Blocks and Building

 I once read an article about the thermodynamic likelihood of amino acids — not a full scholarly article, I'm sorry to say, but just the sensationalized write up on such an article that tends to find its way around social media.  Although the article itself was interesting (if not a bit exaggerated on conclusions and understated on actual information, as such articles tend to be), the thing I find I remember most is the first comment displayed at the bottom of the page.  The comment, apparently following the site's trend of sensationalized, hasty conclusions, declared that, if the building blocks of life were likely to form, there is obviously no need for a god to have formed life.

The first logical fallacy that struck me was that this conclusion relied on the assumption that any deity would be acting as simply some sort of mediator of activity within a universe.  To the contrary, if we assume that a deity were instead dictating the design of the laws of such a universe instead of simply acting within those laws to assemble together bits and pieces of matter, we could just as easily — and just as fallaciously — conclude that a universe likely to give rise to life in the wake of chaos suggests the existence of a creator.  Ultimately, though, the only thing that the likelihood of the appearance of amino acids dictates is that life, however it came about, used the building blocks that were available.  To assume that the formation of these blocks directly implies the formation of proteins or organisms is much like assuming the presence of any Lego bricks leads invariably to double-decker couches.  Certainly, it is a possibility that such things are formed, but the end product is dictated by the assembly and not the type of parts used in it.

Yet in a system with sufficient complexity, with pieces capable of acting on other pieces in so many varied ways as is possible in chemistry, self replication becomes possible.  Moreover, variances in conditions introduce imperfections, which in turn introduce variance into the replication and diversity into the population.  Although such variance is typically meaningless and often even detrimental to the process, any sufficiently random probability distribution will have individuals ahead of the average population, and if they successfully replicate, their advantage perpetuates.

In computer science, such selection of the best performing individuals of a population is exploited in genetic algorithms.  In a randomly generated population of possible solutions, some solutions will inevitably perform better than others.  These individuals are then replicated — not by their own means as in nature, but simply by the framework of the program created for them — and random variation further creates better approximations of the solution.  Although genetic algorithms by no means guarantee ideal solutions, with the right parameters they converge on accurate approximations, sometimes finding unexpected solutions to complicated problems.

In genetic algorithms, the advancement is just a probabilistic outcome of reproducing individuals that best meet some metric and introducing random variation to better explore possible solutions.  In life, the same probabilistic advancement holds true so long as there is sufficient capability for self-replication and diversification, but in the absence of an algorithmically imposed metric to compete over, survival and reproduction itself becomes the metric, further reinforcing the feedback loop that serves to perpetuate self-replication — the "circle of life".

If you try hard enough, any movie can be about information theory or heuristic algorithms.

Without much consideration, it seems unlikely that order can arise out of chaos.  It is difficult to fathom that every bird, tree, mushroom, person, and virus is just a clever arrangement of mud, digested and reorganized by fractal patterns dictated in the genetic instructions that are contained initially in a single cell.  "Dust you are and to dust you will return" — whether created by deity or probability.  Yet order underlies chaos, and just as the right conditions can rearrange the molecules of rocks to manifest that order on a larger geometric scale in crystals, so, too, can the right conditions manifest patterns in causality instead of geometry.

In the end, it seems, (or in the beginning, chronologically), it is not the building blocks that matter as long as they allow for sufficient complexity to produce imperfect self-replication.  From there, the nature of probability and causality will take its course.  Again, though, this does not presuppose neither that there is nor is not a creator.  Perhaps life is a pattern that forms in any universe where self-replicating causalities are possible, regardless of the underlying engine.  Or perhaps the existence of a universe where life is likely presupposes some sort of intentional creation.  Neither is certain.

Instead, this comments on how there are more complex patterns that arise from seemingly simple and chaotic patterns.  It suggests an interplay between things — an interconnectivity that gives rise to epiphenomena, or mechanisms that are far more than the sum of their parts, becoming patterns of higher order that, though composed of and mechanically driven by the underlying composition are ultimately dictated by something beyond them.  So, too, do the principles of interconnectivity and  diversity that drive the evolution of organisms or the growth of a seed into a tree resonate in methods for personal and societal growth.  Connections between us and beyond us are what will allow us to grow, both as individuals, and as a community.  Yet just as the fractal patterns that drive the complexity, diversity, and interconnectivity of life are dictated by far simpler rules replicated innumerable times across innumerable variations in the underlying conditions, it only takes little connections and cooperation, echoed across society, diverse as the people who participate in those connections, to create growth.

In the Beginning, God Created Science

To explain where I stand regarding religion, we must go down a path that starts with me leaving the religion I was raised to believe.  One of the first steps on questioning my religious path was the idea of young-Earth creationism.  Although I did not leave strictly because of differences in beliefs on creation, my understanding of such still played an important role in where I find myself.  The discussion of creationism may not be entirely critical to my discussion of religion itself, but it illustrates points that will be explored much further in time.  Moreover there is always value in exploring truths so long as we also explore where they fit with truth on a whole.

Although I have, admittedly informally, studied evolution and cosmology, it was not purely from these that I drew my conclusions about creationism.  Instead, I found if we assume that the universe has an intelligent, omnipotent creator, then we can reasonably from this assume that the nature of the creation reflects the nature of the creator.  If we examine the universe around us, we find that it is mechanical and logical — the moon orbits the Earth, which in turn orbits the sun, which in turn orbits the center of the galaxy, and a multitude of other moons, planets, asteroids, stars, comets, and varied additional cosmological bodies join in this synchronous, clockwork dance.  Even the multitude of things in the universe from stars to planets to people to trees to toasters are all made up primarily of different arrangements of the same three fundamental subatomic particles.  Gravity and mass, light and electromagnetism, even superconductors, dark energy, and antimatter all adhere to the laws of physics (even when we yet do not fully understand those laws).

It stands to reason, then, that the creator of a mechanical, logical universe must favor mechanical, logical methods.  I find it difficult to believe that any being would have created such an organized universe by magically calling it into existence — why begin with a poof of mysticism and then settle into physics and chemistry?  Why would we be composed of cells instead of being mixtures of classical elements housing some sort of actual ghosts if such mysticism gave rise to us?

(Although not critical to the discussion, I also believe that there is plenty of magic in the universe, even if it is driven by the laws of physics instead of some sort of ethereal, impossible mysticism.  As Lee Siegel, magician and professor of religion, said on the matter, "By 'real magic,' people mean miracles, thaumaturgical acts, and supernatural powers... 'Real magic,' in other words, refers to the magic that is not real; while the magic that is real, that can actually be done, is not real magic.")

Maintaining the assumption that the universe was created by an intelligent deity, there are three possible conclusions here: The first, and perhaps most unsettling, is that the deity is inconsistent, and does not follow the patterns or laws he, she, or it establishes.  Whether the deity is whimsically waffling or intentionally manipulating things is difficult to say; this does not dictate that the deity is also dishonest, going back on promises made, but at the very least it allows the methods of fulfilling those promises to be wildly variable.  Although this is not quite the territory of word-twisting trickster gods, it still seems well outside the realm of what I am comfortable devoting my life to.

The second possibility is that this deity is not omnipotent.  The universe was created within certain physical laws that even the deity must adhere to.  If this were the case, though, we could assume that the method of creating would also adhere to those rules, and that young-Earth creation scripture is still simply allegory, not literal narration.  Moreover, such a deity limited in power contradicts the statements within the Bible — whose literal interpretation gives rise to young-Earth creationism — that "with God all things are possible."

The last — and it seems to me most likely — possibility, is if this logical and mechanical universe were created by some intelligent deity, then that deity, too, is logical, and not prone to fits of mysticism.  This, of course, neither serves to provide evidence that such a God is impossible, nor to show that such a God is likely.  This only serves to demonstrate conclusions that can be reached from the assumption that there is such a creator given the nature of the creation, even before we start to account for fossil records and cosmology.

One further point of interest is that, as young-Earth creationism is a strictly Biblical construct, proof of its truth would serve as proof of the existence of the Biblical God.  This, in turn, would necessitate obedience over morality and call into question the old theological arguments on free will.  Additionally, faith would be unnecessary, and devotion to such a God would not be — and reasonably could not be — any demonstration of such.

Moreover, it was not my personal conclusion that the theory of young-Earth creationism was inaccurate that led me away from religion, but the way the religious used it to create divisions between themselves and others.  Even though I was raised as a Christian, I now find myself on the theism-atheism axis as agnostic — not because I wish to sidestep the conflict between theism and atheism, even though ultimately such conflict had its hand in driving me away from religion initially, but because there either is a God or there isn't, and my beliefs on the matter will not change that.  Potentially, my beliefs on the matter could affect what happens to me, but, in pursuit of the abandonment of ego to devote my life to greater truths, I do not care what happens to me as long as I can spend my life doing good for others.

I became agnostic not over differences in beliefs, but in part to avoid the common pitfall of so many religions and religious that places theology before love.  I was dissuaded that religion can so thoroughly be distracted from the idea of love by so much else — by creation mythologies, by money and politics, by finding dividing lines between themselves and other religions, or even neglecting to serve others in the pursuit of personal growth.  I understand that this is a matter of the practitioners and not the practice, but nevertheless, having myself through the pursuit of objectivity and rationality concluded that selflessness is the best path, it is sometimes difficult to accept that religion, claiming to be from a higher source, does not more readily lead down the same path.  Furthermore, although I admit there are many things that can be learned from studying religion, I fail to see the necessity of fully devoting myself to any single religious practice.

This does not mean I would advise anyone against accepting Jesus or becoming enlightened through Zen, only that I have chosen a different path.  I would, however, advise against a strictly literal interpretation of the Bible, echoing the Zen belief that truth is not something you create, but also it is not something created by the words of others.  Truth may reflect in words, but it remains something we must seek to understand fully, not accept blindly or acquire through memorization and recitation.  We must be reminded that we should place the truth before us, and not rest our egos on our understanding of the truth — an understanding that is inherently limited and therein never gives us the right to place ourselves or that understanding before others.

This post is part three of an ever-expanding discussion of religion.  Find part one here and part two here, and expect part four by next Monday.

On Practicing Religion

Even though we have discussed the discussion of religion, we still have some things to address to further bridge the rift fully into discussion of theology itself.  Like many, I have many more disagreements with the way I see religion practiced than I do with the theology.  Ultimately, I found there to be certain truths that echo through the teachings of religions, and to let my disagreements sever these connections would be doing myself a disservice, placing me unnecessarily at odds with ideologies and individuals alike.

I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness — a declaration that brings a wide variety of reactions.  Although I ultimately turned from the Witnesses, it was not for the typical reasons alone — I was at the time too young and invincible to spend much time considering their stance on blood, and seeing birthdays and Christmas from the outside for so many years made compulsory celebration and gift giving seem insincere and needlessly consumerist.  I disagreed with their choice of young-Earth creationism over evolution, but that was not what drove me away.  In the end, it was not their interpretation of theology that I chose to leave, but the way they let those conclusions separate themselves from others.  I disagreed with their disagreements most of all, which is necessarily a difficult position to uphold.  Even before I understood the grander mechanisms of the world the way I now do, I thought it obvious that religion should bring people together, not push them apart. 

I would not go so far as to suggest that discussion of theology is unimportant — I would not suggest that we should not consider whether we go to heaven or are resurrected on some kind of restored earthly paradise as the Witnesses argue, or even whether we are to be reincarnated or if death is the ultimate end.  To the contrary, I believe that truth should be sought to whatever end it yields.  Nevertheless, I would say that such differences in beliefs on the afterlife should have less influence on how we live our current lives; specifically, we should never let these disagreements on the metaphysical side of religion get in the way of us loving others, especially when such love is one of the core commandments of the religion.

And so, disagreeing primarily with disagreement, to turn my back utterly on religion and morality would be to repeat the mistakes of the religious practices I was trying to escape.  When we let the difference between our understanding of truth and someone else's drive a wedge between us, we are ultimately serving our ego and not the quest for truth, which ultimately does everyone a disservice, most of all that which we claim to seek.  Since gods of war are no longer prevalent, there is no purpose for conflict in the name of religion that could not be better served by a peaceful approach.

This holds all the more true in conflict against religion.   The existence of a deity can neither be proven nor disproved, largely because there is no strict definition for "God" and therein arguments devolve quickly into semantics.  Every logically sound argument for theism I have encountered has been based on so loosely defining a deity that it becomes just a new semantic argument for existing phenomena.  Yet every logically sound argument for atheism I have encountered has been based on so strictly define a deity as a caricature of itself that it could not possibly exist.  As such, to believe that there is no God is no more based in empirical evidence than to believe that there is a God.  Because atheism comes with none of the same commandments to spread the word that theism often has, evangelizing atheism becomes more about attacking the beliefs of others than spreading absolute truth.

Yet as purposeless as the evangelical atheist is, the theist who attacks instead of understanding and relating directly acts against commandments to love.  We could argue whether it is worse to evangelize pointlessly or directly act against one's beliefs, but we would be missing the point.  Vilifying the opposition does nothing to overcome the problems of religion, instead perpetuating them.  The conflict is the problem, not the rationalizations we introduce after the fact.

Neither theism nor atheism are inherently flawed in their rationality.  As I stated, it is the people who practice these that are flawed and therein introduce flaws.  Religion is indeed often used as justification for atrocities, but so is nationality, race, capitalism vs. communism, and any other difference between two groups of people.  Similarly, atheism does not presuppose immorality, as there is significant basis for an objective moral stance — one that, again, very much mirrors the core moral stance of many religions.

Religion or its absence is not to blame for the conflict that surrounds it, but instead the dehumanization and vilification of others is what drives these evils.  To attack beliefs because of their practices (driven by its practitioners) is to simply complicate the matter — if we fight against beliefs because those beliefs lead to fighting, we only serve to counteract our intentions.  As a letter on Zen by Layman Hsiang stated, "If we raise our voices to stop echoes, we are not cognizant of the fact that sounds are the roots of the echoes."

On Discussing Religion

The topic of religion is often a difficult one to breech.  Even when approached calmly and rationally, it is full of difficult topics that require much more time to grasp than we typically are admitted in a normal conversation, or more space to explain than can be reasonably occupied by an article.  Even with what we already know of religion, simply compositing the ideas into coherent strings so that we can share that knowledge with others can be a daunting task.  I have both piles of papers and folders full of text files that I could present as evidence to my own efforts to overcome the challenge of discussing religion.

In some circles, it is simply impolite to discuss religion.  Yet in avoiding discussion of religion, we hide away things essential to ourselves, and we widen rifts we should be bridging.  Moreover, there are many around us who misuse religion, invoking it improperly in an attempt to justify attacks on others, whether physical or otherwise.  If we are to overcome the differences between people, whether or not they are elevated to violence, we must therein be prepared to approach the subject.  However, in order to discuss religion, I believe we all need to sit down and have a discussion on discussing religion.

The first thing to remember when discussing anything, but religion especially, is people are people, not perfectly rational robots, and as such we cannot refuse to examine the reasoning behind our own points, and all the more so we cannot expect others to immediately acquiesce to even the best reasoned arguments.  Especially in the matter of religion, where so much cannot be objectively proven, we must keep in mind that debate is about changing minds, not being right.  If we attack, we will put others on the defensive, and they will reinforce their position regardless of what that position actually is.

Too often I see opposing sides make a mockery of what they disagree with — theists of atheists and atheists of theists.  They would drive wedges between groups with straw man arguments and tactless jokes.  I am rarely an opponent of humor, believing anyone who believes a topic too serious for humor does not take humor seriously enough.  Yet if you mock the opposition while never mocking yourself, it becomes clear that your intentions are not about comedy but instead about rivalry.  I do not believe religion too sacred for jest, but only such mockery a poor mask for belligerence.  Remember, in order to have anyone follow our path, we must start from common ground.

In many of the dominant religions it is not difficult to find this common ground.  There are truths that hold regardless of religious beliefs, and many of these resonate within the religious teachings themselves.  A key tenet of most religions is love — not putting ourselves before others, and remembering to show kindness even to those who we may not think deserve it.  And, as tends to be a common theme in my writing, love is not some purely spiritual invention but an objectively beneficial approach to life — we are each only a trivially small part of the universe, yet if we work with those around us we expand our influence and use their experiences to grow.

These points echo not only in what we discuss about religion, but on how we discuss religion.  We need to remember whatever ideals we pursue — whether theistic, philosophical, or simply scientific — are to be pursued without ego.  The things most worth pursuing are those things beyond ourselves — beyond our egos — for being driven by something beyond ourselves is the surest way to make progress.  If these ideals are truly worthy of pursuit, then our pride will only serve to do them injustice.  Moreover, if we wish others to pursue the same, we can cooperate with them, and help them to see the goal, not our inevitably incomplete position on the path to it.  And if they choose not to follow us, we must not see it as an attack on the ideal, and moreover we must not see it as an attack on ourselves.  If there is truth in our paths, and if anyone else also seeks a path of truth, then, in due time, our paths will cross.