Questions

Having an explanation for things is something that gives us comfort. Whether it's an engineer needing to be sure that a structure will stand, or parents wanting to know why their child has died, the need is similar: we have questions, and we want answers. It doesn't make much difference that one set of questions lies in the scientific realm and the other (in our case) in the spiritual. Either way, we try to rationalise what we experience within a frame of reference that makes sense to us.

Learning science at school, it's easy to think of it as an objective set of answers that explain the world around us, but more important than the answers are the questions that led to them. The wrong question can lead to an experimental cul-de-sac. The right question can produce creative insight, and may open up a whole new realm of answers and further questions. Defining "the right question", though, depends a lot on what we are trying to achieve.

Often scientific questions are posed in direct response to a theory or idea we want to prove or disprove. This isn't wrong, it's the way we build our understanding. But it means that there is an agenda behind the question, and we should recognise that this is not a philosophically neutral process. Education, I think, should be more about the exploration of questions, and interpreting the basis of the answers. Just accepting someone else’s answers to our questions – or even allowing others to define the questions for us – can be dangerous.

We derive comfort from a scientific method that shows reproducible results, but we easily confuse things by thinking that because science has tested some process and demonstrated a cause and effect, therefore a theory about something that uses that process is true. Science often focuses on phenomena that are a small part of some bigger question, contributing to a more significant concern. An example of this is a scientist studying the melting of icebergs. A demonstration that icebergs are retreating does not prove that global warming is taking place as a long-term trend, but it contributes to a body of knowledge that grows from the accumulation of thousands of different investigations. Each of these scientific studies is providing demonstrable answers to specific questions like "Is melting permafrost releasing methane?", "Does water pooling on icebergs accelerate their rate of melting?" or "How much of the greenhouse effect is attributable to moisture in the atmosphere?" But they do not, on their own, make the concept of global warming more than a useful working hypothesis, and that is one reason why scientists argue about climate change.

As an example closer to home, last year Lorraine and I listened to someone who was selling machines that produce ozone to fight disease. The machine blows ozone onto a person's body, and the theory is that the ozone is absorbed through the skin and converted to oxygen in the bloodstream. Cancer thrives in an anaerobic environment (where there is a shortage of oxygen) so the oxygenated blood is supposed to make it difficult for the cancer cells to grow. We were presented with the results of peer-reviewed and published studies that show that ozone in blood is indeed converted to oxygen, and were told that the process is therefore "scientifically proven".

As far as I know, this ozone machine may work; but there is a leap of faith required in accepting the rationale for how it works – several leaps, in fact. If we accept that ozone is converted to oxygen in blood, and that cancer doesn't like oxygen, there is still no proof that ozone is absorbed through the skin and into the blood in sufficient quantities to have a significant effect on the concentration of oxygen in the blood, or that this oxygen will have a sufficiently strong effect on cancer cells to stop their growth. The sales pitch includes testimony of successful case studies, but these are not proven in the scientific sense, as they are anecdotal and not based on carefully monitored clinical trials. Yet many people are happy to believe that the machine produces results that are scientifically proven.

What of spirituality? We can't scientifically prove things like what happens to us after death. But does this matter? Science just provides a useful set of rules for explaining what we observe. Einstein's explanation for gravity helps explain what we see at a large scale, but it doesn't work at the microscopic scale, where quantum mechanics provides its own explanation. Science provides models of reality that are useful for planning, designing and just plain living. And so do spiritual concepts.

For most of my adult life I have not felt it necessary to subscribe to any particular understanding of spiritual life, and that is no different now; but the end of Joshua’s life on Earth has certainly raised questions for me. What I am finding, as I wrote in my previous post here, is that it is helpful to think about spirituality even if I am not clear about what I believe. It still helps me to process my grief. Spiritual growth is, after all, a journey; and whatever one's starting point, if we take the journey we can follow unpredictable turns that will lead to new understanding.

Just as asking questions is critical in the scientific process, it is equally important in spiritual exploration. Not everyone will see spiritual discovery as a cerebral process, but I believe that the initial catalyst for exploring spirituality will almost always be questions about life and death and their meaning. For me it's not the answers that matter so much as the process.

With respect to Joshua's death, there may always be the feeling that it makes no sense. It seems a waste that his full potential will not be realised. Unfair that we won't be able to see him grow and develop his passions. Senseless that he experienced the pain of disease. Was this all an accident, or was there some reason for it? Did Joshua feel a sense of purpose in his life and death? How did he touch other people's souls?

There are hints of answers to these questions, written in the subtext of Joshua's life, whispered through the things he has said, and half visible in his relationships. Various people have offered Lorraine and I possible explanations for what has happened, and I can choose the answers that make sense to me, or I can choose to believe that the answers are unknowable.

Right now I feel like it doesn't matter which I choose. What matters is that there is a path, some course of action, things to do, people to know, ideas to explore. And my guess is that I will find that path through the questions I ask.

Comments

[Erica Tsujita]

Rory,

I think it's wonderful of you to allow the questions to determine your journey, or at least guide you. I think it's very difficult for people to ask questions and then reside in that space between the question and any answer. Cam is particularly good at being in that space (me, I feel defensive after he asks me a round of questions, but he has to remind me every time that he's not expecting answers from me!). I've heard any number of "answers" for the question of why a child has died, but I'm not sure there is one. (Is there a "right" question to ask in that circumstance....?)
I can't pretend to know what it's like for you, but I get the sense that you are growing through this experience and that has got to take courage. Perhaps, in asking questions, you will find, as an unexpected surprise, just how much your life has touched and continues to touch others. I have few strong memories of you and me as we were growing up, but nevertheless, I remember some things well and there are some very positive influences from you! I hope that we will have more time in the future to share experiences and enrich each others lives!
I wish you lots of love,
Erica

[Rory]

Agreed, sometimes it's hard when there seems not to be an answer; for me it helps just to know that something is a possibility. But I think the main thing is that questions stimulate thought - they are just an outcome of curiosity. I still find it difficult to understand what it means to "process" or "work through" a traumatic experience, but maybe this is part of it.

I hope it isn't too long before we can talk face to face.

[Gill Kerchhoff]

Dear Rory, thank you for continuing to write on the blog. It feels like a privilege for me to share your thoughts and ideas and to get a vague sort of a picture of how it might be for you and lolly in the weeks following joshua's death. how different from how i grew up when things were not spoken about openly but considered too sensitive and impolite. The process for you is so personal and unique, as it would be for each one of us, but i believe that we can find help and perhaps solace through listening to and understanding how others make sense of life and death and what it is all about. I wish you both well, lots of love, Gill