Probability of Divinity

By Mark McDermott

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To “feel certain” is a contradiction in terms: as a feeling, human belief defies certainty. A “belief,” as will be considered here, is an interpretation of both the world one observes and one’s explanations for those observations. Perception shapes explanation, but both depend on the individual. Consider human interaction with the weather: two people looking at the same cloud may have very different reactions One may believe the cloud is darker than they have seen before, yet will not bring rain; the other might say that it is not so dark, but still feel certain that rain is coming. Perceptions and the beliefs derived from them may lead to one conclusion at one moment, and even the same evidence may point elsewhere the next day.

Even observations are really just interpretations. We struggle to filter an analog, continuous universe into the limited number of ideas and concepts we have learned. Moreover, sensory and even scientific measurement cannot perfectly capture the state of the universe (there are only so many significant figures possible). Every observation, every sensation, every reaction is one that can only be defined as a range where reality most likely falls – a probability. Since our understanding of the world is probabilistic, so too must be our beliefs drawn from it.

Humans contend with this indeterminacy by describing reality in relative, rather than absolute, terms. As an example, try to define a color: for the sake of argument, take the color “blue.” We can attempt to point to nature: a clear sky, the color of certain rocks or plants, and so on. In modern times, we can set an interval of wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation. These finite bounds may seem to be an absolute definition, but they are not: every measurement carries uncertainty, and different people may even choose to place that interval over a different range. No definition can relate the human belief a person has about what the color blue is. It is impossible to prove that the way a light frequency range or physical object appears in one mind is the same as it does for another. We have no absolute guide between us, only a set of agreed conventions. Indeed, a wavelength on the cusp of another color might be interpreted some as purple or as turquoise or green the other side. All descriptions of human perception are thus relative: color is an example of an observation we group together and name to facilitate our recollection and communication. As a result, all of our recollections and thoughts are beliefs, subject to probabilities. The quantitative clarity we crave is elusive: even if its own certainty was eliminated, science cannot eliminate probabilistic human perception.

Although these relative definitions are typically taken for granted because they are such a common and fundamental basis, the complications of transmuting the physical world into the human mind have long posed a question to thinkers. Consider the age-old question, “if a tree falls in the forest and no one is near to hear it, does it make a sound?” The answer depends on what one holds “sound” to be. If “sound” is a pressure wave in a continuum, then it does. But if sound is the unique perception and experience of noise by a living consciousness – i.e. if sound is the mind’s interpretation of that pressure wave, then “sound” can only exist when someone hears it, and its form is peculiar to the individual.

The thought experiment of Schrodinger’s cat explicitly confronts the limitations of human perception by sealing the animal and its radiation-triggered prison into a sealed impenetrable box. Unable to observe directly, to us the cat is neither alive nor dead – the best we can offer is probability. The hapless animal will die eventually, but even in a thousand years there would still be no way to be completely certain because we cannot peer into that box.

Religion presents itself as a solution to this disorienting melee of existential quandaries. To define the undefinable, religion ties off the loose ends of belief with some conscious, supernatural force that has or continues to affect the natural world. If, for simplicity, we summarize that supernatural force as “God,” the question of religion becomes very recognizable: “Does God exist?” Adherents of religion – “believers”, or “those who believe” – may quickly answer affirmatively. But in religion as with all belief, no human can ever be completely certain. By definition, the supernatural is beyond nature, and thus transcends direct human observations. Moreover, even an individual may change the convictions they hold from one moment to the next. Even saints, gurus, missionaries have expressed doubts, lost faith, given up. Indeed, the very terms “faith” and “belief” convey an inability to fully comprehend their divine subject. Nothing based in human perception and conviction can be guaranteed.

In a reality interpreted with probabilities, it would be futile to attempt to prove that God exists. But by the same reasoning, it is equally futile to declare that no god of any kind can exist. The latter perspective has become more tempting with the seemingly inexorable march of science to uncover previously hidden layers of the universe: it is easy to think that eventually all facets of the physical world can be quantified and categorized. But the reality of scientific study is not deterministic. Some people look through one lens of evidence and declare their conclusion that it must arise from a supernatural power. Others believe that a “theory of everything” unites the world with a coherent, quantitative description. Still others ascribe everything to chance. Even beyond these debates at the cutting edge of knowledge, discovers over the past century, such as the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, describe even matter itself in terms of probabilities. We all live in the same universe, but natural and human uncertainties thwart all our efforts to bring it to heel.

If we cannot know if there is something beyond, why even bother debating the question? The very fact that it stirs passions or discomfort gives an answer: it might challenge us to change how we live. Of all the questions in life to consider, one whose answer changes lifestyles and interactions would seem to be the most important. It does not matter that we cannot answer it with certainty, because nothing in the world is certain. The question, “Does God exist?” asks us to weigh the probabilities of different answers, just like any other human understanding. Just as we decide whether something is blue or green, loud or quiet, right or wrong, the existence of God is another belief to which we must ascribe a probability. And like the weather, perception and reaction will both vary from person to person. This is the variable nature of the beliefs of the human spirit: individual, variable, unpredictable.

What distinguishes the question of religion from other considerations of human experience is its breadth and extent. With people scattered across continents, and matter dispersed through the universe, most human and physical events appear independent of any rational connection. But some might claim that God could be present in, or at work through, or absent from any given event. The very nature of the universe, every action and reaction, every thought, sensation, and instinct, can be interrogated by the question, “Is something divine present here?” – and therefore offers a chance to consider a belief in God.

Because this question admits the possibility of a transformative revelation, life can and should be lived as a continuous search for what may be beyond, exploring the extent and consequences of the probability that the supernatural exists. This consideration of God in terms of probabilities should not be confused with the pragmatic Pascal’s wager that a belief in God is a “safer bet” to hedge against the possibility of an afterlife. Assuming an answer fallaciously imposes certainty over an unknowable universe. Denying the limitations of the human condition in this way restricts the freedom of the mind to learn about where God may or may not be. This discernment informs us of the extent of our understanding of our universe that is based in faith – in belief – and where that borders with science.

That pervasive question, however, drives the probability of God in a certain direction, like a mathematical limit., the potential for the existence of God everywhere drives probability in a certain direction. If God exists in even one event or circumstance, then God, a consciousness transcendent of our universe, exists. A denial of God demands that all of the probabilities across these events and circumstances together still maintain that the existence of God is too remote to merit further questioning or change in behavior. There is, of course, no single, preordained solution. Perhaps the trend in probabilities is towards the absence of God. What nudges the balance of these questions of each event towards one ultimate cause or another? A key case from the infinite application of the question of religion illustrate the direction.

Consider the nature of matter. Compounds are formed from atoms, which in turn are comprised of protons, neutrons, and electrons, which then have their own, smaller constituent parts. How far can these parts be broken down? There are two alternatives. One is that particles can be broken down indefinitely into smaller and smaller pieces. But how could something like this ever come to be? The assemblage of these parts is a process, and any process takes a finite time. For all of these particles to assemble then, infinite time would be required – meaning that ordinary matter could not exist in this form unless it was created by some force that does not follow our laws of space and time. The alternative is that at some miniscule level of matter there is an indivisible particle or entity with no smaller constituents. How and when did these particles come to be? There are again two possibilities: one that is infinite and one that is finite.

If matter has existed for a finite duration, it could have been created from nothing – which would almost certainly seem to demand a supernatural entity. If matter exists as a conversion from some other entity, the constraint of a finite duration imposes a directionally on the universe. What existed at the starting point of this sequence and defined that directionality? Again, this seems to demand an entity distinct from the laws obeyed by subsequent matter. The second possibility posits an eternal, indivisible particle. In this case, these particles must somehow have always existed in a way that supports the creation of higher levels matter. The cohesiveness of this structure – with the inscrutable precision of reality – seems to defy an emergence by chance. Consider, for instance, the fine structure constant, which describes the interaction between charged particles and electromagnetic force. Even a slightly different value would prevent the existence of matter as we know it. This exists despite the prevailing tendency of the universe towards disorder rather than order: it takes little effort to mix sugar and salt but great effort to separate them again. Ultimately, it is believed that all matter will be trapped in a state of maximal entropy, or chaos. Thus, for matter to exist with properties that balance between the limits of instability seems to have an infinitely small chance of happening spontaneously, like stirring the salt and sugar and ending up with all of the salt on one side.

This example shows that the scrutiny of human beliefs, when reduced down as far as possible, requires either inestimable serendipity in nature or some transcendent force to explain the structure that we can approximate with our senses and scientific inquiry. The recursive questioning of “why?” that leads humanity to acknowledge either compete chance or conscious order to explain the existence of the universe and its laws – including those not yet discovered. The only way, therefore, there can be no conscious design to the universe is if everything – from atomic structure to E = mc2 to the operation of gravity to the nature of electric charge – emerged by chance in exactly the way needed to create the universe. Such an infinite confluence of fortune seems infinitesimally probable. It stacks against the best scientific hypothesis of a directionality to the universe: one that started with the Big Bang, which theorizes that matter exploded out of singularity – from a single point, that is, from nothing – and ending in the “heat death” of maximum entropy where no physical processes are possible. As far as belief goes, then, a universe without a consciousness behind it is possible, because nothing can be proven; but only if every single aspect of existence, out of infinite possible and inconceivable methods of formation, aligned along the axes of the physical laws that define our universe. God is not some malleable, sentimental panacea for those who fear death or distrust science; rather, in the ceaseless quest for explanation of human or natural events, the infinite extent of the universe in time, space, and matter necessarily transcends physical laws that seek to impose finite bounds on it, demanding the intervention of something beyond those constraints.

Practical Implications

The existence of a Creator does not directly impose any practical constraints. Abandoning the inquiry here might be coarsely described as agnosticism: to admit that God may be real, but with little or no impact on ordinary life. This influence would depend on the intent of this conscious force: even if there is a Creator, why did it create the universe as it did? What, if any, expectations are there for that creation? And certainly, the existence of God alone does not inherently demand an afterlife, in which case practical implications of God on a transient human existence appear even more obscure.

The most likely answer would emerge most directly from the evidence of God’s existence that we explored. If the infinite arrangements of the universe and external intervention that set up physical laws are the work of a Creator, that must mean that they are part of a conscious Design. By the infinite nature of the universe, this Design, too, must be infinite, prescribing and organizing infinitely many layers of existence. It seems improbable that, as a part of such infinite Design, humans would be created or permitted to exist randomly – in other words, that infinite effort was invested to establish physical laws with no purpose. If not, our existence, has a plan and purpose.

Moreover, humans appear distinct in their interaction with this Design. Humans are not bound by the conventional limitations of mere survival. Even in prehistoric ages, humanity ventured into regions of the world where their frail natural form would not withstand the environment into Siberia, Alaska, and elsewhere. Others set out in makeshift craft out across the oceans to Polynesia and Australia. Fire and plants and animals themselves were harnessed to human purposes. Other animals like beavers may manipulate their environment, but they do so almost out of instinct: there are no “innovative” new beaver dam types, nor expansion of beavers to places where they use rocks instead of wood to complete their constructions. In this way, in that deliberate Design, each human has some capacity to control nature – and thus in some way to contribute to that Design themselves. Nature evolves, but evolution alone does not give a singular entity the chance to consciously control its environment and its destiny. Some would call this idea “freewill,” the notion that we humans are uniquely endowed with agency over our own existence. But in this context, it might be phrased more simply: our Design was to be Designers, within the limits of the laws of the universe. The implications of this are remarkably simple.

To start, it seems unlikely that one person would happen to be chosen to have a more intentional Design than others that are physiologically so similar. Moreover, assuming one’s preeminence in the Design wrought in themselves would be incumbent upon a deep understanding of that Design: a supposedly firm grasp on that which is transcendent. Instead, it seems more reasonable to assume a fundamental parity between all humans. i.e. that we are all intended to be Designers of some kind. In that case, the greatest contribution to that nature is to facilitate the work of Design by others, and obstructing it would be the most contrary. This clearly has practical implications for how we interact with others and with the world. It arises from the mere possibility of the existence of God. If the universe is structured, it was most likely structured by a consciousness; if we are part of that universe, then we too are likely ordered by that consciousness; if we have the ability to contribute to that order, to that design, that gives humanity a unique agency in nature; therefore, the most detrimental action we can take is to inhibit or own ability to Design or that ability for others. This all flows from the existence of God, probabilistic as it may be; and so too then that probability begets a moral standard. In contrast, The probability of God does not postulate an “objective morality” as “proof of God,” as this is a circular argument absent a physical law in the universe defining what is “morally better.” cannot impose an objective morality. Instead, the argument here shows that there probably is a God, and so there is probably an intended morality, one that we ought to live by. In this way, just as the probability of the existence of God means that life can be lived in search for God, it can also be weighed against the possibility of a morality that commends each person to facilitate their fellow Designers.

Judging this to be the most likely arrangement, many independently developed moral standards share commonalities. Even so, this conclusion about probabilities – what is most likely – has often been misappropriated into an ordination of morality, from following one’s own beliefs to enforcing those beliefs on others. The historical tendency to misconstrue or exploit the search into the question of God likely contributes to the modern inclination to avoid asking or answering altogether. Such an approach neglects the reality that religion is a human construction. It is our way to relate to that which is beyond, to the source of that Design, but is a human offering as Designers, not part of the original order of the universe. Thus, it is based in human observation and comprehension, inevitably subject to uncertainty and probability Acknowledging this unresolvable doubt, the most probable course to fulfill one’s Design seems to be to enable others to act, while exploring that probability of God throughout life in order to better define that morality for oneself.

In this way, a belief in God can be essential to establishing just institutions and living a life that empowers others, but does not translate immediately into the deterministic hierarchy of a religion. Where, in the past, the issue of religion was wielded to use the idea of the search to empower the desire for enforcement, the modern world confuses the search with the denial by assuming that science will ultimately fully satisfy all uncertainty. A secular society intent upon the well-being and freedom of its members does not need to distance itself from a belief in God, nor do religions need to impose their belief on others; the answer to the question “Does God exist?” is only a probability. Society must simply remain as open to the possibility that God exists in some shape or form as it can.

Proving God may not be possible: it asks a finite person to place a finite description on something infinite, to provide certainty when no experience is certain. But knowing that existence is possible still guides a life exploring that possibility, and one’s ability to Design can shape a lifetime aiding that Design by all humanity.