In a recent post, I wrote about my dissatisfaction with the answers that scientific materialism has offered for some difficult questions. One of these questions is about the astonishing fine-tuning of the physical constants of the natural world:
To understand this it’s important to keep in mind what’s called the “Anthropic Principle”. This is the common-sense idea that, since uninhabitable Universes would have no inhabitants, and therefore no observers, we should not be surprised that the Universe we see around us has whatever it takes for us to be able to live in it.
But the question still wants answering, and cosmologists have come up with two related possibilities. The first is that, rather than there being a single Universe, there is in fact an infinite collection of them — a Multiverse — in which every possible assortment of laws and constants is represented, at random, in some universe or other. The Anthropic Principle tells us that we could only be alive to ask these questions in a Universe that has things set up “just so”.
The other idea (which is really just a variation of the first, but differs from it in abstruse cosmological details) assumes a single, infinitely vast Universe, in which all the possible laws and constants are instantiated in different regions. The Anthropic Principle, as above, does the rest.
Is this persuasive?
It posits, on no evidence, that there are unseeable regions of reality in which the laws and constants of Nature are different — but even that isn’t enough: in order to get the statistical part of the argument to work, we must also assume that all possible configurations of the laws and constants are instantiated somewhere in the Multiverse (in order to give the Anthropic Principle the scope it requires). It doesn’t appear, though, that the laws and constants of Nature vary over time; this is, after all, why we call them laws and constants. Why should we believe they vary over space, or between Universes? Indeed, why should we believe in other Universes at all, except as a gimmick to account for the unlikeliness of the world we find ourselves in?
It seems impossible to explain the fine-tuning of the physics of the Universe without having it either being done “by hand”, or by imagining this infinite (and infinitely variegated) Multiverse that we cannot see or touch. Which is the cleaner assumption? In the absence of a third suggestion — and I’ve never heard one — it seems one or the other must be true. But both of these models must be taken on faith. How to choose?
I might have mentioned another issue: the quantum measurement problem. Let me sum it up briefly:
The old model of the world at the smallest scales was simple and intuitive: matter was made of tiny particles. An atom, for example, had a nucleus, made of protons and neutron, and was surrounded, like a little solar system, by orbiting electrons. Each one of these particles, though unseeably small, was a definite thing in a particular place at any given time.
But QM insisted that we replace this easily grasped model with something crazy: that all those little particles spent their ordinary lives not as actual particles at all, but rather as a cloud of mathematical probability, evolving according to a mathematical formula called a “wave function” — and what’s more, much of the time their behavior was not like particles at all, but rather as waves, with diffraction, constructive and destructive interference, and so on. What’s more, an electron actually has no definite position at all until someone actually measures its position. Prior to a measurement, all we can say is that there will be such-and-such probability of finding the electron in a certain place. When we make a measurement, the wave-function “collapses”, and all we have left is a measured electron in some actual spot. (It gets much weirder than that, too, but I’ll leave it there.) And QM made it clear that we shouldn’t think that the electron was in a definite place all along, and we just didn’t know where — in reality, the electron was nowhere in particular at all until we measured it and forced it to choose a place.
Now, all that’s bad enough, but the most troubling question is this: what constitutes a “measurement”? Apparently, until a conscious observer takes a look, the electron exists as a cloud of probabilities, and behaves like a wave, but the act of observation collapses it into a particle. But what’s so special about us? Prior to the observation, the electron interacts with the rest of the world in its wavelike form. But if we are just ordinary parts of the material world, what makes our observation any different from any other interaction? Nobody can say. Yet somehow it does.
This is the “measurement problem”. Erwin Schrödinger focused our attention on how bizarre it all is with his famous cat-in-a-box thought-experiment. It has perplexed physicists for a century now. (For a clear and readable overview of the problem, I recommend Nick Herbert’s excellent little book Quantum Reality.)
Most physicists don’t worry much about the measurement problem. QM is just so fantastically good at describing the microworld that they just shrug their shoulders and get on with it. The great Richard Feynman said “If you think you understand quantum mechanics, you don’t understand quantum mechanics.”
For consciousness to have a significant place in physics, though, is inherently troubling for hard-core scientific materialism, and so some physicists have tried hard to come up with an explanation. One of the more rigorous attempts was by a man named Hugh Everett — but his model is fantastic in its own way.
Everett’s proposal, which is called the Many-Worlds interpretation, says that rather than a measurement causing the collapse of the probability cloud into a single actuality, what happens is that at every instant when a measurement could be made, every possible outcome is actualized in a different Universe. Any particular observer simply rides along with one of these infinitely forking paths. In this way, it only seems that our measurement forced the world to make a choice, when if fact it makes every possible choice.
To call this “many” worlds is an understatement; it implies the existence of a staggeringly, unimaginably astronomical number of mutually undetectable Universes, forking off in every direction at an equally unimaginable rate. But by denying consciousness a special role that scientific materialism can’t account for, it saves the day!
Does this sound familiar? It’s quite the same thing, offered for the same reason, as the multiple Universes that are imagined into existence to answer the question of the fine-tuning of the constants of Nature.
I had a conversation with a friend the other day who is a highly intelligent atheist. On the question of the existence of God, he made a common criticism of faith: that believing in something without any evidence simply won’t do. He said that, because of the difficulty of proving a negative, as a basic point of logical practice the burden of proof is on someone who asserts that a thing exists, rather than expecting the other side to prove that it doesn’t.
I replied that another time-honored principle of practical reason was Occam’s Razor: “Entities should not be multiplied without necessity.” If you have two answers before you — one requires that Ptolemaic epicycles and countless imaginary worlds, and one that doesn’t — then you should, ceteris paribus, prefer the simpler one.
Compare the answers on offer by scientific materialism for the questions of the physical constants and the measurement problem, both of which assert the existence of infinities of unseeable Universes, with the model in which a Creator set up the actually existing natural world just as we find it, and in which our consciousness — the primary fact of human existence — is special, and makes a difference.
What say you, Brother William?



