The first problem in interpreting the relationship between science and religion as a war is that it simply ignores the history. Most people are familiar with the most infamous instances of religious persecution of scientific thinkers: Copernicus did not publish his heliocentric theory until he was on his deathbed for fear of the backlash, Galileo was sentenced to house arrest for asserting that the earth moves, Scopes was banned from teaching evolution in Tennessee in 1925, and so on. What is often not told about these stories is that, for the most part, they are the exception rather than the rule. From the fall of the Roman Empire to the rise of humanist Renaissance Italy and the later Scientific Revolution, most scholars involved in anything resembling natural philosophy were also members of the clergy. This is to some degree logistical, as only clerics in the Middle Ages had anything remotely resembling an education to give them the ability to pursue these topics, but nevertheless, the sole harborers of learning in the West during this thousand year time period were religious. Some anti-religious thinkers, such as Richard Dawkins , have suggested that this is simply because they had no other choice in their day, but I think the argument works better in reverse: that because they were religious, and clerical, their choice was to pursue knowledge. The greatest polymaths of the Middle Ages were not just theologians, but also natural philosophers, the closest cognate to "scientist" that existed before the Scientific Revolution (indeed, many scientists were still called natural philosophers as late as the 19th century). A great many supposedly "modern" innovations were rooted in the era when religion allegedly suppressed free thought with an iron fist: the experimental method employing empiricism and rationalism, differential calculus, tools precursory to those 
still used in modern surgery, the creation of the modern university and peer editing systems, and numerous practical implementations of contemporary technology like the compass, gunpowder, astrolabe, and sextant. This is not to say that the Medieval and pre -Scientific Revolution era was just like ours; it was obviously very different. The Christian religion--in its institutional, cultural, political, and folk varieties--permeated every aspect of medieval life. But it is just as equally erroneous to imagine that religious authorities actively sought to impede scientific progress anymore than they are attempting, or should attempt, to do now. The relationship has been muddied and is more complicated now, but there is no massive religious conspiracy (at least not one with any real power) currently vying to destroy the institution of science.
Once one digs a bit deeper into the hallowed lore of the history of science, particularly the episodes of individual persecution, one finds figures who have been more often than not castigated for theological and political transgressions rather than scientific ones or ones related to freedom of thought. Numerous astrologers in the Middle Ages were punished not because their practices were deemed anti-Christian or as some form of black magic; usually, they were punished because they foretold a future that was unpleasing to the ears and sensibilities of the nobles, kings or popes upon whom they commented. Astrologers often found themselves in the precarious position of interpreting a certain stellar portent to mean that the king would die near the end of the year. Despite being certain of their observations and mathematics, they were often reticent about releasing such information, since, even if it were true (from the medieval point of view), the ruler would not wish this information be made public as it could foment a rebellion or announce to his enemies that the time to attack his kingdom was now. Similarly, alchemists were often persecuted, not because of some religious admonition, but because if the alchemist succeeded in transmuting lead into gold it would ruin his sovereign's gold standard and create rampant inflation or debasement of the currency. These were practical political and economic issues, rather than the fear that Christian leaders would lose their grip on moral authority.
This was not confined to the proto-sciences either. An early and famous instance of the so-called religious persecution of science, came in the 13th century with the imprisoning of Roger Bacon, an English Franciscan friar and natural philosopher famous for, among other things, his works on optics and the refraction of light, detailed astronomical observation, and the anticipation of uses for gunpowder, microscopes, telescopes, and other inventions centuries away. He is also considered as one of the first Europeans to assert the primacy of something resembling the experimental method of science, derived from the likes of Plato and Aristotle, and filtered through Avicenna and other Arab commentators. The history of the man, intertwined with his advocacy of this modern-seeming notion, often contributes to the misunderstanding that he was imprisoned for experimentation in an age when true knowledge was thought to come from contemplation and
revelation. This is, essentially, incorrect. The details of his crime and imprisonment are extraordinarily hazy, even by medieval standards. It seems that he was imprisoned at least for a short time, but some sources claim that it may have been up to ten years (based on the fact that he was away from University for that amount of time). But many modern scholars do not even believe he was imprisoned at all: Lindbergh says of Bacon that "his imprisonment, if it occurred at all (which I doubt) probably resulted with his sympathies for the radical 'poverty' wing of the Franciscan (a wholly theological matter) rather than from any scientific novelties which he may have proposed." The point is that, whether he was imprisoned or not, this simply cannot be construed as evidence of religion combating science. Giordano Bruno offers us another striking example. Often considered by less discerning scholars as the "first martyr for free thought," Bruno was burned at the stake, not by religious officials, but by the secular Roman inquisition in 1600. Though he is often known for his early championing of the heliocentric theory as well as for the infinity of the cosmos (which he, it should be noted, arrived at through philosophical rather than scientific reasoning), perhaps his best contribution to science was his work on spatial geometry. But why was he burned at the stake? For the heliocentrism? The geometry? Biographer Luigi Firpo lists his legal infringements as such: holding opinions contrary to the Catholic faith regarding the Trinity, Christ's divinity, the Incarnation, Transubstantiation, and Mass; believing in the plurality of worlds and the infinity and eternity of the universe; and believing in metempsychosis [reincarnation] and the transmigration of souls into other animals. Nowhere was the Copernican theory mentioned, and in fact, the Catholic Church had not even formed a coherent doctrinal opinion on the matter at the time of Bruno's trial. The plurality of worlds is the closest thing approximating a persecution of scientific ideas, but again, this was more a philosophical assertion than a scientific one, for both Bruno and his persecutors, in that a finite world with a definitive beginning (the Creation) and end (the Apocalypse) was doctrinal, and the eternity of the world (meaning universe) was considered erroneous. (This, by the way, had precedent, and was banned by the Bishop Ettiene Tempiers in the famous Aristotelian Prohibition of 1277, which forbade several teachings of Aristotle, including the eternity of the universe - for almost purely theological reasons.)
Most famous of course, was the trial of Galileo, the archetype, if ever there was one, for the story of the crushing hand of religion landing on an undeserving scientific mind. Most modern interpretations of the trial have cast a far more political light on the subject, and while even the most ardent supporter of the religious position cannot deny the humiliation foisted upon Galileo by the bearers of such trenchant dogma (Galileo really did have to recant on his knees and spent the remainder of his life under house arrest, unlike Bruno, for his Copernican weltanschauung), the political calculus inherent in the move is too indispensable in understanding the trial to leave out of the story. The fall of Galileo, according to historian Mario Biagioli , resembled "the fall of the favorite" in that his guilt was seen as a double indemnity of sorts, as Galileo had been among the greatest of his patron's thinkers. In seventeenth century politics, and especially in places without strong monarchs, like the principalities and city-states of Germany and Italy, artists, writers, and scientists, performed all of their work at the behest of a political patron whose financial support ensured the continued success of the lesser person. Galileo's general patron in his early years had been Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, later to become Pope Urban VII. It is possible that with a friend in high places, Galileo believed that he may have been able to escape retribution for publishing teachings contrary to the Catholic faith, which by the 1630s had developed an official opinion on Copernicus: it was OK to discuss his theory as a mathematical abstraction, but the notion that the earth physically revolved around the sun was a heresy. And it did not help matters that Galileo, in his groundbreaking opus majus Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems, put the Aristotelian/Ptolemaic system, of which Pope Urban VII availed himself, in the mouth of a character named Simplicio. While modeled after a sixth century commentator on Aristotle, the unfortunate connotations of the name did not endear Galileo to his former patron. As Biagiolo put it, it was "patronage dynamics" more than anything that did in Galileo.
The second, and I think more important, problem in interpreting the religio-scientific relationship is the simple fact that there are no monolithic entities for which the blanket terms "science" and "religion" may be applied. Obviously, there are many different religions, each of which has not only widely varying degrees of acceptance and antipathy towards the scientific enterprise, but also widely varying internal differences (just think of Christianity, ranging from papal approval of evolution to political movements designed to remove its teaching from public schools). Science, too, is dynamic. Indeed, it thrives on discord and requires constant disagreement, argumentation, and competition among scientists to arrive at truth. Facts, of course, are purely objective, but entirely different hypotheses and theories may be arrived at by different thinkers. And there are certainly more sub-fields within natural science than there are religions in the world, united primarily (perhaps solely) by methodology. Because of the emergence of impartial, objective scientific knowledge, many of the world's religious believers have had little problem with interpreting their faith's teachings symbolically, and the great scholars of comparative religion Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell, Mircea Eliade, and others have offered up extensive research to show this as among the deepest and most spiritually satisfying ways to worship, as opposed to crude literalism. In short, reducing science and religion to caricatures simplifies their complex relationship.
So, where does this leave us, as 21st century human being living in a world where both institutional religions and academic, practical, and technological science remain the most potent forces in our lives? I think that the one aspect of modern fundamentalist Creationism that truly baffles me is the falsification necessity of science. The historian and philosopher of science Karl Popper said science is only science when its hypotheses, experiments, and theories are falsifiable, that is, can be proved wrong rather than right. What fundamentalist Christian is willing to say with a straight-face that, should new evidence emerge disproving the existence of God, they would accept that science has disproved religion? No one. But this is precisely what a scientific hypothesis puts on the line when it is proposed: peer reviewing scientists devise experiments to test a hypotheses (prove it wrong) and if no one can, the hypothesis is formulated into a theory and tends to be accepted. I recall getting into an argument once with a friend less amenable to the truths of science about the validity of carbon dating, and one of his key arguments was "how can we accept something as fact when scientists simply take for granted that it's true?" which implies that scientists have never really tested whether carbon dating is fact. But of course, by using it in the field and getting consistent result, it's validity is not really in question. If it did not get consistent results, it would be tossed out in favor of a more accurate method. Biologist J.B.S. Haldane, accused of treating evolution as if it were a dogmatic truth, was asked what it would take for him to give up the theory, to which he famously replied, "Rabbit fossils in the Precambrian." This, in a nutshell, is how science works. The religious community does a great discredit to their own beliefs when they set them up for falsification. It is as if those who presume to speak on behalf of all religion are literally "testing their faith", and, if I were religious, I would think it cheapens my belief to subject it to the rigors of scientific testing. Isn't the point of faith that one doesn't know? And if one is not willing to admit the possibility that something is wrong, one cannot subject it to science.
One possible way to march forward has been proposed by evolutionary paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould in his book Rocks of Ages: Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life, which posits a middle ground that he calls NOMA, or "non-overlapping magisteria." Essentially, Gould, an agnostic, describes the relationship he envisions for religion and science as one of mutual respect and admiration in which the ultimate arena of each should remain separate. Religion is the realm and moral and ethical truths, which no amount of scientific knowledge can comment upon, and science is the realm of factual and testable knowledge about the physical universe, against which literalistic interpretations of the Bible should not infringe. To be sure, I am not entirely sold on his position (and neither are many of his most vociferous critics from the scientific and religious spheres) since areas that centuries ago would have found themselves undoubtedly within the dominion of religion, are now considered objectively testable by science. But can we truly believe the most anti-religious thinkers such as Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennet when they say that, in a sense, God is testable and the verdict declaims that "God almost certainly does not exist"? I think that Dawkins, in his book The God Delusion, was most likely taking the the Creationist position to task and actually subjecting it to the scientific method as the Creationists so wish it be (with predictable results). But, as a true agnostic, I can't abide by a scientific test on something which, I feel by its very definition, is untestable, anymore than I can stand when fundamentalist Christians attempt to peddle their ideology as science. And, considering that I have in the past and in some ways am still somewhat acquiescent to some of the more outlandish claims of peripheral science, I feel that there can still be some limited communication between these two realms--especially when one considers the history and the more congenial relationship occasioned at times in the past. Both science and religion have their angels and demons. Let us hope in the future, that it is the angels of both that prevail.
still used in modern surgery, the creation of the modern university and peer editing systems, and numerous practical implementations of contemporary technology like the compass, gunpowder, astrolabe, and sextant. This is not to say that the Medieval and pre -Scientific Revolution era was just like ours; it was obviously very different. The Christian religion--in its institutional, cultural, political, and folk varieties--permeated every aspect of medieval life. But it is just as equally erroneous to imagine that religious authorities actively sought to impede scientific progress anymore than they are attempting, or should attempt, to do now. The relationship has been muddied and is more complicated now, but there is no massive religious conspiracy (at least not one with any real power) currently vying to destroy the institution of science.Once one digs a bit deeper into the hallowed lore of the history of science, particularly the episodes of individual persecution, one finds figures who have been more often than not castigated for theological and political transgressions rather than scientific ones or ones related to freedom of thought. Numerous astrologers in the Middle Ages were punished not because their practices were deemed anti-Christian or as some form of black magic; usually, they were punished because they foretold a future that was unpleasing to the ears and sensibilities of the nobles, kings or popes upon whom they commented. Astrologers often found themselves in the precarious position of interpreting a certain stellar portent to mean that the king would die near the end of the year. Despite being certain of their observations and mathematics, they were often reticent about releasing such information, since, even if it were true (from the medieval point of view), the ruler would not wish this information be made public as it could foment a rebellion or announce to his enemies that the time to attack his kingdom was now. Similarly, alchemists were often persecuted, not because of some religious admonition, but because if the alchemist succeeded in transmuting lead into gold it would ruin his sovereign's gold standard and create rampant inflation or debasement of the currency. These were practical political and economic issues, rather than the fear that Christian leaders would lose their grip on moral authority.
This was not confined to the proto-sciences either. An early and famous instance of the so-called religious persecution of science, came in the 13th century with the imprisoning of Roger Bacon, an English Franciscan friar and natural philosopher famous for, among other things, his works on optics and the refraction of light, detailed astronomical observation, and the anticipation of uses for gunpowder, microscopes, telescopes, and other inventions centuries away. He is also considered as one of the first Europeans to assert the primacy of something resembling the experimental method of science, derived from the likes of Plato and Aristotle, and filtered through Avicenna and other Arab commentators. The history of the man, intertwined with his advocacy of this modern-seeming notion, often contributes to the misunderstanding that he was imprisoned for experimentation in an age when true knowledge was thought to come from contemplation and
revelation. This is, essentially, incorrect. The details of his crime and imprisonment are extraordinarily hazy, even by medieval standards. It seems that he was imprisoned at least for a short time, but some sources claim that it may have been up to ten years (based on the fact that he was away from University for that amount of time). But many modern scholars do not even believe he was imprisoned at all: Lindbergh says of Bacon that "his imprisonment, if it occurred at all (which I doubt) probably resulted with his sympathies for the radical 'poverty' wing of the Franciscan (a wholly theological matter) rather than from any scientific novelties which he may have proposed." The point is that, whether he was imprisoned or not, this simply cannot be construed as evidence of religion combating science. Giordano Bruno offers us another striking example. Often considered by less discerning scholars as the "first martyr for free thought," Bruno was burned at the stake, not by religious officials, but by the secular Roman inquisition in 1600. Though he is often known for his early championing of the heliocentric theory as well as for the infinity of the cosmos (which he, it should be noted, arrived at through philosophical rather than scientific reasoning), perhaps his best contribution to science was his work on spatial geometry. But why was he burned at the stake? For the heliocentrism? The geometry? Biographer Luigi Firpo lists his legal infringements as such: holding opinions contrary to the Catholic faith regarding the Trinity, Christ's divinity, the Incarnation, Transubstantiation, and Mass; believing in the plurality of worlds and the infinity and eternity of the universe; and believing in metempsychosis [reincarnation] and the transmigration of souls into other animals. Nowhere was the Copernican theory mentioned, and in fact, the Catholic Church had not even formed a coherent doctrinal opinion on the matter at the time of Bruno's trial. The plurality of worlds is the closest thing approximating a persecution of scientific ideas, but again, this was more a philosophical assertion than a scientific one, for both Bruno and his persecutors, in that a finite world with a definitive beginning (the Creation) and end (the Apocalypse) was doctrinal, and the eternity of the world (meaning universe) was considered erroneous. (This, by the way, had precedent, and was banned by the Bishop Ettiene Tempiers in the famous Aristotelian Prohibition of 1277, which forbade several teachings of Aristotle, including the eternity of the universe - for almost purely theological reasons.)Most famous of course, was the trial of Galileo, the archetype, if ever there was one, for the story of the crushing hand of religion landing on an undeserving scientific mind. Most modern interpretations of the trial have cast a far more political light on the subject, and while even the most ardent supporter of the religious position cannot deny the humiliation foisted upon Galileo by the bearers of such trenchant dogma (Galileo really did have to recant on his knees and spent the remainder of his life under house arrest, unlike Bruno, for his Copernican weltanschauung), the political calculus inherent in the move is too indispensable in understanding the trial to leave out of the story. The fall of Galileo, according to historian Mario Biagioli , resembled "the fall of the favorite" in that his guilt was seen as a double indemnity of sorts, as Galileo had been among the greatest of his patron's thinkers. In seventeenth century politics, and especially in places without strong monarchs, like the principalities and city-states of Germany and Italy, artists, writers, and scientists, performed all of their work at the behest of a political patron whose financial support ensured the continued success of the lesser person. Galileo's general patron in his early years had been Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, later to become Pope Urban VII. It is possible that with a friend in high places, Galileo believed that he may have been able to escape retribution for publishing teachings contrary to the Catholic faith, which by the 1630s had developed an official opinion on Copernicus: it was OK to discuss his theory as a mathematical abstraction, but the notion that the earth physically revolved around the sun was a heresy. And it did not help matters that Galileo, in his groundbreaking opus majus Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems, put the Aristotelian/Ptolemaic system, of which Pope Urban VII availed himself, in the mouth of a character named Simplicio. While modeled after a sixth century commentator on Aristotle, the unfortunate connotations of the name did not endear Galileo to his former patron. As Biagiolo put it, it was "patronage dynamics" more than anything that did in Galileo.
The second, and I think more important, problem in interpreting the religio-scientific relationship is the simple fact that there are no monolithic entities for which the blanket terms "science" and "religion" may be applied. Obviously, there are many different religions, each of which has not only widely varying degrees of acceptance and antipathy towards the scientific enterprise, but also widely varying internal differences (just think of Christianity, ranging from papal approval of evolution to political movements designed to remove its teaching from public schools). Science, too, is dynamic. Indeed, it thrives on discord and requires constant disagreement, argumentation, and competition among scientists to arrive at truth. Facts, of course, are purely objective, but entirely different hypotheses and theories may be arrived at by different thinkers. And there are certainly more sub-fields within natural science than there are religions in the world, united primarily (perhaps solely) by methodology. Because of the emergence of impartial, objective scientific knowledge, many of the world's religious believers have had little problem with interpreting their faith's teachings symbolically, and the great scholars of comparative religion Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell, Mircea Eliade, and others have offered up extensive research to show this as among the deepest and most spiritually satisfying ways to worship, as opposed to crude literalism. In short, reducing science and religion to caricatures simplifies their complex relationship.
So, where does this leave us, as 21st century human being living in a world where both institutional religions and academic, practical, and technological science remain the most potent forces in our lives? I think that the one aspect of modern fundamentalist Creationism that truly baffles me is the falsification necessity of science. The historian and philosopher of science Karl Popper said science is only science when its hypotheses, experiments, and theories are falsifiable, that is, can be proved wrong rather than right. What fundamentalist Christian is willing to say with a straight-face that, should new evidence emerge disproving the existence of God, they would accept that science has disproved religion? No one. But this is precisely what a scientific hypothesis puts on the line when it is proposed: peer reviewing scientists devise experiments to test a hypotheses (prove it wrong) and if no one can, the hypothesis is formulated into a theory and tends to be accepted. I recall getting into an argument once with a friend less amenable to the truths of science about the validity of carbon dating, and one of his key arguments was "how can we accept something as fact when scientists simply take for granted that it's true?" which implies that scientists have never really tested whether carbon dating is fact. But of course, by using it in the field and getting consistent result, it's validity is not really in question. If it did not get consistent results, it would be tossed out in favor of a more accurate method. Biologist J.B.S. Haldane, accused of treating evolution as if it were a dogmatic truth, was asked what it would take for him to give up the theory, to which he famously replied, "Rabbit fossils in the Precambrian." This, in a nutshell, is how science works. The religious community does a great discredit to their own beliefs when they set them up for falsification. It is as if those who presume to speak on behalf of all religion are literally "testing their faith", and, if I were religious, I would think it cheapens my belief to subject it to the rigors of scientific testing. Isn't the point of faith that one doesn't know? And if one is not willing to admit the possibility that something is wrong, one cannot subject it to science.
One possible way to march forward has been proposed by evolutionary paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould in his book Rocks of Ages: Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life, which posits a middle ground that he calls NOMA, or "non-overlapping magisteria." Essentially, Gould, an agnostic, describes the relationship he envisions for religion and science as one of mutual respect and admiration in which the ultimate arena of each should remain separate. Religion is the realm and moral and ethical truths, which no amount of scientific knowledge can comment upon, and science is the realm of factual and testable knowledge about the physical universe, against which literalistic interpretations of the Bible should not infringe. To be sure, I am not entirely sold on his position (and neither are many of his most vociferous critics from the scientific and religious spheres) since areas that centuries ago would have found themselves undoubtedly within the dominion of religion, are now considered objectively testable by science. But can we truly believe the most anti-religious thinkers such as Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennet when they say that, in a sense, God is testable and the verdict declaims that "God almost certainly does not exist"? I think that Dawkins, in his book The God Delusion, was most likely taking the the Creationist position to task and actually subjecting it to the scientific method as the Creationists so wish it be (with predictable results). But, as a true agnostic, I can't abide by a scientific test on something which, I feel by its very definition, is untestable, anymore than I can stand when fundamentalist Christians attempt to peddle their ideology as science. And, considering that I have in the past and in some ways am still somewhat acquiescent to some of the more outlandish claims of peripheral science, I feel that there can still be some limited communication between these two realms--especially when one considers the history and the more congenial relationship occasioned at times in the past. Both science and religion have their angels and demons. Let us hope in the future, that it is the angels of both that prevail.
This is an interesting post, but as is my way, I am going to take issue with some of it. First, I think your assertion that there is no organized, powerful religious opposition to science is completely wrong. You should go read Only a Theory by Kenneth Miller. It is basically all about this movement. The movement may not be winning right now, but it is there and it is still VERY powerful in a ground level kind of way. The number of students I have, for example, who do not believe in evolution because their pastor tells them it is wrong is simply staggering. While it is certainly true that not all branches of Christianity disapprove of various aspects of science, there are very large and powerful cross-sections that do.
ReplyDeleteAlso, I think that for the people I mentioned above, faith is no about believing but not knowing. Rather, so far as they are concerned, they KNOW they are right. This extends all the way down to the most minute dogma. And this, I think, leads us to my final point...
I think, in your eagerness to make a convincing argument that science and religion have not and need not always be in conflict, you miss the forest for the trees. Though I am not an historian and it's been a while since I concerned myself with the time period you are writing about, I do seem to recall that, generally, it was a period where a lot of knowledge was lost and where the church controlled more or less everything. So, though the church might not have been opposed to all science (though, certainly, it was opposed to anything that challenged dogma), what was the point, if you were a normal citizen of worrying about new knowledge when the church, via entrenched dogma already has ALL the answers. This is where I think society was then and where I think a lot of people are now. It's not so much that the church or a church or part of a church is an enemy of science as it is an enemy of curiosity. Any organization that openly professes to have ALL the answers that matter has, in some way, to be viewed as an enemy of science, doesn't it?
I'm not so sure about it being an enemy in particular. I think the point I failed to make is not so much that there aren't religious people/organizations that are anti-science (I personally know some), but it's that I haven't seen any real evidence that these organization have any real power other than to get certain politicians elected or pupblish pamphlets. I think the idea that there is some religious conspiracy is completely overblown. Certainly they are vocal and get a lot of press, but a few politically motivated people are not going to remove evolutionary biology from universities.
ReplyDeleteI think one thing I left out is the fact that the historical peiod I'm emphasizing is usually used by people on "the science side" (whatever that means) to show how religion persecutes science, when that never actually happened, at least not in the way we talk about it. These we political, economic, and social decisions, not scientific ones. MY point, is that it's basically the same today: all of this garbage with the ID folk is a political and not a scientific argument (if it were, you'd have legitimate scientists, and lots of them, arguing for ID on scientific grounds).
And, while I'd never advocate simply agreeing with the experts without looking into the issues, the historical concensus is that the warfare between science and religion, at least from the Middle Ages through the Early Modern Era, is essentially a popular modern myth. I'd point you towards The History of Western Science by David C. Lindbergh, Science and Religion by Ian Barbour, and Gould's book I mentioned in the post.
Okay, you've clarified a couple of things, especially regarding your point about the way people misinterpret the period. However, I still don't understand why you feel the need to point out how it's a political and not a scientific argument. Obviously, that is the case, but that doesn't mean that there aren't religious people trying to limit the reach of science.
ReplyDeleteWhat would be really interesting would be to see if there have been instances of true encouragement from the religious community to the scientific community. I do agree that it's a shame that some religious people can't see that science needn't necessarily be a threat.
Sometime soon, I might have to start delving in to books on the history of science, and I'll keep your recommendations in mind.
The other point that I was going to make that I mentioned while we were having coffee, is that I agree that there is certainly conflict, but I don't like that we define it as "science vs. relgion". If anything, I would term it something like science versus fundamentalist dogmatism. I meant to make that distinction in my conclusion (and Gould and even Dawkins, to some extent, make that distinction) and I do think that that distinction should be made, because, as I mentioned, not all relgion or religious people are against science. The problem for us (and by us, I mean largely non-religious people in a country that has an awful lot of fundamentalists) is that when we think about or hear "religious person" I think our minds go immediately to the literalist, Bible-thumpers, when in reality they are simply a disproportionately large population here. Outside of certain places in the US, Canada, and Australia, there aren't really that many fundamentalist Christians left, and if we take the evolution acceptance stat, that means about 150 million Christians (out of about 1.2 billion - or a little over 10%) don't believe in evolution and certainly only a fraction of those are actively involved in suppressing it.
ReplyDeleteAlso, I think that the idea of the Middle Ages as a time when lots of knowledge was lost is also somewhat of a myth, though certainly some things were lost (Carl Sagan once said that if it hadn't been for the fall of the Roman Empire, man would have landed on the moon by 1000 AD), but this is actually a rather good example of a religious institution encouraging science, in the sense that it was mostly monks who preserved all of the knowledge that otherwise would have been lost. And, if we take the science of the Middle Ages, which was often times more sophisticated than we like to give it credit for, so many modern innovations came directly from religious thinkers, especially in mathematics and astronomy. The real point is that, up until about 150-200 years ago, most science was conducted by people who were also religious.
Perhaps I'm playing devil's advocate a little, but I don't think it's too hyperbolic to say that at least institutionally speaking, the Catholic Church, in the long run, probably did more to save science than it did to destroy it. If you're ever interested, I've got a pretty hefty stack of books on the history and philosophy of science for you to rumage through :)