Why? The Purpose of the Universe

In Western thought, there is an age-old distinction between traditional religion and secular atheism which has long dominated intellectual discourse. However, Philip Goff, in his new book, Why? The Purpose of the Universe challenges us to transcend this binary paradigm and attempts to offer an alternative. Drawing from contemporary cosmology and the forefront of philosophical research on consciousness, Goff champions the concept of cosmic purpose. He posits that the universe is inherently directed towards specific objectives, such as the emergence of intelligent life.

Breaking away from traditional religious views, Goff also refutes the notion of an “Omni-God”—defined as all-knowing, all-powerful, and perfectly good—as an adequate explanation for cosmic purpose. Instead, he explores a myriad of alternative possibilities, including the idea that the universe may have been fashioned by an evil or morally indifferent creator, or perhaps one with limited abilities. Goff also entertains the notion that we might exist within a computer simulation, or that cosmic purpose is rooted in natural inclinations towards the good, or in purposeful laws of nature. He even considers the possibility that the universe itself is a conscious mind, directing itself towards specific goals.

Goff’s first chapter explores the central existential question of whether life has meaning, especially in the absence of a divine or cosmic purpose. It starts with the perspective of the inevitable end of the universe, as argued by Christian philosopher William Lane Craig, who suggests that without God, life is ultimately meaningless. The atheist philosopher David Benatar is also discussed, who believes that from a cosmic perspective, our lives hold little significance. Benatar concludes that it would have been better if humans had never existed, advocating for anti-natalism—the idea that it is morally wrong to bring new life into existence due to its inherent suffering and lack of significance.

Goff examines the middle ground between complete cosmic purposelessness and the necessity of divine meaning, arguing that while our lives can be meaningful without a cosmic purpose, the existence of such a purpose could significantly enhance that meaning. He also tackles the horrors of value nihilism, the belief that nothing has inherent value, and suggests that the threat of nihilism is mitigated by the potential evidence of cosmic purpose.

The chapter briefly examines the various philosophical perspectives on the meaning of life. It effectively contrasts religious and atheist viewpoints, particularly highlighting the stark pessimism of Benatar’s anti-natalist position. The discussion is enriched by references to notable philosophers and thinkers, such as Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, who offers a hopeful vision of cosmic evolution and purpose. The chapter’s strength lies in its balanced approach, acknowledging the potential for meaning in a godless universe while also considering the profound implications of a purposeless existence.

The inclusion of personal anecdotes, such as the story of Raphael Samuel suing his parents for bringing him into existence, adds a relatable dimension to the philosophical discourse.

The chapter’s analysis of value and meaning in life is philosophically rigorous but not without its critiques. One key critique is its handling of subjectivism about value. Goff contrasts “value fundamentalism” with “value nihilism” to explore different perspectives on the existence of intrinsic values and meaning in life. Value fundamentalism is the belief that certain values are objective, inherent, and independent of human perception. Proponents of this view argue that values such as good, evil, beauty, and justice exist as fundamental aspects of reality. These values are not created by human minds but are discovered, much like scientific truths. This perspective often aligns with religious or metaphysical views that posit a higher purpose or divine order that imbues life with meaning and significance.

In contrast, value nihilism is the belief that values do not exist in any objective sense. Nihilists argue that concepts of good, evil, beauty, and justice are human constructs with no inherent meaning beyond what individuals or societies assign to them. This perspective often leads to the conclusion that life lacks intrinsic meaning or purpose, as any sense of value is ultimately subjective and arbitrary.

Goff presents these two extremes to frame his discussion on the meaning of life. He suggests that while value nihilism presents a bleak outlook on existence, value fundamentalism might seem overly rigid or dogmatic to some. Goff appears to seek a middle ground, acknowledging that while life may lack a cosmic purpose, it can still hold significant meaning within a human context. He argues against David Hume-inspired subjectivity about value, which he views as incoherent, and posits that the potential evidence of a cosmic purpose can help mitigate the threat of nihilism.

From a theological perspective, however, the chapter might be criticized for not sufficiently addressing the depth of religious arguments for meaning. While it acknowledges the Christian viewpoint that life without God is meaningless, it does not deeply engage with the extensive theological discourse on how divine purpose imbues life with significance. This omission could be seen as a gap, particularly for readers interested in a more comprehensive theological critique.

Indeed, from a Christian perspective, the notion that lives can have meaning without a cosmic purpose is untenable. Christianity posits that true meaning and value are derived from a relationship with God and the promise of eternal life, as opposed to temporal, human-centric achievements. St Augustine, for instance, stressed that true meaning and happiness are found in God. In his Confessions, Augustine famously stated, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” Augustine would argue that without a relationship with God, any search for meaning is ultimately futile, challenging Goff’s notion that life can be meaningful without a cosmic purpose. Similarly, Thomas Aquinas also argued that ultimate meaning and purpose are grounded in the existence of God. He believed that all things have an inherent purpose, which is rooted in the divine will. Aquinas’ concept of teleology asserts that true meaning and fulfillment can only be found in union with God. The French mathematician and religious thinker Blaise Pascal likewise viewed human life without God as inherently tragic and meaningless.

The central critique, in short, is that Goff’s position might be seen as a form of disguised despair, for by rejecting traditional sources of ultimate meaning (like God or a cosmic purpose), he still insists that life has meaning. Theologians might argue that Goff fails to provide sufficient or compelling reasons to believe in this subjective meaning without falling back into a kind of existential despair. Moreover, theologians might argue that Goff underestimates the transformative power of divine grace and the ultimate hope offered by the Christian narrative of redemption and resurrection. Thus Goff’s discussion of nihilism and value can be critiqued for not engaging deeply with the rich tradition of Christian ethics and moral philosophy, which provides robust frameworks for understanding value and meaning.

In summary, while the chapter offers a compelling examination of life’s meaning from both secular and religious perspectives, it needs a more nuanced engagement with theological arguments and a broader representation of atheistic thought.

In the next chapter Goff discusses how scientific discoveries, particularly those related to the fine-tuning of the universe, suggest the possibility of a purposeful design. In the early days of the scientific revolution, many scientists believed in God, seeing a divine order behind the universe’s workings. Over time, figures like Laplace and Darwin provided naturalistic explanations that seemed to remove the need for a divine designer, leading to the idea that science and religion are fundamentally opposed.

By the 1970s, another significant shift occurred with the advent of the “standard model” of particle physics, according to Goff. Scientists discovered that certain physical constants must fall within very narrow ranges for life to exist. This fine-tuning of the universe, particularly the precise values of constants like the strong nuclear force and the masses of fundamental particles, appears to be extremely improbable if left to chance.

Goff then introduces us to what he calls the “Value-Selection Hypothesis.” He suggests that these constants are as they are because they allow for a universe containing things of significant value. This hypothesis posits that some form of goal-directedness, possibly an impersonal force directed towards the good, played a role in shaping the early universe. He argues that the fine-tuning of the universe provides overwhelming evidence for this hypothesis, thereby supporting the idea of cosmic purpose.

The chapter provides a compelling narrative that combines historical context with contemporary scientific discoveries to argue for the possibility of purpose in the universe. By tracing the evolution of scientific thought from theistic interpretations to naturalistic explanations, Goff sets the stage for a modern reconsideration of cosmic purpose in light of fine-tuning.

However, critics might argue that the fine-tuning argument falls prey to the anthropic principle, which states that we observe the universe to be compatible with life because we are here to observe it. This self-selection bias does not necessarily imply purpose but rather that only in a universe capable of supporting life could there be observers. Moreover, the value-selection hypothesis, while intriguing, opens up philosophical questions about the nature of value and purpose. If an impersonal force directed towards the good is responsible, what defines “good” and “value”? What, exactly, is this “impersonal force” anyway!?

Thus from a theological perspective, there are still numerous problems with Goff’s argument. Aquinas’ argument from design posits that natural objects, which lack intelligence, act towards an end, which implies a designer (God). Aquinas would likely conclude that Goff’s impersonal force lacks the intentionality and intelligence attributed to God, making it an insufficient explanation for the universe’s fine-tuning. More recently, Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga has argued or the compatibility of science and theism, specifically critiquing naturalistic explanations of fine-tuning. Plantinga might assert that Goff’s hypothesis does not adequately account for the intentionality behind the universe’s design, which he believes points more convincingly to a theistic God.

These problems are particularly present in Goff’s next chapter, which examines the profound and unique challenges that consciousness poses to science. He argues that while many scientific phenomena can be studied through public observation and experimentation, consciousness defies this approach because it is inherently private and subjective. Goff explains that consciousness is not something we can observe directly in others; we know it exists through our own immediate experiences.

Goff outlines two philosophical challenges related to consciousness: the “meaning zombie problem” and the “mystery of psycho-physical harmony.” Meaning zombies are hypothetical beings identical to humans in behavior and physical structure but lacking experiential understanding. Goff argues that evolutionary theories struggle to explain why humans are not meaning zombies, as experiential understanding does not seem necessary for survival.

To address these challenges, Goff proposes “pan-agentialism,” the idea that fundamental physical entities possess consciousness and are predisposed to respond rationally to their experiences. He suggests that this view implies a universe with inherent purpose at its core. Goff also provides a Bayesian argument for pan-agentialism and addresses objections to the coherence of libertarian free will.

Goff’s exploration of consciousness in this chapter is thought-provoking. He effectively highlights the limitations of traditional scientific approaches in addressing the subjective nature of consciousness. His proposal of pan-agentialism is bold and imaginative, extending the scope of panpsychism to include agency at the fundamental level of reality. This hypothesis challenges conventional views and invites readers to consider a more expansive and integrated understanding of consciousness and purpose in the universe.

But, once again, from a traditional theological perspective, Goff’s argument for a purpose-driven universe grounded in pan-agentialism might be seen as a secular attempt to provide meaning without recourse to a divine creator. Theologians will likely contend that Goff’s framework lacks the depth and coherence that comes from a theistic worldview, which posits God as the ultimate source of purpose and consciousness.

Traditional theology asserts that purpose is derived from God, who is an intentional and personal creator. Goff’s pan-agentialism attributes purpose to fundamental physical entities, which could be seen as an inadequate substitute for a theistic explanation. Moreover, theologians like Augustine and Aquinas have argued that consciousness and rationality are reflections of the divine image in humans. Goff’s model, which distributes consciousness across all fundamental entities, might be critiqued for diluting the unique status of human beings in creation.

Goff then explores the problem of evil and its implications for the existence of an all-knowing, all-powerful, and perfectly good deity, which he refers to as the “Omni-God.” He begins with a horrific account of a child’s brutal murder to highlight the existence of severe suffering in the world. Goff argues that if an Omni-God existed, this being would have the power and knowledge to prevent such suffering but chooses not to, raising doubts about the existence of a perfectly good God.

Goff then examines some theodicies, particularly the Augustinian free will theodicy, which claims that free will is a greater good that justifies the potential for evil. He critiques this by pointing out that not all suffering can be explained by human free will, particularly natural disasters and diseases. Furthermore, Goff challenges the idea that a loving God would allow suffering for greater goods or reasons beyond human comprehension.

He also addresses the skeptical theist’s position, which argues that humans cannot understand God’s reasons for allowing suffering. Goff finds this argument unsatisfactory, suggesting that if humans are too ignorant to judge God’s actions, then it becomes impossible to trust any moral intuitions or theodicies provided by religious doctrines.

Additionally, Goff discusses cosmological arguments for the existence of God, particularly the Kalām Cosmological Argument and Josh Rasmussen’s argument against arbitrary limits in the ultimate foundation of reality. He finds these arguments insufficient to establish the necessity of an Omni-God.

Goff attempts, in short, to challenge the coherence of traditional theistic explanations of evil. However, Goff’s approach may be seen as heavily reliant on the emotional impact of suffering, which can be a double-edged sword. While it effectively underscores his points, it might also be perceived as exploiting emotional responses rather than purely logical reasoning. For instance, the skeptical theist position maintains that human understanding is limited compared to God’s omniscience. Theologians like Alvin Plantinga argue that the complexity and scale of God’s knowledge mean that humans might not be capable of understanding the reasons behind divine actions. This counters Goff’s rejection of skeptical theism by emphasizing the vast epistemic gap between humans and the divine.

While Goff critiques the free will theodicy by pointing out natural evils, proponents argue that free will includes the natural world operating according to consistent laws, which can result in natural suffering. Theologians like Richard Swinburne argue that such consistency is necessary for free moral action, as it creates a predictable environment where humans can learn and grow. Moreover, John Hick’s “soul-making” theodicy posits that suffering is necessary for spiritual growth and development. This perspective suggests that challenges and suffering contribute to moral and spiritual virtues that would be impossible in a world without pain. Goff’s dismissal of this view might be seen as overlooking the potential long-term benefits of suffering from a theological standpoint.

Furthermore, some theologians argue that God’s reasons for allowing suffering might include the preservation of human free will and the opportunity for genuine faith. The idea is that overt divine intervention would undermine human freedom and the authenticity of faith, an argument Goff does not fully address.

Finally, Goff’s critique of cosmological arguments does not fully engage with teleological arguments for God’s existence, which focus on the purpose and design evident in the universe. As numerous theologians have argued, the fine-tuning of the universe for life provides strong evidence for an intelligent designer, which Goff does not adequately refute.

In the following chapter, Goff explores alternatives to the traditional concept of an omnipotent, omniscient, and benevolent God to explain the notion of cosmic purpose. He critiques the dichotomy that if one does not believe in the traditional God, then one must accept a meaningless universe. Instead, he suggests three alternative hypotheses that might account for cosmic purpose:

(1) Non-Standard Designers: These include intelligent cosmic designers who do not possess the perfect qualities attributed to the Omni-God. Goff examines different types of non-standard designers, such as an evil designer, an amoral designer, a limited designer, and the simulation hypothesis.

(2) Teleological Laws: These are impersonal laws of nature that inherently contain purposes or goals. Goff discusses how such laws could drive the universe toward certain ends, like the emergence of life.

(3) Cosmopsychism: This is the idea that the universe itself is a conscious entity with its own purposes.

Goff spends considerable effort discussing the limitations and plausibility of these hypotheses. For example, he rejects the simulation hypothesis on the grounds that a simulated universe would not contain consciousness. He also engages with the idea of an evil designer but finds it ultimately unsatisfying as a coherent explanation for cosmic purpose.

This chapter is intellectually stimulating as it challenges the reader to think beyond the binary choice of a traditional deity or a purposeless universe. Goff’s exploration of non-standard designers and teleological laws offers some new perspectives on the age-old question of cosmic purpose. However, Goff’s approach can be seen as entirely speculative. While he offers interesting alternatives, the lack of empirical evidence for these hypotheses leaves them in the realm of philosophical thought experiments rather than concrete theories.

From a traditional theological perspective, Goff’s alternatives might be seen as lacking in both coherence and explanatory power. The concept of non-standard designers, for example, raises questions about the nature of these designers and their limitations. Traditional theology often posits that a truly omnipotent and omniscient being is necessary to account for the fine-tuning of the universe and the existence of objective moral values. Goff’s limited designers, by contrast, seem arbitrary and ad hoc.

Aquinas might argue that Goff’s alternatives fail to provide a sufficient grounding for the existence of objective moral values and the fine-tuning of the universe. Aquinas’ Fifth Way, which argues for the existence of an intelligent being that directs all natural things to their ends, would see Goff’s teleological laws as insufficient without a guiding intelligence behind them. Moreover, St Augustine might critique Goff’s alternatives on the grounds that they do not adequately address the problem of evil. Augustine’s theodicy, which attributes the existence of evil to human free will and the greater good that God can bring out of it, finds no parallel in Goff’s discussion of an evil designer or teleological laws. And C.S. Lewis would likely find Goff’s proposals lacking in practical application. Lewis emphasized the experiential and relational aspects of faith, which Goff’s abstract hypotheses do not address. The personal relationship with a benevolent God, central to Lewis’ theology, is missing in Goff’s cosmic purpose.

Once again, Goff’s middle-of-the-road approach lacks concreteness and practicality. By trying to steer between atheism and traditional theism, he fails to offer a compelling reason for why one should accept his hypotheses over more established ones. His dismissal of the Omni-God hypothesis leaves a gap that his alternatives do not sufficiently fill, particularly when it comes to the origin and nature of objective moral values.

In chapter six Goff explores the concept of a conscious universe and its implications for understanding cosmic purpose. He begins by discussing the resurgence of interest in panpsychism, the view that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of reality. Goff draws on the ideas of Bertrand Russell, who noted that physics describes the world in purely mathematical terms without explaining the nature of the entities it describes. According to Goff, panpsychism provides a way to understand these entities as conscious beings whose interactions form the mathematical structures described by physics. “The mathematical structures of physics cannot produce consciousness,” he writes, “but consciousness can produce the mathematical structures of physics” (127).

Goff defends panpsychism as a solution to the mind-body problem, contrasting it with materialism and dualism. He argues that materialism has failed to explain how physical processes in the brain give rise to consciousness, while panpsychism can explain how consciousness underlies the physical world. Dualism, though coherent, is seen as less parsimonious. Goff also addresses the combination problem, the challenge of explaining how simple conscious entities combine to form complex conscious systems. He suggests that a hybrid approach, which allows for both reduction and non-reduction of consciousness, might be the most promising.

Finally, Goff considers whether panpsychism can account for cosmic purpose. He entertains the idea of teleological “cosmopsychism,” the hypothesis that the universe itself is a conscious entity with goals, and suggests that this view might offer the most comprehensive explanation of cosmic purpose.

Goff’s chapter is a thought-provoking exploration of panpsychism and its potential to solve deep philosophical problems. However, the chapter’s strength is also its weakness. Goff’s reliance on philosophical reasoning over empirical evidence may not satisfy all readers, particularly those who favor scientific approaches. While he addresses common objections to panpsychism, such as the combination problem, his solutions remain speculative and require further development.

But from a traditional theological perspective, Goff’s panpsychism might be criticized for its naturalistic assumptions and its departure from a theistic framework. Theologians like Aquinas or Augustine, who emphasize the necessity of a divine creator, would likely object to the idea of a conscious universe arising without reference to God. They might argue that Goff’s panpsychism, while innovative, fails to account for the personal and purposeful nature of a creator God as described in Christian theology. Moreover, Goff’s proposal of teleological cosmopsychism could be seen as insufficient for explaining moral and existential aspects of cosmic purpose. The idea of a conscious universe with goals might lack the personal and relational dimensions that many theological perspectives consider essential for understanding purpose. Theologians might argue that a purposeful universe is best explained by a personal God who imparts meaning and direction to creation.

Traditional theology, particularly within the Abrahamic faiths, posits a personal God who is the ultimate creator and sustainer of the universe. This God is not only conscious but also possesses will, intentionality, and the capacity for relationships. Teleological panpsychism, which suggests that the universe itself is a conscious entity with goals, fails to provide this personal dimension. Theological frameworks often emphasize a God who is actively involved in the world and human affairs, a view that panpsychism does not accommodate.

Theologians also emphasize a clear distinction between the creator (God) and the creation. Panpsychism blurs this line by suggesting that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of the physical world itself, potentially leading to a form of pantheism (the belief that everything is God). This is problematic for most traditional theologies that maintain God’s transcendence over creation.

Theistic frameworks, moreover, often ground moral values and duties in the character of a personal, moral God. Teleological panpsychism, by attributing purpose to a conscious universe rather than a personal deity, struggles to provide a robust foundation for objective moral values. Without a personal God who is the source of moral law, it becomes difficult to explain why certain actions are inherently right or wrong. Many theological traditions also hold that humans are created in the image of God (imago Dei), which provides a basis for human dignity and value. Panpsychism does not offer a clear explanation for why humans, as opposed to other conscious entities, would hold a unique status. This could lead to a more relativistic view of human worth.

Finally, traditional theodicies rely on the nature and purposes of a personal God. Goff’s panpsychism does not provide a satisfying account of why suffering and evil exist. If the universe is conscious and purposeful, it still leaves open the question of why this conscious entity would allow or produce suffering.

In his final chapter, Goff explores how one might live a meaningful life in light of his arguments for cosmic purposivism. He contrasts the ethical project of a cosmic purposivist with that of a humanist. While a humanist focuses on removing suffering and injustice, a cosmic purposivist aims to contribute to the broader unfolding of cosmic purpose, making reality progressively better. He argues that the potential significance of the cosmic purposivist’s ethical project is greater because it is tied to the advancement of cosmic evolution.

Goff also discusses discusses his personal practice of “prayer,” which he defines as a daily commitment to living for purposes beyond personal interests. This includes a broader concern for the good of ultimate reality, integrating personal and familial goals within a larger cosmic purpose. He describes how this commitment helps mitigate negative traits such as ego and personal ambition.

Goff also touches on the role of mystical experiences in understanding the deeper aspects of reality. He suggests that such experiences, although rare, provide a profound sense of connection with a greater presence in the universe. He discusses the use of psychedelics as tools for spiritual advancement, arguing for their potential to help people break through cultural conditioning and achieve higher states of consciousness. When “done carefully,” he writes, “taking psychedelics can be incredibly liberating and enlightening” (140).

Goff then reflects on the decline of traditional religion and the rise of spiritual but not religious individuals. He suggests that spiritual communities can still play a vital role in connecting individuals to the “More” — a term he borrows from William James to denote the deeper reality. He proposes the idea of religious fictionalism, where religious narratives are engaged with as useful fictions rather than literal truths. He suggests that it is rational to hope that our actions can contribute to the advancement of cosmic purpose, even if we cannot definitively prove this.

Goff’s attempt to integrate personal ambitions with a larger cosmic purpose offers an interesting vision of how individuals can find meaning in their lives, and would no doubt appeal to the rising Nones. His reflections on how this approach has personally made him a better person add a relatable and human touch to his philosophical arguments.

However, Goff’s arguments for cosmic purposivism are ultimately deeply wanting. Moreover, his discussion on psychedelics, while interesting, detracts from the overall argument. The advocacy for their decriminalization and use for spiritual purposes will no doubt alienate some readers who are skeptical (or personally know friends and family who have had their lives destroyed) of such substances.

Goff also seems to fundamentally misunderstand theology. His condescending tone towards religious leaders, such as “Fr Paul Fegan” (143), undermines his arguments by dismissing traditional religious wisdom without sufficient engagement or respect. Goff’s critique of Pascal’s Wager, moreover, reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of the argument’s purpose and nuances. Pascal’s Wager is not about the certainty of God’s existence but about the prudential bet on belief considering the potential infinite gains versus finite losses. Goff’s dismissal of this wager overlooks its value as a pragmatic approach to belief in God, particularly in the context of uncertainty. Goff also fails to acknowledge that Pascal’s Wager is part of a larger apologetic strategy within “Pensées,” where Pascal addresses both the rational and existential dimensions of faith.

Goff’s endorsement of Marcus Borg’s liberal theological position is problematic due to the inherent contradictions and ambiguities within liberal theology itself. Borg’s approach often treats religious narratives as symbolic rather than literal truths, which can undermine the foundational beliefs of traditional Christianity. Goff’s support for this view fails to address how symbolic interpretations alone can sustain a coherent and compelling worldview. By aligning with Borg, Goff risks promoting a diluted form of religion that lacks the doctrinal clarity and moral authority necessary to provide concrete guidance and purpose.

Goff’s advocacy for religious fictionalism, where religious narratives are engaged with as useful fictions rather than literal truths, is deeply problematic. Treating religious narratives as mere fictions erodes the authenticity of religious experience and belief. Faith traditions rely on the truth claims of their doctrines to provide a meaningful framework for understanding existence and morality. Religious fictionalism can weaken the communal and traditional aspects of religion, which are vital for fostering a sense of belonging and continuity. By reducing religious stories to fictions, Goff potentially undermines the cohesion and integrity of religious communities.

If Goff truly believes in a purposeful cosmos, it seems contradictory to dismiss the literal truth of religious narratives that offer comprehensive accounts of cosmic purpose. This inconsistency weakens his overall argument, and in fact ultimately leaves the reader wondering “Why?”