Beyond Space and Time
DEWEY B. LARSON
North Pacific Publishers
Portland, Oregon
Copyright © 1995 by Dorothy E. Larson. All rights reserved.
First Printing
Published by Tuček & Tuček
by arrangement with NPP
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 95-68293
Preface
This volume is a continuation and extension of the subject matter of
my previous scientific publications. In those earlier works, I
demonstrated that a true and accurate representation of the entire
physical universe can be deduced from two simple postulates as to the
nature of space and time. With the aid of this complete and correct
theoretical system, I was able to organize and systematize the
previously existing knowledge derived from physical observation and
measurement, and to clarify the physical relationships applicable to
the far-out regions that are partially or totally inaccessible to
observation. The present volume extends the scope of that work by
examining the information about the existences outside (that is,
independent of) the physical space-time universe, and the local
manifestations of the outside existence that can be derived from the
new and more complete knowledge of the space-time universe itself.
For purposes of convenient references in this presentation, the term
“metaphysical” will be applied to the region outside space and time.
This word has acquired a wide diversity of meanings since its original
application to one of Aristotle’s works, but as the Encyclopedia
Britannica puts it, “Whatever may be the historical origins of the
term, ‘metaphysics’ has always connoted some antithesis between
physical and non-physical inquiries,” and this is the significance that
is being given to this term in the present work. The previous volumes
dealt with the physical universe; this one extends the inquiry to the
non-physical. A few additional physical subjects are given some
consideration, particularly in the biological field, but these are only
developed to the extent that is necessary in order to prepare the way
for the metaphysical discussion.
The entire new development—that presented in this volume—is based
on the premise that the conclusions reached in the previous physical
study are correct. Without any assurance that the new concept of the
nature of space and time developed in that study is valid, the present
findings would be nothing more than an interesting new philosophical
point of view to be added to the many already existing—a more
logical and consistent system of thought than has heretofore been
available—but otherwise not essentially different from previous
philosophical works. Since the theoretical system presented in my
previous books is still in the early stages of consideration by the
scientific community, and is a long way from general acceptance,
there will no doubt be those who contend that extending the scope of
the work into the metaphysical field is premature, and that a more
prolonged scrutiny of the original findings should precede any such
extension. However, the results of the present extension of the
investigation are, in a sense, an urgent message, in that they have an
immediate and crucial application to all human life. In view of their
extraordinary importance, it is scarcely appropriate to insist that their
consideration be deferred until after the leisurely processes of the
scientific community have had time to operate.
I have accompanied the development of the new system of physical
theory by a proof that it gives a picture of the actual physical universe
that is (or can be) correct in every detail. Ultimately, therefore, the
validity of this new system will have to be conceded, however painful
the necessary adjustments in thinking may be. In the meantime, there
is no good reason why those individuals who are already fully or
partially convinced of the authenticity of the new development, or
those who have no intention of trying to pass judgment upon it, should
have to wait for the slow-moving verification mechanisms of the
scientific community to arrive at firm conclusions. Those who are
interested in the subject matter are entitled to see what further
information can be developed from an extension of the same lines of
thought, if they so desire, even though such a departure from
conventional patterns of thinking does not yet have the approval of the
scientific Establishment.
Furthermore, even though non-scientists ordinarily accept the verdict
of scientists on scientific questions, and scientists-in-general usually
accept the verdict of the specialists in the particular field involved,
there is no adequate reason why they must do so. Of course, if the
subject matter is complex and highly technical, so that a thorough
knowledge of the field is a prerequisite for an understanding, the
layman is effectively ruled out in most instances, but this is not the
case here. The essence of my new physical system, the Reciprocal
System of physical theory, as I call it, is simple enough to be within
the comprehension of anyone who has a reasonably good
understanding of high school physics. Indeed, a worker in an allied
field—chemistry or engineering, for instance—has some advantage
over the professional physicist, as he is less committed to orthodox
lines of thought. The individual who finds the results of this
metaphysical investigation rational and reasonable is therefore in a
position to exercise his own judgment as to the validity of the claims
that I have made with respect to the underlying physical theory, or to
accept the judgment of the small, but growing, minority of physicists
who agree with my conclusions.
Some comments about the wide field of coverage of the work may be
in order in view of the prevailing parochial attitude that only the
philosopher is qualified to talk about philosophy, only the biologist is
qualified to talk about biology, and so on. Of course, it must be
conceded that the vast amount of detailed knowledge that is now
available makes some degree of specialization on the part of anyone
who attempts to push back the frontiers of that knowledge absolutely
essential. It does not necessarily follow, however, that the slice out of
the body of knowledge which constitutes the field of specialization
must be taken vertically in this usual manner, beginning with the
fundamentals of a particular subject and following it down into more
and more detail. It is equally logical, even though much less common,
to take the slice horizontally, dealing only with fundamentals, but with
the fundamentals of many subjects. This is what I have done. My
previous publications dealt with the basic aspects of physics,
chemistry, astronomy, economics, and the philosophy of science. This
volume extends the consideration to the fundamentals of biology,
religion, and philosophy in general. As the text shows very clearly, the
relations between the fundamentals of these different disciplines are
just as close, in their own way, as the relations between the various
phenomena included in the vertical slices that constitute the usual
fields of specialization.
It is not uncommon to find two or more sets of specialists studying the
same accumulation of facts from different viewpoints. For example,
the chemist explores the area along the borderline between chemistry
and physics and publishes his results in the Journal of Physical
Chemistry. The physicist works in the same area and publishes his
results in the Journal of Chemical Physics. The same kind of a
situation exists here. I am examining some of the fundamentals of
biology, for instance, not as a specialist in biology but as a specialist
in fundamentals; a “fundamentalist,” we might appropriately say, even
though the term has been preempted for use in a different connotation.
All of the conclusions that I have reached are the conclusions of a
specialist in a distinct, well-defined field, notwithstanding the fact that
the area included within this field has been carved out of the general
realm of knowledge in a somewhat unusual manner.
It should be understood that this work is not a treatise on metaphysics
in general; it is simply a report of a pioneer expedition into this
hitherto scientifically uncharted region. Subjects that are not covered
herein simply represent territory that was not explored. Perhaps some
of this unexplored territory will remain permanently inaccessible to
science. Other areas may be penetrated by future explorations. In any
event, there is no special significance in the absence of any particular
subject from these pages.
It is in fact obvious that science should be pressed to say all it can
about any problem which is at all susceptible to scientific treatment.1
(Henry Margenau)
We probably have no very good idea today of the range of problems
that will be accessible to science.2 (J. Robert Oppenheimer)
There is no field that will always remain the special province of
metaphysics and into which scientific research can never carry any
light; there are no “eternally unexplorable” areas.3 (Richard von
Mises)
Chapter 1
Introduction
To the present-day scientist, in his capacity as a scientist, the universe
is simply a mechanism, a large-scale replica of the mechanical
marvels that are such prominent features of our modern life, and he
accords nothing but a summary dismissal to those ideas and those
things which cannot be accommodated within his mechanistic
framework. As expressed by Herbert J. Muller, “men of science, men
given to ‘realism,’ are likely to make a clean sweep of old interests
and sentiments as so much rubbish. They regard religion as
superstition, metaphysics as moonshine, art as primitive pastime, and
all ritual as monkey-business.” 4 It must be conceded that this
disparagement of the non-scientific is not without some element of
justification in view of the striking contrast between the spectacular
progress of science and the relative backwardness of the non-scientific
fields. Vannevar Bush states the case in this manner
The enthusiasm, the exuberance, that properly accompanies the great
achievements of science, the thrill of at last beginning to understand
nature and the universe about us, in all their awesome magnificence,
continues to lead many men all over the world, especially young men,
on to this new materialism. 5
Furthermore, the materialistically inclined scientist is actively
supported and encouraged in this attitude by various modern
philosophies that emphasize scientific findings and deny or belittle all
claims that knowledge can be acquired by other means. Speaking
particularly of logical positivism, one of the recent philosophies of
this nature, C. E. M. Joad makes this comment:
Under its influence young men and women confidently affirm that
there are no absolutes, that metaphysics is nonsense, that the scientific
is the only method which reaches valid results and that the order of
reality which science studies is the only order that there is.6
Of course, not all scientists go to these extremes, and even those who
do share the definitely mechanistic viewpoint are seldom able to
maintain this attitude twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.
Most of them lead a double life, thinking and reasoning scientifically
in their offices, classrooms, and laboratories; and then, as the working
day draws to a close, laying aside science and all that it implies. “At
one hour scientists, at another they are Christians or common men,”
says William James, “and, holding thus the two ends of the chain, they
are careless of the intermediate connection.”
This divorce of the scientist’s working credo from the beliefs that
govern his personal life is his way of escaping the dilemma that faces
him because of the long-standing conflict between science and
religion: a conflict which, in spite of all of the valiant efforts to
downgrade it that have been, and are being, made by those who are
distressed by the thought of having to choose between the two, grows
ever sharper as the two viewpoints come more clearly into focus.
“Ever since the seventeenth century,” reports Bertrand Russell, “those
whom William James described as the ‘tender-minded’ have been
engaged in a desperate struggle with the mechanical view of the
course of nature which physical science seems to impose.”8 A. C.
Benjamin expresses the same thought in these words: “One of the
oldest conflicts in the history of thought is that between science and
religion… the struggle… has been long and bitter.”9
The initial advantages in this long and bitter conflict were all on the
side of the ecclesiastics. Thousands of years of undisputed sway over
the minds of mankind had put them in an almost impregnable
position, and in addition they had the enormous advantage of
promulgating a doctrine which the human race wants to believe. Even
the present-day scientists, with relatively few exceptions, prefer the
non-scientific viewpoint, and this accounts for the fact that so many of
them, not being able to reconcile religion with the scientific principles
in accordance with which they carry on their daily work, evade the
issue by keeping the two locked up in separate compartments of their
lives.
Notwithstanding the strongly entrenched position occupied by the
religious forces, the opposing scientific viewpoint has made, and is
continuing to make, important gains. Like many another Great Power,
the religions have overextended their positions and have come into
conflict with science on the scientists’ own ground. As a result, the
ecclesiastics have been forced into making a series of embarrassing—
in some cases even humiliating—retreats. Even the most inflexible
adherent of religious doctrine now admits that many of the religious
pronouncements concerning the physical world that only a few
centuries ago brought torture or death to those who dared to question
them are totally false. On some other issues, such as the validity of the
evolutionary theories, for example, the religious forces are themselves
divided, and the viewpoint of science is rapidly gaining ground. Even
more significant is the fact that there is a growing movement within
religious circles to abandon the metaphysical aspects of religious
doctrine and to define religious objectives in terms of human
relationships.
A substantial segment of present-day theological thinking has even
gone so far as to abandon reason to the scientists and to base religious
doctrine on irrationality. “Religious faith,” contends Reinhold
Niebuhr, “cannot be simply subordinated to reason or made to stand
under its judgment,”10 and Hurlbutt reports
Wherever one looks in modern theology, there is found the constant
rejection of the methods of science, of reason, whether inductive or
deductive, as pathways… to the solution of man’s problems.11
Such a retreat from reason comes close to conceding defeat. Yet it
would be rash to assert that the victories which science has gained in
these initial skirmishes presage complete dominance in the long run.
If we compare the ground that has been gained thus far with the extent
of the metaphysical field as a whole, it is evident that science has thus
far captured only a few outlying positions. The main bastions of
religious strength have not yet been touched. There are aspects of
existence which, so far as we can tell, are altogether irreconcilable
with the well-disciplined universal mechanism that the scientist
visualizes. As expressed by Richard Schlegel, “much of what is
closest and most important to man’s interests is outside of science.” 12
The mere fact that the rank-and-file scientist still tends to leave his
scientific convictions behind when he closes the door of his laboratory
is sufficient evidence that the “official” position which science takes
with respect to these matters is far from satisfactory even within its
own ranks.
Of course, the scientist who thinks seriously about these problems is
not satisfied with the religious answers either, particularly because
religion furnishes none of the logical and mathematical proof that is
so dear to his heart, but demands that its assertions be accepted on
faith. Men of science have a strong distrust of any claim to validity
that rests upon faith alone. Many of them are inclined to agree with
the schoolboy quoted by William James, who defined the term in this
fashion: “Faith is when you believe something that you know ain’t
true.”13 Bertrand Russell is merely speaking a little more
diplomatically when he defines faith as “a conviction which cannot be
shaken by contrary evidence.”14 But when we dig a little deeper, we
find that the scientific repudiation of faith is not nearly so definite and
uncompromising as would appear on the surface.
The doctrines of the world’s great religions all rest upon a proposition
which we may express in this fashion: There is an existence outside
the physical universe. (This is true even where the religion is not
theistic.) No proof of this assertion is offered—at least, no proof of a
character acceptable to science—and we are told that it must be
accepted on faith. Scientists look upon this very skeptically, and those
who hold to the strictly scientific point of view reject the thesis on the
ground that there is no competent evidence of such an outside
existence. Every fact to which we have access, these dissenters say,
can reasonably be explained in terms of the physical universe of
science.
This conclusion is debatable, and will be discussed further in the
subsequent pages, but in any event, even if the scientific skeptics were
correct, this would not, in itself, constitute a refutation of the religious
thesis. To complete the negative argument, the scientist must go a step
farther and assert that there is no existence outside the physical
universe. This is no more susceptible to proof than the converse
proposition. The mere fact that the scientist sees nothing which he is
willing to accept as evidence of such an existence does not prove
anything. Hence the scientist’s acceptance of this negative proposition
is another act of faith, not essentially different from the act of faith
that religious belief requires.
A negative assumption has exactly the same logical standing as a
positive assumption; it is only an assumption, nothing more. Thus, so
far as the basic premises are concerned, the position of science with
respect to metaphysical existence is not in any degree superior to that
of religion. Science claims to have superior methods and procedures
for treating factual matter, and has achieved some very impressive
successes which tend to substantiate these claims, but these scientific
methods and procedures cannot be put to use until there are some
facts on which to operate, and in this instance, there has been nothing
of a metaphysical nature that science would recognize as factual. It
follows that no conclusion which science has heretofore reached in
this area is actually scientific in the accepted sense of that term. The
orthodox scientist’s conclusion that there is no metaphysical existence
does not rest upon any scientific grounds; it rests solely upon the
assumption that what science has not thus far been able to do—to find
any factual evidence of such an existence—cannot be done: a highly
presumptuous assertion that cannot be justified either on empirical or
on theoretical grounds. If we look at this situation from a detached
point of view, without any bias or prejudice, we can hardly avoid the
conclusion that, as matters now stand, there is a stalemate. Religion
cannot prove that there is a metaphysical existence, and science
cannot disprove that existence.
When we pass from the general proposition of metaphysical existence
to the details of that existence, the position of science becomes much
stronger, in that even though it cannot prove that there is no such
existence, or that such existence is improbable, it can prove that some
of the specific contentions of the opposition are not valid. One serious
weakness in religious dogma is that it portrays all of its tenets as
emanations from the Supreme Authority and hence equally
authoritative. The great multiplicity of religious beliefs with their
bewildering variety of conflicting doctrines thus throws a dark cloud
over religion in general. Where there is a definite conflict between two
contentions, at least one of the contenders must be wrong, in part if
not in total, and it is thus evident that the great majority of the world’s
religions are wrong in many particulars. If all of their doctrines are
equally authoritative, as most religious groups contend, then the
obvious fact that errors exist in some of these doctrines leads to the
conclusion that none of them is valid, at least for the reasons given.
However logical the foregoing analysis may be, it makes little
impression on religious leaders or their dedicated followers, as they
are not much interested in religion in general. Their vital interest is in
their own particular doctrines, and here they have an invulnerable
position. Each religious group simply contends that its tenets are
correct and that the existence of conflicts merely shows that the
beliefs held by others are wrong. As long as it is merely a question of
one man’s faith against another’s, this confidence that it is everyone
else who is out of step is sufficient to insulate religion against any
shock due to the clash of discordant doctrines. For thousands of years,
religions have assailed each other by every means at their command
without in any way lessening the general conviction that some religion
must be preaching the eternal truth.
The advent of science in the midst of this picture has introduced an
altogether new element. Science does not say that certain religious
assertions are wrong because they conflict with scientific principles; it
says they are wrong because they conflict with the facts, and it is
prepared to prove that point. The religious establishments have fought
this proof every inch of the way, and more than one scientific
“heretic” has lost his life in the combat; but neither force nor
persuasion can hold the human mind captive forever, and the churches
have had to concede defeat on one scientific issue after another. The
claim of divine authority for all ecclesiastical pronouncements has
now become a boomerang. As Whitehead puts it, “The result of the
continued repetition of this undignified retreat, during many
generations, has at last almost entirely destroyed the intellectual
authority of religious thinkers.”15 If the most cherished tenets of
religious belief have no more backing than these now discredited
religious contentions, what credence can be given to any of them?
Thus runs the thinking of an important segment of present-day
thought, particularly among the youth who have been taught to draw
their own conclusions rather than blindly accepting the word of
authority.
But on sober reflection, we must recognize that there is a flaw in this
argument. Religious doctrines do not emanate directly from the
Higher Authority; they are promulgated by the ecclesiastical
establishment ostensibly on the basis of written documents or oral
traditions handed down from earlier times. Thus, all that the scientists
have demonstrated by their iconoclastic victories is that the religious
hierarchy was wrong in these specific instances and hence is not
infallible, a point that the more “liberal” religious leaders are quite
willing to concede. This being true, the hierarchy may likewise be
wrong when they assert that all of the tenets of their faith emanate
from the Deity and are therefore equally authoritative. Indeed, a very
elementary knowledge of human nature is sufficient to suggest that
the original religious doctrine, whatever it may be and however it may
have originated, is likely to be liberally embroidered with additions
and interpretations by the priesthood by the time it is officially
promulgated to the laity.
The findings of science in this area, limited as they are to a relatively
few rather peripheral sectors of religious thought, therefore do not
preclude the existence of genuine metaphysical principles that are as
authentic and as authoritative as the religious organizations claim.
This is another of the many cases where the general tendency to find
“guilt by association” is wholly unjustified. The scientist, or the
college student, or the man-in-the-street who finds much of the
religious doctrine with which he comes in contact unbelievable,
distasteful, or even absurd, is making a serious mistake if he
concludes that this invalidates all religious doctrine.
Summarizing the foregoing discussion, we may say that a careful and
unbiased study of the present-day conflict between science and
religion leads to the conclusion that, as matters now stand, religion is
not able to demonstrate, in any factual way, the reality of any
existence outside the physical universe known to the scientist. On the
other hand, science is equally unable to prove that there is no such
existence. Scientists have disproved some of the contentions of
religious organizations, but they have no adequate grounds on which
to deny the possibility that other religious assertions may be wholly or
partially valid.
The thoughtful individual who tries to evaluate the realities of
existence for himself can hardly be satisfied with either of these
opposing positions. He cannot be satisfied with ex cathedra assertions
that he is asked to accept “on faith,” which, in the present context,
merely means “without proof.” But if he is unhappy about being
expected to put his trust in unsupported assertions that certain
metaphysical entities exist, he is likewise unhappy about being asked
to believe the equally unsupported assertion that such entities do not
exist—all the more so because he would very much prefer that they
did exist.
He is willing to go along with the scientists’ basic premise that the
universe is orderly and rational, and is sympathetic with their
reluctance to concede the reality of anything of which there is no
reliable physical evidence, but, at the same time, he has a strong
conviction that there is an underlying purpose in man’s existence. He
agrees with Fred Hoyle that “the emergence of intelligent life is not a
meaningless accident.”16 He must turn, then, to religion, or at least to
some form of metaphysics, as science is completely silent on this
score. When we look at the situation from this viewpoint, the
seemingly paradoxical behavior of the average scientist, who accepts
the scientific thesis in his professional work and the religious thesis in
his private life, is quite logical, after all. He does not want to give up
either reason or purpose, and pending further clarification, he
therefore recognizes each one in that aspect of his life in which it is
most clearly applicable. Von Weizsacker, for example, tells us on page
121 of his book The Relevance of Science
Modern scientists in general find it very difficult to think of a religious
interpretation of natural law as anything but an additional tenet,
probably mythical and certainly not logically connected with the
concept of laws of nature.17
Here he is speaking as a scientist, but on page 77 of the same book he
lays his scientific convictions aside, disregards for the time being his
concept of religious ideas as “probably mythical,” and states simply
and unequivocally, “I am a Christian, or I should rather say: I try to be
a Christian.”
For some, this has created a very difficult situation. As expressed by
du Nouy
It cannot be contested that the heart of many men is the stage of a
conflict between the strictly intellectual activity of the brain, based on
the progress of science, and the intuitive, religious self. The greater
the sincerity of the man, the more violent is the conflict.18
Edwin C. Kemble gives us this personal report
Throughout my life I have been subject to inner tension because
science pulls one way, while my basic loyalty to the spirit and
aspirations of Christianity pulls another. That tension is still with
me.19
Others simply recognize that this is a problem that they will have to
live with for the time being:
It is possible to accept the fundamentals both of science, and of
religion, as enshrined in the form natural to each man, and wait
patiently for time to resolve discrepancies. This attitude, held
consciously or sub-consciously by more people than is generally
realized, can be defended on logical and on historical grounds.20 (Sir
William Dampier)
This is the situation as it stood prior to the development of the
Reciprocal System of theory, the new general theory of the physical
universe described in the previous scientific publications listed
opposite the title page of this volume. The formulation of this
comprehensive and far-reaching theory, and the demonstration that it
is a true and accurate representation of the physical facts as they exist
in the observable universe, now provides a much broader scientific
base from which to survey the more general situation of existence as a
whole. Space and time, in particular, have previously been beyond the
reach of scientific techniques, and questions concerning their nature
and relationship have by necessity been relegated to the metaphysical
realm, in spite of the fact that they are the foundation stones upon
which the physical structure stands. The development of the
Reciprocal System has now brought these two basic entities within the
boundaries of science. Space and time are as explicitly defined in this
new theoretical system as any other physical entity; in fact, it is the
explicit definition of space and time that defines the properties and
relations of the entire physical universe. Hitherto, a consideration of
space and time has been the first step into the great unknown beyond
the reach of science. Now the definite and specific knowledge of the
nature and properties of these two entities that is supplied by the
Reciprocal System constitutes a solid and stable platform from which
we can carry out a scientific exploration of some of the more
accessible areas in the more distant realm: the regions beyond space
and time.
The pages that follow present the results of such an exploration. By
taking full advantage of the more advanced point of departure that is
now available, it has been possible to apply scientific techniques to
the resolution of a large number of metaphysical questions—a
surprisingly large number, in fact. Not all of these are directly
connected with religion, but previous ideas as to the reality of
metaphysical existence, the characteristics of that existence, and the
relations between the metaphysical existence and the physical world
have come primarily from religious sources, and hence a scientific
inquiry into the metaphysical field necessarily involves, among other
things, a critical review of some of the most important religious
doctrines. Indeed, the drastic modification of the present view of the
relation between science and religion that is required by the findings
of this investigation can be regarded as the most significant result of
the work.
Inasmuch as religion is an emotion-charged subject, it is scarcely
possible to subject religious doctrine to scientific scrutiny without
arousing some intense antagonism. As James B. Conant puts it, “Any
attempt to relate scientific thought to ‘the philosophical and religious
ways of seeking truth’ is a perilous undertaking.”21 In order to
minimize this emotional impact, at least to some degree, the
presentation in this volume will be addressed specifically to scientists,
more particularly those scientists who feel the need to reconcile the
existing conflict between the scientific and religious influence
affecting their daily lives. The conclusions reached in the study are,
however, equally applicable to the human race in general.
CHAPTER 2
The Nature of Science
The primary objective of science is to gain an understanding of the
universe in which we live; that is, to acquire knowledge. Other
branches of human endeavor share the same objective, but the special
feature of science which sets it apart from the others is that it restricts
its inquiry to those items which are inherently factual; that is, if they
are anything other than observable facts, they are derived initially
from a consideration of such facts and are capable of being tested by
comparison with other facts. When so verified, these items become
part of a permanent and ever-growing body of factual knowledge:
scientific knowledge, we may say.
One of the ways in which this permanent store of scientific knowledge
is built up is by ascertaining more physical facts through processes of
observation and measurement. This is the activity in which the great
majority of scientists, aside from the teachers, are engaged, and the
facts that are thus discovered are the foundation stones of science. But
if scientific knowledge consisted entirely of a vast accumulation of
isolated facts, it would be impossible for anyone to achieve more than
a tiny fraction of the understanding which is the primary objective of
scientific activity. In order to gain a broad understanding, it is
necessary to classify these facts and to discover some general
relations between the classes, so that we can deal with a reasonable
number of items rather than with the enormous mass of separate facts
that emerge from the labors of the observers and experimenters.
The process by which these general relations are derived from the
individual items is inductive reasoning. Unlike the inverse process,
deductive reasoning, which proceeds in a straightforward way from
the general to the particular, and arrives at incontrovertible
conclusions, providing that both the premises and the reasoning are
valid, inductive reasoning is essentially a recourse to probability. An
independent verification of the conclusions thus reached is essential.
The standard procedure recognized by science consists first of a study
of the facts that appear to be relevant to the situation under
consideration and an attempt to locate some systematic variation or
other indication of a connection between two or more classes of items
(Step 1). On the basis of whatever may be found in this study, a theory
is devised to account for the findings (Step 2). If it is narrow in scope,
or lacking in adequate support, the theory is usually called a
hypothesis. The consequences of the theory are then developed in
detail (Step 3). Finally the scientist goes back to the accumulated store
of scientific knowledge, perhaps augmented by further observations or
experiments suggested by the theory, and tests the theory by
comparing its consequences with the observed facts (Step 4).
If there is a complete and exact agreement, the validity of the theory is
confirmed—in the language of science, the theory is verified—
providing that the facts available for comparison are reliable and
adequate in scope and number. If verification is not possible, but there
is a reasonable degree of agreement between theory and observation,
the theory is usable in practical application until something better
comes along, and it also constitutes a base from which a more
accurate theory may possibly be derived by addition or modification.
If there are major disagreements between the theory and the facts, the
theory is neither correct nor useful. Some theories are called laws.
This term is usually defined in a way which equates it with a verified
theory, an item of established scientific knowledge, but in practice, it
is applied rather indiscriminately to any of the theories in current use.
The procedure as described is subject to some degree of variation,
although the variability is more apparent than real. Many scientists
insist that certain theories which they have formulated were the result
of “hunches” or accidents rather than being due to a systematic study
of the relevant facts. But it is evident that the benefits of serendipity
seldom accrue to those who are not qualified to receive them. “Chance
favors only the prepared mind,” as Louis Pasteur expressed it. Here
the study of the facts has taken place just as surely, even though less
obviously, as in the normal situation. Similarly, many scientists omit
all or part of the verification procedure. But sooner or later someone
has to complete the job, and either supply the verification or
demonstrate that the theory is incorrect.
In order to qualify for the status of verified scientific knowledge, an
item must be capable of being stated explicitly so that it can be tested
by observation or measurement, it must have been so tested in a very
large number of individual cases distributed over the region to which
the item is applicable, it must agree with observation in a substantial
number of these tests, and it must not be inconsistent with observation
in any instance. These are rigid rules, to be sure, but an immense
number of individual items have already qualified under them, and
more are continually being added.
Some philosophers contend that there can be no such verification; that
we cannot be absolutely certain of anything in the physical realm, and
hence there is nothing that we know with certainty. The best we can
do, they say, is to establish a strong probability of being correct. From
a strict mathematical point of view, this is quite true. It must be
admitted that physical issues cannot be settled with mathematical
certainty. But we are not mathematical abstractions existing in a
vacuum; we are human beings existing in a physical universe, and our
science is an activity aimed at gaining an understanding of that
universe. So we are not striving for an unobtainable mathematical
certainty, a state in which the probability of error is zero. The
objective of science is physical certainty, a state in which the
probability of error is negligible.
The individual who applies the principles of science to practical
problems, the engineer, is perfectly safe in basing his calculations on
Newton’s Laws of Motion, or on Ohm’s Law, or on the conservation
laws. Even though the validity of these laws, within the range in
which he uses them, may not be mathematically certain from the
viewpoint of philosophers, it is physically certain, and there is no need
to give the philosophers’ hair-splitting a second thought. Our
permanent store of scientific knowledge consists of an accumulation
of items of this kind, the validity of which is physically certain.
Even those philosophers and philosophically oriented scientists who
stress the lack of mathematical certainty in science are compelled by
the weight of circumstances to admit that mathematical certainty is
not an essential factor in human knowledge. Bertrand Russell, for
example, tells us very explicitly that there is no certainty outside
mathematics:
The inferences upon which we implicitly rely in this [scientific]
investigation… differ from those of deductive logic and mathematics
in being not demonstrative… . Except in mathematics, almost all of
the inferences upon which we actually rely are of this sort.22
But having made this point, he immediately draws the teeth out of it
by admitting that “In some cases the inference is so strong as to
amount to practical certainty.” This practical certainty is, of course,
the same thing that we have called physical certainty. The terms
“physical certainty” and “mathematical certainty” have been used in
this work in preference to any of the alternatives that are available
primarily as a means of emphasizing the fact that these are the kinds
of certainty that apply in the physical and mathematical fields
respectively. It should be recognized, however, that, as here used,
these terms specify only the nature of the certainty, not the nature of
the knowledge. The validity of a logical proposition, for instance, may
be a matter of mathematical certainty, whereas it is possible, as will be
shown in the pages that follow, to establish the validity of certain
metaphysical propositions with physical certainty, as herein defined.
Physical certainty should not be regarded as an inferior kind of
certainty. It is not only all that we need for physical purposes; it is all
that we can use. The task of science is to identify and accumulate
physically certain items of knowledge and to assemble them into a
systematic and orderly structure. Of course, the subject matter with
which science is concerned cannot all be classified as scientific
knowledge. Many of the items with which scientists are currently
dealing have not yet been verified, and these are merely “work in
progress” for the present. In the course of further processing of these
items, many of them will be found defective and must be discarded,
just as is true in the fabrication of physical goods. But inclusion of
such items within the scientific field is justified on the ground that the
processing which they are undergoing is directed toward qualifying
them as scientific knowledge. Any item which is inherently incapable
of being factually tested in some manner is not scientific, irrespective
of whether or not it may be regarded as knowledge on the basis of
some other criterion, but those items which can be so tested, at least in
principle, and are now in the process of clarification and development,
are scientific even though they are not yet knowledge. When and if
they are verified, they become scientific knowledge and are added to
the growing accumulation.
Many scientists and philosophers deny the existence of permanent and
certain scientific knowledge, even when certainty is defined in a
manner similar to that in which the term is used in this work. For
instance, Marshall Walker, a physicist, tells us that “The notion that
scientific knowledge is certain is an illusion,” and in support of this
assertion he says that “new models are often quite radically different
from their predecessors and often require the abandonment of ideas
that have long been considered obvious and axiomatic.”23 Max Black,
a philosopher, has this to say: “We want to stress particularly the fact
that all scientific generalizations, laws, and principles are
approximations.”24
Walker’s comment is an illustration of one of the common errors in
thinking that underlies this denial of scientific certainty. He bases his
conclusion on the fact that many “models” and presumably “obvious
and axiomatic” ideas ultimately had to be abandoned. But the truth is
that few models ever qualify as scientific knowledge, since they rarely
attempt to cover all aspects of the phenomenon with which they deal,
and consequently they are inherently erroneous in part or in their
entirety. As Walker himself points out, “Scientists have learned by
humiliating experience that their model is not reality.”25 The failure of
models to stand the test of time has no relevance to the status of firmly
established knowledge. Likewise, if an assertedly “obvious and
axiomatic” idea can be definitely verified, then it constitutes scientific
knowledge and it is both certain and permanent. If it cannot be so
verified, then it is not, in fact, “obvious and axiomatic,” nor is it
scientific knowledge, and the necessity of discarding it has no
significance in the present context.
The statement by Black is equally erroneous. In many areas,
observation and experiment yield results that are physically certain.
“Science does possess a consolidated corpus, much of which does not
change,”26 says Alvin M. Weinberg. L. L. Whyte is similarly explicit,
and goes into more detail:
Physical results which do not depend on measurement can be precise;
some numerical conclusions are final, being free from possible
sources of ambiguity or error; many aspects of the universe are of
finite complexity; various forms of equilibrium ordering, once
identified, are wholly objective; in many realms the scope for
discovery may be finite.27
Generalizations based on these physically certain facts are themselves
physically certain if properly derived and verified. Furthermore, the
results of other less accurate observations or measurements are
equally certain if properly expressed. The point that often leads to a
misunderstanding of the true situation is that generalizations based on
such results can usually be verified only to a certain degree of
accuracy and within certain limits. Thus we cannot ordinarily verify a
statement in the form of y = 3x, where x and y are physical variables.
In order to be verifiable, the statement will usually have to be put in
the form: Within the limits x - a and x = b, y = 3x to an accuracy of
one part in 10Z. When thus expressed and verified, this statement
constitutes exact and permanent knowledge, regardless of whether
some future findings may show that the relationship is invalid
somewhere outside the limits specified, or that there is a deviation of
less than one part in 10Z under some circumstances. As du Nouy
points out, “Science has never had to retract an affirmation based on
facts that are well established within accurately defined limits.”28
The essential difference between science and the non-scientific
branches of human thought is that, instead of deriving all of his
conclusions from factual foundations and verifying them by checking
them against the facts in the manner described in the preceding
paragraphs, the non-scientist bases many of his most significant
conclusions on assumed premises of some kind: principles, forces, or
existences postulated for specific purposes and not capable of any
independent factual verification. In earlier days, these ad hoc
assumptions were made in terms of “demons”—supernatural beings
of one kind or another who took care of whatever could not be
explained on the basis of available factual information. Today the
language is different, but otherwise there is no change. The demons
are still with us under other names.
A corollary of the foregoing which is of particular significance in
connection with the objective of this present work is that there is no
inherently scientific field or inherently non-scientific field. The
essence of science is not in the subject matter but in the factual
treatment. Science has left certain fields to the philosopher or to the
theologian, not because the subject matter is necessarily non-scientific
but because it has not heretofore been possible to assemble enough
facts in these areas to make scientific treatment possible. What this
present work has done is to take advantage of an opportunity to obtain
some new factual knowledge about these matters, and thus to
surmount the obstacle that has hitherto stood in the way of the
application of scientific techniques. Metaphysical subjects have
previously been non-scientific, not because they are metaphysical, but
because no one has been able to see any way in which they could be
connected with facts susceptible to observation. Such subjects became
scientific work-in-progress just as soon as a possible means of
connecting them with observed facts was discovered, and all of the
relations derived through exploitation of this connection became
scientific knowledge just as soon as they were firmly established.
The concept of science and the scientific method that has been
described in the foregoing paragraphs, and will be used in the
exploration of the metaphysical field in this work, is what may be
called the traditional concept: the viewpoint of Galileo, Newton, and
the other great pioneers of science, and the concept to which most
rank-and-file scientists, in both the pure and applied branches of
science, still subscribe (usually without realizing that there is any
option). But in order to understand why a major overhauling of
scientific theory was necessary before the physical situation could be
clarified to the extent required to make an advance into the
metaphysical region possible, it must be realized that science is no
longer following the traditional practices and procedures. Theoretical
physics, generally regarded as the science par excellence, so much so
that the term “modern science” more often than not refers to physics
alone, is now dominated by a group of individuals who have
repudiated almost all of the items included in the traditional concept
of scientific practice.
The individuals, the inventive scientists we may call them, reject the
traditional view that the results of scientific activity take the form of a
permanent and ever growing store of scientific knowledge. “Scientific
truth is necessarily tentative, subject to correction,”29 asserts
Margenau, while Bronowski tells us that “Scientists know what the
layman seldom grasps, that a scientific law is not permanent.”30 Max
Black, looking at the situation from a position farther over on the
philosophical side, puts it in this fashion:
Scientists can never hope to be in a position to know the truth, nor
would they have any means of recognizing it if it came into their
possession.31
The great gulf between this pattern of thinking and the traditional
viewpoint of science is well illustrated by comparing the foregoing
statements with the following quotations from two of the foremost
scientists of modern times:
It is the characteristic mark of every true science that the general and
objective knowledge which it arrives at has a universal validity.
Therefore the definite results which it obtains demand an unqualified
acknowledgment and must always hold good.32 (Max Planck)
It must be remembered that in the sphere of exact natural science
conclusive solutions have repeatedly been found for certain limited
fields of experience. The questions, for instance, which can be
formulated with the concepts of Newton’s mechanics also found their
eternally conclusive answers in Newton’s laws and their mathematical
inferences.33 (Werner Heisenberg)
Some of the inventive scientists go a step farther and not only contend
that we cannot know the truth, but that the rational external world
which the traditional scientists have attempted, and are attempting, to
explore in search of that truth does not actually exist, and that
scientific concepts and theories are merely inventions of the human
mind, useful for dealing with relationships between physical
phenomena, but having no deeper significance. R. B. Lindsay points
out that the essence of the difference between the two viewpoints is
contained in the question as to whether the task of physical science is
discovery or invention:
Application of the term “discovery” implies that there is an external
world “out there,” wholly independent of the observer and with
built-in regularities and laws waiting to be uncovered and revealed.
They have always been there and presumably always will be; our task
is by diligent search to find out what they are.34
This is the traditional viewpoint on which the present work is
predicated. For his part, Lindsay rejects this concept and sets forth his
creed in these words:
We are essentially viewing the purpose of physics as a scientific
discipline as invention rather than discovery… . The term “invention”
implies that the physicist uses not only his observations but his
imaginative powers to construct points of view that identify with
experience.
The most significant result of this substitution of “invention” for
“discovery” by a large and influential segment of the scientific
community has been the introduction of demons into physical theory
on a wholesale scale. “Arbitrary abstract constructs and postulates are
freely used in the building of physical theories,” Lindsay admits, and
many of these “abstract” inventions—probably most of them—are
simply demons, ad hoc assumptions no different, except in their
semantic dress, from the demons of the non-scientific disciplines.
Inventive science, the science of these modern theorists, therefore
differs from traditional science in exactly the same way in which
non-science differs from traditional science. Most of the fundamental
concepts of so-called “modern science” (that is, present-day
theoretical physics) are demons, not essentially different in their
logical status from the demons of primitive human thought.
There is no significant difference, for instance, between the “rain god”
that brings a much-needed shower for the benefit of the crops of the
primitive tiller of the soil and the “nuclear force” that holds the
hypothetical nucleus of the atom together for the benefit of the
modern theoretical physicist. In each case, some kind of an
explanation of a phenomenon is wanted, and in the absence of
anything concrete, the expedient adopted is to invent a demon, a
hypothetical entity designed specifically for the purpose, which has no
other function and whose existence cannot be substantiated by any
independent evidence. Strictly speaking, the “nuclear force” is even
less scientific than the “rain god,” since it is what we might call a
double demon; that is, the nucleus itself is a demon, an ad hoc
invention totally lacking in any independent confirmation, and the
“nuclear force” is thus hypothesis piled upon hypothesis.
Each cultural or professional group has its own jargon, and this makes
the explanations sound different, but their essential character would
remain unchanged if the primitive man propitiated the “rain force”
and the physicist invoked the aid of the “god of the nucleus.” A
demon is a demon, whatever linguistic clothes he may wear. The
occupational status of the individual who invents him and the field of
thought in which he is located are both irrelevant. A purely factual
conclusion reached by a philosopher or a theologian, or in the field of
philosophy or the field of religion, is just as scientific as a factual
conclusion reached by a scientist in the physical field. On the other
hand, non-factual conclusions derived on the basis of a demon are just
as non-scientific if they are reached by a scientist in the field of
physics as they are if they are reached by a theologian in the field of
religion.
Another familiar demon of modern science is Einstein’s “curved
space.” Here, again, there is no independent evidence of the
postulated phenomenon: no evidence that space is, or can be, curved
or distorted in any way. The postulated curvature is purely an ad hoc
construction, designed for this particular purpose and not applicable to
anything else: a typical demon. A comparison of this theory of
Einstein’s with Newton’s views of the gravitational phenomenon
illustrates the difference between a purely scientific approach and one
fortified with demonology. Newton utilized only observable physical
entities and relationships derived from them. Mass, acceleration, and
distance are all capable of observation and measurement. Force is
defined as the product of mass and acceleration. Thus Newton’s
gravitational force, unlike the “nuclear force” previously discussed,
was not an unknown force—a purely hypothetical creation—it was a
known force of unknown origin, a genuinely scientific concept.
If Newton had attempted to explain the origin of the gravitational
force, he would have had no option but to resort to a demon, as he was
unable to find any scientific explanation. But he resisted the
temptation to indulge in speculation on this point, and confined his
theories to factual matters. Einstein, however, belonged to the
inventive school of science, and to him the proper procedure was to
devise a demon, “a free invention of the human mind,” as he called it,
to account for the gravitational phenomenon. He specifically
condemned Newton’s factual approach. Newton, he points out,
“believed that the basic concepts and laws of his system could be
derived from experience.” But, says Einstein, the foundations of
theory derived in this manner are “fictitious,”35 and he lays down the
dictum that “the axiomatic basis of theoretical physics cannot be an
inference from experience, but must be free invention.”36 In other
words, theoretical physics, according to Einstein’s viewpoint, must be
based on demons. In the theories developed by Einstein, Bohr, and
others of the inventive school of scientists, this is just the course that
has been followed. Quantum mechanics, the second of the two
principal developments of modern physical theory, relies even more
heavily on demons than Einstein’s relativity.
The retreat of the inventive scientists from the purely factual concepts
and relations of traditional science back to the demons of the
non-scientific disciplines has been due to identically the same factors
that cause the non-scientists to adopt these tactics; that is, a strong
desire to produce answers to important problems, coupled with an
inability to find any logical and factual approach to these problems. At
one time it was thought that conventional science would provide such
an approach. The so-called “classical” laws of physics had scored
some very impressive successes, and it seemed altogether possible
that with a few additions and refinements these laws would ultimately
encompass the whole of existence. Then, almost overnight, a series of
new discoveries demolished this expectation, bringing to light new
facts and new phenomena with which the classical laws were unable
to cope. The most strenuous efforts to fit these discoveries into the
classical system or to construct a new system of theory along
traditional lines that would be applicable in the areas outside the scope
of the classical laws have been completely unsuccessful.
As a result, those scientists closest to the problem, the theoretical
physicists, have swung all the way from their original overoptimistic
viewpoint, attributing almost unlimited capabilities to the theories
then current, to the other extreme: an overpessimistic viewpoint which
doubts the rationality of nature and denies the possibility of
formulating clear and unequivocal theories to account for the new
phenomena. In the bitterness of their disillusionment, these theorists
have turned their backs on the traditional goals and methods of
science, and like those of their predecessors who were confronted
with similar difficult situations—primitive men, the philosophers, the
theologians, and others—they have resorted to “free inventions,”
calling upon demons to supply the theoretical foundations that they
were unable to construct from facts.
For the last fifty years, our leading physicists have been engaged in
ruthlessly discarding previously sacrosanct “laws of Nature” (or
“rules of logic”), and replacing them with obscure mental constructs
whose quasi-mystical implications are hidden in technical jargon and
mathematical formalism.37 (Arthur Koestler)
The almost incredible extent to which the practitioners of “modern
science” have jettisoned not only the traditional methods and goals of
science, but established processes of reasoning and logic as well, is
largely hidden from the general public because the current literature of
the theoretical physicists employs a jargon that is incomprehensible
not only to the layman but to the rank-and-file scientist as well. But a
good idea of the true state of affairs can be gained from an
examination of the statements of those scientific writers who are bold
enough, or incautious enough, to comment on these matters in plain
language.
Warren Weaver, for example, tells us that the close observer “finds
that logic, so generally supposed to be infallible and unassailable, is,
in fact, shaky and incomplete. He finds that the whole concept of
objective truth is a will-o’-the-wisp.”38 Now where does this
remarkable conclusion come from? A few pages later in the same
work, Weaver answers this question. “A major consequence of the
developments in relativity and quantum theory over the past half
century,” he says, has been the destruction of “both ultimate precision
and ultimate objectivity,” and he goes on to assert that
“presuppositions which have neither a factual nor a logical-analytical
basis… enter into the structure of all theories and into the selection of
the group of ‘facts’ to be dealt with.”39 These words, which express
the attitude of the present-day scientific Establishment, define the
issue specifically. The most cherished products of modern science,
including relativity and the quantum theories, are in conflict with
logic, with the concept of “objective truth,” with the concept of
causality, and with other basic concepts of traditional science.
Something must therefore be discarded. To the modern theorist,
sacrifice of relativity and the quantum theories is unthinkable; hence,
he throws objective reality, logic, and causality to the wolves.
One might naturally assume, on the strength of this otherwise
inexplicable procedure, that these two products of modern scientific
ingenuity are so firmly established and incontrovertible that their
scientific validity is beyond question. But this is not at all true. On the
contrary, the leaders in the scientific profession freely admit that these
theories are open to serious question. Many put the case in much
harsher terms. Norwood R. Hanson, for instance, describes quantum
theory as “riddled with formal inelegancies and inconsistencies.”40
Bryce DeWitt, a prominent investigator in the gravitational field, has
this to say about general relativity, which purports to explain
gravitation:
As a fundamental physical theory general relativity is a failure. It is a
failure because it predicts that, under very general conditions,
singularities must occur in space-time, beyond which the theory is
incapable of saying anything. That is, the theory predicts that it cannot
predict. It is not fundamental enough. It must eventually be
superseded by something more universal.41
Furthermore, these scientific leaders are almost unanimously agreed
that some totally new physical theory is essential for continuation of
scientific progress, a conclusion that is equivalent to an admission that
there are incurable weaknesses in current theories. Even Weaver, who
gives these currently accepted theories precedence over logic and
objectivity in arriving at his judgments, asks this significant question:
Will we ever have the courage and imagination to … construct a
theory which starts at the right place and with the right conception? …
If and when such a theory is available, certain presently unsatisfactory
aspects of the explanation of physical events will have disappeared.42
The principal objective of the discussion in the preceding pages is to
bring out the fact that the “right place to start” in developing a sound
and truly scientific physical theory is the place where the trouble
started: the point at which the theorists abandoned the traditional
scientific methods and resorted to the demons of “free invention.” The
“right conception” of how to go about such a development is not to
discard the classical physical theories, but to examine the foundations
of these theories carefully and painstakingly to locate the conceptual
error that is responsible for the difficulties which have been
encountered. The mere existence of difficulties of this nature is prima
facie evidence of such an error. As Fred Hoyle comments:
It is almost a matter of principle that in any difficult unsolved problem
the right method of attack has not been found; failure to solve
important problems is rarely due to inadequacy in the handling of
technical details.43
The necessary first step is to locate and correct the basic error.
Extension of the existing theories into the newly discovered areas can
then be carried out by standard scientific methods. This is the policy
that has been followed in the development of the Reciprocal System
of theory. That theory employs no demons. No ad hoc assumptions are
utilized anywhere in the theoretical development; in fact, no
assumptions of any kind are introduced other than those included in
the fundamental postulates of the system. Every step that is taken, and
every conclusion that is reached, results from the application of
logical and mathematical processes to the basic postulates alone. This
is a theory that meets the most exacting requirements, and it clearly
qualifies as scientific knowledge.
CHAPTER 3
The Reciprocal System
As explained in Chapter 2, modern physical theory has abandoned the
traditional methods and practices of science, and has reverted to the
use of what the present-day theorists call invention, or ad hoc
assumptions, but which are simply the demons of earlier days
equipped with new names. The results of such a policy could easily be
predicted, but since the activities of the front line theorists are behind
the scenes, so far as the general public or ordinary scientists are
concerned, it will be advisable, before we begin a description of the
major features of the Reciprocal System of theory, to point out that the
results of this policy have been right in line with expectations. Those
who turned to demons to solve their problems are now calling for
something new to get them out of the morass into which they have
been led by the demons.
To most laymen, and to the rank and file of the scientific profession as
well, it will probably come as quite a surprise to find that the world
picture painted by so-called “modern physics” is far from being either
complete or accurate, and makes no pretense of being reasonable or
rational. Spectacular practical achievements in the application of
physical knowledge, much of it gained only very recently and still
quite mysterious to the man-in-the-street, have raised the present-day
physicist to a pinnacle of prestige and have surrounded him with an
aura of omniscience that makes any questioning of his
pronouncements practically a case of lese majeste. It must be
conceded, of course, that the physicists have indeed achieved a great
deal (mainly by the use of the traditional scientific methods and
principles that have been discarded by the modern theorists) and they
are entitled to view their record with pride and self-satisfaction. In
recent years, however, serious theoretical difficulties have been
encountered in one major physical field after another, and the
theorists, finding their most strenuous efforts frustrated, have
abandoned the search for a truly scientific basic theory, branding it as
unattainable, and have reverted to the methods of the non-scientific
disciplines, as discussed in the preceding chapter. But even the help of
a multitude of demons has not solved the problems and, as W. F. G.
Swann points out, “theoretical physics is at present in a rather messy
state.”44 Warren Weaver describes the situation in this manner:
With the extremely small or the extremely large, with inconceivably
brief or extended phenomena, science has a difficult time. It is by no
means clear that our present concepts or even our existing language is
suitable for these ranges.38
The principal theories of “modern” physical science, the nuclear
theory of the atom, relativity, and the quantum theories, in the words
of E. N. da C. Andrade, “admittedly are makeshifts.”45 Dirac is
merely saying the same thing in milder language when he calls them
“steppingstones to the better theories of the future.”46 In order to
maintain some semblance of legitimacy for these theories, so that they
can continue to be presented to the rank and file as the equivalent of
established facts, extraordinary measures have to be taken. Toulmin
and Goodfield express this caution against attributing any permanence
to current ideas:
As an emergency measure, physicists have resorted to mathematical
fudges of an arbitrary kind ... to accept them with any complacency,
and call off the search for a more satisfactory physical explanation
would be going against the principles of strategy on which the whole
scientific tradition has been built up.47
Almost all of the qualified observers who have studied this situation in
detail—even some of those who have played an important part in the
construction of the theories that will be superseded by the new, more
satisfactory, developments—agree with this assessment of the
problem and concede that major changes must and will take place.
Here are some typical statements:
Let us hope that in a decade or two, or, at least, just before the
beginning of the twenty-first century, the present meager years of
theoretical physics will come to an end in a burst of entirely new
revolutionary ideas similar to those which heralded the beginning of
the twentieth century.48 (George Gamow)
We await a big theoretical advance which will clarify our
understanding of the many puzzling features which have been
revealed in recent years.49 (Sir Harrie Massey)
What we badly need is a greater synthesis.50 (Abraham Pais)
There will have to be some new development that is quite unexpected,
that we cannot even make a guess about.46 (P.A.M. Dirac)
We hope that the present fluctuations of thinking are only indications
of an upheaval of old beliefs which in the end will lead to something
better than the mess of formulas which today surrounds our subject.51
(Erwin Schrodinger)
For the last ten years it has been clear to most physicists that a basic
conceptual innovation will be needed in order to come to grips with
the properties of elementary particles.52 (Freeman J. Dyson)
Physics is due for a breakthrough. The conditions are there: a large
number of well-ordered facts, with no present way of explaining
them, and a large body of frustrated scientists. (Science News, Feb.
17, 1968)
The development of the Reciprocal System of theory has now fulfilled
these predictions (even though the scientific community is still only
dimly beginning to recognize that fact). It has produced the “basic
conceptual innovation” that Dyson saw was needed, and this
innovation, a totally new concept of the nature of space and time, a
modification of existing thought that, as Dirac predicted, was “quite
unexpected,” has brought unity and coherence to physical science.
This new system of theory is just the kind of product that the theorists
tried for centuries to construct, until they finally lost heart and gave up
the effort. It is not a model; it is a complete and comprehensive theory
applicable to the entire universe: the “greater synthesis” that Pais
asked for. It is not work-in-progress; the details can be developed
much farther, of course, but those portions of the theory that have
already been developed, including the basic phenomena and relations
of the major fields of physical science, have been verified by the
standard scientific methods and are now part of the permanent store of
scientific knowledge. As expressed on page one of New Light on
Space and Time:
In all essential respects this new theory is just the kind of a product
that the scientific world would like to have. It is a unified theory; all of
the principles governing all sub-divisions of physical activity are
deduced from the same premises: two fundamental postulates as to the
nature of space and time. It is a self-consistent theory; there are no
internal contradictions or inconsistencies. It is an accurate theory; all
of the deductions from the postulates are in full agreement with the
results of observation and measurement, within the margin of
accuracy of the latter or, at least, are not inconsistent with any of these
results. It is an unequivocal theory; the consequences of the postulates
are specific and definite and at no point is there any recourse to a
“postulate of impotence” or other evasive device to avoid admitting a
discrepancy. It is a rational theory; it provides definite and specific
explanations for everything that happens, without calling upon ad hoc
forces or transcendental agencies. It is a complete theory; the logical
and unavoidable consequences of the postulates describe, both
qualitatively and quantitatively, a complete theoretical universe, and it
is not necessary to utilize any supplementary or auxiliary
assumptions, nor is it necessary to introduce the results of observation
as a foundation for the theoretical structure, because the theoretical
deductions from the postulates provide for the existence of the various
physical phenomena—matter, radiation, electrical and magnetic
phenomena, gravitation, etc.—as well as establishing the relations
between these entities.53
Development of this new theoretical structure was carried out strictly
in accordance with the standard scientific procedure described in
Chapter 2. It began with a careful, critical, and systematic
reexamination of basic physical relations, a project extending over a
long period of years (Step 1). Although originally undertaken with a
much more limited objective in mind, this study ultimately culminated
in the formulation of a general theory of the universe, expressed in the
form of two postulates as to the nature and properties of space and
time—45 words in all (Step 2). Another long period of years was then
spent in developing the consequences of the postulates in great detail
(Step 3), and finally verifying the theory by comparing these
consequences with the corresponding results of observation and
measurement (Step 4).
In order to formulate this complete and correct theoretical system, it
was, of course, necessary to identify the basic error in previous
thought and to make the required correction. The careful and critical
reexamination of basic physical theory which constituted the initial
phase of the present investigation located this basic error in the
prevailing concept of the fundamental nature of the universe. To our
earliest ancestors, the world in which they lived was a world of spirits.
As they saw the situation, the ultimate realities were the spirits that
inhabited and controlled the various physical objects, and the
observable events and phenomena were merely the outward
manifestations of the actions and emotions of these spirits. This view
is not entirely dead even yet—the more primitive people of the earth
still hold to it as tenaciously as ever—but over the last three thousand
years or so, it has gradually been replaced by the concept of a
universe of matter: one in which the basic entities are elementary units
of matter existing in a framework provided by space and time. Prior to
the development of the Reciprocal System, all modern physical theory
was based on the “matter” concept.
It is obvious, however, that recent discoveries have completely
demolished this concept. The finding that matter could be converted to
radiation is enough, in itself, to show that matter cannot be the basic
constituent of the universe. The demonstrated interconvertibility
clearly indicates that there must be some common denominator
underlying both matter and non-matter. Some of the leading scientific
investigators have recognized this point and have tried to identify the
true basic entity. Werner Heisenberg, for instance, suggested that it
might be energy. “One might say that the elementary particles are
simply different forms which energy can assume in order to become
matter.”54 But he conceded that he was unable to explain how energy
could take these different forms. The truth is that since energy is a
scalar quantity it is totally incapable of assuming the variety of forms
that are required; the basic entity must be something that has the
property of direction. What the development of the Reciprocal System
has accomplished is to demonstrate that the common denominator of
matter and non-matter is motion. The universe in which we live is a
universe of motion.
This “motion” concept itself is by no means new. It has been clear for
hundreds of years that motion would have some very definite
advantages over matter as the basis of a physical theory, and a great
many scientists and philosophers, including such prominent men as
Eddington, Descartes, and Hobbes, have tried to construct a theory on
this basis. All of these attempts ended in failure, and so the matter
stood until the present studies revealed the nature of the obstacle that
blocked the path. The reason for the failure of the previous
investigators to reach their goal, we now find, was a lack of
recognition of the fact that switching from the concept of a universe
of matter to that of a universe of motion requires a redefinition of
space and time.
For more than three thousand years, ever since man first began to
speculate systematically about the nature of the entities that surround
him, space has been regarded as a kind of setting in which the action
of the universe takes place: a container for the material objects that
participate in this action. Many differences of opinion have arisen
with respect to the details—whether or not space is absolute and
immovable, whether such a thing as empty space is possible, whether
or not space and time are interconnected, and so on—but throughout
all of the development of thought, the basic concept of space as a
setting or container has remained intact. J. D. North summarizes the
“setting” or “container” concept of space in this manner:
Most people would accept the following: Space is that in which
material objects are situated and through which they move. It is a
background for objects of which it is independent. Any measure of the
distances between objects within it may be regarded as a measure of
the distances between its corresponding parts.55
Here matters stood until the beginning of the great expansion of
scientific knowledge in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In this
era, many new discoveries were made that were incompatible with the
existing structure of theory, and it therefore became necessary to
modify the ideas inherited from the Greek thinkers. The proposal that
won general approval at the time was to postulate that the container
space of the Greek atomists was filled with a substance having the
properties of a connecting medium, through which the various
influences originating at one spatial location could be transmitted to
distant locations. But in 1887, an experiment by Michelson and
Morley produced seemingly conclusive proof that this hypothetical
substance, the “ether,” was non-existent, and the scientific world was
thrown into confusion.
Some twenty years later, Einstein offered a way out of this awkward
situation by proposing a theory in which the assumed properties of the
ether were assigned to space itself, thus investing space with the
ability to act as a transmitting medium. Einstein’s hypothesis, the
basis of his relativity theory, involves a drastic change in the idea of
the nature of space, one which gives space a far more active role in
physical phenomena than had ever been attributed to it before. But his
space is still a container, a much more flexible container than the
space of the Greeks, to be sure, but definitely a container,
nevertheless.
Nor was the container concept disturbed by the further development
of the relativity theories which led to the conclusion that space is one
component of a combination space-time structure, in which time plays
a similar role. Time has always been more elusive than space, and the
theorists have encountered great difficulty in formulating any clear-cut
concept of its essential nature. It has been taken for granted, however,
that time, as well as space, is a part of the setting in which the action
of the universe takes place; that is, physical phenomena exist in space
and in time. But just wherein time differs from space has been
difficult to specify. In fact, the distinction between the two has
become increasingly blurred and indefinite during the last half
century, and as matters now stand, time is generally regarded as a sort
of quasi-space, the boundary between space and time being indefinite
and dependent upon the circumstances under which it is observed.
The modern physicist has thus added another dimension to the spatial
setting, and instead of visualizing physical phenomena as being
located in a three-dimensional spatial container, he places them in a
four-dimensional space-time container.
In all of this ebb and flow of scientific thought, the basic concept has
remained unchanged: space and time, it is assumed, are the containers,
or the container, in which physical entities exist, the setting in which
the drama of the universe unfolds—“a vast world-room, a perfection
of emptiness, within which all the world-show plays itself away
forever.”56 This is the way in which scientists, and laymen as well,
now think, and this is the way in which they have always thought. It is
probably correct to say that this is the only way in which many of
them can think.
Whatever changes are proposed from time to time in the theories of
space and time, they are expressed in, and considered in, “container”
terms. Thus, Einstein’s “space” is not regarded as something new that
replaces Democritus’ “space,” the container in which physical activity
occurs, but rather as a modification of the earlier concept in which
space is assigned the properties that were formerly attributed to the
hypothetical “ether.” When an explanation of Einstein’s theory of
gravitation refers to space as being “warped” or “distorted” in the
vicinity of a massive aggregate of matter, it is the container that is
visualized as being distorted.
Similarly, Minkowski’s concept of a four-dimensional space-time
continuum, which Einstein accepted and utilized in his general theory,
is simple three-dimensional container space joined to an additional
space-like dimension. Thus the entire Einstein-Minkowski
development can easily be fitted into the previously existing
conceptual framework without difficulty. Some individuals may—and
indeed do—refuse to accept the idea that space is curved or subject to
distortion, or the idea that time is a dimension of a combination
space-time structure, but it is not difficult for them to understand what
is meant by these ideas. In fact, it is understanding that leads to their
rejection of the theories. Detailed development of the consequences of
the Einstein theories has led to mathematical and conceptual
complications that are nearly, if not totally, incomprehensible, and the
arguments that are used to justify these theories are admittedly
difficult to follow, but the meaning of the basic concepts upon which
they have been erected can easily be understood in terms of existing
patterns of thought with no more than a few minor adjustments.
In the Reciprocal System, for the first time in scientific history, a
totally new concept of the nature of space and time makes its
appearance, one in which space is not a setting or a container, or
anything resembling a container. The change of viewpoint here was
not an arbitrary one. On the contrary, the significant conceptual
advance that overcame the obstacle which blocked all previous
attempts to construct a theory of a universe of motion was a
recognition of the fact that space and time cannot be defined
arbitrarily in such a universe because a specific definition of space and
time is implicit in the concept of a universe composed entirely of
motion.
Motion is defined as a relation between space and time, and is
measured as speed or velocity. In its simplest form, the equation of
motion, the mathematical representation of the phenomenon, is v =
sit. As this equation shows, in motion, space and time are the two
reciprocal aspects of that motion, and nothing else. In a universe of
matter, the fact that space and time have only this limited significance
in motion would not preclude them from having some other
significance elsewhere, but in a universe composed entirely of motion,
where everything that exists is a manifestation of motion, space and
time cannot have any significance anywhere that they do not have in
motion. The basic concept underlying the new theoretical system, the
only concept of the nature of space and time that is consistent with a
universe of motion, and hence replaces all of the hypotheses that have
heretofore been proposed, all of the numerous variations of the
“setting” or “container” concept, can be expressed as follows:
Space and time are simply the two reciprocal aspects of motion. They
have no other significance.
Space is not the Euclidean setting for physical phenomena that is most
commonly visualized by the layman; neither is it the modified type of
container subject to distortion by various forces and highly dependent
on the location and movement of the observer, as seen by the
present-day physicist. In fact, it is not even a physical entity in its own
right at all; it is simply and solely an aspect of motion. Time is not an
order of succession, or a dimension of a quasi-space; neither is it a
physical entity in its own right. It, too, is simply and solely an aspect
of motion, similar in all respects to space, except that it is the
reciprocal aspect.
The simplest way of defining the status of space and time is to say that
space is the numerator in the expression sit, which is the speed or
velocity, the measure of motion, and time is the denominator. If there
is no fraction, there is no numerator or denominator; where there is no
motion there is no space or time. Space does not exist alone, nor does
time exist alone; neither exists except in association with the other as
motion. A very rough analogy would compare motion to a box, and
space and time to the inside and outside of the box. We cannot have
either an inside or an outside unless we have a box, but if the box
exists then we have both an inside and an outside, never just one
alone. Similarly, we do not have either space or time unless there is
motion, but if there is motion then both space and time exist in
association with each other to constitute the motion.
We can, of course, focus our attention on the space aspect and deal
with it as if the time aspect, the denominator of the fraction, remains
constant. This is the familiar process known as abstraction, one of the
useful tools of scientific inquiry. But any results obtained in this
manner are valid only where the time aspect does, in fact, remain
constant, or where the proper adjustment is made for whatever
changes in this factor do take place.
One of the very important consequences that follows directly from the
new space-time concept is that the reciprocal relation between space
and time expressed by the equation of motion is a general relation;
that is, space and time are reciprocally related everywhere in the
physical universe. This is the kind of a thing that is totally
incomprehensible on the basis of previous thinking. As long as space
is looked upon as a container, the idea of the reciprocal of space is an
absurdity, too ridiculous to be given any serious consideration. We
might as well talk about the reciprocal of an apple or the reciprocal of
a load of hay. But the new theory does not suggest anything of this
nature. On the contrary, it says specifically that space is not a
container, or anything resembling a container. In fact, it is not a
physical entity at all; it has no existence other than as the numerator in
the expression sit, which is the magnitude of the motion. The gist of
the reciprocal statement is therefore an assertion that the denominator
of a particular fractional expression stands in a reciprocal relation to
the numerator: an assertion which is not only logical and rational, but
is obviously correct.
In setting up any theory or theoretical system, it is necessary to begin
with certain assumptions or postulates. The details of the theory are
then derived by developing the consequences of the postulates. The
new space-time concept is expressed in the Reciprocal System by
postulating the general reciprocal relation between space and time.
This is the only innovation that the new system of theory introduces
into scientific thought. A few other assumptions must be made to
complete the foundations of the theoretical structure, but these are
familiar items. None of them is at all new, and they are all obtained by
extrapolation of empirical findings, one of the standard inductive
methods.
Even the one real innovation in the new system, the reciprocal
postulate, can be obtained by a simple extrapolation of observed facts.
The only relation between space and time of which we have any direct
knowledge is motion, and in motion, space and time are already
known to be reciprocally related from the scalar standpoint; that is,
more time has exactly the same effect on the speed, the scalar measure
of the motion, as less space, and vice versa. It makes no difference
whether we go twice as far in the same time or cover the same
distance in half the time; the speed doubles in either case. All that the
reciprocal postulate does is to generalize this observed relation and to
say that it is universally valid. Combining the reciprocal relation with
the other assumptions derived by extrapolation, we arrive at the
following basic postulates:
FIRST FUNDAMENTAL POSTULATE: The physical universe is
composed entirely of one component, motion, existing in three
dimensions, in discrete units, and with two reciprocal aspects, space
and time.
SECOND FUNDAMENTAL POSTULATE: The physical universe
conforms to the relations of ordinary commutative mathematics, its
magnitudes are absolute and its geometry is Euclidean.
Most of the assumptions included in these postulates have been
generally accepted throughout scientific history, and are still regarded
as valid by almost all laymen and by the rank-and-file scientists as
well, although their validity is denied by present-day physical
theorists, who have found it necessary to resort to some bizarre
substitutes to accommodate aspects of their theories that could not be
fitted into the traditional framework. Included are Euclidean
geometry, three-dimensional space, absolute magnitudes, and ordinary
commutative mathematics. In all probability, these assumptions would
never have been questioned by anyone if the difficulties encountered
by the theorists had not become so serious that they were practically
desperate for some way of escape.
Extension of three-dimensionality to time as well as space may cause
some lifting of eyebrows, but this extension is obviously required by
the reciprocal postulate, which implies that all properties of either
space or time are properties of both space and time. It should also be
noted that there is no actual evidence to support the prevailing belief
that time is one-dimensional. To be sure, we have a vague impression
that we are traveling along a path that leads unidirectionally from the
past to the present and on into the future, but this is not the kind of a
thing on which we can base scientific reasoning. The physicists do not
draw their conclusions from this, but from the behavior of time in the
mathematical equations that represent physical processes.
In the velocity equation, v = sit, for example, the quantities v and s are
vectorial, that is, they have direction as well as magnitude. But the
quantity t is scalar; it has magnitude only. From this it has been
concluded that time is one-dimensional. But the investigations carried
out during the development of the Reciprocal System of theory have
disclosed that this conclusion does not follow from the observed facts.
What has been overlooked is that “direction” in the context of the
velocity equation means “direction in space,” and time has no spatial
direction. The time term in a space-velocity equation is scalar not
because it is one-dimensional but because it has no spatial dimensions
at all. Whatever dimensions it may have are dimensions of time, not
dimensions of space. Thus the status of the time terms in the various
physical equations tells us nothing at all about the dimensions of time.
There is no physical evidence to contradict the assertion of the
Reciprocal System that time is three-dimensional.
Because of the nature of the scientific enterprise, the scientist must
necessarily accept certain assumptions of a philosophical nature in
order that his activities may be meaningful. If what is learned today is
inapplicable tomorrow, attempts to accumulate a store of scientific
knowledge are futile; if the course of physical events, and the results
thereof, are haphazard, there is nothing to be gained by attempts to
formulate laws and principles governing those events; and so on. As a
condition of becoming a scientist, it is therefore necessary to assume
that the universe is logical, orderly, and rational. Since acceptance of
these premises is a prerequisite for scientific activity, they are not
ordinarily mentioned in scientific discourse. In effect, they constitute
the starting point from which scientific work begins. But when we
undertake an exploration of a hitherto unknown area, as we are now
intending to do, we must recognize that, in addition to the two
postulates that are set forth in the published accounts of the
Reciprocal System of theory and were reproduced earlier in this
chapter, there is an implied third postulate incorporating the
assumption that the universe is logical, orderly, and rational.
All of the conclusions of the Reciprocal System, from broad general
principles down to the most minute detail, have been derived entirely
by developing the consequences of the fundamental postulates,
without making any supplementary or subsidiary assumptions and
without introducing anything from observation or from any other
source outside the postulates. The mere existence of space and time
with the postulated properties gives rise to certain primary
consequences. Interaction of these consequences with each other and
with the postulates then results in a large number and variety of
secondary consequences, which, in turn, involve further
consequences, and so on until a whole theoretical universe has been
defined. Because of the nature of this process by which the theoretical
universe of the Reciprocal System has been derived, it is possible to
prove that the theoretical structure is an accurate representation of the
actual physical universe.
Two general methods of verifying a theory are available. Both involve
making a large number of comparisons between the assertions of the
theory and the corresponding observed facts, so that the probability of
the existence of any error can be reduced to the negligible level that is
required in order that the theory may qualify as scientific knowledge,
but the procedures and the results of the two methods are quite
different. In the first method of verification, the only one that is
usually available, and hence the one with which scientists are most
familiar, verification of the whole is merely a summation of
verification of the individual items. Here an individual agreement is a
step toward proof, an inconclusive result means nothing at all, and a
disagreement invalidates the theory in its existing form. This
disagreement is not necessarily fatal, however, as the theory can
usually be modified to secure agreement in the recalcitrant case. The
verification process can then be resumed on the new basis until
adequate verification is secured or until a new disagreement arises, in
which case further modifications of the theory may be made. Long
series of modifications of this kind are not at all exceptional. The
quantum theories, for instance, have experienced an almost
continuous series of modifications ever since Niels Bohr formulated
the first crude form of this kind of theory in 1913.
The second method of verification is applicable only where no
modifications of the theory are possible; that is, where all theoretical
conclusions are derived from the same basic premises, without the use
of supplementary assumptions, and the entire structure is therefore
one unit which must stand or fall as a whole. An analogy that was
used in the original presentation of the Reciprocal System compares
the construction of a physical theory to the preparation of a map, the
usual process of theory construction being compared to the traditional
method of map making, and the development of a fully integrated
system being compared to the production of a map by aerial
photography. In testing a product of either the traditional map making
or the usual theory construction process, we must employ the first of
the methods of verification discussed in the preceding paragraph,
verifying each and every feature of the map or theory individually, as
there is little or no connection between the individual features, and
with relatively few exceptions, verification of any one feature does not
guarantee the accuracy of any other. But in testing an aerial map or an
analogous theoretical product such as the Reciprocal System, where
the entire map or theory is produced in one operation by a single
process, every test that is made by comparing the product with the
observed facts is a test of the process itself, verification of the
individual features selected for the test being merely incidental.
In this case, if anything that can definitely be seen on the map
conflicts with anything that is positively known from direct
observation of the terrain, then the map-making process itself is not
accurate, and the map is not reliable. Likewise, if any of the
consequences of a completely integrated theory conflict with facts that
are definitely known, then the theory as a whole is invalid. Here no
modifications to fit the recalcitrant facts—ad hoc modifications, in the
jargon of science—are possible. The basic postulates of the theory can
be changed, of course, but a major change of this kind can hardly be
considered a modification; it leaves us with an entirely new theory.
The original theory must be verified or disproved as a unit.
Since each check against the observed facts is a test of the theory as a
whole, every additional test that is made without finding a discrepancy
reduces the mathematical probability that any discrepancy exists
anywhere. By making a sufficiently large number of such correlations
in many different areas, this probability can be reduced to any
specified level. The theoretical conclusions of the Reciprocal System
have been checked against the results of observation and measurement
in thousands of different applications throughout an extremely wide
range of physical phenomena, and no contradiction or inconsistency
has been found. This means, then, that the mathematical probability of
any error in the basic structure of the system has been reduced to the
point where it is negligible. The validity of this system of theory is
thus a physical certainty. The Reciprocal System provides a true and
accurate representation of the physical facts.
An important point in this connection is that proof of the validity of
the theoretical structure as a whole carries with it a proof of the
validity of every pan of that structure. Many of the individual
conclusions of the theory cannot be confirmed by direct observation,
as matters now stand, but the status of the unconfirmed conclusions is
identical with that of the conclusions that can be tested against
experience. If we confirm the accuracy of our aerial map in the areas
where we are able to check it against direct observation and
measurement, then we know that it is also accurate in the areas that
are not accessible to direct observation. In total, the conclusions
derived from the basic postulates of the Reciprocal System constitute
a theoretical universe, and our proof of the validity of the system as a
whole proves that each and every feature of the physical universe
exists exactly as portrayed by the theoretical development.
A recognition of this point is particularly important as we move
outward from the well-known phenomena of our everyday
environment into the less familiar fields. Most of the theoretical
conclusions pertaining to the local environment can be verified
individually by direct observation. As we proceed outward, we
encounter areas where many of the intermediate steps are
unobservable and only the ultimate results are available for check.
Finally we reach the outlying regions where nothing is observable
except an isolated fact here and there. But the status of the theoretical
conclusions is the same everywhere. Whether it can be individually
verified or not, each of these conclusions participates in the proof of
the validity of the system as a whole.
This is the factor that has made the present investigation of the
metaphysical region possible. No longer are we limited to exploring
the regions that are clearly visible, and leaving all else to speculation
and fantasy. By extending the development of a theoretical system
whose validity we have already verified as a whole, we are able to
explore not only the regions that are dimly visible but also regions
that are totally invisible. The demonstrated identity of the theoretical
and actual physical universes has enabled us to make our inquiries in
the clear light of the theoretical system, and then, when the
appropriate answers have been obtained, to apply these to the actual
universe with full confidence in their validity. By this means, we have
arrived at a comprehensive and accurate knowledge of the physical
universe.
Now we propose to utilize these findings of the Reciprocal System
with respect to the physical universe as a base, and to extend the same
procedure and the same investigative policies to a region hitherto
beyond the reach of scientific methods, one in which demons have
thus far held full sway. In so doing, we are following the great
tradition of science, focusing the light of factual inquiry on whatever
we can bring within its reach without regard to conventional lines of
demarcation between disciplines. Margenau appropriately defines the
policy governing this untrammeled course of inquiry in his “creed for
scientists”:
I recognize no subjects and no facts which are alleged to be forever
closed to inquiry or understanding: a mystery is but a challenge.57
CHAPTER 4
Reaching Outward
The Reciprocal System calls for relatively little change in current
scientific thinking about the phenomena and relations of everyday life.
Almost all of the generally accepted physical relations applying to our
immediate environment that have been derived from previous theories
and are now in practical use are retained in the new system in
essentially the same form in which they are commonly expressed—
not because these relations happen to meet with the approval of the
originator of the new system, but because the development of the
consequences of the postulates of this system leads to these same
expressions. There is nothing remarkable about this. The validity of
most of these expressions, within their proper limits of applicability,
has already been proved in the standard scientific manner, and they
constitute portions of the permanent body of scientific knowledge.
Any new theory of a more general nature must arrive at the same
results in these particular areas; otherwise it could not be correct.
In some of the fields which science has entered in relatively recent
years—high velocity phenomena, events at the atomic level, etc.—the
new system of theory takes issue with previous scientific thought in
certain important respects. The most prominent theories that have
recently emerged in these fields, such as relativity, the nuclear theory
of the atom, and the quantum theories, are now found to be erroneous,
either in whole or in part, primarily because the true nature of time
was never clearly understood prior to the development of the
Reciprocal System. In the phenomena of everyday life, the error due
to this misunderstanding is negligible, and no significant modification
of previous results is therefore necessary; but in the realms of the very
large, the very small, and the very fast, the new concept of the nature
of time leads to a drastic reconstruction of the relevant theory.
In general, it can be said that the new physical picture indicates that
previous scientific findings with respect to motion in space,
particularly the “classical” laws of physics, are valid with respect to
all motion in space, but that changes of position in time also take
place in the far-out regions. It is the effect of this hitherto
unrecognized motion in time that is responsible for the discrepancies
which have led present-day physicists to conclude that the classical
laws are only approximations to the true relationships, and are not
valid in those regions. The new development shows that when the
effects of motion in time are recognized and evaluated in accordance
with the principles applying to this type of motion, the weaknesses
and “paradoxes” of modern physics are eliminated, and all physical
theory assumes the simple, understandable, and wholly rational aspect
that is characteristic of classical theory.
One of the features of this new development that has much
significance for philosophy as well as for science is that it verifies the
existence of an external world independent of our observations.
Although this may seem self-evident to the layman, it is a thesis that
has been difficult to substantiate on the strength of the information
heretofore available, and both scientists and philosophers have been
engaged in a running battle over the question in recent years. Einstein
expresses the affirmative point of view in these words:
The belief in an external world independent of the perceiving subject
is the basis of all natural science.58
To this, McVittie replies:
A preferable alternative to the doctrine of the rational External World
is to regard science as a method of correlating sense-data…. On this
view, the corpus of sense-data may, or may not, form a rational whole,
but the human mind by selecting classes of data succeeds in grouping
them into rational systems…. Unobservables such as light, atoms,
electromagnetic and gravitational fields, etc., are not constituents of
an independently existing rational External World; they are but
concepts useful in the manufacture of the systems of correlation….
The notions of truth and falsehood, of cause and effect, of discovery
and explanation may now either be discarded or looked upon as
arbitrary; the only important question is: How can we construct a
rational scheme of thought—a theory—which shall include within its
grasp as many apparently disconnected sense-data as possible.59
The crucial point here is the status of what McVittie calls “sensedata,” the information which we receive by way of our senses. He and
the school of thought with which he is aligned point out (correctly)
that we do not perceive physical objects directly; that we have direct
knowledge only of the sense data, and that our concepts of the
physical objects are mental constructs based on these data. The
conclusion they have drawn from this is that only the sense data have
actual reality, and that all else is a creation of the human mind.
Other observers have adopted an intermediate position, conceding
reality to some features of the universe, primarily macroscopic
objects, but denying the reality, in this same sense, of other features:
atoms and electrons, for example. Heisenberg cautions us specifically
that we must not regard the smallest parts of matter as being
objectively real in the same sense as rocks and trees are real.60
“Atoms are neither things nor objects,” he says, “atoms are parts of
observational situations.”61 In another attempt to describe this strange
half-world in which the “official” school of modern physics places the
basic units of matter, he characterizes the atom as “in a way, only a
symbol.”62
The Reciprocal System of theory now provides a definitive answer to
the question that has inspired this difference of opinion. There is an
external universe independent of man and independent of any
observations that he may make. The physical universe is a universe of
motion; that is, motion is the reality of which the universe is
composed. Motions and combinations thereof are therefore “real” in
any ordinary sense of the word. The relations between these motions
have a somewhat different status, and whether they can be considered
real depends on how that term is defined. In any event, some of the
“unobservables” of modern physics, the nucleus of the atom, for
example, are wholly non-existent. Some, such as electromagnetic or
gravitational fields, are merely special ways of looking at physical
situations—that is, describing the relations between motions—and
belong in the same category in which we place such concepts as the
center of gravity of an object, or the poles of the earth. But the
smallest subdivisions of matter, the atoms and the subatomic particles,
have exactly the same claim to reality as the largest aggregates of
matter; the smallest subdivisions of electricity, the electrons, have the
same claim to reality as the heaviest electric currents, and so on.
Whether or not the entity in question is observable, as matters now
stand, is irrelevant.
The senses are facilities for obtaining information about this external
world, and sense data are merely messages conveying this
information, not basic realities in their own right. Indeed, they are not
the only sources of such information. Communications from other
individuals, for example, cannot legitimately be classed with ordinary
sense data, even though they arrive through the same channels. A
description of a physical event is something quite different from the
sights, sounds, and other sensations by means of which an event is
apprehended directly. As we will find in the subsequent pages, there
are still other important sources of information, and the picture of
reality which ultimately forms in the human mind is a composite, the
result of correlating and analyzing (consciously or unconsciously;
thoroughly or superficially) information from all of these sources, and
further processing it through the application of reason.
In exploring this external physical universe by developing the
theoretical consequences of the postulates of the Reciprocal System,
the most surprising, and in some respects, the most significant
discovery that was made was that the material universe with which we
are in direct contact is not the entire physical universe, as has always
been thought heretofore. It is only half of the physical universe as a
whole; one of two separate, but interrelated, sectors. There is another
half identical in all respects to the material sector except that space
and time are interchanged. The opportunities available for direct
verification of the conclusions of the Reciprocal System with respect
to this second half, the cosmic sector, as we are calling it, by
comparison with observed facts are quite limited, but here, again, the
general proof of the validity of the system as a whole establishes the
validity of the individual conclusions. The instances in which the
phenomena of the cosmic sector do impinge upon the material sector
in some manner add some significant additional confirmation, as most
of these effects have resisted attempts at explanation on the basis of
conventional theories, while they are in full agreement with the
conclusions reached by the new theoretical system.
The theoretical development reveals that, for every physical entity or
phenomenon that exists in our familiar material sector of the universe,
there is an analogous entity or phenomenon in the cosmic sector,
identical in every respect except for the reversal of the roles of space
and time. Corresponding to matter there is cosmic matter, or
antimatter, as it is usually called. Corresponding to the gravitation in
the material sector that moves aggregates of matter toward each other
in space there is an inverse gravitation in the cosmic sector that moves
aggregates of cosmic matter toward each other in time, and so on.
Each of the almost innumerable items of knowledge that are available
about the entities and phenomena of the material sector thus becomes,
by extension, an item of knowledge about the cosmic sector. Here,
then, is a situation in which we have a very comprehensive and
detailed theoretical knowledge of a region which is almost entirely
outside our observational range. This is a striking demonstration of
the power and versatility of the theoretical approach to the problem of
exploring such inaccessible regions when the correct theoretical
foundations have been laid. It gives us an indication of the potential
value of an application of the same powerful technique to the problem
we are attacking in this work: an exploration of the region outside the
physical universe.
Heretofore it has been thought that defining the nature and properties
of space and time was a task beyond the capabilities of science, but
the Reciprocal System has given us such a definition and has
established its validity. Heretofore it has been thought that, if anything
exists outside our material universe, it is impossible to verify that
existence or to deal with it by scientific methods; but the development
of the Reciprocal System has revealed the existence of a whole new
sector of the physical universe, separate and distinct from the material
sector, and has given us a detailed description of its phenomena and
relations. The objective of this present investigation would also be
nothing but a hopeless undertaking on the basis of previous scientific
thought, but it was clear from the beginning that this adverse opinion
should not be given any weight, since the accomplishments of the new
theoretical system in penetrating so far into the previously
inaccessible regions augured well for the possibility of advancing still
farther.
As we will see in the subsequent pages, there are many items of
evidence indicating that the observed physical universe is not the
whole of existence. Some of these are so definite and specific that they
would be considered conclusive in any ordinary scientific evaluation.
Nevertheless, this evidence has been rejected by the scientific
community on the ground that it is known that all existence is in space
and in time. On this basis, existence outside (that is, independent of)
space and time is impossible, and the physical universe that is the
subject of scientific investigation is the sum total of all that exists.
However, all this is predicated on the traditional viewpoint as to the
nature of space and time, and it is clear that the new concept of their
nature that has been introduced by the Reciprocal System of theory
and verified in application to the observed physical phenomena has
completely revolutionized this situation. Now that it has been
established that space and time are aspects of the motion of which the
physical universe is composed—that is, contents of that universe,
instead of a setting or location in which the contents exist—the
metaphysical question is drastically modified. Instead of asking, Can
anything exist outside space and time? what we now want to know is,
Can anything exist other than the motion that constitutes the physical
universe?
This is not only a very different question; it is a different kind of a
question. On the basis of the previous understanding of the nature of
space and time, the question, Can anything exist outside space and
time? could be answered explicitly by deductive reasoning. But the
basic metaphysical question as it now stands in the light of the new
knowledge contributed by the Reciprocal System requires the use of
the inverse process: inductive reasoning. What we now want to do is
to determine what our knowledge with respect to a special type of
existence, that in the physical universe, can tell us about existence in
general.
The logical status of induction has long been a philosophical issue. As
expressed by Whitehead, “The theory of induction is the despair of
philosophy—and yet all of our activities are based upon it.”63 In
recent years, however, it has increasingly been realized that these
philosophical difficulties are the result of an attempt to equate the
results of induction to those of deduction, whereas, in fact, their status
is quite different. The deductive process is complete in itself, and if
sound reasoning is applied to valid premises, this process arrives at
conclusions that are physically certain. The product of induction, on
the other hand, is a probability. Induction is therefore an incomplete
process, and the inductive conclusions must be verified. Thus the
equivalent of deduction is not induction alone, but induction plus
verification. Like the sound deductive conclusions, the verified
inductive conclusions are physically certain.
There are many different kinds of inductive processes, and they arrive
at answers which have widely different degrees of a priori probability
of being valid. The basic process is simple enumeration, in which it is
assumed that, where all known units of entity A have property x, all
units of entity A have property x. If only a few units of this entity A
have been observed, the probability that the conclusion is valid is low,
but if the number of observed units is immense, as is often the case,
the probability is so great that it is equivalent to physical certainty
without any further verification. A somewhat less reliable form of
extrapolation that does require verification reaches this same
conclusion that all units of entity A have property x from the observed
facts that (1) some units of this entity have property x, and (2) no such
units are definitely known to be without this property. A process that
arrives at a still lower degree of probability is analogy, in which it is
reasoned that since entity A has property x, some entity B that
resembles A in certain respects also has property x. A process that is
widely utilized in the initial analysis of a mass of observational data is
the method of concomitant variations, in which a connection between
x and y is inferred from the fact that the analysis shows that factors
which cause a change in x also cause a change of a related nature in y.
Regardless of whether the inductive conclusions are reached by one of
these common methods, or in some other way, these conclusions
become physically certain, and acquire the status of scientific
knowledge, if, and only if, they are verified.
The answer to a difficult problem may be obtained by a process of
“invention,” as described by Einstein and Lindsay in the statements
quoted in Chapter 2, but because of the wide range of forms which
such inventions can take, and the likelihood that there is some error in
those portions of current thought that are incorporated into the
invention, the probability that the answer is correct will usually be
very low. As the investigations in connection with the formulation of
the Reciprocal System of theory have demonstrated, most of the
inventions of the modern physical theorists are erroneous. Their
successes have come in those instances where there were enough
empirical facts available to permit arriving at conclusions by
induction. The merit of the inductive process is that it is not, like
invention, a shot in the dark; it produces a result which has a distinct
probability, often a very high probability, of being correct.
With this understanding of the dual process of induction and
verification, it can now be seen that the description of the scientific
method in Chapter 2 is simply a detailed outline of this dual process.
Step 1, as described, is a study of the available empirical data aimed at
finding some items to which one of the available inductive processes
can be applied. Step 2 is the application of this process to arrive at a
conclusion that is probably valid. Step 3 is the preparation for
verification, involving the development of consequences of the
inductive conclusions that can be checked against observational data.
Step 4 is the actual verification of the conclusions by demonstrating
agreement with observation.
Individual inductive conclusions of broad scope are seldom verifiable
separately, except in the special case of a simple enumeration that
extends over a huge number of separate instances. In the usual
situation, it is necessary to add collateral items and construct an
inductive system of conclusions. As will be brought out in detail in the
discussion of emergent properties in Chapter 5, the properties of a
system proliferate rapidly as more units are added to that system.
Consequently, even though an isolated inductive conclusion is of such
a nature that it cannot be verified, it is usually possible, by the
expenditure of sufficient time and effort, to incorporate the original
simple proposition into a system which has a large enough number
and variety of consequences to make a conclusive check against
observational data feasible. The verification of the inductive system as
a whole that is accomplished in this manner carries with it a
verification of the original proposition.
However, the time and effort required to carry out such a program
may, in many cases, be monumental. This is why inductive reasoning
has the reputation of being very difficult. Induction itself, in its
simpler forms, is not complicated, but the construction of a suitable
inductive system can be an arduous and frustrating task. For example,
the most strenuous efforts of Descartes, Eddington, and all of the
other investigators who attempted to construct a theory of a universe
of motion prior to the development of the Reciprocal System were
fruitless because these investigators were unable to put together a
valid inductive system of the necessary scope.
In almost all cases, including the one noted, the principal obstacle
standing in the way of constructing such a system is an error of some
kind in current thinking on the subject matter. Until this error can be
located and corrected, attempts to formulate a usable inductive system
are futile, as any one error in the premises of the system invalidates
the entire structure. The key to the construction of an inductive system
incorporating the concept of a universe of motion was the discovery
of the general reciprocal relation between space and time. Once this
relation was recognized, it became possible to put together a system
of extrapolations—those that constitute the postulates of the
Reciprocal System of theory—that could be verified by thousands of
comparisons with empirical data.
The inductive answer to the basic metaphysical question was obtained
in exactly the same way. Just as many scientists and philosophers long
ago concluded that the physical universe is a universe of motion, but
were unable to verify this conclusion until the error in the prevailing
concept of the nature of space and time was corrected, so most
philosophers and theologians long ago concluded that there is an
existence outside space and time, but were unable to verify that
conclusion. Here, again, it is necessary to construct an inductive
system in order to make verification possible, and here again,
identification and correction of a serious error in current thought is a
prerequisite for such a construction. This error, we find, is the same
one that blocked the physical inquiry for such a long time: the
misconception as to the nature of space and time. When these entities
are seen in their true light as aspects of the “substance” of the
universe, rather than as a setting in which that substance exists, the
way is cleared for the construction of an inductive system of
conclusions about metaphysical existence: a set of postulates similar
to the fundamental postulates that define the physical universe.
One significant point that was established in the detailed development
of the consequences of the postulates that define the physical universe
is that those principles of a general nature that are valid in one
physical area are valid in all physical areas. There are, of course,
principles and relations whose applicability is confined to certain
areas for structural reasons. The principles governing the behavior of
gases, for example, are not applicable to liquids or solids. But we
were able to formulate the basic postulates of the Reciprocal System
by generalizing the principles that are not limited by such structural
factors, and the subsequent verification of the validity of the system of
theory thus derived shows that the extrapolation was justified. Now
that we are going from existence in the physical universe to existence
in general, we will carry the extrapolation a step farther and conclude
that these principles of a general nature that have been verified in
application to the physical universe will continue to be applicable in
the wider field.
The First Postulate of the Reciprocal System of theory is a specific
definition of the physical universe, and it cannot be extrapolated to
existence outside that universe. However, a consideration of the
structure of the postulate leads to an important conclusion that is
general in nature. In itself, the basic assumption in this postulate, the
assumption that the physical universe is a universe of motion, would
permit the existence of any conceivable kind of motion, but the other
assumptions included in the two postulates of the system act as
limitations. The net result of the basic postulate plus the limitations is
to permit the existence of any kind of motion that is not in conflict
with any of these limitations. Since an enumeration of the limitations
to which the motion is subject carries with it an implied assertion that
there are no other limitations, there is nothing to prevent the existence
of those motions that are not barred, directly or indirectly, by the
postulates. This principle can be expressed by the statement:
Whatever can exist does exist. The validity of the principle is
generally conceded in scientific and philosophical circles. K. W. Ford
makes this comment:
One of the elementary rules of nature is that, in the absence of a law
prohibiting an event or phenomenon, it is bound to occur with some
degree of probability. To put it simply and crudely: Anything that can
happen does happen.64
In this statement, the word “happen” is used instead of “exist,” but in
a universe of motion there is no significant difference between what
happens and what exists. Both are manifestations of motion.
The applicability of this principle to the physical universe has been
specifically confirmed in the development of the Reciprocal System of
theory. The salient fact here is that all of the primary entities and
phenomena of the theoretical universe that fall within our present
limits of observation are duplicated item by item in the observed
physical universe. In the case of the more complex entities, two or
more of the possible structures are often in competition, and if the
probability factors are strongly in favor of one of these, the others are
not normally observed, a fact that is quite understandable. In any
event, whatever uncertainties of this kind do exist are confined to
structures in the later stages of development; the entities and
phenomena which can be deduced directly from the postulates or their
immediate consequences all have easily recognizable counterparts in
the observed physical universe. For example, four general types of
motion are theoretically possible, and all of them are found in the
observed universe. Six different kinds of rotational combinations
(elements and particles) are theoretically possible, and all of them are
observed. Within the present observational limits, 105 different
material elements are predicted by the theory, and all of these have
been identified, with no missing numbers and no extras.
A particularly significant point is that some of these physical
phenomena predicted by theory and later identified through
observation were totally unknown to science—even unsuspected.
Motion in time, for instance, was completely foreign to scientific
thought before the development of the Reciprocal System made it
clear that this is one of the primary physical phenomena, fully
coordinate, in the physical universe as a whole, with the more familiar
motion in space. In most cases, those motions which were indicated as
theoretically possible were readily correlated with known phenomena,
but wherever a known counterpart of the theoretical motion could not
be located, as in the case of motion in time, a hitherto unknown
phenomenon was always found to exist.
In view of the firm standing of the “Whatever can exist does exist”
principle in the physical universe, our next concern will be to lay the
foundation for extrapolating it to existence in general. As brought out
in Chapter 3, it has been definitely established that the physical
universe is composed entirely of discrete units of motion. Further
development of the consequences of the postulates that define the
theoretical system reveals that the large-scale action of the universe is
cyclic, the magnitude of the cycles being determined by the finite life
of the structures into which the units of motion aggregate. This means
that the total number of units of motion existing in the physical
universe is finite. Thus we may expand the previous statement about
the content of the universe, and say that we have established that the
sole constituent of the physical universe is a certain finite quantity of
a particular kind of motion.
The conclusion is not assumption or speculation. The validity of the
entire Reciprocal System, including the First Postulate and the
foregoing extension, has been established with physical certainty. The
fact that the physical universe is composed entirely of a finite quantity
of a particular kind of motion is therefore scientific knowledge, as
defined in Chapter 2. It then follows that there must be other
existences—at least other motions. Ordinary common sense is
sufficient to tell us that we cannot justify taking the stand that the only
thing that can possibly exist is a specific quantity of a particular kind
of motion. The process of inductive reasoning merely reaches the
same conclusion in a more systematic way. It identifies the physical
universe as a special case of motion in general, and enables us to
extrapolate the information of the unrestricted type that is available
about this special case to the general situation. On the basis of the
principle that what can exist does exist, which we can now extrapolate
to motion in general, we arrive at these conclusions:
1. There are other finite quantities of the same kind of motion
existing as independent universes.
2. There are other universes based on motion that is
multidimensional, or otherwise different from that which
prevails in our physical universe.
3. There is a general form of existence free from some or all of the
limitations that apply to the individual universes.
The possibility that there may be some other entities, distinct from
motion, that are capable of generating systems such as the universes,
also suggests itself. But when we examine the motion of which the
physical universe is constituted, we find that the nature of this motion
is not defined, other than by the way it enters into the basic
mathematical relation. This is a relation between a quantity x (which
we identify as space) and its reciprocal 1/x (which we identify as
time). When the quotient x/(1/x) is 1, we say that it is one unit of
motion; but in fact, it is one unit of a not otherwise identified quantity.
We cannot substitute some identified quantity (that is, one which has
properties other than those expressed in the equation) for motion, as
those other properties would destroy the pure reciprocal relation that
is the basis of the system that we call the physical universe. On the
other hand, if we substitute some quantity that does not have any such
additional properties, there is no way by which it could be
distinguished from motion. It does not appear, therefore, that the
concept of other entities capable of generating systems similar to the
universes of motion can be entertained.
In the subsequent discussion, we will continue to utilize the
designation “metaphysical” in its etymological sense as referring to all
that is beyond physics. On this basis, any existence outside our
physical universe is metaphysical existence, the region in which it
exists is the metaphysical region, and any universes other than our
own that exist in this region are metaphysical universes. When we
have occasion to refer to existence in general, including that which is
inside, as well as that which is outside, the various discrete universes,
we will regard it as located in the general metaphysical region. It
should be understood that the term “outside,” as used in this
connection, means simply “not a part of,” and has no spatial or
temporal implications.
The possibility of the existence of other universes is an idea that has
intrigued many thinkers. Even without the significant additional
information that has led to the conclusions of this present work, many
observers have realized that it is quite possible that the physical
universe, as we know it, is not the sum total of all existence, as the
term “universe” implies, but merely a portion of a larger system, an
entity that, as has been suggested, we might well call a “multiverse.”
With all our wide vision we may be looking at only a small part of a
grand creation. Our universe with its billions of galaxies may be only
one among many.65 (Vannevar Bush)
The advances in theoretical understanding that have been
accomplished in the investigation being reported in this work have
made the existence of these other universes probable, but definite
verification is not possible because, so far as we know, there is no
contact between our universe and any of the others. The reverse side
of the picture is that, by reason of this lack of contact, the question as
to the existence of other universes is purely academic so far as we are
concerned. The metaphysical existences that have a bearing on human
life are those of the general type, which, by reason of their freedom
from the kind of limitations that apply to the separate universes, are
located in the whole, of which the individual universes are separate
and limited parts. The first of the postulates that define the
metaphysical existence with which human life is concerned may
therefore be expressed as follows:
FIRST METAPHYSICAL POSTULATE: There are existences in the
metaphysical region of a more general and less restricted type than the
units of motion that are the basic constituents of the physical universe.
Another general principle established in the physical universe that can
be extrapolated to existence in general is the principle that existence is
logical, orderly, and rational. This concept, which from the very
beginnings of science has been held by scientists “with the fervor of a
religious conviction,”66 as Margenau puts it, is the essence of what we
have called the “implied third postulate” of the Reciprocal System. It
has been definitely confirmed, so far as the physical universe is
concerned, by the verification of that new system of theory, and the
strong intuitive conviction of the individual scientists has been
vindicated (a point which will have some significance in connection
with a subject to be discussed later). By extension, in accordance with
the general rule that has been stated, we are now able to say that the
metaphysical existences are likewise logical, orderly, and rational.
These characteristics may then be embodied in a second postulate.
SECOND METAPHYSICAL POSTULATE: The metaphysical
existences are logical, orderly, and rational.
The physical investigation has also established that each sector of the
physical universe has its own peculiar phenomena governed by laws
that are related to, but different from, those applicable to analogous
phenomena in the other sector. Thus the gravitational law of the
material sector specifies that every aggregate of matter exerts the
equivalent of forces of attraction on all other similar aggregates within
a certain limiting distance, so that these aggregates tend to draw closer
together in space. The cosmic sector, in which there are aggregates
composed of an entity analogous to, but different from, ordinary
matter is subject to a different law that operates in an analogous
manner but causes the aggregates of cosmic matter to draw closer
together in time. Here again, we may extrapolate our findings and
conclude that the general relation between any two sectors of
existence as a whole is similar to that between the two major sectors
of the physical universe; that is, both sectors are subject to the same
broad general principles and have the same kind of a general
framework, but each sector has certain special characteristics that are
merely analogous to, rather than identical with, the corresponding
characteristics of the other sector. Hence each sector has its own
special set of laws related to, but different from, the corresponding
laws of the other sector.
This means that there exists a set of general principles governing
existence as a whole, and there also exists a system of mutually
consistent special laws and principles, similar to the Reciprocal
System, for each individual sector of existence. In subsequent
chapters, we will encounter phenomena that, as already noted, we will
have reason to identify as metaphysical in character, and it will then
be important to recognize that these phenomena are subject to a set of
laws and principles that are peculiar to the general metaphysical
region and are no more than analogous to any of the laws or principles
of the physical universe.
THIRD METAPHYSICAL POSTULATE: Metaphysical existence
conforms to a specific set of laws and principles different in some
respects from those of the physical universe.
A fourth postulate will be derived in Chapter 7 by extrapolation of
information that will be developed in the next three chapters. In order
to complete the definition of the inductive system that we have
constructed as a base for our exploration of the metaphysical region,
this postulate will be stated at this time without comment. Its
derivation will be explained in the subsequent discussion.
FOURTH METAPHYSICAL POSTULATE: The metaphysical
existences of which we have evidence are intelligent.
These four postulates constitute the inductive conclusions that have
been derived by standard scientific methods, mainly extrapolation. In
the remainder of this work we will carry out the second half of the
inductive process, developing the consequences of the postulates, and
verifying their validity by showing that these consequences are in full
agreement with observation wherever comparisons can be made. It
should be emphasized that this is a scientific undertaking, on the basis
of the definitions set forth in Chapter 2. The postulates are factual
statements that have been derived by inductive processes from factual
premises, and they will be verified by comparison with facts derived
from observation. On verification, they constitute scientific
knowledge, as previously defined. The entire project follows the
standard scientific procedure and does so in a strictly scientific
manner, without the use of any kind of demon.
It is true that metaphysical subjects have heretofore been regarded as
outside the boundaries of science. As pointed out in Chapter 2,
however, the true boundaries of science are not defined by the subject
matter, but by the possibility of factual treatment. A purely factual
conclusion in the metaphysical field, one based in the first instance on
established facts, and derived from those facts by exact logical or
mathematical processes, is just as scientific as a similar conclusion in
a physical field. In the light of the findings of this present work, it is
not appropriate to refer to metaphysical existences, or to any
metaphysical phenomena, as “supernatural.” The metaphysical region
and its phenomena are subject to laws of nature in exactly the same
way as physical phenomena, and one of these types of phenomena is
no more or no less “natural” than the other.
The general situation involved in this metaphysical investigation is
similar to that which was previously encountered in examining the
impact of the phenomena of the cosmic sector of the physical
universe, the inverse sector, on observable events and relationships.
The existence of the cosmic sector was entirely unknown prior to the
time that it was discovered theoretically by development of the
consequences of the postulates of the Reciprocal System of theory,
and there was no known physical phenomenon that seemed to require
anything as drastic as doubling the magnitude of the physical universe
as then conceived. But once it was demonstrated theoretically that the
cosmic sector must exist, it quickly became apparent that the impact
of this cosmic sector on the familiar material sector provided simple
and logical explanations for a number of phenomena that had never
been satisfactorily incorporated into the conventional theories of the
material universe. Similarly, metaphysical existence is not recognized
by conventional physical theory. But once the reality of such existence
has been demonstrated by standard scientific procedures, it becomes
clear that here, too, the new knowledge supplies the explanations for
many phenomena that have hitherto resisted all attempts at
comprehension; some of them so foreign to current scientific thinking
that scientists have been driven to the desperate expedient of ignoring
the evidence and denying its existence.
In the next chapter, we will begin a consideration of the individual
phenomena of this nature. Before so doing, however, it will be
advisable to make a few general comments on the situation. There is
no doubt but that the finding as to the reality of metaphysical
existence is one of the most important conclusions ever reached in a
scientific investigation. Nothing can be more meaningful to the human
race than the answer to the question as to whether there is something
beyond the limits of the physical universe, for once the answer has
been positively established as affirmative, if follows practically as a
matter of course that the destiny of man transcends the limitations of
the physical universe. The great religions of the world have always
affirmed the truth of this proposition, and until comparatively recently,
most philosophers have agreed. William James, for instance, is
positive and unequivocal:
Our science is a drop, our ignorance a sea. Whatever else be certain,
this at least is certain—that the world of our present natural
knowledge is enveloped in a larger world of some sort of whose
residual properties we at present can frame no positive idea.67
But neither religion nor philosophy has heretofore been able to
produce any tangible evidence of such an existence. Throughout the
whole history of the human race, the status of the metaphysical
assertions has remained unchanged while the scope of positive
knowledge has expanded tremendously in other fields, particularly in
science. Modern religions have no more evidence to offer in support
of their contentions as to the reality of an existence outside the
physical universe than the medicine men of the nomadic tribes were
able to muster thousands of years ago. We are still told that these
assertions must be accepted on “faith,” which simply means that no
proof is available. Today's beliefs are more plausible than some of
those of earlier days, it is true, but they are equally lacking in factual
support. The inevitable result of this inability to back up the religious
assertions with anything of a tangible nature has been a weakening of
the “faith,” not only among those who have few ties with religion, but
also in the very citadels of religion itself. As expressed by J. M.
Kitagawa:
It is important to note that a radical change has taken place in this
respect in the thinking of modern people, in that they no longer take
seriously the existence of another realm of reality…. To the modern
man, this phenomenal world is the only real order of existence, and
life here and now is the center of the world of meaning.68
The findings of this work are thus particularly timely, in that they
meet this modern trend of thought squarely and effectively, providing
a conclusive refutation of the inferences that the present-day skeptics
have drawn from the previous inability to relate the religious
assertions to the world of observed phenomena. We are now able to
state definitely and positively that “this phenomenal world” is not “the
only real order of existence,” and that “life here and now” is only one
phase of existence as a whole. Whether or not it is “the center of the
world of meaning” is another question; one that we will be better able
to consider later in the discussion, after we have explored some of the
consequences of the metaphysical existence and their effect on the
human situation.
CHAPTER 5
Levels of Existence
At this point, we will begin consideration of the empirical evidence
that confirms the conclusions which were reached in Chapter 4 by
inductive reasoning. It has already been emphasized that this is a
purely scientific work, in which the development of thought conforms
strictly to accepted scientific principles, and the conclusions therefrom
constitute scientific knowledge in the same sense in which that term
applies to any other product of scientific inquiry. But the influence of
established modes of thinking may make it difficult for some readers
to free themselves from the belief that there must be some difference
between this metaphysical exploration and a purely physical
investigation. This is not true. To be sure, the metaphysical existences
with which we are dealing are inaccessible to our physical senses, but
so are most of the entities along the present-day frontiers of physical
science. In both cases, we know the existences only by their effects.
The task of science is to arrive at a specific and definite interpretation
of those effects, and the standard scientific procedures have been
established for this purpose. In order that there may be no
misunderstanding as to the significance of the second phase of the
metaphysical inquiry that we are now starting, it will be appropriate to
review just where we now stand relative to the several steps of the
standard scientific procedure.
The development of the Reciprocal System of theory established that,
contrary to previous scientific opinion, based on an erroneous
conception of the nature of space and time, metaphysical existence is
possible. Application of standard methods of inductive reasoning in
Chapter 4 then showed that such existence is probable, and it
identified some of the characteristics of that probable existence. This
completes steps 1 and 2 of the standard scientific procedure. In the
pages that follow, we will determine what effects on human life will
theoretically result from interaction with such metaphysical existences
(step 3), and we will then verify all findings by showing that the
theoretical results are in full agreement with actual experience (step
4).
In beginning this process, the first point to be noted is the presence of
distinct kinds, or levels, of existence in the physical universe. This is
one of the significant physical facts that conventional science cannot
explain and therefore refuses to recognize. The predominant scientific
opinion at present is that everything in the universe can be placed on
one vast evolutionary ladder, the “great chain of being,” as it is
sometimes called, beginning with the smallest subatomic particle and
terminating (for the present, at least) with Homo sapiens: “one
evolutionary track leading from atom to man.”69 As Victor Weisskopf
expresses this idea, summarizing a discussion of the subject:
We have seen how life and man evolved from the original hydrogen
gas, or better, how we believe today it may have happened. It is a
development from the simple to the complicated, from unordered
chaos to highly differentiated units, from the unorganized to the
organized.70
This kind of a viewpoint is always immensely popular, both inside
and outside the scientific profession. The evolutionary hypothesis has
proved to be very fruitful in the living world, and the suggestion that
this idea which has been so successful in application to biological
organisms can be applied with equal force to the physical world as a
whole has great appeal to the human mind. At first glance, it seems to
be an important step toward that unity of nature which appears so
eminently desirable—so fitting and proper—to scientist and layman
alike.
But, unfortunately, the human mind is also prone to relax its critical
standards when a pleasing hypothesis of this kind comes along, and to
accept a superficial appearance of observational agreement with the
hypothesis as proof of its validity, without applying the rigorous tests
that sound scientific procedure requires. Neither the scientist nor the
layman has given this hypothesis the kind of critical scrutiny that each
applies to less glamorous ideas. If any serious attempt is made to
examine its credibility, the hypothesis collapses. It is obvious almost
immediately that there is no evolutionary process in the inanimate
world analogous to biological evolution.
It is true that there is a gradual increase in complexity with time. Very
young aggregates of matter consist almost entirely of hydrogen, the
simplest of the elements; and the giant organic molecules that are the
building blocks from which biological entities are constructed make
their appearance as the end products of a process that requires billions
of years for completion. But this is not a process of evolution, in the
sense in which that term is applied to living organisms; it is merely a
process of aggregation. Atoms will combine with other atoms
whenever they come into contact under appropriate conditions of
temperature and pressure, providing that the energy balance is
favorable; that is, the combination is energetically more stable than
the individual components. The giant organic molecule is simply the
product of a series of appropriate combinations of this kind.
In this aggregation process, there is no requirement that the simpler
compounds precede the more complex ones. They usually do. For
instance, the relatively simple paraffinic or olefinic hydrocarbons
usually constitute the raw material from which the more complex
hydrocarbons of the aromatic series are produced in industry, and it is
probable that the same is true in nature. But the aromatics could be
formed directly from carbon and hydrogen atoms. In fact, studies of
the pyrolytic process indicate that this is just what happens when
aromatics are produced in this manner. One of the primary products in
this process is anthracene, a complex triple-ring structure containing
24 atoms. Such a result is impossible in the living world. Biological
evolution must build its complexity step by step, and an increase in
complexity comparable to the step from carbon and hydrogen atoms
to the anthracene molecule would require the formation of
intermediate structures and would take a long time for completion. In
the inanimate world, on the other hand, there is no physical obstacle
to the construction of even the most complex molecule in a fraction of
a second, just as the anthracene molecule is formed, if enough atoms
of the right kind happen to be available where needed.
This kind of thing does not happen in the ordinary course of events,
simply because the right atoms are not available in the right place at
the right time, and they are not available because the probability of
their being available is almost infinitely small. The aggregation of
atoms into giant organic molecules takes a long time for completion
only because the probability of the right kind of contact taking place
is small and a long time elapses before this small probability produces
a reality. It takes place as a step process because the probability of the
occurrence of the right conditions for formation of a complex
molecule by adding more atoms to a molecule of somewhat less
complexity is much greater than the probability of the occurrence of
the conditions that would permit the formation of the complex
molecule directly. The so-called “evolutionary” process in this field is
thus nothing more than a process of aggregation that proceeds slowly
because of the very low probability of the right kind of contacts.
In the biological realm, on the contrary, the increase in complexity is
inherently cumulative. A protein molecule could form directly from its
constituent atoms if the right atoms were available in the right
positions at the point of formation, just as the anthracene molecule is
known to do, but it is not conceivable that the coalescence of any
number of single-celled organisms could produce a polar bear. The
evolutionary process as we find it in living organisms is not merely a
matter of aggregation, like the formation of a molecule; it is a long
process of gradual development by trial and error, in which the new is
derived from the old by modification rather than by mere addition.
Another striking point of difference is that in biological evolution the
new replaces the old, either partially or completely, whereas in the
inanimate process of aggregation, the new and more complex
structures are always a tiny minority, the relative proportions of the
various structures being determined almost exclusively by the relative
probability of their formation. The dinosaurs, which once reigned
supreme in their environment, are now extinct, but any chemical
compound which ever predominated in a particular environment still
predominates in that environment. The sands of the Mesozoic era,
when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, were grains of quartz, just as are
the sands of today.
Again, we find that living organisms are unique in their ability to
utilize food; that is, they can extract from their environment
substances that are composed wholly or in part of the materials
needed for the growth of the organisms, they can break these
substances down into simpler units, and can reconstitute them into the
specific forms that can be used by the living bodies. Inanimate
structures, on the contrary, can grow only by obtaining from the
environment some kind of matter that is capable of being added
directly. The most that they can do in the way of adapting existing
material to their use is to pull a loosely bound atom or atomic group
away from some other structure.
An even more significant difference is connected with the basic
physical principle known as the Second Law of Thermodynamics.
Inanimate matter obeys the Second Law implicitly, whereas living
matter behaves in a manner that seems to defy the law. By way of
illustration, a wooden fence post will burn if any part of it is
momentarily exposed to a high temperature. The Second Law says
that any naturally occurring process, such as this combustion of the
fence post, results in a decrease in the availability of energy, and
accordingly, we find that the available energy in the carbon dioxide,
water vapor, and ashes, the principal combustion products, is
substantially less than that in the original fence post. A naturally
occurring reversal of the process would violate the Second Law since
recreation of the fence post from the products of combustion would
increase the availability of energy. But this is just exactly what
happens in the living world. A seedling tree takes the carbon dioxide
from the air, extracts the water and the constituents of the ashes from
the soil, and within a few years it has recreated the fence post. We
cannot take the stand that the growth of a tree is not a natural process,
unless we give that term an altogether different meaning than it now
possesses, the meaning that is utilized in the statement of the Second
Law. It is therefore evident that the living world and the non-living
world are not governed by the same set of rules.
Whether or not the living organisms violate the Second Law in a
strictly technical sense is still a matter of doubt. Bridgman, who has
given the matter intensive study, concludes that there is not sufficient
reason to believe that they do, but he concedes that there is no positive
evidence to support this conclusion. “Certainly if any successful
attempt has been made to examine on rigorous grounds the
applicability of the second law to biological systems the result is not
generally known,”71 he admits, and he even questions whether the
concept of entropy, which is central in the Second Law, is applicable
to living systems. He points out that these systems are irreversible in a
different sense than the usual irreversible systems in the inanimate
world, and goes on to say, “All living systems are of this nature and
technically the concept of entropy may not be applied to such
systems.”72 Du Nouy expresses the same conclusion: “The
application of this concept [entropy] to living phenomena has not yet
been realized and raises grave difficulties of principle.”73
In reality, however, all of the debate over this issue is rather pointless,
since the biological systems certainly violate the spirit of the Second
Law irrespective of whether or not enough hairs can be split to keep
them from violating the letter of the law. There is no question but that
the biological trend is toward order, whereas the trend in the
inanimate realm, the trend dictated by the Second Law, is toward
disorder. When we put the case in this manner, Bridgman concurs
emphatically:
It springs to the eye that the tendency of living organisms is to
organize their surroundings, that is, to produce “order” where
formerly there was disorder. Life then appears in some way to oppose
the otherwise universal drive to disorder.74
J. H. Rush states the case in somewhat more picturesque language:
Life pushes its way through this fatalistically determined world like a
river flowing upstream. It is a system of utterly improbable order, a
message in a world of noise.75
The facts brought out in the foregoing paragraphs show that the
“evolutionary sequence” that so many present-day scientists think that
they see, extending from subatomic particle to man, is not an
evolutionary sequence at all; it is merely an arrangement of the
various entities of the universe in the order of increasing complexity.
Only in the living realm is this increased complexity a result of
evolution. There is no evolution, in the sense in which this term is
applied to living structures, in the non-living world. Furthermore, this
difference between the processes by which greater complexity is
attained is only one of the many items of evidence that show the
existence of a very definite discontinuity in the order of increasing
complexity at the point where life begins. The behavior of the living
organism is altogether different from that of non-living matter. Even
Weisskopf, whose enthusiastic appraisal of the status of the
“continuous chain” hypothesis opened this chapter, admits that “The
phenomena of life do not seem to fit at all into the framework of the
events which we so far have come to expect from matter composed of
atoms and molecules.”76
All of the foregoing adds up to a complete refutation of the
“continuous chain” hypothesis, yet this is still not the whole story. The
realm of the living is not only very different from the realm of the
non-living, in its processes of developing the complex from the
simple, in its action upon the environment, and in the basic principles
that govern its existence, but is also, in some important respects, the
direct opposite of the non-living world. This is a very significant
point, and some of its implications with respect to the relation of life
to inanimate matter will be discussed in detail in the next chapter.
At this time, we will want to take note of the fact that if we follow the
order of increasing complexity still farther, we ultimately arrive at
another discontinuity very similar to the discontinuity between the
living and the non-living: another point where the governing rules
change very drastically, and, as in the transition from non-living to
living, are completely reversed in some important respects. Of course,
the adherents of the “great chain of being” concept do not concede
this point. As in the case of the lower discontinuity, they simply refuse
to look at the evidence. Sir Alister Hardy makes this comment:
There are some people who, brandishing “Occam's razor” and
fascinated by it, think it right for science to ignore half the properties
of living things because they seem to complicate the issue.77
One of the most prominent features of life is that perpetuation of that
life, either for the individual or for the species to which he belongs, is
the dominant factor in the behavior of living things, the factor to
which all else is subordinated. “The over-all and universal goal,” says
Simpson, “is simply survival.”78 But if we continue to follow the
order of increasing complexity, we eventually encounter a living unit
which is outwardly no different in its general aspect from certain other
living units lower in the scale of complexity, just as the simplest living
unit is outwardly not essentially different from some non-living
aggregates, but which reverses the characteristic behavior of living
things, and takes many actions that definitely militate against
continued existence of the individual and his species. Here again, as in
the jump from non-living to living, the behavior beyond the
discontinuity is not only different. It follows basic rules which, in
important respects, are diametrically opposite from those governing
the behavior on the lower side of the line. The most complex living
unit, man, is not governed entirely, or even primarily, by the survival
motive.
Those who are unable to reconcile this fundamental difference with
their basic theories of existence naturally make every effort to explain
away the inconvenient facts. Since the evolutionary theories
adequately account for those aspects of animal behavior that
subordinate survival of the individual to survival of the species, an
attempt has been made to extend this explanation to the unique
aspects of human behavior. But however attractive such explanations
may be to those who want to believe them, they cannot stand up under
critical scrutiny. There are many common human actions that are
obviously irreconcilable with any survival motivation, direct or
indirect. For example, when one man risks his life to protect that of
another who is not strong enough to protect himself—an act that is not
uncommon in human life—the performance of the act risks the
survival of the individual, and the objective of the act is detrimental to
the survival of the species, as the species would be better able to
survive if its weaker members were eliminated. Human life is full of
actions that share this anti-survival, or at least non-survival, character.
The practice of that which is ethically best—what we call goodness or
virtue—involves a course of conduct which, in all respects, is opposed
to that which leads to success in the cosmic struggle for existence.79
(T. H. Huxley)
Individuals have often cherished values which are not at all conducive
to individual survival. Dying for one's ideals, sacrificing life for
something that is considered of higher value than life, has been a
value attitude frequently found in human history.80 (Walter A.
Weisskopf)
Many ways of behavior which are regarded as ethical or praiseworthy
enhance neither the chance of survival nor of reproductive success of
the persons so behaving…. The origin of human values through
natural selection is an oversimplification which can hardly be
sustained.81 (Theodosius Dobzhansky)
Von Weizsäcker points out that care of the older members of the
community is an outstanding example of this kind:
There is a strong selection pressure—to use this technical term of
selection theory—favoring a good protection of the lives of young
individuals; thus the love of parents for their children is common
among higher animals. There is, however, no selection pressure
favoring the survival of old individuals once they have generated and
protected a sufficient number of children. On the contrary, they now
become useless eaters. Thus love of adult children for their parents is
very rarely seen in animals; the far wider and deeper vision of man
seems to be needed in order to understand that caring for the old is a
meaningful task.82
Such examples could be multiplied almost indefinitely, and it is clear
that those who try to account for the distinctively human behavior
patterns on a purely survival basis are closing their eyes to the
experience of the race. Actually, however, few of those who
characterize ethical behavior as an evolutionary product are able to
maintain their position consistently. Marshall Walker, for instance, is
positive and unequivocal in stating his position:
Ethical behavior for man is that pattern of individual and collective
conduct which maximizes the probability of survival of man as
individual and species.83
But nine pages later in the same book he tells us that “Nature is
concerned with survival, not justice,”84 which is exactly the position
taken in this work. Nature, in its biological manifestation, is, indeed,
concerned with survival, and only with survival, but man is concerned
with justice and other non-survival objectives, even where, as in the
case discussed by Walker in the paragraph from which the second
quotation was taken, these objectives are in conflict with the survival
motive.
It is sometimes argued that there are other goals more important to the
human race than mere survival, and that the evolutionary process in
human beings may be preferentially directed toward these other
objectives rather than toward survival. But this is an argument against
the position that it is intended to support. Biological evolution is a
survival process, and substitution of some other objective, thus
changing the dominant factor underlying the whole course of behavior
of the organism, is irreconcilable with the hypothesis of continuity.
Hence, such suggestions do not offer any escape from the crucial fact
that there is a major discontinuity somewhere between animal
behavior and what is usually considered the more advanced types of
human behavior. Below this point, survival is the law of life; beyond
it, other considerations are controlling.
Once the existence of these two great discontinuities in the order of
increasing complexity is recognized, the next question that arises is:
What is their significance? As a background for a consideration of this
question, let us take a look at the general subject of emergent
properties. In a system governed by simple basic laws, complex
phenomena are possible only because combinations of simple entities
have properties which the entities themselves do not possess; that is,
new properties emerge by reason of the combinations.
As a very simple example, let us consider two entities A and B that
have no properties other than magnitude, and let us call these
magnitudes a and b respectively. As long as each entity remains in
isolation, each has but one property. If the two become associated in
some manner, however, the system AB has not only the properties a
and b, but also a+b, aÐb, bÐa, ab, a/b, and b/a, together with a
multitude of more complex properties involving such things as
numerical factors or exponents. All but a and b are emergent
properties. In the analogous physical situation, the proliferation of
properties by means of combinations of different types is still more
extensive, as the basic physical entities have more properties to begin
with. This is the situation that makes the Reciprocal System of
physical theory possible. In this system, space and time are defined in
terms of a mere handful of properties, but combination of these
properties in different ways and in different proportions produces an
immense number and variety of phenomena that in total constitute the
physical universe.
It is important to recognize, however, that all of this multiplication of
the consequences of the interaction of the original constituents,
whether it be on the scale of the hypothetical system AB or the scale
of the universe, is governed by the basic laws that are applicable to
these original constituents. For instance, the fundamental unit of
ordinary matter, the atom, is subject to the inward-directed force that
we call gravitation. This gravitation is inherent in the atom; the same
thing that makes it an atom causes it to gravitate. No matter how
complex a material aggregate may become or how many different
properties may emerge from that complexity, this situation does not
change. Each atom is still subject to gravitation, and the gravitational
law that applies to the individual atom is equally binding on all
combinations of atoms.
It is conceivable that some physical entities may be subject to a
gravitational law of a different character—in fact, the Reciprocal
System tells us that this is actually true—but if and when we do find
any such entities, we know immediately that they are not composed of
matter of the type with which we are familiar. The emergence of new
properties in a system because of increased complexity does not
accomplish any change in the basic patterns of behavior of the
system. Anything that does not behave in the characteristic manner of
ordinary matter is not ordinary matter.
Actually, when we speak of new properties emerging, we are using the
word “new” in a rather restricted sense, as these so-called “new”
properties are limited to items which are already implicitly contained
in the original entities. As expressed by Walker, they are “latently
present in each of the isolated constituents even though such
properties are unobservable while the constituent is isolated.”85 The
emergent properties a+b, ab, etc., are “new” in a sense, but they are
derived specifically from a and b. It is not possible for any properties
to emerge in the system AB that are not capable of derivation from a
and b. A property c, for example, cannot emerge in this system.
One present-day school of thought, however, is basing its explanation
of life and of man on theories of emergent properties that ignore the
inherent limitations of emergence. As explained by Muller, “These
[theories] are based on the organismic concept of a whole different
from the sum of its parts; the gist of them is that a new quality of
existence ‘emerges’ from combinations, a quality that is nonadditive
and nonpredictable from a knowledge of the original elements.” “The
favorite analogy” of the emergent evolution theory, he says, “is the
emergence of water: water is qualitatively different from both oxygen
and hydrogen and no chemist could have foretold its quality. Just so,
on the large scale, did life emerge from matter, mind from life.”86 H.
A. Overstreet elaborates this theme:
Water, however, is not simply the sum of hydrogen and oxygen. It is
something qualitatively new, something that cannot be found by the
most searching examination of the gas, hydrogen, nor of the gas,
oxygen. No amount of previous knowledge of the atomic structure of
hydrogen and oxygen could, apparently, give a knowledge of this
peculiar fluid that results from combining the two gases.87
But these contentions are one hundred percent wrong. The qualitative
properties of water can be predicted from the properties of oxygen
and hydrogen, even without the new information developed from the
postulates of the Reciprocal System. With the benefit of this new
knowledge, we can go still farther and calculate the quantitative
properties as well. Furthermore, when these authors speak of the
properties of water as “qualitatively different” from, or “not related
to” the properties of oxygen and hydrogen, the meaning that is given
to the word “properties” is definitely misleading, even though
technically correct on the basis of popular usage. For instance, water
is a liquid at room temperature, whereas hydrogen is a gas.
Superficially, this may appear to be a “qualitative difference,” but the
truth is that hydrogen is a liquid under certain conditions, whereas
water is a gas under certain other conditions. Both substances can
exist in either state; the only difference between the two, from this
standpoint, is in the boiling temperature. The same situation prevails
all along the line. The striking differences between water and
hydrogen, as we normally come in contact with them, those
differences which the authors that were quoted are calling differences
in properties are, strictly speaking, merely differences in the
numerical values of certain properties.
All of the properties of water are either the same properties that are
possessed by oxygen and by hydrogen—density, specific heat,
compressibility, vapor pressure, surface tension, etc.—with different
numerical values, or they are properties similar to a+b, ab, etc.;
properties of combinations as such. For example, water has the
property of dissociation; a hydrogen atom does not. But dissociation is
nothing more than a certain kind of process of separating into parts.
The only reason why a hydrogen atom cannot dissociate is that it is a
single unit and has no parts. A hydrogen molecule, which consists of
two atoms, does dissociate under appropriate conditions. Then again,
water can act as an acid. Here, it would seem, is a totally new
property, something that is quite foreign to hydrogen and oxygen. But
when we dig a little deeper, we find that an acid is simply a compound
that can transfer a hydrogen atom to some other substance under
appropriate conditions. Thus the acidic property is “new” only in the
sense that dissociation is new; it is something that a combination can
do just because it is a combination.
This matter of emergent properties can be seen in its true light by
making use of the concept of the system. For this purpose, we define
the system as the original entity or entities together with all entities
that can be produced from it or them by processes of combination or
rearrangement. The oxygen-hydrogen system which we have been
discussing is a relatively small one. In addition to the hydrogen atoms
and the oxygen atoms, which are the original entities in this case (by
definition), the system includes water (H2O), hydrogen peroxide
(H2O2), the hydrogen molecule (H2), the oxygen molecule (O2), the
ozone molecule (O3), the hydrogen ion (H+), the hydroxyl ion (OH-),
and a number of more complex and less stable units such as the
hydronium ion (H3O)+, the ice molecule (H2O)x, together with various
aggregates of these units. If we substitute carbon for oxygen, the new
system is an enormous one, comprising thousands upon thousands of
combinations.
Regardless of whether the system is small or large, the properties of
the system are defined by the properties of the original entities and the
general laws to which these entities are subject. No unit of the system
can have any properties other than those which can be logically
derived from the properties of the system as thus defined. Anything
that cannot be derived in this manner has no legitimate scientific
standing. The appeal of the emergent evolution theory to physical
analogy is groundless. Notwithstanding the pronouncements to the
contrary that were quoted earlier, the properties of water are fully
determined, both qualitatively and quantitatively, by the properties of
hydrogen and oxygen atoms and the general laws to which these
atoms are subject. Furthermore, the system consisting of hydrogen
and oxygen atoms and the derivatives thereof is part of a larger
system, consisting of all basic units of matter and the derivatives of
these units, and the properties of water are fully determined by the
properties of matter and the laws to which matter is subject. Nor do
we need to stop here. The matter system is part of a still larger system,
consisting of units of space, units of time, and the derivatives of these
units, and the properties of water are fully determined by the
properties of space and time and the general laws to which space and
time are subject. All this is brought out in detail in the previous
publications describing the Reciprocal System of theory.
The use that is currently being made of the concept of emergent
properties, attributing anything new that appears along the route of
increasing complexity to “emergence,” is completely unjustified. It
has no logical basis, and the empirical support that is claimed for it
from such items as the unique properties of water is wholly
non-existent. As it is now being used, the concept of emergence is just
another demon, a hypothetical agency that is invoked when no logical
explanation can be found. “The theory of Emergence is not a working
hypothesis,” says du Nouy, “It is not even scientific.”88 In order to get
back on the track, scientifically speaking, we need to recognize just
what sort of properties can emerge and what kinds cannot. The points
developed in the foregoing paragraphs should make this distinction
clear. The properties of acidity, of dissociation, of liquidity at room
temperatures, etc., can emerge when water is formed from hydrogen
and oxygen, because these are properties of the system
hydrogen-oxygen; that is, they can be logically derived from the
properties of oxygen and hydrogen together with the general laws
governing those elements. The property of inverse gravitation, on the
other hand, cannot emerge, because the system hydrogen-oxygen is
subject to normal gravitation. Similarly, the property of honesty
cannot emerge, as such a thing is completely outside the properties of
the hydrogen-oxygen system. Like all other areas of existence, the
biological realm is subject to the principle that “from nothing nothing
comes.” Emergence cannot create something out of nothing. Only
those properties can emerge that are properties of the underlying
system.
At each of the two points of discontinuity in the order of increasing
complexity in the observed universe, new properties appear which are
definitely incompatible with the properties of the system previously
existing. At the first discontinuity, there is a jump from inanimate
matter which moves toward disorder and which is not subject to any
evolutionary process, to a living structure which moves toward order
and whose entire character is determined primarily by evolutionary
processes. At the second discontinuity, there is a similar jump from a
form of life in which the basic objective is survival (the evolutionary
objective) to a form of life in which the basic objectives are different
from, and often in conflict with, the objective of survival. In each
case, there is a drastic change in the general pattern of behavior, a
definite departure from the properties of the system previously
existing. Thus it is clear that there are three separate and distinct
levels of existence: three separate systems. Obviously there are
relations between the three, but it is equally evident that each has its
own set of rules and follows its own course.
Stated most simply, the phenomena of the inorganic, organic, and
human levels are subject to different laws peculiar to those levels.89
(Theodosius Dobzhansky)
Since the three levels exist, and since the differences between them
are of such a nature that they cannot be due to the emergence of new
properties by reason of structural complexity, it follows that, at each
discontinuity, some new element must enter into the situation: some
factor that is entirely foreign to the level immediately preceding. The
fundamental differences between the levels simply demand that such a
factor exist.
The two outstanding events or critical turning points [in evolutionary
history] were the origin of life and the origin of man…. With the
appearance of life, and again with the appearance of man, something
quite novel entered the world.90 (Dobzhansky)
The great majority of present-day scientists are inclined to reject this
contention summarily, in spite of the fact that it is a prima facie
requirement of the existing situation; but when we pin them down
specifically, we find that it is not the conclusion itself that they object
to, it is the inference that they are afraid will be drawn from it: the
inference that the special factor which makes life what it is has a
metaphysical origin. For centuries, a conflict has raged between the
“mechanists,” who believe that “all living phenomena can be
unequivocally explained in physico-chemical terms,”91 and the
“vitalists,” who believe that “special ‘principles,’ different from all
physical and chemical ones, are… ‘active’ in living organisms,
guiding and organizing the vital processes which for that reason can
never be resolved into a mere play of physico-chemical forces.”92
While a metaphysical origin of these “special principles” is not
necessarily required, the vitalist position obviously opens the door to
the development of explanations of this character, and the present
generation of scientists, strongly opposed to leaving any loophole for
the entry of metaphysics into the field which science has preempted,
condemns the entire “special principle” concept in an excess of
precaution.
But the facts are undeniable. As expressed by Beckner, “The empirical
problems that gave rise to the controversy between ‘vitalists’ and
‘mechanists’ are still with us, though nowadays they are discussed in
other terms.”93 In achieving their present ascendancy over the
vitalists, the mechanists have not been able to supply a mechanical
explanation for the unique behavior characteristics of living
organisms. “It is an obvious commonplace,” says Nagel, “but one that
must not be ignored if that issue is to be justly appraised, that there are
large sectors of biological study in which physico-chemical
explanations play no role at present.”94 Von Bertalanffy, who is not an
advocate of vitalism, is nevertheless still more emphatic:
We can undoubtedly describe the organism and its processes
physico-chemically in principle although we may still be far removed
from reaching such a goal. But as vital processes they are not
characterized in this way at all, since what is essential in the organism
is that the particular physico-chemical processes are organized in it in
quite a peculiar manner.95
It is evident that this is another illustration of the point brought out in
Chapter 1: that the scientist relies on “faith” in reaching some of his
conclusions just as much as the theologian relies on faith in arriving at
some of his religious doctrines. In the controversy between the
mechanists and the vitalists, neither side has anything concrete to
support its position. The mechanists are confronted with an existing
situation for which they have no explanation, while the vitalists have
an explanation for which they cannot produce any evidence. The
mechanist can only rely on his faith that an explanation will be
forthcoming at some future time; the vitalist relies on an equally
strong faith that no mechanistic explanation will ever be found, and
that his “special principle” will have to be accepted in the long run.
Sinnott summarizes the existing situation in this manner:
The plain fact is that in the present status of science biological
organization remains still unexplained, and that many investigators
are doubtful whether we are nearer to the ultimate answer than we
were half a century ago.96
As matters now stand, the physical scientists, who are one step
removed from the problem, are generally staunch mechanists. “The
mechanistic view is supreme,”97 reports Asimov, a biochemist. But
the biologists, who are face to face with the dilemma, are less
confident. As Von Bertalanffy puts it, “Between physico-chemistry
and metaphysics biology pursues a strange and crooked path.”98 A
few decades ago, most biologists, probably somewhat overawed by
the prestige of the physical sciences, were mechanists, although even
in 1931 J. S. Haldane reported that “such support as it [the
mechanistic conception of life] still receives is, at least, nearly always
half-hearted and depends mainly on the absence of any clear
conception of what can take the place of the physico-chemical
interpretation.”99 More recently, there has been a return to something
which, to the outsider, appears to be nothing more than the doctrines
of vitalism dressed up in some new clothes, substituting a “creative
potential” for the former “vital force.” As Habgood states the case, the
individuals who adhere to this new view “are trying to defend in
modern terms what vitalism has always stood for, even though they
may reject all the older vitalistic theories.”100
Notwithstanding the strong family resemblance, the supporters of this
so-called “organismic” viewpoint contend that there is actually a
significant difference between it and vitalism. “At first glance this
creative potential may look much like the old élan vital,” concedes
Muller, but he stoutly affirms, “Actually, however, the organismic
view is a higher synthesis of the vitalism-mechanism controversy,
retaining the positive findings of both schools, transcending their
artificial problems and their unnecessary exclusions.”101 From the
standpoint of our present objectives, the significance of this
continuing attempt to reconcile the opposing viewpoints is that it
constitutes a recognition that there is a basic problem here which is
still unresolved.
Even those philosophers and scientists who hold fast to mechanism
occasionally reveal their uneasiness about the situation. Bridgman, for
instance, comments that “now that we have quantum phenomena, a
proof that vital phenomena are outside thermodynamics would not be
so catastrophic as it would have been earlier in scientific history.”102
This statement is particularly interesting, not so much because of what
it actually says, but because of what it implies. We may deduce from
this statement (1) that Bridgman‘s confidence in the strength of the
mechanistic position is by no means unlimited, and (2) that the
mechanists’ view of the relation between the living and the non-living
is not so much a product of an unbiased appraisal of the evidence as it
is a reflection of their fears concerning the “catastrophic” effect which
the vitalistic explanation would have on some of their other beliefs.
In this present study, our undertaking is to make a cold-blooded an
unbiased study of the facts as they stand, without any concern as to
what implications our findings may have on other aspects of human
thought, either inside or outside the scientific field, and without any
arbitrary preferences for one type of explanation over another. When
we examine the situation on this basis, it is clear that there is a definite
discontinuity between living and non-living, and that living organisms
follow basic laws and principles which are totally different from, and
in some important respects directly opposed to, the laws and
principles governing inanimate matter. From this it is evident that
some new factor is involved in life that is not present, or at least not
effective, in inanimate matter: “something quite novel,” as
Dobzhansky said in the statement quoted earlier. Heisenberg
summarizes the situation:
One learns from simple biological experience that the living
organisms display a degree of stability which general complicated
structures consisting of many different types of molecules could
certainly not have on the basis of the physical and chemical laws
alone. Therefore, something has to be added to the laws of physics
and chemistry before the biological phenomena can be completely
understood.103
There is no observational evidence of the existence of this
“something,” the “quite novel” factor that reverses the rules of the
inanimate sector of the universe and makes life possible, other than
such observations as we may make of its effect on the behavior of
organisms, and there is no direct indication of its nature—whether it is
material or non-material, physical or non-physical. But there is no
escape from the conclusion that such a factor must become effective at
the point of discontinuity between non-living and living. “In any case
something new has definitely been added in these steps of the origin
of life.”104 (George G. Simpson)
Scientists are inclined to lay great stress on minimizing the number of
basic assumptions utilized in their theories, and the principle
commonly attributed to William of Occam which condemns
unnecessary hypotheses is generally accepted as an important
guideline for scientific work. But it is even more important to have
enough basic elements to work with, and this is something that many
men of science are inclined to overlook in those cases where they
cannot readily identify all of the elements that are needed.
An example that was discussed at some length in Beyond Newton105
is that of the structure of the huge aggregates of stars known as the
globular clusters. In these clusters, tens or hundreds of thousands of
stars maintain approximately fixed positions in what is apparently one
of the most stable of all astronomical structures. It is quite evident that
the cluster as a whole is held together by gravitational forces, but if
gravitation were the only force in operation, the stars could not
maintain their separations; each cluster would eventually collapse into
one single mass. Obviously no one force could account for the
existing situation. There must be some other force with which the
gravitational forces are in equilibrium, but no adequate force has been
identified. Under the circumstances, the logical course would have
been to recognize the fact that a second force must exist, and to keep
an eye open for some indications of its nature. But present-day
science is inclined to take the position that anything which is not
within its current range of vision is non-existent, and we can look in
vain for any admission by the astronomers that they are short one
force of some kind.
In this case, the development of the Reciprocal System has resulted in
the identification of the missing force and clarification of the entire
problem, but this merely emphasizes the absurdity of refusing to
recognize logical necessities just because they are outside the current
limits of scientific knowledge. Those limits are constantly being
extended, and notwithstanding the reluctance of the scientific
“authorities” to concede that there is anything beyond their range of
vision, they will be extended again and again. The clear necessity for
the entry of something new in the transition from non-living to living
is simply a signpost indicating a place where another extension of the
limits of scientific knowledge is essential.
The same considerations apply to the discontinuity at the upper end of
the evolutionary path:
It has to be noted that there is not a straight line—cosmic
development, living evolution, human society. There are critical
points, or creaking joints: the first is the transition from non-living to
living… the second is the transition from the biological to the human
social and cultural…. If it is one process, what do the critical points
mean, since they constitute at least a change of direction and the
dominance of a new element?106 (Leslie Paul)
Like the lower discontinuity, the upper “creaking joint” is a place
where something new enters into the situation; where the rules
change, and a new perspective is required in order to understand what
is taking place.
If we go beyond biology and include psychology in the discussion,
then there can scarcely be any doubt but that the concepts of physics,
chemistry, and evolution together will not be sufficient to describe the
facts.107 (Werner Heisenberg)
Here, too, the great differences in behavior above and below the point
of discontinuity definitely demand the presence of a new factor of
some kind. Those who deny its existence are simply refusing to face
the issue squarely. The argument that they always offer is that there is
no observational evidence of such a factor. As von Weizsäcker puts it:
Where else than in inorganic matter should life have its origin; where
else than in animals should man find his ancestors? We see no other
possible origin.108
There is no merit in this argument. The fact that von Weizsäcker
cannot see any other origin may be interesting, but it is not relevant
unless he is omniscient, which presumably he does not claim. On the
other hand, the facts cited by Heisenberg—the fact that something has
to be added to the concepts of physics and chemistry to make
biological phenomena intelligible, and something more has to be
added to the concepts of physics, chemistry, and evolution to make
human behavior intelligible—do define the situation. They do not tell
us the nature of the “something more,” but they make the existence of
these additional factors a matter of certainty. There is no justification
for refusing to recognize that which, according to the evidence now
before us, definitely exists, even though this existence does not fit
neatly into the accepted physical pattern.
We must therefore not be discouraged by the difficulty of interpreting
life by the ordinary laws of physics. For that is just what is to be
expected from the knowledge we have gained of the structure of
living matter. We must be prepared to find a new type of physical law
prevailing in it.109 (Erwin Schrödinger)
This is the observational picture as it now stands. In the next two
chapters, we will develop the theoretical picture, and we will compare
the two to see how closely they are in agreement: how strongly the
facts of observation support the theoretical conclusions, and how well
the theoretical conclusions explain the observed facts.
CHAPTER 6
The Second Level
As brought out in Chapter 4, the development of the Reciprocal
System of physical theory has revealed that the observed material
universe, which has hitherto been looked upon by science as the
whole of existence, is actually only one sector of the whole. This
theoretical development, the validity of which has been positively
confirmed, definitely shows that there is a second sector, the cosmic
sector, as we have called it, which is identical with the material sector
except that the roles of space and time are reversed. Furthermore, the
additional considerations discussed in the same chapter led to the
conclusion that there is a third sector of existence completely
independent of the space-time system that constitutes the physical
universe. Existence as a whole thus consists of three distinct sectors,
each with its own set of governing rules.
This does not mean that there are three completely separate sectors of
existence. Both the cosmic sector and the material sector exist in
space and time, and in the same space and time. Any given point in
space-time thus constitutes a location in both the material sector and
the cosmic sector. Similarly, this point is also a location in existence
as a whole; that is, a location in the general metaphysical region, or
sector. It follows that every location in space-time is potentially
subject to influences originating in each of the three sectors.
With the benefit of the information that we have developed
concerning the characteristics of the different sectors, we thus arrive
at the theoretical conclusion that existence as it comes to our attention
should have three different aspects (1) a material existence governed
by the laws and principles of the material sector, the laws that govern
the inanimate world about us; (2) a second aspect of physical
existence in which the governing rules are those of the cosmic sector,
to a large extent directly opposed to those of the material sector; and
(3) a third aspect about which we know very little at this stage of our
inquiry, other than that it is independent of Sectors 1 and 2, and has
some characteristics that differ significantly from those of the other
two sectors.
In Chapter 5, we carried out an analysis of the features of existence
that we actually observe in our local environment, and this analysis
showed that there are three distinct levels of this existence, each with
its own peculiar pattern of behavior. Now we have deduced
theoretically that observable existence should have three different
aspects by reason of influences emanating from three different sectors
of existence as a whole. We are therefore justified in identifying the
observed levels of existence with the aspects that should theoretically
exist.
This process of identification is a very necessary part of the
verification of theoretical findings. Neither physical nor non-physical
phenomena come equipped with labels. Consequently, when a certain
entity or process emerges from the theoretical development, and we
want to apply these findings to actual existence, we must look for an
existing entity or process with exactly the same characteristics. The
identification is ordinarily a very simple matter; in fact, the identity is
usually obvious. But in any event it is self-verifying. If the
identification is wrong, contradictions immediately appear as
development of theory proceeds. Absence of discrepancies or
inconsistencies verifies the identification. As an example, we may take
the material particle known as the positron. All current physical
theories (including the Reciprocal System) which purport to account
for the existence of the negatively charged particle, the electron,
predict the existence of a particle that is identical except that it is
positively charged. This theoretical particle is called a positron. In
order for the theory to be of any practical value, this theoretical
particle must be identified with an actual physical particle. But there is
no way in which an observed particle can announce, “This is a
positron.” What has to be done is to find a particle that has exactly the
properties of the theoretical positron. Such a particle has been located,
and it is now accepted as the physical equivalent of the theoretical
particle. The validity of the identification is confirmed by the fact that
it has not led to any inconsistencies in the further development of
theoretical and empirical knowledge in the particle field.
The same considerations apply to the identification of the phenomena
of non-physical character. From the theory that has been developed
(the Reciprocal System of physical theory and the extension of that
theory into the metaphysical region), we deduce the existence of
certain observable phenomena of metaphysical origin, which have
certain specific theoretical characteristics. When we find existing
phenomena with observed characteristics that correspond item by item
with those of the theoretical phenomena, we can legitimately conclude
that these are their counterparts.
This matter of correlating the theoretical and observational aspects of
metaphysical phenomena has never required attention before because
no systematic metaphysical theory has been available. Science has
had nothing at all to say about the metaphysical region, while religion
and philosophy have simply made assertions without incorporating
them into an organized theoretical structure. Nor has any of these
disciplines produced an explanation of the different levels of
existence. Conventional science recognizes only the physical.
Religion says that there are two levels: the physical and the spiritual.
But, as we saw in Chapter 5, there are actually three distinct
observable levels of existence. Thus no explanation can be correct
unless it provides for three different systems. This is another place
where an accurate knowledge of the structure of the physical universe
is essential for an understanding of metaphysical phenomena. Without
the discovery of the second, or cosmic, sector of the physical universe
in the development of the Reciprocal System, there would still be no
explanation of the levels of existence as they are actually observed
even if the reality of metaphysical existence is recognized.
The accuracy of the identification of the three observed levels of
existence with the three theoretical aspects originating in different
sectors of existence as a whole will be confirmed in our consideration
of the subject in this and the following chapter, not only by the
absence of inconsistencies but also by showing how this clarification
of the basic situation by means of the information obtained from
theoretical sources explains many important details and aspects of
existence that have hitherto been clouded in uncertainty. This is one of
the great advantages of a theoretical approach, if an accurate theory is
available. Observation is strictly limited; there are many areas that are
totally or partially inaccessible. Inference can penetrate farther than
observation, but it is of doubtful reliability at best, and the farther it
reaches the less reliable it becomes. But a theory that has been
established as accurate knows no limits, other than those resulting
from the finite capacity of the human minds that develop its
consequences.
Because of the finite limits to that capacity, it cannot be claimed that
all of the details that will be discussed in the pages which follow have
been established with certainty. But there is no element of uncertainty
in the general conclusions. The theoretical situation in general is clear
and unequivocal: the identification of the theoretical with the actual is
positive, and the status of the theoretical universe as a true and
accurate representation of the actual physical universe was definitely
established in the preceding physical portion of the development. We
are therefore on firm ground in concluding that the characteristics of a
living organism (Level 2) are those theoretically applicable to Sector
2, the inverse, or cosmic, sector of the universe.
This does not mean that the biological organism is a Sector 2
structure. It is not possible for a purely Sector 2 structure (a cosmic
motion or combination of motions) to exist more than momentarily in
the material sector of the universe, for reasons that were explained in
detail in the previous publications. A motion, or combination of
motions, of the cosmic type may, however, exist as a minor
constituent of a material structure. In such a case, the reaction of the
material structure as a whole to environmental conditions may be
determined, in whole or in part, by the minor component. In that
event, it is appropriate to say that the total structure is under the
control of the cosmic component, the term “control” being employed
in a purely mechanical sense, as in the control of room temperature by
a thermostat. The theoretical analysis thus tells us that a living
organism is a compound structure; it is a material (Sector 1)
aggregate connected with and under the control of a cosmic (Sector 2)
unit. The cosmic unit is the “something new” that we saw in Chapter
5 is essential to account for the differences between the living and the
non-living.
One point that is immediately apparent is that the new information
does not resolve the controversy between the vitalists and the
mechanists in favor of either side; it merely amalgamates the two
positions. The new findings confirm the vitalists’ contention that there
is a factor present in living organisms that is not present in inanimate
matter, and that this new factor is responsible for the great differences
in behavior between the living and the non-living. On the other hand,
they identify this new factor as an integral part of the physical
universe, and thus confirm the mechanists’ contention that the living
and the non-living are all part of one vast and extremely complex
mechanism.
A particularly significant feature of this new explanation is that it not
only produces the kind of a factor that is required to account for the
differences between living and non-living entities, but one which is
also able to account for the nature of the differences that are observed.
As pointed out in Chapter 5, a striking fact about the behavior of the
living is that it is not only very different from that of the non-living,
but in some respects is diametrically opposite. Indeed, if we were
following the lead of those who see all activity as being teleologically
controlled, we would have to conclude that the purpose of life is just
the reverse of the purpose of the inanimate world. The natural
processes of the inanimate world convert the fence post to carbon
dioxide, water vapor, and ashes. The natural processes in the realm of
the living take the carbon dioxide, water, and ashes, and out of them
reconstitute the fence post. Accounting for this reversal of process
direction has been a difficult problem for those who adhere to the
theory that the living world has developed out of the inanimate world
by a gradual increase in complexity—a problem that could only be
evaded; it could not be resolved on any logical basis—but we now
find that the new theoretical explanation requires just such a reversal.
Sector 2, the cosmic sector, is subject to a law similar to the Second
Law of Thermodynamics, but because of the reversal of space and
time in this sector, the Cosmic Second Law of Thermodynamics
requires that all naturally occurring processes be accompanied by a
decrease in available reciprocal energy; that is, by an increase in
available energy. To the extent that living matter acts merely as
inanimate matter, it obeys the Second Law; to the extent that its
behavior is controlled by Sector 2 influences, it obeys the Cosmic
Second Law. It is evident that the general behavior of the living
unit—that which seems to be its purpose, if we look at the situation
from a teleological standpoint—must belong in the latter category.
Here, then, we have an explanation as to why the living tree
systematically undoes all of the work that the natural forces of the
inanimate world accomplished in reducing the fence post to its
chemical constituents. Furthermore, the evolutionary process as a
whole, the pattern of development in the biological realm, is
consistent with the Cosmic Second Law, as it should be on the basis
of the Sector 2 explanation. As expressed by Needham: “The law of
evolution is a kind of converse of the second law of thermodynamics,
equally irreversible, but contrary in tendency.”110
One of the arguments on which the mechanists have relied as a
support for their position is that, so far as can be determined, the
physical and chemical processes that take place in the living organism
are the same kind of processes that are encountered in the inanimate
world. The conclusions that we have now reached are in full
agreement with this interpretation of the observed facts. The processes
within the organism are, indeed, ordinary physical and chemical
processes. The unique character of the living system is not due to the
kind of processes that take place within it, but to the control that is
exercised over these processes.
As an analogy we may consider the operation of a chemical plant.
Here, also, the processes are identical with those which take place in
nature under appropriate conditions, but the results are altogether
different, often reversing the results of the prevailing natural
processes, simply because the processes in the plant are under human
control and are deliberately directed toward certain ends. Similarly,
the processes taking place in the living organism are under Sector 2
control, and consequently they are directed toward Sector 2 ends;
toward order rather than toward disorder.
It is clear from theoretical considerations that the inanimate structure
with which the Sector 2 unit is associated must be a relatively large
and complex compound in order to have the Sector 2 unit as a minor
component. This conclusion is corroborated by the observed fact that
the polynucleotide, the giant organic molecule which is the basis of
life as we know it, is the end product (for the present, at least) of the
process of increase of complexity by means of aggregation. There are
many larger structures, to be sure, but these are simply aggregates of
smaller individual units, and they do not have the structural
complexity of the large organic molecules. “DNA is the largest
molecule known, containing, in advanced organisms such as man, as
many as 10 billion separate atoms.”111 If it were possible to produce
the behavior characteristics of life without utilizing the most complex
molecules available, we would now have at least a few living
organisms based on less complex structures. In fact, the greater
probability of the occurrence of simpler units suggests that if simpler
living structures were possible they would now predominate. But the
evidence indicates that the polynucleotides such as DNA are the very
essence of life, so far as its material aspect is concerned, and this
means that the development of molecules of this type was a
prerequisite for the emergence of life. On this basis, such molecules
are not only the most complex units that are available; they are the
least complex units that will serve the purpose.
All this implies that there is some feature of the end products of the
aggregation process that is not possessed, or is not possessed in the
required degree, by earlier products in the series, and the question
now arises, What is this feature? The answer that emerges is that the
structure of these molecules is such that, under appropriate conditions,
they can reproduce themselves. Reproduction is, of course, one of the
requirements for the persistence of life. A series of investigations has
revealed that a DNA molecule is constructed of two long unbranched
chains consisting of repeating units known as nucleotides which are
coiled around each other in a double helix. One of the components of
the nucleotide, a nitrogenous base, may have any one of four different
compositions, and the sequence of these bases is the “code” of the
molecule. In the replicating process, the two chains uncoil and
separate. Each chain then constructs a duplicate of its former
companion from whatever appropriate material is available. Thus each
reproduces the original two-chain molecule, and sets the stage for a
repetition of the process.
But a further analysis of the situation shows that no material molecule
is self-replicating. Almost any molecule can attach others of the same
kind if the environment is favorable, and a crystal can grow
indefinitely where enough “food” is available. But if the final result is
to be two or more duplicates of the original molecule rather than a
single larger one, some outside agency must separate the parts of the
resulting complex structure. As Barry Commoner has pointed out, this
means that “neither DNA nor any other cellular component is, strictly
speaking, a ‘self-duplicating molecule.’”112
Here, then, is the point at which the unit from Sector 2 enters into the
situation. What is needed is something that comes into play when the
double molecule is complete, and reverses the direction of the
effective forces so that separation will take place. As brought out in
the preceding chapter, such a situation simply demands the entry of a
new factor. The governing principle of the inanimate sector,
aggregation, causes the formation of a double molecule. But ordinary
matter contains no reversing mechanism. There are “reversible
reactions” in the material structure, to be sure, but they are not
automatically reversing under a static set of conditions, and that is
what is necessary in this case. Some agency that opposes the natural
tendency of material bodies to aggregate must therefore take hold and
cause the two halves to separate. This is just the kind of a thing that a
unit from the cosmic sector is qualified to do, since the aggregation
process in the cosmic sector is oppositely directed; that is, it moves
the masses closer together in time, which is equivalent to increasing
the separation in space. Ernest Pollard reports the suggestion “that
there is a ‘hypothetical’ spinning apparatus which is at one end of the
DNA”113: a clear recognition of the need for something more than can
be provided by the material structure of the molecule.
The theoretical conclusion that a living organism is a compound unit
in which a material structure is combined with, and under the control
of, a cosmic unit is therefore completely in harmony with the behavior
of the DNA molecules. Such a combination structure is the only form
in which a cosmic unit could manifest itself (other than very
fleetingly) in the material structure of the universe. A cosmic
aggregate is localized in time, not in space, and it is therefore
impossible for such an aggregate to have an independent existence at
a specific spatial location, but it can exist in space as one component
of a compound structure. Stable structures incorporating cosmic
components exist in the chemical elements of the electronegative
groups. One of the rotational motions of each of these elements is of
the cosmic type—the kind of motion that is normal in the inverse, or
cosmic, sector of the universe. It would not be possible for all, or even
most, of the motion of a material atom to be of this type, but as long
as the larger part of the motion is material in character, a cosmic type
of motion may exist as a minor component. These elements are
therefore, in a sense, combination material and cosmic structures, and
thus roughly analogous to the theoretical biological combination.
As brought out in the previously published descriptions of the
Reciprocal System, the cosmic sector of the universe is an exact
duplicate of the material sector, except that space and time are
interchanged. Every element and every combination of elements that
enters into the structure of the DNA molecule is paralleled by an
analogous cosmic structure, identical in every respect except for the
reversal of the roles of space and time. Furthermore, the elements
themselves are nothing more than combinations of several different
motions, and any one of these motions may take the cosmic
orientation as indicated in the preceding paragraph. Theoretically,
therefore, the cosmic unit which alters the behavior of the DNA
molecule may be anything from a complete cosmic molecule to a
single feature of the structure of a single cosmic atom. Some further
theoretical study or experimental work, or both, will be necessary
before the exact nature of this unit can be identified. It is probable,
however, that the cosmic component of the DNA molecule in a very
simple organism is a relatively small unit: something which, like the
cosmic type rotation of the electronegative elements, can be derived
from sources that are readily available in the material sector. But aside
from what bearing it may have on the question as to the origin of life,
a subject that will be discussed later, a definite identification of this
cosmic unit, the life unit, as we will call it, is not necessary for present
purposes.
Just how the life unit accomplishes the control over the material
aggregate of the biological organism has not yet been determined.
Some idea of the possibilities can, however, be gained from a
consideration of the role that motions of the inverse, or cosmic, type
play in the formation of chemical compounds. The findings of the
Reciprocal System of theory with respect to these compounds, a full
account of which is available in previous publications, show that the
formation of compounds is possible only if one or more of the
component atoms has a motion of the cosmic type as a minor
constituent of its motion system. Furthermore, the characteristics of
this cosmic motion component are the factors that determine the
nature of the resulting compound. In a certain sense, therefore, we can
say that this cosmic component controls the compound formation. The
manner in which the life unit exercises control over the biological
organism is no doubt of this same general nature. The periodic
reversal, which alternates the molecule building with the separation
into halves, is something that the cosmic unit is capable of causing, as
the regularities in the cosmic sector are in time, rather than in space.
As seen in the context of the material environment, these regularities
are periodic.
This illustration also shows how a purely mechanical, inanimate type
of control can produce results which have a superficial appearance of
being purposeful. The building of increasingly larger chemical
compounds differs from simple aggregation in that it is a selective
process. Only those atoms which can add to the existing compound
are drawn from the environment, and the end result is the
accomplishment of a specific objective: the construction of a larger
and more complex molecule. The essential function of the life unit is
similarly selective. Here, again, only those atoms or atomic groups
that can contribute to the objective of the process, which in this case is
the construction of replicas of the original structures, are drawn from
the environment.
Inasmuch as the primary combining forces act between like units—
material with material, and cosmic with cosmic—the growth of the
material structure in size and complexity as evolutionary development
proceeds is accompanied by a corresponding increase in the
complexity of the life unit. The life unit in the most advanced living
structures is the product of billions of years of this kind of
development, and it is undoubtedly a very complex structure. Some of
the implications of this point will be discussed later in the appropriate
context.
One of the important consequences that normally follow discovery of
the correct answer to a scientific problem is that much new light is
thrown on collateral issues, and very often the answers to
long-standing problems in these collateral areas are clearly indicated
without the necessity of further study. So it is in this case. Our
findings as to the nature of the life unit tell us immediately why living
organisms are made up of individual cells, a fundamental fact of life
that has hitherto been completely unexplained, and they go a step
farther by furnishing an indication of the dimensional limitations to
which the cells must conform.
In the previous study of the physical universe, it was found that
material atoms and molecules exert certain short-range forces only
within a limited region of space that has a radius in the neighborhood
of 3×10-8 centimeters. When such atoms or molecules gather in a solid
or liquid aggregate, they therefore take up positions in which they are
separated by approximately this distance. In effect, each atom or
molecule exercises a degree of control over its own small region of
space, a region approximately coincident with what the
crystallographers call a unit cell. Since a cosmic molecule has the
same kind of properties as a material molecule, differing only in the
direction of some of the forces, the life unit, too, exercises control
over a small region of space, and only over that small region. This
region, together with its contents, is a biological cell. The basic
situation is the same in both cases: a material aggregate is a composite
of cells; a complex biological organism is a composite of cells.
There is no definite boundary between the cells of a material
aggregate similar to that between the cells of a biological structure,
but this is merely a result of the fact that all of the units that are
involved in the material aggregate are units of the same kind; that is,
they are all material. Material unit A exerts a force on material unit B,
but unit B is at the same time exerting a force of the same nature on
unit C, and so on, the result being a continuous aggregate with no
definite lines of demarcation. In the biological aggregate, cosmic unit
X exerts a force on material unit Y, but unit Y cannot exert a force of
this type, a cosmic force, at all, and the cosmic type of action
therefore terminates at the distance limit within which the force
exerted by X is effective. This limit is the cell boundary.
The biological cell is considerably larger than the unit cell of the
material aggregate because of the cosmic nature of the life unit forces,
the effective reach of which determines the cell size. The diameter of
the cell in both cases is basically related to the natural unit of distance,
which has been evaluated from fundamental relationships as
approximately 5×10-6 cm, but the nature of the inter-atomic forces has
an effect, explained in detail in previous publications, which reduces
the radius of the unit cell of solid matter to roughly one 150th of this
natural unit of distance, or about 3×10-8 cm. Because of the reversal of
directions in the cosmic sector, the range of effectiveness of the
cosmic forces is approximately 150 times the natural unit of distance,
or about 8×10-4 cm; that is, the maximum diameter of a biological cell
is about 0.015 millimeter.
Although this biological cell is an extremely small object, when
judged by our everyday standards, it is immense compared to the size
of an atom. Since its diameter is about 25,000 times the average
inter-atomic distance in a solid or liquid, the volume of a cell is
roughly 1.5×1013 times the volume occupied by an atom—15,000
billion times as great. Thus, from the atomic standpoint, there is
plenty of room inside a cell, even for DNA molecules of ten billion
atoms each. The cell is actually a large and highly organized system,
containing billions of molecules, from which are constituted a great
variety of cell components, each with its own specific function. The
operation of controlling and coordinating these various functions is
handled by the nucleus of the cell, a relatively small, but readily
identifiable, body existing in the interior of most cells. The nucleus, in
turn, is itself a complex structure, and the powers which it exercises
probably originate in particular features included in the nuclear
composition, rather than from the nucleus as a whole. Its essential
component is the life unit that, according to our findings, is
necessarily present and in overall control of the cell activities.
At some stage of development, the first joint action or cooperation
between cells occurred, and since the opportunities for evolutionary
adaptation are greatly enhanced by such an innovation, the
multicellular organisms have continued to flourish. While the original
combinations were undoubtedly mere aggregates or colonies of
cells—and many of them still are—the door was now open for a new
advance, cell specialization, which still further widened the
evolutionary possibilities. A necessary accompaniment of
specialization was the development of a central control whereby the
particular activities of the individual cells could be coordinated to
meet the requirements of the organism as a whole. The more advanced
biological organisms thus consist of a multiplicity of cells, each with
its own individual control mechanism, but subject to the direction of a
central control system. Many of these organisms even have regional
control centers which enable routine or emergency action to be taken
without the necessity of a directive from the central unit.
As expressed by Schrödinger, the individual cells “resemble stations
of local government dispersed through the body.”114 This analogy is
strengthened by the fact that just as local governmental units are able
to carry on most of their operations temporarily even if the central
authority of the state collapses, so the life units controlling the
individual cells are able to keep the cells alive and operative, at least
for a time, in the absence of any central control. A number of
experiments have been made in which cells have been removed from
multicellular organisms and have been kept alive for long periods of
time.
Another important contribution which the theoretical findings with
respect to the nature of the control over the biological organism make
toward clarifying collateral issues is that they enable us to account for
some of the aspects of the situation along the borderline between the
living and the non-living that have been difficult problems for the
biologists: the behavior of viruses, for example. Some of the viruses
can be crystallized, and in this form they have no biological activity.
From all indications, they are no different from any other organic
crystals. But when this apparently inanimate matter is introduced into
a living cell, it behaves as a living organism, assimilating food from
the environment and producing a multiplicity of replicas of itself. Is
the virus, then, living or non-living, or does it occupy some kind of an
intermediate position between the two?
On the basis of the theory developed in the preceding discussion, the
virus in the crystalline condition is a purely material structure, and as
such, has no biological capability. But it has the potential of
replication in an appropriate environment, because of its molecular
structure, and when it enters a living cell and becomes subject to the
cosmic forces that are exerted by the life unit in control of the cell,
this potential is activated and the virus behaves as a biological
organism. Thus the virus is living within the cell because its behavior
is controlled by a life unit, or a number of such units. Outside the cell
it is not under such control and therefore is not living. The activities
of the virus are detrimental to the cell, but the control exercised by the
life unit is purely mechanical and it is unable to distinguish between
foreign DNA and its own. It treats the DNA of the virus as if it were
indigenous to the cell. Generalizing the foregoing explanation, we
arrive at a definition of life:
Life is a condition in which a material aggregate is under the control
of one or more life units of a cosmic (inverse) nature.
An idea of the difficulty that has been experienced in formulating a
comparable definition on the basis of conventional theories can be
gained from an examination of the following recently published
wording:
Life is a partial, continuous, progressive, multiform and conditionally
inter-active, self-realization of the potentialities of atomic electron
states.115
On the foregoing basis, death is a process in which the life units lose
control over the material aggregate. Since there is little reason for loss
of control in a simple unicellular organism, such units should not die
unless they exhaust their food supply, or are physically destroyed—by
fire, for instance, or by becoming food for some other organism. This
is confirmed by observation. Death from “natural causes” is a
phenomenon of the complex organism, and it results from inability of
the organism to keep all of its vital parts in good working order
indefinitely. Whether or not this is inevitable is still an unanswered
question. At any rate, it seems evident that it is the result of an
evolutionary development. Clearly, a species in which the earlier and
less adapted types of individuals are continually replaced by later
types whose adaptation to the environment has been improved by
operation of the selection process would have a substantial advantage
over an otherwise similar species in which no deaths from “natural
causes” occur. So far as the evolutionary mechanism is concerned,
“natural” death is in the same class as good vision, a temperature
regulating mechanism, etc.; it is a feature which contributes toward
adaptation of the species to the environment. Since it was not present
in the simple living unit, evolution produced it somewhere along the
way.
In plant and animal life, a short remaining life-span of the old ones is
favorable for the species. Perhaps the natural process of aging would
never have developed without this selection pressure, for I see no
biochemical reason why individuals should not be possible that would
stay alive indefinitely if not killed by force.82 (C. F. von Weizsäcker)
It should be noted that these conclusions do not necessarily apply to
the human situation. While natural death is a human inheritance from
the past, it may not continue to be inevitable. Inasmuch as survival is
not the sole, or even the principal, controlling factor in human life, it
is possible that the role of biological evolution may diminish and
eventually terminate, while cultural development becomes more
important. Cultural advance would, of course, be favored by longer
life.
Death of the constituent cells is not an immediate consequence of
death of the organism as a whole, since the cells have a degree of
independence, as pointed out earlier in the discussion, but the cells of
a complex organism are highly specialized, and when the central
control ceases to function, the cells are deprived of essential services
and they can continue to live for only a very limited time. Meanwhile,
however, some action, either spontaneous or originating from outside
sources, may cause the central control to resume exercising its
functions, in which case the constituent cells simply carry on without
interruption. Under such circumstances, the question is often asked:
Was the individual actually dead in the interim? On the basis of the
understanding reached in this present investigation, we must answer,
Yes, the individual, as such, was dead, since the central life unit no
longer had control over the organism as a whole, but the separate cells
were still under local control and therefore alive. This made it
possible for the central control to be reasserted, and in this way the
individual was brought back to life.
Our findings as to the nature of life also give us some understanding
of the origin of life on our particular planet. In view of the existing
uncertainty as to the exact nature of the primitive life unit, the cosmic
unit that enters into combination with the material structure and
causes the change in behavior from that of the inanimate world to that
of the living organism, there is a substantial range of possibilities to
be considered. If this unit amounts to any major portion of the
molecule as a whole, then the occurrence of a combination of the right
kind depends on the entry of the necessary unit from the cosmic sector
and contact with an appropriate material aggregate in the extremely
short time available. The probability of such a happening is very
small, but it does have a finite value, and although such an event
might not take place more often than once in a thousand years, or
even once in a million years, yet it is certain to take place sooner or
later when there are billions of years available for this small
probability to take effect.
Even on the assumption that the primitive life unit is relatively large,
therefore, the emergence of life on a planet such as the earth, where
suitable conditions exist, is inevitable. If the life unit is a relatively
small feature of a molecule, the probability of the right kind of an
encounter is greatly increased, and in that case, the origin of life
would be practically automatic, once the required giant organic
molecules became available. After the first life unit has gained a
foothold, an explanation of the spreading of life over the surface of
the planet encounters no serious difficulties. The reason why we do
not observe life originating in this manner, why life comes only from
life, so far as we can see, is that the raw materials from which the
forces of nature would build life if they had a chance to operate are so
eagerly sought by the myriad of life forms already existing that they
are never available. It should theoretically be possible, however, to
observe the boundary between living and non-living experimentally
by differentiating between a purely material molecule of DNA and a
cosmically controlled molecule. The latter should replicate itself in
the proper environment, while the purely material molecule should
not. An experiment of this kind would distinguish between living and
non-living at the lowest possible level. In fact, the viruses may already
be trying to give us this information.
These findings as to the origin of life on earth are, of course, in
conflict with the currently accepted viewpoint of the scientific
community, which regards living organisms as having originated from
non-living structures by ordinary material physical and chemical
processes. But this current position is based on the “continuity from
atom to man” hypothesis which, as demonstrated in the preceding
chapter, is completely untenable. We can concede, to be sure, that
there is a definite regularity in the course of development which leads
from the atom to the complex organic molecule, and we can likewise
concede that there is a regular course of development leading from the
simplest life form to man. We cannot agree, however, that these two
lines of development are segments of one continuous process, as is
now claimed. Our findings are that biological evolution is very
different from the process of development which takes place in the
inanimate world, both in the character of the process and in the nature
of the results. There is a major discontinuity between the two lines of
development. As du Nouy puts it, “There is an immense gap between
the molecular state, subject to disordered thermal agitation, and what
we might call the protoplasmic state. Our ignorance on the subject is
complete.”116
The more enthusiastic advocates of the currently prevailing view deny
the existence of any discontinuity. Marshall Walker, for instance, tells
us that “The transition from complex inert molecular aggregates to
even more complex living molecular aggregates is a series of almost
imperceptible steps.”117 But when we inquire as to the evidence upon
which such statements are based, we find that there is no such thing.
When they must face the issue, the proponents of this hypothesis have
to admit that they are relying on “faith” or “hope” that the evidence
will some day be forthcoming. A recent book by Dean E. Wooldridge
illustrates this point. This author is about as definite and positive as
anyone can be in explaining how life developed from inanimate
matter, and he goes into great detail on the subject, yet he ultimately
has to admit:
It can certainly not be claimed that the sequence of events just
summarized has been documented, in this book or elsewhere, with
anything like completeness…. It still appears necessary to invoke an
element of faith if any story of the creation [of life] is to carry
conviction.118
George G. Simpson reports that “virtually all biochemists agree that
life on earth arose spontaneously from non-living matter,”119 but like
Wooldridge he characterizes this as an act of faith rather than a
scientific conclusion:
In any case, something new has definitely been added in these stages
of the origin of life [from macromolecules to living cells]. It requires
an attitude of hope if not of faith to assume that the acquisition of
organic adaptability was deterministic or inevitable to the same degree
or even in the same sense in which that was probably true of the
preceding, more simply chemical origin of the necessary
macromolecules.104
Simpson also admits that the organization of large organic molecules
into living systems “is the step, or rather the great series of steps,
about which we now know the least even by inference and
extrapolation.”119 Oparin, whose pioneer work in the field constitutes
the basis for much of present-day theory, is equally candid with
respect to this point. He not only admits that there is a serious gap in
the theory, but concedes, as many present-day writers are reluctant to
do, that this gap is at the crucial point in the hypothetical course of
development. “The most important, as well as the least studied, stage
of the evolutionary process under consideration,” he says, “would
seem to be the transition from the most complicated organic
substances to the most primitive living organisms. This is the most
serious gap in our knowledge.”120
This is indeed a “serious gap.” A theory which purports to explain
how life originated from inanimate matter gives us a full account of
everything except how inanimate matter acquired life. In other words,
this theory deals only with collateral matters and does not touch the
basic issue at all. Heisenberg's conclusion that “something has to be
added to the laws of physics and chemistry” in order to make life
processes understandable is not weakened in the least by the
arguments of this present-day school of thought.
The findings discussed in this present chapter have now identified
Heisenberg‘s “something.” Inanimate matter of an appropriate
character acquires life when, and only when, it comes under the
control of a life unit from the cosmic (inverse) sector of the physical
universe, a sector in which the governing laws and principles are, like
the actions of living organisms, the reverse, in many important
respects, of those prevailing in the inanimate material sector. It should
be noted, however, that this origin of life is just as “deterministic” and
“inevitable” as the “preceding chemical origin of the necessary
macromolecules,” and Simpson’s “attitude of faith” on this point has
been justified, even though the theories which ascribe a purely
material origin to life are no longer tenable.
The foregoing explanation of the origin of life on earth implies that
life will originate anywhere in the universe where suitable conditions
exist. The process which leads to the formation of planetary systems,
as described in the previous publications dealing with the Reciprocal
System, is of such a nature that a considerable proportion of the total
number of stars are accompanied by such systems. Probability
considerations then assure us that an appreciable percentage of the
planets included in these systems are suitable for life. Since there are
billions of stars in our galaxy alone, and billions of other galaxies in
the region of space within the range of our giant telescopes, it is clear
that there are at least millions, if not billions, of planets capable of
supporting life within this region alone, to say nothing of the regions
beyond the reach of the telescopes. Our deduction that life is certain to
emerge wherever appropriate conditions exist then means that there
are millions, probably billions, of other planets on which life exists.
Harlow Shapley has made an interesting calculation in this
connection, using figures which he considers very conservative; that
is, figures which underestimate rather than overestimate the number of
planets on which life exists. Assuming that only one star in a hundred
is a single star, that only one in a hundred of these has a system of
planets, that only one in a hundred of these systems includes an
earth-like planet, that only one in hundred of these earth-like planets
is neither too cold nor too hot, and that of them only one in a hundred
has a chemical environment similar to ours, he says that “we could
still have, after all that elimination, ten billion planets suitable for
organic life something like that on earth.”121
Life on these other planets is subject to the same physical laws as life
on earth, laws that are universally applicable. Such life must be based
on the compounds of carbon, simply because there is no other element
capable of forming structures of the size and complexity that are
necessary. Our finding that complexity equivalent to that of the DNA
molecule is a prerequisite for entering into the kind of a combination
that is the basis for life eliminates all possibility of life based on
anything other than carbon compounds. There are other elements—
silicon, for example—that form compounds of the same general type
as some of the organic compounds of carbon, but these are limited to
relatively small molecules of the simplest chemical families, and they
are totally incapable of meeting the requirements as to size and
complexity. A number of complex compounds of a somewhat different
structure are formed by boron, and recent investigations have
indicated that the range of possible compounds of this element is
considerably greater than has heretofore been realized. But here,
again, the largest combinations known are insignificant compared to
the huge DNA molecule, and there is no indication that a replicating
boron molecule is possible.
Aggregation under the influence of gravitation takes place on other
planets in the same manner as on earth, and the same kind of complex
organic carbon compounds are therefore produced. Similar
considerations apply to the compounds of the inverse type that
constitute the life units. We can therefore conclude that the simplest
living organisms on another earth-like planet are essentially identical
with their counterparts on the earth itself. If life has originated on
planets that are not earth-like—that is, planets on which the relevant
conditions are significantly different—its general characteristics must
still be the same. There is sufficient evidence, both theoretical and
observational, to show that all material aggregates throughout the
universe are composed of the same kind of matter. In order to set the
stage for the emergence of life, some giant organic molecule must be
produced by aggregation of less complex units of this matter. It does
not necessarily have to be DNA, but it must be a compound of an
analogous character. Just which of the structures that will serve the
purpose is determined by the relative probability of formation, and
this may depend on the conditions to which the matter is subject. In
any event, the simplest living unit on such a planet is formed by a
combination of that giant organic molecule, whatever it may be, with
a life unit from the cosmic sector, as in the life with which we are
familiar. We thus arrive at the conclusion that the building blocks of
the living world, the primitive life forms, like the building blocks of
the inanimate world, the chemical elements, are essentially the same
throughout the universe.
CHAPTER 7
The Third Level
With the benefit of the information developed in our consideration of
Level 2 in the preceding chapter, we are now in a position to begin an
exploration of the less readily accessible third level. The general
situation is the same in both cases. Inanimate matter (Level 1)
aggregates into increasingly larger units under the influence of
gravitation and the other forces that operate in this inanimate region.
Some of this aggregation has the effect of developing structures that
are more complex as well as larger, and at a certain point in the order
of complexity the behavior of each unit changes radically, in some
important respects even reversing the previous pattern. This we have
interpreted as indicating that the complex Level 1 structure formed by
the aggregation of matter has entered into a combination with a unit
from the cosmic sector of the universe—Sector 2—and is now under
the control of the latter.
Similarly, the biological structures formed by combinations of this
nature gradually increase in complexity by evolutionary processes
(not by mere aggregation as in inanimate matter) and when this
complexity reaches a certain point, we again see a radical change in
behavior, as before reversing the previous pattern in some important
respects. Since we have already found that there is a third sector of
existence as a whole which is capable of exerting an influence in the
local region, we may conclude that the explanation for the observed
situation is the same as at the lower discontinuity; that is, a unit from
another sector of the universe—in this case Sector 3—has entered into
a combination with the biological structure and has taken some degree
of control of it. In the pages that follow, it will be demonstrated that
there is sufficient evidence to provide a definite confirmation of this
conclusion.
The fact that survival is the dominant objective in the living world and
the controlling factor in the evolutionary process not only means that
all possible developments favorable to survival will eventually take
place; it also means that no development unfavorable to survival can
take place by means of biological evolution. Because of a subsequent
change in the environment, an evolutionary modification may
occasionally turn out to be detrimental to survival in the long run, as a
purely mechanistic process of this kind cannot anticipate what the
future has in store, but a modification which is inherently unfavorable
for survival has no chance at any time. Evolution cannot produce a
unit with a behavior pattern that relegates survival to a subordinate
role; the kind of a pattern that distinguishes Level 3 of observable
existence.
As in the transition from non-living to living, there is an immense gap
here which the adherents of the “continuity” theory simply ignore. No
one has been able to produce any plausible explanation of how man
acquired the first ethical ideas; how he was able to transcend the
evolutionary limitations even to a very minor degree. Most casual
observers simply assume that the transition from animal to man was
one which took place in “a series of almost imperceptible steps,” as
Walker characterized the transition from non-living to living. But any
critical analysis shows that, in both of these cases, the change is a
revolutionary one, inherently incapable of being accomplished in
steps of any kind. As J. H. Breasted says in his book The Dawn of
Conscience, “The marvel is that a creature rising out of animal
savagery should have advanced to begin the great transformation at
all.”122
This is indeed a “marvel”; not an “imperceptible step” but a
momentous change. A biological organism which, not only throughout
its own life but throughout its whole evolutionary history all the way
up from the most primitive life forms, has been governed by the
“tooth and claw” laws of evolution, suddenly changes its course and
takes actions contrary to the evolutionary laws of behavior. Like the
analogous phenomenon where a giant organic molecule that has
hitherto obeyed the Second Law of Thermodynamics implicitly
suddenly begins to act in opposition to the Second Law, this
rudimentary ethical behavior represents a definite discontinuity in the
order of increasing complexity. It is a change that is totally
inexplicable other than on the ground that the unit that is involved is
now subject to a new directing force: a new set of rules.
The untenable position of those who deny that any new element has
entered into the picture, and contend that all human behavior can be
explained as a product of evolution, is clearly brought out by the way
in which so many of them resort to non-evolutionary explanations of
one kind or another if they find it necessary to go beyond a flat
statement of their evolutionary position. For example, Kirtley F.
Mather makes this positive and unequivocal statement:
The spiritual aspects of the life of man are just as surely a product of
the process called evolution as are his brain and nervous system.123
But having said this, he evidently realizes that he cannot maintain
such a position, and a few pages later he brings in a demon—an ad
hoc force—to take care of the discrepancies:
The inference is valid that man’s awareness of aesthetic values and
ethical principles is likewise a response to spiritual forces in the
cosmic environment. There may well be a spiritual field, as well as a
gravitational field and an electromagnetic field, to which adjustment
may be made in accordance with the regulations of the evolutionary
process.124
Here we have an individual who is desperately trying to avoid
admitting the existence of any metaphysical entities or any
non-evolutionary aspects of human life, and before he is through he
has, in effect, conceded both. An ad hoc “spiritual field” is
indistinguishable from a metaphysical existence, other than
semantically, while the idea of a human “adjustment” to that
hypothetical field is a direct defiance of evolutionary forces. There is
no escape from the fact that much of human behavior involves a
drastic change in the governing rules: something that a mechanism,
evolutionary or otherwise, is inherently incapable of accomplishing.
Later in the discussion we will want to identify and examine some of
these new rules.
In the preceding chapter, it was possible to attach names to both
Sector 2 of the universe and to the corresponding observed level of
existence. Sector 2 has already been given the designation “cosmic” in
previously published descriptions of the Reciprocal System, and the
name “life” is well established. There are also some terms in common
use that might perhaps be adapted to the requirements of the present
chapter, but the area we are now entering is one that is subject to
extreme differences of opinion and intense partisanship, and any term
that we might utilize has implications in current usage that go
considerably beyond the meaning that we would want to attach to it. It
has seemed advisable, therefore, to avoid the possibility of
misunderstanding by continuing to use the expressions Sector 3 and
Level 3, without connecting them definitely with any other terms that
may currently be applied to concepts in the same areas. Although this
introduces a certain stiffness into the presentation, it has the important
advantage of not committing ourselves to any specific ideas
concerning the phenomena we are investigating until we develop
these details one by one in the subsequent discussion.
The Sector 3 units which exercise control over Level 3 existence will
be called control units, adding the qualification “Sector 3” only where
this appears to be necessary for clarity. The distinction between Sector
3 and Level 3 should be carefully noted. Sector 3 is the existence
independent of space and time, the reality of which was inferred from
established scientific facts and principles in Chapter 4 and will be
confirmed in the ensuing development by standard scientific methods.
Level 3 is the stage of existence that we actually observe above the
discontinuity at the highest evolutionary stage. On this basis, we
arrive at a definition of Level 3 which can be expressed in the same
form as the definition of life given in Chapter 6.
Level 3 is a condition in which a living organism is under the control
of a unit from Sector 3 of the universe.
Here again, as in the primitive living structure, what we find existing
in our observed world is a compound structure. The behavior pattern
of a simple living organism is that of the cosmic sector, but the
organism itself is not a cosmic structure; it is a material structure
under cosmic control. A purely cosmic structure could not exist in the
material environment, other than momentarily. At the other end of the
scale of complexity of living organisms, we now encounter another
type of compound structure. Here the behavior pattern is that of
Sector 3, but a structure independent of space and time cannot exist as
an observable entity in the space-time universe. Consequently, what
we observe is not a Sector 3 structure; it is a living organism under
Sector 3 control. It is a material (Sector 1) structure, controlled at the
life level by cosmic (Sector 2) influences, and then subject to an
overall control by Sector 3 influences.
Observations of human conduct make it clear that complete
domination by the Sector 3 control is seldom, if ever, attained at the
present stage of the progress of the human race. It is therefore evident
that we cannot equate man with the Level 3 structure in the same
manner that we were able to equate life with the Level 2 structure.
Rather, we will have to identify the Level 3 structure with an idealized
kind of human: an ethical man, let us say, giving the term “ethical” a
very broad meaning. The boundary line between Level 2 and Level 3,
then, is not between animal and man, but between man and ethical
man. However, much of the human race is partly across the boundary;
that is, each of these many individuals is at some times, and to some
degree, under the domination of the Sector 3 control unit rather than
the Sector 2 life unit.
Man as a mere member of the animal kingdom… fights out the
struggle for existence to the bitter end, like any other animal….
Ethical man… devotes his best energies to the object of setting limits
to the struggle.125 (T. H. Huxley)
In this connection, a distinction needs to be drawn between the extent
to which control is exercised by the higher sector and the effectiveness
of that control. The latter depends to a very substantial degree on the
capabilities of the organism that is being controlled. A primitive
unicellular organism, for instance, is largely at the mercy of the
inanimate forces of nature, even though its life unit has undisputed
control, but as the organism evolves toward a higher level of
capability, it becomes increasingly able to resist these inanimate
forces where they come in conflict with the biological objectives.
Similarly, the manner in which a human individual is able to resist the
purely biological urges and to make progress toward the Sector 3
objectives depends not only on the degree of control that is exercised
by the Sector 3 control unit but also on his general knowledge and the
extent to which his ethical personality has been developed.
One of the implications of the foregoing explanations of the Level 3
structure is that behavior in accordance with ethical principles (the
laws of Sector 3) will not be found in purely biological organisms,
even if these organisms qualify as human, while neither ethical
behavior nor evolution (in the biological sense) will occur in the
inanimate world. Because it is a composite structure, each of the
upper levels retains some of the characteristics of the level or levels
below it, but no level has any of the special characteristics of a higher
level. Since the conclusions that are being reached in this work are
applicable throughout the universe, some of the more radical of the
current speculations about extraterrestrial life are definitely ruled out.
Fred Hoyle, for instance, regards the range of possibilities as
extremely wide.
We must be prepared to find in the larger universe outside the earth…
even “inorganic” collections of matter endowed with a sense of
“justice,” for example.126
But inorganic matter, we find, is two full steps removed from justice.
It cannot even carry on a biological type of evolution, to say nothing
of harboring ethical concepts on the order of justice. Ethical behavior
appears only when and where a highly developed biological organism
combines with a control unit from Sector 3 and as a consequence
becomes subject, at least in some degree, to the rules and principles of
Sector 3. Even then, the ethical responses may be few and far
between, as the degree of Sector 3 control may be minimal. There is a
borderline situation in which the human organism may be either in
Level 2 (living) or Level 3 (living under Sector 3 control) just as a
virus may be either in Level 2 (living) or Level 1 (non-living).
However, the boundary lines in the latter case are clear-cut—the virus
is living when it is inside a living cell; it is non-living outside—
whereas the influences that have a bearing on whether the control of
man’s actions rests with Sector 2 or Sector 3 in any particular
situation are many and varied.
A significant fact in this connection is that the responses of different
individuals to the same situation may be entirely dissimilar, and it is
still more significant to find that the same individual makes very
different responses to identical situations at different times. From this
we must conclude that the central control of the life system (the Level
2 control) and the Sector 3 control unit are competing for dominance,
and the response which an individual actually makes under any given
set of conditions is determined by the degree to which either one or
the other of the contenders gains the upper hand. The relevance of this
struggle for control to some of man’s problems will be discussed later.
We are now in a position to make some deductions as to the nature of
the control unit, and by extension, the nature of the Sector 3 existence
of which the control unit is a local manifestation. In our previous
consideration of the nature of life, we noted that the material
aggregates—molecules or combinations of molecules—must attain a
relatively high degree of complexity before they can join with cosmic
units to form living structures. In fact, they must attain the greatest
degree of complexity that exists in the inanimate world. Now we find
that a correspondingly high degree of complexity of the biological
structure is necessary for combination with a control unit: nothing
short of the most advanced living organism, the most complex unit
that exists in the biological world. The high degree of complexity in
the material aggregate, we found, was necessary in order that the
molecule might possess a feature which is not present in less complex
units: a structure that would be able to reproduce itself when
combined with an appropriate cosmic unit. We may deduce that, at the
upper transition point, the similarly high degree of complexity is
required for the same reason: that is, some particular feature had to be
developed before a combination with a control unit from Sector 3 was
possible.
Now let us ask, Just what significant characteristic is present at the
upper end of the evolutionary scale that is absent in the lower stages?
The answer is clear. The significant development at the highest level
of evolution is the emergence of intelligence. The name that modern
man has chosen to apply to himself, Homo sapiens, is sufficient
evidence in itself to demonstrate the general agreement on this point.
Intelligence, if we give this term what we may call a minimum
definition, is the end product of evolution, the building-up process in
the living world, as matters now stand. It is the most recent of the long
series of successive developments which have contributed to the
ability of the living organism to survive (as a species) in his particular
environment, and to increase the range of environments in which the
species can exist successfully. Furthermore, it is the principal
possessor of this most recently developed ability, man, in whose
behavior we can (occasionally, at least) recognize evidence of the
presence of Sector 3 control.
It should be emphasized, however, that intelligence does not produce
the changes in behavior that mark the transition from Level 2 to Level
3. Intelligence, in a minimum sense, merely increases the ability of
the organism to act effectively in the manner dictated by the controls
under which the organism operates. It cannot change the laws of the
sector that is in control, or the ultimate ends toward which they lead.
Intelligent life acts effectively toward increasing the probability of
survival. An intelligent individual under Sector 3 control, an ethical
man, as we have called him, acts effectively toward entirely different
ends, not jeopardizing survival unnecessarily, since survival is
desirable from his standpoint too, but subordinating it to other
considerations. Although intelligence must exist before Level 3 can be
attained, it merely sets the stage and makes control by the Sector 3
unit possible. It does not automatically accomplish the change.
Many of those who recognize that there is a specifically human level
of existence, one that is not shared with other animals, do not concede
that intelligence is the most advanced attribute of the lower level.
From their viewpoint, it is a characteristic of the human level. In
explaining this view, Mortimer J. Adler points out that, if man is to
have the unique status which the religious dogmas assign to him, he
“must be conceived as different in kind from all other terrestrial
things… a radical difference in kind, involving a break in the
continuity of nature.” As he sees the picture, intelligence is the crucial
factor:
That radical difference in kind must be conceived in terms of man’s
unique possession of an intellectual power that transcends the
properties of matter and the operation of physical causes. In other
words, man’s intellect (i.e., his power of conceptual thought) is the
immaterial component in his constitution that makes him a person,
requires his special creation, gives him the hope of immortality, and
endows him with freedom of choice.127
One of the difficulties here is that there is no agreement as to the
definition of intelligence. It is often stated, however, that intelligence
is “the ability to adapt behavior to new situations.” This carries with it
the ability to recognize and evaluate alternatives, the feature that had
to be developed before a Sector 3 control could be superimposed on a
biological organism. Such a minimum definition, as we have
previously called it, is appropriate for present purposes. The point at
issue, then, is whether intelligence, as thus defined, can be produced
in the ordinary course of the evolutionary process. If so, there is no
adequate justification for presuming that the emergence of intelligent
life must be the result of some other factor.
Obviously, the ability to adapt to new situations is definitely
conducive to survival, both of the individual and of his species, and it
is therefore just the kind of thing that evolution will produce if it can
do so. In this connection, it cannot be too strongly emphasized that
evolution is a survival process. This does not mean that it is a
purposeful process aimed at increasing the probability of survival; it is
a purely mechanistic process in which survival itself builds greater
probability of survival. In order to get a better perspective on this
situation, let us take another look at the analogous situation in the
inanimate field. As brought out in Chapter 5, the basic process in the
inanimate world is aggregation. Here, again, no purposeful motivation
is involved. The inanimate matter gathers into larger and larger
aggregates by reason of a purely mechanical process in which size
builds greater size. Greater complexity may result from the increased
size, as in the formation of complex molecules, but this is not a
necessary result. Indeed, it is a very infrequent result. Even though the
greater part of the matter of the universe has gathered into large
aggregates, more than 90 percent of it is in the form of hydrogen, the
simplest of all elements. The general principle here is that collateral
effects such as increased complexity may be produced under some
circumstances, providing that they do not conflict with the primary
objective, but the overriding consideration is always aggregation, and
the process of aggregation continues as long as matter exists.
In the biological field, however, aggregation—increase in the size of
the units—is not a dominant factor. In the earlier evolutionary stages,
an increase in size is favorable, as it permits a greater degree of
specialization of the constituent cells and the consequent development
of more efficient survival mechanisms. But there is an optimum size
for each species (varying somewhat with the environment) beyond
which further increase in size is unfavorable. Nor does the optimum
size increase with progress up the evolutionary scale. The average
mammal of today is much smaller than the average dinosaur that he
replaced. The aggregation factor, which is all-powerful in the
inanimate sector, is thus reduced to the status of a collateral item of
relatively minor importance in the realm of the living.
On the other hand, evolution, which is entirely absent from the
inanimate world, becomes, in the living world, the dominant factor to
which everything else is subordinated. And evolution is not only
directed toward survival; it operates by means of survival. Whatever is
able to survive does survive, and this means that whatever
modifications of living structures are capable of contributing to
survival will in due course be produced. Ability to adapt to new
situations is clearly favorable to survival, and if there is no basic
obstacle to the development of such an ability, the evolutionary
process will ultimately produce it.
In considering the question as to whether evolution can accomplish
such a result, we will find it helpful to examine the capabilities of the
giant computers and other man-made machines that are now taking
over so many of the routine tasks of our present-day world. According
to the findings of this work, the living organism is simply a
mechanism, far more complex than any machine ever devised by our
engineers and scientists, but nevertheless equally subject to the
general laws governing mechanisms. Neither the computer nor the
living organism can do any of those things which mechanisms are
inherently incapable of doing, but either can do anything of which
mechanisms are capable, providing that the task is within the
performance range of the specific unit. The question as to whether
evolution can produce an intelligent living organism is thus analogous
to the question as to whether it is possible to design a machine that
has the ability to adapt its behavior to new situations.
There is no doubt but that such machines can be built, as they already
have been built. An error, for instance, creates a new situation
whenever it occurs, but there are machines that will detect errors and
make the necessary corrections. Some will even identify and discard
inconsistent or incongruous results: a still more sophisticated form of
adaptation to new situations. Then, again, machines have been
devised to play games, such as chess. As long as the game is played
according to the rules the machine can adapt itself to whatever
situation may develop, and it can recognize and evaluate alternative
courses of action. The physical universe is a mechanism, and one of
the basic characteristics of a mechanism is that it always plays
according to the rules. A living organism that can adapt its behavior to
new situations within the boundaries of the physical universe is
therefore possible, and since such an ability is favorable to survival it
will be produced by evolution in due course. Intelligence, as defined,
is thus an evolutionary product, a feature belonging to Level 2.
Adler was quite correct in his contention that there must be a “radical
difference in kind” between the human race in general and the rest of
the observable universe, one that involves a “break in the continuity
of nature.” In the absence of any other likely candidate, it was natural
for him to conclude that intelligence, the most striking of man’s
exclusive (or almost exclusive) possessions, is the explanation of the
difference. But when we inquire more closely, it becomes evident that
intelligence, on the basis of a minimum definition, does not involve “a
break in the continuity of nature,” whereas if intelligence is defined in
a more inclusive manner, it cannot be produced by evolutionary
processes and therefore requires the introduction of a hitherto
unidentified factor. The distinctive attribute, the “immaterial
component in his [man’s] constitution” is not intelligence. It is the
Sector 3 control that directs the utilization of that intelligence and
other human abilities into channels that lead toward objectives quite
different from the goals of the biological organism. Such a
modification of objectives would not be possible unless the ability to
recognize and evaluate alternatives were already present. Thus
intelligence is not a Level 3 characteristic, but a prerequisite for the
transition from Level 2 to Level 3.
This fact that intelligence (in the minimum sense) is a Level 2
attribute, a property of the biological organism, tells us something
about the nature of the Sector 3 existence. In order to exercise control
over an intelligent biological organism, the Sector 3 control must also
be intelligent. It takes intelligence to dominate another intelligence to
the extent that objectives are modified, or even reversed. Inasmuch as
the Sector 3 control unit is a local manifestation of existence in Sector
3, the general metaphysical region, we may then deduce that
intelligence is a general characteristic of Sector 3 existence. Thus, by
a simple chain of deductions, based on premises derived from
experience, we arrive at a factual confirmation of the postulate that the
metaphysical existences are intelligent.
A question which may arise here is whether all metaphysical
existences are intelligent, or whether the situation might not be
something on the order of that existing in the physical universe, where
only a relatively small proportion of the existing entities are
intelligent. This is a question that we cannot answer on the basis of
the information now available. It is one of the many items that will
have to be left to future investigations.
Another feature of biological life that will have a bearing on our
current inquiry into the nature of the higher level is the fact that the
evolution of living structures is a cooperative process in which both
the material structure of the organism and the structure of the life unit
that controls that organism evolve together in the direction of greater
complexity. The changes in the life unit are more difficult to follow
than the easily observed growth pattern of the material structure.
Nevertheless, we can safely say that no single molecule or small
molecular group is capable of controlling the activities of a
chimpanzee, for example, even though it may have been adequate to
control some primitive unicellular organism. Evolutionary
development of the original simple life unit therefore must have taken
place to accomplish what we see is being accomplished. The central
control of a multicellular organism composed of a variety of
specialized cells obviously has a task which is much more
complicated than controlling the activities of a single cell, particularly
since the central control must exercise a certain degree of authority
over the operations that are being carried out under the immediate
jurisdiction of the local controls, as well as taking the entire
responsibility for coordinating the activities of the individual cells.
Some idea of the nature and extent of the development that has
occurred can be gained by observing the vast amount of electrical
equipment included in the structure of the higher forms of life and the
very important functions that electrical impulses perform in these
organisms, particularly in connection with those matters that are
presumably under the direction of the central life unit. So far as we
can tell, these more advanced functions of the organism—memory,
thinking, learning, decision making, etc.—are all electrically operated.
If we follow the path of evolution backward from these higher forms,
we find that the electrical activities decrease roughly in proportion to
the decrease in the complexity of the physical structure, which means
that the evolution of the organism has included a parallel evolution of
the electrical system within the physical structure. The significance of
this lies in the fact that electrical phenomena of the type existing in
the local environment are related to the material phenomena in the
same inverse manner as the phenomena of the cosmic sector; that is,
they are inherently cosmic rather than material. From theoretical
considerations, we deduce that the cosmic unit controlling the life
processes must increase in complexity as biological evolution
proceeds. Now we find that there is, in fact, a very substantial increase
in the utilization of electrical processes: phenomena inherently cosmic
in character. Most of the details are still obscure, we must admit, but
the general conclusions arrived at theoretically are substantiated by
these empirical findings.
The interaction of the cosmic and material sectors in Level 2 (the
biological level) is a two-way process; the influence of the life unit
causes a profound change in the material structure, but at the same
time, the association with the developing material structure results in a
substantial modification of the life unit. All of the available evidence
indicates that the general situation in Level 3 is similar. The biological
organism continues to develop in ways which lead to greater
effectiveness in reaching its objectives, while coincidentally there is a
development of the Sector 3 control unit in ways which lead to a more
accurate identification of the Sector 3 objectives and a greater degree
of effectiveness in substituting these objectives for the purely
biological goals. Here, too, there is a process of growth or evolution
of the combination structure, and in this process each component has
an effect on the other.
The combined effect on human behavior is easily recognized. In the
more advanced societies, the general level of ethical conduct is not
only higher than that in the more primitive societies—an indication
that the transition to Sector 3 control has progressed farther—but
there is also a clearer understanding, at least in the better-educated
segments of the population, as to what constitutes ethical behavior,
and a gradual raising of ethical standards: an indication of growth or
development of the human race along ethical lines.
Analogy with the evolution of the biological organism leads to the
conclusion that in the beginning—that is, when man first began to
emerge from the purely animal stage—the control units were very
simple structures comparable to the simple life units that control the
primitive biological organism; and that here, also, the control unit
must develop a greater complexity as the human being progresses
from the primitive stage of ethical understanding into the more
advanced stages. Then we can further deduce, on the same grounds,
that the extent to which the Sector 3 control unit is developed in any
particular individual depends on how far this cooperative process of
ethical growth has been carried.
One further question that we will want to consider at this time,
because it will have a significant bearing on some of the issues that
will be examined in the subsequent pages, is whether the existence of
ethical men on earth is a unique phenomenon, or whether there are
similar metaphysically controlled intelligent organisms elsewhere in
the universe. We found in Chapter 6 that primitive life forms exist in
abundance, and are available wherever the conditions are suitable,
probably on billions of planets. The biological laws, like the physical
laws, are the same everywhere in the physical universe, and evolution
is therefore taking place wherever life exists, directed toward survival
just as it is here.
The question as to whether the products of that evolutionary process
will be similar to the products of terrestrial evolution, particularly
whether intelligent beings can be expected to exist elsewhere in the
universe, is one on which there is a great deal of difference of opinion.
Basically it is a question as to the fundamental nature of biological
evolution. There is one school of thought, especially prevalent among
the biologists, which contends that man is the result of a long series of
evolutionary accidents, “an almost incredible sequence of highly
improbably events,”128 and that in each instance there could have
been a different outcome which would have altered the whole course
of the subsequent development.
Even if some kind of life has arisen in many places in the universe, it
is utterly unlikely that its evolution has followed a course even
remotely similar to that followed on earth.90 (Dobzhansky)
We can be quite sure that if the environments of their ancestors had
been very different from what they were, the organisms of today
would also be very different…. Even slight changes in earlier parts of
the history would have profound cumulative effects on all descendant
organisms through the succeeding millions of generations.129
(Simpson)
To give point to our argument, let us suppose that in the progress from
primitive organic soup to modern industrialized man there were 100
critical steps, and that at each of these steps there were two
possibilities. The odds against the final result would be 2<&>100 to
1.130 (H. Sandon)
Simpson points out that, in assessing the likelihood of the existence of
“humanoids” on other planets, “There are four successive
probabilities to be judged: the probability that suitable planets do
exist; the probability that life has arisen on them; the probability that
such life has evolved in a predictable way; and the probability that
such evolution would lead eventually to humanoids (natural living
organisms) with intelligence comparable to man’s in quantity and
quality, hence with the possibility of rational communication with
us.”131 He then gives his estimate of the probabilities as follows:
1st — Fair.
2nd — Far lower, but appreciable.
3rd — Exceedingly small.
4th — Almost negligible.
Overall — Probably not significantly greater than zero.
The findings of this present work lead to altogether different
conclusions. We find that the formation of planetary systems is a
normal and frequent event in the physical universe, and it is therefore
certain, not merely “fairly probable,” that planets similar to the earth
exist in large numbers. We further find that life is certain to develop
wherever the conditions are suitable, and hence life will appear in due
course on all earth-like planets. There are many planets that are
different from the earth in one or more respects—colder or warmer,
wetter or drier, larger or smaller, or with more or less of some other
property—and life may exist on these planets as well, but this
introduces a question as to what effect the different environments
have on the evolutionary process, and for present purposes there is no
need to complicate matters by bringing in this issue. We will therefore
limit our consideration to “earth-like” planets, a term we have defined
as planets which resemble the earth in all important respects. The
immediate question then becomes: Will the evolution of living
organisms on each of these earth-like planets follow a course similar
to that which evolution has taken on earth?
The answer that emerges from the present investigation is affirmative,
but since this is a controversial issue, it will be advisable to take a
look at the arguments that are advanced by the biologists. The extreme
position, as stated by Sandon in his assertion that “the evolutionary
steps are not really accidental, but the complexity of the factors
determining them is so great that for all practical purposes they may
be regarded as such,”130 can be dismissed summarily. On this point
Simpson agrees. “Evolution is not a random process,” he concedes,
“and adaptation cannot be wholly, or indeed to any but a minimum
extent, accidental.”132
However, Simpson regards evolution as a historical process and hence
not repeatable. “No species or any larger group has ever evolved, or
can evolve, twice. Dinosaurs are gone forever. Nothing very like them
occurred before them or will occur after them.”133 This is, of course,
absolutely correct, but it is a strong point against Simpson’s thesis, not
an argument in favor of it. Every such restriction, every one of the
many requirements “that place statistical or probabilistic, if not
absolute, limitations on evolutionary possibilities”134 has an effect
toward confining evolution to specific, even if rather broad, channels.
The evolutionary channels pass through an Age of Dinosaurs only
once in each evolutionary system, to be sure, but they pass through
such an age once in every evolutionary system.
Simpson emphasizes that evolution is “opportunistic,” and takes
advantage of all of the opportunities that become available. “Over and
over again in the study of the history of life it appears that what can
happen does happen,”135 he says. Whatever increases the probability
of survival will be produced if it can be produced. This principle
establishes the primary goals of evolution— multicellular structure,
cell specialization, mobility, sight, temperature regulation,
intelligence, to name only a few—and it assures us that all of these
goals will be reached in all evolutionary systems, given sufficient
time. Furthermore, this evolution will necessarily proceed in a rather
specific series of steps, since the more complex objectives cannot be
reached until after certain primary and intermediate steps have been
taken. Cell specialization must precede the development of sight, and
so on.
At every stage of the process there is what amounts to a force—a
“selection pressure,” as the biologists call it—keeping the
evolutionary developments in the channels leading in the direction of
the major evolutionary goals. Local conditions may cause a
divergence from the optimum evolutionary path. They may, for
instance, result in a development that leads away from good vision
rather than toward it. But in the long run this merely increases the
selection pressure tending to favor better vision, and makes it all the
more probable that the next evolutionary step will be in the direction
of improved vision. Similarly, if a species happens to develop its light
receiving apparatus in one of the ways that reaches its maximum
potential well below the usable level of capacity, this creates a
selection pressure favoring the survival of other species with better
photoreceptor systems.
The dinosaurs to which Simpson refers were not produced at any
earlier evolutionary stage because many preliminary steps were
necessary before such animals were possible; they were produced on
earth at a particular time because by this time the prerequisite steps
had been taken and the dinosaurs were better adapted to the general
environment than any available competitors; they will be produced on
any earth-like planet at a similar evolutionary stage; they will not be
produced on earth or anywhere else after the next major evolutionary
goal, a temperature regulating mechanism, has been reached and
animals superior to the dinosaurs by reason of the possession of such
a mechanism have appeared on the scene.
It is true that all but a tiny fraction of the immense number of
evolutionary opportunities lead to dead ends, but this does not alter
the fact that some of the opportunities of which evolution takes
advantage lead to progress toward the primary evolutionary goals.
The opportunistic character of the evolutionary process therefore
insures that all of these goals will be reached by some organism in
every evolutionary system, even though the great majority of the
evolutionary developments either make no progress at all or reach
their limits somewhere short of the ultimate objective. A detailed
analysis of the situation by Robert Bieri arrives at the following
conclusions:
Given the ninety-two known, naturally occurring elements, the forms
of energy available, and limited time, the number of alternative
solutions to the major steps leading to a conceptual organism are
strictly limited. The phenomenon of convergent evolution is so
widespread in both the plant and animal kingdoms that it needs no
special elucidation here. Suffice it to say that the evidence shows that,
again and again, animals and plants have independently evolved not
only similar structures but also similar biochemical systems and
similar behavioral patterns as solutions to the same fundamental
problems…. If we ever succeed in communicating with
conceptualizing beings in outer space, they won’t be spheres,
pyramids, cubes or pancakes. In all probability they will look an awful
lot like us.136
Simpson admits that parallel and convergent evolution are “extremely
common,”137 but he discounts the argument based on these
phenomena on the ground that there are significant differences
between the products of the separate evolutionary lines. He points out
that while the Tasmanian “wolf,” which is often cited as an example
of convergent evolution, is much like the true wolf in appearance and
habits, “in spite of all similarities, any competent student can
distinguish a Tasmanian ’wolf’ from a true wolf at… one glance.”138
But no one is suggesting that the inhabitants of the earth-like planets
will be indistinguishable from human beings. The contention is that
they will resemble human beings. The fact that a “competent student”
may be able to detect the difference is irrelevant. Anyone can
recognize differences between the various human races, whether he
has any special competence as an anthropologist or not. This does not
prevent us from asserting that there is a general resemblance between
them, or even from including them all in the same species.
We know that intelligence is favorable to survival, and therefore we
know that evolution will produce an intelligent organism if it can. We
know that evolution can produce an intelligent biological organism
under the conditions prevailing on the earth, since it did do so. And
since these are, by definition, the same conditions that prevail on any
earth-like planet, evolution can and will produce intelligent organisms
on these planets. Furthermore, all other earth-like planets are, like the
earth itself, located in existence as a whole, and they are therefore
subject to the same Sector 3 influences as human beings.
There has been some opposition to the current efforts to open up radio
communication with the inhabitants of extraterrestrial abodes of life,
if there are any within range, on the ground that these beings may be
of a malevolent nature, and capable of doing us harm of some kind if
we establish contact. Our findings indicate that these fears are
groundless. The Sector 3 influences have more control over some
individuals than others, but there is no reason to believe that their
average effectiveness in application to any other large group of
intelligent beings is any less than it is in application to the human
race. If the inhabitants of a distant planet are far enough advanced
technologically to enter into communication with us, they are also far
enough advanced ethically to constitute no more of a threat to the
nations of the earth than those nations are to each other.
On the basis of the foregoing considerations, we can say that Homo
sapiens is not unique; he is only one of many: a conclusion that has
some very important implications for both science and religion.
Inasmuch as this completes our consideration of the levels of
existence, it will be appropriate at this point to summarize the
conclusions of Chapters 5, 6, and 7, as follows:
1. There are three separate levels of existence accessible to our
observation: (1) inanimate matter and phenomena, (2) biological
organisms, and (3) ethical man.
2. Inanimate matter and associated phenomena are purely physical,
and are constituents of the material sector of the universe (Sector
1).
3. Biological organisms are material structures under the control of
life units originating in the cosmic (inverse) sector of the
universe (Sector 2).
4. Ethical man is a biological organism in which an overriding
control by a unit from the sector of the universe outside space
and time (Sector 3) is superimposed on the control exercised by
the life units.
5. Each sector of the universe is governed by its own set of natural
laws, and each of the three levels of observable existence is
subject to the laws and principles of the sector in control.
6. By reason of the operation of these laws, Level 1 (material)
existence is directed toward aggregation. Level 2 (biological)
existence is directed toward survival of the individual and his
species, and Level 3 (ethical human) existence is directed
toward ethical conduct.
7. The change from Level 1 (no control mechanism) to Level 2
(Sector 2 control) is immediate and complete. The change from
Level 2 to Level 3 (Sector 3 control) takes place gradually and
irregularly, and human existence normally involves a conflict
between the two controls.
8. The existence of a Sector 3 control over an intelligent biological
organism confirms the validity of the postulate that the Sector 3
existences are intelligent.
9. Intelligent, metaphysically controlled beings resembling human
individuals exist on numerous planets distributed throughout the
universe.
CHAPTER 8
Communication: Local
One of the essential requirements for the development of multicellular
organisms is the existence of some means of transmitting information
from one cell to another. Where the cells that need to communicate
are in direct contact, as is true in the most primitive of these
organisms, the actual mechanism of transmission presents no
particular problems, since it is possible to pass substances containing
the information from cell to cell through the walls that are in contact.
The development of an appropriate language—attaching a particular
meaning to each of the information-carrying substances and
adaptation of the cells to a recognition of that meaning—is a more
difficult task, and it no doubt took a long time to accomplish.
Once such a communication system was established, it lent itself
readily to expansion, and in the more complex organisms, “chemical
messengers” carry a great variety of information and instructions from
place to place within the organism. However, this messenger system is
too slow and too limited in capacity to take care of all of the
requirements, and a more sophisticated system of internal
communication utilizing electrical impulses has therefore been
developed. Between this electrical system and the chemical
messengers, the internal needs of the organisms are adequately met.
Chemical methods of communication are also capable of being
utilized for conveying information from one organism to another, and
airborne chemicals (odors) are employed for a number of
communication purposes by land-based organisms. The amount of
information that can be transmitted by this means is, however, very
limited, and the advantages to be gained by having a better
communications system are great enough to cause evolution in this
direction. Two types of systems have developed, one using the sense
of sight and conveying the information by means of appropriate
positions or motions; the other utilizing the sense of hearing and
conveying the information by generating different sounds. To these
systems, in general use by the more advanced living organisms, man
has added some more sophisticated techniques.
This is the communication situation as we observe it. Living
organisms are communicating with each other by a variety of means.
Since the activities of these organisms are under the control of life
units, the communication takes place between the central controls.
The warning signal of the rattlesnake, for instance, does not emanate
from the still inactive material mechanism; it comes from the control,
which is warning us that unless the presence which it considers a
menace is removed it will order the material mechanism to take
action. Thus, communication in the material sector is not between
material entities, but between the life units.
The question then arises: Can the life units communicate directly with
each other through Sector 2 channels without the necessity of
transmitting this information by material means? As the cosmic sector
of the universe is identical with the material sector except for the
reversal of space and time, it follows that there are cosmic living
organisms which communicate with each other by the cosmic
equivalents of sight, sound, etc. This, of course, suggests the
possibility that the cosmic units present in the living organisms of the
material sector may also be able to use these cosmic communication
channels.
A theoretical consideration of this question leads, however, to the
conclusion that communication in this manner is not possible. The life
units, being physical entities, are limited to using physical facilities,
and the physical facilities peculiar to the cosmic sector do not exist in
the local environment. The cosmic equivalent of sound, for example,
cannot be used for communication in the material sector because we
live in the cosmic equivalent of a vacuum. It follows that all
communication between the life units must utilize the facilities of the
material sector. The same conclusion can be reached on empirical
grounds. Sector 2 communication signals, even though non-material,
are physical phenomena, and if present, could be detected by our
physical instruments. Since no physical trace of such communication
has ever been found, the physical evidence corroborates the
theoretical conclusion that it is not possible.
Turning now to Level 3, we again find that the normal method of
communication utilizes physical facilities. Ethical man, under control
of Sector 3, communicates with his neighbors in exactly the same
manner as a human being who is completely under the domination of
Sector 2. But when we examine the possibility of communication
through other than normal channels, we find that the situation in Level
3 is quite different from that in Level 2, the purely biological level.
The control unit is non-physical, and while it can and usually does
utilize the biological mechanisms over which it exercises direction as
tools by which to communicate through physical channels, it is not
limited to these physical means of communication.
The significant point here is that the control unit exists in a physical
location by virtue of its association with a biological organism, and
also in a non-physical location, a location in existence as a whole, the
general metaphysical region, as we have called it, by virtue of its own
inherent nature. We may compare the coincidence of these two
locations to the point of intersection of two lines. Such a point is
located on both lines, and if these are lines of communication—
telephone lines, for example—communication via either line is
feasible. We have no direct knowledge of the means of
communication that exist in Sector 3, but in view of the multiplicity of
communication media that are available in the material and cosmic
sectors, there is an ample basis from which to extrapolate the
existence of communication facilities to the metaphysical region.
Indeed, there is reason to believe that there should be more channels
open for communication in Sector 3 than in the space-time universe,
as the specific properties of space and time are, in a sense, limitations,
and there is greater flexibility where such limitations do not exist.
We have already arrived at the conclusion that Sector 3 existences are
intelligent, and since intelligent biological organisms are fully able to
communicate with each other by means available in their sector of the
universe, the intelligent units from Sector 3 should be able to
communicate with each other by means available in their sector of the
universe. The inability to detect any physical evidence of such
communication is not an argument against its existence, as it was
against communication between the Sector 2 units through Sector 2
channels. As noted earlier, the Sector 2 communication, if it existed,
would be physical and therefore detectable physically, but the Sector 3
communication is not physical and consequently it cannot be expected
that there will be any physical way of detecting it.
On the basis of the considerations outlined in the foregoing
paragraphs, we must conclude that direct communication through
Sector 3 channels between the control units that direct the activities of
ethical man is definitely possible. Then let us ask: Is there any
evidence that such communication actually takes place? There can be
no question as to the answer. The validity of the evidence of this
nature is hotly debated, but its existence is undeniable. This process
and associated phenomena are systematically studied in the
universities and research institutes, the reports of investigations of
these phenomena are published and discussed in various journals, and
a considerable body of literature on the subject now exists.
Inasmuch as the conclusions that have been reached as to the ability
of the control units to communicate directly with each other through
their own channels are based on factual premises and have been
derived from these premises by sound scientific reasoning, so that
they have a high probability of being correct even if observational
evidence were entirely lacking, any supporting evidence from
observational or experimental sources is highly significant. Obviously,
however, the better the evidence the more support it gives. An
appraisal of the validity of the evidence that has been accumulated is
therefore in order. It would hardly be feasible to analyze a large
volume of original data in detail in a work such as this, but we can
accomplish the same result by examining the conclusions that have
been reached by other analysts, giving special attention to the
arguments that are advanced by those who are not convinced of the
authenticity of the evidence.
The particular phenomenon with which we are now concerned has
been given the name telepathy, and it is one of several somewhat
similar phenomena that are grouped under the designation of
extrasensory perception, abbreviated ESP. Closely connected with
telepathy is clairvoyance, which is obtaining knowledge of facts or
events by direct apprehension, without utilizing physical means. If
this information concerns the future, the term precognition is applied.
It is rather difficult to draw definite dividing lines and to place
observed events definitely in one class or the other, and most of the
discussion of the status of the investigations in this field therefore
refers simply to the ESP phenomena as a whole, without further
classification.
A related phenomenon, psychokinesis, which is non-physical action
upon matter, is sometimes classed with the ESP group, but PK is not a
communication phenomenon, and hence it is clearly on a different
footing. Since the present discussion is concerned only with
communication, no consideration will be given to PK at this point, but
it will be discussed later in another connection.
The current situation in this ESP area is expressed in the words of
Henry Margenau as follows:
Certain problems that were taboo in physics a generation ago,
researches in which a physicist indulged at the risk of losing his
reputation, such as paranormal perception and clairvoyance, are now
more widely regarded as worthy of consideration.139
George R. Price, an outspoken opponent of the ESP concept, puts the
case in even stronger language:
Believers in psychic phenomena—such as telepathy, clairvoyance,
precognition and psychokinesis—appear to have won a decisive
victory and virtually silenced opposition… during the last 15 years,
scarcely a single scientific paper has appeared attacking the work of
the parapsychologists.140
This “victory” is all the more impressive in view of the fact that it is
only a relatively short time ago that scientists would not even listen to
any talk of extrasensory phenomena. Only a few decades have elapsed
since William James commented on the situation in this manner:
Why do so few “scientists” even look at the evidence for telepathy,
so-called? Because they think, as a leading biologist, now dead, once
said to me, that even if such a thing were true, scientists ought to band
together to keep it suppressed and concealed. It would undo the
uniformity of nature and all sorts of other things without which
scientists cannot carry on their pursuits.141
Such a dramatic reversal of the attitude of the scientific community,
which has changed what one author considered as an unjustified
refusal to listen to the evidence into what another regards as an unduly
friendly reception is a clear indication that substantial progress is
being made toward establishing ESP on a firm footing. Just where the
issue now stands is, however, subject to considerable difference of
opinion. John Mann, for instance, says that “ESP, PK and related
phenomena are, at best, tolerated and generally are ridiculed among
psychologists.”142 Daniel Cohen, writing in 1967, agrees. “A survey
taken among professional psychologists,” he reports, “showed that
only a small minority believed in the possibility of ESP and the
number who thought the existence of this ability was a proved fact
was infinitesimal.”143 Cohen apparently assumed that these findings
could be extrapolated to scientists in general, as he goes on to say,
“No surveys have ever been taken among physical scientists on the
subject, but it is probable that support there would be even more
meager.” Just how far this assessment of the situation missed the mark
can be seen from the fact that only three percent of nearly 1500
readers surveyed by the New Scientist six years later considered ESP
an impossibility. Most of the others held it to be an established fact
(25 percent) or a likely possibility (42 percent).144
In beginning an examination of the arguments that are adduced
against the reality of ESP, we will first consider the issues raised by
Price in the article from which the “victory” quotation was taken. He
contends that the ESP results are incompatible with existing science.
“These findings,” he says, “challenge our very concepts of space and
time.” He then bases his argument on a principle, attributed to David
Hume, which asserts that evidence in favor of an incompatible idea
should not be accepted unless this evidence outweighs the evidence in
favor of the previously accepted laws or principles with which the
new idea is in conflict. To support his contention that ESP and
accepted science are incompatible, he offers the following list of
conflicts:
1. ESP penetrates into the future even in situations where rational
inference is powerless.
2. ESP is apparently unattenuated by distance.
3. Psi (the process of ESP) effects are apparently unaffected by
shielding. Why do they not interact with matter in the shield?
4. Dye patterns on cards are read in the dark. How does one detect
a trace of dye without shining light on it?
5. Patterns on cards in the center of a pack are read without
interference from other cards.
6. We have found in the body no structure to associate with the
alleged functions.
7. There is no learning but, instead, a tendency toward complete
loss of ability.
8. Different investigators obtain highly different results. For
example, Soal requires a telepathic sender, but Rhine finds this
unnecessary.
The usual objections to ESP are vehement but vague. It is therefore
helpful to have a detailed statement such as Price’s which we can
subject to a critical analysis to see just how much merit the objections
actually possess. In this connection, it is significant that even on the
basis of the scientific ideas then prevailing, without the benefit of the
new information supplied by the Reciprocal System, this attack on the
ESP results was not convincing, and the majority of the published
comments on the article were wholly or partially unfavorable. If we
look at Price’s arguments item by item in the light of conventional
scientific thought, it is not difficult to see why this was true.
Item (1) is wholly dependent on the assumption that time is
necessarily constant in direction. But this is not in accord with
scientific thinking. The fact that the equations of motion are
symmetrical with respect to time, and therefore suggest the possibility
of time reversal, has long been recognized. Eddington, for instance,
pointed this out very specifically. Such a reversal of time is also a
feature of many current theories of events at the subatomic level. It is
hardly in order to claim that this hypothesis is non-scientific when it is
used by non-scientists, but scientific when it is used freely by the
scientists themselves.
Item (2) assumes that since physical effects are attenuated by distance,
ESP, if it actually exists, must exhibit the same kind of behavior. But
there are no valid grounds for assuming that ESP is a physical effect,
or that it must conform to the same pattern of behavior as physical
phenomena. On the contrary, all of the information that has been
developed about ESP suggests that it is non-physical. Items (3), (4),
(5), and (6) rest on the same untenable assumption, but the first three
of these are even less acceptable than item (2), as the facts cited are
not even inconsistent with the existence of a possible physical
explanation of the ESP phenomenon. Gravitation is equally as
unresponsive to any attempts at shielding as ESP, and there are
physical means (X-rays, for example) whereby matter can be
penetrated in order to ascertain internal details.
Item (7) is meaningless. Since Price did not know how ESP operates,
he was not in a position to say whether the observed loss of ability is
consistent with the method of operation or not. J. H. Rush drew the
opposite conclusion from the same experience. He listed this item as
one of the features of the experimental results which lend credence to
the assertion that the ESP phenomena are real.145 Item (8) can hardly
be considered as a serious argument; indeed, two of Price’s colleagues
who discussed his article in a subsequent issue of the same journal
called it a “distressingly irresponsible comment.”146
There are two basic weaknesses in Price’s position. First, he assumes
that ESP cannot exist unless it is explicable in terms of existing
knowledge. The contention of parapsychologists, on the other hand, is
that they are dealing with something new to science. Thus Price is in
the position of attempting to prove them wrong by assuming that they
are wrong. The second flaw in his arguments is that he is trying to put
the whole weight of scientific knowledge into the balance against the
weight that can be accorded to the ESP evidence. As pointed out by
Meehl and Scriven in their comments on his article, his case is based
on the assumption “that modern science is complete and correct,” an
assumption which these authors rightly regard as “untenable.” To the
extent that any conflict does exist between ESP and conventional
scientific ideas, this conflict is merely with some particular aspect, or
aspects, of scientific thought, not with science as a whole, and the
verdict in the area of controversy is not nearly so automatically
favorable to existing scientific ideas as Price assumed. The existence
of a conflict merely means that one of the incompatible views is
wrong; it does not tell us which one this is. R. H. Thouless saw the
same situation from the opposite direction:
I suggest that the discovery of the psi phenomenon has brought us to
a… point at which we must question basic theories because they lead
us to expectations contradicted by experimental results.147
Now that the development of the Reciprocal System has clarified the
basic relationships, it is evident that Thouless was right; some of the
basic theories of physical science as they then stood were actually in
need of revision. These ESP findings which, according to Price,
“challenge our very concepts of space and time” are now seen to have
challenged them justifiably. Experiments which show ESP to be
independent of time and unattenuated by distance are in complete
harmony with the explanation presented in this chapter: an
explanation that places the channels which carry this kind of
communication in a sector of the universe completely outside space
and time.
The conclusions reached in the foregoing analysis of the arguments
presented in Price’s article are equally applicable to the great majority
of the arguments offered by other critics of ESP, those which, like
Price’s, are based on the assumption that “non-physical” is
synonymous with “non-existent”: an assumption that was never
justified, and in the light of the new information now available is
wholly untenable. C. E. M. Hansel, for example, in an extremely
critical book entitled ESP—A Scientific Evaluation, makes the same
mistake in assuming that there is something adverse about ESP in his
observation that “Telepathy therefore… implies properties of matter
unknown to physics.”148 As a non-physical phenomenon, telepathy
must display characteristics which are unknown to physics.
Then, too, Hansel is indignant about the fact that
“Parapsychologists… ask critics to accept ESP as proved and to
change the rest of science so that it can include this new
phenomenon.”149 But this is always necessary when new phenomena
are discovered and the boundaries of science must be extended
accordingly. His dictum that “a theory that fails to account for a
variety of facts and that cannot predict what will happen in future tests
is of no value”150 is another piece cut from the same cloth. Here
again, this is always true when science is trying to understand the first
scattered and indistinct facts that emerge in a newly discovered field.
These are some of the weakest arguments in Hansel’s book, but they
are being cited to show the extreme lengths to which the critics are
willing to go in their opposition to ESP. The book also repeats some
of the more substantial criticisms which have already been discussed,
or will be taken up later, but Hansel’s principal thesis is that the whole
ESP investigation is based on deception and trickery, either on the part
of the investigators themselves or on the part of their subjects. This is
a rather astounding accusation to level at a large body of
experimenters. Perhaps about as good an answer as any is the
following statement by Vannevar Bush:
The one area in this whole [psychic] field that is at least relatively free
of charlatanism and the distorted logic of fanatics is that of
extrasensory perception, ESP, telepathy. Here serious, competent
scientists are indeed at work.151
As this statement implies, fraudulent practices have been common
elsewhere in the psychic field. But this is also true of most other fields
of activity that deal directly with intimate aspects of human life.
Medicine, for instance, has more than its share of quacks and false
“cures,” yet no one suggests that this indicates that all doctors are
tricksters. Even the physical sciences are not exempt from this sort of
thing. Sir Alister Hardy points to an analogy between ESP and
chemistry:
We all know that the great science of chemistry sprang from the cradle
of alchemy, some of whose exponents… were as rank impostors as
any false mediums or fortune tellers of today. This new branch of
knowledge which is now struggling to be born will one day, I believe,
look back to this period as the chemists of today look back to their
own history.152
As the results of the survey by the New Scientist showed, the great
majority of scientists are willing to look upon ESP as a legitimate
subject of investigation and to judge it on the basis of the same criteria
that they apply in other scientific fields. They do not find arguments of
the kind advanced by Price and Hansel very persuasive. However,
most of them are somewhat troubled by three points: (1) the lack of
any substantial progress toward enlarging the scope of the
experiments, (2) the inability to reproduce the experimental results,
and (3) the failure of the experimenters to take advantage of
sophisticated modern experimental apparatus. Item (3) is applicable
only to psychokinesis, which will be discussed later. The other two
items are pertinent to the present discussion and warrant some
consideration.
Slow progress in a new field of study is not necessarily an indication
of lack of reality of the phenomena being investigated. Sometimes it
is. The development of the Reciprocal System has revealed, for
example, that the current lack of progress in the investigation of such
phenomena as gravitational radiation, magnetic monopoles, and black
holes is due to the fact that these phenomena are non-existent. But this
same development reveals that ESP is a form of communication
through non-physical channels. It therefore cannot be expected that
progress toward a detailed explanation will be very rapid until some
kind of an understanding of non-physical fundamentals is established.
This is one of the primary objectives of the present work. It should be
noted that there may be more progress under way than is now
realized. Some of the seemingly erratic experimental results that are
now a source of embarrassment to the experimenters because of the
way in which they are pounced upon by the critics may actually prove
to be the key pieces in the explanation of the phenomena when they
are fully understood. This point will be discussed further in Chapter
25, where we will consider possible ways and means of broadening
the investigation of the subject.
The lack of reproducibility of the ESP results, item (2) in the
foregoing list, is, in the opinion of many individuals, a very serious
defect in the case for the reality of the phenomenon. In the so-called
“natural” sciences, a discovery reported in one laboratory or
observatory is promptly checked in many others, and whether or not
attempts to reproduce the results are successful is an important factor,
usually the most important factor, in determining whether the
discovery will be accepted as authentic. The critics of the ESP
investigations argue that this criterion of reproducibility should be
equally applicable to the ESP results, and that, inasmuch as it is
generally, perhaps always, true in the ESP field that the original
results cannot be reproduced by other investigators, the standard
practice of science requires that these results be rejected.
In sum, of course, the greatest weakness of parapsychology has been
its unreliability. Experiments can be performed in one laboratory
which yield stupendous odds against chance, and yet the same result
cannot be found in a different laboratory with another experimenter.
Such non-repeatability cuts right across normal scientific theory and
practice.153 (Christopher Evans)
The reasoning of these critics is entirely valid, but their premises are
erroneous. ESP experiments have never been repeated under identical
conditions, unless it has happened by accident. Attempts have been
made to reproduce the physical conditions of an experiment as closely
as possible, but aside from such effects as they may have on the
non-physical situation, these physical conditions are completely
irrelevant. In order to repeat an experiment on a non-physical
phenomenon such as ESP under “identical” conditions, it is necessary
to reproduce the non-physical conditions. The primary obstacle in the
way of so doing, as matters now stand, is the fact that, aside from
some indication that motivation plays an important part, we do not
even know what these non-physical conditions are, to say nothing of
being able to duplicate them. All talk of reproducing an ESP
experiment at this stage of understanding is meaningless, and
application of the reproducibility criterion to the ESP results is
impossible. The validity of these results will have to be judged on the
basis of other criteria.
Some of those who object to classifying ESP as a scientific field of
inquiry do not contest the reality of the phenomenon. John Mann, for
instance, concedes that the lack of reproducibility does not invalidate
the results of the experiments. He freely admits the existence of ESP.
“In exceptional subjects,” he says, “ESP seems to occur in a relatively
striking degree.”154 Nevertheless he contends that the results obtained
in the ESP experiments “scarcely are acceptable in a scientific sense.”
To justify this conclusion he lays down the principle that “any general
law in science must be applicable to all things and persons, and
capable of replication.” ESP, he asserts, must therefore be rejected,
because it “cannot be replicated nor can a subject with a high ESP be
selected beforehand.”155
It is quite true that the results obtained in the general run of the ESP
experiments are too close to the level of pure chance to have much
significance, and it is also true that the reports of spontaneous ESP
occurrences cannot be regarded as conclusive per se, because they
lack positive verification, but Mann is not raising these issues. “When
all is said and done,” he says, “the test results of the high scoring ESP
subjects still stand,”156 and he recognizes that there is no justification
for denying the existence of ESP in the face of this evidence. He is
calling the ESP results scientifically unacceptable on rather arbitrary
grounds: (1) because “only a few persons seem to possess this psychic
ability,”156 and (2) because of the lack of reproducibility of the
results.
Just where the boundary lines of science should be drawn is a matter
of opinion, but excluding ESP on these grounds is certainly not
consistent with current practice, especially since neither of these
characteristics is necessarily permanent. The mere fact that the first
crude methods of exploring this field find the ESP ability in only a
small proportion of those tested is by no means conclusive. Such a
situation is not at all unusual in the early stages of an investigation.
Magnetism, for instance, was detected in only a few substances
originally, and was long thought to be an unusual phenomenon. Now
it is known to be a general property of matter. Likewise, as pointed
out earlier, it cannot be expected that the results of the ESP
experiments can be satisfactorily reproduced at will until the factors
which affect this phenomenon are ascertained, so that the conditions
under which the experiments are made can be accurately reproduced.
But in any event, science cannot justify closing its eyes to facts just
because some of the details are still obscure or because these facts do
not fit comfortably into the currently accepted framework of theory. If
ESP exists, as Mann concedes that it does, then the fact of its
existence is one of the things that science must recognize and come to
terms with. This point was emphasized in the replies to the
questionnaire sent out by the New Scientist. The believers (among
whom physicists and engineers were very strongly represented)
“argue that facts are facts, and that we must accept them whatever
they imply for our cherished world models.”144 Hardy expresses the
same sentiment:
I feel we are like proverbial ostriches with our heads in the sand if we
refuse to consider phenomena which some very good scientists and
philosophers regard as having already been demonstrated beyond
reasonable doubt.157
There is no question about the place of ESP in the theoretical structure
that is being developed in this volume. In Chapter 7 we applied our
new knowledge of the physical universe to a study of the interaction
of this universe with existence independent of it, and we were led to
the theoretical conclusion that the most advanced living organisms—
members of the human race—are under the partial or complete control
of intelligent units from Sector 3, the sector of the universe outside
space and time. Then, when we turned to the information that has
been gathered by observation and experiment, we found the situation
just as predicted by theory. The behavior of human beings is
incompatible in many respects with the behavior of other living
organisms and with the basic principles that govern purely biological
entities. It is therefore evident that at least some human beings are
subject to a different type of control, one which follows a different set
of basic principles, just as the theoretical study indicates.
In this present chapter, we further deduced that the Sector 3 units
which are combined with the human biological organisms and
exercise control over them should theoretically be able to
communicate with each other through channels independent of space
and time. Now we find that there is evidence from observation and
experiment which indicates that human beings are able, under
appropriate circumstances, to communicate with each other
independently of space and time by a process known as telepathy. The
observed facts are thus in agreement with the theoretical conclusions
derived by extension of the Reciprocal System of physical theory into
the metaphysical region.
But, after all, is there anything surprising about this? Isn’t this just
about what we would expect science to say when it finally got around
to investigating the subject? Here, for instance, is the way W. F. G.
Swann saw the picture in 1966 in an article published in the
Smithsonian Treasury of 20th-Century Science:
In contemplating the harmonization of life with what we call the laws
of inanimate matter, I expect to find a new set of laws…. I may expect
to find the formal recognition of some kind of a new entity differing
from those which we have encountered in physics. I do not
necessarily expect that this entity will be something which can be
described in terms of space and time…. I should expect to find it play
a role in those phenomena which for long have lain in the borderland
between what is accepted by all and what is accepted by only a few….
I refer to such things as extrasensory perception, the significance of
the immortality of man, clairvoyance, and allied phenomena.158
CHAPTER 9
Communication: General
In the preceding pages, we established theoretically, and confirmed by
observational information, that the control units which exercise full or
partial direction of the actions of human beings are intelligent and that
they are able to communicate directly with each other, utilizing
channels independent of space and time. Since the control unit is a
local manifestation of existence in Sector 3, the general metaphysical
region, it follows that all existences in Sector 3, or at least all
existences of this same type, are intelligent. We may further deduce
that the observed ability of the intelligent Sector 3 units which exist
within the space-time universe (the control units) to communicate
with each other through their own channels indicates that Sector 3
existences can communicate with each other by similar means
wherever they are located. Communication between the control units
and the Sector 3 existences outside space and time is therefore
theoretically possible. The present chapter will begin an exploration
of the available information bearing on this point.
If information about entities or events within the physical universe or
elsewhere is available to the external Sector 3 existences and is
transmitted by them to the control units, the human individuals under
the direction of these control units will acquire the information in a
manner not capable of physical explanation. An observed
phenomenon of this kind is the one known as clairvoyance, one of the
group of ESP phenomena. Like telepathy, it has been extensively
investigated in recent years, and the conclusions reached in the
preceding chapter with respect to the validity of the results obtained in
observations and experiments on telepathy are equally applicable to
clairvoyance. The difference between the two phenomena is that in
telepathy both the transmitter and the receiver are human individuals,
whereas in clairvoyance only one human being, the receiver, is
involved.
The concept of perceiving facts and events without the aid of physical
mechanisms and independently of space and time is a rather difficult
one for a person who exists in space and time and whose normal
activities are limited to the utilization of physical means. Some
discussion of the basic situation is therefore in order. According to the
findings of the Reciprocal System of theory, the physical universe is
composed entirely of units of motion, combinations of which
constitute the various physical entities. In the material sector of this
universe, where human life is located, there is a continuous, uniform
progression of time. Current physical theory regards this time as
one-dimensional, but the new theoretical development shows that it is
actually scalar; that is, it has magnitude only, without direction.
During this progression of time, change of position due to motion
takes place in three dimensions of space. An intelligent human
individual can become aware of events anywhere in the three
dimensions of space, subject to (1) the physical limitations of the
available communication means, and (2) the unidirectional nature of
the time progression, which limits the transmitted information to past
events.
As stated earlier, one of the most significant results of the
development of this new and more accurate physical theory is the
discovery that the material sector of the universe, which has
heretofore been believed to constitute the whole of the physical
universe, is actually only half of the total. There is another half, the
cosmic sector, as we are calling it, which is identical with the material
sector in every respect except that space and time are interchanged. In
this cosmic sector, there is a continuous, uniform scalar progression of
space. During this spatial progression, changes of position due to
motion take place in three dimensions of time. Here an intelligent
existence can become aware of events anywhere in the three
dimensions of time, subject to the same limitations that apply in the
material sector, except that instead of being limited to events in past
time (that is, events that have been passed in the time progression),
the transmitted information in the cosmic sector is limited to events at
locations that have been passed in the space progression.
Inasmuch as we have found that the limitations applicable to the
physical universe do not apply to the general metaphysical region, it
follows that an intelligent Sector 3 existence can become aware of
events anywhere in space or anywhere in time, with equal clarity
everywhere. Furthermore, the limitation of the speed of transmission
that applies to the physical universe is likewise inapplicable to Sector
3, where space and time do not exist, and speed, the ratio of space to
time, therefore has no meaning. We can also deduce that the Sector 3
existences are aware of whatever exists within the general
metaphysical region itself. All of the information at their command is
then available for transmission to qualified human receivers. One of
the transmission processes is clairvoyance.
The Sector 3 aspects of the human personality, the control units, are of
the same nature as the Sector 3 existences in the general metaphysical
region, and consequently, there is a possibility that the human control
units may be able to perceive these facts directly without having to
depend on transmission of the information from Sector 3. However,
our analysis of the third level of human life indicates that the control
units, as they exist at the present stage of the development of the
human race, are relatively primitive, occupying a position in their
field comparable to that of a single-celled organism in the biological
field. It therefore appears more likely that clairvoyance is a
manifestation of the inter-sector communication that we have found
theoretically possible. This conclusion is supported by the fact that
some of the related phenomena that will be discussed later clearly
belong in the communication category.
The independence from space and time demonstrated in the ESP
experiments and confirmed by the theoretical analysis is one of the
principal targets of the minority of scientists who still regard such
phenomena as impossible. Price, for example, lists this independence
as the first, and apparently the most serious of his objections to the
acceptance of the validity of the ESP results. C. W. Churchman calls
ESP a “termite hypothesis.” If such hypotheses turned out to be true,
they “would ruin or at least seriously tear the fine fabric of science’s
theoretical structure,”159 he insists. If that “fine fabric” correctly
represented the physical universe, he might have a valid point.
However, the conventional theoretical structure that men such as Price
and Churchman are so stoutly defending is not only full of
contradictions and inconsistencies, but far too limited in its scope to
serve as a basis for conclusions of a general nature. As the
development of the Reciprocal System has revealed, conventional
physical theory does not even account for all of the primary features
of the physical universe. It tells us nothing at all about existence in
general.
In the light of the new information that is now available, ESP is
completely in harmony with physical existence and it is a normal
feature of human life. It is contrary to the rules of the game in the
biological world, to be sure, just as the development of complex
biological organisms through evolutionary processes is contrary to the
rules of the game in the inanimate world. But the inanimate and the
biological do not constitute the whole of existence. We will find in the
course of our investigation that many aspects of human behavior are
just as foreign to the principles that govern physical activity—both
living and non-living—as clairvoyance. They seem less foreign only
because they are more familiar.
An interesting application of ESP takes place in gambling. It is not
generally appreciated that gambling is an experiment in clairvoyance,
specifically the anticipatory, or precognition, type of clairvoyance.
The gambler is trying to anticipate what will happen on the next turn
of the wheel, the next flip of a card, or the next roll of the dice, in just
as real a sense as the subject in the parapsychology laboratory who is
specifically being tested for ESP ability. The striking fact about these
unintentional ESP experiments in the gambling establishments is that
they arrive at essentially the same results, from the qualitative
standpoint, as the experiments that are deliberately aimed at one
aspect or another of the ESP phenomena.
The action at a roulette table, for instance, has a close resemblance to
the conventional ESP experiments. The general run of the results in
both cases is close to that which would be expected on the basis of
pure chance. But occasionally a player has a run of phenomenal
“luck” in which the normal principles of probability seem to be totally
inoperative. Such an occurrence is rare, but still frequent enough to
make it necessary for the management to impose some special limits
or other rules to prevent undue losses. Like the successes in the
analogous ESP experiments, the “run of luck” in gambling generally
tapers off after a time, and at the end of a session, the results are
usually less favorable than at the start. Furthermore, as in the ESP
tests, the favorable run cannot be deliberately repeated, no matter how
much of an effort is made to duplicate the original conditions.
The general conclusions that can be drawn from both kinds of
experiment are:
1. No evidence of a general ESP capability has been found.
2. There is some evidence of uncertain validity suggesting that a
substantial number of individuals may have a small ESP ability.
3. A few persons are spectacularly successful in demonstrating
ESP on some occasions.
4. This high-level ESP capability is erratic and not subject to
voluntary control by any methods now known.
The success ratio is substantially lower in the gambling
establishments than in the planned ESP experiments. This does not
affect the significance of the results so far as the existence of the ESP
phenomena is concerned. As long as some persons are able to
demonstrate ESP capability at some times, this confirms the existence
of ESP just as definitely as if the success ratio had been higher. But
the reasons for the difference in this ratio are worth giving some
consideration because of the light that they may throw on the
requirements that must be met in order to accomplish ESP reception
or transmission. These issues will be discussed in Chapter 25.
The fact that the results achieved in gambling practically duplicate the
results of the more conventional ESP experiments, qualitatively if not
quantitatively, has a particular significance in that these results are not
open to the charge of trickery that plays such an important part in the
objections raised to the ESP experiments by Hansel and other critics.
There is a long history of trickery and dishonesty in gambling houses,
to be sure, but where anything of this kind exists, it favors the
management, not the customer.
In order to lay the groundwork for consideration of the next
phenomenon on our schedule, let us return to the question of the
capabilities of a mechanism. In Chapter 7 we approached this issue
from the positive direction, as we were primarily concerned with the
question as to what a machine can do. Now we are interested in the
negative side of the same issue: the question as to what a machine
cannot do. The giant strides that have been taken in the design and
manufacture of computers and allied types of machines in recent years
have generated a great deal of loose talk regarding the potentialities of
such equipment. In approaching such a subject as the one now under
consideration, it is therefore necessary to recognize that those who use
the term “intelligence” in connection with these machines are giving
this term the minimum definition that we employed in Chapter 7.
For instance, Marvin L. Minsky introduces an article on Artificial
Intelligence with the statement: “In this article I shall describe some
programs that enable a computer to behave in ways that probably
everyone would agree seem to show intelligence,” but before he
comes to the end of the article, he is forced to concede that “No
[computer] program today, however, can work any genuinely
important change in its own basic structure.”160 In other words, it can
do only those things which it was specifically designed to do.
Similarly, D. A. Bell has published a book with the intriguing title
Intelligent Machines, but when we look at page one of this book we
find this qualification:
This corresponds roughly with that aspect of intelligence which is
concerned with deduction of incontrovertible conclusions from
specified data, leaving aside the more creative aspect of intelligence
which is seen in the processes of induction and association.161
The significant point here is that the machine can only work with
“specified data”—that is the kind of data that it is specifically
designed to handle—and it must come to “incontrovertible
conclusions,” which means that it can operate only in accordance with
rigid rules. These are characteristics, not of any particular class of
machines, but of machines in general. Norbert Wiener makes the same
point in a discussion of machines devised to play games. “In general,”
he says, “a game playing machine may be used to secure the
automatic performance of any function if the performance of this
function is subject to a clear-cut objective criterion of merit.”162 In
the words of the conclusion that we reached in Chapter 7, a
mechanism can adapt its behavior to new situations as long as the
game is played according to the rules, but it cannot cope with any
deviation from the rules, nor can it initiate any change in the rules.
“The computer can systematize knowledge at lightning speeds, but it
is still the dumb servant that disgorges only that which man puts into
it,”163 observes Arthur Bronwell. The same point is made, somewhat
inelegantly, but forcibly, in one of the favorite aphorisms of the
computer industry itself: “Garbage in, garbage out.”
As Bell indicates, a mechanism must operate deductively, following
the principles that are embodied in its construction, the rules of the
game, as we have called them. Only the most rudimentary inductive
processes, such as simple enumeration, can be handled mechanically,
and then only to the extent that the objectives of these processes can
be approached by predetermined procedures. The more complex
processes by which we arrive at genuinely new ideas are inherently
beyond the capacity of a mechanism, no matter how complex and
sophisticated it may be, and regardless of whether that mechanism is
physical or biological. The problems that require new concepts and
new understandings will never by solved by animals or by computers.
A machine would not be able, for instance, to observe a falling rock, a
lightning flash, a lump of coal, and a pool of water in the high
mountains; to abstract from these the feature that they share in
common; and to formulate the concept of energy. Nor would a
machine be able to see that a falling apple points the way to an
explanation of the motions of the planets in their orbits. Outstanding
achievements such as these are rare, to be sure, but less spectacular
results of the same general nature are being produced regularly, and
they are all totally beyond the capacity of human beings as biological
mechanisms. They necessarily have to be produced in some other
way.
What, then, is this other way? The most striking feature of the process
by which new ideas are derived is that no one can explain how it
operates. “Nobody has ever been able to discover a procedure
guaranteed to produce insight,” reports Max Black, and he goes on to
say, “even the greatest scientists have been able to do little more than
marvel at the apparently miraculous source of their most fruitful
notions.”31 Similar comments have been made by a great many
observers. The particular words in which these comments have been
expressed have a significance that is very pertinent to the present
inquiry, and the exact wording of the statement by Black and the
following additional quotations selected from current scientific and
philosophical literature should therefore be considered carefully.
We know neither what takes place in this movement of discovery, nor
how to control it and foster it. We recognize our failure by calling it a
“mystery.”164 (A. Cornelius Benjamin)
An entirely different order of image-forming is involved in creative
imagination, the most profound of human activities. It provides the
illumination that gives a new insight or understanding… . The
illumination often has the suddenness of a flash, as with Kekule and
the benzene ring, Darwin and the theory of evolution, Hamilton and
his equations.165 (John C. Eccles)
My view may be expressed by saying that every discovery contains
“an irrational element,” or a “creative intuition” in Bergson’s
sense.166 (Karl Popper)
The person having cultivated this remarkable faculty, however, is
capable of performing what has been called the “inductive leap,” a
passage which seems to soar over the intervening gap between
abstractions and facts with an ease not given to the ordinary mortal…
. There is something striking, incomprehensible, psychologically
miraculous about this leap, something akin to revelation in
religion.167 (Henry Margenau)
Man’s intellectual history has been marked by many moments of
sudden revelation, both in science and in philosophy.168 (Harlow
Shapley)
Poets and prophets are not alone in their visions; a young scientist—it
happens mostly to the young—may in a flash glimpse a distant peak
that no one else has seen.169 (James R. Newman)
Instead of going from step to step with conscious certainty, as some
do, these men [such as Einstein] make large intellectual jumps as
though borne by a guiding necessity. Sometimes they reveal that such
solutions occur to them “in a sudden flash of insight” after long, even
feverish, study.170 (Holton and Roller)
The new paradigm, or a sufficient hint to permit later articulation,
emerges all at once, sometimes in the middle of the night, in the mind
of a man deeply immersed in crisis. What the nature of that final stage
is—how an individual invents (or finds he has invented) a new way of
giving order to data now all assembled—must here remain inscrutable
and may be permanently so.171 (Thomas S. Kuhn)
The first point to which these authors testify is that the knowledge
comes suddenly. Three of them use the word “sudden,” a like number
speak of a “flash,” Margenau calls it a “leap,” to Holton and Roller it
is a “jump.” The second point that they stress is that the manner in
which it comes is spontaneous and wholly unexplainable—
miraculous, say two of the writers (a term that is all the more
significant because it comes from men who do not believe in
miracles). The origin is incomprehensible, inscrutable, irrational,
others assert.
Now where have we encountered this kind of a phenomenon before?
These are exactly the characteristics of clairvoyance: the knowledge
comes suddenly, in a physically unexplainable manner, and every one
of the descriptive words listed in the preceding paragraph would be
equally as applicable to the clairvoyance phenomenon as to inductive
insight. These two phenomena are simply two manifestations of the
same thing: communication of information from Sector 3 existences
to the control units that exercise direction over the human organisms.
We have deduced theoretically that such communication should exist;
now we find two phenomena in which it does exist. This existence is
evident, not only because the manner in which the information is
received is exactly what it should be on the basis of this explanation,
but also because in the case of inductive insight (and sometimes also
in clairvoyance) there is no physical way in which the information
could have been received. It could not have come through any
mechanistic channels—any method of reception available to man as a
biological mechanism—because a mechanism can only work with
what Bell called “specified data”; it cannot reach any new
conclusions. As Coulson remarks, “It seems as if the inner truths of
our concepts and our brilliant imagination are not really our own at
all.”172
Of course, this means that a great many of the ideas that occur to
human individuals come through these Sector 3 channels. The
spectacular achievements of great scientists to which the adjective
“miraculous” is so freely applied are basically no different from the
innumerable “flashes of insight” that are occurring every day to
individuals in all walks of life. Margenau points out specifically that
the “miraculous” inductive leap “akin to revelation in religion” which
he mentions in the quotation above is equally present in many
occurrences of ordinary life. “Less spectacular instances of intuition
in this sense,” he says, “also occur in ordinary cognition, where they
are called instinctive guesses or successful conjectures.”167 A. C.
Benjamin makes a similar comment:
In fact such sudden appearances of novel ideas occur to all of us in
much less pretentious situations. We say that the ideas “pop” into our
heads, that we have “flashes of insight,” often in the middle of the
night.173
The difference between these minor flashes of insight and the
outstanding scientific achievements is merely one of degree. The
human mechanism (Level 2) is no more capable of formulating an
inconsequential new idea than it is of formulating a revolutionary new
scientific concept. It is the novelty that is beyond the capacity of a
mechanism; the nature of the novelty and its degree of importance or
unimportance are entirely irrelevant. Furthermore, the need for a
metaphysical source is not eliminated if the idea is familiar to
someone else. Unless the individual himself has physical access to the
idea, or to the basic information from which he can derive it by
physical processes, he can get it only from non-physical sources by
non-physical means.
The term “intuition” is commonly used in a broad sense to include the
entire range from the major flashes of insight down to trivial items of
everyday experience. One dictionary defines intuition as “the power
of knowing without recourse to inference or reasoning.” Another says
it is “the direct or immediate perception of truths, facts, etc., without
reasoning.” All such definitions, specifying, as they do, what intuition
is not rather than what it is, merely emphasize the fact that the nature
of this process is physically inexplicable. As Max Black says in the
statement previously quoted, the intuitive ideas come from an
“apparently miraculous source,” which means a non-physical source.
Our finding is that intuition is, indeed, a non-physical process, but it is
nevertheless a strictly natural process, not a miraculous one. It is
direct communication between Sector 3 and the control units through
Sector 3 channels.
Quite obviously, much of the information obtained through flashes of
insight or other forms of intuition is erroneous, either in whole or in
part. In the opinion of most philosophers, this unreliability of the
information invalidates the entire concept of intuitive knowledge.
“How can the intuitionist defend himself in the face of the notoriously
conflicting beliefs which different persons, societies, and civilizations
hold about what is good, what is right, what is our duty?”174 asks
John Hospers. But this criticism only applies to intuition as a source
of information, as Hospers, in effect, concedes in saying, “One can
make a strong case, then, for holding that the whole idea of knowing
by intuition is a mistake.”175 The finding of this present work is that
intuition is not a source of information; it is a means of transmitting
information. It is, we have reason to believe, a reliable transmitter.
The unreliability of the messages, as they are received, is due to the
inadequacy of the receiving equipment. Paraphrasing Pasteur’s
comment with respect to the results of chance, we may say that true
insight comes only to the prepared mind.
Unless the receiver is adequately prepared to handle the information
which he receives, it will not be intelligible either to him or to anyone
else to whom he attempts to communicate it, no matter how accurate
the information may have been at the source, or how faithfully it was
transmitted. For example, Aristotle, who lived about 350 B.C., could
not have received the insight that would have enabled him to
formulate a theory of electromagnetic induction. A long series of
mental leaps by many different individuals over more than two
thousand years was necessary before the proper conceptual
background could even be established to permit discovery of the
phenomenon. Michael Faraday finally made this leap in 1831, but a
satisfactory theory that would explain his discovery was still a long
way off. As this experience indicates, the quality of the reception
depends on the general level of knowledge as well as on the receptive
capability of the particular individual concerned, not because this
general level has any particular significance in itself, but because it
determines the level of knowledge which the individual can attain by
study of the existing body of information. Some individuals will be
able to leap farther than others, but the height of the platform from
which the leap is taken is a very important factor in determining the
extent of the ultimate accomplishment.
It is this need for a body of knowledge from which to operate that has
misled some investigators into believing that it is the study of the
problem that brings forth the answer. For example, Mario Bunge
asserts that “Creative scientists do have ’natural revelations’ or
’illuminations,’ but never before finding, stating, and studying a
problem,”176 and he cites this as evidence against intuitionism. But
the study is done by the human machine, and machines are inherently
incapable of arriving at anything that is genuinely new. Intensive
study of the subject is essential, but it is only preparatory. The “natural
revelation” has to come later by means of an intuitive process.
When the platform provided by the established body of knowledge
has reached a level within striking distance of the actual truth, some
individual who is well prepared with a thorough understanding of this
established knowledge, and also has a greater than normal degree of
insight—that is, ability to receive information from Sector 3—will
grasp that truth fully and accurately. In the meantime, individuals who
are less gifted in this respect, or who are handicapped by having a less
adequate store of knowledge to which the intuitive information can be
related, or both, will also be receiving the message, but not being well
enough equipped to receive it clearly, will get it in an incomplete or
erroneous version. This spurious “insight” will arrive in the same way
as the genuine information, and to the recipient, it will be
indistinguishable from the genuine.
Since only a relatively small number of individuals are qualified to
receive full and complete insight in any relatively advanced field of
knowledge, and then only in a limited segment of that field, the
incomplete and erroneous intuitions greatly outnumber the genuine. In
the scientific areas, where testing of new ideas by comparison with the
facts of observation and experiment is standard practice, most of the
erroneous matter is identified as such sooner or later, and then
discarded; but in other branches of human activity where objective
standards of this kind are lacking, the spurious items usually coexist
with the genuine, and are championed just as strongly by those who
believe that they have been given a glimpse of the truth. Even in
science there is a large amount of misinformation masquerading as
genuine knowledge. Basically this is chargeable to a characteristically
human, but definitely unscientific, reluctance to admit ignorance: a
strong tendency to say, “We know… ,” when the correct statement
would be, “We think… .”
The lack of certainty in the products of intuition, ESP, or insight (the
same process under different names) also has an effect in the opposite
direction, in that genuine items of information received through such
channels often remain unrecognized as such because they are not
distinguished from the mass of misinformation with which they are
associated. The statement by W. F. G. Swann from which the
quotation at the end of Chapter 8 was taken is a good example. This is
actually a most remarkable anticipation of the results of the present
work. Every word that is quoted is strictly in accord with the findings
of our investigation. In existence as a whole, which we are exploring
in these pages, there is “a new set of laws,” the laws of Sector 3.
There is a “new kind of entity,” the Sector 3 control unit. This entity
“cannot be described in terms of space and time,” as it is independent
of space and time. It “plays a role,” a very significant role, in ESP and
the other “borderline phenomena” that Swann mentions. In fact, this
statement is so accurate that it is, in itself, a phenomenon that requires
an explanation. Quite clearly, it is a genuine insight, or intuitive
understanding, that did not receive its just due at the time of
publication because the scientific community was not able to
distinguish it from the many inaccurate pronouncements on the same
subject.
In view of the questionable nature of so much of the information
obtained by intuition or insight, it may legitimately be asked what
justification there is for giving any weight to the products of these
processes. The answer can be found in what has been said about the
capabilities of mechanisms. Some of the kinds of information that we
need cannot be obtained in any other way. For instance, in order that
the advance of human knowledge may continue, we are constantly in
need of new ideas, and, as has been brought out in the previous
discussion, the physical mechanism of which the human mind is a part
is subject to the same limitations as any other mechanism. It cannot
produce anything that is genuinely new. The innovations that are
required must come from a non-physical source through some form of
intuition.
Furthermore, there are aspects of human existence about which
nothing can be learned from experience. Philosophers have never
been able, for example, to find any empirical basis from which ethical
standards can be derived. The strict empiricist therefore denies the
validity of ethical judgments. “In every case in which one would
commonly be said to be making an ethical judgement,” says Ayer,
“the function of the relevant ethical word is purely ’emotive.’ It is
used to express feeling about certain objects, but not to make any
assertion about them.”177 But all this rests on the empiricists’
assumption that there are no non-physical sources of information.
“There is no criterion by which one can test the validity of the
judgements in which they [the fundamental ethical concepts] occur,”
contends Ayer. Our findings now show that this assumption is
incorrect, and that the lack of an empirical basis for ethics does not
mean that there is no basis anywhere; it merely means that ethics is
inherently non-physical, and the ethical standards therefore have to be
obtained from a non-physical source by some intuitive process: the
non-physical means of communication.
The inability of the philosophers to find any empirical—that is,
physical—basis for ethics is actually a significant addition to the
many items of evidence confirming the validity of the inductive
conclusion reached in Chapter 4: the conclusion as to the reality of
non-physical existence, independent of space and time. The
empiricists take their stand on the premise that the physical universe is
the whole of existence. Since ethical principles cannot be derived
from physical experience, they then deduce that there is no meaning
in ethics. As expressed by Ayer, “sentences which simply express
moral judgements do not say anything.”177 This reasoning is valid,
but it arrives at a conclusion that is manifestly false. Moral judgments
do say something to us. The empiricists have thus given us a reductio
ad absurdum: a proof of the falsity of the premise that the physical
universe is the whole of existence. When we recognize that moral
judgments do have meaning, and take this fact as our premise, we turn
the empiricists’ logic upside down. Since there are moral (ethical)
principles, and, as the empiricists insist, there is no physical basis
from which such principles can be derived, it necessarily follows that
they originate from a non-physical source. The reality of non-physical
existence is thus confirmed.
Neither scientific insight nor intuition gives us positive and certain
answers to all of our questions. In some cases, there is virtual
certainty. In others, we obtain answers that have only some degree of
probability of being correct; but in these instances, whatever
uncertainty may exist can be eliminated by a process of verification.
In this respect, intuition is similar to inductive reasoning. Indeed, it is
often combined with the inductive process. Induction is usually
carried out by means of some expedient such as extrapolation which
enables working from an established base; but in many cases this is
not feasible, and the investigator must rely on what he generally
characterizes as his “imagination.” If the problem is one which
requires some new insight, imagination is not likely to take him very
far unless it is accompanied by an intuitive grasp of the general
features of the correct answer. In any event, the basis for the use of
both intuition and inductive reasoning is that, by combining a process
whose results are subject to a degree of uncertainty with a verification
process, we arrive at results that are just as reliable as those that
would be obtained from an inherently accurate single process in many
important areas where no such single process can be applied.
The question now naturally arises: Since all of the intuitive
applications that have been discussed thus far are essentially nothing
but variations of the same basic process, why are there such extreme
differences in their ability to produce results? The answer lies in the
kind of information that is sought. It appears that correct intuitive
answers to simple questions of right and wrong are readily accessible
to almost everyone, and nearly everyone arrives at the same judgment
on these simple issues. Agreement among the recipients of intuitive
information, as we will see later, is one of the criteria of the validity of
that information. Scientific insight, on the contrary, is eagerly sought,
but rarely attained. It is not only difficult to get an intuitive answer to
a scientific problem; it is even more difficult to get the right answer in
a clear enough form to make it usable. The experiments on
clairvoyance involve a still more difficult situation. In this case,
clear-cut results are so seldom obtained that the very existence of the
phenomenon is questioned by some observers.
Two general principles derived from experience are sufficient to
explain the observed situation. First, broad generalizations are more
easily obtained intuitively than specific details, particularly
inconsequential details. It is easier, for example, to obtain an intuitive
answer to the question, Is it wrong to steal?, than it is to get an
intuitive judgment on some of the specific activities of Robin Hood.
Second, information indigenous to the habitat of the inquirer is more
easily obtained than that which must come from sources that are in
any way “foreign.” In the case of simple questions of right and wrong,
both factors are favorable. The inquirer, the Sector 3 unit that is part
of the human personality, is asking for information of a very general
nature from a source of his (or its) own nature. It is therefore easily
obtained and has a high probability of being correct. In seeking
scientific insight, he is asking for information of a much more specific
nature that must be obtained from a source, the physical universe, that
to him is foreign. (It is not foreign to the Sector 2 aspect of the human
being, but the Sector 2 life unit is not in communication with the
metaphysical region from which the intuitive information must come.)
The conditions in this case are therefore much less favorable. It is
more difficult to establish the intuitive contact, and the probability of
error in the reception of the information is much greater. In the usual
experiment on clairvoyance, both factors are highly unfavorable. The
information that is being sought is not only foreign (that is, physical);
it is also highly specific and usually trivial.
A significant point here is that the accuracy of the intuitive results
obtained by these different processes is also definitely correlated with
the kind of information that is being sought and the ease of obtaining
it. As already noted, there are adequate grounds for concluding that
simple ethical judgments are generally valid. The same considerations
also indicate that there is a high probability that any other simple
intuitive conclusion of a general nature about ethical or other
non-physical matters is also valid. Of course, this does not eliminate
the necessity of verification in order to reach certainty, but it does
mean that the verification requirements can be somewhat less
rigorous. Furthermore, in those cases where verification is not
immediately feasible, it is sound practice to accord tentative
acceptance to an intuitive conclusion with a high probability of being
correct, pending the time that a definitive test becomes possible. This
makes the relation between the kind of information sought and the
accuracy of the results very important in some applications.
The two general principles that were used in the preceding discussion
to explain the differences in the reliability of the results obtained by
means of the various intuitive processes can equally well be used in
the inverse manner; that is, by noting what kind of information a
particular intuitive process is seeking, we can arrive at an indication
of the extent and probable accuracy of the information that can be
obtained by this means. This availability of a method of assessing the
scope and reliability of an intuitive process will be especially
significant in connection with the subject matter of the next chapter,
where we will consider one of the most important of these processes.
It will also be of assistance in evaluating the possibility of mind
reading, an application of ESP that intrigues many persons in this
modern era where the line of demarcation between science fact and
science fiction is indistinct and hard to locate.
Hansel sees no difference between mind reading and telepathy.
“Telepathy,” he says, “is a new name for mind reading.”178 But
telepathy involves both transmission and reception, and it is
impossible without the active participation of the individual on the
transmitting end of the process. This is not what is meant by mind
reading. The mind readers in the science fiction books read one’s
thoughts as they would a book. Those with the most highly developed
capabilities do so even if the subject tries to resist the penetration of
his mind. Such a phenomenon belongs in the clairvoyance class.
Clairvoyance is normally regarded as a means of obtaining
information about objects or events, but it should be equally capable
of producing information about processes such as mental activity,
since the physical status of processes is no different from that of
objects or events. We may therefore conclude that mind reading is
possible in principle. On the basis of the considerations outlined in the
preceding pages, we may further conclude that the reliability of the
process under the conditions now prevailing will be comparable to
that of clairvoyance in general.
But mind reading which has no more reliability than this is useless.
The situation here is much different from that with respect to scientific
insight. If the products of such insight are valid in only one case out of
a hundred, the process is still extremely valuable, as the verification
procedures that are available eliminate the erroneous results and
identify the one that is valid. Here the intuitive process enables us to
get needed information that cannot be obtained in any other way. On
the other hand, mind reading that is able to determine only one
thought out of a hundred, or even one in ten, correctly, and cannot
even be sure which of the “readings” is the correct one, is of no
practical value. As matters stand in the world today, we can therefore
say that while some direct perception of another person’s thought no
doubt occurs spontaneously in isolated instances, in much the same
way that spontaneous telepathic transmission apparently occurs,
intentional reading of minds is not feasible.
CHAPTER 10
Revelation
In our discussion of the wording of the descriptions of inductive
insight that were quoted in Chapter 9, one word was intentionally
passed over without particular emphasis, as its significance can be
more fully appreciated in connection with the subject we are now
about to consider. Let us take another look at the quotation from
Shapley and a portion of the statement by Margenau.
Man’s intellectual history has been marked by many moments of
sudden revelation, both in science and in philosophy. (Harlow
Shapley)
There is something striking, incomprehensible, psychologically
miraculous about this [inductive] leap, something akin to revelation in
religion. (Henry Margenau)
Accounts of sudden illumination of scientific issues under intense
study frequently stress this resemblance to religious revelation. For
example, Henri Poincaré, the great French mathematician, was
particularly interested in phenomena of this kind because of a striking
experience of his own, often cited in scientific literature. He had been
engaged in studying a certain problem with little success.
Some time later, as Poincaré was boarding an omnibus with a friend,
the solution of the problem came to him instantly. It was as though he
were standing on a mountain overlooking the dark valley, which was
illuminated for an instant by a flash of lightning. In that instant the
whole problem became clear to him, although it took him many weeks
to write down and derive all the relations. If Poincaré had been a
mystic, he would have regarded the event as a revelation; actually, he
ascribed the occurrence to his subconscious mind, which he believed
had continued to work on the problem after the conscious mind was
otherwise engaged… . It later developed that men involved in creative
work in many fields had encountered the same sort of event… . Many
of them compared the occurrence to a blinding flash of light.179
This account, quoted by Marshall J. Walker from an original French
source, not only corroborates the statements in Chapter 9 as to the
manner in which insight is attained, but again brings out the striking
resemblance to religious revelation. In the light of our finding that
scientific insight, ESP, and intuition are merely different
manifestations of the same process—communication between Sector
3 and the control units—it is now clear that the “miraculous” flashes
of insight in science, in philosophy, and in other fields, are not only
“akin to revelation in religion,” they are identical with revelation in
religion. Shapley’s statement should read, “Man’s intellectual history
has been marked by many moments of sudden revelation, in science,
in philosophy, and in religion.” In all of these cases, a prepared mind
under the control of a Sector 3 unit has been able to receive a
communication from the outside sector of the universe: Sector 3. It is
not only in science that someone “in a flash glimpses a distant peak
that no else has seen,” as Newman put it. This happens in all branches
of thought, including religion. Wherever and whenever it occurs, the
intuitive event is a result of the same kind of a process. Recognition of
this fact has not been lacking. R. B. Lindsay, for example, has this to
say:
Ethical theory, like scientific theory, seems to have originated in the
minds of profound thinkers, who fell back for justification not merely
on experience but on their own imaginative powers. In the case of
ethics, the latter has often been termed illumination or revelation. It
can hardly be considered essentially different from the stroke of
inspiration at the basis of the invention of a new scientific theory.180
Lindsay is calling attention to the similarity mainly as a means of
downgrading religious revelation. He and other scientists who have
made similar comments are assuming that inductive insight is a purely
human ability and that its similarity to revelation is evidence that the
latter has no different standing. In fact, many scientists specifically
condemn the idea of revelation, in the usual sense, as an untenable
hypothesis. Speaking on their behalf, and also, he asserts, for “liberal
thinkers within the churches,” Julian Huxley says, “we reject the idea
of direct revelation as merely the crude symbolism of an earlier
age.”181 But Huxley himself testifies to having had experiences which
he admits had the characteristics of revelation. Of one such incident,
he gives this report:
Suddenly, for no particular reason, without apparent connection with
other thoughts, a problem and its solution flashed across my mind… .
It also had that definite quality of being thrown into consciousness,
implied in the term revelation, which has been described for purely
intellectual discovery by many mathematicians and men of science,
notably Poincaré in his essays on scientific method.182
Huxley here admits that problems and their solutions “flash” into his
mind from an unknown source and by an unknown process, “thrown
into consciousness,” as he says. He can hardly deny that the same
thing may happen to others; that deeply religious men may find
solutions to religious problems thrown into their consciousness in the
same mysterious manner, hence his words are a tacit admission of the
reality of the phenomenon of revelation. His objection thus reduces to
nothing more than an unwillingness to accept the religious claims as
to the source of the revelations. Such skepticism may have had a
certain amount of justification when no evidence of the reality of
metaphysical existence was available, but the findings of this work
have now demonstrated that revelation definitely is a process of
obtaining information from metaphysical sources, as the religious
community has always claimed.
It is true that there are a host of contradictions between the revelations
which the various religions claim to have received, while many more
of these purported revelations contradict observed facts, but such
contradictions are the rule rather than the exception in human
testimony. Experience in courts of law shows that even eyewitness
accounts by different individuals often give totally different versions
of the same event. A little serious reflection over the history of the
nuclear atom concept, as set forth in detail in The Case Against the
Nuclear Atom,183 should help to give the scientist a better
understanding of why contradictions exist, how easy it is to misread
the message from Sector 3 when it first arrives—whether by scientific
insight or by revelation—and how tenaciously the human mind, be it
scientific or non-scientific, clings to a misinterpretation once it has
achieved general acceptance in the community where it originates. As
this atomic experience shows, the “priests” of the scientific
establishment are just as dogmatic in their adherence to current
doctrine, and just as prone to close their eyes to unwelcome facts that
disturb that doctrine, as the priests of the religious establishment.
A scientific analysis, based on a more complete knowledge of the
physical universe than that which was available to either Lindsay or
Huxley, now shows that religious revelation can and does take place,
and that the “purely intellectual” flashes of insight of the kind that
Huxley reports experiencing are simply other manifestations of the
same phenomenon: communications originating in Sector 3. Lindsay
was right in asserting that revelation is not essentially different from a
scientific “stroke of inspiration,” but he drew the wrong conclusion
from this. The similarity between them does not downgrade religious
revelation; it upgrades inductive insight. A new scientific idea is just
as much a revelation as a new ethical idea, and it comes from the
same source. Now that the reality of metaphysical existence has been
demonstrated in this work, if one’s religious beliefs lead to a definite
identification of that existence (something that this work does not do),
so that he attributes moral revelation to that specifically defined
source, then the new scientific idea also comes from the same source.
Rabbi Roland B. Gittelsohn recognizes the logic of this position in the
following statement:
Whenever or wherever a human being reaches out to grasp a truth that
has never been comprehended before… or to create or appreciate a
higher dimension of beauty… or to achieve a loftier level of ethical
conduct… then and there God has revealed Himself to man again.
Divine revelation is just as apt to take place in a laboratory or studio,
on a concert platform or counting-board, as it is in a pulpit.184
On the foregoing basis, revelation is a source of information coequal
with experience. Although this is the traditional religious viewpoint,
and is strongly emphasized in most of the Eastern religions, it is
contrary to some present-day theological views. “Human thought,”
says John Hick, “can only deal with material which has been given in
experience. Just as our knowledge of the physical world is ultimately
based on sense perception, so any religious knowledge must
ultimately be based upon aspects of human experience which are
received as revelatory.”185 This is a good example of the religious
retreat toward naturalism that has been taking place because of the
growing prestige of science. Under pressure from science, those who
share this “non-propositional” view, as Hick calls it, have abandoned
the concept of direct communication from a source outside the
space-time universe, on which all of the major Western religions were
originally based, and have fallen back to the position that any
communication from such a source must take place indirectly by
means of some kind of an effect on “the events of history.”
Ironically, our present investigation demonstrates that this retreat was
wholly unnecessary. Scientists never did have any actual evidence to
indicate that there are no metaphysical sources of information. But
they have forced the ecclesiastics to retreat from one untenable
position to another, and by this time, have succeeded in intimidating
the theologians to the point where essential religious positions are
being abandoned. Once it is conceded that nothing can be
communicated to the human race except through human experience, it
is only one short step to the naturalistic conclusion that there is no
source other than human experience. But now a further extension of
scientific knowledge has shown that the previous scientific
assumption that the whole of existence is encompassed within the
physical universe is wrong, and that the original religious concept of
revelation from an outside source is correct.
On the basis of the new and accurate knowledge of the physical
universe, the universe of space and time, we have been able, by
standard methods of inductive reasoning, to arrive at the conclusion
that there is existence outside space and time, or more accurately,
independent of space and time. Certain consequences of such an
existence, which are highly characteristic and wholly incapable of
explanation on a physical basis, have then been developed by logical
means, and the existence of these consequences, in the exact forms
predicted theoretically, has been verified observationally in exactly the
same manner in which all other scientific findings are confirmed. The
scientific verification is thus complete and positive. It is now
physically certain that there is existence independent of space and
time.
The reality of such an outside existence is the most essential element
in religious doctrine, the most important item which religion claims to
have ascertained through revelation. Our scientific study, utilizing
up-to-the-minute scientific knowledge, thus verifies the accuracy of
religious revelation in this respect. The most basic assertions of the
transcendental religions, (1) that there is existence independent of
space and time, (2) that there is an aspect of human life related to that
outside existence, and (3) that there is communication between the
outside existence and human beings, have now been verified by the
standard methods of science. The development of thought in the
preceding pages that has led to this highly significant result was
carried out strictly in accordance with scientific principles and
procedures, and all of the conclusions reached along the way are
scientific conclusions, even though they pertain to fields which
science has heretofore been unable to penetrate, and which have
therefore been thought to be beyond the reach of science. The present
study has been able to deal with these hitherto inaccessible subjects
because it has what has previously been lacking: a complete and
comprehensive general theory of the physical universe that provides a
solid base from which to extend scientific inquiry into the
metaphysical region.
Verification of these three basic religious assertions does not confirm
the validity of other religious revelations. Even though our analysis
shows that revelation is a powerful, and potentially accurate, means of
obtaining metaphysical information, this does not guarantee the
authenticity of any specific revelation. Nor can purported revelations
be accepted on the strength of religious authority. Religious revelation
is subject to the same weakness that applies to scientific revelation, or
insight, as it is more commonly called; that is, much of it, perhaps
most of it, is wrong. Before we can accept any of the specific items
claimed to have been received through revelation, or any other
intuitive process, it is therefore necessary to verify that item just as we
would if it were a purported scientific discovery.
We need to subject our philosophical and religious views to the
recognized tests of truth. They should be open to criticism, to
remolding, and to replacement by more adequate views whenever the
evidence warrants such revision.186 (H. H. Titus)
As brought out in Chapter 9, the nature of the subject matter has an
important bearing on the a priori probability of validity, and therefore
on the amount of corroborative evidence that is required. From the
general considerations previously discussed, it is clear that those
purported revelations which apply to relatively simple metaphysical
subjects, such as the three general items already mentioned (simple
moral concepts, etc.), have a high probability of being correct. This
probability decreases rapidly as the subjects become more complex,
not because the correct information is less available, but because the
recipients are less adequately prepared to receive the more
complicated messages. Purported revelations about matters pertaining
to the physical universe—“foreign” subjects, in the terms used in the
discussion in Chapter 9—are quite likely to be wrong.
So far as possible, we will want to apply the same tests to the
purported revelations that science utilizes in the physical field. As
explained in Chapter 2, the standard method of scientific verification
is based upon comparisons with empirical data. In the first instance,
this must be a direct correlation between the theoretical conclusions
and the facts of observation or measurement. After the validity of
certain principles has been established with physical certainty, further
extension of knowledge involves a more complex process of
verification in which the manner of derivation of the proposition
under consideration plays an important part. In those cases where it
can be demonstrated that the proposition is a necessary and
unavoidable consequence of some other proposition or propositions
whose validity has previously been established with physical
certainty, no further confirmation is necessary. If the derivation merely
establishes a probability that the proposition is correct, rather than a
certainty, factual correlations are necessary to complete the
verification, but the greater the initial probability the less factual
corroboration is needed.
The nature of the material with which religious revelations deal is
such that definite verification by the method of direct comparison with
observational data is not feasible in most instances. Such correlations
can be made only where there are physical effects that can be
observed. They cannot be utilized where the subject of the revelation
is a totally non-physical item such as the intuitive recognition of
ethical standards. There are, however, other criteria whereby the
validity of revealed non-physical information can be judged, and if
enough support of this nature can be assembled, the possibility that
the revealed item may be incorrect can be reduced to a negligible
level, thus accomplishing the same result as the correlation with
experience, and arriving at what we have called “physical certainty.”
As noted in Chapter 2, this is the most that we can do in any case,
physical or non-physical.
One important criterion in the non-physical area is the extent of
agreement among those who claim to have received revelations on the
particular subject. It is true that in those instances where one religion
has developed out of, or has been strongly influenced by, another,
agreement is not very significant. For example, Christianity developed
out of Judaism, and Judaism, in turn, was influenced to a major degree
by Egyptian religious thinking. Points of resemblance between these
three systems of religious thought are therefore more likely to be a
result of ideas passed on from one to the other than a result of parallel
revelations. On the other hand, points of resemblance between
religions originating independently in different parts of the world can
be regarded as good—though not necessarily conclusive—evidence
that the claims of revelation are well-founded.
Where there is general agreement on a particular item, the case in its
favor is strengthened if those who agree have strong convictions about
the matter. Strength of conviction is not of much significance by itself,
as many individuals tend to develop a strong attachment to any idea of
importance that they may happen to hold. But when we find strong
convictions combined with general agreement, particularly when we
find, as we occasionally do, that almost the entire human race is firmly
convinced of the validity of a certain proposition in the absence of any
adequate evidence to support such a belief, it is highly probable that
this is a genuine item of revealed truth. Such revelations do not
necessarily come through religious channels. The scientist’s belief in a
definite purpose underlying human existence, which was the subject
of comment in an earlier chapter, is not normally derived from
religion; on the contrary, his firm commitment to this belief is one of
the principal reasons why he maintains his religious connections in
spite of the conflicts between the existing religious and scientific
viewpoints. Similarly, the belief in an orderly and rational universe,
which all the scientists share—indeed must share in order to be
scientists—is not a religious doctrine. In fact, it is in direct conflict
with the prevailing religious concepts of miracles and other divine
interventions. Neither is it derived from experience; instead it is
utilized as a guide for interpreting experience.
He [the scientist] holds with the fervor of a religious conviction that
his task is meaningful, that the history of science does converge in the
limit upon a set of knowledge, laws and principles that are unique,
categorical, and all inclusive. This conviction again is not subject to
logical and empirical proof; yet it inspires his researches, gives him a
feeling of participation in a meaningful universal process; for example
it sustains the nuclear physicist during periods like the present, when
he sees little but chaos in the realm of elementary particles.66 (Henry
Margenau)
Special significance attaches to those revelations which clearly had an
anticipatory character when originally received; that is, they
possessed some significance that was not realized until additional
information was obtained long afterward. This feature is not of much
assistance in the evaluation of individual items of revelation, since the
additional information, when it finally becomes available, provides a
more direct verification of the assertions contained in the revelation,
and the revelation itself then becomes superfluous. Such cases are,
however, striking demonstrations of the reality of the revelation
process in general. An example of a revelation of this character will be
discussed later in this chapter.
In legal proceedings, considerable weight is attached to what are
called admissions against interest: statements which the witness
knows will be detrimental to him in one way or another, but which he
nevertheless feels constrained to make. The inference here, of course,
is that such a statement is not likely to be made unless it is true. This
same concept has a wide field of application in appraising the validity
of purported revelations in the ethical area, as many of the ethical
principles and judgments obtained from such sources are directly
opposed to the governing principles of Level 2, the principles which
govern man as a biological organism.
One of the conclusions about the metaphysical, or Sector 3, existence
that we reached in Chapter 4 is that this sector of existence as a whole
has a set of governing rules and principles that differ in some respects
from those of the two physical sectors. In our consideration of the
observed levels of existence in Chapter 5, we then found that the
behavior of individuals in Level 3, the level of ethical man, is in many
respects directly opposed to that in Level 2, the level of biological
organisms. We therefore deduce that the rules and principles of Sector
3 are in these respects contrary to those of the biological sector, just as
we previously found the principles governing the biological sector to
be, in some respects, the direct opposite of those in the inanimate
sector. It then follows that those items of information obtained
through the revelation process which are contrary to the interests and
desires of man as an animal—a mere biological organism—but are
intuitively regarded as valid by most human individuals, are probably
correct statements of the Sector 3 laws. In this case, however, there is
a tendency on the part of some extremists to generalize the conflict
between the two sets of governing principles, and to assume that all
biological desires conflict with Sector 3 principles and are morally
wrong. The proponents of such views—various forms of asceticism—
frequently claim to have received them by revelation, but such claims
do not pass the test defined above, as they are not intuitively regarded
as valid by most persons.
An important criterion of validity is furnished by what scientists
would call a differential effect: the extent to which the item in
question receives greater or less support and acceptance as the
development of human society proceeds. Although progress toward
conformity to ethical standards is discouragingly slow, there can be no
doubt but that over the long pull there is a significant advance. All too
often, the human race seems to revert to savagery in some respects
and in some areas of the globe, but it should be remembered that only
a few thousand years ago men were savages in all respects and in all
areas. Most of the aspects of present-day life that we condemn so
strongly were commonplace in the “civilizations” of earlier days.
On first consideration, there may appear to be an element of
circularity in the use of this criterion. Purported revelations are to be
judged, in part, by the manner in which they receive greater or less
acceptance by the more advanced societies. On the other hand, the
extent to which a society conforms to the ethical standards of revealed
religion is an important factor in judging the stage to which a society
has advanced. The circularity is avoided, however, by the fact that
there are other criteria of the degree of progress that has been made.
Human life is advancing all along a broad front, and the relative status
of any society can be judged by consideration of the progress that has
been made in many areas that have no ethical significance.
Even though the status of a particular item might look favorable on
the basis of the criteria that have been discussed thus far, there are
some other factors that may outweigh the favorable ones, or at least
create enough doubt to prevent acceptance of the purported revelation
unless some additional corroboration can be obtained. It will be
necessary, for instance, to be wary of any purported revelation which
contains an element of anthropomorphism. The disqualifying factor
here is the tendency of human beings to see human characteristics and
human motives in whatever phenomena they observe, and to
formulate their ideas, including those derived from insight or
revelation, in human terms. Agreement between different revelations
in matters of this kind therefore does not have the usual implications
with respect to their validity; it merely indicates that all men receiving
revelations receive them as men.
We must also be on guard against accepting the results of wishful
thinking. When an individual strongly desires that certain things be
true, he may easily get the impression, quite sincerely, that it has been
revealed to him that they are true. The hope for survival after death,
for instance, is so strong in the human race that no testimony from
revelation or intuitive sources can be given much weight. Our
conclusions with respect to this question will have to be based on
other considerations.
Another factor that may be involved in a claim of revelation is
authoritarian bias. The recipient of the revelation is usually fully
convinced of its authority. As many observers have noted, sudden
insight is commonly accompanied by feelings of certainty. But this
recipient may not be quite so sure that his certainty will be shared by
those to whom he communicates the information, and there is a
definite tendency, whether intentional or not, to lend more weight to
the revelation by enhancing the authority behind it. There is also a
tendency to allow, or encourage, some of this authority to be
transferred to the recipient of the revelation and to his successors as
custodians of the revealed truth, thus investing their pronouncements
with some of the force of the original revelation. Those items of
revelation which confer such authority, either explicitly or by
implication, should therefore be received somewhat skeptically.
It should be understood, however, that none of these negative
considerations is conclusive in the manner of a conflict with observed
facts. A revelation that invests the recipient or his successors with a
suspiciously large degree of authority may nevertheless be entirely
valid: a revelation that leads to conclusions which are eminently
gratifying to the human race may be the literal truth; and a revelation
expressed in anthropomorphic terms may be painting the picture in its
true light. But purported revelations of this nature will need
substantial support from outside sources before we are justified in
accepting them.
When a revealed general principle of some kind has been established
as valid by means of primary criteria, such as those discussed in the
foregoing paragraphs, this principle becomes a secondary criterion of
validity that can be applied to subsequent revelations, or intuitive
conclusions, to which it is relevant. One of the requirements that these
new items of information must then meet is that they must be
consistent with the previously established principles. Even though the
number of items that can be fully confirmed by direct application of
the primary criteria at present may be relatively small, the
interrelations between these and the less adequately supported items
of non-physical information should eventually enable constructing a
general framework of Sector 3 laws and principles comparable to that
which now exists in the scientific field.
Application of the foregoing criteria to an evaluation of purported
revelations is subject to different factors in different portions of the
total field covered by religious revelations. It will therefore be helpful
to begin our consideration of the kind of results that are obtained in
this process by setting up a general classification of the areas that will
be discussed here or in subsequent chapters, or will be omitted from
the discussion for specific reasons.
Scope of Religious Revelation
1. Existence and attributes of Deity.
2. Nature and origin of existence.
a. Physical.
b. Metaphysical.
3. Purpose of existence.
4. Moral code.
5. Survival beyond physical death.
The first item is one of those that we will not be able to discuss in this
work, as no pertinent information with respect to the subject has been
developed in our investigation, nor has it been possible to verify any
of the revelations that are claimed to have been received. These
alleged revelations are plentiful, but they are so conflicting that it is
not possible, as matters now stand, to apply the criteria of validity that
we have derived.
Turning to item 2a, we find that most organized religions have
explanations of the origin and nature of the physical universe which
are claimed to have been received through revelation. These, and
many other religious assertions about physical matters, are generally
wrong, in whole or in part, and the manner in which the advance of
scientific knowledge has demolished one after another of these
“revealed truths” has been a major factor in weakening the influence
of religion on our present-day society. In the words of Henry
Margenau:
Now, if science can show that the cosmological claims of religion are
wrong, religion’s case in the moral field is greatly weakened. This is
precisely what has happened in our time.187
But the position of religion with respect to scientific knowledge and
its position with respect to moral principles and other matters of a
non-physical nature are altogether different. It could not be expected
that the revelations which religion claims to have received concerning
any but relatively simple scientific matters would be correct, since the
individuals who presumably received the revelations did not have the
background of scientific knowledge that would have enabled them to
understand what was being received and to express it in
comprehensible terms, even if the revelations were complete and
accurate. The knowledge required for this purpose was not even in
existence, from the human standpoint, at the time the revelations that
underlie the major religions were said to have been received. No
doubt many of the individuals concerned were wholly sincere in their
accounts of what they thought had been revealed to them, but it is
obvious that they could not have understood the message no matter
how complete or how distinct it may have been, nor did they have any
language in which they could have expressed this knowledge
intelligibly if they had somehow acquired an understanding of it.
For these reasons, it is unlikely that religious revelations have had, or
will have, anything of consequence to contribute either in the
inanimate realm (Level 1) or the biological world (Level 2). These
levels are readily accessible to scientific investigation, and the
methods of science—methods that are indigenous to the physical
universe—can be more effectively used by the human beings who are
inhabitants of that universe for the purpose of investigating it than the
methods of Sector 3 which are, at least for the present, imperfectly
understood and not subject to conscious direction. Much of the
information about these two lower levels coming from religious
sources is, like the revelations regarding the nature and origin of the
universe, erroneous, and that which is correct can, in most instances,
be found in more complete form in the results of scientific
investigations.
Indeed, the real meaning of revelations concerning the physical
universe often comes to light only after science has discovered the
truth, simply because the human race was not prepared to understand
this real meaning without the help of additional information. In the
terms of the discussion in the preceding chapter, the platform
provided by the then existing store of knowledge was not yet high
enough. For example, the account of the “creation” in the first chapter
of Genesis has not received its just due as a physical revelation even
to this day, primarily because of a misunderstanding as to the subject
of its message; a misunderstanding that has resulted from
concentrating attention on the manner of presentation rather than on
the information that is given. Each statement in the account is made in
the form, “And God said, Let there be light, and there was light.”
Superficially, therefore, the story seems to be one of direct creation of
the universe ex nihilo in a manner that is either miraculous or fanciful,
depending on the viewpoint.
But in order to understand the true meaning of the revelation, we must
realize that primitive people, who went about their daily tasks without
the benefit of the vast store of factual knowledge that exists today,
found it necessary to attribute all unexplainable natural processes to
direct action of supernatural beings, and in translating their statements
into the modern idiom, we must take this fact into account. For
instance, if we read an account of the death of a chief among the
ancient Greeks in the legendary history of the race, we may find it
stated that the unfortunate man incurred the wrath of the gods and was
slain by one of Jove’s arrows. But this is just primitive man’s way of
expressing the simple, but to him mysterious, fact of a death by
lightning, and that is the way we interpret the account. We strip away
all of the personification of forces and look only at the underlying
facts.
In order to arrive at the real meaning of the Genesis story, we must
recognize that it, too, is expressed in symbolic language, and to put
that meaning into our own terms, we must remove the symbolism and
get down to the real significance of each statement that is made. When
we do this, we find that the Genesis story is not an account of a
creation; it is an account of the formation of the solar system and the
evolution of man. Furthermore, it is astonishingly similar to the most
up-to-date scientific accounts of these phenomena. The close
correlation between the two can be seen very clearly in the tabular
comparison that follows. Here, the first column gives the Genesis text,
omitting redundant wording and items not relevant to the principle
theme. The second column is a rendition of this text in modern terms,
deleting the personification of forces and other primitive symbolism.
In the third column, the corresponding conclusions of modern science
are briefly stated.
THE “CREATION” STORY FROM GENESIS
As written The same
The scientific version
with the
primitive
symbolism
removed
1. In the
beginning
God
created the
heaven
and the
earth.
[Neither conventional science nor the Reciprocal
System has developed any information as to whether or
not there was a creation. Comparison with the scripture
text therefore begins with verse 2.]
2. And the
earth was
without
form, and
void; and
darkness
was upon
the face of
the deep.
And the
Spirit of
God
moved
upon the
face of the
waters.
In the
beginning,
the earth was
formless and
featureless,
and darkness
prevailed.
The forces of
nature were
at work.
About 4 billion years ago, the present
substance of the solar system was a vas
cloud of cold and widely dispersed
matter. Gravitation acted upon the
particles of matter, pulling them
together and heating them in the
process.
3. And
God said,
Let there
be light:
and there
was light.
And in time,
light
appeared.
Continuation of this process caused the
interior portions of the cloud to
condense into a luminous body: the sun.
6. And
God said,
Let there
be a
firmament
in the
midst of
the waters,
and let it
divide the
waters
from the
waters.
7. And
God made
the
firmament,
and
divided
the waters
which
were under
the
firmament
from the
waters
which
were
above the
firmament.
And then the Later, the earth and the other planets
earth
were formed by coalescence of other
separated
portions of the original material.
from its
surroundings.
9. And
God said,
Let the
waters
under the
heaven be
gathered
together
unto one
place, and
let the dry
land
appear.
And then
distinct land
and water
areas
appeared on
the earth.
And then distinct land and water areas
appeared on the earth.
11. And
God said,
Let the
earth bring
forth
grass, the
herb
yielding
seed, and
the fruit
tree
yielding
fruit after
his kind.
And then
plant life
appeared on
the land
areas.
About a billion years ago, life appeared
on earth. About 300 or 400 million years
ago, land plants appeared.
20. And
God said,
Let the
waters
bring forth
abundantly
the
moving
creature
that hath
life, and
fowl that
may fly
above the
earth in
the open
firmament
of heaven.
And then
Fish also appeared during this same
animal life
period.
appeared,
first in the
sea and in the
air.
24. And
And then on
God said, land.
Let the
earth bring
forth the
living
creature
after his
kind,
cattle, and
creeping
thing, and
beast of
the earth
after his
kind.
Land animals and insects appeared 250
to 300 million yeas ago. Mammals and
birds appeared 150 to 200 million years
ago.
26. And
God said,
Let us
make man
in our
image,
after our
likeness.
Just recently, on this time scale, man
appeared.
Finally, man
made his
appearance.
The most remarkable feature of this story is, of course, its portrayal of
these events as an evolutionary sequence. Beginning with a formless
and featureless aggregate of matter, the author carries his account step
by step through a logical and sequential process, terminating with the
appearance of man, and aside from placing fish and fowl at the same
point in the evolutionary order, a very understandable mistake, he has
listed the developments in the proper succession. The idea that the
advent of man on earth came about as the last act in an orderly and
sequential process of evolution is quite familiar to us, but the author
of this account in Genesis was thousands of years in advance of his
time in bringing forth a concept of this kind.
As pointed out earlier, such physical revelations are of little practical
effect, other than as striking demonstrations of the reality of the
revelation process. By the time we have enlarged our knowledge of
the physical world enough to understand the revelatory message, the
increase in physical knowledge is itself able to supply the same
information. However, when we take up a consideration of the next
item on our list, metaphysical existence, the situation is much
different, as religious revelation and similar types of contact with
Sector 3 are the principle sources of information about the
metaphysical region. Direct physical observations tell us nothing
about the Sector 3 existence. We can make a few deductions by
extrapolating our knowledge of the characteristics of the Level 2
structures at the upper end of the path of biological evolution, together
with our empirical knowledge of the kind of changes that take place at
the discontinuities in the order of increasing complexity. Beyond this,
information about the metaphysical region comes only from
revelation (the religious term) or from intuition or insight
(non-religious names for the same thing). We can be sure that most of
the information claimed to be received from these sources is either
incomplete or erroneous, and the question as to how to test the
validity of the revelations and insights thus becomes a crucial issue.
Application of the first of the criteria discussed in this chapter, the
extent of agreement between the purported revelations, produces some
very significant results. When examined from the standpoint of their
basic principles, without regard for the imagery employed in the
language in which these principles are expressed, or the organizational
structure of the religious community, all of the world’s great religions
are very much alike. As expressed by George R. Harrison, “Each was
started by a great leader who had an unusual vision of basic spiritual
truth… . Each when it began was remarkably similar to what the
others were at their beginnings.”188 Du Nouy points out that the
similarity is so striking that it demands an adequate explanation. “All
of these forms [of mystical religion],” he says, “apparently imbibed
their inspiration at the same source. Their teachings were almost
identical and this identity constitutes an astounding problem.”189
The findings of this work now provide the required explanation: the
answer to the “astounding problem.” The essential elements of the
different religions actually were obtained from the same source, the
metaphysical sector of existence, and they are a product of
inspiration, or revelation; that is, communication from that
metaphysical region. It should be understood, however, that this
statement does not refer to all religions, but only to those few
(Harrison gives the number as eleven; Arnold Toynbee recognizes
only seven) which have stood the test of time with a reasonable
degree of success. Erroneous and incomplete revelations are just as
plentiful in religious areas as erroneous and incomplete inductive
insights elsewhere in human life, and thousands of religions have
come and gone without leaving any permanent mark on human
thought. But on the basis of the general information that we have
developed about revelation and associated processes, a few
individuals, at least, should have been able to receive the basic facts
clearly and accurately, and we are therefore justified in concluding,
subject to individual review, that the fundamental items on which
most of the leading religions agree are genuine additions to
knowledge.
Unfortunately for our understanding of metaphysical existence,
however, the amount of agreement in this area is much more limited
than that with respect to moral issues. Each religion has its own
version of ultimate reality and its own ideas as to where its revelations
originated. This does not necessarily mean that firm conclusions are
unattainable, since agreement between purported revelations is only
one of the available criteria of validity, but it does mean that a
thorough and detailed study of the situation will be required in order
to arrive at reliable conclusions. Such a study is beyond the scope of
the present work, but it certainly should be carried out. Now that this
present investigation has demonstrated the reality of the revelation
process and has provided the tools, or at least some of the tools,
whereby evaluation of the purported revelations can be accomplished,
there is no longer any serious technical obstacle to bringing the
revealed information up to a status which will approximate, if not
equal, the status of scientific knowledge. Whether or not human
obstacles will prevent the accomplishment of that which is technically
feasible is another question, and several aspects of this issue will be
discussed in subsequent chapters.
CHAPTER 11
Information
The function of the communication processes that were discussed in
the three preceding chapters is to transfer information from a source
to a recipient. Much of the confusion and controversy that exists in
certain philosophical fields is the result of a failure to distinguish
clearly between these several aspects of the process, or between them
and the process itself. We have already seen in Chapter 9 how many
of the criticisms of the concept of intuitive knowledge are based on a
misunderstanding of the nature of intuition, in which this phenomenon
is viewed as a source of information, rather than in its true status as a
transmission, or communication, process.
The point of view which denies the reality of an external world, as
expressed in the statement by McVittie quoted in Chapter 4, rests on a
similar misunderstanding. Only the sense data—the items of
information received by means of the senses—are real, according to
the school of thought with which McVittie aligns himself. But once it
is realized that the senses are receiving mechanisms of a
communication system, this contention becomes untenable.
Communication necessarily involves a source as well as a receiver. If
the messages (the sense data) are real, then the communication system
that handles them must also be real. Thus, the reality of the external
world as an aggregate of sources of information is established as soon
as the true nature of the sense organs is recognized.
It is true that what we apprehend mentally is something different from
the information that is brought in by the communication process, the
raw sense data. When we see a tree, for instance, the information
received by our sense of sight is not that a tree exists at a certain
location; it is actually nothing more than a pattern of electromagnetic
radiation. But all information that we receive through the senses is put
through a further process in which it is correlated with other,
previously acquired, information. Our conclusion that we see a tree is
not based on the radiation pattern alone, but on the significance of that
pattern after it has been subjected to the correlation process.
It is possible, of course, that the message, as we receive it, may be
wrong. In semidarkness, for instance, what we see as a tree may be
something else altogether. Furthermore, even though the sense data
may be received accurately, they may not be adequate to support the
conclusion that we ultimately reach. This is not very likely in the case
of objects such as trees, but it is a very real issue when we are dealing
with objects of atomic size, or at astronomical distances, or in other
circumstances unfavorable for accurate observation. We will give this
question as to the accuracy of the information some further
consideration later in the discussion.
It is even suggested by some philosophers that the entire universe, as
we observe it, may be nothing but an illusion. This assertion is one
that cannot be disproved, inasmuch as any evidence that might be
adduced against it is itself an illusion, on the basis of this hypothesis.
In that case, however, all of the characteristics that define the physical
universe and existence in general, according to our findings, are
characteristics of the illusion, and there is no detectable difference
between illusion and reality. There may be a philosophical question
here, but so far as this present work is concerned, it makes no
difference whether we are investigating a reality or something that
cannot be distinguished from a reality.
A more sophisticated viewpoint of a somewhat similar nature is that
the external world that an individual thinks he observes is a creation
of his own mind. The outside world exists only as it is experienced,
and the experience is the reality. The adherent of this point of view
“holds that there can be no object, as well as no perception of it,
without a knower; that the subject (mind or knower) in some way
creates its object… and that all that is real is a conscious mind or a
perception by such a mind.”190 (H. H. Titus) To the man-in-the-street
this is utter nonsense, but it has been a respectable position in
philosophy, under the name of subjective idealism, ever since the
arguments in its favor were first put into supportable form by George
Berkeley in the eighteenth century. A modification known as objective
idealism, which concedes the existence of an outside world, has
largely supplanted the subjective form of the idealist position, but in
either version, the essence of this position is the primacy of mind over
matter. “Idealism,” says Hocking, “is the philosophy which holds that
reality is of the nature of mind… . It is primarily a metaphysics, a
world-view which may be reached by various ways of knowing.”191
The basic alternative to idealism, in philosophical thought, is
naturalism, in which matter has primacy over mind. Again we may
use a definition from Hocking: “In a literal sense, we may define
nature as the sum of things and events in a single space and time,
subject to a single system of causal laws. Naturalism is the type of
philosophy which takes nature, in this sense, as the whole of
reality.”192 The findings of this work are, of course, in direct conflict
with the idea that the universe of space and time is the whole of
reality, and we must therefore reject naturalism. But our findings give
no support to idealism either, as they show that the entire universe of
space and time, including the human mind, is purely physical. We find
that there is an existence independent of space and time, but it is also
independent of the human mind.
According to the Reciprocal System of theory, the physical universe,
the universe of space and time, is a universe of motion, one in which
everything that exists is a motion, a combination of motions, or a
relation between motions. Motion is the reality of this universe. Any
motion is just as real as any other motion. Ordinary matter consists of
motions that are spatially related to each other. We may therefore
define an aggregate of such matter as a system of regularities in space.
Once such a system is in existence, it may acquire motions of a
different kind, motions which are related in time rather than in space.
Some of these motions are commonly called processes, and for
present purposes, we may use this term as a general designation for
the whole class of motions. An aggregate of processes is then a system
of regularities in time.
For example, the earth is an aggregate of matter. It is also an
aggregate of processes. It rotates; it revolves about the sun; it
accompanies the sun in a revolution around the center of the Galaxy;
it participates in whatever random motion the Galaxy may be
undergoing; it participates in the recession of the Galaxy from all
distant galaxies; and it has various minor motions such as the
precession of the axis. In conventional thinking, these motions are not
regarded as part of the earth; they are looked upon as something that
the earth does. Our findings are that what an object such as the earth is
and what it does are both systems of motions, and they are equally
entitled to be considered as part of what the earth is. However, we will
need to distinguish, in certain contexts, between these two aspects of
the totality of the earth, or any other object, and for convenience we
will therefore continue to use the terms “is” and “does” in the
conventional way, and we will designate the entire aggregate of
motions of an object as what that object “consists of.” On this basis,
the earth as a whole consists of what it is and what it does.
If the earth could be separated from its environment and turned over
to a group of scientists for examination as an aggregate of matter,
these investigators would find nothing at all that would account for
many of the conspicuous phenomena that are observed when the earth
is in its usual condition: the alternation of light and darkness, the
tides, the seasonal variations of temperature, and so on. These are all
products of the processes that determine the manner in which the
earth, in its normal environment, reacts to external stimuli, such as
radiation from the sun.
One of the long-standing puzzles of philosophy is the so-called
mind-body problem, the question as to the relation of the mind to the
corresponding body structure, the brain. “An interpretation and
understanding of the relation between the human mind and the human
body is one of the most important issues philosophy has to consider—
and one of the most complex and baffling.”193 (H. H. Titus) A little
reflection about what has been said concerning the motions that
collectively constitute the earth should make it clear that we have here
a rather close analogy that points the way to a resolution of this
“complex and baffling” problem. There is in the human body a
material structure, the brain, which has the capacity to undergo certain
processes, just as the material structure called the earth can undergo
certain processes; that is, move in certain ways. In the living brain,
such a system of processes is in operation, a system which we call the
mind. The brain is an aggregate of matter. The mind is an aggregate of
processes. Both are aggregates of motion, and one is just as real as the
other. As in the case of the earth, the nature of the reaction to external
stimuli is determined primarily by the processes that are in operation.
The mind-body problem, as it has heretofore been conceived, is the
result of viewing mind and body as separates entities. “How are these
separate entities, mind and body, related?” asks Hall. In answering
this question, he reports, there has been a running battle between
parallelism, which holds that mind and body “run parallel to each
other like watches that keep the same time,”194 and interactionism,
which holds that mind and body interact on each other. Our finding is
that neither of these views is correct. There is one single aggregate of
motions, the mind-brain, we might call it. Using the terminology
previously defined, we may say that this mind-brain consists of a
brain, which is what the mind-brain is, and a mind, which what the
mind-brain does. If we compare this mind-brain to a computer, the
brain is analogous to the “hardware” of the computer, the aggregate of
physical parts of which it is constructed. The mind is an aggregate of
processes, analogous to the computer operating programs—not the
written descriptions of those programs, but the actual operating
processes that the programs describe.
Most of the force of the analogy between the mind-brain and the earth
is lost for those persons who are not familiar with the Reciprocal
System of physical theory. It may be difficult for them to see the
resemblance between the earth, which is moving, and the brain,
which, in the context of the local environment, is not moving.
However, the activities of the mind are carried on by means of
electrical processes, and one of the consequences of the fundamental
postulates of the Reciprocal System is that electrical activity in an
aggregate of matter is equivalent to motion of that aggregate. The
units of electricity, the electrons, move through matter, not between
the atoms of matter, and, as the previous publications which describe
the theory have shown, the mathematical relations applicable to the
motion of matter through space are equally applicable, under
comparable conditions, to motion of electrons through matter. The
physical status of what the mind-brain does is therefore identical with
that of what the earth does. The existence of so many cases of this
kind, where conventional science fails to provide an adequate
explanation of the physical situation, is one of the primary reasons
why an accurate and comprehensive physical theory had to be
developed before any exploration of the metaphysical region could be
undertaken.
On the foregoing basis, the effect of mind and brain on each other,
strongly emphasized by the supporters of interactionism, is easily
understood. If a portion of the brain is damaged, the processes that
require the use of that part of the brain can no longer be carried out.
Similarly, if the mind is damaged—that is, one or more of the
processes is subjected to some detrimental change—the output from
the intact brain will be wrong because it is the result of a defective
process. The reason for the inability to find any evidence of existence
of the mind when the brain is dissected is also clear. When life ends,
the processes that have been taking place in the brain cease, and since
these processes are the mind, that mind no longer exists. Where did it
go? some may ask. The motions of which the mind is constituted
follow the same course as any other motions that can no longer exist
in the previous form. They are converted into other types of motion
such as heat or radiation.
The concept of mind and brain as two aspects of one reality is by no
means new. It has been included in the thought of many philosophers,
including such prominent figures as Kant and Spinoza. But it has not
heretofore been realized that mind and brain together constitute that
reality, and the nature of the underlying reality has therefore been left
essentially undefined. “The approach uses an unknown, X, to explain a
difficult problem,”195 says Titus. What is needed is to recognize that
there is no unknown entity involved. The mind-brain, like the earth in
the analogy, is a combination of matter (what it is) and processes
(what it does). The philosophical problem that has existed is a result
of what Bergson called intellectual “spatialization”: a failure to take
the functions of time in physical situations into account. Mind and
intelligence, a feature of mind, are entities of the cosmic type. They
are not material, but they are wholly physical.
This fact that the mind is a purely physical entity is very significant.
Much of the present-day thinking on the subject is influenced by the
views of Descartes, who regarded the universe as consisting of two
“substances”—matter and a non-material entity, mind, which is
indestructible and in which the spiritual aspects of a human being, as
well as his rational aspects, reside. Our findings are that both mind
and matter consist of the same “substance”; that is, both are
manifestations of motion, the sole constituent of the physical universe.
We find that there is also another aspect of the human personality
which has some of the characteristics attributed to the mind by
Descartes, including those that are generally classified as spiritual. But
this aspect, we find, is non-physical, whereas mind is merely
non-material, and is as definitely a part of the physical universe as the
brain, or any other part of the body.
With the foregoing understanding of the nature of the receiving
apparatus of the communication process, we are now ready to
examine the transmission aspect of the process. Inasmuch as the
objective of this work is an exploration of the metaphysical region,
neither the mind, which is physical, nor the physical transmission of
information is within the area of coverage, and no comprehensive
treatment of either of these subjects will be undertaken. However, a
general understanding of the manner in which physical information is
handled in the communication systems is essential for a full
appreciation of the manner in which the information from intuitive
sources fits into the picture. In order that physical messages of some
particular kind may be received, there must be a structure in the body,
a sense, which is capable of transforming the motions that constitute
the incoming signal into the kind of motion that will affect the
processes of the mind. Evolution has produced senses that receive
messages which satisfy two criteria: (1) they are present in the
environment in significant amounts, and (2) they are useful to the
organism.
One of the reasons most frequently advanced for the rejection of the
concept of intuitive processes such as ESP is that there is no evidence
of any physical structure in the human body for receiving information
of this kind. The obvious answer is that since the intuitive mode of
transmission is not physical there is no need for a physical type of
receiving apparatus. The information is received by the non-physical
control unit. At the present stage of our knowledge of the subject, we
do not know just how the control unit exercises direction of the
activities of the biological organism. From the information developed
in Chapter 7, it is clear that such direction is being exercised, and it
follows that some means must exist whereby this is accomplished.
One possibility that naturally suggests itself is that, inasmuch as the
effect of chance plays a large part in the interaction of electrical and
material motions, the metaphysical influence may supersede the
operation of the normal probability principles and thereby modify the
results of the individual’s mental processes without violating any
physical laws. In any event, the answer to the question as to how the
intuitive information is received is that the communication is direct
from Sector 3 to the control unit through Sector 3 channels, and the
effect on the mental processes is then exerted in the same manner as
the control functions, whatever that manner may be.
Aside from this matter of the means of reception, the most common
reason given by those who deny the reality of intuition is the
unreliability of the intuitive information. The skeptics are fond of
pointing out that the intuitions of different individuals with respect to
the same subject often vary over a wide range. Clearly there is a great
deal of error in the information that is received by way of intuition. To
put this fact into the proper perspective, however, we need to
recognize that there is a great deal of error in all of the information
that we receive, irrespective of the channels through which it arrives.
For example, a large part of our information, particularly that which is
of lasting significance, comes in the form of communications from
other individuals: the written and spoken word. The contradictions
that we find in this material are no less numerous or significant than
those between different intuitions. Even the philosopher who
condemns intuition because of the presence of contradictions is, in
that condemnation itself, contradicting the considered opinions, and
the corresponding statements, of other philosophers. Here, too, a large
part of the information that we receive is wrong.
Direct sense data have a reputation for accuracy. About the most
positive statement that one can make is “I saw it.” As noted in Chapter
10, however, when a number of those who “saw it” are put on the
witness stand in a court proceeding, the differences in their testimony
are often very substantial, not only with respect to minor details but
also with respect to the essential elements of the incidents that were
witnessed. Since the transmission by means of light is not likely to be
at fault, the differences between the observations were in the
interpretation of the transmitted messages. What needs to be realized
is that the raw sense data have little significance in themselves. In
order to arrive at any real meaning, the recipient has to interpret these
data in the light of whatever other knowledge he may possess with
respect to the phenomena under observation. Where there are
significant differences in the knowledge, or purported knowledge, on
which the interpretations are based, the conclusions reached by
different individuals may differ widely.
The point of all this is that every message which we receive from
physical sources is subject to error, regardless of whether it is a direct
transmission from an original source or a communication from
another individual. Every item of information that is received through
these physical channels must therefore be verified in some manner
before we are justified in accepting it as an established fact. In the
ordinary course of everyday life, the uncertainties in most sense data
are minor and of little consequence. Verification of these data is
therefore perfunctory, and mainly carried out unconsciously. But if we
are viewing something in the distance or in dim light, or if we hear an
indistinct sound or detect a faint odor, we make a conscious effort to
determine the validity of the message that arrives by way of the
senses. Was this actually what we saw, heard, or smelled? we ask our
reasoning processes. Then, after checking the incoming information
against whatever pertinent knowledge we may possess, we eventually
arrive at some conclusions as to the probability that this information is
correct. If action is called for, we act accordingly.
Exactly the same considerations apply to intuitive information. The
true status of the information received through the various forms of
intuition discussed in the three preceding chapters—revelation, ESP,
scientific insight, and intuition in general—can be understood only if
it is recognized that intuition is not a source of information; it is a
means of transmission. It cannot be expected that the reception of the
transmitted information by the human recipients will always be
accurate. On the contrary, there are good reasons to believe that
human ability to receive non-physical messages accurately is even
more limited than the capability of accurate reception of physical
messages. Like physical information, therefore, non-physical
(intuitive) information must be verified before it can be accepted as
valid.
Consideration of the foregoing points should make it clear that the
metaphysical (non-physical) communication system is a parallel of
the physical communication system. Each has its own source of
information, each has its own method of transmission, and each has its
own kind of receiving equipment for converting the transmitted
messages into mental processes. This parallelism can be illustrated as
follows:
INFORMATION
Character
Physical
Metaphysical
Source
Experience
Sector 3
Transmissio Physical
n
processes
Intuitive processes
Reception
Metaphysical to mental
Physical to
mental
The reliability of the information depends, in both cases, on the extent
to which it can be verified. Physical information is customarily
verified by showing that it is consistent with the other relevant
information derived from experience. Specialists in this field
distinguish between the specific comparisons of the individual items
with the corresponding data from observation, which they call the test
of correspondence, and examination of the extent of agreement
between these individual items and all other relevant items of
information that are accepted as valid, which they call the test of
coherence.
The Reciprocal System of physical theory is necessarily coherent,
inasmuch as it is derived in its entirety from a single set of basic
premises. It has also passed the test of correspondence in thousands of
separate correlations. The validity of this system is therefore
physically certain. The metaphysical theory derived in this volume by
extension of the verified physical findings is likewise coherent as it,
too, is derived entirely from a single set of postulates. Certain
consequences of these postulates, particularly those concerned with
the reality of metaphysical existence, have been checked against
observation and have passed the test of correspondence. For example,
the basic assertion that there is a metaphysical aspect of human
existence was verified by showing that there are certain features of
human behavior, such as taking actions that are contrary to the
principles that govern purely biological organisms, that are beyond
the capacity of any entities that are wholly physical; and other
features, such as the ability to do something totally new, that are
beyond he capacity of mechanisms in general. This and the other
theoretically derived conclusions that have been verified by the
correspondence test are physically certain and have the full status of
scientific knowledge.
As indicated in Chapter 10, there are other metaphysical areas, such as
ethics, which do not have the kind of an impact on the physical world
that makes direct correspondence tests feasible, as matters now stand.
Perhaps some tests of this nature can be devised later, after additional
investigations have developed more information; but for the present,
we will have to rely on the test of coherence, supplemented by a
modified form of the correspondence test, in which we apply a
number of different criteria, such as those described in the earlier
discussion, each of which increases or decreases the probability that
the item under consideration is correct. By summing up the positive
and negative contributions of this kind, we arrive at a net evaluation
of the probability that this item is a valid addition to knowledge.
In some cases, as we will see later, this procedure arrives at what may
be considered physical certainty. The degree of confidence that can be
placed in the other results is variable, but their standing as knowledge
can be appreciated if it is recognized that this standing is comparable
to that of a large part of what is accepted as established knowledge in
the frontier areas of science. There is a tendency to regard scientific
knowledge as consisting of items which can be counted, weighed,
measured, or otherwise subjected to positive physical operations, and
it is easy to overlook the fact that this is not true of many of the results
of modern science.
For instance, the evidence from which the astronomers deduce the
existence of some of the classes of objects which they are currently
studying, such as the “X-ray stars,” is of essentially the same
character as the evidence for the reality of non-physical existence. In
both cases, the method of transmission of the information is such that
it cannot be detected by the human senses, and must be recognized by
means of some physical effects that can be observed. Likewise, in
both cases, these physical effects merely identify the means of
transmission, not the originating entity. Obviously, that entity must be
something of such a nature that it is capable of producing whatever is
transmitted. Beyond this, any conclusions with respect to the
originating entities have to be based, in both cases, on inferences from
the magnitude and other characteristics of the physical effects, and on
whatever collateral evidence can be obtained.
As can be seen from this comparison, there is no significant difference
between the physical and the non-physical items of information so far
as certainty is concerned. Ordinarily, the physical information can be
more easily checked against observed facts, but the ultimate result
depends on what is actually verified in each case. Where the overall
probability of error has been reduced to a negligible level, physical
certainty has been established, irrespective of the nature of the criteria
that were employed. Where something less than certainty is reached, a
given probability derived non-physically is fully equivalent to the
same probability derived physically. Thus, there is no legitimate
reason why verified non-physical information should be regarded as in
any way inferior to verified physical information, or verified
information from intuitive sources as any less reliable than verified
information from experience.
Recognition of the authenticity of properly verified intuitive
information is essential before full advantage can be taken of the new
knowledge as to the reality of existence independent of space and time
in straightening out the present confused and illogical situation in the
non-physical fields of human activity. As matters now stand, those
who recognize the existence of such things as moral standards, ESP,
religious revelation, non-evolutionary goals, and the like, are
compelled to make their stand on unsupported assertions; while those
who are impressed with the lack of acceptable evidence find it
necessary to deny the existence of such items: some of the most
significant features of human life. The availability of a large supply of
additional information of a reliable nature derived from intuitive
sources now makes it possible to reconcile these conflicting
viewpoints. In the pages that follow, we will examine some of the
important non-physical aspects of life as they appear in the new light
that is thrown upon them by the intuitive information.
CHAPTER 12
Miracles
Having established the general nature of the various kinds of
information that are received by the human organism through the
facilities that are available for reception, our next undertaking will be
to examine those features of the organism’s equipment and processes
for handling that information which are relevant to the primary
objective of this work: the exploration of metaphysical existence and
its effect on human life. However, there is one special item that needs
some consideration before we take up the new subject matter, as it has
a significant bearing on all of the conclusions that will be reached in
the pages that follow. This is the question as to whether the laws and
principles that govern the physical universe are inviolable, or whether
they are subject to modification or abrogation by influences from the
metaphysical region.
From the earliest times of which we have knowledge, religions, both
organized and unorganized, have placed a great deal of reliance upon
miracles as evidence supporting their claims as to the existence of
supernatural beings or powers.
For religion, “miracle” is a responsible and natural feature of the
world-view, meaning by miracle a special suspension of the usual
physical order or law by a higher and spiritual control for a significant
purpose.196 (W. E. Hocking)
Scientists, on the other hand, are inclined to believe in the
inviolability of natural laws, and this belief has been strongly
reinforced by the fact that the advance of knowledge through the
centuries has provided purely natural explanations for one after
another of the phenomena that were previously thought to be
manifestations of supernatural power. As a result, the general
tendency in scientific circles today is to deny the possibility of
miracles, and to assert that those phenomena claimed to be miraculous
are either wholly fictitious or are susceptible to explanation on the
basis of the laws of nature.
The findings of this present work are that both scientists and
non-scientists have been wrong in classifying metaphysical
phenomena as supernatural; that is, in restricting the term “natural” to
phenomena of the physical universe. The metaphysical region, we
find, is governed by laws analogous to those of the physical universe,
and these are “natural” laws in the same sense as the physical laws.
Thus, even though a phenomenon may be inexplicable on the basis of
the physical laws alone, it may still have a perfectly rational
explanation in terms of other natural laws. The remarkable instances
of scientific insight, ESP, and other phenomena of a similar nature that
were discussed in previous chapters are examples.
This is the background against which a scientific appraisal of the
possibility of miracles should take place. It is apparent, to begin with,
that our knowledge of the laws and principles of the metaphysical
region is still too meager to justify taking a definite and positive stand
on either side of the miracle question. The most that can be done is to
draw some conclusions as to the probability of various types of
allegedly miraculous occurrences. Here we must recognize that the
probability of any “special suspension” of physical laws has been
greatly reduced by the discovery in the course of development of the
Reciprocal System of theory that the physical universe is constructed
and governed by a mere handful of general principles. Suspension of
any one of these for the purpose of accomplishing a miracle would not
be merely a local event; it would have wide repercussions. While this
does not necessarily rule out such a suspension, it does make it much
less likely, and it undermines the credibility of the reports of minor
miracles. We will have to conclude that the probability of the
occurrence of physical miracles is very low. The available information
suggests that the metaphysical agencies either cannot transcend the
physical laws or do not choose to do so. It will be difficult for a
scientist to place any credence in unsubstantiated reports to the
contrary. Many of those who look at the situation from the religious
point of view agree. John Hick, for example, says unequivocally, “If
miracle is defined as a breach of natural law, one can declare a priori
that there are no miracles.”197
It should be noted, however, that there are at least two avenues by
which a modification of physical relationships through metaphysical
action could take place without violating the physical laws. The
physical system contains no mechanism whereby the total amount of
motion in the universe can be altered. Individual units of motion may
combine or separate, and one kind of motion may be transformed into
another, but motion cannot be created or destroyed by any means
within the physical universe. A change in the total amount of motion
can take place only if motion is injected into the system or withdrawn
from it by some metaphysical agency. The possibility of such an
occurrence is not precluded by anything that we now know, but if
something of this kind does happen, it is almost certain that the
motion enters or leaves in a very simple form—radiation, perhaps—
and although we cannot rule it out altogether, we must be very
skeptical with respect to the possibility that anything resembling a
miracle may be produced by this means.
Another possibility that cannot be excluded on the basis of present
knowledge is that, as suggested in Chapter 11, there may be some
intervention in those processes where the result is normally
determined by pure chance. For example, when light is emitted from a
source, the direction of emission of each individual photon is
indeterminate. From the standpoint of pure chance, all directions are
equally probable, and in our ordinary experience, the operation of the
probability principles results in a uniform three-dimensional
distribution of the light. But it is conceivable that an outside influence
might overrule the effect of chance and cause the light to be emitted
preferentially in certain directions. This would not violate any
physical law or principle. It would conflict with the mathematical laws
of probability, but in view of the somewhat anomalous position of
chance in the physical picture, we are not justified in asserting that
intervention of this kind is impossible. Here, again, however, such
intervention, if it exists at all, would seem to be limited to relatively
simple physical processes.
No doubt some will contend that the negative conclusion with respect
to the possibility of physical miracles is inconsistent with the previous
findings as to the reality of the ESP phenomena, inasmuch as
psychokinesis (PK), the direct action of mind upon matter, is
commonly regarded, both by the workers in the field of
parapsychology and by those who are most critical of the results that
are produced in this field, as a closely allied subject. But there is no
adequate justification for thus bracketing the two phenomena together.
ESP is a communication process, as the theoretical development in the
preceding pages demonstrates, and as most observers have
recognized. “Fundamentally, extrasensory perception may be viewed
as a form of communication,”198 says John Mann. PK, on the other
hand, has no communication aspect at all. We cannot communicate
with non-living matter. Aside from the fact that, if PK exists, it (like
ESP) is non-physical, ESP and PK are totally different processes. The
available experimental and observational evidence should therefore be
appraised separately, with each of the alleged phenomena standing on
its own feet.
As brought out in the discussion of ESP in Chapter 8, most of the
evidence that has been produced by those who have investigated this
phenomenon is of a rather dubious character. The dramatic episodes
which would be conclusive in themselves if they could be
authenticated occur spontaneously and unexpectedly, and cannot be
subjected to critical examination or to experimental controls, while
the general run of results from controlled experimental work deviates
from chance by such a small amount that there is a question as to
whether these results are actually significant. But a few of the
experimental subjects respond in an unequivocal manner, and it is
these unusual individuals who establish the reality of the ESP
phenomena.
The most noteworthy psychic phenomenon has been the ESP “star”
who performs at a high level of improbability over a long period of
time. At the present time these extra-ordinary individuals provide the
best evidence for the existence of ESP since the probabilities
associated with their performance are so astronomical as to defy
refutation.156 (John Mann)
When we turn to PK, we find that here, too, there are reports of
spontaneous occurrences. These reports, however, are neither as
numerous nor as well supported by testimony and circumstantial
evidence as the analogous ESP reports. Furthermore, they do not have
the same significance. Many of the alleged ESP occurrences are of
such a nature that they would constitute conclusive verification of the
ESP phenomenon if all of the features of the events, as reported, could
be substantiated beyond question. If it could be definitely shown, for
instance, that an individual acquired a detailed knowledge of a far
distant event at or before the time that event occurred, under such
conditions that transmission of the information by means of any
physical communication medium is definitely precluded—probably
the most commonly reported type of spontaneous ESP occurrence—
there could no longer be any doubt as to the reality of ESP, even
though this would not answer the question as to the nature of the
phenomenon. But this is not at all true of the alleged PK events. The
general nature of the spontaneous events attributed to PK is described
by Mrs. Rhine as follows:
Clocks stopped, started, chimed, or chimed aberrantly, and like
pictures, fell from walls or shelves. Dishes fell and broke. Doors
opened, shut, locked, unlocked, lights came on or went off, chairs
rocked or moved.199
A typical instance cited by Mrs. Rhine is “that of a clock that stopped
in the home of a devout Catholic family at the very time of the death
of Pope John.”200 But there is nothing here that is physically
inexplicable; nothing at all comparable to the spontaneous ESP
events. We cannot produce a physical explanation of how anyone
could know what was happening in a location thousands of miles
distant, in the absence of any physical means of communicating with
that location. We cannot produce a physical explanation of how
anyone could know what was going to happen anywhere or at any
time. But we can easily produce a physical explanation of how a clock
might stop or a picture might fall off a wall. Unlike the ESP
occurrences, these alleged PK events would not constitute evidence in
favor of the reality of the PK phenomenon even if all of the reported
facts were positively verified.
The results of the PK experiments in the laboratories are similar to
those produced by the general run of ESP experiments; that is, the
deviations of the results from the chance expectation are so small that
their significance is doubtful. The important point to be noted is that
the PK experiments have not developed the equivalent of the
extraordinary performances that are the most striking and most
conclusive feature of the ESP tests. Again quoting from John Mann,
“In general, it does not appear that”stars“as in the ESP experiments,
exist in relation to PK with the same degree of clarity and
predictability.”201 We thus find that PK, which has no theoretical
support, also lacks both of the kinds of evidence that constitute the
principal empirical support for ESP.
It is unfortunate that these two phenomena have been tied together so
closely in current thought, as the very obvious weaknesses in the case
for PK tend to be charged against ESP as well. As noted in Chapter 8,
one of the items that has considerable influence on the attitude of
scientists is that the PK experimenters rely almost entirely on very
crude methods in a field where highly sophisticated equipment
capable of measuring extremely small effects with a high degree of
precision is readily available. The fact that this criticism is not at all
applicable to ESP is very commonly overlooked.
The existence of ESP is definitely in conflict with some of the theories
and concepts of present-day physics, particularly the widespread
belief that the subjects currently within the purview of science
constitute the whole of reality. As Dobzhansky puts it, “A common
foible of scientists is to suppose that the little truths which they
discover explain everything rather than only something.”202 But
contrary to the oft-repeated assertions of the critics, there is no
conflict between the ESP phenomena and the established physical
laws. When an individual suddenly becomes aware of another’s
thought, as in telepathy, or of some fact or event, as in clairvoyance,
there is no physical action involved, and physical laws cannot be
violated unless there is physical action. These laws are simply
statements as to what will happen in the event that certain kinds of
actions take place. On the other hand, PK, if it exists on a
macroscopic scale, does involve physical action, and produces that
action in violation of the conservation laws.
Some experiments designed to utilize modern sophisticated equipment
to overcome the criticisms directed against previous PK investigations
because of the crude nature of the investigative tools that have been
utilized were carried out by Helmut Schmidt, who reported some
significant deviations from chance results.203 Schmidt concedes,
however, that the results attributed to PK could have been due to
precognition instead. Consequently, they cannot be regarded as firm
evidence in support of the existence of PK. Furthermore, the objective
at which the experimental subjects were aiming was to influence the
results of certain theoretically unpredictable subatomic (radioactive)
processes. Unlike the macroscopic “mind over matter” PK effects,
modification of the results of these microscopic processes would not
necessarily require the application of energy. The PK influence might
simply interfere with the operation of the normal laws of chance, a
possibility that, as noted earlier, is not excluded by anything that we
now know. Thus, even if Schmidt’s results are actually attributable to
PK, they do not constitute evidence of a PK capability of exerting a
force on a physical object.
While we cannot completely exclude the possibility that the Sector 3
existences can intervene in physical events, and must rely to a large
extent on evidence indicating that they do not intervene, at least in
macroscopic events, the situation in reverse is clear. Purely physical
objects or existences cannot exert metaphysical influences, as they
have no Sector 3 components and there is no direct connection
between the inanimate physical world and the metaphysical region.
The belief that some objects, numbers, or days are “lucky,” whereas
others are “unlucky,” has no basis in fact. A rabbit’s foot is equally as
ineffective in the dark of the moon as in broad daylight. The events of
Friday the 13th are no different from those of any other day, nor will
these events be modified by the discovery of a four-leaf clover, or by
nailing a horseshoe above one’s door.
The idea that the stars can influence human life, a concept held over
from the days when the “celestial” was thought to be a totally
different order of existence from the “terrestrial,” is likewise
groundless. As expressed by Harlow Shapley, the astrology column
carried by many newspapers is “one of the most remarkably persistent
frauds to be perpetrated on a rather intelligent and partly-educated
society.”204 We may hope, however, that most of those who read these
columns will recognize them for what they are—nonsense dressed up
in entertaining form—and will class the astrological predictions where
they belong, with reading tea leaves, numerology, magic, and other
amusements fashioned from the fabric of ancient superstitions and
occult beliefs. Shapley takes the sting out of his criticism by
conceding the entertainment value. He goes on to say:
This can be taken all in fun. “Nonsense” is here the right word, not
non-science; and this world of ours is so grim at times that we should
welcome a bit of nonsense now and then.205
No physical object, religious or secular, celestial or terrestrial,
common or unique, has any metaphysical power or influence. The
kind of “luck” attributed to a horseshoe or a rabbit’s foot is essentially
equivalent to a miracle—a miracle, junior grade, we may say—and
like any other miracle that involves a deviation from the physical
laws, it is ruled out by our findings. However, the term “luck” is not
only applied to influencing the course of physical events, the objective
of a talisman, which we find impossible. It is also applied to success
in anticipating the course of events, particularly where these events
are determined by chance, as in gambling. This is precognition, one of
the forms of ESP, and the considerations applicable to the ESP
phenomena in general, as detailed in Chapter 8, are also applicable to
this form of “luck.”
Even though metaphysical intervention in purely physical situations
does not take place, if the conclusions of the foregoing analysis are
correct, intervention in human thought and action is not only possible,
but clearly occurs. As brought out in the previous discussion, human
behavior, to the extent that it has been emancipated from the animal
type of control, is subject to a control of metaphysical origin, and
there is direct contact between the metaphysical region and the control
unit. Where conditions are such that the human individual is receptive
to the metaphysical influences, these influences may well constitute
the decisive factor in determining the course of action which he will
take. The religious concept of the metaphysical existence as a source
from which human beings can obtain assistance and guidance is
therefore entirely in accord with our findings. However, most
religions also regard the metaphysical region as an actual or potential
source of harmful influences. N. F. S. Ferre, for instance, incorporates
this idea into his definition of religion:
By religion I mean the conviction that there are realities and powers
beyond ordinary experience that can help and harm man.206
When viewed in the perspective of human life, this dual concept of
good and evil metaphysical influences seems quite logical. Here on
earth, those who possess power have the option of using it for good or
for evil, and it is natural to assume that the same would be true of any
outside agencies that are capable of exerting some influence on human
affairs. But the application of this concept to relations between man
and the metaphysical region encounters some serious difficulties, and
the trend of thinking on this subject has followed a strange and
tortuous path.
Primitive man found no problem here. He applied the original concept
of the supernatural, the same idea expressed by Ferre, in a
straightforward way by expecting his gods to protect and assist him
and the members of his tribe, and at the same time to inflict hardship
on their enemies. The development of the “universal” religions erased
this distinction between “we” and “they” in religious thinking and led
to a new concept in which the separation between good and evil is at
the source rather than at the receiving end. Instead of a single power,
or a single group of powers, dealing out benefits to some and harm to
others, these more advanced religions envisioned a spirit of good and
a spirit of evil contending for mastery over the affairs of men.
But the human race has too much pride and self-esteem to be content
with a doctrine of this nature which reduces it to the status of a pawn
in the game of life, and there has been a gradual reinterpretation of the
original ideas that has reduced the once powerful Spirit of Evil to a
mere shadow of his former self. Ahriman, Prince of Darkness, who
once contended on even terms with Ahura Mazda, Prince of the Light,
has become nothing more than a vague and even somewhat ludicrous
Devil, who no longer acts on his own authority and for his own ends,
but exists merely for some obscure reason connected with the long
range purposes of the Powers of Good. Even the status of Warden of
the Celestial Penitentiary, which has been traditionally assigned to
him, is becoming meaningless as the doctrine of eternal punishment
for the evildoer becomes less and less acceptable to the modern mind.
If the present trend continues, as seems altogether probable, it will not
be so very long before the whole concept of a metaphysical Spirit of
Evil has disappeared from human thinking.
What this development will accomplish will simply be to bring the
general thinking on the subject into harmony with the findings of this
present study. As will be brought out in more detail later, our
conclusion, derived from a logical analysis based on factual premises,
is that the external metaphysical region, Sector 3, is “good” by
definition, inasmuch as it is in conformity with the laws and principles
of Sector 3 that constitute “good” behavior. Hence there cannot be any
evil in Sector 3, and whatever influences may originate in that sector
are good influences. We get only help, not harm, from this
metaphysical source.
Evil, as we know it, is a product of our physical universe. It is action
in accord with the governing principles of that universe in those cases
where these principles are in conflict with the principles of Sector 3,
and it is confined to that physical universe. If there are other universes
similar to ours, as our findings indicate that there are, then these other
universes also have their evils, analogous to ours, confined to their
particular universes. If there are still other universes of a different
kind—multidimensional, perhaps—as our findings also indicate, these
universes may or may not have evils, so far as our present information
is able to tell us. But Sector 3, the general metaphysical region, is the
home of good, not evil.
At this point, it may be asked whether it might not be possible for
influences, evil or otherwise, originating in these foreign universes to
have an effect on our own. This question must be answered in the
negative. Sector 3, existence as a whole, can have an influence on
human life because every location in the physical universe is also a
location in existence as a whole, but it is not a location in any other
universe, and consequently there is no point of contact through which
an influence could be exerted.
On the basis of the findings of this work, all assertions concerning evil
or harmful influences exerted by metaphysical agencies will have to
be identified as superstition, even when they emanate from religious
sources of the highest standing. There are no “evil spirits” to be
exorcised; no “powers of darkness” to be defied or placated. Whatever
evil there may be in an individual’s thoughts or action comes from the
inside—from his inheritance as a biological organism—not from the
outside. Strangely enough, most Christian denominations regard the
present state of the human race, with its still sizeable remnant of the
ancient evils, as the result of a fall, rather than in its true light as a
state in a long upward climb. “Biblical symbolism describes this
crucial event of evolutionary development [the emergence of human
characteristics] as the Fall.”207 (T. Dobzhansky)
The effects of strong religious beliefs and firm philosophical
convictions in aiding individuals to meet the crises of life, and in
sustaining them through periods of adversity, are commonly
recognized. As expressed by William James, “something ideal, which
in one sense is part of ourselves, and in another sense is not ourselves,
actually exerts an influence, raises our centre of personal energy, and
produces regenerative effects unattainable in other ways.”208
Ordinarily, such effects are not called miracles, inasmuch as that term
is reserved for identifiable events, but the difference is only a matter
of degree. In either case, Sector 3 influences which, we find, play no
part in purely physical phenomena, do intervene, through the Sector 3
component of the human personality, in human affairs.
Throughout the ages, one of the important functions of religion has
been to assist human beings in obtaining the benefit of this
metaphysical power. Even those who deny the reality of metaphysical
existence, and who therefore cannot admit that the help which is
received is metaphysical, generally concede that religion does, in fact,
meet a definite human need for support that is not available elsewhere.
“A religion,” says Julian Huxley, “is an organ of man in society which
helps him cope with the problems of nature and his destiny—his place
and role in the universe.”209 Most of the effects of this religious
influence are subjective and difficult to identify, but there is one area
in which events that meet the present-day religious definition of
miracles—“unusual and striking events which have religious
significance”197—are not uncommon. This is the so-called “ministry
of healing.”
Healing has been an accompaniment of religion throughout all
religious history. But the religious communities have never been quite
sure just how the healing mission fits in with other religious
objectives, an uncertainty that has been accentuated by the existence
of non-religious or quasi-religious agencies devoted primarily to
healing. Even before the establishment of religions in the present-day
sense there were witch doctors, medicine men, and practitioners of
magic who occasionally achieved notable results, and the modern
scene is full of “healers” of all kinds, ranging from the equivalent of
the witch doctors to full-fledged religions of healing. Because of their
disapproval of the methods of some of these more aggressive healers,
the established religious organizations have vacillated between active
participation in the healing activities and rejection of the whole
faith-healing concept.
The witch doctors interpreted sickness as the result of demons, or evil
spirits, prompted in their malevolent activities by enemies, human or
other, and the objective of the remedial procedures was to get rid of
the demons. The early religions took over both the theory and the
practice. “The basis for healings was generally a demonological
interpretation of sickness; healing was frequently carried out as an
exorcism.”210 The concept of evil spirits has little attraction for the
modern mind, even though the rites of exorcism are still part of the
official doctrine of some of the world’s largest religious bodies. Nor
does the alternative hypothesis, favored by the medieval churches,
that sickness is a punishment, strike any responsive chord today. Since
most of the Western religious organizations have abandoned these
outmoded doctrines without providing any substitute, they have left
the door wide open to the professional faith healers, organized and
unorganized. A realization of this fact has been growing, and within
the last few years a number of the leading Protestant denominations
have initiated studies aimed at determining the extent to which faith
healing is compatible with their religious beliefs.
After the basic connection between healing of the body and healing of
the soul and the psychogenic origin of many illnesses was
acknowledged theologically and medically, different older churches…
have re-instituted healing services.210 (Ernst W. Benz)
The metaphysical aspects of faith healing are relevant to the subject
matter of this present work. It is evident, however, from the findings
described in the preceding pages, that faith healing is not inherently a
metaphysical process. Evolution has not only produced bacteria,
viruses, and other parasites to attack the human body; it has also
produced defense mechanisms that are capable of repelling these
invaders if the mechanisms are operating properly. Furthermore, even
though some of the regenerative powers of the lower animals have
been lost as the biological structure of the organisms has become
more complex, so that man cannot, like the starfish, grow a new limb
to replace one that he has lost, nevertheless the ability of the human
(or animal) body to heal its wounds and cure its ailments, when that
ability is employed to its fullest extent, is so remarkable that
describing its results as “miraculous” is not very much of an
exaggeration. These healing processes are purely physical, and no
intervention by metaphysical agencies is necessary. All of the healing
that is accomplished, including those spectacular instances that are
classified as miracles, could be accomplished without any kind of
outside assistance, metaphysical or otherwise, if the individual were
able to mobilize his full powers for the task.
However, the mere existence of a curable affliction is definite
evidence that the afflicted individual is not capable of applying his full
powers to the healing task as long as he is left to his own resources. It
is commonly recognized among the members of the medical
profession that a patient’s state of mind has a significant effect on the
course of his illness. One of the functions of that mind is the control
over the bodily activities, and it is not unlikely that a weakening or
loss of control over certain cells plays an important part in many
diseases. In fact, the available information indicates that this loss of
control is the most significant feature of cancer, one of the diseases
against which modern medicine has made relatively little headway. A
recent (1978) research report is an example of the kind of evidence
that is emerging:
Based on a study of 117 randomly selected college students, Boston
University researcher Steven Locke reports that persons who cope
poorly with stress appear to suffer deficits in cell-mediated immunity
against certain diseases. Those who cope well with stress display
comparatively active Natural Killer Cell Activity (NKCA) when the
body is threatened by disease or by abnormal cells.211
Inability to cope with stress is, of course, a symptom of lack of full
control over the biological system; that is, it is a type of mental
illness. Such illness is not at all uncommon. “Mental disease,” says F.
M. Berger, “is more common than other illnesses… . It has been
estimated that more than 50 percent of patients who visit a doctor
suffer from mental disturbances.”212 This is the background of
individual weakness that makes faith healing possible. The inner
strength, the power of control, that the afflicted person cannot
generate for himself can be attained with the help of someone in
whom, or even some idea in which, he has confidence.
Whether or not that confidence has any solid basis is immaterial.
There is a great deal of chicanery in the faith healing field, but since
the essential element is the confidence, it makes no significant
difference whether the credentials of the healer are imaginary, or
whether the saint ever came within a hundred miles of the shrine from
which his healing powers are supposed to emanate. The distrust and
antagonism that faith healing has often generated have not been due to
any lack of validity in the faith healing idea itself, or to a lack of
competence on the part of the healers, generally speaking. Rather it
has resulted from a failure on the part of those healers to recognize, or
at least to admit, the limitations to which this type of healing is
subject. Obviously, there are many kinds of physical difficulties that
the mechanism of the body is not capable of dealing with, even when
all of its processes are operating normally and under full control. As
expressed by Weatherhead, “No amount of love, or positive-thinking,
or denial of the existence of evil will take a splinter out of an eye.”213
Furthermore, there are equally definite, even though less visible,
limitations on the extent to which outside assistance can compensate
for internal deficiencies. The tendency on the part of the faith healers
to overestimate the capabilities of their technique has therefore led to
a high percentage of failures that has had a tendency to discredit the
entire undertaking.
As some of the religious organizations are now beginning to realize,
medicine, psychiatry, and faith healing all have their places in the total
picture, and the best results will be obtained when each is used where
it is appropriate. The contribution that religion can make is to help
enlist the aid of the metaphysical influences, those sources of support
to which the human individual has access because there is an aspect of
his personality which transcends the limitations of the physical
universe. Even though the objective to be accomplished is purely
physical, and therefore, in principle, within the capability of purely
physical agencies, the help that can be obtained from metaphysical
sources is often essential for establishment of the control that makes
full use of those physical agencies possible. With the benefit of this
assistance, healing “miracles” can take place, whether or not they are
recognized as such. To this extent, therefore, the present study
confirms the religious assertions as to the existence of biological
(healing) miracles. It does not agree, however, that these so-called
“miracles” involve any suspension of the laws of nature. The healing
processes, including those features that depend on “faith” of some
kind, are wholly natural.
CHAPTER 13
Emotions
Information received by an individual from Sector 3 through the
processes of revelation, intuition, or insight discussed in the previous
chapters joins with information communicated to him by other
persons or received directly through his own senses, and the entire
combination of material is then subjected to that individual’s internal
processes. In the next four chapters, we will examine the aspects of
these internal processes that are relevant to the general subject matter
under consideration.
One of the first reactions may be an emotional response to the
incoming information. “All of us know from experience what an
emotion is,”214 says one psychology textbook. But that is a very
vague kind of knowledge, and as another text admits, the tangible
scientific knowledge of emotion “is neither very exact nor very
extensive.”215 Furthermore, most of the systematic consideration of
the subject has been centered on the physiological changes and
behavior patterns that result from the emotions. One theory even
contends that the physiological changes constitute the emotion. “My
theory,” says William James, “is that the bodily changes follow
directly the perception of the exciting fact, and that our feeling of the
same changes as they occur is the emotion.”216 For our present
purposes, the important points to be noted are that the emotion is
initiated by incoming information, and that it results in action.
McDougall (1923) was one of the first to stress the close integration
of emotion and action (which he believed to be instinctive in origin),
pointing out that fear and flight, anger and attack, maternal feeling and
protective action, naturally go together as parts of unitary behavior.217
(Krech and Crutchfield)
Let us consider one of the so-called “primary” emotions. Fear is a
good example. When a situation arises that produces fear in a man or
animal, the first result is physiological. Pulse rate, blood pressure,
respiration, and many other body functions are altered to produce a
state of physical readiness for action. The next result is action itself. If
no deterring factor intervenes, the individual, whether he be man or
animal, takes to his heels.
Now let us ask, what benefit does a human being derive from this fear
emotion? The answer clearly has to be: Nothing at all. Human
intelligence is quite capable of initiating the flight if such action seems
to be advisable. In fact, the currently favored theory is that the
intelligence must authorize the flight even if fear is present. On that
basis, there is no time saved, and in any case the difference in time is
not likely to be significant. Nor is fear necessary for the physiological
preparation. When a situation that calls for emergency action is
perceived, the body gets the shot of adrenaline that facilitates quick
action whether or not fear is present. There is no good reason to
believe that the further physiological changes induced by fear will
improve this situation. On the contrary, experience shows that fear
often results in ineffective action, or even prevents taking any action
at all. “Paralyzed by fear” is a description commonly applied in such
cases. Thus, on balance, fear is definitely detrimental to survival, so
far as the human race is concerned. This is not generally recognized in
current thought. On the contrary, a representative statement from a
current psychology textbook reads as follows:
When Darwin revolutionized scientific theory in biology by
classifying man as only one of many species that evolved from other
animals, he pointed out that emotion would not exist unless it was
adaptive, that is useful for the survival of humans as well as other
animals.218
This assertion rests on the premise that all evolutionary developments
continue to be useful after the evolution has passed on to a more
advanced stage—an untenable proposition. The human race has found
it advantageous to get along without the prehensile tail that was so
important to its tree-dwelling ancestors. On balance, the case in favor
of retention of the fear emotion would seem no better than that in
favor of retaining the prehensile tail. But it is true that unless this
emotion had a survival value for some species, it could not have been
produced in the course of biological evolution, which operates
entirely on a survival basis. It follows, therefore, that the emotion of
fear, like the prehensile tail, must have had a survival value for the
organisms in which it developed. The explanation clearly lies in the
inferior mental capacity of the lower forms of life. Their brains are not
capable of recognizing the threat, analyzing the situation, and
originating flight, if flight is required, within the time that is available.
For such organisms, it is advantageous to have a mechanism that
initiates flight almost automatically. A threatening situation causes
fear, and fear results in flight without further ado.
According to Spinoza, our emotions are the product of a lack of
understanding of the situation which confronts us.219 But the
difficulty that the primitive type of animal faces is something more
fundamental. He does not possess the capability of clear
understanding, nor the capability of exercising judgment as to the
appropriate action even if he did have a clear understanding. What he
needs (and has) is a process that requires only a general recognition of
the threat, and on recognition initiates action directly, without the
necessity of going through a complex mental process.
On this basis, the primary emotions are precursors of intelligence.
They enable non-intelligent animals, or animals of very limited
intelligence, to react to certain classes of situations in a
quasi-intelligent manner. But now that evolutionary development has
produced a greater degree of intelligence, that intelligence arrives at
better results in the great majority of cases because it not only takes
into consideration the unique characteristics of each individual
situation rather than evoking a standardized response in each situation
of a broad general class, but is also capable of initiating a wider
variety of responses. It would therefore be beneficial to man, and
perhaps to the higher animals as well, if the fear emotion could be
suppressed.
The principal reason why the emotions have not been entirely
superseded by thought in human activity is that these are separate
processes that have evidently evolved independently. Where one
physiological feature evolves from another, as in the evolution of eyes
from light-sensitive skin areas, the change is gradual, and at each
stage the new replaces the old. But although emotion and thinking
serve essentially the same purposes, within the more limited range of
the emotions, they operate on entirely different principles. In thinking,
a given situation is perceived as a combination of a number of factors,
possible means of manipulating or responding to these factors are
envisioned, and a decision, or judgment, is reached as to the most
desirable course of action. In the emotional process, the situation in its
entirety is perceived as being one of a certain class. The action
appropriate to that class of situation then follows automatically.
As this description indicates, emotion is a very simple process, so far
as its essential elements are concerned. It is therefore easy to see how
emotions could have originated at a relatively early evolutionary
stage. Indeed, such behavior as that of plants which respond to light
by turning toward the source is not fundamentally different from
resorting to flight as a response to a threatening situation. Just how,
and at what stage of evolutionary development, thinking first made its
appearance is not yet known, but it clearly plays no significant role in
any biological species other than the higher animals. Thus, emotion
was already highly developed before thinking had any real impact,
and the thinking apparatus originated from a separate line of
development. As a result, the human brain is not a single organ, but a
complex structure, in which the evidence of a new mechanism
superimposed on an older brain is clear enough, in spite of some
integration of functions that has resulted from further evolution after
the original combination, to give rise to designations such as the “old”
or “reptilian” brain, and the “new” or “mammalian” brain (which is
itself a double structure). Arthur Koestler has this to say:
If the evidence had not taught us the contrary, we would expect an
evolutionary development which gradually transformed the primitive
old brain into a more sophisticated instrument—as it transformed claw
into hand, gill into lung. Instead, evolution superimposed a new
superior structure on an old one, with partly overlapping functions,
and without providing the new with a clear-cut, hierarchic control
over the old, thus inviting confusion and conflict.220
The availability of a more efficient and versatile apparatus can be
expected to lead to a gradual decrease in the utilization of the
emotional mechanism; perhaps to its eventual disappearance. This
process is already under way, but the clear superiority of the thinking
process over the emotional mechanism was achieved only a relatively
short time ago, on the evolutionary scale, and not enough time has
elapsed to accomplish a major evolutionary change. Furthermore, the
availability of a simple process that can handle some routine
situations lightens the load on the thinking apparatus, and this useful
function that the emotional mechanism is able to perform no doubt
tends to make the phasing out of the emotions still slower.
This is not likely to change the ultimate result. Because of the major
role that the availability of accurate information plays in determining
the validity of the conclusions reached through the reasoning process,
the position of reason vis-à-vis emotion continually improves as the
amount of information at the disposal of the individual increases. The
new and better mechanism will no doubt take over the entire job, or at
least assume full control, sooner or later. In the meantime, however,
both intelligence and emotion are endeavoring to control the response
to perceived situations, and as Koestler pointed out, conflicts are
inevitable. This has long been recognized by students of human
behavior.
Men have often believed themselves victims of the force of their
feelings… [They] have been led to think of their psyche as divided
into two conflicting parts—reason on one side and emotion on the
other… to believe that reason and emotion are locked in continuous
warfare, with self as host and victim.221 (Evelyn Shirk)
There is a general recognition, says this author, that emotion is the
undesirable and dangerous force. “Our culture has long harbored a
deeply rooted conviction that the part of the psyche most likely to
cause mischief and least worthy of trust is the capacity for feeling and
emotion.” There is an element of truth in this view of the situation, to
be sure, but it is overdramatized. Emotion is not some mysterious,
inimical “force” by which we are victimized. It is simply an automatic
reaction of man’s primitive brain; a reaction that cannot be prevented
as long as that brain continues to be operative, but can be overruled
by intelligence. The substantial degree of progress that has already
been achieved toward suppression of the emotional reactions is
illustrated in the human response to the emotion of anger.
Inasmuch as the survival of an individual in the animal world not only
requires quick retreat from danger but also promptness in seizing
opportunities to gain, or to preserve, an advantage over the other
animals with which it competes for food and other necessities,
evolution has produced an emotion analogous to fear that initiates
attack rather than retreat. This emotion, anger, is, in a sense, the direct
opposite of fear. In the lower animals, the response to anger is purely
situation-oriented. An intruder is attacked simply because he intrudes.
In the more intelligent species, particularly man, an objectionable
situation is not, in itself, sufficient to produce an angry reaction.
Human anger is aroused mainly where the affected individual objects
to the reasons, or what he believes to be the reasons, for the situation.
An injury resulting from the actions of another person will usually be
accepted unemotionally if it is judged to be unavoidable, or, in most
cases, even if it is merely unintentional. But if the injury results from
carelessness, the victim is likely to become angry, and if it is
intentional, some degree of anger is inevitable. Furthermore, that
which is judged to be intentional may produce anger even if the injury
is trivial, or is actually avoided. As the psychologists point out, anger
is typically correlated with the impulse to attack, and in the lower
animals, attack is essentially automatic. But in man, it is the exception
rather than the rule. Ordinarily the attack response to anger is vetoed
by reason, either on the ground that it would be counterproductive, in
that it would provoke the antagonist to inflict still further injury, or on
the ground that retaliation under the existing circumstances would be
contrary to accepted standards of conduct and would impair the
individual’s standing in the community.
This overruling of the emotional response by intelligent thought is not
always accomplished easily, and often generates internal conflicts of a
disturbing nature. In human beings, where the rational response is the
normal one, the conflicts are more frequent and more violent in the
case of those individuals who are in the habit of giving relatively free
rein to their emotions. Thus the type of difficulty known as
“emotional disturbance” is correlated with the relative strength of the
emotions. On the other hand, in animals, where emotion
predominates, a higher degree of intelligence, and the resultant greater
ability to recognize deviations from the standard pattern to which the
emotional response is geared, means more occasion for conflict and
consequently more emotional disturbance. “An animal’s susceptibility
to emotional disturbance is directly related to the level of its
intelligence”222 reports Hebb. According to this author, such a
disturbance may be regarded as a breakdown of equipment. Our
findings indicate, however, that it is merely a natural result of the
presence of two different mechanisms developed by evolution to
handle the same kind of situations. In many cases, the two will act in
parallel, but since they operate on different principles, some conflicts
are inevitable.
The great increase in intelligence in the evolutionary step from ape to
man has not been paralleled by a corresponding increase in emotional
disturbances. As Hebb goes on to say, “The great apes show their
kinship with him [man] more clearly in their emotional characteristics
than in their capacity for learning and solving problems.” This is
entirely in line with what can be expected on the basis of a clash
between a primitive brain and a new one of a continually improving
character. The emotional disturbances were caused initially by the
development of intelligence, the operating process of the new brain,
and the resulting introduction of conflicts with emotion. As
intelligence continued to increase, the number of points of conflict
also increased. In the meantime, reason has achieved complete
domination over an increasing number of situations, thus eliminating
conflicts in these respects. Eventually, as intelligence continued to
improve in the course of evolution, the effect of the increasing
dominance of reason exceeded the effect of the generation of new
points of conflict, and the total amount of conflict began to decrease.
Thus, while the emotional level of the great apes is somewhat near
that of man, the apes are still on the ascending branch of the curve of
emotional disturbances, while the human race is on the descending
branch.
Thus far, we have been considering only the primary emotions, the
“crude” emotions, as William James called them, more specifically
fear and anger. In dealing with the emotions of the lower animals, this
is as far as we can go. There is no reliable indication that these
creatures are subject to any other emotions. They are subject to
internal disturbances due to inability to achieve strongly desired
objectives, and the resulting state of frustration is frequently called an
emotion. Unlike fear and anger, however, frustration is a consequence
of the existing situation rather than a mechanism for initiating the
proper response to that situation. It is therefore something of a
different basic nature. But in the higher animals there are signs of
certain other physiological states that have enough resemblance to the
states induced by fear and anger to justify considering them as related
to the primary emotions, and in human individuals, these
physiological states of a more complex character and more recent
evolutionary origin are many and varied.
Some of these are merely modifications or extensions of fear and
anger. Hate, for example, is a less acute form of anger that is
maintained over a long period of time. Jealousy is another emotion of
similar nature that may be only a very mild reaction, or may have an
intensity anywhere up to a murderous rage. There are, however, a
number of other states usually classified as emotions which have quite
different characteristics. The members of one pair, joy and sadness,
are so easily recognizable and so widely experienced that they are
often included among the primary emotions.
But the difference between joy and sadness on the one hand, and fear
and anger on the other, are differences in kind rather than merely
differences in details. Fear and anger initiate action; that is, they are
related to what will happen. Joy and sadness are related to what has
happened. They do not call for action of any kind, and apparently
involve nothing more than a physiological reaction to events that have
occurred. Looking at the situation from another direction, fear and
anger, like intelligence, for which they are very limited substitutes, are
tools for attaining human (or animal) objectives. Joy and sadness are
reactions of the organism to the achievement, or failure to achieve,
those objectives. In reality, they are merely relatively intense forms of
pleasure and pain respectively (if pain is taken in the broad sense in
which it is the converse of pleasure). For present purposes, we will
call these results of actions that have taken place, or are taking place,
sensations, to distinguish them from emotions, the reactions to stimuli
that determine the actions that the individual will take if not overruled
by reason.
Inasmuch as this present work is a scientific investigation of the
metaphysical region and the effect of influences from that region on
human life, we are concerned with emotions and sensations only
insofar as they have some bearing on the relations between man and
Sector 3. Fear and anger come within our field of study because they,
like intelligence, are tools that can be applied to the furtherance or
hindrance of objectives that are in harmony with the principles of
Sector 3. Sensations such as joy or sorrow, on the other hand, have no
Sector 3 significance. If an individual experiences anything that could
be called a sensation just because he does the morally right thing in a
given set of circumstances, it is not joy. Joy results from the
successful accomplishment of some Sector 2 objective—biological,
social, economic, etc. Similarly, sadness, sorrow, or grief, the
sensations that are aroused by failure to reach Sector 2 objectives, or
loss of some source of enjoyment, are not relevant to the matters now
under consideration.
“As the word is commonly used,” says Hall, “emotion refers to a
consciously-felt state.”223 Most of the physiological states included
under this definition are neither pure emotions, comparable to fear,
nor pure sensations, comparable to joy, but combinations of the two,
together with various elements of what the psychologists call
“drives.” For example, finality, or a close approximation thereto, is a
prerequisite for evoking objective-related states such as joy. The prize
must be won, or the battle lost. If the outcome is still uncertain, the
physiological state will be more complex. Perhaps it will be anxiety, a
rather vague form of fear mixed with various sensations.
From the standpoint of the present investigation, the physiological
results of taking actions that have moral significance are of particular
interest. As already noted, doing the morally right thing does not
evoke joy, in the ordinary sense of that term. It may foster some kind
of a feeling of being in harmony with the better aspects of human life,
and this could be considered a sensation. The results of taking an
action that is morally wrong depend on two factors: (1) the ultimate
outcome of the action, and (2) whether or not the individual remains
convinced that he made a sound decision. That decision was reached
because of his belief that it would produce a net total of desirable
results. Unless there was some miscalculation, the action should have
produced some kind of satisfaction, perhaps even enough to arouse
joy. The successful criminal may be quite elated over his
accomplishment.
In actual practice, miscalculation is very common, and the person who
finds himself in prison or otherwise penalized for his action is likely
to be subject to regret. For our purposes, regret will have to be classed
with sensations such as joy and sorrow, since it has no Sector 3
implications. But if the individual now realizes, either because a
reconsideration of the situation has been forced upon him by the
troubles in which he is now enmeshed, or for some other reason, that
his decision with respect to taking the action was contrary to his own
moral standards, he may experience remorse, which is a strong, often
overpowering, emotion that calls for expiatory action.
A prerequisite for remorse is a feeling of guilt. But the existence of
the guilt sensation is not necessarily accompanied by remorse. All that
is necessary to arouse the guilt sensation is a recognition that the act is
morally wrong. Such a recognition usually exists at the time of the
original decision to take the action, and it is one of the factors that
entered into that decision. Since the decision was taken in spite of
whatever feeling of guilt may have existed, the emotion of remorse
follows only if there is a reconsideration of that decision, and if, at the
time of the reconsideration, the desire to conform to the moral code is
strong enough to outweigh whatever non-moral benefits may have
accrued from the action.
The conflicts between some of the conclusions reached in the
preceding pages and opinions expressed in current psychological and
philosophical literature are due primarily to the fact that we are using
the term “emotion” in a limited sense. When it is asserted in the
literature that the proper goal “is not to eliminate emotions but to
direct them properly,”224 the “emotions” to which this assertion refers
are mainly what we have called “sensations.” The “emotion” used as
an example in connection with the foregoing quotation was “sorrow.”
Such sensations have no relevance to the subject matter of this work,
and there is no reason to pass judgment on them here. On the other
hand, we are expressly concerned with the physiological states that
qualify as emotions on the basis of our definition. These emotions are
in active competition with intelligence, and the extent to which any
individual is able to overrule them is a criterion of the stage that he
has reached in his advance along the evolutionary road leading
upward from his animal background. This criterion will be even more
significant in application to the next class of emotions that we will
consider.
All of the emotions and sensations thus far considered may be
classified as personal; that is, they are related to the individual’s own
situation. He fears that which may cause harm to him or to his
possessions. He experiences joy when something directly or indirectly
favorable to him occurs. He knows anxiety when his interests are in
jeopardy. He feels remorse when he realizes that he has done wrong.
In addition, there are what we may call social emotions, similar states
that are related to the situations of others. Inasmuch as an emotion of
this kind involves three elements, the individual’s own feelings, his
perception of the situations of the other persons involved, and the
relations between him and the others, it is a complex phenomenon.
Love for example, is practically undefinable. As expressed by Hall, it
is “the poet’s delight and the psychologist’s perplexity.”225
For present purposes, the exact nature of these social emotions is
immaterial. They are subject to essentially the same considerations as
the primary personal emotions. They constitute a biological
mechanism whereby an individual’s reaction to a situation involving
interpersonal relationships is determined in the same manner as his
reaction to a situation that arouses fear or anger; that is, each emotion
evokes a standard response. Unlike the personal emotions, they
produce little or no observable physiological effects, and for that
reason, the psychologists are not inclined to classify them with the
personal emotions. “By scientific consensus as well as in popular
usage, the words emotion and emotional are reserved for cases in
which physiological changes accompany mental activity,”226 says
Kagan and Havemann. But this restriction on the usage is far from
universal. When a philosopher tells us that “the emotional element has
been prominent in religion,”227 he is not talking about anything that
can normally be detected physically. Similarly, an action taken out of
sympathy for an afflicted person without any rational consideration of
the question as to whether the action was justified is ordinarily called
an emotional reaction to the situation, although here again, no
physiological evidence of the emotion is usually visible. Emotions of
this character are social emotions.
The physiological changes accompanying a primary personal emotion
are bodily preparations for the action that results from the emotion.
Fear, for example, initiates preparations for quick flight. Ordinarily
the actions that result from the social emotions (if not prevented by
the reasoning process) are not of an urgent nature, nor are they of any
great personal concern. No special physiological preparation for such
actions is therefore required. Furthermore, the kinds of emotional
disturbances that often result when an emotion such as anger is held in
check by reason are seldom generated directly by repression of social
emotions. They occur only when the individual becomes personally
involved in the social situation to the point where emotions such as
fear or anger develop.
There is another significant difference between the personal and social
emotions that should be noted. Unless some abnormality exists,
personal emotions are always intended to serve the interests of the
individual. Social emotions, on the other hand, are of two kinds. As in
the kind of a situation just mentioned, they may involve sympathy
with the person or persons concerned, in which case any actions that
they generate will be favorable to those persons. But instead, they
may involve some degree of antipathy, in which case the actions, if
any, will be unfavorable to those that are affected. Furthermore, unlike
the purely personal emotions, which never rank higher than ethically
neutral, the social emotions may have positive ethical values. Such
values are not inherent in the particular emotions, but depend on the
circumstances in each case. Misplaced sympathy, for example, is not
ethically commendable.
Here again, the more advanced type of mechanism, reason, that is
available to human beings for making personal decisions is also
available as an alternate to the social emotions. In the area of personal
behavior, where the true nature of the conflicts between reason and
emotion is clearly visible, the superiority of reason is not seriously
challenged. In the absence of any difference in kind between the
decisions to be made in the social areas and those that are made in the
personal areas, it necessarily follows that reason is superior in the
social areas as well. This, however, is not generally conceded. On the
contrary, the decisions in many fields of human activity are routinely
made on the basis of emotional reactions rather than as a result of
reasoned conclusions.
The reason for this difference in readiness to accept the emotional
answers lies in the extent of personal involvement. Where a strictly
personal decision is to be made, an individual tends to look at all
angles of the problem, including its collateral and long-range aspects.
Even though emotion may call for immediate and drastic action,
anyone in full possession of his faculties will at least listen to what his
reason tells him before he makes his move. On the other hand, if an
emotion of sympathy for some person or group calls for some
supportive action, the questions that can be answered by reason—
whether the action will, in fact, benefit that person or group, whether
it has some undesirable secondary or ultimate consequences, and so
on—are not of enough personal concern to generate the kind of
careful consideration that would be required in order to arrive at a
rational evaluation of the situation. Nor is this relatively minor
personal involvement any more likely to induce rational thought in
those cases where an antagonistic emotion calls for hostile action.
Unfortunately, these social issues which get so little rational
consideration are actually much more complex than the personal
problems that are so carefully evaluated before action is taken, and the
standardized emotional response therefore has a much greater
probability of being wrong. An act of “compassion” based on an
emotion of sympathy for a criminal may not only be detrimental to
that individual in the long run, but may result in serious consequences
to other persons, whose interests were given no consideration when
the decision was made. A law based on an emotion of sympathy for
low-paid workers, and intended to give them higher pay or better
working conditions may, in fact, deny them employment. A measure
aimed at a corporation against which there is an emotional prejudice
may actually accomplish nothing but raise prices for that corporation’s
customers. And so on, indefinitely. In these social areas, the best of
intentions often lead to the worst of results.
Some of the specific issues involved in the conflicts between reason
and emotion in social matters will be discussed at appropriate points
in the pages that follow. At this time, however, while we are still
examining the general subject of emotions, and before the situation is
confused by the introduction of those specific issues, many of which
are highly controversial, it should be emphasized that there is nothing
creditable or praiseworthy about being emotionally guided. As has
been emphasized in the preceding discussion, emotion is merely a
tool, a means whereby the response that should be made to a given
stimulus is identified. Furthermore, it is the cruder and less reliable of
the two mechanisms for this purpose that are at the disposal of a
human being. It is evident, therefore, that future progress in the area
of social relations will depend very largely on the rate at which the
newer and more reliable tool, reason, can be substituted for the more
primitive and less efficient tool, emotion, as the instrument for making
social decisions.
In the light of present knowledge, the fact that emotional reactions
still determine the great majority of social decisions is an indication of
the long way that human society has yet to go before it can realize its
full potential. The relatively primitive state of the existing social
organization is even more clearly brought out by the tendency of those
agencies, such as the organized religious bodies, that claim to be
working toward improvement of social conditions, to applaud and
support emotional responses, while condemning any opposition based
on rational grounds. Of course, this is understandable in view of the
emotional nature of the present-day approach to religion. But the fact
that the antagonism toward the application of reason to social
problems is understandable does not make it any more justifiable. An
action which is harmful to an individual or group is no less harmful if
it is undertaken with the best of intentions and on the basis of a
“good” emotional impulse. The prevailing tendency to regard the
emotional response, the primitive type of reaction that we share with
the higher animals, as “human,” and the application of reason, the
distinctive human ability, as “cold-blooded” and “inhuman” is a
strange perversion of the truth.
It cannot be denied that reason is often wrong, primarily because the
premises on which the reasoning is based are not always correct. But
even in the present state of imperfection, reason is far superior to
emotion as a means of arriving at the proper course of action.
Furthermore, the superiority of reason is continually increasing, as
more and more items are added to the existing store of knowledge.
One of the primary objectives of the present work is to contribute to
that result.
CHAPTER 14
Thinking and Memory
The results of the examination of emotional processes in the
preceding chapter were mainly negative. What we were particularly
interested in ascertaining was the relevance, if any, of the emotions to
the Sector 3 aspects of human life, specifically to the efforts of the
Sector 3 control units to divert human activities and aspirations away
from the purely survival objective of the biological organism and
toward the objectives of Sector 3. Our finding was that emotion, as
defined for the purposes of this work, is a purely biological
mechanism, a function of the primitive reptilian brain. Suppression of
the emotions in favor of the responses to stimuli that are dictated by
intelligent reasoning, wherever the two are in conflict, is therefore a
prerequisite for progress toward specifically human (as distinguished
from animal) standards.
Victory of reason in this contest for dominance over human actions
does not guarantee this kind of progress. On the contrary, intelligence,
as a more efficient tool than emotion may simply act more effectively
toward the same animal goals. There are actually two battles going on:
a struggle between reason and emotion for control of the actions of
the human organism, and a struggle between the Sector 2 (biological)
and Sector 3 (ethical human) control units for the power to establish
the objectives of these actions. The second of these conflicts is the one
in which we are primarily interested in this work, and the further
discussion of the human information handling equipment in this and
the following two chapters will be limited to those items which have,
or are currently thought to have, relevance to this struggle over
objectives.
On this basis, we will have no occasion to inquire further into the
mechanism of thinking, or of the advanced form of thinking known as
reasoning. The details of the reasoning process are still far from being
fully understood, but for the purposes of this work, the exact nature of
the thinking mechanism and its operation is irrelevant. The significant
point is that reasoning is the most advanced physiological means that
the human individual has available for determining the course of
action in response to the information that he receives from various
sources. As brought out in Chapter 11, it is an activity of the mind,
part of what the combination entity, the mind-brain, does, as
distinguished from the brain, that which this entity is. The particular
function of thinking is to correlate the incoming stream of messages
arriving through the various information channels with the relevant
knowledge already available, and to arrive at appropriate conclusions.
In order to enable the thinking mechanism to perform this function,
the information previously made available to the individual must be
so disposed within the mind that it is available for reference. The
mental storehouse for this information is known as memory. The term
“memory” is also applied to the process of retrieving information
from storage, and to the item of information that is recalled.
Memories, the discrete items that are stored, are of many different
kinds. Some, such as the motor memories that enable us to take the
right muscular actions to accomplish our purposes, do not have any
perceptible impact on the conscious thought processes. Those that are
perceptible may be classified as visual, verbal, auditory, etc., but for
present purposes, the significant point is that the great majority of the
memories that are taken into the general storehouse are memories of
experiences. Every individual undergoes a succession of experiences
during all of the waking hours of every day. What he sees in the visual
media is mainly a selection of experiences of others. His reading
consists largely of narratives; that is, experiences.
The strong predominance of experience memories is somewhat
obscured by the fact that the demands upon the memory are largely
for items of knowledge rather than for direct recall of experience. By
far the greatest amount of this traffic is concerned with language:
calling upon memory for the meaning of words seen or heard, and the
inverse process, calling upon memory for the words applying to the
entities or concepts with which the mind deals. But this is not the
form in which entry into the memory storage occurs. We see an
animal of a rather distinctive appearance, and we find that it is called
an elephant. Or we read or hear about someone else having such an
experience. It is this experience or report of experience of seeing the
elephant and learning its name that goes into the memory storage. In
the memory process, certain information about the elephant, including
the name, is abstracted from the experience and retained in condition
for retrieval. Those details of the experience which have no
continuing significance are then forgotten. Thus the output from
storage is largely bits of information, but as we will see later, it is
important to realize that the input is in the form of experiences.
Memory is a relatively early evolutionary development. Even the
most rudimentary type of emotional mechanism requires the existence
of some kind of a memory to enable identification of the situation
which calls for an emotional response. We therefore find evidence of
memory even in the lower animals. In fact, memory experiments have
been performed on such unlikely subjects as cockroaches.228 The
operating principle of the memory process is association. The storage
is so organized that each item A is associated with certain other items
B, C, D, etc. Because of this association, an attempt to recall A may
reach B instead. If it can be recognized that B is incorrect, further
effort at direct recall may be made, or A may be reached indirectly by
first recognizing an association BC and then an association CA. But if
the situation is such that the accuracy of the first recall cannot be
tested, then the fact that conscious thought and memory utilize very
different criteria of close association is very important in some
applications, as we will see in Chapter 15.
From the memory standpoint, an idea and its direct opposite are very
closely associated, whereas our thought processes place them far
apart. Likewise, memory makes little or no distinction between an
event in the past and a similar event in the future, whereas there is a
very clear line of demarcation between past and future in rational
thinking. The difference between thought and action is often
disregarded by memory, but to our consciousness it is very important.
Memory identifies some persons as individuals, but tends to group the
others. The first result of an attempt to recall one member of the group
will often be a memory of another. Members of large families
frequently call each other by the wrong name, usually, but not always,
correcting it immediately. In these cases, memory accepts the first of
the names as being close enough, but conscious thought quickly
rejects it.
A type of recall from the memory storage that is widely used in
clinical and investigative work is called “free association.” As defined
by Hall, “It consists of letting the mind wander in a completely free
and apparently aimless manner.”229 Actually, however, completely
free recall cannot be obtained as long as the subject is conscious. His
thinking mechanism always retains enough control to keep the
memory recall rational, to censor objectionable items, and so on. In
this present work, we will have occasion to deal with association
processes which are free from all control, and which call up memories
without the intervention of any thought process. This is the pure
memory mechanism, the process that must exist in the lower animals
that do not have the ability to think. In order to avoid confusion with
psychologists’ “free association,” we will refer to this completely free
association process as uncontrolled association.
If goal-oriented thinking is suspended for any significant length of
time, the result is daydreaming or fantasy rather than uncontrolled
association. Momentary relaxation of the controls does, however,
occur frequently. These are the intervals in which sensory or other
stimuli of which one may not even be aware trigger unexpected, and
in some cases surprising, recollections. In the ordinary affairs of life,
the memories called up by association during these interim periods are
usually no more than distractions. However, in those kinds of
reasoning or problem solving where some thinking along
unconventional lines may be advantageous, a partial relaxation of the
controls is often helpful, inasmuch as it gives the association process
more leeway.
The number and variety of memories called up during such processes
as free association or daydreaming is mainly due to the fact that the
memory mechanism has some special provisions for handling what
we may call a working supply of information. This transient aspect of
memory is not given much, if any, attention in current work in this
area, and the information that we need for present purposes is not
available from the memory studies that have heretofore been made.
We can, however, deduce that, in view of the continual interruption of
one’s thinking by the stream of messages coming in through the
senses, it would not be feasible to carry on any extended program of
activity unless there were some special memory mechanism in
operation to bring the thought processes back to the task that was
under way when an interruption occurred. Otherwise the first foreign
thought would divert attention to different channels, and there would
be no way of getting back except by accident.
Furthermore, human activities are usually too complex to permit
giving undivided attention to one specific line of thought for any
extended period of time. Almost always, the task to which thought is
being applied has features which require special consideration—safety
precautions, for example—and there are always other aspects of life
that must be given attention from time to time: personal needs,
responsibilities, commitments to other persons, etc. In order to receive
attention, these items must have representation in the working
memory. Experience indicates that this memory is so organized that
each of the items in the working stock returns to the consciousness
periodically. For example, if a person has an appointment at a certain
time, his working memory periodically reminds him to look at a
clock. Meanwhile, this memory will from time to time break in upon
his goal-oriented thinking to remind him of other matters that need his
attention, either in thought or in action. This observed memory pattern
can most appropriately be described by calling it a circulating
memory system.
We often hear someone say that he has several things “on his mind.”
This does not mean that he is continually thinking about all of them.
Indeed, he cannot think about any of them while he is actually
engaged in disposing of the minute-by-minute items that demand his
attention. What he is really expressing by his statement is that his
circulating memory system is interrupting his thought processes
periodically to remind him that these matters are still outstanding.
Most of those who have occasion to deal with complex problems
requiring intensive study and analysis tend to develop an ability to
shut out sounds and other sense stimuli so that they can concentrate
their full attention on their current task. When this preoccupation with
the primary thought objective is carried to an extreme, it results in
blocking out some or all of the circulating memory as well as the
sense signals, producing the condition known as absent-mindedness.
The circulating memory system is no doubt a later evolutionary
development than the primitive memory storage, but it must have
been present in very early animals. The first requirement for the
survival of the small and weak is vigilance, and to be vigilant while
keeping one’s primary attention on the serious business of getting
enough to eat requires constant reminding. Nothing complicated is
needed. All that is necessary is to call attention periodically to the
general idea of “danger.” Once a system capable of accomplishing this
purpose was in operation, it was available for extension to other
memory items, and in the human mind, the circulating memories
cover a wide range of subjects. The evidence which we will examine
indicates, however, that the non-specific nature of the circulating
memories has been retained, and unlike the memory input into
storage, which consists mainly of detailed experiences, most of the
circulating memories are merely general ideas or impressions with
only a minimum of detail, if any.
The aspects of the thinking and memory processes that we now want
to examine are sleep, and the most conspicuous feature of the sleep
phenomenon: dreaming. Unlike thinking and memory storage, the
functions of which are reasonably well understood, even though many
of the details of their operation are still obscure, neither the purpose
nor the mechanism of either sleep or dreaming has heretofore been
explained on a scientific basis. Where knowledge is lacking,
conjecture has free rein, and the number and variety of theories and
speculations that have been offered as possible explanations of one or
the other of these phenomena have been limited only by the scope of
the human imagination. Some of the most widely accepted of these
speculative ideas have direct or indirect relevance to the metaphysical
subject matter of this volume. “One of the most fascinating questions
of all,” says William C. Dement, is this: “Is there a supernatural
element that determines what we dream about?”230 This issue and
related questions, such as the possibility of the existence of a
prophetic significance in dreams, have been matters of concern to the
human race from the earliest days of which we have knowledge. Since
they are clearly germane to our present inquiry, they must have some
attention at this point.
Before we can answer these questions, we must have a reasonably
good understanding of the way in which the two major components of
the mental mechanism, thinking and memory, enter into the sleep
situation. But this is something that is not available from the work of
previous investigators. Examination of the literature in this area will
show that the works dealing with memory make little reference to
sleep, while those on sleep and dreaming contain no significant
information on memory. It will therefore be necessary to blaze our
own trail in the investigation. This involves giving what may seem a
disproportionate amount of attention to some of the less important
components of the human information handling processes, but the
allocation of space in this work necessarily has to be based on the
relevance, or possible relevance, of the various items to the general
subject of the work, together with whatever additional emphasis may
be warranted where the findings of this investigation are entirely new
to the branch of thought involved.
The physiological condition known as sleep is a result of the fact that
the information storage and processing equipment of the higher forms
of life, memory and thinking, is not capable of continuous operation.
It must be periodically taken out of service for an interval, which in
the human individual characteristically extends for about half of the
time of the previous operating period. When this mental equipment is
in operation and in contact with the outside world, the individual is
conscious. The regular and normal period of unconsciousness in
which the mental contact with the environment is inoperative is sleep.
No satisfactory explanation of the need for sleep has ever been
derived from conventional theory. As expressed by Dement, “In spite
of many heroic efforts, sleep researchers have failed, to date, to define
the function of sleep.”231 One of the aspects of the situation that has
been the most puzzling is the high price that is being paid for
whatever benefits are gained. A third of our life is essentially lost, so
far as our normal aims and purposes are concerned. In a statement
quoted by Dement in this same connection, Allan Rechtschaffen raises
the question as to why evolution ever produced such an apparently
“useless, maladaptive” process. “If sleep does not serve an absolutely
vital function, then it is the biggest mistake the evolutionary process
ever made,” he contends.
Evolution is a purely mechanical process, and it responds only to
existing conditions. It cannot take into account the possibility that
those conditions may change. Consequently, when conditions actually
do change, some of the forms of life that have evolved may be too
specialized to survive in the new environment. In this sense, evolution
may be said to make some mistakes. But sleep is not on one of these
branches that is susceptible to being lopped off; it is directly in the
main line of evolutionary development. It is a behavior characteristic
of all of the most advanced forms of life, including the human race,
the most adaptable of all biological organisms,232 and it applies under
all of the environmental conditions to which these forms of life are
subject. It obviously must serve an important and essential purpose.
Inverting Rechtschaffen’s reasoning, we may say that inasmuch as
sleep clearly is not an evolutionary mistake, and costs us a third of our
lives, it must “serve an absolutely vital function.”
The nature of that function is another of the many long-standing
problems that have been resolved by the development of the
Reciprocal System of physical theory. As explained in Chapter 6, a
biological organism is a material (Sector 1) structure associated with,
and under the control of, a unit of the cosmic (Sector 2) type.
Inasmuch as Sector 2, the cosmic, or inverse, sector of the physical
universe, is the sector of motion in time—that is, motion in which
location in time deviates from the clock time of the material sector—
the time to which the Sector 2 control unit (the life unit) conforms
continually diverges from clock time, the time to which the material
structure of the living organism conforms. Sleep is simply a condition
in which the control mechanism is periodically disconnected and
brought back into synchronization with the material structure. In
plants and the lower animals, where the control mechanisms are
simple and operate only intermittently, this is accomplished by means
of frequent adjustment periods of short duration, but in the higher
animals, where the control mechanism is complex and operates
continuously, the period of readjustment is distinct and much longer.
One of the most significant features of the Reciprocal System of
physical theory is that the explanation which it produces as to what
any particular physiological entity is also explains why that entity
behaves as it does. For example, the theoretical explanation of the
nature of matter leads directly to an explanation of why matter exists
in discrete units (atoms and particles), why it gravitates, why there are
a specific number of different types of atoms, and so on. Now we find
the same situation in biology. The theoretical explanation of the nature
of life not only tells us why the life unit is an aggregate of processes,
and why it opposes the tendency of inanimate matter toward disorder,
but also leads directly to simple explanations of some of the most
important features of biological structures, such as the reason why
they are composed of cells. Here we derive another significant item of
information from the same source. We find that the basic explanation
of the nature of life likewise reveals why sleep is an essential
accompaniment of biological complexity.
Exact synchronization of the life unit with the material structure is not
required, as there is a zone of tolerance within which operation of the
control mechanism is not impaired. A cycle of sleeping and waking
periods is therefore established within the zone of tolerance on some
basis that is in harmony with environmental conditions. The principal
governing factor, so far as the human race is concerned, is the rotation
of the earth, as the most efficient pattern is one in which sleep is
relegated to the time that is the least favorable for purposeful activity.
Abstention from sleep beyond the time when it would normally begin,
on the basis of the established pattern, creates what we may call a
pressure tending to cause sleep. By a deliberate effort, this pressure
can be resisted, and the period of wakefulness can be prolonged quite
substantially. Ultimately, however, the limit of the zone of tolerance is
reached, and further deprivation of sleep results in disruption of the
mental processes. If continued, this disruption may become
permanent, and experiments with animals show that it can result in
death; that is, complete loss of the Sector 2 control. The time
divergence simply becomes too great, and the control mechanism
loses touch with the physical body.
We can deduce from theoretical premises that the time correction is
accomplished by operating the mental processes in reverse during
sleep. On the basis of our normal understanding of the effect of
reversals, it would appear that a period of sleep equal in length to the
preceding waking period would be required in order to complete the
synchronization of an apparatus that operates continuously.
Development of the Reciprocal System of theory has revealed,
however, that the effective magnitude of all primary physical
quantities is the amount by which they deviate from unity, rather than
from the mathematical zero. Each such quantity has an initial positive
level of one unit which has no physical effect. Reversal of the
direction of the mental processes during sleep reverses the initial level
of each individual time unit, as well as that unit itself, and the total
deviation from the positive unit level during one unit of reverse
operation is therefore two units. If the mental process is in full
operation when the individual is awake, his sleep periods should
theoretically amount to one third of the total time. This is roughly in
agreement with human experience.
Physical or mental abnormalities may increase or decrease the sleep
time. Incipient mental disturbances, for instance, are often correlated
with reduced amounts of sleep, as would be expected if there are
significant interruptions in the thought processes which reduce the
total operating time. It is also true that there seems to be some
variation above and below the theoretical eight hours in the individual
requirements for sleep even where no abnormalities are present. But it
is doubtful if the apparent variations in average sleep time are real.
What appears to be a greater amount of sleep may be due to a number
of short intervals during which the individual is actually awake—
perhaps in the borderline state known as drowsiness. Similarly, a
well-known phenomenon called “microsleep,” which involves a
succession of short sleep intervals, may well account for the
apparently low sleep requirements of other persons.
As already noted, the control mechanism of the higher animals,
including man, consists of two distinct parts, the memory apparatus
and the thinking apparatus. Both have cosmic (inverse) elements—
that is, they operate electrically rather than by means of material
forces—and both must therefore undergo periodic synchronization
with the material structure. But the memory apparatus is simpler and
more primitive than the thinking apparatus. Furthermore, it evidently
is not, as a whole, in full operation continuously. It therefore
accomplishes the necessary readjustment in less time. In order to
allow the synchronization of the thinking apparatus to catch up, the
memory apparatus is disconnected from the adjustment process
periodically and allowed to operate for a time in its normal manner,
except that it remains separated from the motor mechanism and the
contact with the outside world. The most striking physiological
feature of this phase of the sleep cycle is a rapid movement of the
eyes, and for this reason it is called REM (rapid eye movement) sleep.
The phase during which the entire mental mechanism is undergoing
the synchronization adjustment is non-REM, or NREM, sleep. The
three different physiological conditions that have been discussed may
be summarized as follows:
Memory
Mechanism
Thinking
Motor
Mechanism Mechanism
Awake
Normal
Normal
Active
REM sleep
Normal
Adjusting
Inactive
NREM
sleep
Adjusting
Adjusting
Inactive
Dement refers to the “difficulty in demonstrating the purpose of REM
sleep in adults.”233 Luce and Segal report that “many conjectures
about the purpose of the REM state are plausible, yet they are not
answers and the purpose of the dream state remains a mystery.”234 On
the basis of the foregoing theoretical explanation, the purpose is
simply to prevent overcorrection of the time deviation in the memory
apparatus. As in the case of the positive deviation that is corrected by
the synchronization process, there is a tolerance in the negative
direction, and aside from building up the negative equivalent of sleep
pressure that results from sleep deprivation, lack of REM sleep has no
important effects within the zone of tolerance. Beyond the limit of this
zone, adverse physiological effects begin to develop, similar in some
respects, but apparently not as severe as those resulting from complete
deprivation of sleep. The less severe reaction is understandable
inasmuch as lack of REM sleep affects only the memory system,
while total deprivation of sleep affects the entire mental apparatus. A
report that is of special interest in view of the theoretical findings with
respect to the need for synchronization is that one of the effects of
REM sleep deprivation is “time sense distortion.”235 When REM
sleep is again permitted after a time in which it is inhibited by one
means or another, the overcorrection of the time deviation is reversed
by a period of abnormally high REM sleep. This is the so-called
“rebound.”
The pattern of REM sleep in animals indicates that the structural
complexity of the thinking apparatus falls off more rapidly than that
of the memory apparatus as we follow the evolutionary scale
downward—a relationship that is to be expected since memory
necessarily precedes thought. We can have memory without thinking,
but thinking without memory is not possible. Mammals, as a class,
have well-defined REM periods, but the REM sleep of birds has been
reported as minimal, while reptiles apparently have none at all,
indicating that their memory synchronization time is ample to take
care of the needs of their rudimentary thinking apparatus. Very young
infants, on the other hand, go to the other extreme and spend half or
more of their sleep time in the REM state. This probably indicates that
the thinking mechanism develops more rapidly than the memory
mechanism in the early stages of the infant’s growth. The observed
gradual decline to the normal adult REM time then naturally follows.
Theoretical considerations indicate that emotional states have a
significant effect on the REM sleep. Emotion and memory are both
parts of the old mental equipment, and it is probable that an increase
in emotional activity has the same effect on the sleep requirements as
more use of the memory. This will have the effect of decreasing the
need for REM sleep, and may explain some of the results of drugs and
other agencies that affect the emotions. It may also explain why
deprivation of REM sleep under experimental conditions can be
carried far beyond what seems to be the normal limit; so far as to lead
to the assertion by David Foulkes that, “Although there is a need for
REM sleep, apparently it is not absolute.”236 The REM sleep deprived
individuals, both human and animal, are reported to “exhibit undue
brain excitement,”237 which may very well be the result of a forced
increase in emotional and memory functions to offset the loss of REM
sleep time.
During the REM period when the individual is asleep—that is, his
thinking mechanism is out of service—but his memory is active, both
memory mechanisms (circulating and storage) are operating normally,
but have been disconnected from the motor control, and the inflow of
sensory stimuli from the environment is almost totally shut off. In the
absence of thought and environmental input, the memory apparatus
responds only to stimuli from the circulating memory and from
internal sensations. If the originating stimulus is physiological, it
usually consists only of what we may call a theme—“hunger,” for
example—without details. As brought out earlier, such abstract
themes are not the kind of input with which the memory storage
processes are equipped to deal. In order to fit into these processes, the
themes must be put into the form of experiences. Memories that are
associated with hunger that are already present in storage are therefore
drawn upon, and a synthetic hunger experience is built up. The
individual becomes aware of this synthetic experience in a manner
similar to that in which he becomes aware of real experiences and,
with certain qualifications that we will consider later, it appears to him
that he is undergoing a real experience. This process is a dream.
The second, and most prolific, source of dream stimuli is the
circulating memory system. This system continues to bring one after
another of the items that it contains into the position where it makes
contact with both the memory storage and the thinking mechanism
(inactive in the REM stage). The same process is also in operation
during the waking state, but is subject to suppression by the thinking
mechanism, and, in any event, is overshadowed by the much greater
flow of direct experiences to the memory storage. As each of the items
in the circulating memory makes the appropriate contact, it acts in the
same manner as a physiological stimulus; that is, it initiates a dream.
These items from the circulating memory system contain only a
minimum of detail, as the functions of this system do not require
detailed elaboration. In fact, an excessive amount of detail would
interfere with the primary purpose of this memory system: the
reminding function. Like the sensory stimuli, the circulating
memories are mainly in the form of abstract themes, although there is
a certain amount of elaboration by means of what might be called
subsidiary themes.
In a sense, the content of the circulating memories is intermediate
between that of physiological sensations, which are simply “hunger,”
“cold,” etc., and the detailed memories of experience that go into the
memory storage. We may compare the circulating memory to a
language with a limited vocabulary, and the detailed memory of the
original experience to a versatile modern language such as English. In
the principal memory process, the full account of the experience goes
directly to storage. Meanwhile, this account is translated into the
limited language of the circulating memory for its purposes. During
sleep, when no direct accounts of experience are coming in, the
memories in the circulating system are fed one by one into the stream
going to storage, and are translated back into the detailed form that is
acceptable to the storage facilities. A consideration of the language
analogy shows what results can be expected. If a statement made in
English is translated into the language of some primitive tribe, and
then retranslated back into English by some person who does not have
access to the original text, the general idea of the statement will be
preserved (if the translators are competent), but there will
undoubtedly be significant differences in the details. Similarly, a
dream produced by a circulating memory theme will reproduce the
theme of the source from which the memory originated, but may alter
the details beyond recognition.
On the other hand, there is also a fairly good chance that the details
will be reproduced accurately in a certain percentage of the dreams. A
memory of the original experience exists in the memory storage, and
since, as we will see in Chapter 15, this is usually, perhaps always, a
very recent acquisition, it is favorably situated for recall. Thus, the
association process may very well reach this memory rather than
some other item in storage, and in that case, the result will be that the
dream reproduces the original experience with no more than minor
variations.
There has been much discussion of what has been interpreted as a
“need to dream.” Freud, for instance, regarded the dream as a “safety
valve” which “relieves the mind”238 of harmful material by allowing
it to be expressed during sleep. Our theoretical findings are that what
exists is a need for sleep in order to synchronize the processes of the
mind with the structure of the brain, and a further need to separate the
memory from the thinking mechanism during a portion of the
synchronization process in order to allow the thinking mechanism to
continue the adjustment process for a time after the synchronization of
the memory is complete. Thus the only need for anything other than
sleep itself is for the correct proportion of REM sleep to total sleep.
The dreams occur not because they are needed but because they are
part of the normal physiological activity during the sleep that is
needed.
The general nature of the dream process in the NREM state is the
same as in REM sleep, but the thinking mechanism and the memory
are connected to each other during the NREM dreaming and both are
disconnected from the environment. The NREM dreams are therefore
subject to control by the thinking process. This supervision eliminates
most of the incongruities of the type that is characteristic of the REM
dreams, and makes the NREM dreams more like the mental processes
during the waking state. Dement describes them as “more plausible”
and “more like thinking and less like [REM] dreaming,”239 attributes
which can be expected in view of the participation of the thinking
mechanism in shaping the dream experience. He also reports that they
are “more concerned with contemporary lives,” but as we will see in
the next chapter, the REM dreams are likewise concerned with
contemporary experience. The difference is that the connection
between the REM dreams and experience is less obvious.
Another reason for the greater plausibility of the NREM dreams is
that more of them are direct recall of experiences. The factors that
determine the extent to which direct recall occurs during dreams are
the same for both kinds of sleep, and consequently there is no
difference in the initial probability of such recall. But since the REM
dream is not subject to censorship, the original result of the
association process, whatever it may be, has to be accepted.
Apparently there is about one chance in five that uncontrolled
association will retrieve the actual experience from the memory
storage, as studies indicate that not more than 20 percent of the REM
dreams are of the direct recall type.240 In the NREM dreams, the
thinking process censors the memories produced from storage. If a
memory called up by association is incongruous, it is rejected, and
another association is called for. In most cases, the direct memory is
reached somewhere along the line of this trial and rejection process,
and the direct memory content of the NREM dreams has been found
to be 80 percent or more.
In this respect, the research findings coincide with the theoretical
conclusions. There is less agreement, however, between the theory
and the views of the investigators with respect to other aspects of the
thinking process during sleep. Calvin S. Hall is probably expressing
the general opinion when he says, “All forms of thinking from
realistic problem solving to unrealistic fantasy may and do occur
during dreaming.” The principal difference, he concludes, is that
“during sleep the thoughts are projected in the form of images, usually
visual in character.”229 The conclusion reached from our theoretical
development, however, is that the thinking process during sleep is a
very limited form of activity because, aside from some physiological
sensations and a few outside stimuli that get through the barriers, it
has nothing to work with but memories.
Problem solving, one of the forms of thinking mentioned by Hall, is
theoretically possible only if all of the necessary components of the
solution are present in memories, and the only requirement is to put
them together in the proper manner, or to experience one of those
“flashes of insight” discussed in Chapter 9. In most cases, all of the
necessary information is not present in the memory storage.
Furthermore, the thinking during the dream is not able to make full
use of the information that actually is contained in the storage, as the
many aids to directed thinking that are available in the waking state,
such as tabular and graphic representation, are lacking in dreams.
These theoretical results also throw considerable cold water on the
idea of the unconscious mind introduced by Freud. The memory
storage is outside our consciousness except when we have occasion to
recall some item, or when such an item is called up by the association
process. It is no doubt possible for long-buried memories which we
would not recall in the ordinary course of events to be brought out by
association in dreams or under hypnosis. But the idea that these
experiences can affect the life of the individual without being called
up from storage is hard to reconcile with the theoretical findings. The
theoretical analysis indicates that the emotions (or sensations) which
disturb the troubled individual are not generated by the forgotten
experiences, but by the experiences, or some aspects of the
experiences, which he wants to forget, but cannot.
In general, the various devices that the psychoanalysts use to
accomplish what they regard as dredging up items from the
unconscious—such things as free association, dream interpretation,
and hypnotism—can equally well be regarded as means to circumvent
the subject’s unwillingness to reveal his conscious knowledge of these
matters. But it may be that the knowledge of which the subject is
conscious is so vague and general that he is unable to reveal it. As
noted earlier, experiences are not usually retained in the memory
storage in such a way that they are subject to recall in their entirety on
demand. Ordinarily, certain features—items of information, mainly—
are abstracted and kept available for recall, while the remaining
details are gradually forgotten. But the retained features are not
necessarily useful items. For example, the original experience may
have been accompanied by a feeling of anxiety. In the memory
process, an association may be set up between this anxiety and some
person or object X that played a part in the experience. Future contacts
with X, or something associated with X, may then result in recall of
the anxiety sensation without the individual being aware of what has
happened. He simply feels anxiety without knowing why. If he is
emotionally susceptible, he may prolong the memory by frequent
recall even without any additional contact with X.
This view of the situation indicates that the analysts’ procedure in
attempting to identify the original experience as the first step toward
correcting the abnormal mental condition is probably sound. If the
association between the anxiety and X can be identified, it can
probably be broken by some means, so that the recurring anxiety
stimulus is eliminated. But the Freudian belief that the trouble is due
to items that are present in an unconscious mind does not agree with
our theoretical findings. It is not what has been forgotten, our theory
tells us; it is that aspect of the original experience that has not been
forgotten. The original circumstances—the experience itself—may
have been forgotten, but sensations are remembered as well as
experiences, and a certain kind of stimulus may call up a disturbing
memory that lingers on as a residue of the forgotten experience.
CHAPTER 15
The Stuff of Dreams
In Chapter 14, the theoretical findings described in the earlier pages
were extended to establish the general nature of the dream process.
Our principal concern is with the dream content rather than with the
mechanism, which is purely physical and has none of the
metaphysical implications that are so freely attributed to dreams in
current thinking, the implications that have made it necessary to
include a study of dreams in the present work. But an understanding
of the dream process, including an identification of the origins of the
dream stimuli, is necessary in order to lay the groundwork for arriving
at some firm conclusions as to the content of dreams. The purpose of
the discussion in Chapter 14 was to provide this information.
As brought out in that discussion, dreams consist of themes, which
originate from several sources, and are elaborated into synthetic
experiences by means of settings, casts of characters, and other details
drawn from memories in storage. Some of these themes, including
those of many of the most vivid dreams, are merely reflections of
physiological conditions such as hunger or thirst. These are usually
easy to identify. The dream action may be erratic or bizarre, but the
theme generally stands out conspicuously. The hungry person dreams
of food, or of trying to find food.
Dreams stimulated by incoming intuitive information are also
theoretically possible. If this is telepathic information—that is, a
message which someone is trying to communicate to the dreamer—
the situation during sleep should be more favorable than in the waking
state because of the elimination of interference from the stream of
messages that comes in through the senses while the individual is
awake. On the other hand, if the incoming intuitive information is
something that this person has been trying to get from metaphysical
sources (whether or not he recognizes that this is the true nature of his
endeavors), the more related information he can have under active
consideration in his mind, the more likely he is to recognize the
intuition and fit it into the picture. Here, the uncontrolled association
in the dream is a much less effective process than the directed
thinking while awake, and the conclusion which we draw from theory
therefore is that relatively little of this kind of information will be
received in dreams.
There is not much reliable evidence against which we can check these
theoretical conclusions as to the likelihood of reception of intuitive
information during dreams. Many cases of what is claimed to be
telepathic communication have been reported, and a substantial
percentage of these involve reception in dreams, but the
circumstances surrounding these incidents are such that no
verification is possible. It is worth noting, however, that if telepathic
communication is possible (as the theory indicates that it is), then it
will theoretically take place most readily under the conditions
specified in most of the reports, where the originator is highly
motivated and the recipient is asleep or otherwise inactive.
A number of instances have also been reported in which problems that
have been given intensive study during waking hours have finally
been solved in dreams. These episodes are more definitely
authenticated than the telepathic incidents, and they have been given a
great deal of attention. In considering their significance, however, it
should be realized that the number of known cases of this kind is
insignificant compared to the multitude of problems that are
continually being solved during the waking state by insight or other
intuitive means. Indeed, almost all discussions of the subject rely
heavily on the same two events: Kekule’s discovery of the ring
structure of benzene, and Coleridge’s creation of the poem Kubla
Khan (which may not have been accomplished in a dream, as
Coleridge was a drug user and an inveterate daydreamer. His ability to
distinguish clearly between sleep and the waking state is
questionable).
Dement states that “It is likely that artistic creation and problem
solving occur in dreams more often than the documentation
suggests.”241 This may be true, but the theoretical findings indicate
otherwise. They agree that problems can be solved in dreams, but
show that the conditions during sleep are unfavorable for so doing.
My own experience agrees with this pessimistic assessment of the
situation. My principal work is largely concerned with finding new
answers to old problems, and since this activity is usually on my mind
while I am awake, I frequently continue it in my dreams. Often I
arrive at an answer, usually with noticeable feelings of satisfaction at
the accomplishment. It is possible that at some time or other one of
these answers may have been correct, but I cannot recall any specific
example. Certainly the great majority of them failed to stand up under
daytime examination. In fact, what I remember most clearly is how
quickly the answers with which I was so pleased in the dreams
collapsed when I awoke. I suspect that this is the general situation,
and that suspicion is reinforced by the reply which Dement reports
having received from Niels Bohr (a distinguished problem solver) in
response to an inquiry about a reported dream incident. Bohr’s reply
was that, as far as he knew, he had never had a useful dream.241
The third, and most common, source of dream themes is experience,
either experiences of the dreamer himself or other experiences of
which he becomes aware. In this case, the selection of subjects should
theoretically be governed by the same factors that determine which
experiences are incorporated into the memory storage. The dream
themes should originate from among the experiences that are most
recent, most vivid, most significant, and of most concern to the
individual dreamer. When we undertake to compare the available
empirical information with these theoretical conclusions with respect
to the content of dreams originating from experience, it will be
necessary to have a clear understanding as to just what kind of
experiences are incorporated into dreams in actual practice, and how
these experiences are represented. Unfortunately, many of the results
obtained by previous investigators are contradictory, and all of them
are strongly influenced by theories which, according to our theoretical
findings, are incorrect, in whole or in part. Under these circumstances,
it has seemed advisable to undertake a new investigation aimed
specifically at obtaining the answers that we need in order to make a
valid comparison between theory and observation.
One of the principal problems in the investigation of dreaming is the
high degree of uncertainty as to the reliability of the basic
information. This comes mainly from reports by the individual
dreamers, and it is susceptible not only to the inaccuracies and
omissions that characterize any subjective type of observation, but
also to an undisclosed amount of censorship by the participants that
may be serious enough to invalidate the entire study. Attempts have
been made to diminish these uncertainties by correlating certain
aspects of the dreaming process with physiological states, and some
useful results have been obtained, but the question as to just what
these physiological observations mean in terms of the dreams is still
far from having a conclusive answer. Consequently, most
investigators rely to a considerable degree on information derived
from a study of their own dreams. This forfeits the benefits of having
information from a diversity of sources, but it does eliminate most of
the uncertainty as to the reliability of the basic data. These
considerations apply with equal force to the investigation that is being
reported in this present work, and I have therefore followed what has
become standard practice, and have made a systematic study of my
own dream patterns. The discussion in this chapter will be based on
the results of that study.
Inasmuch as the primary purpose was to determine the nature and
origin of the dream contents, the only requirement was to record
enough dreams to constitute a representative sample. Consequently,
no special arrangements were necessary, and I merely kept a notebook
at the side of the bed. Whenever I roused enough to remember that I
was making a dream study, I made some brief notes as to the subject
matter of the dreams from which I had wakened, if any. As soon as
possible after rising in the morning, I used these notes, together with
whatever memory I had of additional details, to prepare a description
of the dreams. During the recording of this information, I tried to
avoid speculating as to the origin of the dreams, so that the possibility
of influencing the recollection of the details would be minimized, but
later in the day, I reviewed the record of each of the night’s dreams to
see if I could identify the source of the stimulus that initiated the
dream. The records of these reviews, together with the original
records of the dreams, are the primary bases of the conclusions that
will be reported herein. No means of distinguishing between REM
and NREM sleep were available.
Preliminary consideration of the plan of procedure indicated that there
would be some advantage in limiting the study to those dreams that
involve the entire dream process, including the role of the circulating
memory system, and the dreams that were obviously initiated by
physiological stimuli were therefore excluded. As noted earlier, these
dreams were easily identified. For example, my standard reaction to
incipient hunger is a dream in which I am trying to find a restaurant at
which I can get a meal, but for one reason or another, I am unable to
do so. Similarly, my standard reaction to getting too cold during the
night is a dream in which I am lacking some item of clothing (without
the feeling of embarrassment that might be expected). Such dreams
were not recorded. There is a possibility, of course, that the effect of a
physiological stimulus might also appear in a less easily recognizable
form, in which case it should show up in the analysis of the written
record, but no indications of such effects were found.
The study was carried on for a period of one month, during which
fifty separate dreams were recorded. This was a rather quiet month
which I spent at home, and in which I engaged in no unusual
activities, and was not subject to any emotional complications. Nor
was I troubled by any physical ailments, aside from hay fever, which I
have in a mild form every spring. The hay fever was, in a way, an
asset to the study, as it caused more waking during the night than
would ordinarily take place, and thus increased the number of
remembered dreams. The conclusions reached from the dream study
will have to be interpreted in the light of these conditions; that is, they
apply to a specific individual, presumably in normal physical and
mental condition, and in a relatively calm and uneventful situation. It
is reasonable to conclude that they will also apply to any other normal
individual under similar circumstances, but to what extent any specific
conclusion is applicable to an individual whose physical or mental
condition is abnormal, who is under emotional tension, or whose
situation differs in any other significant respect from that prevailing
during the study is a question that will have to be left for further
investigation.
While the restriction on the scope of the inquiry by reason of the
special conditions under which it took place limits the applicability of
the results to a corresponding degree, it also eliminates much of the
confusion that surrounds the investigation of complicated and highly
emotional dreams. Inasmuch as the primary objective of the study was
an understanding of the initial phase of the basic dream process,
which should be the same in all cases, this simplification of the raw
material with which the study is concerned makes the interpretation of
the results considerably easier and more conclusive.
The study indicates that each dream, even if it appears to be
continuous, actually consists of a succession of different themes.
These are taken from experience, but in most instances a theme, as it
exists in the circulating memory and is passed on to the dream, is only
an idea, a general subject abstracted from the actual experience rather
than the experience itself. Thus, a discussion that took place during
the day is not contained in the circulating memory as a discussion, but
in the form of some aspect of the subject matter of the discussion,
perhaps accompanied by a few of the significant details, as subsidiary
themes. In about half of the recorded dreams, only one theme was
identified, but these were short dream sequences, some of them not
much more than fragments, and the remembered dreams were
undoubtedly preceded by themes that could not be recalled. For
instance, one of the dream reports written immediately after rising in
the morning begins, “After some dream sequences which I cannot
remember, other than that they existed…” There are other similar
items in the record, and unquestionably many more that did not make
enough of an impression to get into the record. The longer and more
vivid dreams invariably contain more than one theme. In two cases,
six separate themes were identified.
The existence of a succession of themes in the dreams explains some
of the disorderly and erratic character of the dream action. The sudden
changes in the action that are so characteristic of the longer dreams
are mainly the results of shifts to new themes. Dreams would seem
less bizarre if there were definite discontinuities between the themes
so that their true character as components of a series of distinct
episodes would be evident, but the discontinuity is masked by the fact
that the setting and some or all of the characters are commonly carried
forward from one theme to the next. Furthermore, the theme changes
are not always distinct, and in some cases, the dream action is
reflecting two themes coincidentally or alternately.
Recognition of the theme as the common denominator of the
originating source and the synthetic dream experience is the key to the
identification of the dream sources. It means that we must look not for
the origins of the dreams as such, but for the separate sources of the
different themes of each dream; not necessarily for sources in our own
experience, but sources in any experience of which we have
knowledge; not for experiences involving the dream incidents
themselves, but for experiences related to the themes of the dreams.
An understanding of the peculiarities of the association process is
likewise essential. Some of those applicable to memory in general
were discussed in the preceding chapter. These and others of like
nature are particularly evident in the dreams that are not subject to
control by the thinking process. For instance, taking a particular
action and not taking that action are very closely associated in
memory, and the dream does not distinguish between the two.
Similarly, the distinction between before and after is ignored. Actions
which are merely contemplated appear in dreams as if they had
already occurred, and vice versa. Individuals who are connected in
some way, business associates, for example, are freely substituted for
each other. More familiar things, situations, or places are substituted
for those that are less familiar, and so on.
The effect of these associative substitutions, as we may call them,
toward complicating the identification of the dream sources is to some
extent offset by the fact that there is apparently some kind of a
memory trace of the movement of the themes from the original source
through the memory process to the dream. The identity of the sources
for most of the dreams included in my study, if not obvious from the
dream record, was evident almost immediately when a review of the
experience of the preceding day was undertaken.
There is no need to pay any special attention to the details that are
drawn from memory to complete the synthetic experiences. They are
simply items which are associated in the memory storage with the
subject matter of the dream themes. They are not usually drawn from
storage as complete experiences, although they may be. Several of the
dream experiences recorded in the study were apparently “drawn from
stock,” so to speak, to fit the incoming themes. Most dreams,
however, are “made to order”; that is, they are combinations of many
separate items from the available supply. These amplifying items that
enter into the synthetic experiences are not necessarily memories of
experiences of the dreamer himself. They may come from memories
of what he has seen, or heard, or read about, or if his imagination is
vivid enough, they may be merely memories of his daydreams. But
unless there is a “flash of insight,” nothing can appear in the dream
unless it was already present in the memory system.
“Perhaps the best established, out of all of the factors that influence
our dreams, is the role of events in the preceding day,”242 report Luce
and Segal. This connection between dreams and the events of the day
is something that I recognized many years ago. This was long before I
had any reason for making an actual study of dreams, and I took note
of the phenomenon only as a matter of general interest, and because I
was somewhat fascinated by the curious, yet in a way logical, nature
of the connection between the dream and its origin. For example, one
incident that made quite an impression on me involved a dream in
which I was driving a car and arrived at the upper end of a steep street
with which I was familiar. Just as I was about to begin descending the
steep slope, I suddenly realized that I had forgotten how to drive. The
problem with which I was confronted was easily solved by one of
those sudden changes in theme for which the REM dreams are noted,
and I probably would not have given the dream any particular
consideration except for the fact that its origin was so very obvious.
During the day, I had been giving my daughter a driving lesson, and at
one point where she was to make a short turn, she misjudged it and
drove over the curb. This was clearly the experience from which the
dream originated, and the interesting point was that what was
transferred from reality to dream was not the experience itself but the
general concept of “inability to drive well enough to meet a difficult
situation.”
After the first few clear correlations of this kind that I noticed, I
developed a habit of looking for similar connections between the
happenings of the day and any dreams that were noteworthy enough
to be remembered more than transiently. Eventually I reached the
point where I was able not only to identify the origin of almost all of
the relatively few dreams that I remembered more than momentarily,
but also a large percentage of those reported by my wife. This
previous experience in dream identification, even though not pursued
in any systematic way, was a good preparation for the identification
aspect of the dream study, and together with the information
developed in the investigation itself, as described in the preceding
paragraphs, it enabled me to identify the sources of all but three of the
recorded dreams (excluding two that were too vague and confused to
be intelligible).
All of the identified sources, without exception, were found to be
events of the preceding day. This is in full agreement with Freud, who
says,
I must in the first place express the opinion that in every dream we
may find some reference to the experiences of the preceding day.
Whatever dream I turn to, whether my own or someone else’s, this
experience is always confirmed.243
Freud describes some dreams which were clearly initiated by
physiological stimuli such as thirst or hunger, and he evidently
includes these contemporaneous sources in the classification
“experiences of the preceding day,” as he makes no exception on their
account. As stated earlier, dreams of this nature were excluded from
my study.
The relatively short time frame in which the origins of the dream
themes are located is a consequence of the transient nature of the
circulating memory. It is conceivable that an experience may be vivid
enough to carry over to a second day, or even longer, if it is mentally
reviewed in detail, so that it is, in effect, a repeated experience, but
there was no indication of anything of this kind in my study, nor, we
may conclude from the statement quoted, in Freud’s experience. I
would suspect, however, that if an individual had been involved in
some kind of a catastrophic event, the memory would persist in the
circulating system for a longer time. The items drawn from the
memory storage to expand the dream themes to synthetic experiences
were independent of time, except to the extent that any recall from
memory is subject to the time factor.
A recapitulation of the identifications shows that direct memory of
objective experience is the most prolific source of the dream themes,
accounting for 33 of the 79 identified themes, 42 percent of the total.
An additional seven themes were derived from subjective experience
such as thinking. Personal experience thus accounts for half of the
total number of identified dream themes.
Two of the themes in the subjective category were concerned with the
dream investigation itself. Dreams of this kind should no doubt be
expected, in view of the amount of attention being given to the project
during the day. The largest contribution from outside sources came
from the subject matter of discussions and conversations, which
supplied 18 themes, closely followed by books, from which 14 were
derived. Television (other than news) was the source of only one
theme. This predominance of books over television is a reflection of
personal preference for reading over television viewing, and would no
doubt be completely reversed by many, if not most, persons.
The remaining six of the 79 identified themes were derived from news
items, either in the newspapers or on television. Hall tells us that
“Dreams… have little or nothing to say about current events in the
world of affairs.”244 My findings do not support this statement. In
view of the dominant role that our own personal affairs play in our
thought processes during waking hours, the fact that almost eight
percent of my dream themes are derived from the news of the day
shows that current events get their full share of attention. Those who
do not dream about the developments in the news probably are not
much concerned about them during their waking hours either.
Hall also states that “Businessmen ordinarily do not dream about their
business affairs.”244 I find this statement wholly incredible. It is
incompatible with the basic theory of the dreaming process that has
been developed in this present work, and it is in direct conflict with
my empirical findings. My current occupation supplied 12 of the 79
identified themes, and five came from my previous work. In addition,
some or all of the details drawn from the memory storage to create the
synthetic experiences from the dream themes were taken from my
earlier work experience in 11 of the other cases and from my present
occupation in one. Thus my “business affairs” were involved in more
than a third of my dreams.
My findings are likewise in conflict with Freud’s assertion that “The
dream never concerns itself with trifles; we do not allow sleep to be
disturbed by trivialities.”245 The definition of a “triviality” is
somewhat elastic, but the context shows that his distinction was
between trivialities and items of evident or disguised “psychic
significance.” On this basis, almost all of my recorded dreams were
trivial. A large percentage of them were trivial by any definition.
“The content of dreams is notoriously bizarre and illogical,”246 says
one psychology textbook. As brought out in the foregoing discussion,
this assertion does not apply to the dream themes. They are simply the
themes of waking life carried into the sleep period by the memory
mechanism. Although 14 of the identified dream themes were drawn
from books, none of these was of a far-out nature. All were ordinary
matter-of-fact items. While I read a fair amount of science fiction and
other highly imaginative works, I do not incorporate the imaginative
material into my dreams. I do not travel in space ships or converse
with intelligent plants. I may jump a great deal farther than I can in
real life, or move heavy objects around in a manner that surpasses
anything that I can accomplish when I am awake, but these are merely
ordinary activities carried somewhat beyond the normal limits.
Apparently a certain amount of discrimination is exercised by the
reasoning process on the way from what is seen or heard to the
memory storage, so that the plausible items are retained, if they are of
any continuing interest, but implausible items are discarded or
classified as fictional. This may account for some of the differences
between the dreams of different individuals, as some persons are
likely to dream of events that others would dismiss as unbelievable.
My experience in this respect is not out of line with the current trend
of research results. “Some investigators,” reports W. B. Webb, “have
been surprised by reported findings that suggest dreams may be less
fantastic or bizarre than generally supposed.”247 The bizarre situations
that do occur are the result of the lack of any supervision of the kind
normally exercised by the reasoning process. The individual items by
means of which the dream themes are expanded into synthetic
experiences are actual memories of personal experience, or plausible
accounts of experiences of others which can be represented as my
own experiences in the dreams, without going beyond what I would
consider the bounds of credibility. But since the thinking mechanism
is inactive during REM sleep, and the memory process operates only
by association, if one of these individual items is inconsistent with
another, or with the setting in which it is placed, there is no
mechanism in operation that can identify and reject the incongruous
item.
In real life, if I am in a forest, and I consult my memory for an
identification of an animal I see in the distance, my memory may tell
me that it looks like a kangaroo. If so, I send the identification back,
and tell my memory to try again, because there are no kangaroos in
our Oregon forests. But if a kangaroo appears in a dream forest among
the firs, he stays there. Similarly, I have memories of travel on trains
and memories of travel on highways. While I am conscious I keep the
two separated, but in one of the dreams during the current study, the
train on which I was traveling left the tracks and proceeded along the
highway. The dream process has no censorship mechanism whereby
this can be ruled out.
The sudden changes in theme, which seemingly cause one object to
change into another without warning, individuals to appear or
disappear equally suddenly, the action to jump from one setting to
another, and so on, likewise contribute to the unreal appearance of the
dream when it is compared with conscious experience. The
non-specific character of the association process is another source of
odd features in the dreams. This is illustrated by one dream during the
study in which I was engaged in conversation with an unidentified
man. I was having some difficulty with my voice, and was unable to
speak clearly enough to enable him to understand, so what I said had
to be repeated by another person who was sitting between us. This
dream very clearly originated from a discussion during the preceding
evening in which I had occasion to mention some of the problems that
I encountered in working through an interpreter in Brazil, and on that
basis, it is a simple memory recall. But without an understanding of
the kind of substitutions that occur in the uncontrolled retrieval of
stored experiences, this dream would be very difficult to interpret.
“During sleep,” says Hall, “one’s thoughts are represented by vivid
pictures and images rather than by words or imageless thoughts.”229
My findings do not confirm this statement. As nearly as I can
determine, every kind of a memory that I have in storage in
cognizable form can be called forth by association to take part in a
dream. Visual images seem to outnumber other forms of expression,
but words are plentiful. I argue, I lecture, I compose letters and
statements, all of which are done in words. The results of my study
indicate that whenever the words are the essence of the experience, as
in arguing, the memory of the experience, and consequently the
dream, are in words. Memory of an ordinary discussion, in which the
topic is the significant item, is usually non-verbal. Imageless thoughts
were definitely present in a few of the recorded dreams, probably in
many more. The dream themes are generally mere ideas, and where
they are not given image form by association they are nothing more
than thoughts. For example, the idea of “good fortune” was the theme
of one of the sequences of a dream that will be discussed in the next
chapter, and it was not elaborated in any way by dream imagery.
One result reported by some of the dream investigators that has
always puzzled me is the finding that unpleasant dreams are more
numerous than pleasant ones. It did not seem to me that this was
consistent with my own experience, as I have never had the
impression that there was much of an unpleasant nature in my dreams.
I was therefore quite surprised when I examined the recorded dreams
in which some kind of a feeling was noted, and classified them, to find
that those in which I felt displeasure, apprehension, frustration, etc.,
outnumbered those in which I felt such sensations as satisfaction or
amusement by a ratio of 4 to 1.
On further consideration of the subject matter of these dreams,
however, a plausible explanation of the apparent contradiction has
emerged, one which probably deserves some extended investigation
by those who are engaged in dream study. It appears that the
memories of which the dream is constructed distinguish between
genuine sensations of my own and those which are merely part of the
dream action, even though the latter have to be attributed to me in the
dream because of the “personal experience” character of dreaming. In
one long and complicated dream, for example, I went through an
extended series of annoying and frustrating experiences, including a
search of my car by the police, a sudden discovery that the car had no
brakes, and so on. However, the dream record, written immediately
after waking in the morning, concludes this long recital of troubles
with this statement: “The whole dream was free from any anxiety or
other emotion. Every experience seemed to be taken in a purely
matter-of-fact way.” Evidently the unpleasant features in the dream
were not unpleasant to me; they were merely part of the performance I
was witnessing, even though I was dreaming “in the first person,” so
to speak. This conclusion is substantiated by the identification of the
source of the dream. It was not an experience of my own. It came
from a book that I had been reading just before retiring.
In another case in which I encountered some definite antagonism in
the dream, the record says, “I was not disturbed by the antagonism; in
fact, I seemed to be mildly amused throughout the entire dream.”
Here, again, the emotional atmosphere held no unpleasant implication
for me. Only a few of the dream records contain specific statements of
this kind, but the theatrical performance setting is apparently a very
common feature of my dreams, and it probably accounts for my
general impression that there is little or no unpleasantness in my
dream experience. No doubt many people have genuinely unpleasant
experiences in dreams, but it would be interesting to find out how
prevalent these actually are.
It is possible that this theatrical atmosphere may account for much of
the rather uninhibited nature of the dreamer’s behavior during some of
the dreams. From the description of the sleep states in Chapter 14, it
can be seen that the thinking mechanism is not in a position to
exercise any direct control over the REM dream experiences,
inasmuch as it is disconnected from the memory process of which the
dream is a part. Whatever censorship is accomplished must be
exercised by memory of previous decisions with respect to the same
or similar issues. Where a firm position on a subject has been taken,
and has been impressed on the memory, this is sufficient to bar any
action that would be in conflict. A law-abiding citizen will not commit
a crime of violence in his dreams even where the dream is merely a
reenactment of an episode from a book or performance, and the
dreamer is only playing a role.
In general, however, there is much more latitude for unconventional
conduct in dreams than in the waking state. There are plenty of
memories of unorthodox, intemperate, or reprehensible conduct in
every memory storehouse. Even if the individual has no personal
memories that fall into these categories, he has been exposed to
innumerable accounts of such experiences in the news, in books, and
in the broadcast media, all of which are attributed to him if they are
called up by association in dreams. Unlike reasoning, memory is
unable to relate the permissibility of an action to the existing
circumstances. In the absence of a memory of a definite prohibition,
an action which will be taken in real life only under very exceptional
circumstances is allowed in a dream under any conditions.
CHAPTER 16
Dream Interpretation
From the earliest time of which we have any detailed knowledge,
dreams have been regarded as repositories of hidden messages, and
their interpretation has been a matter of great interest. Hidden
information is presumably information that is not available, or at least
not readily available, elsewhere, and since the closed door that the
human race has always had the greatest desire to penetrate is the one
that leads to the future, one of the most popular ideas has been that
dreams provide a means of foretelling future events.
In order to discover the hidden meaning, one must find the plan of
concealment, and the general belief has been that dreams accomplish
this by representing the true meaning in the form of symbols. Most
present-day investigators have abandoned the hope of extracting any
information about the future from dream analysis, but they have
retained the conception that the perceived content of a dream is a
symbolic representation of its true meaning. “The dream-content is, as
it were, presented in hieroglyphics, whose symbols must be translated,
one-by-one, into the language of the dream-thoughts,”248 says Freud.
Hall puts it in this manner: “Careful investigators have come to the
conclusion that there are some symbols which have pretty much the
same meanings or referents for every dreamer.”249
In view of the prevalence of this opinion, one of the most significant
aspects of the results obtained from the dream study described in the
preceding chapter is that they show no trace of symbolism. Some of
the objects or actions currently considered to be symbolic were
present in my recorded dreams, but in all cases, it could easily be seen
that they were present in their ordinary significance, not as symbols of
something else. The snake that I saw in one dream was not a symbol;
it was a memory of a rather spectacular snake that I saw in a
television program a few hours earlier. The gun that appeared in
another dream was not a symbol; it was a direct memory of a gun that
played a prominent part in a mystery story that I had just laid down
before retiring. In the dream record, “I was holding a rather peculiar
long gun. It seemed more like a museum piece than a modern
weapon.” In the book, the gun was a collector’s item that could well
have had a place in a museum.
It is evident from the results of this study that symbols play no part in
my dreams under relatively calm living conditions. This does not
guarantee that they are also absent from the dreams of others under
similar conditions, but it does create a rather strong presumption to
that effect, particularly since much of my work deals with abstractions
and symbols, and I would seem to be among those most likely to
utilize symbolism in dreams if anyone does. The question as to
whether I, or others, employ symbolism under highly emotional
conditions also remains open, but here again, it seems quite
improbable that operation under stress would change the basic nature
of the dream process.
While the results of this dream study actually demonstrate the absence
of symbolism only under a limited range of conditions, this amount of
negative evidence is highly significant because it is completely in
agreement with the conclusions reached in the two preceding chapters
with respect to the mechanism of dreaming. These findings, which
show that dreams are products of the normal operation of the memory
system during sleep, cut the ground out from under the “symbol”
hypothesis. The dream is constructed from themes already in the
system, and it is elaborated with details drawn from the memory
storage by means of the association process. It has some unfamiliar
aspects because it is a product of memory only, with none of the
participation by the thinking mechanism that characterizes the
conscious activities of the mind, but there is no distortion or disguise
involved. The dream is an enigma only to the person who is looking
for something that is not there.
All of the theories of dream symbolism, from those of the early-day
prophets and soothsayers to those of the modern psychologists and
psychoanalysts, rest entirely on the assumption that the dreams must
have some meaning of consequence. Since no such meaning is
manifest in the dreams as they are experienced, it follows from the
assumed premises that the meaning must be disguised in some
manner, and the use of symbols for this purpose is a hypothesis that
has been proposed. It has no factual basis. The present-day theories of
dream symbolism have no more empirical support than the prophetic
theories that have been abandoned to the pseudo-scientists. The mere
fact that someone like Freud arrives at a conclusion as to the meaning
of a dream that satisfies him, or that appears plausible to others, does
not prove anything. The interpretation is still an untested hypothesis.
The symbolic interpretation of dreams is simply assumption piled
upon assumption.
Furthermore, the memory mechanism, as we know it from conscious
experience, operates by means of straightforward association of items
that have some common feature. There is no disguise or distortion
involved. In order to account for the concealment of the true meaning
of dreams by means of symbolism, it would therefore be necessary to
assume the existence of an additional mechanism of some kind. There
is no physical indication of any such mechanism. Nor do the
proponents of the “concealment” or “symbolism” hypothesis seem to
have given any consideration to the question as to what purpose a
concealment process would serve if an appropriate mechanism did
exist. There is no need for any special means of concealing the
existence or the meaning of dreams from other persons. The dreamer
has full control over the release of the information in any event. He
can withhold any or all of it, or alter it arbitrarily, as he sees fit. In
fact, only a tiny fraction of the dreams that occur are ever brought to
the attention of others, and many of these are heavily censored by the
dreamer. Thus, the only purpose of a concealment process, if it
existed, would be to hide the meaning of the dream from the dreamer
himself. This is the purpose implied by the prevailing opinion that the
significance of the dream can only be ascertained with the aid of an
interpreter.
In the days when dreams were thought to be messages in code
originating from some metaphysical source, the idea that the code
could be deciphered only by specially trained individuals was not
unreasonable. But now that this idea has been abandoned, and it is
conceded that dreaming is a purely physiological process, it should
not take much reflection to dispose of this farfetched concealment
hypothesis. It is simply absurd to suggest that evolution would have
gone to all the trouble of producing a special mechanism for the
purpose of concealing information from the individual himself. Surely
there is no selection pressure favoring survival of the ignorant. Even
without the new information contributed by this present work, it
should be clear that the symbolic interpretation of dreams is too far
divorced from reality to be entitled to serious consideration. The
findings reported in Chapter 15 merely reinforce this conclusion. The
“dream books” that are so popular these days will have to be classified
with the “horoscopes” of the astrologers as nonsense—perhaps
entertaining nonsense for those who are not taken in by the elaborate
manner in which it is packaged. The symbolism envisioned by Freud
and the “careful investigators” mentioned by Hall has no more
foundation than that of the dream books. It, too, is nonsense.
An equally conspicuous feature of the results that I obtained from my
dream study is the absence of any indication of the “wish-fulfillment”
which looms so large in the conventional wisdom in this area. “When
the work of interpretation has been completed the dream can be
recognized as a wish-fulfillment,”250 Freud tells us unequivocally. But
even in the example that he cites in beginning his discussion of “The
Dream as Wish-Fulfillment” there is no fulfillment. “If I succeed in
appeasing my thirst by means of the dream that I am drinking, I need
not wake up in order to satisfy that thirst,” he says, and if he could
show such an effect, he would have proved his point. But he
immediately admits that “the need for water to quench the thirst
cannot be satisfied by a dream.”251 His statement that “the dream
takes the place of action” is thus contradicted by his own example.
But this dream of his is entirely consistent with my finding that a
stimulus from the circulating memory, or, as in this case, from the
physiological mechanism, calls forth by association, an appropriate
memory from storage to create a synthetic experience.
Instead of wish fulfillment, what we have here is a memory of a
satisfying experience called forth by a stimulus associated with such
an experience. The difference is not particularly striking, but it is
nevertheless significant. The dream itself does not satisfy. Freud keeps
admitting this, even though at the same time he insists that each dream
is wish fulfillment. In reporting “a series of dreams which are based on
the longing to go to Rome,” he asserts, “It is obvious that I am trying
in vain to see in my dreams a city which I have never seen in my
waking life.”252 “Trying in vain” can hardly be equated with
“fulfillment.” This, again, is simply a memory theme, elaborated into
a synthetic experience. During the day, something reminded Freud of
his desire to see Rome. The theme “a visit to Rome” then carried over
into his circulating memory and initiated a dream. There is no hidden
meaning and no need for an interpretation.
A memory of an experienced event results in a dream in which the
desired result is attained, with or without the same setting and
personnel as in the actual experience. A memory of an anticipation is
likely to initiate the same kind of a dream. But a memory of a
frustration, or a wish that, like Freud’s desire to visit Rome, is
considered unlikely to be fulfilled, results in a dream in which the
desired result is not attained. In each case, the imageless thought of
the dream theme includes the sensation either of attaining or not
attaining the objective. Those who have no confidence in their ability
to reach their objectives during their waking hours will not reach them
in their dreams either, unless they can invest their daydreams with
enough verisimilitude to deceive their memories into accepting them
as real experiences.
The role of memory is even more clearly emphasized by the dreams
that originate from those items in the circulating system that are
concerned with its principal purpose: the reminding function. No less
than five of the “personal experience” class of dreams recorded during
my study originated from memories that I deliberately impressed on
the circulating system in the form “I must remember to do so-and-so
the first thing in the morning.” I cannot determine from the available
information whether every such command addressed to the memory
system before retiring resulted in a dream, as this relationship was not
recognized until the dream records were analyzed. I do know,
however, that there were only three occasions during the month on
which it was necessary for me to rise before my usual hour to take
care of such self-imposed responsibilities, and in every one of these
“alarm clock” instances, the matter with which I was to deal in the
morning became the theme of a dream. This experience is a strong
indication that any instructions given to the memory to be retained
overnight are reflected in dream themes, as would be expected from
the theory developed in the preceding pages.
The wish-fulfillment hypothesis is often extended to include the
concept of some kind of an inner dream life free from the restrictions
that apply during waking hours. An individual’s dream, says Lewis
Mumford, is “an uninhibited expression of his inner self, releasing
him from dull constraints and paralyzing compulsions.”253 Karl
Menninger expresses the same general idea. “It has long been
recognized,” he says, “that dreams represent in some way our
forbidden wishes.”254 The results of the dream study give no support
to this hypothesis. Indeed, the observed fact that dreams with
unpleasant features greatly outnumber those of a pleasant nature is
just about enough in itself to demolish such speculations. The dream
is merely a replay of experience. The process that might deserve to be
called an “uninhibited expression” is daydreaming, in which the
individual exercises conscious direction to shape events to his liking.
In Freud’s thirst-initiated dream, the entire situation was simple, and
his report, brief as it is, contains enough information to indicate its
true character as a simple memory recall. Most dreams, however,
cannot be understood without a reasonably detailed knowledge of the
events in the life of the dreamer that took place during the preceding
day. A good illustration of how essential it is to have this information
is provided by one of the dreams recorded during my study. This
dream consisted of three quite distinct parts. I had a clear memory of
the first and last, while my recollection of the second was rather vague
and confused. The original record of the first episode reads as follows:
I had experienced some kind of good fortune, the nature of which was
not identified. It was evidently a matter of common knowledge, as just
about everyone I passed stopped to talk to me, even those that I did
not know. However, they did not seem to be congratulating me, nor
did I feel any special satisfaction.
Those who regard dreams as prophetic would have no difficulty in
interpreting this dream as a favorable omen. Those of the “wishfulfillment” school could just as easily see it as a result of my desire
for some kind of “good fortune,” although my apparent indifference to
the outcome would have to be explained away in some fashion. When
I examined the dream report several hours after recording it, in the
course of my regular procedure, I could find nothing in the previous
day’s events to which it seemed to have any relation. I therefore gave
it a tentative classification as unexplained. Negative conclusions of
this kind were necessarily only tentative at first, as the different
themes of a dream frequently came from the same source. In one of
the six-theme dreams, for instance, all six themes originated from
separate, and easily identified, incidents in a book that I had been
reading during the preceding evening. In other cases, the original
dream theme is repeated with some modifications in another dream
later in the night. These related dreams frequently furnish clues that
clarify the earlier ones. In this instance, I went on to an examination
of the second segment of the dream. I found that it was totally
unrelated to the first, and was able to connect it with some news
events that had made an impression on me. The record of the third
segment, to which I then turned, was as follows:
An unidentified friend met me and wanted me to play some kind of a
game with him. I agreed to do so. It was not any of the standard
games with which I am acquainted, and had some complicated rules
which he had to explain to me. While we were busy with the
explanation, someone came in and tampered with the lights, causing
them to become so dim that we could not continue.
No doubt those who work with symbols and hidden meanings could
have a field day with “playing some kind of a game,” but I could
easily see that it was a direct memory. The “unidentified friend” was
one of the local supermarkets. The “game” they wanted me to play
was a promotional feature they were starting that was called the “Cash
King Game.” I “agreed to play” in the sense that I accepted one of the
cards which were being handed out to purchasers. The “complicated
rules” of the game were “explained” to me by that card. The dimming
of the lights was the way in which the dream expressed the fact that
some parts of the material on the card were in such fine print that I
had to stop reading and get a magnifying glass before I could finish.
Here we have pure memory, modified only by the generalizing that
takes place in passing through the circulating memory system.
The easily found origin of this third theme of the dream then made the
origin of the first theme clear. It was also drawn from the same source.
The “good fortune” of the dream was the prize money to be
distributed to the winners of the “game,” and the reason for my
indifference was my realization that the odds against winning
anything are astronomical. The reason for the separation between the
two themes was that they were separated in time. Several hours
elapsed between my first contact with the “game” and my perusal of
the rules.
The futility of any attempt to interpret these two dream episodes
without having a reasonably good knowledge of my activities during
the preceding day is evident. The same can be said about almost all of
the dreams included in the study. But when that knowledge is
available, the dreams can be understood in a purely matter-of-fact
way, without any esoteric or psychic implications. There is no need
for symbols or wish-fulfillment hypotheses in the interpretation. Nor
is there any deliberate distortion or concealment involved.
“Why is an interpretation necessary at all? Why does not the dream
say directly what it means?”255 asks Freud. The conclusion he reaches
is that the dreams are distorted “as a means of disguise.”256 But here
again, the very dream that he cites as the first example to support his
conclusions is readily understandable on the basis that it does “say
directly what it means.”
Freud realized that this particular dream was related to a visit from a
colleague during the preceding evening. This man, a personal friend,
identified as R., informed Freud that he had learned that promotion to
a professorship, which he had been actively seeking, was to be denied
because of his religion. Freud recognized that his own ambitions for a
similar promotion would likewise be frustrated if the same criterion
was applied in his case. He records the dream in this manner:
I. My friend R. is my uncle—I have great affection for him.
II. I see before me his face somewhat altered. It seems to be
elongated; a yellow beard, which surrounds it, is seen with
peculiar distinctness.257
Freud says that he never had any feeling of affection for the uncle
who was portrayed in the second of the recorded features of the
dream, and that, although R. was a friend, the degree of affection in
the dream was wholly inappropriate. He therefore concludes that he
does not actually feel any affection for R. at all; that the exaggerated
show of affection in the dream was a disguise, and that his “dreamthoughts” of R. were actually derogatory. In his dream, he believes, he
was trying to portray R. as unworthy of promotion for reasons having
nothing to do with religion, thus evading the natural conclusion that
the reasons for rejecting R. would apply to him as well. He supports
this by the recollection that another colleague N. was likely to be
denied promotion because of an unproved criminal accusation. The
whole convoluted process of reasoning leads to this conclusion:
If denominational considerations are a determining factor in the
postponement of my two friends’ appointment, then my own
appointment is likewise in jeopardy. But if I can refer the rejection of
my two friends to other causes, which do not apply to my own case,
my hopes are unaffected. This is the procedure followed by my
dream; it makes one friend, R., a simpleton, and the other, N., a
criminal. But since I am neither the one nor the other, there is nothing
in common between us. I have a right to enjoy my appointment to the
title of professor, and have avoided the distressing application to my
own case of the information which the official gave to my friend R.258
In the light of the findings of this present work, what Freud has done
is to put together a complicated structure of hypotheses and
assumptions to explain what is actually nothing but a simple memory
recall. The central theme of the experience, the discussion with friend
R., was the role of religion, as Freud concedes. Inasmuch as the theme
remains intact throughout the memory process culminating in the
dream, the theme of the dream is also religion. Once this fact is
recognized, the dream practically shouts its message. The “great
affection” demonstrated in the dream was not for the uncle, for whom
Freud had no appreciable affection. Nor was it for R., who was no
more than a friend. Obviously, that great affection was for the
religion. With this understanding, the non-verbal dream can easily be
translated into words in this manner:
My friend R. has been denied appointment because of his religion.
This is also my religion and that of my relatives, including my uncle
Joseph. All of us have a deep affection for it.
Ironically, Freud disparages his own character in a wholly
unnecessary manner in his interpretation of the dream. He paints
himself as a scoundrel, one who has, in his own words, “degraded two
respected colleagues in order to clear my own way to the
professorship,” whereas a straightforward reading of the dream does
him credit. In this dream, he is simply reaffirming his devotion to an
ancient and honorable religion in spite of what it is costing him in the
way of a lost promotion.
In this instance, and also in the “game” dream described earlier, the
connection between the actual experience and the synthetic
experience of the dream was evident because we had knowledge of
both. It would have been extremely difficult, if not impossible, to
determine the origin of either dream from the dream report alone. Yet
this is the kind of thing that most dream interpretation tries to do. This
is why symbols, distortion, concealment, and the like have to be
postulated in order to arrive at any conclusions at all.
The need for interpretation arises only because it is assumed that
dreams must have some profound significance. With only minor
exceptions, Freud contends that “Whatever one dreams is either
plainly recognizable as being psychically significant, or it is distorted
and can be judged correctly only after complete interpretation, when it
proves after all to be of psychic significance.”245 To the ancient
prophets and soothsayers, dreams were phenomena that foretold
future events; to the psychoanalysts of today, they are phenomena of
“psychic significance.” Since neither of these characteristics is evident
in the dream itself, one or the other is put into the dream in the
process of interpretation. Whatever “psychic significance” is
attributed to the dreams recorded in my study would obviously be
spurious, since these dreams are clearly nothing but synthetic
experiences initiated by memories carried forward from the events of
the day. In direct contradiction to Freud’s assertion, they are primarily
trivial items of no continuing significance. The theory of dreaming
developed in the preceding pages indicates that this is a general
situation; that all, or practically all, of the significance attributed to
dreams by the interpreters is fictitious.
Much of the so-called “fantastic” nature of dreams, aside from the
results of the abrupt changes of theme and the lack of rational
discrimination, likewise results from the fact that the investigator does
not know, and the dreamer does not realize, or censors, what has been
going on in his mind during the preceding waking interval. Again
Freud supplies a very appropriate example. He reports a dream in
which the dreamer “reaches a railway station just as a train is coming
in. But then the platform moves toward the train, which stands
still.”259 This, Freud says, is “an absurd inversion of the real state of
affairs.” But it is not absurd to those who are familiar with physical
theory. Sir Arthur Eddington, for example, uses this specific situation
as an illustration of the application of the relativity theory. “Since
velocity is relative,” he contends, “it does not matter whether we say
that the train is moving at 60 miles an hour past the station or the
station is moving at 60 miles an hour past the train.”260 Some of us do
not accept this statement without adding a few qualifications, but
when properly qualified, we do not find it absurd.
But since Freud did consider this dream an absurdity, he concluded
that the inversion of the roles of train and station “is nothing more
than an indication to the effect that something else in the dream must
be inverted.” However, anyone who encounters Eddington’s
statement, or something similar, for the first time can very well be
sufficiently impressed by it to have a dream in just the form reported
by Freud. Or such a dream could originate from any discussion of the
relativity of motion—either Einstein’s theory or pre-Einstein
concepts. I could easily have such a dream myself. The conclusion
that there must be an inversion somewhere else in the dream is
nothing but pure supposition contrived to account for a supposed
incongruity that does not actually exist.
As noted in Chapter 15, I do not dream of things that are inherently
absurd or incredible (although they may be combined in absurd ways
because of the inability of the memory system to recognize
incongruity). It is probable that this is the general rule. But my
rejections are based on what I consider absurd, not on the judgment of
any one who attempts to interpret my dreams. This, too, must be the
general rule. If anyone believes in ghosts, he may very well dream of
ghosts, even if I do not. Anyone who thinks, reads, or hears about
relativity physics may dream of a station moving to meet a train,
regardless of how absurd that may seem to Freud, or to any other
dream interpreter.
The rather fortuitous fact that Freud gives us enough information to
show that the illustrative examples he uses in three different
applications are almost certainly direct memories rather than instances
of the symbolism, wish fulfillment, distortion, and concealment that
he employs in trying to interpret them lends strong support to the
conclusions that I have reached from theory and from the analysis of
my own dreams. Normal dreams, I find, are simply memories, altered
in their details in most cases because of the nature of the memory
process that is involved. In this I concur with what Hall says is now
the prevailing opinion: “It is now thought that dreams are not
primarily disguises for repressed wishes, but that they represent what
is on the dreamer’s mind.”261 Hobson and McCarley, in a recent
article, use language that is even closer to the findings of this work
when they characterize dreaming as a “synthetic, constructive process,
rather than a distorting one.”262
The significance of dreams, as seen in the light of the findings of this
present investigation, can best be expressed by comparing the dream
state to the idling of the motor of an automobile while the vehicle is
stationary. In dreams, the memory apparatus is idling in a similar
manner, maintaining continuity of operation without accomplishing
any other useful purpose. This is a far cry from both the prophetic role
seen by the ancient world and the “safety valve” concept proposed by
Freud, but it is all that the evidence will support. This does not mean
that there is nothing to be learned from dreams. Most diagnostic work
on automobile motors is done under idling conditions, and the reasons
for this procedure are applicable, at least in some degree, to the
memory mechanism as well. It is therefore reasonable to conclude that
those who are diagnosing the ailments of the human mind may find
the idling period convenient for some of their investigations.
It might be concluded from what has been said in this and the three
preceding chapters that the results of the present investigation are
adverse to the essential claims of the psychoanalysts. This is not true,
as a general proposition. On the contrary, these new results are
entirely in agreement with Freud’s assertion that there is a continuing
conflict between different aspects of each individual’s personality. The
question as to whether this conflict is the cause of personality
disorders, and the further question as to whether such disorders can be
cured by exposing and treating the conflict, are outside the scope of
this work, but in the light of the present findings, the contentions of
the psychiatrists and psychoanalysts in these respects are plausible.
The finding that the individual components of dreams reproduce the
original memories without the concealment or distortion envisioned
by the psychoanalysts does not preclude departures from reality in the
dreams of abnormal or troubled individuals, or in a lesser degree,
those of some individuals who could be considered normal. But it
points to the original memory as the location of the distortion rather
than the dream. It is the memory that is subject to control. There is a
certain degree of mental control over the NREM dreams, but most of
these dreams have a matter-of-fact character that is not compatible
with the “distortion” hypothesis. The distortions that the dream
interpreters claim to find are primarily in the REM dreams which,
according to theory, cannot be distorted by the dreamer because they
are not subject to control. Memories, on the other hand, are
notoriously inaccurate, and much of this inaccuracy is a product of the
individual’s attitude. To a considerable degree, we see what we want
to see and remember what we want to remember. Thus, even though
the dreams merely reflect what is contained in the memory system,
they do reveal some things about the production of these memories
that may be just as useful to the analyst as the distortions for which he
has hitherto been searching.
In the foregoing discussion of dream interpretation, we have been
treating psychoanalysis merely as one of the prominent schools of
psychology, the study of human behavior, and the amount of attention
that has been given to the theories of Sigmund Freud is merely a result
of the fact that dreams play a much larger part in his theories than in
those of other schools of psychology, the behaviorist school, for
example. But in formulating their theories, Freud and his followers
have made some assumptions that have a bearing on the conflict
between science and religion in present-day thought. Since this is one
of the principal concerns of the present work, some further
consideration of these points is in order before we leave the subject of
psychoanalysis.
Personality disorders, according to Freud, are due to conflicts between
different aspects of an individual’s psychic mechanisms. He identifies
three of these: the id, the primitive animal-like aspect; the ego, the
social aspect, developed by contact with the outer world; and the
superego, which is commonly equated, somewhat roughly, with
conscience. Disorders of certain types originate, he says, from
conflicts between the id and the ego; others originate from conflicts
between the ego and the superego.
The conclusions derived from theory and reported in the preceding
pages are in general agreement with this picture. They differ from
Freud’s theories in two significant respects. The lower level conflicts,
we find, are not due to differences in objectives, as Freud assumes, but
to differences between what the emotions prescribe as the proper
actions for reaching the Sector 2 objectives and what reason indicates
as the most effective procedures. According to our findings, the social
contacts to which Freud attributes the difference in objectives that, in
his opinion, are responsible for the conflicts between the id and the
ego, do not actually alter the objectives. As pointed out in Chapter 13,
they change the factors that enter into the determination of the most
effective way of reaching those objectives, and since reason is more
capable of reacting to such changes, they increase the likelihood of a
conflict between emotion and reason.
Such conflicts are phenomena of the physical universe, and they have
no direct relevance to the exploration of the metaphysical region that
is being undertaken in this present work. But the upper-level conflicts,
those which, in Freud’s terminology, pit the ego against the superego,
are within the scope of our inquiry as they cannot be explained in
purely physical terms. Unlike the situation at the lower level, where
two recognizable physical mechanisms, emotion and reason, are
involved, there is no known physical mechanism that can be identified
with the superego, to the extent that this entity can be equated with
conscience. Furthermore, the considerations discussed in Chapter 7
show that such a mechanism, one that is directed toward objectives
other than survival of the individual and his species, cannot be
produced by biological evolution, inasmuch as evolution is directed
toward, and operates by means of, survival. Conscience and any
related phenomena identified with the superego in Freud’s system
therefore cannot be biological. As the development of thought in the
preceding pages brings out, they are phenomena of Sector 3
associated with the biological structures.
In his capacity as a scientist, Freud was uncompromising. As
expressed by Trueblood, “If scientism is a disease, Freud had it
badly.”263 Since he did not realize that some of the features he
attributed to the superego cannot be produced by evolution, he
regarded this aspect of the personality as merely another physical
level comparable to those that he designated as the id and the ego.
This left no room for religion or metaphysical existence. He therefore
repudiated religion, characterizing it as an illusion which impedes
critical thinking and is detrimental to the best interests of the human
race.264 In a sense, at least, he offered psychoanalysis as a substitute
for religion.
But like so many other scientists, Freud was unable to divest himself
of his deep-seated religious beliefs, and even though he kept them
under cover as much as possible, they were perceptible to his
followers. H. Faber notes that “[Erich] Fromm sees a ’religious’ core
in Freud which goes back to the Jewish tradition,”265 and that Carl
Jung interpreted Freud’s antipathy to mysticism “as meaning that
Freud obviously felt himself to be threatened by an eruption of
unconscious religious factors.”266 He was particularly interested in
matters connected with the Jewish faith, and selected Moses as the
subject of his last book. All of which confirms our reading of the
dream in which he unintentionally revealed his “great affection” for
the religion of his ancestors.
This religious awareness of which even the most rigid adherent of
deterministic science cannot completely rid himself is a result of the
dual nature of the flow of information into the human mind that was
discussed in Chapter 11. While one stream carrying physical
information comes in through the senses and gives rise to the
understandings and beliefs of everyday life and of physical science,
another stream carrying metaphysical information is simultaneously
coming in through intuitive channels and giving rise to some degree
of recognition of truths of a higher order.
CHAPTER 17
Free Will
Animal life is not entirely free from the necessity of making decisions
as to the course of action to be pursued. When confronted with a
powerful enemy, for example, the question as to whether to fight or
retreat may be of vital importance. But the basis for such a decision is
never in doubt. Survival of the individual and his species is the
paramount objective, and whatever uncertainties may exist as to the
course of action that should be taken are simply uncertainties as to
what action will contribute most effectively to that end.
This constant direction of animal activity is a result of the fact that the
biological organism is subject to only one control: that of the life unit.
The laws of the inanimate sector of the universe also apply, to be sure,
but these laws merely impose certain limitations on the activity of the
organism; they do not exercise any actual control functions. Within
the physical limitations, all actions of the organism are determined by
the controlling life unit, and they follow a single set of laws and
principles: the laws of Sector 2.
As we have found in the preceding pages, this constancy of direction
does not apply to the activities of the human race. Man is subject not
only to control by a Sector 2 entity, the life unit, but also by a Sector 3
control unit. In many areas, the two controls operate harmoniously. An
adequate food supply, for instance, is just as essential to the
attainment of the Sector 3 objectives as it is to the attainment of the
Sector 2 objectives, and hence no conflict arises in this area. But in a
great many other cases, the action that is taken if the Sector 2 control
prevails is quite different from that which is taken if the Sector 3
control gains the ascendancy. Here man must make the kind of a
decision that does not confront any other living organism; he must
decide which of two conflicting sets of governing rules he will follow,
or he must work out some kind of a compromise between the two.
There are also decisions to be made as to the particular actions which
will contribute most effectively to the attainment of the objectives that
are decided upon, and in this respect, man is in the same position as
any other animal, but only man is called upon to decide which set of
rules he will follow.
Wherever there is a decision of this kind to be made, the choice
between behavior as an animal and behavior as an ethical human
being is one which the individual exercises by virtue of his free will.
At both extremes of philosophical thought there are those who deny
the existence of free will and contend that human actions are
predetermined. This is an issue of crucial importance in many areas of
human activity.
Probably no other issue in philosophy is more alive today or has more
far-reaching consequences. If all events in the world, including a
man’s thoughts and actions, are rigidly determined by forces beyond
his control, then a man can neither act differently from the way he
does nor really guide the course of events even in his own life. If he
could not have acted differently, should he be held responsible for his
conduct?267 (H. H. Titus)
It is significant that both of the groups that deny the existence of free
will base their denials on development of the consequences of their
own doctrines, not on interpretation of the evidence. Those who
believe that the entire course of events in the universe is foreordained
argue from the premise that God is omnipotent, and hence everything
that happens must be just as He wants it; otherwise He would change
it. Quite aside from the fact that the available evidence is against it,
this argument is not very convincing. Even if one were to grant the
validity of the major premise, the conclusion does not necessarily
follow.
The strict mechanists likewise deny the existence of free will because
it conflicts with their doctrines. If the universe in its entirety is
nothing but a mechanism, then every part of it, including the
biological mechanism known as man, will respond to stimuli in a
mechanistic manner. The response of any particular mechanism to any
particular stimulus will be a specific action determined by the
characteristics of the stimulus and the characteristics of the organism,
with no opportunity for variation. In its simplest form, this is the
doctrine of determinism. It originated from a consideration of the
implications of the classical mechanics of Newton’s era, which
indicated that the state of a physical system at any particular time is
uniquely determined by its state at any previous time. Laplace, who
was the first to put this hypothesis into specific and unequivocal
terms, contended that if there existed a being capable of knowing the
exact condition of each constituent of the system at any one time, he
could determine the exact conditions that will exist at any future time,
as well as those that did exist at any specified past time.
In the light of the scientific knowledge of the eighteenth century,
Laplacian determinism appeared to be well grounded, but the
uneasiness which most scientists felt about the denial of free will that
this hypothesis requires was clearly demonstrated by the alacrity with
which they accepted the idea that the statistical nature of the quantum
theories provides a loophole through which free will can be reinstated.
Eddington was one of the first and most articulate of the advocates of
this proposition. Before the ink was hardly dry on Heisenberg’s
announcement of his Indeterminacy Principle, Eddington was
proclaiming that “Science thereby withdraws its moral opposition to
free-will.”268 In another work he summarized his position as follows:
We conclude then that the activities of consciousness do not violate
the laws of physics, since in the present indeterministic scheme there
is freedom to operate within them.269
But this buoyant optimism was short-lived, as powerful voices were
soon heard, pointing out that replacing determinism by chance
accomplishes nothing toward clearing the way for the exercise of that
choice which is the essence of the free-will concept. The following
statements are typical:
The physicist who tries to prove freedom on the basis of quantum
theory invariably meets misfortune, whether he recognizes it or not…
he can prove randomness of action, but never freedom.270 (Henry
Margenau)
If these statistics [the statistics which, according to present-day theory,
determine the behavior of the atom] are interfered with by any agent,
this agent violates the laws of quantum mechanics just as
objectionably as if it interfered—in pre-quantum physics—with a
strictly causal mechanical law… . The net result is that quantum
physics has nothing to do with the free-will problem. If there is such a
problem, it is not furthered a whit by the latest developments in
physics.271 (Erwin Schrödinger)
In approaching this question from a scientific standpoint, making use
of the information developed earlier in this volume and in the prior
study of the physical universe, it is desirable first to distinguish clearly
between causality and determinism. The two are often equated in
scientific and philosophical discussions. As R. B. Lindsay says,
“There is some disagreement among scientists about the concept of
causality. Among many it is essentially equivalent to the notion of
determinism.”272 Some philosophers likewise fail to see the
distinction. “Determinism,” says Hospers, “is the view that everything
that happens has a cause.”273 But there are two very different
concepts here, and each term should be reserved for one of these, so
that the issues are not unnecessarily confused by the language that is
utilized.
The simple notion of causality is the one implied in the statement that
“From nothing, nothing comes.” According to this viewpoint, there
must be some thing or some combination of things—a cause or a
number of causes—that can be regarded as responsible for any
specific physical event. If we then go a step farther and assert that the
correlation between the cause and the result is unique, so that a full
knowledge of the cause would enable prediction of the result in full
detail, we have what will here be called determinism.
Considerable difficulty has heretofore been experienced in arriving at
a satisfactory definition of the term “cause.” Most of the definitions
that have been proposed reduce to nothing more than a matter of time
sequence when they are carefully analyzed. Many observers are
therefore inclined to regard “cause” as a meaningless expression.
Others have attempted to add further requirements to that of sequence
in time, in order to give this term the meaning that seems to be
lacking. Bridgman, for instance, gives it a deterministic significance:
I believe that examination will show that we must at least have
invariable sequence—the event B must always follow the event A
under all sorts of conditions.274
During the era when Newton’s system, the so-called “classical
physics,” was the unchallenged basis of physical science, the universe
was regarded as being made up of physical objects—particles of
matter and combinations of such particles—and physical events were
identified as changes in the motions and associations of these particles
and their combinations. If such a system is isolated (that is, not
subject to outside influences) and is governed by definite laws and
principles, causality becomes determinism, and we have the
“invariable sequence” that Bridgman envisioned. Not only is each
event the result of certain causes, but the nature of the event is
completely determined by those causes. Determinism was apparently
an inescapable consequence of the classical viewpoint.
In fact, the methods, definitions and conceptions of physical science
were so much bound up with the hypothesis of strict causality that the
limits (if any) of the scheme of causal law were looked upon as the
ultimate limits of physical science. No serious doubt was entertained
that this determination covered all inorganic phenomena. How far it
applied to living or conscious matter or to consciousness itself was a
matter of individual opinion; but there was naturally a reluctance to
accept any restriction of an outlook which had proved so successful
over a wide domain.275 (A. S. Eddington)
Discovery of phenomena to which the laws of classical physics are
not applicable, and the rise of quantum mechanics as the new
orthodox scientific doctrine, destroyed the foundations upon which the
deterministic theories were erected. Even causality was endangered,
as it was found that many of the events taking place at the atomic
level, such as the disintegration of a radioactive atom, for example,
could not be correlated with any cause. An atom of uranium remains
quiescent for years, and then suddenly, for no apparent reason,
disintegrates. It is possible to predict quite accurately, by statistical
methods, just how many atoms of a particular aggregate will undergo
decay in a given period of time, but present-day physics is unable to
tell us why the disintegration occurs or when any particular atom will
be affected. So far as can be determined on the basis of the modern
physical theories, the decay events simply happen without any cause.
While these developments have destroyed what previously seemed to
be a prima facie case in favor of both causality and determinism, the
new physical picture has been far too vague to establish
indeterminism on a firm basis, and causality remains a wide open and
hotly debated issue in scientific circles. The difficulty is that although
“modern physics” has superseded “classical physics” as the orthodox
scientific doctrine, the modern physicist has not been able to place his
theories on the same firm footing that classical physics occupied in its
day. During the era of Newton, the physical principles then
recognized—the classical principles—explained the then known
physical facts completely and accurately, with only a few minor
exceptions, and it was not unreasonable to expect that they would
ultimately furnish similar explanations for all of the phenomena of the
physical universe. Modern physics, on the other hand, is neither
complete nor accurate in its attempts to account for the physical facts
that are now known. Indeed, there is no general agreement even as to
the meaning of the existing theories, and the physicist can take his
choice from among a number of different “interpretations,” none of
which is free from serious weaknesses. “No satisfactory interpretation
of quantum mechanics exists today,”276 concludes Hilary Putnam,
after a critical examination of the arguments pro and con. Thus, while
modern physical theory seems to preclude both determinism and
causality, this theory itself is so vague and uncertain that it is not in a
position to give authoritative answers to any such questions of a
collateral nature.
The reason for this rather nebulous character of modern physical
theory has now been clarified by the development of the Reciprocal
System. According to the new findings, the “modern” theory cannot
be other than vague and controversial because in many respects it is
completely wrong. Clarification of the basic nature of the physical
universe now reveals that all physical phenomena are motions of one
kind or another. A physical event is simply a change of motion. This
makes it possible to define the causal relationship specifically. In order
that there may be a change in any motion Z, without violating the
conservation laws, some other motion Y must be superimposed on
motion Z. This motion Y, or the motion X of which Y was a part before
the event, is then the cause of the event: the change in motion Z.
If we follow the motions backward in time (in the material system) we
find that motion Y (or X) was previously modified in a similar manner
by motion W, at an earlier time by motion V, at a still earlier time by
motion U, and so on. The motions W, V, and U were themselves
modified at earlier times by motions aW, aV, aU, etc. Every event in
the physical system is thus the result of the intersection of two or
more “causal chains,” as they are called. Causal systems would be a
better term, as the interaction of the two motions is more like the
junction of two river systems than the intersection of two chains.
Much of the difficulty that is experienced in dealing with problems of
causality is due to the fact that every event actually has an infinite
number of causes, just as the Amazon River, for example, has its
origin in an almost infinite number of rivulets. In the case of the
Amazon, we can utilize some criterion, presumably size, at each
junction point to identify the main stream, and by this process we can
arrive at what we regard as the source of the river. In a similar
manner, we can often identify something that we call the cause of a
physical event, but this identification necessarily involves a somewhat
arbitrary exclusion of items that have contributed to the causation.
Furthermore, the designated cause is itself the result of other causes.
On this basis, the events at the atomic level to which modern physics
is unable to assign any causes originate from the intersection of causal
systems in the same manner as the familiar events of our everyday
experience. The explanation which the Reciprocal System supplies for
the seemingly anomalous atomic events is that physical objects can
change their relative positions in time as well as in space, and most of
the events that occur at the atomic level are the results of changes of
location in time, either in addition to or in lieu of location changes in
space. The difficulty that has been experienced in applying the laws of
classical physics to atomic and subatomic events is due to the fact that
these are laws governing motion in space. The changes of position in
time that take place in these events are not governed by the laws of
space motion, but by other laws that are different from, although
related to, the spatial laws. When these atomic events are viewed in
their proper context, they are not random and unpredictable as
pictured by quantum theory; they are just as regular and orderly as the
macroscopic processes that follow the classical laws. The same causal
relationships that apply to ordinary everyday physical processes are
therefore applicable to these atomic events as well. Every event at the
atomic or subatomic level is the result of the intersection of two or
more causal systems.
Determinism, however, is ruled out by another of the findings of the
Reciprocal System. Earlier physical theories considered the universe
as being made up of “things”: entities possessing a rather vague
attribute known as “substance.” The issue of determinism versus
indeterminism was simply a question as to whether the laws
governing the motions of these “things” were definite and specific
enough to enable accurate prediction of the later motions from a
knowledge of the earlier ones. But the development of the Reciprocal
System now shows that “substance” is motion of a particular kind,
and the “things” are therefore nothing but motions. Furthermore, there
is a continual interchange between the “things” and other types of
motion. In many events, particularly where the dimensions of motion
are altered, or where motion in space and motion in time are
interchanged, the exact nature of the resultant is a matter of chance. At
these points, causality is maintained, as always, but the deterministic
chain is broken. The contentions that an “invariable sequence” is
essential to causality, and that the same cause must always have the
same result, are therefore erroneous. In some classes of events,
determinism prevails, and the exact nature of the result can be
predicted if we have a full knowledge of the cause or causes, but in
other classes of events, the actual result may be any one of a number
of potential results. Determinism, as a general physical principle, is
thus invalid.
Denial of determinism is not, however, sufficient to establish the
existence of free will. The essence of free will is the choice, but
physical mechanisms have no choice. A result produced by a chance
process is just as specific and definite as if it had been produced by a
fully deterministic process. Free will exists only if the result that
would have been produced by the normal physical processes—chance
or determinate, as the case may be—can be overruled at the option of
that will, and such a thing is totally foreign to the physical world.
Both living and non-living physical units must follow the rules of
their respective sectors; a mechanism has no will of its own. Free will
is necessarily metaphysical; that is non-physical.
This is the inescapable fact that has driven the strict mechanist,
whether he be scientist or philosopher, into a denial of the reality of
free will. The concept of free will is “a logical monstrosity, a
contradiction, a fiction,”277 says Vaihinger, with a vehemence born of
realization that his statement is a direct contradiction of basic human
experience. Those that are inclined toward the mechanistic viewpoint,
but are unwilling to take such a radical stand, recognize that we are
here confronted with a dilemma.
This is one of man’s oldest riddles. How can the independence of
human volition be harmonized with the fact that we are integral parts
of a universe which is subject to the rigid order of nature’s laws?278
(Max Planck)
Most scientists would prefer to believe in the existence of free will,
but like Planck, they see no way in which this freedom can be
reconciled with the physical laws to which man, as well as the rest of
the physical universe, is subject. They are not impressed by the
arguments advanced by those philosophers who champion free will. A
brief examination of some of these philosophical positions will show
why they are scientifically unacceptable. For example, Trueblood tells
us that “The most powerful argument against determinism is that it
utterly destroys any logical basis of responsibility.”279 This is outright
circularity. The argument rests entirely on the assumption that man
must be responsible for his actions. But he cannot be held responsible
unless he has freedom of action. The premise on which this argument
for the existence of free will is based is therefore equivalent to
assuming freedom of the will.
Other philosophy texts approach the responsibility issue in a different
way, contending that human recognition of a sense of personal
responsibility is evidence of its existence. Titus lists this, together
with three similar items that he offers as additional evidence: (1) we
have a consciousness of freedom of choice; (2) we pass moral
judgments on conduct, and (3) we deliberate before making a
choice.280 Most scientists have considerable sympathy with this point
of view as they feel intuitively that our consciousness of freedom of
choice has a solid factual foundation. But the scientific world has had
too much experience with popular and widely-held beliefs that are
completely without merit to give any credence to evidence based
solely on what people think is true. And they do not fail to note that
the philosophers who advance these arguments of an intuitive nature
are not, as a rule, willing to take a definite stand in favor of the reality
of intuitive knowledge. So the scientist has been left in an awkward
position where that which he intuitively feels to be correct is in direct
conflict with the information that he derives by the logical and factual
methods of inquiry to which he and his profession are committed.
The question now arises, Is the conflict between the scientific and
intuitive viewpoints actually as irreconcilable as it seems? There are
those who would cut the Gordian knot by repudiating some of the
principles of science. Bergson, for instance, calls the law of
conservation of energy a “psychological mistake”281 and proposes
throwing it overboard to make room for free will. But the
conservation laws are just as firmly grounded in the Reciprocal
System as in conventional science, and the new information
developed in the course of the present work therefore gives no support
to such a suggestion. The whole idea of sacrificing established
physical principles as a means of avoiding conflicts is unscientific,
and all proposals of this nature will have to be rejected.
It would be feasible, however, for any agency capable of modifying
the normal results of chance processes (if such an agency exists) to
overrule the purely physical response to a mental stimulus. The
mental mechanisms operate electrically, and the exact nature of the
interactions between the individual electrical units, the electrons, and
the atoms of matter is largely determined by chance. A deliberate
modification of these interaction patterns could conceivably make a
major change in the ultimate result of a mental process. Such an
intervention would conflict with what are called the “laws of
probability,” but as noted in the discussion of miracles, these
probability laws, or principles, are on a somewhat different footing
than the physical laws, in that they are based on a concept that (so far,
at least) is indefinable, other than empirically. All definitions of
probability, from the original formulation by Laplace to the language
of modern texts, depend on the concept of “equally likely” events, and
no one has been able to specify what this means, except as a result of
observation or experiment. A modification of the factors determining
what is “equally likely” by non-physical influences would not conflict
with any physical laws, and it cannot be excluded by anything that is
now known. We must conclude, therefore, that if an agency capable of
modifying the results of chance is in existence, it could produce the
results that are generally attributed to free will.
As matters now stand, there is no definite evidence to indicate that
free will is actually exercised in this particular manner. However, the
major obstacle to general scientific acceptance of the reality of free
will has been the prevailing opinion that there is no way in which it
could operate without violating established physical laws. The point
of the foregoing discussion is that this opinion is wrong. There is at
least one way in which free will can be exercised without any conflict
with natural law. Whether this is the only means by which the result
can be accomplished is a question that is still unresolved, but we can
leave this for later consideration. For the present, we are concerned
only with the fact that there is no reason why free will should be
scientifically unacceptable.
It is true that a mechanism cannot respond with anything other than a
mechanistic response, but, as brought out in the preceding pages, man
is more than a mechanism. While many of his actions are
mechanistically determined in the same manner as those of any other
biological organism, the normal mechanistic response to any
particular situation may be rejected by the non-physical aspect of his
personality in favor of a response dictated by a totally different set of
considerations. There is no predetermined result; the nature of the
ensuing action depends on whether the Sector 3 control unit, acting in
the manner described in the preceding paragraphs, or in some similar
way, is strong enough to overrule the animal urges. It depends on
one’s willpower, as we say in the vernacular.
This freedom of the will carries with it a responsibility that is not
present in the lives of purely biological creatures. Animals have
hardships and dangers to contend with, and they have their
frustrations and disappointments as well, but their goals are clear; they
live under a single set of rules. For man, things are not so simple.
Many of his decisions, those that he makes on economic questions, for
instance, are also governed by a single set of rules, but where moral
questions are involved, man not only can exercise a choice, he must
choose which of two conflicting sets of rules he will follow. Some
individuals are able to arrive at a general decision: either to put
self-interest first, as any non-human living organism would do, or to
follow the moral code to the best of his ability, subordinating
self-interest where the code requires. But most human beings, in our
day, at least, are torn between the two alternatives and are faced with
the necessity of making a fresh decision each time a new issue arises.
Often the making of this decision has a shattering emotional impact,
not only because of the conflicts inherent in the decision-making
process itself, but also because taking action in accordance with this
decision does not necessarily close the issue, particularly if the choice
has been made in favor of the biological code. The internal debate still
goes on, and if the decision is reversed when it is too late to reverse
the action, the effect on the individual may be devastating. As
expressed by Dobzhansky,
Man became, and he still remains, a creature rent by internal
contradictions. He stands with one foot in his biological past and with
the other in his divine future.207
This is the “human predicament,” which is the chief concern of the
group of philosophies collectively known as existentialism. The
adherents of this type of philosophy assert that they are “concerned
with man’s sense of anxiety, despair, dread, guilt, and loneliness, and
with human finitude and death,”282 and they contend that traditional
philosophy fails to deal adequately with these problems. But this
predicament exists only for the individual who tries to evade the basic
issue and refuses to recognize that if he wants to be more than an
animal, he must deliberately choose to follow a different code of
conduct. The existentialist solution (if it can be called a solution) that
proposes to obscure the situation by a reversion to irrationality, will
not suffice. To eliminate anxiety, one must face the issue squarely and
make his choice.
An important question that arises in the present connection is how free
will is exercised, specifically whether there is an entity—a self, an
ego, or whatever we may call it—that makes the choice between the
code of Sector 3 and the code of Sector 2 where the two are in
conflict. On the basis of the conclusions reached in the preceding
pages, this question must be answered in the negative. At the point
where Sector 2 takes control of the biological organism there is no
conflict. The inanimate sector has its governing laws and principles, to
be sure, but it has no active control mechanism. The Sector 2 control
is unopposed, and the combination structure acts in accordance with
the laws of that sector. At some stage of evolution, the emergence of
intelligence leads to conflicts with emotion as to the best way of
reaching the Sector 2 objectives, but the objectives do not change. The
Sector 2 control carries on without opposition, and it is always
directed toward survival. There is no free will in operation here. Both
intelligence (in the minimum sense) and emotion are purely
mechanistic, and the decisions between the two are reached in a
mechanical way. If the individual has learned enough from his
environment and his associations to give his intelligence a basis from
which to operate, the reasoned conclusions will prevail. Otherwise,
the emotional course of action will be taken.
Entry of Sector 3 influences into the situation produces a different
result because Sector 2 does not automatically relinquish control. The
individual is now subject, in some degree, to a Sector 3 control, while
he still remains partially subject to the animal type of control, that of
Sector 2. In those cases where the Sector 3 objectives are different
from those of Sector 2 there is conflict. The theoretical analysis does
not lead to the existence of a single “I” or ego, that chooses between
the two. Instead, the process of decision is a contest between two
aspects of the one personality, and the ultimate decision depends on
the relative strength of the two contenders at the particular time and
under the particular circumstances.
As an aid in understanding this situation, we will find it useful to
compare the human individual to a horse and rider, the latter being
regarded for the purposes of the analogy as a single unit: a horse-rider
complex, with a horse sector and a rider sector, rather than as two
separate individuals. It is evident, to begin with, that the horse sector
is equipped with a full set of controls, and the physical movements of
the complex are subject to these controls. In the absence of any
influence originating in the rider sector, the nature of these
movements will be dictated by purely biological considerations.
Similarly, the human individual is equipped with a full set of controls
of the same Sector 2 character, and in the absence of any influences
from Sector 3, his movements will also be dictated by purely
biological considerations.
Now let us assume that the rider is ready to take part in the process,
and to improve the analogy, let us further assume that he is riding
bareback and without reins, so that he cannot impose his will by force;
he must utilize persuasion. To the extent that this persuasion is
effective, the pattern of movement will now undergo a definite
change. Instead of following the biological dictates in all respects, the
complex will now begin to take some actions directed toward
different objectives. Many of the biological actions—rest, food intake,
etc.—will continue without significant change. Others will be
modified or eliminated in favor of actions that advance the purposes
of the rider. An almost exact parallel exists in human life. Here, too,
some of the actions required by the biological rules, the rules of
Sector 2, will continue with little or no change, because proper
functioning of the biological mechanism is just as important as ever,
but to the extent that Sector 3 influence is effective, other actions will
be turned away from Sector 2 objectives and directed toward
accomplishing the purposes of Sector 3.
The action that is taken in any specific case depends on two factors:
(1) the degree of control that the rider has been able to develop over
the horse, and (2) the strength of the biological desires. If the horse is
very hungry, for instance, the objectives that the rider wishes to
pursue will get scant attention. The whole emphasis will be on
obtaining food. If the biological needs or desires are less urgent, a
well-established control by the rider will result in actions directed
toward his objectives, but if the control is weak, the animal reactions
will still prevail. Again human life is similar. A starving man has little
interest in morality. One whose situation is less acute may or may not
follow the moral code, depending on the strength of the Sector 3
control. Of course, even the starving man should do that which is
right, giving the proper weight to his moral obligation to stay alive as
well as to the other moral considerations that may be involved, and
the goal of moral development is to bring everyone to the point where
he would so act if the occasion arose, but pending the attainment of
that goal, it should be recognized that improvement of economic and
social conditions is a powerful aid to moral conduct.
At this point, we will bring the analogy still closer to reality by
assuming that the rider originally undertakes his equestrian duties at a
very early age, and that, as he matures and the training of the horse
proceeds simultaneously, he learns not only how best to get the horse
to follow a course in the direction of the objectives that he has
selected but also what objectives he ought to pursue. In the analogous
human situation, the ethical personality, the Sector 3 unit, similarly
grows and matures concurrently with the establishment of a more
effective control over the activities of the individual. Here, too, there
is not only a strengthening of the will to act according to the moral
code, but a growth in understanding of the provisions of the code.
Just how the Sector 3 control exerts its influence is as yet unknown.
As explained earlier, one possible way in which such a control could
be exercised without violating any physical laws would be to interfere
with the operation of the principles of probability in some of the
physical phenomena of the mind in which the results are normally
determined by chance. The points brought out in the foregoing
analogy can be readily understood on this basis. The extent to which
the normal results of probability can be overruled will depend on the
power of the modifying influence; that is, the extent to which the
control unit has been developed. The resistance to this modification
will be related to the strength of the Sector 2 (animal) impulses under
whatever conditions may exist, and the ultimate result will depend on
the net balance of the forces, as indicated in the horse-rider analogy.
An interesting variation of the normal control situation is found in the
phenomenon known as hypnotism. Here the subject’s own Sector 2
control is replaced, to some degree, by that of the hypnotist. In the
hypnotic state, a person will follow commands, exhibit emotions, etc.,
apparently independent of his own volition. There are limits, however,
to the extent to which this outside control can be carried. “The subject
cannot be forced, as a function of hypnosis itself, to do things against
his will,”283 says Milton H. Erickson. Our findings indicate that when
the subject is completely hypnotized, the veto power is exercised by
the Sector 3 control, and only when matters of Sector 3 significance
are involved. Inasmuch as this control unit is a metaphysical entity
and is independent of physical influences, it retains its full powers in
the hypnotic state (a physically induced condition). The suggestions
of the hypnotist are therefore rejected in those cases where they are in
conflict with any of the provisions of the Sector 3 code to which the
subject is committed. A normally law-abiding citizen will refuse to
commit a crime of violence while hypnotized, although he may offer
little or no resistance to a directive which requires him to do
something that will make him look stupid or put him in some
embarrassing position, actions that would likewise be very definitely
“against his will” if he were not under hypnosis, but which, unlike the
commission of a crime, are of no concern to Sector 3.
Now that we have confirmed the existence of free will, and have
gained some understanding of the manner in which it is exercised, our
next objective will be to examine the nature of the choices that are
made. The next four chapters will be devoted to this undertaking.
CHAPTER 18
Right and Wrong
Perhaps there are certain principles of right and wrong, founded in the
nature of things and in human nature, which, changing in their
application from age to age, are yet permanent in their central
meaning. Nothing would be better worth knowing at the present
moment than the answer to this question.284 (William E. Hocking)
If Hocking is correct in his evaluation, we are now ready to formulate
one of the most important conclusions of the entire work. A very
striking result of the addition of new items of scientific knowledge to
those that were previously available is the way in which problems that
had seemed hopelessly insoluble clear up as if by magic when they
are examined in the light of the new information. So it was with many
of the most recalcitrant problems of physical science when the
Reciprocal System was first developed. Long-standing questions in
physics, in astronomy, in cosmology, some of which had been given
up as impossible of solution, were suddenly found to be explainable in
simple and logical terms. The same phenomenon is now being
encountered in our exploration of the metaphysical realm. In previous
chapters, we have seen how the “miraculous” feats of inductive
inference and the puzzling aspects of ESP experiments can easily be
explained on a logical and purely scientific basis. Now it is clear that
the facts brought out in the preceding discussion also furnish an
equally logical resolution of the age-old problem of right and wrong.
Here is a problem that has occupied the thoughts of philosophers, of
theologians, and of common men, not only for centuries, but for
millennia. Distinctions between right and wrong are continually being
made by human beings—even by those who have persuaded
themselves that such concepts are mere illusions—but the source of
the criteria upon which the distinction is based is far from
self-evident, and it has been the subject of endless debate and
controversy. The words in which John Stuart Mill characterized the
state of knowledge in this area a century ago are still just as valid
today:
There are few circumstances… more significant of the backward state
in which speculation on the most important subjects still lingers, than
the little progress which has been made in the decision of the
controversy respecting the criterion of right and wrong. From the
dawn of philosophy, the question concerning… the foundation of
morality has been accounted the main problem in speculative thought,
has occupied the most gifted intellects, and divided them into sects
and schools, carrying on a vigorous warfare against one another. And
after more than two thousand years the same discussions continue,
philosophers are still ranged under the same contending banners, and
neither thinkers nor mankind at large seem nearer to being unanimous
on the subject than when the youth Socrates listened to the old
Protagoras.285
Science has hitherto had nothing to offer in this area, as most of the
scientists who have considered the matter freely admit. These
comments are typical:
The scientific code of behavior needs a background of an ethics which
science has not been able to provide.286 (C. F. von Weizsäcker)
The fact that morality cannot be based on experience or on reason
leaves open the question what its basis may be. We are still faced with
the problem “How shall I choose?” and I have no solution to offer.287
(Herbert Dingle)
Philosophers have been no more successful in finding a solid basis for
a system of ethics than scientists, and in order to have anything at all
to say on the subject, they have had to resort to some kind of arbitrary
assumptions on which to base their reasoning. The following
comments by Alasdair MacIntyre in a review of three recent books on
ethics could equally well be applied to almost any philosophical
discussion of ethical standards:
All three authors present us with arguments which move—usually,
although not always validly—from certain premises to certain
conclusions; but whence they derive their premises or why the rest of
us should have any confidence in these premises, these are matters on
which all three authors preserve an elaborate and discreet silence,
broken only by hints and allusions.288
This is indeed a most unusual situation. In the ordinary course of
events, if we encounter a problem, our first task is to devise a method
by which to approach the question at issue. Then we apply this
method, which may be nothing more than logical thinking about the
problem or may involve some very complicated procedures, and if the
method turns out to be adequate for the purpose, we arrive at an
answer. In the case of a reasonably simple question of right and
wrong, on the other hand, we know the answer to begin with, and the
problem with which we are confronted is to identify the means by
which we obtained it. Warren Weaver emphasizes the availability of
the information in this comment:
I have many times been uncertain which course of action would best
serve a certain practical purpose; but I cannot think of a single
instance in my life when I asked what was the really right thing to do
and the answer was not forthcoming.289
There is little tendency to deny the validity of the answers that are
obtained by this unknown process. Even those who reject all of the
religious explanations and regard ethical values as byproducts of
social and scientific progress generally concede the point. Jacob
Bronowski, for example, makes this significant admission, “I think
that we all know the essential values when we can think about them
abstractly.”290 The controversial issue is where and how this
knowledge originates.
The conclusion of this present work is that it is communicated to
human beings from Sector 3 by a process variously termed revelation,
insight, or intuition. As brought out in Chapter 4, each level of
existence has its own governing laws and principles and, although
they differ materially in some very important respects, each of these
sets of laws and principles constitutes a self-consistent system. The
ethical code is simply a portion of the system of rules which govern
Sector 3 and the extension of that sector of existence into human
life—Level 3, as we have termed it. From this it follows that “right” is
merely an abbreviation for “in conformity with Sector 3 laws and
principles,” whereas “wrong” is a term that is applicable to anything
that is in conflict with these laws and principles.
A significant point in this connection is that those decisions which are
commonly regarded as involving moral issues are decisions between
only two alternatives. The issue in each case can be expressed as: Is
this right or wrong? In non-moral matters there may be many choices.
For example, if an individual has a sum of money available for
spending, he has many alternatives—choices as to what to purchase,
as well as the possibility of saving the funds for future use. On the
other hand, the question as to whether a person should take advantage
of an opportunity to acquire such a sum of money by dishonest means
is recognized by everyone as a moral issue, and here, as in moral
issues in general, the choice is specifically between the two
alternatives of right and wrong. Here we are dealing with a choice
between two codes of conduct, two different sets of rules, not with the
kind of a decision that is involved in determining how one’s money
should be spent.
The definition of “right” as conformity with the laws and principles of
Sector 3 does not necessarily conflict with the religious doctrine that
“right” means “according to the will of God.” The will of God, if it
exists, can just as logically be expressed in the form of a set of laws
and principles applicable to Sector 3 existence in general as in the
form of a code by which to judge right and wrong directly. The
present investigation does not resolve the issue as to the ultimate
origin of the moral code, but it does advance the consideration of the
matter by a few important steps. It shows that there is an intelligent
existence outside space and time, which may have the characteristics
attributed to it by the theologians. It shows that communications from
this outside sector of existence can be and are received through the
processes variously termed revelation, insight, etc., and it shows that
the notions of right and wrong are based on the laws and principles
governing the outside sector, transmitted to the human race by
intuition and revelation.
In view of this substantial area of agreement, it must be conceded that
the religious answer to the question of moral judgment—the question:
Upon what principle do we discriminate between right and wrong?—
is consistent with the scientific findings herein presented. But this is
likewise true of some different explanations. Immanuel Kant, for
instance, rejected the religious answer and advanced the contention
that the moral code is an inherent endowment of our consciousness,
part of a store of a priori knowledge that is available to us simply
because we are rational beings. This is correct, but the reason why our
status as rational human beings gives us the answers to moral
questions is that human beings are in communication, through
intuitive channels, with Sector 3, where the moral code originates.
Theories based on ethical relativism, the system of thought which
holds that there are no absolute standards of right and wrong, and that
the proper criteria for ethical judgments vary with the culture involved
and with the individual circumstances, are in direct conflict with the
results of this investigation and must be rejected. Support for ethical
relativism stems largely from the observation that man’s ideas of right
and wrong depend to a considerable extent on the particular culture in
which he lives. Religious prohibitions with respect to the eating of
certain foods are frequently cited as an example. These prohibitions
have the force of moral law for the believer, but they are meaningless
to those who do not subscribe to the religious beliefs that are
involved. From such items as this, the relativists have concluded that
moral principles in general have no objective status but derive their
validity from the particular cultural setting in which they exist.
The positivists and allied philosophical groups carry this argument
still farther and contend that the existence of so many conflicts and
uncertainties in the various moral codes is sufficient evidence to show
that there is no such thing as a definite standard of right and wrong.
According to A. J. Ayer, “It is impossible to find a criterion for
determining the validity of ethical judgments… because they have no
objective validity whatever.”177 The following statements by Richard
von Mises reflect this same viewpoint:
One can point out in detail innumerable cases in which the uncertainty
in the judgment of single ways of behavior contradicts the existence
of an inborn norm, common to all people.291
The second, religious, conception of the moral laws is invalidated by
the fact that the allegedly revealed commandments are so vague and
incomplete that their application requires continually new
interpretation which, after all, is a work of the intellect.292
The weakness of the foregoing arguments can easily be seen by
reference to the discussion in the earlier chapters. As there brought
out, the moral codes promulgated by the religious authorities are by
no means confined to the principles which the founders of the various
religions formulated as a result of insight or revelation. All religious
organizations find it necessary, or at least advisable, to issue numerous
edicts and rules for the guidance of their members, and in order to
invest these instructions with a maximum of authority, it has been
customary to add them to the moral code and to give them the same,
or approximately the same, status as the basic moral principles.
Such priestly codes lump together conventional observances, ancient
tribal taboos, and moral precepts and attempt to enforce them all
indiscriminately.293 (J. H. Randall, Jr.)
The food prohibitions and similar items belong in this category. The
original objective of such a prohibition was usually connected with
the health of the community, but enforcement of health regulations in
a primitive community is a difficult undertaking, and since the civil
and religious administrations were either combined or closely
associated in these communities, invoking religious authority to
facilitate enforcement was a very natural development. Then, as time
went on and the origins of the accepted religion receded into the past,
the distinction between truly religious doctrine and the secular rules
appended to that doctrine for convenience in enforcement was
gradually blurred. After a few centuries, all of these pronouncements
came to be accepted as essential elements of the religious faith.
Inasmuch as these secular additions to the religious doctrines were
aimed at meeting specific environmental and social problems existing
at particular times and particular locations, no uniformity between
different religions arising in different parts of the world and under
different conditions could be expected, nor could it be expected that
any justification for these regulations would be found if they are
examined critically in the light of the conditions that exist today. The
true significance of the “contradictions” that loom so large in the
thinking of present-day critics of religion is thus altogether different
from that envisioned by these critics. Instead of indicating that the
religious directives do not embody any valid moral standards, these
contradictions merely emphasize the extent to which secular additions
to these directives have accumulated over the centuries and the
necessity of getting down to the genuinely religious elements before
attempting to draw any conclusions as to the validity of the moral
standards.
It is true that, even in the definitely religious areas, the directives are
often “vague and incomplete,” as von Mises asserts. But “vague and
incomplete” is by no means synonymous with “incorrect,” and the
positivists who pin their faith on science and call for less metaphysics
and “more scientifically disciplined thinking” should be the last to
suggest anything of the kind, as it would be hard to find anything
more vague or less complete than some of the current theories in the
scientific field that have originated from the “disciplined thinking”
which they advocate so strongly.
Of course, the relativists are correct in asserting that the purely secular
rules that have been attached to the moral code for the convenience of
the civil and ecclesiastical rulers have no moral significance other
than whatever obligation an individual may have to conform to the
laws and customs of the society in which he lives. But they go far
beyond this, and contend that no action has any moral status other
than relative to those laws and customs.
Everything in the mores of a time and place must be regarded as
justified with regard to that time and place. “Good” mores are those
which are well adapted to the situation. “Bad” mores are those which
are not so adapted.294 (W. G. Sumner)
This relativist viewpoint provides no explanations at all for the fact
that those who are most concerned about moral issues in any society
generally condemn some of the mores of that time and place. “There
have been men in all ages,” says W. D. Ross, “who have… practiced,
or at least preached, a morality in some respects higher than that of
their race and age.”295 Nor does the relativist thesis account for the
further fact that a society that once changes its judgment on a clear-cut
moral issue in response to these dissenting views seldom, if ever,
reverses that decision. “Infanticide, slavery, and witchcraft” are cited
by Sumner as practices which “must be regarded as justified with
regard to that time and place.” But slavery once abandoned is never
reinstated. Later generations agree with those who insisted, even when
it was sanctioned by the prevailing mores, that it is never morally
justified at any time or place. The degree of compliance with the
“official” moral code is highly variable; periods of strict enforcement
alternate with periods of laxity; but the code itself moves
unidirectionally, and this constant direction is inconsistent with the
relativist hypothesis. It is difficult to find any logical basis for a
viewpoint which interprets this continuing change in the moral
climate as anything other than an improvement.
This is an appropriate point at which to make some comments
regarding the use of the terms “ethical” and “moral.” Both in their
derivation and in customary usage, the two words are practically
synonymous, and that is the way in which they have been used in this
work. “Ethical” is primarily a philosophical term, while “moral” is
more common in religious usage, hence in those instances where there
is a definite philosophical or religious context, the corresponding
language has been employed. Otherwise, the two terms have been
used interchangeably.
Out of all of the theories that have come into prominence in
philosophical thinking, the one that comes the nearest to the findings
of this work is the “intuitionist” theory of right and wrong, which
regards human intuitions as the source of the moral code. Indeed,
about all that this present work adds is an identification of the origin
of the intuitions. But this is a very important addition, as it remedies
the weaknesses of the intuitionist theory as it has heretofore been
presented. The principal objection that has been raised against the
theory is the subjective and uncertain nature of intuition. The
widespread conflicts between the intuitive moral judgments of
different individuals are sufficient in themselves, say the critics, to
show that intuition is not a reliable source of ethical information.
Alexander Macbeath gives us the following assessment of the
situation, based on an examination of the beliefs of people of different
cultures, particularly primitive populations:
Most of the moral rules, for which self-evidence has been claimed, are
not really self-evident in the sense that they are recognized as such by
all who understand them and have attended to them. And if we accept
the view, as I think we must, that a satisfactory ethical theory must be
consistent with the moral judgments of all men everywhere, this
means that intuitionism cannot in any of its forms be regarded as a
satisfactory ethical theory.296
Another common objection to the intuitionist theory is that on this
basis, “An act is supposed to be intuitively certified as right without
having to produce further evidence.”297 In the words of Abelson,
those who argue that knowledge of right and wrong is intuitive are
“placing a logical barrier in the way of rational inquiry into the
grounds of our ethical judgments.”298
The results of this present investigation, which have shown that
intuition is not a source of information, but a transmission mechanism
whereby information is obtained from the Sector 3 source, demolish
both of these objections. As brought out in Chapter 11, all incoming
information, regardless of whether it arrives through the senses or
through intuitive channels, is subject to some degree of uncertainty
unless, and until, it is verified, because its reliability is dependent on
the capabilities of the receiving equipment. The information derived
by revelation, insight, or intuition is, in general, less reliable than that
received through the senses simply because the intuitive abilities of
the human race are, as yet, in a relatively primitive state of
development. Most of the information with respect to complex matters
that is received through these channels is wrong, or at least
incomplete, as few of the recipients are adequately prepared to receive
the message. Reception of relatively simple ethical precepts is,
however, within the competence of the great majority of the
inhabitants of the modern world, and the general agreement that
should exist among these individuals with respect to the right and
wrong of uncomplicated situations actually does exist. As Bronowski
admitted in the statement quoted earlier in this chapter, “We all know
the essential values.”
Where difficult questions are involved, it must be expected that the
intuitive answers will differ, not because the source is unreliable, but
because the individual capability of receiving the transmitted
information is highly variable. Furthermore, the discrepancies
between the moral judgments of the members of modern society and
those of primitive people, upon which Macbeath and others of similar
views base their rejection of intuitionism, are also to be expected on
the same grounds. The average individual of the present day is better
qualified to receive the intuitive communications than his distant
ancestors. Continued progress has taken place in the ethical field as
well as in all other aspects of human existence.
The barrier to “rational inquiry” with which Abelson is concerned is
likewise removed by the finding that, although the source of the
information received through intuition is infallible and the intuitive
process is capable of transmitting the information accurately, there is
no guarantee that it is received correctly. As pointed out in Chapter 9,
all inductive insight—scientific, religious, or other—is subject to the
limitations of the mind which receives it. The product of such insight
may therefore be complete and accurate, or it may be entirely
erroneous, or it may be anywhere in between. In the case of a simple
question of right and wrong, the person who feels certain of his
intuitive decision can usually rely upon its validity, but where more
complicated issues are involved, or where the certainty is absent, the
intuitive information must be tested in some appropriate manner
before its validity can be regarded as established.
The standard test of science, comparison with the observed and
measured facts, is the simplest and most direct of the available
methods. Unquestionably, therefore, this test should be applied
wherever the existing state of knowledge makes such a test feasible,
and every effort should be made, as in this present work, to extend the
area to which scientific testing is applicable. Nevertheless, the
contention that our thinking should be confined exclusively to those
items that are currently within the purview of science is wholly
unjustified. There are valid items of knowledge outside the boundaries
of physical science, and there are methods by which the validity of
items of this kind can be appraised. Any arbitrary restriction of
thought to a limited area, whether that area be physical or
non-physical, simply places unnecessary obstacles in the way of the
development of human knowledge.
It must be conceded that the criteria of validity that we have thus far
been able to establish for application to information from
metaphysical sources are quite limited, and they can give us
unequivocal assurance of the authenticity of intuitive information only
in the case of a relatively small proportion of the total number of
items involved. Fortunately, however, this small proportion has a
significance that is much greater than might appear on first
consideration, since we have ample evidence to indicate that the
underlying truth from which the intuitive information comes
constitutes an integrated and self-consistent system. We can establish
the nature and general characteristics of the portion of this system that
constitutes the moral code by means of those items of intuitive
information that can be directly verified, and once this basic pattern
has been established, we can test other items claimed to have been
received through metaphysical channels by determining whether they
fit into the established pattern.
A broad general principle of great significance is the one that we
know as the “Golden Rule.” Most of the great religions express this
principle in essentially the same terms, and those that do not state it
explicitly give us a number of separate rules and precepts from which
a general rule of this kind can be inferred. Here is a rule that meets all
of the tests that we have been able to formulate. It is included in all of
those religious revelations that we have reason to believe are the most
authoritative; all of the different versions are essentially in agreement;
and none of the negative items against which we are on guard is
applicable. Furthermore, the rule is an “admission against
self-interest,” as self-interest would not ask for equality of treatment
between self and others; it would ask for preferential treatment. The
very few objections to the Golden Rule that can be found in
philosophical literature (aside from those advanced by critics such as
Nietzsche who object to it on non-moral grounds) are generally of
such a frivolous nature that it is questionable whether their authors are
actually serious. T. H. Huxley, for instance, points out that
If I put myself in the place of the man who has robbed me, I find that I
am possessed by an exceeding desire not to be fined or imprisoned.299
The moral code is the code of Sector 3 by which the actions of ethical
men are governed. If anyone puts himself “in the place” of the robber,
as Huxley suggests, he is not, for the time being at least, an ethical
man—he has chosen to follow the code of the animal—and neither his
actions nor his desires have any relevance to the moral code or to the
status of the Golden Rule as part of that code. Henry Margenau
produces an equally absurd “application” of the rule:
Consider healthy competition for worthwhile ends, which most people
will regard as ethically desirable. The Golden Rule does not permit it,
for if I want to get ahead of my competitor, I must let him get ahead
of me.300
No ethical man would take this attitude. If he entered into a
competition, he would want to win, if possible, but he certainly would
not want his competitor to turn the whole activity into a farce by
letting him win. Consequently, he is under no obligation to let the
competitor win. The Golden Rule makes no such demand. The mere
fact that nothing more to the point can be found by those who are
looking for a negative argument is, in itself, rather eloquent testimony
to the soundness of the rule.
We may thus conclude that the Golden Rule constitutes a part of the
set of principles that govern Sector 3: the code of ethical man. Here
we have the nucleus of the new “rules of the game” that supersede the
rules of Sector 2, the laws of nature followed by the biological world,
when the transition to ethical man takes place. From this point on,
then, we have another test that can be applied to purported revelations
or intuitions concerning these rules, a more specific test than anything
previously available, as any proposed addition to the known rules
must be compatible with the rule that we have already verified. The
first question to be asked when any such addition is suggested will be,
“Is this consistent with the Golden Rule?”
For example, Kant proposes what he calls the “categorical
imperative,” in which the criterion by which we identify a moral
action is a decision as to whether we would be willing to make this
type of action a universal rule. It is clear that this criterion is in
harmony with the Golden Rule throughout the area covered by the
latter—indeed, it has been called the Philosophical Golden Rule—and
it also passes the other tests that we have defined, providing that we
specify collective judgment rather than individual judgment and
require substantially complete agreement on each separate issue
before accepting this item as a part of the code, just as we should do
where we are dealing with religious revelations.
In applying this criterion, we are, in effect, taking the stand that those
items which ethical men agree should be part of the moral code are, in
fact, part of that code. On first consideration this may seem totally
unscientific, since science deals with things as they are, not as anyone
thinks that they should be. But we have found that the control unit of
ethical man has direct access to knowledge of what is, even though
the individual cannot identify the source of his information. This
means that when human beings are dealing with matters that are
within their comprehension, as is generally true with respect to basic
moral principles, that which men in general feel should be true
actually is true. Some philosophers have already arrived at this same
conclusion without the benefit of the new knowledge revealed by the
present investigation. W. D. Ross, for instance, says this:
I would maintain, in fact, that what we are apt to describe as “what we
think” about moral questions contains a considerable amount that we
do not think but know, and that this forms the standard by reference to
which the truth of any moral theory has to be tested, instead of having
itself to be tested by reference to any theory.301
It does not follow that the moral code is subjective. Such concepts as
that of William James, who asserts that “Nothing can be good or right
except so far as some consciousness feels it to be good or thinks it to
be right,”302 are completely at odds with our scientific findings. Man’s
intuitive apprehension of right and wrong is not a subjective
conclusion of his own; it is knowledge of an objective fact that is
transmitted to him by the intuition process.
Many of those who deny the reality of metaphysical existence, and
therefore cannot accept religious or other metaphysical explanations
of the source of the moral code, are reluctant to concede the existence
of intuition, largely because of their apprehension (which our findings
show is justified) that such a concession might open the door to a
metaphysical explanation. As an alternative, some attribute moral
judgments to conscience. Herbert Feigl, who is an adherent of
humanism, which will be discussed in Chapter 22, has this to say:
So I think that a unified set of supreme moral values can be
empirically discerned as inherent in the conscience of man, even if it
is not always displayed in his behavior.303
But what difference is there between saying that the moral code is
“inherent in the conscience of man” and saying that it is recognized
intuitively? There is no general agreement as to just what conscience
is. Freud regards it as nothing but an aggregate of attitudes that have
been implanted in the individual by the influence of his parents and
associates. This view, widely held today, ignores the crucial question
as to how the moral standards, the standards of one’s conscience,
originate. As pointed out by Herbert Dingle in the statement quoted
earlier in this chapter, they cannot be based on experience or on
reason. But unless they do originate in some manner, they cannot be
passed on by or to anyone. Those who do face the issue of the origin
of the moral code squarely either have to concede that it originates
from metaphysical sources or resort to euphemisms such as
“inherent”or “a priori” powers which utilize the absence of precise
definitions to conceal the presence of metaphysical elements in the
concepts that they are using.
One of the big stumbling blocks that stands in the way of a clear
understanding of the basic principles of morality is a widespread
impression that if a moral law is valid at all, it must be absolute, or, as
Kant expressed it, categorical. This conceptual error leads to
confusion in both directions. It leads those who do not think things
through in a comprehensive way to adopt dogmatic points of view and
to insist on the application of certain laws or commandments under
conditions where the consequences are definitely harmful. On the
other hand, it leads many of those who recognize the undesirable
consequences of this rigid dogmatism to take an equally extreme
viewpoint and to deny the existence of fixed moral laws.
The finding of this work is that the moral laws are, indeed, fixed and
unchanging. These laws are the governing principles of Sector 3, and
they have the same permanent status as the governing principles of the
other two sectors of our universe. No one contends, for example, that
gravitation is merely a transient phenomenon which will sooner or
later be superseded by some other type of behavior of matter, nor is it
seriously suggested that some other factor may ultimately replace
survival as the controlling element in the biological evolutionary
process. The laws of Sector 3 are no less constant. However, the
situations to which these laws apply are generally of a complex
nature, and their practical application is therefore subject to a number
of different considerations.
It is often claimed that the moral laws are inherently different in
character from the physical laws, inasmuch as the latter are essentially
statements as to what will happen under specified conditions, whereas
the moral laws are statements as to what ought to be done. No such
distinction needs to be drawn. Human beings have the option of
following the laws and principles of Sector 3 rather than those of
Sector 2, the “tooth and claw” rules of the biological realm. If they
elect to do so, the moral laws are statements as to what will happen
under specified conditions, just as is true of the physical laws. If they
choose not to follow the code of Sector 3, then the biological laws
specify what will happen.
Henry Hazlitt makes this observation: “Morality is primarily a means
rather than an end in itself. It exists to serve human needs… a society
of angels would not need a moral code.”304 But according to our
findings, a society of angels, if there be such, has a moral code. Sector
3 is governed by a set of laws and principles, just as the physical
world is governed by a set of physical laws and principles. The moral
code is part of the governing laws of that sector, and the hypothetical
angels will follow the code, not because they ought to follow it, or
because they are commanded to follow it, but simply because this is
the way that Sector 3 existences act, just as matter conforms to the
gravitational law because that is the way matter acts. A society of
ethical men will follow the same code for the same reasons, and the
“ought” concept does not enter into this situation either. But ours is
not yet a society of ethical men, in the full sense of the term, and we
are therefore subject to the additional considerations that were
discussed in Chapter 11.
The analogy with the physical laws illustrates clearly what is wrong
with the contentions of Kant and others who insist that at least some
of the moral laws are of such a nature that they must be followed
without regard to conditions or consequences. “The categorical
imperative,” Kant tells us, “is restricted by no condition. As
absolutely, though practically, necessary, it can be called a command
in the strict sense.”305 But this is not at all true of physical laws. For
example, the law of heat transfer states that heat will flow from a body
at a higher temperature to one at a lower temperature. But in the
familiar desert water bag, the water is kept cool by heat transfer
against the temperature gradient. The explanation is, of course, that
heat is actually being transferred from the air to the water in
accordance with the heat transfer law, which is in full effect, but under
the existing conditions another physical law, that governing
evaporation, is also effective, and the overall result is that the net
transfer of heat is from the water, the cooler body, to the air, the
warmer body, until an equilibrium temperature is reached.
Many of those who realize that strict adherence to all of the individual
rules of morality is impractical conclude that it is essential to allow
some exceptions to the moral laws. Because of “the complicated
nature of human affairs,” says J. S. Mill, “rules of conduct cannot be
so framed as to require no exceptions.”306 Ewing regards the need for
exceptions as self-evident. “When this [a conflict between two moral
laws] happens we must admit an exception to at least one of the
laws.”307 What all those who share this point of view fail to recognize
is that the result of a conflict between two moral laws, like that of a
conflict between two physical laws, is quantitative. Whether an action
is right or wrong depends on the net balance of the right and wrong
aspects of the different moral elements that enter into the action as a
whole, just as whether a physical object will gain or lose heat depends
on the net result of the different physical laws that apply under the
existing circumstances. The cooling of the water bag does not result
from an exception to the laws of heat transfer; it is the net result of
that law acting in conjunction with another physical law that comes
into play because of the special circumstances. Ethical matters are
subject to the same considerations. There are no exceptions to the
moral laws, but the effect of one of these laws under certain
circumstances may be to reverse or modify the action that would
normally result from some other equally valid and equally applicable
law.
Where a complex ethical situation involves a number of the moral
laws in one way or another, a valid judgment as to the proper course
of action—the action that is in accord with the laws and principles of
Sector 3—can only be reached by evaluating the impact of all of these
relevant laws and arriving at an understanding of their joint effect.
Here, again, the conclusions of the present work were anticipated by
W. D. Ross, who states the case in these words:
Every act, therefore, viewed in some respects, will be prima facie
right, and viewed in others, prima facie wrong, and right acts can be
distinguished from wrong acts only as being those which, of all those
possible for the agent in the circumstances, have the greatest balance
of prima facie rightness, in those respects in which they are prima
facie right, over their prima facie wrongness, in those respects in
which they are prima facie wrong.308
This concept of the morality of an action as the net resultant of the
right and wrong aspects of all elements of that action, in the same
manner that the effective force acting upon a physical body is the
resultant obtained by combining all of the separate forces involved,
implies that the long controversy between the supporters of the “act”
theories of ethics and the “end” theories has been a waste of effort.
Actions in general cannot be judged wholly on their status as actions,
nor wholly on their consequences. In some cases, only the act has a
moral aspect; in other cases only the consequences; but it may equally
well be true that both act and consequences have a bearing on the
morality. And not infrequently there are one or more secondary
consequences that must be taken into consideration in order to arrive
at an accurate judgment.
Furthermore, the question as to whether there were any possible
alternatives to the course of action that was taken is always pertinent.
For example, the intentional taking of another person’s life is
condemned in all systems of ethics, but self-defense is recognized,
both legally and morally, as a legitimate justification for the act.
Before we accept the self-defense plea, however, we inquire into the
question as to whether the homicide was, in fact, necessary; that is,
whether there was any feasible alternative. Thus, a proper assessment
of the morality of an action may not be possible without a full
consideration of the entire setting in which the action takes place. A
summation of the right and wrong aspects then gives us the answer as
to the morality of the action as a whole. Self-defense is no exception
to the rule that homicide is wrong. That rule always holds, but
continuity of one’s own existence is more right, according to
present-day thinking (which, we will find in Chapter 21, is supported
by our theoretical analysis) than the homicide necessary to maintain
that continuity is wrong, and the net result is a judgment that the
particular action is right. Most of the philosophers’ classic examples
of “exceptions” to the moral laws involve similar balances between
the right aspects and the wrong aspects of the actions in question.
One of the most serious objections to ethical theories of the “end”
type—those which hold that an act is to be judged solely by its
consequences—is that it opens the door to the pernicious doctrine that
the “end justifies the means.” It must be admitted that in a great many
instances, including the self-defense situation just discussed, the end
does justify the means. But in many other instances, the immorality of
the act far outweighs the morality of the consequences. Then, too, in
actual practice, the “ends” which are supposed to justify the means are
not usually the true consequences of the act but the objectives at
which the act is aimed. All too often, the ultimate consequences have
no resemblance to the original objectives.
Furthermore, a wrong action taken for commendable purposes may
have secondary or collateral consequences of a very serious nature.
For example, in order to increase the effectiveness of their advocacy
of certain social changes, a number of religious leaders have, in recent
years, advanced the contention that they have a moral right to decide
which laws they will obey and which they will disobey. In their
intense concentration upon the immediate goal, these individuals have
lost sight of the fact that they cannot restrict the exercise of such a
prerogative to a chosen few. If it is permitted at all, others will insist
on making the same choice, and not all of these choices will be
socially desirable. However pure their motives may be, those who
preach defiance of the law under the banner of “the end justifies the
means” must accept a major share of the responsibility for the civil
disorders and terrorism that inevitably follow.
One of the basic reasons for the breakdown of the moral structure of
society that has been such a prominent feature of modern life is the
general lack of recognition of the complexity of moral decisions in
this era when all phases of human activity are so closely entwined and
interrelated. The simple rules of morality that are taught by the
world’s religions and are embodied in the elementary ethical systems
developed by the philosophers are just as valid as ever in application
to simple situations, and in application to the separate features of
complex situations, but the special needs of the intricate social
mechanism of the present day cannot be met unless it is recognized
that most of today’s moral judgments must be reached by a process of
summing up the right and wrong aspects and striking a balance.
Unfortunately, those individuals who, by virtue of their roles in
society, have the responsibility of keeping the moral codes equal to
their task have, on the whole, failed to understand and appreciate this
situation. Some further comments on this subject will be made later in
the discussion.
CHAPTER 19
Good and Evil: Moral Values
As a physical structure, composed primarily of complex compounds
of carbon in an aqueous environment, man is beset with physical
hazards on every side. If the temperature rises a few degrees above
that to which he is adjusted, or falls a few degrees below that level; or
if he is fully immersed in water; or if he enters a partial vacuum; or if
he experiences a substantial increase in gravity; or if he encounters a
high electrical potential; or if he accelerates too fast or stops too
suddenly; or if he comes in contact with any one of thousands of
common chemicals; or if he finds himself in any of a great many other
such situations; he ceases to exist, or at least suffers severe physical
damage. When we consider that the range of temperature in the
universe is from absolute zero to millions of degrees, that the range of
velocities in the material sector extends up to 186,000 miles per
second, that there are pressures up to millions of atmospheres, and
gravities millions of times as great as that on earth, and so on, it is
evident that the human race is confined to an extremely narrow range
of physical conditions, and is thus very severely limited from a
physical standpoint.
Strangely enough, a complaint on this score is seldom heard.
Whatever feelings an individual may have when someone dear to him
drowns, for example, he does not protest the physical facts. He does
not contend that there is anything wrong about the fact that life ceases
to exist when the oxygen supply is interrupted. Nor is there any school
of philosophy which argues that the existence of an all-wise and
all-powerful Deity is incompatible with the existence of these
extremely severe physical limitations.
But the same human beings who accept with good grace the physical
limitations to which they are subject by reason of the laws and
principles of the inanimate sector of the universe are quickly moved to
protest when the operation of the laws of chance translates these
physical limitations into hardships or bereavements, and they
complain vehemently and bitterly about the handicaps and afflictions
to which they are exposed because they are subject to the laws and
principles of the biological sector. “A perpetual war is kindled
amongst all living creatures… . The stronger prey upon the weaker
and keep them in perpetual terror and anxiety,”309 wails David Hume.
But this is the biological law. There would be no man to denounce the
“perpetual war”—no David Hume nor anyone else—had it not been
for that perpetual war which eliminated, or at least retarded, the less
advanced in favor of the more advanced forms of life.
The same can be said for a great many of the items which Hume
claims make the lot of man “very wretched indeed.” Disease, pain,
pestilence, famine, fear, and finally death: all these are part and parcel
of the process by which the primitive single-celled organisms evolved
into man. They are part of man’s heritage as a biological organism,
just as his vulnerability to relatively small temperature excesses or
deficiencies is a part of his heritage as a physical mechanism. It is
“impossible, at least for me, to believe that physical suffering is not
evil,”310 says Joad. But this is a fact, nevertheless, if any moral
significance is to be attached to the term “evil.” Suffering and
hardship are not wrong or evil, nor are they right (in the sense of
morally correct) or good (in the sense of the opposite of evil). Such
concepts do not apply to them at all. They are simply inherent features
of life as it exists in a space-time universe. As T. H. Huxley puts it,
“suffering… is no accidental accompaniment, but an essential
constituent of the cosmic process.”311
The words “right” and “good” are used in a great many different
senses in ordinary discourse, but for purposes of a critical analysis
such as the one on which we are now engaged, an unambiguous
terminology is essential, and we will therefore restrict these terms,
together with “wrong” and “evil” to their moral significance. An
action taken in conformity with the laws and principles of Sector 3 is
“right.” The consequences thereof, if not nullified or reversed by a
“wrong” action, are “good.” Items such as physical hardship will be
classified as “undesirable” and their opposites as “desirable.”
It should be recognized, however, that even though physical hardship
has no inherent moral implications and is merely undesirable, the
deliberate infliction of physical hardship on another individual, or
failure to take advantage of an opportunity to reduce another’s
hardship is a violation of the moral code and is definitely wrong. Man
does not necessarily have to submit tamely to the natural forces that
operate to his detriment; he can take actions to increase the desirable
aspects of life and decrease those that are undesirable. He can reduce
disease, minimize suffering, enlist the help of power as a means of
lightening his labors, and so on. One of the requirements of the moral
code is that due consideration be given to the interests of others in
carrying out these activities.
If man were only a biological organism and nothing else, as an
influential school of modern thought would have us believe, then this
concern for the interests of others would not only be unnecessary; it
would be definitely out of order. There is nothing in the biological
realm, from the situation of the most primitive bacterium to that of the
most advanced animal, that would suggest that any weight is, or
should be, attached to considerations other than what is best for “me
and mine.” The Law of the Jungle is the Law of Nature.
Natural selection should have sharpened those and only those mental
abilities which assist man in the control of the environment… . All
this would seem to lead to the ethic of “eat or be eaten.”312 (T.
Dobzhansky)
The following extract from a summary of the views of T. H. Huxley
makes the same point in different words:
Nature is non-moral. When we study it with our minds, we find cause
for admiration; but when we view it in terms of our moral sympathies,
we can only shudder… . The kind of fitness which enables an
organism to survive bears no relation to the human ideal.313
Man, even though he is a biological organism, with all of the
inadequacies and limitations of such organisms, does not accept the
Law of Nature. “Anyone who endeavored in his action to imitate the
natural course of things,” says J. S. Mill, “would be universally seen
and acknowledged to be the wickedest of men.”314 The general use of
the term “beast” as an epithet makes the same point in a different way.
Man has repudiated the Law of Nature, the governing principle of the
biological realm, and characterizes much of the behavior in
accordance with this law as “wrong” or “evil.”
The existence of evil in the world—the “problem of evil,” as it is
called—has been a source of embarrassment to theologians and
religious leaders from the very earliest days, and an enormous amount
of time and effort has been spent in attempts to devise plausible
explanations that are consistent with basic religious doctrine, efforts
as Julian Huxley says, “to evade the dilemmas in which they are
landed by the acceptance of an all-wise, all-good and all-powerful
God as ruler of a world in which chaos and ignorance, suffering, strife
and evil are such regrettably prominent features.”315
When the conviction has taken root that there is One God whose
power is the ultimate cause behind all things and whose character
exemplifies perfect love and justice, the problem of evil at once
becomes challenging and very puzzling. If God is supremely good, it
would seem as though all His works would clearly display His moral
perfection; if everything that happens in the Cosmos is the direct or
indirect effect of His purposive power, how can He be honestly
conceived of as good?316 (Edwin A. Burtt)
One of the expedients that have been called upon to answer this
problem is to postulate that the powers of God are limited; that he
rules only over the realm of the Good, and that he is opposed by
another power—a Devil, or something of the sort—who rules over the
realm of Evil. Such a conflict was entirely in harmony with the
thinking of primitive people, accustomed as they were to continual
strife between tribes or between nations, but as noted in Chapter 12,
this concept has been gradually fading out, although it still lingers on
to some extent because so much of the imagery of the Holy Books of
the world’s great religions is based upon it. The “limited powers”
hypothesis does not necessarily call for an antagonist; the limitation
could be inherent in the nature of existence. But this conflicts with the
prevailing conception of omnipotence, and it is generally rejected by
the theistic religions.
Another recent hypothesis—perhaps it would be more accurate to say
“family of hypotheses,” since there are many different versions of the
same idea—asserts that evil is in some way necessary to accomplish
the purposes of the Deity, the nature of which we are unable to
specify, and probably would be unable to comprehend in any event.
This is, of course, the theological equivalent of sweeping the dirt
under the rug, but it gets away from the idea of a Spirit of Evil, which
does not seem very plausible to the modern mind, and for lack of
anything better, it is widely, if rather unenthusiastically, accepted.
According to the findings of this work, there is no Empire of Evil, no
antagonist that exerts a conscious effort to counteract the forces of
Good. To the extent that Sector 3 control is not exercised, the actions
of men, like those of animals, are governed by the cold and
impersonal mechanism of the space-time universe. The reaction of
this mechanism to any particular stimulus is determined entirely by
the laws and principles governing biological organisms, with survival
as the dominant factor, and this reaction is completely indifferent—
not antagonistic—to the governing principles of Sector 3: those
principles which we call good. If the response happens to conflict with
that which would result from the application of the laws and
principles of Sector 3, it is wrong according to Sector 3 standards, and
therefore evil, but this is merely because the standards of the two
sectors are different.
It is simply not true that laws of nature are all benign and merciful.
Neither are they evil or cruel—they are simply blind.317 (T.
Dobzhansky)
The evildoer is not violating any natural laws. Indeed, he cannot
violate these laws since a natural law is not a command; it is merely a
statement as to what happens under certain circumstances. The
evildoer is a biological organism, and he acts in accordance with the
natural laws governing biological organisms: the laws of Sector 2. But
he is also a human being, and as such, he has the option of another
course of action. It is the failure to exercise that option that constitutes
evil. The tiger goes about his predatory activities ruthlessly, but we do
not call this evil because we know that he is following the natural
pattern of his kind, the biological principle of “eat or be eaten.” We
condemn the same ruthless behavior if we observe it in human life
because man has an alternative that is not open to the tiger. He can
subject himself to a different set of natural laws.
With the benefit of the foregoing discussion, we are now in a position
to consider the “problem of evil.” It is evident, to begin with, that the
statement of the problem tacitly assumes rationality. If either the
physical universe or metaphysical existence were irrational, there
would be neither problem nor answer. The inconsistency, if there be
any, must be a logical inconsistency. But the usual concept of
omnipotence—unlimited power: that is, capability of doing
anything—is not rational, as can be seen by examining the familiar
example of the irresistible force and the immovable body. If an
irresistible force exists, then in rational terms there can be no
immovable body, and vice versa. No rational power can evade this
restriction. Thus, in order to give the problem of evil any meaning in a
rational setting, we will have to redefine the term “omnipotent” to
mean “capable of doing anything that is possible.” Furthermore, we
must recognize that this is a human problem; the immediate issue is
not whether evil is a necessary feature of existence in general, but
whether the human race could have been spared this affliction by the
exercise of omnipotence. The problem thus reduces to the question:
Would it be possible for an omnipotent being (as defined above) to
create a universe in which human individuals could exist free from the
presence of evil?
In approaching this question, we must recognize that human beings
are products of processes that occur within the physical universe. It is
possible, on the basis of the considerations discussed in Chapter 4,
that other types of intelligent beings may exist in other kinds of
universes, but such beings, if they do exist, are not human, and they
have no relevance to the human problem. The human race exists in the
material sector of a universe of motion, and in this universe, the
higher levels of existence are built upon those lower in the scale.
Biological organisms are constructed of matter, and the characteristics
of ethical man can be acquired only by biological organisms. Man is
therefore necessarily subject to the physical limitations of matter and
of biological structures, and to all of the consequences of those
limitations.
From this it follows that if we define “evil” in broad terms so that it
includes physical items such as pain and suffering, then evil is a
necessary and unavoidable accompaniment of human existence. On
this basis “human” and “without evil” are mutually exclusive, and in a
rational existence, even omnipotence cannot accomplish the
impossible. If we use the definition set forth in this work, which
characterizes as evil only those instances in which a human individual
deliberately chooses to follow his biological impulses rather than the
code of ethical man, the existence of evil is likewise unavoidable
under present conditions when mankind is still only a few short steps
removed from its animal origins. This fact is strongly emphasized in
Buddhism, where it is called the First Noble Truth. Edwin A. Burtt
gives us this interpretation:
What he [Buddha] is saying is that, by virtue of being born into the
realm of finite and changing existence in which events follow their
own laws, no one escapes the conditions that bring pain, and therefore
the problem of unhappiness is the universal problem of life.318
It should be understood that, so far as this present analysis is
concerned, the problem of evil is purely hypothetical, as there is no
such problem unless the existence of an omnipotent Power is
assumed. Our findings to date do not go this far. They merely
establish the reality of metaphysical existence and define a few of the
properties of such existence; they do not reach any conclusions as to
whether this existence, or one of these existences, is a Deity,
omnipotent or otherwise. The present discussion is also limited to the
human aspects of the problem. Some of the broader questions that
arise when the possibility of existence of a different type in some
different kind of a universe is taken into consideration will be
discussed later.
Identification of the items which are in harmony with the code of
Sector 3 and therefore qualify as good, and those which are in conflict
with that code and therefore must be classified as evil, is the first step
in constructing a system of moral values consistent with existence as
an ethical man rather than as a highly advanced animal. Since man has
the privilege of exercising a choice as to what actions he will take in
any particular set of circumstances, he necessarily must have some
basis on which he makes his moral choices. That basis is his system of
moral values. It is likely that most individuals do not realize, or
realize only dimly, that they do have value notions that govern their
decisions with respect to moral issues. Indeed, there is one school of
thought that contends that human beings are ruled only by impulse
and instinct, and that the idea of the existence of moral values is
nothing but a delusion. These so-called “irrationalists” argue that
man’s mind, like his body, is a product of evolution from his animal
ancestry, and that his “civilized” characteristics are no more than a
thin veneer over the animal impulses that exercise the real control
over his actions. They cite as evidence the frequency with which
latent savagery comes to the surface in times of crisis even in the most
advanced nations.
In the light of the information developed in the earlier pages, it is
evident that this view of the situation is actually correct in application
to those individuals who are completely, or almost completely, under
the control of Sector 2, the biological sector. The moral code has no
more meaning to such an individual than to a predatory animal. But
none of the arguments put forth by the irrationalist school of thought
is applicable to those human beings who are to any significant degree
under the control of Sector 3; that is, are, at least partially, entitled to
be classed as ethical men. To such a person, the moral code and the
system of values based upon it have a very real meaning, and the
extent to which that value system has been developed reflects the
extent to which he has made the great transition from man, the animal,
to man, the ethical individual.
The statement that x has a positive “moral value” is equivalent to a
statement that x is “good.” This term “good” is generally used without
any quantitative significance, merely to distinguish an item which
possesses this quality from one which is “bad” or “evil.” An ethical
system that views all morality in absolutes; that asserts, without
qualification, that A is right and B is wrong, has no need for the
additional concept of value. But few of our present-day problems lend
themselves to this simple treatment. The great majority of them have
multiple facets, and in order to make the correct decision as to the
morality of any proposed action in connection with such a problem,
we must strike a balance, weighing the good that is involved in the
action against the bad that goes along with it. For this we need a
quantitative term, and this we call “value.” Because of the subjective
nature of value, it cannot be measured with the precision of a physical
measurement, but rough approximations are sufficient for most
purposes. Both good and evil can be related to the same scale. That
which is good has a positive moral value; that which is evil has a
negative value; and that which is neutral—without moral significance
one way or the other—has zero value.
Recognition of this neutral category is essential for the proper
assessment of moral values. The issue of morality arises only where
there is a conflict between the rules of Sector 2 and those of Sector 3.
Animals have no moral issues to contend with. Their actions are
dictated entirely by biological considerations: the rules of Sector 2.
The same biological considerations also apply to human life, and
where the actions to which they lead do not violate the Sector 3 code,
they have no moral implications one way or the other. Values can be
assigned in these areas too, but they are not moral values.
Confusion between these different kinds of value is one of the major
factors that has stood in the way of reaching any consensus on ethical
principles. Philosophers have not usually recognized any distinction at
all in this area. As James B. Conant puts it, “Without hesitation they
label all reasoned choices as ethical or moral, however trivial they
may be.”319 G. E. Moore, for instance, applies his discussion of ethics
to “absolutely every action.”320 Some observers are beginning to call
attention to the weakness in this position. A recent book by L. M.
Loring, with the significant title Two Kinds of Value, is aimed
specifically at this point. As summarized by Karl R. Popper in a
foreword to the book, “Her [the author’s] first and central theme is
that there exist non-ethical standards of value—or, if you like,
standards of non-ethical value—and that these standards are in
common use.”321
But the rather general acceptance of the “maximum happiness”
criterion of morality (a subject which will be discussed in detail in the
next chapter) practically closes the door to any widespread
recognition of distinctions of this kind, and the tendency at the
moment is to stretch the concept of morality to the point of absurdity.
For example, Hazlitt, in arguing against Kant’s “categorical
imperative” says that “there are courses of conduct which are
certainly moral, even though they cannot be universalized,” and to
particularize, he cites the fact that “a man may decide to learn the
violin without wishing that everybody should learn to play the
violin.”322 But playing the violin is not “certainly moral.” It is
certainly not immoral, but neither is it moral. The error here is the
assumption that an action must be either one or the other, an
assumption that overlooks the fact that there is a category which is
ethically neutral, a type of action that has no moral aspects at all.
Benefit and harm are, in the first instance, non-ethical values and
disvalues… ethical goodness or badness, or rightness or wrongness, is
in principle independent of the non-ethical values and disvalues of
benefit and harm.321 (Karl Popper)
Because of the prevailing lack of distinction between ethical and
non-ethical values, social, political, and economic issues of many
kinds have been, and are being, confused with moral issues by both
philosophers and religious authorities. “The essence of good,” asserts
William James, “is simply to satisfy demand.”323 But his is not a
definition of a moral good. There is no moral “demand” comparable
to a demand or desire for economic goods. Since ethical man wants to
follow the moral code, he may experience some kind of a sensation
that could be called “moral satisfaction” when he is able to do so, but
this has little resemblance to the satisfying of economic or social
wants, and it is doubtful if the term “satisfaction” is appropriate in
connection with moral choices.
The “good” which fits James’ definition is a non-moral good,
especially an economic good. Each individual has a certain inherent
capability of doing useful work. If he converts that potential into an
actuality, the products thereof, or a portion of them, become available
to him for use or exchange. Ultimately he experiences a certain
amount of satisfaction from the results of his efforts, but the entire
transaction from start to finish has been economic. Whatever values
have been placed on labor or its products during this activity have
been economic values, not moral values.
In the course of this process, the worker may have an opportunity to
increase the economic values that accrue to him by making wise
decisions as to the application of his labor and as to his expenditures
in the market place. No moral question arises here, under ordinary
circumstances. Negative values are balanced against positive values in
the usual way to arrive at conclusions, but only economic values enter
into these judgments. The correct decision in each case is that which
leads to the most desirable economic consequences—the largest net
positive balance of values—but there is no moral obligation to make
the correct economic decision, unless the individual’s situation is such
that maximum economic returns are essential in order to supply him
with the resources that are required for carrying out his moral
obligations.
This person may also encounter an opportunity to secure additional
economic values by dishonest means, and the important point that
most philosophical value systems fail to recognize is that these
economic values are not commensurable with the moral values that
are involved. We cannot compare the two and strike a balance, as we
do with positive and negative moral values, or positive and negative
non-moral values. Unless a dishonest act has some positive moral
value that outweighs the dishonesty, the act as a whole is a violation
of the moral code irrespective of the magnitude of the desirable
economic or social consequences that may result. The religion-based
moral codes recognize the difference between moral and non-moral
values, but since they define morality as conformity with the “will of
God,” this leaves it essentially undefined, as no one knows just what it
is that God wills. In their efforts to find a more specific foundation for
ethics, the philosophers, with the notable exception of Kant, have
generally lost sight of the distinction between moral and non-moral
values. The resulting atmosphere of confusion and contradiction is the
factor that has opened the door to such ideas as ethical relativism.
Neither the religious nor the philosophical value systems give
adequate attention to the fact that the status of an action as right or
wrong depends on the net balance of the positive and negative moral
values of all of the various elements that enter into the act or its
consequences. If positive moral values of some kind are involved in a
dishonest act, or an act that causes injury to another individual, that
act is not necessarily wrong in its totality even though dishonesty and
intentional injury are morally wrong in themselves. As brought out in
the preceding discussion, the balance of good and evil in any complex
action can only be ascertained by considering the act in the setting in
which it takes place and summing up all of the positive and negative
moral values, thus arriving at a net result. Progress toward a higher
ethical level depends not only on strengthening the determination to
follow the moral code wherever there is a choice to be made, but also
on developing a greater proficiency in evaluating the moral aspects of
these complex situations and arriving at the correct balance of values.
It will not be possible to give this subject any comprehensive
treatment in a work that is addressed to the metaphysical field in
general, but there are a few points that should be mentioned. One
thing that stands out clearly is the need for a critical review of the
prevailing attitudes toward some of the specific items that enter into
moral judgments.
Truth, for instance, occupies an important place in ethical
considerations, so central in many respects that some moralists and
many laymen insist that the obligation to tell the truth is absolute, and
that lying is morally wrong under any circumstances. Those who
subscribe to the “end” theories of morality counter this by citing cases
in which serious consequences will ensue if the truth is told, a favorite
example being that of the individual who lies to conceal a death from
a critically ill relative to whom the news might be a fatal shock. Both
of these schools of thought are guilty of oversimplification, failing to
give due consideration to the complexity of human actions. A proper
evaluation of the morality of the action must take into account both
the act and its direct and indirect consequences. In the case cited, the
positive moral value of avoiding a serious injury to the sick relative
far outweighs the negative moral value that could be assigned to the
untruth, even if we were to concede that lying is inherently immoral.
But when we examine the situation more closely, we find that such a
conclusion is unwarranted. Lying is not actually wrong per se; it is
merely a type of action which may be used for unethical purposes.
This becomes especially clear if we look at the general category of
deliberate deception, of which lying is only one form. It is obvious
that we cannot condemn deception as inherently wrong. In many cases
we want to be deceived. We are even willing to pay such persons as
stage magicians and writers of mystery stories to deceive us, and most
of us enjoy a well-executed April Fool joke even if the laugh is at our
expense. Few games would be possible if deceiving the adversary was
prohibited. Certainly much deception is aimed at unethical ends, but
in order to avoid serious errors in ethical judgments, it is essential to
realize that it is the use to which the deception is put that determines
the moral status of the act. The deception itself is neither moral nor
immoral. It is not analogous to such things as deliberate infliction of
an injury, where the act is wrong, and accomplishment of some
positive moral purpose is necessary in order to arrive at a net positive
balance of moral value. The deception has no moral implications in
itself and the net moral balance is determined entirely by its
consequences.
Another example of misdirected criticism is furnished by the
individual who is disinclined to work. The religious authorities
commonly inveigh against the lazy man and brand his course of
conduct as a breach of the moral code. But, in fact, this is a judgment
based on economic values, not on moral values. The lazy individual
has made an economic decision: a decision as to the relative value of
the products of effort as compared to that of the leisure that would be
enjoyed if the work were not undertaken. This is a decision that is
continually being made by others, even by the strongest critics of
indolence. The general adoption of the five-day week, for instance, is
a recognition of an increased relative value placed on leisure by
society as a whole. Laziness is no more immoral than asking for a
reduction of the work week; the difference between the two is only a
matter of degree.
Quite commonly, the result of laziness is that the individual in
question fails to do something that the moral code requires, supporting
his family (a contractual obligation), let us say. But the morally
reprehensible item is the non-support, not the laziness, and there is no
necessary connection between the two. This, and the discussion of
deliberate deception, may seem to involve a considerable amount of
hairsplitting, but the objective of the present discussion is to show that
the new information developed in this work points the way to the
specific and consistent ethical theory that has hitherto been lacking.
For this purpose, careful and precise distinctions are indispensable.
The essential requirement of morality cannot be equated with or
related to anything but morality itself, since it is simply the
requirement of compliance with the moral code. In this respect, it is
identical with the requirement for legality, the criterion of which is
compliance with the law. In either case, we cannot arrive at a
judgment on the basis of the nature of the act, or even on the
combined basis of the act and its immediate consequences. If A shoots
B, the legal verdict may be first degree murder, second degree murder,
manslaughter, self-defense, or accident, and the moral judgment may
vary within an equally wide range. The entire setting of the act and all
of its legal and moral aspects must be taken into consideration in
order to arrive at the proper moral judgment.
Whether or not there is legal culpability is one of the moral aspects,
even though the legal and moral judgments may differ substantially.
Every person has a moral obligation to obey the law, even where no
other moral consideration may be involved. Likewise there is a moral
obligation to honor any contractual requirements that may exist. If one
accepts employment as a member of the police force, for instance, he
has a moral obligation to do his best to apprehend a violator of the
law, even though this may happen to involve risks that are far beyond
anything that the ordinary citizen would be morally obligated to
assume. This is a contractual obligation that the police officer accepts
as a condition of employment. The moral code requires meeting these
legal and contractual obligations. Any partial or total failure to do so
is one of the debits that we enter, along with violations of specific
provisions of the code, in our balance account and weigh against
whatever positive moral values may be involved in the particular act
under consideration. The net resultant determines the morality of the
act in its entirety.
Inasmuch as the requirement for morality is conformity with the code
of Sector 3, the fact that an individual believes that he has done the
right thing does not make it right. If it does not conform to the code, it
is wrong irrespective of any opinion. In extreme cases this is so
obvious that it is generally recognized. It is now conceded by
everyone but the ethical relativists that burning heretics is morally
wrong, even though those who participated in the burning were
thoroughly convinced that they were carrying out God’s will. But
neither the moralists nor the general public have recognized that this
is a general principle; that any violation of the code is morally wrong
even if the offender does not realize that he has transgressed. Intent to
do wrong is a violation in itself, even if no actual harm results, but
good intentions do not excuse morally wrong actions. A
comprehensive knowledge of the provisions of the code and a careful
examination of their application to all of the factors involved in any
issue are just as important from the moral standpoint as the desire to
do right.
This view will no doubt meet with strong opposition, not only from
those who contend that morality should be judged on the basis of
intent, but also from those who realize that few individuals have a
complete understanding of the code, and who feel that it is unjust to
require individuals to live up to rules that are beyond their
comprehension. But neither intent nor justice enters into the
determination of whether the moral code is being followed. This is
purely a question of fact that is independent of the intentions and the
capabilities of the individual. Justice enters into the situation only in
connection with the question as to whether a person should be held
responsible for violations that he is not capable of recognizing as
such. This is an important issue, but it has no relevance to the point
with which we are now concerned. We will give it some consideration
in Chapter 29. What needs to be emphasized now is that many of
those who are capable of a better understanding of the code are not
making the effort to acquire that understanding, or to apply all of the
moral knowledge that they already have. The widespread tendency to
base attitudes toward social, political, and economic issues on
emotion rather than on reason that was noted in Chapter 13 is as
definite a violation of the moral code as any of the acts that are
commonly branded as evil, regardless of any opinions as to the
relative seriousness of these violations.
The fact that religious leaders are among the most frequent and most
flagrant violators of this aspect of the code makes the situation all the
more serious, as invoking Divine authority in support of actions that
are morally wrong when evaluated in their totality compounds the
violations. No doubt most of the ecclesiastics are motivated by the
best of intentions, but judgment as to the morality of their actions is
not softened for that reason. As the old adage puts it, the road to hell is
paved with good intentions. Nor is the conclusion as to the morality
any different if the religious authorities and their lay followers have
been led into violation of the moral code by strict adherence to the
tenets of their religion. Full compliance with this code cannot be
achieved unless the moral precepts of one’s religion are given just as
careful and critical scrutiny as if they originated elsewhere.
Here it may be asked: Is strict compliance with the moral code so
essential that we must give it precedence when it conflicts with our
religious beliefs? This is a legitimate question, and we will give it
some consideration in the next chapter.
CHAPTER 20
The Moral Objective
The great majority of those who have rejected the ethical
pronouncements of the organized religions and have endeavored to
derive ethics from natural sources rather than from authoritative
commands have concluded that ethical conduct is characterized by
maximization of a sensation that some have called pleasure, others
happiness, and still others satisfaction. Some difference of opinion
has arisen as to whose happiness is to be the controlling factor. One
school of thought, of which Bentham has been the most influential
exponent, argues that maximizing one’s own pleasure or happiness is
the proper goal. This idea has considerable popular appeal, especially
among those who do not want to be bothered with moral issues at all,
but it commands little support among modern moralists for the rather
obvious reason that it is essentially a negation of morality rather than
a basis for morality. Present-day philosophical thought follows mainly
along the general lines of the following definition by Bertrand
Russell:
I mean by “right” conduct that conduct which will probably produce
the greatest balance of satisfaction over dissatisfaction, or the smallest
balance of dissatisfaction over satisfaction, and that, in making this
estimate, the question as to who enjoys the satisfaction, or suffers the
dissatisfaction, is to be considered irrelevant.324
The idea that human beings should be happy and that happiness is
therefore the basic moral objective has a strong appeal to those human
beings since, as a rule, they want to be happy. Even the religious
philosophers, who are committed to the proposition that the moral
code is an emanation from the Deity rather than a reflection of human
needs and desires, usually contrive to bring the happiness concept into
the picture indirectly. William Paley, for instance, tells us that
happiness is “an enjoyment which the Deity has annexed to life.”325
When we examine the situation objectively in the light of the factual
information developed in the present investigation, we find no support
for this position. Happiness, in its broadest sense, is clearly the
inverse of suffering, likewise taken in a broad sense, and the two have
the same significance in relation to existence in general. As we have
seen, suffering is not wrong or evil; it is simply one of the routine
accompaniments of life in a space-time universe. Similarly, and for
the same reasons, happiness is not right or good, morally speaking. It,
too, is just one of the routine accompaniments of life in a space-time
universe. Happiness is desirable and unhappiness is undesirable, but
in themselves, both are morally neutral. They are part of our
inheritance as aggregates of material substances and as products of
biological evolution. This was clearly recognized by T. H. Huxley
many years ago:
Men agree in one thing, and that is their innate desire to enjoy the
pleasures and escape the pain of life… . That is their inheritance (the
reality at the bottom of the doctrine of original sin) from the long
series of ancestors, human and semi-human and brutal, in whom the
strength of this innate tendency to self-assertion was the condition of
victory in the struggle for existence.326
Abundant evidence corroborating this theoretical conclusion that
emerges from our scientific analysis can be found on every hand. As
brought out earlier, most of our physical suffering is due to our
physical vulnerability, coupled with the biological emphasis on
survival which keeps us under constant attack by enemies great and
small. A major part of our happiness is contingent on the largely
fortuitous outcome of our efforts to avoid the continual perils of this
nature, few of which have any moral implications whatever. Then,
too, so much depends on decisions that we make in other-than-moral
fields. An individual’s choice of occupation (an economic decision)
has a very important bearing on his happiness, and his choice of a
wife (a social decision) even more so. Neither of these decisions is
easily reversed, and the act of reversal, particularly in the latter case,
is itself a source of unhappiness. Nor is it only these major matters
that enter into a person’s enjoyment of life; almost every social or
economic decision that he makes is a potential source of satisfaction
or dissatisfaction. Even an unwanted shower of rain can dampen his
spirits as well as his clothes.
The mere fact that so much of our happiness depends on factors that
have no moral significance is prima facie evidence that there is no
moral significance in happiness per se or suffering per se. If we assign
a moral value to happiness, then we are faced with the necessity of
attributing morality to the agencies that increase or decrease it. We
will have to treat the rainstorm as a destroyer of moral values; a patent
absurdity. Thus we come back to the conclusion that we have derived
theoretically; that is, happiness is merely a feature of life in the
physical universe; it has no metaphysical implications and is therefore
morally neutral. It is a Sector 2 (biological) objective that is not
morally classifiable as either right or wrong.
The entanglements in which the advocates of the various hedonist
systems of ethics find themselves when they attempt to apply their
calculus of pleasure to specific situations likewise provide abundant
evidence contradicting the basic premise of such a system. For
instance, if there is no risk of detection, a strict application of the
hedonist principle would indicate that a financially profitable
dishonest act should be judged right and good, inasmuch as it
increases the satisfactions enjoyed by the individual concerned. It
cannot be argued that there would be a feeling of guilt or remorse to
offset the added pleasures, as no such emotion could be generated
unless the action were judged wrong on the basis of some other
ethical theory.
Those who reject the extreme concepts of hedonism and adhere to a
modified form of the theory which takes the effect on others into
account, and asserts that the right action is that which produces the
greatest total of satisfaction or happiness, will point out that a
dishonest act from which one individual profits will ordinarily result
in a loss to someone else, and hence there will be no overall gain. But
the validity of a theory cannot be judged on the basis of how well it
applies to some cases. It does not necessarily follow that anyone will
sustain a loss. The dishonest act may simply take advantage of an
opportunity that would not otherwise be recognized at all. Even if the
circumstances are such that some person does suffer a loss by reason
of the act, the dishonest man may so handle the transaction that he
makes a much larger gain. Indeed, the act may result in a distinct
benefit to the community at large. In any of these cases, hedonism
approves the dishonest act. The doctrine that “the King can do no
wrong” has long since been abandoned, but here we find it replaced
by the doctrine that “the skillful manager can do no wrong.” In these
and many other instances of a similar nature, application of the
hedonist or utilitarian theories arrives at the absurd result of judging
dishonest actions as “right,” and their results as “good.”
The error here is that these ethical theories are trying to put economic
values into the balance against moral values. There is only one moral
element in any of the variations of the case under consideration. The
dishonest act violates the moral code. It therefore has a negative moral
value which cannot be counterbalanced by positive values of any
other nature, economic or otherwise. The dishonesty can be justified
only by showing, if that is possible, that in addition to the dishonest
aspect, the act also has one or more morally correct aspects whose
positive value is sufficient to outweigh the dishonesty. As expressed
by Kant, “happiness and morality are two specifically different
elements of the highest good and therefore their combination cannot
be known analytically.”327
A very significant weakness of all theories based on maximizing
happiness or satisfaction is that unless one aligns himself with the idea
that everyone has a moral obligation to maximize his own satisfaction
without regard to others, a position that few care to try to justify
today, it is necessary to call upon some other moral principle to give
the individual a reason why he should follow any moral code. There
are those who argue that whatever advantages are gained by unethical
conduct are merely transitory and that “moral conduct is in the
long-run interest of the individual.”328 Unfortunately, this brave
statement is demonstrably false. It is quite true that a society in which
no one followed the moral code would be definitely less satisfactory
than one in which everyone complied with the code. But an individual
is not faced with a choice between these two extremes. He lives in a
society in which both courses of action are common, and he must
choose his own path. In so doing, he has before him innumerable
examples of individuals who habitually violate the code and prosper
greatly by so doing—not only temporarily, but as long as they live—
whereas moral conduct seldom opens up the “something for nothing”
opportunities that are exploited by those without moral scruples.
So why should one embrace principles that restrain him and limit his
freedom of action? It is often argued that “social cooperation” is an
essential factor in human life and that a moral code is required in
order to make such cooperation feasible. Hence compliance with the
code is an obligation that one assumes as a participant in organized
society. So far as the individual is concerned, however, this does not
alter the situation. Such an obligation, if it exists, is still only a moral
obligation—the presence of a vast number of persons who ignore the
code is proof that it is not a physical requirement—and the advocates
of the “maximum happiness” theory cannot give the skeptical person
any logical reason why he should recognize any moral obligation. “In
the absence of laws and morals and religion,” says Bertrand Russell,
“for each individual, the ideal community would be one in which
everybody else is honest and he alone is a thief.”329 The successful
criminal may lead a very comfortable and happy life.
Here is the greatest obstacle that stands in the way of those who,
because they are unwilling to accept the moral edicts of the religious
authorities, and because they doubt the validity of moral judgments
reached by intuitive processes, have long sought to construct an
ethical framework from factual foundations. They have arrived at a
number of factual conclusions, such as the necessity of a certain
amount of moral behavior in order to make social cooperation
possible, but they have not been able to find a legitimate basis on
which to make the required transition from such a statement of fact to
a normative statement—from an is statement to an ought statement—
and the general opinion at present is that such a transition is logically
impossible. As expressed by Reichenback, “Knowledge cannot
provide the form of ethics because it cannot provide directives.”330
Inasmuch as several modern schools of philosophy deny that anything
can exist unless it is founded on empirical facts, this inability to
construct an empirically based ethical theory has generated a strong
tendency to minimize the significance of ethical principles. Marshall
Walker, for instance, tells us that “Ethics is a source of advice
regarding behavior… . The origin is human experience… and the
reliability is not very great.”331 Certainly this is far removed from the
“commandments” of the religious organizations, or the “categorical
imperative” of Immanuel Kant. But there are others who go much
farther, as can be seen in the statement by A. J. Ayer quoted in Chapter
18, which asserts, unequivocally and without qualifications, that
“ethical judgments… have no objective validity whatever.”
Religious codes do not have this kind of a problem, as each comes
fully equipped with a directive that it must be obeyed. The religious
assertion is that both the content of the moral code and the obligation
of compliance are as they are because such is the “will of God.” The
findings of this present work neither confirm nor deny this assertion,
and they are of such a nature that they should be equally relevant
whether or not one subscribes to the religious position. These findings
define the objective of the moral code; they identify some key
provisions of the code and provide methods by which the code can be
developed in detail; and they identify the source from which the code
originates.
The logical status of these findings is identical with that of discoveries
in the physical field. To the non-religious individual, they merely
represent additional scientific knowledge. To the religious person,
who looks upon both the physical and the non-physical as
manifestations of the will of God, these findings are not only additions
to the store of scientific knowledge but also represent progress toward
clarification of the details of God’s will. The urgent need for such
clarification can hardly be questioned in view of the serious
differences of opinion as to just what it is that God really wills with
respect to many important problems—differences that are all too
common not only between religions, but between individuals and
groups that presumably draw their inspiration from the same source.
The new knowledge that has been developed in the present
investigation makes it evident that the participation of the Deity in
human affairs (if a Deity exists and does so participate; questions
which have not been addressed in this work) takes place at a more
fundamental level than that which is assumed in most religious
thought. The prevailing religious view is one of Divine attention to
minute detail. “For by Him were all things created, that are in heaven,
and that are in earth, visible and invisible,” says Paul the Apostle.
Indeed, the great multiplicity of entities and phenomena of which the
observed universe is composed, and the manner in which they fit
together in a seemingly purposeful fashion, is the basis for one of the
most widely accepted arguments for the existence of God: the
“argument from design.” As stated by John Stuart Mill:
Certain qualities, it is alleged, are found to be characteristic of such
things as are made by an intelligent mind for a purpose. The order of
nature, or some considerable parts of it, exhibit these qualities in a
remarkable degree. We are entitled, from this great similarity in the
effects, to infer similarity in the cause, and to believe that things
which it is beyond the power of man to make, but which resemble the
works of man in all but power, must also have been made by
Intelligence, armed with a power greater than human.332
But the development of the Reciprocal System has demonstrated that
the intricate “design” of the universe is not a matter of infinite skill
and wisdom in fitting a multitude of parts together in the manner of
“things made by an intelligent mind for a purpose.” The physical
structure of the universe in all of its complexity is merely a
consequence of some very simple properties of the space and time of
which the universe is composed, and the enormous number and
variety of parts fit together smoothly not because of skillful
construction but because they are all derived from space and time, and
the relation of these two basic entities: motion, by addition or
combination. This means that the argument from design is no longer
tenable in its original form. Its claim to validity might still be argued
on the basis of a contention that construction of a system wherein all
of the complicated and intricate details that make up the universe are
necessary consequences of a few basic properties of a single
component—motion—is an even greater feat than construction of this
kind of a system out of a multitude of parts. But in this case, the force
of the analogy is lost, as there is no man-made system that can be
considered as analogous to the system that constitutes the physical
universe.
In any event, it is now clear that if the physical universe was created
by a Deity, or by any other metaphysical agency, what was created
was the fundamental entity, a particular kind of motion; that is, motion
governed by a specific set of laws and principles. All else in this
physical universe is implicitly contained in the fundamental entity,
and follows from it. The situation with respect to the moral code is
similar. What exists is a general set of rules. It has been established in
the preceding discussion that members of the human race are
potentially subject to full or partial direction by control units from
Sector 3, the sector of the universe independent of space and time, and
that Sector 3 is governed by a self-consistent set of laws and
principles analogous to, but different from, the laws and principles
which govern Sector 2, the biological sector. The appropriate portions
of the Sector 3 governing rules are the moral code, and to the extent
that an individual is under Sector 3 control—that is, to the extent that
he acts as an ethical man rather than as a mere biological organism—
he will comply with this code as a matter of course, just as material
bodies act in accordance with the physical laws that govern their
sector. Ethical man follows the moral code simply because this is the
way that ethical men act.
There are some who object to any link between morality and
metaphysical existence on the ground that, as expressed by Loring, an
assertion “that all human goodness comes from a supernatural
source… amounts to believing that it is unusual and difficult, if not
impossible, to be good ’of our own accord.’”333 The flaw is this
viewpoint is that it confuses metaphysical with supernatural. It is
impossible for a human being as a part of the physical universe—in
his capacity as a biological organism—to be good. The closest he can
come to it is to be ethically neutral under circumstances where no
moral issue is involved. He can be “good” only in his capacity as a
local manifestation of metaphysical existence, just as he can be
“alive” only in his capacity as a local manifestation of Sector 2; that
is, as an organism under Sector 2 control. Thus, even though one is
good “of his own accord,” as he must be if he is good at all, since
there is no other way in which it can be accomplished, it is
nevertheless true that all human goodness comes from a metaphysical
(not supernatural) source: the metaphysical aspect of one’s own
existence.
Identification of the moral code as a set of laws analogous to the laws
of the physical sciences, laws which specify how the entities to which
they apply will behave under specified circumstances, rather than how
they ought to behave, complies with the demand of the empiricists
that ethical theory have a purely factual basis. On this new basis,
ethical judgments do have “objective validity”; they are not merely
“advice” of doubtful reliability. Whether or not a particular item of
moral significance is “good,” and hence belongs in the moral code,
reduces to the factual question as to whether this item is consistent
with the laws and principles of Sector 3, a question which is capable
of being answered by the methods described in the previous chapters.
This disposes of the empiricists’ complaint that the customary use of
the word “good” is misleading, inasmuch as the user “contrives to
smuggle a normative judgment into what purports to be a statement of
fact.”334 Our use of the “good” designation merely identifies the item
as part of the moral code. The necessary command or directive is
supplied independently.
The clarification of the general nature of the code does not, in itself,
provide the directive that we need; it merely brings us back to the
original question in somewhat different terms. But it does throw some
important new light on the subject. We no longer have to ask why,
insofar as we wish to act as ethical men rather than as animals, we
should follow the moral code, since we have determined that our
choice between these two alternatives automatically fixes our course.
We are, however, left with another question: Why should we choose
the status of ethical men rather than the status of animals? The
immediate emotional response to this question is likely to be that the
answer is obvious, but this is mainly an indignant reaction to the idea
of being classed with animals. It is by no means self-evident why we
should choose to be controlled by one aspect of our nature rather than
another.
We can, however, resolve the issue by a consideration of the purpose
of human existence. It is true that there is a school of thought which
contends that there is no such purpose or, indeed, any meaning at all
in human life. But our findings with respect to existence outside the
space-time universe now make this hypothesis wholly untenable. As
long as the physical universe with which we are in direct contact is
considered to represent the whole of existence, and the inhabitants
thereof are regarded as mere cogs in a mighty but aimless machine,
absence of purpose is a plausible hypothesis. The discovery that the
space-time universe is only a part, perhaps only a very small part, of a
greater whole, and that human beings are subject to direction by
metaphysical agencies cuts the ground out from under any such idea,
and implies that there is an underlying purpose of some kind.
The existence of such a purpose can be verified by the same kind of
tests that we apply to other information from intuitive sources. The
overwhelming majority of human individuals, scientists and
non-scientists alike, have always refused to accept the contention that
the universe is purposeless, notwithstanding the lack of evidence to
support their intuitive position. On the basis of the criteria we have
established for judging the validity of intuitive information, this
almost universal agreement as to the existence of a purpose is, in
itself, practically conclusive proof that this is a valid item of intuitive
knowledge. The situation here is essentially the same as that which is
encountered in the fundamentals of physical science, where there is
almost unanimous agreement, based wholly on intuition, that the
physical universe is rational.
Identification of the purpose of existence will be deferred until after
some additional background information is developed, but the results
of that extension of the study can be anticipated to the extent of
stating what is practically self-evident as soon as the existence of a
purpose is ascertained; that is, advancement of the human race, or
some of the members thereof, from the status of biological organisms
to the status of ethical men is essential to the accomplishment of this
purpose. This, then, is the moral objective, and here is the origin of
the moral imperative. Man ought to contribute toward fulfillment of
the purpose for which he exists. In order to do so, he must cease to be
merely an animal and must become an ethical man; otherwise his
existence is wasted.
This also gives us the answer to the question with which we
concluded Chapter 19. An ethical man complies with all of the
provisions of the moral code; anything short of full compliance
indicates that the transition from animal to ethical man is not yet
complete. If an individual’s religion conflicts with any of these
provisions, that religion is wrong in these particular respects, and an
ethical man will not permit his religion to influence him to violate the
moral code. It should be noted in this connection that while full
compliance with the code is necessary in order to attain the status of
ethical man, whether this is sufficient for the purpose is another
question, one that we will consider later.
Bringing the human race into full compliance with the moral code is
not a simple or easy undertaking. At the outset, man is in much the
same position as the primitive single-celled organism. A long period
of growth and development lies ahead in both cases before advanced
types of animals or full-fledged ethical men can appear on the scene.
There is, however, one significant difference. The biological organism
must wait for natural processes to operate, but man can facilitate
progress by his own efforts. One of the most important directions that
these efforts can take is the acquisition and dissemination of ethical
knowledge. It is not enough to have the desire to do right; one must
also know what is right; that is, he must know the code of Sector 3. As
in the physical field, where scientists keep up a relentless search for
the correct formulation of the laws that govern physical processes,
those who bear the primary responsibility for the advancement of
ethical knowledge, the philosophers and theologians particularly,
should be applying their best efforts to discover the correct expression
of the moral code. Our finding that such information can be obtained
by direct communication from Sector 3 through the process that we
call by various names such as intuition, revelation, or insight, now
clears the way for a systematic approach to this problem analogous to
the procedures of science.
The traditional moral value systems were derived from religious
sources, and in view of the revelatory nature of the original religious
doctrines, the basic elements of these systems, applying, as they do, to
relatively simple ethical issues, should be, for the most part, authentic.
Over the years, however, the items derived from the original
revelations have been subject to numerous extensions and
modifications, and the authentic moral principles have been buried in
a mass of ritualistic and secular additions. A growing recognition of
the absurdity of much of the present content of the religion-based
moral codes has weakened confidence in their validity, and this,
together with the general decline of religious influence, is responsible
for the value “crisis” in modern society, the term that is now
commonly applied to the lack of any generally accepted system of
moral values. Now that we have identified the source of the code and
the means whereby information concerning its content is transmitted
to the human race, and have outlined the methods by which the
validity of that information can be tested, the obstacles that have
hitherto stood in the way of arriving at definite conclusions on moral
issues have been eliminated. We are now in a position not merely to
construct a code, but to ascertain the provisions of the code: the rules
of Sector 3.
Like the analogous task of developing the details of the physical
universe from theoretical premises, the task of developing the moral
code in full detail is a colossal undertaking, and it will not be
complete for a long time, if ever. But it should be possible, within a
reasonable time, to produce a body of ethical knowledge comparable
to the existing knowledge in the physical field. This will accomplish
all that is currently expected of a system of ethics. To demonstrate this
point, let us check the general characteristics of the Sector 3 code, as
seen in the light of the discussion in the preceding pages, against those
which the philosophers consider essential. The “requirements which
traditional ethics as well as its critics have believed it incumbent upon
any ethics to adopt” are listed by Evelyn Shirk as follows:
1. It must present a single standard or principle in terms of which
ethical acts are to be judged.
2. The standard must be universal; applicable in all contexts and at
any time or place.
3. It must be precise and unambiguous.
4. It must be acceptable on sight and require no extended
justification or defense.
5. It must be immune to error.
6. Its use must resolve all ethical questions.335
Shirk regards these requirements (condensed from her more elaborate
description) as totally unrealistic. She calls requirement (1) a “silly
effort to gain simplicity,” and brands the entire set of requirements as
“nonsense.” “Burdens so heavy,” she says, “are certain to break the
spine of any inquiry into rational practice.” But the code of Sector 3
has all of these characteristics, however “unrealistic” they may seem
to those who are baffled in their attempts to derive a moral code from
sources within the physical universe. The following statements can be
made about the specific items listed by Shirk:
1. A single standard, the Sector 3 code, is applicable.
2. The standard is universal. It applies at all times and in all places.
3. Natural laws are inherently precise and unambiguous, if
correctly expressed.
4. The statement that ethical man will act in accordance with the
natural laws governing the behavior of ethical men requires no
further explanation or justification.
5. The code is never wrong, but we have a great deal of work to do
before we will know it in detail.
6. Since the moral objective is total compliance with the Sector 3
code, a full knowledge of this code is all that is necessary in
order to arrive at the proper action in any situation that may
arise.
The true basis of ethics, then, is just the kind of a thing that
“traditional ethics and its critics” have always insisted that it must be.
The individuals so described have had an intuitive understanding of
the true situation that has caused them to hold fast to their viewpoint
in spite of its lack of empirical support. Intuition, or insight, not only
gives us the answers to most of our simple ethical problems but also,
as these ethicists have demonstrated, defines the general nature of the
moral code upon which these answers are based. What this present
work has added is the identification of the code as the set of natural
laws and principles that governs Sector 3 of existence as a whole.
The fallacy of the position taken by Shirk can best be seen in her
comments on requirement (5). “In order to be a worthy and acceptable
standard at all,” she says, “its very possession must render the ethical
agent infallible. Perhaps this is one of the most onerous burdens ever
proposed (tacitly or not) for any standard.” But, in fact, this is the
requirement that we apply to every natural law. We recognize, for
instance, that the “code” of physical science, the set of natural laws
applying to the physical universe, is infallible. It is capable of
providing the correct answers to all physical problems. These answers
are not all available to us at present, but this is not because of any
imperfection in the physical laws; it is because we do not, as yet, have
a full understanding of them. The same kind of a situation exists in the
ethical field. The moral code itself is complete and correct, and it is
capable of providing the answers to all of our moral problems. But we
are still in the early stages of developing an adequate understanding of
the natural laws that constitute the code, a development that
necessarily proceeds slowly while we have to contend with those like
the author quoted, and the various schools of philosophical thought
such as the positivists and the ethical relativists, who deny the
existence of a fixed moral code.
“Morality… is not a body of factual knowledge, such as might be
presented in a first-year history course,”336 say Michael Walzer of
Harvard University in a recent article. Our findings are in direct
conflict with this dictum. Morality is such a body of factual
knowledge. In its entirety, it is beyond the scope of a one-year college
course, but instruction in its essential elements certainly belongs in the
college curricula. Walzer notes that the academic community is
currently experiencing a revival of interest in ethical subjects. One of
the best ways of insuring a continuation of this interest is to
emphasize the fact that the moral laws are no different from the
physical laws in anything but their subject matter, and they are equally
susceptible to precise definition.
The continuing development of the details of the true moral code that
is now possible because of the clarification of the nature and basis of
the code will ultimately have some very significant effects. It should
sooner or later result in purging the religious regulations of the
non-moral additions and embellishments that have been accumulated
over the years, or at least clarify the status of these items enough to
deprive them of their mandatory character. As matters now stand, a
vast amount of unnecessary distress is caused by conflicts in which
individuals are torn between following a course that they believe is
right and obeying an injunction of their church that prohibits it.
Elimination of the non-moral items from the religious regulations will
go a long way toward minimizing these conflicts. Inasmuch as these
non-moral rules are the ones that are most commonly broken or
disregarded, their elimination from the religious codes will also tend
to enhance the authority and increase the observance of the genuinely
moral regulations that remain in effect. It should also help to
counteract the widespread belief that living a moral life is an arduous
and disagreeable task. Aldous Huxley, for instance, tells us that
“Being virtuous is, for him [the ordinary man], a most tedious and
distressing process.”337 Kurt Baier states the case in even stronger
terms:
Adopting the moral point of view involves acting on principle. It
involves conforming to rules even when doing so is unpleasant,
painful, costly, or ruinous to oneself.338
Many of the organized religions reinforce this impression by
portraying conformity with their directives as religious “labor” for
which recompense of some kind will ultimately be received. But these
organizations do not distinguish between moral directives and
directives of other kinds, and it is doubtful if any substantial number
of those “painful” or “ruinous” consequences mentioned by Baier
have resulted from tenacity in upholding moral principles. The
martyrs in all ages have suffered for their religious or political views,
not their moral views. The “holy wars” and schisms that create so
much turmoil in the world are concerned with doctrinal issues, not
moral issues. Unless a person takes a fanatical stand on some
particular moral point, and insists that his interpretation of this point
must take precedence over all other considerations (an attitude that is,
in itself, a violation of the moral code), it is not likely that he will
have to pay any price for the inner peace that accompanies the
knowledge that he has done the right thing. Perhaps he may have to
pass up some opportunities to make dishonest gains, but this can
scarcely be regarded as a serious hardship. As we will see in the next
chapter, where we will take a closer look at the personal application of
the moral code, the common view in which moral behavior is seen as
a heavy burden is a gross distortion of the true picture.
CHAPTER 21
The Personal Aspect of Ethics
“Love thy neighbor as thyself” is the specific and unequivocal
commandment emanating from the Jewish and Christian religions.
But no one follows it, not even the priests, the rabbis, and the
ministers that spell out the doctrine so clearly for the benefit of the
laity, unless it is so watered down or “interpreted” as to have no more
than a faint resemblance to the original directive. Of course, we often
make decisions or take actions on the basis of considerations which
give as much, or even more, weight to the good of others as to our
own interests, and the extent to which this is done is to some extent an
indication of the degree of compliance with the moral code, but, on
the whole, our concerns are with our own personal problems
(including those of our immediate family, which are, in a very real
sense, our own problems). Except for such attention as one may pay
to the affairs of others in the course of earning his own living, it is
unlikely that any individual devotes more than a very small fraction of
his constructive thought to the concerns of his neighbors. However
sympathetic he may be to his neighbor’s difficulties, when he does get
around to considering them, life is full of problems for him, too, and
these are his primary concern.
Now, if the exhortation with which this chapter opened means just
what it says, and if it is a valid expression of the moral code, then we
humans are in an awkward predicament. The code requires a course of
action which for most, if not all, of us is physically impossible. It is
quite appropriate, therefore, that we should extend our present inquiry
into this area, and to see what bearing our scientific findings may have
on the personal aspect of ethics.
There is a school of thought which holds that the subject of ethics is
purely a social matter. “All ethics are social ethics,”339 says Ludwig
von Mises. “One could hardly be moral, or immoral, without other
people,”336 contends Walzer. This view we must summarily reject.
Our analysis in the preceding chapters indicates that the moral
obligation is an obligation to do our part in carrying out the purpose
for which the universe exists, the development of ethical men. Social
cooperation plays a part in this development, to be sure, a very
important part, but there are also aspects which are peculiar to the
individual. The basic fact here is that each individual has the primary
responsibility for the effectiveness of his own contribution toward the
general objective. There is no alternative; no one else is in a position
to exercise the control that is a prerequisite for responsibility. And
since we have identified this objective as the fundamental moral
objective, it follows that the responsibilities of the individual in
connection with his own activities are moral responsibilities.
This is a very important point. In a great many instances the
distinction between “good” or moral action and “evil” or immoral
action hinges on whether the action is determined by purely selfish
considerations or gives due weight to the needs and desires of others.
Recognition of this point has encouraged the belief that actions taken
primarily for one’s own benefit are always violations of the moral
code, and that behavior is not moral unless it gives at least equal
weight to the interests of others. This is what the “love thy neighbor
as thyself” directive tell us, if we accept it at face value. But our
analysis arrives at the conclusion that we have certain moral
responsibilities that can well be described as “selfish,” in that they
require giving self-interest precedence over the interests of others.
It is obvious that one cannot continue to contribute toward the
objective of human existence if he ceases to exist, and the first
responsibility of this selfish nature is therefore survival. Recognition
of self-preservation as a moral obligation clarifies the application of
the moral code to those situations in which survival is involved.
Self-defense, for instance, is now simply a case of giving the required
greater weight to the primary moral obligation of self-preservation
than to the important, but less direct, moral obligation to refrain from
taking the life of another. Deliberate sacrifice of one’s own life to save
that of another, an act that is highly praised by most moralists, is not
moral at all, according to our analysis, unless some very special
circumstances are involved, such as the existence of a definite
responsibility for the security of the other person, inasmuch as this
action gives less weight to a primary responsibility, self-preservation,
than to a responsibility which is no more than secondary at best.
It should be understood, of course, that this does not justify usurpation
of a right to survival that belongs to someone else by virtue of
established custom or some other legitimate claim. For example, it
does not justify violating the “women and children first” rule of the
sea. Neither does it justify refusal to accept a reasonable risk for the
benefit of others under appropriate circumstances.
The justification for self-defense is not seriously questioned in most
ethical systems or moral codes, even though reconciling this act with
the basic principles of those systems or codes encounters serious
difficulties in many cases. It is not likely, therefore, that the preceding
comments on self-defense will evoke any strenuous opposition.
However, further extension of the same general principle leads to
some conclusions that will be widely questioned, and it therefore
seems advisable to emphasize the fact that both the premises upon
which these conclusions are based and the reasoning that is involved
in arriving at them is identical with those from which the justification
for self-defense was derived.
The first of these additional conclusions is that, in order to carry out
our moral obligations, we must not only continue to exist but must
also maintain ourselves in good physical condition. Actions such as
overindulgence in alcohol, drugs, etc., are definitely violations of the
moral code, inasmuch as they prevent the individuals concerned from
making their full contribution toward the objective of existence. This
illustrates the weakness of those theories that portray ethics as purely
social. On the basis of these theories, an alcoholic is violating the
moral code only if his relations with others are unfavorably affected,
whereas our analysis indicates that his major offense lies in what he
has done to himself.
Now let us enter some of the disputed territory. If we follow the
reasoning in the preceding discussion a little farther, it becomes clear
that there is a positive aspect to this matter of physical condition as
well as a negative aspect. We have a moral obligation not only to
refrain from doing those things that will cause physical deterioration,
but to do those things that will promote physical well-being. Thus,
what is commonly called “good living”—adequate and nutritionally
effective food, comfortable living quarters, etc.—is not only a
privilege to be enjoyed; it is something that an individual has a moral
obligation to provide for himself and his family if he is at all able to
do so. One should eat enough to stay in good health, if he can, even
though he knows that somewhere in the world others go hungry.
Furthermore, good physical condition is not the only prerequisite for
an effective contribution toward the general moral objective. Good
mental condition is likewise required. Just as favorable physical
conditions are necessary for satisfactory biological development, so
favorable biological conditions are necessary for satisfactory ethical
development. The individual who is constantly harassed by financial
problems, domestic problems, and the like, is not in a condition to
think clearly about moral issues. Each person therefore has the same
kind of an obligation in this respect that he has with regard to his
physical condition; that is, he must try, so far as his circumstances
permit, to minimize these disturbing influences. In today’s society, the
primary means of accomplishing this end is the achievement of a
certain degree of financial security.
To many persons, this conclusion that an individual has a moral
obligation to live a pleasant, comfortable, and untroubled life, so far
as he is able, will seem utterly reprehensible, and little short of
sacrilegious. Our findings do get a little support. Hocking, for
example, contends that “There is a duty to enjoyment—not usually
necessary to insist on.”340 Rabbi Gittelsohn says, “Judaism teaches
that in the end each man is accountable for the legitimate pleasures of
life of which he failed to avail himself.”341 Even Kant meets us half
way. “To seek prosperity for itself is not directly a duty,” he says, “but
indirectly it can very well be a duty, in order to guard against poverty
which is a great temptation to vice.”342 But it must be conceded that,
as a theoretical proposition, the great majority of those who adhere to
a moral code of one kind or another will judge these findings to be
incompatible with that code.
In view of our previous conclusion (in Chapter 18) that what human
beings think about basic moral issues is in most cases an intuitive
perception of the truth, this general disapproval may seem to raise a
serious question as to the validity of the current finding. But it is
extremely doubtful whether these persons actually believe what they
claim to believe. As an abstract proposition, they may give support to
this disapproving view, but when it comes to a matter of practical
application, they almost invariably do exactly what our analysis
indicates that they should do. They give priority to establishing good
living conditions for themselves and their families, not to the
exclusion of other obligations, but definitely relegating them to a
subordinate position. Hence, if we judge what people really think
about this issue by what they do rather than by what they say—a
criterion that is generally recognized as more reliable—then the
principle from Chapter 18 supports the conclusions we have now
reached.
The origin of the common practice of branding self-interest as
inherently immoral is quite obvious. As we have seen, self-interest is
the primary element in Sector 2 behavior, that of the biological
organism, whereas the code of Sector 3 involves a considerable
degree of subordination of self-interest to the interests of others. The
major problem of the religious organizations and moralists in general
has therefore been largely a matter of persuading individuals to reduce
the role of self-interest in their decision making. To simplify the
problem of persuasion, and to strengthen the case for altruism, the
moralists have taken what seemed to be the easiest course, and have
characterized all self-interest as inherently evil. In common with
many other excesses committed with the best of intentions, this has
had some serious consequences.
One of these has been the emergence of various types of asceticism,
the essence of which is the contention that the interests of man’s
physical body are antagonistic to the interests of his moral nature, and
that denial of physical wants therefore has a positive moral value. The
extreme practices in which the body is actually tortured for the sake of
the presumed moral benefit are generally repudiated by present-day
opinion, but there is a strong tinge of asceticism in most of the major
religions. The Christian emphasis on the conflict between the
demands of the “flesh” and those of the “spirit” is typical.
An ascetic doctrine that receives widespread support, explicitly or by
implication, is that there is no virtue in doing anything that we
actually want to do; the morally commendable actions are the
distasteful ones that we carry out from a sense of duty. Religious
organizations seldom make any serious attempt to explain their
dicta—questioning the commands of the Deity is pointless—but
Immanuel Kant has developed this viewpoint at some length, and his
name is commonly associated with its expression as a philosophical
principle. It is of interest to note that Kant has gone astray because he
has misapplied a perfectly valid principle, which he also enunciated.
He recognized, as a great many other philosophers, particularly those
with strong religious ties, have failed to do, that actions taken in
anticipation of reward or to avoid punishment have no moral
significance. From the moral standpoint, they have the same standing
as any other acts taken in the interest of self-satisfaction. But having
arrived at this sound conclusion, Kant then made the assumption that,
if a person derives what may be called moral satisfaction from an act,
the anticipation of this satisfaction must have been the incentive for
the act, and on the basis of the principle just stated, this deprives the
act of any moral significance.
A man may be a very good man without being morally good in the
sense of the ethics… of Kant. For a man may be by inclination
benevolent, well meaning, unselfish, etc… . All those actions towards
which he was moved by his “good” inclinations (whether inborn or
acquired) would be, according to Kant, ethically neutral—neither
good nor bad. For only actions done for the sake of duty, rather than
out of benevolent inclination, can be “good” in Kant’s sense.321 (Karl
Popper)
The findings of this work are diametrically opposed to Kant’s views as
described in the foregoing quotation from Popper, and the Kantian
version of asceticism must therefore be rejected as firmly as the more
extreme forms. Our scientific analysis of the situation shows that
ethical man follows the moral code simply because the rules that
constitute the code are the rules that govern the behavior of ethical
men. An ethical man is “by inclination benevolent, well meaning,
etc.,” and all of his actions are taken as a result of his “good
inclinations.” The fact that some other person may do the same thing
“for the sake of duty” and seemingly against his own inclination
simply means that the latter individual is not as far advanced toward
the status of ethical man, and is able to do the right thing only after
overcoming resistance from the Sector 2 influences to which he is
subject.
The basic error of asceticism lies in its assumption of a conflict
between physical well-being and morality. We find, in our analysis,
not only that the alleged conflict is non-existent, but that maintaining
good physical and mental condition is a positive moral requirement.
Actions that harm the physical body are violations of the moral code
regardless of whether they are motivated by self-indulgence or by a
desire for moral improvement. Like all other violations of the code,
they can be justified only if they result in the production of some
positive moral values that outweigh the harmful physical
consequences.
Asceticism is not the only doctrine in this area that is revealed as false
and misleading in the light of our new findings. The whole concept of
moral behavior as a burden and sacrifice is tarred with the same brush.
There is no reason why one who follows the moral code cannot lead
as pleasant and agreeable a life as anyone else. He can meet all of the
legitimate demands of his physical mechanism—indeed, to be moral
he must do so, to the best of his ability. He can, so far as his
circumstances permit, enjoy the pleasant aspects of human life; such
things, in themselves, have no moral connotations one way or the
other. To be sure, he must refrain from acting as an animal in those
instances where the conduct of animals and that of ethical men differs,
but this is no burden. An ethical man wants to act in this manner. He
does not want to be dishonest; he does not want to injure his neighbor;
he does not want to follow the “tooth and claw” code of the animal
world.
“There must be definite limits to our duties,” contends Hazlitt.
“People must be allowed a moral breathing spell once in a while.”304
Here again, moral behavior is portrayed as a burden, an intolerable
burden from which an individual must occasionally be relieved.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. This is just another of the
fallacious and harmful conclusions that follow from an erroneous
concept of the essential nature of the moral code, the “joyless ethic”
of so many religions in which moral behavior appears as a dreary
sacrifice for which recompense must be made in some future
existence. Fortunately, a recognition of the error into which these
religions have fallen is growing. A recent editorial in the journal
Theology Today has this to say:
The narrowness and negativism, the oppressive moralism long
associated with one type of religious behavior, are now being
increasingly rejected as a human style of life and are recognized as the
products of a limited and parochial view of culture and a desiccated
view of man and creation.343
Those religions that have an “other-worldly” outlook generally tend to
regard the pursuit of pleasure, political or economic power, or other
non-religious objectives as antithetical to religious beliefs, and are all
open in some degree to the criticism expressed in the foregoing
quotation. An excessive concentration on secular objectives to the
exclusion of religious considerations would, of course, be
incompatible with a religious life, but ethical decisions are made, and
ethical actions are taken in actual practice. Participation in the
activities of the secular world is therefore essential in order to gain
experience in the application of ethical principles. If it is possible at
all, which is highly questionable, development of a well-rounded
ethical personality without such experience is obviously very difficult.
This is a general rule that applies throughout human life. One may
learn the rudiments of any skill through instruction, but proficiency
comes only from experience.
The status of experience as a prerequisite for achieving the objective
of human existence also leads to the conclusion that withdrawal from
worldly activities, a practice looked upon with favor in many religious
systems, is not an effective way of attaining the objective. As
mentioned in the discussion of the revelation process in Chapter 10,
intense concentration upon the particular matter under consideration,
to the virtual exclusion of everything else, appears to be helpful in
setting the stage for the “flash of insight” that is required. But
whatever the nature of the subject matter may be—religious,
scientific, or other—a certain level of knowledge and experience is
necessary before an individual can make the intuitive jump to a
significant conclusion, and experience cannot be gained in isolation.
In many respects, life on earth is analogous to a game. A player can
improve his performance to some extent by studying the principles of
the game and by doing some thinking as to how best to apply these
principles, but proficiency comes only as a result of practice and
participation in the game. Buddha, Mohammed, and other religious
leaders who withdrew into solitude to perfect their understanding
were not hermits; they were men of the world who had accumulated a
rich fund of secular experience before they undertook a life of solitary
contemplation.
The game analogy can appropriately be applied to human life in many
ways—in our view of the place of religion in life, for instance.
Religion is one of the most important sources of advice as to how to
play the game of life. Anyone who undertakes to play a game receives
a great deal of advice—much of it conflicting—as to the manner of
play. The value of this advice to the player does not depend upon the
authority attributed to the source from which it is derived, or upon the
degree of acceptance with which it is received. That value is
determined entirely by the amount of gain or loss in performance that
is accomplished by actual application of the recommended
procedures. The same is true in the game of life. Strict conformity
with the rules and regulations of one’s religion is of no avail unless
those rules and regulations do, in fact, express the requirements of the
true moral code. It is extremely unfortunate, from the standpoint of
society as a whole, that the agency of the social order that has the
primary responsibility for encouraging conformity with the moral
code should be so much inclined to portray that compliance as a
burdensome task. But as individuals, we have the remedy in our own
hands. We can, and should, refuse to accept this distortion of the truth.
Each person has the responsibility of examining the moral doctrines
of his religion and determining for himself whether they are valid
expressions of the Sector 3 code. Those that cannot stand up under the
application of reason should be rejected regardless of the source from
which they emanate.
It should also be noted that we cannot win the game of life, or any
other game, on the strength of good intentions. Of course, we must
have an intention to win, but this is not, in itself, sufficient. There
must be actual accomplishment. Those religions that offer some kind
of a shortcut whereby the full status of ethical man can be attained by
fiat are in direct conflict with the conclusion that the purpose of
human existence is the development of ethical men. If that objective
could be attained by decree, there would be no need for the huge and
complicated mechanism that constitutes the physical universe.
Like other games, the game of life involves an element of chance.
This is particularly evident in economic and other non-moral areas,
but chance may also play a significant role in determining the extent
to which the ethical personality is developed during an individual’s
lifetime. The handicaps that are imposed on ethical progress where
living conditions are unfavorable have already been mentioned.
Chance events may also result in termination of life before a person
has had adequate time to make significant ethical progress. These are
some of the considerations that have led to the conclusion that an
alternate route to the ultimate goal of human existence is required, and
have inspired the conception of the shortcuts that are now being
offered by many religions. Our rejection of these religious answers to
the problems that are involved raises questions of equity and justice
that should have some attention. We will review them in Chapter 28.
Even if chance does not intervene to prevent victory in a game, one
may still not achieve the amount of success to which he would be
entitled on the basis of his skill. If the game is under the control of an
umpire, a referee, or other official, the player may be the victim of a
wrong decision. Or if the game is one involving team play, some
member of one’s own team may not respond to his moves in the
proper manner. Nor will the captain or manager of the team always
give each player full opportunity to display his talents. So it is in the
game of life. We are always subject to the vagaries of chance, and we
are continually encountering obstacles placed in our way, intentionally
or unintentionally, by the human individuals with whom we deal. Like
those who are successful in playing other games, what we need to do
is to learn to take these things in stride, to play the game to the best of
our ability, and to enjoy the game while we are playing it.
In order to put human life into the proper perspective, it is necessary
to recognize that human existence is an ongoing process, one that is
directed toward ethical perfection (and perhaps some other goals as
well—a point that we will discuss later). We are therefore imperfect
by definition, aspirants rather than masters, and although our task is to
overcome our imperfections, there is no sound reason why our
inability to accomplish this task quickly and completely should lead
us into the anxiety, guilt, and despair that are emphasized by the
existentialist philosophers and are incorporated in a modified form
into so many religious doctrines. We have a legacy from our animal
origins (whether or not we call it “original sin”) that has to be
overcome before we can reach our ultimate goal. But the fact that this
objective has not yet been reached does not justify our acceptance of
the sense of guilt that so many are trying to force upon us. Nor is it
catastrophic if we stumble occasionally as we advance toward the
goal. We are fulfilling our purpose as long as we continue making
substantial progress in the right direction.
The general situation with respect to the personal aspect of morality
can be clarified to a considerable degree by a consideration of what
we may call “Crusoe ethics.” In the early days of the development of
economic theory, it was quite common to approach economic
questions from the standpoint of how the various principles involved
would apply to a lone individual on an isolated island. These
“Robinson Crusoe” economics are now out-of-style, so to speak, but
they served a very valuable purpose (in fact, economic theory would
be a great deal better off today if more attention were paid to this
simple situation of the lone producer-consumer), and a somewhat
similar approach to the morality of the lone individual can be equally
productive.
On the basis of the principles that we have established, it is evident
that Crusoe has a moral obligation to keep himself alive and in good
mental and physical condition. He has no primary obligation to work.
If work is necessary to meet the primary obligations just mentioned,
as it normally would be, then work is a requirement, but this is only a
conditional obligation. If the island has a warm climate and plenty of
coconut trees, the primary obligations may be satisfied with little or
no actual productive effort. If Crusoe does work, either by choice or
from necessity, there is no requirement that he limit his work to the
minimum amount that is actually essential. An excessive amount of
work that would be physically detrimental is barred by the moral
code, but in between the minimum that is required and the maximum
that is allowed, there is a very substantial margin in which he may
make economic decisions. He can choose between leisure and the
products of effort, and, to the extent that he elects to work, he can
choose between one type of product and another. He can make
choices as to methods and procedures, the extent to which he diverts
time and effort from direct production to the making of tools, for
example. He can decide how much use he wants to make of the
possibility of storing goods for future consumption, and so on.
In this economic activity, Crusoe is living in accordance with the
principle of hedonism; he is taking those actions which he believes
will bring him the greatest amount of satisfaction. But this hedonism,
as he practices it, is not a principle of morality; it has no moral
significance at all. As soon as any moral element enters into the
situation, the moral aspect is controlling and satisfaction or pleasure is
irrelevant. For instance, any intentional action that inflicts physical
injury on himself is a violation of the moral code, and if Crusoe is
acting as an ethical man, he will avoid such an action, no matter how
much pleasure he might have derived from it.
Prudence has always been regarded by philosophers as an important
moral virtue, even to the extent that it has been classified by some—
Epicurus and Bentham, for instance—as the primary virtue. But it is
evident that to Crusoe, prudence is no more than a conditional
obligation, inasmuch as imprudent conduct normally does no more
than lessen his pleasure and his comforts. Only in the exceptional case
does it involve consequences that make it a violation of the moral
code. Like pleasure, prudence is primarily a matter of economics in
Crusoe’s life, rather than a matter of ethics.
There is nothing in the moral code, as it emerges from our analysis,
that would bar Crusoe from killing and eating the animals on the
island. In fact, his primary obligation of survival requires that he eat
some kind of biological organism, and our analysis shows that there is
no basic difference between the status of animals and that of plants.
But observation indicates that animals do experience the sensation of
pain, and Crusoe has an obligation to avoid inflicting unnecessary
pain in the course of his food-gathering activities. Fundamentally, this
principle applies to our conduct toward other human beings. The
moral code requires that we act in a manner considerate of the
interests of others, including adding to their pleasure, so far as this is
consistent with our other obligations, and avoiding giving them pain.
This obligation carries over into our dealings with animal life, to the
extent that it is applicable; that is, to the extent that animals share the
sensations that are to be avoided. Cruelty to animals is definitely a
violation of the code.
Some digression from our current theme to elaborate on this point
may be in order, inasmuch as certain religions carry it to extremes and
forbid the use of animals as food, or even, in some cases, prohibit the
killing of insect pests. In appraising this position, what we need to
remember is that the basic requirement of the moral code is to direct
our actions toward the moral objective; that is, to contribute forward
fulfillment of the purpose of human existence. This means that we
must endeavor to perfect our own ethical personalities, to assist others
in doing likewise, and to avoid anything that would hinder these
developments. On this basis, taking the life of a human being without
adequate justification of a moral nature is clearly a violation of the
code, inasmuch as it eliminates all possibility of further ethical
improvement of that individual. Taking the life of an animal has no
such effect, as the animal cannot develop an ethical personality in any
event. It follows that this is not a violation of the code, unless the
conditions surrounding the act have human implications of some kind.
We are therefore entitled to judge this act on the basis of non-moral
considerations. In the usual case, these considerations will be
economic.
Cruelty, on the other hand, cannot be justified on any grounds. It is, by
definition, unnecessary, and being contrary to the Golden Rule, it is a
violation of the code under any circumstances. Of course, animals
cannot follow the Golden Rule, since they are subject to a totally
different law. Consequently, this rule is not applicable to relationships
between man and animals. But ethical man must live up to his own
standards, and the moral code is applicable to his actions, irrespective
of the status of the others that are affected. Cruelty to animals is not
wrong because of what is done to the animal. That animal is entitled
to nothing more than what he would get under the biological law that
governs his own activities. It is wrong because of what is done by
man.
Aside from considerations of this kind, morality has little application
to the relations between Crusoe and animals in the wild state, but if
any of these are domesticated, an entirely new element enters into the
picture. There is now a contractual obligation. The animal provides
certain services to Crusoe (which may be nothing more than being
readily available for eating), and in return, Crusoe undertakes the
responsibility of providing food, shelter, protection, etc. Any failure to
meet these responsibilities is a violation of the code, even though
there is no obligation at all to provide the same services to wild
animals of the same species.
If Crusoe now makes contact with another isolated individual on a
neighboring island, a whole new set of moral considerations arises.
Inasmuch as the basic moral obligation is to contribute toward the
fulfillment of the purpose of human existence, Crusoe’s obligations
are no longer confined to maximizing his own personal contribution.
Anything that he can do to increase the contribution made by his
neighbor, without a significant decrease in his own, is likewise
required of him. If the neighbor, Joe Doakes, let us call him, is in
danger of starvation, Crusoe is morally obligated to supply food from
is own stores, providing that this can be done without risking his own
health.
On the other hand, if Doakes lives a marginal existence without
comforts and conveniences because he has exercised his privilege of
economic choice and has chosen leisure rather than labor and the
fruits of labor, Crusoe has no such sharing obligation. As pointed out
earlier, there is a range of economic possibilities within which each
man is free to make his own decisions, without any moral
implications one way or the other. In the case we are now considering,
Doakes has made one choice, Crusoe another. If each is acting
rationally, each has elected the course that will give him the greatest
overall economic satisfaction. Crusoe is not called upon to correct any
unbalance, because no such unbalance exists. If he were to divert
some of his own goods to Doakes under the mistaken impression that
he was morally required to do so, he would be creating an unbalance
where none existed before.
This situation remains the same if Doakes makes his decisions on
some ground other than his preference for leisure. If, for instance, the
use of tools is prohibited by his religious beliefs, his productivity will
suffer just as severely as if he limited his hours of work. Regardless of
the reason which he assigns to it, his refusal to use tools is actually an
economic decision. An act or a decision has a moral significance only
if it has actual relevance to the moral code. The fact that someone
thinks an act is moral does not alter its true economic character.
Doakes has simply chosen whatever satisfaction he may derive from
following his religious taboos in preference to the satisfaction he
would derive from the additional goods. Here again, if he is acting
rationally, he is maximizing his total satisfactions. If the portion of
these satisfactions arising out of the consumption of goods is not as
large as he would like, and he looks with envy on the prosperity
enjoyed by Crusoe, the remedy is in his own hands. He can alter his
economic decisions accordingly. If he chooses to retain his
superstitions rather than increase his productivity, the responsibility is
his own; he has no legitimate claim on Crusoe.
It should be noted, however, that there are some additional
considerations which apply if Crusoe’s efforts have been
unexpectedly productive, or if some fortuitous circumstance has
increased his supply of goods, so that there is an actual surplus over
and above what he requires for his own needs. In that event, some
sharing with his less fortunate neighbor is in order. But even here
some caution is necessary. Giving to others is not inherently moral.
Like many of the other activities that we have discussed, it is only a
means of accomplishing a moral objective, which in this case is to
confer a benefit on the recipient. This does not automatically follow;
the gift may accomplish nothing, or it may even be detrimental. With
the good start provided by his natural indolence, a period of living on
the bounty of another may make Doakes completely unfit to care for
himself. And even if this can be avoided, it must be recognized that
neither substantial nor permanent improvement in Doakes’ situation
can be accomplished by means of outside assistance. Such
improvement can take place only by adoption of more efficient
methods and practices, and the effect of the temporary assistance
supplied by Crusoe may well be to postpone the necessary changes,
thus more than offsetting any good that may result from the gift.
As can be seen from the foregoing discussion, the transition from
Crusoe’s original one-man society to a society of two individuals has
greatly increased the number and complexity of the moral problems
involved, even though the nature of the relationship between these
two persons is extremely simple. Further development of the society
by the addition of more individuals, introduction of different kinds of
relationships, and modification of the physical environment results in
an ever-increasing complexity of moral issues, but the general
principles that govern the relations between two individuals are
equally applicable in the wider context. It is obvious, for example,
that the points brought out with reference to the aid that Crusoe may
extend to his neighbor have direct relevance to many present-day
problems.
This is the last of five chapters devoted to ethical subjects, and in
closing the discussion, it will be appropriate to point out that the
primary cause of the difficulty heretofore experienced in constructing
a consistent system of ethical theory has been the lack of any clear
idea as to the objective of ethics. Any discipline which can extend
hospitality to two general theories as far apart as hedonism, which
makes pleasure the criterion of morality, and asceticism, which finds
morality in the denial of pleasure, is obviously in need of some more
distinct direction signs. The most significant contribution of the
present work in the ethical field has therefore been to identify the
moral objective.
Like the conclusions reached in the earlier pages, this identification is
a scientific product, based in the first instance on established facts, and
derived from those facts by a series of logical processes. The primary
moral objective, the moral code, and all of the aspects of the
application of that code that have been developed in this series of five
chapters are integral parts of the far-reaching system of scientific
theory that now ties the physical and the metaphysical aspects of
existence together in one great whole.
CHAPTER 22
Humanism
Identification of the moral objective as the development of the ethical
aspect of human personalities, and of the individual’s primary
responsibility as the maximization of his contribution toward that end,
carries with it the corollary that there is also an obligation to
encourage and promote the ethical development of others. This can be
accomplished in part by personal influence and example, but the
achievement of maximum results also requires the utilization of those
agencies that are available to society in general. At present there are
no agencies aimed specifically at this objective, but there are many
that contribute, in some degree, toward progress in this direction. One
of the essential tasks of these agencies, and the associated educational
institutions, is to clarify the application of the moral code to the
complex situations of modern life, which are beyond the scope of the
simple ethical intuitions of the ordinary individual, and to disseminate
this information. This is a function of philosophy and, at least
potentially, of science. Another essential is to promote compliance
with the code. This is a function of religion.
Because of the metaphysical origin of the code, the impact of science,
which denies metaphysical existence, has heretofore been negative.
The purely mechanistic view of life that has dominated scientific
thinking not only fails to produce any positive reasons for moral
conduct, but lends strong support to those who regard morality as an
unnecessary restriction on human behavior. Many individual scientists
disagree with this view, but they do so on religious or philosophical
grounds, not on scientific grounds. Philosophy, which is ambivalent
toward metaphysics, is likewise uncertain about the true status of the
moral code. Only religion, which is definitely metaphysical, has
hitherto stood foursquare for morality. Thus, the attitude of these three
divisions of human knowledge toward recognition of and compliance
with the moral code has been specifically correlated with their
respective attitudes toward metaphysical existence. This emphasizes
the significance of the findings of this present work with respect to
such existence and its relation to human life.
In the preceding pages, we have applied inductive processes, chiefly
extrapolation and analogy, to a consideration of the possibility of
existence outside (independent of) the physical universe, the universe
of space and time, and we have arrived at conclusions as to the reality
of that existence and as to some of its characteristics. These
conclusions have then been verified by the standard scientific
procedure of developing their consequences in many different areas
and subjecting these consequences to the test of comparison with the
facts of observation. The reality of metaphysical existence is now
scientific knowledge; that is, such existence is physically certain.
This scientifically confirmed finding is in agreement with the
preponderance of human belief in all parts of the known world and
throughout recorded history. But it has heretofore been unacceptable
to science because of the lack of the kind of confirmation that this
present work has now supplied, and a number of schools of
philosophy have been sufficiently influenced by the negative attitude
of the scientific community to base their philosophical beliefs on the
assumption that the space-time universe is the whole of existence.
Collectively, such philosophical systems are known as humanism.
Inasmuch as the central theme of humanism is a negation of the
metaphysical existence that we have now established as certain
—“rejection of the supernatural world view,” says Paul Kurtz, editor
of the Humanist, is the “first humanist principle”344—it will be
appropriate to begin our survey of the agencies of society that deal
with morality by examining the humanist position in the light of our
new findings.
The proponents of humanism have thus far devoted their attention
primarily to attacking organized religion, and their basic theme has
been the assertion that religion is indifferent, or at least not
sufficiently sensitive, to the human condition. The transcendental
religions have been criticized especially for their policy of
emphasizing preparation for the “other world” at the expense of what
could be done toward improving existence in this world. Julian
Huxley, for example, contrasts this traditional religious outlook with
that of humanism:
Humanism also differs from all supernaturalist religions in centering
its long-term aims not on the next world but on this. One of its
fundamental tenets is that this world and life in it can be improved,
and that it is our duty to try to improve it, socially, culturally, and
politically.345
This humanistic viewpoint has a strong appeal to many thoughtful
individuals, and as a result, it has been gaining ground quite rapidly in
recent years, not by any noticeable increase in the number of those
who, like Huxley, accept humanism as a substitute for religion, but by
an increasingly humanistic attitude on the part of many of the
religious organizations that are ostensibly committed to the “other
worldly” view that the humanists criticize. This substantial degree of
success has brought humanism to what Kurtz calls “a situation of
challenge and crisis” because, in their absorption with the attack on
their adversaries, the humanists have not developed any clear and
consistent positive position of their own. “It is one thing,” cautions
Kurtz, “to reject orthodoxy, dogma, and creed as superstitious
mythology irrelevant to the contemporary world; however, it is quite
another thing to suggest in positive terms what humanism can offer in
their place.”344 The facts that have been developed in the preceding
pages now give us a basis from which we can appraise the humanists’
prospects for success in formulating such a positive program.
Insofar as the humanistic goal may be to discredit religion in its
entirety, our findings show that it is doomed to failure, as we have
definitely confirmed the essential elements of religious belief. Our
results do support the humanists’ contention that much of the detailed
structure of religious doctrine is “superstitious mythology,” and we
can endorse their efforts to the extent that they are directed at purging
religion of these encumbrances. But whatever success they may have
in this undertaking will not shake the foundations of religion. On the
contrary, it will merely bring the weakness of the humanists’ own
position more clearly into focus.
Again quoting from Paul Kurtz’ introduction to Moral Problems in
Contemporary Society, “the humanist does not exclude a
transcendental reality on a priori grounds.” He “does not callously
dismiss the reports of mystical or revelatory experiences. But he looks
upon these reports as events to be explained and interpreted in natural
terms,”346 and he contends that there is no adequate evidence of
metaphysical existence. In other words, he asks that religious faith be
replaced by faith in the tenets of humanism. Of course, the findings of
the present work completely demolish this position, but even without
the new knowledge, the humanist has no support for it other than his
belief that a physical explanation will some day be found for the
seemingly non-physical aspects of human existence. This tenuous
hope is all that he has to offer as a substitute for the religious
explanation that he contends is not adequately supported.
There is considerable diversity in the humanistic outlook, as in most
philosophical positions, but the central proposition by which it is
distinguished is the rejection of the metaphysical. (The term
“supernatural” is generally used in humanist discourse, but in the light
of our findings, metaphysical existence is another manifestation of
nature; it is not supernatural.) It follows, on this basis, that all
knowledge of the world, including knowledge of human life, must be
derived from experience. This is the conventional scientific, or
empiricist, view, and in general terms, it can be said that humanism is
a philosophical application of conventional scientific thought. The
work of Sigmund Freud, which extended the scope of science into
areas that had previously been the undisputed provinces of philosophy
and religion, was quite influential in the spread of humanism. Freud
saw religion as a historical development—“the heritage of many
generations”:
This stock of religious ideas is generally offered as a divine
revelation. But that is in itself a part of the religious system, and
entirely leaves out of account the known historical development of
these ideas and their variation in different ages and cultures.347
What Freud himself failed to take into account is that the gradual
development of religious ideas over a long period of history has no
implications as to the means by which the advances were made. A
cumulative series of revelations and other intuitive events leading
ultimately to the doctrines of one of the modern religions is just as
logical a development as the cumulative series of “flashes of insight”
that culminated in one of the modern physical theories. A similar
criticism can be made of his assertion that religious beliefs “are
illusions, fulfillments of the oldest, strongest, and most insistent
wishes of mankind.”348 The fact that most human beings would prefer
that their religious beliefs be valid is not inconsistent with their
validity. Actually, Freud conceded this point. He says, referring to
religious doctrines, “just as they cannot be proved, neither can they be
refuted,”349 and he explains that, in calling religious ideas “illusions,”
he is not implying that they are necessarily wrong, merely that “wishfulfillment is a prominent factor in their motivation”:
When I say that they [religious ideas] are illusions, I must define the
meaning of the word. An illusion is not the same as an error, it is
indeed not necessarily an error.350
This admission that the religious assertions may be valid,
notwithstanding all that he has said against them, is only one of a
number of items which indicate that, even though he took a firm
anti-religious position in public, Freud was never fully able to
convince himself that his position was sound. As one observer
remarks, “What is not clear is why he himself as ’a natural atheist’
should have been so deeply and so illuminatingly interested in the
psychology of religion.”351 The “great affection” for his own religion
that he unintentionally revealed in the dream analyzed in Chapter 16,
and his decision to devote most of his time during the closing years of
his life to a study of the life of Moses and his influence on the
development of religious thought, show that, despite Freud’s
commitment to the position now taken by the humanists, there was
still an inner core of religious belief which he was unable to suppress.
This should not be surprising. As a conscientious scientist, Freud
could not avoid recognizing that there are aspects of human life
which, as matters now stand, cannot be derived from experience. This
is most clearly visible in the field of ethics. No one has succeeded in
finding any empirical basis on which a tenable system of ethics can be
based. As pointed out in Chapter 20, attempts to base ethics on
happiness or some other experiential objective cannot stand up under
critical examination. Even if they were otherwise sound—which they
are not—“they all analyze ethical propositions in a way which has
reference solely to what is, but what is is very different from what
ought to be. And the sharp transition from the is to the ought they in
no wise explain.”352 (A. C. Ewing). Those empiricists who follow
their line of thought to its logical conclusions concede this point. Ayer,
for example, specifically admits that “normative ethical concepts are
irreducible to empirical concepts.”353
The inability to provide an empirical basis for ethical judgments
pushes the strict empiricist into a corner where he is forced to contend
that such judgments have no real significance. They “have no literal
meaning”; they merely “serve to express, or arouse, emotion,”354 Ayer
asserts. This emotive theory of ethics, as it is called, has gained
considerable support because superficially it seems to clear the way
for a strictly empirical view of the subject. However, if we look more
closely, it is evident that the empiricists have not carried their
examination of this subject far enough. They have failed to examine
and take into consideration the nature of emotion.
As brought out in Chapter 13, emotion is a process. For example, a
message received through the senses indicates the presence of one of a
class of situations that experience has indicated to be dangerous.
Evolution (a physical process) has conditioned the physical organism
to respond to dangerous situations with the emotion of fear, and to
respond to fear by flight. Thus, the fear emotion is not something
independent of experience. Both the recognition of the dangerous
situation and the recognition of flight as the appropriate response are
grounded in experience; either the individual’s own experience, the
experience of others that has been communicated to him, or the
experiences of his ancestors embodied in what we call instinct. The
situation in ethics is no different. In the world of the empiricist, where
experience is the only source of information, the ethical emotion, if
any such thing exists, must be grounded in experience.
Thus, the emotive theory accomplishes nothing. Since ethical
principles cannot be obtained directly from experience, the empiricist
brands them as emotional. But our analysis of emotions shows that
they are simply processes which apply the results of experience to
current problems. What the emotive theory is trying to do is to
accomplish the impossible by doing it indirectly. Inability to account
for the origin of ethical judgments by appeal to experience has simply
been succeeded by inability to account for the origin of ethical
emotions.
Some of the humanists who recognize the weakness of the emotive
theory have endeavored to find a middle ground. Kurtz implies
something of the kind in his statement that a transcendental reality is
not necessarily excluded from humanist thinking. Herbert Feigl says
we have moral “commitments,” or principles, that cannot be derive
empirically. “The adoption of those commitments can be made
palatable,” he says, “but there is nothing that we can prove or
disprove about them.”355 But, in fact, there is no middle ground here.
Either there is a non-physical existence or there is not. The denial of
any existence beyond the boundaries of the physical universe is the
essence of the humanist position, the “first humanist principle.” Any
“commitment” not grounded in experience, or any possibility of a
“transcendental reality” contradicts that first principle.
The basic humanist position is therefore untenable, even on the basis
of the situation that existed before this present work produced a
scientific proof of the reality of metaphysical, or transcendental,
existence. Regardless of the particular variation of the general
humanist position on which the individual philosopher may take his
stand, he cannot complete his argument without introducing
something that contradicts his basic premise, some “emotion,”
“commitment,” or the like, that cannot be derived from that physical
experience which, according to his fundamental premise, is the only
source from which they could be derived. As Kurtz pointed out in the
statement quoted earlier, it is one thing to attack, quite another to
construct a defensible position of one’s own. This the humanists have
been unable to do, and in the light of the findings of this work, can
never do.
This does not mean that the objectives of humanism are to be
condemned, nor that its accomplishments have been of no
consequence. What it means is that those objectives need to be
redefined so that there is a better understanding both of the
significance of what has already been done, and as to the direction that
future efforts will have to take in order to be effective. Futile attempts
to maintain the now untenable position that the universe of space and
time is the whole of existence will eventually discredit the whole
humanistic enterprise.
The humanistic objectives are generally stated in terms of promoting
the “good life” here on earth. “Human happiness and the desire to
avoid suffering are central,”356 says Kai Nielsen. “Happiness is
good,” and “pointless suffering is bad,” he says. But, as we have seen
in the previous discussion, happiness is not good, nor is suffering bad,
in the ethical sense. Both are ethically neutral. Happiness is desirable,
and suffering is undesirable, but only as a part of the life of man as a
biological organism. They have no bearing on the characteristically
human aspect of existence, the non-physical aspect. The humanist
objective is therefore a secular objective. Nielsen does not deny this,
but he talks of a “secular morality.” In the light of our findings, this is
a contradiction in terms. Morality has no secular dimension; it belongs
to a totally different order of existence.
The foregoing characterization of the humanistic objective as secular
is not pejorative; it is simply descriptive. But it means that humanism
is not, as it purports to be, at odds with the transcendental religions.
The essentials of religion, we find, are metaphysical, as most religions
have always claimed. A purely secular system of thought, one which
has been deliberately confined within the boundaries of the physical
universe, for whatever reason, therefore has no relevance to religious
essentials. The accomplishments of humanism in the increasingly
successful attack on the “superstitious mythology” of the organized
religions have not affected the religious base in the least. On the
contrary, they should be beneficial to religion, as this is the kind of a
purging of the non-religious accretions from the fundamental religious
principles that is needed in order to restore the credibility of the
religious fundamentals in the eyes of those whose faith has been
shaken by the continued retreat of the ecclesiastics when challenged
by scientific discovery.
Humanism has found strong support for its criticism of the tendency
of organized religions to emphasize preparation for the “other world”
at the expense of human happiness in this one. But our analysis shows
no reason why religion should see a conflict between the two. We find
no factual support for asceticism, the “joyless ethic,” or any of the
other doctrines of this kind to which the humanists object. Indeed, as
pointed out in Chapter 21, our findings lead to the conclusion that the
moral code requires the human individual to lead a pleasant,
comfortable, and untroubled life, to the extent that his circumstances
permit, and requires him to assist others to do likewise, so far as this
can be done without undue impairment of his own situation.
According to Lamont, “Humanism is the viewpoint that men have but
one life to lead and should make the most of it in terms of creative
work and happiness.”357 Our findings are that man should, indeed,
make the most of his human life, but not because it is the only one
that he will lead. We find that he should do so because he is here for a
purpose, and making the most of his human life is essential to the
accomplishment of that purpose. The development of the ethical
personality that is the objective of human existence must take place in
human life. One must learn to be honest, to be kind, to be tolerant, to
be just, to be compassionate, and so on, in this human existence.
There is no magic formula by which all this can be achieved suddenly
at the end of that existence, nor do we find any support for the
contention of some religions that there is a kind of all-purpose
prescription, some kind of overall harmony with metaphysical
existence, that can be conferred by decree and can serve as a
substitute for the detailed ethical development.
There is no subordination of human life to “other worldly” objectives
in this picture that emerges from our analysis. The ultimate goal is
defined in metaphysical terms, to be sure, but the road to that goal lies
entirely in human life. Furthermore, that ultimate goal is not in any
way antagonistic to the humanistic objective of the “good life.” On
the contrary, nothing is more likely to improve the rate of progress
toward that “good life” than an increase in the number of individuals
who want to do that which is morally right.
It is quite evident from the arguments put forth by the humanists in
support of their contentions that they are motivated to a considerable
degree by what we may call pride, or less charitably, vanity. Those
human individuals who realize that their knowledge is limited are
usually prepared to accept the assertion that they need the help of
superhuman forces to meet their most serious problems, but those who
have reason to believe that they are well-grounded in the current
wisdom of the human race have a tendency to resent such a
suggestion. It is disturbing to them to be told that they are, in effect,
second class citizens, that there is a superior order of existence, and
that the primary objective of human life is not to savor that life to the
utmost, but to make some advance toward the superior status. They
are particularly upset by the idea that one or more of the superior
existences may be in a position to dictate the terms of human life.
Erich Fromm, for instance, objects to “authoritarian religions” on the
ground that they require “surrender to a power transcending man.” He
is particularly critical of the idea that this higher power “has a right to
force man to worship him.”358 He is not ready to dispense entirely
with the concept of religion, but he wants to give it a humanistic
character. Fromm’s conception of a humanistic religion is one
“centered around man and his strength.” Where such a religion uses
the term “God,” he says, it is only “a symbol of man’s own
powers.”359
Strangely enough, this vainglorious attitude coexists with an
unusually keen realization of the wide margin by which the human
race is currently failing to attain its full potential. Indeed, much of the
driving power behind the humanistic movement stems from a
recognition of the immensity of the task involved in reaching that
goal, and the necessity of greater and more systematic efforts toward
improvement if the goal is ever to be reached. Those who measure the
magnitude of the task against the current rate of progress are often
discouraged, and pessimism, explicit or implicit, is one of the
problems of the humanist movement. “They [the humanists] accept
the fact that human existence is probably a random occurrence
between two oblivions, that death is inevitable, that there is a tragic
aspect to our lives.”360 (Paul Kurtz) This can hardly be described as a
cheerful outlook, and it has little appeal to the common man.
Now that a scientific study has established with physical certainty (the
only kind of certainty that can be attained about anything real) that
there is another order of existence, considerations of human pride, or
vanity, no longer have any significance. But for what consolation it
may be to those who find a subordinate position hard to accept, it may
be noted that the uniquely human aspect of our personalities, the
characteristic in which we differ from other animals, is non-physical.
To the extent that we have developed this distinctive attribute,
therefore, we are participants in the superior type of existence. Our
status is not second class; rather we are neophytes who have the
opportunity to acquire full first-class status in due course. Man does,
in fact, have all of the powers he needs, if he develops his potential to
the utmost. But the most significant of these are powers which he
possesses by virtue of having an aspect of his personality that is
independent of the physical universe, and is in touch with other such
independent existences, some of which are more fully developed and
are capable of providing him with advice and assistance. This is
essentially the position of the transcendental religions.
Whether we are, in fact, subject to the authority of a Deity, as most
religions contend, and humanism finds objectionable, is outside the
scope of this work. The investigation has not been carried far enough
to shed any light on this central religious issue. Nor is it yet clear
whether there is any basis from which an inquiry into the subject
could be pursued. The answer would have to come from a revelatory
or intuitive source, and, as matters now stand, the purported
revelations in this area are so numerous and so mutually contradictory
that they provide nothing definite.
Many readers will no doubt feel that lack of an answer to this
fundamental question leaves the development of thought in these
pages incomplete. It is therefore appropriate to reiterate that this
present work is a report of the results of a pioneer scientific
exploration of a field that has hitherto been outside the boundaries of
science. As such, it cannot be expected to arrive at anything complete
and conclusive. Its aim is to get a broad, general view of the
heretofore unexplored sector of existence independent of the universe
of space and time, to lay the foundation for additional explorations in
the future, and to identify some of the means by which such
explorations can be carried out.
In the light of what has been established by this investigation, the
suggestion by Kurtz that humanism should now proceed to formulate
“in positive terms” what it can offer in place of the religious rites and
dogma that the humanists reject is impractical. The “superstitious
mythology” to which they are so strongly opposed is superfluous, and
there is no need to replace it with anything else. The essential
elements of religion are metaphysical, and cannot be replaced by any
humanistic system of thought, as humanism is now understood. It
would appear, therefore, that there are two choices confronting the
movement. Humanism can continue, as Kurtz admits it has been thus
far, primarily as an instrument of attack on the inconsistencies and
incongruities of organized religion. Or it can face the fact that it is a
secular philosophy, that its real purpose is to define and promote that
which is desirable socially, economically, politically, and elsewhere in
secular life, and that it has no relevance—at least no direct
relevance—to what is right or good from the moral standpoint.
Humanism is in no sense a substitute for religion, if religion is to be
understood in the way in which the term is used by the organized
religions and in this present work. It is a difficult concept to define,
but Paul Tillich defines it in a manner acceptable to a large segment of
the religious community in these words:
Religion is the state of being grasped by an ultimate concern, a
concern which qualifies all other concerns as preliminary and which
itself contains the answer to the question of the meaning of our life.361
Tillich classifies all “isms,” such as humanism, that are “based on
secularism” as quasi-religions, and he regards the “attack of the
quasi-religions on the religions proper” as the most significant feature
of the present-day religious scene. “Today the problems which have
arisen out of this situation can no longer be neglected,”362 he asserts.
The particular aspect of these problems that is brought into focus by
the findings of this work is the manner in which the substitution of
secular objectives for the genuinely religious objectives impedes the
progress of the human race toward the ultimate objective of its
existence. This point will be discussed in detail in Chapter 28. At this
time, we will want to take note of the fact that there is also an inverse
side to this picture. Indiscriminate mixing of religious and secular
objectives is detrimental not only to religion but to secular life as well.
When a religious organization takes a stand on any issue, it
automatically stamps that position, whatever it may be, as morally
right. Religion is devoted to upholding the right and combating the
wrong. It follows, so the reasoning goes (in defiance of the rules of
logic) that whatever a religious organization supports is right, and
those in opposition are either ignorant or in league with the forces of
unrighteousness. But in reality, a large and growing number of the
issues on which present-day religious organizations are taking sides
and working energetically in the ensuing conflicts, are secular issues.
Even if some of these issues—social, political, economic, etc.—are
actually susceptible to being decided on their merits (which is not
always the case), the decision can be based only on whether they are
desirable, not whether they are morally right. And in practice, there is
seldom a clear-cut criterion of desirability that can be applied. These
non-religious issues are almost invariably struggles for comparative
advantage, questions as to who should get what. The gains that are
made by some individuals as a result of the final decision, the gains
that loom so large to the churches when they take up the battle
positions, are made at the expense of others. As expressed by William
Hordern, “Every social reform is ambiguous. It appears more just to
those who profit from it than it does to those who do not.”363
Furthermore, the ultimate gainers or losers are not always, or even
usually, clearly indicated. For example, the issue in a labor dispute is
ostensibly between the interests of the employer and those of the
employees, in the usual case. However, these appearances are
deceptive. The employers directly affected may sustain losses as a
result of the outcome of such a dispute, but this weakens their
competitive positions and allows their competitors to make
corresponding gains. Seldom, if ever, do employers as a whole bear
the burden of a wage increase or other added item of expense
resulting from the settlement. The operation of economic forces
permits—indeed, it requires—them to transfer the cost burden to the
general public; that is, to all workers. The church or other religious
organization that supports the labor union in the controversy (as the
churches generally do) is therefore doing nothing but assisting one
group of workers to gain an economic advantage at the expense of
another group of workers. The justification for treating this as a
“moral issue” is not apparent, to say the least.
It is true that, in many instances of this nature, the religious
organizations do not understand the real points at issue, and are acting
on the basis of emotion without realizing the full implications of what
they are doing. But this does not excuse the actions; it merely
emphasizes the point that active participation by religious
organizations in non-religious controversies is not conducive to
equitable settlement of the issues. Unfortunately, religious
organizations are, by their very nature, incapable of the kind of an
approach to the subject matter that is required in these secular areas.
Because religion deals with moral issues, in which there is a definite
separation between right and wrong, the religious authorities are
predisposed to view other issues in the same light; to see them as
either black or white, so to speak. But secular issues do not usually
come in black and white; they come in various shades of gray, and an
uncompromising attitude which insists on branding all opposition as
evil and immoral can do nothing but impede or prevent progress
toward a just resolution of the points at issue.
There is a definite place in the secular field for humanism and for
organizations with humanistic objectives. But mixing secular and
religious objectives is detrimental to both, and the churches that are
now devoting practically their entire effort to the objectives of
humanism should recognize that they are no longer religious
institutions. It is time that they “render unto Caesar the things that are
Caesar’s.”
CHAPTER 23
Religion Reexamined
When we consider what religion is for mankind and what science is, it
is no exaggeration to say that the future course of history depends
upon the decision of this generation as to the relations between
them.364 (Alfred N. Whitehead)
As Whitehead goes on to say, these two influences, “the force of
religious intuitions and the force of our impulse to accurate
observation and logical deduction” are prone to conflict; “they seem
to be set one against the other.” This conflict between science and
religion is the most serious result of the fact that there has hitherto
been no scientific metaphysics. Science has been unable to penetrate
the region beyond space and time, and it has looked askance at those
who claim to have acquired metaphysical knowledge by other means.
In the words of Herbert Dingle, “The chief error of scientists has been
to condemn as illusory all experience which is not useful for their own
restricted purposes.”365 The findings of the preceding chapters, which
have brought the metaphysical realm within the domain of science,
have now provided a basis from which we can carry out a
reassessment of the relationship between these two very important
sectors of human activity.
Inasmuch as this is a scientific, rather than a religious, work, the
discussion that follows will be directed to an examination of the effect
of the new findings on the world outlook of the scientist—a typical
scientist, let us say—but the conclusions that are reached apply with
equal force to all those who are concerned with the place of religion in
a rational universe. As brought out in the introductory chapter, the
scientifically trained individual in modern society is faced with a very
awkward dilemma, since much of that which he believes, or wishes to
believe, with respect to the most important issues in his life (the
assertions of religion) is incompatible with the implications of that
which he knows from observation or reasoning by himself or his
colleagues (the assertions of science). In the absence of any
satisfactory way of reconciling the two conflicting viewpoints, most
scientists have tried to keep them separated, so far as possible, and to
avoid thinking scientifically about religious matters. Those who
cannot see their way clear to evade the issue in this manner are likely
to echo the sentiments of Harlow Shapley: “Should we not look
deeply and sympathetically for religious beliefs that are founded on
science, and that grow with science?”366 Or perhaps those of George
R. Harrison: “There is great need in the world today for a new
integration of religious belief, which will fill all the innate longings of
man for spiritual solace, without doing too much violence to his
intelligence.”367 But the inability of science to deal with metaphysical
questions has caused this search for a scientific religion to bog down
in a sterile materialism.
In the meantime, strenuous efforts have been made by some segments
of the religious community to reconcile the religious and scientific
viewpoints. Speaking of what he calls the “liberal church,” Reinhold
Niebuhr has this to say:
Its energy for some decades has been devoted to the task of proving
religion and science compatible, a purpose which it has sought to
fulfill by disavowing the more incredible portions of its religious
heritage and clothing the remainder in terms acceptable to the
“modern mind.”368
If there were a definite conflict between religion-in-general and
scientific knowledge, then any such reconciliation would obviously be
impossible, but even though many scientists believe this to be true, it
is actually not scientific knowledge but certain implications of the
scientific knowledge heretofore available that are incompatible with
the fundamental religious assertions. As pointed out in Chapter 2, an
item of scientific knowledge, once established, is valid for all time,
but the implications of that knowledge, the things that it suggests
about related matters inside or outside the particular field involved,
are subject to change whenever additional relevant items are added to
the previously existing store of knowledge.
Prior to the development of the Reciprocal System of theory, scientists
had assumed that all of the knowledge of the universe thus far
accumulated was compatible with the traditional concept of space and
time as the setting in which all else exists. On this basis, there can be
no existence outside (that is, independent of) space and time. The
implication of this previously existing scientific knowledge, therefore,
was that metaphysical existence of any kind is impossible, an
implication that is in direct conflict with the basic assertions of most
religions. The findings of this present work did not, and could not,
affect the established body of scientific knowledge in any way, but
they demonstrated that the previous concept of the nature of space and
time—a pure assumption—is erroneous. Since the conclusion as to
the impossibility of metaphysical existence was based on that
previous concept and not on established scientific knowledge, that
conclusion is automatically invalidated by our findings. These
findings not only overturn the reasoning on which the negative
conclusion was based, thus reestablishing the possibility of a
metaphysical existence, but go a step farther and show that such an
existence is physically certain. The principal obstacle to a
rapprochement between science and religion is thus completely
demolished.
All justification for the scientists’ reluctance to concede the reality of
religious revelation has similarly been swept away. The new findings
make it clear not only that such revelations have been and are being
received, but that revelation is merely one manifestation of a process
of obtaining information from metaphysical sources that is
widespread in human life and is in general use in the scientific fields.
Then, too, we have established that the principles of morality do come
to us from the metaphysical region through revelation, intuition, or
insight, just as the religious organizations have always claimed.
Aside from some assertions as to the nature of the metaphysical
existence which are outside the scope of this present investigation, the
foregoing are the basic religious doctrines. To emphasize this point,
let us consider the following list of the basic beliefs that the revealed
religions have in common, condensed from one compiled by William
E. Hocking:
1. There is an existence outside the space-time universe.
2. There is contact between this existence and man.
3. The external region is the home of divine agencies.
4. These agencies are superior to us, and should be obeyed and
worshipped.
5. There are ways of living that have the approval of the divine
agencies.
6. The souls of men, or some of them, enter the external region
after death.369
On consideration of this list, it is evident that the adjective “divine” in
items 3 and 5 should be replaced by some such word as “nonphysical,” inasmuch as the intention of item 3 is only to assert that the
agencies exist, and that of item 5 is to assert that there are ways of
living approved by these agencies. The significance of these two
statements is independent of the nature of the agencies, which is
covered separately in item 4.
The sweeping character of the victory which the scientific findings of
this work give to religion-in-general over humanism, materialism,
naturalism, and other non-religious or anti-religious beliefs grounded
on opinions as to the implications of the previously existing body of
scientific knowledge, is demonstrated by the fact that if the foregoing
change in wording is made, and some of the other language is given a
reasonably broad interpretation, four of the six statements (1, 2, 3 and
5) have been definitely verified in the preceding pages, evidence
confirming one more (number 6) will be presented later, and nothing
adverse to the remaining unconfirmed statement (number 4) has been
found.
With the benefit of the factual knowledge of metaphysical existence
and phenomena that has been developed in this work, and the
confirmation of the basic religious assertions, it is now possible for
the scientist to accept religion-in-general on the same basis that he
accepts scientific theories; that is, on the strength of reason applied to
factual premises. He is no longer called upon to exercise a “faith,” a
concept that to him has heretofore been essentially unintelligible and
of very doubtful validity, in order to find something that will invest
human existence with the sense of purpose that is lacking in purely
mechanistic science.
Even faith itself can now be seen to have a rational basis,
notwithstanding the fact that, in application, it is so vague and
uncertain that the validity of any specific article of faith is open to
question. Both religion and science have had a valid perception of
certain metaphysical truths, but inasmuch as their knowledge of these
truths has been received through intuitive processes, there has hitherto
been no way in which their validity could be substantiated.
Acceptance has had to be based either on each individual’s own
intuitive perception of that validity, or on his conviction, intuitive or
otherwise, that a revelation claimed to have been received by someone
else was genuine. Such a conviction is called faith.
Our findings indicate that, in the absence of the kind of rational basis
for religious beliefs that is being supplied by this work, the religious
appeal to faith has been, to a considerable extent, justified. Religious
revelations have been received, and in view of the extreme importance
of the revealed truths, the recipients and their associates have
considered themselves under an obligation to disseminate this
knowledge as widely as possible. In the absence of any physical or
intellectual way of demonstrating the validity of the revelations, there
has been no option but to call upon individuals to accept them without
proof. On first consideration, it may seem that this is totally
unwarranted, but it should be realized that the persons to whom this
exhortation is addressed are already intuitively prepared to accept it,
in part, if not in its entirety. For instance, most people, including most
scientists, have accepted the religious assertion (grounded in
revelation) that the universe exists for a purpose, and have rejected the
scientific assertion (grounded on inability to find any tangible
evidence) that no such purpose exists, because they have intuitive
knowledge that there is a purpose. Similarly, the religious assertion
that there is an aspect of human life which transcends the limitations
of physical existence falls upon ground already prepared for it by an
intuitive realization that human life is, in some respects, basically
different from all other kinds of biological life.
It should be understood, however, that the qualified justification which
the present investigation finds for religious faith applies only to those
items that the individual accepts of his own accord; that is, where he
has an intuitive perception that the article of faith is valid. If he has
any doubt (indicating that the intuition is not present, or even that
there is an intuitive perception of the falsity of the religious assertion),
then acceptance on the basis of faith is simply reliance on the
pronouncement of authority, which has no scientific standing. The
religious exhortations to “have faith” therefore have no genuine effect.
Unless the faith already exists—that is, the intuition is present—it
cannot be generated by persuasion. Missionary effort or proselytizing
may succeed in modifying the form of the intuitive belief. It may
substitute one god for another, or alter opinions as to how he should
be worshipped. But the substance of such a belief is seldom changed.
Our finding that religious faith has more justification than science has
hitherto been willing to concede does not imply that the beliefs to
which that faith applies are necessarily valid. Religious intuition is
subject to the same limitations as any other intuitive process. Its
product is a probability, not a certainty, and the degree of probability
is highly dependent on the kind of information that is involved. As
emphasized earlier, present-day interpretations of religious revelations
with respect to physical matters are generally wrong, either because
the original recipients were not adequately prepared to receive the
information correctly, or because the meaning of the original language
is misunderstood. The new findings give no support to interpretations
of religious literature or tradition that reach conclusions of this nature,
conclusions that are in conflict with established scientific knowledge.
The credibility of Archbishop Ussher’s assertion that the world was
created in 4004 B.C. is not in the least enhanced by the fact that his
calculations were based on data from Biblical sources.
The creation issue is one of the major bones of contention in the
American religious scene at the moment. The battle is centered on the
question of biological evolution, the contention of the “creation”
forces being that evolution is incompatible with the religious account
of the creation of the earth. The logic of this position is rather difficult
to grasp. Just why the creation of an evolutionary universe, in which
biological evolution was one of the things created, should be
objectionable to those who champion the idea of creation is puzzling
to a neutral observer. It is even more difficult to understand when we
examine the Biblical account of the creation, on which the objections
to evolution are purported to be based, and we find, as we did in
Chapter 10, that it portrays the creation as sequential, and therefore by
implication, evolutionary. Some of the confusion obviously results
from reading things into the creation account that are not actually
there. “According to this [creation] view,” says Titus, “all living
species were created at one time and place.”370 But that is not the way
the story is written. It describes the creation as a sequence of events
taking place over a period of time, and with one minor exception, puts
them all, including the pre-evolutionary events, in the proper order.
There is, it is true, considerable controversy as to how long a period of
time is implied by the wording of the creation story. As pointed out in
Chapter 10, the meaning of the language used in an account such as
this, written long ago under circumstances much different from those
that now exist, cannot be understood unless the general level of
knowledge and the manner of expression of thought prevailing at that
time and place are taken into consideration. Present-day science finds
that millions of years were required for each of the major evolutionary
stages, and billions of years for the events that preceded the origin of
life on earth. The early Hebrews were not prepared to think in terms
of long intervals of this nature even if the revelations contained all of
the information, and it was therefore necessary for the author of the
Genesis account to use some expression to indicated an indefinite
period of time. He chose a word which has been translated as “day.”
Obviously he did not mean an earth day, even though the words
“morning” and “evening” are employed in elaborating the account.
There was no earth during the first “days” of the creation story. It
follows that the author could not have used the word “day” in the
sense of “the period of the earth’s rotation on its axis,” the sense in
which the “creationists” are interpreting it. He must have used it in a
different sense. His use of the terms “morning” and “evening” in
describing the events of the “days” before there was any morning or
evening in the specific sense shows definitely that the language was
intended to be interpreted broadly rather than specifically. The logical
conclusion is that he used these terms in the general significance that
has been attached to them throughout recorded history, even in our
“day,” as indicated in the following definitions taken from a standard
dictionary:
Morning: the first or early part of anything.
Evening: any later period or time of decline, as in the evening of his
life.
Day: a period of time; age; era; as in days of old.
This present work has not uncovered enough evidence to determine as
a matter of scientific fact whether the universe was brought into being
by an act of creation. We find the Biblical account of the origin of the
earth and of biological life to be an authentic revelation insofar as its
account of what happened is concerned, subject to the limitations of
the recipients’ knowledge of physical phenomena and processes. But
the investigation has thus far located nothing that would either verify
or disprove any religious assertion as to the cause of what happened.
Similarly, we have confirmed the existence of metaphysical agencies,
but we have not determined whether one or more of these agencies
created the universe, or even whether such a thing as creation is
possible. As matters now stand, therefore, both the Reciprocal System
and conventional science are silent on the creation issue. Anyone who
feels that he should arrive at a definite conclusion on the subject will
have to determine whether he can accept on faith some one of the
many pronouncements as to the origin of the universe that have been
made by the various religious bodies.
Creation is by no means the only controversial metaphysical question
on which this first scientific expedition into the region beyond space
and time fails to shed much light. While this investigation has
definitely established the most important fact, the reality of
metaphysical existence, it has not produced much information as to
the nature and characteristics (other than ethical) of the existences, a
subject on which the religions have a great deal to say, and say it in a
great many different, and contradictory, ways. However, the
verification of the basic religious doctrines that has been
accomplished is a big step forward. There are also some broad general
principles underlying both science and religion that can now be
regarded as firmly based, as it is now clear that the almost universal
acceptance of these principles is evidence that they have been
received by a process of intuitive insight, and their validity can be
tested by application of the criteria that have been developed for
judging the products of insight and revelation. All this definitely
confirms Hocking’s assertion that “Its [religion’s] basis is more
substantial and less vulnerable than the fabric of speculative ideas in
which it seems to consist.”371
The question now arises as to whether a scientist can logically identify
himself with any particular organized religion—with a specific set of
those “speculative ideas”—without doing violence to his scientific
reliance upon the processes of reason, or whether his reconciliation
with religion is confined to agreement on generalities. Here some
detailed consideration will be necessary. It is evident, to begin with,
that a scientist, as a scientist, cannot accept all of the official doctrines
of any of the organized religions. Many thoughtful individuals have,
in fact, concluded that the unacceptable portions constitute so large a
proportion of the whole that these organized religious bodies must be
rejected summarily. P. W. Bridgman, for example, once asserted that
“acceptance of any of the traditional or conventional religions seems
to many incompatible with plain decent intellectual honesty.”372 Paul
Dirac takes a similar stand. “If we are honest—and scientists have to
be,” he says, “we must admit that religion is a jumble of false
assertions, with no basis in reality.”373 Arthur Koestler expresses
much the same sentiment in these words:
To the inquiring intellect, the established churches become venerable
anachronisms—though still capable of giving sporadic uplift to a
diminishing number of individuals at the price of splitting his mind
into incompatible halves.374
Our analysis indicates, however, that these extreme views are not
justified. It is true that the analysis does show that a very large part of
the information purported to be received through revelation, insight,
or equivalent means, is erroneous in whole or in part, and religious
beliefs based on such information are spurious. Fully prepared
recipients of inter-sector communications are extremely rare, and even
though the message itself may be complete and correct (as we assume
that it always is, since the Sector 3 intelligence presumably knows the
truth), the interpretation that it is given by the recipient may be
completely wrong. It is also true that the greater part of the doctrine of
any of the religions of today consists of additions to or interpretations
of the original revelations, and there is considerable doubt as to
whether the originators of this additional material were qualified to
perceive and to understand the full effect of the additions on the
revealed information.
For centuries men had been indoctrinated in a complex system of
myths, built on what had originally been a simple religion but had
been embroidered through the years by tradition and the human
tendency to elaborate and ornament.375 (Vannevar Bush)
Every great religion, when it spreads widely, becomes corrupted, and
it is necessary to distinguish between the insights of the pioneers who
founded it and the popular superstitions which arise through mingling
their teachings with persistent primitive notions or through
interpreting their basic ideas so as to satisfy childish demands on the
part of their followers.376 (Edwin A. Burtt)
In this connection, it is significant that many—probably most—of the
highly controversial religious tenets belong to this category of
additions and interpretations rather than being part of the original
doctrine. Some of the most controversial of all are assertions about the
founder of the religion rather than about his teachings, and these are
especially likely to become highly emotional issues. The particular
target of ecclesiastical vindictiveness has always been the heretic, the
individual who differs with the official doctrine in no more than a few
of these very controversial points, perhaps only one, and a minor one
at that. The infidel or atheist is attacked, verbally or, where
circumstances permit, physically, but not with the same fervor that
characterizes the assault upon the heretic. Meanwhile, the items
included in this category of controversial additions and interpretations
are continually being revised, even in the most inflexible and
immovable religious organizations. The heresies for which men are
imprisoned or executed in one era often become perfectly respectable
beliefs a few centuries later.
The scientist cannot be expected to accept the transient and
questionable items that make up such a large part of religious
doctrine. In his own field, his aim is to accumulate a store of
knowledge that is valid for all time, and he sets up some exacting
requirements that must be met before any proposed addition to this
accumulated knowledge is admitted. Religious doctrines are fully
acceptable to him only if they are capable of meeting the same
requirements, or other equally rigid criteria of validity. Those items
that cannot stand up under critical scrutiny or conflict with established
knowledge in any field must be rejected. But neither science nor
religion can arrive at a definite and unequivocal decision on every
issue, as matters now stand. In both the religious and the scientific
fields, therefore, many doctrines (or theories, as they are called in
science) are accepted on a tentative basis, pending further
clarification. Much of the religious dogma that the scientist is
somewhat reluctant to accept falls into this category. Since all that can
reasonably be expected of him is that he accept these unproved ideas
on a provisional basis, just as he might accept a somewhat
questionable scientific theory as a working hypothesis in spite of a
belief that it will ultimately be replaced by something better, they
should not constitute a serious obstacle to his participation in a
religious association of some kind.
Of course, if the requirements of a particular religious group in this
respect are unreasonable, the situation is different. For example, the
scientist cannot accept the “word of authority” in lieu of the standard
proofs of validity, and hence he cannot, in his capacity as a scientist,
adhere to any organized religion in which submission to the authority
of the ecclesiastical leadership is mandatory. He can do so if he
continues to follow the currently popular practice of leaving his
scientific beliefs and practices behind him when he closes the door of
his office or laboratory, but we are now considering the situation of
the scientist (or any other person) who wants to eliminate this
dichotomy and to govern all facets of his life by the same basic rules.
A scientist must reject any claim to the exclusive possession of the
truth by any religion or creed, although he may legitimately conclude,
after examining the various beliefs, that some one of them has a better
perception of the truth than any other. Every major religion of the
present day contains many elements that meet all of the requirements
of validity; in fact, there is a basic framework of religious belief
which is common to all. Furthermore, the evidence indicating that the
earth is only one of a great many abodes of intelligent life in the
physical universe is sufficient in itself to brand all claims of exclusive
knowledge or special privilege as presumptuous.
But there is no general agreement on details. Even after the
scientifically unacceptable items (mainly additions and interpretations
by the priesthood) are eliminated, and we are down to the hard core of
the doctrines of the various religions, there will still be major
differences with respect to questions with which science is as yet
unprepared to deal. All of the religions claim to be right about these
matters, and any one of them could be, so far as we are able to
determine at present. Thus there is no obstacle that would prevent a
scientist from becoming an adherent of any one of the modern
religions or their constituent organizations, providing that the
governing regulations thereof are sufficiently flexible, or liberal, to
permit him to disregard scientifically unacceptable items of dogma.
In an earlier era, it would have been difficult to find a Western
religious organization with the necessary degree of flexibility. Some
of the Eastern religions, particularly the major Hindu sects, have
always taken the attitude that every religious view has some relevance
to the truth, and that none is perfect. All are therefore entitled to
respect and sympathetic consideration, even though, by accepting
certain features of his own religion as authoritative, one automatically
rejects the specific doctrines that are in direct conflict. Thus there is no
problem here for the Hindu scientist. But for most of the readers of
this work, the point at issue will be the justification for affiliation with
a religion such as Christianity, which until recently has taken a rigid
stand on the question of the validity of its doctrines.
There has been little or no relaxation of the official attitudes of many
of the Western religious organizations thus far, and the governing
bodies still take just as hard a line on the question of deviation from
their theological positions as they did in past centuries (even though
those positions have changed significantly in the meantime). But the
membership at large no longer responds automatically to the
directives of the leadership, and even the most authoritarian religious
institutions have to recognize that there is now a considerable degree
of de facto flexibility in the tenets of their respective creeds,
regardless of the official pronouncements to the contrary. Indeed, the
differences in viewpoint within a particular denomination of one the
major religions are now usually greater than those between
denominations. Hordern gives us this assessment of the situation:
A striking development of our century is that theoretical differences
no longer follow denominational lines… . In a particular
denomination, we may be somewhat more likely to find a particular
type of theology, but in every case there are exceptions.377
While this relaxation of the earlier theological rigidity has been going
on—a relaxation that Hordern attributes to the fact that theologians
“are taking a more humble view of their abilities than often has been
the case in the past”—the individual members of the religious
organizations have been growing increasingly impatient with what
they regard as theological hairsplitting, and are more and more
inclined to dismiss theological issues as inconsequential. This is
particularly true among the mainline Protestant denominations. Louis
Cassels describes the existing situation in this manner:
Individuals and families shift their allegiance from one Protestant
denomination to another as casually as they switch brands of
toothpaste… . Today if a pastor refers to “our denominational
heritage” he can be reasonably sure that one fourth of the
congregation won’t know what he is talking about—and another
fourth won’t care.378
Where the theological and organizational differences are greater, as
between Catholic and Protestant, or between the Christian and Jewish
religions, the interchange is not as casual, but even so, there is an
increasing amount of switching from one affiliation to another for
other-than-doctrinal reasons, mainly inter-faith marriages, which are
becoming more common as the isolation of the various religious
groups continues to break down under the influence of modern living
conditions. Because of their vested interest in the prosperity of their
individual organizations, the ecclesiastical authorities generally view
with alarm the loss of members by reason of marriage to individuals
of other faiths, and are inclined to predict emotional disturbances and
other damaging consequences. The available evidence seems to
indicate, however, that these gloomy views are unjustified. For
instance, a recent survey reported by Andrew M. Greeley (himself a
Catholic priest) reaches this conclusion:
By far the largest number of those who have disidentified from the
Roman Catholic church have done so in association with
religiously-mixed marriages. They are happily married, devoutly
practicing, believing members of Protestant denominations. They may
have gone through a crisis of institutional affiliation, but they do not
seem to have suffered any acute crisis of religious convictions.379
All of the foregoing tends to show that, while basic religious
convictions—beliefs about the assertions of religion-in-general—are
the products of an intuitive understanding that is deeply imbedded in
human nature and extremely resistant to change, each individual’s
commitment to the doctrines of a particular religious organization is
essentially accidental, and not a crucial factor in his life. The religious
fervor that manifests itself in “holy wars” and bitter antagonism
between neighboring groups of different faiths is mainly a matter of
group solidarity rather than of intellectual or emotional attachment to
specific religious doctrines. As Arnold Toynbee points out, most of the
factors responsible for the present distribution of the higher religions
are non-religious. “They derive from physical geography or from
technology or from politics or war or economics, not from
religion.”380 Recognition by the individual that his present religious
affiliation is due to the accident of being born in a particular place and
under particular social and economic conditions should make it easier
for him to change that affiliation if this is necessary to harmonize his
religious commitments with his intellectual convictions.
To the devout adherent of any particular faith, this suggestion that
one’s religious affiliation should be changed if necessary in order to
achieve harmony between intellect and intuition will no doubt appear
as an utterly reprehensible attempt to subordinate religion to science:
an effort to force religion into a scientific mold. But, in fact, the point
that is being made is that a person’s religious commitments (that is,
whatever he is required to assent to as a condition of affiliation with a
specific religious organization) should be consistent with his religious
beliefs, regardless of how those beliefs have originated. A scientist can
accept what he now knows to be true, and anything further that he
believes is true, and he can tentatively accept that which may be true.
But being dedicated to the truth, he must reject that which is
demonstrably false, even if this requires changing his religious
affiliation.
On this basis, it should not be difficult for a scientist to find a religious
organization with which he can feel at home, and certainly these
religious groups would benefit by the acquisition of new members
who are fully convinced of the validity of the most important
doctrines of the organization on the strength of their own reasoning
powers, without having to rely on a rather uncertain faith. This is
especially true in a time like the present, when so many of the church
members, even those—or, in the light of recent publications and
opinion surveys, perhaps we should say particularly those—who have
been the most active in church affairs, have lost confidence, not only
in items belonging in the category of additions and interpretations, but
also in certain of the basic doctrines of their church. An ironic
sidelight is that some of the doctrinal assertions that have been under
fire, and are now being rejected by a substantial percentage of the
religious leaders, have been confirmed by the scientific investigation
reported in these pages.
The full benefit of such rapprochement between science and religion
will not be realized, however, unless there is some softening of the
rigid attitudes that have prevailed on both sides. It will be necessary
for the scientist to refrain from opposing religious or other
non-scientific ideas simply because they do not fit neatly into the
scientific framework as it happens to stand at the moment, an attitude
that has been taken all too often with respect to matters that are
outside the field that science is currently cultivating—the ESP
phenomena, for instance. Fortunately, there is a growing awareness
among scientists that the existing limits of scientific knowledge are
not the boundaries of knowledge in general. The following recent
statements on the subject illustrate the new scientific position:
A philosophy which sees the answers to all questions clearly implied
in what is now called science is presumptuous and contrary to the
spirit of science.57 (Henry Margenau)
The existing scientific concepts cover always only a very limited part
of reality, and the other part that has not yet been understood is
infinite.381 (Werner Heisenberg)
The more realistic viewpoint that is reflected in these statements by
Margenau and Heisenberg is an encouraging indication that
enlightened scientific opinion is moving in this direction. What is
needed is an open-minded and sympathetic appraisal of each of the
assertions of the various religions, not in the light of existing scientific
knowledge alone, but in the light of this knowledge plus careful
reasoning with respect to what may lie beyond that which science has
thus far established.
The sincere scientist certainly cannot be expected to accept assertions
that are in conflict with well-established facts, and if a religious
organization insists on acceptance of such doctrines as a condition of
membership, he will have to forego that privilege. However, where
the conflict is not with established fact, but with interpretations or
extrapolations of those facts, with inferences drawn from them, or
with unconfirmed theories or hypotheses, he should bear in mind that
a careful scientific investigation has now demonstrated that religion
has its own processes of ascertaining the truth, and while the nature of
these processes is such that a great deal of error is inevitably mixed
with the truth, it is neither logical nor scientific to assume that all
non-scientific conclusions are erroneous. Where a religious assertion
is neither demonstrably true nor demonstrably false, the proper course
is to analyze the situation and arrive at a decision as to whether there
is sufficient justification for accepting that assertion tentatively,
pending further clarification.
On the other side of the picture, the most serious religious obstacle to
harmonious relations with science and scientists is the tendency on the
part of the religious organizations to regard their doctrine as fixed and
not subject to change, something that was handed down to the founder
of the religion in complete form and must persist in that form for all
time. Adherence to this dogma in practice is, of course, impossible.
The world moves on, and even religion must move with it or be left
behind. But the ecclesiastical authorities continue to proclaim the
timelessness of their doctrines in public, while behind the scenes they
are doing what everyone else must do; they are continually discussing,
debating, and making changes. That which was a sin yesterday is
perfectly proper today, while that which was an important religious
duty yesterday, persecution of the heretics, for example, is today
regarded as contrary to religious ideals.
Perhaps the unyielding attitude of the religious leaders may have
some merit where they are dealing with an uneducated and
superstitious people, but it alienates those who are able to think for
themselves. “The intransigence of religious authority,” says du Nouy,
“tends to prejudice an independent mind in favor of positive
materialistic rationalism.”382 It is possible that the religious
authorities have no real choice in the matter, as it may well be that the
great majority of the adherents of the major religions are still not
emotionally prepared to accept the modifications of religious doctrine
that are necessary to keep religion abreast of the advance of human
knowledge. It may be necessary for the present to continue talking in
terms of posthumous reward and punishment, for instance, simply
because this is the only good hold that the religious organizations
have on some segments of their membership. But if this is true, there
should at least be some branches of some religions which can meet the
scientist’s desire for a logical and rational religious viewpoint.
One of the essential requirements in this respect is a recognition of the
fact that religion, like science, is a growing body of knowledge. Even
if the revelation received by the founder of one of the major religions
was correct in every detail, there are many reasons why the body of
doctrine based on that revelation is not, as it now stands, adequate to
serve as a continuing basis of religious thought and practice. In the
first place, we do not know just what the revelation actually contained,
since little or nothing comes to us first hand. In many cases, the Holy
Books of the religious organizations purport to give the founder’s
words, but we have only someone else’s testimony that these were his
words, and since a long interval usually elapsed between the spoken
word and the written record, it is inevitable that many statements were
incorrectly reported.
Then, even if we assume that we have the correct wording of a
particular statement, there is always a question as to just what these
words mean. As pointed out earlier, each culture has its own manner
of expression, and a literal interpretation of the words of a people far
removed from us in time and in environment can be utterly
misleading. Nor is this exclusively a phenomenon of the past. Anyone
who attempts to interpret the idiomatic or colloquial language of the
present day literally according to the wording would go just as far
astray as those who insist on a similar literal interpretation of the
allegory and imagery habitual with the population of earlier eras. The
person who puts his foot in his mouth is not a contortionist. One of the
important tasks of the religious community is to discover and correct
the errors that have distorted the meaning of some features of the
original revelations.
Beyond this, it should be recognized that however accurate the
original revelation may have been, its scope was limited by the
general level of knowledge at the time it was received. Only a
relatively modest level of understanding needs to be reached in order
to grasp the simple basic rules of ethical living, and it is not unlikely
that the widespread attainment of such a level was the factor that
resulted in the appearance of most of the great religions of the world
within a period of time that was extremely short, not only in
comparison to the million years or more of human existence, but also
compared to the very much shorter period of recorded history. These
simple truths are not adequate, however, to meet the more complex
situations of the present day, and the attempts of the ecclesiastics to
deny this fact are the root cause of much of the decline in religious
influence that is now taking place at an accelerating rate. The
revelations on which the modern religions are based are remarkable
products, but they are neither infallible nor adequate. They provide
good foundations on which to build, but the growing complexities of
human existence call for purging the organized religions of the
elements that thoughtful persons cannot accept, and for an advance in
religious understanding comparable to that which is now under way in
other fields, particularly in science.
The findings of this work will not only provide guidelines for the
purging operation, but will furnish solid factual support for the sound
portions of religious doctrine that remain intact, a support that should
reinforce the faith in the basic assertions of religion that has been
wavering in recent years. The positive verification of the reality of
metaphysical existence in the preceding pages, and the clarification of
the important role that this non-physical existence plays in human life,
now constitutes a solid base from which it will be possible to make
significant advances in religious knowledge, advances that will fulfill
the prediction made by J. B. Rhine in this statement:
If… some kind of a world of independent spirit agency can be
discovered, as there is reason to think may be possible, its
establishment would manifestly bring to religious life an
incomparably greater meaning and potency. The discovery would do
for religion something like what the germ theory did for medicine. It
would open the range of religious exploration to horizons beyond all
present conceptions. It has always been so when new areas are
discovered.383
CHAPTER 24
East and West
The task of applying criteria of validity to the doctrines and beliefs of
the various world religions in order to separate the true from the false
and the purely secular will not only be long and difficult, but also
extremely controversial. The mere fact that it is undertaken at all will
be bitterly resented by those religious authorities and their steadfast
followers who regard their doctrines as emanations from the Deity,
and any questions or doubts as sacrilege. But this is a task that must
be carried out sooner or later, and the findings of this work have laid
the foundations for such a project.
It is generally recognized that the essential doctrines of all religions
have been overlaid with a large number of non-essential additions, but
the distinction between the two classifications has been subject to
much difference of opinion, and as Arnold Toynbee comments, the
“task of trying to distinguish the accretions from the essence [is] a
delicate one.”384 A more important point is that a separation on this
basis does not accomplish the real objective. An item may be an
accretion, something that has been added to the doctrines laid down
by the founder of the religion, and also non-essential; but even so, it
may contribute something worthwhile to the religious structure that
justifies its retention. What is really needed is not to eliminate the
accretions or non-essentials, but to eliminate the non-religious items.
This is obviously impossible as long as any assertion or belief is, by
definition, religious if it is part of the creed of any organized religion.
But when we set up the requirement that an item must have some
relevance to Sector 3 existence in order to qualify as religious, we are
able to identify those that are inherently non-religious.
After these non-religious items have been eliminated, or at least
identified as secular accompaniments of the religious doctrines, the
next task will be an inquiry into the validity of these doctrines. The
limitations that have to be placed on the scope of the present work
make it impossible to pursue an analysis of this kind into any
considerable detail, but since the foundations for the development of
criteria for distinguishing valid from invalid products of intuitive
processes have been laid in the preceding pages, it will be appropriate
to go one step farther and illustrate how such criteria apply to some of
the general classes of religious beliefs.
According to the findings that have been described, the assertions of
the major religions with respect to relatively simple religious matters
should be essentially correct, inasmuch as the recipients of authentic
revelations should have been adequately prepared to understand
whatever information of this character they may have received. The
principal items included in this category are the reality of
metaphysical existence, the presence of a component related to that
existence in the human personality, the status of the revelation process
as a form of communication from metaphysical sources, and the basic
elements of the moral code. If we compare the teachings of the major
religions, we should therefore find substantial agreement in these
areas, whereas we could expect to find a wide divergence of views
concerning any inherently non-religious items that have been
incorporated into the religious doctrines, as well as with respect to the
more complex and recondite moral and metaphysical questions.
In this chapter, we will examine some of the similarities and
differences between the major religions in the light of the foregoing
theoretical expectations. The conclusions that have been reached as to
the locations where divergence can be expected apply even to closely
related religious systems, but the points of conflict are more clearly
defined where the differences are greater. As it happens, the evolution
of religious thought has followed a much different pattern in the far
East than in the West, and for that reason, the most significant
comparison that we can make is between the Eastern and Western
religions.
The most striking agreement between East and West is that with
respect to the moral code. As pointed out in Chapter 18, the general
moral principle known as the Golden Rule is contained, explicitly or
implicitly, in the moral teachings of all of the major religions. The
detailed instructions and admonitions of the various creeds show more
divergence, but even here the differences are mainly in the respective
areas of coverage, rather than in the assertions as to the proper
conduct in given circumstances. Each code was originally developed
for application to the special situation existing in the place and at the
time the religion was established, and the subjects that are
emphasized, especially in the sacred writings of the various religions,
are strongly influenced by the geographical and temporal settings.
All of the major religions also agree as to the reality of some kind of
metaphysical existence that has a relation to human life. Here the
agreement is less obvious than in the case of the moral code because
each religion attempts to go beyond mere reality and to say something
about the nature and attributes of the metaphysical existence, and the
conclusions that are reached in these respects are widely divergent,
ranging all the way from the paradise of Islam, in which earthly
pleasures are experienced in greatly enhanced degree (by the males at
least), to the nirvana of Mahayana Buddhism, which has been
described as a “passionless peace.” The test of agreement between the
Eastern and Western religions, the East-West test, we may call it, thus
supports our finding that there definitely is a metaphysical existence
of some kind, and a related aspect of the human personality, but that
the characteristics of the metaphysical existence are, for the most part,
uncertain.
There is general agreement that the provisions of the moral code
originate in the metaphysical region, but the conflicting beliefs with
respect to the characteristics of the metaphysical existence lead to
differences in the identification of the authority on which the code
rests. The Western religions regard the provisions of the code as
commandments emanating from a Deity. In some of the eastern
religions, on the other hand, the code is self-sufficient. “In Buddhism
and Jainism,” says T. R. V. Murti, “the moral law is perfectly
autonomous… . The deities only reveal and uphold this order; they do
not create the order.”385 In either case, there must be communication
between the metaphysical agencies and the human race in order to
define the details of the code, and both East and West agree that there
is a significant amount of this communication, covering a broad range
of subjects in addition to the moral code.
Summarizing the foregoing paragraphs, we can say that the East-West
test, the test of agreement between the assertions of the major
religions of the East and those of the major religions of the West,
definitely confirms the four principal religious assertions specified in
Chapter 23 as having been verified in the earlier pages of this work on
the basis of reasoning from totally different premises. We will now
turn our attention to the points of disagreement to see what
conclusions can be drawn from them. According to our previous
findings, disagreement can be expected (1) where authentic
revelations have not actually been received by all, (2) where the
revelations, as received, were not clear enough to all recipients to
enable them to be expressed in similar terms in the different religious
systems, and (3) where the information alleged to have been received
through revelations, whether valid or invalid, is not inherently
religious; that is, it deals with matters that have no relevance to Sector
3.
The points of disagreement included in categories 1 and 2 are closely
related to a major difference between the Eastern and Western
concepts of human existence that results from their differing views as
to the nature of knowledge. “It is usual to divide East and West on the
basis of the difference between intuition and intellect,”386 says P. T.
Raju. But this is not the whole story. Indeed, intuition and intellect are
not directly comparable. Information is obtained from metaphysical
sources by means of intuition, but intellect or reason is merely a tool
that can be used to process information and put it into usable form. It
is true that since the ultimate source of the information derived from
intuition is the metaphysical existence, the intuition itself is merely a
transmission mechanism. But so far as the human individual is
concerned, it is the only thing with which he deals. In a sense,
therefore, it is a source of information: an intermediate source, we
may say. A person who is confronted with a simple ethical problem
needs nothing more than intuition to obtain the answer. If he is
confronted with a simple physical problem, however, he cannot get an
answer from reason alone. Reason must have some information on
which to operate. In order to arrive at the desired answer, this
individual must first obtain relevant data from empirical sources. He
can then apply reason to these data and ultimately reach some
conclusions.
It does not necessarily follow that reason is applicable to the
processing of empirical information only. It can equally well be
applied to the examination or extension of information derived
originally from intuition. The methods of verification of the assertions
of religious revelation that were discussed in Chapter 10 are examples
of the application of reason to intuitive data. Whenever a scientist
undertakes to verify, by means of the standard procedures of science,
an idea that he has obtained in a “flash of insight,” he is likewise
applying reason to information derived from an intuitive source.
Nevertheless, in actual practice, reason has not been applied to
information from intuitive sources in anywhere near the degree that
has been the rule in the empirical field. There are a number of reasons
for this. Perhaps the most significant is the authoritarian nature of
religious revelations. In theory, the Eastern attitude toward revelation
is not authoritarian. “Everyone can have the revelation,” says Raju;
“Everyone can become a Buddha.”387 But in practice, this author
admits, the particular revelation ascribed to the founder of the religion
is accepted as authoritative. Buddhists in general are not guided by
their own revelations, if they receive any. They accept the teachings of
Buddhism, and as Raju says, “Buddhism is Buddha’s religion.”388
The Western religions take the authoritarian attitude from the start.
Each claims that its revelation is unique and ultimate. Application of
reasoning to an authoritative revelation is, by definition,
presumptuous and serves no useful purpose.
The fact that reason does not enter into the conception of an intuitive
or revelatory idea likewise discourages the application of reasoning to
the examination of such ideas. Conversely, where the source of the
information is empirical, reasoning is essential in order to put the raw
data into a form in which it can be used. Its employment for this
purpose as a matter of necessity then fosters a tendency to extend its
application to an examination of revelatory pronouncements as well.
The extent to which reason is applied to the extension and elaboration
of religious ideas thus depends largely on the magnitude of the
empirical content of those ideas. The philosophical outlook has been
an important factor here. All of the major religions and philosophies
rely upon revelation (intuition) for at least some of their basic ideas,
but Western philosophy is primarily concerned with information
derived from empirical sources, and this philosophical attitude has
had a profound effect on the Western religious views.
Oriental philosophies, on the other hand, rely just as strongly on
intuition as the corresponding religions. In fact, philosophy is not
differentiated from religion to anywhere near the same extent as in the
West. Indian philosophy has a pronounced religious character, so
much so that “foreigners find it difficult to say whether Indian
philosophers are discussing philosophy or religion.”387 In China this
situation is reversed, and the religions are more like philosophies.
There is a long-standing difference of opinion as to whether
Confucianism is a religion or a philosophy. Taoism, one of the other
indigenous Chinese religions, is described by Raju in these words:
“Taoism is a kind of nature mysticism, understanding nature in the
sense of human nature or some ultimate natural principle in human
nature, not physical nature.”389
Application of reason to any body of subject matter ultimately
involves going beyond the immediately apprehended elements of the
situation under consideration and into an unseen realm known only by
inference and deduction. Physical science, for example, deals largely
with abstract concepts such as forces and fields which are accessible
only by way of reasoned inferences. Reasoning in the philosophical
and religious fields in the West has produced similar results, and the
basic assertions of the Western religions are mainly concerned with
the unseen world: the “spiritual forces and fields,” we might say. On
the other hand, the Eastern religions are primarily concerned with that
which is immediately accessible, either to the senses or by intuition.
As expressed by F. S. C. Northrop, the Orientals “consistently restrict
themselves to the immediately apprehended, branding all logically
inferred, theoretically designated reality as illusory.”390 “To know
reality,” says Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, “one must have an actual
experience of it,”391 and he views reason as having only a limited
capability:
There is a higher way of knowing reality, beyond the reach of reason,
namely the direct perception or experience of the ultimate reality,
which cannot be known by reason in any of its forms. Reason can
demonstrate the truth, but reason cannot discover or reach the
truth.392
On this Oriental basis, the metaphysical and religious realities,
whatever they may be, are operating within the immediately
apprehended universe. In religious language, they are immanent. The
extension of religious thought by reasoned inference in the West has
transferred the ultimate religious realities into the realm beyond the
reach of immediate apprehension, where they are said to be
transcendent. (In some Western thinking, they are both immanent and
transcendent.) This transcendental nature of the Western religions
leads to a perception of human life as a progression along a one-way
path toward a higher, or more advanced, existence, and to the
characterization of these religions as linear. The Eastern religions,
which see all human existence as bound up in the immediately
apprehended universe, regard human life as a never-ending cycle,
symbolized by the wheel in both Hinduism and Buddhism. For this
reason they are classified as cyclical religions.
While it would seem, on first consideration, that there is a direct
conflict here, a closer analysis shows that these different views are
both consistent, in the religious areas to which they are applicable,
with the findings set forth in the preceding pages of this work.
Religion, we find, deals with certain aspects of Sector 3 existence.
One of the manifestations of that existence is the non-physical
component of the human personality: Level 3 of human life, as we
have called it. Any concept of ultimate reality that restricts itself to the
immediately apprehended in the manner indicated by Northrop and
Radhakrishnan limits its view of the metaphysical sector, Sector 3, to
the manifestation of this sector in the human Level 3. From this
viewpoint, the religious realities, like the physical realities, are seen as
wholly contained within the physical universe. Inasmuch as the
development of the Reciprocal System of theory has now identified
the physical universe as a cyclical entity, it follows that the cyclical
view of the ultimate reality that is common to the Eastern religions is
correct as far as it goes. Thus the revelations from which this view
was derived were, in this respect, authentic.
Meanwhile, the Western religions, by the application of reason to the
information derived from their authentic revelations, together with
that derived from experience, have extended their view of religious
reality into the metaphysical region. On the basis of this broader
viewpoint, they have arrived at an interpretation of the religious
aspect of human life as a one-way progression toward higher levels
that are independent of the physical universe. This, too, is in
agreement with the findings of the preceding pages. The apparent
disagreement between East and West is due to the fact that each is
concentrating its attention on a different part of existence as a whole.
By rejecting, or at least minimizing, abstract theoretical inquiry into
religious subjects, the people of the Orient have restricted the scope of
their religious understanding in much the same way that they have,
until very recently, limited the extent of their advances in scientific
and other physical fields. On the other hand, the people of the West
have been, to some extent, carried away by their enthusiasm over the
discovery of the transcendental reality, and have tended to concentrate
their attention on the hereafter, at the expense of the religious aspects
of the here and now—a self-defeating policy, inasmuch as the only
way by which sustained progress can be made toward the ultimate
goal is through experience in dealing with the problems of earthly life.
One of the significant results of the difference between the cyclical
and linear concepts of human destiny is a strong contrast between the
attitudes of the Eastern and Western religions toward the human
condition. Western religious thought recognizes that the world is full
of unpleasant and undesirable things, but nevertheless regards human
life, on the whole, as a reasonably enjoyable experience. One of the
primary human objectives, as seen from this standpoint, is to make
this experience still more rewarding. Eastern religious thought, on the
contrary, regards human life, on the whole, as difficult and
disagreeable, and emphasizes the existence of widespread suffering.
The “First Noble Truth” of Buddhism is the existence of suffering; the
second of these noble truths is that the suffering is due to man’s
desires; the remaining two stress the repression of these desires as the
way of release from suffering. Similarly, for the Hindu, “the good… is
not to be gained by manipulating nature, altering society, or seeking
pleasure for ourselves.”393
There is no indication that the actual conditions of life for the ordinary
individual during the time when the major religions were in the
process of formation were significantly different in one part of the
world than in another. But the linear view is inherently optimistic. The
religions of the West have diluted this optimism to some extent by
raising the specter of a Final Judgment, but even so, the individual has
a certain amount of control over his ultimate destiny, and can at least
see some promise of a better future. The cyclical outlook, on the
contrary, is inherently pessimistic:
To be endlessly bound to an endless wheel, to be ground upon the
road of life not once, or twice, or a thousand times, but repeatedly and
forever, with all responsibility, fault, and error ceaselessly
accumulating to one’s discredit, is not a pleasant prospect.394
(Frederic Spiegelberg)
With this kind of a prospect facing him, the most that a person can
hope for is some kind of a release mechanism that will liberate him
from the perpetual cycle. Such a release was the original goal of the
major Eastern religions:
The goal of life in Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism is essentially the
same. Moksa (liberation) is the ultimate objective for Hinduism and
Jainism, and nirvana is the goal in Buddhism. The precise meanings
of liberation vary among the different schools, even among those
within the framework of Buddhism and Hinduism, but the essential
meaning of both moksa and nirvana is emancipation or liberation
from turmoil and suffering and freedom from rebirth.395 (S.
Radhakrishnan)
The only escape route that is fully consistent with the cyclical theory
of existence is extinction of the human personality, either by total
annihilation or by absorption into some kind of a cosmic essence, and
some of the Eastern beliefs, particularly the earlier ones, and those,
such as Hinayana Buddhism, that have maintained the earlier
doctrines relatively unchanged, define their nirvana or moksa in terms
that amount to, or approximate, annihilation. But this is not an
attractive prospect, and as a result of the general desire for a more
acceptable alternative, together with the influence of contact with the
linear religions of the West, the earlier views of the human fate have
been modified in most of the current versions of the Eastern religions.
The nirvana of Mahayana Buddhism, for example, is described by
Spiegelberg as a state of “wonderful heavenly bliss.”396 On the
question of human destiny, then, the East-West test is inconclusive
because of the basic difference between the linear and cyclic
viewpoints. This question will be examined in more detail in Chapter
28.
This basic conceptual difference likewise accounts, in large part, for
the wide discrepancies between the teachings of the different religions
with respect to the existence of a Deity, and the nature thereof, where
the existence is asserted. All of the major religions, except the earliest
versions of Jainism and Buddhism, are theistic, at least in the sense
that worship of something or someone is a religious requirement, but
there is a bewildering diversity of views as to the number, the nature,
and the powers of the Deities. The tendency to deify the founder of
the religion is very marked, and extends even to those cases where the
founder explicitly denied any such status. Like the theoretical
development in this present work, the East-West test leaves all
questions in this area unanswered.
East and West agree that there is something in human life that is
physically indestructible. It is also agreed that there is some kind of a
relationship between this indestructible human characteristic and the
inherently metaphysical existences. There is no consensus as to the
nature and extent of that relationship, but the amount of agreement
that does exist is sufficient to confirm the theoretical conclusion that
there is a non-physical component of the human personality.
All the religions of the world have the teaching that the spiritual life
of the human individual continues beyond physical death. However,
the various religions differ widely concerning the details in their
picture of the future life, and even concerning the desirability of a
future life.397 (R. E. Hume)
A similar lack of consensus is seen in the attitudes toward evil. Some
religions see little evil in the world; others regard it as inherent in
physical and human existence and mainly beyond human power to
modify; still others regard evil as an antagonist against which religion
must continually do battle. The concept of “sin,” which is closely
related to evil in Christian thought, is not so correlated in most other
religions. Hume points out that neither Buddhism, which sees evil in
all existence, nor Hinduism, which regards evil as illusory, concedes
the existence of sin, in the Christian sense.398 Thus the Christian
concept of the essential sinfulness of man and the need for some kind
of an expiatory action, either by himself or by a surrogate, to achieve
harmony with the higher existence gets no support from the East-West
test. The same is true of the “problem of evil” that looms so large in
the thinking of Western people. “To many,” says John Hick, “the most
powerful positive objection to belief in God is the fact of evil.”399 But
none of the Eastern religions accepts the premises in terms of which
this problem is stated in the West.
The third of the categories with respect to which disagreement
between the Eastern and Western religions can be expected, the
inherently non-religious category, has a special significance in our
analysis, as the findings of this work enable us to distinguish between
religious and non-religious subjects on an objective basis, something
that has not heretofore been possible. This is particularly helpful when
we undertake to examine one of the most frequently emphasized
differences between East and West: the prevailing attitudes toward the
satisfaction of human desires. As expressed by Titus:
In the West there is a tendency to emphasize desires and the need to
satisfy them… . In the East, on the other hand, there is greater
emphasis on discipline, self-control, moderation, detachment, and
even renunciation.393
The existence of these differences in viewpoint cannot be denied. The
question is whether they are religious differences. It is true that both
the Buddha and Confucius laid more stress on the need to curtail
desires than Western religious leaders have done, but our theoretical
findings indicate that, to the extent that the “desires” which the
Eastern religions want to suppress involve violations of the moral
code common to East and West, there is no conflict. The Western
religions do not countenance deviations from the code. To the extent
that these desires are not contrary to the moral code, which apparently
is true in general, as indicated by the repeated charge that the West is
too much interested in “the comforts and pleasures of this world”
(which, as we saw in Chapter 21, have no moral implications), the
difference in viewpoint is not religious. Each community is simply
exercising its privilege of economic and social choice. Whether one
chooses to put forth more effort in order to obtain more physical
goods, or to devote less effort to production and more time to
contemplation, has no relevance to religion. If it could be shown that a
contemplative life under adverse economic conditions is more
conducive to development of the ethical personality than a more
active and comfortable life, this statement might have to be qualified,
but the evidence thus far available does not support such a contention.
An unfortunate result of the confusion between religious and
non-religious matters in the doctrines and activities of religious
institutions is that these extraneous issues have obscured the true
status of the religious code of conduct: the moral code. It is this
confusion that has fostered the growth of “ethical relativism” and
subjective ethics, which contend that “whatever an individual or
group thinks or feels to be good is good—for him or it.”400 As
emphasized in the preceding pages, our findings are that these views
are completely erroneous. The moral code is an integral part of the
structure of law that governs Sector 3. It is fixed and unchanging, just
as the biological laws and the physical laws are in their respective
fields. It is the same everywhere and at all times.
Much of the argument in favor of ethical relativism is based on the
finding of modern anthropology with respect to the ethical notions of
primitive people. Intuitionism, the theory that ethical knowledge is
obtainable through direct moral insight, is the strongest antagonist that
the ethical relativists have heretofore had to face, aside from the
authoritarian dicta of the organized religions, and it has been singled
out for severe attack. It is argued by the supporters of ethical
relativism that if intuitionism were valid there could be no serious
disagreement as to moral judgments between people of different eras
and different cultures. Scientific investigation has found that this is
not even approximately correct; that the moral rules and standards of
the various existing primitive peoples differ widely from each other,
and are, in many respects, totally inconsistent with the prevailing
consensus in the more advanced societies. Furthermore, these findings
indicate that few of the primitive people regard their moral standards
as universally applicable, and some ethicists regard this as even more
damaging to intuitionism than the differences in the standards.
Alexander Macbeath, for instance, has this to say:
Few, if any, primitive people regard their moral rules as universal in
the sense that they apply to all men. Some of them do not regard all
their moral rules as applicable to all, even of those to whom some of
them are applicable.401
The conclusion reached in this work, that intuition is not a source of
ethical information but a means whereby such information is obtained
from its source, revolutionizes the entire logical situation, and gives
the anthropological data a totally different significance. On this basis,
knowledge in the ethical field has exactly the same status as
knowledge in the physical field. It is available at the source, complete
and in full detail. But the human race is not capable of acquiring a full
understanding of any major aspect of existence from this source
without going through a long step-by-step process of learning.
Experience in physical science, currently the most advanced of all
branches of human knowledge, gives us a clear picture of what can be
expected in the less advanced areas, including morality. During almost
the entire range of human history, progress toward understanding of
the physical world was limited to the acquisition of individual, mostly
unrelated, physical facts. Not until about three thousand years ago was
there any systematic attempt to assemble and to codify these
individual items and to derive some general relationships. Even today,
the workers in this field are continually confronted with phenomena
that are totally unexpected, and extremely difficult to fit into the
existing structure of thought.
In the light of this experience, it is evident that the findings of the
anthropologists are right in line with the concept of continuing ethical
development that we have derived from our investigation. On this
basis, primitive people cannot be expected to have clear and
consistent moral principles. Their ideas in all fields are still confused
and often contradictory. Nor could it be expected that their moral
principles would agree with the prevailing thought of the more
advanced societies, which has had the benefit of thousands of years of
painstaking search for the truth. However minuscule the results of that
search have been when compared to the great task that still lies ahead,
it has nevertheless carried moral understanding far beyond the
confused and inconsistent ideas of the primitive tribes. Contrary to
what the ethical relativists contend, the evidence from anthropology
and from history shows that the human race is moving slowly, but
surely, in the direction of higher ethical standards. Our problem is that
we have an immense distance yet to cover.
The situation with respect to economic, political, and social issues is
altogether different. Where definite and specific answers to problems
in these non-religious fields do exist, they are, as a rule, relative to the
prevailing circumstances. For example, a decision as to whether to
make a certain expenditure for a non-essential purpose should depend
largely on whether the community has any surplus resources.
Likewise, a nation’s choice of political institutions should depend
primarily on what the people of the nation happen to want. The
striking differences between the social customs of the Eastern peoples
and those of their Western counterparts, therefore, have no relevance
to the East-West test that is the subject of the discussion in this
chapter. They are not religious differences, even though many of them
may be deeply imbedded in the traditions or practices of the organized
religions.
CHAPTER 25
Outlook for Communication
A striking characteristic of all of the means of obtaining information
from metaphysical sources that we have examined—inductive insight,
clairvoyance, religious revelation, and intuition in general—is that, as
we now know them, they are wholly unpredictable and not subject to
our control. The question naturally arises: Is this necessarily true, or is
the present situation merely a reflection of our almost total lack of
knowledge as to the inherent nature and properties of the inter-sector
communication phenomenon? This is a question that has a profound
significance for the future of the human race. Unfortunately, it is also
a question which, as matters now stand, we cannot answer. The new
information developed in the preceding pages does, however, clarify
the nature of this problem to a considerable degree, and it suggests
some lines of inquiry which, if they are followed up diligently and
systematically, may ultimately produce some kind of an understanding
of the situation.
The most important discovery in this area made in the course of this
present investigation is that all of the hitherto unexplained and
somewhat mysterious processes by which information is obtained in a
non-physical manner are manifestations of the same thing:
communication between Sector 3 units through Sector 3 channels. In
studying these various phenomena, therefore, we are no longer in the
position of viewing a number of separate and presumably unrelated
things. We now realize that we are viewing the same thing from a
number of different angles. Such a finding is a great help to any
investigation, but it is of particular importance in the study of elusive
phenomena such as those that we are now considering, inasmuch as
whatever is known, or can be learned, about any one of them can now
be taken as applicable, in some sense, to the general process. The total
amount of reliable information that is available is still small, to be
sure, but it represents a big advance over the very meager amount of
knowledge that we possess concerning any of the individual
phenomena.
All this suggests that conditions are now ripe for a thorough and
systematic study of these related phenomena aimed at gaining an
understanding of the general process of non-physical communication.
If we can attain such an understanding, we can then turn around and
apply it to improving the effectiveness and usefulness of each of the
individual applications of this communication process. Such an
investigation is far beyond the scope of this present work, but since
we have here developed the basic information that opens up an avenue
of approach to this hitherto recalcitrant problem, or group of
problems, it seems appropriate not only to point out the opportunity
that is afforded by the new information now available, but also to
discuss the existing situation briefly and to indicate some of the
specific lines of inquiry that could profitably be followed.
The most general form of this inter-sector communication, commonly
called intuition, and defined as “the direct apprehension of knowledge
without conscious reasoning or immediate sense perception,” is one
about which practically nothing, aside from its existence, is currently
known. There are even those who deny that it does exist, in the sense
of this definition. For instance, the empiricists, who regard the
observed physical universe as the whole of existence, must
necessarily reject it. But the extreme weakness of the arguments that
these objectors are able to muster in support of their position is
eloquent testimony to the reality of the process. About all that they are
able to suggest is that intuition must be the result of some unknown,
abnormally rapid or subconscious thought process. As pointed out in
Chapter 24, however, reason—directed thinking—is not a source of
information; it is a tool for dealing with information obtained from
some source. This means that the basic question is: What is the source
of the intuitive information?
In the preceding pages, we have examined this issue and have found
that the information comes from a metaphysical source. The
empiricists and materialists deny the existence of anything
metaphysical, but they are unable to suggest any alternative. The only
source of information that they recognize is experience, and the
clearest and most definite instances of intuitive understanding occur in
such areas as moral values, which the empiricists themselves admit
cannot be derived from experience. Those of this school of thought,
who face the issue squarely, recognize that their denial of the
existence of intuition or any other non-experiential source of
information forces them to deny the existence of moral values. But
this is a denial of the observable reality. Both intuition and moral
values do exist, and our findings now disclose that intuition is merely
one of a number of manifestations of the general phenomenon of
communication with Sector 3. It is certainly one of the aspects of the
communication situation that should have careful and painstaking
study. Just how the problem can best be approached is not clear as
matters now stand, but some ideas as to the direction of investigative
efforts can probably be developed from consideration of the
information that is available with respect to the other communication
phenomena that we have identified as different aspects of the same
thing.
The characteristics of scientific insight were discussed in Chapter 9,
and no more needs to be said here, other than to emphasize some of
the principal points that were brought out in the earlier discussion:
first, that such insight comes only when the general level of
knowledge is high enough so that it is feasible to go the rest of the
way to an understanding of the point at issue by means of an
“inductive leap”; second, that the insight comes only to those who are
adequately prepared to receive it; and third, that it comes mainly,
perhaps always, to individuals who are deeply immersed in the subject
matter, and have given it both extensive and intensive study.
Revelation is practically identical with scientific insight except that it
deals with religious information rather than scientific information.
These two processes operate in the same manner as ordinary intuition,
but they are actually of a somewhat different character. Ordinary
intuition draws upon a basic supply of information which, under
existing conditions, appears to be readily accessible to most
individuals, and can be obtained with little or no effort. Revelation
and scientific insight, on the other hand, deal with more advanced and
less easily comprehended truths that are not yet part of the general
understanding, and consequently are available only to unusually
well-prepared individuals who are also intensely motivated.
The possible avenues of approach that can be followed in a systematic
study are more clearly indicated here than in the case of ordinary
intuition, as we do have some information as to who has (reportedly)
received communications of the revelation or insight variety, and as to
what conditions prevailed at the time. We note, for example, that a
period of uninterrupted contemplation preceded many of the reported
religious revelations. Most of the founders of the great religions are
reported to have cut themselves off from normal human activities
repeatedly, or for extensive periods, so that they could devote
themselves completely to thinking about religious matters. The story
of the Buddha, Gautama Siddhartha, is well known; how he left his
high position and his family and wandered about for seven years,
pondering over the mysteries of existence, until a revelation finally
came to him. The experience of Mahavira, the founder of Jainism, is
almost identical. Moses received his enlightenment during the forty
days that he spent alone on Mount Sinai. Zoroaster, or Zarathustra,
founder of the religion now practiced by the Parsees, is said to have
gained his insight while living as a hermit. Mohammed’s revelation
came to him in a cave on Mount Hira, after repeated sojourns in the
hills around Mecca, where he could be alone with his thoughts.
Both religious contemplation and intense scientific concentration are
relatively calm and tranquil activities, characterized primarily by
channeling the maximum amount of thought into the one area in
which new insight is sought, to the exclusion, so far as possible, of all
extraneous matters. The absent-mindedness of scientific investigators
is proverbial, and it is standard practice, particularly in the Orient, for
the seeker after religious truth to isolate himself, not only from the
affairs of the world but also from his own personal desires. This might
well suggest the conclusion that calm and peaceful concentration on
the subject at hand is one of the requirements for successful Sector 3
communication. But the next type of communication that we will
consider introduces a new factor. Most of the instances of spontaneous
telepathic communication that are sufficiently well authenticated to
entitle them to consideration in the present connection took place
under conditions of extreme emotional stress.
It is possible that this predominance of highly emotional cases in the
records is the result of a selection process. Experiences that seem to
be well outside the limits of plausible explanation as mere
coincidences are not at all uncommon. But most of these receive little
attention. They are not even mentioned to anyone, or even
remembered for any extended period, to say nothing of being recorded
in any way. Records of any kind—even recollections—are therefore
confined to the more spectacular instances. The seeming
preponderance of highly emotional situations is thus misleading.
Nevertheless, the frequent occurrence of telepathic transmission under
stress (even after discounting the number of reported instances
drastically to eliminate those that are most questionable) seems to rule
out calm and peaceful contemplation as a prerequisite for the Sector 3
type of communication.
It will be necessary, however, to examine the possibility that the
transmitter and the receiver of the telepathic message are subject to
different considerations. In the communication processes previously
discussed—intuition, scientific insight, and revelation—we have been
dealing only with receivers, and our finding that quiet concentration is
conducive to success in achieving communication applies specifically
to reception, and not necessarily to transmission. Experience with the
reception of telepathic messages does not contradict this finding, as it
is ordinarily the transmitter of the message who is under emotional
stress, not the receiver. At this point, then, our tentative conclusion is
that the circumstances that we have previously found to be favorable
for the reception of communications of an intuitive nature apply to the
reception of all communications from Sector 3, but that some special
mental or emotional state, the nature of which is not yet clear, is a
requirement for successful transmission of a message through Sector
3 channels.
At first glance, the second part of this conclusion would seem to be
contradicted by the fact that there is another form of Sector 3
communication which can take place under a great variety of
circumstances in which the transmitter may be anywhere from
perfectly calm to highly emotional. This is the religious activity
known as prayer. In secular life, a prayer is a petition or earnest
request. Religious prayers extend over a considerably wider range of
attitudes and subject matter, but for purposes of the present
discussion, their essential characteristic is that they are attempts to
communicate with the existence or existences in the metaphysical
region. This is an activity of vast proportions, carried on by hundreds
of millions of people, in all parts of the earth, and over the entire span
of recorded history.
A more extended consideration of this activity indicates that there are
some significant differences between prayer and the forms of
non-physical communication previously examined that should be
taken into account in arriving at our conclusions. One point is that,
while telepathy attempts to communicate with another human being,
and intuition receives information from Sector 3, prayer attempts to
transmit a message to Sector 3. We may logically conclude, then, that
prayer has the advantage of dealing with a vastly more sensitive
receiver which (or who) is capable of receiving communications from
less efficient transmitters. Thus the previous conclusion that the
transmitter must be in some special mental or emotional state in order
to be successful in sending his message does not have to be discarded;
it merely needs to be modified to apply only to communication
between human individuals. We will take another look at this
conclusion later in this chapter.
It should also be noted that, while we know that prayers are being
offered under conditions in which the supplicants’ attitudes range all
the way from casual to highly motivated, we have little or no evidence
as to what effect, if any, these attitudes may have had on the success
of the attempts to communicate. Indeed, we have very little reliable
information about the results of prayer, and it may very well be that
the casual and perfunctory prayers, and perhaps the ritualistic prayers,
are wholly ineffective. From a scientific standpoint, this and other
uncertain aspects of prayer would seem to be subjects that call for a
thorough and searching examination. As expressed by L. D.
Weatherhead, “We have a lot of research to do into the laws which
govern intercession.”402
Religious authorities have generally been opposed to anything of this
kind, ostensibly on the ground that raising questions about, or
attempting to analyze, such intimately religious matters verges on
sacrilege. We may surmise, however, that this opposition is also
motivated by fear that one of the major questions that would be
addressed in such an investigation is whether communication of this
nature is possible at all. Obviously, the ecclesiastics must maintain
with all of the positiveness at their command—dogmatically, if one
wishes to use that term—that such a question cannot be entertained
even for a moment, since religious doctrine in its entirety is based on
the premise that such communication does take place. This objection
should not apply in the same degree to the investigation that is now
being suggested in this work, inasmuch as the findings upon which the
study would be based—those described in this volume and its
predecessors—definitely confirm the existence of communication
with the metaphysical region, and hence the question to which the
religious authorities are the most sensitive would not come up at all.
This being true, it would seem that science and religion have every
reason to make this a common cause and to join forces for a thorough
inquiry into the details of the process. Obviously, if anything can be
discovered that leads to more effective and efficient communication
by the prayer route, the primary benefit accrues to religion; if anything
can be discovered that improves the process of gaining scientific
insight, the primary benefit accrues to science. But the findings of this
work indicate that these two processes are essentially nothing more
than different manifestations of the same thing. This, in turn, makes it
altogether likely that any significant discovery in either area will be
applicable to both.
Of course, such cooperation will be impossible if those on the
religious side insist that all of their doctrines are infallible and not
subject to question. For example, it will be necessary, before any
appraisal of the relative effectiveness of different procedures can be
undertaken, to come to some conclusion as to what kinds of petitions
are admissible. It will be particularly essential to examine the question
as to whether it is in order to request that one or more of the
governing laws or principles of the universe be set aside in a
particular circumstance. This is another sensitive point, to be sure,
since most religions have utilized what they classify as miracles for
the purpose of bolstering the case for their particular doctrines, and
they have encouraged their adherents to ask the Ruling Powers for
concessions which, in effect, call for miracles or their equivalent. No
doubt some of the ecclesiastics will be adamant in opposition to any
inquiry into this situation, but it would seem that, by this time, a
substantial segment of the religious community should be willing to
participate in an exploration of this kind, particularly since the
findings of the present investigation are not adverse to certain classes
of miracles.
Whether they call for miracles or not, there can be little doubt but that
a substantial proportion of the petitions currently being addressed to
the Deity are improper. Requests for special or preferential treatment,
for example, probably outnumber all others, but such requests are not
at all consistent with the ethical code. Harlow Shapley was correct,
even if somewhat harsh, in calling them “greedy supplications for
special favors.”403 The pleas for “mercy” that are encouraged by
most religious leaders belong in the same class; they ask that the
petitioner be exempted from whatever penalties may be assessed
against others. This is the biological code, the “me first” doctrine, and
it is directly opposed to the Golden Rule, the essence of which is that
we should ask no more for ourselves than that which is given to
others.
Although the present investigation has not gone into these matters
extensively enough to justify any firm conclusions, the preliminary
survey seems to indicate that, if it is to be effective, prayer must be
concerned with matters that involve human actions, not physical
events. In familiar language, this means that one should pray only for
wisdom or for moral courage, either for himself or on behalf of others.
Whether or not this tentative conclusion is correct is a question of
major significance to the human race, and an exhaustive study of the
subject is certainly justified, with the cooperation of religious
organizations if possible, but without it if necessary.
A comprehensive study should ultimately result in delimiting the
range of subjects with respect to which prayer is appropriate, and this
will enable some studies of the relative effectiveness of different
procedures. Few observers are likely to believe that such a study
would find the prayer wheels of Tibet very effective, yet the truth is
that many modern procedures, not only in prayer but also in other
attempts at metaphysical communication, are equally as perfunctory
as these wheels. The efficacy of group prayer, for instance, is open to
serious question, in view of the highly individualistic character of
inter-sector communication in general. Of course, it is quite possible
that group activities of this nature have a meaning in, and a value to,
institutionalized religion that is separate and apart from the
communication that is the ostensible purpose, but some inquiry into
this situation ought to be in order. The efforts that are currently being
made to apply group techniques to the discovery of new solutions for
scientific, economic, and other problems seem to have a somewhat
similar rationale, and could well be studied in the same connection.
The only one of the inter-sector communication processes thus far
discussed that has been subjected to any kind of a systematic study is
telepathy, which, with the related process, clairvoyance, the direct
perception of information, is currently being investigated under the
general name of extrasensory perception, or ESP. Clairvoyance is
essentially equivalent to intuition, the only difference being in the
nature of the information that is sought. An individual’s conclusion
with respect to the morality of a proposed action would be ascribed to
his intuitive understanding of right and wrong, whereas his correct
perception of the nature of a hidden object in an experimental
situation would be ascribed to clairvoyance.
The results obtained to date from the ESP experiments have been
meager. As indicated in the discussion of the subject in the earlier
pages, it would be correct to say that certain aspects of these
experiments have demonstrated the reality of the ESP phenomena, but
knowledge has not advanced much beyond this point. This lack of
progress can be attributed to a number of causes. Some of these, such
as the insistence on coupling psychokinesis (PK) with ESP, thus
saddling ESP with all of the shortcomings of the PK hypothesis, can
be laid at the door of the experimenters themselves. Others, such as
the exaggerated degree of skepticism with which the results of the
experiments are received, and the general lack of support of ESP
research, are chargeable to the scientific community as a whole. It is
apparent, however, from the findings of this work, that more
meaningful results cannot be expected until the investigators have a
better understanding of how to proceed. Clearly, some further
information of a basic nature is required before ESP experiments can
be so planned and executed that they will give conclusive answers to
the questions that are being investigated.
One of the most important issues, we find, is the matter of motivation.
What we may call routine communication with Sector 3, intuitive
access to simple information, has the benefit of a high-powered
transmitter, and most individuals have no difficulty receiving the
messages in the ordinary course of life. Reception of complex and
specialized information (revelation and scientific insight) is much
more difficult. Examination of the various methods of inter-sector
communication from the standpoint of the characteristics that they
have in common indicates that, in all instances, the individual who
receives one of these extraordinary communications is a person who
is specifically qualified in the field of knowledge that is involved, and
who is able, because of a strong motivation, to exclude other matters
and devote practically his entire attention to the one subject under
consideration. The essential requirement seems to be an intense
interest in the success of the undertaking coupled with the absence of
competing thought processes.
Insight or revelation is not in itself a thought process, in the ordinary
sense of the term. On the contrary, it is the total lack of resemblance
to the ordinary processes of thought that gives rise to such expressions
as “flashes of insight,” and causes those who comment on these
metaphysical modes of communication to use adjectives such as
incomprehensible, miraculous, etc. But the message cannot be
consciously perceived by the recipient unless it is converted into a
thought process of some kind. Aside from the possibility discussed in
Chapter 11, nothing is yet known about how such a conversion is
accomplished, but evidently the probability of success is enhanced if
the mind is cleared of extraneous matters and the entire thought
mechanism is held in readiness to receive the message.
Our findings further indicate that transmission of a Sector 3 message
is a much more difficult operation than reception of a message, and an
individual must be in a special mental or emotional state of a nature
not yet understood in order to transmit such a message to another
human being (telepathy). Whether the same degree of preparedness is
required in order to transmit a message to Sector 3 (prayer or the
equivalent) is not clear, because of the lack of reliable knowledge as
to the results of prayer. It may reasonably be assumed, however, that
prayer is the inverse of intuition. The intuitive process pairs a
high-powered transmitter with a relatively inefficient receiver. Prayer
reverses this combination, and pairs a relatively inefficient transmitter
with a very sensitive receiver. On this basis, we could expect that it is
equally as effective as intuition.
If the foregoing conclusions with respect to motivation are correct,
they have some significant implications in connection with the efforts
that are now being made to study telepathy and other ESP phenomena
experimentally. They strongly suggest that the principal obstacle
standing in the way of obtaining more satisfactory results is the lack
of adequate motivation on the part of the subjects participating in the
experiments. Investigators working in the field have already
recognized that motivation is an important factor. J. B. Rhine, for
instance, says that:
In order to produce a suitable test situation for psi, an order of interest
must be sustained sufficiently high to compete successfully with the
many other interests arising out of the subject’s own personality and
the test surroundings.404
The findings of this present investigation suggest that the “order of
interest” envisioned by Rhine is not anywhere near high enough to set
the stage for efficient and effective communication. The indications
are that “competition” with other interests cannot be tolerated at all;
that the would-be receiver of the message must not only give the
matter his full and undivided attention, but must be intensely
motivated as well. The problem of how to provide sufficient
motivation may be a difficult one, particularly since it is questionable
whether any collateral motive, such as the expectation of a substantial
financial reward, will suffice. If such a reward would provide
adequate motivation, gambling houses would have to go out of
business. It is altogether possible, in the light of the findings of our
preliminary investigation, that nothing less than an intense desire to
accomplish the objective for its own sake is adequate.
As pointed out in Chapter 9, gambling, to the extent that chance,
rather than skill, determines the outcome, is an exercise in ESP. The
gambler is trying to anticipate what the next roll of the dice, deal of
the card, or turn of the wheel will reveal. This is exactly the same
thing that the subjects in certain types of ESP experiments are trying
to do. The person who “breaks the bank” at a gambling establishment,
or who is prevented from so doing only by arbitrary betting limits or
restrictions, is accomplishing the same results as the ESP “stars”
mentioned by John Mann in the statement quoted in Chapter 8, the
individuals whose extraordinary performance in the ESP tests is the
principal empirical support for the reality of the ESP phenomena. It
was noted in the earlier discussion that the general conclusions which
can be drawn about the existence and characteristics of ESP from
gambling games are identical with those reached by way of specific
ESP experiments, as would be expected where the basic process is the
same. But the conditions surrounding the attempts to foretell the
coming events are quite different in the two cases, and it is these
differences that are responsible for the more erratic performances of
the gamblers.
One significant point is that most gamblers are not trying to anticipate
what is going to happen. They are simply placing their bets and
hoping that fortune will favor them. These individuals are not
exercising their ESP ability, if they have any. Only those who,
consciously or unconsciously, bet on intuition or hunches can be
compared to the participant in the regular ESP experiments.
Furthermore, since the primary objective in gambling is monetary
gain, the direct incentive to foretell future events, which appears to be
a requirement for success in clairvoyance, is largely accidental. The
person who has an extraordinary “run of luck” cannot repeat his
performance at the next gambling session because the financial gains
that he made on the previous occasion are now uppermost in his mind,
and he cannot approach the situation with the same attitude that
brought his earlier success.
The star performer in the ESP experiments is also limited in the extent
to which he can repeat his earlier successes, but not to the same
degree as the gambler. He can usually maintain a reasonable standard
of accomplishment over a considerable period of time. In view of the
differences in the experimental conditions, this difference in the
results is understandable. The ESP subject is specifically aiming at
ESP performance. He knows what he is trying to do. In his case, the
ESP objective is not subject to being relegated to a secondary role, as
it is in gambling. But even though he may initially have the intense
desire to produce positive results that seems to be a prerequisite for
success, it is not possible to maintain that high level of motivation
indefinitely after the existence of ESP has been demonstrated to his
own satisfaction, and no one knows how to proceed any farther.
Sooner or later his interest wanes, and with it goes his ESP capacity.
Most of the experimental work thus far undertaken has involved a
rather close collaboration between the investigators and the subjects,
and it is doubtful if adequate motivation on the part of the subjects has
ever been attained unless the investigators were equally motivated by
a strong desire to produce something of a positive nature. Much of the
criticism of the ESP experiments has centered on the fact that the
positive results come only from the investigators who are personally
convinced of the reality of ESP and want to find evidence to support
that belief, while the results of experiments carried out by skeptics are
uniformly negative. Our findings with respect to motivation now
indicate that this is just what should be expected. ESP reception by
skeptics, or even by impartial subjects, is impossible. The subjects
must be strongly motivated in order to succeed, and such motivation is
practically impossible if the investigator in charge of the experiment
is a skeptic. On the other hand, the present tendency for the
investigators to be biased in favor of positive results is scientifically
undesirable. Some redesign of the experiments that will introduce an
emotional separation between the investigators and the subjects is
therefore very much in order.
Inasmuch as it appears that the requirements for a transmitter of
telepathic messages are very much more stringent than those of a
receiver, the problem of providing qualified transmitters for
experimentation is critical. Indeed, the likelihood that any of the
persons utilized for transmission purposes in the ESP experiments to
date were adequately qualified and sufficiently motivated for the task
is so remote that it is probable that telepathy has never actually been
examined experimentally. Telepathy is difficult to distinguish from
clairvoyance, and it has already been suggested by some observers
that all of the current ESP experiments are dealing with clairvoyance,
even where telepathy is the ostensible subject of the investigation. Our
findings support this conclusion.
The difficulty in differentiating between telepathy and clairvoyance in
the experimental situations has led to the further suggestion that
telepathy may not exist at all, and that the ESP phenomena are wholly
due to clairvoyance. Here, however, we cannot concur. Once it has
been demonstrated that Sector 3 communication is a reality, the basic
objections that have hitherto been raised to the acceptance of the
validity of reports of spontaneous telepathic occurrences are
invalidated, and the existence of the telepathic process must therefore
be recognized. These spontaneous incidents always involve an
extraordinary degree of motivation on the part of the individual who
must be regarded as the transmitter of the message and no conscious
effort by the receiver. This kind of a situation has not thus far been
duplicated in the experiments intended to be telepathic.
Some extensive study of spontaneous telepathy, together with
revelation, extraordinary scientific insight, and any other identifiable
extemporaneous intuitive processes ought to be carried out in order to
determine the mental and emotional states of the participants, as well
as the kind and degree of motivation that is involved. What little
attention has been paid to the spontaneous occurrences thus far has
been mainly directed toward establishing the reality of the several
phenomena in question, but the events in which communication
actually did take place, according to our present understanding, are
undoubtedly the best sources of information as to the conditions under
which transmission and reception of Sector 3 messages is possible.
This information as to the necessary conditions for communication
must be available before appropriate experiments to enlarge the
existing knowledge of the inter-sector communication processes can
be effectively designed and conducted, because these are the
conditions that must be duplicated in order to obtain reproducible
experimental results.
As noted in Chapter 8, much of the criticism of the ESP investigations
has centered on the lack of reproducibility of the results, but as
matters now stand, no one knows what the conditions relevant to the
ESP phenomena actually are, and all of the talk about reproducibility
is meaningless. The prevailing inability to reproduce the relevant
conditions which surround an ESP experiment applies with equal
force when an individual attempts to repeat his own work. The glee
with which the critics seize upon the very common decrease in ESP
abilities after early success as evidence against the validity of the
earlier results is therefore entirely unwarranted. Hansel’s caustic
comment, “In other words, experimenters fail to confirm their own
results,”405 is definitely out of order, since neither Hansel nor the
experimenters know how any specific experiment could be duplicated.
Neither knows how to set up the equivalent of the non-physical
conditions of the original work. Rhine attributes the apparent loss of
ESP capacity in repeated experiments to a waning of the initial
enthusiasm with which the subjects approached the tests. As
previously mentioned, this may well be one of the factors, but it is
probably not the full explanation. We simply do not know enough
about the phenomenon to arrive at firm conclusions. All of this
definitely underlines the desirability of some extensive research into
the conditions under which ESP and the related phenomena make
their appearance.
It should be recognized that this lack of basic information is not
peculiar to ESP. We are equally deficient in our knowledge of the
conditions surrounding all other forms of communication with Sector
3 or through Sector 3 channels. Scientific insight, for instance, is no
more reproducible than ESP. We can set up a duplicate of all of the
identifiable conditions under which an important scientific idea
appeared in a “flash of insight,” but this will not bring us another
important scientific idea. It will not even assure us of the production
of an inconsequential new idea. A. C. Benjamin makes this comment
concerning our utter inability to create a situation that can be counted
on to serve this purpose:
We can say, simply, that unless the scientist has a firm foundation of
extensive factual knowledge, unless he has an overpowering drive,
unless he indulges in occasional relaxation, unless he understands
something of the logic of explanation, he cannot hope for results. But
if he satisfies all of these conditions, he may still not succeed if he
lacks the mysterious spark. This is the bitter conclusion to which we
are driven.406
In this connection, it is interesting to note that every argument that is
raised against the reality of ESP could be used with equal force
against the reality of scientific insight or against the existence of any
kind of intuition. As phenomena, the spontaneous instances of ESP are
almost identical with the “sudden flashes of illumination” reported by
scientific investigators. The process by which these new scientific
ideas are produced is equally as inexplicable, on the basis of the laws
of physical science, as ESP. It is “miraculous,” “incomprehensible,”
and so on, according to the authors quoted in Chapter 9. Of course,
these negative arguments that are applied to ESP are not advanced
against the reality of scientific insight, because new ideas definitely do
appear, and their sudden appearance just as definitely cannot be
explained by any known physical process. In this case, the conclusion
is that the phenomenon exists but is inexplicable, whereas in the case
of ESP, the conclusion reached by so many critics, on the basis of
exactly the same kind of evidence, is that since the phenomenon is
inexplicable it does not exist.
A more consistent and logical attitude toward the ESP investigations
is long past due. In a sense, it can be said that ESP is the basic
phenomenon of which scientific insight, religious revelation, etc., are
special cases. Whatever information can be developed about ESP will
therefore have an important bearing on any studies that are made in
these other areas. There is a great deal waiting to be discovered, and a
thorough exploitation of all of the possible lines of investigation that
have now been opened up has a very good chance of being highly
productive.
In concluding this discussion of the outlook for improving inter-sector
communication, it should be mentioned that there is one more
phenomenon that seems to belong in this category, but has some
characteristics that are, at least superficially, quite different from any
of the other inter-sector communication phenomena that we have
considered. This is the case of the “prodigies,” individuals whose
abilities in certain fields, mainly mathematics or mathematical games
such as chess, is so extraordinary that it defies explanation. Here the
clairvoyance phenomenon, which is so elusive in ordinary experience,
may be operating on a wholesale scale.
CHAPTER 26
The Road Ahead
As pointed out in Chapter 20, the fact that we exist for a purpose
carries with it the requirement that we must contribute toward
fulfillment of that purpose if our existence is to have any meaning.
Thus our course is clearly marked out for us. We must fashion our
own ethical personality to the best of our ability, at the same time
doing what we can to assist others in their efforts toward a similar
end, the ultimate objective in both cases being to bring the human
personalities up to the Sector 3 standard. This is no simple or easy
task. We are all inclined to underestimate it, largely because we are
still unable to realize how far we have to go—how much we fall short
of reaching the Sector 3 level even at our best—but some idea of the
magnitude of the undertaking can be gained by comparing it with the
task that evolution has accomplished in the long march from the first
primitive single-celled living structure to the highly developed life
forms of the present day.
An important factor in this situation is the manner in which the gains
that are made are passed on to those that follow. More than a billion
years of growth and adaptation separate the primitive single-celled
organism from the complex structures of the most advanced species of
life in the world today, yet each new individual of these present-day
species must begin its existence as a single cell. A complex biological
organism is unable to pass on its structure to its descendants; the best
it can do is to transmit the “know-how”—the instructions as to how
such a structure can be built. With the aid of these instructions, the
newly arrived individual must accomplish the almost incredible feat
of telescoping a billion years of development into the short span of
time available for its growth and maturation.
Much the same is true of the ethical structures of the members of the
human race. Here, too, as in the evolutionary situation, each
individual must retrace the steps that were taken by those who
preceded him. Existence of a Sector 3 control unit begins with the
Sector 3 equivalent of a primitive biological unit, and just as each
individual of a biological species must utilize the genetic instructions
passed on to him by his parents as a guide by which to replicate the
evolutionary development of the species, so each Sector 3 component
of a human, or other intelligent being, must utilize the information
passed on to him by his family, his teachers, his associates, and those
who speak to him through the written, oral, and visual media in order
to build the kind of an ethical structure that is the objective of
existence.
There is, however, an important difference in the way in which the
necessary information is transmitted. The new biological organism
gets its instructions automatically, and a cell that is supposed to
develop into a cocker spaniel does so develop, barring accidents,
without any direction from the individual. On the other hand, a new
Sector 3 unit does not get its “know-how” automatically. The
information is available, to be sure, but access thereto may be too
difficult, or, as it is received, the truth may be so mixed with error that
it is not possible to distinguish clearly between the two. Hence, unlike
the biological situation, where the potential normally becomes the
actual as a matter of course, improvement of the ethical component of
the human personality requires a continuing application of effort, both
by the individual and by those who have the responsibility for
imparting the required information to him.
When we recognize that the ultimate goal of existence is to bring the
entire human race, and all intelligent extraterrestrial beings as well, up
to the Sector 3 standard, which few individuals, if any, have yet
reached, it is clear that the road to the ultimate objective is a long and
difficult one. Even at best, achievement of the goal will require an
extremely long time. The available evidence indicates that many
billions of years were required for aggregation, the ruling process in
the inanimate sector, to produce a DNA molecule from the original
hydrogen, and at least a few billion years were required for evolution,
the ruling process in the biological sector, to produce man from the
most primitive life form. Although there may again be some speeding
up of the development process as we go from Sector 2 to Sector 3, just
as there was in going from Sector 1 to Sector 2, it seems probable that
the time which ethical perfection, the ruling process in Sector 3, will
require in order to complete the transformation of the various forms of
intelligent life from a condition only slightly above that of the animals
to the full status of ethical beings will not be less than a period of
hundreds of millions of years, and it may very well be considerably
longer.
The crucial question, then, is: What can we do to accelerate this
painfully slow progress? There are two primary tasks to be
accomplished. First, the requirements for progress toward the ultimate
goal must be defined more clearly, and in greater detail. Then, the
individual members of the human race, whose advancement toward
the Sector 3 status is the objective at which we are aiming, must be
acquainted with these findings and persuaded to put them into
practice. As the activities of society are now organized, at least in the
West, these are the responsibilities of philosophy and religion
respectively.
It is true that there are major differences of opinion as to the proper
role of philosophy and its connection with religion. Some observers
regard them as separate and distinct. “Philosophy is one phase of
human culture, religion is another,”407 says one author. But the
relation between the two fields of thought is clear if we compare their
content. The subject matter of the usual philosophy courses in the
universities consists of epistemology, the branch of learning that treats
of the nature of knowledge; logic, the methodology of reasoning;
metaphysics, here used in a narrow sense in which it is concerned with
reality and existence; ethics, which deals with the standards of human
behavior; and esthetics, which explores the factors that affect man’s
appreciation of beauty. Logic is procedural rather than substantive,
and the status of esthetics in the general picture is still somewhat
uncertain. The other three of the subjects enumerated above are
therefore the primary fields that philosophy currently undertakes to
cover. As expressed by one writer, “There are strictly three universal
constants: existence, knowledge, and value.”408 On this basis, he
reduces the essential content of philosophy to ontology, the study of
existence, epistemology, the study of knowledge, and axiology, the
study of values (the basis of ethics). For present purposes, we will say
that the foregoing constitute the subject matter of metaphysical and
moral philosophy.
Now, for comparison, let us ask, What subject matter is treated by
religion? In general, a religion gives us an explanation of the
existence and ultimate destiny of the universe and of man, an
explanation of the origin of this and other religious knowledge, and a
code of ethics; that is, it treats of existence, knowledge, and values:
the same items that are of most concern to the metaphysical and moral
philosophers. The subject matter of religion is thus essentially the
same as that of the metaphysical and moral fields of philosophy.
Furthermore, religion arrives at the same kind of conclusions about
these matters as philosophy, and, when we make due allowance for
the wide diversity of opinions in both fields, much the same
conclusions. But there is a significant difference in methods and
procedures. The task in which the philosophers are engaged is
primarily a search for knowledge. Religious organizations, on the
other hand, regard the revelations received by their founders as
adequate sources of knowledge, and they devote their energies to
putting that knowledge into practical use. When a philosopher reaches
some conclusions regarding his subject matter, he writes a book. But
when an individual receives, or thinks that he receives, a religious
revelation, he initiates action. He organizes a continuing and
systematic program of persuading others to accept that revelation as
authentic, and to pattern their lives accordingly. Religion, says
Abraham Kaplan, is “not merely an intellectual belief, but something
to live by.”409
We thus find that the relation between philosophy and religion is
analogous to the relation between physical science and engineering, or
between the “pure” and “applied” branches of any science. This fact
may be expressed by the statement that Religion is applied
metaphysical and moral philosophy.
There will no doubt be some objection to this statement on the ground
that the theoretical aspect of religion is theology rather than
philosophy. But theology is something quite different. There is
considerable overlapping of the subject matter, and theologians are to
some degree philosophers as well, but theology is not, like
philosophy, primarily aimed at discovering new truths. The
theologian’s task is to explain and interpret the already existing
system of religious thought to which his organization is committed.
An appropriate analogy from the physical field would compare the
product of philosophy to a textbook, and that of theology to an
operating manual.
It has often been pointed out, much to the distress of many who do not
like the idea, that pure science is neutral; it has no goals. Engineering
and other applied sciences establish objectives, or are assigned
objectives by other agencies, and they then proceed to take actions
directed toward these objectives, utilizing the information supplied by
pure science. For example, the various factors entering into the
mechanical properties of materials—strength, elasticity, resilience,
etc.—are evaluated by the scientists working in the laboratories. In the
course of this activity, they may determine that the elastic limit of a
certain grade of steel is 25,000 pounds per square inch. This is what
the philosophers call an is statement: the expression of a fact.
As noted in Chapter 20, philosophical discussions have laid much
stress on the point that ethical theory has no way of going directly
from such an is statement to an ought statement, the expression of an
obligation. But this is equally true in the physical field. The mere fact
that the strength of this particular steel is sufficient to support a load
of 25,000 pounds per square inch does not tell us anything about how
much of a load we ought to put on it. Of course, if our objective is to
design a structure that will withstand the load that will be imposed, we
ought to so proportion the members that the elastic limit will not be
exceeded at any time. But if we are designing an overload device to
prevent damage to a certain unit of equipment, we ought to so
proportion the bolts or other fastening devices that the strength of the
steel will be exceeded and the overload mechanism will come into
play before serious damage is done. Thus the nature of the ought
statement cannot be specified until an objective or goal is assigned.
From the foregoing, it can be seen that the situation in the
philosophical field is by no means unique; the same considerations are
controlling in the physical field. Indeed, they apply to the theoretical
branch of every field of knowledge. Theory cannot be put into practice
until objectives are designated. Assignment of philosophical goals is a
function of religion.
This statement will be challenged. But the objectors cannot deny that
some agency must set the goals. Those who suggest that they could be
set by some non-religious agency are simply offering a substitute for
religion; actually nothing but religion under another name. Henry
Margenau, for instance, tells us that, “Ethics can disclaim all essential
connection with religion.”410 But in the same discussion he concedes
that values are “arbitrary as long as they stand by themselves,” and
that actions “receive their value from a command or a directive to
which the person is committed.” Now let us ask, What are we to call
the agency that commands and directs the most important aspects of
human life? Isn’t this about as good a thumbnail description of
religion-in-general as we could want? Those who wish to divorce
their value systems from religion are simply transferring the primary
functions of religion to some other agency, thereby making that
agency a religion, or at least a quasi-religion, regardless of what name
they may attach to it.
As noted in Chapter 20, a moral code is not self-enforcing; it contains
no directive that it be obeyed. Such a directive is obviously needed if
the code is to have any practical effect, as Margenau points out, and
one of the basic functions of religion has been to meet this need. The
findings of this work now provide a directive independent of religion,
by showing that compliance with the code is essential to the
fulfillment of the purpose for which the human race exists, but this is
not inconsistent with the religious explanations of the origin of the
command, and each individual is at liberty to accept either or both.
It is now evident that the obstacle that has hitherto prevented the
formulation of a consistent and workable theory of ethics was the lack
of a clear understanding of the nature of the moral objective. As long
as ethical judgments were based on criteria, such as human happiness,
not related to the true objective, and not more than ethically neutral at
best, it was impossible to set up any satisfactory ethical system. But
now that a clear and unequivocal definition of the objective is
available, there is no longer anything standing in the way of working
out the provisions of the true moral code—the code of Sector 3—in
full detail.
This knowledge of the details of the moral code will provide the basis
for a new and more consistent theory of values. There is a rather
general agreement that this is one of the basic needs of the present era.
Some of the statements quoted in the earlier pages were taken from
the published report of a conference on values held at the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology in 1957. An idea of the gravity
with which the participants in this conference viewed the value
problem can be obtained from the following excerpts from the preface
to the report:
This volume springs from the belief, first, that the ultimate disease of
our time is valuelessness; second, that this state is more crucially
dangerous than ever before in history; and finally, that something can
be done about it by man’s own rational efforts.
The state of valuelessness… has come to its present dangerous point
because all the traditional value systems ever offered to mankind have
in effect proved to be failures. The cure for this disease is obvious. We
need a validated, usable system of human values, values that we can
believe in and devote ourselves to because they are true rather than
because we are exhorted to “believe and have faith.”411
In the light of the new information that has been developed in this
work, it is evident that this critical statement falls into the same error
that has produced the results that it deplores; that is, it speaks of
“human values” where it should be concerned with “moral values.”
Moral values are human values, to be sure, but not all human values
are moral values. In fact, most value decisions that are made by
human beings involve economic values or social values rather than
moral values. From the standpoint of the ultimate destiny of the
human individual, only the moral value judgments are relevant. Lack
of recognition of this fact is the reason why, as pointed out in the
foregoing statement, “all the traditional value systems… have in
effect proved to be failures.” They were, and are, failures because they
have no solid foundations.
The efforts of the philosophers to replace authoritarian morality with
value systems based on empirical premises have been nothing more
than futile intellectual exercises. None of these systems gets any
significant amount of attention outside philosophical circles because it
is obvious that the values thus derived are not the kind of values that
“we can believe in and devote ourselves to.” As emphasized in
Chapter 18, most human individuals have an intuitive understanding
of simple moral principles, and they realize that pleasure, happiness,
and the like are not the grounds on which an acceptable code of
human conduct can be based. Our scientific analysis confirms the
validity of this intuitive judgment, as it shows that the objectives
defined by the hedonist philosophers are the objectives of Sector 2,
the biological sector, rather than those to which the human race must
subscribe if it is to be anything other than one more species of animal.
Some supporters of the so-called “naturalistic” view of ethics, who
recognize the incongruity involved in basing morality on hedonism,
have tried to find a basis in human development, or “self-realization.”
The good, or right, according to one expression of this view, is that
which is “in conformity with evolutionary development.” But
evolution, in the usual sense, is also a purely biological process. Of
course, evolution could be redefined, but as A. C. Ewing points out,
“if we define evolutionary development as change for the better, as
one is tempted to do, the definition of good proposed will constitute a
vicious circle.”412
Unlike these philosophical value systems, which have little actual
moral content, and a correspondingly minimal practical effect, the
religious systems have had a profound impact on human life
throughout recorded history. However, the true foundation for the
principles of morality included in the religious teachings has not
heretofore been recognized, and the organized religions have therefore
been forced to rely on the power of authority. For thousands of years,
this has sufficed to hold the rank and file in line, but now that more
and more individuals in the advanced societies are reaching the point
where they want to make their own decisions, rather than accepting
the word of authority, the religious value systems are left without any
basis on which they can claim authenticity.
The decline in the influence of the organized religions, especially in
the Western nations, and the widespread repudiation of the religious
standards of morality, are generally interpreted as a major retreat in
the continuing struggle to raise the moral level of the human race.
But, in fact, the present situation is a stage through which we must
necessarily pass before the higher levels can be reached. The level of
morality from which the drop has occurred was not an expression of
the morality of the human race. It was an expression of the moral
standards of the most advanced religious thinkers: standards that the
general public were not prepared to accept voluntarily, but to which
they were induced to conform by threats of punishment, or promises
of reward, either here or in the hereafter.
Organized society is concerned primarily with what its members do,
rather than why they do it, and an enforced code serves the purposes
of society. But, as pointed out in Chapter 20, the purpose for which
the universe exists, so far as we are able to discern it, is to develop
individuals who are fully under the control of the Sector 3 aspects of
their personalities. Before this can be accomplished, the individual
members of society must be released from control by the carrot and
the stick, and allowed to make their own choices. The first result of
such a release naturally takes the form of a general deterioration of the
prevailing morality, inasmuch as the general average of the individual
moral standards cannot be expected to measure up to the level
previously established on the basis of the most advanced moral
thinking. But the release from authority is essential, and even though
the initial retrogression that follows this release is distressing, this is
part of the price of progress.
In the long run, the deterioration of the position of institutional
religion that is now taking place in the Western world, grim as it may
seem to the orthodox religious establishments, may have a beneficial
effect in forcing these organizations to reassess their policies. We may
hope, for instance, that at least some of the religious bodies will take
note of the need for growth in moral understanding—something
comparable to the growth that has occurred in scientific knowledge.
“None of the world religions,” says L. L. Whyte, “has adequately
recognized the supreme importance of this human faculty for
progressive discovery.”413 Science, too, has its unproductive periods
when knowledge stands still, or even retrogresses, and it is often
handicapped by undue reliance on the dicta of “authorities,” but in
principle it is open-minded. The word of authority may for a time be
accepted de facto, but never de jure. Sooner or later, therefore, the
search for the truth is resumed, and more progress ensues. Religious
thinking could very profitably take heed of this scientific experience.
Of course, those who feel that all that needs to be said about
philosophical and religious matters has already been said by the
founders of the great religions—more particularly by the founder of
their own religion—will reject any such suggestion summarily. But it
is now apparent that the purely authoritarian basis for religion,
however necessary it may have been originally, and however great its
contribution to past progress may have been, is wholly inadequate to
deal with the questions that are being asked by the growing number of
individuals who are doing their own thinking, and who want to put
their religious beliefs on a rational basis. A major reason for the
“valuelessness” which is the occasion for so much concern at present
is that much of the traditional value structure has been based on the
metaphysical assertions of religion, which are today weakening under
sever attack.
Now that the results of the present study have reaffirmed and
reinforced some of the most important of these metaphysical
assertions, and have provided a sound scientific basis for the moral
code, totally independent of religious authority (although entirely
consistent with the existence of such authority), the weakness that is
responsible for the lack of a “validated, usable system of values” has
been overcome. The way is now open for a resumption of the forward
progress that was interrupted when the authoritarian controls were
first relaxed. It is no longer necessary to define the moral code by
religious decree. We now have the ability to derive the provisions of
the code independently of any authority, even if we do recognize a
religious authority of some kind.
Just what form future progress toward the objectives of human
existence will take remains to be seen. In the short run situation, the
established religions will play the principal role. Over the long pull,
there may be some significant changes. As pointed out in the
discussion of scientific insight, the information that can be derived
from intuitive sources depends not only on the capability of the
human individual to receive such information but also on the amount
of existing knowledge to which the intuitive information can be
related. In the words of the previous discussion, it depends on the
height of the platform from which the “inductive leap” is made. The
continual increase in religious (that is, metaphysical) knowledge, a
process that will be accelerated when full advantage is taken of the
findings of this work, should therefore bring a significant amount of
additional intuitive information within reach.
Under these circumstances, it is quite possible that some especially
qualified individual may receive religious revelations of such a nature
as to lead to establishment of a new religion, or drastic reconstruction
of some religion now existing. Either in connection with such
developments, or independent of them, there may be some major
changes in the structure and policies of religious organizations in
general. For the immediate future, however, we will have to rely
mainly on the efforts of the established religions.
In the light of the information that has been developed in the
preceding pages, it is clear that the task to be accomplished calls for
religious organizations that have a strong sense of purpose, together
with an up-to-date, enlightened viewpoint on genuine religious issues.
As matters now stand, however, most of the religious organizations
that follow a well-defined path are badly encumbered with archaic
beliefs and doctrines, while those that have made some efforts to keep
abreast of modern thought have, to a large extent, lost their sense of
purpose and are floundering about without any clear-cut religious
objectives. Such an assertion, coming as it does from a scientific
rather than a religious source, may be challenged, and probably
resented as well, but current issues of religious journals are full of
statements by members of the religious Establishment that say
essentially the same thing. Here, for instance, are the views of a
minister of one of the large Protestant denominations:
Across the entire country there is a deep uneasiness about the message
and the mission of the Christian church… . First, there is the current
turmoil in theology and worship. Just when the church seemed to be
the one place left where a person could be sure of finding ancient
truths and moral standards reaffirmed, suddenly everything seems to
be called in question… . The uneasiness has been compounded by the
emergence of the clergy as questioners and innovators… . If you add
to that the trend toward political activism and the rejection of
traditional piety—what I might call the theology of the picketline—
then no one can speak of sanctuaries today as havens of peace in a
world of tumultuous change.414
It is no accident that “the trend toward political activism” coincides
with a “deep uneasiness about the message and the mission” of
religion. When long range objectives are not clear and distinct, there
is always a tendency to substitute some short range goals that can be
readily defined. The “social gospel” that we now hear so much about
is simply humanism under another name. More and more often it is
proclaimed from the pulpit that “the objective of religion is to make
the world a better place to live in.”
This is, of course, a very commendable objective; one that all of us
can approve. Whether or not it is a religious objective is an altogether
different question. The transcendental religions have always held that
man exists for a purpose that is far more significant than living a good
life on earth, and that an activity is religious, or at least has religious
aspects, if it contributes to the fulfillment of that purpose. It is
probable, however, that the present trend toward the “social gospel” is
largely due to an increasing awareness among church leaders that they
have no clear idea as to what the purpose of human life actually is. In
the words of their respective creeds, which differ but little in this
respect, it is “to accomplish the will of God,” but the crucial question
is: Just what does this mean? Alongside the vague and conflicting
answers that are supplied by the various organized religions, the
simple and believable assertions of the humanists—that life in this
world can be improved, and that we ought to try to improve it—are
definitely attractive, and it is not surprising that there has been a
general shift in the direction of accepting this as a religious goal:
embracing the “theology of the picket line.”
The point that does not appear to have been given adequate
consideration by those who have accepted the humanist thesis is that
this leaves them without any distinctly religious objective. In effect, it
makes religion superfluous. Many other agencies are working toward
social and economic betterment, either intentionally or as a
by-product of their efforts toward other objectives. The economist, for
instance, defines his objective in identically the same terms as those
employed in stating the aims of the “social gospel.” The purpose of
economics, he says, “is to make the world a better place in which to
live.”415 Furthermore, many of these non-religious agencies are doing
this job much more effectively than the religious organizations. For
instance, the inventors of labor-saving devices and the industrial
organizations that work out methods of manufacturing those devices
at a cost that is within reach of the general public probably do more to
make life pleasant for the average individual than the “social gospel”
ever accomplishes. The same can be said of those individuals and
organizations whose efforts are directed toward making new and
better medicines available to minimize the physical ills of mankind. If
social and economic betterment is adopted as the religious objective,
then the religious organizations are simply joining in an activity in
which many other agencies of society are participating. They are
taking part, and only a minor part at that, in what is primarily a
secular activity.
Past experience suggests that this policy may have some very
undesirable long-range consequences. It is not difficult to see a rather
close parallel between the social welfare activities on which the
churches are now embarking more and more freely, and the secular
functions undertaken by the religions of earlier eras, the functions that
are responsible for the present condition in which the genuine
religious doctrines are smothered under an overburden of
anachronistic rules of conduct. There is a disturbing similarity
between the early-day identification of godliness with conformity to
diet regulations and today’s identification of the “will of God” with
support of some particular social or economic program.
Today, as in the distant past, the short-term advantages of utilizing the
authority of religion as a secular tool are self-evident. Just as those
who were trying to enforce diet, sanitation, and other health
regulations in primitive communities found it expedient to incorporate
these regulations into the religious codes, so those who are trying to
make changes in present-day social and economic conditions find it
expedient to enlist the aid of the churches, and to portray their
objectives as part of the Divine plan. But the long-term results of the
first secularization have been disastrous. The mixing of secular and
religious ideas and activities has confused the situation to the point
where neither priest nor layman is now able to distinguish between
them; a fact that has contributed very materially to the decline in
religious influence that is admittedly becoming serious.
Religious organizations have made a serious mistake in attempting to
enforce a social code as a part of the moral code. When the social
conditions change, as they inevitably do, many of the principles of the
previously formulated social code become inapplicable, if not
completely ridiculous. The religious attempts to continue enforcing
these provisions as part of the moral code then have the effect of
discrediting morality in general, and producing the “valuelessness”
that is now a matter of acute concern. There is no reason to believe
that the effects of the present-day tendency toward further
secularization of religion will be any less damaging in the long run.
In any event, the findings of this present work now define the issues
more clearly, and should enable a reassessment of the situation, not
only by the religious organizations but also by those individuals who
are sufficiently concerned to want to evaluate these issues for
themselves. The basic fact that has been uncovered is that the
transcendental religions are correct in their assertions that there is a
purpose in human existence, and that this purpose is defined by
agencies outside the space-time universe. It then follows that these
religions are also correct in their contention that the primary objective
of religion is to aid in the fulfillment of that purpose. The essential
contribution which the present work has made toward clarification of
the situation is a definite identification of the purpose of human
existence, which has hitherto been only vaguely understood.
The purpose for which the entire universe, including the human race,
exists, we find, is to build ethical personalities; that is, to perfect the
rudimentary Sector 3 components that enter into the structures of men
and other intelligent biological organisms in extraterrestrial locations.
We may then define religious activities as those that are aimed directly
at the accomplishment of this basic purpose. It is clear that the
humanistic goal of “making the world a better place in which to live”
does not come within this definition, since it makes no direct
contribution to the primary purpose of existence. It therefore cannot
be considered a religious objective, however praiseworthy it may be
from some other standpoint.
Improving the conditions of life on earth does have some indirect
effect on progress toward the purpose of existence, since, as we have
already noted, the individual who leads a comfortable and trouble-free
life has more opportunity and more inclination to perfect his ethical
personality than one who is continually harassed by the everyday
problems of living. But in view of our observation that most of the
improvements in living conditions that are being made today are
results of the activities of agencies and organizations that cannot be
considered religious in any sense of the term, it is clear that we cannot
stretch the definition of “religious” far enough to include humanistic
goals. Humanism is directed toward happiness. This is desirable from
the human standpoint, to be sure, but, as brought out earlier, it is
irrelevant from the standpoint of the ultimate purpose of life. Thus,
humanism is not a religion, nor a substitute for religion, nor even a
component of religion.
It is a fair question to ask whether any religious organization can carry
on an extensive program directed at the objectives of humanism or
other secular ends and at the same time do justice to its religious
responsibilities. As Paul Tillich warns, “Acceptance of secularism can
lead to a slow elimination of the religious dimension altogether.”416
Inasmuch as the religious objective, the building of moral character, is
the most significant aspect of human existence, the only one that is
anything more than transient, should we not have some sort of an
organization—if not the present religious bodies, then something
else—that would devote its full energies to this most difficult and
most important task?
“We are told,” says Jay G. Williams, Chairman of the Department of
Religion at Hamilton College, that “the church cannot afford to be
irrelevant; it must address itself to the crucial problems of the day if it
wishes to attract people.”417 But in diverting their attention to the
“crucial problems of the day”—secular problems mainly—the
churches are diverting their attention away from the crucial problems
of human existence: the religious problems. They are converting the
church from a religious organization to a secular institution.
If the church is to survive as a significant influence in the world of
tomorrow, it must, in the words of Dr. Williams, “begin to take itself
seriously as a religious community.” It cannot afford to abandon its
religious mission in order to “attract people,” even if it were
successful in that aim, which is clearly not true, thus far at least.
Again quoting Dr. Williams, “I certainly do not see hordes of people
flocking to those churches which are attempting to be relevant.”
Membership growth in recent years has been confined almost entirely
to those denominations that do not try to be “relevant” in the
present-day sense.
One of the factors that mitigates against the success of the kind of a
mixture that is involved in attempting to pursue both religious and
secular objectives concurrently is that the secular task, whatever it
may happen to be at the moment, is much the easier. A secular goal
can usually be identified clearly and unequivocally, whereas the
religious task is more general and hard to pin down specifically. The
secular antagonists—people—are clearly visible, while the religious
antagonists—ignorance, inertia, superstition, selfishness, and so on—
however real and however powerful they may be, are nevertheless
intangible. The available means of furthering the secular objectives
are easily recognized, and the progress or lack of progress that results
from their use can be evaluated, at least approximately, as the work
proceeds. On the other hand, there is always a question as to what
methods are appropriate in any religious situation, and whether or not
any progress has been, or is being, made toward the defined goals is
often shrouded in uncertainty. It is not surprising, therefore, that
where the option exists, the young and impatient—together with those
that are merely impatient—are very likely to find themselves more at
home with the secular activities. The religious aspect of their
responsibilities then recedes into the background.
It should not be assumed, however, that separating the religious and
secular aspects of present-day religious doctrines, and a renewed
emphasis on strictly religious activities would require embracing the
conception that man’s aims and aspirations must be centered on
“other-worldly” goals to the exclusion of concern with life on earth.
On the contrary, our findings show that there is no way in which an
individual can prepare himself for a future existence, whatever form
that existence may take, other than by fulfilling his purpose here on
earth. There need not be any less progress toward improvement of the
conditions of human living; one of the most effective means of
insuring that such progress does take place is to increase the number
of individuals who have both the knowledge and the desire to do that
which is right and good. But this is only a collateral issue, and we
should avoid confusing it with the primary objective. The essential
function of religion is to supply each individual human being with the
special knowledge that he needs in order to be able to so govern his
life that he will fulfill the purpose for which he exists and to provide
the example, encouragement, and support that will induce these
individuals to make full use of the information that is supplied. This a
colossal task, and it deserves the undivided attention of those persons
and those organizations that are engaged with it.
Since the demand for rationality in religion is the principal cause of
the present crisis in the religious field, this crisis will inevitably
deepen unless effective counteraction is taken, inasmuch as the
continued rise in educational levels is bringing more and more
individuals up to the point where they will no longer accept the word
of authority without question. If religion cannot present a rational
case, then humanism, which is rational if one accepts its premises,
will continue to gain. In order to meet this challenge, the organized
religions will not only have to make it clear that the goals of
humanism, however commendable they may be, are secular, not
religious, but will also have to make some significant progress toward
introducing reason into religion. What is now required is an
overhauling of religious doctrines that will make them acceptable to
the person who is no longer meekly submissive to authority and
insists on doing his own thinking.
Unfortunately, neither the established religions nor any philosophical
agencies have made any perceptible progress in this direction thus far.
Not even a good start has been made toward the essential task of
separating the true from the false in existing doctrines and reconciling
the divergent views of the many religions and sects: a prerequisite for
any concerted effort toward higher levels of thought and action. It is
true that much attention is currently being given to “ecumenism,” and
church mergers, or unions, as they are generally called, are very much
in the forefront of institutional religious activity at the moment.
However, these mergers are usually achieved not by reaching
agreement on the points of doctrinal difference, but by agreeing not to
pay any attention to these differences. This is effective from the
standpoint of eliminating controversies that might block the mergers,
but it contributes nothing toward distinguishing religious truth from
religious error, or from the large amount of inherently non-religious
matter with which the religious essentials are now associated. Indeed,
the churches’ avoidance of discussion and controversy about
genuinely religious issues plays a significant part in accelerating the
current trend toward substituting secular for religious objectives.
The peculiarly religious task is a difficult one, and in view of the lack
of any clearly defined goal, or any rational justification for the
doctrines that they are called upon to support and defend, it is not
surprising that many workers in the religious organizations have
allowed discouragement and frustration to turn them toward secular
objectives. But the findings of this work now provide the solid factual
and rational base that religion has heretofore lacked. We have
demonstrated by standard scientific methods that there is an existence
independent of the physical universe, as the religions have contended;
that there is communication between that existence and the human
race, as the religions likewise assert; and that the ultimate goal of
human existence is to so develop our ethical personalities that we will
follow the governing rules of that outside sector rather than behaving
as purely biological organisms. The religious task is to ascertain the
details of the governing rules, to disseminate that information as
widely as possible, to persuade individuals to pattern their lives in
accordance with these rules, and to guide and assist them in their
efforts toward that end. The particular language that is employed in
carrying out this assignment—the imagery in which the essential
truths are clothed, and the doctrinal assertions with which they are
embroidered—is immaterial, so long as it is rational and not
inconsistent with established facts. The important point is that the goal
is now definitely defined, and although the road that leads to it is full
of obstacles and impediments, it is nevertheless visible.
CHAPTER 27
Survival
One of man’s greatest concerns, ever since he emerged from his
pre-human estate, has been with the question as to whether his
existence terminates with physical death, or whether there is
something that survives, either as an individual entity or as a part of
some larger whole. All of the world’s major religions promise survival
in one manner or another, but, as pointed out in Chapter 10, it is
necessary to view these assertions of the religious authorities with a
considerable degree of skepticism, since it is quite conceivable that
the strong human desire for survival may be the source of the
religious convictions on this subject rather than any actual revelation
or insight, and that here again, as in so many other human
conclusions, the wish is father to the thought. Recognition of this
possibility has, in fact, resulted in growing doubts even among the
members of the religious communities. Willard L. Sperry gives us this
assessment of the current situation:
There is no single article of the traditional Christian faith less
confidently affirmed today than this about immortality, and none so
generally neglected or doubted.418
The growth of this spirit of skepticism in recent years has been largely
a byproduct of the increasing impact of science on human thought,
and the corresponding weakening of religious influence. Within the
confines of orthodox scientific thinking, there is no room for the
concept of an existence outside the boundaries of the physical
universe. “Everything that happens in it [the universe as a whole],
during the course of an evolution which never ceases, is the result of
purely physical laws,”419 the scientific materialist contends. He
ridicules the idea of survival after physical death. Only “feeble souls
harbor such thoughts,”420 says Einstein.
The atmosphere of omniscience, generated by many spectacular
triumphs, that now surrounds physical science makes it difficult for
the ordinary individual to take issue with this dictum, particularly
when the principal opposition is not prepared to offer anything more
than some unsupported assertions that he is told he must accept on
“faith.” In reality, however, the orthodox scientist is likewise asking
that his conclusions be accepted on faith. He does not know that
everything which happens in the universe “is the result of purely
physical laws.” There are immense and significant gaps in his
knowledge, and he has no assurance that these gaps will ever be filled.
He believes that this can be done, and on the strength of that belief, he
is asking (often demanding) that his opinion be accorded the status of
an established fact. He does not know that the boundaries of the
physical universe that he is exploring encompass the whole of reality;
he is merely assuming, first, that whatever cannot be brought within
the scope of science does not exist, and second, that since science has
not thus far been able to detect anything outside the physical universe,
there cannot be any such thing. Here, again, he is asking that these
assumptions, far-fetched as they are, be accepted purely on faith, as
the equivalent of facts.
If we look at the survival question from a logical standpoint, without
being influenced either by the current prestige of science or the
emotional impact of religious beliefs, it is obvious that the
conventional scientific assertions on this subject are completely
without factual support. The scientists are merely advancing an
opinion based on a belief as to what future discoveries will and will
not reveal. Such assertions are no more than speculative; they cannot
legitimately claim to be soundly based, or even to be scientific. The
results of this present study, which show that the current scientific
opinion with respect to the survival issue is completely erroneous,
should therefore be no occasion for surprise.
In the preceding pages, we have developed a factual basis for a
genuinely scientific consideration of the survival question, and the
objective of this chapter will be to present the conclusions that can be
derived from these factual premises. It is clear, both theoretically and
from observation, that the material structure of the biological
organism cannot survive for any extended period after death. Loss of
control by the life unit does not necessarily result in immediate
destruction of the material structure, but this structure is one which
has been developed by means of processes that act in opposition to the
laws of the inanimate sector—particularly the Second Law of
Thermodynamics—and as soon as the control by the life unit is
relaxed, the inanimate processes become effective, and they begin to
destroy the organism. Neither can the life unit itself—the electrical
structure, we may call it, somewhat loosely—survive after severing its
ties with the material structure. Although not material, the life unit is
nevertheless a physical entity, and it exists wholly within the physical
universe. Furthermore, it is a type of structure that can exist in the
material sector only if it is associated with a material structure, as an
independent body composed of cosmic units would not be localized in
space. Hence death, the process in which the association between the
life unit and the material structure of the organism is severed,
terminates the existence of both of these Level 2 components.
At Level 3 the situation is different. The control unit, the Sector 3
aspect of the human individual, is not a physical structure; it is neither
material nor cosmic. It exists in association with the biological
structure, but not in the physical universe, in much the same manner
that a point X lying on a line AB may also have an existence on
another line CD because these lines intersect at X. If the line CD is
erased, this does not mean that point X disappears. It still remains as
an element of the intact line AB. Similarly, the control unit, which is
inherently a Sector 3 structure, remains intact in Sector 3 (existence as
a whole), even though the biological organism with which it was
associated is erased; that is, its existence is terminated. A physical
process can operate to destroy the association between a Sector 3
structure and a physical structure, but it cannot destroy the Sector 3
structure, inasmuch as physical processes exist only within the
physical sectors of the universe.
As already brought out in the earlier discussions, we may conclude,
on the basis of the foregoing considerations, that survival is a
certainty. It is evident, however, that the nature of this survival is
considerably different from anything that has been visualized
heretofore. In fact, we must redefine the word “survival” if it is to be
applicable at all. Ordinarily this word signifies continuation into a
later time interval, but in this case, the surviving structure does not
exist in time at all. It is independent of both time and space. When we
say that the Sector 3 structure survives the death of the biological
organism, what we mean is that death does not terminate the existence
of the Sector 3 structure.
We can be sure that nothing physical survives. The “resurrection of
the body” that is envisioned in the doctrines of some religions is
simply impossible, if these words are to be interpreted literally.
Whatever validity such doctrines may possess can only be in a
figurative or allegorical sense. But the fact that nothing physical is
present in the surviving structure has still further implications. All
physical processes are terminated. This means that the biological
“Law of the Jungle,” the pattern of behavior that we call “evil” in
those respects in which it is contrary to the ethical code, and all
aspects of the human personality that are associated with the purely
biological behavior, expire with the physical structure. Whatever truth
there may be in Shakespeare’s contention that “the evil men do lives
after them; the good is oft interred with their bones” is limited to the
physical universe. In application to existence as a whole, the reverse is
true—evil does not survive in any form.
As brought out in Chapter 7, the dividing line between Level 2 and
Level 3 is not between animal and man, but between man and ethical
man. Early man, who lived and behaved as an animal, was purely a
biological organism. “As we look back into human beginnings,” says
Breasted, “we discover at once that man began as an unmoral
savage.”421 His existence, like that of any other animal, terminated
with the dissolution of his physical structure. Not until a control unit
from Sector 3 entered into a combination with the physical organism
was there anything in the human structure that could survive. And
when the end comes for the physical structure, it is this control unit—
the Sector 3 structure—that survives; not because it is good and
deserves to survive, but because it is inherently indestructible
(physically at least).
These scientific findings are in conflict with many religious teachings
which call for posthumous punishment for the evil-doer. Where only
the good survives, there is no place for punishment. It is evident that
this is one of the places where an element of anthropomorphism has
entered into religion. Rewards and punishments are normal features of
human life, and it is only natural that man should expect them to be
part of any post-human existence as well; particularly if, as the
religious teachings assert, existence as a whole is governed by a just
and powerful Deity. Obviously the scales are not balanced during life
on earth—all too often the wicked prosper while good goes
unrewarded—and it has seemed quite logical that the demands of
justice must be satisfied by appropriate measures in the hereafter. It is
only a short step from a strong conviction that something ought to be
true to a belief that it is true, and it is therefore quite easy to see how
the idea of punishment for evil-doing would make its way into
religious doctrine.
The concept of eternal punishment is repugnant to many thoughtful
persons, and a growing number of individuals, both within and
without the religious organizations, have repudiated this idea, without
having anything concrete to take its place. The present study now
discloses the existence of the kind of an alternate pattern of
consequences that is needed; one which satisfies the general desire to
see justice done, without the harshness of the “eternal punishment”
policy. Reward and punishment, we find, have no applicability to the
survival situation. There is no need to weigh the individual’s good
deeds against his evil deeds and strike a balance. The “judgment” is
automatic. If, at the time of death, there is something capable of
survival, it survives just as it then exists. If there is no Sector 3
structure to survive, nothing survives. Evil is not punished; it simply
expires with the biological organism whose uncontrolled motivations
produced it. A few observers have already recognized this (perhaps by
insight or intuition rather than by reasoning) as the logical and
appropriate fate of the evil-doer. Sperry, for instance, expresses this
opinion:
I cannot see why the destiny of the undeviating sinner may not be,
ought not to be, naked nothingness. Hell, so construed, would be
merely zero.422
We should recognize that there is no reason why the universe must
conform to what the human race considers right and proper, but from
the facts which were brought out in Chapter 18, it is clear that a
human consensus on simple matters of right and wrong (or any other
moral subject that is easily within the grasp of the common man’s
intuitive powers) is more than human; it is a human interpretation of
information received from Sector 3 sources. It is quite significant,
therefore, that the conclusions reached with respect to the ultimate
fate of evil through a scientific process of deduction from factual
premises satisfy the human criteria of just and proper action,
complying with the accepted principle that evil should not triumph in
the long run, while at the same time avoiding unreasonably harsh
measures such as everlasting punishment.
On this basis, it is immaterial whether the “good” personality, the
Sector 3 structure that survives, is of long standing or a relatively
recent product. What has occurred in the past is no longer of any
consequence. All that matters is what now exists. This provides the
answer to a question that has disturbed many persons: that of the
relative standing of recent converts to good behavior as compared to
that of life-long adherents of high moral principles. The tendency in
religious circles is to accord equal standing to the latecomers, a policy
that is hard to reconcile with the coexisting doctrine of a final
judgment based on an evaluation of one’s actions during his life span.
In the parable of the workers in the vineyard, for instance, those
workers who started at the eleventh hour were paid the same wages as
those who had worked all day. The latter are reported to have
protested, and if we look at the situation from the “wage” or “reward”
standpoint, it is clear that their protests were well-founded. The
ecclesiastical attempts to rationalize this situation are singularly
unconvincing. For example, Herbert Lockyer, in his discussion of the
parable, describes the “principles” that will govern “the distribution of
rewards for service” in this manner:
1. As His laborers, we are guaranteed a full and just remuneration
for our service whether long or brief.
2. It is not for us to question His choice of laborers nor their
respective reward.
3. He retains to Himself the privilege, the exercise of His goodness
and grace, whatever might be thought of His generosity.423
There is not even an attempt at explanation or reconciliation in these
or the similar comments that are made by other religious writers. We
are simply told that any question is out of order. The only logical
conclusion that we can draw from this attitude on the part of the
religious authorities is that they cannot produce any rational
explanation. This is quite understandable, since the “equal treatment”
doctrine is irreconcilable with both the “final judgment” concept and
with the “wage” concept in terms of which the parable is stated.
Inclusion of this parable in the canonical texts in spite of the open
contradictions which it introduces suggests rather strongly that this is
an item which has been received and accepted as an authentic
revelation without any clear understanding of just what was being
revealed.
However, if we recognize that the structure that survives is that which
exists at the time of death, and that whatever may have existed or may
have been done prior to that time is irrelevant, the equal treatment
accorded to the latecomers is entirely logical. According to our
findings, there is no such thing as reward or “remuneration for our
services” to religion. Indeed, the whole concept of ethical conduct as a
“labor” or onerous task for which one should be compensated is itself
inconsistent with the moral code. An ethical man, under the direction
of a control unit from Sector 3, does not find it burdensome to do the
right thing; this is what he wants to do.
The spiritual person is good, he is chaste or charitable, not because he
desires to gain anything in this or the other world. It is his nature to be
so; his goodness is motiveless.424 (T. R. V. Murti)
The finding that survival is contingent on the existence of an adequate
Sector 3 structure makes it evident that “deathbed repentance”
accomplishes nothing, so far as survival is concerned. Something on
the order of repentance may be a prerequisite for altering one’s course
of conduct and commencing the building of an ethical structure, but
positive action is necessary for the actual construction. If no structure
capable of survival has been erected before it is too late to take action,
regretting this fact at the last moment will not change the situation.
Nor does this scientific analysis give us any ground for believing that
“forgiveness” or “remission of sins” by any religious power or agency
would be any more effective. According to our findings, the record of
the past is wiped clear in any event; only the existing state of the
Sector 3 structure has any significance.
It should be noted, however, that the religious viewpoint can be
regarded as having a real meaning if we apply it to situations other
than those where death is imminent. Since only the good survives, if
an individual turns over a new leaf and starts building a good moral
character, whatever evil he has done previously will have no bearing
on the final result (except to the extent that the habits developed
during the past may make ethical conduct in the future more difficult)
and thus, in effect, the past record is canceled. From the religious
point of view, this can very well be expressed by the statement that his
sins have been forgiven.
It is clear that this view of the situation that we have derived from a
scientific analysis rules out “mercy,” as this term is applied in
religious circles. The destiny of each individual is determined
according to the rules—that is, according to the nature of the ethical
structure that he has built for himself—and there are no exceptions or
deviations. But it should be realized that the religious concept of a
merciful ruler and lawmaker is illogical in any event. “Mercy,” says
the dictionary, “implies compassion so great as to enable one to
forbear punishing even when justice demands it,” and this is
undoubtedly the sense in which the term is used in religious parlance.
But such a concept is logically inapplicable to a lawgiver. A judge
may show mercy to an offender by giving him a relatively light
sentence where he could have imposed a heavier one. He may, for
instance, specify five years imprisonment under circumstances where
a sentence of twenty years would have been justified under the
existing statutes. But the legislature would not be merciful if it
amended the statutes to reduce the maximum sentence for this offense
to five years. From that time on, anyone who receives a sentence of
five years imprisonment for this particular offense is not receiving
mercy; he is being punished to the full extent of the law. Justice no
longer demands any greater punishment.
The same considerations apply to the Deity as He is envisioned in the
Western religious systems: a lawgiver as well as a ruler. Whatever
change He may make in the application of the law is a change in the
law itself. Those who have sufficient faith in the doctrines of their
particular creed will be treated mercifully, many religions assure us,
but if it has been decreed by the Supreme Authority that those who
have this faith should be given preferential treatment, then they are
entitled to this treatment under the law that has been promulgated, and
in getting it, they are merely receiving justice, not mercy. Most
persons seem to regard the religious promise of mercy as something
special that relieves them of the penalties that are assessed against less
favored individuals. But obviously there must be some basis for
selection of the fortunate ones, and whatever this basis—Requirement
X, let us say—may happen to be, this is part of the law: the rules laid
down by the lawgiver. The full text of that law includes a statement
that the penalties do not apply, or apply only in modified form, to
those who meet Requirement X.
The religious concepts of “mercy,” “forgiveness,” and the like, are
based on the assumption that each person must ultimately face a
judgment in which he is held responsible for his actions during his
lifetime. As brought out earlier in this chapter, the findings of this
work indicate that the record of past deeds has little or no bearing on
the survival issue, regardless of whether that record is creditable or
discreditable. Survival is determined by what one is, not by what one
has done. Unless some positive action has been taken to build an
ethical personality, an unblemished record of conduct is of no avail.
Good conduct is not necessarily indicative of good character. Of
course, the good can generally be relied upon to do good, or at least
what they think is good, but we cannot reverse this statement and say
that those who do good are good. Here the question of motives is
decisive.
Actions that are taken in the hope of reward or in fear of punishment
may benefit the community, or some of its individual members, and
for that reason may be wholly commendable, but actions dictated by
motives of this kind are part of the life of a human being as a
biological organism—an animal—not part of his life as an ethical
man. The nature of the anticipated reward or punishment is
immaterial. Actions taken to gain the approbation of fellow citizens or
to better one’s chances of a pleasant existence in a hypothetical
hereafter are looked upon more favorably by the community at large
than actions taken for material gain, and actions dictated by a desire to
avoid Divine retribution are likewise regarded as more commendable
than actions dictated by a desire to avoid the penalties of the criminal
laws, but in principle there is no difference. All of these anticipated
rewards and punishments are simply the human equivalent of the
carrot and the stick, and they are part of Sector 2 existence. If Sector
3—the ethical aspect of man—is in control, actions will be taken
because they are right, not because of any benefits that are anticipated.
As soon as a man does an action because he thinks he will promote
his own interests thereby, he is acting not from a sense of its rightness
but from self-interest.425 (W. D. Ross)
This is a place where legal and moral judgments diverge. From the
legal standpoint, it is immaterial whether a person refrains from
committing a crime as a matter of principle or because he is afraid of
punishment. But from the moral standpoint, one is a moral decision;
the other has no moral significance. “Our decisions about the
standards of right action and moral virtue,” says Abelson, “should be
consistent with the conditions under which we hold people
responsible for their actions.”426 The example just cited shows that
this is impossible. Indeed, our finding that there is no ultimate reward
or punishment means that the concept of “holding people responsible”
for their lack of compliance with the moral code is meaningless. There
is no such thing as moral responsibility in this sense, since there is no
judgment and no penalty. Individuals have legal responsibility for
their actions, which may result in penalty or punishment. They also
have social responsibilities, and the manner in which they discharge
these may bring praise or blame from their associates, but they are not
held responsible, in this sense, by any moral agency. Of course, the
moral aspect is taken into consideration in both the legal and the
social situations, but it is not controlling in either case.
Whether a particular act that has some moral aspects complies with
the moral code is a matter of objective fact. In some cases, a
complicated balancing of positive and negative moral values may be
required, but the final answer is always either yes or no. Even if the
wrongdoer was mentally incapable of distinguishing right from
wrong, his violation of the code has exactly the same moral standing
as if it were deliberate. No question of “responsibility” is involved
here. A pattern of violations of the moral code indicates a lack of
progress toward the ultimate goal of human existence, and no progress
is no progress regardless of what the underlying reason may be. It is
true that there is an element of inequity in a situation in which an
individual who cannot improve the Sector 3 aspect of his personality
has the same standing as one who deliberately chooses not to do so,
but if equitable treatment is to be achieved, it must be accomplished
by some collateral means. The equity issue will be given some
consideration in the next chapter.
Some of the conclusions reached in the development of thought in the
preceding pages will undoubtedly distress many sincere and
well-meaning persons. In particular, rejection of the reward and
punishment concept is a major departure from generally accepted
thought, and to many it will seem to strike at the very foundations of
religion. “Catholics and orthodox or ’fundamentalist’ Protestants alike
find it very difficult to conceive how men can lead a moral and
religious life without the threat of a Final Judgment lurking in the
background,”427 reports J. H. Randall. There are many in these and
other denominations who will question this statement when it is
expressed in these somewhat pejorative terms, but it can hardly be
denied that all organized religions that promise survival into a new
existence portray the pleasures or discomforts of that existence as
contingent upon the nature of the individual’s behavior during his
earthly life. On the other hand, our findings are that actions taken in
the hope of reward or in fear of punishment have no moral
significance one way or the other. This means that those who listen to
the assertions of present-day organized religions are being promised
rewards that they will not receive and remission of punishment that
would not be inflicted in any event.
But, after all, must we be bribed to do what is right? Isn’t there
something more satisfying about the conclusion that ethical man is
honest because he wants to be honest, not because he expects to
receive a reward for this conduct in the hereafter? Isn’t it more to the
credit of the human race if its members are kind and considerate
rather than harsh and cruel because they want to act in this manner
rather than because they are trying to avoid eternal punishment? In
our capacity as scientists, we merely accept the truth as we find it,
without any personal feelings of approval or disapproval, but in our
capacity as members of the human race, we should be more than
pleased that the results of the investigation took the form that they did,
rather than confirming the doctrine of eternal reward and punishment,
the Heaven and Hell that have come down to us from our primitive
ancestors.
In any event, this is a scientific development: a step-by-step
construction of a logical structure on factual foundations, and since
the conclusions that are reached in the process are necessary
consequences of the established facts upon which the whole structure
of thought is based, they are integral parts of that structure and they
cannot be discarded or modified, regardless of what emotional
reactions they may arouse. Of course, if a conclusion conflicts with
observed facts, or if it is inconsistent with scientific conclusions
previously reached and verified, the logical inference to be drawn is
that there has been some mistake in the reasoning upon which this
conclusion was based. In this case, a restudy of the problem would be
in order. But the conclusions now under consideration do not fall in
this category. They are not only consistent with the observed facts, but
also resolve many of the contradictions and inconsistencies in
previous lines of thought. The inevitable objections therefore cannot
be allowed to influence the presentation.
This is particularly important in view of the fact that one of the major
reasons for developing a clear and consistent picture of the
non-physical aspects of human life is to provide logical thinkers, both
scientists and non-scientists, with a view of the universe and their
relation to it which they will find acceptable: an alternative both to the
cold and sterile mechanistic viewpoint on one side, and to what
Reinhold Niebuhr calls “the anachronistic ethics and incredible myths
of organized religion,”368 on the other. If we are to satisfy this need,
there can be no compromise with the truth. We must follow the
development of the logical structure wherever it leads, regardless of
emotional preferences or prejudices.
When the basic question of survival is answered in the affirmative, the
next issue that arises is whether we survive as identifiable individuals.
Are we still ourselves? This is a more difficult question to answer on
the basis of the facts at hand. There is no doubt but that survival takes
place on an individual basis, since the individual control units are the
entities that survive, but where this control unit is still in a status
analogous to that of a unicellular biological organism, the surviving
unit can hardly be considered as having any real identification with an
individual. If there has been enough development of this unit so that a
definite ethical personality has been constructed, then we can envision
something equivalent to survival of a specific human individual. Just
how far this development would have to proceed in order to generate
enough identifying characteristics to enable the surviving entity to be
recognizable, to itself or to others, as a continuation of the human
existence of which it was previously a part, is far from clear.
Since memory is a physical process, it cannot be expected that an
individual will retain any memories of his earthly life. This might
seem to close the door on survival as a specific individual, inasmuch
as memory is commonly regarded as essential to continuation of the
same identity. But it is not at all certain that this is actually true. Is an
amnesia victim, for instance, a different person just because he cannot
remember his past? Then, too, most of us have few, if any, memories
of the earliest years of our life. Here we have what is unquestionably a
continuation of the same individual existence without continuity of
memory. Perhaps continuation of identity after death involves
something of this nature. However, we should also bear in mind that
even if a person must have a certain amount of knowledge of his
previous thoughts and actions in order to maintain his status as a
specific individual, it does not necessarily follow that this knowledge
must be derived from memory. Whatever is available from memory is
also available by means of clairvoyance. The ESP abilities thus far
demonstrated in the human race are not adequate to serve as a
substitute for memory, but it would be reasonable to conclude that
these abilities will reach a higher stage of development in any more
advanced phase of existence. Thus the memory issue is not a critical
one.
Other purely physical characteristics—skills, habits, etc.—likewise
terminate with the physical structure. These include the physical
facilities that handle the acquisition and processing of information: the
information storage and thinking mechanisms. It follows that
knowledge acquired through the senses is not carried forward into the
new existence. On the other hand, intuitive knowledge, which is
received through Sector 3 channels, should be retained. In the
preceding pages, we have been looking at the development of the
Sector 3 component of the human personality mainly from the
standpoint of increased understanding of and compliance with the
moral code. There should, however, be a corresponding growth in
knowledge of other kinds. It would seem, therefore, that even without
the physical knowledge that he leaves behind, a human being who has
made any significant forward progress during his stay on earth should
enter his new existence, whatever it may be, as a reasonably
well-rounded individual.
One more question remains to be considered: Do those who survive
beyond physical death communicate in any way with the living? The
possibility of physical manifestations—ghosts or apparitions—can be
summarily dismissed, as nothing physical survives. No doubt many of
those who claim to have had experiences in which such objects were
seen or heard are quite sincere in their accounts of the events, but
sight and sound are physical, and they can originate only from
physical sources. The situation with respect to communication
through Sector 3 channels is quite different. Such communication
should theoretically be possible, but there are some questions as to
how effective it is under the circumstances.
The nature of the existence into which the individual enters after
leaving the physical world has an important bearing on this issue. If
he were to enter another existence similar to that on earth, or one not
much farther advanced, his capability of transmitting messages would
approximate the telepathic transmission capacity of human beings;
that is, it would be very limited. Furthermore, since his capacity of
clairvoyance would be no greater, he probably would not have any
significant knowledge of his previous life. But if he enters some more
advanced type of existence, he should have clairvoyant knowledge of
his earthly life, and a telepathic transmission capacity on the order of
that of the sources from which we receive most intuitive information.
Under these circumstances there is a definite possibility of reception
of messages from such individuals.
But we need to take into consideration the nature of the subject matter.
This communication, if it takes place at all, is between Sector 3
entities, and it involves only matters that are relevant to Sector 3
existence, or to the Sector 3 aspects of human existence. The ordinary
affairs of human life are the concern of the physical aspect of the
human personality: Sector 2. Human individuals may, to a limited
degree, draw upon the Sector 3 storehouse of information, by means
of clairvoyance, for items of information about these Sector 2 matters,
but these items are no longer of any concern to those who have left
earthly life, and they do not constitute matters of mutual interest
which could serve as subjects of communication. Thus, the subject
matter of any communication from a departed individual will be
essentially the same as that of intuition in general, and since the
reception will be intuitive, it is doubtful if a communication of this
kind could be distinguished from any other intuition. In any event,
there is no known criterion by which we could identify an intuitive
communication as originating from a specific individual.
This picture of the communication situation derived from theory has
no place for phenomena of the kind commonly known as spiritualistic,
in which “spirit messages” are claimed to be received through
specially qualified persons called “mediums.” This does not
necessarily imply that spiritualism is totally fraudulent. There has
been, and continues to be, a great deal of deception and trickery in this
area, and it is difficult to evaluate the results that are claimed to have
been obtained, even though many competent investigators have
attempted to monitor the “seances,” the sessions in which the
communications are claimed to be received from spirits. However, it
appears that, in at least some cases, information is actually being
obtained by non-physical means. But if this is true, the considerations
outlined in the foregoing paragraphs indicate that this information is
obtained through the common ESP processes, telepathy and
clairvoyance, and that attributing it to spirit communication is not
justified.
CHAPTER 28
Human Destiny
There is one final question that occurs to us all… . “What is the
meaning and object of it all?” This is the question that down the ages
has puzzled all the thinkers and all the philosophers without any real
satisfactory answer being found. And now it seems only Science is
left to appeal to, and what science says is that there is no indication
whatsoever in the whole cosmos that there is any discernible purpose
at all… . some deep inner voice says otherwise and prompts us that
there must be.428 (Raymond A. Lyttleton)
There are those who deny that it is possible for our existence to have
any purpose. Ayer, for instance, says this:
It follows, if my argument is correct, that there is no sense in asking
what is the ultimate purpose of our existence, or what is the real
meaning of life… those who enquire, in this way, after the meaning of
life are raising a question to which it is not logically possible that
there should be an answer.429
Ayer concedes that it is possible for a man to have a purpose. “It is a
matter,” he says, “of his intending, on the basis of a given situation, to
bring about some further situation which for some reason or other he
conceives to be desirable.”430 But he insists that it is not possible to
show that human life tends toward a specific end, and that even if this
were possible, that end would be purely arbitrary from the human
standpoint and therefore could not be considered as the fulfillment of
a purpose. Our findings now cut the ground out from under this and
all similar arguments.
Lyttleton’s comment as to the inability of science to detect any
purpose in the universe refers, of course, to science as it stood prior to
the development of the Reciprocal System of theory. The results of the
investigation on which that system of theory and its extension to the
metaphysical region are based have now thrown an altogether
different light on the situation. These results show that the entire
physical universe, including human life, is directed toward a specific
end. The information that has been developed with respect to
metaphysical existence makes it clear that this end is, in some way, a
desirable end. Here, again, the conclusions reached in this work are in
harmony with the basic assertions of the transcendental religions. The
inability of the empiricists to find any purpose in life is simply a result
of their refusal to look at the situation as a whole, to see beyond the
relatively narrow confines of physical existence, and to recognize the
greater reality that is offered by religion and verified by the present
investigation.
We have identified the “deep inner voice” to which Lyttleton refers.
According to our findings, it is intuition, the process whereby human
beings obtain information from the metaphysical sector of the
universe. In our studies of this non-physical communication process,
we have established certain criteria of validity that can be applied to
the information that is received. Among these is the conclusion that,
where a strong intuitive conviction with respect to a matter on which
no factual evidence is available is shared by almost all of the members
of the human race, this agreement is tantamount to proof of the
validity of the intuition. The existence of a purpose is one of those
items on which there is near unanimity. Even those scientists such as
Lyttleton who recognize that the scientific views to which they are
committed leave no room for a purpose are nevertheless convinced
that “there must be” a purpose. It can therefore be taken as an
established fact that there is a purpose in the existence of the physical
universe. A similar, almost unanimous, intuitive conviction tells us
that the purpose for which this universe exists is in the process of
being accomplished. Any idea that this immense and complicated
structure could be nothing but an exercise in futility is recognized as
preposterous. It follows that we can determine the nature of the
purpose for which the universe exists by examining what is actually
being accomplished.
It is evident from the results of the physical investigation that
culminated in the formation of the Reciprocal System of physical
theory that all changes taking place in the physical system are no
more than transient. The physical universe is always changing, but its
processes are cyclical so it always remains the same. Changes taking
place in any one direction are constantly being nullified by
corresponding changes taking place in the opposite direction, so that
the physical universe as a whole conforms to what is known as the
Perfect Cosmological Principle; that is, it looks the same from any
point in space or from any point in time. The only one-way process
that exists anywhere in the area covered by that investigation is the
growth process whereby the non-physical control unit that directs the
activities of Level 3 of human existence, the level of ethical man,
increases in complexity and sophistication. Our findings indicate that
this unit is originally a simple structure comparable to the earliest
biological units, and that it undergoes a process of development
similar to that which produces the higher life forms from the original
simple biological entities.
Unlike the products of biological evolution, the products of the Sector
3 development process are permanent, as they are independent of the
processes of the physical universe. Here, then, is what is being
accomplished, the only permanent result of the operation of this
enormously complex mechanism. A simple unit from Sector 3 is
developed into a complex unit in the course of, and by reason of, its
association with a biological organism. We may logically deduce, on
the basis of the considerations outlined in the foregoing paragraphs,
that this development is the purpose of existence in the physical
universe.
At this point, one may appropriately ask why the physical universe
must be brought into the picture. Why must we be exposed to all of
the distressing features of biological life? Why cannot the desired
results be accomplished in the general metaphysical region itself
without the complication of the rather difficult existence in the
physical universe? There is no indication that the mechanistic
responses of biological organisms that account for the evil and
wrongdoing of which we are so acutely conscious contribute to
progress toward the ultimate objective. On the contrary, so far as our
investigation discloses, they are merely byproducts of existence in a
space-time universe, similar in this respect to our extreme
vulnerability to physical damage. We must conclude, then, that some
feature of existence in the physical universe that is not present in the
general metaphysical region is a requirement for the development of
ethical personalities.
At the present stage of the investigation, the question as to the nature
of this feature cannot be answered positively, but it is not
unreasonable to conclude that the general metaphysical region, the
region outside the space-time universe, and also outside any other
universe that may exist, is one in which no change takes place.
Growth and development, if they are to be achieved at all, must be
accomplished in a universe of change—either our own or some other.
If, as we may conjecture, all universes of change, or motion, are
generally similar to our own physical universe, this explains why
Omnipotence, if it exists, cannot place us in a universe free of evil.
Those aspects of life which we call evil are inherent in a universe of
motion. Here we may appropriately make another application of the
game analogy that was introduced in Chapter 21. There is much
distress, even suffering at times, among those who lose the contests of
skill or chance. These are evils of the same nature as those
experienced in the game of life, but they are unavoidable if there is to
be a game. Even Omnipotence cannot devise a competitive game in
which everyone wins.
It should be noted that, while we have identified the objective of
human existence in terms of conformity with the laws of Sector 3, we
are not yet in a position to say just what is included in those laws.
Obviously, compliance with the moral code is one component of the
whole, but perhaps something more than irreproachable thought and
conduct are required. This question was not investigated in the present
work, which is merely a pioneer scientific expedition into an area
hitherto unknown to science and does not purport to be a complete
exploration. But the scope of these Sector 3 requirements is a very
significant issue, and it deserves some mention in the final summing
up of our results.
A rather striking feature of the conclusions reached in the
investigation with which this volume is concerned is that they are
completely silent with respect to one of the five subdivisions of
philosophy listed in Chapter 26 as being those commonly included in
the university philosophy courses. Metaphysics (in the narrow sense)
and ethics were treated in considerable detail. Logic and epistemology
were utilized in the work as investigative tools. On the other hand,
esthetics does not enter into any of the subjects of discussion in any
way. What, then, is its place in the general picture? Surely it is not
physical. Might it be possible that there are esthetic standards that the
human race will be required to meet as well as ethical standards?
Must we learn to know and value that which is beautiful, as well as
that which is morally good? These are questions that we cannot
answer on the basis of the information that we now possess, but they
are high on the list of subjects for further investigation.
Perhaps there are still other requirements that will have to be met.
This is what most of the organized religions insist, but they see the
situation in so many conflicting ways that it is difficult to draw any
definite conclusions as to whether there is a common element among
them that may represent something real. The Western religions place
worship of the Deity high on the list of requirements, even to the
extent, in some cases, of contending that this is the only thing that is
absolutely essential. But in the world as a whole, this belief in the
necessity of worship is far from unanimous. While nothing in our
findings contradicts it, we cannot say that it is verified on the basis of
the criteria of validity that we have established. So far as this
investigation is concerned, therefore, the issue still remains open.
In any event, even if we consider only the ethical aspect, it is clear
that the human race has a very long way to go. Few, if any, of the
inhabitants of the earth reach the goal of perfection of the ethical
personality. As expressed by John M. E. McTaggart, “Even the best
men are not, when they die, in such a state of intellectual and moral
perfection as would fit them to enter heaven immediately.”431 The
principal business of human life is obviously not being finished within
the ordinary human lifetime. Some further action is required before
the personality development is complete. What, then, is the nature of
this additional process?
As pointed out by McTaggart in the article from which the foregoing
quotation was taken, only two possible ways of accomplishing this
result have thus far been recognized: (1) a sudden improvement of a
major and rather miraculous nature at the time of death, and (2) some
provision for additional periods of gradual development. The
doctrines of the Western religions lead, in effect, to the first of these
alternatives. The present study has not revealed any specific facts that
would either affirm or deny its validity. However, as previously
pointed out, there does appear to be a significant element of
inconsistency in this hypothesis that makes it extremely improbable.
If all of the tremendously complex mechanism of the physical
universe is required in order to accomplish the first portion of the
development of the ethical personality, it hardly seems credible that
the balance of the process—by far the greater part—could be
accomplished suddenly by fiat.
The standard answer of the theologians to this criticism is that an
omnipotent Deity can accomplish anything, even that which to the
finite minds of human beings seems impossible. But our findings have
confirmed the general intuitive conviction that existence as a whole is
rational. As brought out in the previous discussion, this limits the
powers of Omnipotence by excluding the irrational. Thus, even if an
omnipotent Deity does exist (a question that is beyond the scope of
the present investigation), the hypothesis that calls for completion of
the human personality by Divine decree is incompatible with the need
for an enormously complex mechanism to begin the personality
development.
Most of the Eastern religions—all of them, some writers say—
embrace the second of the alternatives mentioned by McTaggart, and
assert that after death each individual returns to earthly existence in
association with a different physical body and begins another life. Just
what it is that is supposed to pass from one body to the other, on the
basis of this hypothesis, is not clear. “All that is essential to the idea,”
says Kaplan, “is a continuity from life to life; whether this continuity
is provided by a persistent entity or in some other way is a secondary
question.” Buddhism explicitly repudiates, he says, “the notion of
some substantive entity which persists through successive
incarnations.”432 Yet the canonical writings of Buddha describe the
experiences of the Buddha himself in some of his previous
incarnations. Evidently the repudiation of any “substantive entity” is a
matter of semantics: a question as to what constitutes “substance.”
At present, the Western religions are strongly opposed to the
reincarnation idea, and to the reader who has been brought up in the
Western tradition, it may seem that this is something which is entitled
to no more than a summary dismissal.
In the light of our previous findings with respect to the nature of
intuition, we might even be entitled to give some consideration to the
possibility that the rejection of reincarnation by Western man may be
a valid intuitive understanding rather than a product of religious
indoctrination. But whatever weight this possibility may be given is
nullified by the widespread acceptance of the reincarnation concept
among the Eastern peoples, which may equally well be intuitive.
Indeed, as Leslie Weatherhead reminds us, reincarnation was once a
Christian doctrine.
It was accepted by the early [Christian] church for the first five
hundred years of its existence. Only in A.D. 553 did the second
Council of Constantinople reject it and only then by a narrow
majority.433 It seems quite a shock to some people even to
contemplate such a possibility but… it would be unspeakable
arrogance on the part of us in the West to dismiss without examination
an idea current since the sixth century B.C., and held tenaciously by
all Buddhists and Hindus, that is by about five hundred million
people, many of whom are deep thinkers, saints, mystics, and
profound scholars.434
Thus, as matters now stand, we have no direct evidence from either
physical or intuitive sources which would confirm or refute the
reincarnation hypothesis. We can, however, approach the question
indirectly by considering the various available items of information
that have some bearing on the issue. The criticism of reincarnation
that is most effective in the Western world, aside from the rather
vague religious objections, rests on the fact that we do not remember
any previous lives. It seems to most persons that if we have lived
before, there should be a general ability to remember at least some of
our previous experiences. Of course, there are a few persons who
claim to have such memories, but the circumstances surrounding these
claims are such that they are received with skepticism. A second
major objection that is advanced is that an individual’s knowledge,
skills, habits, etc., are all determined either by heredity or by
environmental factors, and cannot be carried forward to a new
heredity and a new environmental experience. What, then, is left to be
transferred? the critics ask.
The tendency in religious and philosophical circles to identify the
physical body as an essential component of the human personality
likewise stands in the way of a more general acceptance of the
reincarnation concept. From this viewpoint, continuity of personal
identity is impossible without resurrection of the body.
Theologians assure us that it [resurrection] will be corporeal. Our
body will be involved because we are bodily creatures and to the
extent that we are separated from our bodies, our personalities are
incomplete.435 (Andrew M. Greeley)
The findings of this present work draw the teeth from all of these
criticisms. These results show that the physical body is an assemblage
of motions, and the physical processes of that body are likewise
nothing but motions. All of these motions are phenomena of the
physical universe—a universe of motion—and they can have no
existence apart from that universe. Continued, or renewed, existence
of the physical body in some post-human life after it has been
destroyed by the physical processes that follow death is therefore
impossible. Memories are physical phenomena, and they terminate
with the rest of physical existence. Similarly, hereditary and acquired
skills are properties of the biological component of the physical
mechanism, and they, too, cease to exist when physical life comes to
an end.
But the physical body and its processes are not the true human
individual. They are merely the biological portion of the human
composite, the part of existence that we share with the animals and
lower organisms. The essence of the human personality is the
non-physical component, the distinctly human aspect of existence that
animals do not possess. That which persists is this Sector 3
component, the aspect of the personality that is not physical. This
entity can be roughly identified with the “soul” or “spirit,” although
the concepts usually associated with these terms are rather vague and
nebulous and do not reflect the active part which the Sector 3
component of the personality plays in the daily life of the human
individual. It is this significant non-physical part of the human
personality that survives death, and if there is any such thing as
reincarnation, it is this non-physical entity that is transferred to a new
physical structure.
The religious insistence on “resurrection of the body,” particularly in
the Christian theologies, is rather difficult to understand. In the book
from which the statement by Andrew Greeley was taken, the author
continues with these words: “The physical, human body that we now
possess, presumably transformed in some marvelous fashion, is
destined for resurrection, and this no Christian can deny”. But St.
Paul, who laid the foundation for Christian theology, did deny this
specifically. He asserted categorically that it is not the “natural body”
that is resurrected, but the “spiritual body,” a body that, as he said,
does not bear the “image of the earthly.” This is essentially the same
conclusion that has emerged from our investigation.
The physical body is a piece of equipment that the human individual
must possess in order to take part in life in the physical universe, just
as he must possess a boat if he is to take part in marine activities. The
point brought out in Chapter 27 is that the death of the human
individual is like the sinking of the boat; it terminates the particular
kind of activities for which a special unit of equipment is required, but
it does not prevent the individual from being active in some other
environment. What we are now considering is the possibility that the
deceased human individual may do something equivalent to buying a
new boat, so that he may resume the kind of activities that were
interrupted by death.
Thus, in the light of our new findings, the usual objections that have
been raised to the general concept of reincarnation are without merit.
On the other hand, there are adequate grounds for rejecting some of
the specific beliefs of those who regard the reincarnation process as a
reality. The idea that a person will return to a higher or lower station
in life, depending on the nature of his conduct during the previous
existence, cannot be entertained, as there is nothing to indicate that
any one human situation is superior to another from the Sector 3
standpoint. The further extension of this idea to include life as an
animal is totally unacceptable, as animals do not participate in Sector
3 existence at all. Another belief, widely held in the East, that must be
rejected is that whatever evil and suffering a person encounters in his
earthly life are punishments for his misdeeds in his earlier
incarnations. As emphasized in Chapter 27, the evils of human life are
phenomena of the physical sectors of existence as a whole, and they
do not survive death in any form. There is no posthumous
punishment.
The absence of any valid argument against the reality of reincarnation
does not prove that such a process exists. Our next undertaking,
therefore, will be to examine the positive evidence in favor of its
existence. The strongest argument on the positive side is that
reincarnation is the only plausible means thus far envisioned for
completing the task that remains unfinished at the death of the human
individual. The human life span is far too short to enable
accomplishing more than a small fraction of what is necessary in
order to reach the ultimate goal, and if existence as a whole actually
has the logical and rational character that we have concluded we are
justified in attributing to it, there must be some provision for
continuing the process of which human life is an unfinished part.
Biological evolution is faced with a similar problem. Here, too, no
more than a small fraction of the total task can be accomplished
within the lifetime of an individual organism. But the biological sector
is not concerned with individuals as such. The task of biological
evolution is to develop a highly complex type of organism from a
simple life form, without regard for the number of individuals taking
part in the process, or what happens to those individuals. Evolution
has therefore been able to compensate for the short individual life
span by utilizing a long succession of lives of different individuals.
This expedient is not available where the objective is development of
the individual.
Some of the Eastern religions picture the ultimate fate of the human
spirit as a re