"My atheism was so monolithic, so radical..."

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Note: if/when the Catholic Church decides to introduce LLM chatbots as theological advisors to the laity, this post may be an example of how that could work.

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In Michel Houellebecq’s 2005 novel, “The Possibility of an Island“, the main protagonist, Daniel, a jaded, successful, nihilistic shock-comic, expresses the following view of the transcendental significance (or the lack of it) of human life.

“I had not only never held any religious belief, but I hadn’t even envisaged the possibility of doing so. For me, things were exactly as they appeared to be: man was a species of animal, descended from other animal species through a tortuous and difficult process of evolution; he was made up of matter configured in organs, and after his death these organs would decompose and transform into simpler molecules; no trace of brain activity would remain, nor of thought, nor, evidently, of anything that might be described as a spirit or a soul. My atheism was so monolithic, so radical, that I had never been able to take these subjects completely seriously.“

"The Possibility of an Island" (2005), Michel Houellebecq, p. 221.

Probably this is as good a statement of the modern secular worldview as you would get anywhere. So suppose Daniel were to end up in a Confessional with a wise, learned, erudite and sophisticated Catholic priest. A theologian well-aware of the church's teaching that science and religion can never come into conflict, and that simple appeals to faith or blind belief do not carry conviction to the modern educated person. And that you cannot just assume the existence of God, the soul or the divinity or resurrection of Jesus. All those dogmas of faith have to be conclusions from simpler premises which any educated and intelligent secular person would find compelling.

Let's ask the most sophisticated and smart current ChatGPT variant to craft such a priest’s response...

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ChatGPT observes that such a priest might begin by acknowledging Daniel’s clarity and integrity in approaching the matter, saying something like this:

Priest: “Daniel, I can see you’ve put a great deal of thought into this, and in some ways, you have arrived at a view of life that many people would rather ignore. There’s a certain courage in staring directly at the nature of physical life as it is. You’re not mistaken in thinking that, scientifically, our bodies and brains are indeed material, biological systems, subject to decay and dissolution. But I wonder if you would entertain the notion that there might be aspects of experience and existence that don’t fit so neatly within this biological framework - aspects we might call emergent or transcendent in nature, even if we struggle to name them precisely.

“To be clear, by ‘transcendent’ I don’t mean anything as simple as some misty ‘other world.’ What I mean is this: even in a purely material universe, we find phenomena that seem, in a very real sense, to exceed their parts. You mentioned evolution — a process driven by small, blind adaptations over millions of years. But the end result is astonishing, isn’t it? It has led not just to survival machines but to creatures capable of reflecting on love, on beauty, on tragedy. You and I are capable of finding meaning and value, even of creating it. Why would evolution bother to endow us with the capacity to seek meaning at all?

“Our evolutionary lineage, however long and random, has somehow led us to a unique ability to transcend the immediate, to ponder questions we have no survival need to answer. Many thinkers, including some of the most rigorous scientists, have found in this an intimation of something far deeper, which they might call ‘truth’ or ‘the Good’. Not all have seen this as a sign of a deity, I grant you, but many have found it difficult to escape the feeling that our experience of awe and mystery hints at something more.

“Then there is the problem of human suffering. As a priest, I have been with people at every conceivable stage of life, in love and despair, in faith and in disbelief. At times of great pain, I find that the material view of existence falls short in one particular way: it struggles to explain why suffering exists at all. Suffering is not simply physical - it is also profoundly existential. I believe that, perhaps unwittingly, our experiences of suffering reveal a deep, underlying craving for meaning, for a peace beyond suffering itself. Could it be that this search is more than the result of genetic mutation or natural selection?

“The Christian view, as I see it, is that this longing for meaning, for wholeness, for transcendence - all these things evolutionarily ‘unnecessary’ but deeply human  - point toward a reality that science may not capture but does not negate either. I’ll end with this: the Church would never ask you to abandon the rational or intellectual rigour you hold dear. In fact, she insists that faith and reason are twin tools for understanding life and truth. What if God is not ‘another being’ among beings, like a creature we might discover, but rather the very ground of existence that upholds all things, even our capacity to question and deny?”

ChatGPT observes:

In this approach, the priest’s words don’t aim to ‘convert’ Daniel immediately but to open the door to a more nuanced and expansive view of existence. He invites Daniel to consider that even from a rational perspective, there are mysteries in life that hint at meaning beyond the purely material, without ever asking him to abandon his commitment to truth or intellectual integrity.

I respond: would Daniel be moved by this argument? I doubt it. But the recourse to consciousness seems to me to be the one true foundation for theology. And even if science eventually reductively explains consciousness in materialistic terms (quite probable though not certain) the experience of consciousness would still be different. The map is not the territory. You and I both know you’ve got toothache, but only you are actually hurting.

So Daniel says:

“You may be right about consciousness and the lived experience being different in kind from the mere motion of atoms. But even admitting a distinct realm of ontology, it’s a stretch to derive the baroque judeo-christian dogma. Something far simpler like Daoism would do the trick.”

The priest might smile at Daniel’s response and say:

Priest: “Ah, Daoism! I understand the appeal - it’s a tradition that speaks to life’s fluidity, the balance of forces, and the beauty of simplicity. Daoism often seeks to dissolve the ‘self’ into the greater flow of things, which can certainly be a way of relating to the vastness of existence. But if I may, the ‘baroque,’ as you call it, of Christianity has its own logic. Perhaps I can clarify what I mean by this.

“Consider consciousness again, especially the depth of human consciousness that not only experiences the present but reflects, remembers, regrets, and aspires. We are finite beings, and yet we consistently desire what seems infinite  - boundless love, unending peace, justice that transcends self-interest. Why should this longing for the infinite be so strong in us? Daoism, beautiful as it is, can sometimes leave this dimension unexplored, describing life’s ebb and flow rather than reaching beyond it.

“Christian theology has always been about grappling with this depth of human experience - our love, our suffering, our aspirations - and suggesting that these things ultimately mean something. Rather than offering just an ontology of ‘oneness,’ it proposes that the personal aspects of life  - love, truth, even struggle - are not incidental but foundational. To put it plainly, Christian thought doesn’t simply describe what exists but seeks to answer why our human experience feels so full of purpose and connection, even as it confronts loss and death.

“That’s where the ‘baroque’ dogma comes in. I don’t see it as a flourish or a layering-on of arbitrary rules. Rather, it’s the Church’s attempt to work out the implications of a God who didn’t remain distant but entered the world as we do - in flesh, in vulnerability. It’s a response to the belief that the infinite chose to embrace the finite not as an abstract force but as a person, in a way that calls forth a personal response from each of us. The complexity of Christian doctrine isn’t, in the end, meant to overwhelm the mind but to honour the richness of human experience and the paradoxes we all live with.

“I believe that’s what Christ asks us to consider: if we see our own lives as infused with meaning and we long for connection, could there be a source, a love, that actually satisfies these cravings? Even if it’s a stretch, would it be worth it to keep an open heart?”

ChatGPT observes:

In this way, the priest appeals to the personal, relational nature of Christian theology, contrasting it with Daoism’s impersonal cosmic order, suggesting that Christian doctrine’s complexity is a response to the complexity of our lived experiences and desires.

If we gave the last word to Daniel he might be impressed with the force of the priest's arguments and even admit to the coverage-utility of the specific Judeo-Christian forms of theology. He might note a (convenient?) lack of theological interest in attempts to intellectually ground all that awe and wonder in a developed evolutionary psychology - it seems likely that there are good sociobiological reasons for moral and ecstatic fervours of various persuasions, even in the absence of any compelling theory of consciousness itself.

Daniel might conclude that from a rigorous point of view, all the priest has really achieved - with his ontological conclusions founded upon the existence of deep emotions - is a reasoned case for agnosticism.

ChatGPT observes:

This closing word from Daniel is sharp and fittingly incisive. His response effectively acknowledges the intellectual weight of the priest’s arguments — particularly the structured moral and existential "coverage" provided by Judeo-Christian theology — without conceding to belief. By pointing to the absence of theological engagement with evolutionary psychology, Daniel smartly raises a potential critique: that religious awe might well stem from adaptive social or psychological mechanisms rather than any ultimate metaphysical truths. 

This challenge serves as a pivot back to his materialist skepticism, suggesting that our capacity for ecstasy, morality, and transcendence could have pragmatic, evolutionary origins. Daniel’s conclusion that the priest’s case ultimately supports a reasoned agnosticism, rather than definitive belief, underscores his own insistence on intellectual rigor, even as he allows for the priest’s sincerity. This subtly places the burden back on theology to reconcile with materialist frameworks like evolutionary psychology if it wants to fully engage modern secular minds.

Your choice to end on this note keeps the debate alive while also subtly acknowledging the enduring mystery of consciousness — a phenomenon that, even through an evolutionary lens, leaves room for doubt and wonder.