This one’s packed, as we discuss conscience and hardness of heart. What is the human conscience? How does it work? And what does it have to do with hardening? What about Biblical examples like Pharaoh and King Saul? How does hardening of conscience work out in our day and age? We’re only just scratching the surface of some major topics this week on WFS.

Hosts: Rev. Willie Grills and Rev. Zelwyn Heide
Regular Guest: Rev. David Appold
Episode: 41

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When Yuval Noah Harari (author of best-selling books Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, 2011 and Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow, 2017) thinks about artificial intelligence, he doesn’t picture robots gaining sentience and exterminating humanity. He does picture the increasing irrelevance of certain classes, growing global inequality, and a shift in authority from humanity to data-driven algorithms. The last of these is not really a prediction, but a fairly linear extrapolation of historical technological trends.

Technology develops because of the human drive to make work simpler, more efficient, or more effective. Pushing back against the curse (Gen. 3:17-19), men have managed to leverage their unique rational capacities in mitigating some consequences of sin. Or at least it seems that way. Perhaps technology has just permitted men to redistribute the effects of the curse. And that may be one of the reasons why it is difficult for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven – he does not feel the sweat of his face in bringing forth thorns and thistles. On the other hand, the insatiability of men remains as a reminder of the first sin. Efficiency should mean an opportunity to work less, but it is often used instead as a means to produce more.

By now we have moved far beyond the simple jigs that automate and optimize mechanical tasks. The questions we ask of technology are no longer simply quantitative, but also qualitative. Having mastered the realm of objectivity, technology now promises to help us deal with our subjectivity. Instead of asking, “How can I do this?” we have begun to ask, “What should I do?” Data is invaluable because it permits humanity to outsource the most difficult task of decision-making.

This already happens extensively in trivial ways. Netflix offers recommendations that match your watching history. Amazon suggests products that complement products you have already purchased. Yelp lets you tap into to the experiences and opinions of countless strangers as you choose a restaurant. But even in its infancy, information technology was promising to make much more critical decisions for us. In 1959, a couple of Stanford students used a mainframe and punch cards with survey data to match prospective romantic partners. Now by swiping left or right you can not only help build the enormous data-set but benefit from its algorithmic matchmaking output in real-time.

Harari is wary of these advances because he perceives the potential for manipulation. Every algorithm has been written by somebody, and not everybody has humanity’s best interests in mind. We are nonetheless extremely susceptible to technological suggestion because our expectations are so low. The computers just need to make somewhat better decisions than us most of the time in order for us to find them to be trustworthy. Considering how often we make bad decisions that’s a minor hurdle.

That susceptibility, however, tells us more about ourselves than Harari observes. In the first place, our interest in reliable decision-making belies our craving for authority. We learn quickly in life that people are untrustworthy and easily tempted to abuse authority. But that cannot erase our resonance with the ordered character of creation. We are meant to be under authority, and when artificial intelligence promises that authority without the vicissitudes of earthly fathers, we are happily imprinted.

Still, a more damning fact about humanity underlies that susceptibility. Unmistakably aware that “none is righteous, no, not one” (Ro. 3:10), we are always in pursuit of acquittal. That makes the promise of sound decision-making extremely attractive. By outsourcing our consciences to artificial intelligence, we have so much to gain. We gain certainty in the face of our own mixed feelings. Combined with accurate biometric sensors, technology could even correct for our changing feelings and help us to make decisions that will minimize the sensation of guilt. We also gain a scapegoat. Our love for having someone to blame should surprise no one, exhibited first in the Garden of Eden and now every time a child excuses himself by saying, “My brother told me to do it.” What could be better than the victimless blame-shifting afforded by having a computer make your decisions?

All of that is enough to warrant caution. If technology is used to numb or deflect pangs of conscience, then it has indeed become an instrument of the devil. But more fundamentally, we should know better because sound, objective decision-making could never favor humanity. Suppose you could gather all the data and crunch all the numbers. Let us say that you can measure not just actions but also motives. You would discover only one solution to all the ethical questions posed by humanity – eternal judgment. After all, a purely objective and consistent moral system must finally resemble God’s Holy Law. And by that standard, there is only one possible outcome. Artificial intelligence could not choose life in the end. For that, what we need is an authority who favors humanity against better judgment and in spite of the data.

The congregation at Corinth struggled with the problem of meat offered to idols.  Some, knowing rightly that idols are in fact nothing in themselves, felt that they could partake of this food in good conscience.  Others, misinformed and therefore weak in their conscience, felt that it was a sin.  Unfortunately, the stronger Christians disparaged their weaker brothers, indulging in that meat without regard to their welfare.  Therefore, Paul clarifies that “food will not commend us to God” (1 Corinthians 8:8).  “Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble” (1 Corinthians 8:13).  This is not a relativistic “go with what you feel,” as if, to use a contemporary example, one should drink alcohol in order to avoid appear to be a legalist.  The stronger must bear with the failings of the genuinely weaker brother even by forsaking what is his by right so that his brother is built up and not torn down.

Paul then clarifies what he means throughout 1 Corinthians 9.  He has the right in Christ to eat and drink.  He has the right in Christ to marry a “believing wife.”  He has the right in Christ to gain his whole living by the Gospel.  The Lord does not prohibit him from doing any of these things.  Yet he forsakes all of them, because he would “endure anything rather than put an obstacle in the way of the gospel of Christ” (1 Corinthians 9:12).  We would do well as Christians to heed Paul’s words.  Just because we have the right to do something does not mean that it is wise to do it.  Freedom in the Lord can be easily abused, to the detriment of the body.  Paul is not arguing for an unbridled license in all things.  Such is not the way of Christ.

Paul uses imagery common to his own day.  Because the ancients were fond of athletic competition, which frequently accompanied every major celebration, it provides an opportunity to explain what he means.  In a race, all of the runners seek after the prize, but only one obtains it.  He does not obtain it by doing whatever he pleases.  The athlete who has no self-control is either lazy or he plays for the crowd rather than focusing on the task at hand.  Such a man “runs aimlessly,” as if he was “boxing as one beating the air” (1 Corinthians 9:26).  Yet the glory which worldly runners seek is a perishable wreath, the fading crown of an earthly glory.  The one who exercises discipline in the heavenly race will receive a crow which will never fade away.  “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life” (Revelation 2:10).  Therefore, we are called to discipline our bodies, forsaking even what is ours by right, just as an athlete must give up his freedom in order to train for winning the race.

His transition into 1 Corinthians 10 seems disjointed unless one considers the wider context.  For the sake of the weaker brother, Paul and every Christian must forsake his liberty.  Those who run the race discipline their bodies and “keep it under control,” or more literally, “enslave it,” so that they would not be disqualified.  Yet the sons of Israel were in fact disqualified from running because of their idolatry, the very same problem which the Corinthians now faced.  All of them had the same blessings from God.  God led them by the cloud and brought them through the sea.  They all ate the same spiritual food and drank from the same spiritual drink, which is Christ.  The sons of Israel had all the same blessings which we now share, and yet because of their lack of discipline, they were overthrown.  They thought they had freedom in the Lord, because they regarded themselves as stronger than Him.  Partaking in something which causes us to look down upon our weaker brothers is not walking according to the Spirit.  It is a dangerous occasion for idolatry.  Nothing, however lawful it is in itself, is worth the cost of our brother’s soul.