A Reflection for the End of One Year and the Beginning of Another

 

This September, I had the chance to spend a few weeks teaching at a bible School in western Rwanda. As a youth, I had lived in Nigeria, but this was the first opportunity I had to return to Africa in thirty years. I was excited, but also a little nervous. Things operate differently in Africa, and as a young man I struggled to adapt to some of that. While the excitement far outweighed the anxiety, I undertook the trip unsure of how I would handle some situations.

We stayed and worked in the suburbs of the large Gisenyi-Goma, taking public transportation back and forth between our lodging and the school. Typically, we rode in minibuses, and on our first day, I was directed onto the bench seat of a particularly well-used example. At some point, the owners had removed the original factory seats, and installed replacements, which worked quite well, except for the fact that they were several inches taller than ideal. I couldn’t sit upright without my head smashing into the roof, so I sat with by backpack on my lap, and my head bent down on top of it. I didn’t count, but I suppose they squeezed five or six of us across the seat, a tight fit. I was wedged between the sliding door on one side and a young woman and her baby on the other. Once the jostling in our seat stopped, the woman began breastfeeding, which I was fine with, but space was tight and I suddenly became very aware of where my hands were. I tried to lean away from the woman – who was completely unruffled by the situation – to give her a little extra space, but to do so I had to lean against the sliding door, which the driver had to slam three times to get to stay closed. I didn’t entirely trust it.

The bus stop was on the left-hand side of the road, and the driver had stopped the minibus half on the shoulder, half in the oncoming lane of traffic. Fully loaded, he decided it was time to depart, but traffic was heavy, and there was no gap in his lane, nor in the opposing lane he’s have to cross to get to his lane; so, he just started driving. We traveled, half on the roadway, half on the shoulder, facing oncoming traffic, turning two lanes into three, for several minutes until traffic cleared and we would merge into our appropriate place. I sat, half afraid I’d fall out a rickety sliding door, half afraid to lean into my neighbor and test Rwanda’s tolerance for inadvertent groping, head bent down with neck craning to watch head-on traffic come barreling towards us. I realized there are quite a few people in my life who would have some serious problems with this situation; but . . . it was fine. Somewhere inside me, a little voice said, “Ah, there it is. We know this. This is how it’s supposed to be.”

I felt a deep sense of peace. An understanding that this was exactly where I was supposed to be, exactly what I was supposed to be doing, and it was all going to be okay; not a guarantee that the sliding door wasn’t going to fly open and send me tumbling down the roadway. That remained a very real possibility, but I felt certain if that possibility became reality, it would still be okay.  I was in God’s will, and if this was where and how it ended for me, that was fine.

We had a wonderful time in Rwanda, embraced by a gentle and hospitable people, blessed to bless the work of the church. Many things didn’t make sense to me. Many things didn’t seem like they should work out, but they did.

I came home, refreshed and encouraged, but not for long. I felt as if my feet hit the ground at the airport, I began sprinting, and didn’t stop for weeks. There was drama in some of the organizations I help to run, friends in need hadn’t come to need less in my absence, the relentless march of the news cycle, stressful enough on its own, began to have very tangible impacts on people around me. I felt stressed and exhausted, and began to wonder how it would all get done. Then, I heard that voice again. It just said, “Nate, you’re still on the bus. I’ve got this. You are where you are supposed to be. You are doing what you are supposed to be doing. I’m not saying the wheels won’t fall of this thing, but if they do, it will be okay. If you fall, it will be okay. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

That thought has stayed with me over the months. I’m still on the bus. This thing is crazy. I can’t fix it. I’m not supposed to. God’s got it under control. I don’t need to grip the steering wheel so tightly. I’m not the one driving.

A Week Home From Rwanda: Making Sense of It All

I asked AI to make an image of the center two paragraphs of this text. Other than the baby carrots, I think it did okay.
 

It’s a three or four hour drive from Kigali down to Gisenyi, and in that distance, you’d be hard pressed to paste together a mile of level road. You’re constantly climbing, descending, turning, turning; and around each bend, you’re treated to a panorama of scenery more beautiful than the last: mountains and valleys of greenery stretching to the horizon, and beyond. A thousand photographs couldn’t do it justice; but if they could, for what purpose? In a moment you’d climb or plummet around the next corner, only to find another vista requiring a thousand photographs to capture. You resign yourself to the futility of it all, to the fact that you will go home and tell your loved ones you saw the most beautiful place in the world, you’ll watch them smile a nod, and have no ability to show them – really show them – what this place is. So, you surrender, sit back in your seat, and take in one view after another, a parade of nature’s beauty enduring for hours, until you are emotionally exhausted by it, so awestruck there is no awe left in you. Then you begin to wonder, “If I can’t show them what it is, maybe I can tell them. . .”

Just outside of Kabari village, the road turns right and heads up into the mountains, but if you stand by the roadside, the hill drops away from your feet out across a valley. The village spreads out before you, pops of red, blue, and silver rooftops nestled among the thick green trees, crosscut by straight black lines of volcanic rock, piled into walls enclosing fields of dark, rich soil, piled high onto mounds and topped with bright green crop sprouts. The contrasts are amazing as they roll down and away, repeated again and again until they fade away in the thickness of the humid air; and just at that place, where the colors fade, the valley stops at the feet of the volcanos. Off to the left, set off against the blue sky, is the peak of Nyiragongo, ominous and black, distant yet impending, white steam floating off the peak and away into the wind. And it is beauty enough, more than you deserve; but off to the right, the scene is repeated again with the peak of Mikeno, just as ominous, just as impending, clouds rolling off her into the wind. The volcanos create a picture frame for the whole scene. You could stand there for a day, alone, awestruck. . .

But in Rwanda, you are never alone, especially by the roadside. There is a constant flow of trucks, motorcycles, bicycles, and pedestrians: all manner of pedestrians, children, adults, fashionable youth, elderly women, beggars, all bustling about their way, all oblivious to the beauty of the place, as if it is there for them to admire any time they want. A young mother crosses your path, a large bowl of carrots balanced on her head, a baby wrapped tightly to her back with a brightly patterned cloth. Her face is tense and serious as she makes eye contact with you, then quickly looks away. You smile, and offer her a greeting. She pauses, and looks back at you. Beginning at the corners of her eyes, the seriousness cracks, as the corners wrinkle into a smile, pulling her cheeks along for the ride. Her mouth opens in a wide grin, and that sets it all off perfectly. Her deep brown eyes, her bright white teeth, her smiling face, her carrots, her child, the hills, the houses, the fields, the mountains, the volcanos, the clouds, the sky, all contrasted together into the shocking reality of this place.

Rwanda has two nicknames, “The Land of a Thousand Hills,” and “The Land of a Thousand Smiles.” After a few days here, you begin to feel that you’ve seen all of both. The hills are relentless, never ending. The smiles are equally eternal, but slower to appear. These are a quiet people, reserved. There is history here, a scar that reaches to the heart. There are some things these people do not talk about, and a few more they’d rather not. The smiles come, but first they must know they are welcome. It’s an astounding place. The pain has inspired a reserve, a suspicion, but only on the surface. Those scars that were cut so deep released something unexpected. The heart was not filled with hatred, but optimism. This is a country which knows its problems, but also knows – with equal certainty – that there are solutions. There’s a creative spirit evidenced everywhere, volcanos turned into tourist parks, volcanic rock pulverized into road pavement, bicycles packed with produce, weighted down to the point they’re pushed up hills. It’s exhausting, in every possible, inspiring way exhaustion can be. They shouldn't be this way. It makes no sense. Yet, here it is.

All that adds up to say, I’ll probably be back.

Deconstruction as Discipleship: Rethinking the Debate with Help From John Boyd

"Christ in the Storm on the Lake of Galilee" - Rembrandt

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In a previous article, I introduced readers to John Boyd’s brief “Destruction and Creation,” offering a short description and theological analysis. In this article, I aim to probe deeper into Boyd’s system of how we create and maintain our ideas and beliefs of the world around us, and how that might provide a new way for Christians to engage the idea of deconstruction.

While he is best known for his approach to winning tactical situations (OODA and Energy-Maneuverability Theory), John Boyd’s primary area of interest focused on how we make sense of an uncertain world. In order to make decisions, plan, and navigate through life, humans and human collaborations (families, organizations, nations, etc.) require “mental concepts of observed reality.”^[1] These mental concepts take “particulars,” facts, ideas, experiences, and align them according to common threads and similarities under an organizing theme.^[2] This organizing structure of our life experiences serves as a guide for operating in the world around us.

The problem we encounter with these conceptual structures is their inherent instability. An essential element of conceptual structures is their alignment with reality, that what we believe about the world matches what we experience in the world, especially as new information from continuing life experiences is added to the body of particulars. We are constantly testing our conceptual structures for internal consistency and validity, and adjusting to new realities.^[3] At times throughout our lives, the preponderance of particulars will insist the organizing structure is no longer valid. We will need to change the way we think about the world. According to Boyd, this happens in two ways.

First, as we create conceptual frameworks, we may reach a point where we believe the structure has achieved internal consistency. We have arrived at the truth of life. When this occurs, ideas outside of the conceptual framework lose their appeal. Our conceptual system becomes closed; but we continue to test for validity and consistency within our closed system.^[4] In common terms, this is “naval gazing,” the type of tedious hair-splitting exemplified by some of our most rigid and insular institutions. The act of testing for internal consistency assumes inconsistency in a system which has declared itself consistent; yet, that system has deprived itself of the external perspective necessary to shed light on the inconsistencies. A closed system does not possess the tools to evaluate itself, and attempts to do so bring increasing instability.^[5] Boyd borrows a term from physics - entropy - to describe this situation of increasing disorder paired with a decreasing capacity for work and action, creating growing confusion and disorder, leading to eventual fragmentation.^[6] “Unless some kind of relief is available, we can expect confusion to increase until disorder approaches chaos - death.”^[7]

When dealing with individual humans, I argue there is no such thing as a truly closed system. None of us can arrive at a place where we claim to have life completely figured out and simply refuse to accept new experiences. Life goes on regardless of our opinions of it. What we can do is refuse to allow new particulars to inform our conceptual framework. We can insist every new fact, idea, and experience we encounter in life comply with our established conceptual framework. We have decided what every future life situation will mean based on our previous life experiences. In reality, this does not work. Attempts to force new information into inflexible conceptual frameworks effectively creates a closed system, into which we force particulars which do not fit the theme. The result is the growing entropy toward chaos Boyd describes. Eventually, our conceptual framework can no longer contain the internal crisis, and our philosophy of life shatters, leaving us to pick up the pieces.^[8]

A second way conceptual frameworks change is by welcoming input from outside systems. We embrace new facts, ideas, and experiences, and incorporate them into our validity and consistency tests of our conceptual frameworks. Boyd views this as the cure for the death spiral of a closed system.^[9] As we encounter more of life, we adapt our beliefs about life based on the growing body of information available to us. However, this does not ensure the perpetual survival of a given conceptual frame. A given concept may not possess the flexibility to encompass all of life’s experiences. We then choose to abandon the old system and construct something new. Boyd argues the first step in that process is shattering the old conceptual framework, leaving the particulars of life floating in a state of chaos.^[10]

Whether we have fought or embraced our way to the place of chaos, the necessary act following destruction is creation. We sort through the particulars of life, finding common threads and themes, constructing an organizing conceptual framework to guide us in the world.^[11] While this new framework offers better correlation to reality than its predecessor, it is no more stable. It offers the same options of a closed or open system, and the same eventual end of destruction, followed by a new creation. Destruction and creation is a constant cycle of life.^[12]

In the last decade, the practice of “deconstruction,” where individuals deliberately question beliefs and practices of their Christian faith in an attempt to increase consistency of the whole, has become a hot topic in the church. The results of these deconstruction efforts are diverse, with practitioners sometimes arriving outside of the faith, in a different Christian tradition, or with renewed (but altered) convictions within the tradition where they began. Likewise, the practice of deconstruction has been both celebrated and vilified by different camps within the Christian community. I believe that deconstruction is akin to John Boyd’s destruction and creation, and Boyd’s offering to this conversation is the insight that this process is not new, unique, liberating, or alarming, but rather an expression of the way humans make sense - have always made sense - of the world around them. As such, it is an invitation for the church to practice discipleship.

When the Christian faith is proposed as a closed system, in which only previously accepted particulars are admitted, and all others must either distort or be dismissed, deconstruction is the inevitable result. When that result comes, and the particulars fragment into chaos, the new system cannot be the one which previously fragmented.^[13] When a Christian tradition holds its views dogmatically, rejecting and demonizing any idea or experience not previously approved, it not only guarantees a growing entropy within itself, but when that entropy shatters the system, the over-arching conceptual framework will prove false. Phrased more practically, when a member of the church has experiences from outside the approved system, expresses doubts, or asks questions about the system, and is met with blanket disapproval and rejection, the system is almost ensuring collapse and rejection in the life of that individual. When a rigid, insular system is posed as the only way to be Christian, the collapse of that system leads to the rejection of Christianity. 

When the Christian faith is proposed as an open system, facts, ideas, and experiences are welcome to be explored. When a person in the church has experiences from outside of the system, it becomes an opportunity for conversation and growing in Christ. The role of the church can be to expose the individual to further ideas and experiences, and to help them evaluate how new experiences exist with their conceptual framework. The end journey for that individual will never be the place where they started. Their understanding of Christ will inevitably be different than when they began. This is a challenge for the church, as we are called to guide our fellow believers into mature faith; but we must also accept that salvation in Christ may have borders that extend beyond the boundaries of our particular theological traditions. The journey may not end in faith, but in an open system, the church has offered a framework which is not destined to self-destruction, and can offer guidance regarding how new particulars might contribute to a richer faith.

Finally, Boyd’s thoughts offer the reality that no spiritual journey is at its end. Despite the way some proponents and opponents of deconstruction might assert their conclusions with confidence, all human conceptual frameworks are bound for fragmentation. No conclusion is certain. There is always change. This means there is always room to offer continual partnership in discipleship.

 

 

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^[1]John R. Boyd, “Destruction and Creation”1976), 2.

^[2]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 3.

^[3]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 3.

^[4]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 4.

^[5]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 4–5.

^[6]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 6–7.

^[7]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 7.

^[8]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 3.

^[9]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 7.

^[10]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 3.

^[11]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 3.

^[12]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 7.

^[13]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 3.

Is the Universe Orderly or Chaotic? More Theological Musings on the Philosophy of John Boyd

 

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This series of articles has been offering theological conversation around the philosophy of John Boyd. Boyd was an officer in the United States Air Force, famously known for his theories on winning tactical engagements (OODA, Energy-Maneuverability). Boyd built these theories on the foundation of a much deeper study of epistemology: how we experience and make sense of the world around us. A key foundational premise in Boyd’s thinking is the idea that the Universe is, “uncertain, ever-changing, unpredictable;” the Universe is chaos.^[1] Any reliable order we find is an anomaly within a larger chaotic system. Any order we find swims in a sea of disorder.^[2]

In order to engage Boyd’s thinking on a theological level, we must address this basic question: is the Universe inherently orderly or chaotic? When I began attempting to make sense of this question, I did what all thinkers do, I asked my family and friends. I’m inclined to believe my family and friends are uniquely insightful, but don’t we all? Regardless, their answers fell into three broad themes.^[3]

 

The Universe is Orderly

Within traditional theological interpretation, order seems to be the only acceptable answer. The initial creation narrative shows God creating a series of clear categories, distinctions, and systems, even giving humanity dominion within these systems (Gen. 1:1-31). Today, we refer to these orderly systems as natural “laws,” really just observations on how nature never fails to do what it has always done. The rising and setting of the sun, the coming and going of the seasons, the inevitability of water flowing from the mountains to the sea, only to be absorbed into the air to fall on the mountains once again. The writer of Ecclesiastes appears to lament that nature is predictable to the point of boredom (1:3-9). Today, science has shown us this order pervades to the atomic level, where the spinning of one atom is matched by a partner atom, regardless of the distance between them.

An objection to this view might be human free will, the capacity of any person at any time to choose a disruptive, chaotic series of actions. To that, order advocates note that free will is not truly chaotic. It is not random or unexpected. Humans offer logical reasons for their actions, and those reasons are often attempts to attain some type of order. Even decisions designed to be disruptive tend to use that disruption to upset the status quo and establish a new order.

Scripture is rich with imagery of God repeatedly defeating chaos to bring order in life creating and sustaining ways. Whether it is the ordering of the formless void at creation, the splitting of the sea to preserve Israel, the taming of Job’s Leviathan, or the silencing of the sea with a word; God consistently tames the forces of chaos to bring order (Gen: 1:1-31; Is. 51:10; Job 41; Mt. 4:35-41). Yet, this raises an objection. Disorder remains in the world. The biblical motifs of desert and sea acknowledge the reality of times and places where the apparently orderly systems of creation do no thrive. If those elements of chaos had been completely eliminated in the creative act, we would not know of them; but here they are.

 

The Universe is Chaotic

Advocates for a chaotic universe point to the primordial “stuff” of creation. Genesis 1:2 famously declares “the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of deep (KJV).” Upon this formless nothing, God created the order which we now experience; yet, don’t experience. The narrative arc of the first few chapters of Genesis relate an initial created order which did not last. Through the Fall, a chaotic element was introduced to the world, rendering creation unstable; the chaotic realms of desert and sea maintain their domain.

Science names this chaos as entropy, the consistent loss of energy across time. The universe is winding down, and as less energy is available, order decays into disorder. Even the laws of nature which we regularly observe are subject to decay. In lived experience, we encounter this through weeds in a garden, or the messy room of a teenager. Order requires the expenditure of energy; and when energy is not available, disorder rules. Without intervention, creation seems to want to return to its initial formless and void state.

Key in this trend towards chaos is human free will. We may place logical reasons, or a desire to establish a new order, behind our decisions, but the fact remains that even our carefully reasoned order may serve selfish desires, detrimental to nature and humanity. The ability to choose a path which degrades the quality and even possibility of life is a chaotic element.

Genesis tells the story of God moving chaos to order, but also the story of humanity’s freedom to resist that order; and the Universe’s tendency to return to disorder. In this system, any order we find is the expenditure of a creating or sustaining energy into a Universe which desires to fall apart. Any remnant of creation which remains is an act of grace.

 

We Can’t Know

Some of the friends and family I polled declined to answer, arguing it is impossible to know. The breadth and efficacy of human observation and judgment is notoriously limited. Perhaps what we see as chaos has an order on a magnitude we cannot see. Maybe what we see as a routine ordering of events sows seeds of chaos on a grand scale. We simply can’t know.

 Scripture attests to this in several ways. The story of Joseph is that of a young man sold into chaos, despised by his brothers who faked his death and sent him to Egypt as a slave, and later imprisoned on the false accusations of his employer’s wife. Yet, decades later, as one of the most powerful men in Egypt, and reconciled with his family, Joseph reflected, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good (Gen. 50:20 NIV).”

On a broader scale, several biblical books seem to live in tension. The Pentateuch describes God’s ordered creation, and the laws by which man must live to be blessed as God’s people. Yet, Job offers the story of a man who is faithful, and despite - or perhaps even because of - that faithfulness, experiences calamitous tragedy. When he lodges a grievance with God, the only response he receives is, “Are you God?” Likewise, Proverbs presents the orderly praise of wisdom, and pithy couplets advising the surest way to live a good life. Yet, Ecclesiastes laments the uncertainty of finding satisfaction in this life, the futility of human striving. Even the Bible itself, while attesting to an orderly God, leaves open the question of whether we can rest in a reliable, orderly world.

 

Conclusion

While we can debate whether the universe is ordered or disordered, whether we are on an island of disorder floating in a sea of order; or an island of order floating in a sea of chaos, scripture does attest that order is our final destination. While the monsters of chaos have some dominion in the world, scripture repeatedly represents their defeat at the hands of God. The book of Revelation offers the promise of a coming time when the forces of chaos are cast into a lake of fire, and a new Earth is established free from their influence (chs. 20-21). For the time being, we are left in a situation where the reality is uncertain. Are we floating in a sea of order or chaos?

 

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^[1]John R. Boyd, “Conceptual Spiral”1976), 33.

^[2]John R. Boyd, “John Boyd’s ‘Conceptual Spiral’ Presentation”1976), 41:00 Boyd’s exact quote is, “Linear phenomena swims in a non-linear sea.”

^[3]Special thanks to Dr. Geoffrey Bruschi, Yvonne and Daniel Cabrol, Ashleigh and Ryan Cagno, Doris and Galen Hackman, Jeremy Krider, Gloria and Steve Mann, Michael Milunic, Andrew Ruggiero, and Jon Zabick for their insights on this topic.

Entropy, Independent Action, and Divine Intervention A Theological Reflection on the Philosophy of John Boyd

 

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John Boyd was a United States Air Force officer, most notable for developing the OODA Loop (Observe, Orient, Decide, Act), which has seeped into broad aspects of culture from law enforcement training, to business strategy, to “man” blogs. What has not seeped into popular culture is the fact that OODA is a peripheral, and largely misunderstood by-product of Boyd’s lifelong study in epistemology: a fascination with how we comprehend an uncertain world.

 

Boyd was unconventional, both as a military officer and philosopher. He never wrote out his philosophy in a single full-length work, but rather offered it in short “briefings.” Because of this, much of Boyd’s work is freely available online. This article engages with “Destruction and Creation,” Boyd’s nine-page brief on how we form and maintain our relationships, ideas, and mental frameworks of the world around us. To my knowledge, a theological evaluation of Boyd has not yet been offered. This work takes a tentative step in that direction.

 

Boyd states that a basic desire of humanity is “the ability to act relatively free or independent of any debilitating external influences.” The goal of human striving is to increase the capacity for this free-independent action.^[1] However, the real world is one of uncertainty and limited resources. Rather than being a given state of affairs, free-independent action is achieved with difficulty. If we believe that we cannot attain it through our own efforts, humans will collaborate, accepting some constraints on our free-independent action to overcome a perceived greater barrier through cooperative effort.^[2] Thus, we have the basic conceptual impetus for families, corporations, nations, and alliances. These cooperative organizations are in constant transition, as individuals and groups reassess the current structure of their collaborative relationships in regards to the free-independent capacity versus debilitating constraint balance.^[3]

 

Beyond the desire for ever-increasing independence, a driving force behind the constant restructuring of relationships, organizations, and even ideas is the fact that no such organization of thought and life has the capacity to prove its own integrity and consistency.^[4] Relying on Kurt Godel’s logic of whole numbers, Boyd shows that we cannot evaluate the consistency of our conceptual structures with the tools contained within that structure. We assume our logic makes sense because it correlates to reality, and we assume our understanding of reality is accurate because our logic makes sense.^[5] To that internal inconsistency, Boyd adds Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle: as the distinction between observer and observed decreases, so does the ability to make accurate observations.^[6] In plain English, we can’t fix our dysfunction with our own dysfunction, and the closer we are to our own mess the less likely we are to understand our own mess.

 

If our relational and conceptual structures remain closed, the attempt to make sense with tools that cannot make sense creates growing entropy. Referring to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, Boyd defines entropy as an increasing level of disorder paired with a decreasing capacity for work and action. Left to its own devices, a system attempting to evaluate itself will experience increasing entropy until its structure is no longer sustainable and it fractures into a chaotic cluster of its constituent parts.^[7] As Boyd explains it, the result of trying to fix ourselves with ourselves is hopeless, “Unless some kind of relief is available, we can expect confusion to increase until disorder approaches chaos - death.”^[8] We are left with the options of self-destruction or the infusion of new material and ideas from an outside source.

 

The power of Boyd’s work is its scale-ability. The potency and structure of the argument remains equally valid whether applied at the microscopic, individual, or cosmic level. What Heisenberg discovered about the inability to accurately observe atoms with atoms is equally true of my personal inability to address my arrogance with my own arrogance. The basic principle that a married couple would be wise to seek financial advice to address their spending habits is equally applicable to a government attempting to adjust its economy.

 

Although Boyd does not explicitly make the observation, his thoughts on the constant creation, destruction, and recreation of relationships and thought patterns exposes the reality that free-independent action is a myth. None of us, no person, corporation, nation, or celestial configuration of bodies, operates free from constraints placed upon it by its relationships with others. Cognitively, there is no such thing as a “free thinker.” We all operate within the ideas and structures given by others. Within this reality, the human outlook is somewhat futile. We are destined to constantly create, destroy, and recreate relationships and ideas in the quest for what cannot be obtained. This applies not only to the internal process within the system, but to the larger goal and practice of the system itself. If we merely strive for mythical “freedom” over and over again, eventually that striving falls apart.

 

The biblical book of Isaiah makes the same observation. In the 6th century BC, the Assyrian empire expanded westward, toppling state after state; eventually, conquering Israel, much to the horror of its southern neighbor, Judah. The rulers of Judah watched the approaching juggernaut with increasing anxiety. As peer after peer succumbed, Judah found itself cast back and forth between a variety of possible alliances: with neighbors against Assyria, with Assyria as a vassal state, finally with Egypt in rebellion against Assyria. As each proposed structure fell apart, and Judah’s leaders struggled to create a new alliance, Isaiah mocked the effort, and the supposed wisdom which lay behind it. Isaiah 29:14-15 and 30:3-5 read:

 

Therefore, once more I will astound these people with wonder upon wonder,

the wisdom of the wise will perish,

the intelligence of the intelligent will vanish.

Woe to those who go to great depths to hide their plans from the Lord,

who do their work in darkness and think,

‘Who sees us?’ ‘Who knows us?’

 

But Pharaoh’s protection will be to your shame,

Egypt’s shade will bring you disgrace.

Though they have officials in Zoan and their envoys have arrived in Hanes,

everyone will be put to shame because of a people useless to them,

who bring neither help nor advantage,

but only shame and disgrace.

Isaiah 29:14-15; 30:3-5 (NIV)

 

The attempts by the wisest in Judah to create secret alliances, the attempts to concede to acceptable constraints to achieve desired free-independent action, are foolishness, the equivalent of hiding in a hole and believing no one can see them. Judah’s efforts to move outside of their collapsing system and bring fresh life from Egypt fail, because Egypt is also part of the failing system.

 

Boyd’s thoughts are scale-able. Entropy is not only an individual, organizational, or geo-political reality; entropy is a universal reality. We do not escape it by reaching outside of our current systems, we only delay it. We create small organized structures within a massive system trending toward chaos and death. This is Isaiah’s point. Judah was correct in understanding that it could not survive on its own terms. No one can. Judah failed by looking within the current geo-political configuration for a remedy, when God, who exists outside of that configuration, was offering assistance.

 

The universe is a closed system bound by entropy. Confusion, chaos, and disorder will increase. The capacity for work and action will decrease. Attempts to resolve the problems of the system, no matter how brilliant from the human perspective, are foolish bumbling. A closed system cannot resolve itself. It needs external intervention. From a theological perspective, we have seen just such interventions throughout history. The structuring of matter in the phrase “Let there be light;” or divine intervention transforming a race of slaves into a nation. Most notable is the paradigm shifting incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ which subverts the human calculus surrounding power, life, death, and planes of existence; inviting us to embrace the constraints of the Gospel in order to achieve free-independent action as servants of one who exists outside of the closed system.

 

 

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^[1]Boyd, John R. 1976. “Destruction and Creation,” 1. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/58a3add7e3df28d9fbff4501/t/58a4a32ce4fcb5d8f00b7243/1487184684871/Destruction+and+Creation_3+Sep+1976.pdf.

^[2]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 1.

^[3]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 1.

^[4]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 4–5.

^[5]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 5.

^[6]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 5–6.

^[7]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 6–7.

^[8]Boyd, “Destruction and Creation,” 7.