Contemplative wonder is doomed, doomed, I tell you
I’m told by more than one witness that Mark Vernon is a nice guy (and I don’t doubt it) – but he does talk the most godawful crap.
Do you need to be religious to truly experience wonder at the world? This question lurks behind much of the ongoing debate about atheism. If everything can be explained by science, what is worthy of awe?
That’s a ridiculous question, and also a sinister one. It’s ridiculous because of its gormless assumption that explanation is for some reason inimical to awe. But why should it be? Think of the first atomic bomb, dropped in the desert at Alomogordo. The physicists and engineers watching knew how it worked, obviously; they could explain it; but they were certainly awed by it. The question is sinister because of its primitive fear of explanation. I don’t think the world is in need of people urging us to remain ignorant. Ignorance is easy, and there will always be plenty of it; I can command whole oceans of it myself; explanation is harder, and needs all the encouragement it can get.
For some atheists modern science can ask all questions worth asking and find answers: there are still mysteries in the world, but they are more like puzzles that can and one day will be explained by natural processes. The wonder that someone with such a belief might feel at these things could be said to be instrumental…This wonder is different in quality from contemplative wonder, which does not undo but lets be. It involves a conception of science that extends knowledge but admits its limits. Some things are beyond its comprehension and remain intrinsically mysterious. Consciousness, morality and existence itself are obvious candidates – the things that the artistic, religious and moral imagination are so well equipped to ponder.
Contemplative wonder does not ‘undo’ but lets be. Well, fine, Mark; if you want to contemplate, go ahead; but your desire to contemplate doesn’t necessarily translate t a general rule. And then, what do you mean ‘the artistic, religious and moral imagination are so well equipped to ponder’ morality and existence? That they’re all able to just sit down with slack jaw and stare? Maybe they are, but so what? Or do you mean (in contradiction to your ‘does not undo but lets be’) that they are well equipped to ponder such things to some purpose? If so, leaving aside your self-contradiction, I would love to know how they are well equipped to do that, and to what purpose. What can the ‘religious imagination’ tell us about morality or existence by way of its ponderings? I realize it can make up fictions and then dogmatically assert them and demand allegiance to them – but that doesn’t seem to be what you have in mind.
[Bacon] also knew that this magisterium of experiment did not overlap with the magisterium of religion, which “extends over questions of ultimate meaning and moral value”, in Stephen Jay Gould’s famous formulation.
Famous and profoundly mistaken. Religion has no genuine ‘magisterium’ because it doesn’t go about the work in the right way. Religious morality is command morality, derived from revelation and authority; it is fundamentally worthless.
It is when you deny the separate domains of these magisteria that you erode the capacity for contemplative wonder. When scientific knowledge is thought to be effectively without limit there is nothing much to stop contemplative wonder dissolving into instrumental wonder too. This must be what people sense when they fear that science is unweaving the rainbow. The worry is that it leaves nothing sacred.
And if it’s not what people sense when they fear that science is unweaving the rainbow, you’ll do your best to talk them into fearing it. Not a good or wise thing to do.
…and how exactly do you do that without questioning Genesis? It seems in building his case for awe he uses science. Does this use diminish his article? Would it be more awe-full if he relied simply on faith in his chosen holy text?
Is this the same guy?
http://www.markvernon.com/quizomatic76/test.htm
A PR shill for hire?
I think Mark Vernon gets further and further from saying anything worth taking seriously every time he addresses atheism and religion in any way. But I’m going to take him seriously for a moment anyway, just to ask this question: What’s so effing special about a sense of awe or wonder? It’s just a damned feeling! Does Vernon elevate a sense of fear or discomfort or curiosity or amusement to these vasty heights of life-shaking importance? If not, why not?
Jean K. and OB start, I think, by taking Vernon far too seriously when they question whether or not atheists really lose or alter the sense of wonder Vernon is going on about. The first question ought to be why this sense of wonder has so much importance in the first place. In any sensible person’s value scheme, knowledge ought to be valued above mystery. Similarly, the feelings associated with knowledge-acquisition – curiosity, the desire to know, the deep satisfaction in learning new things, even what Vernon labels “instrumental wonder” as an attempt to denigrate it – ought to be valued above sensations associated with mystery, such as awe and wonder. Consider Vernon’s own example of thunder: Does he really think that people who live in superstitious awe of thunder are in a preferable state of emotion or knowledge to those who understand atmospheric discharges and the collapse of a near-vacuum created by rapidly superheated plasma? Are those who tremble in fear before the wrath of the spirits or gods somehow better off or superior in character to those who know better, or those who simply want to know rather than living in ignorance?
In fact, I do not think that understanding is truly opposed to awe or wonder, and that Vernon’s interpretation of what Richard Dawkins has to say on the matter is another egregious caricature of Dawkins’ actual position. But even if it were true (it isn’t) that a broadly scientific outlook on life definitively destroyed the capacity for wonder that Vernon goes on and on about, I would say that the value of what is gained vastly overwhelms the value of what is lost. If the desire to understand how the universe works actually did lead a person to lose or lessen their sense of awe/wonder/whatever (it doesn’t), then I would be inclined to say “So much the worse for the sense of wonder, then.”
“We no longer interpret the thunder; we understand it – as massive discharges of electricity. It is still spectacular but no longer mysterious, let alone portentous. The world is a little less awesome, if also less fearsome, as a result”
So, not only are we supposed to feel ominous, threatening, menacing fear of God, him/herself, (which we have by the religious, been reared to – most of us, anyway.) We are also evidently supposed to feel awesome fear of the world that he allegedly (in seven days, all by him/herself) created.
Fear equates with God/creation. Period!
I do value the sense of wonder, so I do take MV seriously when he says atheists are wonder-challenged. (or some, anyway)
It strikes me that wonder is both enjoyable and an apt response to the world. If someone never felt anything of the sort, ever, they’d be blind to aspects of the world. If they felt it every time they looked out the window, they’d also have a problem.
On the point that understanding would always be more important, if it came into conflict with wonder…I see no reason to think so. I once saw a double rainbow–one on top of another. I didn’t bother trying to understand, preferring the sheer delight-wonder-whatever. No harm done, surely. Some things more vitally need to be understood than others.
Well I do value awe and wonder, though without thinking of them as depending on mystery; I think of them as related to aesthetic emotions, which I do think are valuable, and also related to our value for knowledge and understanding. But I’m not sure any of that entails taking MV’s claims seriously: I really don’t think I do, because I just think they’re wildly wrong.
And I strongly disapprove of the way he keeps on mischaracterizing Dawkins. He seems to spend all of his writing time flailing at Dawkins, and he does it by persistently getting him wrong. I find that very irritating.
Last year, I was well away from any town/city lights, and it was a clear, still night.
I could clearly see the Galactic plane (the milk way).
Surely knowing that every one of those huge numbers of tiny light-points is another star, enhances, rather than diminished one’s sense of wonder.
Mark Vernon is an egregious fool.
Yeah, I was thinking about that awhile ago (but after writing the post). Looking at a starry sky is a classic example – it’s vastly more awe-inspiring when you have some idea of the distances involved and the number of galaxies and stars.
“An ad hominem argument, also known as argumentum ad hominem (Latin: “argument to the person”, “argument against the man”) consists of replying to an argument or factual claim by attacking or appealing to a characteristic or belief of the person making the argument or claim, rather than by addressing the substance of the argument or producing evidence against the claim. The process of proving or disproving the claims is thereby subverted, and the argumentum ad hominem works to change the subject.”
Just thought I’d mention it, to no one in particular.
Part of the subject, however (at least, it’s the subject I had in mind), is this extended pattern of MV’s. I want to look at the latest example as part of that history rather than in isolation. I think the damage is cumulative. (And I’m not aspiring to disprove his claims, just to poke holes in them.)
I didn’t say that I don’t value a sense of wonder: I just question Vernon’s desire to massively OVER-value of it, insisting that this feeling of wonder and awe in the face of mystery is more important than things like curiosity, understanding, and the pursuit of truth. I agree that these values are not really at odds anyway – that is merely one of many stupid and wrong things Vernon declares (not, I emphasize, “concludes” or “argues,” but “declares”). But I still say that if they were at odds, so much the worse for wonder.
I cannot imagine responding to the mysteries of the world without passionate curiosity and the burning desire to learn, to understand. Feeling wonder and awe in addition to curiosity, I certainly understand – because I often feel that way myself. But Vernon seems to think we ought to subordinate or suppress curiosity in favor of wonder and awe, lest we taint those magical emotions with our petty, mundane, un-poetic yearning to solve puzzles.
I’m kind of at a loss to express how repugnant that view is, actually.
Dang and blast it! While I write this I’m listening to a recording of Tchaikovsky’s “Sleeping Beauty”. Obviously I can no longer listen in wonder and awe because I can understand the mathematics of melody and harmony. Help! What am I going to do?
According to the movie π, a power drill to the temple will cure that problem right quick.
I’m reminded of gits who would tell me that analysing a poem would “spoil” it. And that too much analysis in the past had spoiled their natural, deep feeling for poetry. Which they didn’t read. And those of us who did analyse it, and could see how it worked through sound, metre, image & so on would still be properly awed that some poet had thought of that particular combination, had in fact been struck by lightening. And we went on reading poetry.
If Vernon is bothered by the urge to explain, presumably he is also against religion, which explains everything by reference to supernatural beings and their activities.
As ever, The Simpsons has something to say on this very subject:
Ned Flanders: “Science is like a blabbermouth who ruins a movie by telling you how it ends. Well I say that there are some thing we don’t wanna know. *Important* things!”
– ‘Lisa the Skeptic’ episode 5F05
FWIW, it is precisely when I understand most clearly that I feel most acutely.
I went to the Baltimore aquarium last week, and I saw a most amazing species of fish (whose name I unfortunately don’t remember at all). It took me a while to actually *see* it: the tank looked like it contained nothing but water and some algae-covered rocks. An employee approached me and asked me if I can see the fish. “No”, I replied. “It’s right here”, he said, pointing his finger at a rock. “Where?” “Right here.” I just couldn’t see it – until I noticed that the rock blinked at me slightly with its big black eye. It was truly amazing – I still couldn’t tell where the rock ended and the fish began, its “skin” looked *exactly* like the algae leaves that surrounded it. I had to be dragged away from the tank after 15 minutes or so, but I still can’t stop thinking about it. Of course I’ve seen examples of mimicry many times before, but I was usually able to figure out which were the real plants, and which the animals pretending to be plants. But I’ve never seen anything quite like this before. AWEsome.
Now, if someone were to tell you that this fish was created by a guy with considerable talent in making sculptures that look exactly like rocks, that would be hardly awe-worthy, and there would certainly be little left to wonder about. You might be a little more amazed upon being told that this guy can also breathe life into such “sculptures”, but your amazement would vanish as soon as you’d learn that this guy also happens to be omnipotent. There’s nothing very wonder-inspiring about intelligent beings creating things they have always been able to create with ease.
However, learning that this incredible thing happened through the process of natural selection – now, that is truly amazing. *That* is the reason why I had to be dragged away – it just blows my mind that such stuff comes into being without an omnipotent guy creating them on a whim. Instead, it just slowly evolves from next-to-nothing, and that without any intelligence and omnipotence behind it – and yet, there you go: a fish that looks exactly like a rock. If you ask me, very few things are more awe-inspiring than that. I still can’t fully wrap my mind around it; I keep “wondering” about it. On the other hand, there’s no place left for wonderment when a guy who can create *anything* happens to create *something*.
The problem with arguments like Vernon’s is that they are a sort of sneaky oblique attack on atheism:
“If everything can be explained by science, what is worthy of awe?”
It looks like his argument is that atheists don’t believe stuff is done by god, and that is bad because thinking stuff is done by god is nice. He then tries to broaden out the appeal of his argument by inventing the concept of ‘scientism’ to attribute to Dawkins to claim that Dawkins wants to eliminate poetry and any other non-science, thus ‘demeaning’ poetry (as OB points out, this is a pretty tendentious reading of Dawkins).
At no point does he try to engage with Dawkins’s (and any other atheist’s) fundamental point about whether, on the factual evidence, religion is true.
It is massively frustrating to see people make arguments of this form and smugly sit back (cf. Cornwell or McGrath) thinking they’ve delt atheism some mortal blow!
“This question lurks behind much of the ongoing debate about atheism.”
It may well lurk behind much of the argument from your side of this debate, and that is why it is so bloody frustrating for us on the other side, because it is totally peripheral to the intellectual core of the argument as to whether God exists, created the universe, and intervenes in the affairs of the Earth.
That’s a beautiful comment, Tea. I might have to put it on the main page.
Ophelia…what’s that about great minds thinking alike? Tea, I liked your comment too, and took the liberty of putting it on my blog. Do you know what the fish is called?
Never mind, you said you didn’t know.
Wow, thank you both :)
If only my English were better…
Jean, unfortunately, I can’t remember the name at all. I’ll let you know if I find out, but I’m afraid that’s unlikely.
Ha! Never say never. I think this might be it, although I’m not completely sure (remember, I said I didn’t know where the rock ended and the fish began).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Synanceia_nana.JPG
A stonefish or other scorpionfish seems quite likely from the description (as your Wiki image). Lots here. They are extremely poisonous!
I just can’t comprehend at all why wanting to know what it’s called and why it’s like that and how it lives its life it could be thought to detract from the wonder of it all one iota. To me it seems the opposite.
There is absolutely no relation between a sense of awe and being religious.
Vernon creates a strawman, the scientist, who feels no awe, maybe doesn’t even enjoy a good meal or a good wine either, because he’s too busy measuring them. Atheists feel awe, even feel orgasms and headaches, even feel that some things are sacred, perhaps life, perhaps art, perhaps lucidity, perhaps an honest dialogue, which appears not to be Mr. Vernon’s list of sacred things.
Aw…. (that’s without an “e”). MV’s had an honest dialogue at my blog today, I think.
Mark Vernon is an awemonger. (Say it out loud and imagine you’re a Cockney).
Anyway I hate the suggested superiority in it. I am the passionate, wild, shaman, with feelings and intuitions into the sublime beyond your dry puny conception, you test-tube user and data measurer.
Blimey, Jean – two minds with but a single thought. Very cool.
Thanks for pictures, p. A fish that looks that much like a rock is quite staggering. (I once worked at an Aquarium, in a menial capacity; I don’t think we had any of those…but maybe we did, there was a new coral reef exhibit that was pretty spectacular.)
Thanks for the picture, Tea. English problem? I didn’t notice any!
Jean: I read or at least skimmed all the comments on your blog and even read Mr. Vernon’s article in the Guardian.
My impression is that Mr. Vernon creates a caricature of the scientist, a bloodless, feelingless, aweless being who puts a 200 dollar bottle cognac in a test-tube instead of drinking it. Behind his seemingly innocent article is a hidden agenda attacking science for taking all the poetry or the poetic imagination out of life and subtlely or not so subtlely suggesting that religion can put that poetry back. Now, I’ve never found either science or religion to be especially poetic. In fact, both scientific texts and religious texts bore me. I like poetry. Vernon bores me too. He sounds a bit Victorian, doesn’t he?
amos, In some moods I agree with you 100%, including about the boringness of various things. I can’t be bothered to have explanations for everything and am much happier to just experience a lot of things. I don’t read all the captions at museums, don’t read the program notes at concerts, don’t want to know all the facts etc. Having my head that much in the clouds, I just don’t recognize myself in MV’s description of the puzzle-solving atheist. The funny thing is that scientists I know (my father, e.g.) are just the same way. Um, there may be a connection there.
Hee hee hee.
Anyway, I’m exactly the same – I certainly don’t always want to know the facts about something I’m staring at. But what I’ve never understood about this complaint – and I don’t understand it from Blake or Keats any better – is why anyone thinks facts become mandatory simply because science exists. I don’t see the need to erect our desire to be slack-jawed at times into a general principle; because after all, we’re allowed to be slack-jawed at times. The trouble with Mark’s case is that he turns it into an indictment of science and atheism.
Sometimes, I wonder if this isn’t a defense mechanism of people who suffer from innumeracy or some other science phobia. Is this sort of anti-science, pro-mystery twaddle (Vernon’s hardly the only one, as several people have pointed out) the result of simple insecurity? “I’m bad at science or for some reason fearful of it, so science itself must be BAD!” It’s like a little kid asserting that some food they don’t like must be poisonous.
The reason I wonder is that not all theists have this sort of petulant, knee-jerk anti-science attitude – so there must be something more about those who do than just the desire to defend theism from the critique inherent in a scientific perspective (i.e. critical thinking & methodological naturalism).
That doesn’t apply to Mark though (which makes it all the more puzzling), because as he reminded me at Jean’s yesterday, he has a degree in physics. It applies much better to me! At least the me of the past. I was bored by science in youth, and hence stupidly self-centeredly scornful of it. But it eventually did dawn on me how silly and childish that is – and I suppose that’s part of why I dislike the whole argument so much: I think it’s seductive (not persuasive, but seductive), and harmful – I think people who have that idea should be talked out of it, not encouraged in it. I wish I’d been talked out of it a lot sooner, so I don’t think people are doing anyone any favours by reinforcing it, any more than people do anyone any favours by saying ‘Don’t bother reading Shakespeare, he’s just a dead white guy and doesn’t matter.’
“Do you need to be religious to truly experience wonder at the world?”
According to Carl Gustav Boberg’s very beautiful & most powerful hymn of 1885, (which, incidentally, was from the Swedish language translated into English by Stuart Hine) you ‘do’ need to be religious to truly experience the wonder of the world.
“Verse 1: O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder Consider all the works Thy hands have made. I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder, Thy power through-out the universe displayed. Refrain: Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee; How great Thou art, how great Thou art! Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee: How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Verse 2: When through the woods and forest glades I wander And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze:
Verse 1: O store Gud, när jag den värld beskådar, Som du har skapat med ditt allmaktsord, Hur där din visdom leder livets trådar, Och alla väsen mättas vid ditt bord. Refrain: Då brister själen ut i lovsångsljud: O store Gud! O store Gud! Då brister själen ut i lovsångsljud: O store Gud! O store Gud!
Verse 2: När sommarvinden susar över fälten, När blommor dofta invid källans rand, När trastar drilla i de gröna tälten, Vid furuskogens tysta, dunkla rand;
“Religious morality is command morality, derived from revelation and authority; it is fundamentally worthless”
Religious morality is unpitying, vicious, and doctrinaire morality, derived from impracticable harrying and persecution of some people; it is fundamentally crapulous.
Regurgitate that one!