The Atheist’s Guide to Christmas

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And every year, when I read the blogs, the papers, and watch the news, I see that same story of the Christmas Star resurrected, an undead story that won’t stay down. And people keep looking for the evidence.

But they won’t find it. They can’t. It’s just a story.

So for me, just being with family, enjoying their company: it’s enough. And, of course, every winter I still go outside to observe the sky and look at the stars, the real stars. You don’t need to search for them—they’re there, festooned across the sky for everyone to see.

The Ironed Trouser: Why 93% of Scientists Are Atheists (Depending on Who You Ask) (#ulink_73256bbd-88f1-54c1-8299-03bb007d3fde)

ADAM RUTHERFORD

Atheism and science should make good, comfortable, spooning bedfellows. Even though they are totally separate types of thing, the former being a position, the latter a process, the casual assumption is that they should skip hand in hand through gloriously evolved fields of reason. Those who oppose either or both like to conflate the two for a convenient jab-swing combo to pulverise rational thought in favour of religious fervour. Science must be bad because it lies so comfortably with godlessness.

The term ‘scientific atheism’ is tossed around sometimes, but I don’t really understand what it means. Atheism exists fully independently of science. As the onus is on the faithful to demonstrate the existence of Yahweh, Allah, Thor, Hanuman or whoever, atheists need to do nothing at all to be devoted to their stance. ‘Scientific atheism’ is equivalent to saying ‘ironed trousers’. Like science, ironing is a process, which can be applied to all manner of items: dresses, shirts, even underpants, if one were so inclined. It straightens things out, makes them fit together nicely. Fortunately, trousers exist and function perfectly adequately without ironing. And atheism exists without back up from science. But it does make it look a bit smarter.

In the twentieth century, there were several attempts to quantify the overlap of eggheads who were godheads. In 1916, psychologist James Leuba found that out of 1,000 scientists, 60% were agnostic or atheist. Eighty years later, the experiment was repeated, and the results were virtually identical. Within a different sample, only 7% of the members of the American National Academy of Sciences indicated a belief in God. More recently, a survey of the fellows at the UK’s most august scientific body, the Royal Society, revealed only 3.3% who believed in God.

As with so many surveys, it depends on who you ask, and how you phrase the question. Is the Royal Society a representative sample of scientists? Oh Lord, Mary Mother of Jesus, heavens to Betsy, Christ on a bicycle, no. How so no? For starters, only 5% of Royal Society fellows are women, something like ten times lower than in the general scientific community. A recent survey* (#ulink_1d78aefa-4754-551a-a4d6-a907e9d7dcd9) indicated that Royal Society fellows are 38% grumpier than other scientists. Many fellows are so old it’s difficult to ascertain if they are even alive, let alone God-fearing. It is possible that this gives them an inside track on the big answer, but one would have to untimely wrest them from their peace to find out.

But what is clear is that those of a science bent are more likely to also lack religious faith. Why should this be? Because the process by which scientific knowledge is revealed is one that requires logic and rational thought at every stage. Any researcher will tell you that there are plenty of moments that necessitate creative guesswork, or simply having a wild stab in the dark, but in general these moments are massively outnumbered by the grinding out of small incremental steps towards better theories. Science as a way of acquiring knowledge certainly predisposes one towards ruling out the inconsistencies and irrationality inherent in religion.

Furthermore, science explains how things are. There is a nonsensical variant of the argument from ignorance referred to as the ‘God of the Gaps’. Very simply, where there is a hole in knowledge, insert God as the explanatory force. It’s nonsensical because historically, it was gaps all the way down. What science does very well is fill them in. To those gappists, I say ‘just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t mean I can’t’.

So, there are two robust reasons why scientists are less likely to be religious. But a much more interesting question is why any scientists are religious. Opponents sometimes screech that scientists have to have faith in science itself. This is true in a sense, but at least the robustness of the scientific method is such that a belief that the system works is based on countless data points which show it to be reliable: where once there was ignorance, science has inserted knowledge. Having faith requires an absence or ignorance of scientific evidence, a belief that is not supported by a logical progression. That’s why it’s called faith.

One might be tempted to suggest that scientists who believe are not very good scientists. Empirically this is simply not true, and I’m not talking about the preachers of that creationist fig-leaf they call Intelligent Design. No, there are plenty of good scientists who are religious, who have faith, who see the laws of nature, evolution, gravity, the whole damned universe as a manifestation of a non-interventionalist divine force that now acts like an absentee landlord: he sets up the rules of the cosmos and then clears off for ever. These people are technically Deists.

I don’t really see the point of this stance, but I accept that the cultural trappings of religion can be hard to shake. It may be one of my own bountiful shortcomings, but I have not stumbled across a convincing argument for this apparent internal conflict that doesn’t rely on a form of compartmentalisation of one’s rational and irrational minds.

And that’s fine. Everyone, even the most hardline rationalist, behaves in absurdly irrational ways. It’s the nature of humankind. I couldn’t believe in God any less: it makes no sense to me, and more importantly, my trust in science’s extraordinary explanatory abilities renders the need for divine answers superfluous. All things are potentially explicable without recourse to the supernatural. But that doesn’t mean I exist in a purely rational way. I’ve spent the last twenty-eight years supporting a football team who in that time have won a grand total of two trophies, both before I was seven. All because of the random cosmic happenstance of having emerged into the world in a hospital lift in the small market town of Ipswich. And even so, I will be a ‘tractor boy’ till my cardiac myocytes twitch their last. Is that rational? No. It’s not even very much fun much of the time, Goddammit.

While some consider it to be a weakness, the true strength of science is that it is always and willingly subject to being wrong. What scientific truth is right today may yet prove to be incorrect, or need to be modified in incremental steps towards a better, truer truth. If the supernatural turned out to be real, with God and angels and demons and unicorns and behemoths and whatever else, then it would instantly stop being super, and start being just natural. At that point, scientists would want to know what the hell was going on.

I like to fantasise that God does exist, and what He and I might talk about. In the extremely unlikely event that He did appear before me, it would indeed be a revelation. Who knows? I might even indulge in a bit of glossolalia. But once I’d reassembled my lower jaw, stopped gibbering, composed myself, and apologised to my devout Catholic gran for giving her such a hard time all these years, the realisation would be that although much of what we assume to be true is not, the revelation would simply open up a new, mouth-breathingly exciting branch of science. If He did make everything, quarks and all, then surely he’d be pretty excited to let us mortals make some new discoveries:

ME: Sorry about all that ardent non-believing I’ve been doing. By giving me choice, you didn’t really give me much choice.

GOD: Don’t sweat it. Any questions? I’m in a bit of a rush, I’ve got an urgent dice game to play with Einstein.

ME: Right. Did Maradona handle the ball in the 1986 World Cup Finals against England?

GOD: ‘Hand of God’, my divine arse. Nothing to do with me, mate.

ME: I forgive you. Listen, loads of questions to ask you, like, ‘What have you been up to for the last 13 billion years?’ and ‘What the hell is the point of Belgium?’ But I’m just going to stick to the facts: What are you made of?

GOD: Well…[answers in full]* (#ulink_b576a346-8715-5010-9057-b8e3cb59a6cd)

ME: Riiiight. Wow. That explains why in 10,000 years of history we haven’t been able to categorically verify one single instance of your existence.

GOD: Yeah, sorry about that.

ME: We’re gonna need some new technology and a seriously colossal grant to start researching this.

GOD: Anything else?

ME: One last thing: would you mind just clearing up the ‘Thou shalt not kill’ commandment? There seems to be a bit of confusion about it here on Earth.

GOD: [slightly embarrassed mumbling, exit stage left]

One can but dream. What scientists are very good at is asking questions. The scientific method provides a framework that allows us to ask those questions, rather than accept assertions. Take the example of the great and never-ending shouting match between those who understand evolution and those who are unencumbered by the gifts of fact or reason: creationists. A literal interpretation of the Biblical account of creation fails at every possible rational or scientific question one might put it. It is an assertion of truth based on nothing other than a fiction.

A thousand years ago, it wouldn’t have been all that easy to demonstrate how creationism is wrong. It existed largely in a knowledge vacuum, devoid of any evidence to the contrary, or any understandable evidence at all. The age of the Earth was unknown, the fact of evolution was unobserved, and the idea of a high-throughput automated fluorescent DNA sequencing machine was a matter for the dunking stool. For almost every question one could ask, the answer would be ‘we don’t know’. For many years Biblical creation was the only explanation. How were they to know that snakes have almost none of the physical attributes required to talk?

But by the first half of the nineteenth century, well before Charles Darwin graced us with evolution by natural selection, plenty of evidence had accrued that indicated that creationism could not be right. A whole steaming heap of wrong. And then in 1859 Darwin published On the Origin of Species. In it he outlined one big idea that not only fitted the observed evidence about the age of the Earth and the process of evolution, but it made predictions about what we would find next, many of which turned out to be very right. It’s not so much that creationism is wrong (which it most certainly is), but that evolution by natural selection is so much righter. So right in fact that it is now the only sensible way of understanding the origin of species on Earth. With varying degrees of wrongness other ideas and theories have come and, via the bypass of experiment and the slip road of failure, gone. It now seems unlikely that any theory will come along that could wholesale replace natural selection. But should that happen, scientists would be committed to investigating it fully. Currently, and for the foreseeable future, evolution by natural selection is categorically, emphatically and by far the best explanation for understanding the breathtaking diversity of life on Earth.

Evolution, as a scientific fact, is nothing much to do with being an atheist. It has a lot to do with ruling out medieval religious dogmas as childish hangovers from an ignorant past. But the process by which the fact of evolution was realised, tested and modified has a lot to do with the revelation of knowing that there is probably no God.

And that is science’s greatest strength: as a way of knowing. It’s an unending pathway towards knowledge and enlightenment about how stuff works. It’s a thought process based on observation, experimentation, rational thinking and logic. There’s no recourse to jumping to conclusions or leaps of faith. There are dogmas in science, but they are always subject to change. When it’s wrong, it’s wrong, and we need to modify our preconceptions and develop a new and better way of tackling the problem. That’s why science is the best way of knowing how things truly are. And as such, it’s a way of thinking that should have the effect of eroding faith. So whatever the real number of egghead godheads is, the fact that there are any at all reveals not a weakness of science, nor a strength of religion, but the fallibility of people.

* (#ulink_2e60acb3-a386-5504-82c4-b61e3358ea77)This survey was entirely made up, by me, for the purposes of making a glib point.

* (#ulink_df5f9c97-f93f-5ad8-a812-e7c9d9b4cce6)Precise details of this section of this conversation were unavailable at the time of going to press.

The Large Hadron Collider: A Scientific Creation Story (#ulink_050d4c39-e8eb-5d90-90ec-7a1a52ce3f3a)

BRIAN COX

The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) at CERN in Geneva is the biggest and most complicated scientific experiment ever attempted. Over 10,000 scientists and engineers from eighty-five countries have built a machine that can recreate the conditions present in the universe less than a billionth of a second after the Big Bang. The reason that the world has come together at CERN in the pursuit of pure knowledge is simple: we want to understand how the world came to be the way it is. This quest has led to a remarkable description of the violence and beauty of the origin of the world, and ultimately the emergence of life and civilisation in our universe.

Around 13.7 billion years ago, something interesting happened, and our universe began. One ten million billion billion billion billionths of a second later, gravity began to separate from the other forces of nature and has remained a weak enigma ever since. After a billion billion billion billionths of a second, the universe underwent an exponential expansion, growing from less than the size of an electron to the size of a melon in one hundred thousand billion billion billionths of a second. The universe then steadied its growth, and the energy that drove the expansion was transformed into sub-atomic particles, the building blocks of everything in the universe. Around a million millionths of a second after the interesting event, something known as the Higgs field began to behave in an unusual way. This caused most of the subatomic particles to acquire mass, and there was substance in the universe for the first time. From this point onwards, we are reasonably sure that our story is correct because over the last century the LHC’s smaller cousins have explored these violent conditions in exquisite detail. We are therefore the first culture in history that is engaged in a program to test our creation story experimentally. The primary job of the LHC is to explore the story during the time when the Higgs field became influential.

The LHC is a 27-kilometre-long circular machine that accelerates sub-atomic particles called protons to as close to the speed of light as is possible with our current technology. Approximately half of your body is made up of protons; the other half is made of neutrons. The machine straddles the border between Switzerland and France, which the protons cross twenty-two thousand times every second inside two parallel drainpipe-sized tubes. Over sixteen hundred powerful electromagnets, operating at—271 degrees Celsius, keep the protons spiralling neatly around the machine in precisely controlled orbits. The tubes cross at four points around the ring, allowing up to six hundred million protons to smash into each other every second at each point. Surrounding these mini-explosions are four detectors; digital cameras sitting inside cathedral-sized caverns a hundred metres below the vineyards and farms. It is their job to photograph the stage in our creation story that we want to explore.

According to theory, the Higgs field acts like cosmic treacle. The sub-atomic particles that make up our bodies and everything we can touch in our world acquire their masses by interacting with this all-pervasive stuff. Imagine attaching a string to a ping-pong ball and pulling it through a jar of thick treacle. If you didn’t know better, you might conclude that the ping-pong ball was very massive because it feels difficult to move. This is roughly how the Higgs field works in our best theory of the sub-atomic world known as the Standard Model of particle physics. It may sound far-fetched, but the Higgs model has survived for over forty years without actually being shown to be correct because it has very elegant mathematical properties that physicists find convincing.

With the LHC, however, D-day has arrived for the Higgs model. If it is correct, then particles associated with the Higgs field known as Higgs particles must show themselves in the LHC’s underground detectors. We can be so sure because, to do the job necessary in our creation story, the Higgs particles must be light enough for the LHC to create them in its high-energy proton collisions. If the Higgs particles don’t show up, then nature must have chosen some other mechanism to generate mass in the universe, and we will observe that instead. It’s as if the LHC allows us to journey back in time to the point in our story where mass appears in the universe for the first time, and take pictures of this most important of historical events. Because we can repeat the collisions billions of times, we can carry out very high-precision measurements that will allow us to investigate our creation story scientifically.

This time in the universe’s evolution is known as the electroweak era, because two of the four forces of nature, the familiar electromagnetic force and the less familiar weak nuclear force, reveal themselves as different facets of a single unified force at these temperatures. The weak nuclear force is shielded from our everyday experience deep within the atomic nucleus, but it is vital in allowing the sun to shine because it allows protons to change into neutrons, and therefore hydrogen to fuse into helium with the release of sunlight. The LHC will probe this unification, which intimately involves the Higgs mechanism, with unprecedented precision, and verify or refute our current theoretical models.

There are also hints that there may be surprises in store. Some particle physicists believe that the Standard Model Higgs theory is flawed because it requires a very delicate fine-tuning of parameters to make it work. Fine-tuning is considered ugly in physics; if the universe only works if the strengths of the forces or the masses of particles take on very precise values then physicists naturally want to know why this should be so. Coincidences do happen, but it is wise to look for more elegant explanations. There is a popular alternative to the Standard Model that goes by the name of the Minimally Supersymmetric Standard Model, or MSSM. This theory requires a doubling of the number of fundamental particles in the universe, plus no less than five different Higgs particles.

This sounds like additional complexity rather than an elegant simplification, but the MSSM achieves more than solving some of the fine-tuning problems: it also provides a possible answer to a decades-old problem in astronomy. It has been known for some time that there is much more matter in the universe than can be accounted for by simply counting up the number of stars and galaxies that we can see. In fact, it appears that five times as much matter is required to explain the orbits of stars around galaxies and the motions of large clusters of galaxies through the universe. Models of this missing stuff, known as Dark Matter, work best if the missing matter takes the form of an as yet undiscovered heavy sub-atomic particle. Within the MSSM, such a particle does exist, and if the model is correct then this particle and a whole new zoo of its sisters should show up at the LHC. Such a discovery would represent a giant leap in our understanding of the sub-atomic world and the evolution of the universe as a whole.