The Problem of the Gaps

A typical argument against religious belief goes like this: at some point in the past, human knowledge hadn’t advanced far enough to account for most of what we see in the world. For this reason, supernatural explanations proliferated. As science advanced, the gaps in our knowledge narrowed, forcing many of these supernatural beliefs into obsolescence. Naturalists acknowledge this trend and are justified in believing that we’ll continue to find natural explanations, and that the gaps will narrow even further. On the other hand, naturalists accuse believers of failing to acknowledge the trend and clinging to an embattled “god of the gaps” theory. This is how the argument typically goes, and here follow some of my thoughts on the matter.

Both gaps and supernatural explanations abound, of course, even to to this day. For example, physicists can talk about the state of the universe between now and a few fractions of a second after the big bang, but they can’t speculate about the state of the universe before then. Theists interject that this is the time during which god created everything. This is fine, since that explanation is just as valid as any explanation offered by science. Even so, we need to acknowledge two things:

First, it’s a mystery what happened during that time, and the explanations aren’t so much equally valid as they are equally unverifiable. That is, any explanation is conjecture. We simply don’t know.

Second, we might someday discover a natural theory to fill this gap. To be sure, we’re not certain a theory will be found, we’re merely justified in allowing for the possibility. Sometimes people fail to grasp this distinction. Physicists, for example, might discover a grand unification theory between quantum physics and relativity. The theory might subsequently reveal what happened during those first few moments, and even why the big bang happened in the first place. Such a theory may of course never be discovered, but then again maybe it will. In the meantime, physicists ought to allow for the possibility and pursue the question.

I don’t think these things disprove religious claims so much as they undermine the traditional epistemic basis for religious claims. Rather than becoming unbelievers when a certain theological notion is displaced by science, believers simply refactor the epistemic basis of their belief.* Or, if refactoring is too painful, they may attempt to wedge open the gap. This is reminiscent of Han, Luke and Leia, who, faced with the prospect of being squeezed out of existence, wedged a metal pole between the narrowing walls of the Death Star’s trash compactor. We all know what happened to that pole.

We can see this refactoring/resistence being played out by looking at the mystery of biological origins. This gap has narrowed considerably in recent history, but up until a hundred and fifty years ago it was wide open. The traditional (read: literal) doctrine of creationism filled the gap nicely, but when Darwin entered the scene, the gap started to squeeze shut. Accordingly, some have tried to combat evolution by wedging the poles of creation science and intelligent design between the walls. Others have abandoned the old doctrine and built new doctrines in less threatening places.

Let me reiterate that I don’t think shrinking gaps disprove theistic belief, as some assert. I think that, at most, they force theists to refactor their beliefs. At the same time, I think shrinking gaps justify methodological naturalism, which exists in a high degree of tension with theistic belief. I define methodological naturalism as distinct from metaphysical naturalism, or just naturalism as it is commonly thought of. In other words, where metaphysical naturalism professes certainty that natural explanations exist for everything, methodological naturalism merely allows for the possibility of natural explanations, as a matter of sound practice. As such, it’s one of the founding principles of modern science.

Strictly speaking, methodological naturalism is compatible with theism, but doctrines that concern “the gaps” are held with some degree of skepticism, simply because such doctrines have a habit of being displaced by science. The origins of human fallibility and morality fall into this category. Disciplinary fields such as evolutionary psychology, cognitive science and neurology hint at what may, in the future, become scientific theories about why we’re moral, or why we should be moral, or why we make mistakes and do bad things, or what “goodness” and “badness” are in the first place. Other gaps include the question of first cause and the mind/brain relationship. These areas are often considered the turf of doctrine, and it is these kinds of situations where doctrine risks running afoul of methodological naturalism and science in general.

* The term “refactor” is a programming term that means rethinking and recoding portions of a program’s code, without changing its overall purpose. The term, as it relates to life in general, means to rethink one’s approach, but not one’s overall goals, and includes a sense both tearing down and rebuilding.

The Reason Bomb: A Last-Ditch Attempt to Circumvent Reason

If you’ve ever heard a phrase that begins like this: “You can’t understand, because human reason is…” then you’re familiar with the apologetical technique I call The Reason Bomb. This tactic allows the apologist[1] to wriggle free of inconvenient lines of questioning by undermining the authority and credibility of reason—especially (the apologist hopes) his opponent’s reason. Here are some common invocations of the reason bomb:

• Human reason is finite
• Human reason is corrupted by sin
• Humans are deceived
• God’s ways/thoughts are higher than our ways/thoughts

It comes in other forms, but this gets the basic point across. The implication is that certain questions are off limits—that reason is worthless in pursuit of truth X. In other words, each of the items above has an unspoken …therefore your argument is bunk appended to it. Armed with this weapon, the apologist can pick and choose whether to engage in rational discussion, or whether to invoke the reason bomb. It reminds me of the EMP weapon in the movie The Matrix. Facing imminent destruction from malevolent, squidlike robots, the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar (a hovership) detonate a weapon that scrambles all electronic gear within miles, including their own ship, leaving them safe but dead in the water.

Does reason reserve the right to dismiss itself? After all, maybe reason is ultimately worthless. Maybe consciousness is an elaborate deception. Maybe the Earth and the solar system aren’t real, and the air we breathe isn’t real. Maybe our minds are laid bare to manipulation by devious entities. And have we explained every mystery as of today? Is our knowledge infinite? Is human thinking infallible? Of course not. Any of these could potentially be used to question reason.

The problem with the reason bomb isn’t so much that it exists as a debate option. The problem is that it doesn’t discredit only the opposing line of reasoning. It takes everybody a step toward nihilism—a Mutually Assured Destruction that, like the Nebuchadnezzar’s EMP weapon, silences all opponents. If God is beyond our ken, neither you nor I can claim to say anything meaningful about God. If we can be deceived, you are just as likely deceived as I am. If a finite capacity for reason makes all arguments worthless, why debate at all? You can’t cast doubt on reason and then plead to be personally immune from the consequences. It silences you just as much as it silences me.

And yet, apologists want the exclusive right to compartmentalize the debate. They want to zone off certain areas with fences and signs that read Warning: Reason isn’t valid here. You can condemn genocide, because that jibes with the doctrine of sin, but you can’t condemn divinely commanded genocide, because God’s ways are higher than our ways, etc. That zone is off limits to reason. You can appeal to the scholarly authority of certain esteemed theologians, but when somebody points out that, in this or that area, the prevailing view among scholars happens to contradict the apologist’s view, the academic establishment is dismissed with a blanket statement about the worthlessness of intellectualism. That zone is off limits to reason. You can build a fine-sounding argument in favor of the apologist’s position, but a fine-sounding argument against the apologist’s position is dismissed precisely because of its fine-soundingness. That zone is off limits to reason. You should be seeing a pattern emerge here.

Ultimately, this compartmentalization doesn’t work. No amount of special pleading will place the apologist outside his or her own blast radius. Alternatively, imagine a world where we agree to disarm. Imagine if we agreed that, yes, we can understand these things, and we can use our faculties of reason to come to rational conclusions about them, without resorting to statements attacking the value of reason, even if we don’t like the questions that are being asked. That’s all I ask.

[1] Note: This post isn’t meant as an all-out attack against apologetics in general, but rather an attack against tactics that are typically used in apologetics, which I would like to see not used at all. So when I speak of “the apologist,” note that I mean specifically the kind of apologist who tends to use this sort of tactic.

A Dialogue Between Sam Harris and Andrew Sullivan

Sam Harris, atheist, and Andrew Sullivan, theist, duke it out in a series of back-and-forth blog essays. As of right now, the conversation is still happening. More salvos will surely be fired, so the page is worth keeping track of. As of 2/12/07, the ball appears to be on Andrew’s side of the court, with Sam having posted the latest essay.

The dialogue is not at all conclusive, with neither side being convinced by the other, but it is interesting and worth reading. These kinds of dialogues can be a gold mine. In many ways this reflects the controversies and struggles going on in my own mind.

[Note: This blog's purpose is not only to post my own writing, but to post things written by people people who are smarter and/or better at writing than I am. The internet may be big, but good material is hard to find, so linking to good stuff is worthwhile.]

Science and Theology

Both science and theology are misunderstood and stigmatized. Theologians, no doubt, are painfully aware of how theology is misunderstood, and will attempt to set the record straight whenever possible.

For example, suppose I made the assertion that theology was just a bunch of crusty doctrines that stuffy men like to pour over in rooms lined with old, dusty books, and that most theology has no relevance to the lives of ordinary people.

“No, no, no!” Would be the likely response, along with exasperated hair-pulling. I would then receive a lecture along the lines of, “Theology is in fact a vibrant and living thing. It’s wonderful and mysterious, and it has everything to do with the lives of ordinary people.”

People often make the same mistake about science. Science is a soulless, intellectual process executed by men in white lab coats—eyes hidden and calculating behind spectacles. Science is a useful tool, but lacks nourishment for the soul. Science contains neither wonder nor mystery. Ordinary people don’t need to concern themselves with science.

No, no, no! But rather than try to spell it out here, I’ll leave it to the reader to examine their own possibly-stigmatized notions about science. As a side note, the title of this blog attempts to convey some of my own attitude about science and a search for truth in general.

Observations on Faith

What is faith? What is the relationship between faith and reason? The skeptic’s definition is that faith is belief without reason. Faith means succumbing to the first belief system that comes along, and subsequently never understanding why you believe it. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard a concise definition of faith from a believer.

Passages like Hebrews 11:1 don’t do much to clear things up either. “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Perhaps it’s a badly-translated Greek linguical construct, but that sounds self-contradictory. Other passages add to the confusion: “not by works” versus “faith without works is dead.” No wonder the concept is so indefinite. If you make a concrete assertion, someone can (and usually will) contradict you with a Bible verse.

“Well,” theologians say, “faith is a difficult concept. You have to grow in your understanding of it.” Or possibly, “The mind of a skeptic is incapable of understanding faith.” Such evasions bother be. Valid concepts, to the extent they affect our actions in the real world, should be describable with concise language and clear examples. Why should the concept of faith be exempt?