Yesterday, the New York Times Op-Ed page published an unusually long (and very good) retrospective of Einstein's work. It commemmorated the hundredth anniversary of his banner year in physics publishing; not only was this the year of "E=mc2", but of the declaration that though light appears to be a wave, it is actually composed of particles (i.e., photons). The article is a little vague about how, but the remarkable thing about this discovery is that it led to the formulation of quantum physics, a field which Einstein vigorously campaigned against, even though his work was the foundation of it.
Those of you who have known me for over a year have already, in all likelihood, received my lecture about Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, but for the rest of you, here's a condensed version:
The significance of light's particular nature (no pun intended) was revealed when Heisenberg was working with the atom in the 1920s. He discovered that in trying to pinpoint the location of an electron, you could either find its velocity or its position, but not both. And why was this? Because in order to "see" the electron, we need to bounce a photon off of it; and the impact of that photon necessarily changes the course of that electron.
Usually, when I tell people about the Uncertainty Principle, it has nothing to do with physics; the everyday lesson of the principle is that observation necessarily changes the observed phenomenon. (Example: at university, on of my roommates' boyfriend was constantly pestering her with hypothetical questions about their future together and so forth. I explained to him that merely asking the question forms a response and an opinion that might be totally different had he not asked the question.)
But today, I want to talk about the larger questions of quantum physics. Einstein was offended at the implications of the theory: "God does not play dice with the universe," he said famously. From the article:
If, as quantum mechanics asserted, the best you can ever do is predict probabilities, Einstein countered that he'd "rather be a cobbler, or even an employee in a gaming house, than a physicist."
This emphasis, however, partly obscures a larger point. It wasn't the mere reliance on probabilistic predictions that so troubled Einstein. Unlike many of his colleagues, Einstein believed that a fundamental physical theory was much more than the sum total of its predictions – it was a mathematical reflection of an underlying reality. And the reality entailed by quantum mechanics was a reality Einstein couldn't accept.
Indeed, quantum physics rewrote everything we knew about reality. But the most significant advance of quantum theory for the larger world, in my view, is that it replaces the age-old question of "why things happen the way they do" with "how did things happened the way they did." In the multiverse of quantum physics, you actually split reality in two (or more) parallel universes merely by flipping a coin. I'm not capable of explaining the whole of quantum theory here, so you'll have to consult your local library with questions about how exactly the whole thing works.
Getting back to the article: Einstein was so troubled by quantum physics that he spent a large part of his life seeking a Grand Unified Theory to oppose the probablitistic uncertainties of quanta. But it was too late; the quantum cat was already out of the bag.* Even an intellect as great as Einstein's refused to accept provable facts which would have blown his whole way of thinking apart.
I've been thinking about all this in view of a recent article article on the Revealer about teens' perceptions of god, and the phenomenon they call "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism." You should really read the whole article, but here's a relevant excerpt:
The authors first identify the social contexts in which adolescents live and believe, starting with a discussion of therapeutic individualism, a set of assumptions and commitments that "powerfully defines everyday moral and relational codes and boundaries in the United States." Personal experience is what shapes our notions of truth, and truth is found nowhere else but in happiness and positive self-esteem. In religious terms, according to teenagers, God cares that each teenager is happy and that each teenager has high self-esteem. Morality has nothing to do with authority, mutual obligations, or sacrifice. In a sense, God wants little more for us than to be good, happy capitalists. Smith and Denton elaborate: "Therapeutic individualism’s ethos perfectly serves the needs and interests of U.S. mass-consumer capitalist economy by constituting people as self-fulfillment-oriented consumers subject to advertising’s influence on their subjective feelings." And to be good, happy capitalists, we should be good, unless if being good prevents us from being happy.
These beliefs are killing American religion. The authors call it Moralistic Therapeutic Deism. The creed is simple and, yes, conventional—but, where the authors find that it matters, MTD is not traditional. Basically, God exists and watches over human life, which was created by God. God wants people to be nice, as it says in the bible and in most world religions. God does not have to be involved in our lives except to solve our problems and make us happy. Good people will be even happier in heaven after they die. The religious beliefs of American teens tend to be—as a whole, across all traditions—that simple. It’s something Jews and Catholics and Protestants of all stripes seem to have in common. It is instrumentalist. "This God is not demanding," say the authors. "He actually can’t be, because his job is to solve our problems and make people feel good."
Why do people believe in the supernatural? Because it's comforting and it makes them feel better, but most of all because it's easier. I used to get into arguments with theists all the time, and thoughtful people who disagreed with me (that is to say, those who didn't just point to some religious text as proof and call it a day) often expressed their underlying assumption: without god(s), life would be meaningless.
My question is, why does life have to have meaning? I mean, I know it's comforting to think so, but the necessity of life having meaning other than to make some people feel better about themselves has never been explained. Just because you can't deal with a meaningless and random universe does not mean that it has to bend to your lack of will. A more positive rebuttal (and the most brilliant thing I have ever read on the internet) was the comment in a Usenet forum (which I cannot find a link to, alas) that "the meaning of life is a self-assigned variable."
I worry about these people, but I worry more about people who believe that morality comes from on high. There's a simple reason I don't fully trust religious people, and that's because they tend value their relationship with god above their relationship with their fellow human beings. If the basis for your moral system is fealty to some imaginary friend, it doesn't bode well for everybody else. I had a friend (now studying to become a minister) who insisted that without a personal relationship with God, there would be no reason not to start killing people indiscriminately in the street. My question is, what would happen if such a person ever lost their faith? If the only thing that's stopping you from hurting others is your belief that some invisble force is going to punish you for it, what you have is a retarded morality (retarded in the sense that it has prematurely stopped developing).
(Just when you thought this post couldn't get any longer,) while I was writing this article, I was looking up the adverbial form of "fidelity" (hint: there is none) on the immensely useful dictionary.com, and there was an ad which read, "Does God exist? Is there proof of God? Candid, straight-forward reasons to believe in the existence of God." This linked to an essay by one Marilyn Adamson, which offered seven proofs of god's existence. In light of everything I've said here, a quick rebuttal to each of her points:
"Throughout history, in all cultures of the world, people have been convinced there is a God."
You could just as easily say that throughout history people have been convinced that the world is flat, or that the sun revolves around the earth. Or that twenty million Elvis fans can't be wrong. In fact, the whole point of progress is to dispel the pervasive myths of the past.
"The complexity of our planet points to a deliberate Designer who not only created our universe, but sustains it today… Mere "chance" is not an adequate explanation of creation."
Recalling the Watchmaker's Dilemma, this is actually the argument which turned me into an unambiguous atheist. William Paley wrote a book which said that the complexity of the universe implies a more complex being had designed it, ergo there must be a god. But from this starting point, we get reductio ad absurdum: if the complex requires a creator, then who created that creator? Obviously this creator-behind-the-creator must be more powerful than its invention, so shouldn't we be worshipping that? But wait! Even this creator must necessarily have a more powerful and complex creator behind it… and so forth. If you can't accept that the universe has 'always been here', you can't really accept that god has 'always been there.' In fact, "God" does have a more complex and advanced creator than itself: human beings.
It is at this point where our friend quantum physics explains how chance is an adequate explanation of creation. And if you don't believe me, try flipping a coin a hundred times, and then try to repeat that exact sequence of heads or tails by flipping that coin another hundred times. Clearly this unrepeatable sequence cannot be explained by mere chance, right?
"Humankind's inherent sense of right and wrong cannot be biologically explained."
Good thing humankind's sense of right and wrong can be culturally explained (although it certainly doesn't seem to be inherent). Think about the varying standards for "murder" (or conversely, the standards for execution) across the world's cultures for an explanation.
The salient point of this essay, I suppose, is that religion (but more specifically, religious orthodoxy) is the enemy of free inquiry. In order to believe, you have to stop delving. Life without god is supposedly meaningless; but what's the meaning of god's life? By projecting your existential crises onto a more powerful imaginary friend, you relieve yourself of the burden of considering such questions about yourself.
