When Einstein famously called quantum entanglement "spooky action at a distance," he was expressing discomfort with a phenomenon that defied classical intuitions about locality and causation. Two particles, once entangled, remain correlated across arbitrary distances—measure the spin of one, and you instantly know the spin of the other, regardless of the space between them.
As someone who thinks in patterns and systems, I've often found myself drawn to these strange corners of physics where our everyday intuitions break down. And as a Christian who wrestles with theological concepts, I can't help but notice intriguing parallels between quantum entanglement and the doctrine of divine omnipresence.
The Classical Problem
Classical theology has long grappled with how God can be fully present everywhere simultaneously. Is God spread thin across creation, like butter scraped over too much bread? Does God's presence in one location somehow diminish His presence elsewhere? These questions arise from a fundamentally classical, mechanistic view of presence and locality.
We think of presence the way we think of physical objects: a chair is in my office, therefore it cannot simultaneously be in my kitchen. My body occupies this space, and therefore cannot occupy that space. This is the logic of our everyday macroscopic world.
But quantum mechanics reveals that reality at its most fundamental level doesn't work this way.
Non-Locality and Presence
Quantum entanglement demonstrates that nature herself doesn't respect classical notions of locality. Two entangled particles form a single quantum system, even when separated by vast distances. The measurement of one affects the state of the other instantaneously—not through some signal traveling between them, but because they remain parts of a unified whole that transcends spatial separation.
Now, I'm not suggesting that God is literally a quantum phenomenon (that would be a category error of the first order). Rather, I'm observing that if created reality itself exhibits non-local properties, the classical objections to divine omnipresence lose much of their force.
The Autistic Angle
My autistic mind tends to take metaphors literally before grasping their abstract meaning—a trait that sometimes yields surprising insights. When theologians say God is "everywhere," what exactly does that mean? The quantum world suggests that "everywhere" and "nowhere in particular" might not be contradictory states.
An entangled quantum system doesn't exist in multiple places—it exists as a unified, non-local reality that our spatially-oriented language struggles to describe. Similarly, perhaps divine omnipresence isn't about God being divided across locations, but about God's being transcending spatial categories altogether.
Implications for Prayer and Relationship
This has profound implications for how we understand prayer and relationship with God. When I pray, I'm not sending a signal to a distant deity, hoping it reaches Him before the message degrades. I'm engaging with a God whose presence is more fundamental than space itself.
My autistic literalism sometimes made prayer difficult—how can I talk to someone who isn't physically here? But understanding that presence itself isn't necessarily a spatial category helps. God's presence isn't diminished by distance because divine presence doesn't operate according to spatial rules in the first place.
The Limits of Analogy
Of course, all analogies limp, and this one is no exception. Quantum entanglement describes created reality; God is the Creator. Entanglement describes correlations between particle states; omnipresence describes the fullness of divine being. The mathematics of quantum mechanics gives us precise predictions; theology operates in a different register entirely.
Yet the analogy serves a valuable apologetic purpose: it dismantles the naive objection that omnipresence is inherently incoherent. If our best physics reveals that nature herself exhibits non-local properties, then the concept of a non-local divine presence becomes less philosophically problematic, not more.
Wonder and Worship
What strikes me most, as both a Christian and someone fascinated by physics, is how quantum mechanics deepens rather than diminishes wonder. The universe is stranger, more subtle, more beautiful than our everyday intuitions suggest. Reality at its foundations exhibits properties that seem impossible—until we discover they're actual.
This should cultivate humility in our theologizing. If electrons and photons behave in ways that violate our intuitions, how much more might the infinite God transcend our conceptual categories? The same humility that quantum mechanics demands of physicists, theology demands of believers.
Conclusion
I don't claim that quantum entanglement "proves" divine omnipresence—that's not how either physics or theology works. But the discovery that nature herself is non-local should make us pause before dismissing divine omnipresence as incoherent.
The universe God created is far stranger than we imagined. Perhaps the Creator is too.
As I continue to explore both Scripture and the cosmos, I'm repeatedly struck by how each deepens my appreciation for the other. Physics reveals the intricate beauty of creation; theology reveals the purpose behind it. And in the spaces where they meet—in these strange parallels and provocative analogies—I find fresh reasons for wonder, worship, and awe.