The Second Element: Mechanistic Metaphysic

The materialist understanding of the universe is the most familiar iteration of this mindset to us moderns. We live in a culture which, at least pro forma, asserts that all reality is matter-in-motion, with each motion causing other motions in a mechanical reaction, deterministic or (somehow) otherwise. This thinking is the foundation of what Lewis observed in The Abolition of Man: human life is in this worldview merely physics, complex but completely mechanical and material. Mind is either a material phenomenon (and thus susceptible to material alteration) or an illusory epiphenomenon resulting from the purely physical reactions of the body. Thus, men can be programmed by their experiences, by careful control of their educations. Transpersonalist psychology modifies this by asserting a mystical ‘spiritual’ element, but in the end this spiritual element is only semantically different, an intangible part of the mechanism. People are merely mechanism.

The error, from a Christian perspective, is clear, if a little hard to articulate in precise terms. Borrowing from The Last Battle, we can say that people are made out of mechanisms, but that’s not what people are. Such a formula, however, is a little incoherent. People are physical-spiritual beings whose composition is logically self-consistent, as per our being made in His image (Gen. 1:26); even our sin is a gap in this structure (as Augustine got mostly right), with logical effects propagating into the rest of the person, destroying certain parts of the human in time. As such ‘mechanism’ is a true description of people.

The issue is that ‘mechanism’ has a slightly-too-broad semantic range for my purpose here. So I’ll narrow it. When I speak of a mechanistic metaphysic, I mean a view of the world’s structure (‘metaphysic’) which denies the relevance or existence of personal relationships (‘mechanistic’). The impersonality of the car engine is what I refer to, not its logical cause-effect structure.

The error of operant conditioning and materialism (whether Behaviorist or some other iteration) clearly falls within this definition. What about ancient paganism?

The rationale of sacrifice to Oðinn,¹ Zeus, Moloch, or Horus was mechanistic, despite the apparently personal nature of all participants, the humans and the deities. Through process of trial-and-error, of prodigality and frugality, a formula of sacrifice was found: offer X in X manner, and the deity will be obliged to give X result (or will, by its nature, be induced to give that result). If the expected results do not eventuate, the ritual was imperfect in design, the ritual was enacted improperly (a misstep or desecration interfered), or somebody else did a better ritual and got the god on his side. Input, properly done, produced output. Relationship with the deity, in the sense Christians expect with our God and which many Christians and post-Christians read back into the time, was not expected. You might like or adore Thor, but that had little to do with piety, with the sacrifices which obtained the proper results.

American folk magic, as discussed in this video (the impetus for this article), follows a similar trajectory. Instead of appeals to Tyr or Mars, the words are Psalms and invocations of God (I will not call this ‘prayer’); instead of sacrifice (sometimes), certain herbs or charms are employed. The effect follows not from faith but from proper accomplishment of the ritual. A similar rationale emerges in the gold-finding practices discussed in the later portion of the video, with more pagan overtones, as the sacrifice of an animal, with certain rituals, becomes a means of dispelling a spiritual guardian over treasure

In that practice, incidentally, we see the an improper appeal to power. Joseph Smith used two special stones which, in a dark place (like a hat on the face), produced ‘visions.’ Given his apparent lack of success in actually finding treasure prior to his (unsubstantiated) discovery of the gold tablets, I suspect he was something of a fraud, rather than a legitimate intermediary with ungodly spirits, al a Exodus 7:11. I say ‘ungodly’ because of the mechanistic nature of the invocation. God answers prayer (Ps. 86:1), but He is not compelled to an immediate, formulaic response (Ps. 69:13). Any spiritual messenger (‘angel’, ‘αγγελος’) which answers to such, therefore, is not sent by Him and thus not an angel but a demon.²

This mechanistic metaphysic becomes a matter of near-heresy (and sometimes heresy) when it reaches the doctrine of the sacraments (because, once it reaches the doctrine of salvation, it becomes heresy, and the sacraments are parlous close to soteriology). The Catholic view of baptism (shared, to some extent, by Lutheran and Eastern Orthodox denominations) makes its effect mechanical: go through the water, and you’re saved, no ifs, ands, or buts. The ritual accomplishes regeneration at least, leaving the sinner in a state of moral neutrality, capable of doing good or evil.

This view of baptism, however, is not Scriptural. God does not save man via the application of water any more than He saved men through the sacrifice of bulls and goats (Is. 1:11). The ritual, conducted with a wicked heart, is worse than useless; it is actually an abomination to Him (Is. 1:13). The act of baptism does not have a mechanical effect, such that every baptism produces regeneration.

Yet Zwingli went too far in the opposite direction. The rituals God gives us in the ceremonial law, properly enacted, do bless us; they are more than mere commemoration (Acts 10:47).³ A reduction to commemoration is less dangerous, at least in the short term, than the opposite error, but it is still a denial of the means of grace He has given us.

The Christian understanding of prayer, the sacraments, and of ‘invocation’ is not mechanistic. When I call upon God, by ritual or by word or by intent, I do not call upon Him the way I call upon a response machine, pressing a button to get a result. That’s the pagan approach, the one reflected in Israel’s faithless use of the sacrificial code which God abhors in Isaiah 66:3. No, I come to Him in faith and in love, relying on His faithfulness and love (Ps. 69:13) to assure me that He will give me what will do me good (Rom. 8:28).

In other words, prayer and ritual are part of and reliant upon my relationship with Him. Prayer and ritual have effect in proportion to the rightness of that relationship, not mechanistically but because the better the relationship, the more blessing is given through it (and it itself consists of blessing, from His perspective, albeit that’s an incomplete statement). If I am in righteousness and faith as I request, fully in harmony with Him, if my relationship with Him is perfect, I can rely on His promise, not as a statement of mechanism but as a person’s promise: “And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith” (Matt. 21:22). If I enact the ritual or pray the prayer mechanistically, without regard for Him, or with wicked intent (including greed), I receive also a proportional response: a relationship of rebellion receives judgement, and wicked prayer is rebellion in relationship.

Conclusion

I can sing St. Patrick’s Breastplate without a hint of irony. I can call upon the Trinity to be my shield. I do not do so, however, in mechanism. I do so because He promises to be my shield, and I have faith in His promise and His love. More, I call on Him because it is to the Lord that I ought to call in trouble (Ps. 28:2), not another (Ex. 20:3-6). Magic, as a rule, is a violation of both these precepts. It is an attractive error: all men like power, and all men like rebellion. Improper power is power through rebellion; a mechanistic metaphysic offers power without need for fealty (again, rebellion), whether to the materialist or the pagan worshipper. A perspective on magic which makes the mere material effective upon the spiritual is just as dangerous as one which denies the spiritual altogether; both turn very easily to a denial of the relationship which is the foundation of Christian prayer and sacrament, blurring the lines between that righteousness and the world’s sin. Yet what blessing we have in the truth of our relationship to Him: “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever” (Ps. 136:1).

God bless.

---

Footnotes

1. Ð or ð is an eth, pronounced like the ‘th’ in ‘the’ or ‘therefore.’ It’s a more correct transliteration of Odin. The double n is more my stylistic preference, as I don’t remember the grammatical rule the video gives for its use. ↩︎
2. ‘Angel’ is the catch-all English term for non-fallen, non-carnate spiritual beings; ‘demon’ is the same for fallen, non-carnate spiritual beings. All ‘angels’ we are given reason to believe exist by Scripture, however, act as direct enactors of His will; as His Scripture is sufficient to every good work (2 Tim. 3:16-17), we are therefore justified to assume that this is true of every God-obeying spiritual beings relevant to our current lives. ↩︎
3. For a more thorough consideration of baptism in particular, you can read this article. Note that it’s from years ago, and its writing quality is somewhat lower than I would accept from myself now. Be prepared for some overdone sentences and oversized paragraphs in particular. ↩︎