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- Herausgeber: IVP Academic
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
Do you seek the truth?Do you value reason, science, and independent thinking? Are you skeptical of beliefs that people maintain merely "on faith," yet you remain interested in the big questions of life? Do you hope there could be a greater purpose to the universe, if only that were realistic?If so, then philosopher Joshua Rasmussen can encourage you in your journey. Beginning with his own story of losing faith and the belief in any ultimate purpose in life, he then builds a bridge to a series of universal truths about ultimate reality. Using only the instruments of reason and common experience, Rasmussen constructs a pathway—step by step, brick by brick—that he argues can lead to meaning and, ultimately, a vision of God.
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Seitenzahl: 356
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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For my skeptical friends
CONTENTS
Preface
I write for a specific sort of person. You value reason, science, and independent thinking. You question beliefs propped up by “faith” without sufficient evidence. Maybe you would like your life to have a deeper purpose, but you cannot believe something based on a mere wish. Whether you are a student, an academic, or just a curious person, you want one thing: the truth. If you can relate, this book is for you.
You might worry that this book is not about truth, not really. From the title, you might wonder whether I might be trying to use reason to rationalize a prior conclusion. Am I trying to contort “truth” to fit with my convictions? Am I interested in facing reality, even if it contradicts my desires or existing framework? Am I willing to be wrong? If you have these questions, this book is especially for you. I want you to ask these questions. They are the mark of an explorer. They are the questions that sparked my own journey, which ultimately led me to write this book.
I want this book to serve you no matter what perspective you come from. My purpose is not to knock you over with arguments or to suggest that you can only be rational if you agree with my viewpoint. Instead, I want to share with you some of the steps in my own journey in the hope that those steps may encourage you in yours.
My reason for writing this book is to mark out a pathway, step by step, that can inspire a greater vision of the ultimate foundation of everything. I begin with a story of my own journey. Then I begin the project of constructing a bridge of reason for your examination and exploration. In the final chapters, I examine common questions about evil and suffering that can present obstacles to the destination.
While our inquiry will reach to the deepest layer of reality, I aim to make this book as readable as I can. Thus, I seek to replace all technical jargon with commonsense definitions in ordinary language. I never rest an argument on scholarly authority. Instead, I use the instruments of reason and common experience to serve you in your quest.
In my effort to maximize the value of this bridge, I follow three construction rules:
Rule 1. Make it inclusive: use materials—reason and experience—that are accessible to a wide audience, so you can check each piece.
Rule 2. No guessing: build each part on principles that you can see to be true.
Rule 3. Aim to serve: make a bridge that you can make your own—to analyze, reorganize, and build upon further.
Enjoy the journey.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful for the invaluable feedback from many readers of earlier drafts. Thank you, especially, to Annesley DeHaven, Marc Dragoo, Jonathan Casad, Tyron Goldschmidt, Alan Leahy, Mila Lucia, David McNutt, Samuel Peterson, Charles Rasmussen, Jennifer Rasmussen, Joseph Schmid, Jared Smith, and Justin Stewart. Special thanks goes to my wife, Rachel, who brought her own touch of wisdom and beauty to every chapter.
Seeds of Doubt
From as early as I can remember, I have felt drawn to question things. When I was in second grade, I recall imagining that my classmates were fictional characters invented by aliens. I wondered how I could know for sure my friends were real, like me. Some nights I would lie in bed thinking about my questions. How can numbers go on forever? What happens if I travel back in time and stop myself from travelling back in time?
In my late teens, however, someone else’s questions led me to questions I had never considered before. It started in a biology class. The questions that turned my mind were not about biological evolution. Rather, I met someone who didn’t believe in any ultimate purpose. For the first time, I began to question the origin of everything.
As I talked with my non-believing friend, it became evident to me that he was sincere in his questions. He didn’t appear to be trying to hide from a cosmic authority. In fact, he said he wished he could believe in a benevolent being who governs the world. His only problem, he said, was that he didn’t have a sufficient reason to believe. He seemed nice and thoughtful.
I tried out a few arguments. In one argument, I asked him about the cause of the Big Bang. I proposed that there would need to be something that caused the first events. He seemed relaxed and curious as he listened to my argument. He then replied with questions. None of my arguments answered his root concerns.
After those initial conversations, a troubling question entered my mind: “Why wouldn’t a perfectly loving being make its existence more obvious to my classmate?” Until then, I felt secure in the basic framework I knew from childhood. It made sense to me that meaning and purpose filled the universe. This “purpose-filled” understanding of things colored the background of my mind like a blue sky.
Yet my conversations with my friend caused that background to darken. More questions came like a flood. I wondered why news of the “right” religion is restricted to certain cultures and times. I wondered how it can be fair for someone to be condemned for having wrong beliefs. I wondered why pain and death pervade the animal kingdom. I wondered why so many babies, who have done no wrong, die without having any chance to pass the “tests” of life.
My questions led to doubts. My doubts led to more questions.
I walked home from school feeling heavy. When I arrived home, I had no energy. I walked into my room and plopped onto my bed. I felt worried. I was worried that everything is ultimately meaningless.
Then, as I lay on my bed, I got an idea. I could ask for a sign. The idea sparked action. I whispered, “If you move my ceiling fan, I’ll know you are there.” I waited to see if the divine power I had believed in would respond.
Nothing happened.
My heart sank. I instinctively began to pray, “Please be real.”
I stopped myself as I considered the irony of my prayer. No one can decide whether to be real. My prayer made no sense. I wanted someone to be real, but I was finding it impossible and dishonest to continue to believe that this someone was actually there.
As I continued to ponder my questions, I discovered a science documentary on the origin of the universe. I was curious to find out what the scientists had to say. Maybe they had an answer to my concern.
These scientists reminded me of my friend from school. They were thoughtful and curious. They were also skeptical of an ultimate purpose. They were especially skeptical of beliefs without evidence. One eminent scientist, Stephen Hawking, described the origin of the universe like the bottom surface of a sphere. “There is nothing beyond the universe,” he said.1
After that documentary, I pondered an image in my mind. I imagined a balloon that represented the universe. I first imagined that the balloon contained everything that exists. I then considered an alternative: I imagined that something beyond the balloon produced it. Both pictures seemed possible. Maybe the universe is self-contained. That would be simpler than the alternative. But maybe it isn’t self-contained. How could I know which picture of reality is correct? I saw no way.
Like my friend from school, I began to see that I lacked an adequate reason to believe in something greater beyond the universe. My belief in a cosmic purpose began to recede away. My blue sky became gray.
Although I didn’t like the gray, I noticed that I could not simply choose the color of the sky. I could no more decide to keep my prior beliefs than I could decide to keep an ocean wave from rolling away. Reality is what it is. I couldn’t just make it what I wanted it to be.
Everything began to look colorless—a meaningless blur. I felt alone.
I wanted to sleep, but instead I lay in bed as I imagined my death. My thoughts of nothingness plucked a chord in my heart. I tried again to imagine it. I imagined dying. Once dead, I would be completely gone, without any awareness. I would not even be aware of having no awareness. I would simply be absent forever. I would then remain absent. Never again would I regain any awareness of anything, not ever.
I wanted to fall asleep and then wake up with everything different. But the same austere reality greeted me in the morning. There was no sign of purpose. Just shapes upon shapes. I had to face reality as it is, not as I hoped it would be. There was no going back.
The Value of Truth-Seeking
Many people live by inspiring ideas, like that your life matters, or that everything works out for the good. But how could I believe these things? My friend from biology class didn’t. I contemplated the difference between hope and truth. The hopeful ideas began to seem too good to be true.
I pictured masses of people who did not seek truth. These masses followed a leader. They believed what the leader told them to believe. The masses didn’t seek truth for themselves. Instead, they sought other things: security, purpose, significance, love. They were not even willing to be wrong. Rather than face reality, they built a wall of protection around their leader. Meanwhile, their leader built a wall of protection around their beliefs.
I saw a few strange ones dance away from the masses. They would express curiosity to discover truth—whatever the truth might be. They didn’t seem particularly focused on defending prior convictions. Instead, they were explorers. Rather than find security under the blankets of doctrine, they found pleasure in seeing more than they had. They were truth-seekers.
I began to see the contrast between seeking truths and seeking treasures. The truth is not always a treasure. The path to truth is not the same as the path to treasures. I can seek a treasure in vain because the treasure might not even exist. I considered the stakes: either my life will ultimately end in nothing, or there is more to life beyond the shifting of shapes. The second option felt like a treasure. But the first felt like it could be the sober truth.
As I felt this tension between truth and treasure, I saw—more like felt—something that would change the course of my life. I felt the value of truth. A thought echoed within the center of my heart: “Truth is what you want.”
Slivers of courage began to emerge within me. I could now appreciate the questions my friend from biology class asked. I understood the source of his curiosity. I understood the bravery it took him to question foundational things. He had within him the value for truth. That same value emerged within me.
When I saw the value of truth, I also realized that seeking truth is the best way to get truth. If you want truth, aim for it. You are more likely to hit a target if you aim to hit the target than if you don’t aim at it. If you want truth, seek truth.
Perhaps it is too obvious to mention that seeking truth is a first step to getting truth. Yet I noticed within me a pull to aim for other things. For example, at times I felt drawn to aim to keep previous beliefs. Even in graduate school, where the value of truth is highly advertised, I sometimes felt pressure to seek cleverness and independent thinking.
Though painful, the sharp conflict within me helped me see the treasure of truth itself. I wanted to believe in ultimate purpose. In fact, I recall feeling worried that I could be in big trouble for having the wrong beliefs about purpose. However, it was obvious to me that these motivations for belief did not aim at truth: to aim for comforting beliefs is not to aim for true beliefs.
As I pondered these things, I came to a decision. In a moment, I declared to the center of my being, “I will be a seeker of truth.” I decided to follow reason and evidence wherever they might lead me. I became committed to doing my best to seek out the truths about everything that interested me.
My newfound awareness of the value of truth gave me a sense of freedom and responsibility. I felt free to question everything. I felt responsible to question everything. I realized the light of reason might lead me to a discomforting vision of reality. So be it. Truth would be my reward.
Around that time, I wrote a short story about a person on a boat. I described his adventures. This explorer decided to go out as far as he could to discover unknown lands. He would come back to offer reports. But he would not stay long. As he would go out again, some people would follow him a certain distance. Most of them did not travel far from the familiar. While many of his friends paused on local ports, the explorer moved out into thick fog. He had to keep going to fulfill his purpose: to see more than he had. He was an explorer.
To the Explorers
This book is for explorers. If you can relate to my story of doubt and curiosity, I think you will especially appreciate the journey ahead.
Whatever your precise view, you are committed to facing reality as it actually is. You are committed to growing in your understanding of things. You care about testing your beliefs against the real world. You would rather stick out among the crowd than to follow others off a cliff. You want to align with reality, not to defend what others say you should believe.
It takes courage to follow evidence into unknown places. Perhaps people who claim to have truth have misjudged you. They have misunderstood your intentions. Perhaps you have felt the irony as those who claim to have truth fail to answer the questions that drive your search. They have labelled you “unsafe” and exiled you to the wilderness. This treatment is often the cost of being an explorer.
My desire is to offer something that will be of genuine value to you. Instead of playing a game of intellectual chess, my purpose in this book is to present, for your careful consideration, a set of steps I took in my own pursuit of a greater understanding of the foundation of existence.
In Pursuit of Treasure
My interest in truth led me to books. I first discovered books in my dad’s library. Some of them were about worldviews—theories of everything. I was intrigued to discover systematic approaches to my questions. In one particular book, I discovered an argument about causes and effects.2 I had heard of similar arguments before, but I had never before seen such a careful articulation.
Later, I went to a university library and checked out a stack of books. This stack included books by philosophers who argued that the world has no ultimate purpose. I read many such books with extreme interest. As I read, I took notes and reformulated the many arguments into my own words. I studied the arguments and their many forms from many angles. I also began developing my own arguments as a way to explore various implications further.
My studies led me to clues. Each clue inspired further investigation. My commitment to truth remained central.
In the course of my investigation, I began to see some things I had previously thought were impossible to see. My original vision of the world was too limited. My research helped me see that the world is far greater and more complex than I had imagined. I began to feel thankful that my childhood vision of reality was shattered, for it was too simple.
Much later, it occurred to me that it takes courage not only to face cold truth, but it also takes courage to look for a treasure before you know whether the treasure is real. The risk is disappointment.
This book is about the search for a treasure. Many treasures are not obvious, but we can find them without leaping into the dark. In this book, I will attempt to construct a bridge of reason that can help truth-seekers explore a pathway to a valuable discovery.
You will be the judge. My goal is to bring you encouragement about the big picture of your life through the unalterable rules of reason. I invite you to put the bridge to the test. Without a rational basis for our steps, we walk blindly.
Reason will give us light.
In the previous chapter, we stumbled upon a strange puzzle. The purpose of this chapter is to provide a solution to that puzzle.
Consider the puzzle again. We observe, by reason, that the reality as a whole—the blob of everything—includes everything. Therefore, nothing exists beyond the total blob, and nothing beyond the blob of everything could have caused or explained its existence. In this sense, our reality is “self-sufficient” (i.e., it has no outside cause or explanation). That is strange. How can anything—of any size, shape, or number—be self-sufficient?
At this point, we need to start building supports for our bridge of reason. I will install three support beams that provide a foundation for solving the puzzle of existence. These beams will also provide a foundation for our entire pathway to come.
Here, briefly, is the schematic of the solution I will develop: the world includes a foundation—a ground layer. The foundation of existence is like the foundation of a bridge. Just as a bridge cannot stand without a foundation, similarly, reality as a whole cannot “stand” in existence without some foundation that stands on its own.
The foundational layer, in other words, provides the ultimate basis for the existence of everything else. The foundation of things enables there to be things as opposed to there being nothing at all. Call this account of existence “the Foundation Theory.”
The Foundation Theory requires development. How does a foundation itself exist? If we say that reality is “self-sufficient” in virtue of having a self-sufficient foundation, we have pushed back the mystery. How does a foundation manage to be self-sufficient? What explains the foundation? If nothing, how is that possible?
These questions are among the most fundamental and powerful questions anyone can ask. By thinking carefully about them, we will gain resources for our journey. By putting light on the foundation of things, we also put light on everything else. As Harvard philosopher Robert Nozick puts it, “To see how, in principle, a whole realm could fundamentally be explained greatly increases our understanding of the realm.”1 By increasing our understanding of the foundation of everything, we can increase our understanding of everything.
Let us have a closer look at the foundation, then. Let us see what we can see.
First Beam: Independence
The whole of reality is self-sufficient (with nothing outside to cause or explain its existence). How? If self-sufficiency is a locked door, the key to unlock it is this: independence. Here is what I mean: in order for any realm of any size to be self-sufficient, that realm must contain some independent layer or component. I will explain how this principle works and why I think it is true using three layers of thought.
Layer 1: Root of self-sufficiency. The first thought is about the remarkable difference between a self-sufficient realm and a dependent realm. The blob of everything has no outside cause or outside explanation, since it includes everything. Your sock drawer, by contrast, is not like that: something beyond the drawer made the drawer and your socks inside.
What accounts for this difference between self-sufficient realms and a realm that is not self-sufficient? What makes the difference between the explained and the unexplained, the caused and the uncaused, the dependent and the independent? What is the root of self-sufficiency?
Here is the beginning of an answer: we can account for the difference between your socks (which have an outside explanation) and the blob of everything (which has no outside explanation) in terms of independence. The blob of everything includes something that has an independent nature. This independent nature is the engine of existence that enables the totality to exist.
Your socks, by contrast, only exist because something produced them. They have a dependent nature. For this reason, your socks cannot be the foundation of all existence.
