The Limits of Science and Religion (Some Jottings)

As much as I like to see them collaborating on key issues, I also admit that both science and religion have limits and cannot answer all questions.

As for science, it’s not clear to me that it can answer moral questions. As I’ve written in Mere Science and Christian Faith (page 141):

Science can inform, but not dictate ethics. 

We need to look to neuroscience to tell us whether, for example, the prefrontal cortex or the amygdala is "lighting up" and that can indicate whether emotions or rationality are in play as we make a decision. But that cannot, by itself, determine what decision to make.

Science is also always embedded in some metaphysics. The brilliant 20th century British astronomer Fred Hoyle was clear to state that he resisted big bang cosmology because it didn't fit with his materialistic metaphysics. And in general, the sciences do not have the capacity—without the help of philosophical reflection—to make statements about meaning and reality. Science studies the natural world and its relations. 

As the world-class physicist and Anglican priest John Polkinghorne commented, this is why science is so powerful.

John Polkinghorne

Science’s success has been purchased by the modesty of its explanatory ambition. It does not attempt to ask and answer every question that one might legitimately raise. Instead, it confines itself to investigating natural processes, attending to the question of how things happen. Other questions, such as those relating to meaning and purpose, are deliberately bracketed out. This scientific stance is taken simply as a methodological strategy with no implication that those other questions, of what one might call a “why” kind, are not fully meaningful and necessary to ask if complete understanding is to be attained.

Similarly, religious insights have their limits (which, I would distinguish, from God's insights, which are infinite). For one thing, every religious tradition assumes some scientific picture of the world and of the nature of reality. As the theologian Harold Nebelsick noted, "to ignore the discussion of today’s science is simply to discuss our faith in terms that are related to the science of the by-gone era.” We should read Genesis 1-3 as a description of God's creation, not as a scientific text. How would early readers grasp the subtleties of big bang cosmology and quantum physics embedded in the creation of the universe?

I'm not sure if this solves every conflict that looms between science and religion, but it could help.

I'll close this image: I love my cats, but when I sit down to read, I don't think they get what I'm doing (partly because they like to jump up and block the book from my sight).

Likewise, these's a great deal that lies beyond my reach intellectually. But I have faith in the God whose insights are way beyond my (or anyone else's) human understanding. 

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,”declares the Lord.“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:8-9)

On the Soul: A Dialogue with a Philosopher on Addison’s Walk in Oxford

But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.
The Apostle Paul, Philippians 3:20-21

I’m currently in a conversation, perhaps even a debate, with a top notch philosopher about the nature of the soul and particularly some comments about “substance dualism” and the soul in Mere Science and Christian Faith. 

Since I like the idea of having this conversation along Magdalen College’s Addison’s walk where C.S. Lewis used to stroll and where I just paid a visit (thus the picture), I’ve decided to set the conversation there. (This dialogue is abstracted from an email exchange, but I hope, represents the spirit of the conversation.) And by the way, forgive me for taking the majority of the verbiage—I’m simply trying to clarify my ideas in light of some excellent and spirited challenges.  

A philosopher: As we walk along this beautiful path that has been trod by thinkers like Lewis and Tolkien, I have to let you know that I think you’re vague about the nature of the soul. If you mean what the Bible teaches about the soul, then we will have to respectfully disagree. Not because I believe the Bible teaches that there is a substantial soul, but because I believe it doesn't teach anything about the existence or nonexistence of the soul. The Bible isn't a philosophical text, and so, it seems to me, it simply assumes common sense, that is, what ordinary people believe.

Magdalen College, Oxford from High Street

Greg: I know that you’re really convinced of this point because you’ve repeated it on various occasions. I'm surprised that you don't think the Bible teaches anything about the nature of the human person and thus the reality of the soul or not. As just one resource, I'd highly recommend Hans Walter Wolff's Anthropology of the Old Testament (he has an entry on "soul" on pages 17-18), but he demonstrates (broadly speaking) that the human person is a unity that can't easily be divided into substantial parts, whether we call those "throat," "neck," "desire," "soul," "life," or "person." The New Testament similarly describes human beings with one  word "body," as Rudolf Bultmann unfolds expertly in his Theology of the New Testament. (And it's not difficult to find other scholars who agree.) Our soul then is one aspect of the entirety of the human person and not separable. (I will bracket for a moment the intermediate state while we await our bodies.) This conviction of the unity of the human person--and an unwillingness to define us as "souls" and material "bodies"--is clearly in several passages from Paul such as Philippians 3:21: Christ "will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself." To put a fine point on it, I don't see any separation implied there where our "soul" neatly leaves our body. And what I'm saying implies the broader point that the Old and New Testaments certainly teach about the human person even if they are not philosophical texts in the sense that we describe those today. Teaching about any particular subject can be done directly or indirectly, narratively or expositionally, or in a variety of means. It would be a sad day for humanity if all our teaching had to come through rational philosophical expositions. Jesus and his parables would certainly be in trouble!

A philosopher: Greg, I want to return to what you wrote, 

“Floating around many Christian circles are the dualistic versions of the soul—that there is an entirely separable substance within our bodies—something like air inside a tire, or more philosophically what Gilbert Ryle called the 'ghost in the machine.' This owes much more to Plato than the Hebrew Bible, which begins by describing that God created the first man to be found its pages, adam, from the dust, adamah, by breathing in his breath (Genesis 2:7). We like Adam and Eve are a psychosomatic unity of body and spirit. In this case, engaging cognitive science can help us correct our doctrine of the soul by reminding ourselves of the Scripture, which sees human beings as body/soul, a psychosomatic unity.”(Mere Science and Christian Faith)

      I do think you’re correct on this point: most Christians are right: the soul is a substance that is separate and separable from its physical body.

GSC: Wow! You philosophers have amazing memories! 

If by "substance dualism," we mean that there are two separable and reasonably independent substances, and that the soul is the “real me,” then I must demur. That is, however, what most Christians believe in my experience and so to that degree you're correct. But it's not good Christian teaching. And here we arrive at that critical difference between the immortality of the soul (via platonic thought and the Hellenism that took over Judaism after Alexander’s conquests in the 4^thcentury BC) and the resurrection of the body (which is older and gradually formed and which the Pharisees stoutly held to). This is where Jesus and the Pharisees (with whom he agreed on most theological points) substantially agreed and confessed the resurrection of the body. What survives death? It appears, from the biblical texts, that it’s a bit mysterious because it’s of the new creation, but it’s certainly not to be a disembodied spirit. Instead it’s an embodied unity of our selves, which is fit for the new heavens and the new earth. We know for example, that Jesus ate after the resurrection, which spirits cannot do. And Paul, like Jesus, was dead set (as it were) on the resurrection of the body. 

The New Buildings at Magdalen College

A philosopher: Hey, there’re the “New Buildings” at Magdalen where C. S. Lewis’s office was, near staircase three. 

GSC: Those buildings look fairly old for "new" buildings.

A philosopher: Actually, those buildings date to the 1730s and a “new” in relation to the older ones that are on High Street, which are centuries older.

      Back to a more philosophical note, the claim (which you seemingly accept) that the belief in substance dualism has its roots in Plato is a canard. Jesse Bering, Nicholas Humphrey, Paul Bloom, Alfred Gell, etc. all know that human beings are natural-born substance dualists.

GSC: This assertion is the easiest to disprove, despite the merits and acumen of Bering, Humphrey, Bloom, and Gell. For one thing, the concept of what “we all know”—i.e., “common sense”—needs to be scrutinized. There are at least three separate historical versions of non-dualistic and/or materialist of the soul. Of course, Lucretius (with whom I’m sure you’re familiar) brought a stunning non-materialist. In the 6^thcentury and in a different part of the word (i.e., Arabia), Muhammad was laughed at because he proclaimed resurrection from the dead and the Arab world of his time (a religious world at that) had no sense that anything lasted past the body. And I’m going to assume your comment about Buddhist belief in a disembodied spirit was a slip because Siddartha Gautama certainly didn’t teach it (he felt it was an unimportant doctrine), and the Buddhist concept of anattais often translated “no soul.” What goes from one life to the next is like a flame being passed from one candle to the next, it is not a thing or a substance. (As I might have mentioned, I teach religious studies at Chico State, and so I’ve had to reorient myself with these teachings in the past few years.) 

      Let us continue walking as we ponder these things…

Thinking Like the Devil's Advocate

Many don’t appreciate the role of “The Devil’s Advocate.” But that’s the part I’m going to play in this post. So it’s important to set things straight.

The first thing to grasp is that Devil’s Advocate or (Advocatus Diaboli in Latin) is a

Reeves as lawyer (or advocate) for the Devil (Pacino)
Not what I'm talking about here

technical position in the Roman Catholic Church. To clarify, I’ll let the online Catholic Encyclopedia do some heavy lifting. 

"A popular title given to one of the most important officers of the Sacred Congregation of Rites, established in 1587, by Sixtus V, to deal juridically with processes of beatification and canonization. His official title is Promoter of the Faith (Promotor Fidei). His duty requires him to prepare in writing all possible arguments, even at times seemingly slight, against the raising of any one to the honours of the altar."

And though I believe in the importance of integrating mainstream science with mere Christianity, I thought I’d think like the Devil for this post (and maybe the next one) and pose some demanding questions. They aren’t entirely a surprise, many make their way into Mere Science and Christian Faith and are part of my research for an upcoming book, Science and Religion in the United States: The Present State and Future Directions.

Nevertheless, what are the toughest issues facing science and Christian faith? Here are four categories.

1. Evolution: To paraphrase Jesus (cf. Mark 14:7), “Evolution you will always have with you.” In fact, it may represent an eternal hot button issue. (In fact, some say that by accepting evolutionary theory we may be placing ourselves in an eternally hot place. That seems to me like hyperbole.) Since I, listening to the consensus of mainstream science, don’t see this is a theory that has guided scientific research in a variety of fields for almost 160 years going away, I have a question or two. What does it mean to assert that God creates through evolutionary processes? What do we do with those who see this as contradictory to God’s creation? How does this make us, as homo sapiens, nothing entirely special in the animal kingdom?
2. Sexuality/LBGTQ: We used to think science wasn’t that sexy, now that’s changed. Whenever I talk about science with emerging adults, I hear the questions like, “Doesn’t science tell us that we don’t choose to be gay?” Is it true that the church that doesn’t embrace gay and lesbian Christians appears ignorant? 
3. Genetics: Let’s just take one example: CRISPER gene editing represents a powerful means of changing ourselves through gene therapies in ways that will affect future generations. Why not use this technology for the good? Why is the church standing in the way like they’ve always done? And in general, are we “nothing but” our genes? 
4. Cognitive science and neuroscience: Functional Magnetic Imaging Resonances (FMRIs) seems to show some fairly clear things about what happens inside our noggins. As the Harvard scientist Stephen Pinker asserts, “I want to convince you that our minds are not animated by some godly vapor or single wonder-principle.” Does science rid us finally believing there’s a soul? Is God all in our heads? Or even more, is my thinking and feeling—the components that make me—simply a physical process like digestion? 

This heads in a slightly different direction, but I like it...

The Catholic dictionary continues on the role of the Advocatus Diaboli, 

“The interest and honour of the Church are concerned in preventing any one from receiving those honours whose death is not juridically proved to have been ‘precious in the sight of God.’”

In closing, I sense deeply that I may be able to formulate some questions and a few responses, but the horizons are beyond my vision. I know I need colleagues on this journey. Even more, I hope that’s what I’m trying to do here as the Advocatus Diaboli for the integration of mainstream science and Christian faith. Let’s not declare honorifics on too easy resolution. Maybe this work is even precious in the sight of God.

What do you think? Are there tough questions about Christian faith and science that you’d like to post below?

A Parable That Arrived A Bit Too Late

I have to admit that not every great idea in my head made its way into Mere Science and Christian Faith. (And I'm sure some bad one inserted themselves. I just don't know which ones they are!) 

There’s a parable that arrived after the book was published, but that's found its way into almost every talk I’ve done since its publication. (For example, you can find it in this interview.) In this “laying alongside of two things”--the technical definition of a parable--I draw from my experience in two academic institutions: a marvelously secular ivory tower, the University of California at Berkeley, and an icon of rigorous theological scholarship, Princeton Theological Seminary.

The comment below from Mere Science and Christian Faith presents a convenient springboard for my parable:

“I’ve discovered, for the Christian message to have any impact today, it must engage science. To appropriate the term Lewis made famous, mere Christianity needs to meet mainstream science. That’s why I’ve focused much of my life’s work on science and faith. Moreover, since I’m trained in theology and biblical studies, I can help sort out whether scientific insights and assertions are neutral, helpful, or antithetical to our faith.”

But why “mainstream science”? 

And--with a quick glance at last week's topic--why not take alternatives to the mainstream like the research programs of Intelligent Design or Creation Science, paths which some Christians follow?

Here’s why. 

At Berkeley, when, as an undergrad, I first start studying the history of ideas and the great questions that literature and philosophy have presented, I decided to be sure I learned ancient Greek, and more specifically Attic Greek (around the 4^thcentury BC), namely the language that was spoken in Athens around the time of Aristotle and Plato, and the sort that encompassed koine Greek, the language of the New Testament. I wanted to read the sacred scripture of Christianity in its original language. And I can tell you that by my senior year of college, I found myself in an independent study with two other students and a professor, sitting together in a dusty room in Dwinelle Hall on Cal’s campus, reading the Gospels in the original. It was profound. It was intellectually challenging. And it was an almost overwhelming gift.

The next four years I owned and managed a small business (and tried to keep my Greek active). At the end of that life chapter, Laura and I sensed that it was time for me to pursue a dream of studying theology, the Bible, and a host of other things for a Master of Divinity at Princeton Theological Seminary. And so we got our U-Haul, and with some friends, moved across country. I found myself almost immediately in biblical studies.

Here’s the thing: When I started investigating the New Testament at Princeton, the Greek I learned at UC Berkeley—this glorious cathedral to liberal secular thought—the Greek (its grammar, vocabulary, syntax, et al.) was exactly the same. In fact, I carried the same Nestle-Aland Greek-English Bible that I used at Cal. There were no concerns that now I had to learn some new “heavenly” Greek in my divinity studies. Princeton trusted the education at Cal in a critical tool for understanding our most sacred writings.

And so I look at the grand consensus that mainstream science has forged—a consensus built on great theories like special and general relativity, and the related theories of gravity, as well as the weird world of quantum mechanics, and the theory of evolution, all of which have been around for at least 100-150 years, and I ask myself, 

“Why is it that people go to seminaries or to churches and learn a different form of thought from mainstream science? Why don’t our theological voices trust the sciences to offer an accurate picture of the world when we trust the science of classical Greek studies to offer us the tools to study the most sacred texts, the words that bring us to the knowledge of Jesus Christ?”

I’m not sure I can answer my own rhetorical question except to affirm that’s why I seek to engage mainstream science with mere Christianity.


P.S. I've switched the date for my posts to Thursdays instead of Mondays.

The New Book is Out and that Elicited Some Reflections

Mere Science and Christian Faith, now available. 

Check the code to the right for 40% off

These are a few first meditations on the process of writing and publishing.

A week or so ago, Mere Science and Christian Faith arrive at my house. Holding a book that’s published in my own hands is uniquely moving. As I re-read the book through for the first time, I thought, “Those are some hard fought words.” I remember many weeks through last summer, aching over the right synonym, wondering about the construction of my argument on the historical Adam and Eve.

Me, talking about the book... 

What did I do differently in this book?

Because I knew I’d be engaging an evangelical audience, I worked to integrate Scripture throughout the manuscript. I also kept thinking of those who care about the Gospel and how powerfully it can speak to our contemporary world, which is saturated in science and technology. I wanted to connect with thoughtful evangelicals—like those at the seminary on which I’m adjunct faculty, Fuller. I wanted, as clearly as possible, to create points of connection between the contemporary world and the Bible.

In the process—and in the ensuring years since C. S. Lewis and the Crisis of a Christian, I’ve been reflecting on style, and in the process a smaller, stylistic point for Mere Science was that I spent enormous effect on transitions. Why? Because frankly my style tends to be jumpy—i.e., I jump from one insight to the next. I know what’s in my head, but does the reader?  

As the expert writer C. S. Lewis put so well:

“The reader, we must remember, does not start by knowing what we mean. If our words are ambiguous, our meaning will escape him. I sometimes think that writing is like driving sheep down a road. If there is any gate open to the left or the right the reader will most certainly go into it.”

I’ll leave it there for now. More to come (I hope)….