In discussing the big bang, we see that space and time are much more like each other than we might at first have suspected. The view we get from Einstein is of a four-dimensional space-time rather than a three dimensional space that evolves in time. It is a rather strange picture of reality. Nothing changes in four-dimensional space-time. In order for there to be change, it must take place in time. But time is part of the four-dimensional reality we are talking about; there is no other. For this reason, many physicists talk of a “block universe,” one that contains all of space and time on an equal footing. So, for example, just as all of space exists at each point in time, so all of time exists at each point in space. Physical time is essentially static.
This is not to say that space and time are indistinguishable. They clearly are very different, as we noted in the ways in which we measure the two: a ruler in the one case, a clock in the other. Not only that, whereas one can travel no distance in a finite time (just stay still), one cannot travel a finite distance in no time. To do the latter, it would have to be feasible to travel at infinite speed.
This possibility is ruled out by another consequence of relativity theory; namely, nothing can travel faster than the speed of light (300,000 kilometers per second). This constrain means that if one represents the motion of an object through space and time by tracing out its path in four-dimensional space-time, it can lie as close as it likes to the time axis (by remaining stationary, it would lie exactly along this axis). But there is a limit to how closely it can align itself with any of the spatial axes (the closest alignment being that of a light beam). So, a study of these paths in space time would single out the time axis as different from the other three.
In addition, we have the second law of thermodynamics: Disorder increases as time increases. If we have, for example, a photograph of an intact cup and another showing the same cup smashed, we immediately know that the latter relates to a set of circumstances found at a later time; in other words, nearer to the positive end of the time axis. The spatial axes do not exhibit any such asymmetry.
So far we have talked purely in physical terms: the motions of objects and light, measurements recorded by physical rulers and clocks orderly and disorderly states. When we add to this our experience of space and time as conscious human beings, then further differences arise. In particular, as regards time, we become aware of a distinction among past, present, and future. We seem to inhabit the instant known as “now”; the past no longer existing; the future yet to exist. Moreover, we are aware of the “flow” of time. We move toward the future; we do not move toward the past (outside the realms of science fiction, that is).
Whereas we noted that according to the second law of thermodynamics there was more disorder toward one end of the time axis than toward the other, this conscious experience of time takes us in the direction that leads to more and more disorder. This inexorable movement is a feature only of time; there is nothing equivalent to compel us to travel in only one spatial direction.
We are thus confronted with two entirely different understandings of time. On the one hand, we have conscious experience presenting us with a flowing time in which the constantly moving special instant called “now” separates the totally different domains of past and future. ON the other hand, physics presents us with a static time in which no instant is singled out as in any way special, all instants of time being on an equal footing, just like all points in space. How are we to reconcile the two? How are we to see God in relation to time?
There is no easy answer. The view of time that is most readily grasped is, of course, that of conscious experience. The static idea of time is so alien and counterintuitive that even some professional scientists are inclined to dismiss it as being somehow wrong. In contrast, there are others who would claim that the scientific picture has to be correct, and it is our conscious experience of time that is illusory. But it seems to me that rejecting, or downplaying, one of these approaches to the understanding of time in favor of the other is not the right course of action.
Instead, we have to come to terms with a mystery that defies our normal categories of thought and our usual ways of organizing information. The dilemma over the two kinds of time points us toward different type of understanding, one in which we have simultaneously to hold in the mind seemingly contradictory, paradoxical conceptions, each of which embodies some of the truth but not the whole.
To get the complete picture of reality, one needs both conceptions. One has to learn to accept that this conjunction of seemingly paradoxical ideas is the explanation. It might not be the type of explanation one had been expecting, but no matter. One must allow the nature of reality to dictate not just the answer to our question but also the very form of the question we ask and the form of its answer. Constraining the outcome to fit in with our conventional notions as to what constitutes a satisfactory “explanation” can only distort the truth and leave us with an impoverished understanding.
But, for now, we note that our findings about time seem to point us in two directions at once. This in turn affects the way we ought to see God in relation to time:
God is to be found in time. He is the God to whom we pray. For prayer to be effective it must bring about change. We must, therefore, live our lives on the assumption that God does react to us; not only do we change what time but to some extent, and in some sense, he, too, changes – in answering our prayers.
But he is not just the God of mental life with its experience of flowing time and change. He is also the God of the physical world – the four-dimensional integration of all space and all time. As such, all of time is present to him; he sees it all; he knows it all. This is the aspect of God’s relationship to time that goes against the grain. It is difficult not to incorporate into our picture of God an extension of our own human limitations on knowing the future. But if we are to reach out to a more sophisticated understanding of God’s nature, this is a temptation that has to be resisted. We must allow whatever are the currently accepted best interpretations of science to be the arbiter and guide. And the fact that those interpretations appear to include a time such that, in some sense or other, all of it exists on an equal footing, surely makes it easier to accept that God has knowledge of the future.
Not, of course, that there is anything new about the idea of God knowing the future. What modern science does is to lend an added measure of credibility to this ancient insight.
The acceptance of God’s foreknowledge as something that arises from God’s ability to encompass the whole of physical time from a vantage point lying beyond such time itself, feeds back into our own personal relationship with God occurring within the type of time that is relevant to conscious experience. The God to whom we pray in that context is the God who knows what the outcome will be and who ensures that all will be well. In the same way, the God who built into the evolutionary process a measure of random chance goes beyond a God who has simply stacked the odds so that it is overwhelmingly likely intelligent life of some form will appear somewhere; he knows exactly what form that intelligent life will take.
The idea of a God holding the somewhat paradoxical engagement with time that is both within the changing, open-ended time of conscious experience and also beyond the unchanging completeness of physical time is not easy to grasp. Indeed, let us be frank: It cannot be done. It cannot be grasped in the same sense as one might be able logically to prove a geometrical theorem. It is a truth, an understanding, of God that is to be accepted rather than mastered. It is a paradox that points to the truth, rather than encompasses it. This paradoxical approach affords a way of further deepening our appreciation of the nature of God beyond that which can be achieved by the straightforward use of any single metaphor drawn from everyday human life.
This is not to say that space and time are indistinguishable. They clearly are very different, as we noted in the ways in which we measure the two: a ruler in the one case, a clock in the other. Not only that, whereas one can travel no distance in a finite time (just stay still), one cannot travel a finite distance in no time. To do the latter, it would have to be feasible to travel at infinite speed.
This possibility is ruled out by another consequence of relativity theory; namely, nothing can travel faster than the speed of light (300,000 kilometers per second). This constrain means that if one represents the motion of an object through space and time by tracing out its path in four-dimensional space-time, it can lie as close as it likes to the time axis (by remaining stationary, it would lie exactly along this axis). But there is a limit to how closely it can align itself with any of the spatial axes (the closest alignment being that of a light beam). So, a study of these paths in space time would single out the time axis as different from the other three.
In addition, we have the second law of thermodynamics: Disorder increases as time increases. If we have, for example, a photograph of an intact cup and another showing the same cup smashed, we immediately know that the latter relates to a set of circumstances found at a later time; in other words, nearer to the positive end of the time axis. The spatial axes do not exhibit any such asymmetry.
So far we have talked purely in physical terms: the motions of objects and light, measurements recorded by physical rulers and clocks orderly and disorderly states. When we add to this our experience of space and time as conscious human beings, then further differences arise. In particular, as regards time, we become aware of a distinction among past, present, and future. We seem to inhabit the instant known as “now”; the past no longer existing; the future yet to exist. Moreover, we are aware of the “flow” of time. We move toward the future; we do not move toward the past (outside the realms of science fiction, that is).
Whereas we noted that according to the second law of thermodynamics there was more disorder toward one end of the time axis than toward the other, this conscious experience of time takes us in the direction that leads to more and more disorder. This inexorable movement is a feature only of time; there is nothing equivalent to compel us to travel in only one spatial direction.
We are thus confronted with two entirely different understandings of time. On the one hand, we have conscious experience presenting us with a flowing time in which the constantly moving special instant called “now” separates the totally different domains of past and future. ON the other hand, physics presents us with a static time in which no instant is singled out as in any way special, all instants of time being on an equal footing, just like all points in space. How are we to reconcile the two? How are we to see God in relation to time?
There is no easy answer. The view of time that is most readily grasped is, of course, that of conscious experience. The static idea of time is so alien and counterintuitive that even some professional scientists are inclined to dismiss it as being somehow wrong. In contrast, there are others who would claim that the scientific picture has to be correct, and it is our conscious experience of time that is illusory. But it seems to me that rejecting, or downplaying, one of these approaches to the understanding of time in favor of the other is not the right course of action.
Instead, we have to come to terms with a mystery that defies our normal categories of thought and our usual ways of organizing information. The dilemma over the two kinds of time points us toward different type of understanding, one in which we have simultaneously to hold in the mind seemingly contradictory, paradoxical conceptions, each of which embodies some of the truth but not the whole.
To get the complete picture of reality, one needs both conceptions. One has to learn to accept that this conjunction of seemingly paradoxical ideas is the explanation. It might not be the type of explanation one had been expecting, but no matter. One must allow the nature of reality to dictate not just the answer to our question but also the very form of the question we ask and the form of its answer. Constraining the outcome to fit in with our conventional notions as to what constitutes a satisfactory “explanation” can only distort the truth and leave us with an impoverished understanding.
But, for now, we note that our findings about time seem to point us in two directions at once. This in turn affects the way we ought to see God in relation to time:
God is to be found in time. He is the God to whom we pray. For prayer to be effective it must bring about change. We must, therefore, live our lives on the assumption that God does react to us; not only do we change what time but to some extent, and in some sense, he, too, changes – in answering our prayers.
But he is not just the God of mental life with its experience of flowing time and change. He is also the God of the physical world – the four-dimensional integration of all space and all time. As such, all of time is present to him; he sees it all; he knows it all. This is the aspect of God’s relationship to time that goes against the grain. It is difficult not to incorporate into our picture of God an extension of our own human limitations on knowing the future. But if we are to reach out to a more sophisticated understanding of God’s nature, this is a temptation that has to be resisted. We must allow whatever are the currently accepted best interpretations of science to be the arbiter and guide. And the fact that those interpretations appear to include a time such that, in some sense or other, all of it exists on an equal footing, surely makes it easier to accept that God has knowledge of the future.
Not, of course, that there is anything new about the idea of God knowing the future. What modern science does is to lend an added measure of credibility to this ancient insight.
The acceptance of God’s foreknowledge as something that arises from God’s ability to encompass the whole of physical time from a vantage point lying beyond such time itself, feeds back into our own personal relationship with God occurring within the type of time that is relevant to conscious experience. The God to whom we pray in that context is the God who knows what the outcome will be and who ensures that all will be well. In the same way, the God who built into the evolutionary process a measure of random chance goes beyond a God who has simply stacked the odds so that it is overwhelmingly likely intelligent life of some form will appear somewhere; he knows exactly what form that intelligent life will take.
The idea of a God holding the somewhat paradoxical engagement with time that is both within the changing, open-ended time of conscious experience and also beyond the unchanging completeness of physical time is not easy to grasp. Indeed, let us be frank: It cannot be done. It cannot be grasped in the same sense as one might be able logically to prove a geometrical theorem. It is a truth, an understanding, of God that is to be accepted rather than mastered. It is a paradox that points to the truth, rather than encompasses it. This paradoxical approach affords a way of further deepening our appreciation of the nature of God beyond that which can be achieved by the straightforward use of any single metaphor drawn from everyday human life.
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