The Breakdown of the Great Design

The last two centuries have been difficult ones for proponents of the Great Design. In the prior centuries scientists had found that the harder they looked at phenomena, the simpler their descriptions became. The more they thought about a subject, the more they realized that its apparently complex manifestations were just the logical consequences of a few simple laws. But in the 19th and 20th centuries, the harder scientists looked, the more they saw that the apparent simplicity was only an approximation. Rather than unifying, things began to splinter.

This trend began innocently enough in the early 1800s when attempts to find a simpler set of axioms for geometry instead caused the subject to split into Euclidean and non-Euclidean--two self-consistent theories with mutually contradictory hypotheses. The search for a broader, more basic set of axioms on which to base mathematics met with a series of unexpected failures through the rest of the century until Gödel brought the whole project to a halt in the 1920s by proving that no finite set of axioms for arithmetic could be both complete and non-contradictory. Philosophically this was devastating, for it meant that the job of intuition in mathematics would never be complete. No matter how many "self-evident" axioms you intuited, there would still be true statements that you could not prove.

The problems spread to physics in the late 19th century. Light, it seemed, acted like a wave in some circumstances and like a particle in others. With special relativity, time itself splintered. There was now no way to say that two events were simultaneous--to some observers one event might precede the other, while other observers might find the temporal sequence reversed. Quantum mechanics made chance an essential part of science, and despite Einstein's denial that God plays dice with the universe, it became increasingly clear that in fact He does. Far from a unique and determinable future, quantum mechanics gave us an infinity of possible futures, with only chance to decide among them.

In recent decades the study of chaos has brought these disturbing trends to everyday matters like the weather. No set of atmospheric measurements can ever be complete enough or accurate enough to allow accurate long-term weather prediction. The flapping wings of a butterfly can create enough of a disturbance to make the difference between sunshine and storm on some future day.

Over the centuries the metaphor of design and the corresponding expectations of unity have spread to many fields beyond science, with disappointing results there as well. In politics, predictions of a world government have failed to materialize, the large colonial empires (including the Communist empire) have dissolved, and centrally planned economies have proved to be inefficient. In technology, the "one big computer" of countless science fiction stories has not appeared, and instead millions of personal computers have brought computing power to the masses. In communications, the once-monolithic mass media has splintered into hundreds of cable channels and thousands of desktop publications. Where once we worried about the inevitability of monopolies, now we wonder how saurian giants like IBM, Sears, and General Motors will survive.

This is the source of our current difficulties. The Newtonian vision of the world as a unified machine built by a single Designer--a vision which lies at the root of Scientism as well as modern Christianity--has lost its power to make sense out of our lives. Whatever else the universe may be, it has become clear that it is not a machine. And if it does proceed by design, the principles and intentions of the Designer may well be beyond our knowing. There is a need not just for a new religion, but for a new central metaphor.

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