Religion, Philosophy, and Determinism
If you’ve ever talked religion or philosophy with me, chances are you’ve heard my views on chance and fate—on the premises that:
- Everything happens for a (non-causative) reason
- There’s no such thing as coincidence
- God rewards righteousness and punishes sinfulness in the material world (the “piety-prosperity” hypothesis)
- Your (one-and-only) “soulmate” is waiting for you
- You have a (singular) destiny
My beefs with these premises can be boiled down to these: they suggest that someone (or everyone) lacks free will, and/or they suggest that (a presumably “good”) God is responsible for some terrible things, like drought, famine, all manner of natural disaster.
In rejecting these ideas, I’ve argued that free will (or “agency,” as it is sometimes called in churchy circles) cannot be reasonably reconciled with any kind of determinism and that if God gets credit for the good things that happen, then God must also get the blame for the bad things that happen. My theological/philosophical position is that each of us is completely sovereign in our own lives and that God does not manipulate us or the world; rather, God (if any—I believe, but it isn’t the only perspective) is present with us and empathizes with us as we encounter everything an impersonal world has to offer. These principles—that each of us is completely free to choose as we wish, and that God is “good,” thereby morally constrained from manipulating us and for some good reason constrained from manipulating the natural world—aren’t always comforting, but I take comfort in the belief that we are all equally subject to the world’s vicissitudes and all receive equal consideration from God (if any).
The Dilemma
Now, I find myself trying to reconcile my position which I still think largely correct with recent experiences which suggest that the universe is more orderly than I ever imagined.
On the one hand, my reasoning is as sound and as valid as it ever was. If the universe is deterministic—if we don’t really have free will or agency, if our decisions aren’t really decisions at all, but are rather manifestations of a clockwork universe—even assigning blame becomes the action of an automaton and not the choice of a free creature. If God acts directly in the universe for the good of anyone, then God must be held responsible for anything he has the power and knowledge to affect. Since I cannot accept the premise that we lack autonomy and cannot accept the premise that an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, and good god would allow the innocent to suffer, I continue to reject ideas that suggest either to be true.
On the other hand, I find myself suddenly, embarrassingly convinced that in some ineffable way I can (and do) change what happens—change the very course of creation—according to how I look at it. If I can’t reconcile what I have in each hand, I have to let one go, and giving up either does violence to my nature.
On the gripping hand (thank you, Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle; without a third hand, I’d have been screwed), maybe my reasoning and my experiences aren’t as antagonistic as they seem. Maybe, just maybe, the problem is with my model of the universe. Maybe what I really need is a different metaphor.
Skepticism and Mystery
Posit a universe mostly as I’ve always thought of it: observable, with consistent behavior that can be described and predicted with some accuracy. The better our understanding of the “rules” that “govern” its behavior the more accurately it can be predicted. This is how science approaches the universe, and it’s a useful model, particularly for the “mechanistic” bits—what makes things move, how things interact, what energy is and what it does, etc.—but it isn’t perfect even for that and for the intangibles—feelings and relationships and passions and such—well, for them it falls quite a long way short.
I’ve always attributed the human parts, particularly the magic of human relationships, to choice, to taste, and to luck. Likewise, I’ve always attributed the vagaries of the physical world (those things that can’t be predicted or explained mechanistically) to mere chance. Statistically, somebody has to be luckier and someone has to be less lucky; it stands to reason. Reason, however, is not always intuitively satisfying; sometimes, our (for lack of a better word) “spirit” rebels against that which is “reasonable.”
I tend toward skepticism; I generally distrust that which is unseen. It has made my development as a man of faith—as a “believer” (and I do consider myself a believer)— “interesting,” to say the least. In matters where immaterial, intangible, “mystical” reality cannot (or should not) be disregarded, I generally find a perspective—I think of it as an expanded understanding—that encompasses both the explainable and the unexplainable without requiring I dismiss that skepticism (which I consider a healthy leaven) altogether.
A Digression
In writing this, I’m realizing that among the myriad lessons of the last week is one about skepticism needing a leaven, too. Skepticism by itself is not enough; some things cannot be doubted away. I’ve already accepted that truth in many areas and aspects of life, and now I’m ready to acknowledge its truth even in the areas where I have the most to lose.
And that last sentence was also a revelation to me. There’s healthy skepticism (which I exercise) and there’s neurotic skepticism (which has also been a part of my repertoire): I have used skepticism to avoid vulnerability, yet vulnerability is prerequisite to that which I crave most, intimacy. To be vulnerable is to be open to the possibility of hurt, and for too long I have let fear of hurt keep me from the intimacy I crave. No more; the transformation I am experiencing has (almost completely) freed me from that neurotic fear that for so long has ruled and robbed me.
Transformation
That transformation is the real topic of this blog; I’ve written a bit about it on The Cosmic Orchestra and Maui 2013 Summer of Love; this entry is an attempt to put that transformation into context and outline ways I can reconcile my scientific/skeptical and mythic/mystical selves (something I started in The Cosmic Orchestra).
Six Impossible Things
The book that catalyzed this transformation, The Vortex: Where the Law of Attraction Assembles All Cooperative Relationships, presented real challenges to my skeptical self. It posits, for example, that we are the corporal expression of “Non-Physical” beings and that we both chose this manifestation and remain connected to our Non-Physical selves. I grant that’s possible, but it seems untestable, and therefore I am skeptical. Examples abound in the book; assertions about “reality” that can’t be verified. I’m not saying that because it can’t be verified it is untrue; I’m simply saying that in the absence of evidence there is room for doubt.
And that’s okay; in fact, that’s awesome! As the Mad Hatter memorably said, “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” While it’s no virtue to be credulous, I find it enormously useful to be able to at least entertain contrary thoughts, and since this book came highly recommended by a valued, trusted, and admired friend, I reserved judgment. I didn’t dismiss the text out of hand just because I found some of its premises suspect.
It’s a good thing I didn’t, because The Vortex stirred, triggered, catalyzed my transformation, and this transformation is something I’ve persistently courted and not-so-patiently awaited for long years. The authors may believe some things I find it difficult to accept, but they suggest ways of thinking—ways of being—that my intuition finds compelling (or, sometimes, just obvious). And while I’m not convinced they got all the details right, there is something—something powerfully resonant—in their espoused world view.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!
What changed my life in a veritable twinkling—and what I mean is, it changed me: my self-perception, my perception of others, my expectations, my attitude, my behavior, the whole enchilada—is what I understand to be “The Law of Attraction,” which (broadly paraphrased) says that like attracts like, that what comes to you is that on which you spend the most thought energy, that your “Vibrations” (which you can choose, but if you don’t you’re likely to broadcast negative ones by default) determine how the physical universe and other beings treat you.
By extension, this suggests that to a significant degree we “choose our own adventure” by the way we invest our emotional/vibrational energy. For long years, I’ve focused on the lacks in my life and (unsurprisingly, according to the “Law of Attraction”) I’ve experienced lack. Others have focused on abundance and experienced abundance.
It isn’t about being rewarded according to virtue, either; we all know someone who is (by our lights, anyway) undeserving, yet the world is their oyster, and each of us knows someone else, more than deserving, who finds the world stingy or worse. Those who experience abundance tend to focus on it, even taking it for granted, while those who experience scarcity tend to focus on it, likewise assuming it’s their “lot in life.”
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did the experience foster the thought, or did the thought foster the experience? I’ve always assumed the latter, until The Vortex led me to question my presumptions; now I’m unsure.
Simply by changing my focus, my intention, my expectations, my “Vibrational” output in accordance with (some of) what’s written in The Vortex, I radically changed my experience of the universe, quite literally overnight. I can’t explain it in purely rational terms—I lack the vocabulary, if nothing else—but I cannot deny my experience. The difference both for me and in me is unmistakable.
If the “Law of Attraction” means anything, it means that despite my negative focus, I also broadcast some positive “Vibration,” or I would never have attracted those who have midwifed my rebirth. I know what that “Vibration” is. It is the primal note, the fundamental note of creation, the genitive “Om” on which is built every other chord. It is love, and no matter how low I got, that note always played in my heart—sometimes pianissimo, rarely forte. Now it plays fortissimo, and that, too is product of the change in me.
The Meaning I Made
Reconciling my (transcendent?) experience with my skeptical self isn’t easy (and it isn’t done, though I’m well along). I cannot deny that when I focused my “psychic” energies on abundance and expectancy rather than scarcity and cynicism, things changed. Where before my expectations (of continued emptiness) were met with...emptiness, now my expectations of...well, of awesomeness are met with an unequivocal sense of awesomeness. It’s as if my old “frequency” matched the resonant frequency of scarcity and loneliness and emptiness, and now I’m tuned to the resonant frequency of abundance and connectedness and joy. I know, without knowing how I know, that the universe and the people around me are responding to this change in me even when my behavior is not very different than it was before.
Maybe the authors of The Vortex are onto something. Maybe in the intangible universe there is a class of phenomena similar to harmonics, resonant frequencies, and sympathetic vibrations in the physical world. Maybe...
In the physical world—in acoustics and radio and light waves—many objects and even empty spaces called “cavities” have a natural, resonant frequency. When something is “vibrating” at any given frequency (literally vibrating in the case of acoustics, less literally so in the cases of radio and light), any nearby objects or cavities that are resonant at that frequency will begin vibrating in sympathy. An object or cavity will also vibrate less strongly in response to vibrations at harmonics—exact multiples—of its resonant frequency. This phenomenon is well known, commonly observed, and generally exploited in everything from musical instruments to radar and lasers.
If some metaphysical analogue operates in the intangible universe as the domain of relationships, we can speak metaphorically of “Vibrations” and make some sense of it. It isn’t necessarily that there are actual vibrations; rather, the universe has been observed to operate as if there were vibrations. It’s a metaphor; a way of grasping some part of something that’s fundamentally beyond our grasp.
I find this notion—that the universe is so constituted that the “Vibrations” we broadcast by focusing our mental/emotional energy on one thing or another awaken sympathetic “Vibrations” (on the same metaphoric “frequency”) in the intangible universe and in the entities we connect with—in keeping with my recent experience, while at the same time being something my skeptical self can swallow. My intuitive self finds the concept empowering and liberating, and cast in these terms I don’t think it necessarily contradicts religion’s traditional teachings, either.
Pure Poetry
It’s also marvelously poetic to talk about the way the humming of my heart strokes the violin strings of the world into song, or how what matters most is how well one tunes and attunes herself to the natural instruments of the universe.
In the end, there’s no knowing what is really real. Maybe we’re all in the Matrix, and every experience we know is a simulation, a shadow play. Maybe the universe is a clockwork automaton, and we are merely cogs in the works, with no more free will than a gear wheel. If the latter, even these lofty thoughts are just the mesh of gears in the great machine. I don’t believe that, and if that disbelief is inevitable, still it is mine.
I believe that we have free will. I believe, too, that each of us has great power to create the outcomes we desire. And my recent experience leads me to think that simply changing your focus can change your world.
The Least it Can Be
Maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe a positive outlook and anticipatory attitude don’t change anything except perception. Maybe people who see the way I do now are kidding themselves into a better experience in defiance of “reality.”
I can live with having this wrong. If all this does is change (for the better) the way I see my life, that’s still a lot; that’s enough and more than enough. But if, as I now believe, there is an underlying reality that responds to the way each of us invests our energy, so much the better. I’m “all in” for good; for the good I do, for the good I deserve (that is manifesting in the world, right now), and for the greater good.
What have I got to lose?
