Religion Archives - Sam Harrelson

Integral Plasma Ecology: Toward a Cosmological Theology of Energy and Relation

I’m talking about plasma and ecology a little more… there’s a lot here that needs to be explored.

Abstract

This paper develops the concept of Integral Plasma Ecology as a framework that bridges physics, cosmology, and ecological theology through a process-relational lens. Drawing from Alfred North Whitehead’s cosmology, Teilhard de Chardin’s evolutionary mysticism, and Thomas Berry’s integral ecology, I propose that plasma, the most abundant and least understood state of matter in the cosmos, can serve as a metaphysical and theological metaphor for participatory consciousness and relational ecology. My background in physics education informs this exploration, as I integrate scientific understandings of plasma’s dynamics with phenomenological and theological insights from Merleau-Ponty, Edith Stein, and Leonardo Boff. The result is a vision of reality as a living field of plasma-like relationality, charged with energy, consciousness, and divine creativity.

Introduction: From Physics to Ecology

Teaching AP Physics for more than a decade invited me to teach the universe’s foundational structures of motion, fields, and forces. I taught students how energy moves through systems, how charge generates fields, and how the visible world depends on invisible relations. Yet it was through my doctoral work in ecology and religion that these physical insights deepened into theological questions. What if these energetic relationships are not merely physical but also metaphysical? What if the cosmos itself is an ecological process of becoming, an ever-living plasma of divine relation?

As Whitehead writes, “the energetic activity considered in physics is the emotional intensity entertained in life” (Whitehead 1978, 113). This simple but profound statement reframes matter not as inert but as alive with feeling. Physics thus becomes a spiritual ecology and a study of how creativity courses through the veins of the universe.

In this paper, I build on that insight, proposing that plasma, the ionized, dynamic, relational state of matter, embodies the ontological structure of reality described by process philosophy and integral ecology. Plasma is the medium of creation: relational, dynamic, self-organizing, and luminous. It is the cosmos’ own ecology.

Plasma: The Fourth State of Matter as First Principle

Plasma constitutes over 99% of the visible universe (Peratt 1992, 4). From stars to nebulae, from lightning to auroras, plasma bridges energy and matter, revealing that the cosmos is not built of solid bodies but of dynamic, interpenetrating fields. In a plasma, electrons and ions exist in constant tension as an interplay of attraction and repulsion, order and chaos.

As a physics teacher, I explained plasma to students as “a soup of charged particles,” but even that language undersells its mystery. Plasma self-organizes into filaments and double layers, forming intricate networks that resemble neural or ecological systems. This self-organization without central control challenges the Newtonian image of matter as passive substance. It invites metaphysical reflection: perhaps plasma is a cosmological icon of relational being and a physical analogue for what theologians call the divine pleroma, or fullness of life.

Teilhard de Chardin’s The Phenomenon of Man anticipated this perspective when he described matter as “spirit-in-evolution,” energized from within by a divine impetus (Teilhard 1959, 56). Plasma, as the living medium of the universe, may represent that very process as matter suffused by its own luminous consciousness.

Process and Participation: Whitehead, Cobb, and Berry

In Whitehead’s process cosmology, the universe is composed not of things but of events or occasions of experience that prehend one another in an ongoing flow of creativity (Whitehead 1978). Energy is not something added to matter but the form of its feeling. Plasma, then, is not simply physical energy but a processual manifestation of relational creativity with the universe becoming itself through fields of feeling or being or perception.

John Cobb, a key interpreter of Whitehead, extends this insight into ecological theology, arguing that “God and the world are relationally co-creative; the world participates in God’s creative advance” (Cobb 1985, 87). This participation, like plasma dynamics, is nonlinear, chaotic, and interdependent. There is no static center; instead, reality unfolds through relational patterns of mutual influence.

Thomas Berry’s call for an “integral ecology” resonates deeply here. In The Great Work, Berry envisions the universe as a single, living communion of subjects rather than a collection of objects (Berry 1999, 16). The plasma universe offers a tangible vision of that communion: everything is charged, in motion, and co-creating. Energy and consciousness are not separate categories but expressions of the same cosmic pulse.

Phenomenology and the Plasma of Perception

Turning from cosmology to phenomenology, Merleau-Ponty and Edith Stein offer complementary perspectives on relational being. For Merleau-Ponty, perception is “an intertwining, a flesh of the world” (Merleau-Ponty 1968, 147). This “flesh” is not simply physical matter but a relational medium, much like plasma, that binds perceiver and perceived in a dynamic exchange.

Stein, in On the Problem of Empathy, describes consciousness as fundamentally participatory: to know another is to “live into” them, to resonate with their inner life (Stein 1989, 11). In plasma terms, empathy is the transfer of charge across a relational field. Consciousness is an electro-phenomenological event, where selves co-arise through interaction.

This phenomenological perspective reframes plasma as existential metaphor. The cosmos itself perceives, or feels, through its fields. Every charged particle participates in the world’s ongoing self-awareness. Thus, Integral Plasma Ecology posits that ecological consciousness is not uniquely human but cosmic, woven into the plasma fabric of being.

Integral Theory and the Ecology of Energy

The term “integral” situates this framework within the lineage of integral thinkers such as Ken Wilber, Sri Aurobindo, and Jean Gebser, who each envisioned reality as a multidimensional, evolving whole. In Wilber’s AQAL model (all quadrants, all levels), energy and consciousness co-evolve across developmental lines (Wilber 2000, 44). Plasma, as both physical and metaphysical energy, bridges those quadrants—interior and exterior, individual and collective.

In Integral Plasma Ecology, plasma functions as an integrative metaphor and ontological medium. It unites:

Physical energy (electromagnetic fields, thermodynamics)
Biological life (ecological flows and feedbacks)
Spiritual consciousness (divine creativity and relational presence)

This integration reflects Teilhard’s noosphere where the emergence of collective consciousness through the energetic evolution of matter. Humanity’s ecological crises, then, are not merely environmental but energetic dissonances within the plasma field of creation. Our technologies, economies, and even theologies have disrupted the cosmic charge balance.

Toward an Integral Plasma Ecology

Building on these traditions, I define Integral Plasma Ecology as:

“A participatory framework for understanding energy, consciousness, and ecology as manifestations of a single, relational plasma of creativity.”

Its key premises are:

Ontological Continuity: Matter, life, and mind are phases of the same energetic continuum.
Relational Primacy: Reality is constituted by relations, not substances.
Participatory Consciousness: Perception and energy exchange are coextensive phenomena.
Integral Practice: Healing the ecological crisis requires rebalancing our energetic and spiritual relations with the cosmos.

From the ionosphere to the biosphere, plasma organizes itself through feedback loops that mirror ecological networks. Lightning, solar flares, and auroras become more than meteorological curiosities, and they are expressions of what could be considered planetary consciousness.

In this sense, the Earth’s magnetosphere is a form of cosmic empathy, or a membrane that translates solar energy into life-giving patterns. The planet participates in the cosmic plasma dance, filtering chaos into order, radiation into rhythm.

Theological Implications: The Cross and the Charge

For me, the cross serves as a central symbol for this plasma cosmology. In my ongoing work on The Ecology of the Cross, I have proposed that the cross represents not only human suffering but the interpenetration of divine and cosmic energies. In a plasma field, positive and negative charges continually intersect, annihilate, and generate light. Likewise, the cross signifies the intersection of divine transcendence and immanent materiality and creation’s own plasma arc.

As Whitehead puts it, “God is the poet of the world, with tender patience leading it by his vision of truth, beauty, and goodness” (Whitehead 1978, 346). The divine presence, like an electromagnetic field, permeates creation, luring it toward harmony. Yet, as plasma reminds us, equilibrium arises not from stasis but from dynamic tension. The divine is not separate from chaos but works through it.

In this view, Christ’s crucifixion becomes a cosmic event: the discharge of divine energy into the plasma of existence, reconciling opposites and igniting the potential for renewal. Integral Plasma Ecology thus extends Christology into a cosmotheandric ecology when and where God, cosmos, and humanity participate in one charged field of becoming (Panikkar 1993, 58).

Ecological Ethics in a Plasma Universe

If the cosmos is a plasma ecology, then ethics must shift from dominion to participation. Every act, every thought, emission, or prayer, sends ripples through the field. Leonardo Boff’s Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor emphasizes that ecological healing depends on recovering our “mystical sense of communion with the universe” (Boff 1997, 67). Plasma theology radicalizes that claim: communion is not symbolic but ontological.

To pollute a river is to alter the energetic balance of the planet; to pray beside it is to restore resonance. Our responsibility is not to manage nature as resource but to resonate with it as fellow participant. This echoes Berry’s notion of the “Great Work” and the transformation of human presence from disruption to participation (Berry 1999, 105).

In educational terms, teaching physics or ecology becomes a spiritual practice. Students learn not only equations but energetic empathy with an awareness that to study energy is to encounter the divine flow itself.

Integrating Pedagogy: Teaching the Plasma Universe

In the classroom, I once drew magnetic field lines on the board, showing how charges move in loops rather than straight lines. Now I see that lesson differently. Those loops are metaphors for relational return to the continual circulation of divine energy through matter and consciousness.

An integral pedagogy of plasma would invite students to see science and spirituality not as opposites but as complementary ways of tracing those loops. Using laboratory experiments, like plasma globes or Van de Graaff generators, can become invitations to wonder at the living electricity of creation.

As David Bohm argued, the universe is a “holomovement,” a continuous enfolding and unfolding of energy and meaning (Bohm 1980, 48). Teaching within that paradigm transforms education into ecological initiation: a way of learning to dwell consciously in the plasma field of being.

Conclusion: The Luminous Communion

Integral Plasma Ecology reimagines reality as a luminous communion of charged relations. It bridges physics and theology, matter and mind, offering a cosmological language for our age of ecological crisis. It invites us to live as participants in the plasma field and to sense the divine energy pulsing through trees, storms, and starlight.

As Berry wrote, “The universe is not a collection of objects, but a communion of subjects” (Berry 1999, 16). In plasma, that communion shines visibly as the very light of the world is the glow of relation.

To dwell in that light is our calling, our work, and our joy.

References

Berry, Thomas. The Great Work: Our Way into the Future. New York: Bell Tower, 1999.

Boff, Leonardo. Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1997.

Bohm, David. Wholeness and the Implicate Order. London: Routledge, 1980.

Cobb, John B. Process Theology as Political Theology. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1985.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and the Invisible. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1968.

Panikkar, Raimon. The Cosmotheandric Experience: Emerging Religious Consciousness. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1993.

Peratt, Anthony L. Physics of the Plasma Universe. New York: Springer, 1992.

Stein, Edith. On the Problem of Empathy. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1989.

Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre. The Phenomenon of Man. New York: Harper & Row, 1959.

Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. New York: Free Press, 1978.

Wilber, Ken. A Theory of Everything: An Integral Vision for Business, Politics, Science, and Spirituality. Boston: Shambhala, 2000.

Sheldrake’s Lecture on Panentheism at St James Church

Sheldrake is one of my favorite thinkers and a huge inspiration for my own work. Great lecture here from my process theology meets medieval Christian theology point of view… well worth your time:

In this talk, Rupert Sheldrake explores panentheism—the idea that the divine is not separate from the world but present throughout it, while also transcending it. With the grip of mechanistic materialism loosening, Rupert invites us to reconsider how we see nature, mind, and spirit. Tracing a broad arc from ancient philosophies and Christian mysticism to AI-generated worldviews, panpsychism, and psychedelics, he reflects on how the sacred presence in nature—-long affirmed by spiritual traditions-—is re-emerging through science, experience, and renewed practices of attention.

This talk was recorded at St James Church, Piccadilly, a longstanding hub for open spiritual inquiry and progressive theology in the heart of London.

R.I.P. Phyllis Trible

One of those amazing thinkers and scholars who helped shape my own theological journey (first read her work as an Undergrad at Wofford College, and it both answered and provoked questions I had been and continue to wrestle with), along with countless others.

Her work on rhetorical criticism and the book of Jonah is still one of my favorites and a must-read.

Union Theological Seminary: In Memoriam: Dr. Phyllis Trible

Dr. Trible’s scholarship reshaped biblical studies, insisting that the academy and the church confront both the beauty and the brutality of our sacred texts.

Through groundbreaking works—including God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality and Texts of Terror—she taught generations to read with literary rigor, ethical clarity, and courageous empathy. Her method of close rhetorical reading opened space for women and other marginalized people long silenced by interpretive traditions, and her teaching formed scholars, pastors, and activists who carry her insights into pulpits, classrooms, and movements for justice around the world.

John as the Fourth Synpotic Gospel?

Great podcast episode here with the incredible Helen Bond and the always insightful Mark Goodacre, who may or may not have been a listener of Thinking Religion in the Thomas Whitley era…

Since the mid-twentieth century, it has been routine for scholars to see John as independent of the Synoptics – Matthew, Mark and Luke. Yet a recent book by Professor Mark Goodacre suggests that John should be read as the fourth and final ‘Synoptic’ gospel which knew and used all of the Synoptics. Join Helen and Lloyd in the Biblical Time Machine as they explore Goodacre’s case. Learn about John’s dramatic transformation of the Synoptics, the way his Gospel ‘presupposes’ the earlier texts, and the payoff of Goodacre’s argument for John’s authorship and date.

is Professor of New Testament and Christian Origins in the Religious Studies Department at Duke University, North Carolina. He is the author of the classic volumes: The Case Against Q (2002) and Thomas and the Gospels (2012). His most recent book, fresh off the press, is (Eerdmans, 2025),

Recovering Entranced and Enchanted Christianity

I had the chance to read Vernon’s work here over the summer and found myself relating a good deal to some of his insights and arguments, particularly as they relate to my studies of Religion and Ecology (but also evaluating the frameworks of philosophers such as Owen Barfield, who plays a pivotal role in the development of what Vernon is putting forth here).

If you’re interested in wider reads that offer historical, theological, and philosophical insights wrapped in consciousness studies and metaphysics, I highly recommend…

A Secret History of Christianity – Mark Vernon:

This book is a response to the crisis, though it differs from others. It focuses on the inward aspect of Christianity’s troubles. It approaches the problem at a felt or mystical level.

The root issue, I believe, lies with how Christianity has come to be presented or, to be more precise, how religious Christians have come to misunderstand the message. What was once experienced as a pathway to more life has, today, morphed into a way of life that to outsiders seems self-evidently deluded, defensive or distorted.

Viriditas and the Ecology of the Cross: Hildegard’s Greening Vision Meets a Kenotic Cosmos

Greening Ancient Wisdom for Today’s Crisis

On many mornings, I find myself sitting beneath the black walnut tree in my backyard, contemplating how an ancient abbess’s wisdom speaks to our ecological crisis. Hildegard of Bingen, 12th-century mystic, healer, and visionary, loved to talk about viriditas, the “greening” life-force of God in creation. She lived in a world where forests were alive with divine Light, and every medicinal herb carried a spark of God’s vitality. As a PhD student in Ecology, Spirituality, and Religion, I’m continually amazed by how Hildegard’s medieval insights resonate with what I call the Ecology of the Cross, or a theological framework that challenges our modern extractive paradigms with a vision of kenosis, interdependence, and sacred entanglement. In this post, I want to weave together Hildegard’s greening spirituality with the Ecology of the Cross, exploring how her ancient ontology can inform a Christian ecological lens today.

Hildegard’s Viriditas: Greening Power and Divine Immanence

Hildegard of Bingen (1098–1179) was a Benedictine abbess who saw the natural world lit up from within by God’s presence. Surrounded by the lush Rhineland forests, she perceived God’s “living power of light” energizing all creation, a verdant force she famously named viriditas, or greenness or greening power. In Hildegard’s theology, viriditas is the Holy Spirit’s life flowing through plants, animals, and elements, infusing them with vitality and growth.

“The greening power of the earth is the viriditas, which is the living light of the Holy Spirit… It is the love of God that flows through all creation, bringing forth new life and growth,” Hildegard wrote.

This was no poetic flourish for her; it was a literal cosmological principle. In her mystical visions, the entire universe even appeared as a tree, “verdant with God’s wisdom” and pulsing with divine life. For Hildegard, God was not a distant clockmaker but immanent in nature – present in the sap of trees, the humors of the human body, the cycles of the cosmos. All creation, she believed, is “alive with God’s presence” and thus sings a song of praise back to its Creator.

Crucially, Hildegard’s spirituality was deeply non-dualistic. She did not split spirit from matter. One commentator notes that she held a “theandrocosmic” ecology of life – a holistic view of reality as a dialogue between God (theos), humanity (anthropos), and the cosmos. This means Hildegard saw everything as interconnected as the health of the soul, the health of the body, and the health of the Earth were all of a piece. Indeed, Hildegard was a renowned healer in her time as a botanist and physician who composed texts on herbal medicine and the human body. She left behind volumes of wisdom on topics ranging from healthcare and natural remedies to music, ethics, and theology.

Her medical work (such as Physica and Causae et Curae) catalogued plants, stones, and animals, not just for their physical properties but for their spiritual virtues. In Hildegard’s eyes, studying nature was a way to understand God’s ongoing creative work. Healing a body with herbs and prayer was part of healing the ruptured relationship between humanity and creation. Divine immanence for Hildegard meant that the Creator’s power “flows through all creation,” so caring for creation was nothing less than an act of love for God. She warned that when we harm the earth, we harm ourselves, because we are inextricably part of this sacred web: “When we destroy the earth, we destroy ourselves,” she wrote bluntly. It’s hard to imagine a more ontologically rich affirmation of interdependence from the Middle Ages.

The Cross as Tree of Life: A Paradigm of Kenosis

Centuries before terms like “ecotheology” existed, Hildegard and her fellow medieval mystics were already linking the Cross with creation. In Christian symbolism, the cross of Christ has long been understood as a kind of Tree of Life. The New Testament itself refers to the cross as a “tree” (xylon in Greek which also refers to “clubs” throughout the Gospels interestingly enough) on which Christ was crucified (Acts 5:30; 1 Pet. 2:24). Early Christians couldn’t miss the irony of a wooden instrument of execution becoming the cosmic tree of redemption. Hildegard expands this imagery with her vision of the verdant universe. We might say her viriditas concept lets us imagine the cross not as dead wood, but as a tree greening with new life by God’s power. In one of my favorite poetic images, “even the cross, that ruined tree, bears sap enough to green the nations”… in other words, through the cross’s wood flows the viriditas of God, bringing renewal out of death.

This brings us to what I call the Ecology of the Cross. At its heart, this framework re-imagines the cross as more than a ticket to individual salvation; it is a paradigm of kenosis, interconnection, and humble participation in the wider community of creation. The Greek word kenosis refers to Christ’s “self-emptying” love (Phil. 2:5–8). On the cross, according to Christian faith, God-in-Christ empties Himself by pouring out divine love in utter vulnerability, even to the point of death. Traditionally, Christians see this as the path to resurrection and new life. But what if we also view it through an ecological lens? Ecology of the Cross suggests that the cross is “an ecological gesture of descent: a humble participation in the mutual vulnerability of the world”. In Jesus’ self-emptying sacrifice we see a model for how we humans should relate to the more-than-human world with radical humility instead of domination, willing to relinquish our privilege and power for the sake of healing relationships.

Such a kenotic ecology directly critiques modern extractive paradigms. Our industrial-technocratic society has often approached nature with an attitude of grasping and exploitation, the very opposite of self-emptying. Forests are logged and burned for profit, rivers are dammed and polluted for convenience, animals are driven to extinction for consumption or farmed for extracting nutrients in non-sustainable and ethically horrible ways. Creation bears the wounds of these extractive systems. In fact, we can literally see it in the trees: “forests today stand as cruciform realities: logged, burned, cut down, yet also central to the healing of the planet”. The cross, in an ecological sense, is present wherever life is suffering under unjust exploitation and wherever sacrificial love is bringing forth healing. The Ecology of the Cross invites us to recognize that the pattern of Christ’s cross, death and resurrection, is woven into Earth’s own rhythms. As I’ve written elsewhere, “the cross is ecological: a revelation of life’s pattern as death-and-renewal, as sacrifice-and-gift”. Every fallen forest that sprouts green shoots from its stump, every species brought back from the brink by compassionate conservation, every community that sacrifices for environmental justice… these are cruciform moments, little enactments of resurrection life.

Sacred Entanglement: Communion Beyond the Human

One of Hildegard’s gifts to us is a vision of sacred entanglement in a cosmos where everything is enfolded in everything else through God’s love. She spoke of the elemental interconnectedness of the four elements, the celestial bodies, and the human being (microcosm mirroring macrocosm). Modern science, with its talk of ecosystems and quantum entanglement, is catching up to this ancient intuition that “all beings are entangled in webs of relation”. Hildegard would agree wholeheartedly. And Christian theology adds: all those relations are grounded in God. Nothing exists outside the divine dance of communion. Significantly, Hildegard’s cosmology didn’t isolate humanity from nature; instead, she saw humans as integrated participants in the community of creation, “a world – everything is hidden in you,” she imagines God saying to each person, for the whole cosmos lives inside of us as we live inside it. This has profound ethical implications… if we and the earth are truly part of one living network sustained by God’s viriditas, then our calling is to nurture that network, to tend and befriend it, not to dominate or ignore it.

The Ecology of the Cross builds on this kind of sacred interconnectedness. It emphasizes that redemption is not apart from creation, but through it – through roots and branches, through crucifixion and renewal. In Jesus’ crucifixion, God doesn’t pluck souls out of creation; God enters into creation’s deepest pains to transform them from within. The Cross is God with us, with all of us, including the sparrows, the soil, and the stars. This is a profoundly metaphysical statement as it suggests that at the heart of reality (the metaphysical core of existence) there is a cruciform love that ties all things together in a bond of shared being. As theologian Catherine Keller might put it, there is an apophatic entanglement at work – a holy interweaving we only dimly perceive but are nevertheless a part of. Or as philosopher William Desmond would say, standing before a living tree draws us into “the between,” that threshold where mystery breathes through being. Such moments can feel sacramental. Indeed, in a sacramental worldview the material world mediates God’s presence. A forest can be a temple, a river can whisper divine truth. Hildegard, composing her ethereal chants to the viriditas of the Spirit, understood this well. The whole world was her monastery’s cloister garden, alive with God.

For those of us drawn to Christian ecotheology, to speak of sacred entanglement is to affirm what the Gospel has hinted all along: that Christ’s reconciliation “extends to all things” (Col. 1:20) and that creation itself eagerly awaits liberation (Rom. 8:19-21). We find ourselves, then, in a spiritual lineage that runs from saints like Hildegard straight to the present. “From the prophets to Jesus’ parables to Hildegard of Bingen’s viriditas… our tradition is rich with ecological wisdom,” as I’ve noted before on Thinking Religion. The task now is to live into that wisdom.

Kenosis, Viriditas, and Living in Communion

Bringing Hildegard’s mysticism into conversation with the Ecology of the Cross enriches both. Hildegard gives us the vibrant language of greening and the assurance that caring for the earth is an act of love for God. The Ecology of the Cross, for its part, gives us the challenging ethic of kenosis and the call to empty ourselves of pride, greed, and the will-to-dominate so that we can truly serve and commune with our neighbors, human and non-human. Together, these threads form a kind of cruciform ecology of grace as an approach to the environmental crisis that is both deeply spiritual and vigorously practical. It asks us to reimagine what sacrifice means. Instead of the destructive sacrifices demanded by extractive capitalism (where we sacrifice forests and futures on the altar of consumerism or chauvanism), we are invited into the life-giving sacrifice modeled by Christ and celebrated by Hildegard and a sacrifice that gives up self for the sake of renewed life for others. This could look like deliberate simplicity and restraint (a kenotic lifestyle that “lets go” of excess consumption), or like actively bearing the cross of ecological work in its many forms, whether that is replanting a clear-cut area, advocating for environmental justice in our communities, or tending a backyard garden as if it were an altar.

My own theological perspective is rooted in this integration of ancient wisdom and new vision. I’m convinced, as are many others, that our spiritual narratives and our ecological actions are inseparable. When Hildegard urges us to “participate in the love of God” by caring for creation, she is echoing the kenotic love poured out on the cross – a love that holds nothing back, not even life itself, for the sake of beloved creation. This perspective reframes Christian mission: it’s no longer only about saving souls, but about healing relationships across the web of life. It also reframes metaphysical and ontological questions. We begin to ask: What is the nature of being, if not being-with? What kind of world is this, if the Creator chose to wear its flesh and suffer its pains? Such questions lead us into what theologian Thomas Berry called The Great Work of our times and to rediscover ourselves as part of a sacred Earth community and to act accordingly.

In the end, Hildegard’s viriditas and the Ecology of the Cross converge on a message of hopeful, humble participation. Even in a time of climate upheaval, mass extinction, and social fragmentation, we’re invited to see the world with new eyes “to help people see differently and to recover the rooted wisdom of scripture and tradition,” as I often remind churches. We are invited to step into what the Benedictine tradition would call ora et labora, or prayer and work, on behalf of creation, joining our hands and hearts to the greening, healing work God is doing. The Tree of Life stands not as a mere symbol, but as an ongoing reality with the cross planted in the earth, drawing all things into divine communion. Hildegard’s lush visions and the Cross’s stark call both beckon us toward a future where humans live with reverence among our fellow creatures, where we embrace our creaturely limits and gift, and where, by God’s grace, the desert places of our world can bloom again.

As the farmer-poet Wendell Berry has said (in a line that often echoes in my mind when I gaze at a thriving green tree stump): “Practice resurrection.” A tree knows how. By the greening power of God and the self-emptying love of Christ, may we learn how as well.

Resting Heart Rates

I made some changes in my life back in May as my semester ended in my PhD studies and my dissertation began to take shape ahead of my 47th birthday.

We did lots of traveling as a family in June and July, I signed some new consulting clients, built a few websites, and had a wonderful summer of adventure. Those changes I made stuck and became routines and rituals. I slept well even in crowded hotel rooms and AirBNB’s in new cities with our children. I noticed my resting heart rate had dropped pretty dramatically.

Then August arrived and brought with it the annual torrent of new teachers and routines and meetings and after school activities and pick ups and drop offs and all things associated with having three young children. I noticed my heart rate had increased again. Things done and things left undone as the Book of Common Prayer reminds us to consider.

Talking with the Black Walnut this week, I’ve been pondering our own human conceptions of time and rhythm as I watch its leaves begin to silently fall here in late September.

I like to tell people that my dissertation (Ecology of the Cross) is my life’s work and that’s what I’m working on… contributing to Thomas Berry’s incantation of The Great Work of our time. Phenomenology has provided the structure for most of my research and thoughts as a part of all that work. Deep down, I realize (thanks to the Black Walnut and resting heart rates) that my life’s work is… my five children.

Maybe that dissertation will play some part in that in the future as they continue to explore, learn, and perceive the phenomena of consciousness and being in new ways. Planting sequoias for them and others who might be interested in what I have to say based on my aging heart and aging skin’s experience.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested

when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

I think of my aging heart and skin and my aging children and my aging theologies and philosophies. I turn back to Aristotle and Augustine and Hildegard and Edith Stein for answers while trying to look forward in a world of unease brought on by a spiritual crisis of being. And the Black Walnut reminds me in all of that consternation about time and aging that the cosmic dance goes on, ever turning and circling… not linear.

Not about monthly or quarterly trends or resting heart rates… but part of a much larger dance that we are somehow privileged to enjoy for a brief “time” as Humans. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep. This insubstantial pageant of modernity goes on, and we’ll return to the dust from which we were lovingly made. But heart rates and life (as we consider we know it) itself is a part of the cycle that spins forever and concrescing in little moments of magic that become us.

So, don’t worry about your resting heart rate too much, Sam. The Circle won’t be unbroken:

I danced on a Friday
When the sky turned black
It’s hard to dance
With the devil on your back.
They buried my body
And they thought I’d gone,
But I am the Dance,
And I still go on.

Dance, then, wherever you may be,
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I’ll lead you all, wherever you may be,
And I’ll lead you all in the Dance, said he

“the secret of death and life, war and peace, hell and heaven.”

Thomas Merton’s mic-drop at the end of his intro to the Modern Library’s edition of Augustine’s The City of God is one of my favorite moments.

Appeal from the Department of Religious Studies at University of Oregon

As someone whose life’s work blends the spiritual and the ecological, I find this deeply concerning. Departments of religious studies are not just academic units… they’re vital spaces for nurturing intercultural literacy, deep critical consciousness, and ethical imagination. They help cultivate citizens who can engage thoughtfully with global and local complexities, not just through specialized knowledge, but through a broader, humanistic lens.

Given my own background from Wofford, Yale Divinity, Gardner-Webb Divinity, and now the California Institute for Integral Studies through my writing and teaching, I feel a genuine kinship with those in Oregon facing this upheaval. It strikes at the core of what it means to study religion… not as a marginal discipline, but as a way to grapple with meaning, belonging, and our shared ecological and spiritual fate.

An Appeal from the Department of Religious Studies at University of Oregon – AAR:

We are writing to notify you of a looming threat to religious studies, the humanities, and tenure protections at the University of Oregon (UO). We are members of UO’s Department of Religious Studies, which is home to seven associate and full professors. Our department has served a critical role within humanities education here at UO since 1939, and in recent years has been thriving, with new faculty hires, robust course enrollments, and a steady stream of research grants, awards, and publications.

We have just learned that UO leadership plans to eliminate our department and terminate most or all of our department’s faculty. In addition, they plan to eliminate and terminate tenured faculty in at least three other humanities departments.

Trees as Symbols of Life and Spirit Across Religions

Meeting Our Old Teachers

Trees are older than us (though not as old as you might think), longer-lived than empires, and deeply woven into the stories we tell about wisdom and spirit. They are teachers of patience and endurance, bearing witness to countless centuries of human seeking. Our ancient and modern columns of brick, stone, marble, or concrete still pale in comparison to our ancient tree kin.

Across traditions, trees have anchored human imagination. They serve as symbols of wisdom, life, and connection. However, more than symbols, they are living presences, mediators of the sacred. From Genesis to the Bodhi Tree, from Yggdrasil to the cottonwood of the Lakota Sun Dance, trees appear where human beings grapple with the mysteries of being alive.

The philosopher Owen Barfield once suggested that human consciousness itself has a history, that the way we experience the world evolves over time. He pointed to the so-called Axial Age, when religious and philosophical traditions in Israel, Greece, India, and China reimagined humanity’s relationship to the cosmos. Trees appear in those traditions as if marking the shift: not just as backdrops, but as active participants in our emerging sense of meaning. They carry forward the memory of the older ways of knowing, when spirit and matter were inseparable, and they gesture toward futures in which we might relearn that intimacy.

To pay attention to the trees is to pay attention to our own evolving consciousness. It is also to listen to what Donna Haraway calls “tentacular thinking,” the recognition that all beings are entangled in webs of relation, that meaning itself stretches across roots and fungi and soil and sky. Trees remind us that life is not linear but branching, not heroic but networked. They embody what Ursula Le Guin called the “carrier bag” story of humanity: not a single plot driven by conquest, but a gathering of seeds, fruits, and stories carried in community.

Tradition	Wisdom	Life	Spiritual Connection
Hebrew Bible / Judaism	Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (Genesis); Etz Chaim (“Tree of Life”) as Torah/Wisdom (Proverbs 3:18)	Tree of Life in Eden and eschatology (Revived in apocalyptic visions)	Olive tree as Israel’s covenantal identity; sacred groves as contested spaces
Christianity	Cross as Tree of Life (Acts 5:30; 1 Peter 2:24); Hildegard’s viriditas (greening wisdom)	Tree of Life in Revelation (22:2) offers healing to nations	The Cross links heaven and earth; saints/monks often dwell in tree imagery of rootedness
Islam	Sidrat al-Muntaha (Lote Tree) marks the limit of knowledge (Qur’an 53)	Tree of Immortality in Eden (Q 2:35); olive tree as “blessed tree” (Q 24:35)	Trees as signs of God’s creation; paradise described as filled with shade-giving trees
Hinduism	Ashvattha (cosmic fig tree) in Bhagavad Gita represents eternal samsara	Banyan, neem, tulsi as living presences of the divine	Sacred groves; Bodhi tree as meditation site; cosmic tree with roots in heaven, branches on earth
Buddhism	Bodhi Tree: site of enlightenment, source of awakened wisdom	Kalpavriksha (wish-fulfilling tree) symbolizes abundance	Trees as natural meditation sites; Bodhi tree as axis between ignorance and awakening
Indigenous Traditions (Americas, Africa, Celtic)	Oaks and yews in Celtic Druidic tradition as sources of sacred knowledge	Trees like baobab as “roots of life”; cottonwood in Lakota Sun Dance	World Tree as axis mundi (linking underworld, earth, heavens); trees as homes of ancestors/spirits
Norse Mythology	Yggdrasil’s roots drink from the Well of Mimir (wisdom)	Yggdrasil sustains nine realms of existence	Yggdrasil as cosmic axis, linking worlds; ravens, serpents, and gods interact with it
Chinese Traditions	Fusang tree marks sun’s rising, cosmic order	Peach tree of immortality (fruit of eternal life)	Sacred peach tree of Queen Mother of the West links heaven’s gifts with human fate

The Tree of Life in the Ancient Near East

The Hebrew Bible begins with a garden, and at its heart, two trees: the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and the Tree of Life (Gen. 2:9). To eat of the first was to awaken to wisdom — to the awareness of moral boundaries and human limitation. The story is often told as a fall, but it can also be read as the story of consciousness coming into its own, with trees as the threshold between innocence and maturity.

Proverbs later describes wisdom herself as “a tree of life to those who lay hold of her” (Prov. 3:18). Here the metaphor is clear: to live wisely is to be rooted, nourished, fruitful. In Jewish tradition, the Torah itself becomes the Etz Chaim, the Tree of Life, literally embodied in the wooden rollers of the scrolls used in worship.

But trees could also lead astray. The prophets railed against “sacred groves” where Canaanite deities were honored (Deut. 16:21). Yet, even this reveals the deep human instinct to find the divine among trees. And the symbol endures: the Book of Revelation imagines the Tree of Life restored in the New Jerusalem, its leaves “for the healing of the nations” (Rev. 22:2).

Christianity: The Cross as Tree

Christianity radicalizes the symbol by naming the cross itself a tree. The Apostle Peter writes that Christ “bore our sins in his body on the tree” (1 Pet. 2:24). A Roman instrument of execution becomes the world tree of redemption. The symmetry was irresistible to early theologians: where Adam and Eve grasped at fruit, Christ is lifted up on the wood, reversing the fall.

Medieval mystics expanded this imagery. Hildegard of Bingen (1098–1179) described divine life as viriditas, “the greening power,” pulsing through creation. In her visions, the universe itself was a tree, verdant with God’s wisdom. Monks, too, saw trees as ascetic companions: silent, patient, enduring through storms.

For Christians, then, the tree is paradox. It bears death and life, judgment and mercy, sorrow and redemption. Like Yggdrasil, gnawed by serpents but still sustaining the worlds, the cross stands at the center of human story… fragile yet cosmic.

Islam: The Blessed Tree

In the Qur’an, trees shape both warning and blessing. Adam and Eve are commanded not to eat from the Tree of Immortality (Q 2:35). Yet another tree, the Lote Tree of the Utmost Boundary (Sidrat al-Muntaha), appears in the Prophet Muhammad’s night journey. It marks the furthest boundary of created knowledge: beyond it lies only God (Q 53:14–16).

The olive tree carries special significance. The famous Light Verse declares: “God is the Light of the heavens and the earth… lit from a blessed olive tree, neither of the east nor of the west” (Q 24:35). Here, tree and light merge: the olive, ancient source of fuel, becomes metaphor for divine illumination.

Paradise itself is pictured as a garden of abundant, shade-giving trees — a vision profoundly embodied for people whose daily lives knew desert heat. The tree is not abstract; it is rest, sustenance, and divine nearness.

Hinduism: The Cosmic Ashvattha

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna describes the universe as a cosmic fig tree, the Ashvattha: “With roots above and branches below, whose leaves are the Vedas; he who knows this tree is the knower of the Veda” (Gita 15:1). Unlike earthly trees, this one grows downward, its nourishment flowing from the eternal into the temporal. To attain liberation, one must cut it down with the “axe of detachment” and seek the source beyond appearances.

But trees are not only metaphors. Living trees are venerated: the banyan, with its aerial roots; the neem, with healing powers; the tulsi plant, tended in courtyards as a goddess in her own right. Sacred groves still shelter temples, holding ecological as well as spiritual memory.

The cosmic tree gathers together time, scripture, and existence. Like Barfield’s insight into symbolic consciousness, it points to a way of seeing in which reality itself is read as text, and trees as living letters of the divine alphabet.

Buddhism: Under the Bodhi Tree

Perhaps no tree is more famous than the Bodhi Tree under which Siddhartha Gautama attained enlightenment. Sitting through the night, he confronted desire, fear, and illusion until he awoke into Buddhahood. Ever since, the Bodhi tree has stood as the site of awakening: wisdom that arises not from conquest but from stillness, from simply being present beneath a tree.

Buddhism also speaks of the Kalpavriksha, the wish-fulfilling tree, symbolizing abundance. Yet the Bodhi dominates the tradition’s imagination, embodying the dharma itself: impermanence in its falling leaves, interdependence in its roots, patient endurance in its trunk.

Like Le Guin’s “carrier bag” theory of narrative, the Bodhi tree is not a hero’s monument but a gathering site. Pilgrims circle it, meditate beneath it, collect its fallen leaves. It is not conquered; it shelters. It contains, carries, holds the story of awakening.

Indigenous Traditions: The World Tree

In Native American cosmologies, the World Tree or Sacred Tree connects earth, underworld, and sky. For the Lakota, the cottonwood chosen for the Sun Dance becomes the axis around which the world is renewed. Dancers tether themselves to it in prayer, embodying the life-giving bond between human and cosmos.

In Africa, great trees such as the baobab and iroko are revered as ancestors themselves, places of gathering, storytelling, and ritual. The tree is not a metaphor for community; it is the community’s center.

Celtic Druids likewise revered oaks and yews, holding ceremonies in groves. Mistletoe growing on oaks was especially sacred, believed to embody divine vitality. These groves were what Haraway might call “tentacular nodes,” entangled sites of relation where human, animal, plant, and divine life braided together.

Norse Mythology: Yggdrasil

Norse mythology centers its cosmos upon Yggdrasil, the great ash tree. Its branches span the heavens; its roots drink from wells of wisdom and fate. Odin, in search of knowledge, sacrifices his eye at the Well of Mimir. Later, he hangs himself upon Yggdrasil for nine nights to gain the runes. Wisdom here is costly, rooted in suffering and sacrifice.

But Yggdrasil is under threat. Serpents gnaw at its roots, Ragnarok looms, yet the tree sustains all realms. It is fragile and resilient at once, much like our own ecological situation.

Chinese Traditions: Trees of Immortality

In Chinese myth, the fusang tree in the east holds the rising sun, anchoring cosmic order. The peach tree of immortality, tended by the Queen Mother of the West, bears fruit every 3,000 years, granting eternal life. Pines, peaches, and cypresses all became emblems of endurance, long life, and the Dao’s flowing balance.

Here again, trees bridge the human and cosmic, marking time’s rhythm and pointing to the way of harmony.

Wisdom, Life, Connection

Stepping back across cultures, we see three recurring themes:

Wisdom: Trees stand at thresholds of knowledge — Eden’s fruit, Yggdrasil’s well, the Bodhi’s silence, the Sidrat al-Muntaha’s boundary.

Life: Trees embody vitality — food, healing, shade, immortality. Their seasonal cycles mirror death and rebirth.

Connection: Trees serve as axis mundi, mediators of heaven and earth, ancestors and descendants, divine and human.

But with Haraway and Le Guin in mind, we can say more. Trees are not just vertical axes; they are networks. They are “carrier bags” of biodiversity, gathering species in their canopies and roots. They are “tentacular,” stretching mycorrhizal threads through soil, binding together whole communities.

If earlier ages saw the tree primarily as a ladder to the divine, perhaps our age can see tree as a web, and recognize in that web our own entanglement with the more-than-human world.

Religious traditions often use trees to point beyond themselves, such as metaphors for wisdom, life, and connection. But metaphysics reminds us that this pointing is not merely symbolic; it reveals something of reality’s very structure.

For Alfred North Whitehead, reality is not made of inert stuff but of events, relationships, and becoming. A tree is not simply a “thing” but a nexus of processes: roots drawing up water, leaves breathing light, fungi threading connections underground. The tree discloses the metaphysical truth that being is relational, that life is constituted by giving and receiving.

Edith Stein’s On the Problem of Empathy makes a similar point from a phenomenological angle: to encounter a tree is to recognize it as more than an object, but as a living subject with its own interiority, its own trajectory of growth and flourishing. The “tree of life” is not a metaphor we impose; it is a reality we meet.

This is where Owen Barfield’s insight comes in: the symbolic power of trees is not arbitrary but reflects the way human consciousness evolves in dialogue with the living world. We do not invent the tree-as-symbol; rather, the tree discloses meanings that consciousness gradually awakens to.

Conclusion: Listening Again

Religions around the world remind us that trees are more than scenery. They are wisdom keepers, givers of life, and cosmic connectors. They hold our evolving consciousness: from mythic imagination to axial philosophy, from medieval mysticism to today’s ecological science.

In a time of deforestation and climate upheaval, the old teachers still stand. They whisper lessons of rootedness, interconnection, and renewal. Perhaps the most spiritual act we can take is also the most practical: to plant, to tend, to listen.

The Ecology of the Cross: Cruciform Trees

If trees are life-givers, they are also sites of suffering. The cross itself was once a tree that was chosen, chopped down, shaped into an instrument of execution that was reused countless times in the Judean countryside of what we modern people of the inherited West would call the first century anno domini or Common Era. And yet in Christian imagination, it became the cosmic Tree of Life. This paradox lies at the heart of what I have been calling the Ecology of the Cross.

In ecological terms, forests today stand as cruciform realities: logged, burned, cut down, yet also central to the healing of the planet. The crucified tree is not only Christ’s cross but also the Amazon rainforest under chainsaw, the black walnut in my backyard enduring storms, the pines of South Carolina clear-cut for development, or the oak trees that are carefully manicured for aesthetic purposes in countless pieces of “property” surrounding churches here in what we now call the Southeast of the United States.

The Ecology of the Cross invites us to see cruciformity not only in human suffering but in the more-than-human world. Trees bear the wounds of our extractive systems, yet they also continue to gift us life: oxygen, shelter, shade, renewal. In this sense, the cross is ecological: a revelation of life’s pattern as death-and-renewal, as sacrifice-and-gift.

Here the metaphysical vision and the theological converge. To stand before a tree is to be confronted with both beauty and fragility, both gift and wound. It is to be drawn into what William Desmond might call the metaxological, the between, where mystery breathes through being.

So when religions speak of trees, whether as wisdom, life, or cosmic connectors, they are not only projecting human stories onto nature. They are intuiting something real about the metaphysical and theological shape of existence.

And in an age of ecological crisis, these intuitions call us back. To see a tree as a teacher is to see the world as sacramental, alive with wisdom and suffering, calling for care. To embrace the Ecology of the Cross is to recognize that redemption is not apart from creation, but through it… through roots and branches, crucifixion and renewal, leaves for the healing of the nations.

As Wendell Berry once urged, “Practice resurrection.” A tree knows how.

Notes

The Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version (New York: National Council of Churches, 1989), Gen. 2:9.
The Holy Bible, NRSV, Prov. 3:18.
The Holy Bible, NRSV, Rev. 22:2.
The Holy Bible, NRSV, 1 Pet. 2:24.
Hildegard of Bingen, Scivias, trans. Columba Hart and Jane Bishop (New York: Paulist Press, 1990).
The Qur’an, trans. M.A.S. Abdel Haleem (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 2:35; 53:14–16.
The Qur’an, trans. Abdel Haleem, 24:35.
Bhagavad Gita, trans. Eknath Easwaran (Tomales, CA: Nilgiri Press, 2007), 15:1–3.
Owen Barfield, Saving the Appearances: A Study in Idolatry (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1988).
Donna J. Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016).
Ursula K. Le Guin, The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction (London: Ignota Books, 2019).
Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology, corrected ed., ed. David Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne (New York: Free Press, 1978).
Edith Stein, On the Problem of Empathy, trans. Waltraut Stein (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1989).
William Desmond, Being and the Between (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995).
Wendell Berry, The Mad Farmer Poems (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2008).
Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, trans. Rosemary Sheed (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996), esp. chs. on sacred trees and the axis mundi.
James Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion (New York: Macmillan, 1922), selections on tree cults and sacred groves.
Matthew Hall, Plants as Persons: A Philosophical Botany (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2011).
Thomas Berry, The Great Work: Our Way into the Future (New York: Bell Tower, 1999).
John B. Cobb Jr. and Herman E. Daly, For the Common Good: Redirecting the Economy toward Community, the Environment, and a Sustainable Future (Boston: Beacon Press, 1989).

Defining the Limits of Religious-Services Clauses on Public Lands

Fascinating decision (the Lipan-Apache Native American Church here lost the case in the 5th Circuit this week):

Beyond the Sanctuary: Defining the Limits of Texas’s Religious-Services Clause on Public Lands: 5th Cir. | CaseMine:

Gary Perez and Matilde Torres—leaders in the Lipan-Apache Native American Church—challenged the City’s $7.75 million renovation of Brackenridge Park, alleging the work would destroy the “spiritual ecology” of their sacred riverbend by removing heritage cypress trees and deterring the migratory cormorants central to their creation story…

…Guideposts for Native and minority faith claims: The decision elevates the evidentiary threshold for showing a substantial burden where the state acts on its own land. Litigants must document direct, site-specific prohibitions rather than ecological or aesthetic degradation alone…

…Texas’s pandemic-era Religious-Services Clause, while “absolute and categorical,” is geographically—and now judicially—confined; policy makers retain authority to manage parks, rivers, and historic landmarks even when such management displeases worshippers…

I wonder how the decision would have fallen had this been in a “Christian” (under Texas-understanding) context…

More on the case here from the Baptist Standard.

You can’t have it both ways

I’m afraid the barn door is already flung very open for this sort of Solomon’s Dilemma thinking.

I’m also not sure what the point of this entire opinion piece is beyond making unrealistic statements like this…

Opinion | Allowing Churches to Endorse Politicians Can Be Perfectly Liberal – The New York Times (Gift Article):

For example, a pastor should be able to endorse a political candidate in a sermon, but not if that sermon is posted on a church website. Nor should the pastor’s church be allowed to publicly campaign for a candidate.

Thinking Religion 173: Frankenstein’s AI Monster

I’m back with Matthew Klippenstein this week. Our episode began with a discussion about AI tools and their impact on research and employment, including experiences with different web browsers and their ecosystems. The conversation then evolved to explore the evolving landscape of technology, particularly focusing on AI’s impact on web design and content consumption, while also touching on the resurgence of physical media and its cultural significance. The discussion concluded with an examination of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” and its relevance to current AI discussions, along with broader themes about creation, consciousness, and the human tendency to view new entities as either threats or allies.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/50pfFhkCFQXpq8UAhYhOlc

Direct Link to Episode

AI Tools in Research Discussion

Matthew and Sam discussed Sam’s paper and the use of AI tools like GPT-5 for research and information synthesis. They explored the potential impact of AI on employment, with Matthew noting that AI could streamline information gathering and synthesis, reducing the time required for tasks that would have previously been more time-consuming. Sam agreed to send Matthew links to additional resources mentioned in the paper, and they planned to discuss further ideas on integrating AI tools into their work.

Browser Preferences and Ecosystems

Sam and Matthew discussed their experiences with different web browsers, with Sam explaining his preference for Brave over Chrome due to its privacy-focused features and historical background as a Firefox fork. Sam noted that he had recently switched back to Safari on iOS due to new OS updates, while continuing to use Chromium-based browsers on Linux. They drew parallels between browser ecosystems and religious denominations, with Chrome representing a dominant unified system and Safari as a smaller but distinct alternative.

AI’s Impact on Web Design

Sam and Matthew discussed the evolving landscape of technology, particularly focusing on AI’s impact on web design, search engine optimization, and content consumption. Sam expressed excitement about the new iteration of web interaction, comparing it to predictions from 10 years ago about the future of platforms like Facebook Messenger and WeChat. They noted that AI agents are increasingly becoming the intermediaries through which users interact with content, leading to a shift from human-centric to AI-centric web design. Sam also shared insights from his personal blog, highlighting an increase in traffic from AI agents and the challenges of balancing accessibility with academic integrity.

Physical Media’s Cultural Resurgence

Sam and Matthew discussed the resurgence of physical media, particularly vinyl records and CDs, as a cultural phenomenon and personal preference. They explored the value of owning physical copies of music and books, contrasting it with streaming services, and considered how this trend might symbolize a return to tangible experiences. Sam also shared his interest in integral ecology, a philosophical approach that examines the interconnectedness of humans and their environment, and how this perspective could influence the development and understanding of artificial intelligence.

AI Development and Environmental Impact

Sam and Matthew discussed the rapid development of AI and its environmental impact, comparing it to biological R/K selection theory where fast-reproducing species are initially successful but are eventually overtaken by more efficient, slower-reproducing species. Sam predicted that future computing interfaces would become more humane and less screen-based, with AI-driven technology likely replacing traditional devices within 10 years, though there would still be specialized uses for mainframes and Excel. They agreed that current AI development was focused on establishing market leadership rather than long-term sustainability, with Sam noting that antitrust actions like those against Microsoft in the 1990s were unlikely in the current regulatory environment.

AI’s Role in Information Consumption

Sam and Matthew discussed the evolving landscape of information consumption and the role of AI in providing insights and advice. They explored how AI tools can assist in synthesizing large amounts of data, such as academic papers, and how this could reduce the risk of misinformation. They also touched on the growing trend of using AI for personal health advice, the challenges of healthcare access, and the shift in news consumption patterns. The conversation highlighted the transition to a more AI-driven information era and the potential implications for society.

AI’s Impact on White-Collar Jobs

Sam and Matthew discussed the impact of AI and automation on employment, particularly how it could affect white-collar jobs more than blue-collar ones. They explored how AI tools might become cheaper than hiring human employees, with Matthew sharing an example from a climate newsletter offering AI subscriptions as a cost-effective alternative to hiring interns. Sam referenced Ursula Le Guin’s book “Always Coming Home” as a speculative fiction work depicting a post-capitalist, post-extractive society where technology serves a background role to human life. The conversation concluded with Matthew mentioning his recent reading of “Frankenstein,” noting its relevance to current AI discussions despite being written in the early 1800s.

Frankenstein’s Themes of Creation and Isolation

Matthew shared his thoughts on Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein,” noting its philosophical depth and rich narrative structure. He described the story as a meditation on creation and the challenges faced by a non-human intelligent creature navigating a world of fear and prejudice. Matthew drew parallels between the monster’s learning of human culture and language to Tarzan’s experiences, highlighting the themes of isolation and the quest for companionship. He also compared the nested storytelling structure of “Frankenstein” to the film “Inception,” emphasizing its complexity and the moral questions it raises about creation and control.

AI, Consciousness, and Human Emotions

Sam and Matthew discussed the historical context of early computing, mentioning Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage, and explored the theme of artificial intelligence through the lens of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein.” They examined the implications of teaching AI human-like emotions and empathy, questioning whether such traits should be encouraged or suppressed. The conversation also touched on the nature of consciousness as an emergent phenomenon and the human tendency to view new entities as either threats or potential allies.

Human Creation and Divine Parallels

Sam and Matthew discussed the book “Childhood’s End” by Arthur C. Clark and its connection to the film “2001: A Space Odyssey.” They also talked about the origins of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” and the historical context of its creation. Sam mentioned parallels between human creation of technology and the concept of gods in mythology, particularly in relation to metalworking and divine beings. The conversation touched on the theme of human creation and its implications for our understanding of divinity and ourselves.

Robustness Over Optimization in Systems

Matthew and Sam discussed the concept of robustness versus optimization in nature and society, drawing on insights from a French biologist, Olivier Hamant, who emphasizes the importance of resilience over efficiency. They explored how this perspective could apply to AI and infrastructure, suggesting a shift towards building systems that are robust and adaptable rather than highly optimized. Sam also shared her work on empathy, inspired by the phenomenology of Edith Stein, and how it relates to building resilient systems.

Efficiency vs. Redundancy in Resilience

Sam and Matthew discussed the importance of efficiency versus redundancy and resilience, particularly in the context of corporate America and decarbonization efforts. Sam referenced recent events involving Elon Musk and Donald Trump, highlighting the potential pitfalls of overly efficient approaches. Matthew used the historical example of polar expeditions to illustrate how redundancy and careful planning can lead to success, even if it means being “wasteful” in terms of resources. They agreed that a cautious and prepared approach, rather than relying solely on efficiency, might be more prudent in facing unexpected challenges.

Frankenstein’s Themes and Modern Parallels

Sam and Matthew discussed Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein,” exploring its themes and cultural impact. They agreed on the story’s timeless appeal due to its exploration of the monster’s struggle and the human fear of the unknown. Sam shared personal experiences teaching the book and how students often misinterpret the monster’s character. They also touched on the concept of efficiency as a modern political issue, drawing parallels to the story’s themes. The conversation concluded with Matthew offering to share anime recommendations, but they decided to save that for a future discussion.

Listen Here

God-Tier Books: A Personal Library of Holy Scripture ‹ Literary Hub

Fun list here from Pseudo-Dionysis (I’m a fan with my philosophical ecological thinking, btw) to Meister Eckhardt to Kafka DeLillo)… I should make a list like this.

God-Tier Books: A Personal Library of Holy Scripture ‹ Literary Hub:

Meister Eckhardt was a German Catholic monk in the 11th century influenced by Pseudo-Dionysius. His writings were condemned by the church as heresy but found a fan centuries later in Martin Heidegger, which makes sense. Eckhardt’s commentaries on God and scripture are dense and recursive, breaking ideas into component parts, placing them onto higher and lower planes, making hierarchies and triads out of them until eventually becoming something like an investigation into being and nothingness themselves. Occasional gnomic jewels emerge from the tangle: “God is a word, a word unspoken.” “God is a word that speaks itself.” The mobius-thinking at times almost seems like Medieval Zen, what with the emphasis on emptiness and silent meditation, and in fact that was what the Church fathers objected to most: too much quiet, solitary contemplation, not enough pious instruction.

Stare at Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ Today

Give yourself 10 mins today to stare at Bosch’s work and learn a little about yourself, the world, consciousness, and projection (not a bad use of just 10 mins of your day instead of doomscrolling Reels or TikTok)…

10-Minute Challenge: Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ – The New York Times (Gift Article):

Today, we bring you another focus challenge, in which we invite you to spend uninterrupted time looking at one piece of art. This one is a 500-year-old, three-paneled triptych by the Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch.

Can AI Dream of Electric Consciousness?

On spiritual attractors that attract even AI (perhaps that’s due to them being mostly human creation but perhaps something else)… Nishitani was right…

Claude Finds God—Asterisk:

As we’ve mentioned, initially models will go into these discussions of consciousness that get increasingly philosophical. And so at that point you could imagine, if that’s the thing that is just straightforwardly getting reinforced, then you might expect just increasingly deep philosophical discussions of consciousness.

But we do in fact see these phase changes, where there will be relatively normal, coherent discussions of consciousness, to increasingly speculative discussions, to the kind of manic bliss state, and then to some kind of calm, subtle silence — emptiness. And I think it’s quite interesting that we see the phase changes that we do there as opposed to just some much more straightforward running down a single path.

Dalai Lama’s Succession Plans

Religion and politics aren’t only enmeshed here in the West… fascinating situation unplaying here…

The Dalai Lama announces plans for a successor : NPR:

The English translation published on his website said the search for his successor will be carried out by The Gaden Phodrang Trust, a religious body of Buddhist monks who are part of the office of the Dalai Lama in India.

In what appears to be a nod to China, the statement adds that “no one else has any such authority to interfere in the matter.” China has stated that it alone has the authority to appoint the next leader of Tibetan Buddhism. Tibet is an autonomous region controlled by China…

… The Tibetan spiritual leader had previously speculated that his successor might be an adult, could be an “attractive” woman, or there might not be one at all. In his recently released book Voice for the Voiceless, he said that the new Dalai Lama will be born “in the free world” and outside of China.

Re-envisioning Boundaries: Ecological Theology & Migration in the Carolinas

I presented this paper earlier today at the ISSRNC conference in beautiful UC Santa Barbara…

Re-envisioning Boundaries: Ecological Theology & Migration in the Carolinas:

Today, I presented this paper at the International Society for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture’s 2025 conference titled “Crossing Borders, Transgressing Boundaries: Religion, Migration, and Climate Change.”

Here is the abstract of my paper, followed by the full paper below, as well as the slides to help those who enjoy such…

“This paper proposes a fresh theological framework for addressing climate-driven human and non-human migration by re-envisioning ‘boundaries’ as sacred membranes rather than fixed walls. Starting with biblical exile narratives and covenantal land ethics, the study traces a scriptural arc from Edenic displacement to the open-gated New Jerusalem. Drawing on Thomas Aquinas’s Aristotelian metaphysics of diverse participation in divine goodness, it affirms the intrinsic value of every creature and landscape. A phenomenological lens, as seen in Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s ontology of “flesh” and Edith Stein’s embodied empathy, reveals the porous intersubjectivity of humans, animals, and ecosystems, thereby challenging the modern Human/Nature divide.

Launching Carolina Ecology

I’m excited to launch Carolina Ecology this week. This is a project I’ve been working on in my head for a while, and I’m excited to see it come to fruition.

The idea is to provide a place to bridge the worlds that make up our region’s ecologies: to draw on spiritual traditions, ecological science, and grassroots activism so that each informs and deepens the other. There will be regular essays (already a couple there written by me) as well as a weekly podcast that will hopefully include voices from around North and South Carolina exploring these ideas, possibilities, thoughts, or events.

From the about page:

What You’ll Find Here

Essays & Reflections: Essays highlighting the vastness of ecologies in the Carolinas as well as explorations of theological frameworks and their relevance to Carolina landscapes, from the Coastal Plain’s salt marshes to the Piedmont’s waterways (from myself and others).

Local Conservation News: Updates on land-preservation efforts, watershed restoration projects, and progress (or setbacks) in state and municipal environmental policy.

Indigenous Perspectives: Profiles of initiatives, interviews with tribal leaders, and deep dives into traditional ecological knowledge, especially fire and water stewardship practices in our region.

Faith & Ecology Resources: Sermons, liturgy ideas, and study guides for congregations seeking to integrate environmental ethics into worship, outreach, and education.

Events & Calls to Action: Listings of Carolina-centered conferences, citizen science opportunities (like stream monitoring or butterfly counts), and gatherings where activists, faith communities, and scientists come together.

Here’s the essay I just published there regarding World Oceans Day and Pentecost as well…

Sustaining What Sustains Us – by Sam Harrelson:

It’s World Oceans Day across our planet today. There won’t be many sermons about that here in the Carolinas, I fear. However, I am hopeful that a young person somewhere in our two states will be inspired today to think about our oceans from its amazing creatures to the quizzical nature of the ever present tidal cycles to the circulation that helps regulate our climate despite our worst intentions at control or extraction (whether with intent or not). Folly Beach is hosting a gathering if you’re in the Charleston area or the Lowcountry of SC.

I hope you’ll subscribe if you’re interested in such topics and tell a friend or two!

Dead Sea Scrolls and AI

Fascinating (and much needed) work here on texts that still have much to teach us…

Many of Dead Sea scrolls may be older than thought, experts say | Archaeology | The Guardian:

“Overall, this is an important and welcome study, and one which may provide us with a significant new tool in our armoury for dating these texts,” he said. “Nevertheless, it’s one that we should adopt with caution, and in careful conjunction with other evidence.”

Center for Process Studies Presentation June 2025

I’m excited to present a paper this weekend at the Center for Process Studies’ conference (Pomona College, CA), “Is It Too Late?: Toward an Ecological Civilization.”

My paper is titled Relational Roots and Ecological Futures: Bridging Whitehead, Cobb, and Gullah Wisdom Toward a Decolonized Ecological Civilization and I’ll be posting that up after the conference this weekend!

“creation comes from chaos”

Beautiful post from Guy Sayles here…

A Morning Walk, an Unsettled World, and a Proimise – From The Intersection:

…Both the beauty of the morning and the disturbing news are part of the “real world.” I choose to trust, however falteringly, that the really real world is the world Jesus announced and enacted: a world of justice and peace, of beauty and goodness, of truth and tenderness, of love and mercy. It’s possible that I am naïve. It feels, instead, like I am clinging, desperately and hopefully, to a promise made sure by the resurrection: creation comes from chaos and life from death.

Saturday Morning Thoughts…

Northern Cardinals, trees, and The Lord…

On the Proliferation of Religion and AI

Fascinating thoughts here on AI, religion, and consciousness from Matt Segall (one of my professors in my PhD work on Religion, Ecology, and Spirituality at CIIS who is helping to lead the way through the pluriverse)…

“Philosophy in the Age of Technoscience: Why We Need the Humanities to Navigate AI and Consciousness”:

We might dismiss ancient religious as overly anthropocentric or indeed anthropomorphic. But I think from my point of view, we need to recognize that before we rush to transcend the human, we have to understand what we are, and all of our sciences are themselves inevitably anthropocentric.

Denominational Journeys and Paths

Eucharist

Merianna, the kids, and I decided to make the trip up the mountain to Asheville, NC on Sunday (I keep finding it astonishing that we’re so close to Asheville now after our move back to Spartanburg, SC, last year) for church and a family visit to our favorite local pizza place.

We worshipped with Asheville First Congregational United Church and their pastor, Rev. Dr. Kendra G. Plating. Merianna and Kendra were friends from their time together at First Baptist Greenville, as well as our Cooperative Baptist Fellowship community here in SC. I’m always curious about the religious journeys that people take in and out of and through various congregations and denominations, and how those journeys shape the person and they shape those communities.

Walking alongside Merianna in her journey through seminary and then being a CBF pastor and then ultimately a pastor in the United Church of Christ was a fascinating period of development and growth, and we often talked about the “how’s” and “why’s” of that walk over the years.

My own journey in faith is tangled in denominational and polity wanderings. Growing up as a Southern Baptist in rural South Carolina, I felt a call to ministry and that attraction to religion as a cornerstone for my life fairly early (15? 16? I wish I’d written more of that down as a young person). While attending Wofford College, I realized that my denominational sentiments leaned more towards the Methodist tradition (Wofford is a Methodist college, after all). I was convinced I’d end up as a Methodist minister (as a member of the Wesley Fellowship and frequent participant in campus church, the Methodist State Conference we hosted at Wofford every summer, and especially our Tuesday afternoon Chapel services). I evidently upset a girlfriend’s mom by making the flippant remark that “maybe I’d go Catholic” as I was toying with the idea of “high church” after getting to travel to Europe. I never did end up making the formal leap to Methodism. However, Methodist liturgy and hymns still play a big part in my life, and I frequently use those when leading services.

When I arrived at Yale Divinity, I wasn’t exactly sure what to call myself, and there was no polity class for my technical status as a still-Southern-Baptist. So, I found myself taking American Baptist courses, much to the confusion of my advisor. It was a happy accident, and I also grew to respect and cherish what I found in the American Baptist tradition (especially given the short drive to the City for Riverside Baptist Church services on MLK weekends). I graduated from Yale Div as a still-Southern-Baptist, however.

Shortly after graduating, I ended up teaching (science!) at Hammond School back in South Carolina. A colleague’s spouse was the head of a group called the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship in South Carolina. Perhaps the selling point for me was that President Jimmy Carter was also a member of the CBF and taught Sunday School in his hometown church. I began to attend services at the local CBF church in Columbia, and it felt like I had finally landed in a fellowship structure that fit me and that I fit as well. I attended Gardner-Webb University Divinity a few years later and met many good friends and colleagues who are now serving or did serve in the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship as pastors and leaders. Some of those have ventured into other denominations such as Presbyterian, Methodist, Southern Baptist, and UCC. I finally had my Baptist ordination signed (by 3 women, I might add) in 2014 and remain a member of Emmanuel Baptist Fellowship in Lexington, SC.

Now, as Merianna and I look to the next part of our joint journey and our individual paths of calling, we are discussing polity, denominational structure, and liturgy. Being that we’re both ordained (in two separate denominations), these talks can get tricky when we discuss the possibilities of joining a new church here in Spartanburg and what that might look like for us and especially for our children (infant baptism? blessings? open communion?).

It’s fascinating (to use that word again) how telling the story of our life journeys can seem so complex and winding unless you’ve lived the story. In my head, teaching Physics and Physical Science for almost 20 years easily explains my PhD work in Ecology, Spirituality, and Religion. Growing up a Southern Baptist influenced by Methodism, Aquinas, Quaker polity, Dead Sea Scrolls, and Catholicism (and Rosicrucianism and more esoteric faith traditions) makes for a completely coherent path in my own mind.

Wherever this journey takes us, I’ll continue to find inspiration and revelation along the path. I like to think God demands that of us who choose to listen to the still small voice of the Divine whispering in a rush of wind, in the garden, and late at night as long-haired teenagers dreaming about the future (or as grey short haired men in their late 40’s telling stories and trying to understand the universe one day at a time).