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PAGE 2 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 PAGE 2 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. PAGE 2 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." PAGE 2 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. PAGE 2 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 PAGE 2 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 PAGE 2 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.