At this Christmas time of year the word “hope” gets used frequently. We hope people have a wonderful holiday and we express our hope for a happy New Year. But what is “hope”? In addition to being a Christian virtue, hope is an essential ingredient of human life itself. From a biblical point of view, hope describes a forward-orientation to eternity. Thus, we are admonished to focus on the “blessed hope of the glorious appearing” of Jesus (Titus 2:13). But I am increasingly fascinated by the psychological dimensions of these Christian virtues. And there is abundant research in the literature to demonstrate that hope is a foundational necessity for life. Hope, in the broader sense of “forward-orientation” (not just to heaven) is so vital to the human psyche that without it a person despairs of life and develops suicidal ideation—either physical suicide or one of a host of moral suicides.

But I am prepared to take this concept of hope and intelligence  further yet. For I am now convinced that hope, in this broader definition, describes not just a virtue, not just a vitalizing and energizing power, but it also describes the way humans think.

Jeff Hawkins is the whiz kid inventor of the palm pilot. He’s also am arm chair neuroscientist. In his provocative book, On Intelligence, Hawkins describes a new paradigm for human intelligence summarized in the concept of “predictive intelligence.” Hawkins believes that our conventional metaphor for intelligence—a super-sophisticated computer capable of processing millions of bits of data in record speed—is totally misguided. It is not the number of functions that make for human intelligence. It is the process of “hierarchical memory” that makes it so incredible. Here’s how it works:

Making a Meaningful Memory:

§  We encounter some raw data through our senses (such as seeing a tree for the first time). The eyes report a variety of data—everything from shape, to color, to size, to texture. These data enter the neural system called the Behavioral Brain (brain stem) where they exist as tiny electro-chemical impulses. If this is our first experience with such an event, there will be no real “understanding” of what we are looking at—just raw data. If we have a previous memory of “green” we will recognize the “green” and it will trigger some recognition. The same with “big” or “small”. However, if we have never seen a tree before, we will not know what we are looking at for there is no concept of “tree” in our memory.
 
§  The raw data are stored temporarily in the Affective Brain. In the Affective Brain the data probably consists of disjointed bits of information: brown, green, spindly, large, etc. The Affective Brain consists of the Limbic System, responsible for such things as emotions, attitudes and motivations. Seeing this “new sight” may create a high level of cortical arousal where we try to figure out what we are looking at. At this point, the Affective Brain will send signals to the cortex to search for familiar and recognizable correlates.

§  Long term memories of this sort are stored in the Cognitive Brain (neo-cortex). If the neural model sufficiently matches a stored memory model, the neo-cortex would send a message back to the Affective Brain consisting of its previously stored neural model. Similarities and differences might be noted as would the previously stored affective components of the memory (for example, how it made us feel). If there was no satisfactory match with previous neural models, it may stimulate further inquiry (curiosity). In any event, if sufficiently arousing, this new data may be stored in the hippocampus for a time (a few hours or days at most) and possibly be eventually stored long term in the neocortex.

 Note that when we have an experience, the data are fed raw through the Behavioral Brain and into the Affective Brain where they become mixed with emotion and where a search of the long term memory storage may be conducted to attach meaning to the data. In the Affective Brain, new experiences are most likely disjointed, seemingly incoherent bits of experience. It is only when the Cognitive Brain finds a match that it can make sense. Note that this explains dreams, to some extent. Dreams are the immediate activity of the hippocampus and its menagerie of disjointed and random data assembled in often bizarre ways.

In terms of memories, note that upon further experiences with similar events, it takes less and less raw data to attach meaning to it. This is the predictive component in memory making.

Thus, for example, if we are seeing a tree for the first time and have no correlative memory of our own we have to absorb the raw data but also rely on someone else who understands what we are looking at to make it meaningful (such as a book on trees or a friend who is standing near looking with us). But let’s say we go for a walk the next week and see the same thing. This time (unless we have a memory disorder), we don’t have to repeat the entire process. For a neural model will have been created in our long term memory that will “instantly” correlate to the tree. We may only have to see the very top of a limb to “know” what it is. Eventually, we may become so familiar with the sight that we can walk right by it without “noticing.” This is what Hawkins means by predictive intelligence. After enough experience (and memory storage) we only need to see a little bit of data to “predict” what it is. We may not even have to see it with our eyes. We may be so familiar that just walking a certain number of steps along a path arouses the memory of what lies beyond and we can “predict” what it is and what it looks like based upon past experiences. Of course, this can backfire. What if, for example, someone cut the tree down the day before?

Intelligence is predictive—it is constantly attempting to “fill in the gaps” and make sense of the data fragments we are experiencing. The way it arranges the raw data (fills in the gaps) depends on the authoritative neural models that become established. There is a reason why some neural models are established and controlling and others are not. I have not yet found neuroscientists talking about it, but at some point, neural models are accepted as “true” or “false. Authority figures into this as well.  

Thus, when we experience pain we have to somehow “predict” or “fill in” the meaning. For example, we ask questions:

Ø     What will happen to me?

Ø     Will I continue to feel this way?

Ø     Will I feel worse?

 As the experience of pain and the unknowns continue, the questions will likely become more complex:

Ø     How many others have experienced this?

Ø     Why do I feel so alone?

Ø     It isn’t fair that I feel this way?

Ø     Where is God?

But notice that all the questions are rooted in the same issue: finding a neural model that explains or gives meaning to the gaps in the raw data of the experience.

This is where biblical hope becomes so critical. Hope is actually a neural model that exists in our brain. As a neural model its purpose is to fill in the gaps of our knowledge and to supply meaning to the events in our lives. It does this by assembling and arranging the data, most often putting it in a larger context so that we reframe and reinterpret it in a new way. Does this mean that hope explains all the details of our disease? No. Does it mean that hope tells us how long it will last and how painful it will be? No. Not directly (although biblical hope does factor eternity into the mix). Hope doesn’t function strictly on a cognitive or rational basis. Paul said in Romans 8 that “hope that is seen is not hope at all.” In other words, once we can “see” (cognitive understanding) an outcome it is no longer a matter of hope or predictive intelligence. But “if we hope for what we do not see then we eagerly wait for it with anticipation.”

Hope is intimately connected to our Affective Brain so it supplies more than just information. It also triggers emotional responses such as attitudes and motivations. There are pleasures involved in having unknowns. There are also motivational issues. For example, when a person is facing an unknown outcome of a disease the very unknowns force a level of attention to details in his life he might otherwise ignore.

I think this is what St Paul means when he says that hope forces us to “eagerly wait” for things with “anticipation.” Expectation has its fears but also its pleasures. Why do we wrap the Christmas presents and leave them under the tree weeks before? Why do we play hide and seek? There are values in the unknowns of life that we would be impoverished if we rejected. 

Hebrews says that hope is an “anchor for the soul” (Hebrews 6:11).  For various reasons, God plans that we pass through many valleys and mountains in our earthly existence. There are times of pleasure but also times of pain. What can sustain us through it all is one thing: hope—that is why Hebrews describes it as an anchor for our souls. 


Hope is more than just wishful thinking. It's essential for survival. And this Advent Season, my hope for you is that you fill in the gaps of your own experiences with the authoritative truth that comes from God himself. 

In Paul's epoch discussion of the battle between good and evil in Romans, chapters six through eight represent something of a climax. In chapters one through three he essentially argues that there is nothing we can do to triumph over the hideous strength of sin in our world and in ourselves. His lament reaches a kind of crescendo in the end of three in the memorable words: “there is none righteous, no not one; there is no one who understands, there is no one who seeks after God...” (3:9,10). You may be familiar with the progress of his argument. The next peak in his argument is in chapter six where he explains the basis of victory over sin: not anything we do but what Jesus Christ, God's Son has already done. And because of his victory over sin (on the Cross), we can live lives free of this scourge.

Anticipating some skepticism, however, he goes on to chapter seven. What about the fact that, even after one has become a Christian, there seem to be these nagging destructive habits that don't go away? I mean, in the previous chapter he makes it sound like if a person is a Christian he won't sin any more: “shall we continue in sin so that grace may abound? God forbid! How shall we who are dead to sin live any longer in it” (6:1,2). But our experience tells us that we do sin after exercising the saving faith necessary to become one of God's children. What then?

I've had many conversations over the years, both as a pastor and a counselor, with Christians for whom this was more than a curiosity. It was a “deal breaker.” So beset with stubborn sin habits were they, and so defeated in their experience, that they wondered if the Bible was really true. The sermons and teachings they've had over the years don't line up with the reality of their own lives. I think of a guy named Clifford (not his real name). He had an explosive problem with anger. It was a rage that came over him and turned this otherwise gentle giant into a raging wild man: unpredictable, unglued and scary to those around him. There was no question that he was a sincere and devout follower of Jesus Christ. He wasn't inclined to shift blame or responsibility for his actions on others (at least, after his volcanic eruptions).

He and his wife came to me for counsel one evening. Together we found comfort in Paul's description of his own post-conversion sin struggles in Romans 7:

15 I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. 16 And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. 17 As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. 18 For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

I know there are many discussions about Paul's original intent in this passage. Was he describing his condition currently or before he became a Christian? I'm not going to rehearse the debate here. Suffice to say I believe Paul is exposing the ongoing battle within the Christian. And he does so by some a curious maneuver we would today call “psychological dissociation.” He says, “If I do what I do not want to do...it is no longer I myself who do it but it is sin living in me.”

The term dissociation is used by many therapists to describe a fragmented identity and sense of reality. The extreme form of dissociation is a “split personality”--Jekyll and Hyde. Back in the last century there was a popular fascination with this phenomenon. For example, you may have seen the 1975 Hollywood thriller Sybil in which a young woman named Sybil Dorsett had thirteen distinct selves or personalities. This kind of “split personality” is now technically diagnosed as “dissociative identity disorder” or DID. In the movie (supposedly based on a true story),

Vanessa plays the piano and helps Sybil pursue a romantic relationship with Richard

• Vickie 18 years old and speaks French, a very strong and mature personality and knows about all the other personalities , though Sybil does not
  

• Peggy 9 years old talks like a little girl, often appears while crying hysterically due to Sybil's fears
  

• Marsha wants to kill Sybil
  
  

• Mary is Sybil's memory of her grandmother; speaks, walks and acts like a grandmother
  

• Nancy who kept waiting for the end of the world and was afraid of Armageddon
  

• Ruthie is 6 years old and was raped with a button hook by her mother
  

The goal of a therapist dealing with such complex fragmentation is to unite them and establish a more cohesive self. So, what in the world is the Apostle Paul doing by seemingly urging dissociation? If we view ourselves as having multiple selves (“no longer I who sin but sin that dwells in me”) aren't we moving in the wrong direction?

First of all, I would say it's probably a misuse of this text to argue for dissociative identity disorder! Paul didn't have Sybil in mind when he wrote this. On the other hand, I'm not totally convinced that modern therapists have a leg up on knowing what is best to produce in a DID client. It isn't enough to say they are trying to unite the various dissociated elements of personality in one. Shouldn't they also scrutinize which one they want to come out on top?

Okay,enough of the rabbit trail here. Let's get back to Paul's strategy in Romans 7. Clearly, he believes it's important to somehow distinguish or separate our identity from the sin that dwells within us. Why? I think Paul understands that as long as we get the two confused we'll never get around to hating the sin. We'll just hate ourselves. You know, we're supposed to “hate the sin, love the sinner.” But what do we usually do? We love the sin and hate the sinner. In order to truly hate the sin we need to view it as an alien, intruding force; an enemy combatant. That requires a form of dissociation.

When I was dealing with Clifford, I tried to help him to see his anger as something outside of himself. My goal wasn't to give him an excuse for blame shifting or irresponsibility rather to help him manage it. We learned together to picture the anger as a freight train, steaming toward him at full throttle. Usually, he didn't realize the train was upon him until it had already run him down. But we tried to develop some strategies to see it coming—like the early warning signs that it was in the distance.

You've heard trains in the distance I'm sure. Years ago one my boys used to take the Amtrak from Chicago to our local station. I won't say anything bad about Amtrak schedules (okay, I will) but they were notoriously late—sometimes two or three hours. We would often stand alongside the tracks just tuning our ears to any distant sound that might be his train. Another person waiting once told us some specific things to watch and listen for, in addition to the distinctive air horn. For example, there was the sound of crossing signals going off all over town. Visually, there was a certain signal light that would change colors when the track was being prepared for their arrival. One of the last things we learned to wait for was the sound of another train that had to pass through before his commuter train arrived.

The point is, the more attuned to the sights and sounds of the train the more we could anticipate his progress. I think there is a useful analogy here for dealing with sin. When Clifford began to watch for the early warning signals of anger, he was better equipped to handle the impact when it finally hit him. In his case, he learned that before a big blowup he would often get wrapped up in a pattern of frustration, failure and discouragement—often with mechanical things. Defeat in this area would translate into angry explosions toward his family. The technical term for this is displaced aggression.

Perhaps you've heard of the theological term “alien righteousness.” It is attributed to Martin Luther, the 16th century reformer, who came to terms in his own life with the truth that humanity can do nothing to merit God's favor. Because of our total inability we need a work of Jesus Christ on our behalf. And the righteousness (merit) that is produced in us as a result of Christ's work is something from outside of us not something we generate within ourselves. That's why Luther called it an alien righteousness.

I'm suggesting here that Paul is espousing a comparable truth when it comes to sin and wickedness: that for the Christian, there is an “alien wickedness” in addition to an “alien righteousness.” And this battle of two polar opposites within—light and darkness—explains to a tee why we feel so conflicted and embattled. Where the modern therapist misses the mark in dealing with dissociation is trying to reunite the various identities. What should occur is driving the alien identities out!

How can this be done? How can guys like Clifford not only “hear the train a'coming, rolling round the bend” even though “they ain't seen the sunshine since who knows when...” (sorry, a little Johnny Cash there!)

Paul doesn't leave us at a dead end in Romans 7. Let me conclude by finishing his argument:

Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. 22 For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; 23 but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. 24 What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? 25 Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!

The prospects for someone like Clifford are dire. I won't tell you that as a result of my counseling sessions he never struggled with the freight train of anger again. But I will tell you this: to the extent he truly recognized his own helplessness (“What a wretched man I am!”) and to the extent he came to the end of his own coping resources (“who will rescue me?”) he was able to, at least a few times I knew about, end up in victory when he said with Paul: “Thanks be to God who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord.” For in those moments (and sadly, he didn't experience them all the time), he was able to see the train coming, look up and see the alien wickedness for what it was. Because of his own helplessness he was able to then step back and let someone else stop the train on his behalf. I'm not talking about Clark Kent here! The real “man of steel” was Jesus Christ. And if we let him fight our battles for us, we will be able to give thanks to God for the victory that is ours through him.

Though I'm not really that knowledgeable about pop culture (probably more than I would like to admit), I do recall the words of an old song that rose to the top of the charts during my teen years. It was titled I Want You To Want Me, by the rock band, Cheap Trick (1977). Sometimes those old songs had hidden nuggets of wisdom deep inside. Not so with this one: what you get in the title is about as much insight as you get in the entire piece (though the name of the band could be a blog post in itself). I won't bother to recite the entire lyric. I won't even bother to embed a link to their video—it's really not worth it. Now that I think about it, there was another song with a similar line in the lyric. It was even more popular (and no less inane!):

Well I think I'm going out of my head.
Yes I think I'm going out of my head
Over you, over you.

I want you to want me.
I need you so badly,
I can't think of anything but you.

Let's focus on that idea of wanting someone to want us; of needing to be needed.

I don't have to tell you that it's a powerful engine of motivation in your life. You've known it for years. From childhood you tried to figure out whether people wanted or liked you. When they did, you gravitated toward them. When they didn't (or you didn't think they wanted to) you may have avoided them or perhaps tried to win their attention in some way. In some cases, it made you feel crazy: “I think I'm going out of my head.” You could hardly think of anything but getting noticed. The point is, you wanted to be wanted.

  If this were only a childish pastime, like playing tag during recess, it would be one thing. But we never get over it. The tactics and strategies change. They become more sophisticated. But not the essential desire. My question here is, why? Why is there such urgency to be wanted? I particularly address the caregivers among you—professional and otherwise. Theory and experience suggest that you have an even stronger need to be needed than most; that your want to be wanted is a significant factor in why you entered the caregiving profession to begin with--not to mention the reason for your darkest, most anxious hours when the need went unfulfilled.

Mental health experts and addiction specialists often warn of the danger of “codependent” relationships. In a clinical context, codependency means we rely too much on another person for own good. We so desperately want them to like or need us that we will say or do anything necessary to get it. When professional people helpers are codependent, they risk doing damage to those they are trying to help.

As a pastor and counselor I've seen more codependency than I could enumerate. I think of the parents who have destructive relationships with their children, giving into their demands, bailing them out of jail, making excuses for their irresponsibility—to the extent that it harms the kids. Why would parents do such a thing? Why would a mom hide her son's drug addiction or promiscuous lifestyle, knowing full well that it is hurting him and everyone else? She says it's because she loves him so much. But is it really?

I think of pastors who burn themselves out in their ministries, going without sleep, never taking a day off, neglecting their marriages and families, burning the proverbial candle at both ends--all in the name of love. It may be. But it may also be more insidious. In many cases, it's more about what they can get than what they give. I know many pastors, missionaries and counselors who are secretly motivated by the need to be needed. So much of their activity is really driven by the need for affirmation and validation. They want to be appreciated. They're searching for significance. And when they don't get it (and they can never get enough), they think they're going out of their heads...

Why? What's behind all this want to be wanted?

Mental health experts will usually say it's because of a poorly defined or established self-image. The prophets of self-esteem, whose voices have become so dominant in our generation, believe that the ultimate solution to codependency in relationships is to find more significance in ourselves than in others. The need to be needed is a distraction or distortion, they say. We may think we need a pat on the back from our boss. But what we really need is a pat on the back from ourselves.

I'll bet you've heard that before. Maybe you've even tried it or proclaimed it to others. But there's a problem with it. It's not true! The need to be needed, the want to be wanted, is not some deficiency in our souls that we must overcome. It's not some malfunction of the psyche that can be reprogrammed with the right therapeutic technique.

The fact is, God designed us this way. We are social beings and our very neurological hardware requires that we derive meaning and significance from relationships. The problem is not that we want to be wanted. The problem is, where we look for it. It's not our search for significance and affirmation that results in destructive codependency. It's the ones from whom we seek it.

The message of the Bible is that God made us for relationship with Him. He hardwired our brains so that we would need to be needed—by Him. This would be an ever present motivation to seek fellowship and intimacy with our Creator. But, if you know your Bible, you know that things went horribly wrong. Our first parents started it. They rejected that need for their Creator and tried to find it somewhere else. We're still feeling the blowback today.

Perhaps you remember the parable Jesus told about the four servants who were given amounts of money to invest (Matthew 25). Though the specific reason Jesus told the story was to contrast the faithfulness of three of the servants who invested the money wisely to the one who didn't—illustrating the contrast between His faithful followers and the religious establishment—there is a phrase in the parable that I want to consider:

"After a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them. The man who had received the five talents brought the other five. 'Master,' he said, 'you entrusted me with five talents. See, I have gained five more.' "His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!' (Matthew 25:19-21).