Finding the best path across an unlit and cluttered room in the middle of the night is a potentially tricky business. The horrors of a stubbed toe or of treading on something sharp are only ever one unlucky step away. The solution is obvious, of course, provided it is available: turn the light on. The newly illuminated surroundings can now be taken in – plotting a course is made much easier.
Writing something new about science feels a little bit like this crowded-room scenario, especially since this book will deal with some controversial subject matter. What exactly, we shall ask, is science? What is science for? Do these questions, interesting though they might be, really make any practical difference? Would knowing the answers actually change anything for the average scientist?
Unsurprisingly, the room these questions occupy is a hazardous one. It is already stuffed full of furniture, and there are oddments all over its floor. Stepping out into it will mean putting feet and shins at serious risk – and only more so if we allow the ideas and language of faith to have any involvement.
A thoughtful and careful look at the big-picture story of science, though, shows that the topic of faith is simply unavoidable; it crops up again and again. In fact, at times, faith appears not just to be part of the mix, but central to it. Although this might seem unexpected at first, a bit more exploration reveals what is at least a partial explanation: science – so often presented as a detached, almost robotic undertaking – turns out in reality to be startlingly, and wonderfully, human.
When it comes to real-world science, as we shall see, it is no exaggeration at all to say that personality (with its worldviews, instincts, and quirks) has made at least as much difference as rationality. Throughout history, religious beliefs have consistently informed – and sometimes even brought about – new and successful scientific theories. The Christian faith, in particular, seems to be able to provide an environment in which science can positively thrive. If we are serious about answering the big questions laid out above, we cannot really afford to ignore these considerations – on the contrary, we should investigate them further.
As we do so, we will discover that there are many good reasons for the positive effects of faith on scientific endeavour. Chief among these is the provision of a powerful underlying reason for doing science in the first place – one that is so powerful that it is unparalleled anywhere else in human thought. This key principle of purpose has led to Christianity being intimately involved with – in some cases being directly responsible for – many of the biggest leaps forward in scientific history.
Maybe, then, it is not actually all that unscientific to hear faith speak as we seek to evaluate and then support science – it could prove to be a more useful travelling companion than some might have thought. Perhaps our seemingly inbuilt love of wisdom about nature really does have some sort of ultimate, faith-related significance. Can Christianity – and its key text, the Bible – help us, in some tangible way, to understand science better? Can it speak on what science is? Can it speak on what it is for?
Before we start answering these questions, however, it might be wise to ask one more: what ideas are already out there about science? After all, many voices have spoken out about its role or its value or its relationship with human beings, and it would be wise to hear these first. In this opening chapter, therefore, we will do just that.
Let us think of this initial listening process as turning the light on and surveying the room. For only once we have done so, will we be ready to plan out our route; a route which will – if it is the right one – bring us safely to a better place.
Science, Faith, and Hard Words
There is little doubt that the word “science” seems to come with strong images and ideas attached to it. Parents’ evenings at schools are full of surprised mums and dads declaring that they “never really got science” after being told their offspring is doing quite well in physics. There is the definite notion that some (odd) people are just “good at science” – unlike the rest of those mere mortals who will work in “normal” areas like retail, manufacturing, the leisure industry, or some form of office work.
Ask people to associate words with “science” and their responses reinforce this idea: “difficult”, “boring”, “mad scientist” all crop up. This does not necessarily mean that science is unvalued, though, since other answers are “experiment”, “proof”, and “curing cancer”. Instead, it seems that science is viewed as useful, but complicated. Is this true about other complex human activities? What if we try the same process with “music” or “art”?
This time, answers are far more personal. They might be a favourite song or a feeling – there is far less sense of distance or threat. When most people talk about science, they do so from a position of wariness – it is part of a different world that they feel they can comment on but not really take part in – and yet other subjects are seen as more comfortable and accessible. We could, therefore, call science a “hard” idea, and these others “soft”.
What about our other key topic, faith? Is it hard or soft? Words like “trust”, and “belief” sound somewhat promising, but do not push faith clearly into one category or the other. Expressions like “blind faith” and “extremism”, however, are certainly nearer the hard end of the spectrum.
When considering the interaction of faith and science, then, we might be entering grounds in which people have strong ideas, even if they don’t have a high level of personal involvement in either area. The atmosphere in which the two meet could be highly charged at times, and this book finds itself right in the middle of it – so paying attention to what has been said before will be very important.
It is perhaps most obvious to start with the scientist most often associated with this meeting-point, Richard Dawkins. He is quoted often, partially because he is so strongly spoken. Take, for instance, his comments during a live webchat on the mumsnet website:
It is a relatively simple point: evidence (which comes from doing science) is opposed to faith (which, according to Dawkins, contains no evidence) and leads to the obvious conclusion (since a child can arrive at it) that there is no God. For Dawkins, science and faith are enemies, and science must win out in the world for us to progress. He is far from being alone in this view, with the more active supporters of it being dubbed the “New Atheists”. Peter Atkins, a former professor of chemistry at Oxford University, is unafraid of adding his voice to Dawkins’:
These bold announcements, however, have been challenged by the very creatures that Peter Atkins does not believe exist: true scientists who do believe. Alister McGrath, himself a professor at Oxford, is both a biophysicist and a theologian. As a former atheist, he writes that the evidence for God can be found repeatedly within science:
Such back-and-forth between supposed enemies has generated hundreds of books, YouTube videos, podcasts, and university debates. Some titles give a sense of the discussion: The God Delusion, The Dawkins Delusion, Faith vs. Fact, Gunning for God: why the New Atheists are Missing the Target, and so on. Each new publication seeks to build the case further for either the death or the defence of faith, with science being hauled in to flesh out the argument.
As a side-effect, all this has led to a fear of science among some religious communities. Battles have been fought in the USA over exactly what should appear in textbooks and whether certain scientific ideas should be allowed in the classroom, depending on the persuasions of the groups running any particular school.4 There is a real sense of anxiety, frustration, and sometimes outright anger as those on either side worry about the possibility of wrong ideas damaging young minds.
Although the religion–science tension is a major headline grabber, it is not the only science-related area in which strong opinions are held. We have identified a large piece of furniture in our darkened room, yes – but it is not the only one.
Science the Saviour
To many people, science offers hope. As those clever scientists in white coats work away in the lab, they discover new facts and new techniques which will bring us closer, every day, to a perfect world. The major victories of science in the past remind us that great things can be achieved, and it becomes possible for some to believe that all of our problems will eventually be eliminated by the power of the scientific method. It is a hope that lies behind these words from Pandit Nehru, the first prime minister of India:
Here, science itself is the hero. It is easier to hold this view as a non-scientist, since the pressure is firmly placed on the shoulders of those in the profession, but many scientists see things this way too. Royal DSM, a life-sciences company based in the Netherlands has a website entitled “Science can Change the World”. It reminds visitors of successes against smallpox, acid rain, and the hole in the ozone layer. This triumphant message champions their staff:
Is this optimism and positivity justified? Is it true that science is the process by which people with big ideas and big brains save the world? Would it be more realistic to say that this is a rather rose-tinted picture, or even a way of handing over responsibility to anonymous laboratory superstars? Whatever the answers to these questions, there is at least one other reason that our governments have put forward for doing science – saving the world, it seems, is not always enough.
Science the Moneymaker
Money talks – and we could hardly expect science to carry on without listening. With eighteen of the top one hundred companies in Britain being directly involved in the sciences7 (and many others indirectly linked), there is clearly cash to be made if you can get your experiments to work well. These organizations spend almost unimaginable amounts on squeezing a few more decimal points of efficiency out of their devices, or on updating them with an all-new version.
Take, for example, the average cost of bringing a single new pharmaceutical drug to market: Scientific American magazine calculated it to be a staggering £1,700 million in 2014.8 This many pound coins stacked as a tower would be ...