Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science, Religion, and Naturalism (39 page)

From this fountain it is that those laws, which we call the laws of Nature, have flowed, in which there appear many traces indeed of the most wise contrivance, but not the least shadow of necessity. These
therefore
we must not seek from uncertain conjectures,
but learn them from observations and experiments
.
⁵⁴

Here we have still another way in which there is deep concord between science and theistic religion.

In this chapter, we’ve seen that theistic religion gives us reason to expect our cognitive capacities to match the world in such a way as to make modern science possible. Naturalism gives us no reason at all to expect this sort of match; from the point of view of naturalism, it would be an overwhelming piece of cosmic serendipity if there were such a match. As a matter of fact, however, things are much worse than that for naturalism; in the next chapter I’ll explain why.

My overall thesis: there is superficial conflict but deep concord between science and religion, and superficial concord but deep conflict between science and naturalism. So far I have developed the first half of this theme; it is now time to turn to the second.

I suppose it isn’t really necessary to argue that there is (at least) superficial concord between naturalism and science; the high priests of naturalism trumpet this loudly enough. Naturalists pledge allegiance to science; they nail their banner to the mast of science; they wrap themselves in the mantle of science like a politician in the flag. They confidently claim that naturalism is part of the “scientific world-view,” and that the advent of modern science has exposed supernaturalism as a tissue of superstition—perhaps acceptable and perhaps even sensible in a prescientific age, but now superseded. A particularly charming phrase, here, is the obligatory “as we now know”; we were previously wallowing in ignorance and superstition, but now, thanks to science, we finally know the truth.
¹

All of this, however, is error, and whopping error at that. Naturalists don’t ordinarily explain just why they think science guarantees or supports naturalism; they are usually content just to announce the fact. And ordinarily what they announce is not that, say, quantum mechanics, or general relativity, or the periodic table of the elements has dethroned theism and supernaturalism, but that Darwin has. According to Stephen J. Gould (see above
chapter 1
), “Before Darwin, we thought that a benevolent God had created us”; but now, after Darwin, we realize that “No intervening spirit watches lovingly over the affairs of nature.” George Gaylord Simpson seconds the motion: Man is the result of a purposeless and natural process that did not have him in mind.
²

As we saw in
chapters 1
and
2
, however, this is the result of confusion—a confusion between guided and unguided evolution, between sober science and philosophical or theological add-on. Let me briefly recapitulate. The scientific theory of evolution just as such is entirely compatible with the thought that God has guided and orchestrated the course of evolution, planned and directed it, in such a way as to achieve the ends he intends. Perhaps he causes the right mutations to arise at the right time; perhaps he preserves certain populations from extinction; perhaps he is active in many other ways.
³
On the one hand, therefore, we have the scientific theory, and on the other, there is the claim that the course of evolution is not directed or guided or orchestrated
by anyone; it displays no teleology; it is blind and unforeseeing; as Dawkins says, it has no aim or goal in its mind’s eye, mainly because it has no mind’s eye.

This claim, however, despite its strident proclamation, is no part of the scientific theory as such; it is instead a metaphysical or theological add-on. On the one hand there is the scientific theory; on the other, the metaphysical add-on, according to which the process is unguided. The first is part of current science, and deserves the respect properly accorded to a pillar of science; but the first is entirely compatible with theism. The second supports naturalism, all right, but is not part of science, and does not deserve the respect properly accorded science. And the confusion of the two—confusing the scientific theory with the result of annexing that add-on to it, confusing evolution as such with unguided evolution—deserves not respect, but disdain.

The fact is, as we saw in
chapter 9
, science fits much better with theism than with naturalism. On balance, theism is vastly more hospitable to science than naturalism, a much better home for it. Indeed, it is theism, not naturalism, that deserves to be called “the scientific worldview.”

In this chapter I’ll take this line of thought further. I’ll argue that despite the superficial concord between naturalism and science—despite all the claims to the effect that science implies, or requires, or supports, or confirms, or comports well with naturalism—the fact is science and naturalism don’t fit together at all well. The fact is there is deep unease, deep discord, deep conflict between naturalism and science. I’ll argue that there is a deep and irremediable conflict between naturalism and
evolution
—and hence between naturalism and
science.
⁴
My quarrel is certainly not with the scientific theory of evolution. Nor is it an argument for the conclusion that unguided evolution could not produce creatures with reliable belief-producing faculties; I very much doubt that it could, but that it
couldn’t
is neither a premise nor the conclusion of my argument.
⁵
Still further, my argument will not be for the conclusion that naturalism is false, although of course I believe that it is.

What I
will
argue is that naturalism is in conflict with evolution, a main pillar of contemporary science. And the conflict in question is not that they can’t both be true (the conflict is not that there is a contradiction between them); it is rather that one can’t sensibly accept them both. By way of analogy: I can’t sensibly believe that there aren’t any beliefs, or that no one has true beliefs, or that my beliefs are all false. These things are all possible, but I can’t sensibly believe them. In the same way, I mean to argue that one can’t sensibly believe both naturalism and the scientific theory of evolution. If my argument is cogent, it follows that there is deep and serious conflict between naturalism and evolution, and hence deep conflict between naturalism and science.

Now it is not clear that naturalism, as it stands, is a religion; there is enough vagueness around the edges of the concept of religion for it to be unclear whether naturalism does or doesn’t belong there. But naturalism does serve one of the main functions of a religion: it offers a master narrative, it answers deep and important human questions. Immanuel Kant identified three great human questions: Is there such a person as God? Do we human beings have significant freedom? And can we human beings expect life after death? Naturalism gives answers to these questions: there is no God, there is no immortality, and the case for genuine freedom is at best dicey. Naturalism tells us what reality is ultimately like, where we fit into the universe, how we are related to other creatures, and how it happens that we came to be. Naturalism is therefore in competition with the great theistic religions: even if it is not itself a religion, it plays one of the main roles of a religion. Suppose we call it a “quasi-religion.” I’ve already argued that there is no conflict between theistic religion and science; if my argument in this chapter is right, however, there
is
profound conflict between science and a quasi-religion, namely naturalism. So the real conflict lies not between science and Christian belief (or more generally theistic religion), but between science and naturalism. If we want to focus on the fact that naturalism is a quasi-religion, the truth is that there is a science-religion conflict, all right, but it is between science and naturalism, not science and theistic religion.

My argument will center on our
cognitive faculties
: those faculties, or powers, or processes that produce beliefs or knowledge in us. Among these faculties is
memory
, whereby we know something of our past. There is also
perception
, whereby we know something about our physical environment—for the most part our immediate
environment, but also something about distant objects such as the sun, the moon, and stars. Another is what is often called “a priori
intuition
,” by virtue of which we know truths of elementary arithmetic and logic. By way of a priori intuition we also perceive deductive connections among propositions; we can see which propositions logically follow from which other propositions. In this way, starting from a few elementary axioms, we can explore the great edifices of contemporary logic and mathematics.

There are still other cognitive faculties: Thomas Reid spoke of
sympathy
, which enables us to know the thoughts and feelings of other people,
introspection
(reflection), whereby we know about our own mental life,
testimony
whereby we can learn from others, and
induction
, whereby we can learn from experience. Many would add that there is a
moral sense
, whereby we know right from wrong; and believers in God may add that there is also John Calvin’s
sensus divinitatis
or Thomas Aquinas’s “natural but confused knowledge of God” whereby we know something of God.
⁶
These faculties or powers work together in complex and variegated ways to produce a vast battery of beliefs and knowledge, ranging from the simplest everyday beliefs—it’s hot in here, I have a pain in my right knee—to less quotidian beliefs such as those to be found in philosophy, theology, history, and the far reaches of science. In science, clearly enough, many of these faculties work together—perception, memory, testimony, sympathy, induction, a priori intuition are all typically involved. There is also the whole process of theory building, which may or may not be reducible to the previous abilities.

My argument will concern the
reliability
of these cognitive faculties. My memory, for example, is reliable only if it produces mostly true beliefs—if, that is, most of my memorial beliefs are true. What proportion of my memorial beliefs must be true for my memory to
be reliable? Of course there is no precise answer; but presumably it would be greater than, say, two-thirds. We can speak of the reliability of a particular faculty—memory, for example—but also of the reliability of the whole battery of our cognitive faculties. And indeed we ordinarily think our faculties
are
reliable, at any rate when they are functioning properly, when there is no cognitive malfunction or disorder or dysfunction. (If I get drunk and suffer from delirium tremens, my perception will be impaired and all bets are off with respect to its reliability.) We also think they are more reliable under some circumstances than others. Visual perception of middle-sized objects (medium-sized dry goods, as J. L. Austin called them) close at hand is more reliable than perception of very small objects, or middle-sized objects at some distance (a mountain goat from six hundred yards, for example). Beliefs about where I was yesterday are ordinarily more likely to be true than the latest high-powered scientific theories.

Now the natural thing to think, from the perspective of theism, is that our faculties are indeed for the most part reliable, at least over a large part of their range of operations. According to theistic religion (see
chapter 9
), God has created us in his image; an important part of this image consists in our resembling God in that like him, we can have knowledge. In
chapter 9
we saw that Thomas Aquinas put it as follows: “Since human beings are said to be in the image of God in virtue of their having a nature that includes an intellect, such a nature is most in the image of God in virtue of being most able to imitate God.”
⁷
When Thomas speaks of our nature as including an intellect, he clearly means to endorse the thought that our cognitive faculties are for the most part reliable. But suppose you are a naturalist: you think that there is no such person as God, and that we and our cognitive faculties have been cobbled together by natural selection. Can you then sensibly think that our cognitive faculties are for the most part reliable?

I say you can’t. The basic idea of my argument could be put (a bit crudely) as follows. First, the probability of our cognitive faculties being reliable, given naturalism and evolution, is low. (To put it a bit inaccurately but suggestively, if naturalism and evolution were both true, our cognitive faculties would very likely not be reliable.) But then according to the second premise of my argument, if I believe both naturalism and evolution, I have a
defeater
for my intuitive assumption that my cognitive faculties are reliable. If I have a defeater for
that
belief, however, then I have a defeater for
any
belief I take to be produced by my cognitive faculties. That means that I have a defeater for my belief that naturalism and evolution are true. So my belief that naturalism and evolution are true gives me a defeater for that very belief; that belief shoots itself in the foot and is self-referentially incoherent; therefore I cannot rationally accept it. And if one can’t accept both naturalism and evolution, that pillar of current science, then there is serious conflict between naturalism and science.