosophy of action to help explain the ideas of direct and indirect divine action. Philosophers of action have recognized that any instrumental intentional action—i.e. an action in which an agent does one thing as the means of doing another—must, on pain of infinite regress, have at its base an action that the agent intentionally undertakes without having to perform any prior intentional action as the means to it. This “basic action” is direct, in contrast to its intended result which is indirect. There has been controversy about which element in an indirect human action should count as the “basic action,” and we could, in a perverse mood, carry over this question into theology and speculate about whether there is some divine action that is intentionally prior to the act of creation. For my purposes it is enough to note that God’s act of creating and conserving creatures ex nihilo obviously cannot have creaturely intermediaries, and so it is basic for all the indirect divine acts that flow from it. It is also worth observing in this connection that there are two crucially different senses in which we may speak of “bringing about the existence of something.” On the one hand, there is the act of creating/sustaining ex nihilo, which is unique to God alone. On the other hand, there is the bringing to be of a particular arrangement of matter/energy in the world. Finite agents create in this sense; we are able to bring about changes in things, and thereby cause complex individuals “to come into existence” or “to pass out of existence,” as in birth and death. God can also be said to create in this second sense, by acting indirectly through secondary causes. Bearing this distinction in mind, we can say that all complex individuals (like ourselves), which are produced by the operation of secondary causes, are created by God both directly (in sustaining our being ex nihilo) and indirectly (by working through the order of nature).

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2.2. Indirect Divine Action through Created Causes On this view, the changes of state from moment to moment that make up the history of the universe have as their proximate causes the interactions of creatures within the order of nature. These events can be regarded as acts of God, however, insofar as they result from a series of causal intermediaries that God has established. This pattern of attributing actions to an agent is familiar from human activity; we use a great variety of means to accomplish our ends indirectly, and we often describe such acts in terms of the outcome that the agent intends. If I make a mark on paper under the right circumstances, my action can be described not just as drawing an X but also as casting a vote. But not every description of an agent’s intention is appropriate as a description of her action; the links between the act and the intended outcome may be circuitous or uncertain. We will hesitate to describe my vote for mayor as “ensuring adequate funding for public education,” even if that is what I intend. Further, not every true description of the outcome of action (e.g., “causing distress to the ex-mayor’s family”) can be taken as a description of the agent’s intention. Human agents are aware only of a narrow range of the vast number of true descriptions that can be given of our actions and their consequences. These limitations do not apply to the indirect acts of the divine agent. God knows everything that it is possible to know about the causal history of the world, and God does not simply make use of causal structures that happen to be available in the world but rather establishes and sustains them. This vastly expands the range of events that may be attributed to God as indirect divine actions. It is easiest to see how this story might go if we work initially with a simple, deterministic picture of the natural world. In such a world, God will fix the entire history of created things by setting the laws of nature and the initial conditions under which those laws operate. It will be possible, therefore, to attribute every event to God as a divine act.10 The number of causal intermediaries and the complexity of their interactions will be irrelevant; these causal chains may extend across the entire history of the created world, all of which will serve as the means to the ends now realized. When a strong east wind pushes back the water in the shallows of the Sea of Reeds and allows the fleeing Jews to escape from their pursuers, we can say quite 10 Also see William P. Alston, “God’s Action in the World,” in Divine Nature and Human Language, (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989), pp. 200–203.

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straightforwardly that this wind was “sent by God.” The wind, and the deliverance it makes possible, is no less God’s act if it is a result of the lawful operations of the natural order than if it is the product of a divine intervention within that order. In either case, it is something that God intentionally brings about in accordance with God’s overarching purposes for history. On this view, God’s providential action in the world is principally a function of God’s creative action at the foundation of the world.11 The strong east wind is written into the course of history when God establishes the laws of nature and the initial conditions of the created world, and the billions of years of cosmic history that follow are the means by which God carries out this action, along with an unimaginably vast range of other actions. It is important to note that while every event in such a world will be God’s act, our ability to describe these divine actions will depend upon our understanding of God’s purposes. Jews, Christians, and Muslims might agree with the general principle that God as creator acts throughout the history of the created world, but the traditions disagree about some important aspects of the overarching “plot-line” that is being enacted and therefore about which intention-descriptions should be given of these actions. The differing stories they tell about God’s acts have as their corollary diverging understandings of “who God is,” i.e. of the identity of the divine agent. 2.3. Special Divine Action in a Deterministic World If every event, taken under the right description, is an act of God, is there any sense in which we can single out some events as special, or particular, divine acts? God’s action, on this account, is universal and uniform; God acts in the same way in every event, i.e. as the source of its being. So there is no basis for picking out some events as bearing a distinctive relation to God’s agency or as being attributable to God in a way that other events are not. Nonetheless, there are at least two senses in which events may be singled out as special divine actions. First, events may play a special epistemic role if they become the occasion for our recognition of God’s purposes, and thereby provide guidance in 11

I add the qualifier, “principally,” because it is possible to hold that God ordinarily acts through secondary causes, but sometimes intervenes directly to bring about effects outside the expected course of nature or beyond the natural powers of creatures. This was Aquinas’s view.

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understanding other events as belonging to a wider pattern of divine action in the world. H. Richard Niebuhr remarks that “sometimes when we read a difficult book, seeking to follow a complicated argument, we come across a luminous sentence from which we can go forward and backward and so attain some understanding of the whole. Revelation is like that.”12 What makes the revelatory event special is that it enables us to see the world in a new way, namely, as caught up in a drama of divine action and therefore charged with a significance that we had not recognized before. Second, events may play a special causal role in the developing course of the world’s history. Even if every event is an indirect act of God brought about through created causes, some may play a particularly important role in advancing God’s purposes, and this will be a fact about their function within the causal series and not just about our perception of them.13 History may have turning points, and the special significance of these events is in no way diminished if they arise smoothly within the causal structures of the world. As a result, there can be objectively special divine acts even though they cannot be distinguished from other events with regard to the way in which God acts in them.14

12

The Meaning of Revelation, p. 68. Compare William Alston, op. cit., p. 216. “What we take to be special about them is simply that God has acted in such a way as to effect this result, that this is something that God intended to bring about. How God chose to do this is not the heart of the matter.” This is right, as far as it goes, but it does not yet give us a basis for marking out particular events as special acts of God, since every event (taken under an appropriate description) in a deterministic world will be a specific result that God intends. 14 It is useful to map this idea onto the typology of divine action developed at earlier conferences and presented in Russell’s introduction to Chaos and Complexity: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, ed. by Robert John Russell, Nancey Murphy, and Arthur R. Peacocke (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1995), pp. 10–12. Both of the senses of special divine action that I have discussed are forms of “uniform divine action,” within the terms of the typology. What I have called epistemically special action corresponds to what the typology calls subjectively special action. The second form of special divine action that I describe, however, cannot be located in the typology as it is currently formulated. I have suggested that an event may both be an expression of God’s uniform action throughout creation and be objectively special by virtue of the role this event plays in realizing God’s purposes in the world. What marks out the event is not that God plays a special causal role in producing it, but rather that the event plays a special causal role in the unfolding course of events. The escape of the Jews from Egypt may arise entirely through the ordinary interactions of natural causes and human agents, and yet it may also turn human history in a new direction and so be an objectively special, but indirect, divine act. 13

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2.4. Indirect Divine Action in an Indeterministic World So far we have been considering a simple model of a thoroughly deterministic world; in such a world every event could in principle be deduced by applying the laws of nature to a complete description of the total state of things at any moment.15 But how would this account of divine action be affected if the structure of the world were to include some events that have necessary but not sufficient conditions in the events that precede them? This might take either or both of two forms. First, there may be indeterministic chance, in which the most complete account of the transition from one state to another is probabilistic; in this case antecedent states of the system determine no more than a distribution of likely results for the next state. This is distinct from what we might call “epistemic chance,” in which converging causal chains catch us by surprise and/or the causal series is too complex for us to unravel. Second, there may be indeterministically free intentional action, in which a rational agent’s choices are informed but not determined by her physical and psychological history. The question of whether either of these forms of indeterminism occurs in our world is, of course, a matter of controversy. I will consider at length below (in Section 3) the question of whether quantum mechanics can be understood to present a theologically relevant form of indeterministic chance. At this point we need only consider the hypothetical question of what impact such indeterminisms would have on our account of God’s action in the world. 2.4.1. Chance If the structures of nature in fact include a role for indeterministic chance, then one option for the theologian is to think of God as determining these events. In this case, chance events would be causally undetermined only in their “horizontal” relations to other finite events, but they would be fully determined by their “vertical” relationship to God. Note that a) in determining these finitely undetermined events, God would be acting directly in the world’s history, rather than

15 Given the chaotic dynamics of some deterministic systems, however, no finite intelligence could specify the initial conditions with sufficient precision to make these calculations. Determinism asserts that the laws of nature and the initial conditions jointly entail every future state of the system, but determinism does not entail predictability for any knower other than God.

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indirectly through secondary causes, but that b) this direct action need not disrupt the causal structures of nature, since chance events, ex hypothesi, do not have sufficient secondary causes. This is the second way of responding to the original dilemma we considered, and I will consider this possibility at greater length in section 3 below. An alternative would be to say that God leaves some or all chance events undetermined, so that God really does play dice with the universe. To be sure, an extensive web of secondary causal conditions will be necessary for the occurrence of the chance event. But this causal nexus is not sufficient to produce the event, and if God does not determine it, then nothing does. This situation generates a conceptual puzzle. Is it coherent to say that God brings about a state of affairs in which an entity or system undergoes a change that has no sufficient cause, whether in creatures or in God? It is helpful here to recall the distinction between God’s act of causing existence ex nihilo and the act of causing creatures to undergo various changes; the divine action of giving being to the entity does not cause the change of state that is the chance event; creation/conservation is not, we have said, a matter of working a change in the creature but rather of positing the creature in existence. But in the special case of chance events, the creature that God creates/conserves undergoes a change that not even God determines. Perhaps God’s creative act in such instances amounts to willing that one from among a set of possible states for the system shall be the one to which God gives being, without specifying which and without, of course, providing any means by which a selection is made.16 This is a puzzling idea, but this or something like it appears to be required if we say that a) God is the creator of the world ex nihilo, b) the world includes indeterministic chance, and c) God does not determine chance events. If it is a coherent possibility that God might build this kind of randomness into the structure of the world, how would this affect our account of divine action? The answer will depend on the role that chance

16 Peter van Inwagen discusses this possibility with regard to God’s creative choice between equally good alternative initial states of the world. God might, van Inwagen suggests, will that one from among a set of alternatives be actualized, without determining which it shall be. “It does not seem to me to be logically or metaphysically impossible that God should decree that either X or Y should be without decreeing that X should be and without decreeing that Y should be.” “The Place of Chance in a World Sustained by God,” in Thomas Morris, ed. Divine and Human Action, (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1988), p. 227.

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plays within the world’s unfolding history. If chance events at one level in the structures of nature are entirely subsumed within higher order deterministic regularities, then the account of God’s indirect action through these structures will be unaffected. On the other hand, if indeterministic chance plays a significant role in shaping the direction of the world’s unfolding history,17 then the attribution of events to God as divine acts must be correspondingly qualified. In establishing the laws of nature, God determines how chance figures in the course of events, and sets the range of outcomes that are possible. But if God chooses not to determine these chance events, then at least some features of the world’s future will be open, bounded but left unspecified in God’s creative intention. The structures of nature will include within them a means for trying out novel possibilities not rigidly prescribed by the past; God would, in effect, make a world that must in some respects fill in the details of its own creation. If, for example, some of the genetic changes amplified by natural selection result from processes that involve not just epistemic chance but also indeterministic chance, then which living creatures appear over the course of cosmic history will not be written into the design of the world.18 The natural order God establishes may assure the emergence of diverse forms of life with a wide range of capacities, including eventually the ability to gain theoretical knowledge of the world and to wonder about its creator.19 But on this view, God may not have provided specifically that personhood should be realized in a bipedal mammal; the particular species identity of the rational agents that arise within the evolutionary process could be one of the accidents of biological history. God’s agency would, of course, be at work throughout this history as the creator who sustains all of the secondary causes at work in it. And because God sets the boundaries

17

This is the question of “amplification,” which I take up in section 3.3 below. See section 3.3 below. 19 Paul Davies, for example, suggests that “God selects very special laws that guarantee a trend towards greater richness, diversity, and complexity through spontaneous self-organization, but the final outcome in all its details is open and left to chance.” See Davies, “Teleology Without Teleology,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, eds. Robert John Russell, William R. Stoeger, S.J., and Francisco J. Ayala (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1988). It is, of course, a matter of controversy as to whether the laws of nature and the conditions under which they operate make the emergence of intelligence to some degree probable in our universe. See, for example, Paul Davies, The Accidental Universe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), and John Barrow and Frank Tipler, The Anthropic Cosmological Principle (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). 18

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within which chance operates, thereby designing the dice that are set rolling in cosmic history, the general result can certainly be attributed to God’s action. But if, returning to our earlier example, the strong east wind at the Sea of Reeds happened to be the meteorological amplification of a chance event somewhere else in the structures of nature, then it seems more appropriate to view the wind as a stroke of good luck, rather than as a particular divine action in history.20 2.4.2. Human Freedom The second form of indeterministic transition that we noted above is a particular, and particularly controversial, form of free human action. One family of positions in the longstanding (and probably intractable) philosophical debate about freedom of the will holds that an action is free only if it is not determined by antecedent circumstances. On this view the past history of universe and the laws of nature do not uniquely determine the agent’s choice; under precisely these causal conditions the agent could do otherwise than she does. This is commonly referred as “incompatibilist” freedom because it holds that free action is incompatible with causal determinism.21 Note that causal indeterminism is a necessary but not sufficient condition for incompatibilist free action; in order for a free act to be distinguished from a chance event, an account is needed of the agent’s capacity for self-determination, and this account must not reduce to an explanation by appeal to the causal efficacy of antecedent events. This is the metaphysical burden carried by defenders of incompatibilist freedom, and it is important to remember, as we consider quantum mechanics, that searching out causal indeterminisms in nature (even if they are located in the brain) is not going to be sufficient to provide us with a theory of free action. My interest here, however, is simply to consider the impact that creaturely freedom of

20 The story here could be made more complex, however. If omniscience includes knowledge of how every random transition would in fact turn out if God were to permit it, then God could choose which total set of chance and determined events to permit (i.e. which world to create) with particular effects in mind. In this case, it seems to me, the east wind would be God’s act by a different route but in just a strong a sense as if it were the deterministic outcome of a closed series of secondary causes. 21 For some arguments that human freedom is incompatible with certain types of determinism see Peter van Inwagen, An Essay on Free Will (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983). For some representative compatibilist arguments see Daniel C. Dennett, Elbow Room: The Varieties of Free-Will Worth Wanting (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1984).

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this sort would have, if the world were to include it, on the attribution of events in the world to God as divine acts. Just as we saw in considering chance events, there are two ways of relating the divine agency to this second type of indeterministic transition. First, God might directly bring it about that the agent acts as she does. There are at least two ways to argue that this divine causal role in human action is compatible with the claim that the action is free. First, one might insist that because God acts directly as creator to constitute the finite agent and her act, God cannot be regarded as a determining cause that compromises the agent’s freedom. Second, one might qualify the conditions for freedom of action so that indeterminism is required only on the horizontal level of relations within the world; created agents would possess indeterministic freedom in relation to other creatures, but not in relation to God. This second view combines a creaturely incompatibilism with divine determination, and so generates a distinctive theological compatibilism. This seems to have been John Calvin’s position, and it has also been attributed to Aquinas, though some interpreters read him as taking a position of the first type, and the construal of Aquinas’s view continues to be a matter of dispute.22 The alternative is to say that God empowers and permits human agents to make choices that are not determined by other creatures or by God. God’s creative agency, of course, intimately and pervasively shapes the exercise of free human agency by establishing our powers of action, their limitations, and the circumstances under which they are exercised. In this respect, it is appropriate to say both that 1) God always acts with the created agent, and that 2) when free human actions conform to God’s will, the human agent is the means by which

22 For the first way of reading Aquinas see, e.g., David Burrell, C.S.C., Aquinas: God and Action (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1979) and Freedom and Creation in Three Traditions (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993); and Kathryn Tanner, God and Creation in Christian Theology (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988). For the second reading see, e.g., Thomas Flint, Divine Providence: The Molinist Account (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998), and Thomas J. Loughran, “Aquinas: Compatibilist,” in Human and Divine Agency, ed. F. Michael McLain and W. Mark Richardson, (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1999). The first approach faces important conceptual objections. See the discussion of these issues in my “Divine Action, Created Causes, and Human Freedom,” and Kathryn Tanner, “Human Freedom, Human Sin, and God the Creator,” in The God Who Acts: Philosophical and Theological Explorations, ed. Thomas F. Tracy (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994). Also see David Burrell’s reply to me, and William Hasker’s reply to Tanner.

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God acts. But it is important not to miss the fundamental distinction between divine action by means of free human acts and divine action by means of secondary efficient causes. If God chooses to create finite agents who are free in this strong sense, then in establishing the laws of nature and the initial conditions of the world, God does not fix the whole course of history. Wherever a created agent faces a free choice, there will be branching alternatives for the world’s future, and it will be up to the creature to determined which of these alternative possibilities becomes actual. The agent’s action will turn the course of events in a genuinely new direction, setting in motion a novel causal series. The consequences of the action will spread outward in space and time like ripples in a pond. Both the free human act and its causal consequences are intentionally permitted by God, but it may be that they do not enact God’s particular purposes. It is apparent here that human freedom considerably complicates the account of divine action we have been considering. If we suppose that God acts in history exclusively by means of secondary causes, and if we also hold that God permits incompatibilist free action, then at least two interrelated theological concerns arise. First, as we have just seen, the attribution of particular events in the world to God as divine acts becomes more problematic. We no longer can say simply that the activity of creatures is the indirect action of God, since many events will have free human acts somewhere in their causal ancestry. For some theological purposes, this is a welcome conclusion. One of the most pressing problems with any form of theological determinism is that it makes God the cause of human moral wrongdoing, and this deepens the difficulty of offering a morally plausible response to the problem of evil.23 Given the open future of a causally under-determined world, however, there will be many events that cannot be regarded as God’s intentional actions, even though the divine agent acts in every event as its ontological ground. God gives creation some scope of freedom to go its own way, and while this freedom, along with all it makes possible, is embraced within God’s purposes, some of its expressions can be at odds with the good that God intends for creatures.24

23 Although there are various traditional strategies for blunting the force of this conclusion, they face important conceptual and moral objections. See, for example, Kathryn Tanner’s careful discussion of this problem and William Hasker’s reply in The God Who Acts, ed. Tracy. 24 This idea lies at the heart of most modern responses to the problem of evil. God’s good purposes in creation may require (as a logically necessary condition) that God

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This leads to a second set of theological issues. The Christian tradition affirms that although history can and does go wrong through the misuse of human freedom, God’s good purposes lie at its foundation and ultimately will be fulfilled. The freedom that God grants to creatures is a gift that expresses, rather than compromises, God’s providential care for the created world. But how is this divine superintendence of history to be exercised if creatures have the capacity to stray from God’s purposes? God is not only creator but also redeemer, and redemptive divine action would appear to require that God act in response to the actions of free creatures. If we insist, however, that God’s action in history always takes the form of indirect action through the order of nature, then it is not clear that such responsive action is possible. The fundamental structures of the natural world are fixed and in place long before human agents appear on the scene and make the choices to which God responds. If human choices were determined by antecedent conditions, then both the human action and the divine response could be built into the causal program of the world. But indeterministic free human actions present problems for divine providence that cannot be addressed in this way. This provides a compelling theological reason to affirm that God not only acts indirectly through secondary causes but also acts directly among them. And this, in turn, motivates theological interest in points of under-determination in nature at which God could act directly and yet without a miraculous intervention.

permit various evils to occur. This can be argued with respect both to so-called “natural evils” (i.e., the harm that befalls creatures simply by virtue of the natural conditions of their lives) and moral evils (i.e., the misuse of moral freedom by rational agents). A full defense of God’s goodness must 1) identify the good for the sake of which evil is permitted, 2) explain the relation between evils and this good, and 3) argue that this good is worth having even at this price. I have argued elsewhere that there are important limits in principal on our ability to do this; we can make some helpful points about why, in general, a God of perfect goodness, power, and knowledge would create a world that includes the sorts of evils we see around us, but we cannot expect to give a full explanation of the magnitude and distribution of evils in the world. Rather than offering an explanation of evil, however, the central focus of Christian theology is on God’s redemptive actions in response to it. See my “Evolution, Divine Action, and the Problem of Evil,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, ed. Robert John Russell, William R. Stoeger, S.J., and Francisco J. Ayala (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1998), pp. 511–30, and “Why Do the Innocent Suffer?” in Why Are We Here: Everyday Questions and the Christian Life, ed. Ronald F. Thiemann and William C. Placher (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1988). Also see Russell’s comments on the problem of evil, in the context of evolution, in “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation: A New Defense of Theistic Evolution,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology, pp. 220–223.

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2.5. Divine Response Without Direct Action in the World? Before turning to the idea of direct divine action at points of causal openness in the world, however, it is important to note that the argument for moving in this direction is not as strong as it may at first appear. There are resources in the theological tradition for a fascinating and subtle reply to the problem we just noted, a reply that avoids relying on direct divine action in the world. The key to this view is found in a particular understanding of divine foreknowledge. In the midst of late sixteenth century disputes about divine sovereignty and human freedom, Luis de Molina argued that divine omniscience includes not only 1) knowledge of all necessary truths, and 2) knowledge of all matters of fact, but also 3) knowledge of what every possible free creature would freely choose to do in every circumstance in which it might exist.25 This is not simply a matter of foreknowledge of the free actions of actual human beings. In addition to this it includes knowledge of what these created agents would freely choose to do in any conceivable set of circumstances, even though these circumstances never in fact arise. Further, it involves having this knowledge with regard to every possible free creature, including of course an infinite number who never actually exist. Molina called this third aspect of omniscience God’s “middle knowledge,” because it is neither logically necessary (as is the first aspect of omniscience) nor entirely dependent upon God’s determining will (as is the second aspect), but rather is a knowledge of contingent matters of fact that are nonetheless independent of God’s will, since their truth is fixed by the free choices of finite agents (i.e., the free choices these creatures would make if they were to exist in these circumstances). This idea has been controversial ever since Molina proposed it, and there is a lively contemporary discussion about whether there are any true propositions of the form Molina proposes (i.e. true propositions about what an actual or possible free agent would freely choose to do in circumstances that never actually exist).26 25 Luis de Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge: Part IV of the Concordia, ed. Alfred J. Freddoso (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1988). For helpful discussions of Molina and his dispute with Dominic Banez see Freddoso’s introduction, and Kathryn Tanner, God and Creation in Christian Theology, ch. 4. 26 These propositions have come to be called “counterfactuals of freedom,” and a great deal has been written about them. For a small sampling of the contemporary controversy see, for example, Robert Adams, “Middle Knowledge and the Problem of Evil,” American Philosophical Quarterly 14 (1977), pp. 109–117, and “An Anti-Molinist Argument,” in Philosophical Perspectives 5 (1991), pp. 343–353; Thomas Flint, Divine

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If there are such truths to be known, then omniscience will include them. This will put God in a position to respond to free human actions by acting indirectly through secondary causal chains built into the order of nature at the outset. It is, of course, extraordinarily difficult to imagine designing the causal laws and boundary conditions of the world in such a way that a particular set of free agents and a particular set of divine responses to the actions of those agents emerge entirely through the ordinary operation of secondary causes. But there is no reason to think that this is logically impossible; the fact that the design problem boggles our minds does not have much force as a refutation of the idea that God’s providential intention works in this way. It might be objected that an indirect divine action programmed into the structure of nature from time immemorial is not what the faithful have in mind when they understand their lives to be lived as a responsive, interpersonal relationship with God. We need not, however, adopt a temporal picture of divine action that locates God’s creative initiative at a moment in the distant past and imposes a temporal gap between our acts and God’s response. As the creator of all things, including time, God has classically been understood to transcend time. One way to try to grasp this inevitably ungraspable idea is to imagine that the whole created world in its temporal extension is immediately present to God, so that God is simultaneous with every event in time even though these events are not simultaneous with each other. When God takes a free human action into account in the overall design of the created world, this “taking into account” does not occur either before or after the human action. The human action is explanatorily, but not temporally, prior to the divine act of taking it into account, and the events that constitute God’s response take place at the time proper to them in the causal history of the world.27 There are, of course, important conceptual puzzles raised both by the idea of middle knowledge and by the notion of timeless eternity. These puzzles have kept theologians busy for centuries, and show promise of continuing to do so. Every theological position, however, brings with Providence: The Molinist Account (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998); William Hasker, “A Refutation of Middle Knowledge,” Nous 20 (1986), pp. 545–557. 27 See, for example, William Hasker, God, Time, and Knowledge (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989); Brian Leftow, Time and Eternity (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991); Eleonore Stump and Norman Kretsmann, “Eternity,” Journal of Philosophy 79 (1981), pp. 429–458, and Richard Swinburne, “God and Time,” in Reasoned Faith, ed. Eleonore Stump (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993), pp. 204–222.

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it various conceptual difficulties, and decisions between competing theological proposals inevitably involve judgments of art about which problems we want to cope with. So we do not need to settle these disputed questions about foreknowledge and eternity in order to see that we have here a powerful strategy for understanding particular divine action in history in terms of indirect action through the natural order. This considerably dampens the force of the theological argument I gave for supplementing indirect divine action with the claim that God also acts directly in the world. On the account I have been considering, events can be 1) objectively special divine acts and 2) particular divine responses to human acts, and yet be indirect acts brought about entirely through the working of created agencies without any direct divine action other than creation/conservation. If most of what theology needs to say about God’s action in history can be provided in this way, then the theological motive for searching out openings in the causal structure of the world is undercut. This point applies, of course, not only to theological interest in quantum mechanics, but also to appeals to chaos theory or any other area of contemporary scientific work. I argued in an earlier paper that if theologians want to say that God acts to alter the course of events once the world’s history is underway, then there must be gaps (of the right sort) in the causal structures of nature.28 That conclusion still seems to me to be correct. But in light of the theological options explored in this paper, it is less clear that there is a need to make claims of this sort about direct divine action in the world, except in a limited (but theologically crucial) set of instances (e.g., in explicating classical theological claims about Christ). In these special cases, however, traditional views seem to involve a mode of divine action more akin to “miraculous intervention” than merely to a redirection of events by means of a probabilistic flexibility built into the laws of nature.29

28 “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps,” in Chaos and Complexity: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, ed. Robert John Russell, Nancey Murphy, and Arthur Peacocke (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1995), pp. 289–324. 29 It has often been noted that it is not possible to spell out very fully the action that is ascribed to God when Christianity affirms that God “raised Jesus from the dead.” If we interpret this language as pointing to an eschatological transformation of the human creature, then the familiar notion of miraculous divine intervention in nature is not so much wrong as insufficiently radical. Certainly the new creation is not merely the disruption or violation of the old order, but rather its fulfillment.

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3. Direct Divine Action Through Open Structures in Nature That being said, it is important nonetheless to consider whether we might think of God as acting directly at points of causal openness in the structures of nature. There are a number of reasons to explore this possibility. So far, we have been considering how rich a theology of divine action can be generated if we limit our account to 1) direct action in creation and conservation and 2) indirect action through secondary causes. If the idea of non-miraculous direct divine action can be worked out satisfactorily, it could be conjoined with these modes of divine action in a combined approach that can more readily interpret traditional claims about God’s active engagement with nature and history. Furthermore, if our best theories about the structures of nature support an indeterministic interpretation, then this is something that a theology of divine action will need to take into account. The Creator of such a universe will be not only the Lord of natural law but also, and in a perfectly acceptable sense, the God of the gaps. We have already seen that the indirect action position, as I have sketched it, is able to accommodate indeterministic transitions of chance and of freedom. It is important to acknowledge the possibility that one of the ways God’s providential care engages the world is through these open structures in nature. Finally, the theological approach I have so far been considering faces a variety of important objections, and so it is wise to consider alternatives. Of course, the idea of non-miraculous direct divine action also faces a number of difficult challenges. Given the inevitably problematic nature of all theological constructions, there is good reason to explore a variety of possibilities. In developing the idea of divine action, we need not claim to know which of the possibilities comes closest to capturing God’s ways with the world, but we do need to show that some coherent combination of these possibilities provides a means by which God could accomplish the purposes that we attribute to the divine agent. We turn, then, to the suggestion that God might act directly at points of under-determination to shape the course of events without disrupting the structures of nature. Any position of this type will require not only that the natural order be causally open rather than closed, but also that under-determined transitions at least sometimes make a significant difference in the development of the events that follow from them. If these conditions are met, then we can conceive of God acting to bring about particular effects in the world without displacing secondary

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causes. Note that this is not to say that God acts entirely without created causes. The effects God brings about will have an extensive network of causal antecedents in the world, but these will be necessary, rather than sufficient, conditions.30 There are a number of different ways in which this general theological strategy can be deployed, and the details will vary from case to case. I will focus here on the possibility of direct divine action through indeterministic events at the lowest levels in the structures of nature.31 It is worth noting at the outset, however, that there may be causal incompleteness at other levels of the natural order; if the case can be made for the existence such open structures, then it may be possible to conceive of God acting directly through these structures as well.32 3.1. Multiple Interpretations of Quantum Mechanics There are a number challenges facing any attempt to make use of quantum physics in developing a proposal of this kind about divine action. Perhaps the first and most obvious is that quantum theory can be interpreted in a bewildering variety of different ways, not all of which are congenial to this theological project. The formalism of quantum mechanics is well-established, but there has been a remarkable prolifera-

30 Russell makes a distinction between mediated and immediate divine action in “Divine Action and Quantum Mechanics: A Fresh Assessment” (note #30) in this volume. The former refers to divine action that presupposes secondary causal conditions and works together with them. The latter would be unilateral divine action. If an immediate divine action truly had no necessary causal conditions in the prior history of the world, however, it is not clear that it could be an action in the world at all. So all divine actions within nature and history will be mediated, whether those actions are performed indirectly by means of secondary causes or directly in the way we are now considering. God’s direct act of creating/conserving the world, of course, will be unmediated. 31 William Pollard is an early proponent of one version of this theological strategy. See Chance and Providence: God’s Action in a World Governed by Scientific Law (London: Faber and Faber, 1958). For contemporary varieties of this approach see Robert Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation: A New Defense of Theistic Evolution,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology, and the articles by George Ellis, Nancey Murphy, and Thomas Tracy in Chaos and Complexity. 32 John Polkinghorne, for example, argues that the unpredictability in principle of macroscopic chaotic systems suggests an underlying ontological openness. Although the non-linear equations describing chaotic systems are deterministic, Polkinghorne suggests that this formalism is an abstract and approximate description of natural systems that are more flexible than the mathematics suggests. See Science and Providence: God’s Interaction with the World (London: SPCK Press, 1989), and “The Metaphysics of Divine Action,” in Chaos and Complexity.

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tion of different explanations of what that formalism might tell us about the world.33 The behavior of quantum systems defies ready ontological interpretation, and this leaves physicists grappling with the limits of our conceptual resources, with what is “speakable and unspeakable in quantum mechanics.”34 This predicament bears a striking resemblance to the classical struggles of theologians in attempting to speak of a reality that inevitably exceeds our grasp. If quantum theory is going to be helpful for the theological purposes I have described, it obviously must be interpreted indeterministically. It is fair to say that some of the currently dominant interpretations of quantum mechanics meet this condition, but the question is by no means settled.35 According to the Copenhagen view, the wave function of a quantum entity (e.g., an electron) describes a state that in certain respects is objectively indeterminate. Some of the properties of the entity have specific values, e.g., the mass, charge, and magnitude of spin of an electron. But other properties must be expressed as a sum of probabilities (on measurement) for every possible particular state of the entity; this is the case, for example, with the electron’s position, momentum, and spin orientation. The wave function describes the development of the entity in space and time, and is strictly deterministic; the quantum entity undergoes a mathematically necessary and precise evolution of indeterminate (probabilistically described) properties. When a measurement is made, however, a determinate value is obtained for the measured property, e.g., orientation of spin. This “collapse” of the wave equation to a single value for the measured

33 A brief overview of competing interpretations of quantum mechanics can be found in John Polkinghorne, “The Quantum World,” and Robert John Russell, “Quantum Physics in Philosophical and Theological Perspective,” both in Physics, Philosophy and Theology: The Common Quest for Understanding, ed. Robert John Russell, William R. Stoeger, S.J., George V. Coyne, S.J. (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1988). Also see Butterfield and Polkinghorne in CTNS/VO, v. V. There are a number of good introductions to quantum mechanics written for the general reader. For example, see Nick Herbert, Quantum Reality: Beyond the New Physics (Garden City, NJ: Anchor/ Doubleday, 1985); Peter Kosso, Appearance and Reality: an Introduction to the Philosophy of Physics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998); John Polkinghorne, The Quantum World (London: Longman, 1984); Alastair Rae, Quantum Physics: Illusion or Reality? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). 34 This is the title of John Bell’s book (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 35 Werner Heisenberg is well-known for this indeterministic interpretation of quantum theory. See his Physics and Philosophy: the Revolution in Modern Science (New York: Harper & Row, 1958).

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property cannot be further explained beyond noting the probability of that particular outcome, which can be derived from an analysis of the wave equation. On the Copenhagen interpretation, quantum theory is complete; there are no hidden variables that, if we knew them, would allow us to assign fully determinate properties to the entity at every moment and therefore explain the measured result as having been causally determined by antecedent conditions. It is at this point that we encounter the indeterministic character of quantum systems; the transition from the indeterminate superposition of possibilities to a particular determinate state represents a point of ontological chance and causal openness in the structure of the world. This interpretation of quantum theory has not gone uncontested. Einstein was famously troubled by the idea that God would “play dice with the universe,” and the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen thought experiment of the 1930’s was designed to display the counter-intuitive consequences of supposing that there is actual superposition in quantum systems involving two correlated particles. EPR sought to show that if quantum theory is complete, i.e. if there are no local hidden variables determining the particle states that quantum theory leaves indeterminate, then we seem to be left with instantaneous action at a distance when measurement takes place. Einstein found this consequence of the completeness thesis too bizarre to be credible, and so concluded that quantum theory must be incomplete. Niels Bohr, on the other hand, held that the theory is complete, and so affirmed non-locality (illustrating once again that one thinker’s modus ponens is another thinker’s modus tollens).36 In the 1960’s, John Bell broke through this impasse by showing that the theoretical predictions of quantum mechanics are incompatible with local hidden variable theories.37 This was not the end of hidden variable theories, however; even before Bell, David Bohm had put forward a non-local hidden variable interpretation of quantum mechanics.38 Bohm’s version of the theory supposes that there

36

Niels Bohr, Atomic Physics and Human Knowledge (New York: Wiley, 1958). John Bell, Speakable and Unspeakable in Quantum Mechanics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). Also see James T. Cushing and Ernan McMullin, eds. Philosophical Consequences of Quantum Theory: Reflections on Bell’s Theorem (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1989); Michael L.G. Redhead, Incompleteness, Nonlocality, and Realism: a Prolegomenon to the Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987). 38 David Bohm, “A Suggested Interpretation of Quantum Theory in Terms of Hidden Variables, I & II,” Physical Review 85 (1952), and Wholeness and the Implicate Order (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1980). 37

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are determinate values for the properties (like position, which he treats as basic and from which other properties, such as spin, are derived) of entities in quantum systems, and he accounts for the probabilistic character of our knowledge by postulating that these classical-like particles interact with a pilot wave, which is mathematically related to the wave function of the quantum formalism. In order to explain the correlation of properties when measurement occurs on linked two-particle systems, these pilot waves must themselves be correlated in a way that instantaneously incorporates information about the measurement situation. In this way Bohm constructs an interpretation of quantum theory according to which its probabilistic character is strictly an artifact of the limits of our knowledge, and does not reflect any indeterminateness in the properties of the quantum entities nor any indeterminism in their causal histories. Bohm’s version of quantum theory has not been widely embraced. There are a variety of reasons for this: e.g. worries about how it handles special relativity, uneasiness with its postulation of additional entities for which there can in principle be no experimental evidence, its failure so far to suggest novel lines of empirical research.39 But Bohm’s account does save determinism and the principle of sufficient reason, and these are powerful considerations in its favor. James Cushing has argued that the current consensus in favor of the Copenhagen interpretation reflects various historical contingencies in the development of modern physics.40 At this point in the development of quantum theory, the decision for or against a Bohm-like approach remains perhaps a matter more of metaphysics than of physics. The alternative views I just sketched are by no means the only interpretative options that the theologian faces, nor is Bohm’s account the only deterministic interpretation of quantum theory. In a rather different way, many worlds interpretations are deterministic, insofar as they insist that when measurement takes place all the possibilities (of non-zero amplitude) prescribed by the wave equation are actualized. There is no indeterministic transition from superposed possibilities to a single actuality; the wave equation does not collapse, rather the world branches, and it does so in accordance with the deterministic evolution

39

See the essays by Polkinghorne and Redhead in CTNS/VO, v. V. James T. Cushing, Quantum Mechanics: Historical Contingency and the Copenhagen Hegemony (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 40

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of the wave function.41 The only uncertainty in this transition is epistemic; we know what outcomes are possible (i.e. what worlds will be spawned by our act of measurement ) and we can precisely state the relative probability of each outcome (i.e. the likelihood of our world actualizing any one of these possibilities), but we cannot know which outcome will occur (which world we will find that we inhabit). This interpretive pluralism creates both an opportunity and a hazard for the theologian. On the one hand, it is perfectly legitimate under these circumstances for a thinker grappling with the theology of nature to prefer one interpretation to another on theological grounds. Indeed, there can be no theological appropriation of quantum mechanics that does not make use of one or another of the currently viable interpretations. On the other hand, in casting our theological lot with a particular interpretation, we take the risk that new developments in physics or in the philosophy of physics will significantly undercut our theological constructions. It is important to acknowledge this possibility in framing our discussion of these matters, and this suggests two caveats. First, the particular interpretive approach we favor should not be presented as “the” conclusion to be drawn from quantum mechanics. Second, proposals about the theological relevance of quantum theory should be regarded as tentative and provisional hypotheses reflecting the current uncertainty of the relevant science and the extraordinary difficulty of interpreting it. 3.2. The Measurement Problem One of the considerations driving the proliferation of interpretations of quantum theory is the nest of puzzles generated by the role of “measurement” in the standard interpretation. As we have seen, when a measurement takes place, the superposed possibilities described by the wave equation collapse to a single determinate value for the measured property. The outcome of this transition is not determined by the prior state of the system; rather, one state is actualized from among a probabilistically structured ensemble of possible states. Unless a measurement is made, the quantum system continues to evolve deterministically in accordance with the wave equation. Here we encounter one of the

41 Bryce S. DeWitt and Neill Graham, eds. The Many-Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973).

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central puzzles of quantum theory. What is it about the act of measurement that induces the collapse of the wave function? Bohr was inclined to point out that the macroscopic apparatus in the laboratory registers determinate states that are distributed in conformity with the wave function, and leave it at that. But if we move beyond this instrumentalism and interpret the quantum formalism as representing an actual indeterminacy in the system studied, then a host of difficult questions arise about how and where the indeterminateness of quantum entities gives way to the definiteness of macroscopic objects. The puzzles surrounding measurement, as it is understood by the standard account of quantum theory, have at least two kinds of consequences for theological uses of this interpretation. First, they provide a motive for adopting an interpretation that avoids the idea of wave function collapse, and this may well result in a view that is less congenial to theological use. In the perplexing enterprise of interpreting quantum mechanics, however, each approach engenders its own set of problems. We just noted, for example, that although David’s Bohm’s deterministic interpretation generates no measurement problem, it faces difficulties about the privileged role it gives to position over momentum, the postulation of pilot waves, and the way it handles special relativity. Second, if we say that God acts through chance events at the quantum level, then it appears that this form of divine action is limited to occasions of measurement. John Polkinghorne has argued that this restricts God’s action in a way that severely undercuts the usefulness of quantum indeterminism for a theology of divine action. If (at the quantum level) causal openness is found only in the collapse of the wave function, and if the wave function collapses only when there is an irreversible macroscopic registration of the state of the quantum system, then God’s action appears to be discontinuous and episodic. “Occasions of measurement only occur from time to time and a God who acted through being their determinator would also only be acting from time to time. Such an episodic account of providential agency does not seem altogether satisfactory theologically.”42

42 John Polkinghorne, “The Metaphysics of Divine Action,” in Chaos and Complexity, pp. 152–153. Also see Polkinghorne’s remarks on this problem in this volume. The idea that “measurement” should be understood as the irreversible macroscopic registration of a quantum effect can be found both in Polkinghorne, CTNS/VO, v. V and in Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology, p. 212.

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The measurement problem certainly raises an important knot of issues for theological appeals to quantum indeterminism. But questions about measurement are so basic and unsettled a part of quantum theory that it is unclear as yet how far-reaching a problem is posed by the apparently episodic character of measurement events. Two cautious observations may be pertinent here. First, it is important to note, as Robert Russell points out, that state reduction takes place throughout the natural world, and not only in the laboratory. “Such events occur constantly in the universe whenever elementary particles interact irreversibly with molecules, gases, solids, and plasmas.”43 Russell mentions a number of particular examples: e.g., Brownian motion, blackbody radiation, the photoelectric effect, fission and fusion. In radioactive decay an indeterministic quantum transition occurs that, at least on the customary interpretation, takes place whether or not a Geiger counter is present to record it. But these examples only point us back to the underlying puzzles about measurement. The radioactive material and our Geiger counters (and Schrödinger’s infamous and unfortunate cat in the box) can all be described quantum mechanically, and yet we do not find macroscopic objects displaying superpositions of incompatible properties (e.g. we do not encounter cats that are both dead and alive). We are bought back to the question of when and under what circumstances the wave equation collapses, and this in turn prompts the second of my two points; it is not clear what constitutes “measurement.” The indeterminate quantum world gives rise to the determinate world of observable objects; the two constitute one world, but as yet we cannot explain just how they do so. The conundrum about the collapse of the wave equation lies at the heart of this broader difficulty in the interpretation of quantum mechanics, and until some greater clarity is gained on these basic matters it will be difficult to assess the impact of this problem on theological efforts to enlist quantum mechanics in an account of divine action. 3.3. Dampening and Amplification Even if indeterministic transitions of the sort associated with measurement are a pervasive feature of the world, this alone would not provide a useable toehold for a theological proposal of the sort we

43

“Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” p. 204.

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are considering. As we have seen, a further condition must be met, namely, that quantum chance at least sometimes make a difference in the course of macroscopic events. There is a relatively straightforward sense, of course, in which the histories of quantum systems do make a macroscopic difference, namely, they jointly constitute macroscopic objects and are the underlying base upon which higher level properties supervene. But if indeterministic transitions are entirely dampened out by their accumulation in statistical patterns, so that they disappear into deterministic regularities at the level of classical objects, then they will be largely irrelevant to the theologian’s interest in special divine action in the world. It could contended that the probabilistic laws of quantum mechanics reflect the pattern of divine action in determining the outcome of all chance events in quantum systems.44 But this is just to say that God establishes and sustains the structure of natural law; we get the same result if we say that God establishes the stochastic laws and leaves the particular transitions to chance. Nothing is gained (at least with regard to the question of special divine action) by the claim that God determines some or all of the otherwise undetermined events at the quantum level, unless those events sometimes set in motion particular causal chains with macroscopic consequences. It is clear that indeterministic transitions in quantum systems can have macroscopic effects. On the standard interpretation, precisely this is that what happens when physicists make measurements on quantum systems in the lab. The more controversial question is whether nature is arranged in such a way that this amplification of quantum effects can occur apart from human contrivance. This of course is a question of empirical fact, and it is an unsettled one. Theological proposals about special divine action through quantum transitions must be correspondingly cautious and tentative. There do appear to be structures in nature, however, that register and then amplify the results of chance events at the quantum level. Robert Russell and George Ellis have both noted, for example, that vision involves a dramatic biochemical augmentation of the interaction between photons and molecular structures in the retina.45 The nervous system appears to rely extensively on amplification

44 See Nancey Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order: Buridan’s Ass and Schrodinger’s Cat,” in Chaos and Complexity especially section 4.4. 45 George Ellis, “Reflections on Quantum Theory and the Macroscopic World,” and Robert Russell, “Divine Action and Quantum Mechanics: A Fresh Assessment,” in CTNS/VO, v. V. Also see Carl S. Helrich, “Measurement and Indeterminacy in the

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processes of this sort. Further, a number of authors have pointed out that genetic mutation can be induced by a variety of quantum mechanical transitions. In discussing the measurement problem, Alastair Rae offers the following example. . . . mutations can be caused by the passage of high-energy cosmic ray particles. But these cosmic rays are clearly subject to the laws of quantum physics and each cosmic ray particle has a range of possible paths to follow, only some of which give rise to the mutation. The mutation therefore fulfils the role of a measuring event, similar to the photon being detected by the polarizer.46

Mutation may in effect “record” the interaction with a quantum mechanical entity, and then the phenotypic expression amplifies this change, exposing it to the selective pressures of evolutionary processes which may in turn further amplify (or extinguish) it. Robert Russell has offered a careful development of the idea that God might act in evolutionary processes by affecting quantum transitions that result in mutations in the germ-line of an organism.47 Mutation, of course, is just one among a number of sources of variation in a species, but it clearly plays an important role and can occur at a wide variety of points in the processes by which gametes are produced. We should also note, though even more hesitantly, the possibility that quantum transitions might serve as triggers for chaotic processes. Familiar deterministic but non-linear macroscopic systems can be extraordinarily sensitive to their initial conditions, generating dramatically divergent results from infinitesimally different starting points.48 This suggests the possibility that an interaction with, say, a single electron might be amplified by a chaotic system into significant macroscopic effects. The indeterministic quantum transition would provide the trigger for a deterministic development of wide scope. This is an elegant and intuitively appealing hypothesis, but it is accompanied by a number of fundamental scientific uncertainties.

Quantum Mechanics of Dirac,” Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science 35, 4 (December 2000), pp. 489–503. 46 Quantum Physics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), p. 61. 47 “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation: A New Defense of Theistic Evolution,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology. 48 James P. Crutchfield, J. Doyne Farmer, Norman H. Packard, and Robert S. Shaw, “Chaos,” and Wesley J. Wildman and Robert John Russell, “Chaos: A Mathematical Introduction with Philosophical Reflections,” both in Chaos and Complexity.

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It is not clear, for example, whether chaotic processes really are pervasive within the structures of nature, how chaotic systems are related to non-chaotic systems, and how much the latter tend to dampen out the effect of the former.49 An even more basic set of issues concerns the relation of quantum mechanics and chaotic systems.50 As has often been noted, the Schrödinger equation for the evolution of quantum systems is linear, and the prospects are not promising at present for a non-linear reformulation of the quantum formalism. So it is not clear how ‘deep’ chaos goes in the structures of nature or how chaotic behavior emerges at the macroscopic level out of its quantum mechanical substrate. The idea of chaotic amplification of indeterministic quantum effects is an enticing possibility, but it remains to be seen whether it will become more than that.

4. Conclusion A theological proposal tied to currently disputed scientific questions must, of course, be hedged about with qualifications and put forward with a significant degree of diffidence. But given the current state of knowledge, it remains a viable possibility to hold that God might act at points of indeterministic transition in quantum systems, and thereby 1) bring about particular effects in the world which were not built into history from the beginning, and 2) do so without “intervening,” if by this we mean that God interrupts the ordinary lawful operations of the natural order. Clearly, this conception of divine action depends upon a whole series of interpretive judgments and on unsettled questions of fact, and so it has more the character of a program for further research than of a thesis that can be confidently asserted. How seriously we take this possibility will depend in part on how much we think a proposal of this kind is needed in contemporary theology. The key consideration is whether the idea of divine action in response to human actions requires that God act in ways that affect

49 See Jeffrey Koperski, “God, Chaos, and the Quantum Dice,” Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science, 35, 4 (December 2000), pp. 545–59. 50 This is the question of “quantum chaos.” For helpful discussion of these issues, see the essays by Michael Berry and John Polkinghorne in CTNS/VO, v. V. Also see Abner Shimony “Conceptual Foundations of Quantum Mechanics,” in The New Physics, ed. Paul Davies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pp. 391–392.

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the course of events in the world once the world’s history is underway. I have argued that responsive divine action does not require that God act directly to alter the course of events in the world, though some of the specific things Christians have traditionally said about how God responds to us (especially in Jesus Christ) do appear to require this. If this is right, then theologians have less at stake than it might first appear in the question of whether the science of quantum mechanics (or of chaos theory or of emergent systems at higher levels of organization) provide openings in the causal structures of nature through which God can act without intervening. Even if the natural order is deterministic, we can understand God to act responsively in history with particular intentions, bringing about events that reflect God’s special providence and doing so in most instances without miraculous interventions. We may find, however, that our best physical theories support (even if they do not require) an ontological interpretation that recognizes a significant role for chance within the structures of nature, so that chance and law are dynamically woven together in a way that makes possible creative new developments not rigidly prescribed by the past. This picture of the world would be consonant with theological understandings of God’s good purposes in creation, and it invites theological interpretation. If what we think we know about the world suggests that the structures of nature are open in this way, then there is good reason for the theologian to consider the possibility that God’s providential care for creation might be exercised in part by acting directly through these flexible structures without forcing or deforming them. It is important to bear in mind that this mode of divine action is limited and theologically secondary.51 It clearly would not be sufficient by itself to provide a full account of all that the theistic traditions have wanted to say about God’s activity in the world. On the account I have given, God’s foundational action is that of directly establishing and sustaining the existence of all finite things. Because this creative action gives creatures genuine causal powers of their own, God also acts indirectly by means of created causes in an endless variety of particular ways. Now we tentatively add to this account the idea that God may also act directly at points of

51 This has been overlooked by some of the critics of the idea of divine action through quantum indeterminisms. For example see Nicholas Saunders, “Does God Cheat at Dice? Divine Action and Quantum Possibilities,” Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science, 35, 4 (September 2000), pp. 517–44, and my response “Divine Action and Quantum Theory,” Zygon, 35, 5 (December 2000), pp. 889–98.

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under-determination in these causal structures and thereby turn events in new directions that serve God’s purposes in creation. This last mode of divine action invites some familiar objections. We might worry, for example, that it returns to the God of the gaps. The gaps in which God acts, however, are not merely points of incompleteness in our knowledge of the world; an appeal to divine agency to fill merely epistemic gaps is a clumsy and inevitably temporary expedient. Rather than preying upon what we do not yet understand about the natural world, this theological proposal would make use of what we claim to know, namely that there are (ex hypothesi) ontological gaps in the causal structures of nature.52 It might be replied that this nonetheless treats God as one cause among others, on a par with secondary causes, busily pushing particles around the universe. This is a rhetorically vivid objection, but it does not carry much force unless we think of direct action at points of causal incompleteness as the only or the primary mode of divine action. God is never merely one agent among others. Rather, God is always the absolute source of the being of all finite things, acting continuously and universally as the primary cause. It would be an arbitrary limitation upon God’s power if we denied that God could act among secondary causes should God choose to do so. But this is a claim that Christians, in particular, should hesitate to make, given the radical affirmation in this tradition of God’s freedom to enter fully into relationship with creatures without ceasing to be God.

52 For a more detailed discussion of this objection, see my “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps,” sect. 1, in Russell, Murphy, and Peacocke, eds., Chaos and Complexity.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DIVINE ACTION IN THE NATURAL ORDER: BURIDAN’S ASS AND SCHRÖDINGER’S CAT Nancey Murphy

1. Introduction In the Medieval period, especially after the integration of the lost works of Aristotle into Western thought, God’s action in the world could be explained in a way perfectly consistent with the scientific knowledge of the time. Heaven was a part of the “physical” cosmos. God’s agents, the angels, controlled the movements of the “seven planets,” which, in turn, gave nature its rhythms. But modern science has changed all that, primarily by its dependence on the notion of laws of nature. For Isaac Newton and other architects of the modern scientific worldview, the “laws of nature” were a direct expression of God’s will—God’s control of all physical processes. However, today they are generally granted a status independent of God, not only by those who deny the very existence of God, but also by many Christians, who seem to suppose that God, like a U.S. senator, must obey the laws once they are “on the books.” Consequently, for modern thinkers, deism has been the most natural view of divine action: God creates in the beginning—and lays down the laws governing all changes after that—then takes a rest for the duration. Not all modern theologians have opted for this deistic account, but in many cases the only difference has been in their additional claim that God sustains the universe in its existence. Those who have wanted (or who have believed Christianity needed) a more robust view of God’s continued participation in the created order have been forced to think in terms of intervention: God occasionally acts to bring about a state of affairs different from that which would have occurred naturally.1

1 Authors represented in this volume are some of a small number of more recent thinkers who have sought non-interventionist accounts of special divine acts.

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It is an ironic bit of history: the laws that once served as an account of God’s universal governance of nature have become a competing force, constraining the action of their very creator. The series of conferences for which this essay was written involve a re-evaluation of the modern understanding of divine action in light of more recent science. Chaos theory has been proposed as an important avenue for a new view of divine action.2 However, this essay grows out of a recognition that the turn to chaos and complexity has not solved the problem in the way it was intended. Furthermore, while the recognition of top-down causation is an important advance in our understanding of natural processes, as well as an important ingredient that must go into any new theory, it is not in itself an adequate account of divine action.3 So the main goal of this paper is to provide an alternative account of causation and divine action that is both theologically adequate (consistent with Christian doctrine and adequate to Christian experience), and consistent with contemporary science. 1.1. Preview of the Argument Following a brief critique of the most promising account of divine action based on chaos theory, I shall attempt to set out in advance the criteria a theory of divine action needs to meet. It is my contention that the problem of divine action is, at base, a metaphysical problem—one that cannot be solved by anything less radical than a revision of our understanding of natural causation. One way to understand the nature of metaphysics is as a set of interrelated theories about reality that are of the broadest possible scope, and thus descriptive or explanatory of the phenomena described by all other branches of knowledge. My goal, then, is to provide a theory of causation that takes account of

2 John Polkinghorne is the most important proponent of this view. See, e.g., his Science and Providence: God’s Interaction with the World (Boston: Shambhala, 1989); and idem, “Laws of Nature and Laws of Physics,” in Quantum Cosmology and the Laws of Nature: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, ed. Robert John Russell, Nancey Murphy, and C.J. Isham (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1993; Berkeley, CA: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1993). 3 Arthur Peacocke is to be credited with the most compelling accounts to date of the role of top-down causation in accounting for God’s continuing action. See his Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural, Divine and Human, 2d ed., enlarged, (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993). I owe a great debt to Peacocke’s thought throughout this paper.

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phenomena germane to both science and theology. Thus, in section 2, I propose criteria of adequacy drawn from both theology and science. Section 3 surveys relevant changes in metaphysical views of matter and causation, in particular contrasting the Aristotelian hylomorphic conception with the early modern corpuscular theory. This background is intended to put in question current metaphysical assumptions about the nature of matter and of natural causes. This section also considers consequences of recent developments in science for rethinking these metaphysical issues. Section 4 advances a proposal. I shall argue that any adequate account of divine action must include a “bottom-up” approach: if God is to be active in all events, then God must be involved in the most basic of natural events. Current science suggests that this most basic level is that of quantum phenomena. Consequences of this proposal need to be spelled out regarding the character of natural laws and regarding God’s action at the macroscopic level in general and the human level in particular. In section 5, I attempt to answer some of the objections that have been raised against theories of divine action based on quantum indeterminacy, and also to show that this proposal meets the criteria of adequacy set out in section 2. 1.2. Chaos Theory: The Road Not Taken One proposed solution of the problem of divine action in the natural world is John Polkinghorne’s suggestion that God works within the indeterminacy of chaotic systems. Complex systems, being highly sensitive to initial conditions, are inherently unpredictable, since significant variations in initial conditions fall beneath the threshold of measurement. Polkinghorne argues from this fact to the claim that the futures of such systems are truly “open,” and hence that God can operate within them without contravening the laws of nature. I claim (a) that the argument from unpredictability to indeterminacy is fallacious; (b) that the attempt to find indeterminacy between the quantum and human levels is unnecessary if we have already made allowance for God’s action at the most basic levels of organization; but (c) that the unpredictability recognized by chaos theorists is nonetheless extremely important for an account of divine action. If we begin with the hypothesis that God works at the quantum level, it is not necessary—in fact it is counterproductive—to argue for causal indeterminism

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at higher levels of organization (excluding the human level) since God’s will is assumed to be exercised by means of the macro-effects of subatomic manipulations. Polkinghorne, in speaking of chaotic systems, says: We are necessarily ignorant of how such systems will behave. If you are a realist and believe, as I believe, that what we know (epistemology) and what is the case (ontology) are closely linked to each other, it is natural to go on to interpret this state of affairs as reflecting an intrinsic openness in the behavior of these systems.4

Now, let us grant the realist thesis that what we know is (unproblematically) linked to what is the case. Let P stand for any proposition, then ‘X knows that P’ entails P. So far so good. But Polkinghorne’s argument is not from the content of some known proposition P to the character of the world; it is rather an argument from the character of our knowledge of P to the character of the world. Take any P that is a statement about the future (chaotic) state of a chaotic system: what the unpredictability amounts to is that for any person, X, and for any P, it is not the case that X knows that P. This implies nothing at all about the world’s likeness to P. To make such an argument is comparable to confusing a modal qualifier, which qualifies a proposition as a whole, with a property of an object described by that proposition. ‘Possibly there are unicorns’ does not entail that there are possible unicorns—that is, entities that are both unicorns and possible. Neither does ‘The outcome of chaotic processes are inherently unpredictable’ imply that there are outcomes that are indeterminate. Is this move in Polkinghorne’s thought simply an instance of using a bad argument for a position that may well be defensible on other grounds? I think not. The grounds upon which chaos theorists argue for the unpredictability of future states depend upon the assumption that the future states are determined by initial conditions in so sensitive a manner that we cannot measure them. So the systems are presumed to be determined at a very precise level—small changes produce large effects. So what chaos shows is not that there is genuine indeterminacy in the universe, but rather that we have to make a more careful distinction between predictability (an epistemological concept) and causal deter4

Polkinghorne, Science and Providence, 29.

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minism (an ontological concept). In a similar way, the phenomenon of quantum indeterminacy forced earlier physicists to distinguish between ontological and epistemological indeterminacy. That the consensus now is in favor of an ontological interpretation does not obliterate the distinction; a fortiori it does not provide warrant for obliterating the distinction between ontological indeterminism and epistemological unpredictability in this case. Furthermore, it is not clear to me that Polkinghorne’s position would solve the problem even if the argument for indeterminacy were valid. Let us take a specific case. Suppose Father Murphy is playing billiards in a high-stakes game in the hope of winning enough to get his school out of debt. Let us also suppose that God intends him to win, and in order to do so must bring about his getting a particular ball in the pocket. Murphy takes aim, hits the cue ball and the cue ball hits the #2 ball, which undergoes several more collisions. Polkinghorne rightly points out that we are unable to predict whether the ball will fall into the appropriate pocket. But what, exactly, could it mean to say that the outcome is open? Does it mean undetermined, tout court? Does it mean not uniquely determined by the laws of motion? I take this latter to be Polkinghorne’s meaning, since I find it hard to imagine what it would mean to say that it is totally undetermined, and also because he sees such things as slight environmental influences as important to the outcome in such cases. So what we might better say is that there are a range of outcomes that are consistent with the laws of motion. Now, how does God effect one of these possible outcomes? Polkinghorne suggests that in some cases God’s input might be a non-energetic contribution of information. But to whom or what is the information contributed? How is it conveyed without any energy at all. And in what sense does this proposal avoid “turning God into a demiurge, acting as an agent among other agents?”5 Polkinghorne quotes John V. Taylor with approval, when he writes: [I]f we think of a Creator at all, we are to find him always on the inside of creation. And if God is really on the inside, we must find him in the process, not in the gaps.6

5

Ibid., 33. John V. Taylor, The Go-Between God (London: SCM Press, 1972), 28, quoted in Polkinghorne, Science and Providence, 31. 6

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I suggest that Polkinghorne has not provided a clear account of how God works on the inside, in the process. This raises the question of how God could work “on the inside.” I take it that if God is to do so, then it is necessary that God work on the inside of all created entities—which must mean in turn that God works within the smallest constituents of macroscopic entities, since these smallest constituents are entities in their own right.7 If we begin with this hypothesis, it is not necessary—in fact it is counterproductive—to argue for causal indeterminism at higher levels of organization (excluding the human level) since God’s will is assumed to be exercised by means of the macro-effects of subatomic manipulations.

2. Criteria of Adequacy for a Theory of Divine Action The theory of causation and divine action to be presented here might be construed as metaphysical—that is, metascientific and metatheological. As such, its primary confirmation should come from its consistency with both science and theology, and especially from the fact that it solves problems that have arisen at the interface between these two sorts of disciplines. To solve such problems is no small accomplishment, and insofar as this proposal could be shown to solve problems that its competitors cannot solve, it would have a high degree of acceptability.8

7 It is interesting to speculate about the meaning of the distinction between God working “on the inside” versus “from the outside.” We can give a clear sense to “from the inside” when we are speaking of macroscopic entities and God working within them by manipulating constituent quantum entities, since the quantum entities are “inside” of the macroscopic entity. But can we make sense of a distinction between the inside and outside of the quantum entities themselves? If God has no physical location, literally speaking, yet we say that God is omnipresent and immanent in all of creation, perhaps we are assuming that a disembodied agent’s presence is to be defined in terms of the agent’s causal efficacy—wherever God acts, there God is. Thus, to say that God works within quantum entities would be equivalent to saying that God affects quantum entities. 8 Ideally, one would like to be able to show that such a proposal is progressive in the sense defined by Imre Lakatos. He proposed that a scientific research program is progressive if it can be developed in such a way that its theoretical content anticipates the discovery of novel facts. A similar criterion could be devised for metaphysical theories: that they anticipate and solve problems in other disciplines. That is, a metaphysical theory should be counted progressive if it turns out to contain resources for solving conceptual or empirical problems in or between other disciplines that it was not originally designed to solve. Lakatos’s scientific methodology is found in “Falsification

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2.1. Theological Requirements To do justice to the Christian tradition, a theory of divine action ought to be consistent with widely accepted formulations of key Christian doctrines, and—this is at least as important—it must constitute suitable presuppositions for Christian practice. 2.1.1. Doctrine I take it that one desideratum for theological construction is always to see what sense can be given in each age to traditional formulations. Only if the formulations of the past turn out to be hopelessly unintelligible should they be rejected or radically changed. God’s continuing action in the created world has been spoken of in a number of different ways—as sustenance, providence, continuing creation. One traditional set of terms will turn out to be particularly useful: God’s continuing work understood as sustenance, governance, and cooperation.9 The sense that can be given to these terms by means of the proposal in this paper will become clear as we go along. An additional doctrinal requirement, I suggest, is that an account of divine action throughout the hierarchy of levels of complexity must show forth God’s consistency. Thus, if the paradigm of divine action for Christians is found in the story of Jesus, we should expect that same divine moral character to be manifested, analogously, in God’s action within sub-human orders. I shall claim that the relevant feature of God’s action in Christ, displayed analogously throughout the whole, is its non-coercive character. 2.1.2. Presuppositions for Christian Practice The following seem to be required of any account of divine action that would be supportive of Christian belief and practice:

and the Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes,” in Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge, ed. I. Lakatos and Alan Musgrave (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 91–196. See my adaptation of his work in “Evidence of Design in the Fine-Tuning of the Universe,” in Quantum Cosmology. 9 These terms go back at least to Augustine, who formulated the discussion of grace and free will using the concepts of providence, sustaining activity, governance and cooperation. The terms have been used frequently in subsequent discussions of divine action.

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Special Divine Acts10 The first requirement is that we be able to distinguish in a meaningful way between events that are in some way special acts of God, and others that are not. This requirement is not met easily, since both doctrine and logic suggest that if God acts at all, God is acting in everything that happens. Here are at least three reasons for needing to distinguish special divine acts. First, our knowledge of a person comes primarily from the person’s actions, including speech acts. Knowledge of God, therefore, must come primarily from seeing what God has done. However, it is well-recognized that the sum total of the events known to us so far (both natural and historical) provide at best an ambiguous testimony to the character of God.11 So we need at least to be able to distinguish between God’s acts and the actions of sinful creatures; ideally we ought to be able to make sense of recognizing certain historical events as actions of God that are especially revelatory of God’s character, intentions, and providence. A second reason for needing to distinguish between divine actions and natural events is to support the practice of petitionary prayer. If there is no sense in which God may be expected to bring about a state of affairs that would not otherwise have occurred, then the practice of petitionary prayer is groundless.12 An even more pressing reason for needing to distinguish a special class of divine actions is that to fail to do so makes God entirely responsible for every event, and thus exacerbates the problem of evil. As Polkinghorne argues, theodicy requires a “free-process defense,” as well as a free-will defense.13 Notice, though, that a concept of the autonomy and regularity of natural processes is not merely a parallel to the theodicist’s doctrine of free will; it is a prerequisite for it as well. In order to make intelligent, free decisions and take responsibility for our action we must live in a

10 My use of ‘special’ here corresponds to that of “objectively special divine acts” as defined in Russell’s “Introduction” to Chaos and Complexity. 11 See, e.g., David Hume’s critiques of the argument from design in Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, and John Wisdom’s parable, “Gods,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 1944–5. 12 See my “Does Prayer Make a Difference?” in Cosmos as Creation: Theology and Science in Consonance, ed. Ted Peters (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1989), 235–45. 13 See Polkinghorne, Science and Providence, 66–67.

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world where outcomes of our actions are often predictable, and this in turn requires that the universe exhibit law-like regularity. Extraordinary Divine Acts Many modern and contemporary Christians would be satisfied with an account of causation and divine action that met all of the above requirements. However, earlier Christians would have insisted as well that there be room in such an account for something on the order of miracles. I prefer not to use the term ‘miracle’ because it is now so closely associated with the idea of a violation of the laws of nature. I believe it could be shown that the primary reason for current rejection of miracles, in fact, has been this very definition. So one reason for going against the Enlightened consensus and including as a second requirement for a theory of divine action that it leave room for what I shall call extraordinary acts of God is that the modern rejection of such acts was based on a mistaken view of the nature of miracles. A second is that elimination of all such events from Christian history leaves too little: the resurrection is an extraordinary act of God if ever there was one. Yet, as Paul asserts, if Christ is not raised, then Christian faith comes to nothing (cf. 1 Cor. 15:14,17,19). But if the resurrection is credible, then lesser signs cannot be ruled out a priori. 2.1.3. Summary We can sum up the discussion of theological requirements by saying that an adequate account of divine action will have to avoid the opposite poles of deism and occasionalism. Occasionalism, as applied to theories of divine action, denies the causal interaction of created things: created entities only provide an “occasion” for the action of God, who is the sole cause of all effects. This position has been rejected on the grounds that it ultimately denies the reality of finite beings. Schematic representations make clear the difference between these two extreme positions. Occasionalism can be represented as follows, where G stands for an act of God and E stands for an observable event: G1 → G2 → Gn ↓ ↓ ↓ E1 E2 En ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯→ time

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Here, God is the sole actor, and any causal efficacy on the part of observable events is mere illusion. The following sketch represents the deist option, where L represents a law of nature:

{ {

G⎯→ E1 → E2 → En ⎯→ L1 Ln time ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯→

Here, God’s action is restricted to an initial act of creation, which includes ordaining the laws that govern all successive changes. Some modern accounts of divine action have sought to hold divine action and natural causation together: God acts in and through the entire created order. Thus, we get a combined picture: G1

G2

Gn

↓

↓

↓

E1 → E2 → En ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯→ time

This approach suffers from two defects. First, it leaves no room for any sort of special divine acts and, second, it seems impossible to do justice to both accounts of causation (the problem of double agency); one inevitably slides back into occasionalism or else assigns God the role of a mere “rubber stamp” approval of natural processes. In short, we need a new picture of the relation of God’s action to the world of natural causes that allows us to represent God’s sustenance, governance, and cooperation in such a way that we can make sense of revelation, petitionary prayer, human responsibility, and of extraordinary acts such as the resurrection, without at the same time blowing the problem of evil up to unmanageable proportions. 2.2. Scientific Requirements An adequate account of divine action must also be consistent with the sciences. Here, again, we can distinguish several types of consistency. 2.2.1. The Results of Scientific Research An adequate account of causation in general and divine action in particular needs to “save the phenomena.” That is, we are setting out to

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explain how God and natural causes conspire to bring about the world as we know it. The salient features seem to be, first, the general law-like behavior of macroscopic objects and events, qualified, however, by two major exceptions: the apparent randomness of individual events at the quantum level and human free actions.14 The fact that the “rule of law” needs to be so qualified, however, suggests the value of recognizing as a second, equally important, feature of the world known by science its organization into a hierarchy of levels of complexity.15 More on this below. It also suggests that in an account of divine action, attention needs to be given to three very different regions or “regimes” within the hierarchy: the quantum level, the realm of human freedom, and an intermediate regime wherein the behavior of entities is describable by means of deterministic laws. 2.2.2. Presuppositions of the Practice of Science The law-like character of the natural world is not only a finding of science; it is a presupposition for engaging in scientific research in the first place. It has often been argued that the Christian (and Jewish) doctrines of God, stressing both God’s freedom and God’s rationality and reliability were crucial assumptions for the development of empirical science.16 No revised account of divine action that undercuts the practice of science will be acceptable. 2.2.3. Metascientific Factors I have been careful in the two preceding subsections to speak of “the law-like character” of the natural world, not of the existence of laws of nature. While many scientists assume that there must in some sense be such laws—that they must have some sort of existence17—I do not believe such a view is either a necessary prerequisite for doing science or necessarily supported by the findings of science.18 Thus, I shall argue

14 Perhaps the higher animals are also capable of free actions, but if philosophers are not agreed what it means to say that human actions are free, a fortiori we do not know what to say about the animals. 15 See Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age, inter alia. 16 See Ian Barbour, Issues in Science and Religion (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), 46. 17 See, e.g., Paul Davies, The Mind of God: Science and the Search for Ultimate Meaning (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992). 18 For a discussion of this issue, see William Stoeger, “Contemporary Physics and the Ontological Status of the Laws of Nature,” in Quantum Cosmology. See also Bas C. van Fraassen, Laws and Symmetries (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989).

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that the “de-ontologizing” of the “laws of nature” is a helpful move in understanding divine agency.

3. Metaphysical Considerations I claimed above that nothing short of a revision of current metaphysical notions regarding the nature of matter and causation is likely to solve the problem of divine action. In this section we survey some important changes in the history of metaphysics as background, and then attempt to see where we are now and where we must go in our thinking about causes. 3.1. From Aristotle to Newton One of the most striking changes from medieval (Aristotelian) hylomorphism to modern corpuscularism (á là Descartes and Newton) regards the “powers” of material things to move themselves or to change in other ways. Of course Aristotle and Newton would both agree that horses, for example, are material bodies, and horses, obviously, can move. So the question is a deeper one about the nature of matter itself. For Aristotelians, all individual substances were constituted by two principles: matter and form. Individual substances could be arranged hierarchically with the more complex at the top. For the higher beings, the matter of which they were composed was already “en-formed” by the forms of lower realities. The lowest entities in the hierarchy of existents were the four elements: earth, water, air, and fire. But these elements were themselves constituted by forms (of earth, water, air, or fire) and “prime matter.” Prime matter, however, was assumed to exist only as ingredient in the four elements (and hence as a basic ingredient in all higher substances), so it was only a theoretical construct within the system. However, in Aristotle’s system, prime matter, were it to exist independently of all forms, would be entirely passive since it is form that gives individual characteristics to existent beings, including whatever powers and actions are natural to that species of existent. Conversely, since all existent material beings are enformed matter, all material beings have certain inherent powers and certain “motions” that are natural to them. Even stones, simple objects composed primarily of

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the element earth, have the intrinsic power to seek their natural position, which is at the center of the cosmos. That is why rocks fall when dropped, and sink when placed in water. So in this worldview, while prime matter is passive, it does not exist as such. All material beings (“primary substances”), in contrast, have inherent powers to act in their own characteristic ways. The self-moving capacities of animals and humans need no special explanation. In contrast, René Descartes, Thomas Hobbes, Newton, and other early modern thinkers developed a worldview in which material bodies were inherently passive or inert. All macroscopic phenomena, including the movements of animals and human bodies, were manifestations of matter in motion. According to Hobbes, all that exist are “bodies.” Bodies move. In doing so they move other bodies; that is all that happens.19 We can describe this change by making use of terms coined by Baruch Spinoza. He distinguished between immanent causes, which produce changes within themselves, and transeunt causes, which produce changes in something else. The change from the Aristotelian to the Newtonian worldview included a change from a world filled with immanent causes to one in which all causes, when properly understood, are transeunt causes. According to Newton, all motion in the universe was introduced “from the outside” by God. The laws of nature were, in the first instance, laws of motion that determined the patterns of motion after that initial impetus. It has been argued that Newton had theological motives for developing the inertial view of matter.20 One motive was what might be called Calvinist theological maximalism—to give as much credit to God as possible for whatever happens. So Newton ascribed all motive power to God. Second, this view of the physical universe made an obvious argument for the existence of God: someone had to have set it in motion in the beginning. So a second change in the understanding of causes, from Aristotle to Newton, regards the question of what it is that causes cause. For Aristotle causal analysis was given of substances and their modification

19 This summary of Hobbes’s materialism is Wallace Matson’s, A New History of Philosophy, vol. 2 (San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1987), 288. 20 See Eugene Klaaren, Religious Origins of Modern Science: Belief in Creation in Seventeenth-century Thought (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1977).

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(including locomotion). For Newton causal analyses are given of changes, and changes are ultimately changes in motion. 3.2. Current Assumptions I submit that since the demise of the Newtonian worldview, philosophical accounts of causation have not kept pace with science. The question of the innate powers of matter is little addressed these days by either scientists or philosophers,21 and it seems a crucial preliminary question for locating God’s action in the physical universe. Yet, if scientists after Newton are willing to do without Newton’s version of the Prime Mover, they must be assuming, contra Descartes and Newton, that matter is inherently active.22 So what is the ultimate source of the world’s processes? Do we look to the beginning, in the Big Bang; or do we look instead to the basis of all processes in the smallest constituent events? Are quantum events brought about by transeunt causes or by immanent causes? Nor is it clear what answer is to be given today to the question of what it is that causes cause. It is more common now to speak of events or states of affairs, rather than objects, as the effects of causes. Suppose we describe an event as a change from one state of affairs S1 to another S2. Then, is it S2 or the change from S1 to S2 that requires causal explanation? And is S1 the cause, or merely a necessary condition? Scientific language is not consistent here. When there is a regular connection between states of type 1 and states of type 2 we are inclined to speak of S1 as the cause of S2. However, if there is no such regularity we have two options. The first is always to look for an additional factor to label as the cause. If none can be found we speak of S2 as random—and in such cases some would say that the event is uncaused. Furthermore, it is necessary to distinguish between entropy-increasing changes and entropy-decreasing changes. Entropy-increasing changes require no additional explanation; here S1 is an adequate explanation 21 However, Richard Taylor claims that there remain two important philosophical questions regarding causation that have not been satisfactorily resolved. One is whether the concept of power or causal efficacy is after all essential, and whether there is after all any kind of necessary connection between a cause and its effect. The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 1967 ed., s.v. “Causation,” by R. Taylor. 22 See Wolfhart Pannenberg, Toward a Theology of Nature: Essays on Science and Faith, ed. Ted Peters (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), esp. chap. 1, “Theological Questions to Scientists.”

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of S2 (or of the change to S2). Entropy-decreasing changes require an exchange with the environment, which is sometimes designated the cause, and the status of S1 is reduced to that of a necessary condition. Another complication: it is also possible to treat the “laws of nature” as the most significant “ingredient” in a causal explanations, in which case S1 is designated as the set of initial conditions. This tendency has been furthered by Carl Hempel’s influential nomological account of explanation, wherein a causal explanation takes the form of a law and a set of initial conditions from which the explanandum can be deduced.23 So with current physics and cosmology having displaced the simple clockwork model of the universe, we are left without a clear scientific answer to the question of the causal nature of matter. Neither do we seem to have an agreed-upon philosophical analysis of causal concepts. 3.3. The Ontological Status of the Laws of Nature Another area of disagreement concerns the ontological status of the laws of nature. When Newton and his contemporaries spoke of “the laws of nature” they no doubt understood the term as a metaphorical extension of the notion of divine law from the realm of theological ethics.24 The ontological status of the laws of nature was unproblematic: they were ideas in the mind of God (a move for which the way had already been paved by Christian Platonists, who “located” Plato’s realm of the forms in the mind of God). What status have the laws of nature in contemporary thought? Paul Davies notes that: As long as the laws of nature were rooted in God, their existence was no more remarkable than that of matter, which God also created. But if the divine underpinning of the laws is removed, their existence becomes a profound mystery. Where do they come from? Who “sent the message”? Who devised the code? Are the laws simply there—free floating, so to

23 See Carl Hempel, Aspects of Scientific Explanation: and Other Essays in the Philosophy of Science (New York: Free Press, 1965). 24 See Mary Hesse, “Lawlessness in Natural and Social Science,” draft paper for conference on quantum cosmology and the laws of nature, Vatican Observatory, September, 1991, typescript, p. 1.

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nancey murphy speak—or should we abandon the very notion of laws of nature as an unnecessary hangover from a religious past?25

Davies, along with a number of other scientists, opts for what I shall call a Platonistic account of the laws of nature, meaning that like Plato’s eternal forms, the laws have an existence independent of the entities they govern. However, no one, to my knowledge, has provided a suitable account of how (or where) the laws might “exist” and how they affect physical reality—the same problems that have led most philosophers to abandon Platonic metaphysics. Furthermore, William Stoeger has argued persuasively that no such account of the laws of nature is necessary. All one needs to recognize is that there are objective regularities and relationships in nature, which scientists describe in human language and with the aid of mathematics.26 Stoeger’s view appears the most credible account of the status of the laws of nature, but even if his arguments were not persuasive, this would still be the most viable option, since there seems to be no intelligible answer to the question of how the laws of nature could “exist” independently of either the mind of God or of the reality that instantiates them. Still, Stoeger’s account leaves unanswered the question of what accounts for the objective regularities and relations in nature if not pre-existent laws. To this question we return in section 4. 3.4. Pointers Toward a New Metaphysic An absolutely crucial development in contemporary understandings of the nature of reality regards its non-reducible hierarchical ordering in terms of increasingly complex systems. In some ways this recognition represents a return to the Aristotelian view that the form (organization, functional capacities) of an entity is equally constitutive of reality as is the stuff of which a thing is made. The recognition of top-down causation is integral to this view. The hierarchical conception of reality suggests that an investigation of causation and the role of divine action begin at either the top or the bottom of the hierarchy, or both. The present state of our knowledge

25 26

Davies, Mind of God, 81. Stoeger, “Contemporary Physics and the Laws of Nature.”

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gives primacy to bottom-up causation; it is not clear whether this is an accident resulting from the long dominance of reductionist thinking, or whether bottom-up influences do in fact play a more decisive role in events than do top-down influences. In any case, no account of what makes things happen can neglect what we now take to be the lowest level of the hierarchy—the quantum level. This level is odd from the point of view of a causal analysis: quantum events do not obey deterministic laws. Individual events violate the principle of sufficient reason, which expresses our expectation that things happen when and as they happen due to some specific cause; that we should be able to give a reason why this happened now, rather than later or not at all. So here is a radical incompleteness in our knowledge at this most basic level. There is a metaphysical gap that we hunger to fill—by means of hidden variables, or layers of the implicate order, or some other means.

4. A Proposal Let me summarize the requirements and hints so far assembled for an account of divine action. We are looking for a way to make sense of the traditional claim that God not only sustains all things, but also cooperates with and governs all created entities. This account needs to be consistent with other church teaching; it needs to leave room for special divine acts for both doctrinal and practical reasons; and it must not exacerbate the problem of evil. It also needs to be consistent with science in the sense of saving the phenomena, and must not undercut the practice of science. However, I claim that it need not be consistent with metaphysical assumptions about matter and causation, which seem at present to be in great disarray. Finally, a revised metaphysical account of causation that includes divine action as an integral part needs to take into account the recent recognition of the non-reducible hierarchy of complexity; this suggests two likely starting points, based on either top-down or bottom-up causation.

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4.1. Top-Down Causation: Another Road Not Taken Peacocke has very helpfully explored the topic of top-down causation and its possibilities for a theory of divine action. The concept of top-down causation itself is crucially important for a number of reasons. It explains how human free agency is possible within a highly deterministic universe. Hence, it is an important element in any account of divine action, since God’s influence on human consciousness would otherwise have no possible influence on the rest of the cosmos. It is also necessary simply to understand the relations among the various levels of complexity in the natural world. However, I have serious reservations about the adequacy of an account of divine action in terms of top-down causation alone. I shall discuss top-down effects in the human realm below, so here my focus will be on purported top-down effects on the non-human world. The clearest account given so far of how God operates is by analogy to human (top-down) agency in the inanimate world. However, this analogy does not solve the problem because human agency is brought to bear on the natural world via bodily action. Since God has no body, we get no help with the question of how God brings it about that events obey his will. This pushes us to consider whether God’s causal relation to the world is like the causal relation between a human mind and the body. But Peacocke rightly rejects any dualistic account; and if we understand mental events as a function of the operation of the organism at a high level of organization, we again have trouble applying the account to God—God would then be the world-mind or the world-soul. Ordinarily we invoke the concept of top-down causation when we find processes that cannot be described or understood in abstraction from the whole system, comprised of the affected entity in its environment. However, in such cases, it appears that the effect of the environment is always mediated by specific changes in the entity itself. For example, team spirit only affects an individual insofar as sights and sounds emanating from the other people affect the individual’s sensory organs. Environmental factors affect individual organisms by means of, say, food surpluses or shortages, which in turn affect an animal only insofar as it does or does not eat. So top-down causation by God should also be expected to be mediated by specific changes in the affected entities, and this returns us to the original question of how and at what level of organization God provides

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causal input into the system. I suggest we turn to a bottom-up account as the most plausible supplement to Peacocke’s top-down approach. 4.2. Overview of Modes of Divine Action In brief, the following is my position. In addition to creation and sustenance, God has two modes of action within the created order: one at the quantum level (or whatever turns out to be the most basic level of reality) and the other through human intelligence and action. The apparently random events at the quantum level all involve (but are not exhausted by) specific, intentional acts of God. God’s action at this level is limited by two factors. First, God respects the integrity of the entities with which he cooperates—there are some things that God can do with an electron, for instance, and many other things that he cannot (e.g., make it have the rest-mass of a proton, or a positive charge).27 Second, within the wider range of effects allowed by God’s action in and through sub-atomic entities, God restricts his action in order to produce a world that for all we can tell is orderly and law-like in its operation. The exact possibilities for God’s action within higher reaches of the natural order by means of cooperation with and governance of sub-atomic entities are highly debatable and will be considered below. But I hope to show that by taking quantum events as the primary locus for divine action it will be possible to meet many of the theological needs placed upon such a theory without running into insuperable theological or scientific objections. In the following sections I address each of three regimes mentioned above: the quantum level, the regime of law-like behavior, and the human realm, asking in each case what are the possibilities for divine governance and cooperation. Since the levels are interrelated, the position outlined for each regime will have consequences throughout. Divine action in the regime of law needs to be understood in terms of both bottom-up and top-down components. For example, I shall suggest that there is an analogy between God’s respecting the “natural rights” of humans and a similar respect for the inherent rights of lower entities to be what they are. So calculating the possibilities for 27 The sense in which God “cannot” do all things with an electron is explained in section 4.3.

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divine interaction with macroscopic objects involves the interaction of top-down and bottom-up influences with the God-given characteristics and potentialities of those beings. Most of what I shall have to say about God’s mode of action at the human level will be non-controversial. Insofar as it presents anything new, it will be by applying the results of my proposal regarding bottom-up causation at this level. 4.3. God’s Action at the Quantum Level The first question to raise with regard to the quantum level is this: Does God produce solely and directly all the events (phenomena) at this level, or are the entities endowed with “powers” of their own? In other words, I am raising here the question introduced in section 3—the activity or passivity of matter—but relating it specifically to the most basic entities in the physical universe and their relation to God. There are two possible answers: either God is the sole actor at this level or the entities (also) have their own (God-given) powers to act. I believe we can rather quickly dismiss the first option on theological grounds. To say that each sub-atomic event is solely an act of God would be a version of occasionalism, with all the attendant theological difficulties mentioned above: it exacerbates the problem of evil; it also comes close to pantheism, and conflicts with what I take to be an important aspect of the doctrine of creation—that what God creates has a measure of independent existence relative to God, notwithstanding the fact that God keeps all things in existence. To put the point another way, if God were completely in control of each event, there would be no-thing for God to keep in existence. To create something, even so lowly a thing as an electron, is to grant it some measure of independence and a nature of its own, including inherent powers to do some things rather than others. These considerations lead to the conclusion that it is necessary for theological reasons to grant that every created entity, however small and ephemeral, has an existence independent of God. To be is to be determinate, and to be determinate is to have certain innate properties, including actual or potential behaviors. Now, the peculiarity of entities at the quantum level is that while specific particles have their distinguishing characteristics and specific possibilities for acting, it is not possible to predict exactly when they will do whatever they do. This allows us to raise another question: Is

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the when: (1) completely random and undetermined; is it (2) internally determined by the entity itself;28 is it (3) externally determined by the entity’s relations to something else in the physical system;29 or, finally (4) is it determined by God? To make sure that these four options are distinguished clearly, allow me to present an analogy. A medieval philosopher by the name of Buridan is supposed to have hypothesized that if a starving donkey were placed midway between two equal piles of hay it would starve to death for want of sufficient reason to choose one pile rather than the other. I am supposing that entities at the quantum level are miniature “Buridian” asses. The asses have the “power” to do one thing rather than another (walk to one of the piles of hay). The question is what induces them to take one course of action rather than the other (or to take a course of action at a particular time rather than another or not at all). By hypothesis, there is nothing external to determine the donkey’s choice (no difference in the piles of hay). Also, by hypothesis, there is nothing internal (no sufficient reason) to determine the choice. Insofar as epistemological interpretations of quantum theory and the quest for hidden variables are rejected, we are left with the conclusion that there is no “sufficient reason” either internal or external to the entities at this level to determine their behavior. While these issues are still open, many physicists have rejected both epistemological interpretations and at least local hidden variables. By process of elimination, this leaves options 1 and 4: complete randomness or divine determination. The fact that the inventor of Buridan’s ass believed the donkey would starve illustrates the philosophical assumption that all events must have a sufficient reason. This same intuition is what has made the apparent randomness of quantum events so difficult for the scientific community to accept. I shall argue that the better option is divine determination. While most of my argument will be for the advantages of this thesis for theology, it is important to bear in mind that it has the further advantage of consistency with the principle of sufficient reason.30 To put it crudely, God is the hidden variable.

28

In Spinoza’s terms, is the entity itself an “immanent cause”? That is, moved by a “transeunt cause.” 30 However, this is probably a minor point, since it not clear what the principle itself is based upon. 29

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4.3.1. God’s Governance, Cooperation, and Sustenance It is neither theologically nor scientifically problematic to maintain that God’s creative activity involves the sustaining in existence of that which has been created. However, it poses an interesting question to see if we can find work for the terms ‘cooperation’ and ‘governance’. These terms turn out to be quite valuable here. My proposal is that God’s governance at the quantum level consists in activating or actualizing one or another of the quantum entity’s innate powers at particular instants, and that these events are not possible without God’s action. This is the manner and extent of God’s governance at this level of reality. I have already claimed that we need to maintain that all created entities, despite being sustained by God, are entities in their own right vis-à-vis God. Only in this way can we say that there is a created entity with which God can cooperate. God’s action is thus limited by or constrained by the characteristic limitations of the entities with which he cooperates. This limitation is, in one sense, voluntary—God could cause an electron to attract another electron, but so far as we know has chosen not to do so. In another sense, though, this limitation is a logical necessity—an electron that attracts electrons is no longer (really) an electron. This principle of God’s respecting the integrity of the entities he has created is an important one. Proposing it is in line with Polkinghorne’s speaking of “free processes” in nature. I further suggest, on the strength of a similar analogy with the human realm, that we speak of all created entities as having “natural rights,” which God respects in his governance. This is the sense in which his governance is cooperation, not domination. 4.3.2. God’s Bottom-Up Causation The rationale for proposing this bottom-up account of divine governance is based upon what remains true about reductionism and determinism, even after recent criticisms of these positions are taken into account. The theological goal is to find a modus operandi for God at the macro-level—the level that most concerns us in our Christian lives. The ontological reductionist thesis seems undeniable—macroscopic objects are composed of the entities of atomic and subatomic physics.31

31 This point stands even for those who want to add a mind or soul to the human body in order to get a living person: the body is still nothing but a complex organization of its most basic physical parts.

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This being the case, much (but not all) of the behavior of macro-level objects is determined by the behavior of their smallest constituents. Therefore, God’s capacity to act at the macro-level must include the ability to act upon the most basic constituents. This is a conceptual claim, not theological or scientific. However, the theological question that arises immediately is whether God acts upon these parts-making-up-wholes only in rare instances, or whether God is constantly acting on or in everything. Over the long history of the tradition, I believe, the majority view has been that God acts in all things at all times, not just on rare occasions. We can approach this question from the following angle: we object to interventionist accounts of divine action because it seems unreasonable that God should violate the laws he has established. We object to “God of the gaps” accounts of divine action for epistemological reasons—science will progress and close the gaps. But I think there is a more basic intuition behind the rejection of both of these views: God must not be made a competitor with processes that on other occasions are sufficient in and of themselves to bring about a given effect. In addition, if God’s presence is identified with God’s efficacy32 then a God who acts only occasionally is a God who is usually absent. So our theological intuitions urge upon us the view that, in some way, God must be a participant in every (macro-level) event. God is not one possible cause among the variety of natural causes; God’s action is a necessary but not sufficient condition for every (post-creation) event. In addition, I claim that God’s participation in each event is by means of his governance of the quantum events that constitute each macro-level event. There is no competition between God and natural determinants because, ex hypothesi, the efficient natural causes at this level are insufficient to determine all outcomes.33 4.3.3. Conclusions In this section I have proposed a bottom-up account of divine action. God governs each event at the quantum level in a way that respects the “natural rights” of the entities involved. God’s action is (and from the point of view of science, must be) such that, in general, these events

32

See n. 6 above. My suspicion is that arguments based on quantum non-locality could also be used to reinforce the claim that if God works in any quantum event, God must work in all of them. 33

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“accumulate” in regular ways. However, within the limits provided by the natures of the quantum entities involved and by our need for an orderly and predictable world, God is free to bring about occasional extraordinary events at the macro-level—exceptions that suit God’s own purposes. This account provides a modus operandi for God’s constant and all-pervasive governance of the physical cosmos, but does not rule out special acts upon rare occasions. Each event at the quantum level, then, needs to be represented as follows: G ⎯⎯→ S1 ⎯⎯→ S2

Here S1 represents the prior state of the entity or system, and G represents an intentional act of God to actualize one of the possibilities inherent in S1. Notice that this is a radical revision of the meaning of ‘cause’ as it is used in science and everyday life, since on the view presented here no set of natural events or states of affairs is ever a sufficient condition for an event. One necessary condition will always be an element of divine direction; nothing ever happens without God’s direct participation. Notice, also, that this view splits the difference between Newton’s view of the utter passivity of matter and Aristotle’s view of substances possessing their own inherent powers to act. On this view, created entities have inherent powers, yet they are radically incomplete: they require God’s cooperation in order to be actualized. 4.4. God’s Action in the Regime of Law By ‘the regime of law’ I mean to refer to the events occurring at all levels of complexity above the quantum level but below the level of free action. In this section I shall first mention the constraints placed upon our conclusions by the requirements of both science and theology. Second, I shall attempt to state the consequences that the proposal of the previous section has for a conception of the relationship of divine action to the laws of nature. 4.4.1. Reconciling the Needs of Science and Religion We come to the crux of the problem of divine action when we address the regime of law. Science both presupposes for its very existence the strictly law-like behavior of all entities and processes, and constantly

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progresses in its quest to account for observable phenomena in terms of elegant sets of interrelated laws. As stated above, no account of divine action that undermines the practice of science or denies its major findings can be considered adequate. However, the law-like regularity of nature has regularly been equated with causal determinism, with the result that God’s action can be understood in one of three ways: God is not causally involved in the ongoing processes of the universe; God is involved, but only by intervention; or God’s action amounts to supporting the ongoing regular processes. Since none of these options seems an adequate account of divine action,34 much of the previous work in this area has concentrated on finding respects in which the processes in this regime are not causally determined by prior conditions and natural laws. However, if we adopt a bottom-up view of divine causation, the problem of God’s action at the macro-level reverses itself. The problem is not that of beginning with the law-governed character of macro-level phenomena, and then trying to find room for divine action. Rather, one begins with a strong measure of divine determinism at the most basic level of natural processes and then has to account for the observed regularity and the applicability of “laws of nature.” At this level we have to consider a similar set of questions as we did in considering God’s relation to entities at the quantum level. But these questions are complicated by relations to answers given at the quantum level. Let us take a very simple example of a macro-level entity: a billiard ball. The ball is composed of cellulose structures; cellulose in turn is composed of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. The stability of the elements and their ability to form this compound are effects of overall patterns in the behavior of the constituent sub-atomic entities. The characteristics of the wood itself (e.g., the grain and density) are the result of past biological processes, similarly grounded in (but not uniquely determined by) the behavior of the quantum-level entities. The characteristics of the wood give rise to some of the characteristics of the ball itself, such as its elasticity. Others, such as its shape and size are effects of the manufacturing process, and perhaps other accidents since then. So past environmental influences have interacted with

34

For reasons described in section 2.

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influences determined in a bottom-up manner by characteristic behaviors of its constituents. To be a billiard ball is to have a set of inherent properties that allow for a characteristic range of behaviors and interactions with other entities in the environment. How does God act with respect to billiard balls? Is the rolling of a billiard ball always, sometimes, or never the result of divine action? To be consistent with the above analysis we must say that divine action is always a necessary condition, but never a sufficient condition for such an event. The continued existence of the ball is dependent upon God acting in regular ways at the quantum level (e.g., governing the movements of the electrons in its atoms). But such patterns of action give rise to an entity capable of interacting in some ways (but not others) with the environment. One of the “capacities” with which the ball is endowed by virtue of its constitution is to lie still until struck; another is to roll when struck by the cue stick. So the rolling of the ball (ordinarily) will be a joint effect of an impact and of God’s sustaining the ball’s characteristics “from below.” One might now ask how this account differs from a standard modern account of God sustaining entities in existence whose behavior is determined by the laws of nature, in particular the laws of motion. The differences are subtle.35 First, God is not merely keeping the ball in existence; God is maintaining its typical characteristics through intentional manipulation of its smallest constituents. This fulfills the theological requirement that God be understood as acting within all macro-level events. Second, the behavior of the ball and its characteristic interactions with the environment are not determined externally by laws “out there,” but are inherent characteristics, emergent from the behavior of its constituent parts.36 And, third, within the limits provided by the “natural rights” of those constituents, God could effect extraordinary behaviors or interactions by governing the constituents in atypical ways. A philosopher once wrote that it is not impossible for all the atoms in a billiard ball to “go on a spree” so that the ball would suddenly move without any outside force. The account of divine action given here entails that such things are possible, but if they happen they are not

35 And of course they are intended to be subtle. The goal here is to produce an account of divine action that does not conflict with observations. 36 There may be exceptions here, such as the law of gravity.

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the result of chance synchronization of random vibrations, but rather of intentional orchestration of the vastly many micro-events.37 4.4.2. God and the Laws of Nature I have already suggested that we view the statistical laws of quantum mechanics as summaries of patterns in God’s action upon quantum entities and processes. In light of this claim, what are we to say about the laws of nature above the quantum level but below the human level? To say that these laws are nothing but summaries of individual acts of God is to ignore the fact that God’s actions at the quantum level constitute macro-level entities that have their own distinct manners of operation. Mathematical description of the typical behaviors of these entities yields our “laws of nature.” Notice that at this point I am not saying anything new or unorthodox scientifically. I am simply assuming what has turned out to be true about reductionism. Macro-level objects are complex organizations of their most basic constituents (this is analytic). To a great extent,38 the behavior of the whole is determined by the behavior of its parts. So the laws that describe the behavior of the macro-level entities are consequences of the regularities at the lowest level,39 and are indirect though intended consequences of God’s direct acts at the quantum level. What is unorthodox (scientifically) is the grounding I have given to the statistical regularities in the behavior at the quantum level. Now, if the behavior of macro-level entities is dependent upon God’s sustaining their specific characteristics by means of countless free and intentional acts, why do natural processes look so much like the effect of blind and wholly determinate forces? Since we have undermined the standard modern answer—determination by the laws of nature—a different account must be provided. The account to be given here is theological: one of God’s chief purposes is (must have been) to produce a true cosmos—an orderly system. If we ask why God purposed an orderly universe we might speculate that it is for the intrinsic beauty and interest of such a cosmos; we could ground this speculation in our

37 The contentious point here has to do with the question whether or not quantum effects necessarily “wash out” at the macro-level. I am assuming that they need not. See section 5.4. 38 That is, within the limits circumscribed by top-down causation. 39 This is true even if the laws at higher levels cannot be derived mathematically from the laws of quantum mechanics.

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own aesthetic appreciation and in the supposition that our appreciation is an aspect of the imago Dei. An equally significant explanation is the necessity for such order and regularity so that intelligent and responsible beings such as ourselves might exist to “know, love, and serve him.” The law-like character of the universe is a necessary prerequisite for the physical existence of systems as complex as our bodies; it is also necessary for intelligence. There could not, of course, be brains capable of investigating the cosmos without the cosmos being orderly; but if, per contra, suitably complex beings did exist in a chaotic environment they would be unable to develop intelligence. A fortiori they would not be able to make responsible free choices. Free agency requires a background of law-like processes so that the effects of one’s action can be predicted. But how law-like does the cosmos have to be? There is a vast continuum between total chaos (which is actually unimaginable—think of the difficulty in producing a truly random series of numbers) and the absolute regularity (determinism) that has often been assumed since the rise of modern science. The assumptions upon which this paper is based require that at some level a principle of the uniformity of nature must prevail. Otherwise God’s governance would not include intelligent use of cause-effect relations (any more than ours could), and we would be back to occasionalism. But this does not entail that our scientific laws could suffer no exceptions—in fact, I have just been arguing that by tampering with initial conditions at the quantum level, God can bring about extraordinary events; events out of keeping with the general regularities we observe. So the question is: To what extent can God bring about such extraordinary events without defeating his own purposes? It is obvious that the whole cosmos does not fall into chaos if there are occasional exceptions. The more interesting question is how much disorder is possible without destroying our ability (or motivation) for intelligent appreciation of the cosmos or our ability to take responsibility for our actions. John Hick has written that God withholds obvious signs of his existence in order to create epistemic distance, and hence to leave us free to believe or not in his existence.40 This argument seems to have something right about it—it is certainly the case that God could act in such a way as to make it much more difficult to deny his existence.

40

See John Hick, Evil and the God of Love (London: Macmillan, 1966).

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Yet the argument seems faulty, too. It seems to overlook the traditional account of disbelief as sin, and the fact that even in the face of the most astounding evidence given by and on behalf of Jesus, the crowds largely failed to believe. I suggest that God’s action does remain largely hidden and is always ambiguous—when manifest it is always subject to other interpretations. But this is not because we would otherwise be forced to believe in God (as Hick claims) and then to obey him. Rather it is because we would lose our sense of the reliable behavior of the environment. When the environment is taken to behave in a set (and therefore predictable) manner, we can make responsible choices about how to act within it. If instead we saw the environment as a complex manifestation of divine action, we would lose our sense of being able to predict the consequences of our actions, and would also lose our sense of responsibility for them. So, for instance, if I carelessly allow my child to fall off a balcony, I would not see myself as responsible for his injuries since God was there with all sorts of opportunities for preventing them. These psychological requirements for responsible action seem to require in turn that extraordinary acts of God be exceedingly rare (that we not have any adequate justification for expecting God to undo the consequences of our wrong choices) and that they normally be open to interpretation as (somehow) in accord with “the laws of nature.” So God’s relation with us requires a fine line between complete obviousness and complete hiddenness—the latter since we could not come to know God without special divine acts.41 The difficulty in describing God’s action is that we want to have it both ways: both that there be evidence for divine action—something that science cannot explain—and that there be no conflict with science. So a suitable theory of how God acts leaves everything as it was scientifically. But then there is no evidence upon which to argue that such a view ought to be accepted over a purely naturalistic account. Perhaps the ambivalence we find

41 History, both in scripture and elsewhere, reports frequent miracles in ancient times; relatively few are reported today, and contemporary reports come more often from less-educated populations. Most commentators assume that we are seeing a decrease in gullibility. It is possible, though, that there are in fact fewer extraordinary events because, with our sharpened sense of the order of nature, with increased abilities to make measurements, our sense of the order of nature has become more fragile. As technological and scientific capabilities to test miracle claims have increased, so have our abilities to cast doubt upon causal regularity.

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in attempting to provide a description of divine action is rooted in an intentional ambiguity in God’s acts themselves. In summary: I am proposing that the uniformity of nature is a divine artifact. God could produce a macroscopic world that behaved in much less regular ways by manipulating quantum events. However, there are two kinds of limits by which God abides. The first is respecting the inherent characteristics of created entities at both the quantum and higher levels—respecting their “natural rights.” However, within the degrees of freedom still remaining many more strange things could happen than what we observe—billiard balls “going on a spree.” So we must assume that God restricts extraordinary actions even further in order to maintain our ability to believe in an orderly and dependable natural environment. Chaos Theory: A Subsidiary Role The real value of chaos theory for an account of divine action is that it gives God a great deal of “room” in which to effect specific outcomes without destroying our ability to believe in the natural causal order. The room God needs is not space to work within a causally determined order—ontological room—but rather room to work within our perceptions of natural order—epistemological room. It may be significant that two of Christians’ most common subjects for prayer are health and weather. Weather patterns are clearly chaotic, so it is never possible to claim definitively that a prayer regarding the weather has or has not been answered. I suspect that because most bodily states are so finely tuned they too involve chaotic systems. Thus, the recovery from an illness and especially the timing of recovery cannot always be predicted. So do we pray for these things rather than others because we lack faith that God could “break a law of nature” or is it rather because of our long experience with a God who prefers to work on our behalf “under the cover of chaos”? 4.4.3. Top-Down Causation: A Subsidiary Role The recognition of top-down considerations plays two vital roles in this proposal. In addition to the factor to be pursued below—God’s top-down influence on the created order through human top-down agency—a second is as follows: I have argued that God’s action at the sub-atomic level governs the behavior of nature’s most basic constituents, but without violating their “natural rights.” So in order to understand the limits of divine agency at that level and in all higher levels, we need to know what are the intrinsic capabilities of those entities.

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However, it appears that the behaviors that are “natural” to an entity (from any level of the hierarchy) are not simply given—entities can do more, have more degrees of freedom, when placed in a more complex environment. Studying the inherent powers of an entity in isolation will not tell us what it can do when incorporated into a higher regime. For example, humans can eat, move about, make noise, in total isolation from community, but our truly human capacities such as language only emerge in society. A solitary individual, or even an individual who is part of a herd rather than a society, cannot teach philosophy. There are limits, of course, to the increased freedom that any particular regime can promote. For example, cats can be taught to play games and eat onions when incorporated into a household; pet rocks cannot, no matter how stimulating the company. However, this limitation applies to known regimes. As Polkinghorne has pointed out, we are not well-acquainted with the possibilities for either human life or natural events within a regime in which God’s will is the dominant factor. Medieval Christians believed that the great chain of being was also a chain of command, broken by human (and angelic) disobedience. Saintly beings repaired the chain, and hence holy people such as St. Francis could command the animals. While this account does no more than Peacocke’s to explain how divine influences are transmitted to sub-human beings, it does suggest that a phenomenon has been recognized throughout Christian history: natural beings and processes operate somewhat differently in the presence of people imbued with the presence of God. 4.5. Divine Action in the Human Realm God has a number of ways to affect human beings by means of the spoken and written word. But this kind of communication is the transmission of effects via normal human processes, and we have to ask where these effects originated. How does original communication between the divine and human take place? A theory consistent with the proposal of this paper is that God affects human consciousness by stimulation of neurons—much as a neurologist can affect conscious states by careful electrical stimulation of parts of the brain. God’s action on the nervous system would not be from the outside, of course, but by means of bottom-up causation from within. Such stimulation would cause thoughts to be recalled to mind; presumably it could cause the occurrence of new thoughts by coordinated stimulation of several ideas, concepts, or images stored in

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memory. Such thoughts could occur in conjunction with emotions that suited the occasion. I suggest that concatenations of such phenomena that convey a message or attitude from God to the individual is what constitutes revelation.42 I believe that this account fits with the phenomena of religious experience. It is interesting to note that medieval mystics placed a great deal of emphasis on the faculty of memory—taking it as an important means by which God made himself known to them.43 It is also consistent with the extent to which revelation is formed of materials available in the person’s culture. The following account illustrates my suggestion: A student reported that the thought suddenly occurred to him that he should speak to a recent acquaintance about his drinking problem—even though he did not know that the person had such a problem. In conjunction with the thought, he had a sudden memory of his troubled relationship with his father due to alcohol, and felt an associated emotional impact from that memory. The conjunction of all of these experiences convinced him that he was receiving a message from God to approach the acquaintance and urge him to attend to the alcohol problem before it affected his relations with his children. In short, religious experience is made up of the same materials of which ordinary experience is made. This is consistent with the view that God acts upon consciousness by stimulating and coordinating materials that are already stored in the subject’s brain. So this is a top-down account of God acting upon our actions, since its explanation requires reference to God as the “environment” within which the person functions. However, it depends for its means of operation on a bottom-up account of God’s affecting the brain. As stated above, I believe all top-down causes have to involve some point of contact between the larger whole and the affected part. 4.6. Overview I have claimed that we need to distinguish among three different regimes for the purpose of devising a theory of divine action: the human, the quantum and, in between, the regime of law. However, these three 42

See George F.R. Ellis, “The Theology of the Anthropic Principle,” in Quantum Cosmology, section 8.1. 43 This notion originated with Augustine’s Platonic epistemology, but there must have been some experiential correlate to keep the emphasis alive.

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regimes cannot be considered in isolation. God acts within the regime of law by actualizing, at chosen times, one or another of the built-in potentialities of each sub-atomic entity. Coordination of all such events generally produces the law-like behavior we observe—both statistical regularities of aggregates of quantum events and the law-like behavior of macro-entities and processes. So when we consider the behavior of entities in the regime of law, God’s ability to engineer desired outcomes is on the one hand limited by his decision to respect the “natural rights” of the entities with which he cooperates, and in this sense God’s consequent freedom of action decreases as we go up the scale of complexity—more and more complex constraints are placed on divine outcomes by the more and more complex sets of entities with their “natural rights” to be allowed their characteristic limitations. Why this is so can be seen by considering an analogy—the increasing complexity of engineering an outcome in increasingly complex societies. Among a group of friends, exerting one’s will is constrained only by one’s own natural limitations and by the wills (rights) of the other individuals. However, if these individuals together constitute a social entity or institution with its own proper rights and responsibilities, further constraints are imposed (e.g., club rules require attendance at group activities, forbid certain activities). If this social entity is a part of a larger social entity (a national organization of local clubs) it will be further constrained by the character of that larger entity, and so forth. On the other hand, as I have emphasized above, placing entities in more complex environments increases the scope of their inherent powers. To return to our analogy, there are things God can do with a national organization that could not be done with a collection of individuals. So, in some ways, this gives God more room to maneuver without violating their “natural rights.” And finally, we have to reckon with the possibilities for interaction between God’s top-down and bottom-up causation.

5. Evaluation In this final section I shall attempt an evaluation of the position presented herein. First, I shall indicate the ways in which this proposal meets the theological and scientific criteria proposed in section 2. Second, I shall mention some of the objections that I expect will be

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raised and reply to them. Third, I shall mention advantages of this proposal over some others. Finally, I shall describe the issues that need further development. 5.1. Theological Criteria This proposal meets the criteria set out in section 2 as follows: 5.1.1. Doctrine The above account of divine action allows for God’s cooperation with and governance of all events in a way that leaves (some) room for special (extraordinary) divine acts. It also emphasizes the non-coercive, freedom-respecting character of God’s action in the human realm and extends these features to an account of divine action in the non-human realm as well. 5.1.2. Knowledge of God’s Actions I have proposed an account that for all practical purposes is observationally indistinguishable from a naturalistic or deistic account. The built-in ambiguity in distinguishing intentional action of God from natural events—the general hiddenness of God’s action in random processes and chaotic systems—raises the question of how we could ever know of God’s action. The answer is that we only see God’s action by observing larger patterns of events. Consider this analogy: Rocks are arranged on a hillside to spell out “Jesus saves.” It is obvious when looking at the whole that this has been done intentionally. However, investigation of the location of any single rock in the collection would not reveal that it had been intentionally placed. Similarly, in the student’s account of his revelatory experience, the occurrence of the thought that he should speak to his acquaintance about a drinking problem, by itself, would merely be odd. It is only because of its occurrence in conjunction with the other experiences that he took it as possibly revelatory. Its revelatory status was confirmed when he acted on it: the acquaintance confessed to the problem and set out immediately to get help. So God’s acts are recognized by the way particular events fit into a longer narrative, and ultimately into the great narrative from creation to the eschaton, from Genesis to Revelation. In order to maintain a place for special acts of God, it is important to distinguish between two classes of events: those that would not have happened without causal input from God (and we are here assuming

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that all events fall into this category), and events that count as God’s actions. In discussing human action we distinguish, from among all of the events that humans cause, the smaller class of those that express their intentions. Only the latter are described as actions. So all events are the result of God’s causal influence; only some events express (to us) God’s intentions. It is the latter that ought, strictly speaking, to be called God’s actions. 5.1.3. Prayer Petitionary prayer makes sense on this account, but more so for some kinds of events than others. Events that are recognized as possible yet unpredictable (i.e., the results of chaotic processes, unpredictable coincidences) are more to be expected than events that defy the law-like behavior of natural processes. However, prayers for the latter are not out of the question. One condition under which we might expect such prayers to be answered is when the divine act would serve a revelatory purpose, since, by hypothesis, God must occasionally act in extraordinary ways to make himself known. It is clear that in cases where outcomes are not predictable (e.g., weather, healing), one of the most valuable conditions for recognizing the action of God is that it constitutes a meaningful complex of prayer and response. The prayer beforehand makes it possible for an unpredictable event—an event that “might have happened in any case”—to reveal the purposes of God. So while prayer might not be necessary to persuade God to act, it will be necessary for us to recognize the fact that God is acting.44 5.1.4. Deism and Occasionalism The central goal of this paper was to present an account of divine action that steers a course between deism and occasionalism. I believe that this proposal does so. God’s action in every event is guaranteed, and so is some measure of control over the course of events such that special, even extraordinary, acts are possible. At the same time, God’s decision to cooperate with created entities rather than to override their natural characteristics means that entities above the quantum level, with their

44 There are surely other reasons for prayer, as well, such as building a relationship with God, and perhaps the praying itself in some way contributes to bringing about the desired effect.

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built-in capacities for action, are allowed by God to use them—natural causal relations are not denied. It is this “letting be” that provides an explanation for the fact that the universe does not appear to manifest the purposes of an all-wise and all-powerful God in all of its details. 5.2. Scientific Criteria This proposal saves the appearance (within limits) of law-governed processes and justifies scientific research. However, the justification is theological: the universe can be expected to be intelligible since it is one of God’s high purposes that it be so. In addition, it saves quantum physics from violation of the principle of sufficient reason. 5.3. Objections and Answers The following are some of the objections that might be raised against this proposal. Others will be addressed in conjunction with the evaluation of competitors in section 5.4. 5.3.1. Ad Hoc-ness One criticism of this position is that it appears ad hoc: God can make all sorts of wonderful things happen, but almost never does so. In defense, I claim that the apparent absence of divine action is ethically necessary.45 First, unless and until we know more about how God’s acts at the quantum level affect the macro-level, we really do not know what actions are possible for God without violating God’s ethical principles. Second, the intentional but metaphysically unnecessary decision on God’s part to act openly only on rare occasions is necessary if God is to interact with humans without destroying their sense of the dependability of the natural order and of their own responsibility. This not only answers the charge in question, but has the further advantage of answering the very troubling question raised for Christians who believe in providence: Why would God answer prayers for small things (cure of a cold), while apparently refusing to take actions that would prevent much suffering (an early death for Hitler)?

45

See Ellis, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action” (in this volume).

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5.3.2. Uncertainty of Science It may be said that this proposal is faulty because the science upon which it is based is controversial or likely to change. My reply is that the proposal is not based on the particularities of current quantum theory. Its real basis is ontological reductionism (a view that is not likely to be overturned so long as there is science as we know it) and on the theological claim that God works constantly in all creatures. I conclude that God therefore works constantly in the smallest or most basic of all creatures. This claim will stand, however those most basic constituents are described. However, current theories in quantum physics do provide a valuable ingredient for this theory of divine action: the currently accepted supposition of indeterminacy at the quantum level provides a handy analogue for human freedom, and thus grounds for the claim that God’s action is analogously non-coercive at the quantum level. I would be sorry to have to give up this element, but it is not essential to the proposal. 5.3.3. Two Languages How shall we now speak of causes? For any event there will be at least two, usually three, necessary conditions: the prior state of the system, God’s influence, and often influences from the environment. Our standard practice in answering questions about causes is to select from a set of necessary and jointly sufficient conditions the one that is most relevant to our purposes. On this account, every event can be considered from the point of view of science, and the natural conditions (previous state and environment) will then be cited as causes. Every event can likewise be considered from a religious point of view, where God’s action is the relevant factor. It might be said that this position is a version of a “two-language” solution, similar to some strategies for answering the problem of free will and determinism. However, the difference is that divine action and natural causation, on the view proposed here, are no longer opposing accounts (as are freedom and determinism), since neither the natural nor the divine condition for an event is assumed to be a sufficient condition. I claim that this way of speaking about causes is not only consistent with our normal linguistic practice, but also reflects a common way of speaking of divine action in scripture. For example, Joseph says to his brothers: “And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me here to preserve life”

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(Gen. 45:5). The full account of the event involves both human and divine agency. Joseph emphasizes God’s providence while recognizing at the same time that his brothers can indeed be held accountable. 5.3.4. God’s Lack of Knowledge Peacocke claims that God’s action at the quantum level is forestalled by the fact that particular events are as unpredictable to God as they are to us. My proposal evades this difficulty since by hypothesis these events are not random; they are manifestations of divine will. 5.4. Advantages Over Previous Proposals The theorist in this area whose work comes closest to mine is W.G. Pollard, who suggested that God works through manipulation of all sub-atomic events.46 Pollard has been criticized by both David J. Bartholomew and Barbour for providing an account whereby all events are determined by divine action. Such an account, they say, in incompatible with human freedom. My account avoids this problem, first, by qualifying bottom-up divine influences by means of top-down causation.47 Second, and more importantly, my account of God’s respect for the natural rights of all creatures leaves room for genuine human freedom. Another criticism of Pollard is that he takes God’s action at this level to be constrained within fixed statistical laws. However, I concur with Bartholomew, who claims that Pollard’s work involves a misunderstanding of the very nature of statistical laws.48 The constraints upon God’s action that I propose come instead from God’s commitment to respect the innate characteristics with which he has endowed his creatures. This seems to leave some room for God to maneuver at the macro-level, but, as I mention below, the exact amount of room is difficult to ascertain. This same factor (constraint) allows me to answer a charge Bartholomew makes against Donald MacKay. MacKay claims that God is in detailed control of the behavior of all

46 William Pollard, Chance and Providence: God’s Action in a World Governed by Scientific Law (New York: Scribner, 1958). 47 Barbour has already noted the need for this qualification in his discussion of Pollard’s position in Issues in Science and Religion, 430. 48 See David J. Bartholomew, God of Chance (London: SCM Press, 1984), 127–28.

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elementary particles.49 But if this is the case, Bartholomew asks, why does God appear to act in such a capricious manner?50 My answer: God’s control is limited by his choice to cooperate with rather than over-ride created entities. So we have returned to the issue of finding an account of how God acts that produces a result between two extremes: On the one hand, the account must not lead us to expect God to have total control of every outcome. If so, it would deny human freedom, clash with the apparent randomness and purposelessness manifested in some aspects of nature, and leave God entirely responsible for all of the evil in the world. On the other hand, such an account must not lead to the conclusion that God has no room within created processes intentionally to influence the course of events. I believe that my account successfully steers between these two extremes.51 5.5. Unanswered Questions The most serious weakness of this paper is in describing the consequences of the theory of divine action at the quantum level for events at the macro-level. What, exactly, are the possibilities for God’s determining the outcomes of events at the macro-level by governing the behavior of sub-atomic entities? What exactly are the limits placed upon God’s determination of macro-events by his decision not to violate the natures of these entities? Is this a broad opening for divine action, or a very narrow window? The answer depends on sorting out issues in the relation of quantum physics to the rest of science. Polkinghorne states that: There is a particular difficulty in using quantum indeterminacy to describe divine action. Conventional quantum theory contains much continuity and determinism in addition to its well-known discontinuities and indeterminacies. The latter refer, not to all quantum events, but only to those particular events which qualify, by the irreversible registration of their effects in the macro-world, to be described as measurements. Occasions of measurement only occur from time to time and a God who acted

49 See Donald MacKay, The Clockwork Image: A Christian Perspective on Science (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1974). 50 Bartholomew, God of Chance, 25. 51 It also avoids the interventionist overtones of Bartholomew’s suggestion that it might be better to assume that God leaves most quantum events to chance and only acts upon occasion to determine some specific outcome. See ibid., 130.

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nancey murphy through being their determinator would also only be acting from time to time. Such an episodic account of providential agency does not seem altogether theologically satisfactory.52

Polkinghorne would include among these possible instances of meaningful divine action, I believe, cases where sensitivity of chaotic systems to initial conditions involves changes so slight as to fall within the domain of quantum mechanics. The classic example of a macroscopic system that “measures” quantum events is Schrödinger’s poor cat, whose life or death is made to depend on the status of one quantum event. Against Polkinghorne’s view, Robert Russell would argue that the important fact that has been overlooked here is the extent to which the general character of the entire macroscopic world is a function of the character of quantum events. Putting it playfully, he points out that the whole cat is constituted by quantum events! We can imagine in a straightforward way God’s effect on the quantum event that the experimental apparatus is designed to isolate; we cannot so easily imagine the cumulative effect of God’s action on the innumerable quantum events that constitute the cat’s existence. Yet this latter is equally the realm of divine action.53 I have been assuming Russell’s position throughout this paper. Yet even if Russell is correct, there still remains a question. Does the fact that God is affecting the whole of reality (the whole cat) in a general way by means of operation in the quantum range allow for the sort of special or extraordinary divine acts that I claim Christians need to account for? Or would such special acts be limited to the few sorts of instances that Polkinghorne envisions?54 A second open question comes from our lack of knowledge regarding the possibilities for top-down causation, and the role of “holist laws.” In particular, we lack knowledge of the possibilities of divine top-down causation and of the possible behavior of natural entities within a regime constituted by the full presence and action of God. We have a glimpse of this regime in the resurrection of Jesus, and a hint from Paul that the whole cosmos awaits such a transformation.

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Polkinghorne, “Metaphysics of Divine Action.” See Russell, “Quantum Physics in Philosophical and Theological Perspective,” in Physics, Philosophy, and Theology: A Common Quest for Understanding, ed. Russell, William R. Stoeger., and George V. Coyne (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1988), 343–68. 54 My hope is that this question can be addressed at a future conference. 53

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Are there states in between this final state, in which God will be all in all, and the present state of God’s hiddenness in natural processes? Do the extraordinary events surrounding the lives of Jesus and the saints represent such an intermediate regime? Finally, it has been the consistent teaching of the church that God respects the freedom and integrity of his human creatures. I have proposed as an axiom of my theory of divine action that God respects the “natural rights” of entities at the quantum level as well. Is it, then, the case that all created entities have intrinsic characters that God respects in his interaction with the world? And what does God do when the rights of creatures at different levels of the hierarchy come into conflict? The claim that God acts consistently throughout the hierarchy of complexity has consequences regarding what sort of thing God should and should not be expected to do with creatures within the intermediate realm between humans and quarks. For instance, it would be consistent with my proposal for God to cause Buridan’s ass to eat, but not to cause Balaam’s ass to speak. Does our experience of God’s action in our lives bear out such a distinction, and does this distinction help explain why some prayers are answered and others not? My hope is that despite these unanswered questions, the foregoing proposal provides insights that are worthy of further pursuit.55

55 I thank all conference participants for their responses to this paper. Steve Happel and Bob Russell were especially diligent critics.

CHAPTER NINE

ORDINARY AND EXTRAORDINARY DIVINE ACTION: THE NEXUS OF INTERACTION George F.R. Ellis

Prologue This paper touches controversial issues, and some of the possibilities discussed will undoubtedly make some readers uncomfortable. This is because it takes seriously in a particular way both the historic Christian message and a modern scientific perspective, emphasizing their cognitive claims as I understand them from a Quaker perspective. The reader may not share this double commitment. Nevertheless the argument is logically and epistemologically sound; the unease is at a theological and/or metaphysical level. This issue will be discussed briefly in the last main section. However, a full treatment cannot be given here; an indepth justification for the view taken has been given in other works.1 For the moment I make the initial claims that: (1) there are other types of knowledge besides that given by the “hard” sciences, for example, that given by philosophy, theology, humanistic, and artistic disciplines—the task is to find a viewpoint that does justice to these issues as well as to hard science, in a compatible way; (2) the hypothetico-deductive method used to support the viewpoint presented here is essentially the same as that underlying our acceptance of modern science; and (3) the main themes proposed, controversial as they are, are supported by as much or indeed more evidence (admittedly of a more general form than that used by physics alone) than many of the themes of modern theoretical physics. The requirement in order to approach the material fairly is an open mind in looking at the various logically possible options, rather than

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Nancey Murphy and George F.R. Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology, and Ethics (Mineapolis: Fortress, 1996)—developing themes outlined in Ellis, Before The Beginning: Cosmology Explained (New York: Bowerdean/ Boyars, 1993).

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simply selecting one particular metaphysical stance on an a priori basis. The important point is that we have to adopt some metaphysical position; we should do so here in a considered way.

1. Introduction This paper is largely a response to Nancey Murphy’s contribution to this volume, “Divine Action in the Natural Order: Buridan’s Ass and Schrödinger’s Cat.” That paper is revolutionary because it represents a conservative interpretation of the Christian faith2 which, unlike most other such interpretations, takes the content of modern science seriously as part of the task of constructive theology. The viewpoint here will be to basically agree with Murphy’s paper, and comment on some specific issues raised by its thesis. Accepting the main thesis of that paper, the themes I would like to discuss further are: (a) the issue of capricious action; (b) the issue of top-down causation through intention, and the particular causal nexus of the action; and (c) the issue of evidence for the position stated. As regards (a), one of the main problems for the proposal is the charge of capriciousness in God’s action, in terms of God deciding now and then to act contrary to the regular patterns of events but often deciding not to do so. One would like to have articulated some kind of criterion of choice underlying such decisions, and then an analysis given of how that criterion might work out in practice. This has to take very seriously indeed the issue of evil, pain, and suffering as experienced in the present-day world, of God’s acceptance and allowance of horrors of all kinds, which one might a priori presume he/she could and would prevent if he/she so desired. If the usual Christian view is to make sense, there has to be a cast-iron reason why a merciful and loving God does not alleviate a lot more of the suffering in the world, if he/she has indeed the power to do so. This leads to the question of when divine action may be expected to take place, in either an “ordi2 That is, it is in agreement with centuries-old aspects of the Christian tradition. See, e.g., Dictionary of Christian Spirituality, ed. Gordon Wakefield (London: SCM Press, 1989); and Denis Edwards, Human Experience of God (Ramsey, NJ: Paulist Press, 1983). However it is certainly not fundamentalist in its attitude; rather it is in agreement with the kind of modernizing approach advocated by Peter Berger in his superb book, A Rumor of Angels: Modern Society and the Rediscovery of the Supernatural (New York: Doubleday, 1969; reprint, New York: Anchor Books, 1990).

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nary” or an “extraordinary” manner. Thus, one needs to characterize those concepts, and have some kind of criterion as to when each may be expected. One possible approach to this range of issues is to emphasize the possibility of another domain of response of matter to life than usually encountered, as suggested by John Polkinghorne:3 that matter might respond directly to God-centered minds through laws of causal behavior that are seldom tested (see section 4.4 below). Then the distinction between ordinary and extraordinary action becomes the question of whether we have entered this domain or not. This may provide a partial answer. As regards (b), a central theme in Peacocke’s writing,4 the issue is what type of top-down causation might occur, and where the causal nexus could be whereby this top-down action could be initiated in the physical world. I will particularly contrast general top-down influences which alter conditions over a wide range of events (as in many of the examples given by Bernd-Olaf Küppers)5 with specific top-down actions, which are very focused in their aim and influence. I will argue that the latter is what is required for the Christian tradition to make sense, and that it requires something like the special action mentioned in Murphy’s paper. This is probably related to the issue of free-will.6 Regarding the specific causal nexus, my view is in agreement with that of Robert Russell, William Pollard, and others, and recently supported and well-discussed in Thomas Tracy’s paper “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps.”7 The relevant points are: (b1) the need for some kind of “gap” in the strictly causal chain from physical cause to effect if specific divine action in the world is to be possible in a meaningful sense (I believe it may well be that one can make the same claim in respect to individual actions with a connotation of personal responsibility); (b2) the inability of deterministic chaos to provide a

3 See John Polkinghorne, “God’s Action in the World,” CTNS Bulletin 10, no. 2 (Spring 1990), 7; idem, Science and Providence: God’s Interaction with the World (London: SPCK Press, 1989); and William Stoeger “Describing God’s Action in the World in the Light of Scientific Knowledge of Reality” (in CTNS/VO, v. II). 4 See Arthur Peacocke, “God’s Interaction with the World” (in CTNS/VO, v. II). 5 Bernd-Olaf Küppers, “Understanding Complexity” (in CTNS/VO, v. II). 6 See, e.g., Roger Penrose, The Emperor’s New Mind: Concerning Computers, Minds, and the Laws of Physics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989); and Euan Squires, Conscious Mind in the Physical World (Bristol: Adam Hilger, 1990). 7 CTNS/VO, v. II.

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solution to this problem of causal gaps; and (b3) the fact that quantum uncertainty does indeed have this potential. Overall these contentions are supportive of the argument in Murphy’s paper. As regards (c), while “proof ” will not be available, one would like some broad brush-stroke defense of the position presented in terms of general lines of evidence.8 The main point here is that, as emphasized in Murphy’s present paper, one of the needs is to satisfy the Christian tradition in terms of doctrine and practice; but then the issue is, Whose doctrine? Whose practice? What is the foundation for choosing and supporting one particular brand of tradition? Either one goes here for a rather inclusive, broad-stream interpretation which aims to be widely acceptable across the many varieties of Christian tradition, and therefore will inevitably be regarded as “weak” by many of them; or one aims to be more particular and detailed in terms of developing the view of some particular branch of that tradition in depth. But then the product becomes rather exclusive in its nature, and may be regarded as irrelevant by others. In either case the issue becomes that of validating what is claimed to be true by the chosen traditions or doctrines, in the light of manifest errors, in many cases, in what has been claimed in the past. To cope with the issue of inclusivity, one can suggest that this defense should, first, have a broad base aimed at validating a religious worldview in general, strongly supported by widely acceptable evidence; second, support a more specifically Christian view developed as a second stage of the argument, refining its methods, detail, and evidence; and with support for a particular tradition developed in the third stage. I shall make some comments along these lines at the end. The proposal made here is that the idea of top-down causation, with different layers of description, effective laws, meaning, and evidence, is the best framework for understanding and testing the overall scheme suggested.

8

Cf. Murphy, “Evidence of Design in the Fine-Tuning of the Universe,” in Quantum Cosmology and the Laws of Nature: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, ed. Robert John Russell, Nancey Murphy, and C.J. Isham (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1993; Berkeley, CA: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1993).

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2. Emergent Order and Top-Down Action As explained clearly by Küppers and Peacocke, in hierarchically structured complex systems we find both top-down action and emergent order. First, the hierarchical structure introduces levels of emergent order, as described so ably by Arthur Peacocke:9 irreducible concepts used to describe the higher levels of the hierarchical order are simply inapplicable at the lower levels of order. Thus, different levels of order and description are required, allowing new meanings to emerge at the higher levels of description. (Note that these are different-level descriptions of the same physical system, applicable at the same time.) Second, this structure enables top-down action to take place whereby interactions at the lower levels cannot be predicted by looking at the structure at that level alone, for it depends on, and can only be understood in terms of, the structures at the higher levels. In the specific case of biology, we find, beautifully described by Neil Campbell, a hierarchical structure as depicted in Figure 1 (on following page). As expressed by Campbell: With each upward step in the hierarchy of biological order, novel properties emerge that were not present at the simpler levels of organization. These emergent properties arise from interactions between the components. . . . Unique properties of organized matter arise from how the parts are arranged and interact . . . [consequently] we cannot fully explain a higher level of organization by breaking it down to its parts.10

Indeed not only are such different levels of description permitted, they are required in order to make sense of what is going on. This is true not only of biological systems: Küppers shows convincingly that such emergent properties are important even in a physical system such as a gas, being mediated by the system’s structural conditions and boundary conditions (as discussed further below).11 Ian Barbour12 and Peacocke13 develop the theme of emergence in depth.

9

Peacocke, “God’s Interaction.” Neil A. Campbell, Biology (Redwood City, CA: Benjamin Cummings, 1991), 2–3. 11 Küppers, “Understanding Complexity.” 12 Ian Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, The Gifford Lectures, 1989–1991, vol. 1 (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1990). 13 Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age: Being and Becoming—Natural and Divine (Oxford: Blackwell, 1987). 10

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george f.r. ellis Ecosystem Biological Community Species Population

I community structure

Organism Organ Systems Organs Tissues

II organism structure

Cells Organelles Molecules Atoms Ions and electrons

III cell structure

Figure 1. Biological Levels of Emergent Order.

In a biological system, the two crucial levels of order are that of the cell and the individual organism; at each of these levels there is a higher level of autonomy of coherent action than at any of the other levels. A biologist regards individuals as the elementary components of a population, and cells as “elementary components” of the individual, while (broadly speaking) a microbiologist regards molecules and a biochemist, ions and electrons, as the elementary components. A physicist would continue down the hierarchical scale, reducing these to quarks, gluons, and electrons. 2.1. Hierarchies of Software: Digital Computers A particularly clear example is given by modern digital computers, which operate through hierarchies of software: from the bottom up there are machine language (expressed in binary digits), assembly language (expressed in hexadecimal), operating system and programming language (expressed in ASCII), and application package (e.g., word processor) levels of software. At every level there is a completely deterministic type of behavior described by algorithms applicable at that level. All of this is realized in terms of the motion of electrons flowing in the integrated circuits as determined by the laws of physics. This is where the actual action takes place, but it does so according to

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plans implemented at the higher levels of structure, and thereby effects actions that are meaningful at the higher levels.14

Level n

Virtual Machine Mn with machine Language Ln

Level 4

Virtual Machine M4 with machine Language L4

Level 3

Virtual Machine M3 with machine Language L3

Level 2

Virtual Machine M2 with machine Language L2

Level 1

Virtual Machine M1 with machine Language L1

Figure 2. Generic Hierarchical Structure of a Computer.

Logically, a digital computer consists of a hierarchy of n different virtual machines Mn each with a different machine language Ln.15 Its generic structure is expressed in Figure 2 (above). The physical computer M1 does the actual calculation in machine language L1; each virtual computer runs programs either by interpreting them in terms of the lower machine languages, or translating them into these lower languages (e.g., programs in L2 are either interpreted by an interpreter running on L1, or are translated to L1). Each computer’s machine language (at each level in the hierarchy) consists of all the instructions the computer can execute at that level. However, only programs written in language L1 can be directly carried out by the electronic circuits, without the need for intervening translation or

14 For a very clear exposition of the hierarchical structuring in modern digital computer systems, see Andrew S. Tannenbaum, Structured Computer Organization (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1990). 15 Ibid., 2–3.

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Level 6

Application package (e.g., word-processor) Translation (compiler)

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Problem-oriented language level (e.g., C or Basic) Translation (compiler)

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Assembly language level Translation (assembler)

Level 3

Operating system machine level Partial interpretation (operating system)

Level 2

Conventional machine level Interpretation (microprogram)

Level 1

Microprogramming level Directly executed by hardware

Level 0

Digital logic level

Figure 3. Typical Hierarchical Structure of a Digital Computer.

interpretation. In contemporary multilevel machines, the actual levels realized are shown in Figure 3 (above).16 The logical connections between the different levels in the computer, and the resulting machine languages at each level, are tightly controlled by the machine hardware and software. In particular, given the machine, the program loaded into particular memory locations, and the data resident in memory, each high-level instruction will result in a unique series of actions at the digital (hardware) level, which in turn will result in a unique series of consequences at each of the higher levels. 16

Ibid., 4–7.

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Consequently the machine language at each level also has a tight logical structure with a very precise set of operations resulting from each statement in that language. The detailed relation of operations from high to low levels, and at each level, will depend on the actual memory locations used for the program and data; but the logical operation is independent of these details.17 In biological systems, with hierarchical levels as indicated above, the same kind of logical structure holds; however the “languages” at the higher levels are much less tightly structured than in the case of the computer,18 and the links between different levels correspondingly less rigid. 2.2. The Physical Mediation of Top-Down Action Consider now how the hierarchically structured action is designed to occur, in physical terms. We can represent this as follows: for a structured hierarchical physical system S, made up of physical particles interacting only through physical forces, top-down and bottom-up action are related as shown in Figure 4 (on following page). The boundary B separates the system S from its environment E. Interaction with the outside world (the environment) takes place by information/energy/matter flow in or out through the boundary, and is determined by the boundary conditions at B. The structure of the system is determined by its structural conditions, which can be expressed as constitutive relations between the parts. I distinguish here structural conditions, fixed by the initial state of the physical system but then remaining constant in a stable physical system (e.g., the structure of a computer as determined by its manufacture), and initial conditions and boundary conditions as usually understood in physics (e.g., the initial state of motion of a fluid in a cell and temperature conditions imposed at the cell boundaries over a period of time).19

17 These structures and their interconnections are described in considerable detail in Tannenbaum’s book. 18 The major aim of the AI (artificial intelligence) movement is to arrive at a correspondingly loose structure in the computer’s higher-level languages. 19 Küppers’s concept of “boundary condition” conflates these three rather different concepts. See “Understanding Complexity”.

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2.2.1. Classical Physical Systems Examples: (1) the atmosphere; (2) an aircraft; (3) a digital computer. In these systems, the action is strictly deterministic, though not necessarily predictable.20 (This is ensured in designed systems such as (2) and (3), in order to obtain reliability; any quantum uncertainties are damped out, by design.)

* Level of Meaning N * Level of Law N

⎯⎯⎯⎯→

TopDown

I*

Lowest level Constituents

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯→

⎯⎯⎯⎯→

* Level of Meaning N1 * Level of Law N1

F*

Microscopic laws

←⎯

Environment E

←⎯ ⎯

Boundary B

BottomUp

Figure 4. Top-Down and Bottom-Up Causal Interactions in a Generic Hierarchical System. I is the initial state of the constituents and F the final state; the microscopic laws of the system determine the movement from I to F. (For brevity only two of the levels of meaning and law have been shown; ordinarily there will be many.)

A: Top-down action happens by means of states at the higher-level initiating coordinated action at the bottom level, which is governed by the basic causal relations underlying the system. The bottom-level components act on each other by regular physical laws, the resulting final state at the bottom level then determining conditions at the higher levels, because they define conditions at the higher levels through their aggregation (or “coarse-graining”) properties. The last two steps are what is meant by ‘bottom-up causation’ in these contexts. The coordination of action occurs through the structural arrangement and interconnection of lower-level entities (e.g., transistors, capacitors, etc.) to form higher-level entities (e.g., computers, television sets, etc.). 20 If the computer output were predictable in any simpler way we would not need to run the computer program.

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Because the semantics of the higher level are intrinsic to its nature, the language (vocabulary and syntax) at each level cannot be reduced to that at a lower level, even though what happens at each higher level is uniquely determined by the coordinated action taking place at the lowerlevels, where it is fully described in terms of the lower-level languages. Thus, the whole structure shows emergence of new properties (at the higher levels) not reducible to those of the constituent parts. Examples: (1) lowering the undercarriage in an aircraft (realized by gas particles exerting forces on a piston in a cylinder); and (2) a computer reading out a text file and printing it on the screen (realized by electrons impinging on the screen). What happens to a given system is controlled by the initial state along with the boundary conditions. The system boundary is either: (i) closed (no information enters); or (ii) open (information enters; possibly also mass, energy, momentum). In the latter case we have to know what information enters in order to determine the future state of the system. B: The final state attained at the bottom level is uniquely determined by the prior state at that level (the initial conditions) and the incoming information at that level—that is, by the “boundary conditions” (assuming a given system structure and given microlaws). This determines uniquely what happens at the higher levels. We assume that a unique lower-level state determines uniquely the higher-level states through appropriate coarse-graining. When this is not true, the system is either ill-defined (for example, because our description has omitted some “hidden” variables), or incoherent (because it does not really constitute a “system”). We exclude these cases. Note that the loss of information implied in the definition of entropy results because a particular higherlevel state can correspond to a number of different lower-level states (each of which leads to that single higher-level state). Note 1: This statement does not contradict the idea of top-down causation. Any given macro-state at the top level will correspond to a restricted (perhaps even unique) set of conditions at the basic level. It is through determining a set of micro-states as initial conditions at the bottom level, corresponding to the initial macro-state, that the top-level situation controls the evolution of the system as a whole in the future. How uniquely it does so depends on how uniquely the top-level state determines a state at the bottom.21

21 Or, equivalently, it does so depending on how much information of the microstates is lost by giving only a top-level description—this information loss defining the entropy of the macroscopic state.

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Note 2: At the higher levels, the statement analogous to B may or may not be true (i.e., the system may or may not be causally determinate when regarded as a machine at a higher level); this depends on what micro-information is lost in forming the macro-variables at the higher levels, from the micro-variables. Note 3: Although the bottom-level system is determinate, prediction of what will happen is in general not possible even at the bottom level, because of the possibility of chaotic behavior (sensitive dependence on initial conditions). 2.2.2. Quantum Physical Systems In a system where quantum effects are significant,22 we have a new element: C: The bottom-level evolution is indeterminate in a quantum system, although the statistical properties of its evolution are determined. This lower-level indeterminacy may or may not result in significant higherlevel indeterminacy, depending on the system structure. In many cases the properties at some higher level may be effectively determinate (the quantum uncertainties being washed out). However, this is not true when there is a sufficiently powerful amplifier in operation (e.g., photo-multipliers in a telescope which allow detection of individual photons), or sufficiently sensitive dependence on initial conditions.23 This theme has been developed by Russell.24 He points out that quantum physics both produces the macroscopic world in all its properties and affects the macroscopic world (occasionally) through a single quantum event. Schrödinger’s cat represents both aspects: it has bulk properties, such as volume, because of quantum statistics—based on the Pauli exclusion principle—and it lives or dies because of a single radioactive event. The latter (macroscopic effects due to a single quantum event) may well only happen during a “measurement”; the

22 In this paper the prime quantum effect considered is that of indeterminacy (which is closely related to the problem of measurement). There are other equally important aspects of quantum theory—Fermi vs. Bose statistics, nonlocality, etc.; but they do not seem to bear directly on the argument at hand, except perhaps that of non-locality. 23 These are really two ways of saying the same thing. 24 See Robert John Russell, “Quantum Physics in Philosophical and Theological Perspective,” in Physics, Philosophy, and Theology: A Common Quest for Understanding, Robert John Russell, William R. Stoeger, and George V. Coyne, eds. (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory, 1988).

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problem in deciding whether or not this is the case is that “measurement” in quantum theory proper is not yet a well defined concept. However, this effect is quite sufficient to allow the effects we have in mind in this paper. 2.2.3. Simple Biological Systems By this we mean systems in the biological hierarchy at the level of an individual organism or lower. Examples: (4) a mosquito; (5) a dog; and (6) a person.25 In these examples complex neural systems convey, route, and filter information in a hierarchically structured way so as to allow maximal local autonomy and yet coordinate overall action,26 the whole being coordinated by the extraordinarily complex structure of the brain.27 The fundamental point is that, despite this complexity, if in these systems what happens macroscopically is determined at the micro-level simply by the action of known physical laws, then the analysis is the same as in the case of the classical or quantum machines considered above. One can consider, for example, a moving human hand (realized by the motion of electrons and ions in muscles). The analysis and examples given above lead to the following propositions about hierarchically-structured, physically-based systems, even given the high complexity of a living system: Proposition 1: Top-down action underlies meaningful activity, for it enables lower levels to respond coherently to higher-level states, but does not by itself imply openness. Proposition 2: Chaos generates unpredictability, but does not by itself underlie meaningful action. Proposition 3: Quantum uncertainty allows openness (as it only makes probabilistic statements), which can be amplified to macro-levels.

25 In principle, the same kind of description applies to complex biological systems, e.g.: (7) people in a room; and (8) an ecosystem. But so many extra issues arise because of social, economic, and political interaction that it is better first to consider and understand the simpler examples. 26 See Stafford Beer, Brain of the Firm: The Managerial Cybernetics of Organization, 2d. ed. (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1981), for an illuminating discussion. 27 See, e.g., John C. Eccles, The Human Mystery (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1984); or idem, The Wonder of Being Human: Our Brain and Our Mind (New York: Free Press, 1984); and Gerald M. Edelman, Bright Air, Brilliant Fire: On the Matter of Mind (New York: Basic Books, 1992), for contrasting views.

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In the latter case, the issue is the nature of this openness: is it truly indeterminate—representing a random process whose final state is not determined by the initial state—or is it in fact determinate, through some hidden variable presently inaccessible to us? We will return to this later. In any case the above analysis suggests the following speculation: Meaningful physical top-down action with openness in a hierarchical structure can occur only either (i) via injection of information from outside, that is, by manipulation of the boundary conditions (probably in a very directed manner, conveying specific information to specific sub-components); or (ii) through a process that resolves quantum uncertainty at the microscopic level by a choice of a particular outcome from all those that are possible according to quantum laws, thus resolving the uncertainties in a quantum mechanical prediction. This effect can then be amplified,28 or it could be effective at the larger scale because it takes place in a coordinated way at the micro-level (as in superconductivity). Note to (i): Bill Stoeger29 has pointed out that it is essential to be clear about what is “inside” and what is “outside” the system considered— particularly when non-local effects occur. A more adequate characterization of a system to better account for the observed phenomena may result in some of what was “outside” being brought “inside” the system. Our comment applies after such adjustments have been made. Note to (ii): The basic point made here is that our present description of the quantum world is essentially causally incomplete,30 as is clear from every discussion of the “measurement process” in standard quantum mechanics. Quantum theory determines the statistical properties of measurements, but does not determine the result of individual measurements where the initial state is not an eigenstate—a condition which includes almost all measurements. However, a specific final state does in fact result in each case. There is no known rule that leads uniquely from the initial state to the final state. Thus, the final state in

28 See, e.g., I. Percival, “Schrödinger’s Quantum Cat,” Nature 351 (1991): 357ff. “DNA responds to quantum events, as when mutations are produced by single photons, with consequences that may be macroscopic—leukemia, for example.” 29 Private communication. 30 This issue is separate from the further thorny problem of defining what a measurement is, in a fully quantum system, and when it will take place. See, e.g., M.A. Morrison, “Altered States: The Great Measurement Mystery,” in Understanding Quantum Physics: A User’s Manual (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1990).

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almost every specific case is determined by some feature not described by present quantum theory, or is uncaused. The present view utilizes the first option. Clearly this speculation contrasts with aspects of the views of Polkinghorne and Peacocke, but basically agrees with those of Russell, Murphy, and Tracy. I suggest that it is the logical outcome of any hierarchical structuring in which the bottom, low-level actions are governed by regular physical laws (i.e., we exclude a “vitalist” or “mentalist” interaction not mediated by physics).

3. Ordinary Divine Action To set the scene, it is convenient to recapitulate some issues covered in many other essays in this volume. We need somehow to divide God’s action in the world into ordinary and extraordinary action. This section concerns that which may be regarded as “ordinary,” that is, those actions that are the result of the action of physical laws alone (God’s effective action is secondary, through these laws, which are themselves established by his primary action). A theme at the conclusion of this section will be that it is reasonable and indeed in line with the religious worldview to characterize most “ordinary” action as revelatory and sacramental. 3.1. Cosmological The first domain of action is the cosmological creative act: Action 1: Creation of the universe, which has two aspects: Action 1a: Initiation of the laws of physics and of the universe: creation of basic structure (setting up the regularities that underlie existence). Action 1b: Setting the boundary conditions for the universe: contingent choice from the possibilities compatible with the basic structure31 followed by:32 31

This may or may not imply a specific event at t=0. Cf. the discussions in Physics, Philosophy and Theology; and Quantum Cosmology. 32 As seen from within the universe. Seen from outside, this may well be no different from Action 1.

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Action 2: Sustaining the universe, through maintaining the sheer existence as well as the regularity of the universe (as described partially through the laws of nature we discover); thus underpinning existence in a reliable way. The initial act of creation, if there was one (i.e., if there was a t=0), may properly be regarded as an extraordinary divine act, but in the past rather than the present; it has taken place, rather than being ongoing. The second (sustaining all events) is what underlies the predictable nature of the laws of physics, as is required for meaningful moral activity.33 Together these are the prerequisites and basis for ordinary divine action; that is, divine action carried out through the means of regular laws of behavior of the physical universe. The true creativity involved in these acts is in the selection of the laws of physics, and in choosing specific boundary conditions for them (whether in a single universe, or in an ensemble of universes) that enable the desired results to be attained (cf. CTNS/VO, v. I). 3.2. Functional The laws of physics in the existent universe provide the basis for the evolution and functioning of complex systems. They therefore allow ordinary divine action, which is “second-order” or “indirect” action. Its nature is fashioned by the laws of physics and the boundary conditions; it is understood specifically that divine input in such “ordinary” action—once the system is running—is to maintain the regular functioning of nature in such a way that it is describable by means of scientific laws, and therefore its results are largely determinate.34 In the relation of theoretical biology to fundamental physics, there are three main kinds of issue: the functioning of general living systems, evolution, and the issue of consciousness and free will. We will look at these in turn.35 33

Ellis, “The Theology of the Anthropic Principle,” in Quantum Cosmology; and Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order: Buridan’s Ass and Schrödinger’s Cat” (in this volume). 34 Quantum uncertainty and sensitive dependence on initial conditions to some extent limit predictability and allow for indeterminacy. 35 The concerns of this section relate to the Anthropic Principle discussed in Quantum Cosmology; the point is that not every set of laws of physics will allow life to function.

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Action 3: sustaining functioning of general living systems: this can be split into three parts:36 Action 3a: sustaining development: growth from a single cell to a complete organism; Action 3b: enabling physiological functioning of organisms; Action 3c: enabling community functionalism/ecology. The basic mechanisms in all three cases are feedback controls operating in hierarchically-structured complex systems, made of matter functioning according to the fundamental laws of physics, and in the first two cases, organized according to digitally-coded information contained in DNA. The first and second are highly controlled processes; it is very unlikely that chaotic mechanisms of any kind can play a significant role here. Indeed the whole purpose of feedback organization is to damp out any deviations from the desired developmental or physiological path; thus, these processes are usually of an anti-chaotic nature when properly functioning (they efficiently guide the system to a desired final state, despite errors in initial data or disturbances that may occur). What does occur here is self-organization, but based on very specific and highly controlled mechanisms (e.g., a reaction-diffusion equation with restricted boundary conditions, or cells moving over an extra-cellular matrix). Given the laws of physics, these mechanisms for the operation of life not only function but in some sense seem to be preferred solutions of the physical equations: experience seems to show that “physics prefers life” (e.g., simple organic molecules assemble themselves from an appropriate “primeval soup,” providing the basis for more complex molecules to form). However, it seems a reasonable view that no special intervention is required to make all this happen; it is just the wonder of ordinary divine action (cf. the next subsection). The third case, ecology, is less well-controlled (as is well known), and here chaotic effects may well happen. The most significant question (apart from learning how to cope with them) is whether this played any significant role in evolutionary processes, for example, by enhancing the range of the environments to which living beings were subjected. That will be a difficult question to answer; it may just as well have placed evolution in jeopardy as assisted it in creating more complex beings.

36 Cf. Ellis in The Anthropic Principle: Proceedings of the Second Venice Conference on Cosmology and Philosophy, ed. F. Bertola and U. Curi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993).

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Action 4: evolution, shaping the nature of things as they are at present. Here is where the issue of “design” arises, answered in conventional evolutionary theory by the statement that there is no design, only evolutionary selection, with evolution—an open-ended feedback process with the goal simply of survival—being adequate to describe the “design” of all living beings, including humans.37 The shift to cultural evolution implies a change in the nature of evolution, but still based on the same general process.38 One can, if somewhat diffidently, question whether the current orthodoxy is really adequate to explain all that we see—whether there is some degree of direction in the variations that take place (via genetic variation of DNA), or whether the variations are indeed totally random. Probabilistic calculations suggest that there may be a time problem if variations are indeed purely random (cf. the controversial claims by Fred Hoyle). The real issue that concerns me here is the question of evolutionary development of hardwired behavioral patterns of great complexity, despite the essential comment39 that nothing experienced or learned can have any effect on the DNA passed on to offspring (these factors can effect whether DNA is passed on to offspring, but not the coding of that DNA). It may be claimed that the plasticity of the brain along with the Baldwin effect40 are sufficient to explain development of all complex behavioral patterns. However, I would like to see clear evidence that this is the case in such examples as bird migration, or the signals used for communication by the honey bee, let alone more complex examples in higher animals, where procreation is relatively rare and very complex interactions determine whether the animal survives long enough to procreate, so that any

37

See, e.g., Richard Dawkins, The Blind Watchmaker (New York: Norton, 1986). See, e.g., Daniel C. Dennett, Consciousness Explained (London: Penguin Books, 1991). 39 Cf. L. Wolpert, The Triumph of the Embryo (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990). 40 Dennett, Consciousness Explained, 184–87. The basic point here is that if there is a high peak of suitability associated with some specific brain wiring state but not any nearby states, nevertheless nearby states will be more likely to survive because of brain plasticity. Their initial wirings will alter during their lifetime, because of plasticity of the brain connections, and will “explore” the region near where they start; all those ending up at (or passing through?) the highly preferred state will be more likely to survive than those that do not. But they will be more likely to end up there if they start nearby. 38

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tendency to a specific behavioral pattern, determined by “hard-wiring” of the brain, is only one of many other features determining survival and procreation rates. Without being dogmatic about it, I would leave open a small question as to whether chance or fortuitous happenings alone in the evolutionary process are adequate in order that evolution succeed in the time scales available.41 Finally we come to the most difficult of the areas of “ordinary” action: Action 5: enabling the functioning of the brain and mind: foundations of consciousness and free will; the foundation, in turn, of moral response. Given some explanation of what happens in the mind, one can then envisage downward causation from intentions formed in the brain acting to enable specific events to happen in the body: bodily conditions alter, cells function in altered environments, different currents flow and adjust electric potentials. Consequently muscles move, allowing limbs to fulfill the intent in the mind and alter conditions in the physical world. This clearly is a case of downward causation from the brain to events in the body.42 The issue is how the mind relates to the brain,43 a core question in terms of personal existence and meaning. An open-minded investigation must consider four features that might contribute (singly or together): a. b. c. d.

organized complexity, chaotic motion (“openness”), quantum uncertainty, mental fields.

Explanation via some combination of a, b, and c sees physics based on known fundamental (microscopic) laws as the basic answer, through

41 See R.E. Lenski and J.E. Mittler, “The Directed Mutation Controversy and Neo-Darwinism,” Science 259 (1993): 188ff., for a discussion refuting directed mutation. 42 Cf. Küppers, “Understanding Complexity”; and Stoeger, “Describing God’s Action.” 43 See, e.g., Squires, Conscious Mind; Dennett, Consciousness Explained; Edelman, Bright Air, Brilliant Fire; Eccles, The Human Mystery; and Penrose, The Emperor’s New Mind.

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allowing hierarchically structured organization and so emergence of higher levels of organization based on lower levels. View I is that this complexity itself is sufficient; no invoking of chaos or quantum theory is necessary to attain consciousness and possibly not for free will, even though everything is fully deterministic. This includes the modern “mind is a computer” suggestion (supported by work on neural networks, and theoretical analyses such as that of Dennett,44 but challenged by others such as Penrose.45 View II is the same as view I except that one needs the “openness” or unpredictability allowed by chaos theory, or the indeterminacy inherent in quantum theory (viewed as a purely random process), in order that consciousness can emerge. However, insofar as this is equivalent in the quantum case to adding a truly random variable to the equations, which is then amplified, this does not appear to help with the deeper issues.46 Thus, views I and II perceive standard physics alone to be the total answer to the basis of consciousness. Mind is an emergent phenomenon, as are the other levels of organization in biology.47 Mind is, in a sense, reducible to physics (the emergent order of biological systems, allowed by physics, is completely ruled by micro-level physics even though it entails and encodes higher levels of order). It is hard to see how free will and morality can be anything but an illusion on this notion (cf. the discussion of top-down causation above), particularly when we remember the development of the physical brain through the process of evolution governed by random mutation and selection through “survival of the fittest.”48 View III is that quantum theory allows the uncertainty needed for the independent existence of mind, as it is an essentially incomplete theory of physical behavior. The conventional view49 is that the specifics of what happens at the quantum level are uncaused: statistical behavior must be regular, but in each specific case what happens is purely random. Chance is treated as a causal explanation in itself, not relying on any other cause. Despite much propaganda for this viewpoint, it is essentially unsatisfactory; for chance does not cause anything, rather it is the name

44 45 46 47 48 49

See, Dennett, Consciousness Explained. See, Penrose, The Emperor’s New Mind. Cf. Tracy, “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps” (in CTNS/VO, v. II). See Campbell, Biology. See Ellis, Before the Beginning, for further discussion. See, e.g., Morrison, Understanding Quantum Physics, 70–73, 85–87, and 226–28.

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for a lack of cause. For example, Morrison states, after discussing the unsatisfactory state of the problem of measurement, that: Underlying the problem of measurement there is a deeper question. As a consequence of an ensemble measurement of an observable Q, the original state collapses into one of the eigenstates of Q. The question is, what mechanism determines which eigenstate a particular member collapses into? According to the conventional epistemology of quantum mechanics, the answer is that random chance governs what happens to each member of an ensemble. Many (your author included) consider this no answer at all.50

View III suggests rather that there is some cause: something not contained in our current physical descriptions of quantum theory determines the details of what happens in each specific case. This “something” may be related to mind in two ways. First, indeterminism is needed at the quantum level of nature if mind/consciousness is to be effective in animals as in humankind,51 and it extends the possibility of a non-algorithmic kind of activity that is essential in a full view of consciousness.52 Second, mind/consciousness could be necessary to “collapse the wave function” and give a complete account of natural events, which quantum physics by itself cannot supply. The suggestion is that the apparent randomness of quantum theory is not truly random but rather is a reflection of the operation of mind, intricately linked to the unsolved problems of the observer in quantum mechanics and the collapse of the wave function.53 Imbedded in a complexly structured system, this provides the freedom for consciousness to function, “mind” being allowed to determine some of the uncertainty that quantum physics leaves open (thus being completely compatible with quantum physics, but allowing some other level of order to act in the physical world with openness). On this view one can maintain that information entry from mental to physical levels of nature is, for example, through the choice of when a quantum state will decay, which, because of quantum uncertainty, is not determined by known physical laws. This allows a transfer of information between levels of the world without an expenditure of energy or a violation of the known physical laws.

50 51 52 53

Ibid., 617–18. See, e.g., Squires, Conscious Mind; and Eccles, The Human Mystery. See Penrose, The Emperor’s New Mind. Squires, Conscious Mind.

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The basic physical question relating to quantum uncertainty is what, if anything, determines such apparently uncaused information selection (e.g., when an energetic state will decay)? It may be truly uncaused (nothing determines what occurs, it just happens capriciously—the standard dogma of quantum theory) or it may in fact be controlled (something determines what happens, we simply do not know what it is—in effect the hidden variable theory of quantum mechanics.) View III supports the latter, linking it to the reality of free will and morality (taken as solid experiential data about the real world),54 and accepting as inevitable and even natural the consequent non-locality of causation—an important aspect of quantum theory. View IV, based on d, entails something like vitalism: known physics, by itself, is not the answer. Some as yet undiscovered feature (thus, not quantum uncertainty, which is already known) links mind to brain and matter. Perhaps there is some as yet undiscovered force or field (“the mental field”) underlying consciousness, which may eventually be discovered and studied as any other physical field. However, it is difficult to see how this will resolve the issues at stake unless its equations of motion are quite unlike any we have seen before. In both latter views, something outside presently known physics acts and has material effects in the physical world (e.g., by fixing the time when a quantum decay takes place, which currently known quantum theory is unable to do). These views are probably consistent with proposals such as the radical dualist-interactionist theory of the brain and the self-conscious mind proposed by Eccles.55 This kind of view is of course highly controversial. The challenge to those who disagree is to produce an alternative in which free will in a solely physics-based hierarchical system (the human brain) is not an epiphenomenon. This discussion is relevant to the theme of this paper in two ways. First, when viewed from within the world, essentially the same issues arise in terms of special divine intervention (discussed below); we may well expect that an analysis of the two issues will be very much in parallel.56

54

Ellis, Before the Beginning. See Eccles, The Human Mystery. 56 Although complex problems of dualism then arise: if our minds and God’s can both influence what happens, how do they compete for such influence? This would have to be modeled on the basis of our understanding of the chosen mode of God’s action. Cf. Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.” 55

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Indeed view III is basically consonant with the view of special divine action in Murphy’s paper.57 Second, and related to the first point, what is at stake here is the closedness or openness of the physical world to other influences—not the rattle of a dice (as in view II) but the intervention of some purposeful consciousness that is not wholly bound into physical systems.58 On the latter views, physics is not all that controls the functioning of the physical universe: at higher levels of organization, information is introduced that affects lower levels by top-down action. This theme will be picked up again in the discussion of special divine action in the next section, and later sections will consider how that higher-level information could be inserted. 3.3. The Divine in the Ordinary What is miraculous? The birth of a baby; the design and function of a flower or a tree; the everyday and the “ordinary”: I like to walk alone on country paths, rice plants and wild grasses on both sides, putting each foot down on the earth in mindfulness, knowing that I walk on the wondrous earth. In such moments, existence is a miraculous and mysterious reality. People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk on water or in thin air, but on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child—our own two eyes. All is miracle.59

While these features are “ordinary” given our laws of physics and the nature of our universe, which allows or even prefers these events to take place, they are not ordinary if one considers the range of all possible universes. This is where the “anthropic” arguments are relevant: most of these possibilities will probably not be actualized in most universes.60

57

Murphy, “Divine Action.” Tracy, “Particular Providence.” 59 Thich Nhat-Hanh, The Miracle of Mindfulness: A Manual of Meditation (New York: Random House, 1991), 12. This is also the standard viewpoint of nineteenthcentury liberal Protestantism (cf. Friedrich Schleiermacher, On Religion: Speeches to Its Cultured Despisers [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988]), and continues in much of contemporary theology, in particular being part of the views of Peacocke and Barbour. 60 I have to admit that it is almost impossible to make this statement precise and give it a watertight justification. It is, however, highly plausible. 58

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Thus, we can be justified in regarding these everyday occurrences as extraordinary if we include in our range of concepts an ensemble of universes—real or imagined—in most of which life is not possible.61 It is appropriate for the ordinary scientist to forget this while studying what happens within the given, taken-for-granted order of things in the universe-as-is. However, this issue cannot be forgotten in studying Cosmology in its broad sense;62 remembering this frailty of life within the broader framework of possible universes gives a justification—even within a scientific framework—for a sense of awe and wonder at what we see around us, which is an essential part of many religious world views (the sense of the numinous). Indeed on many such views these “ordinary miracles” are evidence of design, albeit of design of the universe itself rather than direct design (through specific action) of the objects or beings involved.63 The point is that our attitude to “ordinary” divine action, mediated through the laws of physics and their boundary conditions, can take into account both of these views: the ordinariness of this action, and also its “miraculous” nature, where this word reflects both on the probability of what has happened and on what is achieved by it.64 The awe and wonder that attracts many people to a scientific career need not be totally lost as one immerses oneself in the details of scientific study.

4. Extraordinary Divine Action We may define extraordinary divine action in the already existent universe, as that action which: (a) can reasonably be interpreted as expressing the intention of God, that is, it has a revelatory character; and (b) is not predictable through regular laws of behavior of matter; that is, the events concerned will not inevitably happen as a result of the laws of logic and physics.65

61

Cf. the anthropic discussion in Quantum Cosmology. By ‘Cosmology’ I intend to refer to a more complete account of reality than that provided by scientific cosmology. See Ellis, Before the Beginning. 63 Murphy, “Evidence of Design.” 64 Thus, all these events are subjectively special, in terms of the typology of modes of divine action presented in Russell’s “Introduction” to CTNS/VO, v. II. 65 In terms of the typology of modes of divine action in the “Introduction,” CTNS/ VO, v. II they are objectively special. 62

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I identify two main themes here: revelatory insight and the possibility of miracles proper, and consider them in turn. 4.1. Revelatory Insight The first aspect is: Action 6: revelation as to the nature and meaning of reality. This may be taken as having two parts: Action 6a: providing spiritual insight; Action 6b: providing moral insight. 4.1.1. Spiritual Insight Whatever one’s view may be of consciousness and free will in general, to make sense of the standpoint of Murphy’s paper66 and the broad Christian tradition, there must be a possibility of specifically revelatory processes being made accessible to the mind of the believer (and the unbeliever).67 The first point is that the existence of such a causal joint or communication channel is required as the foundation of Christian (and other) spirituality,68 which we are taking to be a reality. This requirement underlies any theory of revelation whatever, for without some such causal nexus, an immanent God, despite his/her immanence, is powerless to affect the course of events in the world, but is simply a spectator watching the inevitable unfolding of these events. Such a God has no handle with which to alter in any way, in the minds of the faithful, the conclusion of that physical unfolding governed by the physical regularities (the “laws of nature”) that he/she has called into being and is faithfully maintaining. Here I am rejecting the somewhat paradoxical notion of revelation without special divine acts.69 While one can certainly envisage people who are unusually receptive or perceptive of God’s action through natural processes, they cannot reach that stage of understanding without somehow knowing of the existence and nature of God. But this in turn requires some kind of specific revelatory act

66

Murphy, “Divine Action.” Cf. Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.” 68 Dictionary of Christian Spirituality, ed. Wakefield. 69 See, e.g., Maurice Wiles, “Religious Authority and Divine Action,” in God’s Activity in the World, ed. Owen Thomas (Chico, CA: Scholar’s Press, 1983). 67

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to convey those concepts, so that faith can be based in personal experience and knowledge rather than unsupported imagination, which could arrive at any conclusion whatever. The second point is the use made of this capability by the creator. This is where various traditions diverge, and the position one obtains depends on one’s view of revelation. It could in principle be used to convey information, images, emotions, instructions, or pre-conceptual intimations of the nature of reality to humanity. Which of these actually occurs depends on the nature of the revelatory process implemented by the creator, which must be compatible with his/her nature and the character of his/her action in the world. As a specific example, consider the theory of revelation proposed by Denis Edwards. He states: Only an adequate theology of experience can do justice to the Old and New Testament understandings that God breaks in on our individual lives, that the Spirit moves within us, that God’s word is communicated to us, and that we live in God’s presence. . . . It is possible to show that while we do not have access to God’s inner being, and while God transcends our intellectual comprehension, yet we can and do experience the presence and activity of this Holy One in a pre-conceptual way.70

This experience is the reason why the kind of “causal joint” mentioned above is necessary; it could not plausibly be the result of the blind action of physical forces alone. How does this happen? When I speak of the experience of God I will always mean pre-conceptual experience . . . [this] allows us to speak of a real human awareness of God who yet remains always incomprehensible to our intellects. It is, I will argue, precisely as mystery that we experience God’s presence and action. . . . experience of grace is experience of something that transcends us, which breaks in on our lives in a mysterious way, and which we experience as a gift given to us.71

This particular view is broadly in agreement, for example, with the Quaker view of the experience of the light of God within.72 Thus, we may take it that the envisaged channel of communication is used at least to convey pre-conceptual intimations of the nature of reality to humankind. It finds its expression in the profound insights of the 70

Denis Edwards, Human Experience of God (New York: Paulist Press, 1983), 5. Ibid., 13; 28. 72 See “Christian Faith and Practice in the Experience of the Society of Friends” (London: Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends, 1972). 71

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mystics and saints, as well as the religious experiences in the lives of the countless faithful, those ordinary people who do their best to follow their understanding of a life of enlightenment. The traditions diverge on the issue of whether more specific forms of spiritual revelations and insights are communicated to humanity (e.g., St. Paul on the road to Damascus; Jesus throughout his life, but specifically in the temptations in the desert and in the garden of Gethsemane). In the context of the present investigation, we can afford to be open-minded about this; once the existence of the causal link is established, it could be used for such purposes—if that was spiritually desirable. Note 1: In either case, a process of discernment is required on the part of the receiver to test whether what appears to be some intimation or revelation is indeed so, or if it is a false (perhaps psychologically induced) manifestation. This is an area that has been considered by the spiritually aware for many centuries, and will not be discussed further here.73 Note 2: It must be emphasized that the idea of conveying such “information,” where this word is used in the broadest possible sense as indicated above, does not in any way imply a coercive or monarchical use of that capability by the creator. Indeed it is fully compatible with a view of the universe based on self-sacrifice and kenosis.74 Indeed without such a possibility for the flow of information, we cannot have any reliable idea of the nature of transcendent reality. Thus, it is precisely the availability of the intimations of reality through the envisaged link that enables us to conclude that this reality is better described by the theme of kenosis than by any other. The supposition here is that these events proceed through the normal functioning of the brain but have an extra, non-inevitable character in the sense that they must—if they mean what they appear to mean on the Christian interpretation—convey information to the receiver that was not explicitly there initially (in an evolutionary perspective). This necessity supports view III above as to the functioning of the brain,

73 See, e.g., Edwards, Human Experience of God; and Murphy, Theology in The Age of Scientific Reasoning (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), where this topic is discussed in depth. 74 Cf. Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age; idem, “God’s Interaction with the World”; Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle”; and Murphy and Ellis, Cosmology, Theology, and Ethics.

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as is discussed in the following section. This is then the foundation of Christian spirituality. 4.1.2. Moral Insight However, the further need for meaningful human existence is for a more generally based understanding of the nature of ethics and morality, as a foundation for moral decisions and the search for meaning. It can be argued75 that the deeper levels of ethics and morality also should come through this revelatory channel as intimations of reality and ethical rightness, rather than through some process based on evolution of the brain and culture, as envisaged in sociobiology. While the mechanism would be closely related to that by which consciousness and free will arise (cf. the previous section), this ethical understanding cannot—by its very nature, in order that it can have ethical meaning—be mandatory; that is, it cannot be supposed to follow inevitably from the operation of the laws of physics in the brain. In that case there would be a lack of the ability for free response, which is essential for ethical behavior to have meaning.76 Thus, this should also be classified—according to the above definition—as extraordinary rather than ordinary divine action (but non-disruptive). 4.2. Miracles Proper Finally, we come to the most controversial area of all—the possibility of: Action 7: miracles: special actions of an exceptional kind, so that the physical outcome is altered from what it would otherwise have been. This could be either: Action 7a: actions not based on ordinary laws of physics, indeed involving a suspension of those laws; or Action 7b: actions affecting physical conditions directly,77 based on a steering of what happens consistent with known laws; for example, through direction of quantum events, amplified by sensitive dependence on initial conditions to macroscopic effects.

75 76 77

See Ellis, Before the Beginning. See Murphy, “Divine Action”; and Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.” Apart from giving humans insight that leads to purposeful action, as in Action 6.

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This is where the traditions differ most, the modern liberal view denying their existence at all, in contrast to many more traditional views. They may or may not occur (or have occurred in the past); we will return to that issue in the next subsection. For the moment we simply consider this as a possibility in a non-committed, open-minded way. In doing so, we note that action 7a is the only possibility considered in this paper that does not respect the laws of physics;78 all the rest do (they are all strictly compatible with the regularities of those laws). Considering the first type of exception (7a), these certainly are possible, although there may be a problem of interface with the rest of the universe: If some exceptional interaction takes place in a space-time domain U, then in general these “illegitimate” effects will causally interact with events outside U, eventually spreading the consequences to a large part of the universe. Problems could arise at the interface of the region where the laws of physics hold and the region where they are violated; for example, how are energy, momentum, and entropy balances maintained there? Leaving this technical issue aside, examples of what might conceivably occur range from the Resurrection to altering the weather or making someone well if they are ill. It is here that one needs to distinguish different strands of the Christian tradition, and the various ways they view the question of miracles. Some will take literally all the miracle stories in the Old and the New Testaments; others will explain away some, many, or even all of them. Supposing that they do occur, or have occurred, one has then to face the thorny questions: What is the criterion that justifies such special intervention? When would they indeed occur? These issues will be picked up in the next sub-section. The second type (7b) is quite possible in principle too, the classic case being God affecting the weather through the “butterfly effect” but within the known laws of physics. In its effect this is similar to the previous possibility, but of course in practical terms this has to be seen through the eyes of faith: no physical investigation could ever detect the difference between such action and chance effect, even if it was clear that the desired rain had fallen just after a major prayer meeting called to petition God for an end to the drought. Thus, one has here the possibility of an “uncertainty effect” deliberately maintained in order

78 In terms of the types of modes of divine action, these are objectively special interventionist events.

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that true faith be possible. Such intervention would never be scientifically provable. Whether we believe it takes place or not depends on our overall worldview and experience.79 4.3. Capricious Action or Regular Criteria The problem of allowing miraculous intervention80 to turn water into wine, to heal the sick, to raise the dead, or to alter the weather is that this involves either a suspension or alteration of the natural order.81 Thus, the question arises as to why this happens so seldom. If this is allowed at all to achieve some good, why is it not allowed all the time, to assuage my toothache as well as the evils of Auschwitz? Indeed when we look at the world around, seeing the anguish of Bosnia, Somalia, Mozambique, and so on, and seeing children dying of drought and famine in many parts of the world, we pray “God have mercy on us” and wonder what would induce him/her to do so: to relinquish for a minute the iron grip of physical law held there by his/her apparently pitiless will. After all, these laws hold in being the material in its inexorable course while it is used to destroy and torture humanity. Here one recalls the unspeakable horrors of “necklacing” in the townships of South Africa, or the materials used in previous times by clerics of many theological persuasions who pitilessly tortured and burnt to death those of differing views. We even arrive at the extraordinary concept of God holding to their natural behavior and nature the nails and wood used in the cross at Calvary to crucify Jesus. Thus, if the usual Christian view is to make sense, there has to be a cast-iron reason why a merciful and loving God does not alleviate a lot more of the suffering in the world, if he/she has indeed the power to do so, as envisaged in Murphy’s paper. This reason has to be sufficient to outlaw any pity in all these cases, and to prevent the taking of that decision that would end the suffering. This is of course just the age-old

79 Perhaps this corresponds to the non-basic objectively special events identified in the typology of divine action. 80 It is not possible in the space available here to do justice to the debates on the enormous hermeneutical and historical problems concerning the miracles reportedly performed by Jesus, and their relation not only to enlightenment science but also to the problems of interpreting ancient, often contradictory, texts. 81 Such an occurance is allowed and possible because the laws are the expression of the will of God, who could therefore suspend them if he/she wished. See Murphy, “Divine Action.”

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problem of evil, brought to special focus by the claim that the laws that enable it to take place are the optional choice of God. In broadest terms,82 the solution has to be that greater good comes out of the arrangement we see, based on the unwavering imposition of regularities all or almost all the time, even though that conclusion may not be obvious from our immediate point of view. For example, death is not so important when life is considered in a full perspective that takes into account the promise of resurrection. More particularly the regularity and predictability gained by the laws of physics must be seen as the necessary path to create beings with independent existence incorporating freedom of will and the possibility of freely making a moral and loving response.83 Pain and evil are the price to be paid both for the existence of the miracle of the ordinary (cf. the previous section) and for allowing the magnificent possibility of free, sacrificial response. But then—if miracles do occur—the issue is why on some occasions this apparently unchanging law should be broached; this would strongly suggest a capriciousness in God’s action, in terms of sometimes deciding to “intervene” but mostly deciding not to do so. What one would like here—if one is to make sense of the idea of miracles—is some kind of rock-solid criterion of choice underlying such decisions to act in a miraculous manner,84 for if there is the necessity to hold to these laws during the times of the persecutions and Hitler’s Final Solution, during famines and floods, in order that true morality be possible, then how can it be that sometimes this iron necessity can fade away and allow turning water to wine, or the raising of Lazarus? Here as before I am not going to deal directly with the enormous hermeneutical problems of interpreting texts on miracles. Instead I am asking a different kind of question. If we are to be able to make any sense whatsoever of these miracles, what one would like to have is some kind of almost inviolable rule that such exceptions shall not

82

Cf. Stoeger, “Describing God’s Action.” See John Hick, Evil and the God of Love (New York: Macmillan, 1977); Murphy, “Divine Action”; Stoeger, “Describing God’s Action”; and Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.” 84 These are criteria from our limited viewpoint, being applied to God’s activity. Stoeger points out we must realize that in considering this, what appears to us to be intervention may not be so from God’s viewpoint; and that while in some sense through revelation, God has given us access to his/her point of view, this is only a limited access. 83

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take place unless the most unusual circumstances arise—something like the following: Assertion 1: Exceptional divine action (7) can take place only in the case of events that make a unique and vital difference to the future evolution of humanity as a whole, and/or its understanding of the action of God, significantly influencing the entire future of humankind. This does not include making rain in a drought-stricken area, stopping slaughters, or saving children from starvation, but could include the Resurrection of Christ as one of the most important ways of God communicating with humanity about the nature of life here and after. It could just conceivably include some “steering” of biological evolution at vital junctures (cf. 4) in a way compatible with the laws of physics (cf. 7b), although in that case it would be impossible to prove that this steering had ever happened; believing this to be so would be an act of faith. The alternative, suggested in my previous paper,85 is: Assertion 1a: Exceptional divine action (7) never takes place, but action (6) does. Then extraordinary divine action must always be in the form of provision of pre-images of right action or of ultimate reality, as freely attested in the spiritual tradition, thereby guiding and assisting free agents as they struggle to understand the world; the “miraculous” option, although possible, would not be used. This view somewhat assuages the problem of evil in that the charge of capriciousness is removed: the same laws always hold—implemented in order that freedom and morality can exist. Regularity is always there, and the “rights of matter” are always respected. I suggest that what is needed here is a testing and examination of such possible views, looking again, systematically, at the different kinds of claims about “miraculous” intervention and whether they would or would not be permitted by the criterion being considered, and what the moral and religious implications are (a centuries-old debate). As emphasized previously, this would be tantamount to choosing between various viewpoints on the nature of Christianity. My own present preference has been made clear above: I would exclude interventions 7a and 7b, because otherwise the charge of capriciousness becomes

85

Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.”

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almost overwhelming.86 Should one hold the opposite view, adopting a criterion something like that suggested, it is imperative to clarify what “essential” means in this context. Stoeger raises the issue of a category of events which we call “miracle,” which of itself does not necessarily have a determinative influence on the course of history, but seemingly involves abrogation or at least a transcending of the laws of nature, and functions as a sign of something deeper or more life-giving in a situation or in reality than is otherwise apparent. Most of Christ’s miracles were in this category—as are other claimed healings. Their main purpose was not, or is not, the healing or transforming act itself, but rather the manifestation of the deeper level of reality which otherwise would be hidden (e.g., Jesus’ cure of the paralytic as a sign of his power to forgive sins). My suggestion would be that insofar as these events actually happen—obviously an issue for debate—they belong to category 6 rather than 7. The above criterion relates to “miraculous” events (7). Similar questions arise in regard to the provision for moral and spiritual visions to people (cf. 6): What determines when this is done and when not? It may perhaps be suggested here that these are always available to those willing to hear, who patiently wait on God. This is a partial answer, as one can suggest that sometimes compelling visions are indeed made available (cf. St. Paul or George Fox) that are not given at other times, and that a recurring feature of spiritual life are the “desert” times when such sustenance is not forthcoming. There may well be good spiritual reasons for this, but this too needs clarification. Thus, to complete the picture one would require some kind of criterion applicable in these cases too. This may be already implicit in the literature on Christian spirituality, but it needs to be drawn out and explicated in the present context. 4.4. An Alternative Domain of Action There is one alternative way to avoid the charge of capriciousness. This is to consider the possibility that within the laws governing the behavior of matter, there is hidden another domain of response of matter to life than usually encountered: matter might respond directly

86 Apart from a point made by Willem Drees about “respecting the integrity of science,” relevant to 7a. See Willem Drees, “Gaps for God?” (CTNS/VO, v. II).

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to God-centered minds through laws of causal behavior, or there may be domains of response of matter encompassed in physical laws, but they are seldom tested because such God-centered minds are so seldom encountered.87 Then the distinction between ordinary and extraordinary action becomes a question of whether or not we have entered this domain. What has been classified as “extraordinary” action above would be “ordinary” action but in a different set of circumstances leading to a different kind of response and behavior where God-centered thought dominates and matter responds. Thus, we have the possibility: Action 7c: existence of a new order, a new regime of behavior of matter (cf. a phase transition), where apparently different rules apply (e.g., true top-down action of mind on matter), when the right “spiritual” conditions are fulfilled.88 Thus, the extraordinary would be incorporated within the regular behavior of matter, and neither the violation of the rights of matter89 nor the overriding of the chosen laws of nature would occur. Thus, the laws and the nature of physics are respected. The charge of capriciousness would then fall away, in a way consistent with the views of Murphy’s paper. This is related to collapsing the distinction between the natural and the supernatural, from God’s point of view. An example could be Jesus’ resurrection. Wolfhart Pannenberg suggests that this could be the first instance of the kind of transformation that awaits the entire cosmos. Three new issues would arise. First, similar to criterion 1 above for exceptional divine action, one would want to have stated carefully something like: Assertion 2: the condition requisite for such a change-of-phase in the operation of physical laws in a given situation is the presence of one or more people in that situation who have—as a consequence of God’s initiative—handed over their lives to God so fully that they are able to act freely as channels of the divine will. This enabling feature then transforms the local functioning of physical law to a new domain. 87

See Polkinghorne, Science and Providence; and Stoeger, “Describing God’s Action.” 88 In Russell’s terms, this is a “time-dependent miracle.” 89 Murphy, “Divine Action.”

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This attempt at a criterion for what determines where such a phase transition takes place should not be taken too seriously in its details; it is intended rather to suggest the type of thing one might take into account in understanding this possibility. If it is indeed true that such a kind of transition can take place,90 then characterizing its nature through a criterion of some kind, as suggested by the example above, would clearly be a description of one of the most fundamental features of the nature of the universe. Its clear characterization—even weakly— would be a major achievement. Second, one would want to characterize the nature of what would be possible and impossible in this altered regime: what then are the laws of behavior of matter? A third issue would be to give some kind of evidence that this intriguing but highly controversial possibility is realized. One could claim that there is existent evidence supporting this proposal, for example, in the historical record contained in the Bible. But apart from querying the status of the evidence itself (e.g., did miracles really take place?), it is not clear how uniquely those data can be taken as supporting this particular proposal (7c). Could we give some other evidence that this kind of behavior does indeed take place? This seems very difficult but not entirely beyond the bounds of possibility; for example, careful scientific investigation into the claimed instances of faith-healing might be relevant. One would encounter here all the same kinds of problems that occur in scientific testing of para-normal phenomena. Perhaps the biggest problem would be the conceivably legitimate claim that the kind of skeptical watching involved in a scientific investigation is precisely one of the conditions preventing such an altered domain of behavior. Supporting such a claim would require some modification of criterion 2, so that it takes into account negative factors that might hinder the proposed change of state.

5. Mind and Top-Down Causation As mentioned before, given the understanding attained so far, the further issues are what type of causation might occur whereby these

90

Polkinghorne, Science and Providence; Stoeger, “Describing God’s Action.”

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intentions are made a reality, and where the causal nexus could be whereby this top-down action could be initiated in the world (whatever interpretation one may give to the concept of special divine action). It is essential here to distinguish two rather different kinds of downward causation. Firstly, there is generic downward causation: this influences a whole range of events through alteration of operational conditions in a region (e.g., variation in temperature or pressure or magnetic fields affects the way matter responds). Most of the examples mentioned by Küppers are of this kind.91 This kind of general top-down influence alters conditions over a wide range of events in a region, and affects them all. By contrast, there is specific or directed downward causation, which influences very specific events as occurs, for example, in the human body or complex machinery and is essential to their functioning. Instances include brain action to move a specific muscle in the body, a command to a computer that activates a particular relay or sensor, or hitting a specific typewriter or organ key that effects the desired result. In each of these cases a very specific local change in environment (current flow, pH levels, etc.) is effected, which causes proximate events to proceed in a specific way that is very localized and directed. This is possible through specific communication channels (nerves in a human body, bus lines in a computer, wires in a telephone exchange, or fiber optics in an aircraft) conveying messages from the command center to the desired point of activity.92 The point here is that setting boundary conditions at the beginning of the universe can achieve generic downward action but not specific action. An event such as influencing a mental state requires specific acts, changing circumstances in a locally highly specific way, rather than an overall change in the boundary conditions (a change in temperature, for example). I reject the possibility of setting special initial conditions at the beginning of the universe (t=0) to make this happen. While this is theoretically possible, it would amount to solving the problems involved in a reversal of the arrow of time. It would require setting precisely coordinated initial conditions over a wide area of the universe so as to come together at the right time and place in such a way as to achieve the desired effect, despite all the interactions and

91 92

Küppers, “Understanding Complexity.” Cf. Beer, Brain of the Firm.

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interfering effects that will have taken place from the hot early universe, where the mean free path even for neutrinos is extremely small, up to the present day, where the possibility of agents acting with free will implies an essential unpredictability in the environment within which this distant effect will be propagating. This tuning would in fact be impossible to accomplish—with the usual arrow of time—for one highly specific event, let alone a whole series of such events, each to be accomplished independently. According to Oliver Penrose,93 this feature is the essential foundation of the second law of thermodynamics, based on a lack of correlations in initial conditions in the past (in contrast to the existence of such correlations in the corresponding final conditions in the future). This law can in principle be confounded; for example, one could reverse the motion of molecules from a fallen and broken glass to reassemble it. In practice, however, this is not possible94—or at least not without special directed intervention. Thus, the specific top-down action needed requires either specifically directed lines of access to particular nerve cells (as in the physiology of the human body), or a universal presence with detailed and specific knowledge of and access to each atom (as conveyed by the idea of the immanent presence of God). The latter is what is required for the Christian tradition to make sense as envisaged in Murphy’s essay in this volume. Thus, in order for any of the “special action” discussed in the previous section to be possible (and specifically the provision of pre-images of ultimate reality or notions of spirituality to a person’s mind), the interaction must be such as to provide highly directed information and influence, rather than some broad, overall top-down influence. 5.1. The Nexus of Interaction The point then is that the action envisaged will be top-down in the sense that it originates in some higher level of organization (the mind of a person, the mind of God) but is highly specific in the time and place of action (as discussed here in terms of the specificity of action).

93 Oliver Penrose, “Foundations of Statistical Mechanics,” Reports on Progress in Physics 42 (1979): 1937–2006. 94 See Penrose, Emperor’s New Mind.

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Unless we envisage a totally new form of interaction95 it cannot be effected in terms of some broad overall interaction with the universe as a whole, or indeed at any higher level of organization. Rather it must be implemented in detailed local interactions at the atomic or particle level, where quantum uncertainty and non-locality are factors that cannot be neglected and can in fact conceivably provide a modus operandi without violation of any physical laws.96 This must then be done in whatever coordinated way is required to effect the required results at the macroscopic scale. Thus, the quantum mechanism identified in Murphy’s and Tracy’s essays will suffice, in principle, as the vehicle of intentional interaction by a transcendent being. This view requires the essential action of God who is ensuring that the “laws of physics” are obeyed and who acts in a hidden way in every classical realization of such action to determine its actual outcome. At the meso-scale this interaction would not be recognizable through any violation of physical laws; everything would proceed causally according to those laws. The supposition is that this quantum effect would be amplifiable through brain processes—similar perhaps to photon multipliers—to macroscopic levels where they could influence feelings or thoughts. This is a wide enough channel to convey to us all that is needed for revelation, and to be recognizable as such by those with eyes to see. Note that this would not mean that God in some sense calculates the effect of what would happen via specific neural stimulations and then delicately one by one acts in just the right way in each neuron; rather we must see how we act downwards on our own neurons. We think things, plan, imagine, and the delicate causal channels set up for that purpose convey these intentions in such a way that the appropriate neurons fire as required. On this analogy we would envisage God through the mode of transcendence planning certain pre-images, emotions, or whatever to be made available to us. The appropriate communication channels which are in place by means of divine immanence allow this intention to be communicated to the appropriate neurons, quantum uncertainty being the feature that allows this to happen at any desired place and time without violating known physical laws. Thus, we would 95

This seems to be implied by Peacocke’s proposals, but it raises problematic aspects in terms of its interaction with normal physics. 96 See Murphy, “Divine Action”; Tracy, “Particular Providence”; and Squires, Conscious Mind.

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envisage the conscious part of his/her intentional action being similar to ours: the intention is formed consciously, the details take care of themselves. Now, this sounds very strange from the viewpoint of physics alone. However, that is not our starting point. Following Murphy, I am assuming one stream of thought within the variety of traditional Christian positions, and developing its logical implications. Thus, the underlying assumption is: 1) The immanent God is present everywhere and yet, as transcendent God, maintains the nature of physical entities, ensuring their regular, law-like behavior according to the description of local physical laws. In particular he/she causes quantum action to take place in a law-like way, according to the known nature of quantum physics. Then the possibilities are: 2a) God determines the actual realization of quantum outcomes from the possible ones, choosing a specific result in each quantum measurement (which is undetermined by the imposed physical laws). There is an openness in the system, and God uses it to input the desired information. Or: 2b) These outcomes really are “uncaused,” in that God chooses not to determine which of the possible outcomes eventuates. God rattles dice each time to determine the actual outcome from those that quantum theory allows, refraining from making a choice. There is an openness in the system, and God uses it to input random noise, or possibly a combination of these positions. In any of these cases, the issue is not whether there is divine action at the quantum level, (for effective immanence ensures that there is),97 but rather, what use is made of this divine action at the quantum level? Alternative 2a envisages coherent information input through this action, actualizing top-down action in a purposeful manner. Alternative 2b rejects this as a useful channel of action. The action still takes place, but is specifically structured so as not to be purposeful. In that case, it seems that the only channel for meaningful top-down action of the required kind98 is through altering the boundary conditions of the system S. But this in turn has to happen through some physical means in the larger system S´ = S + E, where the previous environment E is now included in the system to be explained. The whole problem recurs now for this larger system, with its new boundary E´.

97 98

Murphy, “Divine Action.” Peacocke, “God’s Interaction with the World.”

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The analysis supports the proposal of Murphy and Tracy that quantum uncertainty is a, perhaps even the only, vehicle through which special divine action (particularly as experienced in revelatory acts affecting human minds) can take place as required by many religious traditions. This provides an important part of the foundation of Christian spirituality. It also supports view III above as to the functioning of the brain,99 which seems to be a closely related issue.

6. Evidence The final topic I wish to discuss briefly is the issue of supporting evidence for these views.100 It is clear from the nature of the argument that some aspects are compatible both with “chance” and with divine action; they will only be seen in the latter context through the eye of faith. But what then is the starting point for our discussion of the nature of faith? Furthermore, in view of conflicting standpoints, whose doctrine of faith and whose practice will one accept and why? This is the whole issue of apologetics, which cannot be dealt with properly here.101 However, some key points can be made. The suggestion will be that the “Christian Anthropic Principle”102 selects a particular viewpoint based on the theme of self-sacrifice or kenosis,103 which structures the argument and opts for specific Christian traditions from among the competitors. We can present the analysis in summary form by referring to the implied scheme of top-down action, with emergent layers of description and meaning,104 that arises from that discussion. The structure envisaged is one of layers of meaning and morality as shown in Figure 5 (on following page). Top-down causation is active in this hierarchy in terms of action and meaning. The fundamental intention of the creator shapes the structure and brings into being the physical foundations. The interactions at the physical level are the basis for all the higher levels of order (through

99

Cf. Squires, Conscious Mind; and Penrose, Emperor’s New Mind. Cf. section 2 of Murphy’s paper. 101 A systematic presentation is given in Murphy and Ellis, Cosmology, Theology, and Ethics. 102 Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle,” section 6. 103 The different levels of kenosis are discussed in K.M. Cronin, Kenosis: Emptying Self and the Path of Christian Service (Rockport, MA: Element, 1992). 104 Cf. section 2 above. 100

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bottom-up action), enabling the existence of life through the fine-tuned nature of physical reality and allowing life to come into being through the processes of self-organization and evolution. Once conscious beings have come into existence, they create moral orders through psychological and sociological interactions. These orders then come into confrontation with the moral and spiritual order of ultimate reality, which exerts its influence on humans in a persuasive rather than coercive manner. Thus, while the upward and downward causal action is fairly rigid at the lower levels, it is not so at the higher ones. At the lower levels the interconnecting laws of action are those of physics, which are inviolate as long as special divine actions 7a are not taking place (and we have assumed they do not occur), while at the moral levels they are of the nature of persuasion and invitation, allowing choice and free response. This is their essential character.

Level 1: Spiritual/religious Spiritual values: kenosis in relation to transcendence

Í Data 1

Level 2: Moral/ethical Ethical values: kenosis in relation to others: serving

Í Data 2

Level 3: Social and ecological Political, economic interactions: community and ecosystem kenosis

Í Data 3

Level 4: Personal/individual (psychological) Consciousness, choice: free will responsibility, kenosis/self

Í Data 4

Level 5: Biological Levels of biological organization: life self-organization, evolution

Í Data 5

Level 6: Physical Level of physical entities and action regularities of physical law

Í Data 6

Figure 5. Hierarchinal structuring of meaning and morality in the Universe. Top-down and bottom-up action occur as in the other hierarchically structured systems, leading to emergent meaning at the higher levels as indicated. The data at each level must be in terms of the kinds of concepts and meanings appropriate at that level.

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In assessing this proposal relative to its competitors, there are separate data of different types appropriate to each level in the hierarchy. At each level the scheme suggested is indeed supported by a considerable volume of data, and provides an overall coherent scheme in agreement with those data (but not uniquely indicated by those at the physical level alone). However, choice of the whole structure is a metaphysical choice based on recognition of the appropriateness and rightness of what is presented, justified ultimately by the “good fruits” associated with this worldview. The further key element is dealing with apparent counter-evidence, for otherwise the proposal is vulnerable to the charge of being based on selected evidence only, ignoring awkward evidence pointing in other directions.105 A defense can be built on the lines indicated in Murphy’s paper and my paper:106 essentially, the overall scheme proposed is only possible, in terms of truly allowing free will and full moral choice, if the possibility of evil is allowed as well, with full acceptance of its consequences. This is both the “free-process” defense of Polkinghorne and the traditional free-will defense. One’s assessment of what has been suggested here will depend on one’s prior assumptions. If one accepts that the traditional religious view (summarized above) is correct and, additionally, that the modern scientific view is correct, then one arrives fairly uniquely at the scheme suggested here (the essential element of choice is identifying the theme of kenosis as fundamental,107 as against, for example, monarchical themes). This leads to a holistic view, as sketched above, which accords with the data at all levels, once the apparent counter-evidence has been evaluated in the light of overall constraints on what is possible in view of God’s ultimate aim in creating a universe where free moral response is possible. Two further points are of interest. First, from this foundation I suggest that we arrive at the necessity for an upwards openness, in correspondence with the downwards openness fundamental to the proposal. The possibility of free moral choice requires “gaps” in the system, as discussed by Tracy. Indeed the

105 See Anthony N. Flew, Thinking about Social Thinking: Escaping Deception, Resisting Self-Deception (London: Harper Collins, 1991), for a discussion of the dangers of such selective choices. 106 See Murphy, “Divine Action”; and Ellis, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.” 107 Cf. Ellis, Before the Beginning; and idem, “Theology of the Anthropic Principle.”

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downward causation is not rigid but involves persuasion rather than coercion, as mentioned above. Correspondingly, the upward causation must be open; this is required for the system to be consistent.108 Thus, on this view, rather than searching for the “gap” allowed by quantum uncertainty as a place where divine action can take place, we invert the argument: we demand that there must be such an openness in physical laws, in order that morality can be possible and that special divine action (as described above) can take place. That is, just as one demands certainty in physical processes at the macroscopic level, as discussed by Murphy, so that moral response is possible, additionally one demands causal gaps (as described by Tracy) at the microscopic level, so that top-down causation can lead to an openness in upward emergent properties and allow the kind of revelatory possibilities envisaged in this article. Thus, in a sense one predicts the necessity for an openness. While it may be that this openness could occur otherwise than through the uncertainty inherent in quantum processes, my own analysis (in accord with Tracy and Murphy) is that it is indeed this openness which we should identify with that required for true morality to exist. It follows then that there is no question of this proposal not “respecting” the randomness built into quantum physics, as if this has an independent ontological status. Rather this apparent randomness is just the openness required in physical reality in order that God’s action can be effective without destroying the possibility of higher levels of order. Second, because of the nature of any system of top-down causation and emergent order, it is clear that when considered in terms of the lower-level descriptions only, the meanings and concepts of the higher levels do not exist: they literally have no meaning. This is what worries those who view the proposal on the basis of the requirements of science alone: the scheme simply does not make sense when viewed from that perspective. The issue is what level of description is being used in one’s analysis of reality; the proposal here only makes sense if one includes the highest levels of meaning.

108 This is really an aspect of W. Ross-Ashby’s “law of requisite variety.” See his Introduction to Cybernetics (London: Chapman & Hall, 1956); and Beer, Brain of the Firm.

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The view of divine action presented in Murphy’s paper109 seems coherent and reasonable. It emphasizes first “ordinary action” in terms of the creation and preservation of the universe, providing the ground for the existence of the dependable physical systems that allow objects and people their independent existence and “rights,” through the upwards emergence of physical properties based on physical laws. It also allows special divine action, particularly in terms of intimations of right action provided to those willing to see. God’s action is then able to lead to action in the world through directed downwards causation in the body, and so to effective changes in the world. Problems arise in terms of the possible choice to act specially in a miraculous manner as is certainly possible in this scheme of things. The issue then is how to avoid the charge of capriciousness and, in some sense, conniving with evil in those cases where such action is not taken. A clear-cut criterion controlling such interventions provides some kind of safeguard against such charges. This could be a partial answer, when taken in conjunction with a strong argument to the effect that the conditions leading to apparent evil are those required to create free will and independence.110 However, a different possibility is the existence of an alternative domain of action in the physical world, coming into effect in those cases where wills are in concert with God.111 This preserves a fixed order of behavior in the universe without “miraculous” intervention, but allows “special action” to become commonplace where the conditions for this alternative order exist. This possibility needs further exploration to make clear the criteria that could govern such a “phase change” and to characterize some of the features of the new domain of action that could then arise. Experimental data relevant to this situation would appear to be rather few; the motivation for its acceptance on other grounds would then have to be compelling.

109 I see Murphy’s paper as being complementary to my own (“Theology of the Anthropic Principle”). I regard the two as being (in broad terms) in agreement with each other and with others in CTNS/VO, v. II, for example, that of Tracy. 110 I am here avoiding an explicit reference to free evil spirits, e.g., a “Devil” operating independently of God, or to the Jungian alternative of a “dark side of God.” This could be one of the areas where various Christian traditions differ strongly from each other, possibly leading to significant variations of the theme proposed in Murphy’s paper. 111 Polkinghorne, Science and Providence; Stoeger, “Describing God’s Action.”

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Clearly, the proposal that quantum uncertainty provides the necessary causal gap is highly controversial. However, if one takes into account the data as a whole and seriously attempts a holistic combination of both the religious and scientific views, this suggestion becomes less scandalous and, indeed, the necessity of microscopic uncertainty in physical laws virtually becomes a prediction of the understanding attained.112

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I thank all the members of the second Vatican Observatory/CTNS conference for the stimulating interaction with them that has led to the thoughts presented in this paper. I am particularly grateful to Bill Stoeger, Bob Russell, and Nancey Murphy for detailed comments on the manuscript, which have led to major improvements.

CHAPTER TEN

DIVINE ACTION AND QUANTUM MECHANICS: A FRESH ASSESSMENT Robert John Russell

1. Introduction In this essay, I will explore further a thesis about divine action and quantum mechanics whose roots trace back four decades in the field of “theology and science.”1 It has been extensively developed recently by scholars in the decade-long CTNS/Vatican Observatory series of research conferences. The thesis is the following: if quantum mechanics is interpreted philosophically in terms of ontological indeterminism (as found in one form of the Copenhagen interpretation), one can construct a bottom-up, noninterventionist, objective approach2 to mediated direct divine action in which God’s indirect acts of general and special providence at the macroscopic level arise in part, at least, from God’s objective direct action at the quantum level both in sustaining the time-development of elementary processes as governed

1 For historical background, see Robert J. Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation: A New Defense of Theistic Evolution,” in Evolutionary and Molecular Biology: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, R.J. Russell, W.R. Stoeger, and F.J. Ayala, eds. (Vatican City State/Berkeley, Calif.: Vatican Observatory/Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1998), secs. 2.3.1–2, the volume hereafter EMB. 2 For a discussion of such terms as objective and noninterventionist, see Robert J. Russell, “Introduction,” in Chaos and Complexity: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, R.J. Russell, N.C. Murphy, and A. Peacocke, eds. (Vatican City State/Berkeley, Calif.: Vatican Observatory/Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1995), secs. 3.3 and 3.4, esp. figure 1, the volume hereafter CAC. For an anthology and careful analysis of the contemporary theological literature on divine action see Owen Thomas, ed., God’s Activity in the World: The Contemporary Problem (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1983), hereafter GAW, and idem, “Recent Thought on Divine Agency,” in Divine Action, B. Hebblethwaite and E. Henderson, eds. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990). For a detailed analysis of the philosophical problems involved, see Keith Ward, Divine Action (London: Collins, 1990), and Thomas F. Tracy, ed., The God Who Acts: Philosophical and Theological Explorations (University Park, Penn.: Pennsylvania State University, 1994).

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by the Schrödinger equation and in acting with nature to bring about irreversible interactions referred to as “quantum events.” I begin with a few clarifying comments (section 2) before turning to the heart of the essay (sections 3, 4, and 5). Here I first discuss methodological issues, including the warrant for a “bottom-up” approach to divine action and the problems of the “multiple interpretability” of quantum mechanics and “historical relativism.” Next I turn to two philosophical issues: the phenomenological domain of the measurement problem and its relation to the indeterministic form of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics. Then I explore a variety of theological issues. Background topics include divine action at the quantum level and general providence, the pervasiveness of divine action, local and global aspects of divine action, and the challenge of special relativity. Central topics include God’s action in some or all quantum events and its relation to the problem of human freedom and the challenge of theodicy. I propose that a trinitarian doctrine of God is the most suitable context for locating the “divine action and quantum mechanics” thesis. A final section (6) lays out directions for future research on the philosophical implications of quantum mechanics and their relevance for divine action, including a proposed architecture of philosophical issues, an exploration of implications of Bell’s theorem, and a comparison of nonlocality and (in)determinism in Bohm’s formulation and the Copenhagen interpretation.

2. Clarifications The general position of noninterventionist, objective, special divine action actually includes several distinct approaches: (i) agential models of God’s interaction with the world; (ii) agential models in combination with embodiment models of the God/world relation; (iii) agential models deployed through complex metaphysical systems, such as process philosophy and neo-Thomism. This essay will focus on the first approach, which, in turn, includes three versions distinguished primarily by their focus on inter- or intra-level causality: top-down causality, whole-part constraints, and bottom-up causality.3 Though this

3 For a discussion of how a bottom-up approach relates to possible top-down approaches, as well as why a bottom-up approach is essential in the context of the early evolution of life, see Russell, “Introduction,” in CAC, sec. 4.3.

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essay will focus on bottom-up causality, like most scholars I believe that a combination of all three will eventually be needed for an adequate account of objective, noninterventionist divine action. In the bottom-up approach, God is thought of as acting at a lower level of complexity in nature to influence the processes and properties at a higher level. To qualify as a noninterventionist approach, the lower level must be interpretable philosophically as ontologically indeterministic. A number of scholars4 have focused on quantum mechanics because it deals with the lowest levels in nature (i.e., fundamental particles and physical interactions) and because it can be given such an interpretation. Their work will serve as sources for the current essay. First, however, I need to stress what the approach adopted in this essay does not claim. 1. This approach does not “explain how God acts” or even constitute an argument that God acts.5 Instead it assumes that warrants for the belief in divine action come from extended theological arguments 4 Karl Heim, The Transformation of the Scientific World (London: SCM Press, 1953); Eric L. Mascall, Christian Theology and Natural Science: Some Questions in Their Relations (New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1956); William G. Pollard, Chance and Providence: God’s Action in a World Governed by Scientific Law (London: Faber and Faber, 1958); Mary Hesse, “On the Alleged Incompatibility Between Christianity and Science,” in Man and Nature, Hugh Montefiore, ed. (London: Collins, 1975); Donald M. MacKay, Chance and Providence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978); Nancey Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order: Buridan’s Ass and Schrödinger’s Cat,” 325–58, Thomas F. Tracy, “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps,” 289–324, and George F. Ellis, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action: The Nexus of Interaction,” 359–96, all three in CAC; Ian G. Barbour, “Five Models of God and Evolution,” EMB, 419–42; see as far back as idem, Issues in Science and Religion (New York: Harper & Row, 1971); Mark W. Worthing, God, Creation, and Contemporary Physics (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), esp. 130–46; Christopher F. Mooney, Theology and Scientific Knowledge: Changing Models of God’s Presence in the World (Notre Dame: Notre Dame Press, 1996), esp. chap. 3, 108–10; Philip Clayton, God and Contemporary Science (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1997), esp. chap. 7, 8. Some scholars have raised objections to the approach taken by these scholars. See, for example, Arthur Peacocke, “God’s Interaction with the World: The Implications of Deterministic ‘Chaos’ and of Interconnected and Interdependent Reality,” in CAC, 279–81. For an interesting recent response to Peacocke in terms of quantum indeterminacy, see John J. Davis, “Quantum Indeterminacy and the Omniscience of God,” Science and Christian Belief 9.2 (October 1997): 129–44. and Peacocke’s reply in the same volume. See also John C. Polkinghorne, “The Metaphysics of Divine Action,” in CAC, esp. 152–3, articles in Niels H. Gregersen et al., eds., Studies in Science & Theology 1996: Yearbook of the European Society for the Study of Science and Theology, vols. 3 and 4, The Concept of Nature in Science & Theology, Parts I and II (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1997), articles in Science and Christian Belief 7.2 (October 1995), and George Murphy, “Does the Trinity Play Dice?” Zygon 51.1 (March 1999). 5 See Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” sec. 4.1.

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whose sources lie elsewhere (including scripture, tradition, experience, and reason). 2. It does not constitute either an epistemic or an ontological “god of the gaps” argument.6 An epistemic gaps argument is based on what we don’t know. It invokes God to explain things that we don’t yet understand but that science will eventually explain. Our approach, instead, is based on what we do know about nature, assuming that quantum physics is the correct theory and that it can be interpreted philosophically as telling us that nature is ontologically indeterministic. In this approach, what we know is that nature provides the necessary but not the sufficient causes for quantum events to occur. An ontological gaps argument assumes that natural processes are ontologically deterministic. Nature lacks what are called “causal gaps”7 or breaks in the order of event causation. If nature itself lacks such causal gaps, God must act in special events to create these gaps. Such an account of particular divine action is clearly interventionist: in order to act in nature, God must intervene in these processes by suspending them and violating the laws that describe them. But this approach is theologically problematic because it pits God’s special acts against God’s regular action, the latter of which is seen to be the underlying cause of nature’s regularities. Instead, our approach is noninterventionist: God has created the universe ex nihilo such that some natural processes at the quantum level are insufficiently determined by prior natural events. One could say that nature is “naturally” indeterministic. Thus God does not suspend natural causality but creates and maintains it as ontologically indeterministic. God does not violate the laws of quantum physics but acts in accordance with them. In essence, God creates the universe such that quantum events occur without sufficient natural causes and

6 Michael Ruse, Can a Darwinian Be a Christian? The Relationship Between Science and Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 86–8, 91–2, provides a thoughtful and often conciliatory approach to the relations between Darwinism and theism. Unfortunately, though, he reiterates the charge that the appeal to quantum mechanics is an epistemic form of the “gaps” argument without discussing previous responses by Tracy, Ellis, Murphy, and myself. He adds to it the claim that it raises the problem of theodicy. I think the latter is a valid point, but again, it is one that I have discussed in “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” sec. 5.2, and that I treat in some detail below. 7 Here I am again following Tracy’s usage in his “Particular Providence,” sec. 1.1.

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acts within these natural processes and together with natural causes to bring them about. The theological warrants for a noninterventionist account of divine action include the following: objective special providence is achieved without contradicting general providence (since God’s particular acts, being noninterventionist, do not violate or suspend God’s routine acts as represented in the “laws of nature”); God as the transcendent creator ex nihilo of the universe as a whole is the immanent on-going creator of each part (creatio continua); God’s intentions are disclosed “in what we know, not in what we don’t know,” as Dietrich Bonhoeffer urged;8 noninterventionist objective special divine action offers a robust response to atheistic challenges to the intelligibility and credibility of Christian faith, since the presence of “chance” in nature does not imply an absent God and a “pointless” world but an ever-present God acting with purpose in the world. 3. It does not reduce God to a natural cause, nor does God’s direct9 action at the quantum level give rise to phenomena that cannot be explained by science. It affirms that science is characterized by methodological naturalism, and thus it abstains from viewing “God” as an explanation within science.10 Instead, God’s direct action at the quantum level is hidden in principle from science, supporting the integrity of science and yet allowing science to be integrated fruitfully into constructive theology where “God” as an explanation of natural events is appropriately and fully developed.

8 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison, enlarged ed. (London: SCM Press, 1972/1979), 311. See Tracy, “Particular Providence,” 289. 9 God may be thought of as acting directly at the quantum level (more precisely, the effects of God’s direct action may occur at the quantum level). The events we attribute to God at the macroscopic level are their indirect result. A direct, or basic, act is one for which there is no prior act (such as willing my arm to move), and one which may initiate a sequence of acts resulting in an indirect act (such as my arm moving). Thus divine acts of general and special providence at the ordinary, classical level are mediated and indirect divine acts that arise from God’s direct acts mediated in, through, and by quantum processes. Such providential acts can equally be seen as a form of God’s ongoing, continuous creative action. See Tracy, “Particular Providence and the God of the Gaps,” in CAC, 295–6. 10 This approach thus differs from that of “Intelligent Design” since it does not introduce concepts such as agency or designer into scientific theory. Instead it argues that when quantum physics is introduced into theology through the lens of philosophy, it offers a new theological approach to noninterventionist divine action.

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4. It does not propose that God alters the wavefunction between measurements, makes measurements on a given system, or alters the probabilities of obtaining a particular result.11 Instead, God together with nature (i.e., as mediated divine action)12 determines what happens during a “quantum event.” This claim represents a particular philosophical interpretation of quantum mechanics usually referred to as “the Copenhagen interpretation.”13 A variety of scientists have supported ontological indeterminism, including such contemporaries as Chris Isham, Paul Davies, and Ian Barbour.14 This alone, of course, is not a warrant for adopting indeterminism, only a recommendation. Clearly this interpretation involves a number of complex issues, including such “external” problems as historical relativity and multiple interpretability, and such “internal” problems as the meaning of measurement, quantum event, quantum indeterminism, and more generally

11 Nicholas T. Saunders, “Does God Cheat at Dice? Divine Action and Quantum Possibilities,” Zygon 35.4 (September 2000): 517–44, offers a helpful overview of the kinds of interpretations of quantum physics and of the theological notions of providence and divine action. He then delineates four ways of relating divine action and quantum mechanics. The first three are the ones I have mentioned here: that God alters the wavefunction between measurements, makes measurements on a given system, or alters the probabilities of obtaining a particular result. They do not seem to describe the actual positions of any of the principal scholars in theology and science, nor does Saunders claim that they do. I agree with Saunders that I and several others probably fit into his fourth approach: as Sanders’ puts it, “God ignores the probabilities predicted by orthodox quantum mechanics and simply controls the outcomes of particular measurements.” (I would rather say that God acts with nature to bring about the outcomes of particular measurements consistent with the probabilities given before the event occurs.) Saunders’ acknowledges that he does not find any specific problems with this approach, except that it requires us to work within a particular philosophical position. I agree with him, but I think that this is unavoidable. I have discussed this problem extensively in previous publications and return to it below. 12 One can think of God as acting either in, through, and together with the processes of nature (mediated) or as acting unilaterally (unmediated). In the latter case, often called “occasionalism,” all events in the world occur solely through God’s action. Occasionalism denies that there are natural causes in the world and undercuts the importance of science in discovering and in representing them mathematically. As Murphy stresses, any adequate account of divine action must avoid both occasionalism and deism (in which God’s action is restricted to a single event, the beginning of the world); Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order,” 332. 13 Again, what is crucial here is that the inclusion of a philosophical interpretation is not an option; the only option is which interpretation is to be chosen. 14 Chris J. Isham, Lectures on Quantum Theory: Mathematical and Structural Foundations (London: Imperial College Press, 1995), 131–2; Paul Davies, Quantum Mechanics (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1984), 4; Ian G. Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1990), 123.

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the problem of a realist interpretation of quantum mechanics, including the referential status of the wavefunction, etc. I will seek to respond to these issues in detail below, but I should say from the outset that one generic problem is unavoidable: we must adopt one or another philosophical interpretation whenever we incorporate the results of science (or any other field of knowledge) into a wider intellectual context, particularly into constructive theology. The key is to hold one’s philosophical interpretation explicitly, tentatively, and hypothetically as a lens through which to ask questions about the relation between science and theology, not foundationally as the basis of one’s theological position (as for example in natural theology or physico-theology). 5. It does not limit the relation between quantum mechanics and divine action to special providence. Instead it views the domain of quantum mechanics as giving rise to the general features of the ordinary macroscopic world (i.e., general providence/continuous creation) and to particular events within it (i.e., special providence). Quantum processes underlie and give rise to the general features of the world of ordinary experience and Newtonian physics.15 These processes fall into two classes. First are the processes that produce macroscopic properties such as the impenetrability of matter (and thus the extension of matter in space), the chemical properties of the elements (including color and valency), and the electrical and thermodynamic properties of solids (such as conductivity and specific heat). Fermi-Dirac (FD) statistics describe these processes and explain why they lead to the associated macroscopic properties. Particles that obey FD statistics, such as electrons and protons, are called fermions. Second are the processes that “glue the everyday world together,” i.e., that produce the electroweak, strong, and gravitational interactions, and that create such macroscopic “quantum” phenomena as superfluidity and

15 For earlier detailed discussion see Robert John Russell, “Quantum Physics in Philosophical and Theological Perspective,” in Physics, Philosophy, and Theology: A Common Quest for Understanding, R.J. Russell, W.R. Stoeger, and G.V. Coyne, eds. (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory Publications, 1988), hereafter “Quantum Physics”; idem, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation.” How macroscopic phenomena first arose out of the quantum processes of the very early universe remains a profound problem. Here I simply take it for granted that we can describe both our ordinary experience using classical science and our subatomic data using quantum physics, and look to their relation.

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superconductivity. Here the statistics are Bose-Einstein (BE), and the particles, such as photons or gravitons, are bosons.16 The mathematical equations that represent FD and BE statistics are radically different in the quantum realm of low energies and temperatures, but as we move to “room temperature,” both approach the Boltzmannian equation that characterizes classical statistics (i.e., a Gaussian “bell” curve).17 This fact leads to another striking aspect of the relation between quantum and classical physics. If we look at statistics from an epistemological perspective, “classical chance” is grounded mathematically in and arises smoothly in the appropriate limit from quantum statistics. But if we look at statistics from an ontological perspective, the result is far more complex. Recall that Boltzmannian statistics originated in classical physics and the context of ontological determinism.18 On the other hand, FD and BE statistics arise within a quantum mechanical framework suggestive of ontological indeterminism. So if we are interested in ontology and start with Boltzmannian statistics, we are led in opposite directions: to determinism if we stay within the framework of the classical world in which it originated, and to indeterminism if we move to the quantum world and derive Boltzmannian statistics from FD and BE statistics. How strange it is that the classical, everyday world, where Boltzmannian statistics point to

16 Technically, superfluidity and superconductivity involve both FD and BE statistics, as Carl York pointed out (private communications). FD and BE statistics are intimately connected to the indistinguishability of fundamental particles (“all electrons are identical”) and their spin: y is anti-symmetrized for fermions (which carry odd spin) and symmetrized for bosons (which carry even spin). Indistinguishability and spin, in turn, are strictly quantum features, and yet they too can be seen as giving rise to the ordinary features of the classical world. The space-like correlations in these statistics are also intimately related to the problem of nonlocality in quantum physics, as Bell’s theorem reveals (discussed below). A full discussion of spin-statistics requires a relativistic treatment of quantum physics, such as given by Dirac. Thus, in a strict sense, it lies outside the confines of nonrelativistic quantum physics, although quantum statistics can be warranted at least in part on the basis of indistinguishability. 17 FD statistics, 1/(eE/kT + 1), and BE statistics, 1/(eE/kT – 1), both approach Boltzmann statistics, namely 1/eE/kT, at energies E >> kT. Here E is the energy of the system, k is Boltzmann’s constant and T is the equilibrium temperature of the system. At low energies, BE statistics still resemble the classical form, but FD statistics are strikingly different. See for example figures 11:1–3 and table 11:1 in Robert Eisberg and Robert Resnick, Quantum Physics of Atoms, Molecules, Solids, Nuclei, and Particles (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1974), chap. 11. 18 Here, bulk properties of solids, liquids, and gases were derived mathematically from a statistical treatment of the deterministic interactions between their component parts (e.g., the kinetic theory of gases).

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causal determinism, is actually the product of a quantum world whose FD and BE statistics point instead to ontological indeterminism! From a theological perspective, God’s noninterventionist action at the quantum level19 gives rise to the creation of the general features of the classical world described above, as well as to their sustenance and physical development in time, or what we would routinely call general providence (or continuous creation).20 Quantum processes also underlie and give rise to specific effects in the macroscopic world in several ways.21 One way is through those phenomena, such as superfluidity and superconductivity, which, though found in the ordinary classical world, are really “bulk” quantum states—what George Ellis in this volume calls “essentially quantum effects at the macro level.” Another, and quite different, way is through specific quantum processes, which, when amplified correctly, result in particular classical effects in the classical world. It is the latter that will be the focus of this essay and will be thought of in terms of special providence. Obvious examples range from such jury-rigged situations as “Schrödinger’s cat” to such routine measurement devices as a Geiger counter. But the production of specific effects in the macroscopic level from quantum processes includes a whole range of phenomena such as the animal eye responding to a single photon, mental states resulting from quantum events at neural junctions,22 or the phenotypic 19 God may act at other levels in nature should they, too, be open to an indeterminis-tic interpretation. This would apply most clearly in the domain of neurophysiology and thus involve an analysis of the neuro- and cognitive sciences. See Robert J. Russell, Nancey Murphy, Theo Meyering, and Michael A. Arbib, eds., Neuroscience and the Person: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action (Vatican City State/Berkeley, Calif.: Vatican Observatory/Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1999), hereafter NAP. 20 George Ellis makes this same point nicely in CTNS/VO, v. V sec. 2.1; note his references as well. See also Russell, “Quantum Physics,” 344–6; Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order,” sec. 4.3; Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” sec. 2.3.2. 21 See Russell, “Quantum Physics.” It is widely asserted that individual quantum events always “average out” at the macroscopic level, thus making quantum mechanics irrelevant to special providence and human free will. Instead, the “Schrödinger cat” argument provides an elegant way to combine both general and special providence on the same quantum “template.” 22 Ellis actually discusses two possibilities: (i) coherent firings in large arrays of neurons leading to a holistic response in a region of the brain (here “amplification” is an almost inappropriate term), and (ii) localized firings in microtubules that are amplified to macroscopic effect, following the suggestions of Roger Penrose; see George F.R. Ellis, “Intimations of Transcendence: Relations of the Mind and God,” in NAP, 472; idem, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action,” in CAC, 369–71.

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expression of a single genetic mutation in an organism (resulting, for example, in sickle-cell anemia or cancer). Indeed one may argue that the evolution of life on earth over the past 3.8 billion years depends in part on such “biological amplifiers” as the genotype-phenotype relation, which expresses the effects of quantum mechanics within genetic mutations at the macroscopic level of individual organisms and populations.23 Moreover, the amplification of microscopic to macroscopic states in most of these processes does not rely on chaos theory. Therefore, contrary to the claim by some scholars, we need not deal with the unresolved problem of “quantum chaology” in this approach to divine action.24 Thus God’s action at the quantum level can be seen as bringing about, in a non-interventionist mode, both the general features of the world we describe in terms of general providence (or continuous creation) and those specific events in the world to which special providence refers.

3. Methodological Issues 3.1. Is a “bottom-up” approach to divine action warranted, and does it exclude other approaches? We should not see the present focus as a general limitation or restriction of divine action to “bottom-up” causality alone.25 Instead, I see the present argument as located within a much broader context, namely the theology of divine action in personal experience and human history, because that is primarily where we, as persons of faith, encounter the

23 See Ellis, in this volume, sec. 2; Barbour, “Five Models of God and Evolution,” in EMB, 426. For an extended discussion of quantum mechanics, evolutionary biology, and divine action see Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation.” 24 Polkinghorne, “Metaphysics of Divine Action,” section 4.1. Also see Polkinghorne’s contribution to this volume, secs. 4 and 5. See also Fred Sanders, The Image of the Immanent Trinity: Implications of Rahner’s Rule for a Theological Interpretation of Scripture (Berkeley: GTU dissertation, unpublished, 2000), 540. Although quantum chaos is not a problem for the present approach relating divine action and quantum physics, it is a serious problem when one tries to relate chaos theory, at least in its present state, to divine action, particularly when an appeal is made to quantum physics to provide those variations in initial conditions of specifically chaotic systems that give rise to the appearance of “openness” in deterministic, closed systems. 25 As Barbour notes, most authors who explore this approach also insist on eventually combining these approaches; Barbour, “Five Models of God and Evolution,” 432–3.

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living God. For this, we clearly need to consider a variety of models, including both “top-down,” “whole-part,” and “bottom-up” causes and constraints, and their roles within both embodiment and non-embodiment models of agency, with particular emphasis on the “mind-body” problem and human agency.26 Moreover, I believe we will eventually need to work out the detailed relations between these models by integrating them into a consistent and coherent, adequate and applicable metaphysical framework. The question here, though, is why and how God might be thought of as acting within nature via a form of bottom-up causality. Granting that God is the creator of the universe per se, maintaining the efficacy of nature, whose regularities, which we call the laws of nature, manifest God’s faithfulness and rational intelligibility as creator, and granting also that these laws have just the right statistical ingredients to allow for the production of “order out of chaos” as part of God’s creative actions, and granting that in some situations, such as our personal encounter through faith with God, it is highly appropriate to introduce top-down language about God’s action, can we nonetheless adequately understand God’s action within the physical, astrophysical, molecular, and evolutionary processes out of which we arose as expressing God’s intention in ways that go beyond that of maintaining the existence of these processes and allowing their built-in “potentialities” to work themselves out over time? And can such an understanding of God’s action be rendered in an intelligible way if we restrict ourselves to topdown causality or to whole-part constraint alone? I believe it cannot. Top-down causality is helpful when considering the action of conscious and self-conscious creatures that are genuinely open to God’s action and that have at least some capacity to respond to it. But it is hard to see what constitutes the “top” through which God acts in a top-down way when no conscious, let alone self-conscious, creatures capable of mind/brain interactions have yet evolved. Remember, we are trying to understand God’s action in the universe over its full twelve to fifteen billion year history, including the 26 I agree with Murphy’s 1995 assessment that Arthur Peacocke has given “the most compelling account to date of the role of top-down causation in accounting for God’s continuing action.” Her reference was to Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age, to which could now be added a variety of his articles, including “Biological Evolution— A Positive Theological Appraisal,” in EMB, 357–76, and “The Sound of Sheer Silence: How Does God Communicate with Humanity?” in NAP, 215–48. See Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order,” 326, fn. 3.

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production of first- and second-generation stars, planetary systems, and eventually the evolution of organisms at least on Earth over a period of nearly four billion years, ranging from the simplest primitive forms to the present vastly rich profusion of life. Moreover, if God acts at the “top” level of complexity at a given stage in evolutionary history, that level of complexity must be ontologically open, that is, it must be described by laws that can be interpreted in terms of ontological indeterminism. Yet, until the evolution of organisms capable of even primitive mentality, the “top” levels would presumably have been within the domain of the “classical” sciences and the ontological determinism of Newtonian physics. On the top-down approach special divine action would thus be unintelligible without intervention from the epochs of early galactic, stellar, and planetary formation on up through those early stages of evolutionary biology prior and leading to the development of a central nervous system. But if we omit this early period from our discussion of special providence, then we once again risk a radical limitation on special divine action: God’s special action can only occur after a sufficient degree of biological complexity has been achieved, but it cannot be effective within the processes by which that degree of complexity is achieved. For both these reasons, then, the top-down strategy seems stymied.27 Perhaps we should try whole-part constraint arguments instead. The challenge here is to find phenomena in nature that display holistic characteristics and that point to ontological indeterminism. The ecological web is often cited as a candidate, due to its inherent complexity and seemingly endless openness to external factors, but in my opinion it fails to be a candidate for noninterventionist divine action because of the underlying determinism of the processes involved, no matter how complex or inter-related they might be. Thus on critical reflection, and contrary to the hopes of most previous attempts at theistic evolution, it seems unlikely that top-down or wholepart approaches are of much value for interpreting physical processes and biological evolution at the pre-cognitive and even pre-animate era in terms of special divine action. Unless one returns to the quantum level, where holism and indeterminism are displayed everywhere and at all times since “t = 0,” I see little hope that God’s action within the

27 Murphy outlines similar problems with a strictly top-down approach to divine action in Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order,” 4.1.

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early stages of physical, astrophysical, and biological phenomena can be described in noninterventionist ways using either whole-part constraint or top-down causal arguments. 3.2. The historical relativism and multiple interpretability of quantum mechanics The next two problems are also methodological. First, why should we take quantum physics seriously if it will one day be replaced by a new physical theory? Second, how can we take quantum physics seriously in discussing a theology of divine action given the fact that quantum mechanics is subject to a variety of equally valid, and radically distinct, philosophical interpretations?28 In response to the first problem, one option would be to disregard all theories that are at the frontier of science, including quantum physics, sticking instead with proven theories such as classical physics. If we did so, we would be on surer grounds for drawing conclusions about the world, since we know precisely where the limits of applicability lie for such theories. For example, we know precisely in which domains classical physics applies for all practical purposes, namely in the limits of Planck’s constant h 0 and the speed of light c infinity.29 I don’t agree with this overly cautious approach for two reasons. First, classical physics is in principle false. As a useful theory for practical needs, like engineering or planetary exploration, it is excellent. But as a fundamental theory of nature, its explanation of the world is wrong. As Charles Misner has remarked, the theories that we know are “proven” are the ones that have been the most clearly falsified! Second, it is within this classical view of nature as a closed causal system that the theology of previous centuries has operated—and much of contemporary theology still does! Many of the atheistic challenges to divine action have ignored the quantum mechanical aspects of nature and presupposed classical science and a mechanistic, deterministic metaphysics, as Ellis

28 Actually this is a concrete example of the multiple interpretability and historical relativity that inevitably surround any scientific theory. How these factors affect the philosophical and theological discussions of a scientific theory is a crucial methodological issue lying at the heart of any conversation about “theology and science.” A decision regarding it is required of every scholar in the field. I will try to describe mine here, though all too briefly. See also Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” sec. 4.2; idem, “Quantum Physics.” 29 But note Berry’s careful discussion of this issue in CTNS/VO, v. V.

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has pointed out.30 Thus their arguments, too, are fundamentally flawed. So sticking only with proven theories is out. As is well known, quantum mechanics can be given a variety of philosophical interpretations.31 The Copenhagen interpretation is, arguably, the most widely held view by physicists and philosophers of science. According to Jim Cushing, it essentially involves “complementarity (e.g., wave-particle duality), inherent indeterminism at the most fundamental level of quantum phenomena, and the impossibility of an event-byevent causal representation in a continuous spacetime background.”32 Although rooted in the work of Niels Bohr, the term “Copenhagen interpretation” includes several distinct versions. Bohr himself stressed the epistemic limitations on what we can know about quantum processes. Compared with their effortless union in classical physics, spacetime description and causal explanation become complementary (necessary but mutually exclusive) aspects of a quantum account of microscopic processes.33 Bohr also believed that quantum formalism applies to individual systems, compared with Einstein’s statistical view in which the formalism applies to ensembles only.34 Heisenberg both supported the completeness of quantum mechanics and developed his own realist, 30 George F.R. Ellis, “The Thinking Underlying the New ‘Scientific’ World-Views,” in EMB, 251–80. 31 In 1966, Ian Barbour provided what is still one of the most helpful surveys of these interpretations. Barbour, Issues in Science and Religion, chap. 10, sec. III. See also Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, 101–4. For a more recent and accessible account see Nicholas Herbert, Quantum Reality: Beyond the New Physics (Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor Press; Doubleday, 1985). For a technical survey of the philosophical problems in quantum physics see Jammer, The Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics; Michael Redhead, Incompleteness, Nonlocality, and Realism: A Prolegomenon to the Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987); James T. Cushing and Ernan McMullin, eds., Philosophical Consequences of Quantum Theory: Reflections on Bell’s Theorem (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1989); Abner Shimony, “Conceptual Foundations of Quantum Mechanics,” in The New Physics, Paul Davies, ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); James T. Cushing, Quantum Mechanics: Historical Contingency and the Copenhagen Hegemony (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994); Isham, Lectures on Quantum Theory. 32 Cushing, Quantum Mechanics, 24. 33 In his famous 1927 Como lecture Bohr argued that “the spacetime coordination and the claim of causality, the union of which characterizes the classical theories, [are] complementary but exclusive features of the description, symbolizing the idealization of observation and definition respectively.” For a convenient source and translation, see Jammer, The Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics, 86–94. See also Cushing, Quantum Mechanics, 28. 34 See Cushing, Quantum Mechanics, for a discussion of Leslie Ballentine’s arguments about Bohr versus Einstein. Cushing views Stapp’s interpretation as close to Ballentine’s statistical approach.

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indeterministic version of the Copenhagen interpretation in which the measurement process actualizes potential characteristics of the quantum system. His interpretation suggests that the unpredictability that arises during measurement has an ontological basis and is not simply epistemological.35 Ian Barbour cites Henry Margenau who writes, “the uncertainty does not reside in the imperfection in our measurements, nor in man’s ability to know; it has its cause in nature herself.” As Barbour puts it, “if this interpretation is correct, indeterminacy is an ontological reality.”36 In sum, Cushing concludes that, “On the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, physical processes are arguably, at the most fundamental level, both inherently indeterministic and nonlocal. The ontology of classical physics is dead.”37 Other interpretations of quantum mechanics include: ontological determinism (the neo-realism of Einstein/incompleteness and Bohm/ “hidden variables”); many worlds (Everett); quantum logic (Gribb; Finkelstein); consistent histories (Clarke, Griffiths, Omnès, Gell-Mann, Hartle); and consciousness creates reality (von Neumann, Wigner, Stapp). With this in mind, some have argued that we modify the basic equations of quantum mechanics (e.g., Shimony’s philosophically motivated exploration of stochastic modifications of the Schrödinger equation).38 Since their discovery in the 1960s, Bell’s theorems have

35 Werner Heisenberg, Physics and Philosophy: The Revolution in Modern Science (New York: Harper, 1958); idem, Physics and Beyond (New York: Harper & Row, 1971). Heisenberg apparently had a “two truths” view of the relation between science and religion, with religion as a set of ethical principles. See for example idem, Across the Frontiers, Peter Heath, trans. (New York: Harper & Row, 1974/1971), chap. XVI. He also argued that “the extension of scientific methods of thought far beyond their legitimate limits of application led to the much deplored division” between science and religion; idem, Philosophic Problems of Nuclear Science (Greenwich, Conn.: Fawcett Publications, 1952), chap. 1. 36 Henry Margenau, “Advantages and Disadvantages of Various Interpretations of the Quantum Theory,” Physics Today 7 (1954), quoted in Barbour, Issues in Science and Religion, 303–4. 37 Cushing, Quantum Mechanics, 32. 38 What is particularly interesting here is that Shimony not only argues for one philosophical interpretation against its competitors, but that he allows his philosophical commitments (i.e., to realism) to drive his scientific research program in new directions that seek to revise current physics; Shimony, “Search for a Worldview which can Accommodate Our Knowledge of Microphysics,” in Philosophical Consequences of Quantum Theory, Cushing and McMullin, eds., 25–37, esp. 34. His interest in a modified version of quantum mechanics provides an excellent example of how one’s philosophical and theological commitments can play a positive influence in the construction of new and empirically successful scientific theories. In essence, the creative mutual interaction between theology, philosophy, and science can include not only

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underscored the nonlocal and particularly the nonseparable character of quantum phenomena, making each of the earlier interpretations more problematic.39 How then are we to decide which interpretation or modification is right and reliable for a discussion of divine action, and if we cannot decide, what might be a reasonable way to proceed? My response is fourfold. First, why single out quantum mechanics? Every scientific theory is open to competing metaphysical interpretations; indeed, metaphysics is always underdetermined by science, although some theories, like classical physics, seem strongly to favor one interpretation (e.g., determinism) over others. So this concern about quantum mechanics applies, in principle, to any metaphysical interpretation of any scientific theory. Indeed, the warrant for choosing a specific metaphysical interpretation of any scientific theory is an issue not only for theists but equally for naturalists or atheists. Second, none of these interpretations returns us to an entirely classical view of the world; to one extent or another, all of them require a reconstruction of our philosophy of nature. This might seem obvious, but it actually addresses what is a subtle problem in the literature. Bohm’s interpretation, being deterministic and describing nature in such classical terms as particles, forces, and trajectories, can seem like a less problematic option than Bohr’s epistemology, with its wave-particle complementarity, or Everett’s many-worlds ontology. But in fact Bohm’s advantages are bought at a heavy price: the determinism suggested by Bohm is not strictly classical, but highly nonlocal. Bohm’s view is also nonmechanical, involving the quantum potential and instantaneous action-at-a-distance. (We shall return to the metaphysical problems raised by Bohm’s approach in some detail below.) Thus even if we adopted Bohm’s approach we would not simply fall back into the safe haven of classical metaphysics (if indeed it ever were so, or we ever wanted to!); instead we would inherit yet another set of thorny issues that I will label “Bohmian determinism.” Indeed, this fact can actu-

the critical analysis and incorporation of scientific results in constructive theology, but also the positive role played by theological and philosophical commitments in the construction of new theories in science (i.e., the “context of discovery”). Obviously, for such theories to count as scientific, they must be delimited by the assumptions of methodological naturalism and prove their worth empirically. See Robert J. Russell, “Theology and Science: Current Issues and Future Directions,” 2000, Part 3–E, available on the Internet at www.ctns.org. 39 See for example Redhead, Incompleteness, Nonlocality, and Realism; Cushing and McMullin, eds., Philosophical Consequences of Quantum Theory.

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ally be used to our advantage: a careful comparison of Bohmian and Copenhagen views, as suggested below, might help us understand just what is meant on both sides by (in)determinism. Third, my approach is best seen as a form of constructive theology with a focus on nature (what Barbour calls a “theology of nature”), not a form of natural theology, let alone physico-theology. Hence a change in science or its philosophical interpretation would challenge the constructive proposal at hand, but not the overall viability of a theology of divine action in nature, whose primary warrant and sources lie elsewhere in scripture, tradition, reason and experience. Finally, I think we should welcome the specificity of this approach and follow it as far as it can take us. By illuminating the concrete implications of a noninterventionist approach to objective special divine action in light of a particular interpretation of quantum physics, the strengths as well as the limitations of the approach are revealed, which in turn should lead to further insight and new areas of research. 3.3. The approach taken here With these responses in mind, my approach will be an explicitly “what if ” strategy: I will engage in the theological conversation with quantum mechanics by choosing one particular philosophical interpretation (ontological indeterminism within the general Copenhagen interpretation), stating clearly that this choice is being made, stressing that it may one day prove no longer tenable (presumably for scientific reasons—but philosophical or even theological reasons could also play a role in either initially choosing or later changing interpretations),40 and proceeding to explore the philosophical and theological implications of this interpretation in full awareness of the tentativeness of the project—but engaged in it nevertheless. My choice of the Copenhagen interpretation means that I will need to respond to a number of key issues that arise within this interpretation. The most important issues will be the “measurement problem” and the associated “collapse of the wave equation,” as well as the meaning of a “quantum event.” All of these are involved in the claim of ontological indeterminism with its presupposition that quantum mechanics can be given a (critical) realist interpretation. I will then need to work out

40

See again Shimony, “Conceptual Foundations of Quantum Mechanics,” 34.

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the implications of these issues for our understanding of divine action and embed it in a broader theological context. This process will occupy most of the remaining portions of this essay.

4. Philosophical Issues—The Measurement Problem within the Copenhagen Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics We turn now to a key issue in the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, the measurement problem. There are, of course, various formulations of this problem, each raising complex issues for a realist understanding of quantum mechanics. According to Chris Isham, the way we understand the measurement problem depends on our interpretation of the formalism and, in particular, on what one means by the reduction of the state vector. The measurement problem, in turn, is part of a “quaternity of problems” all posed to the realist (but avoided by instrumentalists and pragmatists): (i) the meaning of probability; (ii) the role of measurement; (iii) the reduction of the state vector; and (iv) quantum entanglement. Although their classical analogues allow for a clear resolution from a realist perspective, Isham shows that the quantum versions do not.41 For Jeremy Butterfield, the measurement problem is important because it illuminates and underscores the problem of quantum indefiniteness from a realist perspective. If, as realists claim, quantum physics applies to everything physical, the indefiniteness of the microrealm should be endemic in the macrorealm—it should be transmitted to the macrorealm, but apparently is not. Indeed, indefiniteness should manifest itself in macrostates that blatantly contradict our ordinary experience of definite states.42 For the limited purposes of this essay, I want to distinguish between two issues regarding the measurement problem from a critical realist perspective: (i) its phenomenological domain, i.e., what sorts of physical processes should be called “measurements”? and (ii) its relation to ontological indeterminism. When discussing the mathematical structure

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Isham, Lectures on Quantum Theory, chap. 8. Butterfield, in CTNS/VO, v. V describes four strategies to solve the measurement problem: modify the Schrödinger equation or ascribe additional (though not “hidden”) variables, and pursue each assuming that the macrorealm is either definite or not definite. 42

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of the wavefunction and its implications for divine action below, I will stress again the challenge posed to a realist interpretation.43 4.1. The phenomenological domain of the measurement problem We begin with a well-known distinction that arises in the Copenhagen interpretation between (i) the time development of the wavefunction ψ of a quantum system, as governed by the deterministic Schrödinger equation, and (ii) the irreversible interaction between the quantum system and other systems. Ex hypothesi, these systems must be of such size and complexity that their interaction with the quantum system is, at least in practice, irreversible, i.e., the Schrödinger equation does not apply. Irreversible interactions are routinely called “measurements,” but they are not limited to interactions with the ordinary world around us; instead, they include phenomena ranging from what we can call, for want of better terms, “micro-macro,” “micro-meso,” and “micromicro” interactions.44 Micro-macro involves interactions between elementary particles and “classical measuring devices,” such as the response of a Geiger counter to an alpha particle, but it also includes any irreversible interaction between an elementary particle and an ordinary object, such as the absorption of a photon by an animal retina or an electron by a TV

43 An excellent example of the challenge that quantum mechanics poses to realism is given by the wavefunction y. On the one hand, y can be thought of as a mathematical function defined on a multidimensional configuration space; for n particles, configuration space is 3n-dimensional. Thus to represent the quantum state of two particles in three dimensional physical space requires a six-dimensional configuration space. From this perspective, a realist (versus, say, a Platonic) interpretation of y is problematic at best. (Abstraction increases as one moves from configuration space to Hilbert space). On the other hand, elementary texts on quantum mechanics routinely treat y as a physical wave in ordinary three-dimensional space, and not without precedent: de Broglie favored a physicalist interpretation of quantum “waves,” while Schrödinger (and later Bohm) recognized their imbedding in configuration space. For an excellent discussion and references, see Cushing, Quantum Mechanics. For the difference between de Broglie and Schrödinger, see Cushing’s comments, 105 (and fn. 72) and 120. Cushing tells us (124) that Schrödinger began with a realist interpretation of the wavefunction, but quickly ran into the problems posed by its configuration space context. For the gloss on Bohm, see 149. 44 Since we are working within the Copenhagen interpretation, we have not invoked consciousness in accounting for the measurement process. Thus references to “macro” might involve laboratory instruments, but not conscious observers per se. However, see Butterfield, in CTNS/VO, v. V for complex ways of including consciousness in the analysis of measurement.

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screen. Clearly micro-macro interactions entail a vast range of natural phenomena from the physical and biological sciences, as well as those involving human artifacts (e.g., Geiger counters). As stated above, the evolution of life depends on such biological amplifiers as genotypephenotype-population arrangements. But, contrary to the views of some scholars,45 I claim that the domain of the measurement problem is far more extensive than this, for it also involves irreversible micro-meso and micro-micro phenomena.46 Micro-meso includes all those interactions between elementary particles and (sub-)microscopic objects with enough degrees of freedom to make the interaction irreversible (at least in practice). Examples include the capture of an electron by a dust particle in interstellar space, the decay of atoms in solids (such as radioactivity), the interaction between bound and free particles (such as the absorption or emission of a photon by an atomic electron in a crystal solid), and the making or breaking of atomic and molecular bonds (such as hydrogen bonding during genetic mutations of DNA). All of these, too, constitute a measurement since they are irreversible, even though their scale is “micro-meso.” Micro-micro interactions would normally be considered reversible and governed by the Schrödinger equation, and thus would not constitute “measurements.” Examples include proton-proton scattering in free space and pair-production and annihilation in the vacuum. However, if such interactions occur within a complex environment they could well be irreversible and thus constitute “measurements.” Proton-proton scattering in the presence of heavy nuclei would be an example.47 In summary, the term ‘measurement’ should not be restricted to micro-macro interactions, let alone to those “macro” interactions 45 “Measurement involves an intervention by our everyday world into the quantum world” (Polkinghorne, The Quantum World, 60). Also, see him in CTNS/VO, v. V, secs. 1 and 4. 46 Although phenomena such as superfluidity and superconductivity are not specifically what I mean by “micro-macro” interactions, they do, as Ellis in CTNS/VO, v. V points out, represent essentially quantum effects at the macro level. 47 Note here the crucial role of irreversibility in defining “measurement.” In order to distinguish a measurement from the ordinary time-development of a quantum system as governed by the Schrödinger equation, we must refer to irreversibility. But this term is usually borrowed from thermodynamics, which reflects yet another profound problem at the heart of quantum physics: thermodynamics is, arguably, not a fundamental theory, whereas quantum physics is. Why, therefore, would irreversibility play such a fundamental role in quantum physics? For the sake of this essay, I will use “irreversible” as though its meaning were self-evident, although this is overtly not the case. For a complex discussion, see Michael Berry’s essay in CTNS/VO, v. V.

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that involve laboratory experiments. Instead, the term ‘measurement’ should include all irreversible interactions in nature from micro-micro to micro-macro. What is crucial, then, to making an interaction a “measurement” is not that it involve something “macro” but that it is irreversible. 4.2. The measurement problem as the basis for the indeterministic interpretation of quantum physics The measurement problem can now be stated (but, alas, not solved!) easily: How are we to understand measurements by using quantum physics if measurements cannot be described by applying the Schrödinger equation to them and if we are not to alter quantum physics?48 Within the Copenhagen interpretation, the response is stark: the measurement problem is not really a “problem to be solved,” but a synonym for those processes not governed by the Schrödinger equation. Since causes are represented by the Schrödinger equation (as formal cause) and the potential V contained in that equation (as the efficient cause), the inapplicability of the Schrödinger equation to a measurement is the basis for the philosophical claim of ontological indeterminism. Since the outcome of a measurement is not describable in terms of the Schrödinger equation, we can infer that there are necessary (e.g., material) causes but not sufficient (in particular, efficient) causes to bring about the measurement. We can also see why the phrase “the collapse of the wavefunction” is used to describe “what happens” during a measurement. The wavefunction ψ, which had evolved deterministically in time under the influence of the classical potential V and according to the Schrödinger equation, changes discontinuously from a superposition of states to a specific state. This is also a convenient place to offer a more precise definition of the term ‘quantum event’ than one customarily finds in the literature. I propose that we restrict our usage of the term to what we are calling “measurements,” that is, those interactions that are 48 As is well known, one attempt to address this problem was to assume two separate ontologies: classical and quantum. The Schrödinger equation governed the latter, but not the former. Thus when classical objects were seen as interacting with quantum processes, a measurement—in both restricted (laboratory) and general (micro-macro) senses—occurred. The problem is that if we insist that classical objects are made of quantum processes, the basis for the ontological distinction breaks down and the measurement problem remains.

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irreversible regardless of whether they are micro-macro, micro-meso, or micro-micro interactions. Conversely, the time-development of the wavefunction between measurements is not to be thought of as a series of quantum events.49 In this approach, then, the measurement problem and ontological indeterminism are two sides of the same coin: the measurement problem is that aspect of quantum physics to which ontological indeterminism is specifically addressed. For the purposes of this essay, we will stay within the Copenhagen interpretation. This allows us to say that for quantum events or measurements to occur, nature provides the necessary but not the sufficient causal conditions, or what Barbour calls a “weak form of causality.”50 I emphasize the deeply unresolved status of the measurement problem, but I hope that by using it in this specific way we can proceed to explore the case for divine action and quantum physics.51 To summarize, within (at least one variety of ) the Copenhagen interpretation, ontological indeterminism, the measurement problem, the collapse of the wavefunction, and the meaning of quantum event all merge into one conceptuality: a quantum event is an irreversible interaction (at all scales in physics from micro-micro to micro-macro), in which the Schrödinger equation ceases to govern the time-evolution of the wavefunction y describing both the system and that with which it irreversibly interacts. Instantaneously y collapses from a superposition of states to one state. The fact that the resulting state is unpredictable in advance, i.e., that it cannot be explained by a deterministic law, is the basis for the philosophical interpretation that such an event is ontologically indeterministic. In short, we find both the determinism described by the Schrödinger equation between quantum events and the indeterminism characterizing quantum events. In the following I shall refer to “ontological indeterminism’” in the strict sense as referring to quantum events.

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I will return to this point in my critique of process philosophy /theology below. Barbour, Issues in Science and Religion, 304; note his reference to Northrop. 51 In a similar way Ellis acknowledges the unsettled issues surrounding measurement but proceeds to discuss quantum physics and divine causality; see Ellis, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action,” 369. 50

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5. Theological Issues A variety of theological issues now emerge in the general relation between divine action and the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics as we look more closely at the thesis we are exploring here. I will separate them into background issues and crucial issues. 5.1. Background Issues 5.1.1. Divine action at the quantum level and general providence God creates ex nihilo and sustains the existence of quantum systems as they undergo time-evolution (governed by the Schrödinger equation) and as they undergo irreversible interactions (quantum events, measurements) with other micro- and macro-systems whose existence God also sustains. The time evolution of quantum systems applies to isolated systems, such as elementary particles traveling through relatively empty intergalactic space, or to the very early universe. It also applies to elementary particles bound together, as atoms and molecules undergo time evolution in conformity with the Schrödinger equation. Quantum events arise when micro-systems interact irreversibly with each other or with more complex, molecular or macroscopic systems. (Here I am not considering those irreversible interactions that lead indirectly to significant changes in the world, and are thus interpreted in terms of special providence.) The point here is that during both time evolution and irreversible interactions, particles and systems retain their FD or BE properties,52 and these properties account for the classical properties of bulk matter that we experience as the ordinary world of nature and describe in terms of the classical laws of nature and classical statistics (i.e., epistemic chance). It is to this world of ordinary experience that we attribute God’s general providence (or continuous creation), namely the ongoing creation and sustenance of the general features of the classical world together with the emergence and evolution of physical, chemical, and

52 A fuller warrant for including the discussion of FD and BE statistics would require relativistic quantum mechanics, and this lies beyond the scope of this essay; here we simply have introduced it in relation to the symmetry properties of the wavefunction.

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biological53 novelty in nature. Thus what we routinely take as general providence arises indirectly from God’s direct action of sustaining in existence quantum systems and their properties during both their timeevolution and their irreversible interactions. In short, God (indirectly) creates macroscopic structures and interactions, as well as classical chance, as a result of quantum processes and statistics. In previous writings, I pointed to a watershed accomplishment in theology and science when, in the 1970s, Arthur Peacocke54 shifted the discussion of chance from a conflict model, “law versus chance,” as urged by atheists such as Jacques Monod (unfortunately, a formulation all too often accepted by Christians who reject evolution) to an integrative framework, “law and chance.” As a result of this shift, Christians could claim that God acts through both law and chance to create physical, chemical, and biological novelty in nature. Still, the meaning of chance in this context may not be adequate for a genuine sense of God’s noninterventionist action. Instead, I suggest that we now face a second and even more fundamental—and promising—shift in our discussion of “law and chance” in light of quantum physics: a shift from the meaning of chance in classical physics and biology (i.e., chance in the Boltzmannian sense of our epistemic ignorance of underlying causal processes, which is not helpful for the agenda of noninterventionist divine action) to the meaning of chance in quantum physics (i.e., chance in the Copenhagen version of ontological indeterminism, which is open to noninterventionist divine action, as well as chance represented by FD and BE statistics and their relation to order at the classical level). Rather than saying that God directly creates by turning chaos into new and novel forms of order,55 we could say from a quantum perspective that God indirectly creates order and novelty in the classical realm by directly creating a quantum mechanical universe with its combination of quantum events and FD/BE statistics and by acting as continuous

53 When applied to the realm of molecular and evolutionary biology, the relations are further complicated, since the micro-macro processes are involved in all genotypic-phenotypic relations, including those that have little effect on a species, as well as those that, accumulated over time, lead to species differentiation and in turn to what might be called general and special providence. See Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation.” 54 See in particular Arthur Peacocke, Creation and the World of Science (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979) and his many subsequent publications. 55 Ilya Prigogine’s “order out of chaos” program, adapted so creatively by Peacocke.

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creator in time within the indeterminism of quantum events. God is thus truly the God of both order and novelty. 5.1.2. Divine action and special providence within the domain of measurement Is “pervasive” a more helpful term than “ubiquitous” or “episodic?” We have argued that God’s direct act of sustaining quantum systems in existence—both during their time-evolution and during the occurrence of quantum events—results indirectly in those features of the world that we attribute theologically to God’s general providence. But the more important claim of this essay is that quantum events, i.e., all irreversible interactions in nature from micro-micro to micro-macro, constitute the domain in which God’s direct, noninterventionist action can lead indirectly to special events at the macroscopic level, events that we can interpret theologically in terms of special divine action or special providence. John Polkinghorne and others56 have been concerned that this approach would lead to an “episodic” account of divine action for at least three reasons: (i) the concept of measurement is limited to processes that involve the quantum and classical levels (or what I have called irreversible micro-macro interactions); (ii) such interactions only occur from time to time, and (iii) they relate quantum mechanics to chaos theory and thus raise the technical problems associated with quantum chaos. I would share their caution about this approach, too, if these concerns were persuasive. However, as I hope I have shown here, the concept of measurement is not defined by the levels involved (i.e., micro-macro, micro-micro) but by irreversibility. Quantum chaos is not necessarily (or even typically) involved in such irreversible interactions. What then about the “episodic” nature of such interactions? In fact, such interactions can occur at any time and place in the universe where the deterministic time-development of the quantum phenomena governed by the Schrödinger equation is disrupted by an irreversible interaction (measurement), as is evident from the examples given in 56 See Polkinghorne, “Metaphysics of Divine Action,” 152–3, and secs. 4, 5 of Polkinghorne’s contribution to CTNS/VO, v. V where he uses the term “episodic” to describe the limitations of this approach. Sanders apparently agrees with Polkinghorne’s claim that “measurements are relatively infrequent events, and thus any theory of divine action linked to them is likely to be highly episodic in nature.” Sanders, The Image of the Immanent Trinity, 541, 532–3. I have previously responded to this claim in some detail. See Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” particularly sec. 3.2.

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the previous discussion. Previously I have used the term ‘ubiquitous’57 to suggest this comprehensive characteristic, since the term ‘episodic’ sounds far too occasional. But I am persuaded that both terms unduly emphasize distinct aspects of what is in reality a single complex situation. A term is needed that suggests that noninterventionist divine action can be related to the sudden disruptive aspect of quantum processes that can occur anywhere, but not to the continuous time development of the system governed by the Schrödinger equation. An appropriate term for such divine action might be ‘pervasive’, and I shall use this term in future writings. With this understanding in place, I hope that concerns about this approach being episodic can be put to rest. 5.1.3. Is divine action local or global? Before proceeding, we should inspect an implicit assumption, namely that God’s action in relation to ψ should be thought of as an unambiguously “local” action. Instead I will propose two claims.58 First, the mathematical features of the wavefunction ψ used in elementary quantum mechanics, and the parametric role of both space and time variables in defining ψ, suggest that God’s action in relation to ψ occurs globally in space and time.59 To see this we start with the general60 wavefunction ψ such that ψ = (x, t). In principle, ψ is defined61

57 See my previous response in “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” 211–2. There I did not mean “ubiquitous” in the sense that both (i) the time-evolution of a quantum system and (ii) its irreversible interaction with other systems are the domain of noninterventionist direct divine action and, in turn, of indirect special providence in the macroscopic world. But surely this was evident since it was the indeterminism implied by quantum physics that allowed us to think of noninterventionist direct divine action in the first place, and indeterminism obviously does not apply to the time-evolution of quantum systems governed by the deterministic Schrödinger equation. 58 However, these claims presuppose a realist interpretation of quantum mechanics in general, and of ψ as referring, even if only partially, to the physical world. But a variety of profound problems are associated with any such realist interpretation of ψ, not the least of which is that ψ is typically formulated in an abstract space called “configuration space,” mentioned above in fn. 43. Such challenges to realism should be borne clearly in mind in the following discussion. 59 Again, this tends to presuppose a “physical space” approach instead of “configuration space” and this would be highly problematic when considering a quantum state composed of more than one system. However, see Cushing, Quantum Mechanics, fn. 33, 251–2. 60 For simplicity, we will work strictly in configuration space, although a momentum-space formulation is certainly an option, too. Again, for simplicity, we restrict the discussion to one spatial dimension, x. 61 Of course, to be physically admissible, ψ must be normalized properly and thus be square integrable.

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for -∞ ≤ x ≤ +∞ and for -∞ ≤ t ≤ +∞, with x and t both serving formally as parameters of ψ. We can view this in at least three ways: (i) we can stipulate the spatial shape of the wavefunction everywhere along the x-axis at a given moment of time; (ii) we can describe the spatial shape everywhere along the x-axis as it changes in time; (iii) we can specify its amplitude (height) at a particular point in space as it changes in time. Now (ii) is probably the closest we come, in very rough terms, to the classical conception of a particle with a well-defined location in space at a moment in time, such that we can write x = x(t).62 Thus, right from the outset, an important aspect of the nonlocality of the quantum conception of matter is built in. Our conception of divine action in relation to ψ must reflect this view. We must take care not to presuppose an unambiguous locality to God’s action when it is conceived in relation to ψ. We may think about divine action as “localized” by thinking of it in relation to the region in space where ψ is relatively large, somewhat in the way we refer to the “location” of the particle represented by ψ, as long as we keep in mind the fact that this is a rough way of speaking and do not fall tacitly into the classical conception of matter—or divine action.63 Second, the concept of God as acting to bring about a quantum event (i.e., the collapse of the wavefunction) is as much a global as a local event, regardless of whether this event leads indirectly to an instance of special providence. Consider a simple physical process: a particle is emitted at time t0 and propagates freely through space until it is detected at time t1, let’s say one hour later. The motion of the particle between t0 and t1 is governed by the Schrödinger equation, and its wavefunction ψ is a uniformly expanding sphere centered on the source. (To be more precise, the particle is described by a wavepacket whose maximum value, ψmax, describes a uniformly expanding sphere, but one that is everywhere nonzero.) Now, at t1 the particle is detected

62 In essence, the classical ontology is of a fully localized material object whose properties include its place in space, and this place can change in time, allowing an “x = x(t)” conceptuality. In the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, however, we picture y as defined everywhere in space and in time. 63 Of course there are qualifications here. Consider, for example, a wavefunction bounded by an infinite square well of length L (such that ψ = 0 when 0 ≤ x ≤ L). Although wavefunctions of this type are useful for various practical purposes, infinite square wells do not exist in nature. In principle, the ubiquity of ψ always holds, and thus the caution about presupposing a classical assumption of “locality” in conceptualizing special divine action.

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and its wavefunction collapses instantaneously and unpredictably to a state representing the particle at the detector. We may make the additional assumption that its detection has significant consequences in the world, which we interpret theologically in terms of special providence, but this is irrelevant to the present issue.64 What then can this suggest about the relation between God’s action at the quantum level and the collapse of the wavefunction? First we should keep in mind the previous point: God is active everywhere in space and time in relation to ψ as it extends throughout space and evolves in time. Indeed, one might say that the “general action” of God is God’s action in maintaining the regular time development of ψ as described by the Schrödinger equation, much as we understand God’s general providence as maintaining the world in its bulk, macroscopic configurations. Still for convenience let us think in terms of the peak in ψ (ψmax) as it expands spherically, since for all practical purposes this represents a spherical wavepacket about to “collapse.” Now, at the moment of collapse, ψ changes discontinuously from a light-hour sphere, ψs, to a fully localized wavepacket ψx. Thus the irreversible interaction or quantum event involving the particle and the detector is represented here by the juxtaposition of, and discontinuous transition between, the global ψs and the local ψx that co-characterize and co-constitute what we mean by the collapse of the wavefunction. If we are to think of God’s action in relation to this event, then it, too, must have both a global and a local character: God acts globally on ψs to bring about the “collapse” by causing a local transition from a nonzero to a zero amplitude everywhere on a sphere one light-hour in radius except at the location of the detector. Finally, if we then assume that the detection of the particle leads to a macroscopic event that we interpret as an act of special providence, then the concept of special providence, which refers to significant local macroscopic events in history and nature, comes about by God’s action at the quantum level globally and locally.65

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Bear in mind, though, that it is an example of mediated and indirect divine action. 65 At the same time, God’s action in regard to both ψs and ψx is fully global in the general sense that both wavefunctions, in principle at least, extend infinitely in both space and time.

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5.1.4. Divine action, quantum physics, and the challenge of special relativity So far we have discussed several general issues related to divine action and quantum physics. Before turning to more detailed issues, we should note that this discussion has tacitly assumed the classical view of space and time found in Newtonian-Galilean physics. Special relativity (c. 1905) poses important issues for quantum physics and thus for our discussion of divine action.66 It would be good to mention these briefly before turning to more detailed issues. Indeed, we shall see that some of the reasons given for not pursuing divine action in terms of quantum physics stem from the problems with special relativity and not from the issues that we will later consider. I will discuss scientific issues first, and then theological issues raised by them. From a scientific perspective, the Copenhagen interpretation in particular is challenged by special relativity in several ways. First, special relativity undercuts the classical assumptions of a global present and a universally unique rate of time’s flow. Both the Schrödinger equation and the measurement problem presuppose these assumptions. Thus, in light of special relativity, it becomes crucial to ask how we are to pick out the physically correct surface of simultaneity on which the Schrödinger equation governs ψ and on which ψ collapses, as Jeremy Butterfield and Raymond Chiao stress in Quantum Mechanics 380. Second, special relativity can be given alternative ontological interpretations—much as alternative interpretations pervade quantum physics—namely, the “block universe” and “flowing time” views.67 Which of these ontologies are we to adopt in a relativistic reformulation of the Copenhagen interpretation? These are serious problems for quantum physics. On the other hand, however, it is crucial to note that quantum mechanics is consistent with special relativity in a crucial way: violations of Bell’s inequalities need 66 I will not extend this essay to include relativistic quantum mechanics, the union of quantum physics and special relativity, and its heir, quantum field theory. 67 See for example Chris J. Isham and John C. Polkinghorne, “The Debate Over the Block Universe,” in Quantum Cosmology and the Laws of Nature: Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action, R.J. Russell, N.C. Murphy and, C.J. Isham (Vatican City State/ Berkeley, Calif.: Vatican Observatory/Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 1993), 134–44.; Robert J. Russell, “Time in Eternity,” Dialog 39.1 (Spring 2000): 46–55. Thus even if special relativity is given a “world-line flowing time” interpretation, one should be careful about referring to God’s action in terms of the “world-as-a-whole” and “the future,” as well as divine action in a specific event. A closely related problem exists for all theologies—trinitarian, dipolar, panentheist, and process—claiming that God experiences the world as a whole in a moment of time.

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not violate relativity’s “first signal principle” (i.e., instantaneous causal action-at-a-distance). This is a subtle point, since space-like correlations do exist and their presence undercuts local realism, as we shall discuss briefly below.68 Additional insight is also shed on the relation between present and future by the “temporal nonlocality” that Raymond Chiao describes in this volume. Here once-related events in the present and the future display a Bell-like correlation, which undercuts the classical relation between present and future. Theologically, special relativity challenges the problem of “time and eternity” that lies behind what I have proposed about divine action and quantum physics. How, for example, does God know what action to take in the present to bring about events of special providence in the future in light of special relativity? There are actually a variety of nested problems and issues here. Two will suffice for the present discussion. The first is the “block universe” versus “flowing-time” interpretation mentioned above. Chris Isham represents one widely held view: the “block universe” perspective in which the future (and the past) are as real as the present. We may not know what the future holds, but from the perspective of eternity, God’s knowledge of the future is perfect. But can God—or can we—act to change things in the present, and thus the future, in this scenario, and does quantum indeterminism make a difference to our answer here? John Polkinghorne, like many others, rejects the “block universe,” with its apparent contradiction of our experience of time and free will, and opts instead for a “flowing-time perspective” in which the future has no ontological status and thus cannot be known by us or God. Here God’s providential involvement in a genuinely open world is more like the “master chess player” who may not know the outcome of a specific game in advance but who is certain to win. But again, how do we make physical sense out of the “present” or uniformly flowing time in light of special relativity?

68 These issues are extraordinarily subtle. Cushing claims that Bohm gives us a preferred frame for instantaneous action, and thus allows for “true becoming”—which may sound strange, since it is also a completely deterministic theory in which what becomes is fully predetermined. He has also argued that Bohm’s approach allows for actionat-a-distance but without remote signaling either, and that it offers a unique solution to the problem of simultaneity in special relativity. Michael Redhead, however, claims that Bohm’s approach is inconsistent with a stronger requirement, the “philosophically grounded invariance principle.” See their essays in CTNS/VO, v. V.

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I think both of these options are valuable but problematic. Hence, as I have indicated previously,69 I am attempting to construct a third alternative that draws on the strengths of the previous scenarios. I call it an “event/world-line flowing time” interpretation of special relativity.70 The project includes a relationally-based ontology of events in which the status of “present,” “future” and “past” is attributed to relations between events rather than to the events themselves. It then uses this ontology to explore the conception of time and eternity as developed in trinitarian doctrines of God. I believe this move will alleviate some of the problems raised by the “block universe” versus “flowing-time” debate. In any case, though, one can always argue that God does not foresee the future in the sense of seeing the future from the present, but rather by seeing the future in its own state as present.71 Second, Arthur Peacocke has argued that, given ontological indeterminism, even God can have only limited, probabilistic knowledge of the future outcome of quantum processes. Thus, if God knows the future by predicting it from present knowledge, even God can only have a probabilistic knowledge of the future.72 My response is that the ontological indeterminism of quantum processes does not stop God from bringing about a particular outcome because, as I have just indicated, God sees, not foresees, the future. God brings about the future not by predicting it from the present, as we do, but by knowing the future in its own future present.73 5.2. Crucial Issues We are now ready to move directly to the key questions in the debate on divine action and (nonrelativistic) quantum physics. My central thesis is that God acts in quantum events to bring about, or actualize, one of several potential outcomes; the collapse of the wavefunction occurs because of divine and natural causality. But does God act in

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Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” 221. The challenge to “divine purpose” is more complex still in the context of “biological chance,” i.e., the uncorrelated inter-relation between mutations at the level of molecular biology and change at the level of environment and population (á la Monod). 71 Thus I would not agree with Sanders’ claim; see Sanders, The Image of the Immanent Trinity, 535. 72 Peacocke, “God’s Interaction with the World,” 279–81. 73 I hope eventually to formulate my response in a way that is consistent with special relativity and the irreducibility of flowing time and free will. 70

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every quantum event or only in some? And what are the theological implications for human freedom and the problem of evil in nature? To respond to these questions, it will be helpful to focus carefully on the responses given by Murphy, Ellis, and Tracy as they have explored these and other crucial issues. 5.2.1. Does God act providentially (general and/or special) in all, or only in some, quantum events? Nancey Murphy74 has given what I consider one of the most important accounts we have of divine action in relation to quantum physics. Her arguments have been pursued in helpful ways by George Ellis,75 as we shall see below. Murphy starts with the claim that God acts intentionally in all quantum events. She begins by providing two theological criteria for an acceptable theory of divine action: it should enable us to distinguish between events that are special acts of God and those that are not, and it should leave room for “extraordinary acts of God.”76 These criteria are needed if we are to allow for divine revelation through natural and historical events, to account for the practice of petitionary prayer, and to respond to the problem of evil (theodicy), with their associated entailments about human agency, natural goodness, and the regularity and autonomy of natural processes. Moreover, because Murphy’s approach depicts God’s action as mediated (God acting together with nature), it avoids making God the sole determiner of the processes of nature (occasionalism). Because it is a “bottom-up” approach to divine causation, God can effect the behavior of macroscopic objects without intervening in the everyday world. By viewing God as an indirect participant in every macro-level event, God is kept from becoming a “competitor with processes that on other occasions are sufficient in and of themselves to bring about a given effect.”77 Murphy points to the close relation between her work and that of William G. Pollard. Unlike Pollard, though, Murphy claims that her approach does not portray God as unilaterally determining, and thus dominating, all events in the world, nor does it undercut human free74

Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order.” Ellis, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action”; idem, in this volume. 76 Murphy prefers this term instead of “miracle.” See Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order,” 331. In private correspondence, Murphy indicates that she now thinks that Jesus’ resurrection should be placed in an entirely separate category from other “miracles,” since it can’t be the result merely of God’s guiding quantum events. 77 Ibid., 343. 75

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dom. Instead it limits bottom-up divine action by allowing for top-down causation and it stresses God’s respect for the integrity and rights of creatures. In doing so, Murphy sees her approach as steering a path between two extremes: making God responsible for all the randomness, purposelessness, and evil in the world, or undercutting any possibility for divine action within the course of nature and history.78 Tom Tracy79 has also developed an elegant account of divine action in light of quantum physics. According to Tracy, a theory of noninterventionist divine action requires a world that is both “open and ordered, smoothly integrating chance and law.” Quantum physics provides this: the probabilistic distribution of quantum events gives rise to ordered, deterministic structures at the macro-level, yet ontological openness remains because quantum events are not “uniquely specified by antecedent conditions.” God’s action remains hidden in nature. Tracy then asks, is it more helpful to think of God as acting in all quantum events, as Murphy does, or in only some of them? In order for Murphy’s argument to work, he contends that she must provide a developed account of top-down causation. But because the effects of wholes on parts are mediated by the bottom-up interactions of the parts, it remains unclear how freedom can appear as a top-down effect within a system of deterministic bottom-up causal relationships. Accordingly, Tracy explores the alternative idea that God both creates a world with ontological indeterminism and chooses whether or not to act in a given event in light of its impact on the course of nature and history.80 Let me first say that I find Murphy’s approach helpful for several reasons. The idea of God acting in all quantum events supports the theological claim that God does more than sustain the existence of all events and processes; in fact, God sustains, governs, and cooperates with all that nature does. This idea offers us a subtle but compelling way to interpret God’s action as leading to both general and special providence. I think this point is so crucial that I will repeat my previous argument here: Schrödinger’s cat makes it clear that God’s action at the quantum level results in two quite different kinds of macroscopic effects. It produces the ordinary world of the cat and Geiger counter

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Ibid., 355–6. Tracy, “Particular Providence.” Tracy clearly indicates that his thought on this issue is not settled. He is instead exploring a particular option to test its strengths and weaknesses—a research approach that I find highly congenial. 80 Ibid., 321–2. 79

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(the ordinary physics of solid matter and Ohm’s law, the routine biology of metabolism, etc.), which we describe as general providence. But it also results in specific differences in the ordinary world—the cat living instead of dying—when God acts in one way instead of another in a specific quantum event. For example, God acts with nature so that the particle is emitted now and not later, or it is emitted in the +x direction rather than -x, etc. Which way God acts determines (indirectly) a specific result in the ordinary world. Thus we may attribute special providence to the cat being spared from death and granted life in the crucial moment. In fact, it is precisely the nature of the measurement problem, namely the collapse of the wavefunction from a superposition of states to a single state, that might allow us to combine Murphy’s pervasiveness of divine causality with Tracy’s concern for the event to be objectively special: God acts in this event as in all events (God’s action is never “more” or “less” but the same, equally causative). Still in this occasion, with two states superposed before the event, God will chose one state in particular and not the other, the one destined to promote life, thus conveying God’s intentionality in this particular event. We can thus interpret this particular event, in which the cat lives instead of dying, in terms of objective special providence without restricting God’s action to that event, and yet still maintain the objectively revelatory character of that particular event. The chief virtue of Tracy’s option is that it provides a more intuitive connection between the idea of God’s occasional action at the quantum level and God’s special providence in the everyday world. Still, it seems less clear how God’s general providence could be based on God’s occasional action at the quantum level. Murphy’s approach, unlike Tracy’s, conforms with the principle of sufficient reason, which I find a highly attractive philosophical advantage—although I agree with Tracy that, at least in principle, God need not create a world in which the principle of sufficient reason holds. In sum, Murphy’s approach (and possibly Tracy’s too) delivers just what is needed for noninterventionist objective, special providence. It involves objective special providence, for the actual fact is that the cat lives when it might have died; it is objective special providence since it truly conveys God’s intentions through the event of the cat living; and it is special providence because it is that event that we use to refer to God’s providence against the assumed backdrop of the general situation itself: the cat purring, the sun shining, the apparatus functioning routinely, and so on. Most importantly, it is noninterventionist objective

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special providence because it is an act of objective special providence that God achieves without violating or suspending the ongoing processes of nature and the laws that describe them. So in short, God causes all the processes of the ordinary world (general providence), but a few of them genuinely convey special meaning because the choices God makes in causing them, and not the other options available to God, bring them about. I am not persuaded, however, that either Murphy’s or Tracy’s approach deals adequately with the problems of human freedom and theodicy. In the following two sections, I will sketch an approach I have been developing as a third option that attempts to combine the advantages of their views. 5.2.2. Quantum physics, divine action, and the problem of human freedom The problem of free will, as formulated in the modern period, is the following: how are we able to act freely in the world if, as in the classical science picture, deterministic laws govern us somatically? Actually the problem only arises on an incompatibilist/libertarian account of free will (which I adopt here). Many scholars have seen quantum indeterminism as a way out of the impasse: perhaps the human mind, through some form of “top-down” causality (e.g., mind/brain causality), can objectively influence the movements of the body, making the enactment of free choices possible. Ian Barbour notes that as early as the 1920s physicists Arthur Eddington and Arthur Compton sought to relate quantum indeterminism to volition.81 This idea is pursued in this volume by George Ellis, who argues that the mind is necessary to collapse the wavefunction and to give a complete account of natural events, which quantum physics by itself cannot supply. This, however, raises a concern I have pointed out previously: how do we allow God’s action to determine the quantum events that occur in my body and still allow for my own mind/brain to determine them? I will call this the problem of “somatic overdetermination.”82 Before turning to it, though, I want to focus on the sub-problem of free will and quantum indeterminism. It is important to note here that Murphy does not see quantum indeterminism as essential to human 81

Barbour, Issues in Science and Religion, 133, 305–14, particularly 308; Arthur Eddington, The Nature of the Physical World (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1928); Arthur Compton, The Freedom of Man (New Haven, Conn.: Yale Univ. Press, 1935). 82 Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” 215, point 2.

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freedom. She does appeal to the self-limitation of God in respecting the “natural rights” of creatures and of thus creating a dependable environment necessary to human agency. However, she argues that top-down causation does not depend on quantum indeterminacy at the bottom level. She cites Don Campbell’s example to show how top-down causation could work even if all biological processes were deterministic.83 I am not convinced by her response; in my view, the somatic enactment of incompatibilist human freedom requires lower-level indeterminism, and thus when we add the possibility of divine action we return to the problem of somatic overdetermination. Tracy, too, is concerned with the issue of free will, asking how freedom can “appear as a top-down effect within a system of deterministic bottom-up causal relationships.”84 It was precisely this concern that led him to explore the alternative option regarding divine action. Unfortunately, Tracy does not provide a detailed response there, either. Ellis, too, has stressed the problem of free will and quantum indeterminism to the extent of “inverting it” in a beautiful way: starting from his assumption of divine kenosis and the intention of God to create a universe where moral action is possible, Ellis argues that there must be openness in physical laws, so that morality and special divine action are possible. Thus, just as Murphy and others insist that the macroscopic world must be regular for moral agency to function, Ellis demands there be causal gaps, using Tracy’s term, at the microscopic level for it to be enacted.85 But this takes us back to the larger problem: somatic overdetermination. My suggestion is to start with the scenario that God acts in all quantum events in the universe until the rise of life and consciousness anywhere.86 God then increasingly refrains from determining outcomes, leaving room for top-down causality in conscious, and preeminently in self-conscious, creatures. This would be a version of the standard “solution” to the problem of free will, namely God’s voluntary or

83 See Nancey Murphy’s careful discussion in her “Supervenience and the Downward Efficacy of the Mental: A Nonreductive Physicalist Account of Human Action,” in NAP, esp. 154–7. If Murphy adopts a compatibilist view then it would be clearer why she doesn’t need quantum indeterminism. 84 Tracy, “Particular Providence,” 316–9. 85 Ellis, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action,” 393. 86 See Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” secs. 3.3, 4. This approach might also shed light on the profoundly hard problem of the origins of sin in an evolutionary perspective.

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metaphysically necessary self-limitation,87 but seen now as a temporal development of the limitations, from minimum to maximum. 5.2.3. Quantum physics, divine action, and the challenge of theodicy The problem of theodicy is a perennial issue for theism: if God is purely good and if God can really act in history, why doesn’t God minimize the evil done by humanity (i.e., “moral evil”)? When we expand the scope of divine action to include the evolutionary history of life on earth, the question becomes: Why doesn’t God act to minimize suffering, disease, death of individual organisms, and extinction of species (i.e., “natural evil”)?88 Of course, theodicy has been discussed extensively in the “theology and science” literature,89 where its subtle connection to the problem

87 In this sense, my approach is compatible with either a neo-orthodox or a process view of divine self-limitation. I wish to note, however, that Ted Peters rejects the use of “divine limitation” in general as a “zero-sum” view of freedom. Instead he argues for a “both-and” view theologically. In future work I wish to consider the issue of quantum physics, divine action, and human freedom from the perspective that Peters offers. 88 It is one of the most powerful arguments used by atheists in their rejection of attempts to accommodate Christianity and Darwinian evolution. See for example Richard Dawkins, A River Out of Eden (New York: Basic Books, 1995). In fact, the argument goes back to Darwin’s own writings. For the pertinent reference to Darwin’s letter to Asa Gray, May 22, 1860, see Ruse, Can a Darwinian Be a Christian?, 130. It is noteworthy that, even while suggesting some creative ways in which Christianity and Darwinism might find a bit of common ground (or at least some appreciation for their respective positions), Ruse underscores the fundamental problem for that common ground raised by pain and suffering in the natural world; ibid., 91–2. Ruse refers specifically to the thesis being explored here, but he does not discuss the response to the problem of theodicy in this reference, although he, too, suggests that a theology that stresses the suffering of God might be relevant to Darwinian evolution; ibid., 134, and Russell, “Special Providence and Genetic Mutation,” sec. 5.2. 89 Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, chap. 8, pt. 4; Denis Edwards, “Original Sin and Saving Grace in Evolutionary Context,” in EMB, 377–92; David Ray Griffin, God, Power, and Evil: A Process Theodicy (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976); Gary Emberger, “Theological and Scientific Explanations for the Origin and Purpose of Natural Evil,” Perspectives on Science and Christian Faith 46.3 (September 1994): 150–8; John F. Haught, “Evolution, Tragedy, and Hope,” in Science & Theology: The New Consonance, Ted Peters, ed. (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1998); Philip J. Hefner, The Human Factor: Evolution, Culture, and Religion (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 271; Nancey Murphy and George F. Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology, and Ethics (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1996), sec. 4.1; Ruth Page, God and the Web of Creation (London: SCM Press, 1996), esp. 91–105; Peacocke, Theology for a Scientific Age, chap. 8, sec. 2e; Polkinghorne, The Faith of a Physicist, esp. 81–7, 169; Robert J. Russell, “Entropy and Evil,” Zygon 19.4 (December 1984): 449–68; Worthing, God, Creation, and Contemporary Physics, 146–56. A frequent source for these ideas is John Hick, Evil and the God of Love, rev. ed. (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1966).

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of human freedom has frequently been stressed. Arthur Peacocke provided an elegant example of this connection as far back as 1979, when he wrote: “[I]t seems hard to avoid the paradox that ‘natural evil’ is a necessary prerequisite for the emergence of free, self-conscious beings.”90 But theodicy becomes a particularly intense issue in light of the present thesis regarding a noninterventionist approach to objective, special divine action. In 1995, for example, George Ellis put the problem eloquently: “[T]here has to be a cast-iron reason why a merciful and loving God does not alleviate a lot more of the suffering in the world, if he/she has indeed the power to do so.”91 Does the approach of either Murphy or Tracy in relating divine action and quantum physics provide such a reason? In response to the challenge of theodicy, Murphy calls on her notion of God’s respect for the integrity or “natural rights” of all creatures. Being noncoercive, God’s action is consistent with human freedom and thus addresses, in part, the issue of theodicy as “moral evil.” But what of theodicy as “natural evil”? I am not entirely clear how Murphy would respond here. She makes a passing reference to the “free-process” defense proposed by Polkinghorne in analogy with the traditional “free-will” response.92 Nevertheless, it raises several concerns. One is that it may be irreducibly tied to other concepts, such as top-down causality, which cannot fit, even analogously, at the much less complex domain of physics and early biology. Another is that, while it accounts for why God does not interfere in cases of natural evil where God’s interference would undermine the conditions for the possibility of human freedom (i.e., regularity/predictability), it may not be able to account for why God does not interfere in those cases where human freedom is unaffected, including the vast sweep of pre-human (and pre-sentient?) evolution.93

90

Peacocke, Creation and the World of Science, 166. Ellis, “Ordinary and Extraordinary Divine Action,” 360. 92 Note that her reference does not occur specifically in the context of theodicy. Murphy, “Divine Action in the Natural Order,” 342. See Polkinghorne, Science and Providence. I have worked along similar lines in developing Polkinghorne’s approach in term of thermodynamics. Robert J. Russell, “The Thermodynamics of ‘Natural Evil’,” CTNS Bulletin 10.2 (Spring 1990): 20–5. 93 For a helpful discussion, see Daniel Howard-Snyder, “God, Evil, and Suffering,” in Reason for the Hope Within, M.J. Murray, ed. (Grand Rapids, Mich: Eerdmans, 1999), esp. 96–8. and his references to Peter van Inwagen, William Rowe, and, interestingly, Quentin Smith. His conclusion should give us pause: “My sense is that we have no idea how God would be justified in permitting the isolated suffering of nonhuman 91

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Since her 1995 essay on quantum physics, Murphy has worked with Ellis to develop a detailed theodicy in their work on the “moral universe.”94 There they explicitly reject the Augustinian response to theodicy, arguing instead for an Anabaptist approach grounded in a kenotic view of God’s action that takes natural evil seriously, utilizes Murphy’s work on quantum physics and divine action, and moves to the suffering of Christ on the cross. Clearly, Murphy and Ellis offer a promising approach to the challenge of theodicy. Tracy, as we saw, explored the alternative view of divine action, citing the problem of theodicy encountered by Murphy’s approach as a reason for his choice. But does Tracy’s option help us here? It is not clear to me how restricting God’s action really helps matters: why does God not act in those events, or refrain from acting in others, if this would alleviate suffering, etc.? Tracy has also discussed the impossibility of assessing the extent of suffering compared to the goals met by these processes.95 I find this helpful in showing the difficulty of such an assessment, and the naïveté with which such difficulty is normally overlooked, but the search for an acceptable response to theodicy must move beyond the philosophical framework of this approach to a fully-developed theology of redemption. I believe it is here that we will find something like the “cast-iron reasons” that Ellis so rightly demands—reasons that will have the form of the cross. 5.2.4. Embedding “divine action and quantum physics” in a broader theological framework In essence, the question now is how to locate our work on divine action and quantum physics in the context of a fully developed and robust systematic theology. At this point, a number of promising options are available. With Murphy and Ellis, Barbour, Peacocke, Polkinghorne,

animals at Nature’s hand.” For a classic version of the challenge of theodicy involving animal pain, see John Stuart Mill, Three Essays on Religion (London: Longmans, Green, Reader & Dyer, 1875). 94 Murphy and Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe, chap. 10, sec. 4. See my response in Robert J. Russell, “The Theological Consequences of the Thermodynamics of a Moral Universe: An Appreciative Critique and Extension of the Murphy/Ellis Project,” CTNS Bulletin 19.4 (Fall 1998): 19–24. 95 Tom Tracy, “Evolution, Divine Action, and the Problem of Evil,” in EMB, sec. 3. Also see the extensive discussion in Howard-Snyder, “God, Evil, and Suffering,” sec. 6, of what he calls “the argument from amount.”

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Edwards, Peters and many others in the “theology and science” conversation, I believe we must look to a kenotic theology that respects human freedom and focuses on the passibility and suffering of God: through the cross and the atonement of Christ, God redeems the world, suffering with and taking on the pain and death of all creatures. We could explore the route Murphy and Ellis have taken, or pursue the “theologies of nature” articulated by Peacocke and Polkinghorne, or explore the directions taken by other scholars in “theology and science.” However, I am still persuaded by Barbour’s argument some thirty years ago that “an elaborated metaphysics is needed if we want to relate rather than simply juxtapose divine causation, natural causation, and free human causation.”96 Owen Thomas has recently underscored the lasting centrality of this problem, asserting that the most promising options are the metaphysical systems of neo-Thomism and Whitehead;97 I would add to these the metaphysical framework of Wolfhart Pannenberg and other theologians exploring the doctrine of the Trinity. It would be natural to explore divine action and quantum physics from the perspective of process theology. Ground breaking research in “theology and science” has already come from a variety of scholars who work in differing ways within the broad outlines of process theology, including Ian Barbour, Charles Birch, John Cobb, Jr., David Griffin, and John Haught. These scholars draw on a crucial aspect of Whiteheadian metaphysics: namely, that reality consists of “actual occasions” that perish as they come to be, an idea highly reminiscent of “quantum events.” Such actual occasions experience the causal efficacy of the past by prehension, are characterized by inherent novelty, and respond freely to God’s inviting, subjective lure. Process theology views God as active in all levels of nature, stressing God’s respect of human free will and God’s kenotic and redemptive suffering with all creatures.98

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Barbour, Issues in Science and Religion, 430. Thomas, “Recent Thought on Divine Agency,” 35–50. 98 Process scholars argue that the inclusion of God’s subjective lure to evoke a response from creatures offers a creative new approach to noninterventionist divine action at various levels of organization and complexity in nature. See Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, 232–4; John F. Haught, “Darwin’s Gift to Theology,” 402–5, Charles Birch, “Neo-Darwinism, Self-Organization, and Divine Action in Evolution,” secs. 4, 8, both in EMB. The problem here is that one has to explain how divine agency is effective in the domains of chemistry, biology, and early evolutionary life, if the result of a succession of actual occasions is described classically by deterministic laws and epistemic (not ontological) chance. Even with the metaphysical richness of the subjective lure, I believe we need quantum mechanics to offer the indeterministic 97

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The similarity between “actual occasions” and “quantum events” may not be entirely surprising. One of the advantages attributed by process scholars to Whitehead’s philosophical system is its compatibility with science.99 Whitehead himself claimed to offer a conceptual framework suited to science in general and quantum mechanics in particular.100 But, as Abner Shimony has pointed out, Whitehead may have been reflecting on very early stages in the development of quantum mechanics when he constructed his “philosophy of organism” in the mid-1920s, and not on quantum mechanics as we now know and use it.101 Moreover, important differences appear to exist between Whitehead’s philosophy and quantum mechanics. After a detailed comparison, Shimony has concluded that “the discrepancies . . . between Whiteheadian physics and current microphysics constitute strong disconfirmation of Whitehead’s philosophy as a whole.”102 One discrepancy is particularly relevant here: from a Whiteheadian perspective, the temporal atomicity of actual occasions underlies and gives rise to what we take to be enduring objects, but from a quantum perspective, such atomicities are “quantum events” between which quantum systems undergo a continuous and deterministic time-development governed by the Schrödinger equation. The story, though, is far from over. In his attempt to reformulate quantum physics, Shimony has introduced a stochastic term that addresses precisely this discrepancy, making his proposal closer to Whitehead’s view of indeterminism (where chance pervades each actual occasion and hence the trajectory of an isolated particle) than it is to the

framework in which actual occasions can “make a difference”—and then we have to face the apparent discrepancies between process philosophy and quantum mechanics discussed immediately below. For the related problem of sentience, top-down causation, and consistency with science, see Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, 224–7. I also have theological reservations about the way process theologians treat such crucial issues as the bodily resurrection of Jesus and the eschatological perspective of a new heaven and earth, and in turn creation ex nihilo. These reservations would remain even if the issues to be discussed between Whitehead and quantum physics were settled. 99 For a careful and balanced assessment of this compatibility, see Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science, chap. 8, esp. pt. 3. 100 Alfred North Whitehead, Science and the Modern World (New York: The Free Press, 1925), chap. 8; idem, Process and Reality, corrected ed., David Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne, eds. (New York: The Free Press, 1978), 94–5, 238–9, 254. 101 According to Shimony, “Quantum Physics and the Philosophy of Whitehead,” in Search for a Naturalistic World View: Volume II, Natural Science and Metaphysics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993/1965), chap. 19, esp. 291–2, Whitehead never refers to the new quantum theory in the exposition of his system. 102 Ibid., parts II and III, and 303.

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indeterminism of current quantum physics (where it is focused strictly on quantum events). Shimony also suggests that Whitehead’s concept of the concrescence of an actual occasion may contribute to a clearer understanding of the collapse of the wavefunction.103 Other scholars too, including Henry Folse, Jr., Charles Hartshorne, William Jones, and Henry Stapp, have provided careful responses to the problematic relation between quantum physics and Whiteheadian philosophy.104 Whether these suggestions and concerns will prove fruitful is an open and intriguing question, particularly as it suggests once again, the creative role philosophy can play in the construction of new scientific theories (see footnotes 38 and 58). Rather than look to process theology, I propose we locate the problem of divine action and quantum physics in an explicitly trinitarian doctrine of God. In The Crucified God, which I take to be a landmark in twentieth-century Protestant theology, Jürgen Moltmann pointedly argues that only a move from a “weakly Christianized monotheism” to a fully articulated trinitarianism can respond to the theological problem of the cross.105 The challenge for this approach, however, is that this understanding of the cross is linked theologically to Christian eschatology, including the bodily resurrection of Jesus, the general resurrection in the parousia, and the transformation of this universe into the new creation to come. Although Moltmann sees this, it is given a central place in the proleptic

103

Ibid., 309. Shimony proposes a hybrid between the most radical elements in quantum theory and the philosophy of organism, but in my view the input is almost entirely from quantum physics after the fact and not a priori from process metaphysics (chap. 19, esp. 303–4). Shimony also points to Whitehead’s treatment of an n-particle system as being at odds with a quantum treatment and leading to “revolutionary philosophical implications” (300–2). 104 Henry P. Stapp, “Quantum Mechanics, Local Causality, and Process Philosophy,” Process Studies 7.4 (Winter 1977): 173–82; Charles Hartshorne, “Bell’s Theorem and Stapp’s Revised View of Space-Time,” Process Studies 7.4 (Winter 1977): 183–91; William B. Jones, “Bell’s Theorem, H.P. Stapp, and Process Theism,” Process Studies 8.1 (Spring 1978): 250–61; Henry J. Folse, Jr., “Complementarity, Bell’s Theorem, and the Framework of Process Metaphysics,” Process Studies 11.4 (Winter 1981): 259–73. See also the two recent issues of Process Studies, vols. 26.3–4 (1997), guest edited by Timothy Eastman and devoted to the question of the relation between process thought and physics. 105 Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and Criticism of Christian Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 236. At the same time, he claims that only a theology of the cross can extricate us from the perpetual warfare over the problem of evil between theism, which is “tantamount to idolatry,” and its “brother” atheism. Ibid., 250, 221.

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trinitarian theology of Wolfhart Pannenberg. It is only through the theology of reconciliation that the challenge of theodicy can be met, and reconciliation means both the end and the transfiguration of the world. “Only in the light of the eschatological consummation may [the verdict ‘very good’] be said of our world as it is in all its confusion and pain.”106 But we now find ourselves at “ground zero” of what is arguably the most powerful challenge to Christian theology in its encounter with science: how are we to understand eschatology in light of physics, biology, and Big Bang cosmology? I do not think that noninterventionist divine action will be of significant help with these issues. The resurrection of Jesus involves “more than a miracle,” namely, the eschatological transformation of the fundamental conditions of nature, and not an extraordinary event within an unchanged natural backdrop, as described by this essay on special providence through noninterventionist divine action. I am currently beginning a major research project aimed at these issues. I do, however, expect quantum physics to play some role in the overall approach to this vast problem, particularly through the way Pannenberg reformulates the concept of divine action in both creation (and thus providence) and redemption in terms of the Spirit of God. He has suggested that we use the concept of field in modern physics in order to talk about the Spirit and divine action.107 Pannenberg’s promising suggestion invites a number of responses, the principal one here being that his understanding of field comes from the context of classical field theory, as seen in both Faraday’s and Einstein’s work. When we move to the context of quantum physics and then to quantum field theory, a number of dramatic new features occur, as we have seen already. John Polkinghorne has underscored several of these in his critique of Pannenberg’s use of the concept of field: superposition, nonlocality, and

106 Wolfhart Pannenberg, Systematic Theology, 3 vols., G.W. Bromiley, trans. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998), 3:chap. 15, sec. 5, 645. See also Pannenberg’s comments on Barth’s response to eighteenth-century theodicies. 107 Ibid., 1:382ff; idem, “The Doctrine of Creation and Modern Science,” in Cosmos as Creation: Theology and Science in Consonance, Ted Peters, ed. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1989), esp. 162–7; idem, Toward a Theology of Nature: Essays on Science and Faith, Ted Peters, ed. (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), esp. chaps. 5, 6, 7.

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entanglement,108 to which I would add the relation between determinism in Bohm’s work and ontological indeterminism within the Copenhagen interpretation, the unification of such classically separate concepts as “matter” and “interaction” through the nonclassical nature of quantum statistics, and the concept of the “filled” quantum vacuum and its suggestion of a “meonic” view of spontaneous creation and annihilation.109 Hopefully these discussions, in turn, will contribute at least indirectly to the central issue of eschatology and scientific cosmology, towards which our focus on divine action and quantum physics has slowly but inexorably led.110

6. Directions for future research on quantum physics, its philosophical implications, and their relevance for divine action We have probed deeply into theological issues raised by the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics. The final one explored—theodicy — has taken us far beyond the scope of ‘divine action and quantum physics’ into the journey towards a complete reformulation of theology in light of science. Now it is time to conclude this paper by returning to quantum physics and the philosophical issues surrounding it. Are there ways to move out of the Copenhagen interpretation and get an ‘overall’ perspective on the problemmatic facing any philosophical interpretation of quantum physics, a perspective worth pursuing for its theological relevance? Here I will tentatively suggest three areas that seem worth pursuing. 6.1. ‘Architecture of philosophical issues’ So far we have stayed primarily within a given interpretation of quantum physics (namely the Copenhagen interpretation) and sought its influence on the theology of divine action. How are we to proceed

108 See for example John Polkinghorne, “Pannenberg’s Engagement with the Natural Sciences,” Zygon 34.1 (March 1999): 151–8. 109 Ernest Simmons has developed this approach in relation to divine kenosis. See his recent article, “Toward a Kenotic Pneumatology: Quantum Field Theory and the Theology of the Cross,” CTNS Bulletin 19.2 (Spring 1999): 11–6. 110 Acknowledgment. I wish to thank Nancey Murphy, John Polkinghorne, and Kirk Wegter-McNelly for their helpful comments on this essay, and all the participants for a most enjoyable conference.

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beyond this initial method? I propose we attempt to find a way to gain insights from each of the leading interpretations in a broader program of research, acknowledging that these interpretations and insights often conflict with each other, yet seeking ways to bring them into a larger picture so that they each can contribute to the ongoing interaction with theology. My first suggestion is to sort out which features are general enough to be found in most or perhaps all interpretations. Superposition and nonlocality are likely candidates. Raymond Chiao111 distinguishes between three kinds of quantum non-locality: 1) non-locality as displayed in the Aharanov-Bohm effect; 2) in the Tunnel effect; 3) in the EinsteinPodolsky-Rosen effect. They all stem from the superposition principle (i.e., quantum interference), but the first two involve single-particle interference, while the third involves an “entangled state” between two particles.112 Jim Cushing uses locality and separability interchangeably in his discussion of Jarrett locality, Jarrett completeness, and Howard’s factorizability.113 Referring to Chiao and J.C. Garrison’s work, he suggests that either objective reality or locality must be given up. Cushing’s option is for non-locality, and he stresses the distinction between separability and locality, taking ‘relational holism’ seriously.114 Other issues and features seem to arise in closer association with individual interpretations of quantum physics. For example, the ‘measurement problem’ and ontological indeterminism are accepted within the standard Copenhagen interpretation, but there are a variety of attempts to resolve the measurement problem. Some work within the perspective of the Copenhagen interpretation broadly conceived, including 1) proposals to modify the Schroedinger equation, either through the introduction of non-linear terms or through the inclusion of stochastic factors, and 2) the attempt to understand consciousness (the observer’s mind) as bringing about the collapse of the wave function. Others seek

111

Chiao, Raymond Y. “Quantum Nonlocalities: Experimental Evidence,” esp. pp. 1–2,

2000. 112 Note: Chiao suggests that the non-localities in nature and the possibility of temporal quantum entanglement may lead to a nonlocal form of divine action. See Chiao, Raymond Y. “Quantum Nonlocalities: Experimental Evidence,” 12, 2000. 113 Cushing, James T. Quantum Mechanics: Historical Contingency and the Copenhagen Hegemony, 56–60. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. where he also discusses non-locality in Bohm’s theory. 114 Cushing, James T. “Determinism Versus Indeterminism in Quantum Mechanics: A ‘Free’ Choice: DRAFT,” 8, 2000.

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to resolve the measurement problem by interpreting quantum physics in such a way that it simply does not arise. The most notable of these are Bohm’s quantum potential interpretation and the branching of reality is generic in ‘many worlds’ and ‘many minds’ approaches.115 This suggests we can begin to lay out what I will call the ‘architecture of philosophical problems’ in quantum physics. A first sketch might be as follows: A) generic features: i) superposition (interference) ii) non-locality, including: a) single-particle non-locality (the Aharanov-Bohm effect; the Tunnel effect) b) multi-particle (entanglement) non-locality (the EinsteinPodolsky-Rosen effect) iii) non-separability/relational holism B) interpretation-specific features: i) the measurement problem: a) Copenhagen: acceptance of the measurement problem/ontological indeterminism b) Copenhagen: overcome the measurement problem 1) modification of the Schrödinger equation i) non-linear terms ii) stochastic terms 2) introduction of consciousness ii) Bohm: the quantum potential/non-classical determinism iii) Everett/Wigner: many-worlds iv) Butterfield: many-minds

The task will then be to see how the interpretation-specific features give particular expression to the generic features as we study the relation between each interpretation of quantum physics to philosophy and theology. 6.2. Implications of Bell’s theorem independent of quantum theory A second strategy is to unpack the implications of the actual data underlying quantum mechanics in a way that might avoid getting entangled in quantum formalism and its competing interpretations as much as possible. There actually might be a way to do this: the data

115

See the article by Jeremy Butterfield in CTNS/VO, v. V.

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showing the violation of Bell’s theorem give us a somewhat more direct, less theory-laden, access to these more general features which quantum physics points to but without requiring us to get at them directly through the lens of quantum mechanics and its inherent philosophical subtleties. Of course quantum physics is consistent with the violation of Bell theorem while local realist (‘hidden variables’) theories are ruled out. But we can discuss violations of Bell’s theorem without discussing quantum mechanics, and this may prove very helpful in getting another, perhaps even more general, insight into the non-classical character of microscopic processes and, in turn, the ‘non-classical’ character of the effects of special divine action. Moreover, these violations of Bell’s theorem will have to be accounted for by any future theory that replaces quantum physics. Thus any insights they give us regarding divine action will be less vulnerable to the problems of multiple interpretability and historical relativism. A simple example involves the famous Mermin machine116 which fundamentally challenges a local realist view without explicitly invoking quantum physics. The conclusions from this simple experiment are direct but profound: by using a local realist set of assumptions we cannot explain the data, and we have thus challenged local realism without explicitly invoking quantum physics. A number of implications can be drawn here. From a strictly scientific perspective, one is that any theory which eventually replaces quantum physics will still have to face up to this kind of data; in this sense the Bell data give us a ‘preview’ of what possibilities exist for future physics. A second implication, that bears more directly on philosophy of sciences, is that the challenge to local realism may be more general than the specific way the challenge arises in the various interpretations of quantum physics. If so, we may be able to make progress without involving an overly detailed inspection of quantum physics. Finally it might suggest, for the purposes of the interaction with theology, that we needn’t wait for the philosophical controversies to be ‘settled’ regarding quantum physics before engaging with it. We might use the ‘leverage’ of Bell’s results to pursue the

116 Mermin, N.D. “Is the Moon There When Nobody Looks?” Physics Today 38 (April 1985): 38. See also Mermin, N. David. “Can You Help Your Team Tonight by Watching on TV? More Experimental Metaphysics from Einstein, Podolsky, and Rosen.” In Philosophical Consequences of Quantum Theory: Reflections on Bell’s Theorem, edited by James T. Cushing and Ernan McMullin. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1989.

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conversation and allow some of the philosophical uncertainties to play themselves out on their own. 6.3. A comparison of the meaning of non-locality and (in)determinism in Bohm’s formulation and the Copenhagen interpretation A final suggestion for further work is to compare the approach to quantum physics by Bohm and Bohr in order to uncover a clearer understanding of the similarities and differences in the meanings they give to such key terms as (in)determinism and non-locality. There are several reasons for such a comparison: 1) The mathematical route from the Schrödinger structure of Copenhagen to the semi-classical context of Bohm is so straightforward that one can almost view them as formally equivalent, though the ontologies differ remarkably. Thus to compare quantum (in)determinism and non-locality to classical determinism and locality, we will first move from Schrödinger to Bohm (who is close to Newton), and then from Newton to as close to Schrodinger as possible. 2) A comparison helps us avoid the tacit assumption that Bohmian determinism is more like the classical worldview than is Copenhagen indeterminism. Clearly Bohm does relativize the fundamental sense of indeterminism in the Copenhagen approach by offering a deterministic alternative. However, as Jim Cushing and others117 have stressed, Bohmian determinism is highly non-classical in several important ways and, making an explicit comparison with Newtonian determinism crucial. 3) In addition, the meaning of Bohmian non-locality differs from its meaning in Copenhagen. Thus a comparison of Bohm and Bohr should help clarify just what the Bohmian ‘deterministic alternative’ really involves, what one means by Copenhagen indeterminism, and how non-locality come to play in both approaches.

117 Cushing, James T. Quantum Mechanics: Historical Contingency and the Copenhagen Hegemony. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994; Cushing, James T. “Determinism Versus Indeterminism in Quantum Mechanics: A “Free” Choice: DRAFT,” 2000; see also Greenstein, George, and Arthur G. Zajonc, Eds. The Quantum Challenge: Modern Research on the Foundations of Quantum Mechanics. Boston: Jones and Bartlett Publishers, 1997; Polkinghorne, John. “Physical Process, Quantum Events and Divine Agency,” 2000.

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6.3.1. Mathematical derivation We start with the mathematical route from the Copenhagen formulation to that of Bohm, and compare the results with classical mechanics. From Schrödinger to Bohm As is well known,118 we can start with the Schrödinger equation: –(ћ2/2m)∇2ψ + Vψ = iћ∂ψ/∂t

(1)

and show that this implies a modification of classical mechanics, in which an additional term, which Bohm called the quantum potential U U = –(ћ2/2m) (∇2R/R)

(2)

is added to Newton’s law to give a modified form of classical mechanics: dp/dt = –∇(V + U)

(3)

This move requires us to change ontologies from Copenhagen to Newton, but with the crucial addition of a de Broglie-like pilot wave ψ which governs the particle’s motion. We start with a particle of mass m following a well-defined trajectory with position x and momentum p = mv. Here x and p are the “hidden variables” in Bohm’s account, and our knowledge of them is statistical in the classical sense: the probability P(x, t) of finding the particle at x and t is given by P = ⏐Ψ⏐2 . We assume that P is conserved. For the purposes of calculation, it is convenient to represent ψ as Re iS/ћ where R(x, t) and S(x, t) are real functions. In a crucial move, Bohm defines the momentum p in terms of the partial phase S through the “guidance condition” p = ∇S. From Newton almost to Schrödinger We could also reverse the process and see how close we can get to the Schrödinger equation using classical mechanics as our starting point. Thus, if we start with Newton’s second law: dp/dt = –∇V

(4)

118 See for example Cushing, James T. Quantum Mechanics: Historical Contingency and the Copenhagen Hegemony, Appendix 1.1, 60–63. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994.

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and follow Bohm in setting ψ = Re iS/ћ, p = mv = ∇S, P = ⏐Ψ⏐2, and in assuming that probability P is conserved, we will obtain: –(ћ2/2m)[(i/ћ)(R∇2S + 2 ∇R∇S) – (R/ћ2)(∇S)2] + VR = –R ∂S/∂t + iћ ∂R/∂t (5)

This is a truncated version of the Schrödinger equation which, when written in terms of R and S, takes the following form: –(ћ2/2m)[∇2R + (i/ћ)(R∇2S + 2 ∇R∇S) – (R/ћ2)(∇S)2 ] + VR = –R ∂S/∂t + iћ ∂R/∂t (6)

6.3.2. Comparison and significance We can summarize our results as follows: *Schrödinger equation (1)

Bohm’s modified classical mechanics (3)

*Standard classical mechanics (4)

truncated Schrödinger equation (5).

In one sense this result is completely obvious: if we know that the Schrödinger equation leads to the addition of the quantum potential U, then leaving it out of the Newtonian picture means it will be ‘subtracted’ from the Schrödinger picture (6) leaving us equation (5). To emphasize this point, we can rewrite (5) as: –(ћ2/2m)∇2ψ + Vψ – [–(ћ2/2m) (∇2R/R)ψ] = iћ∂ψ/∂t

(7)

This is clearly the Schrödinger equation minus the quantum potential U. In another sense, the result is intriguing, for it explicitly shows how the sources of the non-local and non-mechanical features associated strictly with the quantum potential U in the context of Bohm’s interpretation carry over and are placed within the context of the Schrödinger equation when one moves to the Copenhagen interpretation. In particular, the quantum potential U, which acts as a separate factor in Bohm’s ‘U+V’ picture, results in an atrophied ∇2ψ term in the Schrödinger picture. In essence, if the Newtonian picture were correct, we could get a Schrödinger-like equation and still have classical physics, but the equation would not be a complete wave equation, since the ∇2ψ term would be incomplete: it has the necessary terms in ∇2S, ∇R∇S and (∇S)2 but it is missing the crucial term, ∇2R. I propose we view this result in the following light: a) The Bohmian formulation, with its delineation between and linear addition of V + U,

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allows us to separate out quantum (non-local and non-mechanical) aspects from the classical (local and mechanical) aspects of the governing equation dp/dt = –∇(V + U); all of the uniquely quantum aspects of this equation are carried in one term, U. b) The Schrödinger formulation seamlessly combines the term U with the rest of the mathematical ‘machinery’ available from the classical picture to produce one term, ∇2ψ. In this sense all of the non-local and non-mechanical aspects of U are hidden in and mingled with the classical aspects to yield the term ∇2ψ. This allows us to make a further point: One could ask how much of the ‘quantum’ features of the Copenhagen picture are carried by the wave function ψ and how much by the Schrödinger wave equation, –(ћ2/2m)∇2ψ + Vψ = iћ∂ψ/∂t. The answer, regarding ψ, is straightforward: features such as superposition, entanglement, quantum statistics, etc.. We know this answer immediately because we explicitly and intentionally build them into the wave function. But which quantum features does that leave out? Now, from a comparison with the Bohmian picture we can conclude that the Schrödinger equation carries all those quantum aspects which we attribute to the quantum potential U; moreover, they are carried precisely within the ∇2ψ term. This is all the more interesting since the motivation for the Schrödinger equation, and particularly for the ∇2ψ term, is so straightforward. Thus it is surprising to see how much of the overall quantum picture arises from these seemingly minimal assumptions. In summary, then, the meaning of “determinism” in the Bohmian formulation is highly non-classical, involving non-local and non-mechanical features simply not found in the classical sense of determinism one takes from the Newtonian picture. Bohm does not offer a return to classical determinism in comparison with the quantum indeterminism of Bohr. Instead both Copenhagen quantum indeterminism and Bohmian quantum determinism are highly non-classical. The use of either view in a discussion of divine action thus requires a thorough rethinking of the conversation compared to its traditional context. I believe future work in relating quantum physics and divine action will benefit from a ‘Copenhagen/Bohm’ comparison such as this to sort out how the source and significance of superposition, non-locality, and entanglement, are grounded in the wave function and the governing equations of motion, respectively.

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6.3.3. The significance of the quantum potential Finally we may also analyze the significance of the quantum potential in contributing to the ‘non-classical’ (particularly the non-local and non-mechanical) aspects of Bohm’s formulation, and to set up our comparison with the Copenhagen version. One can delineate several aspects easily. Here I will follow the illuminating discussion by Greenstein and Zajonc.119 1) Consider the double-slit experiment from Bohm’s perspective. The trajectory of each particle is influenced both by the slit through which it passes (note: it passes through only one slit!) and by the quantum potential U. The quantum potential, in turn, depends on the ‘pilot wave’ ψ which is conditioned by the entire experimental arrangement, including the fact that there are two slits. U has road plateaus cut by “deep valleys . . . where U changes quickly, leading to a strong quantum force (which) guides the particles into the interference maxima and away from the minima.”120 Now, close either slit and the wave function, and thus the quantum potential, changes instantaneously, causing a force that alters the particles motion. But the non-locality of U is more complex that this simple example, as we shall next explore. 2) The quantum potential does not fall off with distance, because U depends on R which appears in the numerator and denominator. In this sense, the quantum potential U brings the influence of the whole system to bear on each part with an intensity and immediacy that we do not see with the classical potential V, even though the influence of either U or V can come from arbitrary distances. 3) Finally, consider a many-particle problem: Here ψ is a function of the coordinates of all n particles ψ (r1, r2, . . . ,rn, t). The force on the ith particle is a function of the gradient of the total potential V + U at the particle’s coordinates, ri , making the problem seem like ordinary mechanics. But the force on each particle due to U actually depends on the position of all the particles in the system through the factor R. This is because U = –(ћ2/2mR) (∇21 + ∇22 + . . . + ∇2n)R . Thus it depends on the coordinates of all of the particles both through the ∇2 terms and

119 Greenstein, George, and Arthur G. Zajonc, Eds. The Quantum Challenge: Modern Research on the Foundations of Quantum Mechanics, Ch. 6. Boston: Jones and Bartlett Publishers, 1997. 120 Greenstein, George, and Arthur G. Zajonc, Eds. The Quantum Challenge: Modern Research on the Foundations of Quantum Mechanics, 145 and Figures 6–11, 6–12. Boston: Jones and Bartlett Publishers, 1997.

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through the factor R=R (r1, r2, . . .,rn), and not just on the coordinates of the particle at ri . As Cushing stresses, “the many-body quantum potential ‘entangles’ the motion of the various particles.”121 In essence, the force is a function of a local gradient on a non-local potential U as well as on a local potential V. It thus combines both classical and highly non-classical features in producing the net acceleration of each individual particle. 4) Moreover, quantum nonlocality is highly non-mechanical in the sense that the quantum potential U depends not only on the positions of the other particles, but also on their wave functions and thus on the state of the entire system. As Greenstein and Zajonc write: The interpretation of Bohm and colleagues “. . . goes beyond simple non-locality, and calls upon us to see the world as an undivided whole. Even in a mechanical world of parts, the interactions between the parts could, in principle, be nonlocal but still mechanical. Not so in the quantum universe.”122 In short, it should now be abundantly clear that the meaning of “determinism” in the Bohmian formulation is highly non-classical, involving these strikingly non-local and non-mechanical features simply not found in the Newtonian picture. This point is crucial if we compare Bohm and Bohr: Bohm does not offer a ‘deterministic’ interpretation in comparison with the indeterminism of Bohr, as though the term referred to its ordinary, classical sense. Both quantum indeterminism and quantum determinism are highly non-classical. The use of either in a discussion of divine action thus requires a thorough rethinking of the conversation compared to its traditional context.

121 An important exception arises with independent systems in which the wave function factors out and the quantum potential reduces to a linear sum of terms for each system. See Cushing, James T. Quantum Mechanics: Historical Contingency and the Copenhagen Hegemony, 62–63. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. 122 Greenstein, George, and Arthur G. Zajonc, Eds. The Quantum Challenge: Modern Research on the Foundations of Quantum Mechanics, 148. Boston: Jones and Bartlett Publishers, 1997. In a helpful example, Greenstein and Zajonc show how even in Bohm’s case the motion of electrons in an atom is not mechanical in the way the motion of the planets is.

APPENDIX

OVERVIEW OF THE CTNS/VO SERIES

Editors’ note: In the first chapter of the capstone volume, Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action: 20 Years of Challenge and Progress (Berkeley: CTNS, 2008), Robert John Russell offered a critical appraisal of the whole project, including the process for interdisciplinary engagement and the resulting five volume series. The following selections are from that chapter, “Challenge and Progress in ‘Theology and Science’: An Overview of the CTNS/VO Series,” pp. 3–8, 17–26, and 35–36.

CHALLENGE AND PROGRESS IN “THEOLOGY AND SCIENCE”: AN OVERVIEW OF THE CTNS/VO SERIES Robert John Russell

Science can purify religion from error and superstition; religion can purify science from idolatry and false absolutes. Each can draw the other into a wider world, a world in which both can flourish.1

Introduction and Historical Background Of the many remarkable events and publications that marked the decade of the 1990s as a watershed in the burgeoning interdisciplinary field of “theology and science,” one of the most significant was the series of five international and ecumenical research conferences co-sponsored by the Vatican Observatory (VO) and the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences (CTNS). Some fifty scholars participated in the series, many with cross-disciplinary expertise in physics, astronomy, cosmology, mathematics, evolutionary and molecular biology, the neurosciences and cognitive sciences, philosophy of science, history of science, philosophy of religion, history of religion, Old and New Testament, philosophical and systematic theology, and theological ethics. Ninety-one essays were published in the five volumes, along with detailed analytic introductions to each volume. The overarching goal was to engage theology, philosophy, and natural science in a process of constructive dialogue and creative mutual interaction. The purpose of this chapter is to provide an overview of the topics addressed, to offer a brief assessment of the “divine action project” represented more specifically by two dozen chapters in the series, and to conclude with a survey of the problems and progress achieved. First, though, we will take a brief look at the historical background of the series. The Vatican Observatory, or “Specola Vaticana,” is housed

1

John Paul II, “Message to George Coyne,” in PPT, M 13.

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in the Papal Palace in the picturesque town of Castel Gandolfo overlooking Lake Albano thirty miles southeast of Rome. Since 1935 it has been the site of basic research in both observational and theoretical astronomy. It is also here that Pope John Paul II often resided during the summer. In earlier years the Pope, then Cardinal Archbishop of Krakow, had regularly entered into conversations on cosmology and philosophy with Polish friends and colleagues. On becoming Pope in 1978, he continued his interest in this dialogue and sought to improve the relationships between the Church and the scientific community. In 1979, in an address to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the birth of Albert Einstein, John Paul II said: I hope that theologians, scholars, and historians, animated by a spirit of sincere collaboration, will study the Galileo case more deeply and, in loyal recognition of the wrongs from whatever side they come, will dispel the mistrust that still opposes, in many minds, the fruitful concord between science and faith, between the Church and the world. I give my support to this task which will be able to honor the truth of faith and of science and open the door to future collaboration.2

In response George Coyne, S.J., the Director of the Vatican Observatory, together with Michael Heller, a member of the Philosophy Faculty at the Pontifical Academy of theology and the Center for Interdisciplinary Studies in Krakow, organized a conference in Poland in 1984 which resulted in a major publication on the Church and the Galileo case.3 Next, George Coyne, together with Bill Stoeger, S.J., the senior cosmologist at the Specola, and Michael Heller, invited me to help plan a conference in the late spring, 1987, also held in Poland, on the theological implications of the rise of modern science.4 Following the success of these conferences and publications, the Pope asked the Vatican Observatory to organize a major international conference to further the science-faith dialogue on the occasion of the 300th anniversary of the publication of Isaac Newton’s Principia. It was held at the Specola in September 1987. It concluded with a

2 Discourses of the Popes from Pius XI to John Paul II to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences (Vatican City State: Pontificia Accademia Scientiarum, 1986), Scripta Varia 66, 73–84. 3 G.V. Coyne, M. Heller and J. Zycinski, eds., The Galileo Affair: A Meeting of Faith and Science (Libreria Editrice Vaticana: Vatican City State, 1985). 4 G.V. Coyne, M. Heller, and J. Zycinski, eds., Newton and the New Direction in Science (Libreria Editrice Vaticana: Vatican City State, 1988).

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remarkable Papal Audience at the Vatican. The resulting publication, Physics, Philosophy and Theology (PPT), has been frequently used in courses and conferences on theology and science. It includes a “message” by the Pope given during the audience on the relations between the church and the scientific communities. As the first major Pontifical statement on science and religion in three decades, the Message has been widely discussed and quoted. In 1990, the Papal Message was the centerpiece of John Paul II on Science and Religion: Reflections on the New View from Rome5 which included nineteen responses by scientists and theologians. Based on the accomplishments of PPT and the vision offered by the Papal Message, George Coyne took steps to initiate a major new series of conferences on theology and science. He convened a week-long meeting at the Specola in June 1990, to plan the overall direction of research. During this meeting he asked Nancey Murphy, from Fuller Theological Seminary, to join Bill and me in forming the long-term steering committee for the series. Our task was to build on the accomplishments of PPT by moving further into areas in the physical and biological sciences already touched on in PPT as well as to expand the basis of research in science into new areas such as the neurosciences and cognitive sciences. Coyne invited CTNS to co-sponsor the series and co-publish the resulting volumes and asked me to serve as General Editor.6

An Overview of the Series The Invention and Deployment of a New Method for “Theology and Science” Looking back from the vantage point of 2007, it is evident how far the theology and science dialogue has come since 1990. In those days several major issues loomed over the entire discussion and impeded progress

5 Robert John Russell, William R. Stoeger, and George V. Coyne, eds. (Vatican Observatory Publications, 1990). 6 CTNS was able to accept the invitation thanks to a generous grant from a local Bay Area family foundation which supported our participation for the entire series of conferences.

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and they all focused on methodology. Granted many scholars had already moved beyond the sterile conflict or independence models of the relation between theology and science. Still the first issue that impeded progress regarded the role science should play in the conversations. Too often scientists were asked to make the first presentations at a conference with the unspoken assumption that the results they described were to be taken verbatim and that the theologians really had nothing to say of interest to the scientists. In practice this usually meant that after the science presentations were finished, the philosophers, theologians and religious scholars were left to try to decide what had been said and why it was significant to them. Often the conversations got bogged down over terminology (when a physicist speaks about causes is it the same thing as when a theologian does?). If that obstacle was surmounted the real challenge arose: can scientific results, like the details of Big Bang cosmology or the role of DNA in molecular biology, be taken directly into theology or should they be mediated by a philosophical discussion of their meaning and significance? If philosophy is needed, does this require the adoption of an entire metaphysical system, such as process philosophy or contemporary Catholic philosophy, within which both science and theology can be situated or is a topic by topic philosophical analysis sufficient for the purpose of theological appropriation? From the beginning it was the clear intention of the steering committee that our research methodology should take us beyond these obstacles and insure a two-way interaction between scientists and theologians. In order to achieve this goal we created whole-cloth a new, four-fold strategy. Guiding Theme of the Series of Conferences: “Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action” First, we searched for a topic in philosophical theology to thematize the entire series of conferences and to inspire interdisciplinary discussion by both scientists and theologians. The topic would therefore have to satisfy two broad criteria: a) It should function at the presuppositional level underlying the spectrum of particular doctrines in and approaches to systematic theology. This would allow scholars from a variety of perspectives and denominations to pursue their individual theological interests and at the same time gain from their interactions with each other as they engaged with specific scientific topics through the lens of the trans-conference topic in philosophical theology. It should also serve to draw out the philosophical and theological implications

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of the variety of sciences to be explored and it should do so in a way that would allow for a diversity of theological approaches to the way science is appropriated (e.g., natural theology, theology of nature, etc.), replacing the usual debates over which one is preferable. b) The topic in philosophical theology should be of interest to scientists, thereby making the conversations genuinely “two-way.” As scientists at the conference saw the impact of their discoveries on the theologians’ work, they might, in turn, be led to examine their own presuppositions about and conceptions of nature, a process which potentially might inspire them to ask new questions and develop promising new lines of scientific research. During that fateful meeting in June 1990, the topic of divine action—God’s action in and interaction with the world—was eventually singled out as a promising candidate for the thematization of the series of conferences since it met both of these criteria nicely. Cross-disciplinary Expertise of the Participants To overcome some of the terminological issues and to increase the genuine interaction between science and theology we gave strong preference to participants who already had achieved solid expertise in both fields. This meant inviting cutting-edge scientists who were versed in philosophy and theology and leading theologians who were passionate about the issues raised by science and willing to learn more of the underlying technical material. In some cases we were blessed with scholars who were already steeped all three fields. Pre-conferences and Papers Read in Advance We agreed to hold regional pre-conferences to provide an introduction for participants to relevant technical issues in science, philosophy and theology and to foster joint research and collaboration among participants prior to the conference. Participants would circulate pre-conference drafts for written responses and these drafts, in turn, would be revised and recirculated before the conference. During the conference papers would not be read; instead each paper was critically discussed during a designated session. To be published in the conference volume, post-conference revisions had to reflect these discussions. The Results With these strategies in place the organizing committee then planned a series of five conferences to span the decade of the 1990s. Each would involve a two year cycle: the first year for pre-conferences and critical

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reading of papers, the second year for post-conference revisions, final selection of papers for publication, and the drafting of the analytic introductions, etc. The cycles overlapped, with the post-conference activities of one conference being simultaneous with the pre-conference activities of the following conference, making for a demanding schedule but a very productive result. The first conference focused on quantum cosmology and the origin of the laws of nature. It built on the initial exploration of cosmology in PPT and included such issues as t = 0 and the Anthropic Principle.7 Next came an examination of the sciences of chaos and complexity, followed by evolutionary and molecular biology, and then by the neurosciences, all of which greatly expanded the scope of research presented in PPT.8 The fifth conference returned to one of the central themes of PPT:9 quantum mechanics. The first and third conferences were held at Castel Gandolfo in 1991 and 1996; the second was held in Berkeley in 1993. For the fourth conference we gathered at Pasierbiec, Poland, at the invitation of Michael Heller and the Pontifical Academy of Theology in Krakow. We returned to beloved Castel Gandolfo for the final quantum mechanics conference in 2000. In summary, the five volumes are titled: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Quantum Cosmology and the Laws of Nature (QC) Chaos and Complexity (CC) Evolutionary and Molecular Biology (EMB) Neuroscience and the Person (NP) Quantum Mechanics (QM)

with each containing the subtitle, Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action. Number of authors in the series: 51 ... Number of chapters in the series: 91

7 8 9

See QC. See CC, EMB, and NP. See QM.

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Conclusions: Challenges and Progress in Theology and Science In this section I will briefly touch on the six areas in which I believe progress has been made through the CTNS/VO research series, including the initial publication (PPT) that served as a basis and warrant for the series. I will then suggest five areas of challenge generated by the series—either as unresolved issues in the series or as resulting from the progress of the series itself—and offer recommendations for future research. Progress This short overview paper is not the appropriate place for a detailed assessment of the ways the eight areas in philosophy and the seven areas in theology were developed by the authors in the series. (A sample of these developments can be found in Appendix E.)10 However I will briefly touch on six areas in which I believe significant accomplishments were made and progress achieved in the series as a whole. Then I will suggest several ways in which progress has been achieved on the specific topic of divine action and science. Areas of Progress in The Series as a Whole New Methodology The new methodology developed for and deployed in the CTNS/VO series included a) choosing a guiding theme for the entire series rooted in philosophical theology that could unify the theological interests of all its participants and bridge between theology and science, b) choosing participants with cross-disciplinary expertise, c) building in preconference interactions, d) agreeing to reading the conference papers in advance, and e) thorough postconference revisions of papers in light of conference discussions.

10 The text is excerpted and edited from the analytic introductions to the five volumes, four of which I wrote and one (NP) which was written by Nancey Murphy. It goes without saying that the choice of which to include reflects my own perspective and not necessarily those of the other editors in the series. More to the point, it was a difficult task both because I sincerely appreciate all of the chapters in the series and because I truly value the lasting collegiality, team effort and friendship with the authors.

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Landmark Publications This series includes several pieces that have been extremely influential in the field. These include the statements by Pope John Paul II: on science and religion (“Message to George Coyne” in PPT), and on evolution (“Message to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences” in EMB). It also includes Ian Barbour’s 4-fold typology on science and religion in PPT, preceding its publication in Religion in an Age of Science, which was to become a ‘standard’ for the field in the following decade. Important Introductory Resources in Science and Philosophy The series contains important introductory resources for future research. This includes key essays on science by Arbib, Ayala, Berry, Brothers, Cela-Conde, Chela-Flores, Chiao, Crutchfield et al., Ellis and Stoeger, Hagoort, Heller, Isham, Jeannerod, Küppers, LeDoux, Shimony, Stoeger; essays on metaphorical language in science and theology by Happel, Hesse, Lash, McFague, Soskice; and essays on the philosophy of science and philosophical issues raised by science, by Arbib, Alston, Barbour, Butterfield, Clarke, Clayton, Cushing, Drees, Ellis, Happel, Heller, Hesse, Leslie, Meyering, Murphy, Peacocke, Polkinghorne, Redhead, Russell, Shimony, Soskice and Wildman/Russell. Jointly-authored Essays and Coordinated, Separately-authored Essays on Interdisciplinary Research Topics in Theology, Philosophy and Science This includes the joint essay by Isham and Polkinghorne on time in special relativity and its philosophical and theological significance, the joint essay by Wildman and Brothers on neuroscience and religious experience, the joint essay by Wildman and Russell on the philosophical and theological implications of chaos theory, and the joint essay by Cela-Conde and Marty on biology and culture. In addition there were coordinated essays on the theological significance of cosmological finetuning (i.e. the Anthropic Principle) by Ellis and Murphy, coordinated essays on evolutionary biology and human nature by Edwards and Hefner and coordinated essays on the philosophical and theological implications of quantum physics by Barbour, Clayton, Ellis, Murphy, Peacocke, Polkinghorne, Russell, Stoeger, and Tracy. Novel Directions in Research in Theology and Science This includes research on the ontological status of the laws of nature and the degree to which our scientific laws represent the laws of

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nature (Polkinghorne, Stoeger), on metaphor in science and in theology (Soskice, Barbour, Clifford, Happel, McMullin, Soskice), on time in nature and in theology (Drees, Happel, Isham and Polkinghorne, Lucas), on science and atheism (Buckley, Ellis), on science and models of God (Barbour, Edwards, Gilkey, McFague, Moltmann, Peters), on science and creation (Barbour, Ellis, Haught, Isham, Leslie, Murphy, Peacocke, Peters, Russell, Tracy), on science and the intelligibility of nature (Davies, Heller), science and human nature (Barbour, Clayton, Edwards, Ellis, Hefner, Murphy, Watts, Wildman and Brothers), on divine action and science (Alston, Barbour, Birch, Clayton, Edwards, Ellis, Happel, Murphy, Peacocke, Polkinghorne, Russell, Tracy) and on science and theodicy (Ellis, Russell, Tracy). Major Impact on Scholars and the General Public Sales of PPT and the series have been surprisingly high considering that “science and religion” is still a fairly specialized field among scholars. Over 3000 copies of PPT had been sold by the end of 2003, and it had been translated into Spanish and Arabic. Total sales for the five volumes in the series have topped 10,000 copies. Records taken by the CTNS Science and Religion Course Program indicate that over 250 courses internationally have included PPT or the volumes in the series. Finally, the CTNS website, which makes available summaries of all the chapters in the series, typically receives over 60,000 extensive visits per year. Special Focus on Divine Action I believe the series resulted in progress on the philosophical and theological topic of divine action in several ways. On Terminology Regarding Divine Action Over time we tended towards a shared meaning for key terms and concepts so that genuine differences and disagreements could be adequately illuminated by the common use of these terms and concepts. This in turn led to the possibility of solid conceptual progress on the diverse meanings of divine action in light of science. An early version of this commitment to shared meanings was published in the “Introduction” to the second volume in the series, CC, Section 3.4, pp. 9–13. Additional clarification came in key chapters throughout the series, with particularly helpful insights by George Ellis, Nancey Murphy, Bill Stoeger, and Tom Tracy, to which I also sought to contribute. Key terms include:

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laws of nature ontological indeterminism objective vs. subjective divine action direct (basic) vs. indirect divine action mediated vs. unmediated divine action compatibilist and incompatibilist views of divine action

On Distinguishing Between Six Approaches to Divine Action Over time we also began to discover that a variety of distinct approaches were being taken by various scholars regarding divine action. Most followed one of these approaches, but in some cases scholars stipulated that eventually, at least, some combination of them would be needed as natural systems of increasing complexity and with increasing numbers of emergent properties and processes were considered. These approaches include four types of causality (termed top-down, whole-part, lateral, and bottom-up) as well as two broad metaphysical systems (process metaphysics and neo-Thomistic metaphysics/contemporary Catholic philosophy). An early attempt at listing these approaches was published in the same section in the “Introduction” to the second volume cited above. For details on the types of approaches to divine action see below. Non-interventionist Objective Divine Action (NIODA) in Light of Science In my own writings in the series I have suggested a goal for the divine action project which I believe represents what many of the other scholars in the series sought in their own ways. Drawing on the terminology noted above, I use the term “NIODA” as an acronym for this goal, namely “non-interventionist objective divine action.” My goal is, then, an account of God’s action in which certain events in nature mediate God’s direct and objective action in a non-interventionist mode. In essence, NIODA would offer us, for the first time, an account of objective divine action that is not necessarily “miraculous” (in the Humean sense of divine acts which violate or suspend natural regularities/the laws of nature). Now in order for such divine action to be truly noninterventionist, nature at least at some level must be thought of as causally indeterministic. The focus of my research, then, is to search for and assess candidate theories in science for their capability of being given an indeterministic interpretation. In principle this could involve many theories at many different levels of complexity in nature. But even

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Special Divine Action

Nature is Deterministic

Subjective Acts

Objective Acts

Non-Interventionist

Interventionist

LIBERAL

CONSERVATIVE

Nature is Indeterministic

Subjective Acts

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Non-Interventionist Interventionist Non-Interventionist

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Figure 1 On the left half of the figure, nature, viewed through the lens of classical physics, is interpreted deterministically. This in turn leads to the historical split between liberal and conservative approaches to special divine action. For liberals, the notion of subjectively special divine action reduces, in essence, to a verbal redescription of what is in fact ordinary divine action. For conservatives, objectively special divine action requires interventionism and thus amounts to “miraculous” divine action (in the Humean sense). Note that determinism, as a philosophical interpretation of classical physics, forces the theological split between these approaches to divine action. On the right half of the figure, nature, understood through contemporary science, is interpreted indeterministically. Here we see that, while liberal and conservative approaches to divine action are still options, a third possibility arises for the first time: NIODA. NIODA combines the virtues of the liberal approach (non-interventionism) and the conservative approach (objective divine action) without their corresponding disadvantages. Note in particular that the indeterministic interpretation of nature allows us to separate out “miraculous” objective divine action from “non-miraculous” (non-interventionist) objective divine action, a move which has tremendous theological promise. The challenge is to find one or more areas in contemporary science that permit such an indeterministic ontology for nature. CTNS/VO scholars pursued a variety of areas in science in response to this challenge.

when we have one such scientific theory at one level which permits an indeterministic interpretation, we can claim that the direct, mediated effects of the objective acts of God occur within that domain of nature without intervention. The crucial role of science in thus offering the possibility for non-interventionist objective divine action is portrayed schematically (Figure 1), given ontological determinism or indeterminism in nature.

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Results to date: I believe that quantum mechanics provides a particularly promising area for NIODA because it is clearly capable of supporting an indeterministic interpretation. I am not optimistic about chaos theory as it currently stands, since its only interpretation is deterministic, making objective divine action interventionist. Perhaps more complex theories of chaotic systems will one day be found which will, in turn, be open to an indeterministic interpretation, but these theories have yet to be discovered—and interpreted. I am not optimistic about top-down approaches which focus by analogy from open systems embedded in larger boundaried systems to the universe-as-a-whole and which depict divine action on the boundary of the embedding system because technical problems in scientific cosmology preclude us from viewing the universe as having a boundary (and because God’s action on the boundary, if it existed, would still be interventionist). Process theology clearly allows for non-interventionist divine action through the metaphysical conception of the intrinsic role of the divine subjective lure for each actual occasion, but that is only a starting point. One must still search the sciences to determine whether God’s lure can actually be said to affect the outcome of these occasions in an unpredictable way and thus the debate over the ambiguous interpretations of science is still required. Neo-Thomism might be interpreted as including events which suggest objective divine action within the standard primary/secondary causal context but I am unconvinced that this can be done without violating the metaphysical distinction between primary and secondary causality and without the intervention of miracles. Challenges There are also a number of topics and issues that have emerged in the discussion which call for continued exploration. They constitute challenges, problems and insights whose sustained analysis is pivotal in making further progress. The importance of these topics and issues has been brought out by our work so far. They include previously recognized and newly formulated areas on the growing edge of theology/science research. Actually new challenges are to be expected, even celebrated, because a mark of real progress is that initial problems come to be seen as partly confusions over terms and partly genuine issues to be addressed. When these issues are successfully addressed, this in turn leads to new insights into the depth and character of the overall problematic and

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to new questions requiring further attention. The CTNS/VO series is clearly successful in having responded to and having moved beyond many of the problems that the series initially faced in 1990. In doing so, it has exposed deeper issues and challenges for future research. The following is a brief itemization of some of these issues together with recommendations that they be addressed in the future. Differences in the Doctrine of God Most scholars referred to God in the language of generic monotheism. Some, however, made explicit reference to the Trinity (including Edwards, Moltmann, Peters, Russell). Still others worked explicitly with a doctrine of God as found within the framework of panentheism (both generic panentheism, i.e., Clayton, Peacocke, and process panentheism, i.e., Barbour). To what extent did these theological differences enhance or hinder progress in the theology/science research? Recommendation: More explicit attention to similarities and differences in the doctrine of God should be made in future theology/science research. The Relative Merits of Differing Metaphysical Systems Some scholars adopted a specifically Whiteheadian metaphysics with variations (e.g., Birch, Barbour, Haught), others a neo-Thomistic/ modern Catholic metaphysics with variations (e.g., Clifford, Edwards, Happel, McMullin, Stoeger). Most did not discuss metaphysics extensively. To what extent did this philosophical diversity enhance or hinder the conversations from making further progress? Moreover, while most scholars adopted some form of realism, at least in relation to science, some scholars (notably Drees) criticized this move in crucial ways. To what extent is a realist view of science or of theology helpful or problematic? Recommendation: More explicit attention to the question of the need for an explicit metaphysics (or not) as well as to the assumption of a philosophy of realism (or its liability) should be given in future theology and science research. Compatibilist/Incompatibilist Views in Divine Action Some scholars (e.g., Happel, Peacocke, Soskice, Stoeger and Ward) seemed to assume a form of compatibilism regarding objective special divine action while others (e.g., Ellis, Polkinghorne, Murphy, Russell and Tracy) seemed to presuppose an incompatibilist view. My general

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concern is that the ambiguities in the way (in)compatibilism was being used and its relation to (in)determinism in nature actually complicated and even confused the conversations during the conference. This, in turn, may account in part for why some participants (notably Peacocke) tended to call quantum mechanical based forms of NIODA “interventionist.” Recommendation: Further clarify the meaning of (in)compatibilism and its relation to (in)determinism and (non)interventionism in future research. The Ontological Status of the Laws of Nature Some scholars (e.g., Peacocke, Ward, Soskice) seemed to presuppose a Platonic view of the laws of nature (e.g., they ‘govern’ the processes in nature). Most scholars, however (e.g., Russell, Stoeger, Tracy), seemed to presuppose that causal efficacy lies within nature as a gift of God and that the laws we formulate are descriptions of such efficacy in nature. Recommendation: Further examination is needed of the concept of the “laws of nature” and their ontological status. Criteria of Assessment for Proposals for NIODA While there has been significant agreement, noted above, by scholars in the CTNS/VO series about the goal of obtaining a successful theory of non-interventionist objective divine action and its importance for theology as a whole, there has been significant disagreement about the best way to develop such a theory, i.e., which scientific theory to use, which philosophical interpretation of it is most persuasive, which model of the God/world causal relation should be used, etc. These areas of agreement and disagreement are discussed in many of the chapters of Parts II and III of the capstone volume.11 There have also been important criticisms of the divine action project as a whole from scholars outside the series, notably from Nicholas Saunders.12 Wildman’s chapter in the capstone volume13 includes a careful analysis

11 For an earlier criticism of the way the concept of divine action was formulated in terms of direct vs. indirect and mediated from a neo-Thomistic perspective see Stephen Happel, “Divine Providence and Instrumentality: Metaphors for Time in Self-Organizing Systems and Divine Action,” in CC, 416, esp. Section 4.6, 197–201. 12 Nicholas Saunders, Divine Action & Modern Science (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 13 Wildman’s chapter in that volume was previously published in Wesley J. Wildman, “The Divine Action Project, 1988–2003,” Theology and Science 2.1 (2004): 31–75.

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and assessment of Saunders’s arguments. The reader should note the criticisms of Wildman and Saunders published in Theology and Science from Clayton,14 Polkinghorne,15 Stoeger,16 and Tracy,17 as well as Wildman’s response to them.18 I include my criticism of Saunders and Wildman in the endnotes briefly.19 Recommendations: There are clearly a variety of issues here regarding what should count, in principle, for an acceptable theory of divine action. I suggest that the issues raised by Saunders can be laid to rest

14 Philip Clayton, “Wildman’s Kantian Skepticism: A Rubicon for the Divine Action Debate,” Theology and Science 2.2 (2004): 186–190. 15 John Polkinghorne, “Response to Wesley Wildman’s ‘The Divine Action Project,’ ” Theology and Science 2.2 (2004): 190–192. 16 William R. Stoeger, S.J., “The Divine Action Project: Reflections on the Compatibilism/Incompatibilism Divide,” Theology and Science 2.2 (2004): 192–196. 17 Thomas Tracy, “Scientific Perspectives on Divine Action?: Mapping the Options,” Theology and Science 2.2 (2004): 196–201. 18 Wesley Wildman, “Further Reflections on ‘The Divine Action Project’,” Theology and Science 3.1 (2005): 71–83. 19 Saunders stipulates a test that any successful theory of non-interventionist objective divine action must meet, and the test is spelled out in terms of four distinct criteria. In my opinion, two of the four criteria of the test are mutually contradictory: that there is genuine openness in nature (i.e., ontological indeterminism) and that the laws of nature, viewed as ontological realities, determine individual events whether the laws are stochastic or deterministic. Because of this contradiction, Saunders’s test fails to constitute be a valid test for assessing theories of divine action and Saunders’s assessment of the failure of the proposals deployed by scholars in the CTNS/VO series based on his test should be set aside. Wildman is also highly critical of the possibility of successful theories of non-interventionist objective divine action, but in this case his reasons are based on his agreement with Kant. According to Wildman, Kant showed that we must inevitably understand nature in terms of causal closure. Thus any theory of objective divine action will always be interventionist. My response is that quantum mechanics challenges Kant’s insistence on causal determinism (in ways similar to how non-Euclidean geometry challenged his view of Euclidean geometry as a synthetic a priori judgment) and thus, contrary to Kant, quantum mechanics does allow for the possibility of ontological indeterminism in nature. For this reason I think Wildman’s criticisms of the CTNS/VO proposals based on his agreement with Kant should also be set aside. Note: Wildman offers an additional, and I think more serious, criticism of the divine action project based on what he understands to be the view of God underlying the proposals on divine action: namely, the problem of theodicy. Whether or not Wildman correctly represents that underlying view of God, the problem of theodicy is a serious one for any theory of objective divine action, non-interventionist or not. That is why it has already been raised and discussed frequently in the five volumes, particularly by Tracy, Ellis, Murphy and me. That is also why the problem of theodicy, whether or not it is genuinely exacerbated by the possibility of non-interventionist objective divine action, is a driving factor in the formulation of an overarching theme for a new series of CTNS/VO research.

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now, but the challenges raised by the other scholars noted here should be pursued vigorously as part of future CTNS/VO research.20 Natural Theodicy/Suffering in Nature To the extent that the case for non-interventionist divine action in light of science has been strengthened by these volumes, so the problem raised by suffering in nature and God’s relation to it (e.g., natural theodicy) is, arguably, exacerbated. (Note: Tom Tracy raises important objections to the claim that it is, in fact, exacerbated).21 If God really does act in nature in ways that ‘make a difference’ in the course of natural history, what is the relation between such divine action and suffering in nature: Does God cause it? Does God allow it? Does God suffer with creation? What is the result of God’s suffering with creation? Recommendation: A new series by CTNS/VO on natural theodicy has already been launched to address these questions. The first conference, held at the Specola Vaticana in September 2005, focused on physics and cosmology.22 Future conferences are being planned which then shift the scientific focus to evolutionary and molecular biology and, perhaps, to anthropology, the neurosciences and cognitive science, exploring the preconditions for the possibility of human moral evil in our biological, genetic and neurological roots. Eschatology Perhaps the most promising—and most challenging—theological response to natural theodicy is to move the conversation from the locus of creation theology where it is at present to that of redemption. If one claims that God’s response to suffering in nature is to suffer with nature and in doing so to redeem nature, as many CTNS/VO scholars have suggested, this takes us directly to the various forms of the theology of the cross. Of course this, in turn, takes us to the Resurrection of Jesus

20 I offer an extended analysis and critical assessment of the preceding issues in Robert John Russell, Cosmology from Alpha to Omega: Theology and Science in Creative Mutual Interaction (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2007), chaps. 4–6. 21 Thomas F. Tracy, “Evolution, Divine Action, and the Problem of Evil,” in EMB, 511–30. 22 Nancey Murphy, Robert John Russell, and William R. Stoeger, S.J., eds., Physics and Cosmology: Scientific Perspectives on the Problem of Natural Evil, Vol. 1 (Vatican City State: Vatican Observatory Publications/Berkeley, Calif.: Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, 2007).

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and this finally opens onto the question of eschatology—the coming of the new creation by God’s transforming action modeled proleptically on the bodily Resurrection of Jesus. Now the scope of “creation” in the theology/science discussions has always been the universe as a whole as understood by science. This, then, means that the scope of the “new creation” must also be the universe as a whole—not just human society/history (as in the varieties of liberation theology), or the earth’s ecosystem (as in various forms of environmental ethics and ecofeminist theology), or even planet Earth itself (as reflected, say, in the writings of Teilhard de Chardin). But how then are we to think about the transformation of the universe into the new creation in light of science? In my view this is the most serious challenge to, and most promising direction for, future research in Christian theology and science. Conversely without dealing explicitly with the “eschatology and science” question it is hard to see how the promissory note—that we can respond to natural theodicy by a theology of God’s redemptive suffering with nature—can be cashed out. In the process, the importance of lifting up a Trinitarian doctrine of God mentioned previously becomes all the more urgent given the theological complexities raised by the cross and resurrection.23 Recommendation: The new series on natural theodicy should also take up the issue of Christian eschatology and science and frame it within an explicitly Trinitarian doctrine of God.

23 Initial research includes the following: John Polkinghorne and Michael Welker, eds., The End of the World and the Ends of God: Science and Theology on Eschatology (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2000); John Polkinghorne, The God of Hope and the End of the World (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2002); Ted Peters, Robert John Russell, and Michael Welker, eds., Resurrection: Theological and Scientific Assessments (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2002); Robert John Russell, “Eschatology and Physical Cosmology: A Preliminary Reflection,” in The Far Future Universe: Eschatology from a Cosmic Perspective, George F.R. Ellis, ed. (Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press, 2002), 266–315; idem, “Cosmology and Eschatology,” in Oxford Handbook of Eschatology, Jerry Walls, ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, in press).

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Six distinct approaches to the problem of divine action were pursued in the CTNS/VO series. Their main difference lies in the relation between where God’s direct act is thought to take effect and where its indirect effects are experienced and understood as acts of God. Top-down This refers to God’s action at a higher epistemic and phenomenological level than the level of the effects. So, for example, in the “mind/brain” problem, where language about mental states cannot be entirely reduced to—although it is constrained by—language about neuroscience, God might be thought of as acting at the level of mind (e.g., revelation) and thereby affecting the pattern of neuron firings. (The converse model of revelation—God affecting neuron firings to bring about mental inspiration—would be a form of “bottom-up” as discussed below.) Whole-part This type of causality or constraint refers to the way the boundary of a system affects the specific state of the system. One example is the formation of vortices in a bucket of water being heated. The vortices form because the shape of the bucket as well as the applied heat bring about large-scale patterns of movement in the water. Another example is the universe considered as a whole with the effects played out in local events in the universe (assuming that the universe can be said to have a boundary). In these cases, God may be thought of as affecting the boundary of the system, perhaps the boundary of the universe itself, and this action leads to specific states within the system/universe which we call objectively special, indirect divine acts. Lateral This refers to effects lying in the same epistemic level (e.g., physics) as their causes but at the end of a long causal chain. So the “butterfly” effect in chaos theory depicts small differences in the initial states of a chaotic physical system leading to large differences in later states of that same system. God, then, might act directly to set the initial conditions and thus bring about bulk states indirectly.

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Bottom-up This causality refers to the way the lower levels of organization affect the way more complex levels behave. Here God might act at the most elementary domains of an organism to achieve specific results which are manifest at the level of ordinary human experience. Quantum physics seems the most promising candidate for further inquiry into divine action through bottom-up causality. Actually, most scholars want to combine most, or even all four, types of causality when it comes to human agency in the world and to God’s action in human life and history. The challenge, however, is to conceive of God as acting in the processes of biological evolution or physical cosmology long before the arrival of any kind of complex biological organism (let alone humanity). Here bottom-up causality may be the only approach available. It should be noted that these four approaches can be appropriated by scholars from a diversity of philosophical perspectives as can be seen in the chapters on divine action in the CTNS/VO series. However two additional approaches to divine action involve more explicit dependence on a specific overall philosophical system, even while using one or more of the preceding approaches: Process Theology This provides a metaphysical basis for a non-interventionist interpretation of divine action. Every actual occasion is influenced by God, who provides the “subjective lure,” by efficient causality from the past (“prehension”) and by the innate creativity of the occasion itself (its “mental pole” or “interiority”). Entities at all levels of organization are capable of experiencing God’s action as the (non-interventionist) subjective lure without violating the regularities reflected in the laws of science. Contemporary Catholic Theology Much of contemporary Catholic theology has been influenced by a recovery of Thomistic views of divine action. Here a basic distinction is made between God acting as the primary cause of all events, creating them ex nihilo and holding them in existence, and God granting to all events a degree of natural or secondary causality (while still acting through these secondary causes), as reflected in the laws of nature

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discovered by science. In some cases, particularly where humankind is involved, God can also bring about special events of discernment and action without intervening in the ordinary flow of natural processes.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Ian G. Barbour, (retired) Professor of Physics, Professor of Religion, and Bean Professor of Science, Technology and Society, Carleton College, Minnesota, USA. Philip Clayton, Ingraham Professor of Theology, Claremont School of Theology and Professor of Philosophy and Religion, Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, California, USA. George F.R. Ellis, Distinguished Professor of Complex Systems, Department of Mathematics and Applied Mathematics, University of Cape Town, Rondebosch, South Africa. Nancey Murphy, Professor of Christian Philosophy, Fuller Theological Seminary, Pasadena, California, USA. Arthur Peacocke, Former Director, Ian Ramsey Centre, Oxford, England, Former Warden Emeritus of the Society of Ordained Scientists, Former Dean of Clare College, Cambridge, England. John Polkinghorne, Past President and now Fellow, Queens’ College, Cambridge, and Canon Theologian of Liverpool, England. Robert John Russell, Ian G. Barbour Professor of Theology and Science in Residence, Graduate Theological Union, and Founder and Director, The Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, Berkeley, California, USA. F. LeRon Shults, Professor of Theology and Philosophy, Institute of Religion, Philosophy and History, University of Agder, Kristiansand, Norway. William Stoeger, S.J., Staff Astophysicist and Adjunct Associate Professor of Astronomy, Vatican Observatory, Vatican Observatory Research Group, Steward Observatory, Universtiy of Arizona, Tucson, Arizona, USA.

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Thomas F. Tracy, Phillips Professor of Religion, Department of Philosophy and Religion, Bates College, Lewiston, Maine, USA. Wesley J. Wildman, Associate Professor of Theology and Ethics, School of Theology, Boston University, Boston, Massachusetts, USA.

SUBJECT INDEX

Abrahamic religions 12, 56, 179, 237 absolute space 6 acts of God, see divine action; problem of divine action action theory, see philosophy of action active information, see information actual occasion 390–1 aesthetics 305 agency, see divine action; human agency all-that-is, see system-of systems amplification 37, 256–9, see also quantum effects, amplification of animals 152–3 anthropic principle 137, 162, 327–8 see also Christian Anthropic Principle; design; fine-tuning anthropology, see dualism, anthropological anti-reductionism 21–2, 23, 30, 72, 309 causal 30, 59 epistemological 29, 58 methodological 29 ontological 30 see also reductionism; top-down causation arguments for the existence of God, see design; teleological argument Aristotelian thought 1, 5, 146–8, 150–53, 163–4, 169, 173, 274–5, see also hylomorphism artificial intelligence 31 artificial neural network 31, 45 atomism 5, 18, 218 attractor, see strange attractor autocatalysis, see Zhabotinsky reaction Baldwin effect 21, 44–5, 322 Bell’s inequalities 379–80 Bell’s theorem 217–8, 365–6, 396–8 Bénard phenomenon 61–2, 65–6 biology evolutionary, see evolution, theory of developmental 23–4 molecular 17 teleology in, see teleology block universe, see special relativity

body-soul dualism, see dualism Bohmian interpretation, see interpretations of quantum mechanics Bohr interpretation, see interpretations of quantum mechanics bottom-up accounts of divine action, see quantum divine action bottom-up causality, see causation, bottom-up boundary condition 65–6, 117, 315 brain, see divine action in human brains Buddhism 146, see also philosophy, Eastern; thought, Eastern Buridan’s ass 283 butterfly effect 28, see also chaotic systems Catholic Church and science 408–9 causal closure 230, see also causal openness; determinism causal determinism, see determinism causal efficacy, see causation causal gap, see gap, causal causal integrity of nature, see integrity of nature causal joint 81, 101–2, 133 causal nonreductionism, see anti-reductionism causal openness 252, 260 causal power of creatures 260, 288, see also integrity of creatures causal reduction / reductionism, see reductionism causal role of mental states, see mental causation causal underdetermination, see indeterminacy causation Aristotelian account of 146, 150–3 bottom-up / part-whole 30, 38, 60, 102, 279, 425 concept of 4, 166–7, 275–7 downward see top-down causation divine, see divine action efficient 153, 165, 166–7 final 10, 153, 157, 202

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Humean 60, 63 primary 10, 36, 151 n. 17, see also divine action top-down, see top-down causation and science 4 secondary 10, 122, see also divine action Whiteheadian account of 154 whole-part, see top-down causation see also principle of sufficient reason; whole-part constraint / influence Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences 2, 407 chance 35, 239–42 in biology 25–6, 156–9 and divine action 183, 240–1, 374 as intersection of causal chains 27, 117, 239 in quantum events, see quantum indeterminacy chaos theory 4, 28–29, 31, 37, 41, 104–7, 264 role in biology 22–4 chaotic systems 104–7, 114–5, 117, 154, 259 as deterministic 266–7 indeterminacy of 265–6 and quantum effects 28–9 Christ 41, 46, see also Jesus; Logos; Wisdom; Word Christian Anthropic Principle 137–8, 344–5 Christian practice, see practices of the church classical field theory 393 classical mechanics, see mechanics, classical classical theism, see theism, classical coarse-graining 315–6 coherence, see decoherence cognitive neuroscience 74 collapse of wave function, see wave function, collapse of communication, human 77–9, see also God’s communication compatibilism vs. incompatibilism, see free will complex systems 31, 57, 60–79, 99–101 in biology 22–4 and teleology 154–5 complex systems theory 116 complexity 183 biological 142–3 levels of 23, 143 see also hierarchy

computer science 310–3 consciousness 75 n. 57, 100, 115, 204, 323–7, 365 as emergent 35, 160 and quantum mechanics 324–5 conservation of energy 118 contingency 156–7, see also chance; indeterminacy Copenhagen interpretation 9, 11, 189, 202, 205, 251–3, 356–7, 364–5, 368–9, 371–3, 394, 398–401 and special relativity 379 cosmic absurdity 188–9 cosmology 187 Aristotelian 13 Newtonian 13 created cause 243–5 creation 71, 79, 83–4, 118–9, 185, 209, 233–5, 282, 355, 422 of boundary conditions 319 continuous 122–5, 234, 373–5 and divine action 122–5, 177 from eternity 121 ex nihilo 12, 118–22, 173, 233–4, 235, 319 goodness of 119 integrity of 134 of laws of nature 319 of the universe 319 creative mutual interaction 2, 367, 394, 407 creativity 43, 173 creatures, integrity of 134, 235, 281–2, 284, 295, 303, 338, 383, 388 critical realism, see realism cross / crucifixion 46, 136, 389 culture 25, 34, 88 Darwinism, see evolution, theory of death 35–6 decoherence 99 deism 36, 159, 182, 186, 230, 234, 263, 271, 297–8 design / design argument 17, 142, 168, 328 criticism of 155 Paylean 142, 155 determination, see causation; divine determinism determinism 12, 18, 108, 113, 117, 207, 229, 230–231, 236, 284, 287, 324, 362, 398 Bohmian 366–7, 403 divine 5, 37–8, 287 theological 244

subject index deterministic laws, see laws of nature developmental biology, see biology, developmental difference vs. sameness 5, 7 directionality in biology 25–6 see also teleology discernment 331 dissipative systems 62 divine action 14, 34, 97, 111–3, 117–8, 173, 175, 183, 200, 227, 375 bottom-up 13, 38, 265, 353–60, see also quantum divine action and chance 240–1, 371 compatibilist 419–20 as conservation 234, 378 as cooperation 284 direct 125–8, 234–5, 239–40, 245, 248, 249–50 evidence for 260, 296–7, 339, 344–7, 353–4, 355 in evolution, see evolution, divine action in; evolution and design; teleological argument extraordinary 13, 271, 288, 307, 328–39, 338, 382 and free will, see free will as governance 234–5, 284, 383 immanent 86, 268, 329 incompatibilist 419–20 indirect 125–8, 234–5, 239–45, 245, 248, 320 interventionist 17, 36, 37, 55, 123–4, 231, 260, 263, 333, 354 in human brains 37–8, 56, 293–4, 331, 342 medieval conceptions of 1, 10, 263 and metaphysics 144–5, 161–2, 165–6, 170–2, 177, 184–6, 264 non-interventionist 9, 55–6, see also NIODA non-interventionist objectively special (NIODA), see NIODA ordinary 13, 319–28 panentheistic 221–3 personal 136–9, 227, 260, 360–1 and prayer 270–1, 297 as primary cause 12, 101–2, 112, 120–2, 128–35 problem of, see problem of divine action special 12, 127, 130, 131–5, 232–3, 237, 248, 270–1, 362, 375 subjectively special 131, 237

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as sustenance 79, 122, 130, 234, 236, 260, 279, 284, 320–1 as sustenance at quantum level 357–60, 373–5 and teleology 170–2, 176, 181–4 see teleology and theodicy, see theodicy typology of 141, 184–6, 238 n. 14, 352, 417 as ubiquitous 279, 281–6, 295, 375–6 via chance 374 via chaotic systems, see divine action via chaos via downward / top-down causation, see top-down divine action via information transfer 37, 44, 267 via laws of nature 123–4, 231, 320–1, 374 via quantum events, see quantum divine action via secondary causes 101–112, 122–5, 128–30, 235–9 via whole-part constraint, see top-down divine action see also creation divine action project 2–3, 13, 54, 191 n. 1, 211, 212, 351, 405 overview of 407–26 divine action via chaos 41, 292, 333 criticisms of 265–8 divine action terminology 415–8 divine concurrence 36, 284 divine creativity, see creation divine determinism 5, 37–8 divine foreknowledge 37, 246–7, 300, 381 divine hiddenness 37, 138, 290–2, 296, 334, 383 divine immanence 14, 86, 268, 329 divine intervention, see divine action divine knowledge 37, 108–9, 236, 246, 300, 380–1 divine love 41, 119–20 divine purpose, see end; teleology divine providence, see general providence; special providence divine sovereignty, see God, sovereignty of divine transcendence 14, 46 DNA 19, 33, 70 and divine action 269 expression of 21 as information 33 doctrine of creation, see creation

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double agency 130–35, 244, 299–300 double-slit experiment 402 downward causation, see causation dual-aspect monism, see monism dualism 54, 207, 220 anthropological 54, 92, 326 natural vs. supernatural 125 Eastern thought 215–9, see also Buddhism; Indian thought; philosophy; mysticism ecology 31, 70–1, 321 embodiment model of God 39 embryology 22–3, 33, 321 emergence 59–60, 74, 309, 347 of complexity 35 of consciousness 35, 75, 160 of life 25–26, 35, 123 of mind 76, 123, 324 of novelty 115 emergent monism 55, 57–79 emergentism 200–01 end /ends 147–8 Aristotelian conception of 163–4 as apparent only 155, 163–70 in biology 163–70 criteria for 148–50 meaning of 146–8 in nature 144–5, 155–9 as real 166–70 see also purpose; teleology energy, expenditure of 40 entanglement, see quantum entanglement entropy 22 epistemic chance, see chance epistemic distance, see God, hiddenness of epistemic gaps, see gaps, epistemic epistemology 10, 157–8 critical-realist, see critical realism foundationalist 4 role in divine-action problem 4 see also knowledge; methodology; philosophy of science EPR (Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen experiment) 252, 395 eschatology 392–4, 423–4 eternal life, see resurrection ethics 13–14, 35, 151, 152, 332, 171 n. 32 role in divine-action problem 4–5 see also morality; moral responsibility

evil 346 moral 387 natural 15, 387 see also pain; problem of evil; suffering; theodicy evolution 58, 322, 336 divine action in 141–3, 360 evolution, theory of 17–24, 141–3, 155–59, 179–81, 229 and chance 156–9 development of 17–24 direction of 25–6, 141–6 and design 141–3, 155, 322 and ends 163–70 and teleology, see teleology in biology see also modern synthesis evolutionary biology, see evolution, theory of existence of God, see design; teleological argument explanatory gaps, see gaps, epistemic experience of God, see religious experience feedback mechanism 26 feminist theology 48 fine-tuning 35, 345, see also anthropic principle first cause, see creation; divine action flow of energy 22 of information 68–70, 84, 87 flowing time, see special relativity foundationalism 4 free-process defense 35, 388 free processes in nature 284 free will 12, 13, 14, 38, 48, 174, 205–9, 239, 242–5, 300, 303, 323–7, 332, 346, 382–3 compatibilist 206–9 counterfactual 206–9 and divine action 4–5, 12, 14, 37–8, 243–5, 293–4, 300–1, 345 incompatibilist 242, 386 and indeterminacy 35, 206–9, 239–45 libertarian 206–9 and pain 335 and quantum divine action 385–7 and quantum theory 242–3, 385–6 freedom of God, see divine freedom gap 346–7 causal 12, 81, 106, 354, 386

subject index epistemic 34, 261, 354 ontological 83, 84, 103–7, 205, 354 between nothing and something 115 general providence 373–5, 383 via quantum mechanics 357–60, 373–5, 383–4 see also providence genetic information, see DNA genetics, population 17, 19 geology 229 God 43, 173, 178, 179 action of, see divine action as creator, see creation doctrine of 419, 423 existence of 118, 219, see also design; teleological argument of the gaps 34, 50, 81, 83–4, 248, 249, 261, 285, 307, 354 goodness of 119 love of 119, 121, 127, 136 as morally ambiguous 182–3 as necessary condition 130–31 omnipotence of 46, 48 omnipresence of 40, 55, 285, 378 omniscience of 246–7 as one cause among others 261, 267, 355, 382 as personal agent 86–7 personal relationship with 247 power of 119 as primary cause 10, 129, see also divine action and time 14 as self-limited 93, 386, see also kenosis as self-sacrificing 119, 331 as source of order 122 sovereignty of 36 transcendence of 81, 133–5 as vulnerable, see kenosis as watchmaker 35 see also Christ, Spirit, Trinity God-centered minds 338 and divine action 337–9 God-world relation 39, 43, 221–3 God’s relation to nature, models of, see models of God’s relation to nature God’s action, see divine action God’s communication 53–6, 77, 80, 83, 87, 91–5, 293–4, 329–32, see also revelation God’s forgiveness 119

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God’s knowledge, see divine knowledge; divine foreknowledge Gospels 227 gravitational theory 196 Greek metaphysics, see metaphysics, Aristotelian, Platonic Ground of Being 11 Heisenberg uncertainty principle 27, 98 hermeneutics, see interpretation, biblical hidden variable theory, see quantum mechanics, interpretations of hiddenness, divine, see divine hiddenness hierarchy 29–32 of complexity / complex systems 23–24, 25, 29, 57–60, 115, 208, 278–81, 14, 38, 242–5, 309–10 functional 29 of the sciences 58–9, 175, 199–201, 309 of software 310 of teleological processes 149–50 holism 116, 218, 225 in biology 22–4, 30–32 in physics 100–01 see also quantum entanglement Holy Spirit 48–9, 119, 120 human agency 73, 77, 97, 100, 102–3, 104, 106, 117, 148, 220, 236, 243–5 direct vs. indirect 126 human choices, see human agency; free will human experience 45, see also religious experience human freedom, see free will human psychology 45 human relations 77–9 human volition, see free will Humean philosophy, see causation, Humean hylomorphism 151–2 image of God / imago Dei 119, 138 immanence of God 10, 46, 86, 133–5, 268, 329 incarnation 119–20, 127, 132, 136 incompatibilist freedom, see free will indeterminacy 24, 26–29, 205–9, 207, 232, 239–45 and free will, see free will vs. unpredictability 265–7, 316 see also quantum indeterminacy

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subject index

indeterminism 249, 356, 362, 364–5, 398 in chaotic systems 107–8 in quantum events, see quantum indeterminacy see also determinism information 41, 78 active 106, 108 communication of 24, 32–4, 40–2, 43 flow of 68–70, 84, 87 as negative of entropy 68–9 processing of 32 theory of 10, 32 types of 68–9 initial condition, see boundary condition interpretation, biblical 228 interpretations of quantum mechanics 14, 27, 103–4, 191–2, 197–210, 250–4, 327, 363–7, 395–6 Bohmian 98–9, 217, 252–3, 365, 366, 398 Bohr’s 252, 364, 398 Copenhagen, see Copenhagen interpretation Einsteinian 252, 364–5 Heisenberg’s 364–5 hidden variables 252, 365 indeterministic 251 many-worlds 99, 201–05, 253–4, 365 interventionism, see divine action irreducibility, see anti-reductionism jaw structure 61 Jesus 118–9, see also Christ; Logos; Wisdom; Word kenosis 48–9, 331, 344–5, 386, 390 kinesis vs. stasis 5, 13, 42 knowledge aesthetic 305 of God 194, 300 limitations of 175 middle 246 philosophical 305 scientific 116–7, 215, 230, 305 theological 113–4, 305 see also divine knowledge; divine foreknowledge; epistemology; philosophy of science language 171 n. 32 causal 299–300 irreducibility of 309–13 religious 112

law-like regularities 37, 273–4, 277–80, 286–92, 335 laws of nature 14, 124, 183, 236–7, 241, 263–4, 273–4, 373 as constituted by divine action 123, 289–92 character of 124, 210 as designed by God 143 holistic 100–01 ontological status of 124, 277–8, 420 statistical 300 levels of complexity, see hierarchy of complexity levels of description, see hierarchy of sciences levels of emergent systems, see hierarchy of complex systems Logos 41, 84, see also Christ; Jesus; Wisdom; Word many-particle problem 402–3 many-worlds interpretation, see interpretations of quantum mechanics matter concept of 4, 12, 274–5 self-organization of 114, see also self-organization meaning 187, 228, 332 see also purpose; teleology measurement, see quantum measurement measurement problem 213, 251–2, 254–6, 325, 367–8, 368–72, 395–6 and irreversibility 369–71 and indeterminism 371–3 mechanics classical 18, 363, 399–400, see also physics, Newtonian statistical 18 see also quantum mechanics mental causation 323, 325 mental properties and downward causation 75–6, 323–4 as efficacious 75, see also mental causation as emergent 75–6 as nonreducible 75 as supervenient 66–7, 75 metaphysical ambiguity 178–81, 187 metaphysics 10, 11, 12, 51, 97–101, 170–2, 179, 186, 192, 198–201, 203, 211, 230, 264–5, 274–9, 366, 419

subject index Aristotelian, see Aristotelian thought; hylomorphism comparative 178–9 dual-aspect monism 107–8 Eastern 218, see also philosophy emergentist monist 57–79 Neo-Thomist 390 Newtonian 274–5 and physics 210–13 Platonic 5 process, see process thought relation to epistemology 98–9 role in theology-science relations 3–4 and teleology, see teleology and metaphysics see also atomism; mechanism; naturalism; pantheism; panentheism; physicalism; vitalism methodology scientific 156–7, 230 theological 192–3 mind as cause, see mental causation as emergent 76, 324 mind-body / brain relation 56, 68, 73–7, 86–7, 195, 100, 195, 221 as analogous to divine action 86–7, 195, 221 in hierarchy of complexity 73–7 mind-body problem, see dualism; physicalism; monism, dual-aspect miracle 79, 81, 127, 141, 231–2, 260, 327, 332–4, 335–7 see also divine action; special, extraordinary models of God’s relation to nature 17, 34–42, 47 as designer 35, see also design as designer of self-organizing processes 35–6, 42, 46 as determiner of indeterminacies 36, see also quantum divine action as embodied in world 39 models in science and religion 8 modern synthesis 19–22 molecular biology 17 monism dual-aspect 107–8 emergentist 57, 57–79 vs. pluralism 176 Spinozistic 214–5, 221–2 moral insight 332 moral responsibility 291–2, 323

435

morality 35, 37, 346, see also ethics mysticism 175, 179, 215–9, 331 and quantum mechanics 215–9 narrative, biblical 227–8 natural evil, see evil natural law, see laws of nature natural regularities, see law-like regularities; laws of nature natural rights, see integrity of creatures natural sciences, see hierarchy of sciences natural selection 18, 20–21, 24, see also selection natural theology, see theology, natural nature of God, see God nature / natural world integrity of 35–6, 48, 338 as purposive 150–3; see also teleology neo-Darwinian evolution see evolution, theory of; modern synthesis neo-Thomist metaphysics, see metaphysics Newtonian determinism, see determinism Newtonian mechanics, see mechanics, classical NIODA (non-interventionist objective divine action) 160, 249, 352–3, 367, 375, 383–5, 416–8 objectively special 8, 12, 238, 279, 384 criteria of assessment for 420–1 non-local hidden variables, see hidden variables nonlinearity 26, 28–9 nonlocality 100, 210, 252, 352, 358 n. 16, 377, 380, 393, 395, 398, 403 nonreductionism, see anti-reductionism nonreductive physicalism, see physicalism non-western religions 14, see also Buddhism; mysticism; philosophy, Eastern occasionalism 235, 271, 282, 297–8 Ockham’s razor / Ockhamist minimalism 165, 167, 176 omnipotence, see God omnipresence, see God omniscience, see God ontological determinism, see determinism

436

subject index

ontological gap, see gap ontological openness, see gap, ontological; causal openness ontological reductionism, see reductionism ontology, see metaphysics openness of nature 240–2, 249–50, 327 see also causal openness; indeterminism origin of laws of nature, see laws of nature pain 36, 44, 335, 306, 390, 393 see also suffering; evil, natural panentheism 39, 80, 219, 221–3, 81–2, 225 and quantum mechanics 221–3 panexperientialism 49 pantheism 9, 39, 182 paradigm shift in biology 24 part-whole causation, see causation, bottom-up particular providence, see special providence personal relations 77–9, 118–9 personhood 76–9 philosophy of action 235 n. 9 Aristotelian, see Aristotelian thought; hylomorphism Buddhist 146, 174, 188–9 Eastern 174, 188–9, 215–9 Indian 146, 174 late modern 3, 5–7, 12–13 of nature 366 role in science-theology relations see theology-science relations see also anti-reductionism; critical realism; dualism; determinism; indeterminism; metaphysics; physicalism; reductionism; vitalism philosophy of science 18 post-positivist 4, 11 physicalism 74, 207, 220 anthropological 55, 59–60 as a metaphysic 59–60, 99–101 nonreductive 59–60, 78–9 physics atomistic, see atomism classical 18, 363, 399–400 Einsteinian 6 Newtonian 202, 357, 362 philosophy of 210

quantum, see quantum mechanics Planck’s constant 363 Platonism 5 practices of the church 227, 269, 382 practice of science 273–4 prayer and divine action 270–1, 297 predestination 37 primary causality, see causation, primary prime mover 151 n. 17, 173 principle of sufficient reason 283 probability 18–19 problem of divine action 125–36, 145–6, 195, 225, 228, 246, 287, 354, 394–6 capriciousness charge 306–7, 334–7 centrality of 410–11 criteria for solution 268–74, 295–8 future challenges in 301–3, 418–23 meaning of 368 role of philosophy in 2–7, 14 role of science in 1 and theodicy, see theodicy and divine action problem of evil 11, 13, 195 n. 5, 244 n. 24, 279, 306–7, 334–7 and divine action, see theodicy and divine action process thought 8, 17, 42–6, 148, 154, 167, 183, 222, 390–2, 425, 171, 173 and biology 42–5 and indeterminacy 43 and interiority 42, 44–5 objections to 49–51 and top-down causation 43 process theism, see process thought propensities 64 providence 17, 38, 244–5 see also divine action, special; general providence; special providence punctuated equilibrium 20, 143 purpose in nature 141–3, 150–3, 157, 170 see also teleology Quaker experience 330 qualia 100 quantum chaos 104, 375 quantum correlation, see nonlocality quantum cosmology 167 quantum decoherence 99 quantum divine action (QDA) 11–14, 36–8, 40–1, 46–7, 103–4, 196–7,

subject index 200–01, 209, 239–50, 257–9, 281–6, 342–4, 351–2, 353–60, 373–9, 381–96 criticism of 28, 104, 115 n. 4, 118, 255, 298–300, 306–7 evaluation of 295–303 evidence / justification for 308, 360–3 in evolution 360 and free will 13, 293–4, 300–01, 303, 382–3, 385–7 global vs. episodic 240–2, 348, 376–8, 382–5 and theodicy 382, 387–9, see also theodicy and divine action as ubiquitous 375–6 quantum effects 371–2 amplification of 27–8, 104, 256–9, 302, 316–7, 317–8, 359–60, 370–1 dampening of 257 in mutations 26–7, 37, 258 quantum entanglement 217, 224, 368, 393–4, 401 quantum event 371–3, 390–1 quantum indeterminacy 4, 12, 27–8, 36, 103–4, 117, 279, 316, 318–9, 324–7, 403 and measurement 371–3 see also Copenhagen interpretation quantum measurement 104, 251–2, 198–200, 301–2, 316–7, 325, 375 quantum mechanics / quantum theory 4, 103–4, 167, 189, 193, 196, 212–3, 224, 316–9 Aristotelian view of 202 and chaotic systems 259 and free will 205–9, see also free will and indeterminacy interpretations of, see interpretations of quantum mechanics and macroscopic world 357–9 role of observer / subjectivity in 198–204 and theology 191–3, 221–6 quantum nonlocality, see nonlocality quantum potential 402 regime of law 286–9 randomness, see chance realism 4 critical 4, 9, 112, 124, 368–9 redeemer 245 redemption 389–90, 422–3 reductionism 18, 99–100, 144, 199–201, 284

437

causal, see causation, bottom-up epistemological / explanatory 29, 157 methodological 29 ontological 30, 32, 157 see also anti-reductionism regularity, law-like, see law-like regularities relationality vs. substance 5–6, 13, 42 relations, internal 160–1, 180 relativity, see special relativity religion-science relations, see theology-science relations religious experience 9, 12, 50, 54, 56, 127, 294, 330–1, 337 resurrection general 392 of Jesus 46, 132, 136, 227, 248 n. 29, 302, 333, 335, 336, 392–3, 423–4 revelation 9, 13, 40–1, 54, 56, 87–95, 114, 118–9, 136, 238, 294, 329–32, 336, 342 general 88–9 mediated 93–5 special 89–90 unmediated 92–3 via patterns in world 91–2, 329–30 via religious experience 90–1 via whole-part constraint 89 sacrament 127 salvation 179, see also redemption Schrödinger’s cat 204–5, 256, 302, 383–4 Schrödinger equation 99, 104, 365, 369, 371–2, 373, 377–8 science-religion literature 172 science-religion relation, see theology-science relation science and religion, see theology-science relation science of complexity 57, see also complex systems theory scientific knowledge, see knowledge, scientific scientific method, see methodology, scientific scientific realism, see critical realism scientific worldview 156–9 scripture 227–8 secondary causation 12, 36, 101, see also divine action selection group 19

438

subject index

kin 19 species level 19–20 self-limitation 48–9, 386, see also kenosis self-organization 24, 42, 99, 114, 122 and teleology 154–5, 166 self-sacrificing love, see kenosis sovereignty of God, see God space 379 concept of 4 space-time 4 special providence 78–80, 108, 260, 362, 375, 383, see also providence special relativity 379–81 block-universe interpretation of 380–1 flowing-time interpretation of 380–1 see also quantum field theory speed of light 363 Spirit of God 51, 54, 108, 118, 119, 120, 136, see also Holy Spirit spirituality, see religious experience spiritual insight 329–32 strange attractor 102–3, 105 statistics Boltzmannian 358–9 Bose-Einstein 358–9, 373–4 Classical 373 Fermi-Dirac 357–9, 373–4 Stoicism 5 strange attractor 102–3, 105 structuring cause 63 suffering 13, 334–7 problem of 35–6 see also, evil; pain; problem of evil; theodicy supernatural 14, 81, 125 superposition 201, 204, 252, 371–2, 384, 393, 395, 401 supervenience 66–8, 171 systems chaotic, see chaotic systems complex, see complex systems dissipative 22, 114–5 dynamical 22 far from equilibrium 22, 35, 99–101 feedback 321 nature of 313–4 nonlinear 22, 119 nonlinear thermodynamic 28, 37 self-organizing 22–3, 62, 99–101, 115, 321, see also self-organization system-of-systems 55, 70–75, 83

t=0 320 teleological argument 142–6, 162 critiques of 155–9, 163–5 and divine action 166, 168, 170–2, 176 and evolution 142–6 as inconclusive 143 stages of 144–5 teleological categories 143, 150, 171 teleology / teleologies 11, 141–3 as apparent only 155–9 Aristotelian 146–8, 150–4, 173 in biology 11, 141–6, 154–9, 179, 322–3 Buddhist 154 and chance 156–9, 161 and divine action 141–6, 153, 156, 159–60, 172, 181–4 East Asian 154 Hegelian 154 Hindu 154 and intention 147–8, 159–60 and laws of nature 161 levels of 149–50 meaning of 149–50 and metaphysics 144–5, 161–2, 165–6, 170–2, 177, 184–6 and open vs. closed processes 149, 159 Paylean 142, 154, see also design process 154 as real 156, 165–70 rejection of 153 types of 154–5, 161–2 see also directionality; end; meaning; purpose teleonomy 156–7, 171 temporality 167 theism, classical 81, 182, 186, 219–23, 225, 233 see also pantheism; panentheism theistic evolution 362 theodicy 4–5, 13, 174, 270, 393, 422–3 Augustinian 389 and divine action 4–5, 14, 45, 195 n. 5, 279, 306–7, 334–5, 352, 387–9 see also death; evil; free-process defense; pain; problem of evil; suffering theological determinism 244 theology 171 n. 32 from below 192–3 Catholic 425 feminist 48

subject index kenotic, see kenosis mystical 92, 176 natural 34, 90 nature of 113–4 panentheist, see panentheism process, see process thought Protestant 230 revealed 90 Trinitarian 6, 13, 80, 392–4, 423 theology-science relation 1–2, 80, 172, 223–6, 192, 197, 210, 212–13, 229–33, 233, 259, 268, 286–7, 299, 305–6, 346–7, 357, 363–4, 373, 387–9, 389–94 methods in 367–8, 409–12, 413, 414–5 models of relations between, see models in science and religion progress in 413–18 role of philosophy in 1–7, 14 theology of creation, see creation theology of nature 34, 367 thermodynamics non-equilibrium 101 classical 18 Thomism / Neo-thomism 36, 112 time 379 nature of 10 top-down causation 10, 24, 29–32, 61, 82–7, 102–3, 135–6, 264, 278–81, 307–8, 308–9, 339–42, 344–5, 347, 424 in biological systems 317 in computers 317 mental 323, 325 in physical systems 314–6 physical mediation of 313 in quantum systems 316–7 top-down divine action 38–40, 47, 292–3, 344–5, 424

439

analogy with mind-body relation 39 criticisms of 39–40, 280–1, 293, 340–1, 361–3 transcendence, see God, transcendence of triggering cause 63 Trinity 80, 119, 134, 137, 419 uncertainty principle, see Heisenberg uncertainty principle unpredictability 4, see also chance; indeterminacy vitalism 157 Vatican Observatory

2, 407–6

watchmaker, see God wave function 251–2, 369, 375–6 collapse of 251–2, 254, 256, 371–2, 378 wavepacket, collapse of 201, 202, 203, 367–8 Whiteheadian metaphysics, see process thought whole-part causality, see top-down causation; whole-part constraint whole-part constraint 38, 55, 60–79, 82 whole-part influence 82, 83 Wigner’s friend 204–5 Wisdom 136 women 152–3 Word of God 41, 84, 136, see also revelation world-as-a-whole, see system-of-systems world as God’s body 39, 47 worship 50 Zhabotinsky reaction 61–2 Zoroastrianism 182

NAME INDEX

Abraham 227 Alston, William 238, 414, 415 Aquinas, Thomas 10, 51, 101, 121, 234, 235, 237 n. 11, 243 Aristotle 6, 51, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 163, 164, 166, 168, 169, 173, 174, 176, 202, 263, 274, 275, 286 Augustine 51, 86 n. 78, 269 n. 9 Ayala, Francisco J. 20, 149 n. 15 Ayer, A. J. 178, 211 n. 28

Churchland, Patricia 73 n. 51, 74 Clarke, Chris 224, 365, 414 Clayton, Philip 8, 11, 12 n. 6, 60 n. 11, 76 Cobb, John B., Jr. 46, 160 n. 25, 185 Compton, Arthur 385 Coyne, George 408, 409, 414 Crain, Steven D. 76 n. 59 Cushing, John 191, 196, 253, 364, 365, 369 n. 43, 380 n. 68, 395, 398, 403, 414

Barbour, Ian G. 7, 8, 300, 309, 356, 365, 367, 372, 385, 389, 390, 414 Barth, Karl 51 Bartholomew, David J. 300, 301 Behe, Michael 197 Bell, John 252 Bhavaviveka 174, 188 Birch, Charles 42, 160 n. 25, 185, 390, 415, 419 Bohm, David 98, 216, 217, 221, 222, 223, 252, 253, 255, 352, 365, 366, 380 n. 68, 394, 395, 396, 398, 399, 400, 401, 402, 403 Bohr, Niels 252, 255, 364, 366, 398, 401, 403 Boltzmann, Ludwig 18 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich 355 Brillouin, Leon 40, 108 Brown, David 92 Bultmann, Rudolf 141, 230 Buridan, Jean 283 Butterfield, Jeremy 199, 368, 379, 396, 414

Darwin, Charles 17, 18, 20, 22, 35, 142, 155, 164 Davidson, Donald 66 Davies, Paul 35, 159 n. 24, 171, 184, 241, 277, 278, 356, 415 Dawkins, Richard 148 n. 18, 155, 181, 182, 187, 188 de Chardin, Teilhard 159, 423 de Laplace, Pierre Simon 229 de Molina, Luis 246 Deleuze, Gilles 7 Dembski, William 197 Democritus 163, 164, 168 Dennett, Daniel 322 n. 39, 324 Depew, David 18 Derrida, Jacques 7 Descartes, René 207 n. 23, 274, 275, 276 Dewitt, Bryce 201, 203 d’Espagnat, Bernard 212, 214, 215, 221, 222, 223 Dobzhansky, Theodosius 18 Domb, Cyril 197 Drees, Willem B. 65 Dretske, Fred 63, 64

Cain, Steven 76 Calvin, John 243 Campbell, Donald 61, 64, 68, 386 Campbell, Neil 309, 386 Capra, Fritjof 197, 215, 216 Catterson, Troy 185 n. 35 Chiao, Raymond Y. 197, 379, 380, 395, 414 Christ, Jesus 118, 119, 136, 260, 269, 291, 296, 302, 303, 331, 334, 337, 338, 392, 393, 423

Eccles, John C. 326 Eddington, Athur 385 Edwards, Denis 6, 330, 390, 414, 415, 419 Einstein, Albert 6, 252, 364, 365, 393, 408 Elijah 9, 53, 54, 92, 94, 95 Ellis, George R. 8, 13, 38, 115 n. 4, 137, 209, 224, 257, 359, 363, 372

442

name index

n. 51, 382, 385, 386, 388, 389, 390, 414, 415 Everett, Hugh 201, 202, 365, 366, 396 Faraday, Michael 393 Farrer, Austin 81, 101, 102 Feynman, Richard P. 163 n. 28 Folse, Henry Jr. 392 Fox, George 337 Galileo 408 Garrison, J. C. 395 Gilkey, Langdon 229 n. 3, 415 Gleick, James 30 Goodwin, Brian 23 Goswami, Amit 222 Gould, Stephen Jay 20, 21 Greenstein, George 402, 403 Gregersen, Niels Henrik 63, 72, 73 n. 50, 76 n. 60 Griffin, David Ray 46, 50 Happel, Stephen 112, 114, 118 n. 8 Hartsthorne, Charles 8, 43, 47, 50, 392 Haught, John F. 42, 390, 415, 419 Hawking, Stephen 39 Hegel, G. W. F. 154, 159, 178 Heidegger, Martin 7 Heisenberg, Werner 98, 202, 206, 251 n. 35, 364, 365 n. 35 Heller, Michael 212, 408, 412, 414, 415 Hempel, Carl 277 Heraclitus 6 Hick, John 290, 292 Hitler, Adolf 13, 298, 335 Hobbes, Thomas 275 Hoyle, Fred 322 Huchingson, James 43 Hume, David 60 Huxley, Julian 19 Isham, Chris J.

356, 368, 380, 414, 415

Jones, William 392 Joseph 299, 300 Kant, Immanuel 6, 51, 98, 144 n. 7, 171, 178, 203, 207, 210, 421 n. 19 Kaufman, Gordon 230 Kaufman, Stuart 22, 24, 26 Kellert, Stephen 28 Kierkegaard, Søren 7, 178 Kim, Jaegwon 67, 75, 76 Kuhn, Thomas 24

Küppers, Bernd-Olaf 414

65, 307, 309, 340,

Lamarck, Jean-Baptiste 18, 21 Lakatos, Imre 24, 268 n. 8 Laplace, Pierre-Simon 229 Levinas, Immanuel 7 Levy, Edwin 149 n. 16 Lewontin, Richard 20, 21 Locke, John 141 Loyola, Ignatius of 127 MacKay, Donald 300, 301 Margenau, Henry 365 Marshall, John 78 n. 64 Mary 127, 131 Maxwell, Grover 18 Mayr, Ernst 19, 21 McMullin, Ernan 83 n. 73 Misner, Charles 363 Moltmann, Jürgen 6, 14, 392, 415, 419 Monod, Jacques 156, 157, 158, 181, 182, 187, 188, 189 Morrison, M. A. 325 Murphy, Nancey 8, 12, 13, 37, 67, 115 n. 4, 171, 306, 307, 308, 319, 327, 329, 334, 338, 341, 342, 343, 344, 346, 347, 348, 356 n. 12, 361 n. 26, 362 n. 27, 382, 383, 384, 385, 386, 388, 389, 390, 409, 415 Nagarjuna 188 Neville, Robert Cummings 184, 185 Newton, Isaac 6, 13, 18, 205, 229, 263, 274, 275, 276, 277, 286, 398, 399, 408 Niebuhr, H. Richard 228, 238 Ockham, William of Oyama, Susan 33

165, 167

Pailin, David 91 n. 85 Paley, William 142, 155, 166, 168 Pannenberg, Wolfhart 14, 338, 390, 393 Parmenides 6 Paul, the Apostle 271 Pauli, Wolfgang 100 Peacocke, Arthur 7, 9, 11, 38, 39, 40, 41, 101, 106 n. 14, 128 n. 25, 160 n. 25, 184, 185 Peirce, C. S. 144 n. 7 Penrose, Oliver 341 Penrose, Roger 204, 324 Peters, Ted 387 n. 87, 390, 415, 419

name index Plato 5, 6, 41, 51, 152, 173, 222, 277, 278 Polanyi, Michael 65 Polkinghorne, John C. 7, 9, 10, 41, 84 n. 75, 185, 196, 212, 250 n. 32, 255, 265, 266, 267, 268, 270, 284, 293, 301, 302, 307, 346, 375, 380, 388, 389, 390, 393, 414, 415, 419, 421 Pollard, William G. 250 n. 31, 300, 307, 382 Pope John Paul II 408, 414 Popper, Karl 64 Postle, Dennis 216 Prigogene, Ilya 22, 62 Puddefoot, John 68, 69 Quick, Oliver

56, 57

Rae, Alastair 258 Ramanuja 188 Rahner, Karl 159 Redhead, Michael 380 n. 68 Ricoeur, Paul 7 Rorty, Richard 144 n. 7 Ruse, Michael 354 n. 6, 387 n. 88 Russell, Robert John 2, 8, 13, 14, 38, 128 n. 24, 184, 185, 197, 207, 212, 250 n. 30, 256, 257, 258, 302, 307, 316, 319, 414, 415, 419, 420 Sankara 188 Saunders, Nicholas 356 n. 11, 420, 421 Saunders, Peter 23 Schleiermacher, Friedrich 230 Sejnowski, T. J. 73 n. 51 Shannon, C. E. 68 Sharpe, Kevin 216 Shimony, Abner 212, 224, 365, 391, 392, 414 Socrates 178 Spinoza, Baruch 215, 223, 275

443

Stapp, Henry P. 203, 217, 365, 392 Stebbins, Ledyard 20 Stengers, Isabelle 62 Stoeger, William 8, 10, 12, 36, 197, 212, 278, 318, 335 n. 83, 337, 408, 414, 415 Suchocki, Marjorie Hewitt 160 n. 25 Swinburne, Richard 92, 94 Szilard, Leo 40, 108 Taylor, John V. 267 Taylor, Richard 276 n. 21 Thaetetus 5 Thomas, Owen 123 n. 17, 182 n. 34, 195, 390 Tracy, Thomas F. 8, 12, 38, 63, 64, 115 n. 4, 197, 307, 319, 342, 344, 346, 347, 382, 383, 384, 385, 386, 388, 389, 414, 415, 422 van Inwagen, Peter 240 von Neumann, John 203, 365 von Weizsäcker, Carl Friedrich 203 Wallace, Alfred Russel 142 Weber, Bruce 18 Wheeler, John A. 202 Whitehead, Alfred North 8, 42, 43, 50, 148, 154, 164, 166, 167, 173, 183, 184, 185, 233, 390, 391, 392 Wicken, Jeffery 22 Wigner, Eugene 203, 204, 365, 396 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 178 Wilber, Ken 217 Wildman, Wesley 8, 10, 11, 420, 421 Wilson, E. O. 19 Wimsatt, William C. 59 n. 10 Wright, G. Ernest 229 n. 3 York, Carl

358 n. 16

Zajonc, Arthur

402, 403