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What Is Omnipotence?
I remember hearing some variation of “Can G-d make a rock so heavy He can’t move it?” in high school. I don’t remember thinking much about it at the time. My earliest memory of having any clear thought about it is probably around 2010 when, as I recall, I answered it “Yes, and that rock is called ‘free will.'”
Which brings us to one thing normally recognized by contemporary philosophers as a reasonable limitation on omnipotence: G-d does not have the ability to break the rules of logic. That’s part of how Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga responds to atheist philosopher J. L. Mackie. In a nutshell, Mackie wonders why G-d can’t just make a perfect world with free people in it, and Plantinga replies that even omnipotence doesn’t have the power to give us freedom and force us to do the right thing at the same time.
That’s a step in the right direction, but it doesn’t clear up quite enough. Some people seem to think omnipotence means being able to do just anything. That is incorrect. Omnipotence means having unlimited power. That’s the dictionary definition.
Now it’s true that “power” can mean an ability–the power to win a race, the power to eat candy, the power to watch television like Ratbert here:
But “power,” more fundamentally, means might or strength. “Power” can mean an ability because more power often means you can do more things.
But sometimes more power means there are things you can’t do. A powerful runner has a diminished ability to lose a race while trying to win; the most powerful runner possible wouldn’t be able to do it at all.
When I’m navigating the Hong Kong MTR system and have to switch from the East Rail Line to the Kwun Tong Line, I could hardly be the last person to hike that quarter-mile through the bowels of Kowloon Tong Station even if I tried. That’s not because I have some weakness relative to whoever comes in last; it’s because I don’t.
Superman does not have the ability to be killed by a bullet when there’s no kryptonite nearby; that lack of an ability does not mean he has a weakness; it means he has extra power.
And that brings us to the tradition. Omnipotence is an attribute traditionally ascribed to G-d by a tradition, and that tradition is classical theism.
What the word “omnipotence” means is, above all, what the traditional doctrine teaches. Similarly, the term “the Trinity” means G-d according to the doctrine of orthodox Christianity–One G-d, Three distinct Persons who are G-d. Heaven knows how many people out there think “the Trinity” means one G-d with three different roles. Their confusion does not change the meaning of a term that denotes the teaching of a tradition.
What classical theism teaches about omnipotence is that G-d has unlimited power, not that he can do just anything.
People representing the tradition–like Aquinas, and like Anselm here–also explain that certain abilities are weaknesses, not strengths. E.g., the abilities to sin, lie, die, or break the rules of logic.
Being able to do things like that is not required by omnipotence. Being unable to do them is.
Anselm’s book Proslogion introduces the general idea very well, and it’s not a hard book to read (if you don’t get bogged down in the ontological argument in chapters 2 and 3). Here’s chapter 7, where Anselm explains omnipotence, and here’s my short YouTube intro to this lovely little book.
And now . . . surprise! Once we have that perspective in place, we can actually go back to that other sense of the term that caused all this trouble in the first place–“omnipotence” as the ability to do anything.
People like Anselm and Aquinas will actually welcome that definition of omnipotence–but only as long as we understand what it actually means to do something. Sinning is not in itself the doing of a thing. It’s a way of failing to do right. Lying is not a thing you do. It’s a particular way of failing to do something–to speak the truth. Dying isn’t a thing you do; it’s just a failure to keep living. Breaking the rules of logic is not a thing you do, but a particular way of failing to do a thing–to keep the rules.
Technically, an ability to do something means an ability to do a real thing–and these aren’t even real things. And, again, being able to do these things is not some limit on omnipotence; it’s actually part of what omnipotence is. (For example, see Aquinas’ Reply to Objection 2 here.)
Or so the tradition says.
And as for the overrated rock question, if you wanna take it as some sort of metaphor for free will like I once did, be my guest and answer “Yes.”
But if you want to take the question literally and apply a dictionary definition or the equivalent historical definition of omnipotence to it, then the answer is “No”: An omnipotent G-d could not have a weakness. But if G-d made Enchanted Rock in west Texas so heavy that He didn’t have the power to move it, then he would have a weakness.
But trying to think with the tradition is hard work if you’re not used to it. So here’s a suggestion:
Try to forget about the tradition for a moment, and just suppose a few simple principles:
–G-d does not have the ability to break the rules of logic,
–to have an imperfection is to have a limitation,
–and to have a limitation is to have a weakness.
Now let’s admit that a loser like me might, constrained by extreme circumstances, have a moral obligation to lie once in a lifetime. But an omnipotent being will never be constrained by such circumstances; G-d is not a loser like me. So consider this argument:
1. To tell a lie when one is not constrained by extreme circumstances is to have an imperfection.
2. To have an imperfection is to have a weakness.
3. Therefore, to tell a lie when one is not constrained by extreme circumstances is to have a weakness.
You can add one premise and extend the argument.
3. To tell a lie when one is not constrained by extreme circumstances is to have a weakness.
4. It is not possible for an omnipotent being to have weaknesses.
5. Therefore, it is not possible for an omnipotent being to tell a lie when not constrained by extreme circumstances.
If omnipotence means an omnipotent G-d should be able to tell a lie, which of those premises is wrong? Is it 1, 2, or 4?
Published in General
You really don’t know the tradition, do you?
It’s all the result of someone’s free will. See Genesis 3 and Romans 8 for a start.
As I recall, you don’t like YouTube. But just in case, here’s where I talk about it there.
Well, that had to be hard to be so concise.
So God is unwilling to prevent natural disasters from occurring because Adam and Eve sinned in the garden and God has no way of preventing those disasters today without retroactively taking away the free will Adam and Eve possessed?
Did I understand that correctly?
I don’t know anything about the rationale, but here’s a rationale.
You’d have done better if you’d watched the YouTube video first.
G-d gave free will and responsibility to some beings he created–both human and angelic. Some in both categories misused their free will and abused their responsibility. Natural disasters are part of the result. For G-d to remove all the consequences of our free decisions would be to restrict our freedom.
Not a bit.
I didn’t say “all the consequences.” I asked if God is unable to prevent a natural disaster without removing our free will. Pick just one natural disaster. Is God able to intercede on our behalf to prevent a disaster from causing enormous suffering without taking away our free will?
A natural disaster? Yes.
I suspect He has done it a number of times.
So God can undo some of the consequences of our free will without negating our free will.
Is there a limit? Does God have a quota, a number of disaster he has to allow before he has negated our free will?
Of course. And of course. And, of course, neither you nor I has the slightest idea what the limit is.
This is how free will works. I want my kids to have some freedom and responsibility. I won’t spare them all the consequences of their foolish decisions. I will spare them from some. They will want much more sparing than they either deserve or need until they are much, much wiser than they are now.
But of course we aren’t talking about sparing a child from the consequences of her foolish decision. We’re talking about sparing an innocent child from an agonizing disease that can be traced to no cause, but that religious tradition postulates is the result of a sin committed thousands of years ago.
God, being all powerful, could presumably protect every innocent child from terrible suffering unrelated to any contemporary act of free will, yet doesn’t. So, do we think (a) that is because God can’t protect all those innocent children without depriving us all of free will? Or do we think (b) that God could protect them without compromising our free will, but chooses not because the suffering itself has some value to his plan? Or do we think (c) that God is simply indifferent to the suffering, and so allows it?
Or do we have some other explanation as to why infants die in pain through no fault of any living human?
That is the cause to which we trace it.
Yes, of course we’re not talking about sparing a child from the consequences of leaving his Nintendo game out so that the little sister apparently lost it.
We’re talking about how free will works. The child is just a convenient illustration on a lower level.
And He should? That would overrule the free will of past acts.
Yes, obviously that is what I think. (Which is not to say that the suffering doesn’t have any value as a means to some other end.)
So it seems you do have some idea of where that line is to be drawn, the line that God can’t cross without depriving us of free will: he can relieve some suffering, but he can’t spare the children.
Do you believe that because you assume that if it weren’t true God would spare the children, and yet God clearly doesn’t? Or do you have some other reason for believing it?
FTFM.
You’re doing a straw man fallacy there.
I said G-d can’t protect all innocent children without depriving of free will those whose free decisions resulted in their harm.
Do you think a good G-d would prevent all harm even at the cost of removing free will from his creatures?
There is a book that comes to mind about that by Orson Scott Card called The Worthing Chronicle. (I believe. He expanded it and republished it later, and I haven’t read that version.) At the end, those who were powerful enough to take away all pain decided they were doing humanity a disservice and withdrew from doing so.
Take this with as many grains of salt as you should take something coming from a loser who doesn’t know music AT ALL, but I think that was a theme in Beethoven’s Last Night by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
No, not a straw man. Merely a momentary breakdown in our communication.
I have been speaking of children whose suffering is the result of purely natural causes and not traceable to any choices save those of Adam and Eve. That was my intent when I wrote:
I was hoping that was clear, that I was speaking of children whose suffering is not the consequence of decision-making post-Eden. I understand that that is a subset of all suffering experienced by children. It is only this suffering to which I refer.
So, now that that is clear, let me ask the question again. Perhaps your answer will be different now that I’ve clarified the question.
You should read me more carefully, e.g. # 121. And # 125. It’s all the result of someone misusing their free will (and not just Adam and Eve either).
You used an analogy of parents and their children earlier, suggesting that we don’t want to spare our children all of the harm caused by their own exercise of free will.
But wouldn’t we like to spare our children all the harm caused by others exercising their own free will?
Of course not. They will sometimes be hurt because of bad decisions made by each other, by me, by my wife, by their friends, and on and on and on. I wouldn’t want to take away free will from those people.
I don’t think you and I have the same idea of what the phrase “take away free will” means.
If my neighbor decides, of his own free will, to hit golf balls in his back yard while drunk, I might choose to bring my young daughter inside so as to avoid her being injured as a consequence of his act of free will. In what way does my decision to protect my daughter impinge on my neighbor’s free will?
That decision doesn’t. Of course there are some times when I would want to protect them from harm caused by someone else’s free will. Obviously.
You asked about “all the harm.”
Do you think a good G-d would prevent all harm even at the cost of removing free will from his creatures?
Would you want to prevent all harm to your kids at the cost of removing free will from their friends, spouses, etc.?
Is there ever not a time when you want to protect them from the harm caused by someone else’s free will?
Of course there are times when I would not want to protect them from the harm caused by someone else’s free will. How else would they grow?
But more to the point: When Kid 1 tells a lie to Kid 2 resulting in hurt feelings later, I can imagine no way to prevent the harm other than to the prevent Kid 1 from having the freedom to tell a lie. I recognize the value of freedom, and would not want to take that away.
Well, they could grow by experiencing the consequences of their own acts of free will. That has the virtue of not allowing them to be subjected to the injustice of suffering for someone else’s poor choices.
You can imagine no way to prevent the harm other than preventing the exercise of free will. But you are not omnipotent: God could undoubtedly find ways to prevent the harm once the act of free will has been committed. Right?
There’s some growth there.
But there’s not a lot of inter-personal growth.
Wrong.
Are you saying I’m mistaken in this particular instance, because of the nature of the specific example, or are you saying that I’m wrong in the general case: that God can not prevent the harm caused by acts of free will without eliminating the free will in the process?
(Or, if there’s a third meaning, what would that be?)
I was saying the first one. But with the bolded adjustment above, I think both are correct.
I hope it’s not rude to butt in, but just a quick question: isn’t the point of Christianity that God is, in fact, in the process of erasing all that pain, of redeeming his creation so that the suffering, past present and future (which only has meaning to us who are in Time) is wiped away?
Isn’t it seen as some kind of miracle, or at least act of brilliance from our perspective, that He has managed to do that in a way that preserves the free will, and thus the real value, of human beings?
And so one possible response to the person who says, “But how could a loving God allow suffering?” is “He hasn’t allowed suffering. We are living through His elimination of it. It seems like an odd method to us, but then again, what are we in the grand scheme of things?”
And so both Henry and St Aug are right to an extent. God insists on creatures that have free will and so suffering came into the world. God’s omnipotence means he has the power to end suffering, to prevent it from ever having happened, and is in fact in the process of doing that.