Science

4/3/07

When most consider the debate between science and religion, it is related to the debate as it was framed in the late medieval and Renaissance periods, and, therefore, defined around western-European notions. As such, the debate refers to the divide between the church’s authority to assert dogma (based on a combination of the bible and the church’s authority) and the secularists right to challenge that dogma through systematic investigations of the empirical (therein lies the rub) data.

The most well-known example of this face-off was the case of Galileo Galilei, who tangled with the church on the heliocentric theory of the planets. Galilei was not the first to posit this theory (Copernicus was first–at least in modern Western Europe–then Brahe and Kepler supported him), but he was the most pronounced in his support for the idea and had the benefit of better telescopes to provide better data. This support resulted in a forced retraction by the church and house arrest–a travesty which was not fully reversed until 1992, when the pope finally admitted that the whole matter was not handled well.

Darwin’s theory of evolution is the next most important rift between between the church and the academy, and he has never lost his poster-child status in the debate. In America, the divide has become a full-fledged culture war–and war is not too strong of a word. American-style evangelical Christianity is adamant and militant in its defensive language, and proponents of scientific rationalism are getting more direct and bold in their statements as well (consider the works of Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris–I have links on the right; here’s a conversation between Harris and Rick Warren).

My graduate studies, readings, and independent explorations over the past 15 years have placed me, currently, right in the middle of the debate, but with somewhat more scientific rationalist tendencies. As a matter of faith, I have come to realize that my belief in God (the Judeo-Christian model) is primarily that, a belief; it is a world view, an interpretation of the meaning of the universe, and not (necessarily) the systematic understanding of absolute truth that I grew up believing that it was (more on that later). The more I explore the details of my faith, the more I realize that my faith is culturally derived, and has not always connected with the available empirical data. I’m not saying that it is unfounded, or that I do not believe it is possible to obtain absolute truth (I’m not postmodernist; in fact, for a good summary of the problems with postmodernism in relation to empiricism, read this article by a former professor of mine), but that it has been poorly informed historically and rationally as, I believe, most faiths are (ok, I need to qualify that; I mean that most proponents of any particular faith are ill-informed on the nature and history of their faith, which is not necessarily a problem unless they are going to be beligerent in their belief).

I believe that there is a place for science and religion to have a conversation, but I have not completely worked out the best way for that to happen. John Haught, in Deeper Than Darwin proposes one of the most promising explanations (for me) and models for how the conversation might proceed (you can find a link to his Georgetown University page on the right; I plan to blog his book soon). In brief, taking a cue from literary theory, he discusses science and religion, metaphorically, as different ways of “reading” the universe, that is, both as legitimate ways of understanding, interpreting, and assigning meaning and purpose to the universe. I highly recommend reading this book as a way into the discussion absent the hyperbole and histrionics too often associated with it.

My concern with the discussion as it occurs now, and my present bias toward scientific rationalism, is that the religious position too often begins from a place of unassailable authority without a commensurate amount of knowledge, data, or context. What I mean is that far too many religious people (and now I’ll narrow it down to my own culture and experience), Christians to be precise, have never thoroughly examined their own premises: why do they believe in God (the Judeo-Christian one)? Why do they believe in the Bible as inspired, inerrant? These might seem like preposterous questions to someone raised in a conservative Christian home in the mid-West, but they really do deserve answers, particularly given the way Christians (and most religions) treat other people not part of their community (which can be rather deplorable; that’s not to say non-Christians don’t, but many of the others have not claimed the high moral ground for the past two thousand years).

This is not to say that all people of faith need to become scholars in the understanding of their faith; however, it does mean that they need to stop talking to scholars who disagree with them as if they were mad, and condemning them for it. Consider this: how many people would feel comfortable walking into a flight school and telling the instructor that they’ve got it all wrong? Not many, I hope, especially of those willing to fly. Yet, so many Christians have no problem telling thousands of biologists, physicists, astronomers, geneticists, etc., etc., that they are wrong and incompetent. Such hubris I find baffling and not a little dangerous. Then, in the same breath, they will quote scientists in support of their views when it suits their purpose, and, further, proffer examples of high-level scientists who believe in God or support intelligent design (ID). This is a fickle use of scientific authority. In addition, on balance, the number of scientists who believe in God and/or support ID is far, far outweighed by those who do not.

Lest you think that I am arguing for atheism, I am most certainly not. My point is that we need to more carefully examine our assumptions and the limits of our knowledge. Most of what constitutes attacks on scientific knowledge by faith-based perspectives amount to you-can’t-disprove-X or this-could-be-wrong-with-your-view arguments. The fact that one can not disprove God’s (or Martians’ or Zeus’) existence does not constitute proof positive, nor do the gaps or limits of scientific knowledge act as cracks to insert a wedge of doubt that lets one split the whole log apart. Refutation requires more than reasonable doubt–this is not a court of law.

While there are arrogant scientists, on the whole, they are people of integrity. All people of faith bristle at the notion that their beliefs should be dismissed because of the misdeeds of a minority’s attitudes or actions; so, too, would scientists like to be respected. In the end, ideas must stand or fall on their own merits as supported by the data; the credibility of the data and the idea does not depend so much on the individual presenting it, but on how well they can back up their thesis. A credible person will just have a better chance of doing this.

One final point on the issues of credibilty, authority, and hubris. In a recent personal discussion, it was pointed out to me that I might be suffering undue arrogance related to my advanced education, particularly in the humanities. I took this to heart, and considered it for what is was worth, because we can all do for more moments of reflection that will increase our humility and honest self-assessment; however, I think this person missed the point. This person had misinterpreted by critiques of a particular argument as an attack on another person (whom this person was defending; I’m old friends with both and I appreciated the one being so frank with me). That was not my point. I am not at all interested in getting into a I’m-smarter-than-you-are debate. In fact, all of my advanced education informed me in great detail how much I don’t know about any variety of topics–that’s why I yield to those–collectively–who are experts in a particular field. Casting expert against expert is pointless and amounts to nothing more than personality cults; serious researchers in academia are interested in the overall body of evidence, the converging lines of argument.

As far as my personal credentials go, let me clear the decks straightaway. My undegraduate training was in education (music, of course), so I am a teacher by trade. My graduate work was focused on music theory, history, and composition. My first master’s degree was focused on a study in music cognition, and I spent three years working closely with psychologists on experimental design and statistical analysis. Let me stress: this training and experience did not give me a sense that I am an expert in experimental psychology or statistics. Quite the opposite, it made me acutely aware how appreciative I am of people who are experts in these (and many other) areas.

Aside from some very specific music subjects, my graduate training provided me with research methods and critical analysis skills; what a Ph.D. gets one (hopefully) is the ability to systematically and critically analyze any number of topics, which means relying on and challenging any number of experts and authorities. At its best, a Ph.D.–that is, a Doctor (Latin for “teacher”) of Philosophy (in music, math, whatever) means that one is first of all a teacher of the love of knowledge, and secondly, an expert in a particular subject. On balance, what graduate school taught me most is how much I do not know. It’s important to know ones limits.

I am disappointed when these discussions turn to who’s smarter than whom. That completely misses the point, because any one particular person’s “smartness” is completely over-ridden by the collective body of knowledge and insight of an entire community. I am equally dismayed when I (and others) am criticized for even raising certain questions or issues; it’s as if having questions and doubts is simply not allowed. I’m sorry if other people’s minds do not work like that, but my integrity demands that I be honest with myself and others.

In conclusion, I am of a scientific bent. I don’t have a problem with evolution; it does not threaten my faith or beliefs, although it has contributed to a limiting of the number and range of beliefs that I am dogmatic on. However, far more than just evolution–really, the whole scientific body of knowledge–has contributed to that change. I find the arguments of ID to be critically lacking, and, methodologically, to have no place in scientific investigations. Books such as Michael Behe’s Darwin’s Black Box and Nancy Pearcy’s Total Truth (both are in bookstore on the right) are, in my and many other people’s opinion, flawed in their approach. For a concise explanation of the problems with ID, read P. Wesley Edwards article here, and for a more in-depth treatment (by Christians), read Miller’s Finding Darwin’s God and Collins’ The Language of God. In addition (and I will cover this more in a future article), my view of the historical development of the bible has also changed my perception of how the bible should (or, more importantly, should not) be used in the development of beliefs.

The last paragraph might seem troubling to some, because the usual assumption is that belief in evolution and the bible are incompatible. My point is that the bible was never intended to be a book that competed with scientific theories. I’ll cover this more in a general article on the bible.

I try to treat information and knowledge as simply that: data. As anyone who has studied statistics knows, data means nothing until it is interpreted, and I think that science, history, religion, and philosophy all have something to contribute to “reading” this data properly. Any efforts to limit our ability to employ these tools will result in a blind spot.