The Evolution Of God Part 13

As critics of Tillich have pointed out, "the ground of being" sounds a bit vague, maybe too vague to qualify as a G.o.d. In fact, it sounds a lot like the "ultimate reality" invoked by some mystics who consider themselves atheists. What good does a "G.o.d" this abstract do for traditional believers, who envision a superhuman, anthropomorphic G.o.d-a "personal" G.o.d that they can talk to and thank and love and apologize to? In what sense could their belief be vindicated by the existence of a G.o.d so abstract that, really, "G.o.d" may not be the right word for it? ("Divinity," maybe?) Vindication lies in the eyes of the beholder. But one plausible ground for vindication would be if it turned out that a personal G.o.d, as commonly conceived, is a reasonable approximation of the more abstract G.o.d, given the constraints on human conception.

Suppose, for example, that we accept as our abstract conception of G.o.d "the source of the moral order." (Tillich's equally abstract "ground of being" is something I'm not qualified to articulate, much less defend. I brought it up only as an example of theological abstraction.) Could it be that thinking of this source, and relating to this source, as if it were a personal G.o.d is actually an appropriate way for human beings to apprehend that source, even if more appropriate ways might be available to beings less limited in their apprehension?

This sounds fishy, I know. It sounds like a strained, even desperate, intellectual maneuver, a last-ditch attempt to rescue a prescientific conception of G.o.d from the onslaught of modern science. But, oddly, an argument that it's not comes from modern science; physicists commonly do something that is in some ways a.n.a.logous to believing in a personal G.o.d.

The Ultimate Reality of Science.

It's a bedrock idea of modern physics that, even if you define "ultimate reality" as the ultimate scientific scientific reality-the most fundamental truths of physics-ultimate reality isn't something you can clearly conceive. reality-the most fundamental truths of physics-ultimate reality isn't something you can clearly conceive.

Think of an electron, a little particle that spins around another little particle. Wrong! True, physicists sometimes find it useful to think of electrons as particles, but sometimes it's more useful to think of them as waves. Conceiving of them as either is incomplete, yet conceiving of them as both is... well, inconceivable. (Try it!) And electrons are just the tip of the iceberg. In general, the quantum world-the world of subatomic reality-behaves in ways that don't make sense to minds like ours. Various aspects of quantum physics evince the property that the late physicist Heinz Pagels called quantum weirdness. 1 1 The bad news for the religiously inclined, then, is that maybe they should abandon hope of figuring out what G.o.d is. (If we can't conceive of an electron accurately, what are our chances of getting G.o.d right?) The good news is that the hopelessness of figuring out exactly what something is doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Apparently some things are just inconceivable-and yet are things nonetheless.

At least, some some physicists believe electrons are things. The fact that n.o.body's actually physicists believe electrons are things. The fact that n.o.body's actually seen seen an electron, and that trying to imagine one ties our minds in knots, has led some physicists and philosophers of science to wonder whether it's even accurate to say that electrons an electron, and that trying to imagine one ties our minds in knots, has led some physicists and philosophers of science to wonder whether it's even accurate to say that electrons do do exist. You could say that with electrons, as with G.o.d, there are believers and there are skeptics. exist. You could say that with electrons, as with G.o.d, there are believers and there are skeptics. 2 2 The believers believe there's something out there something out there-some "thing" in some sense of the word "thing"-that corresponds to the word "electron"; and that, though the best we can do is conceive of this "thing" imperfectly, even misleadingly, conceiving of it that way makes more sense than not conceiving of it at all. They believe in electrons while professing their inability to really "know" what an electron is. You might say they believe in electrons even while lacking proof that electrons per se exist.

Many of these physicists, while holding that imperfectly conceiving subatomic reality is a valid form of knowledge, wouldn't approve if you tried to perform a similar maneuver in a theological context. If you said you believe in G.o.d, even while acknowledging that you have no clear idea what G.o.d is-and that you can't even really prove G.o.d per se exists-they would say your belief has no foundation.

Yet what exactly is the difference between the logic of their belief in electrons and the logic of a belief in G.o.d? They perceive patterns in the physical world-such as the behavior of electricity-and posit a source of these patterns and call that source the "electron." A believer in G.o.d perceives patterns in the moral world (or, at least, moral patterns in the physical world) and posits a source of these patterns and calls the source "G.o.d." "G.o.d" is that unknown thing that is the source of the moral order, the reason there is a moral dimension to life on Earth and a moral direction to time on Earth; "G.o.d" is responsible for the fact that life is sentient, capable of good and bad feelings, and hence morally significant; "G.o.d" is responsible for the evolutionary system that placed highly sentient life on a trajectory toward the good, or at least toward tests that offered the opportunity and incentive to realize the good; in the process "G.o.d" gave each of us a moral axis around which to organize our lives, should we choose to. Being human, we will always conceive of the source of this moral order in misleadingly crude ways, but then again you could say the same thing about conceiving electrons. So you'll do with the source of the moral order what physicists do with a subatomic source of the physical order, such as an electron-try to think about it the best you can, and fail. This, at least, is one modern, scientifically informed argument that could be deployed by the believer in G.o.d.

The Atheist Strikes Back.

There are plausible rejoinders that an atheist scientist who believes in electrons could make, because there are places where the a.n.a.logy between G.o.d and an electron breaks down. In particular, the scientist could say, "But something like an electron is necessary necessary to explain patterns we see in the physical world. In contrast, something like G.o.d isn't to explain patterns we see in the physical world. In contrast, something like G.o.d isn't necessary necessary to explain the moral order of the universe." to explain the moral order of the universe."

It's a good point. This book's account of the moral direction of history has been a materialist materialist account. We've explained the expansion of the moral imagination as an outgrowth of expanding social organization, which is itself an outgrowth of technological evolution, which itself grows naturally out of the human brain, which itself grew naturally out of the primordial ooze via biological evolution. There's no mystical force that has to enter the system to explain this, and there's no need to look for one. account. We've explained the expansion of the moral imagination as an outgrowth of expanding social organization, which is itself an outgrowth of technological evolution, which itself grows naturally out of the human brain, which itself grew naturally out of the primordial ooze via biological evolution. There's no mystical force that has to enter the system to explain this, and there's no need to look for one.

Indeed, when the religious believer talks about the "source" of the moral order, the scientist could reply that the source of the moral order is... the electron the electron-or, strictly speaking, other subatomic particles that are more fundamental than the electron. After all, the primordial ooze ultimately consisted of subatomic particles; if the expansion of the moral imagination can be explained in materialist terms, then its deepest explanation is the deepest explanation for the material world in general-the grand unified theory that physicists have been looking for. So why start talking about G.o.d?

The believer has a reply, and it takes us back to chapter 18. There we saw something that modern biologists and the nineteenth-century Christian theologian William Paley agree on: the existence of animals-compared to, say, the existence of rocks-demands a special kind of explanation. And the reason isn't that the creation of an animal can't be explained in material terms; indeed, with growing success scientists understand how an animal's intricately integrated functionality (organs of digestion, of perception, and so on) grows from a fertilized egg via explicable physical processes. Rather, the idea is that this emphatically material process-the emergence of integrated functionality via biological maturation-seems like the kind of physical system that wouldn't "just happen"; it must be the result of a creative process that imbues things with functionality-either a designer (such as a G.o.d, as Rev. Paley argued) or a "designer" (such as natural selection, as Darwin later argued).

Turns out it was the latter-a "designing" process, process, not a designing G.o.d. But, however big a setback that fact is for Rev. Paley's religious beliefs, there is a moral to this story that modern believers will want to emphasize: biologists agree that a strictly physical system or process-whose workings can be wholly explained in material terms-can have such extraordinary characteristics that it is fair to posit some special creative force as its source and ask about the nature of that force. Darwin inquired into the creative force behind plants and animals, and his answer was evolution. Surely the believer is ent.i.tled to ask the same question about evolution: Where did the amazing algorithm of natural selection come from? not a designing G.o.d. But, however big a setback that fact is for Rev. Paley's religious beliefs, there is a moral to this story that modern believers will want to emphasize: biologists agree that a strictly physical system or process-whose workings can be wholly explained in material terms-can have such extraordinary characteristics that it is fair to posit some special creative force as its source and ask about the nature of that force. Darwin inquired into the creative force behind plants and animals, and his answer was evolution. Surely the believer is ent.i.tled to ask the same question about evolution: Where did the amazing algorithm of natural selection come from?

Such a believer, by the way, would not not here be making an argument for "intelligent design," the idea that natural selection isn't adequate to account for human evolution. On the contrary, the idea here is that natural selection is such a powerful mechanism that its origin demands a special explanation; that evolution by natural selection has patterns and properties every bit as extraordinary as an animal's maturation toward functional integration. here be making an argument for "intelligent design," the idea that natural selection isn't adequate to account for human evolution. On the contrary, the idea here is that natural selection is such a powerful mechanism that its origin demands a special explanation; that evolution by natural selection has patterns and properties every bit as extraordinary as an animal's maturation toward functional integration.

We spelled out some of those patterns in chapter 18: as natural selection ground along, creating more and more intelligent forms of life, it eventually created a form of life so intelligent as to give birth to a second creative process, cultural evolution; and as cultural (especially technological) evolution proceeded, the human species exhibited larger and larger expanses of social organization, and eventually this expanse approached global proportions; and in the process there appeared a moral order, moral order, linkage between the growth of social organization and progress toward moral truth. This moral order, to the believer, is among the grounds for suspecting that the system of evolution by natural selection itself demands a special creative explanation. linkage between the growth of social organization and progress toward moral truth. This moral order, to the believer, is among the grounds for suspecting that the system of evolution by natural selection itself demands a special creative explanation.

This suspicion may be wrong, but the argument behind it is intelligible and legitimate-parallel in structure to the argument that, before Darwin, provided motivation to search for the theory of natural selection. And if the believer, having concluded that the moral order suggests the existence of some as-yet-unknown source of creativity that set natural selection in motion, decides to call that source "G.o.d," well, that's the believer's business. After all, physicists got to choose the word "electron."

Of course, you could ask why the believer is ent.i.tled to suspect a creative source as exotic-sounding as a "G.o.d," when the creative source of organic life turned out to be a mere mechanical process known as natural selection. To which the believer might reply that a physical system exhibiting moral moral order demands a more exotic explanation than a physical system exhibiting only a more mundane form of order. order demands a more exotic explanation than a physical system exhibiting only a more mundane form of order.

Even if the atheist scientist found this argument persuasive, the believer would still have some work to do. For there's a formidable argument the scientist could make against the whole idea of comparing the conjectured existence of G.o.d to the conjectured existence of the electron. It's a very pragmatic argument. Namely: Granted, we believe in the existence of the electron even though our attempts thus far to conceive of it have been imperfect at best. Still, there's a sense in which our imperfect conceptions of the electron have worked worked. We manipulate physical reality on the a.s.sumption that electrons exist as we imperfectly conceive them and-voila-we get the personal computer. However crude our conceptions of the sources of material order, these conceptions have brought material progress. material progress.

The Believer Replies.

To which the believer can reply: Well, thinking about the source of the universe's moral order crudely has on balance brought moral progress. moral progress. Our conception of G.o.d has "grown"-that is, the moral compa.s.s of the G.o.ds we believe in has grown, and our moral imagination has thereby grown-as we've moved from hunter-gatherer societies to the brink of a unified global civilization; and, if we make it over that final threshold, we'll have gotten closer still to moral truth in the bargain. So to quit thinking about G.o.d now would be to abandon a path that has been successful on its own terms-not a path of scientific inquiry that has brought scientific progress, but a path of moral inquiry that has brought moral progress. Our conception of G.o.d has "grown"-that is, the moral compa.s.s of the G.o.ds we believe in has grown, and our moral imagination has thereby grown-as we've moved from hunter-gatherer societies to the brink of a unified global civilization; and, if we make it over that final threshold, we'll have gotten closer still to moral truth in the bargain. So to quit thinking about G.o.d now would be to abandon a path that has been successful on its own terms-not a path of scientific inquiry that has brought scientific progress, but a path of moral inquiry that has brought moral progress. 3 3 The atheist scientist probably wouldn't buy this argument, and the resistance might a.s.sume roughly this form: Even if it's true that the idea of G.o.d helped get us to our present stage of moral evolution, can't we jettison this idea-this illusion illusion-and go it alone from here? Can't we pursue moral truth for the sake of moral truth? Do you really need need G.o.d in order to sustain moral progress the way physicists G.o.d in order to sustain moral progress the way physicists need need the electron in order to sustain scientific progress? the electron in order to sustain scientific progress?

It depends on who "you" is. Some people can lead morally exemplary lives without the idea of G.o.d. Others need G.o.d-and not necessarily because they can lead a virtuous life only if they fear h.e.l.l and long for heaven; often it's because they can most readily lead a virtuous life if they think of moral truth as having some living embodiment. They need to feel that if they're bad they'll be disappointing some one one and if they're good they'll be pleasing some and if they're good they'll be pleasing some one one-and this one is the one whom, above all others, it is good to please and bad to disappoint.

This is hardly a surprising need. After all, the human moral equipment evolved in the context of human society, as a tool for navigating a social landscape; our moral sentiments are naturally activated with respect to other beings; with respect to other beings; we are "designed" by natural selection to be good out of obligation to others, for fear of the disapproval of others, in pursuit of the esteem of others. And for many people, carrying these human relations to the superhuman level works well. They are better people, and often happier people, thinking of a G.o.d who is aware of their daily struggle and offers solace or affirmation or reprimand; they can best stay aligned with the moral axis of the universe by thanking G.o.d, asking G.o.d to help them stay righteous, seeking forgiveness from G.o.d for their lapses. It's nice that some people can be paragons of virtue without this kind of help, but in a way it's surprising; the natural human condition is to ground your moral life in the existence of other beings, and the more ubiquitous the beings, the firmer the ground. we are "designed" by natural selection to be good out of obligation to others, for fear of the disapproval of others, in pursuit of the esteem of others. And for many people, carrying these human relations to the superhuman level works well. They are better people, and often happier people, thinking of a G.o.d who is aware of their daily struggle and offers solace or affirmation or reprimand; they can best stay aligned with the moral axis of the universe by thanking G.o.d, asking G.o.d to help them stay righteous, seeking forgiveness from G.o.d for their lapses. It's nice that some people can be paragons of virtue without this kind of help, but in a way it's surprising; the natural human condition is to ground your moral life in the existence of other beings, and the more ubiquitous the beings, the firmer the ground.

In other words: given the constraints on human nature, believers in G.o.d are interacting with the moral order as productively as possible by conceiving its source in a particular way, however imperfect that way is. Isn't that kind of like physicists who interact with the physical order as productively as possible by conceiving of its subatomic sources in a particular way, however imperfect that way is?

Indeed, you might even describe both forms of interaction as a kind of communication. The scientist manipulates reality in ways that implicitly say, "I think the subatomic world has a certain structure," and then reality speaks back, providing positive or negative feedback. The scientific process-the evolution of scientific ideas-is a long dialogue with nature. As we've seen, the evolution of G.o.d, and the attendant evolution of our moral imagination, could be described as a long dialogue with nature, too; our species, in the course of its history, has gotten feedback that has amounted to a moral education, feedback that has steered it toward moral truth. It is the profound directionality of this evolution that leads believers to suspect that the source of this feedback is somehow deeper than nature per se.

The average atheist scientist, if forced to read up to this point, would probably still be resisting the parallel between physicist and theist, insisting that there's a difference between conceiving imperfectly of an electron that in fact exists exists and conceiving imperfectly of a G.o.d that and conceiving imperfectly of a G.o.d that doesn't exist. doesn't exist.

But this is a bit too simple. As noted above, some physicists think that electrons really don't don't exist. Yes, they say, there must be exist. Yes, they say, there must be some some source of the patterns we attribute to electrons, and yes, it makes sense to think of that source as electrons, because thinking that is productive-but in fact the source of the patterns is so unlike an electron that electrons per se can't be said to exist. (According to string theory, the patterns we attribute to particles are actually the "vibrations" emitted by stringlike ent.i.ties. And even if string theory turns out to be empirically fruitful-which it hasn't been yet-why should we doubt that someday we'll learn that the image of vibrating strings is as misleading as string theorists say the image of a particle is?) In this view, the electron isn't just imperfectly conceived; it's an illusion, albeit a useful one. source of the patterns we attribute to electrons, and yes, it makes sense to think of that source as electrons, because thinking that is productive-but in fact the source of the patterns is so unlike an electron that electrons per se can't be said to exist. (According to string theory, the patterns we attribute to particles are actually the "vibrations" emitted by stringlike ent.i.ties. And even if string theory turns out to be empirically fruitful-which it hasn't been yet-why should we doubt that someday we'll learn that the image of vibrating strings is as misleading as string theorists say the image of a particle is?) In this view, the electron isn't just imperfectly conceived; it's an illusion, albeit a useful one.

Maybe the most defensible view-of electrons and of G.o.d-is to place them somewhere between illusion and imperfect conception. Yes, there is a source of the patterns we attribute to the electron, and the electron as conceived is a useful enough proxy for that source that we shouldn't denigrate it by calling it an "illusion"; still, our image of an electron is very, very different from what this source would look like were the human cognitive apparatus capable of apprehending it adroitly. So too with G.o.d: yes, there is a source of the moral order, and many people have a conception of G.o.d that is a useful proxy for that source; still that conception is very, very different from what the source of the moral order would look like were human cognition able to grasp it.

This gets us back to square one. Some people question whether there is is a moral order. Like Steven Weinberg (in chapter 20), they might say that there is no moral order "out there" independent of moral laws we a.s.sert. But it's important to understand that this is where a lot of the disagreement lies: Is there a transcendent moral order or is there not? If there is, then people who take electrons seriously would seem hard pressed to deny the legitimacy of trying to conceive the source of that order; especially if you stress to them that the source of the moral order isn't necessarily inconsistent with a scientific worldview-it needn't be some kind of gratuitously interventionist anthropomorphic G.o.d or some mystical "force" that trumps the laws of the universe; maybe the laws of the universe, even when operating with normal regularity, are subordinate to the purpose, because they were designed with the purpose in mind. (Or, perhaps, "designed" with the purpose "in mind." After all, the "designer" could be some meta-natural-selection process. For all we know, universes evolve by a kind of cosmic natural selection, and universes that sp.a.w.n life that evolves toward a belief in moral truth and closer adherence to it do a better job of replicating themselves than universes that lack this sort of moral order and teleological drift.) a moral order. Like Steven Weinberg (in chapter 20), they might say that there is no moral order "out there" independent of moral laws we a.s.sert. But it's important to understand that this is where a lot of the disagreement lies: Is there a transcendent moral order or is there not? If there is, then people who take electrons seriously would seem hard pressed to deny the legitimacy of trying to conceive the source of that order; especially if you stress to them that the source of the moral order isn't necessarily inconsistent with a scientific worldview-it needn't be some kind of gratuitously interventionist anthropomorphic G.o.d or some mystical "force" that trumps the laws of the universe; maybe the laws of the universe, even when operating with normal regularity, are subordinate to the purpose, because they were designed with the purpose in mind. (Or, perhaps, "designed" with the purpose "in mind." After all, the "designer" could be some meta-natural-selection process. For all we know, universes evolve by a kind of cosmic natural selection, and universes that sp.a.w.n life that evolves toward a belief in moral truth and closer adherence to it do a better job of replicating themselves than universes that lack this sort of moral order and teleological drift.) 4 4 Whatever we posit as the source of the moral order-anthropomorphic G.o.d who sp.a.w.ned natural selection or mechanistic selective process that sp.a.w.ned natural selection or something in between-the point is that if you believe the moral order exists, then the believer's attempt to conceive of its source, and relate to its source, would seem a legitimate exercise even by the standards of science regardless of how crude the conception of that source, regardless of how circuitous the means of relating to it. Whatever we posit as the source of the moral order-anthropomorphic G.o.d who sp.a.w.ned natural selection or mechanistic selective process that sp.a.w.ned natural selection or something in between-the point is that if you believe the moral order exists, then the believer's attempt to conceive of its source, and relate to its source, would seem a legitimate exercise even by the standards of science regardless of how crude the conception of that source, regardless of how circuitous the means of relating to it.

And, anyway, maybe feeling that you're in contact with a personal G.o.d isn't isn't such a circuitous way to relate to the source of the moral order. I suggested a couple of pages ago that when people feel the presence of a humanlike G.o.d, they're drawing on parts of the moral infrastructure built into them by natural selection -a sense of obligation to other people, guilt over letting people down, grat.i.tude for gifts bestowed, and so on. And these things are in turn grounded in more basic components of the evolved moral infrastructure, including the very sense that there is such a thing as right and wrong. All these elements of human nature-all these ingredients of the sense of contact with a personal and sometimes judgmental G.o.d-are the product of non-zero-sum logic as realized via evolution; they are natural selection's way of steering us toward fruitful relations.h.i.+ps; they embody natural selection's "recognition" that by cooperating with people (some people, at least) we can serve our own interests. And this non-zero-sum dynamic, remember, is central to the "Logos," the underlying logic of life that Philo of Alexandria, for one, considered a direct extension of G.o.d. So you might say that the evolution of the human moral equipment by natural selection was the Logos at work during a particular phase of organic aggregation; it was what allowed our distant ancestors to work together in small groups, and it set the stage for them to work together in much larger groups, including, eventually, transcontinental ones. such a circuitous way to relate to the source of the moral order. I suggested a couple of pages ago that when people feel the presence of a humanlike G.o.d, they're drawing on parts of the moral infrastructure built into them by natural selection -a sense of obligation to other people, guilt over letting people down, grat.i.tude for gifts bestowed, and so on. And these things are in turn grounded in more basic components of the evolved moral infrastructure, including the very sense that there is such a thing as right and wrong. All these elements of human nature-all these ingredients of the sense of contact with a personal and sometimes judgmental G.o.d-are the product of non-zero-sum logic as realized via evolution; they are natural selection's way of steering us toward fruitful relations.h.i.+ps; they embody natural selection's "recognition" that by cooperating with people (some people, at least) we can serve our own interests. And this non-zero-sum dynamic, remember, is central to the "Logos," the underlying logic of life that Philo of Alexandria, for one, considered a direct extension of G.o.d. So you might say that the evolution of the human moral equipment by natural selection was the Logos at work during a particular phase of organic aggregation; it was what allowed our distant ancestors to work together in small groups, and it set the stage for them to work together in much larger groups, including, eventually, transcontinental ones.

If you accept this argument-if you buy into this particular theology of the Logos-then feeling the presence of a personal G.o.d has a kind of ironic validity. On the one hand, you're imagining things; the divine being you sense "out there" is actually something inside you. On the other hand, this something inside you is an expression of forces "out there"; it's an incarnation of a non-zero-sum logic that predates and transcends individual people, a kind of logic that-in this theology of the Logos, at least-can be called divine. The feeling of contact with a transcendent divinity is in that sense solid.

Of course, there are lots of believers-most, in fact-who won't be on board for this whole exercise anyway. They don't want to just hear that some some conception of a G.o.d might be defensible, or that a personal G.o.d is defensible as some sort of approximation of the truth. They would like to hear that, yes, their specific conception of G.o.d is right on target. Well, if that's what they would like to hear, this is not the book for them. (Maybe the Bible, or the Koran?) The best we can do within the intellectual framework of this book is posit the existence of G.o.d in a very abstract sense and defend belief in a more personal G.o.d in pragmatic terms-as being true in the sense that some other bedrock beliefs, including some scientific ones, are true. conception of a G.o.d might be defensible, or that a personal G.o.d is defensible as some sort of approximation of the truth. They would like to hear that, yes, their specific conception of G.o.d is right on target. Well, if that's what they would like to hear, this is not the book for them. (Maybe the Bible, or the Koran?) The best we can do within the intellectual framework of this book is posit the existence of G.o.d in a very abstract sense and defend belief in a more personal G.o.d in pragmatic terms-as being true in the sense that some other bedrock beliefs, including some scientific ones, are true.

Is G.o.d Love?

There are people who have it both ways-who harbor a fairly abstract conception of G.o.d, yet get some of the psychological perks of believing in a more personal G.o.d. One key to their success is their choice of abstraction. Perhaps the most commonly successful abstraction is love: G.o.d is love.

Is it true? Is G.o.d love? Like all characterizations of G.o.d, this one presumes more insight than I feel in possession of. But there's certainly something to the idea that love is connected to, indeed emanates from, the kind of G.o.d whose existence is being surmised here.

The connection comes via love's connection to the moral order of which that G.o.d is the source. That moral order has revealed itself via ever widening circles of non-zero-sumness that draw people toward the moral truth that mutual respect is warranted. As we saw in chapter 19, it is the moral imagination whose growth often paves the way for that truth, and it does so through the extension of a kind of sympathy, a subjective identification with the situation of the other. And as sympathy intensifies it approaches love. Love, you might say, is the apotheosis of the moral imagination; it can foster the most intimate identification with the other, the most intense appreciation of the moral worth of the other.

Sometimes love, in the course of leading to this moral truth, fosters more mundane truths. Suppose you are a parent and you (a) watch someone else's toddler misbehave, and then (b) watch your own toddler do the same. Your predicted reactions, respectively, are: (a) "What a brat!" and (b) "That's what happens when she skips her nap." Now (b) is often a correct explanation, whereas (a)-the "brat" reaction-isn't even an explanation. So in this case love leads toward truth. So too when a parent sees her child show off and concludes that the grandstanding is grounded in insecurity. That's an often valid explanation-unlike, say, "My neighbor's kid is such a show-off"-and brings insight into human nature to boot. Granted, love can warp our perception, too-happens every day. (For an extreme ill.u.s.tration, Google "Texas Cheerleader Mom.") Still, love at its best brings a truer apprehension of the other, an empathetic understanding that converges on the moral truth of respect, even reverence, for the other.

What's more, this empathetic understanding, the foundation of the moral imagination, might never have gotten off the ground had love not emerged on this planet. Long before history, and long before human beings, animals felt something like love for kin. And it's a pretty good bet that when animals first felt love is when they were first able to in any sense identify with the subjective interior of another animal. To put this point in physiological language: love probably sponsored the first "mirror neurons," a likely biological basis of the moral imagination and thus an essential element in the moral order's infrastructure.

There's an even deeper a.s.sociation between love and the moral order. The expanding moral compa.s.s sponsored by the moral order, as we've seen, is a manifestation of non-zero-sumness, of the fact that cultural (and in particular technological) evolution leads more and more people to play non-zero-sum games at greater and greater distances. And natural selection's invention of love, it turns out, was itself a manifestation of non-zero-sumness. Love was invented because, from the point of view of genetic proliferation-the point of view from which natural selection works-close kin are playing a non-zero-sum game; they share so many genes that they have a common Darwinian "interest" in getting each other's genes into subsequent generations.

Of course, the organisms aren't aware of this "interest." Even in our species-smart, as species go-the Darwinian logic isn't conscious logic; we don't go around thinking, "By loving my daugher I'll be more inclined to keep her alive and healthy until reproductive age, so through my love my genes will be playing a non-zero-sum game with the copies of them that reside in her." Indeed, the whole Darwinian point of love is to be a proxy for this logic; love gets us to behave as if as if we understood the logic; the invention of love, in some animal many millions of years ago, was nature's way of getting dim-witted organisms to seek a win-win outcome (win-win from a gene's-eye view), notwithstanding their inability to do so out of conscious strategy. And at that point the seeds of sympathy-love's corollary, and a key ingredient of the moral imagination-were planted. we understood the logic; the invention of love, in some animal many millions of years ago, was nature's way of getting dim-witted organisms to seek a win-win outcome (win-win from a gene's-eye view), notwithstanding their inability to do so out of conscious strategy. And at that point the seeds of sympathy-love's corollary, and a key ingredient of the moral imagination-were planted.

Then, having been sp.a.w.ned by this biological non-zero-sumness, sympathy could be harnessed by a later wave of non-zero-sumness, a wave driven by cultural, and specifically technological, evolution. As interdependence, and hence social structure, grew beyond the bounds of family-and then beyond the bounds of hunter-gatherer band, of chiefdom, of state-the way was paved by extensions of sympathy. This sympathy didn't have to involve its initial sponsor, love; you don't have to love someone to trade with them or even to consider them compatriots. But there has to be enough moral imagination, enough sympathetic consideration, to keep them out of the cognitive category of enemy; you have to consider them, in some sense, one of you.

And, just as we've seen that love can foster truth within the family, this movement of sympathy beyond the family has also advanced the cause of truth. Because the fact is that other people are are one of you. For better or worse, they are driven by the same kinds of feelings and hopes and delusions that drive you. When you keep people in the category of enemy you do so by, among other feats, willful blindness to this commonality. one of you. For better or worse, they are driven by the same kinds of feelings and hopes and delusions that drive you. When you keep people in the category of enemy you do so by, among other feats, willful blindness to this commonality.

It's pretty remarkable: natural selection's invention of love-in some anonymous animal many millions of years ago-was a prerequisite for the moral imagination whose expansion, here and now, could help keep the world on track; a prerequisite for our apprehension of the truth that the planet's salvation depends on: the objective truth of seeing things from the point of view of someone else, and the moral truth of considering someone else's welfare important.

Though we can no more conceive of G.o.d than we can conceive of an electron, believers can ascribe properties to G.o.d, somewhat as physicists ascribe properties to electrons. One of the more plausible such properties is love. And maybe, in this light, the argument for G.o.d is strengthened by love's organic a.s.sociation with truth-by the fact, indeed, that at times these two properties almost blend into one. You might say that love and truth are the two primary manifestations of divinity in which we can partake, and that by partaking in them we become truer manifestations of the divine. Then again, you might not say that. The point is just that you wouldn't have to be crazy to say it.

Appendix

How Human Nature Gave Birth to Religion.

When something appears in every known society, as religion does, the question of whether it is "in the genes" naturally arises. Did religion confer such benefits on our distant ancestors that genes favoring it spread by natural selection? There are scientists who believe the answer is yes-enough of them, in fact, to give rise to headlines like this one, in a Canadian newspaper: "Search continues for 'G.o.d gene.'" 1 1 Expect to see that headline again, for the search is unlikely to reach a successful conclusion. And that isn't just because, obviously, no single single gene could undergird something as complex as religion. Things don't look good even for the more nuanced version of the "G.o.d gene" idea-that a whole bunch of genes were preserved by natural selection because they inclined people toward religion. gene could undergird something as complex as religion. Things don't look good even for the more nuanced version of the "G.o.d gene" idea-that a whole bunch of genes were preserved by natural selection because they inclined people toward religion.

Oddly, this verdict-that religion isn't in any straightforward sense "in the genes"-emerges from evolutionary psychology, a field that has been known to emphasize genetic influences on thought and emotion. Though some evolutionary psychologists think religion is a direct product of natural selection, 2 2 many-and probably most-don't. many-and probably most-don't.

This doesn't mean religion isn't in any sense "natural," and it doesn't mean religion isn't in some sense "in the genes." Everything people do is in some some sense in the genes. (Try doing something without using any genes.) What's more, we can trace religion to specific parts of human nature that are emphatically in the genes. It's just that those parts of human nature seem to have evolved for some reason other than to sustain religion. sense in the genes. (Try doing something without using any genes.) What's more, we can trace religion to specific parts of human nature that are emphatically in the genes. It's just that those parts of human nature seem to have evolved for some reason other than to sustain religion. 3 3 The American psychologist William James, in his 1902 cla.s.sic The Varieties of Religious Experience, The Varieties of Religious Experience, captured the basic idea without referring to evolution: "There is religious fear, religious love, religious awe, religious joy, and so forth. But religious love is only man's natural emotion of love directed to a religious object; religious fear is only the ordinary fear of commerce, so to speak, the common quaking of the human breast, in so far as the notion of divine retribution may arouse it; religious awe is the same organic thrill which we feel in a forest at twilight, or in a mountain gorge; only this time it comes over us at the thought of our supernatural relations." captured the basic idea without referring to evolution: "There is religious fear, religious love, religious awe, religious joy, and so forth. But religious love is only man's natural emotion of love directed to a religious object; religious fear is only the ordinary fear of commerce, so to speak, the common quaking of the human breast, in so far as the notion of divine retribution may arouse it; religious awe is the same organic thrill which we feel in a forest at twilight, or in a mountain gorge; only this time it comes over us at the thought of our supernatural relations." 4 4 If you want to put James's basic point in the language of evolutionary biology, you have to drag in the concept of an "adaptation." An adaptation is a trait whose underlying genes spread through the gene pool by virtue of by virtue of their giving rise to that trait. Love, for example, seems to be an adaptation. Love of offspring, by inspiring nurturance of those offspring, can help genes get into future generations; as a result, genes underlying parental love seem to have spread their giving rise to that trait. Love, for example, seems to be an adaptation. Love of offspring, by inspiring nurturance of those offspring, can help genes get into future generations; as a result, genes underlying parental love seem to have spread by virtue of by virtue of their conduciveness to love. You can similarly make arguments that awe and joy and fear-the other sentiments James cites -were, in themselves, adaptations. (Fearing a big aggressive animal, or a big aggressive human being, could save your skin and thus save the genes underlying the fear.) But that doesn't mean their conduciveness to love. You can similarly make arguments that awe and joy and fear-the other sentiments James cites -were, in themselves, adaptations. (Fearing a big aggressive animal, or a big aggressive human being, could save your skin and thus save the genes underlying the fear.) But that doesn't mean religion religion is an adaptation, even though religion may involve love, awe, joy, and fear and thus involve the genes underlying these things. is an adaptation, even though religion may involve love, awe, joy, and fear and thus involve the genes underlying these things.

To s.h.i.+ft back into less technical terminology: you might say that we were "designed" by natural selection to feel love and awe and joy and fear. (So long as you understand that "designed" is a metaphor; natural selection isn't like a human designer who consciously envisions the end product and then realizes it, but is rather a blind, dumb process of trial and error.) But to say that these emotions are a product of "design" isn't to say that when they're activated by religion they're working as "designed."

Similarly, humans were "designed" by natural selection to be able to run and were also "designed" to feel compet.i.tive spirit, but that doesn't mean they were "designed" to partic.i.p.ate in track meets. Religion, like track, doesn't seem to be an "adaptation." Both seem to be what the paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould called a "spandrel"-a phenomenon supported by genes that had become part of the species by doing something other than supporting that phenomenon. A spandrel is an incidental by-product of the organic "design" process, whereas an adaptation is a direct product. Religion seems to be a spandrel.

And yet, you might say, religion does have the hallmarks of design. It is a complex, integrated system that seems to serve specific functions. For example, religions almost always handle some key "rites of pa.s.sage"-getting married, getting buried, and so on-whose ritualized handling is probably good for the society. How do you explain the coherence and functionality of religion without appealing to a designer-or, at least, a "designer"?

You don't. But biological evolution isn't the only great "designer" at work on this planet. There is also cultural evolution: the selective transmission of "memes"-beliefs, habits, rituals, songs, technologies, theories, and so forth-from person to person. And one criterion that shapes cultural evolution is social utility; memes that are conducive to smooth functioning at the group level often have an advantage over memes that aren't. Cultural evolution is what gave us modern corporations, modern government, and modern religion.

For that matter, it gave us nonmodern religion. Whenever we look at a "primitive" religion, we are looking at a religion that has been evolving culturally for a long time. Though observed hunter-gatherer religions give clues about what the average religion was like 12,000 years ago, before the invention of agriculture, none of them much resembles religion in its literally primitive primitive phase, the time (whenever that was) when religious beliefs and practices emerged. Rather, what are called "primitive" religions are bodies of belief and practice that have been evolving-culturally-over tens or even hundreds of millennia. Generation after generation, human minds have been accepting some beliefs, rejecting others, shaping and reshaping religion along the way. phase, the time (whenever that was) when religious beliefs and practices emerged. Rather, what are called "primitive" religions are bodies of belief and practice that have been evolving-culturally-over tens or even hundreds of millennia. Generation after generation, human minds have been accepting some beliefs, rejecting others, shaping and reshaping religion along the way.

So to explain the existence of "primitive" religion-or for that matter any other kind of religion-we have to first understand what kinds of beliefs and practices the human mind is amenable to. What kinds of information does the mind naturally filter out, and what kinds naturally penetrate it? Before religion appeared and started evolving by cultural evolution, how had genetic evolution shaped the environment in which it would evolve-that is, the human brain?

To put the question another way: What kinds of beliefs was the human mind "designed" by natural selection to harbor? For starters, not true ones.

At least, not true ones per se. To the extent that accurate perception and comprehension of the world helped humanity's ancestors get genes into the next generation, then of course mental accuracy would be favored by natural selection. And usually mental accuracy is is good for the survival and transmission of the genes. That's why we have excellent equipment for depth perception, for picking up human voices against background noise, and so on. Still, in situations where accurate perception and judgment impede survival and reproduction, you would expect natural selection to militate against accuracy. good for the survival and transmission of the genes. That's why we have excellent equipment for depth perception, for picking up human voices against background noise, and so on. Still, in situations where accurate perception and judgment impede survival and reproduction, you would expect natural selection to militate against accuracy.

Truth and Consequences.

In 1974, San Francisco newspaper heiress Patty Hearst was kidnapped by a radical group called the Symbionese Liberation Army, whose goals included "death to the fascist insect that preys upon the life of the people." After being kept in a closet for a while, she came to identify with her new peer group. Before long, she was enthusiastically helping them generate income, at one point brandis.h.i.+ng a machine gun during a bank robbery. When left alone, with an opportunity to escape, she didn't take it.

She later described the experience: "I had virtually no free will until I was separated from them for about two weeks. And then it suddenly, you know, slowly began to dawn that they just weren't there anymore. I could actually think my own thoughts." Hearst didn't just accept her captors' "subjective" beliefs, such as ideology; she bought into their views about how the physical world works. One of her captors "didn't want me thinking about rescue because he thought that brain waves could be read or that, you know, they'd get a psychic in to find me. And I was even afraid of that."

Hearst's condition of coerced credulity is called the Stockholm syndrome, after a kidnapping in Sweden. But the term "syndrome" may be misleading in its suggestion of abnormality. Hearst's response to her circ.u.mstances was probably an example of human nature functioning properly; we seem to be "designed" by natural selection to be brainwashed.

Some people find this prospect a shocking affront to human autonomy, but they tend not to be evolutionary psychologists. In Darwinian terms, it makes sense that our species could contain genes encouraging blind credulity in at least some situations. If you are surrounded by a small group of people on whom your survival depends, rejecting the beliefs that are most important to them will not help you live long enough to get your genes into the next generation.

Confinement with a small group of people may sound so rare that natural selection would have little chance to take account of it, but it is in a sense the natural human condition. Humans evolved in small groups-twenty, forty, sixty people-from which emigration was often not a viable option. Survival depended on social support: sharing food, sticking together during fights, and so on. To alienate your peers by stubbornly contesting their heartfelt beliefs would have lowered your chances of genetic proliferation.

Maybe that explains why you don't have to lock somebody in a closet to get a bit of the Stockholm syndrome. Religious cults just offer aimless teenagers a free bus ride to a free meal, and after the recruits have been surrounded by believers for a few days, they tend to warm up to the beliefs. And there doesn't have to be some powerful authority figure pus.h.i.+ng the beliefs. In one famous social psychology experiment, subjects opined that two lines of manifestly different lengths were the same length, once a few of their "peers" (who were in fact confederates) voiced that opinion.

Given this conformist bias in human nature, it's not surprising that people born into "primitive" religions-or any other religions-accept an elaborate belief system that outside observers find highly dubious. But the question remains: How did the elaborate belief system ever come to exist? Granted that people are inclined to accept their community's official edifice of belief and ritual (especially if no alternatives are on offer). But how did the edifice come to exist in the first place? How did religion get built from the ground up?

G.o.d Bites Man.

To answer this question we have to view cultural evolution at a fine-grained level. We have to think about individual units of culture-beliefs and practices, in this case-and how they spread. The biologist Richard Dawkins coined the term "meme" for units of culture, in part because it sounds a bit like "gene," and he wanted to stress some parallels between cultural and biological evolution. For example: just as genes are transmitted from body to body, down the generations, memes are transmitted from mind to mind. And just as newly minted genes "compete" for a place in the gene pool, newly minted memes "compete" for the finite s.p.a.ce in the world's supply of human brains. In this constant struggle of meme against meme, what kinds of memes will have a "selective advantage"?

Newspapers are a good place to look for clues. Newspaper editors work hard to figure out what kinds of information people want, and to fill that demand. They are accomplished meme engineers, and thus students of human nature. One thing you'll notice about newspapers is that they have a bias toward good things and bad things. The headlines "Stock market rises by 5 percent" and "Stock market drops by 5 percent" will get better play than the headline "Stock market does nothing in particular." Here religions, and certainly "primitive" religions, are like newspapers. In every hunter-gatherer society, religion is devoted largely to explaining why bad things happen and why good things happen-illness, recovery; famine, abundance; and so on.

There is also devotion to raising the ratio of good to bad. The Andaman Islanders, convinced that whistling at night attracts bad spirits whereas singing repels them, do more singing in the dark than whistling in the dark. 5 5 People naturally try to exert control over their environment, and believing that they have such control naturally makes them feel good. So people's minds are open to ideas that promise to give them such control. This doesn't mean people uncritically embrace every such idea that comes their way. But it does mean that these ideas get their attention-and for a meme, that's the first step toward acceptance. While the Andaman Island meme a.s.serting that thunderstorms are divine punishment for melting beeswax was hardly guaranteed a place in the society's religion, it had a big head start over memes saying, "Thunderstorms just happen-there's nothing you can do about it." People naturally try to exert control over their environment, and believing that they have such control naturally makes them feel good. So people's minds are open to ideas that promise to give them such control. This doesn't mean people uncritically embrace every such idea that comes their way. But it does mean that these ideas get their attention-and for a meme, that's the first step toward acceptance. While the Andaman Island meme a.s.serting that thunderstorms are divine punishment for melting beeswax was hardly guaranteed a place in the society's religion, it had a big head start over memes saying, "Thunderstorms just happen-there's nothing you can do about it."

Another thing you'll notice in newspapers is that the strange and novel wins out over the ordinary and expected. Tuberculosis and the West Nile virus are both bad news, and in terms of the number of people killed, tuberculosis is the worse of the two. Yet the headline "Outbreak of deadly new virus puzzles experts" easily crowds out "Usual number of people expected to die of tuberculosis this year" (except, perhaps, in the humor magazine The Onion, The Onion, which earns its laughs by violating this pattern). As journalism sages famously put it: "Dog bites man" is not a story; "Man bites dog" is a story. which earns its laughs by violating this pattern). As journalism sages famously put it: "Dog bites man" is not a story; "Man bites dog" is a story. 6 6 It makes sense that human brains would naturally seize on strange, surprising things, since the predictable things have already been absorbed into the expectations that guide them through the world; news of the strange and surprising may signal that some amendment of our expectations is warranted. But one property of strange, surprising claims is that they're often untrue. So if they get preferred access to our brains, that gives falsehood a kind of advantage-if a fleeting advantage-over truth. In the days after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, one widely circulated story was that a man at the top of one of the twin towers had survived by sliding down the rubble as it formed. It was a story so incredible that it virtually compelled you to click the "forward" icon on your e-mail-and a story so incredible that it wasn't true. It was an example of the famous dictum that a lie can get halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its boots on.

Of course, in the long run, the truth often does get its boots on, and people often welcome it upon its arrival. Indeed, if the attraction to surprising news weren't balanced by an attraction to claims that survive subsequent scrutiny, the average human ancestor wouldn't have lived long enough to become a human ancestor. Imagine a local sage, 200,000 years ago, saying that eating a certain berry will let you live forever. Now imagine that the first two people who follow his advice drop dead. Genes that counseled continued faith in advice thus besieged by countervailing evidence would not long remain a part of the species, whereas genes that inclined the brain to take account of such evidence might. This natural human respect for evidence is the reason convincing someone that one plus one equals three, or that water flows uphill, takes real work.

But some kinds of beliefs are harder to test than those two. And hard-to-test beliefs could do well in the process of cultural evolution that gave birth to religion. Indeed, hunter-gatherer religious belief-like religious belief generally-consists largely of claims that resist falsification. The Haida, a people indigenous to the northwest coast of North America, when caught in a storm while out at sea, would try to appease the relevant authorities (killer whale deities) by pouring a cup of fresh water into the sea or putting some tobacco or deer tallow on the end of a paddle. 7 7 Many people no doubt returned from sea to report that these measures had kept them from drowning. No one, presumably, ever reported that they had taken these measures but drowned anyway. Many people no doubt returned from sea to report that these measures had kept them from drowning. No one, presumably, ever reported that they had taken these measures but drowned anyway.

To be sure, some religious beliefs can be put to a clearer test. If the Andaman Islanders were right, and melting beeswax was a leading cause of thunderstorms, then a melting moratorium should cut down on thunderstorms. But how can you be sure that, in the days preceding a thunderstorm, no one in your village melted a smidgen of wax-or engaged in some other thunder-inducing activity, such as making a loud noise while the cicadas were singing?

Such loopholes are found in modern religions, too. If you pray for someone to recover from illness, and they don't, then prayer would seem to have lost credibility. But religions usually have ways of explaining such failure. Maybe you or the sick person had done something horribly wrong, and this is G.o.d's punishment. Or maybe G.o.d just works in mysterious ways.

So far, then, we would expect the following kinds of memes to be survivors in the dog-eat-dog world of cultural evolution: claims that (a) are somewhat strange, surprising, counterintuitive; (b) illuminate sources of fortune and misfortune; (c) give people a sense that they can influence these sources; (d) are by their nature hard to test decisively. In this light, the birth of religion doesn't seem so mysterious.

But doesn't our attraction to strangeness have its limits? It's one thing to believe that a man could survive a slide down a crumpling skysc.r.a.per through a series of lucky breaks. It's quite another to believe, with the Inuit (in chapter 1), that a sudden shortage of game is the work of a pouty female deity who lives at the bottom of the sea. In other words, "Man bites dog," however unlikely, seems more plausible than "G.o.d bites man."

Lord of the Chimps.

But, actually, the idea of a personal G.o.d or spirit who peevishly withholds food, or maliciously hurls lightning, gets a boost from the evolved human brain. People reared in modern scientific societies may consider it only natural to ponder some feature of the world-the weather, say-and try to come up with a mechanistic explanation couched in the abstract language of natural law. But evolutionary psychology suggests that a much more natural natural way to explain way to explain anything anything is to attribute it to a humanlike agent. This is the way we're "designed" by natural selection to explain things. Our brain's capacity to think about causality-to ask why something happened and come up with theories that help us predict what will happen in the future-evolved in a specific context: other brains. When our distant ancestors first asked "Why," they weren't asking about the behavior of water or weather or illness; they were asking about the behavior of their peers. is to attribute it to a humanlike agent. This is the way we're "designed" by natural selection to explain things. Our brain's capacity to think about causality-to ask why something happened and come up with theories that help us predict what will happen in the future-evolved in a specific context: other brains. When our distant ancestors first asked "Why," they weren't asking about the behavior of water or weather or illness; they were asking about the behavior of their peers.

That's a somewhat speculative (and, yes, hard-to-test!) claim. We have no way of observing our prehuman ancestors one or two or three million years ago, when the capacity to think explicitly about causality was evolving by natural selection. But there are ways to shed light on the process.

For starters, we can observe our nearest nonhuman relatives, chimpanzees. We didn't evolve from from chimps, but chimps and humans do share a common ancestor in the not-too-distant past (4 to 7 million years ago). And chimps are probably a lot more like that common ancestor than humans are. Chimps aren't examples of our ancestors circa 5 million BCE but they're close enough to be illuminating. chimps, but chimps and humans do share a common ancestor in the not-too-distant past (4 to 7 million years ago). And chimps are probably a lot more like that common ancestor than humans are. Chimps aren't examples of our ancestors circa 5 million BCE but they're close enough to be illuminating.

As the primatologist Frans de Waal has shown, chimpanzee society shows some clear parallels with human society. One of them is in the t.i.tle of his book Chimpanzee Politics. Chimpanzee Politics. Groups of chimps form coalitions-alliances-and the most powerful alliance gets preferred access to resources (notably a resource that in Darwinian terms is important: s.e.x partners). Natural selection has equipped chimps with emotional and cognitive tools for playing this political game. One such tool is antic.i.p.ation of a given chimp's future behavior based on past behavior. De Waal writes of a reigning alpha male, Yeroen, who faced growing hostility from a former ally named Luit: "He already sensed that Luit's att.i.tude was changing and he knew that his position was threatened." Groups of chimps form coalitions-alliances-and the most powerful alliance gets preferred access to resources (notably a resource that in Darwinian terms is important: s.e.x partners). Natural selection has equipped chimps with emotional and cognitive tools for playing this political game. One such tool is antic.i.p.ation of a given chimp's future behavior based on past behavior. De Waal writes of a reigning alpha male, Yeroen, who faced growing hostility from a former ally named Luit: "He already sensed that Luit's att.i.tude was changing and he knew that his position was threatened." 8 8 One could argue about whether Yeroen was actually pondering the situation in as clear and conscious a way as de Waal suggests. But even if chimps aren't quite up to explicit infe