Theology, Math and Logic, Pt I: Is Theology a “Calculus” or a Science? (A Brief Hot Take)

I wanted to share some thoughts that have been swirling around in my head about ideologies and thought systems that may have relevance to the conversation on theology. This stuff is fairly ethereal and I am not an expert in mathematics, modern philosophy or formal logic*, so I may butcher definitions. Bear with me. 

So the other day I was talking with an old friend of mine who I had just recently gotten back into touch with. He’s a computer scientist and was describing to me what (to me) seemed like a very esoteric but useful system of mathematical theory (homotopic type theory, where you visualize sets of things as “paths” on an imaginary map and measure them by how they overlap and connect to each other). In laying out the principles of this theory, he used an approach that felt to me much more grounded in logic than in math equations per se, going principle by principle until he had more or less built up the concept in my mind. 

I described to my friend how his process of laying out an ideology felt very familiar to me. It sounded like the way some people talk about theology, laying out core principles and trying to build on them in a “systematic” way. Sometimes this works and produces a theological system that’s elegant and beautiful. Sometimes it produces a system full of contradictions. Sometimes it produces a system that has all the right moving parts but it’s hard to imagine why anyone would find it appealing or helpful. What intrigued me was the differences in approach between doing this in theology and doing this in math or other fields. 

I began to try and think about whether theology is more like math or more like science. There’s a great video by Youtuber Vsauce about numbers beyond infinity.** In it, he briefly discusses how in science, your assumptions are based on assumptions about how the world works, and must be modified to most closely match the observable physical universe. In math, by contrast, all that needs to happen is that your assumptions are logically consistent and that they don’t contradict themselves. Math can “create” systems that cannot exist in the physical universe but which still work from a mathematical standpoint because they are consistent. 

We use “calculus” to sometimes refer to not just the math system, but metaphorically to a way of thinking that is built on math-like prepositional logic (“If A=B” etc). A question comes to my mind: is theology a “calculus” or a science? And why does it matter? 

When I talked to my computer science friend about my theological studies, I framed it as a kind of calculus. I talked about how in the absence of an empirical mode to “verify” our understanding of God within the physical universe, theology must be more of a math than a science. I admitted that as a result of this phenomenon, I often evaluate theologies less by whether they are “true,” but by whether they help people live more well-adjusted lives, as well as how well they mesh with my understanding of God. On an objective level, I think probably most of our ideas about God and none of our ideas about God are true. This is not to say I’m a relativist, just that the Creator of the universe is going to by nature be so far beyond our comprehension that we will necessarily get things wrong. I don’t see this as a problem because we can still cultivate a loving relationship with God. On the other hand, the work of the Christian mystics, as well as the existence of a Bible with at least some historically verifiable events suggests that there are “science” elements of faith. The disciple is, in a sense, both a kardionaut and a field researcher, exploring the depths of their heart and the heart of God, as well as discerning how God is active in the world. Math also doesn’t know what to do with paradoxes, but the Gospel and faith delight in paradoxes. There is so much about the both/and. Truth and grace. God and human. Already and not yet. Foolish wisdom and wise foolishness. In that sense, theology is more like the science which observes light as both a particle and a wave. It’s also more like art. The student of theology can make radical moves with their “colors” on the canvas, mixing and combining palettes in unexpected ways to approach a portrait of the great Subject, God. Like a poet, they write and revise words in an attempt to come closer and closer to the image of God, an image which can be approximated but never fully captured except in the person of Christ. 

I think when people judge other people’s faith (especially within the same broad religious tradition), they’re operating under the assumption that theology is a science and the other person is doing it wrong. In a pluralist society, I wonder if the truth of the Gospel might be communicated more effectively if we allowed the pure light of God’s love to be filtered through the lens of people’s experience. Corrections may need to be made along the way, but if we think of the pursuit of God knowledge as more of a calculus by which we come to a way of life and discipleship that encourages our own unique flourishing under God, and less as a set of highly specific truth claims that must be defended at all costs, we might be better off. 

On the other hand, it’s possible to lean too far into this thought pattern and to ignore both the witness of the Gospel and the ways in which God does tangibly “show up” in our lives. When academic theologians construct thought systems which read prettily off the page but which do not account for God’s capacity to surprise and challenge us, then we need to remember that God does promise to show up in our lives, to be attentive to the “science” of the heart. 

*Nor, by the patristic/matristic definition am I truly a “theologian” (one who is able to speak about God from intimate direct experience a la St John or St Gregory Palamas), but I am at least a student of theology. **Link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrU9YDoXE88

Eco-Martyrdom Pt I

As I look at the projections about how much time we have to reverse catastrophic climate change (the number circulating around is roughly 12 years), I find I am often moved to despair. The ongoing slogan is “let this radicalize you rather than lead to despair”. While that’s an admirable sentiment and probably helpful for a lot of people, I’ve been wondering about how people can participate in/be motivated to activism when they, like me, are overwhelmed and in a state of despair/helplessness at the magnitude of the task before us to try and save the planet.

Paradoxically, I find what’s giving me comfort is the idea that maybe I can’t save the planet. Maybe we can’t save the planet, though we sure as hell ought to try. I often find a way for me to deal with despair and anxiety is to go through the worst case scenario in my head, and come up with some kind of contingency plan for that. I figure that way, I’m prepared for all possibilities, and if things go better than the worst case, so much the better for me/everyone. As I confront the possibility that we as humans may not be able to save the planet/ourselves, I am moved to consider what mindset will help me to take action.

And more and more I am moved by the early martyrs of the Church. Contrary to popular opinion, most of them (with the possible exception of St. Ignatius of Antioch) did not want to die. They held on to life for as long as possible, and served in the Church as leaders, teachers, priests/shepherds, theologians, etc. But when they came under pressure from the Roman authorities, they did some soul searching and determined that they would rather stand up for their beliefs and way of life, and be remembered as people who did what was right, rather than capitulate to Rome and possibly save their physical lives (βιος), but lose the vitality and wholeness that gave them true life (ζοη).

With the world possibly literally ending (at least for human flourishing), now seems as good a time as any for me and perhaps others to switch from a metaphor of conquest by the success of our efforts to victory by the character and faithfulness of our efforts. I’ve heard various people I know rightly complain that “the brunt of the damage is being done by a handful of companies, and since they won’t change, how much good can I do?”. While this is true, it reveals a bigger problem with activism for some of us: our energy to engage is sometimes tied to whether we can reasonably expect success. I want to consider other ways to move people to righteous action, particularly in this sphere where the prognosis is grim.

I recall often that the Greek word “Martyr” (Μαρτυρια) means “witness”, someone who proclaims the Truth of Christ by their actions, words and character. Sometimes martyrs die, and sometimes they survive, but what matters most is that they do everything they can to be on the right side of history and (for those of religious faith) spirituality. I find much more hope and resolve to engage with  climate change activism if I think of myself as an eco-martyr, someone who is called to witness to the harm that has been done to God’s creation that They called “good”, and to do whatever I can to heal it. I may die in the attempt, but in the end I feel that even if we as a species fail to save the planet/humanity, I would rather know myself as a martyr, someone who witnessed to the Truth of his God and his world, until my last breath.

Eco-Martyrdom Pt II -- Activism and the Resurrection

Quote from Fr. John Meyendorff: The Ethics of Resurrection:

“Is it not true that our mortality serves to justify our concern for ourselves, instead of our neighbors? My neighbor can be cold and hungry next door, but I feel quite justified in preserving my own standard of living and the security of my own future, because I consider my money as having been earned by me (or given to me) with no other purpose than to prolong my own life and to make it as comfortable as I can.

Moreover, even the laws of this mortal world of ours are made in such a way that their main purpose is to preserve my rights and my property. They justify violence as a form of self-defense. And the history of human society is one of conflicts and wars in which individuals and nations struggle and kill others in the name of temporal benefits which will be destroyed by death anyway. But this is still considered as “justice.”

Such is, indeed, the inevitable logic of a world, which St. Paul describes as “the reign of death.”

On Easter Day (Pascha) however, we celebrate the end of this reign. Christ came to destroy it. "Death is swallowed up in victory, O death, where is your sting?” “Christ is Risen, and no one remains in a tomb” Therefore, as the Church sings, “let us embrace,” “let us forgive.”

This victory which our Church celebrates so brilliantly, so loudly, so triumphantly, is not simply a guarantee of “after life.” Rather, it changes the entire set of our ethical priorities, even now. There is no need for self-preservation anymore because “our life is hidden with Christ in God.” To love one’s neighbors and to give them the "last penny” is better insurance than to “store treasures upon earth.” “To lose one’s soul” is “to save it."”



I’ve been turning over this little meditation by Fr. John in my mind for the last few weeks, as I consider some follow-up thoughts to my previous piece on Eco-Martyrdom*. After reblogging another post proclaiming the need for environmental activism to counteract the devastating effects of climate change (specifically in the form of direct action and forcing governments to make changes), I felt once again that despair. I still believe in the idea that I want to witness to the truth of care for God’s creation no matter the cost, but I couldn’t help thinking that, as things get worse, it’s going to be harder and harder to summon up the will and comfort with discomfort necessary to do so. Many of us, myself included, are tempted to be overwhelmed and just try to look out for ourselves because throwing our weight behind collective action and sacrificial acts for others is often exhausting and can be dangerous.

It was at this moment that I remembered this meditation, and I thought perhaps it could be of help. What if this ecological crisis is really what will test our faith in the Resurrection and its ethical implications? Christianity has been corrupted at times by many forces outside and inside the Church. Many of us have been taught to believe a lie that “resurrection” just means that our soul keeps living in a disembodied Heaven when we die. We are encouraged not to worry about what will happen to this world, because we will be preserved with Christ far away from this sinful Earth. We will be “raptured”, or simply die and “go to Heaven.” In extreme cases, this leads to some fundamentalist groups cheering on the destruction of our planet, God’s creation, in hopes that it will artificially hasten the Second Coming of Christ to take us away. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of eschatology, and of the doctrine of the Resurrection itself. The teaching of the early Church is and remains that we are being resurrected in our *physical* bodies, here on this earth. The funeral service in the Orthodox Church talks about the *severing* of the link between body and soul, as something that was not meant to be. Death is an interruption in our integral unity, and one that will eventually be undone. Yes, the Parousia, the Second Coming will bring about a restoration on this Earth and the fulfillment of all things. But it is still a real, physical homeland, not a disembodied, separate ethereum, that we are being called to prepare for the Kingdom of God upon. In the words of Metropolitan John Zizioulas, we are called to be priests of creation, offering up all of the world in reverence to God, not destroying and tainting it for our own sinful use.

But even if we discount Rapture theology and the neo-Gnosticism that separates creation from spirituality, flesh from soul, the difference between a “pie in the sky” quietism and a grounded faith centered in the Resurrection is rather like the difference between negative nihilism and positive nihilism. The negative nihilist** says, “There is no inherent meaning. Therefore, I will pursue self-interest and destructive impulse because nothing matters.” The positive nihilist says, “There is no inherent meaning. Therefore, I will do my best to make a good life and help others to do the same, because nothing matters except that which we make matter.”

Likewise, the religious escapist says, “I’m going to be resurrected in the Kingdom, therefore, why should I care if the world burns around me,” while the Christian “nihilist” (or perhaps the Christian “existentialist***”) says, “I’m going to be resurrected in the Kingdom, therefore, I have no need to pursue self-interest. I am safe, and will use my time in this age to do whatever I can to keep other people safe.” If we lose our physical life, we know as Christians we will receive it again. Therefore, perhaps this can be a foundation for our ecological kenosis, for laying down our comfort, security, and perhaps even our lives to help others care for our ailing ecosystem.****


**There’s probably a more descriptive philosophical term, but bear with me

***See the work of Zizioulas, Nikolai Berdyaev and perhaps also Kierkegaard

****Note: Dying for one’s faith is very different from killing for one’s faith, the latter of which I as a Christian cannot condone. It’s also important to note the element of true martyrdom in this last point. The point is not to desire death, but to not let the fear of death be a deterrent to doing what’s right.

Update: Cross-Posting

Hi all,

As a note, I will be cross-posting some content from my Tumblr blog(s) for the future. I'm fairly active on there, but I know not everyone is on Tumblr and I realized that since I write a lot of theological things on that platform it makes sense to start putting them here as well.