Playing in God's Backyard
by Manuel de
Joya
I am not a theologian, philosopher, or scientist. I am just a guy who reads a lot and occasionally finds the time to ponder what I've read. One of the most thought-provoking statements I read as a teenager was contained in an article that sought to reconcile scientific thinking with religious faith. The article ended with the sentence - and I paraphrase as I no longer have the article - "When scientists finally reach the summit of their learning, they may find theologians already perched there, waiting for them."
This has led to a lifetime of pondering, as I tried to find common ground between science, to which I am a devoted amateur, and my often-ignored but ever-present faith in a Higher Being.
At a recent church function, we had a fascinating discussion on faith and our concept of time, especially in light of the overscheduled lives we live today. The group, which included at least two ordained ministers and an ex-priest, discussed the notion of "God's time" or "No-time". This notion gave rise to various interpretations of how God lives "outside" of our normal conception of time, and how attending church allows us to live, albeit briefly, in "God's time".
This gave me an opportunity to voice one of my nagging thoughts: how this idea of "God's time" correlates with theories in Einstein's physics and more recently, quantum physics.
In my unschooled mind, I thought that when we went beyond the edges of Einstein's space-time, i.e. the universe, we would find where God "lives." Furthermore, I wondered that if we were able to "peer" into that world beyond space-time, as modern quantum theorists are trying to do, would we get closer to "see" where God lives? Are we, at the very least, peeking into the suburban landscape of God's metroplex? After opening my mouth, I realized that I did not have fully formed thoughts at that point and settled back down. However, I still need a vehicle to articulate these thoughts, so bear with me.
We humans have always used science to explain our "observable" world, and relied on religion and superstition to explain what lay beyond. The boundaries of our observable world, which probably started with the edge of the clearing in which our ancestors lived, have undergone exponential shifts over time. Each shift had a tendency to simultaneously disprove superstitions and give way to an entirely new set of scientific principles. Each new set of scientific principles usually built upon the previous set, and in doing so, attempted to correct its predecessor's inconsistencies.
For example, when our observable world stretched out to the heavens, we first believed that we were at the center of the universe. Never mind the annoying fact that some heavenly bodies tended to move strangely, and in many occasions, backwards. Aristotle's earth-centric model seemed to adequately explain how things worked, and by God, we were sticking to that story.
Copernicus speculated that this might not be so - and when we could actually see far enough, Galileo proved that we were not, in fact, at the center of everything, an act for which he paid dearly.
Soon after, Newton's Principia was able to explain how planetary orbits worked. However, as our observable world stretched beyond the solar system, Newton's physics were no longer sufficient, and we needed Einstein's theories to explain things.
As our observable world stretched to the edges of our universe in one direction and to the scale of subatomic particles in another, we again found ourselves unable to explain the inconsistencies and oddities we were encountering.
So, we turned to quantum physics to attempt to explain our observable world and speculate upon that which cannot be seen. In quantum physics, we have theories of how parallel universes can exist, how "things" can exist outside of time, and (hang on to your respective religious headgear, folks) how one might actually create a universe!
Wait one picosecond, there fella! Isn't universe-creation the exclusive province of Supreme Beings?
All these new theories give rise to a number of fascinating (and to some, admittedly disturbing) thoughts. First of all, the first moments of the birth of the universe, as described by Big Bang scientists and partially recreated in particle accelerators, mirror the elegant and powerful prose of the Book of Genesis. This makes Genesis 1:1 through 1:10 appear less of a metaphor than a blow-by-blow description of what may have actually happened.
Secondly, does God lives outside of our universe, in a world beyond "traditional" space-time? If so, does this explain why God rarely intervenes directly in our lives? After all, it's a pretty big space-time continuum and God knows how many sentient beings there are.
Thirdly, if we are flirting with "explaining" God (which few scientists, to my knowledge, actually profess to be doing), does this not trivialize the incessant debate over matters like evolution? When we have just elevated the discussion to entire universes, why argue the motivations of a few apes who chose to start walking upright?
Fourthly, if we had the energy and technology, and managed to actually test this theory of universe creation, what does that make us?
Are we then Gods?
Or merely the means by which universes reproduce?
If we do create a universe, what, in fact, will we be responsible for? Do we have an obligation to guide and watch over the residents of our creation? Can we even interact with them?
It would be unspeakably arrogant of me to presume that these are the ONLY questions that would arise. I am sure that there are many others out there, scientists, theologians, philosophers - folks more learned than I - who have pondered these thoughts and more.
However, rather than the original metaphor of theologians sitting atop a mountain upon which scientists, burdened by loads of scientific proof, are laboriously climbing, I like to think of a different image.
I like to believe that in playing in God's back yard, we have finally entered a common ground where scientists and people of faith can ponder the same questions and maybe, come up with the same answers.
There will always be those on both sides who will refuse to set foot upon this common ground. Let them play in the street. I, on the other hand, am plopping down on a lawn chair in God's back yard, beer in hand, waiting for some interesting conversation to develop.