Divine thoughts. (Warning: God talk and stuff)

Did God give me the hiccups? The Guardian

A pretty amusing anecdote from an atheist here. I like to think the answer to the question is "yes". It's just the right level of divine action towards an atheist about to go out proselytising: enough to make them wonder a little, even though no harm was done.

While we're on the topic of God and atheists, I finally finished Julian Barnes' "Nothing to be Frightened of". It is, by and large, a pretty enjoyable rambling bit of self-analysis and family memoir dealing with why he's always dreaded death. Most reviews note that it starts with the unusual line "I don't believe in God, but I miss him". (Well, maybe not so unusual. I see from another recently read book that a similar line of thought is expressed by one of the characters in Catch 22.)

Barnes has never been a believer, but he can understand the attraction of faith. He moved from youthful atheism to middle aged agnosticism. I suppose on that trajectory, he might end up a believer by the time he dies, even though he would not see that as at all likely.

I quite liked this passage about a commonly repeated theme in modern atheism:

Atheists in morally superior Category One (no God, no fear of death) like to tell us that the lack of a deity should not in any way diminish our sense of wonder in the universe. It may have all seemed both miraculous and user friendly when we imagined God had laid it on especially for us, from the harmony of the snowflake and the complex allusiveness of the passion flower to the spectacular showmanship of a solar eclipse. But if everything still moves without a Prime Mover, why should it be less wonderful? Why should we be children needing the teacher to show us things? The Antarctic penguin, for instance, is just as regal and comic, just as graceful and awkward, whether pre- or post-Darwin. Grow up, and let's examine together the allure of the double helix, the darkling glimmer of deep space, the infinite adjustments of plumage which demonstrate the laws of evolution, and the packed, elusive mechanism of the human brain. Why do we need some God to help us marvel at such things?

We don't. Not really. And yet. If what is out there comes from nothing, if all is unrolling mechanically according to a programme laid down by nobody, and if our perceptions of it are mere micro-movements of biochemical activity, the mere snap and crackle of a few synapses, then what does this sense of wonder amount to? Should we not be a little more suspicious of it? A dung beetle might well have a primitive sense of awe at the size of the mighty dung ball it is rolling. Is this wonder of ours merely a posher version?

You can, of course, extend this line of scepticism about the sense of wonder to every thought or emotion any human ever has, and argue that atheists, if consistent, should really all end up being nihilists. (Wikipedia says "Most commonly, nihilism is presented in the form of existential nihilism which argues that life is without objective meaning, purpose, or intrinsic value.") Most modern atheists don't take this line: they deny that their lack of belief is any detriment to the enjoyment of life; indeed, many argue that lack of belief in God is liberation to really enjoy all that life has to offer. The idea is that they are better off both intellectually and emotionally.

But if you take a merely naturalistic view of the universe, what intrinsic value does any emotion really have? Not much, when you get down to it. In a 1995 Richard Dawkins' interview for a Christian publication, he pretty much acknowledges this:

You would say that love is a spurious purpose?

Well, love is not a purpose, love is an emotion (which I certainly feel) which is another of those properties of brains.

A by-product?

Well, it's probably more than just a by-product. It's probably a very important product for gene survival. Certainly, sexual love would be, and so would parental love and various other sorts of love.

But to say that love is the purpose of life doesn't in any way chime in with the understanding of life which I feel we have achieved.

I will dip my toe into the dangerous world of theodicy now (and before doing so again offer my usual silent prayer that I not be personally tested by any intense experience of tragedy.)

It seems to me that atheists should really all intellectually be Zen Buddhists when it comes to the question of suffering. (Indeed, Susan Blackmore, the UK psychologist pretty popular in skeptic circles, follows Zen philosophy while not signing up fully with the religion.) That is, life is suffering, but it is ultimately all an illusion caused by desire which can be overcome by understanding the true nature of the universe.

But when they get into arguments on Christian style theodicy, it seems few atheists can avoid arguing as if the emotional power of suffering is itself the knock out blow against the idea of a good God. In doing so, aren't they elevating the emotional far above what their beliefs about the nature of the universe mean intellectually?

You could say that when it comes to Christians who suffer a crisis of faith due to (say) the death or suffering of a child, they also are experiencing a disjoint between their previous intellectual understanding of the universe (which accepts that a good God can allow suffering) against the intense pain and sense of injustice suddenly experienced in their own life. But at least in their case, the crisis has started from a belief that the love they have for the child is subset of the true, universal Love that is more than a passing emotion caused as by-product of the selfish gene. The Christian cannot undervalue love, hence the interference with the experience of it now is all the greater challenge.

Both atheists and believers having a faith crisis may feel that some forms of theodicy are like an insult, in that in attempting to intellectually explain their pain, it seems to be excusing or devaluing the depth of their emotional experience. But, without intending any insult or demeaning of their emotions, isn't it true that atheists have an intellectual understanding that downplays the significance of emotion in the big scheme of things anyway?

Maybe the argument is that, by religion giving people hope that love does triumph, it is setting them up for greater sense of loss when the world doesn't seem to pan out that way. I can understand the point, except that it is also starts from the assumption that their atheism is clearly true, and that all sensible people, like children who give up belief in Santa Clause, will ultimately end up at that position. I don't accept that assumption and consider that, at most, if you are not going to believe in God, agnosticism is the only really intellectually defensible alternative. Agnostics tend to let believers be, and some, like Julian Barnes, seem to even allow for a degree of envy.

Ultimately, I agree with the view that few atheists are rigorous in following their beliefs where they should intellectually take them, yet they are not inclined to admit it.

And finally, I see that soon after his book about death was published last year, Julian Barne's wife died. Presumably, this was a sudden and unexpected event, as he gives no indication in his book or in interviews that his wife's health had anything to do with his writing about death. I have to admit to an intrusive, and some would say, morbid interest in how Barnes has coped with this, and whether it has changed his attitudes in any way. As with other examples I can think of (CS Lewis having a shot at theodicy in The Problem of Pain, and then suffering badly when he finally fell in love and his wife promptly died), it certainly encourages the superstition that it is bad luck to talk about such things at all, and hence I should stop right now.