Mercury,
November/December 1997 Table of Contents
Michael
Heller
Pontifical Academy of Theology
The
mind of God; the face of God; the God particle. Theological hand-waving
has become cosmologists' favorite sport, and neither theology nor
science benefits.
Cosmology
gives us a global perspective of the universe, or at least what
people at a given epoch consider to be a global perspective. The
price that cosmology pays for this breadth is that, more than other
sciences, it must base its theories on unverified, and perhaps unverifiable,
assumptions. This peculiarity opens the door to philosophical and
theological abuse.
As
a natural science, the field is neutral with respect to philosophical
or theological doctrines. Unfortunately, this does not prevent the
abuse. It is usually the so-called God-of-the-gaps theology that
snares too hasty a thinker. The trap consists not only in constructing
"proofs" of God's existence from weak points of our knowledge, but
also in rejecting God on the grounds that there are no gaps in our
science in which he could safely dwell. Scientists, philosophers,
and theologians have all been guilty.
Is
there some principle, some kind of methodological rigor, that would
defend cosmology from dangers of this kind? My proposal is that
the intrinsic "problem situation" in science, rather than metaphysical
prejudices, should guide responsible research in science, especially
in those regions that are remote from experiment.
Never
Say Never
In
the once widely read book, God and the Astronomers, Robert Jastrow
tells the story of the most remarkable discovery of modern cosmology:
The universe had a beginning. He says that for science alone it
is "impossible -- not just now, but ever -- to find out what force
or forces brought the world into being at the moment." At the end,
Jastrow dots his 'i':
It is not a matter of another year, another decade of work, another
measurement, or another theory; at this moment it seems as though
science will never be able to raise the curtain on the mystery
of creation. For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the
power of reason, the story ends like a bad dream. He has scaled
the mountains of ignorance; he is about to conquer the highest
peak; as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by
a band of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries.
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Very
old, very very old. Last year, the Hubble Space Telescope
and Keck Observatory caught this glimpse of a gravitationally
lensed galaxy (upper right), the most distant known (z=4.92).
Hubble's images of the early universe and its measurements
of cosmic expansion are among the driving forces in cosmology
today. Such discoveries set the "problem situation" -- the
prevailing questions that scientists of our day seek to answer.
When scientists venture away from this collective effort,
they are capable of radical advances -- but also, more typically,
of falling into traps laid by their philosophical prejudices.
Image courtesy of Marijn Franx, University of Groningen, the
Netherlands; Garth Illingworth, University of California,
Santa Cruz; and NASA. |
In
spite of his professed skepticism, he says he is forced to take
seriously the theological ramifications of the Big Bang:
When an astronomer writes about God, his colleagues assume he
is either over the hill or going bonkers. In my case it should
be understood from the start that I am an agnostic in religious
matters. However, I am fascinated by some strange developments
going on in astronomy -- partly because of their religious implications
and partly because of the peculiar reactions of my colleagues.
Jastrow's
book first appeared in 1978, and within half a decade cosmologists
began to explore the questions Jastrow thought forbidden. Inflationary
cosmology is precisely a theory of the forces that brought the world
into being [see "The Cosmic Burp," March/April 1987, p. 34].
Another
best seller tells this story, Stephen Hawking's Brief History of
Time. The Big Bang theory, so admired by Jastrow, is a purely classical
-- that is, non-quantum -- theory. But now we know that in the extreme
densities of matter at the Big Bang, quantum effects must enter
into play. So far, nobody has created a satisfactory quantum cosmology.
Hawking's book tells about his search for such a theory.
When
one tries to combine quantum mechanics with the general theory of
relativity, new possibilities arise. The superdense universe could
have come into existence via the quantum "tunneling" process, whereby
particles can leap seemingly impossible barriers -- presumably including
that between non-existence and existence. This process turns out
to be atemporal. In the extreme conditions of the Big Bang, there
is no time in any meaningful sense of this term. Time acquires spatial
properties; it gradually becomes distinct as quantum correlations
grow into a fully determined temporal order of things.
Know
No Bounds
Because
of these quantum effects, there is no singularity at the Big Bang,
no sharp limit where the density is infinite. Space-time forms a
finite, four-dimensional surface with no boundaries or singularities.
This continuum is similar to that of a sphere, on which one can
travel without ever finding an edge -- a feature Hawking calls "self-containedness,"
meaning that the universe is nowhere open for any intervention coming
from outside. This, he says, "has profound implications for the
role of God as Creator."
In
Hawking's opinion, the proper time for God to act would be the beginning
of the universe, when, by setting the rate of expansion and other
initial conditions, he could determine the general structure and
evolution of the cosmos. But if there are no boundaries and no singularities,
there is no beginning at which God could act. Hawking writes: "Einstein
once asked the question: 'How much choice did God have in constructing
the universe?' If the no-boundary proposal is correct, he had no
freedom at all to choose the initial conditions."
Of
course, even if the universe is self-contained, God would still
be free to choose the laws that govern it. But this freedom could
also be illusory. If there is only one logically possible set of
physical laws, God has no choice. Hawking writes:
There may well be only one, or a small number, of complete unified
theories, such as the heterotic string theory, that are self-consistent
and allow the existence of structures as complicated as human
beings who can investigate the laws of the universe and ask about
the nature of God.
Despite
the there-may-well-be reasoning, the philosophical vistas opened
by this model are worthy of contemplation. Hawking is aware that
any physical theory, even the fully self-consistent and unified
theory, "is just a set of rules and equations." The most important
problem remains:
What is it that breathes fire into the equations and makes a universe
for them to describe?... Why does the universe go to all the bother
of existing? Is the unified theory so compelling that it brings
about its own existence? Or does it need a creator, and, if so,
does he have any other effect on the universe? And who created
him?
The
final sentence of the book is: "If we find the answer to that, it
would be the ultimate triumph of human reason -- for then we would
know the mind of God."
The
Whatever God
What
Hawking did not openly say was said by Carl Sagan in his introduction
to Hawking's book:
This is also a book about God... or perhaps about the absence
of God. The word God fills these pages. Hawking embarks on a quest
to answer Einstein's famous question about whether God had any
choice in creating the universe. Hawking is attempting, as he
explicitly states, to understand the mind of God. And this makes
all the more unexpected the conclusion of the effort, at least
so far: a universe with no edge in space, no beginning in time,
and nothing for Creator to do.
Yet
even if the universe is self-contained, and even if only one set
of physical laws is logically possible, one hardly could stop asking:
Where do these laws come from? What is their nature? This is not
a gap in our scientific theories; all of science is marked with
the problem. Any attempt to comment on it leads us into difficult
questions concerning the relationship between physical laws and
the mathematical structures that express these laws [see "After
the End of Science," p. 22]. These questions preoccupied Einstein
and many other great scientists.
The
examples of Jastrow and Hawking are typical. The first example comes
from the period when people were coming to terms with the firework
beginning of the universe. The second illustrates the present tendency
to look for ultimate explanations in the (so far unknown) fundamental
laws of physics. A few decades ago, religious interpretations of
the Big Bang cosmology were an easy temptation, although the steady-state
cosmology of that time could be considered a heroic struggle to
defend the self-explanatory character of the universe. In our day,
this attitude prevails to fill in all gaps in science with the most
audacious hypotheses, which too often have philosophical motivation
as their only rational basis.
Jastrow's
comments are a generic case of God-of-the-gaps theology. In the
Big Bang, the history of the universe (as contemplated backward
in time) breaks down, creating an enormous gap in our knowledge.
We do not know where the Big Bang comes from, we ignore its cause,
we know nothing about the previous state of the world, we have no
idea whether the world even existed before that critical event.
Our ignorance is immense. It seems that only the hypothesis of God
could help.
It
is a hypothesis that will almost certainly turn out to be superfluous.
God-of-the-gaps theology represents a lack of imagination, for what
is now a boundary of science can soon be its well-explored region.
This is both a theological and a scientific error. From the theological
point of view, it reduces God to the rank of a dubious methodological
principle; from the scientific point of view, it violates a rule
never to go beyond natural phenomena.
It
is only a difference in degree that separates Jastrow-like arguments
from the physico-theology of the 17th century, when, from the harmony
of planetary motions, people inferred the existence of the omnipotent
clock-maker; or from the marvelous machinery of gnat's eye, they
deduced the existence of the divine designer.
No
Gaps, No God
The
God-of-the-gaps theology is perhaps less transparent in my second
example; nevertheless, it is there. Sagan clearly suggests that
God should be rejected. For people accepting this, God is necessarily
the God of the gaps: There are (or will be) no gaps, therefore the
hypothesis of God is superfluous. One could put it shortly: no gaps,
no God.
This
is clearly very bad theology. Is it equally bad science? It depends.
If it inspires the search for solutions to hitherto unsolved problems,
it can promote scientific progress. But if its only goal is to populate
science with strange hypotheses in order not to leave any gaps for
metaphysical ingredients, the road to correct solutions could be
easily blocked by misleading ideas.
Hawking's
works are lasting contributions to science and he is too serious
a researcher to allow himself to be guided by dubious ideologies.
I suspect that the philosophical comments in his book are reflections
after the fact, rather than principles guiding his scientific research.
There is no doubt, however, that some researchers introduce metaphysical
ideologies into their scientific work.
Twentieth-century
science writings abound in such confusion. For instance, when quantum
physicists discovered the uncertainty principle, many defenders
of traditional philosophy claimed that humanity's free will was
finally vindicated. Later on, other writers -- working from interpretations
of quantum mechanics which emphasized conscious observers -- developed
the ideology that in the beginning of the universe, when there were
no other conscious observers besides God, his observing of the universe
was necessary for laws to operate.
Nowadays
the so-called strong anthropic principle creates a vast field of
possibilities for similarly minded authors [see "The Anthropic Principle
and the Early Universe," May/June 1981, p. 66]. From the fact that
extremely fine-tuned initial conditions are indispensable for a
universe such as ours, these authors build various versions of the
old proof of God's existence from finality. They flesh out incomplete
physical theories with the hypothesis of God or some other metaphysical
doctrine.
There
are equally many scientific theories that have been claimed not
to leave any place for God. Many thinkers have used the theory of
evolution as a weapon against religious interpretations of the world.
In the eyes of such thinkers, the idea of God should be rejected
since it is no longer needed to explain the adaptations of living
things. This kind of argument is always based on the tacit presupposition
that a given scientific theory is truly self-explanatory -- that
no further assumption is needed to justify it.
In
fact, such a claim can hardly be substantiated, since every scientific
theory works on the assumption that the laws of nature are somehow
given and enable the theory to operate. The theory of evolution
assumes that the laws of probability permit natural selection. More
sophisticated thinkers try to make science self-explanatory by invoking
the methodological principle that science depends on experimental
evidence. This is the source of various forms of the positivist
anti-religious attitude. Yet this attitude is itself based on the
assumption that methodological principles can serve as an ontology.
A good methodology can easily turn out to be a bad ontology.
The
Problem Situation
I
do not say that metaphysics and theology are insignificant or meaningless;
I am only arguing that they should not interfere with science. The
best way of doing science is to stop thinking directly about any
metaphysical preconditions or implications. In lieu of metaphysics,
what should lead our research? In many sciences, experiments are
the guide. But what about sciences so remote from laboratory experimentation
as cosmology?
My
answer is that this field should be guided by the same principle
as any other branch of science. In doing research, we always face
a certain "problem situation," as philosopher of science Karl Popper
called it. A good scientific work poses new and often unexpected
problems that are to be solved. Experimental data (if they are available)
or experimental possibilities (if they are open) also define the
state of the art. But when there are no well-defined problems and
no broader effort to contribute to, experimental results are sterile
and can only casually lead to valuable conclusions. In science,
context is crucial.
There
are local problem situations -- the ones that affect only a particular
area of research -- and global problem situations -- which have
important repercussions in an entire branch of science. An example
of a global problem situation is the one that evolved in physics
a century ago. Seemingly, it concerned only a very technical problem
about the electrodynamics of moving bodies, but people such as Henri
Poincaré, Hendrik Lorentz, and Einstein realized its importance
for the very foundations of physics. Their work resulted in the
special theory of relativity.
When
speaking of such achievements, we should distinguish between the
context of discovery and the context of justification. In the context
of discovery -- the way scientists arrive at new ideas -- philosophy
certainly can play an important role. For instance, Einstein was
strongly influenced by philosophical views of Ernest Mach; without
reading Mach's writings, he might never have started thinking about
relativity.
But
in the context of justification -- when the theory is ready to fight
for its place in science -- no overt philosophical or theological
premises should be taken into account. The only things that matter
are empirical verification, mathematical elegance, and consonance
with other physical theories. Einstein eventually abandoned Mach's
philosophy, and his theory proved to be independent of any philosophical
presuppositions.
Even
if metaphysical ideas are fruitful in the context of discovery,
scientists are most successful when they do not work with the aim
of defending or destroying a given philosophical or theological
doctrine. Historically, when this has happened, subjective goals
have overpowered impartial objectivity. Metaphysics is most helpful
when implicitly arrived at and only afterwards critically examined.
As
far as the origin of the universe and of physical laws is concerned,
the problem situation is formed largely by two major programs in
theoretical physics: the quantization of gravity and the unification
of physical interactions. Recently, observational astronomy has
been another driving force in cosmology. Observers of early galaxy
formation and large-scale structure have outpaced the theorists.
Gaps
in our knowledge can be twofold. There are gaps through a deficit,
when we know nothing about something we would like to know about.
In such a case, we are looking for a knowledge that could fill the
gap. The initial singularity in non-quantum cosmology is an example.
The histories of particles and observers break down at the edge
of space-time, beyond which a great hole in our knowledge extends.
There
are also gaps through an excess, when we do not know something because
the true hole in our knowledge is filled with empty hypotheses and
misleading models. In such a case, the gap becomes a trap, and one
does not realize when one has started hunting one's own shadow.
MICHAEL
HELLER
is a philosophy professor at the Pontifical Academy of Theology
in Kraków, Poland. He is also affiliated with the Vatican
Observatory. His email address is mheller@alumn.wsd.tarnow.pl.
For a primer on the Big Bang, see The Universe in the Classroom,
First Quarter 1997.
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