The Notion of Nothingness—Part 2: Some Initial Responses

The ancients rarely asked the question Why is there something, rather than nothing?, because their view of the world was different. Most of them were theists—usually polytheists—so they simply assumed that the world as they knew it was created by the gods. Most ancient cultures also had their creation stories, which focused more on how the world came about, rather than why.

Many ancient people—being of prescientific cultures—simply accepted the creation, without worrying about what “nothing” was like. It is modern science that has come to understand that Nature prefers simplicity, and hence wonders why the simplest situation of all—nothing—is not the order of the day. Many ancient cultures—the Greeks and those in the Far East—viewed the world as eternal; even cyclical. There was no beginning, no “before”, no Big Bang. It has always been. Nothing never existed!

There generally are three types of responses to this question of why there is something: (1) optimists feel that there must be a reason why the universe exists, and feel certain that we'll someday discover it, (2) pessimists feel that there might be a reason and we might discover it, but why worry about it, and (3) rejectionists maintain that there can't be a reason, so the question is meaningless. Philosophers love this kind of quandary, and they fall into all three categories, so they find fertile ground for debate.

Some scholars are inclined to argue straightforwardly that the universe exists because existence is better than nothing. They say that existence is essentially goodness, while nothingness is insipid, even lifeless. So here we are—existing in a world that is fitting and pleasurable. End of argument!

Other scholars say that the universe exists due to blind chance, thus there may be no explanation for it. A similar assertion is that there most likely could be many ways for there to be something, but only one way for there to be nothing; so something is just more likely than nothing. Others fear that the universe popped into existence when the Big Bang occurred, is possibly tenuous, and could pop back into nothingness at any moment. Enjoy it while you can!

Taking yet another look at the Big Bang: some scholars describe nothing as what existed before the Big Bang. But what does “before” even mean, if time began at that moment? It could be argued that there was no “before.” Our current model of the beginning of the universe is an extrapolation from the present expanding universe, back to its opening explosion. Many of the properties of the cosmos are neatly explained by that model, yet the model is unable to describe the very instant of origin. Maybe someday we'll have a better model that will define that beginning instant and hence what “before” might therefore mean, if anything. But we’re currently stuck in our ignorance.

Next time: Probing the definition of nothing.

The Notion of Nothingness—Part 1: The Question

A question that has provoked philosophers and scientists for millennia, as they've pondered the nature of our cosmos is: Why is there something, rather than nothing? For many people, that question can appear to be a senseless puzzle. After all, the universe is something, so why should anyone ever think that there could be nothing? Others might say, however, that although it all came out of nothing (before God brought it into being), here it is. It was meant to be. God ordered it to be, so why question its existence? It's a brute fact. Get over it.

Yet many theists—and certainly most nontheists—have continued to wrestle with the conundrum. The source of many people's wonderment on this issue is the fact that science has taught us that Nature leans toward simplicity. This means that, when we question how Nature behaves in a given situation, and we posit alternative possibilities, time and again we find that Nature has selected the simplest of them; the most straightforward path. Nature is pure. Nature is elegant. Nature is to the point.

So, knowing this propensity of Nature for choosing simplicity, scientists and philosophers—who readily understand that nothing is indeed simpler than something—have posed this perplexing question. Why is there anything, since something is more complicated than nothing? Wouldn't it have been more likely for God not to have worked so hard to create the universe, when it would have been easier to let it stay nothing?

Many philosophers also dislike the response that God—or any other outside cause—brought about the existence of the cosmos, because arguments like this can be circular and unsatisfying. Any such explanation simply invokes a previous something (or some being) to have created it; but where did that something come from? What's the first cause?

The Big Bang theory posits that the universe came into existence some 13.7 billion years ago. Did it bang from nothing? What was it that banged? What was going on before it banged? Was there a before? Are these even sensible questions? Science currently is grappling for answers, so we don't yet know. Maybe we never will know. Maybe we're asking the wrong questions. As a result of all this uncertainty, philosophers feel compelled to enter the quandary, and offer their two cents on the issue.

Today many scientists wrestle with this question of the universe’s existence, because science has gradually moved in the direction of demonstrating that the universe was not created just for the pleasure and use of us humans. Earth is not at the center of the universe, and in fact, may be only one of countless inhabited worlds. For many people this displacement of humans from the center of it all is disturbing, if not downright nihilistic. They feel that it robs meaning and purpose from the cosmos.

Many other people, however, accept the fact that we're not the pinnacle of creation, yet we can still revel in the wonder and beauty of it all, and the fantastic good fortune to be possessed with the cognitive ability to be in awe of it. Even if we're not disturbed by the fact that the ancient reasons for purpose and meaning may be no longer relevant (and thus that we can find new reasons for celebrating being alive), one can still be perplexed that we seem to have no explanation for existence.

Next time: Some tentative responses.

Senescent Cosmos

Most of us know that the universe is old…very old. In fact, only in the last few years has science been able to nail down the birth date of the universe with any accuracy. We now know it all began 13.7 billion years ago. In fact, cosmologists are certain enough that they’re confident it wasn't 13.6 or 13.8 billion years ago, but quite exactly 13.7. Just a few years ago, cosmologists weren't sure but what the Big Bang's birthday could have been as little as eight billion years or more than 20 billion years ago. Progress occurs. Isn't it comforting to know just how long this universe has been around? Don't we all want to know our true age?

Science is always refining its knowledge. That's why it appeals to me. We humans think that we are the smartest kid on the planetary block—and maybe we are, but we need to stay humble enough to acknowledge that's there's always room for improvement in our understanding. That's what science is all about: constantly working to improve our limited understanding...realizing that if we keep our minds open and our questioning active, our knowledge will certainly grow.

A British team of cosmologists recently expanded our knowledge of star birth across the universe—and the news can be a little depressing, if we let it. Their bottom-line result: as of this date in the life of our universe, 95% of all the stars that will ever come alive have already been born. Forget how old the cosmos is or how much longer it has to go, it'll only see another measly 5% of its stars come into existence.

Just think if we were to say the same for the human race. We've been around as a unique species for only about 200,000 years. Of all the billions of people who have existed, if we were to have only another 5% to go, that's frightening! Terrifying! It says that we only have just another couple of hundred years to go, and that's the end of humans. Senescence has caught up with us and we are done!

Well, the same is true of the cosmos. What can ease our propensity to panic is that the stars live so incredibly much longer than we do. While Homo sapiens might last a few score years, your average star will hang around for billions of years. Time is relative.

Although cosmologists have nailed down the birth date of the universe, they have yet to get a handle on how long before it winks out. They are sure we have at least 100 billion years to go, and maybe trillions, before that last star dies. Well, that's a time span we flash-in-the-pan humans cannot begin to comprehend—let alone fret about.

Still, it's a sobering thought. Those British cosmologists determined that peak star formation in the universe was about 10 billion years ago, when the cosmos was just a 3.7 billion-year-old baby. At that point, half of all the stars that would ever be formed were burning. It's been downhill ever since. Go out and take a gander at the starry sky soon. In a few billion years it'll be a lot more sparse.

Blink of an Eye... Part 2

So, our universe is just a baby; it’s just getting started. How do we wrap our heads around the span of time left? How do we grasp the vast length of time the cosmos still has—the billions and trillions of years that will yet roll by, when we humans survive a mere few dozens of years? Here’s one way to try: Let’s equate the length of time over which Goldsmith predicts that the last star in the universe burns out (a good way to view it as the lifetime of the universe), to the 80 year span of a human lifetime. His estimate for the last star to wink out is 100 trillion years from when the universe was created. That’s when the grand old cosmos will be on its last legs; just as an 80-year-old human can be equally considered to be on her last legs.

So how do the some of the salient events in the life of the universe compare to the life span of an octogenarian human? One of the first major events in the history of the universe (for us Earthlings) was the formation of our sun and its solar system. The genesis of our own star and its planets occurred when the universe was about eight billion years old—the equivalent of a 2 ½ day old octogenarian! This is a scale we can comprehend: our solar system came into existence when our 80 year-old person was not even three days old! Talk about just getting started!

So where are we today in this young universe, at some 13.7 billion years of age? It is equivalent to a four-day-old infant who will live to see 80. Still a mere start! We’ve 79 years and 361 days to go, before it’s all over! What else can we look forward to, in the future? Well, the last of the universe’s stars will form when the cosmos is 100 billion years old. That equates to our octogenarian reaching the age of one month! 

The message that this brings to me is: We humans (even our Earth) are nothing to the longevity of this cosmos we so temporarily inhabit. We are far less than the blink of an eye to the grander universe. In this context, how can we think that we amount to much of anything, let alone be the reason it all came about?

Let’s explore this age equivalency a bit more, just to drive home the point how minuscule we are. The human species has been around for about 200,000 years. In the life of an 80-year-old person, that amounts to about five seconds of existence. Five seconds in 80 years! That’s all that Homo sapiens¸ amounts to! That’s nothing! Another example: The good ol’ US of A has been a nation for some 236 years now—a decent length of time, eh? Well, that’s only some six seconds in the life of our venerable octogenarian.

To me, these examples emphasize our irrelevance to the grand scheme of things. Was the universe created for us humans? Are we the center of it all? Get over it, folks! We amount to almost nothing, when it comes to the Creation. Does this mean that we are relegated to a meaningless existence? Is this a bummer of a message? Should we go into a funk and despair over our miniscule lot in the grand scheme of things? Despite the fact that our proud human story tells us we are the culmination of the universe’s unfolding, it ain’t necessarily so.

Some people who buy into the exaltation of the human condition may want to deny the truth of this blink-of-an-eye situation and hold onto the old myth. However, I believe there is a deeper message, once we get past the notion of our self-inflated image. I think we all can agree that this universe is a wonderful, sacred creation. That sacredness is manifested everywhere around us. Some people consider this to be God as evidenced in the material world. That may be so. Whatever one’s interpretation, the material universe’s magnificence is beyond our comprehension.

The bottom line, the magnificent truth, is that we are a part of this grand thing. Not only are we humans graced to be alive, but also we have been given the consciousness to understand the precious nature of this gift. So what if it’s not all created just for us… I’ll celebrate the great fortune of just being an aware part of it!

Fine Tuned Just for Me?—Conclusion

There is another group of people who feel they have the answer for why the universe is as it is; why all those physical parameters have precisely the value they must have, if life was to have come about. These folks have put forth an explanation called the “anthropic cosmological principle.” There are several versions of this principle, but they all state that the laws of nature must allow for the creation of beings who are then capable of studying the laws of nature. This point of view has never settled well with me, as it seems to contain circular thinking: “I am, therefore the world must have been fashioned in a way that I could be.” I don’t believe that explanation really solves anything.

Different factions have stated the anthropic principle in various ways. One argument is the notion that there are an infinite number of universes, that the cosmos we know is, in fact, just one part of the so-called “Multiverse.” The countless other universes may indeed possess alternate versions of physical laws; thus only some of them have developed anything like the cosmic structures of our universe, and none of them likely resulted in life (at least as we know it). The result is that those other universes might exist but would be unknowable to us, or us to them. There is something inherently unsatisfactory to me in this explanation, since it’s beyond our ability to test this hypothesis. It is another fantastical explanation. There is no way to prove or disprove it.

Furthermore, I believe that the anthropic principle is too close to being a mythical explanation clothed in scientific terms. The word anthropic is defined by the dictionary as “having to do with mankind or with the period of man’s existence on Earth.” And it is uncomfortably close to being anthropocentric, which the dictionary defines as “considering man to be the central or most significant fact of the universe.” Is the anthropic principle really that much better than the fable given in Genesis—that places humans at the center of the universe? I don’t think so.

So I don’t feel satisfied with either the church’s explanation or the anthropic cosmological principle. As another way of looking at the issue, let me go from all of life to just one individual: myself. How did I come to be? Why am I alive?

I know that I am the result of a long line of ancestors. I came into existence after the occurrence of an uncountable string of incidents and decisions made by those forebears. My very existence depends upon history having unfolded exactly as it did. If any one of my ancestors (all the way back to the first single-celled creature?) had done anything different—in any way—I may not be here. If any one of them had mated with a partner other than the precise one they chose, I’d not be here. If any one of them had perished before they mated, I would not exist. If any one of them had eaten something nasty and gotten too ill to procreate exactly when they did, I wouldn’t have been born. My existence is the result of an essentially endless string of coincidental events. It all led to me. Wow! Therefore, it all must have all been designed just for me!

But wait. Did God (or any other power) design all this, just for me to be here? Did God guide all those ancestors to do precisely what they did, just so I’d be born? Isn’t it the epitome of hubris to suppose that it all happened just for my sake? What humongous self-centeredness to think that I’m the culmination—the be-all and end-all—of this long, complex process!

OK, maybe that line of thinking is stretching it a bit. Alternatively, I could posit the Personal Anthropic Principle to explain my existence: the long string of ancestors must have been set up for me, because here I am! Or better yet, the principle of multi-me’s: there are an infinite number of other me’s out there, in parallel existences, who cannot see each other, each one born out of a slightly different sequence of events. OK, maybe I’ve gotten carried away again.

It seems to me that what causes people to invent ideas and beliefs like a God-designed, fine-tuned universe or an anthropic-principle explanation, is that they cannot live with the mystery. There appears to be a deep human drive to have answers, and even to want the answers to be definitive—something that one can count on, forever.

We don’t want simply to understand things—in fact, for many people, understanding is not nearly as important as simply knowing. We want to be knowledgeable about things, to be certain. We want to “put the question to bed.” Living with uncertainty is very uncomfortable, if not terrifying for many people. Our culture admires those who know—whether that knowledge comes from reason, from myth, or from a powerful institution that forces its beliefs on people. We tend to regard knowledge as something we collect and own. Understanding is not really our intent, it’s the possession of knowledge—he who possesses the most is the best.

I draw much comfort from being able to admit that I don’t know; that no matter how much I strive to understand, it’s only a partial comprehension, and tomorrow’s understanding may bring a wholly new (and more valid) viewpoint. I can live with the mystery and give truth the time to reveal itself. I can look at this universe and be filled with wonder and amazement about why it is as it is. In fact, the harder I work to understand it, the more I see that I don’t know—and never will (nor will any human). The qualities of the universe may be due to this possibility, or that possibility, or maybe a new possibility that will surface tomorrow.

I don’t need to posit a reason for why things are the way they are—especially if it’s beyond my ability to come up with an answer today. If I delude myself into believing in a particular answer—when there is no basis to do so—I lock myself into a particular mindset that excludes other possibilities that may be closer to the truth. If I do so, one of them may later show itself to be closer to the truth than my belief and I’ll find myself fighting to hold on to the false story I’ve latched onto—much like the church did, when Galileo spoke up to say the Earth was not the center of the universe. Meanwhile, I’ll let the mystery be.