Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Monday, July 9, 2012
The theological implications of the Higgs Boson
Now, it has certainly been a while since I did theology. But theology is very slow to change, so I doubt I have missed much in the intervening years. But the recent mind-blowing identification of the Higgs Boson got me thinking about theology again.
I can remember, as if it were yesterday, the burden of faith. Essentially, the burden of having to believe what you knew to be untrue. We sang our way through our teenage years – arms raised skyward – tears staining the cheek. We believed. We believed that Jesus shot off into heaven like a rocket. We believed that Virgins conceived. We believed that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. And we believed that water could become wine and a thousand other strange and peculiar things, which reason told us not to. It was a burden. It was heavy. It was entirely unnecessary.
I remember my first year at university, when I encountered, for the first time, the standard methods of Biblical Criticism, where the Bible is analysed primarily as literature. This was a method which was then 150 years old. I suddenly felt released. I was free at last, from all the nonsense. I was liberated from the twaddle and the rubbish. At last, I could behave like a normal, thinking human being and the Bible suddenly became a goldmine for intellectual rigour and exploration.
One of my teachers, the redoubtable Bishop John Robinson, of “Honest to God” fame, once said a really interesting thing in a lecture. He said, when the aeroplane does a really dodgy landing and it lurches and shudders as it hits the ground and hurtles towards the end of the runway – one’s instinct is to pray. “It is much better”, he said, “simply to trust the pilot”.
Besides the entirely unworkable philosophical “Proofs” of the existence of God, there was, frankly very little else around. So, the believer was forced to live a life of faith on the thin gruel of the concept of “coherence”. God is “that which keeps everything together”. A kind of supernatural glue to the universe. (Needless to say, that is a belief. One could just as well believe that the colour yellow keeps the universe together.) It gives one a nice warm feeling. Within Christianity, there is the concept of a loving God, gently guiding here, nurturing there and holding everything in the anthropomorphic palm of his hand. When things go wrong, it is somehow the will of God. All we, within our limited understanding of things, need to do – is have faith, and things will get better. Because nothing can happen that is outside the plan of God. (I give you holocausts. I offer rampant, entirely unnecessary disease, disaster, famine, war. These are all apparently within the plan of God in some way. We just don’t understand them properly). And the believer will soldier on, despite these things. Despite every evidence in the other direction – that there is no plan, unless we make it ourselves. The believer will soldier on.
And then the other day, an announcement was made about the identification of a particle consistent with the Higgs Boson – a particle, which until now has been merely theoretical and whose primary function appears to be that of coherence. The discovery is key to our understanding of how matter has mass, which then combines with gravity to give an object weight. The identification of the boson has been made with an extremely high level of certainty. The chances of a false positive reading are low. The experimentation, which took place at the Large Hadron Collider in Cern in Geneva, has been amongst the most expensive and extensive that has ever been undertaken. Cern’s atom collider has cost about $10 billion and has been creating these high energy collisions in order to investigate dark matter, antimatter and the origin of the universe. As I say, the chances of it being wrong, appear to be rather remote.
No wonder, then, that the Higgs boson has been popularly dubbed the “God particle” – a term which scientists regard as somewhat histrionic. No wonder, because here at last, we have the scientific basis for the way things in the universe keeps together. We can, at last, start to understand the physical coherence of all things.
I recalled the argument of the philosopher Anthony Flew, writing at what must the same time as Higgs was positing his boson:
"Let us begin with a parable. It is a parable developed from a tale told by John Wisdom in his haunting and revolutionary article "Gods." Once upon a time two explorers came upon a clearing in the jungle. In the clearing were growing many flowers and many weeds. One explorer says, "Some gardener must tend this plot." The other disagrees, "There is no gardener." So they pitch their tents and set a watch. No gardener is ever seen. "But perhaps he is an invisible gardener." So they set up a barbed-wire fence. They electrify it. They patrol with bloodhounds. (For they remember how H. G. Well's The Invisible Man could be both smelt and touched though he could not be seen.) But no shrieks ever suggest that some intruder has received a shock. No movements of the wire ever betray an invisible climber. The bloodhounds never give cry. Yet still the Believer is not convinced. "But there is a gardener, invisible, intangible, insensible, to electric shocks, a gardener who has no scent and makes no sound, a gardener who comes secretly to look after the garden which he loves." At last the Sceptic despairs, "But what remains of your original assertion? Just how does what you call an invisible, intangible, eternally elusive gardener differ from an imaginary gardener or even from no gardener at all?"" Anthony Flew, Reason and Responsibility, 1968
Now, I don’t need to say it, but I will. Science has effectively pulled the carpet from the under the feet of the people who insist that only a supernatural being can fulfil this function of coherence. Because it is now fairly strongly evident that this assertion – this belief, this position of faith, is untrue. They may want to continue with the belief. They may want to say it is a matter of faith. But they can no longer say that it is a kind of cloaked “proof” of the existence of such a being – because we now have much more viable, much more believable evidence, in the opposite direction.
There is a real opportunity here, for the Church, the Mosque, the Synagogue and the Temple. The opportunity is for them to embrace the science and rejoice in this phenomenal discovery with the rest of us. Another frontier of knowledge has been breached. Another fortress of knowledge has been scaled. The inevitable march of science will continue. There will be more of the same. What will religious institutions do about these advances? My hunch is, probably nothing.
Whereas Galileo was shunned and Newton regarded with extreme suspicion, they were, very soon, proved to be right. Nothing much changed. (I lie – everything changed!) But lightning didn’t fall from the sky. The end of the world didn’t happen. It just all became part of truth. And so, undoubtedly it will be with the Higgs boson. Changes caused through our knowledge of it will be considerable. The world of our children and theirs will probably be unrecognisable to us, because of it. Surely institutions which take upon themselves the mantel of truth need to come to terms with it in some way?
But if your mind is closed and your senses dulled and your brain addled, you will probably ignore it. You will probably return to your sanctuary to worship your irrelevant and dangerous pretender to truth. Because truth is hard to come by and costs more than most religions are willing to give. It requires a certain humility and a mind that will not stop searching. Ever.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Is there life before death?
My mother, on her deathbed – well not precisely at the time she breathed her last – but on the same bed and around that sort of time – (things become a little blurred – you know how it gets?). Anyway, my mother, who had always been a very devout, church-going sort of Christian, turned to me and said, “Do you think I’m going to see your father?”
She always referred to him as ‘your father’, as though that was the only sort of connection she could think of between him and her. It was a curious thing, this.. It wasn’t as though they were terribly unhappily married or anything. He didn’t beat her up or abuse her in any way I could detect. Yet there was this thing that made her speak of him as though they weren’t really connected in any particularly important way.
I looked at her, a little alarmed. Was she losing it, I wondered? He whom she referred to as ‘Your father’ had been dead for two years at that point.
“In what way do you mean”, I enquired gingerly.
“I mean do you think, when I die, I’m going to see your father?"
Well, there it was. I was completely on the spot now. I had to come clean. I mean, it is not every day that your own mother is lying on her deathbed wanting to know whether she was going to meet husbands, friends, erstwhile bowling-club companions, her mother, the next-door neighbour from 1925 and God knows who else? I mean, just how the hell does one handle this? I mean, what exactly was she looking for?
So I braced myself. My mother knew me very well. I wasn’t about to fool her now that she was dying, let me tell you. So I said: “Well, I have to tell you, I don’t think so".
She kept on looking at me. She wanted me to go on, so I did.
“It doesn’t really make much sense to me. What age would he be? Would it be just before he died? Would it be when you first met and in the first flush of love? And what would you both do with each other? Would you just carry on after a kind of two and a half year’s break in transmission?”
I piled rhetorical question on top of rhetorical question. I don’t think she was looking for a deeply theological answer anyway. I think she was fairly sick of theological answers. In any case, the one thing the word ‘dead’ doesn’t mean, is ‘alive’!
“What do you think?” I asked.
She looked away. Not in anger. Not in despair. She looked away, almost because she had come to a life-long different conclusion, almost because she had surprised herself.
“I don’t suppose I really think I will see him again, either”.
I heard in those words the most honest and real longing. But with this, a factual and absolute grasp of reality. And I felt sad for her, because her Sunday-school faith had failed her now, when it was supposed to be her rock.
At other times she would rage. She would wallow in self-pity. Why did this have to happen to her? (What? She was seventy four years old! But life is precious, no matter what age you are). Rage at God, she would, for not keeping to the bargain she had made with him. It went like this …
“I go to church on a regular basis; pray; don’t commit this sin and that sin. In turn, you don’t let me die”.
She wasn’t in any pain. I asked her over and over, but she wasn’t. She was old and she was going to die. That was all. And the greatest tragedy for me, was not that she came to the realisation that there wasn’t going to be pie in the sky, but that she had realised it too late to enjoy – to really enjoy – her life before her timeous death.
She always referred to him as ‘your father’, as though that was the only sort of connection she could think of between him and her. It was a curious thing, this.. It wasn’t as though they were terribly unhappily married or anything. He didn’t beat her up or abuse her in any way I could detect. Yet there was this thing that made her speak of him as though they weren’t really connected in any particularly important way.
I looked at her, a little alarmed. Was she losing it, I wondered? He whom she referred to as ‘Your father’ had been dead for two years at that point.
“In what way do you mean”, I enquired gingerly.
“I mean do you think, when I die, I’m going to see your father?"
Well, there it was. I was completely on the spot now. I had to come clean. I mean, it is not every day that your own mother is lying on her deathbed wanting to know whether she was going to meet husbands, friends, erstwhile bowling-club companions, her mother, the next-door neighbour from 1925 and God knows who else? I mean, just how the hell does one handle this? I mean, what exactly was she looking for?
So I braced myself. My mother knew me very well. I wasn’t about to fool her now that she was dying, let me tell you. So I said: “Well, I have to tell you, I don’t think so".
She kept on looking at me. She wanted me to go on, so I did.
“It doesn’t really make much sense to me. What age would he be? Would it be just before he died? Would it be when you first met and in the first flush of love? And what would you both do with each other? Would you just carry on after a kind of two and a half year’s break in transmission?”
I piled rhetorical question on top of rhetorical question. I don’t think she was looking for a deeply theological answer anyway. I think she was fairly sick of theological answers. In any case, the one thing the word ‘dead’ doesn’t mean, is ‘alive’!
“What do you think?” I asked.
She looked away. Not in anger. Not in despair. She looked away, almost because she had come to a life-long different conclusion, almost because she had surprised herself.
“I don’t suppose I really think I will see him again, either”.
I heard in those words the most honest and real longing. But with this, a factual and absolute grasp of reality. And I felt sad for her, because her Sunday-school faith had failed her now, when it was supposed to be her rock.
At other times she would rage. She would wallow in self-pity. Why did this have to happen to her? (What? She was seventy four years old! But life is precious, no matter what age you are). Rage at God, she would, for not keeping to the bargain she had made with him. It went like this …
“I go to church on a regular basis; pray; don’t commit this sin and that sin. In turn, you don’t let me die”.
She wasn’t in any pain. I asked her over and over, but she wasn’t. She was old and she was going to die. That was all. And the greatest tragedy for me, was not that she came to the realisation that there wasn’t going to be pie in the sky, but that she had realised it too late to enjoy – to really enjoy – her life before her timeous death.
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