The God of the Gaps

I once worked for a man who was baffled by the fact that a cow could eat green grass and produce white milk. He saw it as a great mystery, a miracle, giving certain evidence to the existence of a deity.  

The “God of the gaps” is a phrase used in science to explain the unexplainable. When earthly evidence hits a wall, God fills the void. Isaac Newton couldn’t fully explain the orderly motion of the planets using laws of gravity so he conceded to divine intervention.  For millennia, lightning was attributed to the likes of Thor and Zeus until Ben Franklin flew a kite in a thunderstorm and discovered charged electrons. Physical illnesses were seen as God’s punishment until Louis Pasteur introduced germ theory.  Mental illness and epilepsy were works of the devil until our understanding of brain activity, neurology, and genetics provided an explanation. The incredible diversity of life on Earth wasn’t created instantaneously but can be attributed to evolution by natural selection. Earthquakes, volcanoes, and violent storms don’t indicate a wrathful God but are natural occurrences driven by plate tectonics, geology, and weather systems.

Some fear that science and its capacity to unravel mysteries questions God’s existence. Theologians disagree, and argue that using God to explain the unexplainable holds us in ignorance rather than pushing us towards better understanding.

I heard a priest say that a loving God isn’t responsible for an earthquake that destroys lives, that natural disasters were part of creation. God does not intervene when fault lines reach their limits or twisters rip through towns.  “God,” the priest said, “is there for the rebuilding, for the strength and healing needed by survivors.” 

Faith is belief in the absence of proof, a confidence even when the odds against us are high. It keeps hope alive. But it’s not an excuse to take life sitting down, for concluding that injustices and prejudices are beyond our ability to change. 

It doesn’t take a theologian, philosopher, or academic to find the God of the gaps inspiring.  Thanks to man’s drive for knowledge and understanding, gaps are steadily whittled away. In the process, our preconceptions of the divine can evolve into something greater— more mysterious, powerful, and humbling.  Modern science asks us to be open to the possibility of a multiverse, multiple big bangs, universal consciousness, alternative realities and dimensions, reincarnation.  Rather than being threats to religious convictions, such theories suggest we might be selling our divinity short. 

There’s a parallel between our reaction to the God of the gaps and our willingness to dissect and challenge long held beliefs and practices. Most if not all world religions advocate peace. Buddhism teaches mindfulness, compassion, and detachment from desire. Christianity promotes love and forgiveness: “Blessed are the peacemakers.” “Salaam”, the root word of Islam, means “peace”, and the Quran favors reconciliation over violence. Judaism sees peace as a divine ideal. Hinduism emphasizes tranquillity and peace as a personal and cosmic goal. With peace a universal objective and wars dominating the world stage, something fundamental is long broken. 

Atheism is not a religion in the traditional sense but provides a framework for understanding life in much the same way religions do. It took me a while to accept that some of the most moral and generous people I know are atheists. Their motivation to “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is out of common sense and decency, not eternal destiny. Too many organized religions subscribe to a slightly altered version: “Do unto others as the bastards would do unto you,” and it changes everything. 

There is no arguing the value or benefits of a spirit-filled life, but living it with stubborn righteousness is a problem. Often without realizing, we fall into lock step with misinterpretations or weaponization of scripture  to defend our positions, and justify hatred or violence against those whose beliefs are different. Religious texts were written by men with their own ingrained cultural notions regarding slavery and women’s rights and societal divisions. And over centuries original scrolls were misinterpreted in translation, rewritten, and letters and gospels withheld to satisfy scholarly attitudes of the time. 

While a college student, I heard a housemate say when we die we will meet the God of our faith, regardless of religion.  I considered it blasphemous but now see the merit in his reasoning. It allows mutual respect and understanding in a world where multiple traditions claim exclusive access to eternal destiny.

As a fourth grader, I remember a nun asking our class, by show of hands, if we lived in homes with a non-catholic parent. “Oh, pray for them,” she said, and a half dozen impressionable kids went home fearing their moms or dads were bound for hell. 

Benjamin Franklin is often misquoted to have said, “Beer is proof that a loving God exists.”  He was actually referring to wine, but either way it garners broad support regardless of religious preference. Maybe it’s a starting point, common ground for realizing we have more in common than we think.

Tonight, shortly after sunset, the light took on an orange hue, illuminating the landscape with a soft glow, highlighting the yellows and reds of early autumn. Wilderness activist Sigurd Olson wrote about it in his book, Runes of the North, after spending time afield with photographer Frank Ross. Frank would wait patiently for that rare evening light that could change the ordinary into something magical. 

Sig coined it the Ross light, and for decades the Scheidler household has used the term to describe an unworldly and satisfying evening glow. We don’t need the God of the gaps to explain the phenomenon— meteorology has it covered.  And when the Ross light bathes the countryside, people notice and are moved. Some credit their God and others say it’s just a strange and inspiring light. Either way it reveals a beauty that was always there— we just have to open our eyes to see it.