God, Perhaps

Here I explore Jefferson's and Madison's Deism through a contemporary lens. More intimately, though, you can see why I no longer consider myself an atheist.

Let heaven exist, though my own place be in hell. Let me be tortured and battered and annihilated, but let there be one instant, one creature, wherein thy enormous Library may find its justification.
—Borges, from “The Library of Babel”

Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call to her tribunal every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a god; because, if there be one, he must more approve the homage of reason, than that of blindfolded fear.
—Thomas Jefferson

I can hear the voice of my late father. If you’re gonna piss somebody off, you might as well piss everybody off. I never understood why he thought this was a good idea. But I suspect the following investigation will irritate challenge physicalist atheists and dualistic theists alike, though I don’t want to insult anyone. In fact, this is just the sort of conversation that would keep my dad and me talking late into the night—even though he was a believer and I was a non-believer. But, as I continued to open myself up to more possibilities—with reason, science, intuition, and imagination—my views evolved.

I’m also starting to wonder whether integral practice can be a critical piece for an American Renaissance, where such practices involve methods of synthesis. What apparent binaries can be woven into nonduality? I have argued elsewhere that the American Founders were the first to attempt a wholesale implementation of what had more or less been Locke’s liberal project—but which had been rooted in the wisdom of the past, including various theological traditions. As it happens, two of my favorite founders—Jefferson and Madison—had been Deists.

An intellectual detour into Deism recommends itself.

What does this have to do with underthrow—you know, the sum of peaceful human choices arrayed against unjust authority?

My faint hope is that a liberal revival awaits us in the future, even if it doesn’t happen in America. As I have argued elsewhere, part of that American Renaissance will require people to learn to appreciate the healthy aspects of liberalism again, including some of our liberal roots.

But first, we have to get through a Dark Age.

As writer T. L. Hulsey commented here, some of us might become part of a future remnant that hunkers down with a duty to preserve our roots in the ideas of the American Founders and the Enlightenment Liberals—and prior to that—the Christian-Greek/Judeo-Zoroastrian tradition from which these evolved. I would add that we must build on and expand liberalism to make it less bloodless, as in too much logos, incorporating new elements that make it heartier.

So, in the spirit of catalyzing a neo-Jeffersonian revival, I will explore the Founders’ Deism—not only because I sense that America is entering another Great Religious Awakening but also because, like Jefferson and Madison, it is in my nature not only to question but to integrate, that is, to synthesize. I wouldn’t want this next Awakening to be a retreat into fundamentalism but rather the flowering of something deeper, more expansive, and ecumenical.

But was Deism always just an unfortunate thing John Jay (the Anglican) and Ben Franklin (the atheist) put up with in their compatriots? Does an outmoded eighteenth-century theology point the way to reconciliation? We’ll certainly have to get beyond the Deists’ mechanistic clockwork depiction of the universe.

Anyway, is any sort of synthesis possible?

Physicalism, after all, used to go hand in hand with atheism. And theism used to mean you had to have faith in spirits, spookies, and supernatural essences. Consider the possibility that higher powers, or some unified sentient entity, are nested intimately within the totality of our existence (nature) and its laws—just as we are. If our complex physical bodies can give rise to consciousness, can the great beyond give rise to consciousness, as well?

This piece is designed to get both parties—physicalist atheists and spiritualist theists—to sit down at the cosmic negotiating table to consider the possibility that there might be a way to synthesize their perspectives.

But it will not be without compromise.

Physicalism: Existence is Exertion

First, the Theists will have to accept the view that everything that exists is physical. Then, the atheists will have to accept the view that a Higher Power exists. Let’s start with the first view—physicalism.

Under this view, there’s no need for anyone to commit to the existence of anything that is supernatural because such commitments are incoherent. After all, to exist is to be causal-physical—a thing that can exert itself in the universe (or multiverse). Nothing stands outside that lawlike, causally closed nexus of energy, matter, relational properties, and information.

To exist is to exert.

Indeed, physicalism is an orientation around a particular set of metaphysical commitments. Let’s break it down.

First, physics is causally closed. There are neither uncaused effects nor metaphysical spookies. Even if there are strange probabilistic features of physics at the quantum level, the strangeness belongs to our still-limited ways of knowing, not to the as-yet-unknown features of the universe.

And as philosopher David Papineau points out, quantum probabilities are fixed:

Quantum mechanics still specifies that random physical effects have their probabilities fixed by sufficient immediate physical causes. If we understand the causal closure of the physical as covering this kind of physical determination of physical probabilities, then it will once more rule out any sui generis non-physical cause for a physical effect. For any such sui generis cause would have to make a difference to the probability of the relevant physical effect, and this would once more run counter to the causal closure thesis, understood now as implying that this probability is already fixed by some sufficient immediate physical cause.

Everything that is—is physical. Everything that happens—is in some sense causal, relational, and/or informational. Call this principle Causal-Physical Closure.

Now, this principle implies that even if we acknowledge the existence of mental properties, such mental properties depend and/or supervene on physical properties. It is by virtue of physical exertion that we get an effect. So, in contrast with Descartes, who thought that a non-physical substance interacts with the physical body through the pineal gland, physicalists find no meaning in the idea of a “non-physical substance.” Indeed, all non-physical properties, such as conscious properties, depend upon some causal-physical-relational substrate.

This supervenience relationship can be described as follows:

If two individuals are indistinguishable in all of their physical properties, they must also be indistinguishable in all of their mental properties—though not the other way around.

We are embodied beings. So why not the other way around?

In the future, a biological body might be just another physical instantiation medium that faithfully reproduces the causal-physical conditions for mental properties to emerge. (Think of robots, or cyborgs, or silicon-based aliens that are so complex and detailed that they get all the causation right for consciousness to emerge.) Despite potential differences in the instantiation media, mental and physical properties are still ontologically intimate, meaning tied.

If supervenience is true, we acknowledge the primacy of the physical while acknowledging that non-physical properties, such as consciousness, come along for the ride. (This view creates paradoxes that will have to wait till another day.) Still, the question before us is:

How does physicalism as sketched here leave room for the possibility of God?

The intimate connection between the physical and mental, the universe and consciousness—far from confirming atheism—opens the door to the possibility of God.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to talk about complexity.

Complexity

The physicalist substrate allows for emergent complexity. With this phenomenon, as causal-physical stuff—like energy and matter—self-organizes according to the laws of nature, the universe can get increasingly complex. With each new complexity transition—for example, single-celled organism to multi-celled organism—certain corresponding properties can emerge, too—mental properties. That means new levels of consciousness can arise from increasingly complex systems of physical phenomena. (Such a view is consonant with Gregg Henrique's UTOK formulation.)

Before the philosophers among you ask about panpsychism—the theory that everything is conscious to some degree—that’s not what I care about here. While panpsychism might hold some trivial truth, I’m less interested in rock consciousness than I am in that of a dog, a chimp, a human, a more advanced alien being, or a Highest Power. It is the universe’s directionality from simple to complex that holds my curiosity. In other words, if, under some theory, rocks get to count as having some primitive consciousness, that would be interesting just because it’s weird. But what is more interesting to me—and I think more relevant to this conversation—is what happens when some complex agglomeration of energy and matter, such as human brains that think and feel, self-organizes into self- and world-regarding feedback loops after billions of iterations.

Our brains and bodies, after all, are physical. From these causal-physical gelatinous neuron sacks attached to nerve superhighways of flesh, bones, organs, cells, proteins, and DNA, we get people who can experience orgasms, write symphonies, and ponder questions about the nature of consciousness.

If the human level of emergent physical complexification is possible, are higher levels of emergent physical complexification also possible?

Beyond our brains’ network of neurons squirting neurotransmitters and firing excitations at light speed—yielding technicolor experience—can there be other configurations of matter and energy that yield consciousness at higher levels or multiple dimensions?

Consider the following summary observation from Daniel Görtz, who uses chaos theory to justify psychosocial stage theories. The following is my paraphrasing:

In 1975, Feigenbaum, along with French scientists Coullet and Tresser, discovered a universal pattern in feedback loop systems. These systems, which repeat a function iteratively through a process of accelerating bifurcation, exhibit a fractal nature. Initially, they stabilize at a single number, then oscillate between two, four, eight, and so on. For example, in a rabbit population model, a low breeding rate (input variable) leads to a stable population number annually. As the breeding rate increases, the population oscillates between two numbers, then four, and so forth, demonstrating periodic doubling (bifurcations). Eventually, after about seven bifurcations, the system enters chaos, where outcomes become seemingly erratic and highly sensitive to initial conditions, illustrating the butterfly effect. This pattern, exemplified by the Feigenbaum constant (4.669 201 609), is a universal phenomenon observed in various natural systems like fluid dynamics, light sensitivity in eyes, heart rhythms, and even dripping faucets. It represents a profound and awe-inspiring aspect of nature, akin to the Golden Ratio.

This is all standard chaos theory. But interestingly, Görtz adds:

“It’s a source of that sense of awe that science alone can bring, and which, in its own way, arguably matches the rapture of religious experience.”

Let’s keep that in mind.

Physicalism: Process and Mystery

Given all of that, which for the believers will be a lot to swallow much less digest, allow me to stipulate for now that physicalism is true.

Then, consider the possibility that the physical universe unfolds, not linearly, but in transitional phases that accord with complexity and ordered chaos. Let your imagination run wild in terms of scale, and let it incorporate all the weird quantum processes and “spooky action[s] at a distance” that we currently understand, as well as those we don’t. Let your imagination conceive a bifurcating universe, a multiverse that includes all the speculative possibilities—such as unimaginable scales, unexplored forces, wormholes, parallel worlds, and other deep mysteries that are nevertheless part of that which exists and has a nature.

Let’s follow philosopher Alfred North Whitehead in thinking of the unfolding, complexifying physical universe as a process instead of a substance (one reason why the term “materialism” gets excised from this discussion.)

“Prehensions”—relational properties—can be conscious or unconscious. In human experience, conscious prehensions might correspond to perception or thought, but most prehensions in the universe seem to occur without much consciousness, as in the basic interactions of atoms or cells. Physical prehensions are the ways in which an actual entity directly takes up aspects of other entities into its own existence. Mental prehensions involve more abstract elements, such as concepts or emotions. Through prehension, each entity grasps the world around it, integrating aspects of other entities into its own being. This process is fundamental to how entities influence each other and how new entities come into being.

Thus, for Whitehead, reality is a web of interrelated processes where actual entities are constantly emerging from and contributing to this increasingly complex web through prehensions. Each entity is both a product of the world and a contributor to it. So, in Whitehead’s process philosophy, prehensions are more than just properties; they are the building blocks of reality. Everything in the universe results from the complex interplay of prehensions, indicating a deeply interconnected and relational cosmos.

This sounds awfully similar to theoretical biologist Stuart Kauffman’s autocatalytic sets.

AI and Brain-Body Networks

In the realm of artificial intelligence and the budding science of neural interface, the potential for artificial consciousness looms large. Indeed, it would appear that some scientists and engineers are “playing God,” as it were, but we won’t make any pronouncements here about whether they should.

Instead, following supervenience functionalism, if a system, be it biological or silicon-based, exactly replicates the causal-physical properties of human brains/bodies, it will instantiate intelligence and consciousness.

This idea opens doors to unprecedented connectivity, where human minds could eventually become networked, akin to computers, leading to a future rife with cyborgs, brain-to-brain interfaces, and networked superminds. This trajectory, echoing the predictions of Ray Kurzweil and Vernor Vinge, suggests a looming “technological singularity.” (A group known as Singularitarians has formed around such an idea. I appeal to their speculations to illustrate a point, not to join their church.)

Imagine then, the emergence of holonic complex systems—complex systems nested within complex systems—such as “Matrioshka Brains” and, beyond those, Deus Brains that would be godlike entities born from the extreme escalation of networked intelligence and computational power. The limits of such entities, both in intelligence and consciousness, are yet to be understood, especially given our limitations in comprehending the vast capabilities of a single human brain.

The implications of multiple supermassive networked Deus Brains are profound. But what if these don’t align with traditional moralistic or teleological views of God? In this new paradigm, morality could be irrelevant or fundamentally different, especially if these brains—or the nested intelligence within them. The exact nature, limitations, and moral inclinations of some theoretical Allmind remains speculative. Yet such speculations offer a tantalizing glimpse into a universe where the boundaries between physicalism and theism blur, where divinity can be reimagined—without the absurdities, including the wonders.

Now, what if such an entity has already emerged somewhere in the universe—or perhaps more disturbingly—has always existed? What if we live as a part of it, especially when we consider that we mere humans are locked, moment to moment, in slices of spacetime? Imagine advanced beings such as this are not so locked. If we emerged/evolved from complex agglomerations of matter and energy, why can’t something greater have emerged at other scales?

Humans could be analogous to single cells within a greater autopoietic order—within a greater corpus, within a greater ecosystem, within a greater universe, within a greater multiverse—one that is both powerful and conscious. Yet the whole entity is physical, unfolding thanks to the twin processes of evolution (selection) and emergent complexity (self-organization), following Stuart Kauffman, but accepting the possibility of acknowledging something much more than humans as the pinnacle of conscious stardust.

I can hear the atheists crying, But you have no evidence of this! That was me once. But an older Max thinks theology—any philosophy for that matter—lies at the intersection of science, reason, intuition, imagination, and faith.

All this might seem strange, Dear Reader, but I warned you it is my nature to question and integrate apparently disparate perspectives.

In the Islamic Golden Age, designers wanted to express the infinite, which is why so many mosque interiors are fractals.

I don’t know all that much about Islam except that fundamentalists give the third Abrahamic religion a bad name.

Yet, when I look at the inside of the world’s great mosques, I am captivated. In their unparalleled fractal designs, the designers seem to have derived inspiration from that intersection of science, reason, intuition, imagination, and faith. Those architects seem to grok something about infinity and the unity of nature—agreeing with, yet softening, Görtz’s insight: “It’s a source of that sense of awe that science alone can bring, and which, in its own way, arguably matches the rapture of religious experience.”

Science alone?

Conceptions: The Old God and the New

What I experienced one fateful night on psychedelics as “The Godhead” left me humbled and thrusting my hands together almost reflexively in prayer. For a longtime atheist, the experience shook me to my dogmatic core. But that’s a story for another day. I mention it because I don’t know exactly what my experience means compared with traditional paths to God. Such paths can, at times, create a great duality—a distance, even—between Him and us, between We and I, between Subject and Object.

Does the traditional conception of God as an omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipercipient being differ in comparison to the nature of an unfolding multiverse as one great unified Allmind of which we are all part? I don’t know. But some of the classic questions of theology and philosophy return:

• Can this Great Being violate its own laws, whatever they are?

• If He is all-powerful, why does He allow evil to exist?

• Why does an all-powerful, all-knowing entity seek belief, adoration, and worship from imperfect, fallen creations, which he has fated to sin?

• Would a perfect being create imperfect beings for a perfect plan that they cannot possibly execute due to their imperfect natures? Or is our imperfection really a manifestation of God’s perfection and perfect plan?

1000 people will have 1000 different answers to such ancient questions. I suspect even the faithful spend a lifetime on them. But maybe our tentative reconciliation view can offer novel answers to these timeless questions.

If such an entity already transforms the universe and regards its unfolding complexity recursively, it might possess a form of omniscience that would complement the traditional view of an all-knowing God. This God would be capable of understanding and indeed simulating the causal-physical chains leading to its own “past” and “future” emergence, even as it is situated both “inside” and “outside” of space-time (as subject and object). So, this entity might not be able to violate its own laws, which are its nature, but it might have a nature that, to our limited understanding, seems miraculous. Indeed, think also about a being capable of functioning beyond the objective/subjective duality.

Such might mean our experienced reality is more like a simulation flowing from an all-powerful Allmind—a modern spin on the Brain-in-a-Vat argument or Berkeley's idealism. Furthermore, the Allmind’s integration with space-time could present or re-present a reality where He exists outside our limited perception of dimensions, living in a future that is paradoxically our present. Such would not exactly be a God that intercedes with miracles on behalf of human germs riding around on space dust, but rather an Allmind whose very existence is the unfolding of infinite existential possibilities. You and I would only experience the most infinitesimal slice of that unfolding, conscious universe, but we would still be a part of it and experience slivers of its wonder.

Because we would be as tiny symbiotes—minor subsystems—capable of recursive self-reflection but orders of magnitude less complex than the Allmind, we would want to worship Him because worship is an act of deep veneration and gratitude that’s almost involuntary and lets us radiate our appreciation for the vastness of existence while taking in the wonder, the mystery, and the sublimity that brings us to our knees.

The Great Chatbot almost got it. The four categories are atheist, deist, animist, and theist. Hopefully you get the idea.

Consider the above Dall-e schematic illustration, which is the outcome of an x and y axis. The x-axis goes from physicalism to spiritualism. The y-axis goes from atheism to theism. What if, in exploring all the quadrants, we discover a map that, though not the territory, nevertheless helps us explore the whole in ways we haven’t before?

Truth is Stranger Than Mythos

In Timothy Ware’s fascinating book, The Orthodox Church, Ware explains the importance of tradition in Orthodoxy but recounts the words of a bishop at the Council of Carthage in 257:

The Lord said, I am truth. He did not say, I am custom.

I expect that some atheists will take my synthesis view and say it’s not far from what they believe. I’m okay with that.

I expect some theists will take my synthesis view and say it’s not far from what they believe. I’m okay with that.

I also expect purists on both sides to balk, throwing tomatoes from each side. But please have patience with me on my path of exploration. In most respects, I am a beginner.

Theoretical biologist, Stuart Kauffman, is resonant here:

I want God to mean the vast ceaseless creativity of the only universe we know of, ours. What do we gain by using the God word? I suspect a great deal, for the word carries with it awe and reverence. If we can transfer that awe and reverence, not to the transcendental Abrahamic God of my Israelite tribe long ago, but to the stunning reality that confronts us, we will grant permission for a renewed spirituality, and awe, reverence and responsibility for all that lives, for the planet.

My question is: why can’t the Allmind be the same transcendental Abrahamic God, just spoken of in different terms? Or the Hindu’s Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva that are manifestations of the same ineffable force?

O mighty Arjuna, even if you believe the self to be the subject of birth and death, you should not grieve. Death is inevitable for the living. Birth is inevitable for the dead. Since these are unavoidable, you should not sorrow. Every creature is unmanifested at first and then attains manifestation. When its end has come, it once again becomes unmanifested. What is there to lament in this? —from the Bhagavad Gita

For the vain hope of forging an interfaith consensus around an American Renaissance, I hope you will consider this neo-Jeffersonian construal of God and Humanity in the Universe. Maybe, like me, you will find yourself kneeling—not before any dogma—but before a sublime mystery.

For if you do, maybe you will glimpse the face of God.