“He knows everything!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t like that. It’d take all the mystery out of life.”
It takes all the mystery out of life. This is an argument that sometimes gets made against the atheist/ materialist/ naturalist view of life. Naturalism is too reductionist, the argument goes. By seeking to explain the universe in terms of physical cause and effect, and in seeking to understand that physical cause and effect in increasingly greater breadth and detail, naturalism ultimately seeks to explain and understand everything. And that would be bad. We need some mystery. Mystery — unanswered and unanswerable questions — are a central part of what makes us human. Without it, our life would be bleak and empty, with a yearning that can never be satisfied… because there’s nothing left out there to satisfy it.
And religion, supposedly, offers that mystery. The belief in that which cannot be perceived by the senses; the belief in immaterial entities or forces that somehow affect the world but that nobody perceives in the same way; the belief in a life after this one that that nobody’s ever returned from and nobody really knows anything about… all of this fills the human need for mystery, the need for questions we don’t know the answer to.
Okay. Deep breath.
But let’s take this argument on its own terms. Let’s pretend, for a moment, that the argument from wishful thinking has some validity. Let’s say that, if it could be shown that religion serves some social or psychological utility that can’t be addressed by any secular means (religion in general and the mystery of religion in particular), it would therefore be right to perpetuate it… even if it’s mistaken.
“We need religion because we need mystery” is still a terrible argument.
What’s more, it’s in the nature of science that every answer we find seems to present more questions. For instance: We now understand the answer to a question that was unanswered for millennia: we now understand that the universe is not infinite, but is in fact finite in size (although pretty darned big). But the answer to that question inevitably leads to another question: Is there anything outside this universe? Are there more universes out there: are we just one universe in a multiverse, the way we’re just one planet in a star system, one star in a galaxy, one galaxy in a universe? (And if so — is that multiverse infinite, or is it limited in size as well?) Or when it comes to physical existence, is our universe the whole enchilada?
At the moment, we don’t have any way of even beginning to answer that question, or even of beginning to explore it. But we might someday. And when and if we do…. that’ll make for centuries, millennia probably, of further exploration, further unanswered questions for us to try to answer.
But let’s pretend that we somehow come up with a Grand Unifying Theory of Everything. Let’s pretend that we somehow come up with perfect and complete explanations of the physical cause and effect of absolutely everything, from quarks to galaxies to the universe itself. Multiverse. Whatever.
Would this mean there’d be no mystery to life?
I say No.
And that’s been true for every field of science I’ve learned about. The more I find out about the universe — the more I learn about matter that bends space, brains that produce thought, finches that evolve to drink blood, chemical bonds that create solidity out of mostly-empty matter, black holes that exist at the center of all spiral galaxies — the more I learn about all this, the more I’m left with my mouth hanging open in wonder at the bizarre, extraordinary, astronomically improbable coolness of it all. Understanding the world doesn’t remove the mystery of it, except in the most narrow and literal sense of the word. It enhances it.
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that none of this is true. Let’s assume that the naturalist worldview someday manages to explain absolutely everything. And let’s assume that having everything explained would somehow be a terrible occurrence that sucked all the mystery and wonder out of life.
So how would saying “We need to preserve some mysteries and unanswered questions” in any way solve this hypothetical calamity?
Doesn’t saying “This question can never have an answer” have the same effect as saying “This question now has an answer”? Doesn’t it have the effect of shutting off that yearning, that restless desire to look into the dark and wonder what’s out there? Doesn’t it cut off the sweet mystery of life, every bit as much as actually turning on the light? A closed door is a closed door: whether it’s closed because we opened it and looked inside and now know what’s there and don’t need to look again… or whether it’s closed because we choose not to open it.
If I’m wrong — if it turns out that atheism and materialism is mistaken, and that a supernatural view of the world is the right one — then that’s fine. If someone can demonstrate, with solid, carefully gathered, rigorously cross-checked evidence, that the Universe came into being by the hand of God, or that consciousness is animated by an immaterial soul — then I’ll admit I was wrong. And I’ll be as curious to explore the nature of the metaphysical world, its broad architecture and its fine details, as I am to explore the physical one.
But that’s not the conclusion the current evidence points to. The overwhelmingly obvious conclusion, pointed to by every good piece of evidence I’ve seen, is that the physical, natural world is all there is… and that all the things that seem immaterial, consciousness and selfhood and the ability to choose and so on, are really products of biological processes, physical cause and effect.
And I’m not going to reject that conclusion — and I’m not going to stop trying to persuade other people of it — just to preserve the sweet mystery of life. There is plenty of mystery in the natural world: mystery enough for a lifetime, for a trillion lifetimes. I’m not going to pretend that the world is not the way it really is — fascinating, awe-inspiring, profoundly bizarre, but ultimately a product of natural laws and of physical cause and effect — just because some people find it exciting to ponder the mystery of the darkness.