Mod 6

SOC 420 Lesson 6 Subtopic: Religion and Science

There exists indeed an opposition to it [building of the University of Virginia, Jefferson's secular college] by the friends of William and Mary, which is not strong. The most restive is that of the priests of the different religious sects, who dread the advance of science as witches do the approach of day-light; and scowl on it the fatal harbinger announcing the subversion of the duperies on which they live . In this the Presbyterian clergy take the lead. The tocsin is sounded in all their pulpits, and the first alarm denounced is against the particular creed of Doctr. Cooper; and as impudently denounced as if they really knew what it is. —Thomas Jefferson, Letter to José Francesco Corrê a Da Serra - Monticello, April 11, 1820

The well-known German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, born several years before the American Revolution, found success primarily during the 19th century. Hegel had an interesting perspective on history, art, and many other life circumstances. This is often referred to as the Hegelian Dialectic, meaning two parts that combine to form a new whole. As explained by this Stanford Encylopedia of Philosophy article, Hegel envisioned a dialectical process by which ideas—and ultimately events and history itself—evolve. Similar patterns can also be seen in art and other creative media, education, and various other areas of life, which Hegel all saw as reflections of that dialectical process.

Karl Marx built upon G.W.F. Hegel’s philosophy (the word spelled in the building blocks, BTW). Image from theimaginativeconservative.org.

As Hegel explained, one particular existing idea, a thesis, would face a challenge from a competing idea, or antithesis. The two ideas would then struggle together, producing a dialogue in the process. A resolution, or synthesis, would then emerge from the dialogue. A series of syntheses would also yield what Hegel saw as a zeitgeist, or “spirit of the times,” that indicated a common characteristic or a particular feeling or flavor, as it were, of a given period of history.

Hegel’s explanatory framework deeply influenced a young idealist named Karl Marx. But as Marx developed his own ideas about how the world worked, and became more cynical than his predecessor, he instead emphasized the conflict and devalued Hegel’s resolution process. Marx believed the struggle would never end as long as one idea was more powerful than the other. The relationship between religion and science can be seen in terms of both the dialectic and the Marxian conflict, as we shall see. And as suggested in the illustration, Marx substantially revised Hegel’s framework—or perhaps better said, as in the words of one of my own sociology professors long ago, “Marx flipped Hegel on his head.”

To better understand this relationship, let’s start with these very highly recommended articles:

Reading 1: Bainbridge, William Sims. 2011. “Science and Religion.” Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of Religion. See PDF on Blackboard under “Resources for Further Reading and Study” at the bottom of the Lessons page. An ASU Library Search should locate the full text online. See also this link. Assuming that works, expand the “Religion and Boundaries” menu and select the Bainbridge article.

Reading 2: Plantinga, Alvin. 2010. “Religion and Science.” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Online.

Recommended for Further Interest:

Pew Research Study: Americans' Perception of Conflict Between Science and Religion | Pew Research Center, October 22, 2015.

Example of Thesis: Horn, Siegfried H. 1980. “From Bishop Ussher to Edwin H. Thiele.” Andrews University Seminary Studies, vol. 18, no. 1. Pp. 37-49.

Example of Antithesis: Dawkins, Richard. 2003 (November 19-20). “The Science of Religion” and “The Religion of Science.” Transcript of The Tanner Lectures on Human Values. Harvard University. Online.

Example of Dialogue: Peters, Ted. Not dated. “Evangelical Atheism Today: A Response to Richard Dawkins.” Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary. Online.

Example of Synthesis: Eyring, Henry J. 2007. “Faith.” Mormon Scientist: The Life and Faith of Henry Eyring. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book. Pp. 41-70. See also Greene, Jon W. "A Biblical Case for Old-Earth Creationism." Science and Faith. www.scienceandfaith.org. Web.

Quality Case In Point: Ecklund, Elaine Howard, and Jerry Z. Park. 2009. “Conflict Between Religion and Science Among Academic Scientists?” Journal of the Scientific Study of Religion, vol. 48, no. 2, pp. 276-92.

One introductory idea we need to revisit is that of a false dichotomy. Remember, we mentioned this concept in Lesson 2. A false dichotomy is socially constructed when people only imagine two extremes of, or positions on, an issue as a pair of distinct opposite categories instead of considering other alternatives, including a range of intervening possibilities. The opposites may well be perceived or socially defined, but true bifurcation (i.e., a complete split in two) does not exist in an Objective sense. We can think of it this way. In the Western world, we often tend to think in “either/or” terms. Either something is or isn’t, either it meets a particular definition or doesn’t, either it has one quality or doesn’t, and so forth. But the observable world around us is often more complicated than this. Keep in mind that false dichotomies include statements as well as categories. “Donald Trump was either a con man or the greatest president ever,” for instance (notice the “either/or”?), presents a somewhat overly obvious false dichotomy because the statement ignores a number of other possibilities and nuances (and facts?). But here, we’re going to consider categories that are generally seen as distinct.

For instance, consider “hot” and “cold.” They’re opposites, right? Not necessarily! Thermometers are proof that “hot” and “cold” exist on a range or spectrum of hotness and coldness—which, moreover, are concepts that are relative to the frame of reference we may be using at the time. Let’s just go as far as the Earth’s moon to see this. Compared to the moon’s nighttime temperatures, which sink to often around minus-170°C (minus-274°F), your freezer at around minus-18°C (0°F) is a downright tropical paradise. But even the hottest day ever semi-officially recorded on Earth—56.7°C (134°F) in Death Valley, Calif., on July 10, 1913 (which has since been challenged, as has a 131°C reading in Tunisia in 1934, though an Aug. 16, 2020 temperature in Death Valley of 129.9 has been confirmed)—is still rather cool in the daytime of the moon, where at around 100°C (212°F) it’s literally hot enough to boil water. So the moon—like a hot fudge sundae, fried ice cream, etc. —isn’t either hot or cold—it’s hot and cold, with the areas at the edge of light-and-dark that are in-between. Considering only the two extremes creates a false dichotomy.

Because of this, we tend to think of a fair number of concepts as polar opposites, even when they are not necessarily so but instead involve a range or spectrum, or perhaps two choices often considered opposites that also include more categories when further examined. (And which are also relative, dependent on a frame of reference.) These might include sickness and health, darkness and light, laziness and industry, Republican and Democrat, and even good and evil as applied to particular people. Fine, as we also discussed in Lesson 2, Absolutes exist, but sometimes they are the end poles of a spectrum of ordinary experience. But let’s not get too far afield; there are plenty of additional but tangential questions related to this, and other mysteries, that remain pertinent to the philosophy of science and many other fields.

The late American science fiction writer Ray Bradbury often included religious themes in his work. According to raybradbury.com, the quote shown above originates from a 1996 Playboy Magazine interview. Image and text from izquotes.com.

The takeaway point here is that religion and science are likewise false dichotomies. They have been socially constructed as opposites, but aren’t necessarily so, and there is a wide range of truth (presumably even capital-T Truth!) and overlap between them both.

Speaking of mystery, what about the Ultimate Reality of the phenomena we—usually—cannot see, hear, or otherwise experience for ourselves? (BTW: My apologies to those of you reading the religious experience subtopic, but this segment will be familiar because it’s relevant here, too.) Not to drag Saxe’s six blind men and the elephant back into class again, but that’s the general idea. And very much so, in fact. There’s so much we don’t accurately perceive or know that we often find ourselves calling a tail a rope or a leg a tree, as it were. We just do the best we can to try to figure out what we’re really examining in scientific observation. But Ultimate Reality is a great mystery to be solved. Sometime when you have some spare time to indulge your curiosity and possibly also blow your mind, I invite you to watch all of Richard Hammond's Invisible Worlds series . This shows you how much there is in our ordinary world that we DON’T see, hear, or know about. It happens too fast or too slow, or on a scale too large or too small, or on wavelengths our eyes and/or ears can’t perceive. Talk about Fear of Missing Out! Wow! There’s a LOT more going on out there than we can ever truly imagine! So in a very real way, yes, we ARE the six blind men, only seeing and hearing so much with our limited senses. We don’t usually perceive those limitations on our perception, but they are good to understand every so often.

Xenophilius Lovegood explaining the the Deathly Hallows to Harry Potter and friends, according to the 2010 Warner Brothers film. Image from es.harrypotter.wikia.com.

In terms of what we can determine here and now about science and the scientific process, though, let’s turn back again to our good friend Harry Potter. To illustrate this, consider the exchange between eccentric believer Xenophilius Lovegood and clear rationalist Hermione Granger in Deathly Hallows (p. 411) about the Resurrection Stone. When Hermione declares that the Resurrection Stone can’t possibly exist, Xenophilius challenges her to prove that it is NOT real. Hermione correctly states that this effort would be absurdly difficult, requiring her to find, examine, and rule out every single boulder, rock, and pebble in the world. She then adds that anything could be considered real if it’s necessary to disprove that it exists; Xenophilius then congratulates her on opening her mind.

To be sure, Xenophilius here rather absurdly commits a rather flagrant logical error in this. The utter lack of evidence and inability to disprove is hardly tantamount to proof of his outlandish beliefs! Even further, the fictional exchange helps metaphorically illustrate the tension between religious claims and empirical science. As we know, and as Plantinga (and virtually all our experts in the required and optional readings alike) attests, the two have long had a hard time mixing.

For instance, we will read shortly about the theory of evolution. This hotly debated issue has been a focal point of American public education for more than a century, due to the competing claims of scientists on one hand and largely evangelical Christian Protestant religionists on the other. These religious traditions claim the world and all life here was created by God; scientists claim that the world and all life here originated via the Big Bang Theory and all life evolved from dimly understood beginnings. Religion cites its evidence as the Bible, or perhaps better said, various interpretations of the Bible; scientists point to the fossil record, or perhaps most precisely said, their common reading of the fossil record. Notably, both are empirical objects thought to be fully authoritative by large groups of people, though admittedly the fossil record is more tangible and perceptible and thus much more compatible with the empirical evidence than our traditional interpretations of the Bible.

So back to our friend Xenophilius. Interestingly, despite his absurdly illogical and backwards conclusion, the problem he presents to Hermione remains real: Though little if any concrete empirical evidence exists to support his conclusions per se (and by extension, many religious conclusions as well), ruling them all out would require a virtually impossible empirical test . We just can’t empirically prove or disprove the existence of God, as we discussed in Lesson 2. Like Hermione, many otherwise brilliant, highly rational scientists fall into an error almost as curious as our Mr. Lovegood’s, though at the opposite end of the spectrum. There’s a false equivalence at work, which curiously sometimes can even be seen among some otherwise highly trained and brilliant scientists. To explain, please consider the epistemological difference between two statements that are frequently confused with each other, though they actually mean VERY different things:

1) We have no evidence to support this idea and cannot possibly conclude that it is true;

2) We can safely conclude, based on the known evidence discovered, examined, and presented, that this idea is false.

Again, the two statements are NOT synonymous. Think it through carefully. This is one example of a false equivalence. Somewhat similarly to the other subtopic on religious experience, empirical evidence cannot and does not Absolutely Confirm the Ultimate Reality of (or “prove”) many religious claims. Keep in mind, some archeological and cultural evidence confirms particular suppositions, and to some extent even religious ones. We can confirm, for instance, that ancient biblical places such as Jerusalem, Jericho, Egypt, the Dead Sea, and so forth actually existed, along with various artifacts that seem to support some biblical narratives. But as for whether God created Adam and Eve (and all life on Earth), Moses saw God, David killed Goliath, Samson made an entire building collapse by mere brute strength, or even whether Jesus Christ actually existed, empirical evidence shows virtually nothing. In fact, concrete and scientifically valid evidence confirming a fair number of those biblical claims would be highly unlikely—if not outright impossible!—to collect. This is not to focus on the Bible alone. Much the same is true of incidents recounted in the sacred literature of other religious traditions, of course. Verifying the authenticity of scriptural accounts in general remains a thorny proposition.

The Shroud of Turin, seen by some believers as evidence of Jesus’ existence, has been controversial for centuries. Most carbon-dating studies have suggested the shroud dates from the Middle Ages. One 2013 study suggested the fabric actually could have existed during Christ’s time, though researchers have been cautious about claiming more than this. Others who have examined the cloth are highly skeptical of all claims surrounding it. Image from USA Today.

However, it is likewise empirically impossible to rule out the possibility that these narratives really did occur. We can’t prove using empirical methods and/or evidence that God DIDN’T somehow create humans and life, Moses DIDN’T see God, or that David, Samson, and Christ alike are all fictitious. Some critics argue that various literary qualities of the narratives are actually “proof” of fabrication, as in a smoking gun, though the logical chain doesn’t seem to hold up. For instance, the observation that the biblical Book of Job is written in Hebrew literary form (as are several others), while a valuable insight into the text, doesn’t necessarily mean that a real person named Job never existed or that this real person never suffered trials of any sort. This is akin to viewing the reasonably well-made 2012 film Lincoln, discussing the cinematography and acting as well as the use of artistic and historical license, and then declaring that because the film employed those cinematic techniques that Abraham Lincoln never actually existed and he himself was a work of fiction. This is also true of the biblical writers who obviously had substantial artistic or literary talent, such as David, Solomon, and Isaiah. A lack of evidence for the claims is FAR from the same as possessing valid, credible, and incontrovertible evidence confirming the claims. A lack of data is just that—a lack of data. No, an absence of data can’t prove the Ultimate Reality of Biblical Inerrancy. But neither does it refute it or provide “proof” that it didn’t happen or isn’t real.

Furthermore, the idea of a fundamental split between religion and science—the either/or division—is not as old as many have thought. In the early years of Westernized culture, many religious men explored science. Bainbridge (2011) covers the ancient realms of civilization and early origins of science fairly well, so let’s pick up during the 9th century AD. In Andalucia (Muslim Spain), for instance, scholars from Islam, Christianity, and Judaism not only collaborated but explored the wisdom of the Greeks and Romans in several early universities. Centuries later, as Plantinga (2010) shows, Copernicus and Galileo both professed religious faith, despite the latter’s well-known 1633 trial before the Inquisition and conviction of heresy. During medieval times and the Renaissance, despite the rise of humanism, many well-known scholars professed at least a nominal level of religiosity ( Ibid.). Religion and science, along with other areas of thought, were both considered part of the unknown mystery of existence. In Plantinga’s terminology, there was certainly a possible concord for religion and science. Here’s more on the history of the religion-science division.

Religion and science did at times come into conflict, particularly as science was emerging as a field and came to threaten the institutional interests of various churches. This face-off was notable during the Renaissance, as the Catholic church became concerned about the problems of heresy and humanism (among others) and called for various Inquisitions in that time frame, trying to maintain its theological positions and power. The 17th century in Italy saw one of these episodes, coinciding with Galileo’s discoveries and teachings about astronomy. Examining the evidence, Galileo concluded that the Sun was the center of the solar system, and the planets (including Earth) revolved around the Sun. Since the Copernican heliocentric model didn’t square with standard (Ptolemaic) Catholic dogma at the time that the planets and sun all revolved around the Earth, Galileo ran afoul of the Inquisition and was put on trial for heresy. He was forced to walk back his conclusions about astronomy in 1633, which allowed him to remain on house arrest—and notably, complete some of his best-known works over the next several years! But the proverbial cat was already out of the bag, and other astronomers quickly backed up Galileo and his conclusions. The heliocentric solar system model was there to stay even despite the 1633 verdict.

Image of Albert Einstein from quotes-central.com; see also http://www.sacred-texts.com/aor/einstein/einsci.htm for more of the venerable physicist’s thoughts on the subject.

The trial of Galileo foreshadowed later events in the ambiguous relationship of religion and science. The rise of humanism led to even greater divergence between the two fields during the 18th century, though in the philosophical Enlightenment, deism—which was the religious philosophy of many of America’s founders—and other efforts still served as something of a bridge between the two. This didn’t come without problems and some division, as the deist Jefferson sharply noted of the religious opponents to the founding of the University of Virginia. Yet Jefferson—again as a deist—disapproved much more of the fundamental misunderstanding of scientific enterprises than of religion per se. Religion wasn’t always the enemy of science. At times, the two got along well enough. Even in the 1850s, Gregor Mendel, the forefather of genetic theory, recorded his observations in his monastery’s garden, working well within the framework of religious belief. Science and religion were certainly always capable of peaceful coexistence, much as it didn’t necessarily work out that way.

Yet, as Plantinga (2010) points out, conflict was brewing in the mid-19th century. Remember social construction? Deism, as its adherents had agreed, saw plants, animals, humans, and the natural processes that governed them as part of God’s orderly system that marvelously ran by itself. This was one socially constructed explanation that sought to reconcile religion and science. But the emerging theory of evolution was another social construction, and it became construed—and used—as a challenge to religious belief. Plantinga (2010) cites this as the primary battlefield between the two.

Charles Darwin as pictured in 1854, several years before the publication of The Origin of Species. Image from Flickr.

The Great Schism arose with the emergence of natural scientist Charles Darwin, particularly his publication of The Origin of Species in 1859. Darwin’s observations about the adaptation of animal species in the Canary Islands eventually led to the theory of evolution. Evolution, and later theories such as the “Big Bang” that sprang from it, became not only something of a rallying cry for scientists worldwide, but became construed and used as challenges to religion and religious belief. To many experts of the time, science was progress while religion was ancient superstition. The truly educated and sophisticated were expected to embrace progress (science) and reject the outworn superstitious trappings of the past.

Scientific philosophy associated with evolution openly contradicted not only deism, but religious explanations in general—particularly as 19th century scientists began to question the biblical account of humanity’s creation by God. Instead, many advanced the hypothesis, as set forth by Darwin in 1871 in The Descent of Man, that humans and apes had evolved from a common ancestor. (Subsequent critics illogically and inaccurately misrepresented this proposition as an argument that man descended from monkeys. Nope. Not the idea at all.) As scientists considered the evidence available to them and agreed upon how the theory of evolution explained that evidence, a competing social construction was born. As the two social constructs were constructed as enemies, conflict between the two was essentially inevitable. Predictably, these two constructs soon began to fight.

Perhaps nowhere was the conflict more evident than in tiny Dayton, Tennessee, in the sweltering summer of 1925. In the then-recently passed Butler Act, the state of Tennessee had outlawed teaching evolution in its public school classrooms. This troubled scientists and others who agreed with their perspective, including the young American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU). Dayton science teacher John Scopes then agreed to become a test case for evolution for the ACLU by openly and deliberately teaching the then-banned theory. Several offended students and their parents then reported him for violating the Butler Act, and the state prosecuted the case. Formally named The State of Tennessee v. John Thomas Scopes (usually truncated to Tennessee v. Scopes), the press of the day nicknamed it the “Scopes Monkey Trial.” Curious onlookers and news reporters alike descended on the town, then of around 2,000; various entrepreneurs cashed in, including the owner of a highly trained chimpanzee that delighted audiences by performing distinctly human-like tricks.

ACLU attorney Clarence Darrow, left, with William Jennings Bryan at the Tennessee v. Scopes trial in Dayton in 1925. Image from cr4.globalspec.com.

This early showdown between the ACLU and the Christian Right featured atheist lawyer Clarence Darrow and noted political figure and true believer William Jennings Bryan. After several days of argument, Darrow cut the trial short by entering a guilty plea. The jury agreed. This was strictly a legal ploy; Darrow went on to appeal the verdict in state court in order to undermine the state’s law against teaching evolution, eventually resulting in the repeal of the Butler Act. On the other side of the case, mere days after the trial concluded in his favor, Bryan died in his sleep of a sudden illness; since he was diabetic, the cause may have been from a stroke or heart failure as a complication of his condition. See this site from The First Amendment Encyclopedia for more on the “Monkey Trial.” Here's a timeline from NPR from 2005 on the trial.

As suggested at the top of the module, religion and science can be considered as a Hegelian dialectical process. The thesis: Religion as the original historical paradigm of “the known truth,” though the paradigm—a time-honored interpretation of the Genesis Creation account, emerging in medieval times and reinforced with the Bible’s mass publication in the mid-15th century—was socially constructed. Horn’s discussion of the religious account in our optional readings represents this thesis. Perhaps most notably, consider Bishop Ussher’s strangely precise 17th century chronology of Genesis, which set the date of The Creation as October 23, 4004 B.C.; moreover, after dialogue with Sir John Lightfoot of the University of Cambridge, the actual time of the Creation itself was set at 9:00 a.m.! Ussher (and Lightfoot!) was not the first to attempt to delineate the supposed 6,000-year history of the Earth, but his timeline is probably the most well-known among traditional Christian believers today, and certainly also the most specific.

Scientific exploration, arising as an alternative explanation—and in the socially constructed case of evolution, an outright challenge—to the existing historical paradigm, serves as the anti-thesis. Science challenges religion in this anti-thesis, daring it to prove the basis of its claims. Darwin’s original work was one instance of this, though Galileo’s earlier work was another, and the other thought and study of the Renaissance humanists. More recently, Richard Dawkins’ challenge to religion (to put it lightly) represents another facet of this. Mr. Peters’ response to Dawkins then enters as just one example of dialogue—which is admittedly a great deal more complicated than just this single example demonstrates. We are currently engaged in the process of dialogue, with the resulting conflict between science and religion characteristic of the zeitgeist of our times. In the discussion of evolution, religious-based explanations such as Creationism and Intelligent Design have emerged from this dialogue in light of the particularly thorny question of irreducible complexity. (Very simply put, critics of evolution argue that the complexity of biological systems constitute evidence of divine design, since it’s unthinkable that such complexity could have merely evolved into being. More on irreducible complexity here.) Still, despite all the dialogue between science and religion over the centuries, no religious-based explanation for the evidence of evolution has been empirically accepted or even come anywhere close.

Dawkins’ comments also underscore an interesting point: Though he probably didn’t intend this, the outspoken atheist and critic of religion in speaking of the “religion of science” demonstrates that the discourse of religion and ideology is inevitable—even when advocating atheism. Using a photo of four girls playing roles in a Christmas program, Dawkins argues how horrible and objectionable it would be if we designated them by economic ideology as Marxist, Keynesian, etc. His example could be criticized as problematic in the proverbial “apples to oranges” sense, but it aptly demonstrates the inevitability of ideology. Ideology is a key assumption about how the world and society works that likewise cannot be empirically demonstrated—it is, in effect, a principle of faith and trust. In this life, the choice to believe in something—anything—on the basis of blind trust is inevitable.

Debates between “Young Earth Creationists,” who essentially believe in the 6,000-year-old proposed timeline of our planet’s existence, and “Old Earth” scientists, who believe more in the billion-year-model suggested by the accepted interpretation of the evidence, are common in many religious traditions. Image from britannica.com.

In other words, Dawkins—as the rest of us also do—makes assumptions that he chooses to trust implicitly. Curiously, though, this only raises yet more questions, one being how he knows the social world works as he has construed it. For one thing, why might not a little girl labeled as a Keynesian in her tender years not learn differently from her life experience and subsequently grow up to be a Marxist? Or vice versa? People might inherit beliefs when they are younger but substitute them for others that seem more sensible as they grow older and acquire more knowledge and different perspectives. Just as people switch religions, they may also switch secular perspectives or ideologies. In any case: All people, scientific or not, choose core beliefs of some sort—including religious and/or ideological ideas—that cannot be empirically supported, tested, or proven. This choice to assume belief (FAITH?) is inevitable. Dawkins’ choice simply involves beliefs rooted in empirical science—though ironically, his trust in those core beliefs lies rather far beyond empirical examination.

Also interestingly, science furthermore shares some common ground with Bellah’s framework of civil religion. This, too, can tie back to Edward Bailey’s concept of “implicit religion,” as we mentioned in Lessons 1 and 4. As with our previous discussion of civil religion, science also has distinct religious aspects. Empiricism is a guiding doctrine and the theory of evolution operates as dogma, complete with criticism of evolution as tantamount to blasphemy. Patron saints include Galileo and Darwin, peer-reviewed scientific studies form its sacred literature, and so forth. There are various “churches” and “sects” within the scientific field as well, with their own leadership structures, and a clear process of conceptual development and progression by social construction. Scientists are socialized into a particular way of thinking and reinforce each other’s orthodoxy via the peer review process. Science even has its crusaders and militants—Dawkins, Sam Harris, Michael Shermer, the late Christopher Hitchins, and so forth—as well as recruiters.

Bainbridge (2011) further points out that some believers can consider science a religious activity, particularly if the scientist feels he or she is discovering more about God. So the point is further underscored: Scientists, whether or not they ever admit it, even take a certain degree of knowledge on faith! Science may be more “religious” than we usually think, since many of the same social processes are involved. Not all is parallel; “scientific rituals” vary by discipline and context, for one thing; holidays other than those of the secular workday calendar are few, for another. The “religious garb” of the white lab coat is also not exactly universal. But the discourse and structure of religion can certainly be applied to the scientific field. Plantinga (2010) further discusses the idea of “evidentialism.” (See also this quality discussion.) This epistemological idea postulates that some believers see religion as valid due to reasoning and evidence, while others believe that other means of “knowing” such as intuition can also testify of the Ultimate Reality of religion, independent of the application of reason. But in religious and scientific thought alike, evidentialism—particularly the idea that “if you accept x, you should believe y”—certainly comes into play.

Marx on Religion

"Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation. It is the opium of the people." (From Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, 1843. See www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/300700.html.)

Note also that the tension between religion and science, especially when focusing directly on the battle with evolution, can be considered in Marxian terms. Marx, as we know, was a great deal more revolutionary than Hegel; hence, Marx steers away from dialectical resolution and underscores incessant struggle and conflict. As Marx saw it, the lower-class proletariat continually struggles to resist the power and oppression of the upper-class bourgeoisie. The bourgeoisie also subtly persuades the proletariat to accept their “lot in life” using religion, Marx’s “opiate of the people.” So the religious camp could take the role of the bourgeoisie, while the scientists represent the proletariat.

Yet is this the best fit, particularly for the American context? Are scientists downtrodden, poverty-stricken, and oppressed? Or are they part of a cultural and intellectual elite that Marx himself didn’t envision, though later Marxists expand the framework to include this dimension? Could the roles actually be reversed? And overall, does the entire history of religion and science present a never-ending power struggle? Though all these points could be debated, doing so might well force the point. While Marxist analysis applies in more than a few contexts, it seems an awkward fit in this case.

Adding even more complexity, Bainbridge (2011) agrees with a semi-harmonious view of religion and science, citing for instance the tremendous amount of government funding for scientific efforts in late 20th century America. Bainbridge sees modern religion as evolving in light of scientific advances. Yet Bainbridge also argues that the average American doesn’t understand the everyday implications of science or speak/think in scientific terms. He cites, for instance, pre-Copernican (and partly Hellenic) imagery of the sun moving through the sky rather than the Earth revolving on its axis, an idea that—intriguingly enough!—continues in our modern language. So the Hellenic-derived words “sunrise” and “sunset” still imply the Sun moves around the Earth instead of vice versa. (I’m not sure what the alternatives are, either—“Earth-turn-towards-sun” and “Earth-turn-away-from-sun” don’t exactly roll off the tongue.) In short, even the language we use oversimplifies the role of science in everyday life. Bainbridge sees this as evidence that the general public really doesn’t think all that much about science or the effect of science on everyday life, contributing to a sort of passive acceptance that occasionally breaks down when science questions particular religious precepts.

Even our language contains artifacts of pre-Copernican astronomy. Is there a more scientifically accurate word for “sunset,” since that term still implies that the sun moves around the earth? Image information: Sunset over San Tan Valley, Arizona, December 1, 2005. Photo by Alden L. Weight. All rights reserved.

In short, though Bainbridge sees the peaceful co-existence of religion and science as a theoretical possibility, he doesn’t believe this actually happens in practice, since people in general actually understand neither of them, particularly science. Yet Bainbridge doesn’t consider at length another set of recent serious public debates over the ethical implications of cloning and stem-cell research among the public at large, which may possibly counter his view of science as uncritically and/or passively accepted by most of the public. While his argument has some merit, he may also be selling the public view of science just a little short.

In any case, to return to Hegel, where is the synthesis? We are living amid the dialogue stage, but some ideas have emerged as potential syntheses of religion and science. Some may see the Christian Science sect as one of these, though the group’s scientific focus lies primarily on healing and medicine. Though Christian Scientists in general reject evolution and Creationism alike, it is not completely clear what they believe in their stead. Moreover, evidence indicates that along with much of the rest of Christian America, the sect is gradually declining in cultural influence rather than growing. We might also perceive something of a synthesis in the artificial-intelligence worshipping group The Way of the Future, though it’s unclear just how widespread or pervasive this emerging religion will become in US or world society.

Another possible synthesis comes from cultural scholar Ian Barbour. Barbour studied the relationship of religion and science, ultimately concluding that the two have a complex relationship that is best described in terms of four general categories. These exist as something of a spectrum or continuum from one point to another. First, as many today believe—as in the relationship often featured in media and much of public discourse—the two are often seen as in conflict, if not downright enemies to each other. In this camp, the two perpetually engage in a Marxist-like struggle, with each seeking to dominate the other yet neither truly ever winning or likely to win. As the (simplistic and overstated) saying often goes: Science seeks to answer the important questions while religion establishes the important answers that must not be questioned. However, this is not necessarily so in Barbour’s view.

Others see the two as separate, independent, and unrelated. Each has different roles and responsibilities in today’s world. Science develops wonderful technology while religion answers mysteries of existence, for example. Even further on the continuum, yet others notice that religion and science can actually engage in dialogue, thereby helping each other with various issues and areas of knowledge. For example, religion often uses science and technology for its own purposes, whether using the printing press to distribute the Christian Bible to the public or creating an audiovisual presentation of music at a megachurch or multi-site campus location. Finally, at the far end of the continuum, still yet another school of thought tries to integrate religion and science. Some religions actually do this, as shall be discussed shortly (see the Baha’i quote in the following pages, for instance), as do various other intellectual or spiritual fields. Others simply see the best of the two as fully compatible in theory and assume that we can learn from both more or less equally. For those interested in learning more, this is a good summary of Barbour's typology.

Ian Barbour’s Typology of Religion and Science

· Conflict: Religion and science exist in mutual opposition (arguably the most common public and mass-media view).

· Independence: Religion and science are completely separate and unrelated.

· Dialogue: Religion and science are independent but can mutually inform each other.

· Integration: Religion and Science can interrelate in harmonious combination.

—Barbour, Ian. 2000. When Science Meets Religion: Enemies, Strangers, or Partners? New York: Harper-Collins.

Moreover, some groups within the Judeo-Christian identity attempt to reconcile belief and science; two such efforts are outlined in our optional readings. As an example of integrating religious belief and scientific explanations, Bible commentator Jon Greene draws upon an earlier discussion by Rich Deem that has since moved elsewhere on the Web. Greene echoes Deem’s thoughts on the ancient Hebrew usage of the word often translated as “day,” which suggests that the “days” of Biblical creation were not literal 24-hour days but time periods of indeterminate duration, as used in modern literary English expressions such as “a new day is dawning” or “this is a day of confusion.” Greene also establishes a religious rationale for “Old Earth Creationism” that also manages to reject evolution. This argument not only opens up the Ussher Biblical time frame substantially, but risks blowing it wide open.

A scientific-oriented commentator from the faith tradition to which I belong makes a similar suggestion. This is Dr. Henry J. Eyring, a longtime faculty member of and administrator at Brigham Young University-Idaho, recently also named campus president. (By the way, for those familiar with Church leadership, Henry B. Eyring of the church’s First Presidency is the original scientist Henry’s son and Dr. Henry J.’s father. Hopefully this helps keep track of which Henry Eyring is which.) Writing about his grandfather, Henry, and his religious perspective on science, Dr. Eyring ultimately concludes that Ultimate Truth exists, and what is True about science and religion alike is part of it. In this view, God not only gave us the Bible, but gave the tools and reasoning of the scientific method as well. If both religion and science are properly understood, applied, and interpreted, we can certainly expect that they will lead to the discovery of Ultimate Truth.

For instance, as Eyring and other scholars from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have postulated, the creation account in Genesis and elsewhere needs to be considered as a representation of a symbolic origin myth to ancient cultures, whose understanding of the world differed vastly from our own. In this view, Genesis was never intended to be a 21st century scientific text, and it’s incorrect to impose such an interpretation on it. Accordingly, what a “day” meant to the long-ago author of Genesis may have had little if any correlation to the 24-hour-period of the Earth’s revolution. It could well be true that the Earth itself is billions of years old, even if the creation of humans and most of known human history occurred much more recently. In Eyring’s view, in any case, we humans just don’t yet know enough about either science or religion—and when we do, we will ultimately see no discrepancies.

Even beyond this, Baha’i teachings, which seem instructive in this context, likewise suggest a religion-science synthesis. Like two wings of a bird, both are seen as valid ways of learning and advancing our modern world. Both are needed for balance and to help the bird fly, so there need be no enmity between the two. In fact, there shouldn’t be! They are integrated as part of the same body. This dovetails—um, fits well —with these previously expressed perspectives. Furthermore, and significantly, such integrated religion/science perspectives suggest that the religious explanation for Earth’s origins and life on our planet may need to be open rather than closed. Our religious understanding may need to adapt every bit as much as our scientific reasoning as we learn more about Ultimate Truth.

Quote from bahaiteachings.org. Image and quote from kiwibahai.wordpress.com.

There may be some—or many!—aspects of our traditional religious interpretation that we might need to rethink, just as we may well need to also rethink some of our scientific understanding. If this conclusion is true, the implications are potentially earth-shaking, especially from the (admittedly somewhat stereotypical) perspective of religion as The Answers That Should Not Be Questioned. Can they be questioned after all? Is there more to learn from a religious perspective? Moreover, from an epistemological standpoint, does religion really know what it says it knows? Have the historical processes of social construction of existing tradition and interpretation of religious texts resulted in a great many errors in modern understanding?

From this standpoint, religion may well seem old and antiquated, and needing to be rethought. However, the point is that we shouldn’t stop there. We also need to continue to question scientific thought and conclusions. The fact is this: Science—The Questions That Should Be Answered—likewise is far from immune from epistemological critique: How do we know our evidence has been correctly analyzed and interpreted? Are the results established via science Absolute Truth, or do scope conditions apply? Have we even discovered all possible plausible competing explanations—much less ruled them out? In short, have we as scientific analysts correctly answered the questions we’re asking?

Graphic from blog.faithlife.com, citing information from veritas.org, pointing out that the conflict between faith and science is more complex than we generally believe.

Moreover, what about questions of larger meaning? How do the various pieces of evidence fit together to explain our existence and why we are here? (In other words: Are we perceiving the whole elephant?) How can we scientifically explain phenomena such as art and literature, imagination and creativity, right and wrong, altruism, spirituality, love, and our persistent human habit of questioning where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going? Science has a difficult time answering all these issues and more. From this stance, the strident and withering anti-religion critiques of Richard Dawkins and friends seem a bit presumptuous, if not arrogant and self-limiting. So here’s an interesting thought: Useful as science is, perhaps we also need creativity, philosophy, ethics, and even religion (in some form) to explain the Unexplainable and help us navigate the mysteries of our own existence.

In any case, doubts exist on both sides of the equation. Resolving the doubts, as shown in several of the illustrations in this module, requires religion and science alike. This may not reflect the division between religion and science for about the past century and a half—our modern zeitgeist!—but it reflects long-established historical realities of those who tried to grasp the mysteries of existence. For centuries, people with religious views engaged science. Only in more recent times has an “either/or” choice loomed between the two. Perhaps as we learn more in depth about both phenomena, we will re-discover that choosing both science and faith is still possible. Both aspects of this false dichotomy are still very much relevant in our modern day and age.

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