Download PAGE 2 Religion Newswriters Association – Commentary Award

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Religion Newswriters Association – Commentary Award
Entry 1of 3
The Ottawa Citizen
Thu Sep 16 2010
Page: A15
Section: Arguments
Column: Robert Sibley
Headline: Somehow, we have life; Finding the Higgs boson particle may not end humanity's petty
squabbles -- but it may cause us to pause for a moment and contemplate the greatest mystery of all
For God's sake, when are scientists going to find the Higgs boson?
Religion is back in a big way and it's really making a mess of our secular serenity. As philosopher John
Gray recently wrote, "the tide of secularization has turned." Indeed, folks of various faiths are
determined that their explanation of divine purpose should hold sway over the planet and, if you don't
like it, well, bombs to you. Finding the Higgs boson -- the so-called God particle -- would surely put a
crimp in all this deity promotion, wouldn't it?
The Higgs boson, in case you haven't been hanging around your neighbourhood particle accelerator, is a
very, very, very small thing that physicists think may be responsible for the existence of the universe
and everything in it, including ourselves.
Scottish physicist Peter Higgs hypothesized the particle's existence nearly 50 years ago, theorizing the
universe is embedded with an invisible field of bosons that consist of little more than mass. Scientists
have been poking around for bosons ever since.
According to the Standard Model of particle physics, the Higgs boson's god-like quality is due to its
ability to give matter -- from quarks and quasars to ants and algae -- its mass. (Mass, in case you
weren't paying attention in Grade 10 physics, is the property that makes an object susceptible to
gravity.) As other particles move through the boson field, the bosons "stick" to some of them, thus
giving those particles their mass. According to the theory, the forces that allow the universe to operate -gravity, electromagnetism, and the strong and weak nuclear forces -- just don't work without the Higgs
boson. In short, the universe wouldn't likely exist without the God particle.
You see, the universe got its kick start when a really, really, really tiny speck packed with a lot of energy
went kablooey in a cosmic way. A nanosecond after the Big Bang, so the theory goes, this great whack
of energy began to lump together. Of course, as every science fiction fan knows, when energy becomes
mass, it manifests equal amounts of matter and antimatter, and, when matter and antimatter meet, it
doesn't make for a mutually supportive encounter. Like a couple in a nasty divorce, they cancel each
others' assets. In other words, everything created by the Big Bang should have disappeared like Alice
down the rabbit hole of oblivion because there was supposedly an equal amount of matter and
antimatter in the beginning moments of the universe. There should have been nothing. No pulsars. No
planets. No plankton. No Justin Bieber.
Yet, strangely, Justin Bieber exists, along with sundry stars, sunsets and seashells. Somehow there must
have been an imbalance in the matter-antimatter equation at the beginning of space-time, some
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asymmetry of stuff that shifted the balance in favour of things sticking around to eventually produce the
young heartthrob.
Scientists have spent decades, and a lot of money, hunting for the fundamental elements that would
explain this tilt in favour of life. Equipped with high-tech gadgets -- the Fermi National particle
accelerator in the United States and the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland, for example -- they've
found a menagerie of itsy-bitsy particles such as neutrinos, mesons, kaons, positrons, etc.
But they are still missing the holy of holies, the God particle. "If experimenters can definitely prove the
Higgs's existence," science writer Graham Farmelo says, "the discovery will be a triumph for the whole
enterprise of theoretical physics, and its effort, in Stephen Hawking's enticing phrase, to 'know the mind
of God.'"
There have been tantalizing glimpses. In July, the scientific set was aflutter at rumours the Fermilab had
spotted the elusive particle with their Tevatron accelerator. But lab officials quickly squelched that
story. There was also a report that Swiss collider scientists believe that when they detect the Higgs
particle it will sound like a handful of coins clattering in the bowl of a wine glass. (How they know
what it sounds like when they haven't yet found it is beyond me.)
All of this might seem irrelevant to our geopolitical difficulties. So what if scientists find something no
one can see? Would the discovery of the God particle persuade the faithful to stop killing in the name of
God or Allah or Globalization? Three hundred years of scientific endeavour hasn't curbed the human
propensity for wanting to kill those who don't think or look like you, whether in the name of some deity
or in the service of some utopian ideology. Some might even argue that, beyond a few more creature
comforts, a moderation in political repression (at least in the West), the ability to go faster and the
extension of our lifespans (at least in the West), science and technology have only made us more
efficient killers. So, no, finding the Higgs boson won't persuade anyone -- theist or atheist -- to peace on
Earth and goodwill to others.
Yet, perhaps, proving the existence of the Higgs boson will bring a moment of pause in our mad
pursuits, a short sojourn of contemplation at the greatest mystery of all: Why anything rather than
nothing? The fact is, there could just as easily be nothing as something as far as the laws of physics are
concerned. (Good luck wrapping your head about the notion that there could be nothing.) Somehow,
though, we have life, the universe and everything, thanks, as it seems, to something we have so far been
unable to find.
I won't pretend to account for why the universe is composed in such a way that it seems tailor-made for
human life. But the very fact that we do exist when we could just as easily not is both humbling and
exhilarating. On one hand, science has taught us that we are insignificant in the cosmic scheme of
things; we are not, as we once thought, the source of cosmic significance. (Is that why we kill others in
the name of our gods? Psychological compensation for feelings of insignificance?) On the other hand,
we may well be the means by which the cosmos knows itself, our consciousness serving as the
sensorium through which the universe becomes self-aware, star stuff made intelligible. It's as if a
tadpole in a pond was able to chart the Earth's oceans.
There is surely some consolation in knowing that long after the current crop of true believers are dust
and their faiths faded away, the pulsars will still pulse, the galaxies produce planets and the planets
produce other creatures in search of God particles.
Robert Sibley is an editorial writer for the Citizen. His column appears Thursdays.
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Entry 2 of 3
The Ottawa Citizen
Thu Sep 23 2010
Page: A15
Section: Arguments
Column: Robert Sibley
Headline: The Pope battles on against our surrender to meaninglessness
There was no arrest. The protests were puny. The applause plentiful. All in all, Pope Benedict XVI's
state visit to Britain was a success.
To be sure, 10,000 to 20,000 people paraded through the streets of London objecting to the pontiff's
presence. By comparison, though, 80,000 -- not all of them Catholic -- turned out for the papal prayer
vigil in Hyde Park. This despite the best (read: worst) efforts of the secularist opinion-makers and New
Atheist gurus to turn the British public against the Pope.
Might it be that the secularist "elites" have misread -- and misrepresented -- the public mind when it
comes to religion and matters of the spirit? Perhaps people at some deep level understand and
sympathize with the battle in which Benedict is engaged.
The official purpose of Benedict's visit was to preside over the beatification of the 19th-century
Catholic intellectual, John Cardinal Henry Newman. But his deeper purpose was to challenge the
secularists' claim on the spirit of Britain. I use the word spirit deliberately. The word comes from the
Greek pneuma -- by way of the Latin spiritus -- and refers to the source that breathes life into a body
and gives it meaning and purpose. Benedict is engaged in spiritual warfare, seeking to arrest the West's
surrender to meaninglessness.
It's been a long campaign. For example, in a 2004 speech, "The Spiritual Roots of Europe," Benedict -then Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger -- compared the situation of the contemporary West to the decline of
Rome. "In its final days, Rome still functioned as a great historical framework ... (but) its vital energy
had been depleted."
The modern West is in danger of repeating Rome's collapse because it no longer believes in itself, he
said. "There is a self-hatred in the West that can be considered only as something pathological. The
West attempts in a praiseworthy way to open itself completely to the comprehension of external values,
but it no longer loves itself; it now only sees what is despicable and destructive in its own history, while
it is no longer able to perceive what is great and pure there."
Similar messages were delivered last week. Warning against relying on political regimes to guarantee
justice and freedom, the Pope said: "Each generation, as it seeks to advance the common good, must
ask anew: what are the requirements that governments may reasonably impose upon citizens, and how
far do they extend?"
Recalling Germany's Nazi regime, he cautioned against the perversions to which atheism is prone. "As
we reflect on the sobering lessons of the atheist extremism of the 20th-century, let us never forget how
the exclusion of God, religion and virtue from public life leads ultimately to a truncated vision of man
and of society."
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He also reminded Britons and, by implication, all westerners, that Christianity remains an essential part
of their cultural identity. "Your forefathers' respect for truth and justice, for mercy and charity come to
you from a faith that remains a mighty force for good in your kingdom, to the great benefit of Christians
and non-Christians alike."
Benedict even encouraged young people to rethink the contemporary mantra that life is all about instant
self-gratification. "There are many temptations placed before you every day -- drugs, money, sex,
pornography, alcohol -- which the world tells you will bring you happiness, yet these things are
destructive and divisive."
The Pope's words, always delivered in a polite and soft-spoken manner, stand in sharp contrast to the
near-hysterical hostility of those who wanted the man arrested for "crimes against humanity." New
Atheist guru Richard Dawkins betrayed his own rationalist ethos with an irrational rant: "Go home to
your tinpot Mussolini-concocted principality, and don't come back." Journalist Johann Hari stroked his
ego by imagining himself as Lord Protector of the Realm, clapping rhetorical cuffs on the Pope. "I am
placing you under arrest ... for your central role in the systematic coverup of the rape of children across
five continents."
The Catholic Church is certainly at fault for allowing and then mishandling the child-abuse scandal, but
it is not rational to suggest Benedict has been engaged in an intercontinental cover-up of institutional
rape. Such extremist language betrays, as British sociologist Frank Furedi observes, "the immature
mannerisms of attention-seeking toddlers."
What might account for this intellectual infantilism?
Modern secularism, dating to the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, is grounded in the assumption
that science and social reform would awaken mankind from the sleep of religion. This humanist vision
was both terrifying and exciting. Being orphaned in a vast and godless universe reduced us to
frightening insignificance. But at the same time there was the exhilarating prospect of creating heaven
on earth. We would become masters of our destiny and realize that God was, as Sigmund Freud
claimed, a product of childish wish-fulfillment. So we transferred our hope for perfection beyond this
world to hope for a world made perfect through science and social progress. We would become our own
gods.
It seemed to work for a while. Science unquestionably provided great benefits. The world is a kinder
and gentler place, at least in the West, than it was, say, three and four centuries ago. Yet, in the
aftermath of the 20th-century's horror shows, our secular faith has been shaken. Indeed, a virus of
misanthropy now sweeps the secular world. Man is regarded as plague on the planet, a selfish, irrational
creature who needs to be controlled and coerced by experts who know what's best for him.
Such a loss of faith in human potential creates incredible psychic tensions. If you no longer believe in
the perfectibility of humanity, and if belief in a perfection beyond this world is out of the question,
where do you turn? The answer, as a Freudian might suggest, is to project your disillusionment
elsewhere.
This is what the vitriol against the Pope and the Church is about at the deepest level. Secularists have
lost faith in the modern project and need to attack an institution that still retains its faith. To maintain
their legitimacy and enhance their own power and influence, they try to delegitimize what they can not
emulate. Thus they inflate the Church's failings to absurd extremes. And that, of course, merely exposes
their own intolerance and authoritarian tendencies.
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The Pope, in his warnings against state tyranny and "atheist extremism," clearly recognizes the spiritual
sickness that grips the secularist mind when taken to extremes. And he understands that if this sickness
holds sway it will be the end of western civilization and the beginning of a new dark age. The
Enlightenment will become the Endarkenment.
Robert Sibley is an editorial writer for the Citizen. His column appears Thursdays.
Entry 3 of 3
The Ottawa Citizen
Thu Oct 14 2010
Page: A13
Section: Arguments
Column: Robert Sibley
Headline: Reborn from the belly of the Earth; The Chilean miners could well look back on their ordeal
as an experience that revealed something of their souls
The plight of the Chilean miners trapped deep underground for more than two months has enthralled
the world, and understandably so. Their story speaks to some of the most potent primal fears in the
human psyche -- entombment, abandonment, aloneness, solitude. You can't help but wonder how you'd
cope in a similar situation.
These 33 modern-day Jonahs have demonstrated not only a remarkable will to survive, but, even more
remarkably, they've shown the human spirit at its best. To read these men's stories -- for example, Luis
Urzua, the 54-year-old shift supervisor whose leadership helped the others maintain hope when no one
on the surface knew they were alive, or 50-year-old Yonni Barrios, who drew on a nursing course taken
15 years earlier to serve the men's medical needs -- is to see grace under pressure at its finest.
Trapped 700 metres -- about 2,000 feet -- underground since Aug. 5, the men made a four-day supply of
food last for two weeks, unaware that many on the surface assumed they were already dead. Only after
crews above ground extracted a drilling tube in late August and found a plastic bag with a note attached
-- "Estamos bien en el refugio los 33," "All of us are well inside the shelter" -- did the world learn they
were alive. And only late last week, after a rescue shaft reached them, was their return to the world
possible.
Imagine being stuck for more than two months with a couple dozen colleagues in a dark chamber no
bigger than a studio apartment. The potential for cracking up is obvious. Yet, by all accounts, these men
not only stayed sane, but, as it seems, grew spiritually. Psychologists at the mine site say unity of
purpose among the men was an essential factor in keeping any of them from suffering a mental
breakdown during the long ordeal.
When a relief shaft reached them they requested spiritual goods as well as material necessities. Along
with food, clothing and medicine, they wanted Bibles, crucifixes, rosaries, Marian statues and figurines
of favourite saints. When they apportioned sections of their chamber for bathing, eating, sleeping and
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toilet use, they also set up a special place for prayer. The oldest man, 63-year-old Mario Gomez, served
as a spiritual adviser to the others, and led the group in prayers once or twice a day. Such behaviour
calls to mind philosopher Alfred Whitehead's statement: "If you are never solitary, you are never
religious."
It might seem odd to describe miners trapped in close confines as solitaries, but as I observe in my
forthcoming book, A Rumour of God, solitude doesn't necessarily require being alone. You can be a
solitary in a crowd. Solitude is more a state of mind, a psychological condition, than a physical situation
or an emotional experience.
I don't want to romanticize the miners' situation, but I'm reminded of stories I've heard from soldiers
who've endured combat: They were terrified, but having survived they would not trade the knowledge
they gained about themselves, or the deep camaraderie they felt for others who endured the same
horrors, for anything.
Most of us never find ourselves in situations where we are severely tested. Can we face our worst fears?
Are we stoics or whiners? Will we act courageously? Indeed, we avoid situations of solitude, preferring
the diversions of career, the vicarious pleasures of entertainment and the constant connectedness
provided by technological culture. The idea of being detached from others is a frightening notion for
many.
Yet, philosophers, spiritual adepts and other seekers have long taught that solitude can bring great
benefits. Solitude, says Peter Suedfeld, a psychologist at the University of British Columbia who
specializes in isolation and sensory deprivation research, "gives people a chance to contemplate who
they are, what their relationships are to other people, and what their goals will be ... a kind of settling
and self-defining function."
One of the best examples of putting solitude to good use is Admiral Richard Byrd, the famous explorer
of the Arctic and Antarctic in the 1920s and 1930s. In 1934, in an effort to flee the "crowding
confusion" of his life, Byrd spent a winter in solitude at an isolated research station in the Antarctic.
The isolation and the hardship nearly destroyed him, physically and mentally. Yet, like the Chilean
miners with their spaces for prayer and rituals for meals, what kept Byrd sane was the day-to-day
discipline of routine: keeping his shack free of snow, rearranging his supplies, reading, exercising.
But Byrd also received the gift of solitude: a renewed sense of meaning and a deeper appreciation of
life. His journals are full of a sense of wonder at the sheer presence of the world and the mystery of his
own existence. For instance, his entries for April 1934 recount encounters with the polar night "when
neglected senses expand to an exquisite sensitivity." He speaks of standing on the Barrier shelf and
feeling "no doubt of man's oneness with the universe." Such feelings, he wrote, "transcended reason
(and) went to the heart of man's despair and found it groundless. The universe was a cosmos, not a
chaos; man was rightly part of that cosmos as were day and night."
I have no idea whether any of the miners had similar revelations -- such epiphanic experiences are
difficult to articulate -- but some have offered hints of spiritual discovery. "I have realized how empty
my life has been for all of these years," one miner reportedly said. Another, speaking to relatives on the
surface, confessed that he found his "other self down there." Mario Sepulveda, the second miner to
emerge, said "I was with God, and with the Devil -- and God took me." Another pointed to a phrase on
his shirt reading, "Thank you Lord."
Some, of course, will argue that requests for Bibles and crucifixes are a fall-back to feel-good
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superstitions, spiritual comfort food at a time of stress and fear. Only the men themselves can answer
that claim, but I'm willing to bet that in years to come many will look back on their months
underground as the singular event of their lives, an experience that, while hard and frightening, revealed
something of their souls.
That was certainly Byrd's discovery. Despite his near-death ordeal -- or, perhaps, because of it -- he was
able to write: "Part of me remained forever (in the Antarctic): what survived of my youth, my vanity,
and certainly my skepticism. On the other hand, I did take away something I had not fully possessed
before: appreciation of the sheer beauty and miracle of being alive, and a humble set of values ... I live
more simply now, and with more peace."
I would wish such peacefulness for the miners. Like the biblical Jonah in the belly of the whale, they
have in a sense died to their former lives and been reborn to another life. Arguably, their biggest test is
to come when, back in the world, they encounter a ravenous media waiting to reduce their selfdiscovery to sound bites and turn them into celebrities for the diversion of the masses. Only if they hang
onto whatever they discovered within themselves during their months of solitude, will they stay truly
sane.
Robert Sibley is an editorial writer for the Citizen. His column appears Thursdays.