Tuesday, October 26, 2010

on emptiness

In my years as an undergraduate, I had a professor who I particularly admired. She was creative, jubilant, passionate, and fiercely intelligent. I took as many classes as I could with her, and each time was a tremendous learning experience. She was impressive on so many fronts, with one tiny exception that remains a blemish in my otherwise idyllic image of her. In describing her spiritual outlook, she said something akin to the following (I'm paraphrasing in lieu of an eidetic memory) :
I called myself an atheist for a while; I was quite vocal about it. But after a while I just found it too boring. To think that there's nothing out there, and this is it? I needed something more.
At the time, being a little more undecided in my religious affinities and having a sort of schoolboy crush, I thought this was very reasonable. In a world with so many uncertainties, why not side with the more interesting possibilities? Perhaps I too would pursue something less "boring." But that time never really came, as I mulled over the idea and found it gradually less appealing.

One of the main reasons I can't subscribe to my professor's reasoning is the inherent logical fallacy at work. Before I point out the flaw, let me just say that I hate to reject her statement based on logic, since it wasn't a logical argument in the first place; it was an offhand comment about her exploration of that which she found interesting. I even agree! Theology is incredibly interesting. I do want to refute the logic behind her statement, however, because I do see it used by many people as their reason for being religious.

The fallacy: An idea being interesting or favorable does not, in any way, lend credibility to its argument. This is effectively a version of Pascal's Wager, which claims one should believe in Christianity so that one can go to Heaven. Similarly, the idea that spirituality is more interesting and uplifting than atheism seems to lead a lot people to religion. That's a nice sentiment, but it doesn't make God any more believable.

What if I told you about a Utopian land here on Earth? Call it what you will, but it is equal to or greater than your understanding of Heaven. The land is rich with every food and crop known to man, and people are never hungry. Everyone is born a genius, and work is split evenly among all people. No one feels jealousy or resentment, and only kind words are ever spoken. People know only love and mistakes are unheard of. It is perfection for perfection's sake.

As wonderful as this land may sound, you could not believe such a place exists on Earth. In fact, the more wonderful it sounds, the more skeptical someone is likely to be. In realistic terms, something is not believable simply because it is pleasing. By these standards, why should a man believe in Heaven? Why should a woman believe that an omniscient being is watching over us? There are many reasons one can argue for spirituality, and I accept that one's interest in an idea can lead to a pursuit of it. However, I can't accept an idea's favorability as reason for its credibility.
I originally wanted to include "Nicolas Cage stops making terrible movies," but I ran out of room on the right.
But all this aside, I want to refute the very notion that atheism is boring. Anyone who claims that the lack of a sentient creator is dull, depressing, or a dead-end should look into just how marvelous a godless universe is. To think that all elements of our universe have become the way they are without a designer, that circumstance alone had set off a chain of events to create what we have now, is wildly fascinating. I'll need another blog post, on a day when I'm feeling decidedly more scientific, to elaborate on how a godless universe is truly awesome. For now, I'll just refer to an age-old argument that is usually cited as "proof" of a creator:

The watchmaker argument (or "argument by design") states that upon seeing a watch or other complicated human invention, one recognizes that the invention must have an inventor. It follows that the infinitely complicated universe must also have an inventor. Faulty logic aside, I would like to posit that this is a great argument for why an atheistic universe is so fascinating. When considering how complex and brilliant our universe is, it's far more interesting to believe there was no designer, no inventor. A watch without a maker is, as far as I'm concerned, very far from boring.

Monday, October 25, 2010

...out of the machine

Before I go off on any tangents, I should probably elaborate on my suitably pretentious blog title. It's not exactly cryptic -- I assume many people are familiar with the term deus ex machina. However, my vague logic behind the title could use some explanation. Being a blog that is first and foremost concerned with atheism--a strange idea in itself, that one can be devoted to asserting the non-existence of something--I felt it was appropriate for my title to have the absence of God.


For those unaware, the phrase deus ex machina literally translates to "God from [or 'out of'] the machine." It was coined to describe the mechanism in theater that lowered a god-like figure onto the stage, who would subsequently resolve all problems for the story's protagonists. As a result, the phrase evolved into a general literary device wherein a story's conflict is resolved at the last minute and a little too conveniently. No matter how the phrase is used, though, its roots remain in its literal interpretation: all problems are fixed by a god.


What I particularly like about the phrase is its allegorical implications. One would think that a play should always be able to come upon a resolution naturally and seamlessly. However, plays are about people, and people (in the real world) do not always have convenient answers to their problems. Indeed, the world is full of questions, conflicts, and misfortune. A deus ex machina is not a departure from reality (however unrealistic it may seem), because it's an accurate reflection of human conflict's inability to solve itself. The use of a god in dramatic literature is a great way of showing just how incapable people can be in resolving their conflict; it shows that a supernatural power would be the only way to have a happy ending at times. God, despite being the answer, is not the point. The point is to illustrate people's dependency on an outside power/force.


Another interesting point is the notion of a "machine." While the alleged god did most definitely come down from a mechanical pulley in the phrase's origin, I'm much more partial to a societal machine. That is, the proverbial mechanism of creation and sustenance we give to our ideas. Richard Dawkins coined the term meme in reference to the acceptance of ideas through cultural reiteration. Say something enough times and with enough assertion, and eventually people will have no choice but to listen. In this way, God (along with all human concepts) is essentially born of a machine... a process of repetition and reaffirmation from the collective. Just like in theater, wherein a deity is lowered onto the stage out of necessity for the story's resolution, a deity is manufactured in our hearts out of perceived necessity to our own resolutions. I know I sound awfully condemning here, and I don't mean to be. If anything, I revel at how accurate the phrase is beyond the stage.


So if the phrase in its entirety is appealing, why take out the deus -- the god? I'm afraid my reasoning behind that is less than eloquent. Simply put, taking out the god seems fitting for an exploration of God's non-existence. Moreover, I wanted to emphasize the "machine" more than what comes out of it. After all, it's easier to examine something tangible, measurable, and real. Finally, and I admit this is a silly reason, the phrase in its entirety is overused and cliché. Every overzealous liberal arts major has used the phrase in a term paper, and I'm already bordering on pseudo-intellectual by using Latin in the first place. Therefore, Ex Machina it is. Besides, doesn't it just sound cool?




† A foreword on pretension: In trying to write cleverly on matters of importance, I'm nearly certain that I'll sound pretentious at points. I apologize if anything I write comes across as snobbery, elitism, or intellectual masturbation. I assure you that is not my intent, possibly excluding the latter. I do not claim to know more than I do, and I revel in my ignorance. However, I am qualified to post intellectual fodder and I encourage you to do the same via comments.