Technology and the Objectifying of People

I’ve been wondering about the role of technology in our everyday lives. I’ve heard a claim that a study suggested we naturally view others online (such as in social media platforms) as objects. Objects are there for us to be used, and when they don’t conform to the usage we require (or when they fail to meet our needs or wants in some other way), we become frustrated with them. That frustration is likely due to a lack of control over the object that we should have (or think we should have). So when the TV remote fails to work, or when our phone’s battery inexplicably starts draining toward zero in the middle of an activity, we get upset.

Sometimes that frustration translates to outward words and actions, such as throwing the remote down in disgust, yelling at the “stupid” phone, etc. But what does this have to do with social media and technology? With Facebook (or Twitter, especially), we are or can be isolated from any other humans while communicating online. This communication often occurs with little context beforehand, often allowing us to communicate both with loved ones as well as complete strangers. When we view people online as objects, we fail to view them as human beings. That may sound simplistic, but it’s worth ruminating on.

Perhaps the best analogue may be video games. I grew up with the Super Nintendo, and played a little of xbox (the original, kids!) in college. Whenever you played by yourself (or maybe with someone else who was in the same room), you would play against the “computer,” or, as we say now, the “AI.” The AI could be easy to defeat. In these cases, you don’t mind much the AI, because it poses virtually no real challenge; it presents an obstacle to your success almost in name only. Consider the very first walking mushroom bad-guy thingy on Super Mario Bros. for Nintendo. You only die off there if you’ve never played before, there’s a malfunction, or you got way too cocky to pay attention at all. Even though the AI is an object (or objects), you don’t mind—you may even be pleased—because it’s pretty much doing what you want it to do.

But the AI, especially in today’s gaming world, can often be maddeningly difficult to overcome. In these cases, it’s a very different story—one that often involves some colorful language, and perhaps the violent throwing of an unsuspecting fellow object. The more the object fails to perform in the way we would like or expect—the more we are prevented from achieving our goal or goals—the more frustrated, and abusive, we become.

So it is with our fellow humans on Facebook, Twitter, etc. Perhaps our goal is to convince someone of our political position, or just to express approval for the “best” kind of dog. But then these goals are not always realized, because someone disagreed, or someone wasn’t even talking to you but posted something we thought was clearly wrong. We may be viewing people on the Internet as AI. Inasmuch as the AI online are doing what we want, we approve. When the AI does not or impedes us in some way, we become frustrated, and unleash all the abuse and vitriol that goes along with it.

“Now wait a minute,” you might say. “I don’t do that!” And perhaps you do not. Not everyone does. But nearly always this person is intentional about it, or has cultivated the kind of character that shows kindness to people, as creations made in the image of God. Our default, without this cultivation and intentionality, is to treat people online as AI. And this is not necessarily limited to strangers. To the degree we are prevented from realizing our goals we are also frustrated by the AI. So in a situation where we care greatly about the outcome (say a political or theological debate), even our loved ones may suffer online in a way they may not were we to discuss it in person.

Why is this? We were created to be in community. This community is naturally intended to be face-to-face. This can be replicated to some degree online, with Skype and phone conversations (not so much for text). But it is very difficult to do much with e-mail, text, Facebook, etc. To be sure, there are exceptions, but even these seem to have such relationships increase greatly with more “traditional” forms of contact. When we lack this face-to-face community, we suffer social consequences of isolation. This affects us as people. Even if we have a robust social life outside of online interactions, the people we lack real community with are closer to the AI: they are meeting some need or goal (entertaining us, paying us compliments, etc.) or failing to do so (opposing us intellectually, communicating things or in ways we do not approve of, etc.).

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about AI is that if they oppose you, you cannot control them. You can only overcome or destroy them. So it is online. With people, you cannot make them change their views or their behavior. So you can only overcome them (e.g., overwhelm them with your arguments, unfriend them, etc.) or destroy them (e.g., berate them until they go away). And the best part? In this scenario, the AI also treats you like you’re AI. So good news.

What do we do? I propose we recognize the Christian doctrine that teaches all humans are made in the image of God. Second, we seek to serve people online, rather than have them serve us (Philippians 2:4). Third, we should be involved in our real-world communities and spheres of influence. I have been guilty of viewing people as objects in the past, and perhaps together, in communities both online and in the real world, we will grow.

Arguments from Tradition

I have recently realized why I don’t find arguments from tradition (especially in theology) very persuasive.[1] It used to be that I didn’t take church tradition very seriously at all. Now, I certainly think there is value in it (though I don’t perceive it to be authoritative). Nonetheless, I still find such appeals to tradition to be problematic.

It seems to me that the argument typically goes like this: this is a position tradition has upheld for a thousand years or more; you are arrogant to think that you somehow have it right where a thousand + years of Christianity had it wrong.

While there are issues on the periphery that bother me (e.g., if it’s arrogant, while that’s interesting, this alone says little about whether I am correct; it’s not clear why mere disagreement entails arrogance, and potentially so on), a bigger issue seems to me to lie in the claim itself that, in our example, has stood for a thousand years or more.

So let’s take it to be the case that this traditional position has been either: a) affirmed by a council, or b) made official dogma (I only differentiate in cases where someone might; I’m just trying to cover bases). This prevents a weaker case of tradition where some view has simply been held by Christians over the years; this is a view held by perhaps the vast majority of Christians over centuries.

While I agree that going against such a view should only be done in the gravest of care, I think we have an interesting scenario: it isn’t, presumably, the case that over the course of a thousand years, the vast majority of Christians who ever lived tested out the position to see if it was true, and all independently came to this conclusion that the position is true. Instead, in cases of (a) or (b), the position simply becomes the paradigm within which Christians work. At best, most Christians simply accept the position, and the rest work assuming the paradigm is true (in apropos Kuhnian fashion) and seeing how to defend it or what results from it.

Much, perhaps even most, of the force of these types of traditional arguments are removed when one realizes that the claim amounts to, “Everyone else has gotten in line; why haven’t you?” That claim, of course, works easily in cases where one takes tradition itself to be a kind of authority; but I don’t (for better or, as my Catholic friends may say, for worse).

---

[1] This is true in most contexts. Obviously, where the discussion centers around what tradition has typically upheld, I take it that traditional appeals are demonstrative.

Hedge of Protection Rules, Accountability, and Legalism

I was having a conversation yesterday about something and this blog post comes out of that. In previous generations, Christians and vocational ministers often had so-called “hedge of protection” rules, such as: never counsel a member of the opposite sex alone, always call when you are travelling away from family, limit or get rid of TV, etc. These are also placed alongside accountability rules, such as internet software (at least in today’s society), weekly meetings, phone calls, and small groups. These rules are in place, ostensibly, to keep people safe, their hearts pure, and their focus on the Lord.

On the other hand, lately I’ve seen a lot of comments from contemporary Christians that such rules are not desirable. Even worse than this, they are indicative of either an immature Christian or else an evil and/or impure heart. So which side is right? How can we adjudicate this rationally and spiritually?

It seems to me, on the one hand, that the accountability side is right. We are made for community, both because we image-bear God (cf. Gen. 1:27) and because we are made to be in fellowship with each other, bear one another’s burdens, and so on (see literally any and all of Paul’s letters). Additionally, Jesus himself advocated for taking radical steps, albeit while speaking hyperbolically, to avoid sin (see Matthew 5:27-30). Paul urged us to “flee” youthful lusts.[1]

On the other hand, there is something right about the naysayers. There is a legitimate point to be made about legalism and how it doesn’t change your heart. If all you do is institute a bunch of rules, you may simply be revealing how sinful your heart really is, and these rules aren’t going to change that—they simply remove some particular opportunities to commit that sin.

Here, I think, is where we can find a rapprochement. It’s very true that if a man struggles with watching inappropriate things on TV, removing a TV doesn’t cleanse his heart or renew his mind. In fact, all it does is simply remove one way he might sin. He’s still living, and breathing, and thinking, and thus his problem is not solved. Thus, we can see if one is trying to cleanse his heart and renew his mind by simply hedge-of-protection rules or accountability, this will not work.

However, if a man struggles with inappropriate thoughts, and is in the Bible and praying, he may add accountability, and radical measures, and this will be fine, and even good for him! Why? Because it’s motivated by a desire for a change of heart, and as we are being renewed, we remove temptation from our lives where necessary. The arrow runs in the other direction. You’re not holy because you remove temptation; you are being made holy, and you recognize for your life you need to remove this temptation for a time, or even permanently. The danger is in thinking it somehow makes you spiritual, or in insisting others do it as well, or else be in sin.

This can be applied to other sins as well (indeed, all of them!). Gluttony—perhaps remove particular foods. Body image issues—perhaps remove particular magazines or TV programs. Gossip—perhaps remove yourself from particular friends for a while. The list can go on and on. None of these help you become spiritual. But what they do accomplish is to help someone who is becoming spiritual weather temptation in different areas.

Finally, one last note: we all struggle with something sinful. That’s because we all have a sin problem. So if you think, “If that person struggles, then he is really sinful,” just know you’re right. I am really sinful. And so are you. So pray for each other, and show each other grace. As (I believe) Mike Grover once suggested, too often we claim we have avoided legalism, but in reality all we have done is switched sides!

---

[1] Granted, this is plausibly in juxtaposition with “following” righteousness, faith, charity, and peace in the same verse, and so may be more metaphorical. Nonetheless, I suspect Paul may have had room for a literal application (Joseph, anyone?).

Disdain for the God of Reformed Theology?

I’ve seen a few comments lately that if it were to be discovered that the God of Christianity was identical to the God of Reformed theology (specifically the causal-determinist variety) that the reaction of some Christians would be to show “disdain” or even to spit in his face! Something about that strikes me as very unsettling. I am no fan of Reformed theology; I think it reveals something less than desirable about God’s character. That is to say, I don’t think it describes who God is and what he is like accurately. But that’s almost beside the point. If I find Reformed theology objectionable on those grounds, then why wouldn’t I also disdain God in these circumstances?

I have thought about it, and I have a reason or two: First, if this really is the God of the Bible, it’s not an attitude a regenerate person has toward God (I'm not suggesting whoever says this is unregenerate; merely that it's not a great attitude). Somehow, some way, there must be some answer of which I was not aware that vindicates God’s character. Second—and this is quite related—I am simply not that confident that my interpretation of Scripture, theology, and philosophy is that airtight and unassailable. I may, for all I know, be quite wrong about my views of God.

Now, this looks interestingly like some of the current defenses for why God, on Reformed theology, does not save everyone or allows (or even causes!) some specific evil or set of evils. But here I don’t think I am opening a realistic door this side of heaven. Why? Because I’m not simply thinking that we don’t know the specific reason that God does x or y; I’m going further and saying this looks like it’s not in the character of God at all! Thus, to embrace the mystery response is to do so in spite of the evidence (again, if I am right, which is a separate question from what we are dealing with now).

Basically, the idea that we would disdain the God of Reformed theology were he to be actual, I think, places far too much confidence in ourselves. Plus, it’s off-putting to those whom we would like to convince. What do you think?

Confess Your Faults?

James 5.16 clearly exhorts us to “Confess your faults one to another.” My question is how far does this extend? If we are honest with ourselves, we may find that we have sinful thoughts about other people multiple times per day. This can be evil thoughts of all kinds. So, do we track down each person, each time it occurs, and confess it? This seems not only tedious, but potentially impossible.

Here’s an idea: perhaps we only do this when it affects the other person. This initially sounds plausible, but, as a matter of fact, it too suffers from a fatal flaw. We are often under the unfortunate and mistaken assumption that our own internal sins only affect ourselves. However, we know from experience and the Bible that no man is an island (Rom. 14.7-8). What we think helps form our character, and our character affects not only who we are, but also the lives of others we encounter. So, if this principle holds, then we’re right back where we started.

So perhaps another track is needed—after all, a fool speaks all his mind (Proverbs 29.11). Perhaps it is something like this: when we have done something that clearly has an external affect, or when we have done something or had any attitude toward someone that they have perceived as an offense, we ought to seek reconciliation. This “clearly” bit helps delineate things a little, but it doesn’t eliminate all confusion outright. Thus, another guiding principle is needed, one that I suggest be joined to this one. That is: follow what God is leading you to do. This can be known through the Bible and through wise counsel. If God is moving you, then please follow it!

There are a few questions that remain, however: What other considerations should we take into account with respect to confessing our faults one to another? What role should the local church play formally in these instances? How does the concept and practice of forgiveness come into play? I’d love to hear your thoughts below!

Does God Want All to be Saved?

In the Calvinist[1]/non-Calvinist dialectic over whether or not God wants people to be saved, the following often occurs:

Claim: God doesn’t want some people to be saved, on Calvinism. This is because he could cause them to believe if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t.

Response: But you have the same problem. On your view, God still has the power to cause people to believe, but he doesn’t, because he values free will. We have the same kind of response: God could save everyone, but he values something else more. For you, it’s human freedom, and for us, it’s his own glory.

It seems to me this response misses a crucial nuance that I’d like to explore.

When the non-Calvinist asserts that, on Calvinism, God doesn’t want some people to be saved, what she is really claiming (or at least what she should be claiming) is that God doesn’t want some people to believe. It is this key distinction in the dispute that will make all the difference. What does it mean to “believe” in Jesus? Does it mean to believe in his existence? Well, sure. What about his claims to divinity, and his resurrection? Of course. But it also means much more than these mere intellectual states. It is an active trust in God for life and salvation (just ask yourself—or a Calvinist—if someone is really a believer who has no interest in trusting God or following Christ at the time of their supposed conversion).

But this kind of trust, love, and discipleship can only be entered into freely. I suspect that, at bottom, most Calvinists would agree (on certain conditions, no doubt—but conditions not needed at present to agree). Non-Calvinists in the debate tend to believe in the thesis of incompatibilism—that causal determinism is incompatible with freedom—and as such, causal determinism is incompatible with freely entering into a love and trust relationship with Jesus Christ. Calvinists often, though not always, affirm compatibilism—the thesis that causal determinism is compatible with free action—and so causal determinism will be compatible with freely entering into such a relationship.

Now we can see the difference between the initial claim and the response, and why the response (given by people such as John Piper) doesn’t have the intended force. It’s because the answer is “no”—God cannot force someone to freely do something, any more than he can create a married bachelor or lie or will himself not to exist, etc. The whole idea of salvation presumes a free choice to participate in sin such that one needs salvation.

Now on the non-Calvinist view, God could have created creatures without any free will, such that none would ever go wrong. But then these wouldn’t be humans (and plausibly wouldn’t have been made in the image of God); they would be something else entirely. Notice the response loses force if we amend it to, “Yes, but on your view, God could have refrained from creating humans and no one would be lost;” the lack of creation is not symmetrical to securing universal salvation. The fact remains that on the Calvinist view, God could secure a free response of salvific belief for everyone, and simply does not do it.

---

[1] What I am calling “the Calvinist view” is shorthand for the view of Calvinist theology with the thesis of causal determinism. Thus, in principle (and in practice!) there can be Calvinists to whom this does not apply.