Science and Faith? E-Book

C. John Collins

• Herausgeber: Crossway
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 849

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2003

Beschreibung

Many believers worry that science undermines the Christian faith. Instead of fearing scientific discovery, Jack Collins believes that Christians should delight in the natural world and study it. God's truth will stand against any challenge and will enrich the very scientific studies that we fear. Collins first defines faith and science, shows their relation, and explains what claims each has concerning truth. Then he applies the biblical teaching on creation to the topics of "conflict" between faith and science, including the age of the earth, evolution, and miracles. He considers what it means to live in a created world. This book is for anyone looking for a Christian engagement with science without technical jargon.

Leseprobe

Science and Faith: Friends or Foes?

Copyright © 2003 by C. John Collins

Published by Crossway Booksa division of Good News Publishers1300 Crescent StreetWheaton, Illinois 60187

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except as provided by USA copyright law.

Cover design: Josh Dennis

Cover photo: Getty Images

First printing 2003

Printed in the United States of America

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture references marked NASB are from the New American Standard Bible® Copyright © The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995. Used by permission.

Scripture and Apocrypha references marked RV are from the Revised Version of the Bible.

Scripture and Apocrypha references marked RSV are from the Revised Standard Version. Copyright © 1946, 1952, 1971, 1973 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.

Scripture references marked NRSV are from the New Revised Standard Version. Copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Published by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.

Apocrypha references marked NAB are from the New American Bible, copyright © 1970 by the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, DC, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Collins, C. John, 1954–Science and faith : friends or foes? / C. John Collins.p. cm.Includes bibliographical references and index.ISBN 1-58134-430-9 (TPB : alk. paper)1. Religion and science. I. Title.BL240.3.C65    2003261.5'5—dc21

2003004799

ML      13   12   11   10   09   08   07   06   05   04   0315   14   13   12   11   10   9   8   7   6   5   4   3   2   1

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

1 INTRODUCTION TO THE QUESTIONS AND SURVEY OF THE BOOK

SECTION I: PHILOSOPHICAL ISSUES

2 SCIENCE, FAITH, AND RATIONALITY: A SHORT COURSE IN GOOD THINKING

The Importance of Philosophy

Principles of Sound Thinking

Testing a Truth Claim

A Word About Rational Christian Faith

3 MUST SCIENCE AND FAITH BE AT ODDS ?

Defining “Science”

Defining “Faith”

Premises of the Methods of Science

Science and Knowledge

Operating Relationships of Science and Faith

Conclusion

SECTION II: THEOLOGICAL ISSUES

4 THIS IS MY FATHER’S WORLD: THE BIBLICAL DOCTRINE OF CREATION

How Many Creation Accounts Does One Religion Need? Literary Relationships of Genesis 1 and 2

Outline of Genesis 1:1–2:3

What Is Genesis 1:1–2:3 About?

Is Genesis 1:1–2:3 Supposed to Be a Historical Record?

Does Genesis 1:1 Teach “Creation from Nothing”?

Does Genesis 1:1–2:3 Give Us a Chronology?

Is Genesis 1:1–2:3 a “Scientific” Account of Creation?

What Does It Mean That Creation Was “Good”?

How Did God Make the World?

Summary of the Doctrine of Creation in Genesis 1:1–2:3

What Does This Mean for Us?

5 WHAT KIND OF DAYS WERE THOSE, ANYHOW ?

Preliminaries: The Key Issues At Stake

Features of Genesis 1–2 That We Must Account For

An Interpretation That Accounts for All of These Features

What About the Fourth Day?

Other Possible Interpretations of the Days

Comparing the Different Views

Conclusions

6 OTHER BIBLICAL PASSAGES ABOUT CREATION

Old Testament

New Testament

7 IS THE EARTH YOUNG OR OLD? BIBLICAL ARGUMENTS

Did Jesus Think the Creation Period Was Short?

The Genealogies in Genesis

Conclusion: Does the Bible Have a Position on the Age of the Earth?

8 WHAT A PIECE OFWORK IS MAN! HUMAN NATURE AS IT WAS CREATED

You Are a Human Animal

Body and Soul

The Image of God

Are Adam and Eve Our Ancestors?

The Possibility of Science

9 THE GLORIOUS RUIN: HUMAN NATURE AFTER THE FALL

God’s Arrangement with Adam and Eve

The First Sin

Human Nature After Genesis 3

Is Science Possible for Fallen Man?

10 HOW “FALLEN” IS NATURE ?

The “Curses” in Genesis 3

What Did Lions Eat Before Man’s Fall?

Why Does the Creation Groan?

Some Conclusions for Science in a World of Fallen Mankind

11 HOW DOES GOD RULE THE WORLD? THE BIBLICAL DOCTRINE OF PROVIDENCE

The Traditional Christian Picture of God’s Providence

The Biblical Evidence

Definitions That Restate the Biblical View of Providence

Other Views: Are They Truer to the Bible?

Providence and Science

12 GOD REVEALS HIMSELF IN HIS WORLD: SCIENCE, FAITH, AND A POLOGETICS

Defining Terms

Natural Revelation in the Old Testament

Natural Revelation in the New Testament

Faith and Reasons

Science, Natural Revelation, and Apologetics

13 CARING FOR GOD’S WORLD: THE BIBLICAL VIEW OF THE ENVIRONMENT

The Original Plan

The Modified Plan

The World Still Serves Man

Ethical Considerations for the Environment

SECTION III: SCIENCE AND FAITH INTERACT

14 SCIENCE, PROVIDENCE, AND MIRACLE

Modern Science and the Supernatural

Science and Reliable Natural Properties

Chaos Theory

Uncertainty, Miracles, and Human Freedom

Providence and the Problem of Evil

15 HOW OLD IS THE EARTH? COSMOLOGY AND GEOLOGY

Cosmology and the Big Bang

Geology and the History of the Earth

Realism, Anti-Realism, and Appearance of Age

Is the Big Bang the Same as the Absolute Beginning?

Are the Geologists Wrong?

The Anthropic Principle

16 WHERE DO ANIMALS COME FROM? BIOLOGICAL EVOLUTION AND DARWINISM

What Does Darwinism Claim?

How Did Darwinism Develop?

How Does Neo-Darwinism Impact Christian Faith?

Is Neo-Darwinism Credible?

Evolution and “Progress”

Summary

17 IS INTELLIGENT DESIGN A DUMB IDEA? ANSWERS TO OBJECTIONS

What Is “Intelligent Design”?

What Would Make Intelligent Design a “Dumb Idea”?

Are These Objections Valid?

Conclusion: Is Prohibiting Intelligent Design a Dumb Idea?

18 SCIENCE AND THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN

What Is the Argument from Design?

What Is the History of This Kind of Argument?

Is the Argument Any Good?

What Place Should Science Play in the Argument Today?

19 THE HUMAN AND SOCIAL SCIENCES

Maintaining Sound Thinking

The Brain, Mind, and Soul

A Genetic Basis of Behavior

Counseling and Psychotherapy

SECTION IV: CONCLUSION

20 CULTURE WARS AND WARRIORS: FAITH, SCIENCE, AND THE PUBLIC SQUARE

Dealing with Disagreements Between Christians

Christians in the Public Square

21 LIFE IN A CREATED WORLD

Outline of a Christian World-and-Life View

Participation in the Sciences for Christians

How to Give Our Kids a Scientific Education

APPENDICES

A. NOTES AND COMMENTS ON THE CHAPTERS

B. OTHER RESOURCES

C. THOMAS KUHN AND PARADIGMS: A REVIEW ESSAY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I AM DEEPLY GRATEFUL to many people who have helped me along the way.

Thanks go to the Discovery Institute’s Center for Science and Culture, for financial support and intellectual stimulus—especially to Stephen Meyer and Jay Richards.

Thanks also to the Templeton Foundation’s Science and Religion Course Program, for awarding grants for my seminary course, “Christian Faith in an Age of Science.” Not only the Foundation but also the students in my classes have helped me think through so many things.

The President of Covenant Theological Seminary, Bryan Chapell; the Dean of Faculty, Daniel Doriani; and the Dean of Academics, Donald Guthrie, have supported and encouraged me in many ways. I am also grateful for my faculty colleagues, who have informed me, corrected me, and prayed for me—especially Jerram Barrs, Hans Bayer, David Calhoun, David Jones, Esther Meek, Robert Peterson, Jay Sklar, Bob Vasholz, Mike Williams, and Richard Winter. It is a privilege to work with you all.

A fair number of other folks have helped in important ways, especially in giving feedback on earlier drafts of this book: David Farbishel, Mike Glidewell, Annette Homan, Kent Keller, John Pickett, Tom Ricks, Bob Rogland, David Snoke, Mark Wardell, and Doug Wiens. Others have helped through answering questions and giving advice, such as John Dishman, Mike Farley, Tim Hall, Donna Hawk-Reinhard, Phillip Johnson, Steve Jones, Rob Koons, Rich McGee, Bryonie Moon, Stephen Moshier, J. I. Packer, Nancy Pearcey, Brian Pitts, Marcus Ross, Jonathan Wells, and Kurt Wise. Others, members of an e-mail list formerly directed by Phillip Johnson, have shaped my thoughts, saved me from rabbit trails, and enabled me to understand why people hold their views.

Thanks as well go to Lane Dennis and Marvin Padgett of Crossway, who urged me to write this book.

I wouldn’t like to imply that these fine folk agree with everything I say here, nor that they are responsible for any errors I have made. You’ll have to ask them for their opinions.

The Lord who made and saved me, gave me a wife and children who love me, encourage me, and challenge me. They are proof that God’s aim is to flood my life with blessing—as he has done so abundantly. Of my wife and children I can say with the ancient sage,

Her children rise up and call her blessed;her husband also, and he praises her:“Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.”

A few years ago our friend Annette Homan phoned to ask for some help in teaching science to her children. This book is the result of that phone call—so much so that at my house we call it “Annette’s book.” Thank you, Annette, for caring about God’s truth and for pushing me to make my thoughts clear.

1

INTRODUCTION TO THE QUESTIONS AND SURVEY OF THE BOOK

ONE EVENING WHEN my daughter was about two and my wife was pregnant with my son, I gave my wife a break by taking my daughter to the mall. We went to her favorite place, the pet shop, to look at all the animals. While we were there, a clerk was showing a snake—some kind of python—to two teenage boys. As these boys were trying to get up the nerve to touch the snake—all the while needling each other about who was the more manly—my daughter asked if she could pet the snake. She reached up and stroked it gently. The boys were ashamed at being shown up by a toddler girl.

Well, yes, I’m a proud father; but I have another reason for telling you this story. I find in it a parable for the way many Christians approach sci-ence: we fear it. We fear it, I think, for two main reasons: first, because we found science classes hard in school. That is something we have in common with everyone, including those who do not share our Christian commitment; but the second reason touches on our faith directly: we fear that science will somehow undermine our faith. The fact that many writers hostile to Christianity—such as Richard Dawkins and Carl Sagan—make just that point, only adds to the fear.

I think my daughter’s interest in the python models true Christianity better than these common fears do. Her curiosity about the little wriggler, and her delight in touching it—which is how she feels about most animals, including bugs—were untainted by any fears or misgivings. And in this book I will argue that this is just how it ought to be: in fact, if we have a proper hold on Christian belief we will love the natural world and respect the study of it; and by it we will also come to these studies with full mental vigor, confident that God’s truth can hold up under any challenge—and not only that, but also that his truth will both illuminate and enrich those studies.

But of course to support this positive view of the sciences, and of Christians’ active work in them, I will have to consider just what is a “proper hold on Christian belief,” and that is what I aim to do in this book. I will start by looking into some of the philosophical issues that come into play in this discussion. This is because we need to know what faith and science are, how they relate to one another, and what claims either has a right to make about “truth.” My theme, which I will develop throughout the book, is that good science and good faith both need sound critical thinking.

From there I will move on to discuss the biblical teaching that most impacts our view of science: namely the teaching about creation—how the universe came into being; and about providence—how God keeps the universe in being and interacts with it, and how he expects us to interact with it. And of course this raises questions about the age of the earth, miracles, psychology, and evolution—the places that most people think of as conflicts between faith and science; so I will go on to discuss these topics.

I will finish by considering what it means to live in a created world. That is, I will outline a Christian view of the world, give some ideas about educating children in the sciences, and reflect on how Christians can impact their culture in this arena.

You can see how I have arranged the material: philosophical issues, then theological ones, then areas where science and faith interact, and finally the conclusion. Some of my students who read a draft of this book wondered why I didn’t arrange it by topic—so that, for example, the chapters discussing the biblical view of the age of the earth (chapters 4–7) would lead directly into the chapter on cosmology and geology (chapter 15). My reason is that the chapters on interaction depend on a wide range of theological and philosophical discussions. But if you prefer to read the chapters in that order, go right ahead; but, whatever you do, please be sure to read chapters 2–3 first. If you’re like me, you want to get to the real stuff, and skip the preliminaries; but these chapters are not preliminaries, they are crucial to my overall case.

I am writing this book for people who do not have specialist training in theology or philosophy. I think, for example, of Christian parents who want to know how their children should study science; of college students thinking about entering the sciences, or challenged in their faith by them; of teachers and those who write books for children. I would also be pleased if any who have doubts about Christianity, because of what the spokesmen for science tell them, might read this book and find that believing in Christ is reasonable after all. Finally, I have Christian friends who are scientists, and they mostly feel that their non-Christian colleagues at work think they’re crazy for their faith, and the people they share their pews with think they’re suspect for their scientific work: I’d like to help them achieve some sense of peace.

This means I will restrict myself to ordinary language and keep technical terms to a minimum. (I have done without footnotes altogether. If you want to pursue things further—or to make sure that I’ve done my homework—I’ve included “Notes and Comments” for each chapter as an appendix. ) But in all this I intend to translate the discussion for your benefit, not to dumb it down. Some of the issues are complicated, and we can’t do justice either to them or to God or to those we love if we don’t want to think them out. I aim, then, to help you do some serious think-ing: but so does Jesus, who wants his followers to be “wise as to what is good” as well as “innocent as to what is evil” (Rom. 16:19; compare Matt. 10:16). As C. S. Lewis said, Christ “wants a child’s heart, but a grown-up’s head. He wants us to be simple, single-minded, affectionate, and teachable, as good children are; but he also wants every bit of intelligence we have to be alert at its job, and in first-class fighting trim.”

You may feel that I’ve given you more material than you want. My defense is that I am concerned to help with how to think about these questions, even more than what to think.

When I need to discuss a disputed point of biblical interpretation, I will generally use a fairly literal translation such as the English Standard Version (ESV), or sometimes the New American Standard Version (NASB) or the Revised Version (RV). Citations of the Apocrypha/ Deuterocanonical books will be from the New American Bible (NAB) or Revised Standard Version (RSV), or from the RV if I need greater literalism. Unless I mark a Bible quotation otherwise, I’m using the ESV.

I write from the standpoint of “mere Christianity”: that is, I write as a Christian who shares in common with all Christians such basic convictions as: the Bible is God’s special revelation to man; the ecumenical creeds (such as the Apostles’ Creed, Nicene Creed, Athanasian Creed) express the Bible’s teaching about Christ and the Trinity; and Christ saves his people and calls them to pursue holiness and to serve him in the church and in the world. For all that divides Christians from one another, these common beliefs give them a common cause: to combat the unbelief that riddles our contemporary world. I sympathize with the elf Haldir in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, who apologized for having to treat the Fellowship of the Ring with suspicion when they entered Lothlórien: “Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him.” This means that I will stick with the Bible; if I cite a church’s confession, it is because it says nicely what needs to be said, not because it in itself settles the discussion.

There are a few points in the theology section where I cannot claim to speak for all believers, but have to take sides in disputes that divide them. I have generally indicated when this is so.

Don’t misunderstand me: I am a loyal member of my denomination, and think its distinctives matter a great deal; but presenting them is not my goal in this book. I have found spiritual help in a wide range of Christian authors: the ardent Roman Catholics Blaise Pascal, Romano Guardini, and G. K. Chesterton; the staunch Protestants J. Gresham Machen, John Murray, and Francis Schaeffer; and the irenic Anglicans C. S. Lewis and J. I. Packer—not to mention the giants Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, and John Calvin. (I am sorry to say that my reading in Eastern writers is primarily limited to the exegetical writings of Chrysostom and Theophylact. ) I hope to give back to the whole church something of what I have gained.

You deserve to know who I am and what right I have to write this book. I was born in the Baby Boom generation and grew up in a nominally Christian home, receiving a decent education in good public schools. I have always been interested in science, math, and languages. I was an amateur herpetologist as a teenager (I loved snakes, lizards, turtles, frogs, and salamanders; bless my mother for putting up with me), and went to MIT where I got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in electrical engineering. I came to a living Christian faith during my second year there. After a few years of work I went to seminary, and then earned a Ph. D. in Hebrew linguistics (which is a “science”) in a department of Oriental studies at an English university. I now teach at a theological seminary; and besides the usual classes in Biblical studies (I am at heart a grammarian of Hebrew and Greek), I also teach a class called “Christian Faith in an Age of Science.” I have been studying and writing about Genesis 1–3 for several years now, and have also written a technical book on nature and miracle (The God of Miracles). My wife and I have two children, and at present we school them at home. As I write this, my daughter wants to be a veterinarian, and my son wants to be an inventor—both noble careers. I can’t think of anything I want more than for these children to grow up serving Christ faithfully in this world.

Annette, a friend of ours, provoked me to write this one day, when she phoned us to ask what she should teach her children about fossils and the history of the earth. I had intended to write a technical book on science and faith (as I indicated in the footnotes of The God of Miracles), but Annette’s question made me think that a book on a general level would do more good. If God wills, I’ll yet write that other, more technical, book.

SECTION I

PHILOSOPHICAL ISSUES

2

SCIENCE, FAITH, AND RATIONALITY

A Short Course in Good Thinking

THE IMPORTANCE OF PHILOSOPHY

This chapter and the next cover some issues in the philosophy of science; but if I’m going to write about that, I’d better first defend myself against a flurry of objections. If I don’t defend myself, you might easily fall prey to the temptation to skip these chapters so you can get right to the red meat. But these chapters are foundational to most of what I will argue later, so please bear with me.

Philosophers, with their endless questions and uncertainties, frustrate people in the sciences: if these philosophers had any experience in the lab, they wouldn’t get so hung up over whether the scientist actually knows anything or deserves to be believed. In my six years as an undergraduate and graduate student at MIT, never did anyone official suggest that any of us would learn something worth knowing from a philosopher. So why should I think there is anything to be gained from even mentioning philosophy?

And in the Christian world there won’t be a much warmer reception. Doesn’t Scripture warn us not to be taken captive through philosophy (Col. 2:8)? Isn’t philosophy just the wisdom of this world, which gets in the way of genuine faith (1 Cor. 1:21)?

Let me start my defense by saying that there is a difference between phi-losophy and philosophers. Philosophy is the discipline that studies how to think clearly: to know what is a good argument that deserves our agreement because it makes its point, and what is a bad argument that we should reject.

If an ornithologist (a scientific bird-watcher) tells me that my favorite canary is safe with his falcon, I want to know how he knows: is it just because he’s never seen his falcon go for a canary, or what? This is, as it turns out, a question in the philosophy of science: has the ornithologist made a sound con clusion? Actually, in matters of faith we have similar issues: if someone tells me I should (or should not) have my children baptized, I want to know how he arrived at his opinion. That, too, is a kind of philosophical question, one in the subject that theologians call “hermeneutics” and “theological method”; but at bottom it’s all about drawing sound conclusions.

G. K. Chesterton put it well:

Men have always one of two things: either a complete and conscious philosophy or the unconscious acceptance of the broken bits of some incomplete and often discredited philosophy. . . . Philosophy is merely thought that has been thought out. It is often a great bore. But man has no alternative, except between being influenced by thought that has been thought out and being influenced by thought that has not been thought out.

In reference to a man who responds to miracle claims with, “But my dear fellow, this is the twentieth century!” Chesterton observed:

In the mysterious depths of his being even that enormous ass does actually mean something. The point is that he cannot really explain what he means; and that is the argument for a better education in philosophy.

Now if we look at it this way, we can see that what Paul warned the early Christians about was bad philosophy, namely the kind that kept people from believing that the Christian message is true. And what about the philosophy that my fellow MIT students and I despised? Is that bad philosophy too—or were we following a bad philosophy of our own? To answer that we need this chapter.

Here is my basic claim, which I intend to develop throughout this book: our conclusions, whether in science or in religious faith or in any other area, are sound only to the extent that they follow the principles of good reasoning. (Just what those principles are will come soon. ) In this I am following the lead of C. S. Lewis, who observed,

The distinction thus made between scientific and non-scientific thoughts will not easily bear the weight we are attempting to put on it. . . . The physical sciences, then, depend on the validity of logic just as much as metaphysics [philosophy] or mathematics. If popular thought feels ‘science’ to be different from all other kinds of knowledge because science is experimentally verifiable, popular thought is mistaken. . . . We should therefore abandon the distinction between scientific and non-scientific thought. The proper distinction is between logical and non-logical thought.

I put the last two sentences in italics because they sum up my case. Science and faith are “good” to the extent that they obey the rules of rationality. So the key to a solidly Christian way of thinking about science is sound critical thinking.

Now there are two groups who will disagree with this idea. Some will say that science defines what rationality is. The answer to that is simple: they have made a claim, and the way to decide whether the claim is true or not is to evaluate whether it makes sense. So the very claim itself has to answer to the rules for rationality. Others will say that there is no such thing as “rationality,” because that is a human invention (this group is called “postmodern”). The problem with that objection is that in everyday life we know it’s not true: we know that getting hit by a flying stone is bad news, and typically we take steps to avoid it; we know that some materials make better knives than others (flint is better than sand, and steel is even better). A good philosophy will start from everyday rationality and build on it, and refine it. The principles of sound thinking that come next are just such a development.

PRINCIPLES OF SOUND THINKING

To return to my example of the ornithologist, how will I know whether I should believe his assurances about his falcon and my canary—that is, how will I know whether or not I am reasonable to believe him? And the answer is, of course, if he has followed the rules for drawing sound conclusions from his experiences. So then: what are the rules?

To begin with, we need to understand what are the parts of an argument. (I use the word “argument” to mean the process of drawing a conclusion, not the quarrels that erupt between brothers and sisters. ) Then we can decide whether the parts are all in good working order.

The first part of the argument is its data—that is, the raw facts. What has my bird-watching friend seen his falcon eat? What has he seen it pass by even when it’s hungry? A good argument has data that are honestly reported—no fudging, no editing out of inconvenient facts—and are as complete as possible. It is of course a judgment call when someone decides what is “complete enough”; in fact, that is one thing that makes science interesting, because people do not always agree in their judgment calls, and sometimes people make mistakes in them. It is often true that my data are second-hand: someone reports it and I believe it. (Much of what I know about the animal world comes from such reports—Audubon Society Field Guides, documentary films, and so on. ) In this case my data are good if I have sound reason to believe that the source is trustworthy.

The second part of the argument is the premises—the things you take for granted, often without even thinking about them. Both I and the ornithologist take it for granted that falcons eat something; we also, based on our experience of falcons and birds like them, assume that they eat other animals. So some premises may seem too obvious to need stating; but we have to be careful even then: what’s obvious to you may not be obvious to me, and not only because I’m thickheaded. For example, suppose someone says, “The universe started either by the Big Bang or by divine creation.” He’s taking for granted a number of things, such as that creation and a Big Bang are the only alternatives, and that creation by means of a Big Bang is not possible. He’s also taking for granted that the universe exists, and that it started. Our speaker has taken these assumptions as starting points, perhaps because he has thought it through before, or perhaps because he hasn’t. But in any case he owes it to you to acknowledge his premises and expose them to evaluation.

I want to introduce a special kind of premise that I call a touchstone truth. By this I mean the sort of thing you have to take for granted before you can even start thinking: you take for granted that you exist, that you are a self (which means that you make real choices that matter, and that when you reason soundly you come to valid conclusions), and that other selves exist and can communicate with you. (These are just examples: there may be more. ) I call them “touchstones” because if they’re not true then there’s no way you’ll know if anything else is true. It follows that if someone contradicts one of these touchstone truths, then his argument falls apart. You don’t have to argue to prove that a touchstone truth is a valid premise, although you may have to show that some particular belief has the right to touchstone status. (You can see that some premises do need to be shown valid. )

Here is an example of why I call these premises touchstone truths: J. B. S. Haldane, a British biologist who in the early twentieth century helped develop what is now known as neo-Darwinism, said:

If my mental processes are determined wholly by the motions of atoms in my brain, I have no reason to suppose that my beliefs are true. . . and hence I have no reason for supposing my brain to be composed of atoms.

The notion that our thoughts are determined by the way the atoms in our brains move about is called “materialism”; and if materialism is true, then I cannot know whether my thoughts are true. It also follows that my choices are the products of these atomic movements as well, so that they cannot really be called “choices” at all (who thinks a rock chooses to fall when I let it go?). But this means that my belief that I am a self is false. The trouble is, you have to rely on that belief to argue that materialism is true. So we’re far more reasonable to conclude that materialism is false (or if it’s true, who cares?).

The next part of an argument for us to consider is its terms—the definitions of the words used for the argument. We want to know if they are clear or not; if they are used consistently; and if they are standard usage for the words, or specific to one person or a small group. We have to recognize that most words have more than one meaning, and in order to know what someone is saying we have to know which meaning he is using. For example, in Mere Christianity C. S. Lewis has a chapter on “The Great Sin,” which is pride. But, as he shows, the word “pride” has more than one meaning: the sin of pride is that of comparing yourself to others in order to prove that you’re superior to them, and of wanting the world to revolve around you. But there’s a “pride” that we take, say, in our parents or children or school; and if by that we mean that we “have a warm-hearted admiration for” them, that’s not the sin of pride—though we may be boring if we talk too much about them. (We may, of course, commit the sin of pride if we use our children’s talents to prove how superior we are. ) We also have to be careful of taking a word that is in ordinary use and giving it a peculiar sense that no one ever uses: for example, some historians use the word “history” to mean an account of things without any reference to God. In such a case they could say, “Even though ‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth’ is not a historical statement, I’m not saying it didn’t happen”—and this sounds to most people like nonsense.

You will find that in the chapters that follow, I keep trying to make sure we know what we mean by our terms. I realize that this may make me tiresome—J. Gresham Machen once acknowledged, “nothing makes a man more unpopular in the controversies of the present day than an insistence upon definition of terms”—but I want us to think clearly.

The fourth part of an argument is the logic—the process of arranging conclusions in a step-by-step sequence to produce an inference. If I add two marbles to a cup holding two marbles, it is sound logic to believe that the cup now has four marbles in it (taking as a premise that no one is interfering). If I see a hawk eating a rabbit, I infer that at least this hawk eats rabbits from time to time; but if I watch a number of hawks in different places eat rabbits, I infer that rabbit is part of their diet. (To have an idea of how big a part of their diet it is requires that I compare the number of rabbit kills to the number of other kinds of kills. ) If the last cookie is missing from the cookie jar, it is reasonable to suppose that someone took it; but it is not reasonable to blame my brother, who lives two thousand miles away. To know whom to hold responsible I need to know who has been in the kitchen since I last checked, and something of the habits of the potential suspects. My children don’t pinch cookies from the jar, while my wife does snack on them; so she’s the most logical candidate.

There are different kinds of inference: the marble example is deductive, depending on the rules of math, while the hawk diet is inductive, making generalizations from observations. The who-ate-the-cookie example is more complicated; it is like what detectives do, and we can call it a historical inference, trying to explain the cause of a specific event in terms of what I know about the possible causes. We have to follow the rules for the particular kind of inference we’re making.

The fifth part of an argument is its scope—the realm of ideas in which our inference is supposed to apply. We might also call this the with-respect-to-whatness of our inference. (Sometimes the best way to answer a question is with “With respect to what?”) For example, if an astronomer tells you that the earth is not the center of the universe, his scope is the realm of physical location. If a theologian tells you that the earth is the center of the universe, his scope is the realm of God’s attention. To say that these two have contradicted each other you have to show that they have similar scopes—and I think anyone who tries to show such a thing with these two statements is talking foolishness.

And finally, there is the gradation of confidence—what level of confidence I am entitled to give this conclusion in view of the data, the premises, and the kind of inference. For example, if I have seen two hawks eat nothing but rabbits, I can be confident that they eat rabbits. But if I want to be confident that hawks primarily eat rabbit, I have to watch many hawks, and see what they do when given a choice between rabbit and squirrel, and find out if hawks live where rabbits don’t. In the case of adding marbles to the cup, my inference is certain provided my premise that no one interferes is solid. In the case of the missing cookie, the level of confidence to which I am entitled depends on whether I have considered all the options, and how well I know the possible suspects.

If you study critical thinking or logic you will get a list of “fallacies” to look out for. These fallacies generally have to do with failures to be careful in one or more of the components of sound thinking that we are discussing. For example, the “fallacy of equivocation” happens when we use a word without paying attention to the distinction of meanings: it is a problem in the “terms” component, and our “pride” example illustrates an equivocation if we call being “proud” of my daughter’s courage when she gets a painful shot an instance of sinful pride. The fallacy called “non sequitur” (Latin for “it does not follow”) is a problem in the “logic” component: if I see a hawk catching a rabbit, it does not follow from this fact that the same hawk—let alone other hawks—will not eat squirrels.

There’s a Latin phrase that warns us against a very common logical mis-take: abusus usum non tollit, “abuse does not take away proper use.” The idea is that we must distinguish between the actual idea we are discussing, and the trappings that wrap around it. For example, people have used the Bible to defend the African slave trade; but the only way that fact can be a sound argument against the Bible is if defending the slave trade is part and parcel of the Bible’s teaching. If defense of slavery is an abuse of biblical teaching, then we can say that defending the slave trade is inconsistent with the Bible. People have also used Darwinism to defend racism; and the only way that can be a sound argument against Darwinism is if the racism is bound up with the very essence of Darwinism. The English proverb that goes along with this is “one bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch”: you can’t refute Christianity, or Darwinism, or anything else, just by pointing to the buffoons who have used it for base purposes; you have to examine the ideas themselves. (Recall how I began this chapter by making a distinction between philoso-phy and philosophers. )

There is another kind of logic problem that we need to think about, because of how it applies to the sciences—especially to those with a historical component. Suppose you find a stone on the ground, and after looking at its sharp edges you decide that some person sharpened it. You then want to figure out why he sharpened it and how it came to be where you found it. In each of these inferences—that it was sharpened, the purpose it was sharpened for, and what train of events led to it being where you found it, your reasoning probably follows a sequence like this: you imagine a scenario, you look for reasons to support or refute that scenario, you consider other possible scenarios, and you try to support or reject each of those scenarios. For example, to decide that someone sharpened the stone, you imagine some natural process—say, wind and weather—that could have made it sharp like it is. You test that scenario by asking whether these natural processes produce such a clear pattern, and whether they would have made the stone in such an oblong shape. You don’t think so—and besides, you’ve seen other similar stones that you know were sharpened by a person.

The key thing is that you have to give reasons to go from “I can imagine this scenario” to “this is a possible chain of events that led to this,” and from there to “this is the likely chain of events.” Unless you can give those reasons, you don’t have the logical right to make the shift.

TESTING A TRUTH CLAIM

When I am faced with a claim that something is true, how can I know whether or not to believe it? Well, I should at least decide whether or not the argument that produced the truth claim is sound. Now, just because the argument might have some flaws in its components doesn’t mean that the conclusion is untrue. For example, I have seen an argument for the truthfulness of Scripture based on fulfilled prophecy, where I disagreed with the writer’s way of interpreting prophecy (which was an unargued premise for him), and therefore thought his argument was a bad one—but I still think that Scripture is true. To show that this writer’s conclusion about the truthfulness of Scripture is false would require someone to show that the flaws in his argument undermine his conclusion altogether, or else to show that there is a better explanation for the data of prophecy (which doesn’t happen in the case of Scripture’s truthfulness).

Can we go beyond deciding that an argument is not simply false, to deciding that it is likely true? I think we can, if the argument meets the following conditions.

(a) The set of data is large enough, and the conclusion covers all of the data. For example, I have observed enough hawks and accurately reported what I have seen them eat.

(b) The argument openly says what premises must be true for the argument to hold, and offers reasonable grounds for believing those premises. For example, my premise that no one is interfering with the marbles in the cup is good if I am looking inside the cup.

(c) The argument covers the data without introducing unnecessary complicating assumptions. This is often called Ockham’s razor: it means that the simplest conclusion that covers the facts is to be preferred. For example, when the cookie is missing, it is simpler to suppose one person pinched it than to imagine a UN conspiracy.

(d) The logic of the argument is sound and self-consistent.

(e) When the conclusion challenges other beliefs I hold, it shows why the other beliefs are wrong; but in any case it is consistent with my touchstone beliefs. This is just another way of saying that reasonable people don’t want to hold contradictory beliefs if they can avoid it. For example, if I thought hawks ate only rodents like mice and chipmunks and then I saw hawks eating rabbits—rabbits aren’t rodents, they’re lagomorphs, with two pairs of upper front teeth instead of one pair— then I have to reject my previous belief. But if someone argues from brain science that my beliefs are determined by the chemical properties of my brain, than I should reject the argument, even if the advocate wears a lab coat—because it contradicts a touchstone belief.

Sometimes, though, even if my other belief is not a touchstone, I might hold on to it and reject the new conclusion. For example, if my detective work on the missing cookie leads me to conclude that a space alien pinched the cookie with a transporter beam, I may decide that my disbelief in transporter beams is strong enough to make it reasonable to reject the conclusion. If a psychologist tells me that a tendency to alcoholism is related to one’s genes, and I think it is a moral issue, I have to be careful to sort out just what is and is not in conflict. (I will look at this kind of question when I discuss the human and social sciences. )

(f) It lists the possible refutations and counterarguments fairly and honestly, and answers them. For example, someone might argue that the cookie disappeared because my son broke his habit of not pinching from the cookie jar; but if his habit is well-established, and he denies having done so, and he is truthful, and I know that my wife gets hungry, then the counter explanation doesn’t look promising.

(g) It helps if we can describe a way of testing it. For example, if I have concluded that hawks eat rabbits, I should be able to set up a blind in a place where there are hawks and rabbits, and see it happen. I could test the two marbles plus two marbles gives four example, too, if I wanted to—but, since it’s a deductive inference, I wouldn’t be testing the inference itself but instead would be testing my premise that nothing is interfering.

In the rest of this book I will put these principles to work to help us achieve good faith and good science.

But for now I want to emphasize again that this is what you do—or at least should do—every day.

A WORD ABOUT RATIONAL CHRISTIAN FAITH

I have stressed that good faith as well as good science needs sound rational thinking. I know that many will either not understand this just yet or will think they are reading something heretical: after all, faith is in the heart, not the head, they will say. Or they will point out that God reveals Christianity through Scripture, not through human reason. I will talk more in the next chapter about what “faith” is, and how it relates to reason. Before I move on, though, let me say a few things in clarification, so that you don’t hear what I’m not saying.

To begin with, by “reason” and “rationality” I don’t mean what theologians usually mean when they contrast reason with revelation: they are speaking of the process of reasoning that takes for its premise the notion that only what we can discover by study without God’s help is reasonable. I am instead speaking of the process of thinking soundly in general. So this objection is based on failure to be clear that I use the word “reason” with a different meaning than the objector does. In fact I don’t believe for a second that it is at all “reasonable” to do without God’s help in understanding his world!

Another thing to clarify: I haven’t at this point said anything about the role of reasoning in how we come to believe in Christ; instead I have been focusing on the responsibility every convinced Christian has, to use and develop his reasoning ability in service to his faith and life. I will come back in a later chapter to the role of rational arguments in coming to faith.

The theological discipline that studies how to use rational arguments to support faith is called apologetics. Christians don’t all agree on what place these arguments should play in bringing someone to believe in God. Some say that no arguments are needed; some say that sound faith requires evidence; some say that you have to challenge the unbeliever’s worldview before he can even think rightly about God.

One of the things that distinguishes these schools of thought is their answer to the question, “Where does belief in God come in?” Some say that belief in God is actually a datum—that is, you just know God directly, and what you need is to get in touch with that knowledge that you’ve been suppressing. Others say that belief in God is a premise—unless you take God’s existence for granted, you have no basis for sound reasoning of any sort. Still others say that belief in God is an inference—a conclusion from a chain of reasoning—which is why you need evidence and strong arguments.

As it turns out, each of these schools of thought has something to offer—rather than “either-or” I prefer the “both-and” approach. This is because these different schools seem to mean different things by “belief in God” (an expression we’ll examine in the next chapter).

3

MUST SCIENCE AND FAITH BE AT ODDS?

IN THIS CHAPTER I will examine some of the issues in the philosophy of science that come into play when we think about the interaction of science and faith. The first of these issues is the definition of “science” as well as that of “faith.” This will lead us to look at some of the questions of proper scientific method, the connection between science and knowledge, and the possible operating relationships between science and faith.

In each of these areas I will start by giving what I take to be the most common way of thinking in our culture, and show how this leads to problems if we try to analyze it. I will then offer a way of thinking that serves us better.

DEFINING “SCIENCE”

Would you be surprised to learn that defining “science” is actually controversial? Well, it is—because if we want to be any more informative than “what scientists do,” we run into all kinds of difficulties. Philosophers do not agree on whether there is something like a “scientific method” that unites all the different sciences; and they also don’t agree on what is the essence of science that would allow you to define it. Further, many of them disagree over the connection between “science” and “knowledge.” And finally, a good definition should help us to distinguish between what is scientific, and what is not—but that creates problems because “scientific” is a power word in our culture. If you’re a scientist people have to listen to you, and if you’re not—well, no one wants to be dismissed as “unscientific.” In a case like this, it’s easy to set up a definition that sneaks in any number of philosophical premises that need to be examined. As I told you in the last chapter, I am one of those who often finds philosophers tiresome and unhelpful; but here they have a point. I think we can arrive at a reasonable definition of science, but we do need to be careful.

I recall being taught as a boy that “science” is, at its simplest, the collecting of data from observations of the world, and then the organizing of those observations in a way that leads to a generalization called a “law.” The best laws are in the form of an equation that allows you to predict what will happen next. The thing that makes science so superior to everything else, I was told, is that it is “objective,” which means it is free from bias and not subject to disagreement (I think of the character in Chesterton’s Father Brown story who says, “I don’t believe in anything; I’m a man of science”). Christian, Buddhist, and atheist will all agree that the ball traveled 25. 6 meters. This makes science a safer path to knowledge than any other kind of study, such as religion or philosophy, which can never get anywhere because they are so full of disagreements: “scientific proof” is the end of disagreement.

My hunch is that this definition captures the elements of the popular view of science; it was certainly the standard view of science in my college days. The three features that stand out are the empirical nature of the work (the collection of data), the production of laws, and the objectivity (or freedom from all bias).

The big problem with this kind of definition is that it’s not true to what scientists do. In the first place, we have neglected the fact that scientists are people, and no one is free of all bias—nor should they be. The search for laws actually takes for granted that such laws exist: it is biased in favor of finding mathematical regularity in nature. (I think that the biblical teaching on creation and providence make this bias quite reasonable, as we’ll see later. ) But even more importantly, many scientists have held to their ideas with the persistence of a bulldog even when it looked like they were wrong. Some cosmologists (physicists who study the origin and history of the universe) dislike the Big Bang theory because it implies a beginning to the universe—and such an idea is repulsive to them.

Speaking of cosmologists, Stephen Hawking, in his book A Brief History of Time, writes about the assumption that the universe looks the same in every direction as seen from any other galaxy, just as it does when seen from ours. He says,

We have no scientific evidence [note: what does he mean by that?] for, or against, this assumption. We believe it only on grounds of modesty: it would be most remarkable if the universe looked the same in every direction around us, but not around other points in the universe!

In other words, they’re biased in favor of modesty (good thing, too). Unfortunately, for many in our culture, “bias” is a negative word, because we think it leads us to distort our view of the world, like “rose-colored glasses.” As Sherlock Holmes said more than once, “It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence—it biases the judgment.” But not every bias distorts: some biases can help us decide ahead of time what is worth paying attention to and what is not. As Holmes said in another story, “It is of the highest importance in the art of deduction to be able to recognize out of a number of facts which are incidental and which are vital.” I am biased against the possibility that the number of puppies in a litter has anything to do with the number of legs the father has, so I would never pay anyone money to study what the relationship is. But some biases can distort: people who think that all human behavior can be explained by our genes have a bias that blinds them to moral realities. So we cannot promise that “science” is without bias; and we have to assess—by critical thinking—whether that leads to sound or unsound conclusions.

The second way that the popular definition of science causes trouble is its emphasis on laws, or regularities. Some sciences do in fact concern themselves with such regularities: Newton’s laws of motion, as well as quantum mechanics and relativity, are examples of laws. But what about theories of the origin of the universe, or the geological history of a mountain range, or the history of life on this planet? These are unique historical events, and what makes them interesting is exactly their uniqueness: and yet we usually group cosmology, geology, and evolutionary biology among the sciences. (We may think that these events were produced by regularities, but that is a philosophical assumption, which I will address later. ) So we have to allow science to study both the regularities and the unique historical chains of cause-and-effect.

Finally, the bit about the empirical nature of the work is good, so long as we are reasonable about what data we might legitimately consider. The science writer John Gribbin, in Almost Everyone’s Guide to Science, draws on the famous physicist Richard Feynman to get a crisp definition of science:

That is what science, and scientific models, are all about. If it disagrees with experiment it is wrong.

Gribbin here limits the empirical data to the kind you can collect in an experiment—and that’s clearly wrong. Does this mean that the guy who hides in a blind and watches animals to see their natural behavior, is no scientist? And what place does this have for the sciences that study unique events? Are they not sciences either? It is much better to speak of “observation” or “experience,” recognizing that “experiments” are a special kind of experience (and an artificial one at that, since they purposely exclude “irrelevant” factors). It’s even better to speak of observations that are “publicly accessible”—that is, anyone else can get the same data. For example, you can come over to my house and watch the birds and squirrels, and see if what I report about them is true. You can mix the same five chemicals at the same temperature, and blow up your lab just like I did mine. Mind you, this kind of data isn’t the only kind there is: I know what I dreamed about last night and you only have my report. In research projects that involve this kind of data (say, to discover the connection between rapid eye movement and dreaming), the researcher really only has access to the person’s report—and that’s the part that is publicly accessible.

No one has a problem with physics, chemistry, geology, and biology being sciences (they are often called “natural” or even “hard” sciences); but what should we do about “social” sciences such as linguistics, sociology, and anthropology, or the “human” sciences such as physiology or psychology? Admittedly, people in the “soft” sciences want the social prestige that comes from being called “scientists,” just as some in the “hard” sciences want to be able to exclude them as not really science; but we should look for some definition that is not part of a social strategy.

This last point brings up a further difficulty in definition. Most of us want to have some way of distinguishing between those who do legitimate work and those who don’t. We’d like to be able to say that the cranks and quacks aren’t “real” scientists, so that we don’t have to believe them. Some people whose theories put them on the fringe (such as UFO researchers) would like to be called scientists so that we will hesitate to dismiss them. Similarly, there are many who want to keep some ideas out of the science classroom, such as any criticism of Darwinism, by calling them “religion” or “philosophy” and not “science” (and the sub-text is, if it’s not science no one needs to believe it). So the scramble for the right to use the prestige title compounds the def-initional difficulties.

We can find some help from the history of usage. We get our word “science” from the Latin word scientia. The great scholars of the Middle Ages—who built on the ideas of the Greek philosophers, especially Aristotle (who lived from 384 to 322 B. C. )—used scientia to speak of a particular area of disciplined and rational study, worthy of the investment of the time and energy it took to gain knowledge. These areas of study included such fields as physics, biology, mathematics, ethics, politics, grammar, theology, and what we now call philosophy. When we use the word “science” today, we tend to focus on the natural or physical sciences, such as physics, chemistry, and biology, and to leave mathematics as a tool rather than a science. The term “scientist” was apparently coined by the Cambridge philosopher-scientist William Whewell (1794–1866) and appears in his 1840 book, The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences, “to describe a cultivator of science.” Generally, our culture tends to treat physics, which is heavily mathematical and able to make very accurate predictions, as the prime example of “true science”; some even go so far as to make it the prime example of “true knowledge.” (This explains the pressure on the “soft” sciences such as sociology to put their results in mathematical form. ) Though the principles I set out in the previous chapter should lead us to resist such a tendency, we are foolish not to be aware of it.

Further, we can throw into the mix a clarification that C. S. Lewis offered:

Strictly speaking there is, I confess, no such thing as ‘modern science’. There are only particular sciences, all in a stage of rapid change, and sometimes inconsistent with one another.

Lewis correctly represents both the history of usage of the word “science” and the practice of modern scientists. He also shows why John Gribbin is talking nonsense when he says,

Both evolution and the Big Bang (and all the rest) are based on the same principles, and you can’t pick and choose which bits of the scientific story you are going to accept.