Lincoln Cannon

Lincoln Cannon
  • 5.0 (1)
  • Religion & Spirituality

Lincoln Cannon is a technologist and philosopher, and leading voice of Mormon Transhumanism.

Episodes

  1. 8 Aug

    Without Beginning

    Dorothée and I usually watch a show together before bed. Presently, we’re watching a science fiction show with a narrative that revolves around time travel. It’s entertaining, especially the recreations of historical events that bump into modern sensibilities. But it’s also incoherent in many ways. My work sometimes invites questions about time travel, for at least a couple reasons. First, although neither intended nor necessary, time travel could explain recursion in the Creation Argument of the New God Argument. When people read the idea that superhumanity creates superhumanity, they sometimes imagine the future of our human civilization creating our past and present in a simple time loop. But only procedural recursion, not temporal recursion, is required by the argument. And adding notions of temporal recursion tends to create more problems than it solves, in my estimation. Second, something like a subtle version of time travel could explain my observation that Mormon theology entails neither a finite nor an infinite regress of Gods. As the Kolob hymn puts it, “Do you think that you could ever, through all eternity, find out the generation where Gods began to be?” Such questions imply at least a third possibility: an indefinite regress. Maybe our present can create not only our future but also our past to some extent. Quantum physics may allow for an alternative to the commonsense notion that reality is determined exclusively from past to future. For example, consider observer effects in delayed-choice experiments. You send a photon along a path that requires either a wave or a particle state. But the state along the path is indefinite until you look at the photon afterwards, at which time the past state becomes definite. Did you change the past? You didn’t change the past of the photon from one definite state to another. But apparently you did change the past state of the photon from indefinite to definite. So if you didn’t change the past then you created the past, to whatever extent the past exists. That’s an unusual way to think about the past. But it’s quite like the ordinary way of thinking about the future. We aren’t changing the future from one definite state to another. We’re changing an indefinite future into a definite present. Outside of strange experiments, the past seems much more definite than the future. But what if the distant past is as indefinite as the near future? What if the distant past exists no more nor less than the near future? Perhaps the historians’ project, at cosmological scale, is persistently changing an indefinite past into the definite present? Imagine that we are, here and now, near the forward-moving edge of relatively high spacetime definiteness. The proximate past is highly defined by memories, records, environment, and other present constraints. But both the future and the distant past are increasingly indefinite to the extent that present constraints are sparse or absent. Reality, as we experience it, would be a region of relative definiteness surrounded temporally, and perhaps spatially, by horizons of increasing indefiniteness. It’s not controversial to claim that we know less about the distant past than the recent past. But I’m suggesting more. Experiments suggest that some aspects of the past are not merely unknown but genuinely indefinite, such that they exist only to the extent that we create them. And perhaps these indefinite aspects of the past increasingly accumulate until the distant past becomes as indefinite as the future. Again, this wouldn’t mean that we could change definite historical events. Dense networks of mutually reinforcing correlations would still ensure that the proximate past remains as stable as commonsense supposes it to be. But beyond the horizons of the densely definite, toward not only the future but also the past, reality may be knowable only to the extent that we create it. Let’s return to Mormon theology. There might be neither a first generation of Gods nor an infinite regress. The Gods themselves might not know. And that might not be ignorance as much as it is an honest account of limits on knowledge as imposed by reality – the limits of that which is actually knowable. Without beginning, the Gods find themselves making worlds without end. Looking toward the future, although constrained by the present, they see indefinite possibilities of creation. Looking toward the near past, more heavily constrained by the present, they see definite possibilities of discovery. Looking farther still, they find themselves making worlds without beginning.

  2. 29 Jul

    Finding Ourselves Making

    We often speak of identity as if it were atomic, in the strict sense of the word: a fixed kernel you either have or don’t. We imagine a self that persists whole or perishes entire, with nothing between. But identity isn’t atomic. Identity is organized. It admits of more and less. It can be distinguished or obscured, aggregated or dispersed, robust or fragile, complex or simple, and empowered or impotent. And it changes. Identity and existence are different concepts, even while overlapping. Something might exist in the most basic sense without having identity, to itself or others. From a materialist perspective, existence entails matter, or at least energy or information. Although, if something like a weak panpsychism holds, existence would also entail that which Mormon theology might associate with “spirit matter” or unorganized intelligence, something like matter experiencing itself from the inside in some dim alien way that “experience” risks overstating, even while preserving a practical moral stance for outside observers. Mind, too, is distinct from identity, though they overlap. Again from a materialist perspective, mind is (or emerges from or within) matter organized in such a way that it experiences itself as a self, implying at least some basic internal identity, or as that which Mormon theology might associate with “spirit body” or organized intelligence. Mindless matter also exists, even if retaining a weak panpsychist aspect. And of course mindless matter can still have identity projected onto it, and intentionally attributed to it, by minds. A mind can be disorganized to some extent without ceasing to exist. More generally, identity can be disorganized to some extent without ceasing to exist. And even at greater degrees of disorganization, even as identity ceases to be recognizable as such to any associated minds, at least the components of identity persist as matter or energy or information. In an 1859 sermon, Brigham Young may have given these ideas their strongest theological expression. Eternal life, he taught, gives “mankind power to preserve their identity” ( Journal of Discourses 6:333). Elsewhere in the same discourse, he characterized “the law of Christ” as “the power to keep matter in its organization.” A year earlier, Brigham stated the opposite just as plainly, saying some “will be decomposed, both soul and body, and return to their native element” ( Journal of Discourses 7:57). He continued, “I do not say that they will be annihilated; but they will be disorganized.” Notice what he doesn’t say. He doesn’t say matter stops existing. Rather, as Joseph Smith put it in his last general conference sermon, “the pure principles of element … may be organized and re-organized; but not destroyed.” Minds, spirit bodies, or organizations of intelligence can disorganize, perhaps indefinitely, while that of which they’re composed remains at least potentially intelligible, observable even if not observed by others, perhaps even experiencing itself (even if not as a self) faintly from the inside. The change associated with disorganization isn’t absolute termination of existence in the broadest sense. The change is in a quality of existence. Identity is a quality of existence. None of us owns our identity alone. As Brigham put it, “we have no character, only such as our friends and enemies give us” ( Journal of Discourses 7:57). And although that’s “only a shadow,” he insisted, “I want to preserve my identity, so that you can see Brigham in the eternal worlds just as you see him now.” Attribution detached from organization is the shadow, but attribution connected to persisting organization becomes recognition. Identities are personal psychological constructs and shared social constructs, interacting and ideally reconciling, in context of the world in which we and our community find ourselves. That isn’t a limitation on identity. Rather, that’s the mechanism of identity. Identity is reputation aggregated across observers through time, associated with a consistent identifier, without which there’s nothing to aggregate to. More observation, more consistently gathered, makes a more robust reputation. And a more robust reputation is a more robust identity. We might always aspire to a more robust identity, across more observation through time and space. And some would call that a more “true” identity or the “true self.” I can consent to the aspiration. But I distrust superlatives, including “most robust,” or “true self” understood as a negation of the self that we actually experience. The identities we have now are at least as true, because they exist at least as much, as any supposed “most robust” identity. And the identities we have now are generally more “true,” because our suppositions about actualities beyond direct experience are so often wrong. The self you’re experiencing now is the one doing the real work, continually changing, partly by your own intentional self-creative acts, and partly by your discoveries beyond past experience. We don’t actually choose between finding ourselves and making ourselves. As existentialists might describe it, we find ourselves making. Returning to Joseph’s sermon, we read the same existentialist move in theological terms: “God himself finds himself in the midst of spirits and glory, because he was greater, and because he saw proper to institute laws, whereby the rest could have a privilege to advance like himself … in order to save the world of spirits” (as published in Times and Seasons ). And Joseph had already encouraged emulation of the divine origin: “you have got to learn how to be Gods yourselves … the same as all Gods have done.” As the Gods find themselves amidst mind and matter and institute laws to help others, so must we. Mormonism is an existentialist theology. We know the making is real because we observe it happening. What we don’t know is whether the construction goes all the way down. Maybe there’s a finite origin, an infinite regress, or even an indefinite origin. Perhaps the search to discover origins indefinitely creates those origins to some extent, as a kind of observer effect. Perhaps we can’t know. Perhaps the Gods can’t know. Either way, our true selves with robust identity don’t rely on knowledge of any meta-experiential origins. In this light, reconsider the Mormon concept of the veil as individuation. Because identity admits of degree, some degree of individuation, such as that Mormon theology might associate with “spirit birth,” could have begun long before mortality. And the veil that we associate with mortal birth need not be imagined as a birth from nothing, nor an original individuating event. But mortal birth could still be a particularly robust individuation: a self made sharper, more autonomous, more costly to cooperate with, and correspondingly more consequential when it does cooperate. That, of course, leaves us with the work of preserving identity. That which can be organized into robust individuation can also be disorganized. And preservation isn’t simply ensuring an atomic existence. Rather, preservation is persistent organization: “cleav[ing] to light and intelligence” ( Journal of Discourses 6:333), as Brigham put it, and doing so as a community that secures each other, covenants with each other, becoming a genuine “we” that will “live and retain our identity, and contend against those principles which tend to death or dissolution” ( Journal of Discourses 7:57). There may be some few grim exceptions with moral weight. Joseph recognized that “a man is his own tormenter, and is his own condemner.” Perhaps some minds could take that so far as to become persistently incongruous with possible configurations of time and space. Perhaps they could become tragically inseparable from horrible suffering, “as exquisite as the lake of fire and brimstone,” in Joseph’s words. If such were to attain despite our concerted efforts to the contrary, we might feel pressed to facilitate a permanent dissolution of these minds, and covenant to make even their identities inaccessible to our memory. Mormon theology might associate this with “spiritual death” that disorganizes minds “as though they never had been,” to quote Brigham, returning them to indestructible primal intelligence. And it might be mercy. Beyond that sobering acknowledgment, and in practically all cases, we should continue the work of preserving identity now, both for the living and for the dead – “the greatest responsibility in this world that God has laid upon us,” according to Joseph. And we can do so in good faith, recognizing that foundations need not be superlative to be powerful. Atomic identities don’t exist and haven’t ever been required for true identities. We need only continue, finding ourselves making identity, preserving ourselves as many in one.

  3. 23 Jul

    The Veil Is Individuation

    One relatively unique aspect of Mormon theology is the concept of the veil. We typically understand the veil to be something like a curtain drawn over our premortal memory. It separates us from clear awareness of God, so that mortal life can serve as a genuine test. And we commonly imagine it descending upon us, either suddenly or gradually, around the time of our mortal birth. We associate the veil with forgetting. We forget our premortal selves, our premortal relations, and the premortal world generally. And some suppose that the forgetting is the veil itself. But I think we can profit from recognizing the forgetting to be a consequence of the veil rather than the veil itself. The veil itself, I propose, is separation. You’re a distinct center of experience, while I’m another. Each of us is unable to reach directly into the other’s mind. And the forgetting is just one consequence of this separation. More precisely, the forgetting is just one consequence of a particular kind of separation: our differentiation within and beyond the mind of God. In one sense, we were with God in the beginning as eternal matter in spiritual patterns of potential. In another sense, God created us spiritually: conceiving, calculating, and differentiating us from God within God, as our thoughts differentiate from ourselves within ourselves. Then God created us physically: evolving, cultivating, and differentiating us from God beyond God, as our actions differentiate from ourselves beyond ourselves. In terms of its function, the veil is individuation. It’s the process by which God differentiates into more Gods. It’s like human parents procreating a fertilized cell that differentiates into a body of specialized cells that become an embryo. In a sense, the embryo forgets the parents from which it differentiated. But of course, it also maintains some important connections, such as genetic inheritance and spatial proximity to the mother in her womb. Individuation isn’t necessarily a loss. To the contrary, individuation may be the ultimate creative act. Rather than diminishing the original, differentiation initiates a process by which the original may transcend itself with help beyond itself. Separation isn’t necessarily a loss. Agency, relationship, and love all require a genuine other with whom to interact. Undifferentiated unity has no one to address and no one to answer, carries no message, and enacts no love. So the veil, rather than an obstacle to communion with God, is actually a precondition to that communion in the fullest sense. Without the gap between us, there is no us. There are two ways past the veil. And they’re not symmetric. On the one hand, you can part the veil by ceasing to be individuated, which is spiritual death – maybe something like a dissolution into native element as Brigham Young envisioned. On the other hand, we can part the veil by re-integrating with God and each other in complex consensual ways, which is eternal life in a decentralized Godhood that preserves the identities that it joins. Most importantly, parting the veil isn’t just some anti-natural magical event that we must passively await. To the contrary, it’s moral work that we can do now. Each act of compassion reaches across the gap between us without diminishing either side. And that’s exactly what covenant (coming together) and atonement (being one) have always meant. As our technical capacities continue to advance, we will develop new ways of communicating. Presently, we connect our decentralized minds principally through sight and sound and their various mediums. But the time may come, perhaps not long from now, when we connect our minds more directly. This will present new opportunities and new risks, including the risk of dissolution into smothering consolidations of power, and the opportunity of transcendence into unprecedented degrees of networked empathy. The veil wasn’t simply the forgetting. It was our individuation. And it isn’t merely an obstacle. It’s the structured space across which we are learning to become many in one.

  4. 7 Jun

    How to Know God

    The scriptures say a lot about God. God is the greatest intelligence (Abraham 3:19). God has a tangible body (D&C 130:22). God works within a community of Gods (Abraham 4:1). And God is present in and through the world itself (D&C 88:6). God is courageous (Moses 7:28). God is compassionate (1 John 4:16). And God is creative (Moses 1:33). Crucially, God is not (or at least particular Gods are not) static. In other words, in at least some important ways, God changes. Of that, Jesus Christ is the principal example. “He received not of the fulness at first, but continued from grace to grace, until he received a fulness” (D&C 93:13). At least, that’s what scripture says. But can we know any of that for ourselves? Can you know God? And, if so, how can you know God? When such questions arise, Mormons often appeal to Moroni 10:4-5. “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost. And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.” What does that mean? Of course there’s the face value meaning: you can know anything “by the power of the Holy Ghost” after sincerely, intently, and faithfully asking God. But what does it actually look like, in practice, to ask in that way? And what is an answer “by the power of the Holy Ghost”? Often, Mormons interpret this to mean that we can know something is true by praying and feeling good about it. I think that can be a good start. But it’s a bad stop. Good feelings can sometimes be misleading. Even more broadly, when you close your eyes and set aside appeals to authority, what do you know? Honestly, what do you actually know? I suggest you know, at least, that which you’re feeling and thinking now. Regardless of the extent to which these immanent experiences may actually reflect anything that transcends you, you know the immanent experiences. Regardless of the extent to which your interior world accurately maps onto any exterior world, you know the interior world. If you’re feeling good, you know that. Suffering you know equally well. Your hopes and dreams, however fleeting they may be, you know as perfectly as they can be known. Your doubts too are known to you, even if ironically, as fully as knowledge can attain. That, I contend, says something about how we ought to interpret the Moroni passage. And, in turn, it says something about how we can ultimately know God most dependably. After explaining that God changes, as exemplified by Jesus Christ, the scripture continues (D&C 93:19-20): “I give unto you these sayings that you may understand and know how to worship, and know what you worship, that you may come unto the Father in my name, and in due time receive of his fulness. For if you keep my commandments you shall receive of his fulness, and be glorified in me as I am in the Father; therefore, I say unto you, you shall receive grace for grace.” That “fulness” that we may receive is the same that Jesus received. It is glorification in Christ, who is glorified in God. By extension, it’s a fullness of Godhood. And that, the scripture says, is what and how we ought to worship – the worship of emulation, rather than anything like obsequious groveling. The scriptures say a lot more about the practical consequences of such worship, of emulating and becoming God. God organizes us to gain intelligence and bodies, in community, expanding our presence in and through the world (Abraham 3:22-26). We increase in capacity for courage and compassion until, as God is, “so are we in this world” (1 John 4:17-18). Then we are Gods (D&C 76:58-60), made “equal in power, and in might, and in dominion” with God (D&C 76:95) by whom, through whom, and in whom “the worlds are and were created” (D&C 76:23-24). We will “see as [we] are seen, and know as [we] are known” (D&C 76:94). We will “comprehend even God, being quickened in him and by him” (D&C 88:45-50). And “when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is” (Moroni 7:48). Consider. How could it be otherwise? How could God not know God? How could we not know ourselves, at least as dependably as we know anything at all? And if we recognize in our own experience, in our own feelings and thoughts, that which we esteem as Godhood, how could we not know God? To recognize God in ourselves, we must know God. This is simply true by definition. The first principle of the gospel of Jesus Christ is faith. I understand that faith, in its most basic form, to be an active working trust in, or the courage to act on, Jesus’ claim that we, together with him, can overcome suffering and death. Joseph Smith, in his last general conference sermon, pressed us to understand that first principle, faith, in its ultimate form: “These are incomprehensible ideas to some, but they are simple. It is the first principle of the Gospel to know for a certainty the Character of God, and to know that we may converse with him as one man converses with another, and that he was once a man like us; yea, that God himself, the Father of us all, dwelt on an earth, the same as Jesus Christ himself did; and I will show it from the Bible.” Faith, well placed, ultimately leads to knowledge. Faith in God – and not just any God, but the God worthy of emulatory worship – ultimately leads to knowledge of God. We see and comprehend God when we become God. Joseph continued: “Here, then, is eternal life – to know the only wise and true God; and you have got to learn how to be gods yourselves, and to be kings and priests to God, the same as all gods have done before you, namely, by going from one small degree to another, and from a small capacity to a great one; from grace to grace, from exaltation to exaltation, until you attain to the resurrection of the dead, and are able to dwell in everlasting burnings, and to sit in glory, as do those who sit enthroned in everlasting power.” “Dwell in everlasting burnings”? Maybe that sounds like a strange description of Godhood. But it can help us relate these ideas back to the Moroni passage, which claims that we can know all things “by the power of the Holy Ghost.” Scripture recurrently describes the presence of God in terms of “fire” and related imagery. For example, John the Baptist says that Jesus would baptize us with fire (Matt 3:11). Paul the apostle describes God as a “consuming fire” (Hebrews 12:29). And more anciently, Isaiah connects the judgment of God to “the spirit of burning” (Isaiah 4:4). Recall, if you can, the times in your life when you’ve felt most inspired by all that is beautiful. Feel again the provocative impulse to action, to make true all that is good. Remember the sublime esthetic. And consider that such may be merely a hint of grand possibilities, or as Paul put it, interest on our sublime inheritance (Ephesians 1:13-14). Imagine amplifying the sublime esthetic: broader and deeper, full and overflowing with compassionate and creative power. That is the “everlasting burnings” of which Joseph spoke. And it’s the fullness of the “power of the Holy Ghost” of which we read in Moroni. As I imagine it, the sublime esthetic at its limit is how it would feel to be a compassionate and creative superintelligence. And that, so far as I can tell, is how to know God.

  5. 19 Apr

    In Memory of Mike Perry

    Dr. R. Michael (Mike) Perry was a gentle, principled, and thoughtful man who devoted decades of his life to Alcor and the cryonics movement. He also engaged broadly in the religious Transhumanist movement, including membership in the Christian Transhumanist Association, Terasem, Church of Perpetual Life, Society for Venturism, and Society for Universal Immortality. I first met him when he joined the Mormon Transhumanist Association, in its early years. He went on to present at Association conferences, serve as an advisor, and become a beloved friend. In conversation with me, Mike expressed inclinations toward naturalistic atheism. But he engaged Mormon thought with genuine curiosity and intellectual courage, even occasionally arguing that the hope of technological resurrection is not only compatible with religious intuition but even its fulfillment. At one Association conference, he presented his theory of “parallel recreation,” reasoning from informational realism and multiverse frameworks toward universal immortalism. It was, as I recall, during that presentation that I first heard him refer to Jesus’ biblical charge to “raise the dead” and claim that Christians “should take him more seriously.” I had the privilege of spending time with Mike just last weekend at the 20th anniversary retreat of the Mormon Transhumanist Association. He shared one of his digital music compositions for the gathered attendees, who listened with nothing short of reverence and erupted in applause afterward. At another time, as he and I sat together and caught up on each other’s life, he spoke with enthusiasm about his plan to retire from paid work at Alcor and continue serving there for free. That detail says everything about who he was. Mike is now an Alcor patient, cryopreserved and in the care of the community that he helped build. This is an ending – a big one. But for those of us who share his hope in universal resurrection, this isn’t the last ending in his story. With him, we trust that the story need never have a last ending. Mike, I’m grateful for our time together, for your work and example, and for our friendship. See you in the resurrection. [ Visit the webpage to view the media. ]

  6. 5 Apr

    29 Thoughts on April 2026 General Conference

    Yesterday and today, members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints met for our worldwide general conference. The Saturday morning session was a solemn assembly in which we sustained our new Church president, Dallin H. Oaks. Oaks succeeded former Church president Russell M. Nelson upon the latter’s death, as is our custom. The act of sustaining a new Church president is an expression of support, not a vote. Often, while watching, I share my thoughts and feelings about conference in posts on social media. My intent is to promote deeper engagement with the conference. To that end, I generally express both affirmations and constructive criticisms. Below is a list of my posts during this conference. Elder Kearon points out that sustaining votes for persons called to fill positions in the Church don’t entail that we intend always to agree with them. They entail our willingness to support those persons in those positions. Still thinking about the structure of the solemn assembly, which implicitly emphasizes Church hierarchy and its predominantly male composition. Perhaps we should re-examine the extent to which doctrine demands this structure. Sister Yee says that “ministering is the essence of who God is,” implying that we become more like God as we minister to each other. Sister Yee says God needs help with the “staggering task of answering prayers.” Amen, sister. That’s practical faith. Love the artwork of Minerva Teichert, particularly the pioneer woman raising her arm, that Elder Gilbert references. It channels a substantial Earthy determination. Elder Gilbert addresses those “trapped in traditions,” illustrating with a story about people slow to join the Church, to honor another religious tradition. But this also applies to us in the Church, trapped in traditions that inhibit fuller emulation of God. Assuming technological change continues to accelerate biomedical interventions, Elder Bednar has the best chance of becoming the last president of the Church to receive the calling based on the death of a predecessor. Elder Bednar quotes D&C 93, emphasizing that Jesus, like us, did not begin with a fullness, but progressed from grace to grace – again like us. This is the heart of theosis, exemplified by Jesus in Christosis. Elder Becerra speaks of tithing, suggesting it gates emergence from poverty. I think a communal case can be made for this, particularly when tithing is understood broadly. But I suspect many individual cases contradict this. Characteristically, President Eyring speaks of peace, encouraging prayer to facilitate that. He’s right, probably even for you, if you will. Look at the science. Elder Ortega compares theosis to climbing a mountain, where the direct path is rarely the fastest or safest. I’d add that there are also many ways up a mountain. Elder Caussé is something of a celebrity in my home. My French wife is currently posing for a photo offering him (on the TV) a piece of baguette. Oh la la. Elder Caussé points out that, although we may serve those we love, we also tend to come to love those we serve. This is a salient practical observation. Investment in cooperative ecosystems reinforces emotional attachment to those ecosystems. Elder Matswagothata has presence — captivating presence. The second he smiled, I wanted to listen to him. Elder Soares warns against the philosophies of men. Scripture advocates love of the wisdom of God, which is the philosophy of God. Philosophy, the love of wisdom, in itself isn’t the problem. The problem is aspiration to anything less than divine wisdom. Good to see Elder Uchtdorf as the opening Easter speaker for the second day of General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He’s one of my favorites. Elder Uchtdorf says the Easter story of Jesus changed the world forever. This is objectively true, even from a non-religious perspective. No ideology in human history has come even close to the number of Christians. Elder Uchtdorf says he saw “with spiritual eyes” that Jesus is resurrected. When I was young, Church members commonly supposed that apostles must see Jesus more literally than “spiritual eyes” may suggest. That seems not to be as commonly supposed today. President Freeman says that God’s promises will be fulfilled in us, regardless of the bad days through which we must pass, if we trust. That’s how prophecy works. It’s not about fortune-telling. It’s forth-telling. We make it so. Elder Rowe quotes Jesus, “that which you have seen me do, that you should do.” The Bible says Jesus consoles, heals, and raises the dead. Do Christians take Jesus seriously? Do we aim to console, heal, and raise the dead? Elder Rowe again quotes Jesus, “be converted that I may heal you.” Consider the conditional or causal structure of that invitation. What is it about change that mediates healing? Elder Rasband echoes thoughts and feelings of previous speakers, celebrating Jesus Christ. Many other Christians reject our Christianity, because we don’t embrace particular creeds or whatever. But it’s pretty hard to ignore Mormon emphasis on Jesus Christ. Elder Renlund references the “infinite Atonement” of Christ, asserting that it’s only possible through Jesus. I’ll suggest that it’s also only possible through you. You must be part of that pervasive reconciliation. Or it’s neither infinite nor Atonement. Elder Walker cites the Pearl of Great Price: the work and glory of God is to bring about human immortality and eternal life. In my experience, the Bible and scripture generally take on more deeply practical meaning when we read it with this idea in mind. President Oaks asserts that resurrection is certain and universal. I share his trust. I’d add, however, that we should not assume such entails no work. Early Mormon leaders explicitly taught resurrection would be an ordinance – a work to perform for each other. President Oaks emphasizes Jesus’ admonition to love our enemies, even those for whom we might feel disgust. He explicitly extends this to social and political disagreements, and echoes former President Nelson’s call for Church members to be peacemakers. President Christofferson says, “It is in emulating the character of Christ that we become the kind of person we’re supposed to be.” Another word for this is “Christosis.” Become Christ. President Christofferson says that “adopting the character of Christ” is essential to bringing about the return of Christ and the Millennial world. Put differently, we’re each responsible for the return of Christ. “When he appears we will be like him.” Elder Hall mentions the Book of Mormon characterization of death, including physical death, as an awful monster. May we conquer it together. More Thoughts on General Conference If you enjoyed reading my thoughts on this general conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, you might also enjoy reading my thoughts on other general conferences. Here's a list, in reverse chronological order, of the conferences for which I've published thoughts: 29 Thoughts on April 2026 General Conference 59 Thoughts on October 2025 General Conference 38 Thoughts on October 2024 General Conference 95 Thoughts on April 2022 General Conference 75 Thoughts on October 2020 General Conference 47 Thoughts on April 2019 General Conference 49 Thoughts on October 2018 General Conference 80 Thoughts on April 2018 General Conference 90 Thoughts on October 2017 General Conference 59 Thoughts on October 2016 General Conference 124 Thoughts on October 2015 General Conference 97 Thoughts on October 2014 General Conference 73 Thoughts on October 2013 General Conference 100 Thoughts on October 2012 General Conference 92 Thoughts on April 2012 General Conference

  7. 29 Mar

    Active versus Passive Christianity

    At Easter, Christians celebrate the Atonement and resurrection of Jesus Christ – the culminating expressions of the compassionate and creative power of God in the exemplary life of Jesus. Arguably, at least from a theological perspective, Easter is more important than Christmas. Easter ultimately realizes that which Christmas originally envisions. But too many of us, too often, celebrate the realization of Christian vision with passive interpretations that weaken or altogether undermine the real practical power of our faith. To illustrate, I list in the table below several important Christian concepts. Each is followed by two additional columns. The first provides a passive interpretation of the concept, as is too commonly imagined by nominal faith. The second provides an active interpretation of the concept that provokes the power of real faith. Before sharing the list, I want to emphasize that I don’t consider these interpretations, either the passive or the active, to be the only such interpretations of Christianity. There are many others, quite as common or as genuine, that I could include to illustrate both approaches to interpretation. These are only examples. [ Visit the webpage to view the table. ] The apostle Paul writes, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” And in case that isn’t enough, he continues, “Now I rejoice in what I am suffering for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church.” This is, he concludes, how “God has chosen to make known … the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” This isn’t passive faith. Neither is it a rejection of grace. Rather, it’s a recognition of grace in the power of possibility that transcends anything we can do alone. Paul’s faith rejects passive interpretations of Christ that could become excuses for inaction. Like Paul, we can have a practical and bold faith in Jesus Christ. We can actually trust in and work toward consoling the sad, healing the sick, and even raising the dead, as he repeatedly exemplifies and invites. If we take Jesus seriously, Atonement and resurrection aren’t just miraculous events that we commemorate once a year. They’re mandates that would prophetically provoke us to engage in real work with real means afforded by real grace to overcome suffering and death, for eternal life that is as real as light and as warm as love. This Easter, I hope we choose the active interpretation. Not because the passive is always wrong, but because it’s almost always insufficient. The full power of Christianity has never been in merely believing in Jesus. It’s always been in trusting his invitation to participate in Christ, in courageously becoming compassionate creators who work together to transform our world into something worth saving.

  8. 19 Mar

    Postsecular Christian Transhumanism

    A Comment Magazine article, “ Which Future Do We Want? ”, presents its perspective on three competing visions of humanity’s future: anti-humanism, Transhumanism, and Posthumanism. It then positions “Christian humanism” as the corrective to all three. But it mistakes a conservative pit stop for the destination. And it mischaracterizes the tradition most capable of bridging the tensions it identifies. Caricature of Transhumanism The article presents Transhumanism as a desire to escape creaturely dependence. This is common, but reductive. Transhumanism is the ethical use of technology to enhance human abilities. If you think technology can and should enhance human abilities, while being concerned with the ethics, you’re a functional Transhumanist, whether or not you apply the label to yourself. The deepest problem with the article is what it leaves out. Transhumanism is as ancient as theosis, the idea that humanity can and should become like God, which may be as ancient as religion itself. In Christianity, theosis isn’t peripheral. It’s a central doctrine, interpreted variously in Orthodox, Catholic, and Mormon theology. When the article warns against “the desire to be like gods,” it unwittingly warns against the scriptural mandate, with countless examples. Paul tells the Romans they can inherit the glory of God with Christ. Peter encourages us to become partakers of divine nature. And, perhaps most notably, Jesus tells his disciples to do the same works he does, and even greater works. The future, as envisioned by Christianity, isn’t a modest static humanism. Rather, it’s a perpetual participatory transformation into that which is superhuman. It’s functional Transhumanism, even if many Christians seem incapable of recognizing that. The emergence of Transhumanism may have been a cultural consequence of Christianity’s increasingly timid advocacy of theosis. God always finds a way. If Christians won’t proclaim the full implications of our own theology, the inspiration can move, even donning lab coats instead of traditional frocks. Then, of course, some Christians complain about it. Naturalism The article portrays Transhumanism as a rejection of embodiment. But only the least educated Transhumanists fail to recognize that all minds have bodies, which are the substrates that shape and empower those minds. Minds (like spirits in Christianity) may be substrate independent in any specific sense (like death in Christianity), with capacity to move from less to more robust substrate (like resurrection in Christianity). But that doesn’t make minds substrate independent in a general sense. Like almost all Transhumanists, I’m a thorough naturalist. So far as I’m concerned, even God is natural. Yet that doesn’t somehow prevent me from experiencing and acknowledging that which is sublime – the holy. Rather, it grounds the sublime in the physical universe, the experientially and scientifically accessible universe, where it can actually do the work of transformation. For theists, naturalism is simply consenting that God can teach us everything about creation through creation. Resurrection, transfiguration, and immortality need not be magical violations of physics. They can be natural possibilities, even practical aspirations, toward which increasingly intentional technological and spiritual evolution may converge. Mormon eschatology facilitates recognition of strong naturalist parallels between Christian and Transhumanist views of the future. It envisions resurrected bodies of varying types and degrees of glory in worlds without end, including those of Gods with “power to organize elements,” as Brigham Young once put it. Other Christian traditions may not elaborate on the ideas of embodied resurrection and material theosis to such extents. But Mormonism inherits those ideas from Christianity. Most ironically, the article’s “Christian humanism” would seem to treat our current biological limits, a strict Humanism in contrast to Transhumanism, as permanent features. If so, that’s a nominal “bioconservative” position that’s not what it supposes or presents itself to be. It’s actually the radical proposition that we should change human nature by making it static. But human nature never has been static, and can never meaningfully be static. Compassion The article rightly insists on relationality and communion. I heartily agree, advocating nothing short of superhuman communion. And it’s precisely this relationality that requires us to work, both to decrease suffering and to increase thriving. As expressed in the New God Argument, if we trust in our own superhuman potential, as Transhumanists do, then we should also trust that superhumanity probably would be more compassionate than we are. Our rapidly increasing power will probably destroy us unless we increasingly decentralize that power and cooperate in its applications. And such behavior, at its limit, becomes practically indistinguishable from compassion. In other words, coherent Transhumanism requires a practical working trust that we can scale compassion with capability. This is the opposite of the escapism with which the article charges Transhumanism. It’s a call to hard work of all sorts. And it’s particularly a call to the hard work of relationality, even what Christians might recognize as communion or a participatory atonement that would take on Christ as exemplified and invited by Jesus. I can choose to forgive you, lighten your burden, and work with you to make a better world. Postsecularism The article offers a choice between four futures, as though they were mutually exclusive. I propose a fifth. Postsecularism acknowledges both the value of religion and the categories of secularism. And it’s interested in undermining one or the other only to the extent that either is dogmatic. It takes science seriously without reducing everything to science. And it takes religion seriously without calcifying into fundamentalism. Without rejecting science or religion, we can recognize that the sublime esthetic, that Holy Spirit, is the engine of human transformation. This sense of awe, beauty, and purpose precedes and motivates both science and ethics. And when we work to fill ourselves with it, the sublime esthetic changes our thoughts, our words, and our actions, which change the world. I can’t think of anything more worthy of our trust than the good news, the Gospel, that humanity can and should become sublimely intelligent, compassionate, and creative. In the language of Christianity, this is to become Christ, as exemplified and invited by Jesus. It reflects the grace of possibility that transcends anything we did or can do alone. And it necessitates courage, commitment, and work toward transformation into that which transcends us. Which future do we want? As a question, that’s a good start but a bad stop. Here’s the next step. Do we have the courage and compassion to build that future? Love superhumanity with all your heart, mind, and strength. And love others as you love yourself, not as being human but as becoming superhuman. These are the great commands. They summarize all religion.

  • 8 Episodes

About

Lincoln Cannon is a technologist and philosopher, and leading voice of Mormon Transhumanism.

Information

  • Creator
    Lincoln Cannon
  • Years Active
    2020 - 2026
  • Episodes
    8
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Copyright
    © 2025-2026 Lincoln Cannon
  • Show Website
    Lincoln Cannon