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God of the quantum vacuum

IT IS no accident that the word “heaven” refers to the domain of stars and of
God. To medieval Christians, the Universe reflected a divine order. At the
centre of the physical cosmos sat the Earth, and around it revolved great
concentric “crystal spheres” that carried the Sun, Moon, planets and stars. The
spiritual parallel of this structure placed humanity at the centre. Proceeding
outwards, the spheres were ruled by successively higher ranks of angels, forming
a great cosmic hierarchy. Beyond the final sphere was the empyrean heaven of God
the creator. Looking up at the stars, medieval Christians really believed they
were looking towards God.

The notion of a cosmos that reflects the divine still had currency at the
dawn of the modern scientific era. For the founders of modern
cosmology—Nicholas Copernicus, Johannes Kepler, and Isaac
Newton—studying the stars was a quintessentially religious activity. As
Kepler wrote in 1595, “for a long time I wanted to become a theologian . . .
now, however, behold how through my efforts God is being celebrated in
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Yet in our own century we have come to see the Universe not as a reflection
of God, but as a by-product of natural laws, such as Newton’s law of gravity and
Einstein’s general relativity. The Cambridge University physicist Stephen
Hawking has even claimed that natural laws alone will soon tell us how the
Universe grew out of nothingness. “What place then, for a creator?” he asks in
his best-selling book, A Brief History of Time.

But is it necessarily true that the more scientists learn about the workings
of the cosmos, the less they can see of the divine? Hawking may think so, but a
surprising number of cosmologists and astronomers do not. They continue to see
aspects of the divine within the Universe that science describes.

For those who think there is something odd about a bunch of scientists
thinking about God, consider the fact that in April this year, a survey
published in Nature (vol 386, p 435) revealed that 39.3 per cent of
American scientists believe in a personal God they can pray to. The authors,
Larry Witham and Edward Larson, a historian at the University of Georgia in
Athens, point out that they used a very narrow definition of deity. With a wider
definition, they say, the proportion of believers would have been even higher.
More surprisingly, the survey—which was a rerun of one conducted in
1916—revealed that religious belief among American scientists has hardly
changed since the start of the century, when 41.8 per cent expressed belief in a
personal God.

Jewish mysticism

So how might God be reflected in the Universe of contemporary cosmology? In
May, this question brought together a group of leading cosmologists to the
Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences, in Berkeley, California, which is
devoted to bridging the gap between the two fields. Chief among the issues
discussed was how to interpret the scientific account of the birth of the
Universe in a theistic sense.

One intriguing interpretation comes from Joel Primack, a cosmologist at the
University of California, Santa Cruz. Primack, who is Jewish, draws an analogy
between cosmological inflation theory and the description of creation told by
followers of cabbala, a form of Jewish mysticism dating from the late Middle
Ages. The early cabbalists believed they could learn about God through his
relationship with nature.

“The cabbalists developed a theoretical system portraying God as having ten
aspects, known in Hebrew as the sephirot,” says Primack. Beyond the
sephirot is Ein Sof, the unknowable aspect of God, from which
emanated a light that created the sephirot and the physical universe.
“Of the ten sephirot,” he says, “the first three deal with creation,
and they correspond fairly closely to the concepts from the theories of
inflation and eternal inflation.”

The inflationary theory, proposed in 1979 by Alan Guth of the Massachusetts
Institute of Technology, argues that for a fraction of a second after the
Universe emerged from the quantum vacuum, it expanded exponentially, growing
much faster than the speed of light. Eternal inflation is a development of this
idea, proposed by the Russian physicist Andrei Linde, now at Stanford
University. Linde’s idea is that there was not just one inflationary speck, but
many—and not just one Universe, but many. Inflation is still going on
today, he argues, constantly producing new universes all the time. It is a sort
of infinite bubbling potential.

Bursting through

According to Primack, the infinite potential of eternal inflation may be
likened to the first sephirah of the cabbala, known as Keter,
which is symbolic of God’s infinite potential to create. The second, called
Hokhmah, is the bursting through of our Universe from the realm of pure
potential to physical existence. This Primack likens to the initial expansive
moment of inflation. The third sephirah, Binah, is the womb in
which creation expands out of Hokhmah, and for Primack, this can be
seen as analogous to the more leisurely, post-inflationary expansion of
spacetime. Indeed, Primack concludes: “There could probably be no more accurate
name for the big bang as we understand it scientifically today than to call it
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While Primack’s attention is drawn to the Jewish cabbala, Robert Russell has
focused on the Christian story of creation. Russell is a physicist, theologian,
minister in the United Church of Christ and founder of the Berkeley Center for
Theology and the Natural Sciences. Surprisingly, he draws on the work of
Hawking, the unbeliever. Russell argues that, far from removing the need for a
creator, Hawking’s brand of cosmology can actually be seen to support the
Christian view. Hawking proposes that time emerges along with the Universe out
of the quantum background. And since in the fuzziness of quantum theory there is
no precise moment when time begins, there is no precise moment of creation and
hence no need for a creator. While Russell agrees that time was born along with
the Universe, he disagrees that this leaves no room for a creator.

As far back as the 5th century, he says, the great Christian saint Augustine
of Hippo declared that the Universe was not created “in” time, but “with” time.
For Augustine, it made no sense to ask what happened “before” God created the
Universe because time did not exist. For the same reason, Hawking says it makes
no sense to discuss events before the quantum fluctuation that gave rise to the
Universe. But according to Augustinian theology, God did exist before creation
because he exists outside of time. Thus, says Russell, Hawking’s cosmology does
not automatically squeeze God out of existence. Rather it can be seen to support
the notion of a God who transcends time. “This is a good example,” says Russell,
“of how theologians can do theology better if they understand science.”

In the Judaic and Christian traditions, the creation of our Universe is
viewed as a single, long-ago event, but in the Muslim mystical tradition known
as Sufism the process of creation is continuous. Bruno Guiderdoni of the
Institute of Astrophysics in Paris says that in Islam “creation is God’s
self-disclosure to himself”. In other words, God reveals himself by the very act
of creation.

According to Sufism, there are five levels of reality or “Presences” through
which God reveals himself. These, Guiderdoni says, may be likened to the 10
sephirot of the cabbala. But since Sufism holds that God’s self-disclosure
is perpetual, new things—be they events or life forms—are coming
into being all the time. “They are continuously poured into disclosure,” says
Guiderdoni.

Sufi belief in continual creation fits well with the modern cosmological view
of an increasingly complex Universe, Guiderdoni says. In the beginning, runs the
accepted scientific view, the Universe was a simple place consisting of a single
“superforce”. After the big bang, this separated into the four forces we see
today: gravity, electromagnetism, and the weak and strong nuclear forces. Then,
matter as we know it began to form, starting with subatomic particles, then
atoms, stars and galaxies, and later molecules and planets. Finally came the
gradual emergence of life forms. For a Sufi, this process is a joyous reflection
of God’s continuing revelation.

According to John Barrow, professor of physics at the University of Sussex,
it is hardly surprising that people see God in the scientific cosmos, because
religious ideas so often permeate science. Hawking would not be working on the
emergence of the Universe from the quantum vacuum, for example, if there was not
already a tradition in religion of “God creating something out of nothing”, says
Barrow.

There are other examples of how science has subsumed religious ideas. Edward
Harrison, an astrophysicist recently retired from the University of
Massachusetts, points to the “cosmological principle”, the idea that the
Universe has no centre and is essentially the same everywhere. This has its
roots in the notion, shared by Christians and Muslims, that “God is everywhere
and occupies no point”, he says. Within the Christian religion, the principle in
this form was first expressed by the 15th-century German scientist and
theologian Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa, who reached his view on theological
grounds. “Astronomers don’t often appreciate how the definitions and properties
ascribed to God were eventually translated into properties of the Universe,”
says Harrison.

Linde goes further still. He believes that the whole of modern cosmology has
been deeply influenced by the Western tradition of monotheism. “When scientists
start their work,” he says, “they are subconsciously influenced by their
cultural traditions.” In particular, the central idea of modern
cosmology—that it must be possible to understand the entire Universe
through one ultimate Theory of Everything—is an outgrowth of belief in one
God. Thus cosmology has itself become a sort of religious quest: a search for
“God” in the form of an equation.

Heart of the cosmos

One important feature of the grand synthesis between science and Christianity
that prevailed in medieval Europe was humankind’s position in the cosmic order.
Humanity was seen as residing not just at the physical heart of the cosmos, but
also at its spiritual centre—the focal point of God’s attention. Today we
appear to have been removed from that focus. Modern cosmology seems to place
humanity nowhere in particular—and it is this denial of a “special” place
for humans that makes some religious believers today view science with
suspicion.

But, again, many researchers insist that science does not demote humanity to
cosmic insignificance. Primack, for example, points out an important respect in
which humans are in the middle of the cosmos. At between 1 and 2 metres tall, we
are almost exactly halfway between the largest cosmological scale of 1026
meters, and the smallest quantum scale of 10-35 metres. We also live in a small
island of baryonic—or “normal”—matter, amid the vast sea of unseen
dark matter, which appears to make up more than 90 per cent of the Universe.
This, Primack says, shows that we are in a cosmologically special place.

There are other ways too in which we have a special place in the Universe,
says Guiderdoni. Astrophysics tells us that the atoms of our bodies were forged
in stars, so we humans could not exist until the Universe had undergone several
generations of stellar evolution. “The size of the Universe is a consequence of
its age, and so we need this space around us and the time behind us in order to
be here on Earth,” he says. “Cosmology is teaching us that we are at the top of
a huge cosmic building.” As in the medieval era, we too can see the physical
Universe as a ladder leading up to humanity.

There is also a sense in which the Earth is literally at the centre of the
Universe, says Guiderdoni. Whatever shape our cosmos may be in theory, in
practice we live at the centre of a sphere which is determined by the light that
has reached us since the big bang. The surface of this sphere is the time t=0,
beyond which we have no scientific knowledge. This finding echoes the medievals’
view of the cosmos, says Guiderdoni. For them, rational knowledge ended at the
outermost celestial sphere, where the mystery of God and creation began. “We too
have a kind of boundary between the cosmos, which is describable by natural
laws, and the mystery of the origin,” he says.

In the 14th century epic, the Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri travels
through the cosmos towards God. Coming to the outermost sphere, he strains to
pierce the skin of the Universe to see the ultimate source of wisdom beyond. “We
are trying to probe our origins,” Guiderdoni says, “exactly as Dante
allegorically crossed the celestial spheres to see God’s face.”

Modern cosmology is unlike other sciences in that there is only limited scope
for experiments, and nature has given us just one Universe to observe. On top of
that, much of contemporary cosmology deals with things like inflation and the
big bang that have not been directly observed, and probably never will be.
Andrej Pacholczyk of the University of Arizona in Tucson views cosmology as
“noncorrespondence science”—one based on almost pure speculation. Today,
the crystal spheres may have gone, but what has replaced them—the best
natural laws that scientists can produce—cannot pierce the skin of the big
bang. Perhaps this is why so many scientists still see the face of God reflected
from the edge of the cosmos.