• As people of faith, should we concern ourselves with God’s nature, relatives, ways and history?  I, for one, think we should not. It seems to me that we can’t really know anything about those subjects.
• Yet, as I see it, any recognition and acceptance of reality (an obligation inherent in faith) must include a recognition that God is now, and shall forever remain, unknowable.
• In other words, as a person living in partnership with the great Whatever, I do have to accept down to my painted toes that God is an inscrutable, ineffable, unknowable mystery.
• The mystery that is God is–period. End of philosophy. End of theology.
• Once we accept Mystery’s presence in our lives–once we give up any hope of understanding God in the way we understand other things–we also have to give up any hope of understanding the ways in which God works.

At the end of her remonstrance, Woodroof asks readers to comment.  My favorite comes from Catherine3:

Well this is profoundly unhelpful.  God just has to be experienced.  How?  No idea.  Swell.  Thanks a lot.

Chopra’s piece begins with some surprising concessions:

What is the war about? Fact beat out faith long ago. When Darwin’s theory of evolution replaced Genesis to explain the appearance of human beings, which was in the middle of the 19th century, the trend away from faith was already old. The world had been remade as material, governed by natural laws, random in its effects, and immune to divine intervention. Not just science but thousands of unanswered prayers did their part to dethrone God.

Next, Chopra praises science for its willingness to ask foundational questions:

There should be renewed admiration for science’s attempts to answer the fundamental mysteries. These are well known by now:

• How did the universe come about?
• What caused life to emerge from a soup of inorganic chemicals?
• Can evolution explain all of human development?
• What are the basic forces in Nature?
• How does the brain produce intelligence?
• What place do human beings occupy in the cosmos?

Continuing with his scientific prelude, Chopra correctly observes that science “advances through data and experiments, but those in turn depend upon theory.  Theory is the flashlight that tells an experimenter where to look, and without it, he wanders at random.  His data don’t fit into a worldview.  I consider myself scientific at heart, and so I depend upon a theory as well.”

Incredible — it appears that Chopra the new age mystic has had a conversion experience, and has become Chopra the scientist, positivist, and empiricist.  Could it be so?

As Chopra admits, he too depends on a theory.  So without further ado, here is Chopra’s theory:

* We live in a universe that exhibits intelligence, self-regulation, and creativity.

* Consciousness preceded the brain. It created life and went on to create the brain itself.

* Consciousness is primary in the world; matter is secondary.

* Evolution is conscious and therefore creative. It isn’t random.

* At the source of creation one finds a field of pure awareness.

* Pure awareness is the source of every manifest quality in the universe.

Do Chopra’s premises constitute a “theory”?  Theories are built on collections of facts, which are verifiable observations that do not change depending on who is doing the observing.  To have a theory, in other words, you must have a corpus of facts that cohere around an explanation; that explanation is the theory.

F. Steiger explicates “theory” in this way:

[A] theory is an explanation or model based on observation, experimentation, and reasoning, especially one that has been tested and confirmed as a general principle helping to explain and predict natural phenomena.

Any theory must be based on a careful examination of the facts. A clear distinction needs to be made between facts (things which can be observed and/or measured) and theories (explanations which correlate and interpret the facts).

A fact is something that is supported by unmistakeable evidence [or replicated by others through experiment]. For example, the Grand Canyon cuts through layers of different kinds of rock, such as the Coconino sandstone, Hermit shale, and Redwall limestone. These rock layers often contain fossils that are found only in certain layers. Those are the facts.

Facts may be interpreted in different ways by different individuals, but that doesn’t change the facts themselves.

Theories may be good, bad, or indifferent. They may be well established by the factual evidence, or they may lack credibility.

With these distinctions in mind, how does Chopra’s “theory” fare?  Not well.  Let’s look at each premise.

1.  “We live in a universe that exhibits intelligence, self-regulation, and creativity.”  Intelligence does in fact exist in at least one place in the universe: animals and humans on earth are intelligent organisms.  This fact, however, does not lead to the much larger inference — for which we have no evidence — that the universe itself is intelligent.  We are not even sure what the universe is, so calling it intelligent requires a leap of faith.  As for self-regulation, there are aspects of the universe that have orderly and predictable qualities.  On earth, the same is true and there also is a creative aspect to the evolution of life.  So we can grant Chopra these last two points.

2.  “Consciousness preceded the brain. It created life and went on to create the brain itself.”  This assertion is rank speculation for which there is not a scintilla of evidence.  The only consciousness for which we have any evidence — indeed, the very idea of consciousness — comes from brains.  Brains, in other words, produce consciousness.  You therefore cannot have consciousness before brains.

3.  “Consciousness is primary in the world; matter is secondary.”  Chopra would not be conscious, or aware of consciousness, if he did not eat every day and shelter himself from the elements.  He also would not be conscious or aware if he was not living matter.  Given these facts, I cannot see how Chopra’s physical matter is not primary.  His matter is the foundation from which his consciousness arises.  This particular assertion is nothing more than a value judgment, steeped in mysticism.

4.  “Evolution is conscious and therefore creative. It isn’t random.”  Evolution is not a thing or a force — it is a description of a process.  That process is change.  It cannot, therefore, be conscious.  The change that evolution describes can, however, be creative.  Life on earth demonstrates that fact.  There is a limited sense in which evolutionary change is not random — there are genomic constraints on the kinds of organisms that can result from mutations.

5.  “At the source of creation one finds a field of pure awareness.”  We have no evidence or data regarding the “source of creation,” so any assertions regarding that source are pure speculation.  The same can be said of a “field of pure awareness.”  No one has ever identified such a field or awareness.  Such a field of awareness exists only in the minds of people who have brains that enable such thoughts.

6.  “Pure awareness is the source of every manifest quality in the universe.”  What?  This is an assertion of faith; it is pure speculation.

What I find most interesting here is that Chopra obviously feels the need to couch his consciousness/awareness arguments in the language of science; he uses scientific terms to legitimate his beliefs.  Chopra feels no need, however, to go any further and actually apply the precepts and principles of science to his non-theory.

Chopra’s premises — and therefore his “theory” — cannot be observed, measured, quantified, or verified by others.  What Chopra calls a “theory” does not explain any facts or cause any facts to cohere.  His theory does not generate any hypotheses or predictions.  His theory is not testable.  There are no facts for his theory.  If there were, surely someone would conduct experiments, the results of which could be replicated by others.

Where does this leave Chopra and his acolytes?  With a fuzzy faith which speculates that consciousness and awareness are the sources of the universe and life — the Godhead in other words.  This sounds much like spirituality and religion — terms which Chopra says he wants to avoid.  Chopra has not experienced any kind of conversion and his non-theory lacks credibility.

Since writing that post, I have — as usual — done my best to avoid the teeming, loud, and hysterical madness that passes for politics in the United States.  Despite these efforts, politics can be hard to avoid short of some truly drastic measures that involve hermetic isolation.  Listening to NPR this morning, it occurred to me that the United States is in a perpetual election cycle and the chattering, therefore, can never cease.  This is most unpleasant.

All this aside, one of the better sources for elevated discourse these days comes from The Stone, which provides a forum for contemporary philosophers to discuss whatever happens to be on their minds.  One such philosopher, J.M. Bernstein, recently discussed “The Very Angry Tea Party,” in which he persuasively diagnoses Tea Party sturm und drang as a metaphysical issue.  It seems that the problem for most Tea Partiers is that their imaginary identity as self-sufficient individualists has been rocked by recent events:

My hypothesis is that what all the events precipitating the Tea Party movement share is that they demonstrated, emphatically and unconditionally, the depths of the absolute dependence of us all on government action, and in so doing they undermined the deeply held fiction of individual autonomy and self-sufficiency that are intrinsic parts of Americans’ collective self-understanding.

The implicit bargain that many Americans struck with the state institutions supporting modern life is that they would be politically acceptable only to the degree to which they remained invisible, and that for all intents and purposes each citizen could continue to believe that she was sovereign over her life; she would, of course, pay taxes, use the roads and schools, receive Medicare and Social Security, but only so long as these could be perceived not as radical dependencies, but simply as the conditions for leading an autonomous and self-sufficient life. Recent events have left that bargain in tatters.

But even this way of expressing the issue of dependence is too weak, too merely political; after all, although recent events have revealed the breadth and depths of our dependencies on institutions and practices over which we have little or no control, not all of us have responded with such galvanizing anger and rage. Tea Party anger is, at bottom, metaphysical, not political: what has been undone by the economic crisis is the belief that each individual is metaphysically self-sufficient, that one’s very standing and being as a rational agent owes nothing to other individuals or institutions.

While I find this portion of Bernstein’s Hegelian analysis persuasive (and think it would have benefited from some Pierre Bourdieu), I do not see this metaphysical stance as being an a priori cause leading tea partiers to their inchoate beliefs — it is a consequence of ignorance.  Anyone who nurses the fantasy of individual autonomy and self sufficiency in the epoch of industrialized and globalized nation-states is seriously out of touch not only with the dependent conditions of contemporary capitalism, but also with history.

This disconnect, in turn, manifests itself as metaphysic: it leads to a kind of faith that is impervious to fact or reason.  Because this is the very nature of metaphysical belief, we should not be surprised that the tea is steeping in religion.

As for your principle that truth is always on the side of the more difficult, I admit this in part.  However, it is difficult to believe that 2 times 2 is not 4; does that make it true?  On the other hand, is it really so difficult to simply to accept everything that one has been brought up on and that has gradually grown deep roots — what is considered truth in the circle of one’s relatives and of many good men, and what, moreover, really comforts and elevates man?

Is that more difficult than to strike new paths, fighting the habitual, experiencing the insecurity of independence and the frequent wavering of one’s feelings and even one’s conscience, proceeding often without any consolation, but ever with the eternal goal of the true, the beautiful, and the good?  Is it decisive after all that we arrive at that view of God, world, and reconciliation which makes us feel most comfortable?

Do we after all seek rest, peace, and pleasure in our inquiries?  No, only truth — even if it be most abhorrent and ugly.  Still one last question: if we had believed from childhood that all salvation issued from someone other than Jesus — say from Mohammed — is it not certain that we should have experienced the same blessings?

Faith does not offer the least support for a proof of objective truth.  Here the ways of men part: if you wish to strive for peace of soul and pleasure, then believe.  If you wish to be a devotee of truth, then inquire.

“Let’s confront the absolutists: those who absolutely believe, and those who don’t,” said Jacobson. “Blind faith is fatuous. So is blind doubt.” It was touching to hear the novelist and columnist, who is not a believer, admit that he still feels strongly drawn to the poetry and mystery of religion, both in its texts and in its practice. “There is something there that is not negligible,” he said. “I want to honour that.”

His strongest message, however, was that science is too reluctant to allow for any mystery about our existence and purpose.

Though I am not especially fond of militant atheism and its acerbic advocates, there is a fundamental difference between faith and doubt.  Faith, standing alone and as a guiding principle, can lead anywhere and everywhere.  All historians of religion and scholars of modern religions know that faith operates in precisely this way.

Over the course of human history, there have been thousands and thousands of revealed faiths.  Given this immense variety, how is one who follows the guiding light of faith supposed to decide between them or which one of them constitutes (or comes closest to) the Truth?  Surely the answer cannot depend on when and where a person was born (and what their parents believe), which 99% percent of the time determines which faith a particular person will avow.

Doubt, on the other hand, is a guiding principle that restricts the infinite range of possibilities created by faith.  It requires neither belief nor unbelief.  Some famous doubters, such as Rene Descartes and Blaise Pascal, have been led to belief by their skepticism.  Other famous doubters, such as Friedrich Nietzsche and Bertrand Russell, have been led to unbelief by their skepticism.  Unlike the faithful of the previous paragraph, these doubters have arrived at their decision through a process that is at least principled.  For these believing and non-believing thinkers, neither faith nor doubt is “blind.”

This brings me to Jacobsen’s point about science, which Barnes characterizes as being too reluctant to allow for any mystery about our existence or purpose.  Just as there is no such thing as a singular “Christianity” or “Islam,” there is no such thing as an essentialized, hegemonic, and monolithic “science.”  There are many kinds of science and its borders are only vaguely defined and constantly contested.  Moreover, the most productive kinds of sciences are always guided by mysteries.  Hypotheses are generated by mysteries or the unknown.  They are then tested with whatever kinds of evidence or data are available at the time.

This latter phrase is critical — “at the time.”  It is pure hubris to assert that the evidence and data on hand today constitute the entirety of what can and will be known.  If all of us could come back to earth 100 years after our deaths, we surely would find that many of today’s mysteries have become tomorrow’s knowns.  We would also find there is a new set of mysteries.

My larger point here is that some people tolerate mystery, ambiguity, and the unknown (or even the unknowable) better than others.  Why this is, I cannot say.  It remains a mystery.   For those who cannot tolerate uncertainty, there is always myth and I suppose in this sense I agree with Sholto Byrnes: religious myths are important.  This does not, however, make them true.

“Without a degree of faith and trust, no one would fall in love, neither would any of us catch a plane or go for an operation or allow our children to walk to school. All these are undertaken in trust and contain an element of risk. Belief in God, faith, is very similar.”

It seems to me that the trust we have when flying in an airplane or undergoing a medical operation is fundamentally different from the “faith” involved with religious belief.  Indeed, they are completely different things.

This style of argument reminds me of the postmodern critique of science as a mere “social construction.”  If science is a mere social construction (i.e., an imaginary cultural enterprise consisting of symbolic discourse), then why do postmodernists go to the doctor when they get sick?  Are those antibiotics they take for bacterial infections mere placebos?

Trusting that an airplane will fly and you will be safely delivered to a destination is not based on blind faith.  Similarly, you do not undergo an operation blindly believing that something good might happen.  A great deal of empirical research, experimentation, design, and testing goes into airplane flights and medical operations.

Religious faith rests on a completely different set of assumptions than the trust we place in activities which we may not fully understand (because we are not scientists, doctors, or engineers) or which involve some risk.  Unlike the archbishop, I fail to see how belief in God is “very similar” to belief that an airplane will fly or that an operation will work.

I am not walking to school today; I am either riding the bus or a motorcycle.  I trust that I will arrive safely based on an assessment of probabilities grounded in observable and testable phenomena.  The supernatural is, by definition, neither observable nor testable.