Note: This essay is compiled from two different, but convergent, lines of thought I have been mulling over the past week or so. I have tried to bring them together in a whole here. I apologize in advance of any of this seems rambling.
The full essay continues after the jump....
Note: This essay is compiled from two different, but convergent, lines of thought I have been mulling over the past week or so. I have tried to bring them together in a whole here. I apologize in advance of any of this seems rambling.
A major problem with dogmatic thinking in America is that it, in its own sense, retains the geocentric notions that Copernicus and Galileo never fully displaced. Sure, you may be able to admit that you live on a five-billion year rock formed from one of many eddies which arose during the birth of our star, that men did not walk with dinosaurs, and so forth. You may distance yourself from the Flat Earthers and deny with your dying breath that you have ever worn a tinfoil cap. But honestly, if you think that Armageddon is a literal prophesy to be fulfilled to the letter, aside from the philosophical quandary of being OK with a cull of humanity, I must ask you: What makes you think this planet is the only one in all God's creation that is important to Him? What pride drives you to think you are unique in being most beloved of all cosmos? Jesus may (or may not!) have died for humanity's sins, but how are we to know in our limited understanding of anything that divinity has not elsewhere manifest to sacrifice itself for the sake of its creation's soul?
Is it so blasphemous to look into a dark sky--one that our very technology has made retreat into a haze of light just as we began to reach out into the darkness--and realize that divine love does not preclude our own insignificance? Galaxies fill the universe as water fills an ocean. If this planet by some unlikely odds was the only one that supported life among the billions of stars in this galaxy, there is undoubtedly other life-supporting planets among the trillions of galaxies beyond. But never mind life for a moment. Instead, if you are in an urban region, please head out into the nearest rural area some clear night. Put on a warm coat first. Leave the binoculars and telescopes at home. Avoid sprawl--if there is a parking lot, you aren't far enough away. Get out of your car at some quiet spot, and look up at the sky. Think about how big your city is compared to just yourself, and how much bigger the USA is than the city, and how the planet is bigger than that. Work your way outwards until you include the distant glow of the Milky Way, the fuzzy light of more stars than there are human beings. If you can include the vastness of the universe, do so. Meditate or pray as desired. Then start to think about God, and you may find yourself having rather interesting ideas.
Ideas are dangerous to dogmatics, but in the minds of those with curiosity and the capacity for critical thought, they can provide the seeds of whole new understandings of the cosmos, mathematics and all. And these understandings can enrich one's spirituality greatly. However, perspective must be maintained. The reason that science was--is still--seen as corrosive of faith is that, rather than focusing on the arching themes of love, justice, and salvation, most Christian denominations focused on the myths of their religion. Myths can be quite educational, but it is important to recognize that myths, while holding the seeds of truth, are not truths in themselves. Thus, when science began challenging geocentricism and creationism, you were left with three choices:
- Accept that your faith is hollow (the athiest response);
- Conclude that science misleads (the fundamentalist response);
- Recognize myth as myth and ideals as ideals, and find how to learn from one and aspire to the other (the liberal response).
Please do not misunderstand the labels I give to the responses above--that is how they are characterized, but it does not describe the outcome necessarily. One may react to the athiest response by, say, seeking Buddhism, which reconciles more easily with modern science. One could hold the liberal response religiously while remaining essentially conservative in outlook. But it is difficult to have the fundamentalist reaction without becoming more dogmatic, without feeling that any fact that undermines what you already believe is a lie intended to destroy, rather than educate, faith.
While 19th Century science may have exposed myths, 20th Century science has, in some sense, pointed the way to a mysticism that reinforces spirituality at its core. I say "mysticism" because the origin of this spiritual reinforcement has come from quantum mechanics, the theory behind the interactions of subatomic particles. Bear in mind that quantum mechanics is the most accurate theory devised yet--its math is nigh flawless in its ability to predict behavior of these invisible but pervasive particles. But quantum mechanics is also a very esoteric theory. In this world, observing a particle influences the particle, and actions taken upon one particle influence a particle that may be far separated in both space and time. Cause and effect become hopelessly entangled; probabilities take the place of certain figures; particles that should be at a certain place at a certain time cannot be counted on to be there. Furthermore, challenging not just dogma but what we casually consider to be common sense, quantum mechanics points out that what we think of as solid matter is neither--it is comprised of quanta (singular points--"particles") of energy interacting with one another through empty space.
Most of all, more recent quantum theories speculate that the ancient division between mind and matter may be an illusion. David Bohm, for instance, pointed out that as you study the relationships of quanta, you start to notice an "implicate order" that reveals mind-like interactions between particles. This behavior has such a distinct flavor of consciousness that some quantum scientists, such as Menas Kafatos and Robert Nadeau, have speculated that the universe itself might be conscious. In the other direction, Roger Penrose and Stuart Hameroff have conducted research that strongly suggests that quantum processes inside neurons' microtubules drive consciousness n humans. The former proposition, that the universe is conscious, is impossible to prove--what can you do, play Twenty Questions with the cosmos? The latter proposition, however, is backed by stringent research, and while there is strong contention here--the materialism of 19th Century science is still strong in many scientists' thought processes--the Penrose/Hameroff model of consciousness stands up well to criticism.
But in terms of both the big picture and an easily digestible means to communicate these ideas, it may suffice to say that all of us are interconnected, not just by virtue of sharing genetics or planet but by simply being part of the universe. We interact with our universe in ways subtle as well as readily manifest--and perhaps the universe interacts with us in turn. And when you look at it that way, who can resist speculating that, despite the materialist urge, perhaps there is a God? Or, if "God" is the wrong word, that there is a consciousness that surrounds and embraces us, and seeks communion with our consciousnesses. And, in turn, perhaps our consciousnesses seek the same communion.
As for myself, I do not regard myself as a Christian in any mundane sense of the term. But, I cannot help but look at the vastness of the night sky, or for that matter the grandeur of a forest, and feel a sense of numinous--a feeling that I am spiritually connected to all that I see. It is easier to feel that connection when separated from human concerns, if only temporarily; the trick is to bring that feeling into everyday interactions with people. It is in this spirit that I revere the Sanskrit term "namaste"--"I bow to the divinity within you."