The Beetle, the Physicist, and the Divine

BRUCE  LICHT

Imagine attempting to explain quantum mechanics to a beetle.(1) The thought itself is completely nonsensical. The beetle lacks the cognitive framework, the language, and the sensory apparatus to even begin grasping such complicated concepts. The chasm in comprehension is not merely a difference in degree but in kind—a fundamental and unbridgeable gap. This absurdity provides a sobering analogy for contemplating the immeasurable gulf between a human’s intelligence and the divine. The distance separating a beetle from even a Ph.D. level physicist is dwarfed by the incomprehensible expanse separating the physicist from God.

Our perception, for instance, is inherently limited. A bee, for example, sees a flower in ultraviolet; a spectrum invisible to the human eye. We can theorize about the bee’s world, but we can never truly perceive it. What colors, sounds, or dimensions are we missing? God assuredly perceives a reality so vastly different from our own that our entire sensory experience is but a narrow slice of His whole. From this viewpoint, the most advanced human science, like string theory, would seem to God as a beetle's crude pheromonal trail (2) does to us—a simple, functional artifact of a primitive existence.

This humbling limitation extends far beyond our intellect to our moral framework as well. Consider a human accidentally, unknowingly, stepping on an ant. The ant’s world—its home, its colony—is completely annihilated in an instant. For the human, the event is an inconsequential, unnoticed blip. From the ant’s viewpoint, it might appear as an inexplicable, catastrophic act of a giant.

Likewise, when humans face suffering, we question the purpose behind a seemingly indifferent cosmos. Our pain is real, but from God’s perspective, it perhaps could be an infinitesimally small detail within a grander, incomprehensible plan. The reason behind our suffering could be as inexplicable to us as the justification for the ant's demise is to the ant itself.

Given this colossal disparity, how would a divine being communicate with a “primitive” human mind? This analogy of communicating with a bug offers a clue. Assuming it was possible to warn a Moth away from a flame, one might simply convey, "Stay away from the fire" rather than attempting to explain all the complex principles of combustion. Now imagine that the Moth could actually follow your simplified instruction, oblivious to the underlying mechanics.

Similarly, divine communications could be processed not as a complete explanation, but as vastly simplified instructions—the most basic truths our primitive intellects are capable of grasping. They might guide us toward an endpoint we cannot fully comprehend, all while the complex motive itself remains far beyond our reach.

Ultimately, the bug-to-human comparison reveals a profound truth about our place in the cosmos. It forces us to confront our restricted awareness and intellect. In the face of an infinite and crucially different being, our most cherished knowledge and beliefs are revealed as a tiny, provincial mindset, and our most weighty questions as the utterances of creatures trying to grasp an actuality that transcends all understanding.