Science, Worldviews and Education: Reprinted from the Journal Science & Education, Vol. 18, Nos. 6-7

Science, Worldviews and Education

M.R. Matthews Editor

Science, Worldviews and Education

Previously published in the journal Science & Education

123

Editor Prof. Dr. Michael R. Matthews University of New South Wales Faculty of Arts & Social Sciences Sydney NSW 2052 Morven Brown Building G1 Australia Email: [email protected]

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009930095

DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5 ISBN: 978-90-481-2778-8

e-ISBN: 978-90-481-2779-5

Printed on acid-free paper. © Springer Science+Business Media, B.V. 2009 No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, microfilming, recording or otherwise, without written permission from the Publisher, with the exception of any material supplied specifically for the purpose of being entered and executed on a computer system, for exclusive use by the purchaser of the work. Springer.com

Contents

Preface Introduction M.R. Matthews

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Science, Worldviews, and Education H.G. Gauch Jr. 27 Teaching the Philosophical and Worldview Components of Science M.R. Matthews 49 Worldviews and Their Relation to Science Gürol Irzik · Robert Nola 81 Contemporary Science and Worldview-Making A. Cordero 99 The Electromagnetic Conception of Nature at the Root of the Special and General Relativity Theories and its Revolutionary Meaning E.R.A. Giannetto 117 Imagining the World: The Significance of Religious Worldviews for Science Education M.J. Reiss 135 Whose Science and Whose Religion? Reflections on the Relations between Scientific and Religious Worldviews S. Glennan 149 Can Science Test Supernatural Worldviews? Y.I. Fishman 165 The Interplay of Scientific Activity, Worldviews and Value Outlooks H. Lacey 191 Fall and Rise of Aristotelian Metaphysics in the Philosophy of Science J. Lamont 213 Modern Science and Conservative Islam: An Uneasy Relationship T. Edis 237 Science and Worldviews in the Marxist Tradition C.D. Skordoulis 257 Science and Worldviews in the Classroom: Joseph Priestley and Photosynthesis M.R. Matthews 271 Responses and Clarifications Regarding Science and Worldviews H.G. Gauch Jr. 303 Author Index Subject Index Contributors

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Preface

This book has its origins in a special issue of the journal Science & Education (Volume 18 Numbers 6–7, 2009). The essay by Costas Skordoulis – ‘Science and Worldviews in the Marxist Tradition’ – did not appear in that special issue due to a mistake in production scheduling. It was published in an earlier issue of the journal (Volume 17 Number 6, 2008), but has been included in this book version of the special issue. As explained in the Introduction, the catalyst for the journal special issue was the essay on ‘Science, Worldviews and Education’ submitted to the journal by Hugh G. Gauch Jr. This was circulated to the other contributors who were asked to write their own contribution in the light of the arguments and literature contained in the paper. Hugh made brief ‘Responses and Clarifications’ after the papers were written. However the Tanis Edis article on Islam and my own article on Priestley were processed too late to benefit from Hugh’s appraisal. The journal is associated with the International History, Philosophy, and Science Teaching Group which was formed in 1987. The group stages biennial international conferences and occasional regional conferences (details can be found at www.ihpst.org). The group, though the journal, conferences, and its electronic newsletter (at www.ihpst.org), is concerned to promote the betterment of school and university science and mathematics education by having their associated theoretical, curricula and pedagogical issues and questions informed by the history, philosophy, and sociology of science and mathematics. It has a particular interest in bringing these spheres of knowledge into teacher-education programmes. Thus the group promotes: (a) The utilization of historical, philosophical and sociological scholarship to clarify and deal with the many curriculum, pedagogical and theoretical issues facing contemporary science education. (b) Collaboration between the communities of scientists, mathematicians, historians, philosophers, cognitive psychologists, sociologists, and science educators, and school and college teachers.

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(c) The inclusion of appropriate history, philosophy, and sociology of science courses in science teacher-education programmes. (d) The dissemination of accounts of lessons, units of work, and programmes in science, at all levels, that have successfully utilized history, philosophy, and sociology. (e) Discussion of the philosophy and purposes of science education, and their place in, and contribution to, the intellectual and ethical development of individuals and cultures. This anthology can be seen as an example of the utilization of history and philosophy of science in the discussion and clarification of a major theoretical issue facing science education: namely, the place of worldviews in the history, practice and teaching of science. It should be immediately clear that this pressing theoretical issue cannot be addressed without knowledge of the history and philosophy of science. But this is the same with all of the theoretical issues that demand the attention of science teachers, curriculum designers and administrators. Think only of issues occasioned by Constructivism, Feminism, Religion, Nature of Science (NOS) goals, Multiculturalism and so on. A partial list of the special thematic issues of Science & Education gives some sense of the range of theoretical issues with which educators at all levels deal, and which so clearly need to be informed by historical and philosophical understandings: 1994, ‘Science and Culture’, Science & Education 3(1) 1995, ‘Hermeneutics and Science Education’, Science & Education 4(2) 1996, ‘Religion and Science Education’, Science & Education 5(2) 1997, ‘Philosophy and Constructivism in Science Education’, Science & Education 6(1–2) 1997, ‘The Nature of Science and Science Education’, Science & Education 6(4) 1999, ‘Values in Science and in Science Education’, Science & Education 8(1) 1999, ‘Galileo and Science Education’, Science & Education 8(2) 1999, ‘Children’s Theories and Scientific Theories’, Science & Education 8(5) 2000, ‘Thomas Kuhn and Science Education’, Science & Education 9(1–2) 2000, ‘Constructivism and Science Education’, Science & Education 9(6) 2003, ‘History, Philosophy and the Teaching of Quantum Theory’, Science & Education 12(2–3) 2004, ‘Science Education and Positivism: A Reevaluation’, Science & Education 13(1–2) 2004, ‘Pendulum Motion: Historical, Methodological and Pedagogical Aspects’, Science & Education 13(1–2, 7–8) 2005, ‘Science Education in Early Modern Europe’, Science & Education 14(3–4) 2007, ‘Models in Science and in Science Education’, Science & Education 16(7–8) 2008, ‘Social and Ethical Issues in Science Education’, Science & Education 17(8–9) 2008, ‘Feminism and Science Education’, Science & Education 17(10) 2009, ‘Politics and Philosophy of Science’, Science & Education 18(2) 2009, ‘Science, Worldviews and Education’, Science & Education 18(6–7) 2010, ‘Darwinism and Education’, Science & Education 19

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The pity is that the required historical and philosophical understandings are so poorly addressed in teacher education programmes. It is hoped that this anthology – by bringing together scientists, historians, philosophers, theologians and educators – will demonstrate the wisdom of bringing the history and philosophy of science into such programmes; and certainly the necessity of such scholarship for the fruitful delineating and understanding of the place of worldviews in science and in education. MICHAEL R. MATTHEWS, School of Education, University of New South Wales

Science, Worldviews and Education: An Introduction Michael R. Matthews

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 641–666. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-008-9170-6 © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008

Abstract This special issue of Science & Education deals with the theme of ‘Science, Worldviews and Education’. The theme is of particular importance at the present time as many national and provincial education authorities are requiring that students learn about the Nature of Science (NOS) as well as learning science content knowledge and process skills. NOS topics are being written into national and provincial curricula. Such NOS matters give rise to questions about science and worldviews: What is a worldview? Does science have a worldview? Are there speciWc ontological, epistemological and ethical prerequisites for the conduct of science? Does science lack a worldview but nevertheless have implications for worldviews? How can scientiWc worldviews be reconciled with seemingly discordant religious and cultural worldviews? In addition to this major curricular impetus for reWning understanding of science and worldviews, there are also pressing cultural and social forces that give prominence to questions about science, worldviews and education. There is something of an avalanche of popular literature on the subject that teachers and students are variously engaged by. Additionally the modernisation and science-based industrialisation of huge non-Western populations whose traditional religions and beliefs are diVerent from those that have been associated with orthodox science, make very pressing the questions of whether, and how, science is committed to particular worldviews. Hugh Gauch Jr. provides a long and extensive lead essay in the volume, and 12 philosophers, educators, scientists and theologians having read his paper, then engage with the theme. Hopefully the special issue will contribute to a more informed understanding of the relationship between science, worldviews and education, and provide assistance to teachers who are routinely engaged with the subject.

1 Introduction Much of the world is celebrating the 150th anniversary of the publication of Darwin’s The Origin of Species. For many, it is not just a very signiWcant scientiWc achievement that is M. R. Matthews (&) School of Education, University of New South Wales, Sydney 2052, Australia e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_1

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M. R. Matthews

being commemorated but also the birth of a new worldview. The Origin provided not just a novel account of the origin of species by natural selection, but it initiated a transformation of modern worldviews and a new understanding of the place of human beings in the natural world. At a popular level the worldview dimension of Darwinism was captured at the time by the British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli who famously proclaimed in 1864 at the Oxford Diocesan Society: ‘Is man an ape or an angel? My Lord, I am on the side of the angels’ (Desmond and Moore 1992, p. 527). One-hundred-and-Wfty-years later versions of Darwin’s evolutionary naturalism have become a commonplace modern worldview. The Oxford Debate has been rekindled by the Spanish Government who introduced legislation in June 2008 to grant a limited number of traditional human rights (life, liberty and freedom from physical and psychological torture) to the great apes (gorillas, chimpanzees, and orangutans).1 The Spanish Catholic Church has spoken against the legislation saying it erodes the Biblical injunction that gives humans dominion over the earth, and it diminishes the unique and primary place of human beings in the order of things; a uniqueness coming from the possession of an immortal soul that gives intelligibility to the central Christian (and Islamic) doctrines of Redemption, Salvation and Judgement. Similar worldview and cultural impacts were set in train in late-medieval European society by publication in 1633 of Galileo’s Dialogues Concerning the Two Chief World Systems followed Wfty years later by Newton’s Principia Mathematica. These books established the Copernican heliocentric account of the solar system which removed humans from their religiously and culturally privileged place in the centre of the universe and, concomitantly, introduced a mechanical and lawful account of natural processes.2 Going further back, in the ancient world, the ‘science’ of the materialists and atomists-Thales, Anacimenes, Leucippus, Democritus, Epicurus, etc.—was in constant struggle with the mentalist, dualist, teleological worldviews of Platonists and Aristotelians. The mutual interaction of science with cultural worldviews has been a feature of the history of science.3 The world’s major religions have had an on-going engagement with science, investigating how their own ontological, epistemological and ethical commitments—their worldviews—are to be reconciled with both scientiWc Wndings and putative scientiWc worldviews. Philosophical systems have likewise been compelled to have an engagement with science.4 The towering and inXuential Kantian programme in metaphysics and epistemology was erected in response to Newton’s science.5 The Positivist programme whose foundations were laid down by Ernst Mach was a philosophical reXection upon the achievements of two hundred years of Newtonian science.6 The engagement of philosophical systems with science has been especially urgent when the systems have had political and institutional embodiment—such as Marxism within the Soviet state and Thomism within the Catholic Church. In both cases there were educational imperatives for addressing the question of the relationship of science and cultural worldviews.7 1

The legislation recognised the arguments of the Great Ape Project (www.greatapeproject.org).

2

A classic discussion is Dijksterhuis’s The Mechanization of the World Picture (1961).

3

A good overview, with references, can be found in Dewitt (2004).

4

Texts, and some discussion, can be found in Matthews (1989). See also Gjertsen (1989).

5

See Friedman (1992).

6

See contributions to Cohen and Seeger (1970).

7

For ‘oYcial’ philosophy in the Soviet Union see Graham (1973); for ‘sanctioned’ philosophy in the Catholic Church see McInerny (1966) and Weisheipl (1968).

Science, Worldviews and Education

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At the present time in many countries the issue of science and worldviews is again high on the cultural and educational agenda. A previous journal special issue dealt with the topic of ‘Religion and Science Education’ (vol. 5, no. 2, 1996). Martin Mahner and Mario Bunge, in its lead article, argued for the ontological and epistemological incompatibility of science and religion (Mahner and Bunge 1996); replies were made by philosophers, historians, scientists, educators and theologians. This volume extends those arguments and is a contribution to the wider discussion of ‘Worldviews and Science Education’. Hugh Gauch Jr, an agricultural scientist at Cornell University and author of ScientiWc Method in Practice (Gauch 2003), contributed the volume’s lead essay in which he says that questions about science’s relation to worldviews, either theistic or atheistic ones, are among the most signiWcant of contemporary issues for scientists, science teachers and culture more generally. Because this essay so extensively surveys educational literature on the topic, it was sent to invited scholars as ‘background reading’ for their own contribution. The authors include philosophers (Gürol Irzik, Robert Nola, Stuart Glennan, Hugh Lacey, Alberto Cordero), physicists who are also philosophers (Costas Skordoulis and Enrico Giannetto), a physicist with familiarity with the Islamic tradition (Taner Edis), a neuroscientist (Yonatan Fishman), a theologian (John Lamont), a biologist and science educator with theological training (Michael Reiss), and a science educator with philosophical training (Michael Matthews). After the contributions were reviewed and revised, Gauch wrote a concluding essay to clarify points of contention, and to sharpen the philosophical and educational issues that had been dealt with. Authors take up fundamental questions such as: What constitutes a worldview? How do worldviews impinge upon and in turn be modiWed by ontological, epistemological, ethical and religious commitments? What worldview commitments, if any, are presupposed in the practice of science? What is the overlap between learning about the nature of science (NOS) and learning about worldviews associated with science? What is the legitimate domain of the scientiWc method? Should scientiWc method be applied to historical questions, especially to historical questions concerning scriptures and sacred texts? To what extent should learning about the scientiWc worldview be a part of science instruction? Should science instruction inform student worldviews or leave them untouched? What judgement do we make of science education programmes where the scientiWc view of the world is not aYrmed or internalised, but only learnt for instrumental or examination purposes; where learning science is akin to an anthropological study? What judgement do we make of proposals that students should become just ‘border crossers’ moving from their own culture with its particular worldviews to the science classroom in order to ‘pick up’ instrumental or technical knowledge and then back to their ‘native’ culture without being aVected by the worldviews and outlooks of science?8 This is the anti-Enlightenment idea that science should leave culture untouched. The volume illustrates an important principle upon which the journal, and the International History, Philosophy and Science Teaching Group with which it is associated, were founded: That most of the serious issues faced by science teachers require the cooperation of educators, scientists, philosophers, historians and learning theorists. Without sophisticated 8

This is the view advocated by, among others, Aikenhead (1996, 2000).

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M. R. Matthews

interdisciplinary cooperation, there can be little headway made in resolving basic educational problems. This is clearly the case concerning the teaching and learning of nature of science topics. Even a moderately sophisticated understanding of NOS matters depends on input from scientists, philosophers and historians; and translating this to curricula and classrooms requires the expertise of educators and learning theorists. The understanding of worldview issues relating to science and science teaching is another step along this interdisciplinary path. If the discussion of these matters is conWned just to educators, then the outcomes will of necessity be less informed and less sophisticated than is possible with the involvement of experts. Science educators simply lack training in history and philosophy of science; so their engagement in NOS and worldview matters needs to be informed by additional input.9

2 Debate About the Nature of Science (NOS) In the past two decades there has been extensive scholarly and cultural debate on NOS matters. At the close of the twentieth century, the previously widespread commitment to Enlightenment ideas and ideals, including the primacy of science as the method of gaining truths about the natural and social world was widely questioned, and rejected in many quarters.10 The nature of science was very much at the heart of the ‘Science Wars’ waged in the 1980s and 1990s. There social and radical constructivists argued that science had no nature, no distinctive method, and made no privileged claims about the world. For constructivists, Western science was just one ideology among many, and its supposed ‘truths’ were just the outcome of negotiations where the winning side simply had better rhetorical skills or more power, they did not have more truth or better agreement with the world.11 The traditional Enlightenment position was one that embraced and defended the methodologies and claims of science. Some wish to relax this connection and have the personal, cultural and political elements of the Enlightenment without a robust commitment to science (Feyerabend 1978, Pt. 2); while others want science without these personal, cultural and political positions (most rulers and technocrats in authoritarian cultures such as China, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Pakistan and so on). These anti-science, anti-Enlightenment sentiments have, unfortunately, been widely embraced in science education circles, with one research group recently proposing, in a major journal, that the educational task is to determine: how to deprivilege science in education and to free our children from the ‘regime of truth’ that prevents them from learning to apply the current cornucopia of simultaneous but diVerent forms of human knowledge. (Van Eijck and Roth 2007, p. 944) Debate about NOS has been kept on the public agenda by a series of ‘best-selling’ books dealing with ‘Science, Religion and Worldviews’. Among such books appearing even in railway and airport bookstands, are Paul Davies The Mind of God (1992), Daniel Dennett’s Darwin’s Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life (1995), Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon (2006), Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion (2006)

9 This lack of training in foundation disciplines, including also psychology, is depressingly documented in Fensham (2004). 10

See contributions to Kurtz and Madigan (1994) and Koertge (1998).

11

One useful ‘opinionated guide to the wars’ is Brown (2001).

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and Francis Collins, co-director of the Human Genome Project, The Language of God (2007). These have been translated into numerous languages. Debate about NOS is also fuelled by economic globalization, massive population and labour movements, and the so-called ‘clash of civilisations’ (Huntington 1996). Huge populations of the middle-east, the Indian subcontinent, and Asia are being increasingly engaged with modern technology and its attendant Western science. All of these Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, Confucian, Shinto, and lapsed Marxist cultures are newly pursuing science education on a grand scale. Questions about scientiWc method, scientiWc ‘habits of mind’ (the AAAS expression), scientiWc ‘temper’ (Nehru’s expression), scientiWc worldviews, and how all of these relate to traditional cultural beliefs that have deep intellectual roots outside the European tradition—promote lively and often heated argument.12 The need to write school curricula concentrates the minds of educators, administrators and politicians on NOS matters. Learning about NOS has waxed and waned in the liberal education tradition since the eighteenth century. NOS questions rise up and down the educational agenda at diVerent times and in diVerent places; they are now moving up the agenda as NOS objectives are increasingly written into national and provincial curricular statements—in China, USA, Hong Kong, New Zealand, UK, Finland, Taiwan and so on.13 All of these countries and cultures are forced to make curricular statements about science, its methods and its nature. These NOS objectives are often linked to the goal of promoting genuine scientiWc inquiry in classrooms.14 To inquire scientiWcally requires some sense of NOS—what can count as evidence in inquiry? Can evidence be obtained independently of the theory or hypothesis being tested? What constitutes an adequate experiment? How do experimental Wndings relate to the truth or otherwise of hypotheses and theories? How does one judge between competing hypotheses or theories? Can there be crucial experiments? And so on. All of these matters are crucial for genuine scientiWc inquiry, and all of them are NOS-related.

3 Culture and Worldviews The need for such sustained investigation of the relationship of science, worldviews and education is well illustrated in the Wndings of the large-scale 2008 Pew Report on religious belief and practice in the USA.15 This survey of 35,000 US adults found that belief in some form of God was nearly unanimous (92%), and that this God was not the remote, un-touching God of eighteenth-century Deists, but a God who was actively engaged in the aVairs of people and of processes in the world. Nearly three-quarters of the surveyed population (74%) believed in an after-life dependent upon and overseen by God, and in which individuals would be held to account for their earthly lives. Such beliefs were not conWned to Christians in the sample. The survey found that roughly six-in-ten Buddhists (62%) believe in nirvana, the ultimate state transcending pain and desire in which individual consciousness ends; and about the same number of Hindus (61%) believe in reincarnation whereby

12

The engagement of Hinduism with science is elaborated in Nanda (2003), Islam and science in Edis (2007).

13

See, for instance, the now slightly-dated analysis in McComas and Olson (1998).

14

See contributions to Duschl and Grandy (2008) and Flick and Lederman (2004).

15

The survey was conducted between May and August 2007, and published in June 2008 in the Pew Report at www.pewreport.org.

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M. R. Matthews

people will be reborn into this world again and again, their re-born form depending upon their current status and how their life has been lived. Thus far these religious beliefs could ignore science, or be thought to be compatible with science, because they only minimally engage with or impinge on the world.16 But things begin to change when the survey shows that the bulk of religious belief is tied to the conviction that God has revealed him or herself in sacred scripture, in revelation. More than six-in-ten Americans (63%), including majorities of many religious traditions, view their religion’s sacred texts as the word of God. This belief tends to be most common among Christians. More than eight-in-ten Jehovah’s Witnesses (92%), Mormons (91%) and members of evangelical (88%) and historically black (84%) Protestant churches view the Bible as the word of God, as do majorities of Catholics (62%), mainline Protestants (61%) and Orthodox Christians (59%). Muslims, too, hold a high view of Scripture, with 86% viewing the Koran as the word of God. So God has not just created the world (the Deist view) but has touched the world and entered world history. Further, it is widely believed, that this revelation of God was not just a one-time and past event, but rather God and the supernatural realm have an on-going engagement with people and events in the world. Nearly eight-in-ten American adults (79%) agree that miracles still occur today as in ancient times. Similar patterns exist with respect to beliefs about the existence of angels and demons. Nearly seven-in-ten Americans (68%) believe that angels and demons are active in the world. Majorities of Jehovah’s Witnesses (78%), members of evangelical (61%) and historically black (59%) Protestant churches, and Mormons (59%) are completely convinced of the existence of angels and demons. The notion of interaction between the divine and mundane world is even more dramatic when it is seen that a signiWcant minority of Americans say their prayers result in deWnite and speciWc answers from God at least once a month (31%), with nearly one-in-Wve adults (19%) saying they receive direct answers to speciWc prayer requests at least once a week. More than half of Mormons surveyed (54%) say they receive responses to prayer at least once or twice a month, as do half or nearly half of members of historically black churches (50%), Jehovah’s Witnesses (49%) and members of evangelical Protestant churches (46%). These are largely the same groups that also are most likely to say they have experienced or witnessed a divine healing of an illness or injury. Belief in this Divine-interventionist kind of world was nicely expressed by Ingrid Betancourt, the Roman-Catholic French-Colombian, on her release from Wve years of guerrilla captivity: ‘God is personal for me, I talk to him and he responds. People dismiss miracles and talk of coincidences, but I think they happen all the time to everyone’.17 Comparably rich worldviews are held by countless millions of people in Muslim countries. For these people, the reality and omnipresence of active Jinn, or angels, is a fundamental tenet of their religion. They believed that Jinn live in a world unseen to humans; they eat and drink, and procreate; some are righteous while others are evil. Some Muslim scholars have Jinn populating the earth two thousand years before the creation of humans. The same worldview is revealed in the widespread use of the expression Inshallah, or ‘God willing’, in Middle East countries. This verbalizes an understanding of the world in which God is everywhere active in human aVairs.

16

Excepting that God needs to keep an account of what has gone on in the world, and there needs to be some principle of individual identity—usually a soul—so that what survives into the next life, or what is reborn there, can be identiWed with the individual in this life. 17

International Herald Tribune, 11 July 2008, p. 3.

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In ‘native’ cultures these beliefs in divine interactions are usually replaced with widespread belief in animism where animals, plants and natural objects are endowed with intelligences and spiritual attributes; and where natural processes can be swayed by rituals, incantations, charms, potions, and spells. The whole constellation of religious and animist beliefs, especially those aYrming an active on-going engagement of God, angels and spirits with human aVairs, requires that the world, including human beings, be constituted in certain ways; that the world has a certain ontology, and that the human beings are so constituted that it can know of and interact with these supernatural agencies. All of this amounts, in part, to a religious worldview; a view about how the world and human beings need to be constituted so as to enable, or ground, religious belief, experience and practice. A Catholic priest, philosopher, and physics graduate gave succinct expression to the kind of worldview held by many of the above mentioned religious people: It will be useful to recall brieXy the Catholic teaching as to the existence of spirits. The Scripture is full of references to both good and bad spirits. There are good and bad angels. Each of us has a Guardian Angel, whose presence, alas, we often forget. Angels, as the Catechism tells us, have been sent as messengers from God to man. Our Lady, at the Incarnation, St. Joseph before the Xight into Egypt, both received messages. Our Lord Himself was tempted by Satan …. Finally, it is the certain teaching of the Church that the human soul at death does not cease to exist, but awaits the resurrection of the body under conditions which depend on whether the human being to whom it belonged has or has not lived according to the dictates of conscience and quitted this life in friendship or at enmity with God. (Gill 1944, pp. 127–128) It is not just religious worldviews that seem to be discordant with the practice of science: there is a whole range of cultural beliefs and practices that seem to be at odds with the scientiWc understanding of the world. These include commitment to astrology, parapsychology, levitation, clairvoyance, mediums, extrasensory perception, UFOs, and so on.18 The depth and extent of such beliefs is manifest by Edgar Mitchell’s (the NASA astronaut who during the 1971 Apollo 14 mission made the longest ever space walk), frank admission in 2008 that he believes in ESP, UFOs, and that he has been cured of kidney cancer by a man called Adam Dreamhealer who, although based in Canada, does all his healing from a distance.19 Mitchell has two bachelor degrees in science and a doctorate in aeronautics from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Many people would think that although Mitchell’s technical science education has been exemplary, something has been missing from it, namely an understanding of, and commitment to, a scientiWc view of the world, a scientiWc worldview. For these people, Mitchell’s science education, despite its enviable technical achievement, has failed him. Others, of course, would maintain that science has no worldview, it is a purely technical or instrumental practice, and that it has no implications for whatever set of non-scientiWc beliefs that people might hold, be they religious, parapsychological or ideological. The Mitchell case brings these alternatives into sharp focus. For thoughtful people, and hopefully these includes those being seriously educated, it is inevitable that questions arise about how such foregoing (religious and non-religious) worldviews are reconciled with science. The ontologically rich religious worldview in which there is a Supreme Being, a God or Gods, angels, spirits, souls; and in which natural 18

A 1990 Gallup poll of 1,236 adults in the USA recorded 52% believed in astrology, 42% had communicated with the dead, and 35% believed in ghosts. On this whole subject see Shermer (1997).

19

Guardian News and Media, 28 July 2008.

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M. R. Matthews

processes are interrupted and redirected by prayer, meditation, or supernatural agency is seemingly very diVerent from the more austere and lawful world learnt about in physics, chemistry, geology or biology classes. Discussing the diVerences and their methods of reconciliation would enrich, and should be a part of, any serious science education. This introduces basic philosophy to the science classroom. The conduct of science presupposes at least methodological naturalism. This is the view that, when doing science, whatever occurs in the world is to be explained by natural mechanisms and entities; and that these entities and mechanisms are the ones either revealed by science or in-principle discoverable by science. This presupposition does not rule out miracles or Divine interventions or other non-scientiWc causes; it just means that such processes cannot be appealed to whilst seeking scientiWc explanations. A stricter, some would say more dogmatic, version is ontological naturalism, the view that there is a scientiWc explanation for all events; that supernatural explanations (e.g. Divine interventions, miracles) are simply ruled out. Both methodological and ontological naturalists are relaxed about ontology; they admit the existence of whatever kinds of entities (e.g. atoms, Welds, forces, quarks) science reveals as having regular causal relations with the rest of nature. But ontological naturalists are not relaxed enough to admit the existence of spiritual or Divine entities, or any kind of entity that does not enter into lawful and causal relations with nature.20 Traditional religious believers must reject ontological naturalism, but of course religious scientists routinely adopt methodological naturalism in the laboratory; to do otherwise would put them outside of the scientiWc enterprise.21 Materialists are a sub-species of ontological naturalists but they are even less relaxed about what can exist. Basic or ‘old fashioned’ materialists grant existence only to material, physical, ‘three-dimensional’ objects; the kind of things that can be tripped over. They reject the postulation of non-material scientiWc entities, believing that such postulation is a failure of scientiWc nerve, and it is the slippery slope to idealism.22 This is clearly as much an a priori metaphysical position as it is a deduction from scientiWc practice. Emergent materialism is a more sophisticated version where the world is seen as material, but stratiWed. The properties of material aggregations are greater than, and diVerent from, the properties of the building blocks. So cells have diVerent kinds of properties than molecules, brains have diVerent properties than neurons, societies have diVerent properties than individuals, and so on. For emergent materialists the world is changing and evolving, and new properties emerge from more complex material formations.23 For teachers, the convictions revealed in the Pew Report, and by comparable studies in other societies, raise questions about how such interactions between cultural (including religious) worldviews and scientiWc worldviews should be dealt with in science and other classrooms. Among the questions that teachers need to address, or be informed about, are: Does science have a worldview, and if so, what is it?

20

Although often confused, there is a diVerence between Realism and Naturalism (including Materialism). Realism simply asserts that there is a world independent of human thought. Such an independent world might include spirits, minds, universals, Forms, or any other independent existent. Realism neither rules in or out any particular ontology. Naturalism is a subspecies of Realism, Materialism in turn is a subspecies of Naturalism.

21

On naturalism see Nagel (1956).

22

This was Lenin’s argument against supposed idealist movements in early 20th-century science and philosophy (Lenin 1920/1970). On the history and philosophy of materialism see Vitzthum (1995). 23

On emergent materialism see Broad (1925), Sellars (1932) and Bunge (1973, 1981).

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9

What are the components of religious worldviews? In which ways are religious and scientiWc worldviews compatible and in which ways are they incompatible? Where they are incompatible, how are they to be reconciled? To what extent should examination of worldview matters take place in classrooms? Should teachers promote knowledge of worldview options or belief in speciWc worldviews? What impact does a religious worldview have on motivation to study science, and on the understanding of scientiWc concepts?24 4 Science and Worldviews Karl Marx, in the opening of The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, famously wrote that: Men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by them selves, but under circumstances directly found, given and transmitted from the past. (Marx 1851, p .595) Marx’s appreciation of the way in which human life, its engagements, politics and economic practices are shaped by circumstances, and in turn act and transform those circumstances, is a quite general claim that applies also to scientiWc engagements and practices. Science, broadly speaking, is the eVort of people and societies to identify, understand, and ‘make sense of’ the objects and processes in the world around them; to tabulate the properties of natural things and processes; and to ascertain how causal mechanisms in the world operate. Science is conducted by people living in societies in speciWc historic stages of scientiWc, philosophical, intellectual (including mathematical), religious, technological, economic and cultural (including ethical and artistic) development. All of these things bear upon scientists and upon science, both limiting science and enhancing it; and in turn, science bears upon them: sometimes strengthening, other times modifying, sometimes overthrowing or negating diVerent of these circumstances. Science has always been a dynamic part of culture; it is aVected by culture and has eVects on culture.25 R.G. Collingwood, the British philosopher writing in the late 1930s, captured this interactive dimension of science when, at the conclusion of his landmark The Idea of Nature26 he wrote: I take this to imply that natural science, considered as a department or form of human thought, is a going concern, able to raise its own problems and to solve them by its own methods, and to criticize the solutions it has oVered by applying its own criteria: in other words, that natural science is not a tissue of fancies or fabrications, 24

Cobern (1991, 1996) canvasses much of the literature on this last matter.

25

An informative account of the history of these interactions is J.D. Bernal’s classic four volume study Science in History (1965). 26

Collingwood supported realism against the then fashionable idealist and constructivist positions that he had earlier held. He criticised the then enormously popular English physicists Arthur Eddington and James Jeans because they gave phenomenalist and subjectivist renderings of the scientiWc worldview (Collingwood 1945, p. 157).

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mythology or tautology, but is a search for truth, and a search that does not go unrewarded: but that natural science is not, as the positivists imagined, the only department or form of human thought about which this can be said He then went on to say that: [it] is not even a self-contained and self-suYcient form of thought, but depends for its very existence upon some other form of thought, which is diVerent from it and cannot be reduced to it. (Collingwood 1945, p. 175) These other forms of thought include mathematics, logic, philosophy, ethics, epistemology and more generally worldviews. In brief, science is not an autonomous concern, it does not have all its own resources, it interacts with domains outside of itself. Collingwood stressed the fact that science had ‘presuppositions’ (as he called them) that were outside of and prior to science (Collingwood 1940, Chaps. IV, V). These presuppositions are worldview dependent; but although presupposed, they can be modiWed in the light of scientiWc advance and discovery.27 Although certain positions (for example the principle of causality, or materialism) might be presupposed in an investigation, it does not mean that the presupposition is immune from the Wndings of the investigation. For some philosophers, both of these presuppositions have been negated by advances in the science that they enabled. Since the ScientiWc Revolution of the seventeenth century these interactions between science and worldviews have been dramatic in their impact, Wrst in the Western world, then throughout the whole world.28 The Wrst and most enduring impact of the new science was the birth of the European Enlightenment in the eighteenth century.29 Equally as great were the technological and commercial impacts of the New Science: reliable navigation and hence colonisation and expanded trade, steam engines and associated massive changes in productive powers and relations, railways, more horriWc warfare and so on. Central to a sophisticated understanding of this dynamic is an appreciation of how worldviews interact with science. When applying Marx’s foregoing insight to science, clearly worldviews are a part of the ‘circumstances directly found, given and transmitted from the past’. Science certainly impacts on worldviews, but worldviews also impact on science, sometimes for good, other times for bad.30 Science education plays an important role in this interplay between science and culture. A decent science education should result in students having some sense and appreciation of the interactive dynamic of science and culture; a good science education will result in a more reWned and sophisticated understanding of that dynamic; an excellent science education will support and nurture students’ decision making in those parts of the give-and-take of aYrming, modifying or abandoning aspect of culture that science bears upon. 27

On this aspect of Collingwood, see Donagan (1962). The classic treatment of the role of presuppositions in science is Pap (1946), published at the same time as Collingwood’s work. 28

Reasonable collections of primary texts of the ScientiWc Revolution can be found in Boas Hall (1970) and Oster (2002).

29

For selections of important Enlightenment texts see Gay (1973), Eliot and Stern (1979), Kramnick (1995) and Hyland et al. (2003). The classic supportive discussion of the Enlightenment is Peter Gay’s two volume study (Gay 1970, 1977); the classic critical discussion is Horkheimer and Adorno (1944/1972). For comprehensive and less polarised analysis see Porter (2000) and Israel (2001). Among numerous good treatments of the Enlightenment and its relationship to the ScientiWc Revolution, see Dupré (2004), Hankins (1985) and contributions to Fitzpatrick et al. (2007).

30

Sympathetic accounts of the positive role of religion in the development of Western science can be found in Brooke (1991) and Jaki (1978).

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This special issue of Science & Education will, hopefully, contribute to a more reWned and sophisticated understanding of the interaction of worldviews and science; and indicate how science education can contribute to the formation of more informed, intelligent and responsible worldviews, and thus of a better and more humane culture. In this last regard it is important to remember that science education is a part of education more broadly. In the school context, the teaching of science along with mathematics, social science, physical education, art, music, etc. are all supposed to contribute to the education of children; the goals of overall education guide, or should guide, curriculum content, teaching, and assessment of the diVerent disciplines or subject matters. If we think that something is antithetical to education in general, then that alone rules it out of the education programme of any of the speciWc subject matters; conversely, if we think that something is important to education generally considered (to intellectual, emotional, moral, cultural or personal development), then we look to the diVerent subjects or disciplines to promote it. A goal of liberal education, and indeed of most orientations to education, is the formation of more informed, intelligent and responsible outlooks; and the creation of a better and more humane culture. As many commentators have pointed out, conceptually ‘education’ is like ‘reform’; being educated implies getting better, not getting worse.31 Given these are the goals of education, then ipso facto they are the goals of science education. The last link in the argument is simply to point out that these personal qualities and competencies, and associated visions of social and cultural betterment are closely tied to worldviews: If worldviews held by members of a society are informed, intelligent and responsible—in the sense of being open to critical examination then this might be expected to lead to a better and more humane culture. Conversely, if the worldviews that are generally held in a society are ill-informed, unintelligent, irresponsible, dogmatic and closed,32 then the possibility of a humane culture in which all people—male, female, believers, non-believers, communist party members and non-members, high caste and low caste—can Xourish is diminished.33 If all of this is conceded, there is still the question of just how ‘science education can contribute to the formation of more informed, intelligent and responsible worldviews, and hence of a better and more humane culture?’. Does this come about automatically in virtue of being taught science? Does it come about in virtue of being explicitly taught the worldview dimensions of science? Indeed, does science have, or require for its practice, speciWc worldview commitments, or is science worldview neutral? These questions, and others, are taken up by contributors to the issue.

5 Nature of Science and Worldviews in Science Curricula Teaching and learning about the worldview dimension of science is not something alien or foreign to contemporary curricula; without quite using the word ‘worldviews’, the concept appears in major curricula and policy statements. Increasingly learning about the ‘Nature of Science’ (or NOS as it is frequently abbreviated) is being written into science curricula.

31

The conceptual nexus between ethics and education is developed in Peters (1966).

32

Three current prime examples would be Afghanistan under the Taliban, Saudi Arabia under the domination of its Wahhabi-Sunni monarch and aristocracy and North Korea; but there are many sub-prime examples. The notion of a society promoting universal Xourishing is of course an Enlightenment and normative idea; it is rejected by numerous political regimes, religions and indigenous societies in which one’s gender, class, caste, belief, political aYliation can put people outside the group of those who are to Xourish.

33

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And it is only a short step from learning about NOS to learning about science and worldviews. Many individuals and groups in science education have researched factors impinging on the teaching and learning of NOS: What features of NOS should be taught? What understandings of NOS are actually taught? How is NOS taught? What do students learn about NOS? Is NOS learnt implicitly by learning scientiWc inquiry? Does NOS have to be explicitly taught? etc.34 This research has contributed a good deal, but suVers because of ‘soft focus’ and ambiguous writing at critical points where important philosophical issues are at play.35 NOS research in science education will clearly be enhanced if there is more cooperation between science educators, historians and philosophers, such cooperation would improve the usefulness and quality of published work. Hopefully this volume is a step in that cooperative direction. At diVerent times in the history of science teaching, learning about NOS meant learning science content plus scientiWc method or process skills. This was the understanding of NOS found in most of the National Science Foundation (NSF) curricula in the US during the last 1950s and 1960s—PSSC, PSNS, BSCS, CHEMS, JIPS, ESCP, SAPA.36 There is, however, increasingly an expectation that as well as learning science content and method or ‘process skills’, students will learn something about science—its methodology,37 its history, its scope, how it diVers from non-scientiWc endeavours to comprehend and make sense of the world, and its interactions with society and culture, including with philosophy, religion and ethical orientations. Thus as well as disciplinary or technical goals, contemporary science curricula rightly seek to contribute wider personal and social educational goals. In the past these were often called the ‘humanistic’, ‘cultural’ or ‘liberal’ goals of science curricula.38 These wider goals have long been advocated, but minimally enacted. In the United Kingdom, the inXuential government report of 1918—Natural Science in Education (Thomson 1918)—maintained that in science teaching: It is desirable … to introduce into the teaching some account of the main achievements of science and of the methods by which they have been obtained. There should be more of the spirit, and less of the valley of dry bones …. One way of doing this is by lessons on the history of science. (Brock 1989, p. 31) 34

See Lederman (1992), McComas (1998a), contributions to special issues of Science & Education (vol. 6, no. 4, 1997; vol. 7, no. 6, 1998), and contributions to McComas (1998b) and Flick and Lederman (2004).

35

The Lederman group, for example, are realists about the world, but it is very unclear whether they are realists about science’s theoretical entities. It is not the reality of the world that teachers need guidance about, it is the reality or otherwise of entities postulated in scientiWc theories. On this matter the Lederman group is simply ambiguous. Utilising the philosophical distinction between theoretical terms as ‘intervening variables’ and as ‘hypothetical constructs’ (Meehl and MacCorquodale 1948) would go a long way to clarifying this ambiguity. 36

For an account of these ‘alphabet’ curricula, and related research, see Matthews (1994, pp. 15–20), DeBoer (1991, Chap. 8) and Rudolph (2002).

37

It is useful to distinguish scientiWc method which refers to practical technique or how one collects data and takes measurements, from scientiWc methodology, which refers to intellectual analysis or what one does with data once it is collected. Methodology refers to how data or information bears upon the truth, or otherwise, of hypotheses tested or theories held. For example, how does the sighting of 20 white swans bear upon the hypothesis that all swans are white? Some of the major methodological options that have been advanced by philosophers of science have been Inductivism, FalsiWcationism, and Research Programme Appraisal. For an account of the variety of such methodological positions see Nola and Sankey (2000). 38

On the terminology and its application, see Roberts (1982).

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The report went on to say that: some knowledge of the history and philosophy of science should form part of the intellectual equipment of every science teacher in a secondary school. These recommendations were included in the Science for All curriculum that was developed in the immediate post-war years (Mansell 1976). In the United States, the Harvard Committee at the end of the Second World War said of science education that ‘the facts of science must be learned in another context, cultural, historical, and philosophical’ (Conant 1945). The committee produced a manifesto for liberal science education asking that: Science instruction in general education should be characterized mainly by broad integrative elements – the comparison of scientiWc with other modes of thought, the comparison and contrast of the individual sciences with one another, the relations of science with its own past and with general human history, and of science with problems of human society. These are areas in which science can make a lasting contribution to the general education of all students …. Below the college level, virtually all science teaching should be devoted to general education. (Conant 1945, pp. 155–156) Despite the clear and inXuential call of the Manifesto, the realisation of these liberal goals was meagre; for Wfty years, with the notable exception of Harvard Project Physics,39 the Yellow version of the BSCS programme, and a few other such exemplary programmes and texts40 the goals were overwhelmed by the technical and professional ideals that dominated school science programmes in the US and most of the rest of the world.41 To put it somewhat dramatically, the humanistic goals were blown away by the exhaust of the Soviet Union’s Sputnik launch. But things have changed; the Cold War has ended. The American Association for the Advancement of Science expressed its commitment to cultural or humanistic outcomes of science education in its Project 2061 publication, saying that: Becoming aware of the impact of scientiWc and technological developments on human beliefs and feelings should be part of everyone’s science education. (AAAS 1989, p. 173) These words basically echoed the Harvard Committee’s recommendation of Wfty years earlier. The AAAS position was elaborated a year later in The Liberal Art of Science where it said: The teaching of science must explore the interplay between science and the intellectual and cultural traditions in which it is Wrmly embedded. Science has a history that can demonstrate the relationship between science and the wider world of ideas and can illuminate contemporary issues. (AAAS 1990, p. xiv) These policy recommendations were embodied in the US Science Education Standards published by the National Research Council (NRC) (1996). They recognise the centrality

39

On the educational philosophy of Harvard Project Physics, see Holton (1978); for the vicissitudes of its history, see Holton (2003).

40 For texts exemplifying these wider or cultural goals of science education, see Rutherford et al. (1970), Holton (1952), Arons (1990), Holton and Brush (2001) and Cushing (1998). 41

For something of the history of this curricular struggle, see Matthews (1994, Chap. 2) and Rudolph (2002).

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of philosophical and historical knowledge in the teaching of science, maintaining for instance that students should learn: What science is, what science is not, what science can and cannot do, and how science contributes to culture. (NRC 1996, p. 2) How science contributes to culture. (NRC 1996, p. 21) That technology and science are closely related. A single problem has both scientiWc and technological aspects. (NRC 1996, p. 24) That scientiWc literacy also includes understanding the nature of science, the scientiWc enterprise, and the role of science in society and personal life. (NRC 1996, p. 21) The standards for the history and nature of science recommend the use of history in school science programs to clarify diVerent aspects of scientiWc inquiry, the human aspects of science, and the role that science has played in the development of various cultures. (NRC 1996, p. 107) By tracing the history of science how diYcult it was for scientiWc innovators to break through the accepted ideas of their time to reach conclusions that we currently take for granted. (NRC 1996, p. 171) That progress in science and technology can be aVected by social issues and challenges. (NRC 1996, p. 199) It is easy to see that all of these nationally mandated goals for secondary school science touch upon questions of science and worldviews—the limits of science, the contribution of science to culture, the role of science in social and personal life, the restraining eVects on science of everyday religious, political and cultural beliefs, and so on. The ‘big cases’ are obvious: The Copernician Revolution’s direct impact on the interpretation of scripture and less direct impact on the status of religious authority; the Darwinian Revolution’s impact on ideas of Nature and Providence, on understanding of human origins and associated religious ideas of Salvation, Redemption, and humans’ place in the ‘Grand Scheme of Things’ (as one might say); the Quantum Revolution and its eVect on a lawful and deterministic understanding of the world. But beyond the obvious cases, there are many more Wne-detailed points of connection between science and worldviews that also deserve attention. Further, the connections are two-way, certainly from science to worldview and metaphysics, but also from worldview and metaphysics to science. Realistically, the Standards document recognises that achievement of these goals will mostly be beyond the possibilities of just science teachers and the science classroom, the document recommends cross-disciplinary teaching, saying that the: curriculum will often integrate topics from diVerent subject-matter areas … and from diVerent school subjects – such as science and mathematics, science and language arts, or science and history. (NRC 1996, p. 23) The US Association for the Education of Teachers in Science (AETS), the professional association of those who prepare science teachers, endorses the Standards, and goes beyond them saying: Standard 1d: The beginning science teacher educator should possess levels of understanding of the philosophy, sociology, and history of science exceeding that speciWed in the [US] reform documents. (Lederman et al. 1997, p. 236) In the UK, a group of prominent science educators, reXecting on Britain’s National Curriculum and the most appropriate form of science education for the new millennium, wrote a report with 10 recommendations, the sixth of which said that: ‘The science curriculum should

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15

provide young people with an understanding of some key-ideas-about science, that is, ideas about the ways in which reliable knowledge of the natural world has been, and is being, obtained’ (Millar and Osborne 1998, p. 20). In elaborating this recommendation, the writers say that ‘Pupils should also become familiar with stories about the development of important ideas in science which illustrate the following general ideas’: that scientiWc explanations ‘go beyond’ the available data and do not simply ‘emerge’ from it but involve creative insights (e.g. Lavoisier and Priestley’s eVorts to understand combustion); that many scientiWc explanations are in the form of ‘models’ of what we think may be happening, on a level which is not directly observable; that new ideas often meet opposition from other individuals and groups, sometimes because of wider social, political or religious commitments (e.g. Copernicus and Galileo and the Solar System); and that any reported scientiWc Wndings, or proposed explanations, must withstand critical scrutiny by other scientists working in the same Weld, before being accepted as scientiWc knowledge (e.g. Pasteur’s work on immunisation). (Millar and Osborne 1998, pp. 21–22) As in the US case, it is clear that the realisation of these sound educational objectives will involve discussion and learning about science and worldviews. For instance, having students appreciate that ‘new ideas often meet opposition from other individuals and groups, sometimes because of wider social, political or religious commitments (e.g. Copernicus and Galileo and the Solar System)’ leads immediately to the consideration of scripture and how it is interpreted, authority in religion, the role of sensory evidence in determining scientiWc truth, realist and instrumentalist interpretations of scientiWc theory, the personal qualities required for advancing science, and so on. In other words, the above appreciation requires students having exposure to the Weld of worldviews and their interactive role in science. Other countries have produced comparable curriculum statements and policy documents that make explicit reference to NOS, and hence implicit reference to worldviews and their connection with science. Beyond exposure to and appreciation of episodes in the history of science and culture for which all the foregoing curricular statements are calling, the obvious educational question is: What lessons are to be drawn by the teacher and/or the student from examination of these episodes? This question poses serious issues in the philosophy of education because it bears upon concerns about indoctrination. Should we be teaching for knowledge about worldviews, or be teaching for belief in worldviews? The easy and liberal answer is the former option. But things are not so simple: In most Western, liberal, secular societies various worldview elements are simply not allowed to be expressed, let along taught. If a student’s worldview is deeply racist, sexist, casteist, then it cannot be expressed; and acting upon it is not tolerated, no matter how genuinely held it is, or no matter how essential it might be to the student’s sub-culture. Students are expected to disown such worldviews.

6 Contributions to this Volume This special issue takes up questions raised at this stage: Is there a scientiWc view of the world? What worldview commitments, if any, are presupposed in the practice of science? What is the overlap between learning about the nature of science and learning about worldviews required by, or associated with, science? What judgement do we make of science

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M. R. Matthews

education programmes where the scientiWc view of the world is not aYrmed and internalised, but is learnt in a purely instrumental manner? Hugh Gauch avers that questions about science’s relation to worldviews, either theistic or atheistic ones, are among the most signiWcant of contemporary issues for scientists, science teachers and culture more generally. Many people are vitally interested in questions such as whether God exists, whether the world has purpose, whether there are spiritual entities that have causal inXuence on the world, whether humans have spiritual souls which distinguish them from the animal world, whether the world is such that prayers can be answered, and so on. It is surely important for students and teachers to know if science can give answers, one way or the other, to these questions, or whether science is necessarily mute on the matters. Presumably knowledge of the nature of science should shed some light on whether science can or cannot answer such questions. He surveys opinions of scientists, philosophers and educators and, predictably, Wnds disagreement within each group on the question of the legitimate purview of science. Importantly Gauch carefully reports what position papers of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) and the US National Research Council (NRC) say about the deWning characteristics of science and thus what they say about worldviews and science. He identiWes seven ‘pillars’ of the scientiWc enterprise that the AAAS and the NRC endorse. These are: Pillar P1: Realism. The physical world, which science seeks to understand, is real. Pillar P2: Presuppositions. Science presupposes that the world is orderly and comprehensible. Pillar P3: Evidence. Science demands evidence for its conclusions. Pillar P4: Logic. ScientiWc thinking uses standard and settled logic. Pillar P5: Limits. Science has limits in its understanding of the world. Pillar P6: Universality. Science is public, welcoming persons from all cultures. Pillar P7: Worldview. Science hopefully contributes to a meaningful worldview. Gauch sees these seven pillars as, in part, amounting to the popular view that investigation of the supernatural lies outside of the domain of science; this is the widely-held position (NOMA) put forward by the late Stephen J. Gould (1999). But Gauch also Wnds an inconsistency with this position because at the same time the AAAS asserts that ‘we live in a directional, although not teleological, universe’. For Gauch this is a denial of the fundamental worldview of the Judaic–Christian–Islamic traditions for whom the world is not purposeless; and it is thus a statement that, contra NOMA, science is not worldview independent. He advances and defends the related thesis that: Science is worldview independent as regards its presuppositions and methods, but scientiWc evidence, or empirical evidence in general, can have worldview import. Methodological considerations reveal this possibility and historical review demonstrates its actuality. It is claimed that three things follow from the thesis. First, there can be no in-principle objection to the project of natural theology; the traditional project of deriving knowledge of God from features of the world. He believes that the arguments of natural theology, mostly thought to be completely discredited since Darwinian theory negated Paley’s ‘Evidences’ of divine design in the wonders of the animal world, still warrant attention, and indeed are given such attention in reputable scholarly publications. Second, scientism is objectionable. To believe that only science has testable, real knowledge not philosophy or theology or any other discipline is simply unmitigated scientism. Third, worldview-distinctive conclusions

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based on empirical evidence are suitable for individual convictions and public discussions, but not for institutional endorsements and scientiWc literacy requirements. Michael Matthews outlines the contribution of science to the formation of cultural worldviews, and elaborates a case study of how the important Roman Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation, so central to Catholic belief and devotional practice, was impacted upon by the metaphysics of Atomism which was embraced at the ScientiWc Revolution. He lays out common options for the reconciliation of seemingly conXicting scientiWc and religious worldviews; and argues that as far as liberal education is concerned, the important thing is to have students Wrst recognise that there are options, and then carefully examine them to come to their own conclusions about the possibility of reconciliation or otherwise. In liberal education teachers can certainly express their views on these matters, but students should not be expected to come to the views of their teachers. Gürol Irzik and Robert Nola, both philosophers, contend that worldviews are not only about the ‘big questions’ such as whether God exists or whether the world has a purpose; they can contain a lot more elements. For them, worldviews typically ask questions such as the following: (1) What sorts of things exist in the universe? (2) Is the universe created by an intelligent Being? If so, what are the Being’s properties and if not, what account can be given of creation? (3) What is the structure of reality? (4) Do humans have a nature or essence? (5) How should we live our lives? (6) What is good and bad, right and wrong? (7) What is the best form of government? (8) Is there a purpose to life in general, or to the universe as a whole? (9) Is there life after death? Since one of the most important functions of worldviews is to make sense of life and the world, worldviews also ask and (10) How should we go about answering these questions? They distinguish between the project of constructing a scientiWc worldview and asking whether science itself has any worldview content. Contra Gauch, they argue that science even when it is characterized quite minimally, does have worldview content. The very process of seeking scientiWc explanations presupposes worldview commitments; and there are several cultural worldviews that are in direct conXict with it, to the extent to which they postulate the existence of gods and spirits for explaining worldly phenomena. The worldviews of native Indians in America, natives of Alaska, African Azande, Maoris in New Zealand are typical examples. At issue here is whether scientiWc naturalism is a methodological convention of science or an ontological requirement of science. Alberto Cordero, a philosopher, points out that worldviews come in many orientations—some are philosophical (inspired by physicalism, dualism, determinism, indeterminism, etc.), some are religious (inspired by Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, etc.), some are ideological (committed to social constructivism, Maoism, the Taliban Vision, etc.), and there are numerous other orientations. He characterises science, to a Wrst approximation, as: the pursuit of truthful understanding, honestly, openly and forcefully conducted. Features central to this commitment include science’s public character and the structure and function of its best social institutions. Also of capital importance in the empirical sciences is care about data, the making of novel predictions, and experimentation. Cordero addresses the central, and very contentious, matter of scientiWc naturalism—is it a case of methodological convention, or is it part of the required ontology of science? He rightly points out that at some points in history scientiWc activity arguably beneWted from supernaturalist assumptions, notably in the cases of Newton and Maxwell—and he could have added Priestley and many others. But his view is that today public knowledge in general, not just science, has moved far away from supernaturalism, and for good reasons. He agrees with Gauch that science contributes to culture by proclaiming its own testable knowledge—not by denouncing additional sources of testable knowledge that may in fact

18

M. R. Matthews

have great legitimacy and value. But he disagrees that this recognition gives a legitimate place to natural theology in public institutions, particularly schools. Hugh Lacey, a philosopher, argues that scientiWc activity tends to reXect particular worldviews and their associated value outlooks; and scientiWc results sometimes have implications for worldviews and the presuppositions of value outlooks. Even so, scientiWc activity per se neither presupposes (Gauch’s view) nor provides sound rational grounds to accept any worldview or value outlook (Gauch and Lacey both maintain the more moderate ‘has implications for’ worldviews). Moreover, in virtue of reXecting a suitable variety of worldviews and value outlooks, perhaps including some religious ones, science is better able to further its aim. He provides an extended argument that, although the materialist worldview has de facto been widely associated with the development of modern science, the scope of scientiWc inquiry is improperly limited when constraints, derived from materialism, are generally placed upon admissible scientiWc theories. Lacey understands a worldview to be a comprehensive account of the nature of the various kinds of objects that make up the world, of how they are structured and related and interact with one another; and of their origins, possibilities and (in some worldviews) destinies. Worldviews include an account of human nature: of what is distinctive about human beings, of what grounds their sense of being moral agents and bearers of value, of what their historical origins are; and also of what are the possibilities open to human life, including (in some worldviews) what are the possibilities of human Xourishing and the means to realizing them, or what is the signiWcance of human life. An important part of Lacey’s position is the claim that modern science has adopted almost exclusively a methodological approach that he calls the ‘decontextualised approach’. This is a major problem because such an approach represents natural phenomena dissociated from any place they may have in relation to social arrangements, human lives and experience, from any link with value (thus deploying no teleological, intentional, ethical, value-laden or sensory categories), and from whatever possibilities they may gain in virtue of their places in particular social, human and ecological contexts. His argument challenges the link of modern scientiWc research with materialism; and he suggests that a good scientiWc education should not foster this link and, instead, encourage students who hold any of the multiplicity of worldviews that do not clash with the scientiWc attitude. This is not easy to do. Science education has been institutionalized in such a way that its disciplinary boundaries have emerged in the course of investigation conducted with the decontextualised approach of modern science. Enrico Giannetto, a physics professor and philosopher, cautions that the relationship between science and worldview should not be discussed from an abstract theoretical point. Science as well as religion is not unique, neither is uni-dimensional. There are many sciences and many religions, there are many scientiWc as well as religious theories and practices. Focusing on the science side, he says that one must remember that science changes with time and even diVerent formulations of the ‘same’ theory have diVerent ontological implications. He maintains that within an educational framework, one should never impose his or her private worldview but one should deal with the science/religion problem from a historical perspective: one should show how science practices involve a conXict among various worldviews. He holds the uncommon position that scientiWc theories and practices, not only have external implications for worldview and religion, but that science has internal theological presuppositions. He advances this claim by examination of the particular case of the roots of the special and general theories of relativity, showing the diVerent theologies to which the diVerent formulations of these theories are related.

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He demonstrates that one can teach science within a historical approach, by showing it embedded in western culture. Science should not be presented as a mere technical, mathematical or experimental practice, but within its historical and conceptual roots. Stuart Glennan, a philosopher, is also a non-essentialist about both science and religion, maintaining that abstract arguments about the relationship between science and religion often, but mistakenly, proceed by identifying a set of supposedly essential characteristics of scientiWc and religious worldviews and arguing on the basis of these characteristics for claims about a relationship of conXict or compatibility between them. He believes such a strategy is doomed to failure because science, to some extent, and religion, to a much larger extent, are cultural phenomena that are too diverse in their expressions to be characterized in terms of a uniWed worldview. In his contribution he follows a diVerent strategy. Having oVered a loose characterization of the nature of science, he poses Wve questions about speciWc areas where religious and scientiWc worldviews may conXict—questions about the nature of faith, the belief in a God or Gods, the authority of sacred texts, the relationship between scientiWc and religious conceptions of the mind/soul, and the relationship between scientiWc and religious understandings of moral behaviour. He shows that these questions cannot be answered unequivocally because there is no agreement amongst religious believers as to the meaning of important religious concepts. Thus, whether scientiWc and religious worldviews conXict depends essentially upon whose science and whose religion one is considering. He concludes by considering the implications of this conundrum for science education. His view is that science teachers need not tell students what to think about religion, but they can help students see that their own religious worldview is not the only religious worldview—not merely in the sense that there are other religious traditions besides the one they grew up in, but in the sense that there are a variety of worldviews embraced by those who belong to their own historical tradition. Michael Reiss, a biologist, educator and Anglican priest, attempts to do three things. First, to examine whether ‘science’ and ‘religion’ can better be seen, for the purposes of school science education, as distinct or related worldviews, by focusing particularly on scientiWc and religious understandings of biodiversity. Second, to explore the ways in which people can see (imagine, read) the natural world in a certain way, depending on their worldview, by looking at two contrasting treatments of penguin behaviour. Third, to draw some initial conclusions as to what might and what might not be included about religion in school science lessons. His central argument is that substantial numbers of people, including school students, view the natural world in ways that diVer greatly from the standard account presented in school science textbooks and lessons, and in ways that traditional treatments of ‘scientiWc misconceptions’ cannot address. His view is that unless science teachers take account of this, school science will fail to enable students to learn much of these areas of science at more than a superWcial level or to engage students with science. Yonatan Fishman, a research neuroscientist, opposes the view held by many prominent scientists, philosophers, and scientiWc institutions that science cannot test supernatural worldviews because (1) science presupposes a naturalistic worldview (Naturalism) and thus (2) claims involving supernatural phenomena are inherently beyond the scope of scientiWc investigation (this is Gould’s NOMA position). Fishman argues that these assumptions are questionable and that indeed science can test supernatural claims. His view is that while scientiWc evidence may ultimately support a naturalistic worldview, science does not presuppose Naturalism as an a priori commitment (also the position aYrmed by Gauch), and supernatural claims are thus amenable to scientiWc evaluation. Fishman recognises that this conclusion challenges the rationale behind the recent Kitzmiller v. Dover Area School District judicial ruling in the United States concerning the

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teaching of ‘intelligent design’ in public schools as an alternative to evolution and also the oYcial statements of the two major scientiWc institutions analysed by Gauch. His position is that, given that science does have implications concerning the probable truth of supernatural worldviews, doctrines should not be excluded a priori from science education simply because they might be characterized as supernatural, paranormal, or religious. Rather, they should be excluded from science education when the evidence does not support them, regardless of whether they are designated as ‘natural’ or ‘supernatural’. He recognises that before debates about the testability or otherwise of supernatural claims can be usefully engaged in, it is important to Wrst deWne what is meant by a claim being ‘testable’. He accepts the deWnition oVered by Mahner and Bunge in the 1996 special issue of Science & Education that a claim is ‘testable’ if there can be ‘evidence of whatever kind for or against a claim.’ (Mahner and Bunge 1996) Given this deWnition, there are at least three ways in which science can evaluate the probable truth of a claim: (1) by consideration of the prior probability of a claim being true, (2) by ‘looking and seeing’ (i.e., by consideration of the evidence for or against a claim), and (3) by consideration of plausible alternative explanations for the evidence. He demonstrates how these considerations are naturally captured within the framework of Bayesian conWrmation theory. An important and related point is that just because we cannot deWnitively disprove a claim (such as the claim that ‘Santa Claus exists’), does not mean that it is rational to believe it. As with most commentators, Fishman agrees that as a matter of principle, science must pursue truth, regardless of religious or political sensitivities; nevertheless on a practical level such an endeavour clearly has the potential to oVend those who hold supernatural worldviews and thereby impede science education. Thus, science educators face the challenge of maintaining both intellectual integrity and the receptivity of students to potentially controversial scientiWc material. Costas Skordoulis, a physicist and philosopher, writes of the important, and often tragic, interplay of science and worldviews in the Marxist tradition—just think of the tidal wave of error and terror unleashed by Lysenko, or the grisly fate of Nikolai Bukharin and his philosophical colleagues. In this tradition, absolute clarity about the interplay of science and worldviews, not fuzziness or soft-focus writing, was required. Skordoulis argues that Marx’s views on science can be related favourably to a certain tradition of philosophy of science; for example the tradition expressed by Mahner and Bunge when they wrote in the 1996 special issue of Science & Education that ‘the viewpoint of science comprises a naturalist ontology, a realist epistemology and a system of internal values (endoaxiology) coinciding with the free search for truth’. Marx’s view is also that scientiWc truth is not absolute but partial or approximate; that science’s naturalism is a kind of materialism, not a reductionist but an emergentist materialism, and most importantly recognises that science is also a social activity carried out in speciWc historical and cultural circumstances. Skordoulis sees that the study of Epicurus provides a way of understanding Marx’s materialism in natural philosophy. Marx’s study of ancient and early modern materialism brought him inside the scientiWc understanding of the natural world in ways that inXuenced all of his thought, since it focused on evolution and emergence, and made Nature, not God, the starting point. For Epicurus all divine intervention, direct or indirect and thus all absolute determinisms, all teleological principles, were expelled from nature. The very creation of the world, according to Epicurus, can be accounted for only by reference to the realm of chance, created by the ‘swerve’ of the atom. Skordoulis calls Marx’s embrace of Epicurus the beginning of the ‘Classical Tradition’ in Marxist thought; it includes all the well known early contributors to Marxist theory such as Engels, Lenin, Luxemburg, Bukharin and Trotsky; it ends with the defeat of the popular

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movements in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s, the rise of fascism and Nazism, and the Stalinization of the USSR signiWed by the execution of Bukharin in 1938 after the parody of the Moscow trials. Lysenko, echoing Stalin, held that the genetic science of Weismann, Mendel and Morgan was ‘idealist, mystical, formalist, scholastic and metaphysical and thus inconsistent with Bolshevism … and utterly alien to the world outlook of Soviet people’ (Huxley 1949, pp. 52–53). At this stage the ‘Classical Tradition’ ceased to exist and is replaced by the oYcial Soviet type Marxism-Leninism. These tragic events bring into sharp focus the question of whether science needs to reconcile itself with extant worldviews—be they Stalinist, Maoist, National Socialist, Christian, Islamic, Hindu, Australian aboriginal or any number of indigenous worldviews—or whether such worldviews need to reconcile themselves with science. In the Soviet Union, making science conform to dominant cultural worldviews was a tragic and massive mistake. Skordoulis draws welcome attention to the work and writings of the British Marxist scientist and historian, J.D. Bernal who was deeply concerned with the state of science education. Bernal’s educational criticisms have been echoed down the decades by others, and this journal special issue is testament to the fact that they are still relevant, and the cause of lively debate. Skordoulis points out that in The Social Function of Science Bernal wrote that the chief beneWt of science education is that it teaches a child about the actual universe in which he is living, and how to think logically by studying the method of science. Bernal insisted that the gullible way in which educated people responded to pseudo-science such as spiritualism or astrology, not to say more dangerous ones such as racial theories, showed that previous years of education in the method of science in Britain or Germany had produced no visible eVect whatever (Bernal 1939, p. 72). Science teaching in Britain and Germany had left untouched the worldviews of students; science education had failed to inform culture. John Lamont, a theologian with philosophical training, rejects the Enlightenment’s, and still widely held view, that the New Science of the 17th century tolled the death knell for Aristotelian metaphysics, and consequently for worldviews, such as the Roman Catholic worldview, which was so institutionally connected with Aristotle’s metaphysics. The popular picture is that the ScientiWc Revolution established the Mechanical Worldview in which there was no place for the core Aristotelian categories of nature (meaning individual natures with causal powers), essence, form, and teleology. Against this view, he documents how some contemporary historians say the foregoing picture is far too crude, and that Aristotelianism did not roll over and die at Wrst sighting of Newton’s Principia. More importantly for the present discussion, he documents how a number of prominent contemporary philosophers of science are resurrecting Aristotelian metaphysics as the best way to understand the processes and Wndings of modern science. Lamont argues that the most basic form of Aristotelianism involves accepting things, rather than events, as causes, and attributing their causal activity to the possession of properties that are by nature causal powers. He could have mentioned Whitehead who used to aYrm of nature that ‘the present is everywhere pregnant with the future’ (Whitehead 1929); this is a version of neo-Aristotelian ontology. This ontology rules out a conception of laws of nature as simple descriptions of regular patterns, and the claim that being a cause or an eVect results from Wtting in to some universal pattern—the standard Humean view which has long dominated philosophy of science. A more speciWc form of Aristotelianism adds the claim that things are sorted into natural kinds by their fundamental causal powers; a yet more speciWc form asserts that the properties that make a thing belong to a given natural kind are possessed necessarily by that thing, and constitute its essence. ScientiWc investigation, on this view, proceeds by discovering the causal powers that are associated with

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things of a given kind; and laws of nature, in science, amount to statements about the causal powers possessed by diVerent kinds of thing. Finally, some Aristotelians assert that the essence of a thing is its substantial form. For Lamont this last claim is as speciWc as he, or current neo-Aristotelians, wish to go. Even this is a long way from the seventeenth-century mechanical worldview, and getting very close to Aristotle’s Physics of two and a half thousand years ago. Because in the Aristotelian scheme of things, certain processes (natural processes, things Xowing from the nature of bodies) necessarily happen (the view famously rejected by Hume) the development of modal logic (logic dealing with necessity and possibility) was a boon to the neo-Aristotelian programme. Lamont identiWes the logicians C.I. Lewis, Ruth Barcan Marcus and Saul Kripke as laying the foundation for the sophisticated revival of Aristotelian metaphysics. The programme was advanced due to the failure of the received, Humean, regularity account of law to deal satisfactorily with causation and explanation—for example, the famous embarrassment to the Humean causal account of the stick’s shadow ‘causing’ the elevation of the sun.42 In response to these problems, a movement began towards restoring broadly Aristotelian accounts of causation, essence, and explanation; a development that linked up with moves towards Aristotelianism in metaphysics generally, independent of the particular problems of the philosophy of science. For Lamont, the pioneering work here was done by Rom Harré and Edward Madden, and has been extended by Nancy Cartwright, George Molnar, Brian Ellis, John Heil, and Alexander Bird. With Alasdair McIntyre creditably reviving the Aristotelian ethical programme, Aristotle is undergoing something of a philosophical revival. Certainly there is enough of a revival for Aristotelianism to warrant a place at the table of NOS discussion among science educators and curriculum framers. Taner Edis, a Turkish physicist with long-standing interests in the adjustments made by Muslims to modern science, points out that Muslims, no less than Christians, do not want to have their beliefs marginalized by such a powerful institution as modern science. But the science and religion debate is diVerent in a Muslim context. Technological prowess is as compelling to Muslims as anyone else. But arguments derived from a more Western philosophical tradition, inXuenced by Christian theology, are bound to be even less convincing to Muslims. At present, liberal, compatibilist theological options are noticeably weaker among Muslims. In both research and education, he argues that we should not expect Muslim cultural responses, to challenges based on science, to follow the more familiar Western patterns. In his paper, and in other works (Edis 2007), he documents that nothing Muslims have done so far has responded to the main challenge that modern science has posed for theistic religions: the growing sense that God has become optional, that it is a metaphysical ghost that is best removed from descriptions of the universe. Hugh Gauch, who opened the volume, also closes it with a review of the arguments advanced,43 and a defence of the thesis that considerations informing worldview convictions include public evidence from the sciences and the humanities and personal evidence from individual experience. Additionally he comments brieXy on other issues raised in the volume including scientiWc realism, the tentativeness of scientiWc knowledge, science’s presuppositions, the relationship between natural science and natural theology, the nature of religious faith, and the importance of philosophy in science education.

42

Because the two events—the rising sun and the increasing length of a stick’s shadow—are constantly joined, on Humean grounds we can choose either to be the cause.

43

His review did not include the Edis essay as it was a late invitation to the special issue.

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7 Conclusion If students do not learn and appreciate something about science—its philosophical and metaphysical assumptions, its epistemology and methodology, its history, its interrelationships with cultures and religion—then the opportunity for science to enrich culture and human life is diminished. Science taught merely as a technical subject, or as a ‘rhetoric of conclusions’,44 does not do justice either to science or to education. A key element in this broader purpose of science education is learning about the interrelationship of science and worldviews—both what it has been in the past and what it can be in the present. Hopefully this special issue of Science & Education will contribute to a more informed understanding of this relationship, and provide some assistance to teachers who are routinely engaged with the subject.

References Aikenhead GS (1996) Cultural assimilation in science classrooms: border crossings and other solutions. Stud Sci Educ 7:1–52 Aikenhead GS (2000) Renegotiating the culture of school science. In: Millar R, Osborne J (eds) Improving science education. Open University Press, Philadelphia, pp 245–264 American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) (1989) Project 2061: science for all Americans. AAAS, Washington (also published by Oxford University Press, 1990) American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) (1990) The liberal art of science: agenda for action. AAAS, Washington Arons AB (1990) A guide to introductory physics teaching. Wiley, New York Bernal JD (1939/1949) Science teaching in general education. Sci Educ. Reproduced in Sch Sci Rev (1946) 27:150–158. And in his The freedom of necessity (1949). Routledge & Kegan Paul, London, pp 135–146 Bernal JD (1965) Science in history, 4 vols, 3rd edn. C.A Watts, London Boas Hall M (ed) (1970) Nature and nature’s laws. Documents of the scientiWc revolution. Macmillan, London Broad CD (1925) The mind and its place in nature. Harcourt Brace, New York Brock WH (1989) History of science in British schools: past, present and future. In: Shortland M, Warwick A (eds) Teaching the history of science. Basil Blackwell, Oxford, pp 30–41 Brooke JH (1991) Science and religion: some historical perspectives. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Brown JR (2001) Who rules in science: an opinionated guide to the science wars. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Bunge M (1973) Method model and matter. Reidel, Dordrecht Bunge M (1981) ScientiWc materialism. Reidel, Dordrecht Cobern WW (1991) Word view theory and science education research. National Association for Research in Science Teaching, Manhattan Cobern WW (1996) Worldview theory and conceptual change in science education. Sci Educ 80(5):579–610 Cohen RS, Seeger RJ (eds) (1970) Ernst Mach: physicist and philosopher. Reidel, Dordrecht Collingwood RG (1940) An essay on metaphysics. Clarendon Press, Oxford Collingwood RG (1945) The idea of nature. Oxford University Press, Oxford Collins FS (2007) The language of god: a scientist presents evidence for belief. Free Press, New York Conant JB (1945) General education in a free society: report of the Harvard committee. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Cushing JT (1998) Philosophical concepts in physics: the historical relation between philosophy and scientiWc theories. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Davies P (1992) The mind of god: science and the search for ultimate meaning. Simon & Schuster, New York Dawkins R (2006) The god delusion. Bantam Press, London DeBoer GE (1991) A history of ideas in science education. Teachers College Press, New York 44

This is Joseph Schwab’s expression, inspired by Dewey (Schwab 1962).

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Dennett DC (1995) Darwin’s dangerous idea: evolution and the meanings of life. Allen Lane, Penguin Press, London Dennett DC (2006) Breaking the spell: religion as a natural phenomenon. Penguin, New York Desmond A, Moore J (1992) Darwin: the life of a tormented evolutionist. Penguin Books, London Dewitt R (2004) Worldviews: an introduction to the history and philosophy of science. Blackwell Publishing, Oxford Dijksterhuis EJ (1961/1986) The mechanization of the world picture. Princeton University Press, Princeton Donagan A (1962) The later philosophy of R.G. Collingwood. Oxford University Press, Oxford Dupré L (2004) The enlightenment and the intellectual foundations of modern culture. Yale University Press, New Haven Duschl RA, Grandy RE (eds) (2008) Teaching scientiWc inquiry. Recommendations for research and implementation. Sense Publishers, Rotterdam Edis T (2007) An illusion of harmony: science and religion in Islam. Prometheus Books, Amherst Eliot S, Stern B (eds) (1979) The age of enlightenment: a anthology of eighteenth century texts. Ward Lock Educational, East Grinsted Fensham PJ (2004) DeWning an identity: the evolution of science education as a Weld of research. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht Feyerabend PK (1978) Science in a free society. New Left Books, London Fitzpatrick M, Jones P, Knellwolf C, McCalman I (eds) (2007) The enlightenment world. Routledge, London Flick LB, Lederman NG (eds) (2004) ScientiWc inquiry and nature of science: implications for teaching learning and teacher education. Kluwer, Dordrecht Friedman M (1992) Kant and the exact sciences. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Gauch HG Jr (2003) ScientiWc method in practice. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Gay P (1970) The enlightenment: an interpretation. The rise of Paganism. Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London Gay P (ed) (1973) The enlightenment: a comprehensive anthology. Simon & Schuster, New York Gay P (1977) The enlightenment: an interpretation. The science of freedom. W.W. Norton, New York Gill HV (1944) Fact and Wction in modern science. M.H. Gill & Son, Dublin Gjertsen D (1989) Science and philosophy: past and present. Penguin, Harmondsworth Gould SJ (1999) Rock of ages: science and religion in the fullness of life. Ballantine Books, New York Graham LR (1973) Science and philosophy in the Soviet Union. Alfred A. Knopf, New York Hankins TL (1985) Science and the enlightenment. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Holton G (1952) Introduction to concepts and theories in physical science, 2nd edn. Princeton University Press, Princeton (revised with Brush SG (1985) Physics the human adventure 2001, 3rd edn) Holton G (1978) On the educational philosophy of the project physics course. In: Holton G (ed) The scientiWc imagination: case studies. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 284–298 Holton G (2003) The project physics course: then and now. Sci & Educ 12(8):779–786 Holton G, Brush SG (2001) Physics the human adventure. From Copernicus to Einstein and beyond. Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick Horkheimer M, Adorno TW (1944/1972) Dialectic of enlightenment. Herder and Herder, New York Huntington SP (1996) The clash of civilizations and the remaking of world order. Simon & Schuster, New York Huxley J (1949) Heredity east and west: Lysenko and world science. Henry Schuman, New York Hyland P, Gomez O, Greensides F (eds) (2003) The enlightenment: a source book and reader. Routledge, New York Israel J (2001) Radical enlightenment: philosophy and the making of modernity 1650–1750. Oxford University Press, Oxford Jaki SL (1978) The road of science and the ways to god. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Koertge N (ed) (1998) A house built on sand: what’s wrong with the cultural studies account of science. Oxford University Press, New York Kramnick I (ed) (1995) The portable enlightment reader. Penguin Books, New York Kurtz P, Madigan TJ (1994) Challenges to the enlightenment: in defense of reason and science. Prometheus Books, BuValo Lederman NG (1992) Students’ and teachers’ conceptions of the nature of science: a review of the research. J Res Sci Teach 29(4):331–359 Lederman NG, Kuerbis PJ, Loving CC, Ramey-Gassert L, Roychoudhury A, Spector BS (1997) Professional knowledge standards for science teacher educators. J Sci Teach Educ 8(4):233–240 Lenin VI (1920/1970) Materialism and empirio-criticism: critical comments on a reactionary philosophy, 2nd edn. Progress Publishers, Moscow Mahner M, Bunge M (1996) Is religious education compatible with science education? Sci & Educ 5(2): 101–123

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Mansell AE (1976) Science for all. Sch Sci Rev 57:579–585 Marx K (1851) The eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. In: Tucker RC (ed) The Marx-Engels reader. W.W. Norton, New York, pp 594–617 Matthews MR (ed) (1989) The scientiWc background to modern philosophy. Hackett Publishing Company, Indianapolis Matthews MR (1994) Science teaching: the role of history and philosophy of science. Routledge, New York McComas WF (1998a) The principal elements of the nature of science: dispelling the myths. In: McComas WF (ed) The nature of science in science education: rationales and strategies. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, pp 53–70 McComas WF (ed) (1998b) The nature of science in science education: rationales and strategies. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht McComas WF, Olson JK (1998) The nature of science in international science education standards documents. In: McComas WF (ed) The nature of science in science education: rationales and strategies. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, pp 41–52 McInerny RM (1966) Thomism in an age of renewal. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame Meehl P, MacCorquodale K (1948) On a distinction between hypothetical constructs and intervening variables. Psychol Rev 55:95–107 Millar R, Osborne J (1998) Beyond 2000: science education for the future, school of education. King’s College, London Nagel E (1956) Naturalism reconsidered. In: Nagel E (ed) Logic without metaphysics. Free Press, Glencoe, chap 1 Nanda M (2003) Prophets facing backward: postmodern critiques of science and Hindu nationalism in India. Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick National Research Council (NRC) (1996) National science education standards. National Academy Press, Washington Nola R, Sankey H (2000) A selective survey of theories of scientiWc method. In: Nola R, Sankey H (eds) After Popper Kuhn and Feyerabend. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, pp 1–65 Oster M (ed) (2002) Science in Europe, 1500–1800. Palgrave, Houndmills Pap A (1946) The a priori in physical theory. King’s Crown Press, New York Peters RS (1966) Ethics and education. George Allen and Unwin, London Porter R (2000) The enlightenment: Britain and the creation of the modern world. Penguin Books, London Roberts DA (1982) Developing the concept of “Curriculum Emphases” in science education. Sci Educ 66:243–260 Rudolph JL (2002) Scientists in the classroom: the cold war reconstruction of American science education. Palgrave, New York Rutherford FJ, Holton G, Watson FG (eds) (1970) The project physics course: text. Holt, Rinehart & Winston, New York Schwab JJ (1962) The teaching of science as inquiry. In: Schwab JJ, Brandwein P (eds) The teaching of science. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, pp 1–103 Sellars RW (1932) The philosophy of physical realism. Macmillan, New York Shermer M (1997) Why people believe weird things: pseudoscience, superstition, and other confusions of our time. W.H. Freemand & Co, New York Thomson JJ (1918) Natural science in education. HMSO, London (Known as the Thomson Report) Van Eijck M, Roth W-M (2007) Keeping the local local: recalibrating the status of science and traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) in education. Sci Educ 91:926–947 Vitzthum RC (1995) Materialism: an aYrmative history and deWnition. Prometheus, Amherst Weisheipl JA (1968) The revival of Thomism as a Christian philosophy. In: McInerny RM (ed) New themes in Christian philosophy. University of Notre Dame Press, South Bend, pp 164–185 Whitehead AN (1929) Process and reality: an essay in cosmology. Macmillan, New York

Author Biography Michael R. Matthews is an associate professor in the School of Education at the University of New South Wales. He has degrees in science, philosophy, psychology, history and philosophy of science, and education from the University of Sydney. His PhD is in philosophy of education from the University of New South Wales. He taught high school science, lectured in Education at Sydney Teachers’ College and was the Foundation Professor of Science Education at The University of Auckland. He publishes in the Welds of philosophy of education, history and philosophy of science, and science education. He is the author of four books: A Marxist Theory of Schooling: A Study in Epistemology and Education (Humanities Press, 1980), Science Teaching: The Role of History and Philosophy of Science (Routledge, 1994), Challenging New Zealand

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Science Education (Dunmore Press, 1995), and Time for Science Education (Plenum Publishers, 2000). Additionally he has edited The ScientiWc Background to Modern Philosophy (Hackett Publishing Company, 1989), History, Philosophy and Science Teaching: Selected Readings (OISE Press/Teachers College Press, 1991), Constructivism in Science Education: A Philosophical Examination (Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1998), Science Education and Culture: The Role of History and Philosophy of Science (with F. Bevilacqua & E. Giannetto, Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2001), and The Pendulum: ScientiWc, Historical, Philosophical and Educational Perspectives (with C. Gauld & A. Stinner, Springer, 2005). He is the Foundation Editor of the journal Science & Education.

Science, Worldviews, and Education Hugh G. Gauch Jr.

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 667–695. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-006-9059-1 Ó Springer Science+Business Media, Inc. 2006

Abstract Whether science can reach conclusions with substantial worldview import, such as whether supernatural beings exist or the universe is purposeful, is a significant but unsettled aspect of science. For instance, various scientists, philosophers, and educators have explored the implications of science for a theistic worldview, with opinions spanning the spectrum from positive to neutral to negative. To delineate a mainstream perspective on science, seven key characterizations or ‘‘pillars’’ of science are adopted from position papers from the world’s largest scientific organization, the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Based on those pillars and an examination of scientific method, I argue that the presuppositions and reasoning of science can and should be worldview independent, but empirical and public evidence from the sciences and humanities can support conclusions that are worldview distinctive. I also critique several problematic perspectives: asserting that science can say nothing about worldviews and the opposite extreme of insisting that science decisively supports one particular worldview; weakening science so severely that it lacks truth claims; and burdening science with unnecessary presuppositions. Worldview-distinctive conclusions based on empirical evidence are suitable for individual convictions and public discussions, but not for institutional endorsements and scientific literacy requirements. Keywords American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS)
Atheism
Empirical evidence
Humanities
Human nature
Miracles
Natural theology
Powers and limits of science
Presuppositions
Public evidence
Realism
Religion
Scientific literacy
Scientific method
Scientism
Skepticism
Standard logic
Testability
Theism
Worldview

I appreciate helpful comments on earlier versions of this paper from William Cobern, Simon Conway Morris, Peter Davson-Galle, Gurol Irzik, Michael Matthews, Robert Nola, Roger Trigg, and three anonymous reviewers. H. G. Gauch Jr. (&) Crop and Soil Sciences, Cornell University, 519 Bradfield Hall, Ithaca, NY 14853-1901, USA e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_2

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Hugh G. Gauch Jr.

1 Introduction Can science reach farther than its ordinary investigations of galaxies, flowers, bacteria, electrons, and such? Can science also tackle life’s big questions, such as whether God exists and whether the universe is purposeful? Life’s grand questions could be termed religious or philosophical or worldview questions. But a single principal term is convenient here and my preference is the rather broad term, worldview (or Weltanschauung). ‘‘A worldview constitutes an overall perspective on life that sums up what we know about the world, how we evaluate it emotionally, and how we respond to it volitionally’’ (Rudolf A. Makkreel, in Audi 1999, p. 236; likewise, Craig 1998, vol. 3, pp. 77–83). This paper assesses science’s competence as its ambitions expand from ordinary to worldview questions. Science’s relationship with various worldviews, both theistic and atheistic, is one of the most significant and yet unsettled aspects of science. Indeed, this controversy is a perennial topic for journals in science, philosophy, and education. This paper has two distinctive features. First, science’s worldview import is approached as a four-way conversation. The four parties considered here are (1) prominent scientists, (2) philosophers of science, (3) science educators, and (4) position papers on science education from leading scientific organizations, particularly the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) and the National Academy of Sciences (NAS, including its National Research Council, NRC) of the United States. Second, science’s powers and limits – and particularly the extent of science’s potential for reaching conclusions having substantial worldview import – are seen here principally as a direct implication of science’s method. Hence, a penetrating understanding of scientific method is the gateway to a clear and balanced perspective on science and worldviews. This paper reviews the broad spectrum of opinions on science’s worldview import expressed by scientists, philosophers, educators, and position papers on science education. Then merely stipulatory aspects of these diverse opinions are distinguished from truly substantive aspects. The principal resource for evaluating these opinions is to affirm seven key statements or ‘‘pillars’’ from AAAS position papers that support a mainstream and beneficial perspective on science. Drawing on those pillars, I defend three theses regarding scientific method and worldview import. Then these theses are deployed to show that worldview beliefs can be testable, to critique three extremely common and yet highly problematic perspectives, and to distinguish necessary from unnecessary presuppositions of science. Finally, brief conclusions commend a perspective on science’s worldview import that aligns with mainstream science as delineated by position papers from the AAAS and other leading scientific organizations.

2 A Spectrum of Opinions Scientists hold diverse views on science and God, as documented by extensive surveys (Easterbrook 1997; Larson and Witham 1999). For example, Scientific American reported an exchange between Richard Dawkins, identified as a biologist and ‘‘an agnostic leaning toward atheism,’’ and Simon Conway Morris, an evolutionary paleontologist and a Christian (Horgan 2005). Dawkins thought that neither the fine-tuning of the universe nor the origin of life requires an explanation involving God. But Conway Morris ‘‘retorted that he found Dawkins’s atheism ‘archaic’ and asserted that the resurrection and other miracles

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attributed to Christ were ‘historically verifiable’.’’ He believes that it is imperative to develop a theology of evolution (Conway Morris 2003). Also contested are the cause and legitimacy of religious belief and experience. In purely naturalistic and quite derogatory terms, Dawkins (2003) explains away religions as ‘‘cognitive viruses’’ or ‘‘memes’’ that spread among humans, even though religions are irrational and harmful (also see Bering 2006). On the other side, Francis Collins, the director of the Human Genome Project, argues that evolution and theism are compatible and that naturalistic explanations of religion and morality are wanting (Collins 2006). Philosophers have also expressed quite diverse opinions about science’s worldview import, particularly whether science supports theism, atheism, or neither. For the sake of brevity, just one philosophy journal is considered here, namely the British Journal for the Philosophy of Science. That journal has carried an extended exchange about the cosmological argument. Swinburne (2000, 2005) argued that the universe provides evidence for God’s existence, whereas Gru¨nbaum (2000, 2004, 2005) dismissed this argument. Craig (1992), O’Hear (1993), Callender (2004), Weisberg (2005), and Monton (2006) also discuss the cosmological argument. For another example, in response to David Hume’s legacy, Holder (1998) and Shogenji (2003) examined the conditions under which reported miracles, especially with multiple witnesses, may provide support for the existence of God. For a third example, Sterelny (2006) discussed Richard Dawkins’s naturalistic explanation of religions (also see Dennett 2006). Science educators also hold diverse views and encounter intense controversies. Again for the sake of brevity, just one education journal is sampled here, namely this journal, Science & Education. The following representative papers concern science’s interaction with religions or worldviews. Hansson and Redfors (2006a, b) surveyed high-school students’ opinions, which turned out to be quite diverse, regarding whether science (especially physics) is compatible with belief in God and in miracles, asking them to express both their own view and the view that they take to be prevalent among scientists. They also examined the students’ understandings of the presuppositions of science, particularly to discern whether these presuppositions imply a scientism that excludes religion. Cobern (2000) discussed students’ integration of science and religion and also provided a historical perspective. Gauld (2005) explored habits of mind for science and religion in both students and teachers. He argued for there being less conflict than some other educators suppose, particularly since both science and religion can embody a respect for evidence. Keranto (2001) investigated the perceived credibilities of scientific and religious claims among future science teachers. Nola (2003) showed that the perennial debate in philosophy between realist and anti-realist epistemologies infects education with this same turmoil. Obviously, anything that will unsettle ordinary scientific knowledge will also more than unsettle ambitious worldview claims. Smith et al. (1995), Pennock (2002), and Hofmann and Weber (2003) discussed diverse views on the teaching of evolution and creationism as regards public policy, legal arguments, scientific facts, philosophical merits, and educational goals. Davson-Galle (2006) expressed ethical concerns about compulsory science education incorporating controversial philosophical or worldview content. On the other hand, Irzik and Irzik (2002) acknowledged the controversies and tensions inherent in a pluralistic or multicultural society, and yet argued that the ideal of a good life favors a vigorous science offering public, universal knowledge claims when the evidence is clear – with no capitulation to ethnic or cultural prejudices. An additional dozen papers from this journal are encountered later in this article. Having sampled personal opinions from individual scientists, philosophers, and educators regarding science’s worldview import, next consider position papers on science

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education from leading scientific organizations. The relationship between science and worldviews is a prominent concern in these papers. The powers and limits of science are consistently identified by position papers as an essential component of scientific literacy. For instance, ‘‘Being liberally educated requires an awareness not only of the powers of scientific knowledge but also of its limitations,’’ so learning science’s limits ‘‘should be a goal in all science courses’’ (AAAS 1990, pp. 20–21). Likewise, science and technology undergraduates should be able to answer several specific questions, including these three: ‘‘How are the approaches that scientists employ to view and understand the universe similar to, and different from, the approaches taken by scholars in other disciplines outside of the natural sciences? What kinds of questions can be answered by the scientific and engineering methods, and what kinds of questions lie outside of these realms of knowledge? How does one distinguish between science and pseudoscience?’’ (NRC 1999, p. 34). A particularly important aspect of this boundary between science’s powers and limits regards whether scientific inquiry can address worldview questions. The AAAS says that there are ‘‘beliefs that – by their very nature – cannot be proved or disproved (such as the existence of supernatural powers and beings, or the true purposes of life)’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 26). So, science is neutral as regards both theism and atheism. However, in another position paper, the AAAS claims that science supports a particular worldview, that ‘‘There can be no understanding of science without understanding change and the fact that we live in a directional, although not teleological, universe’’ (AAAS 1990, p. xiii; also see p. 24). Now ‘‘not teleological’’ just means purposeless. Since it is common knowledge that the world’s great monotheisms – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – view the world and life as purposeful, this pronouncement of a purposeless universe is tantamount to an endorsement of atheism. Awkwardly, one AAAS position paper says that science cannot examine the purposes of life, whereas another declares emphatically that science reveals a purposeless universe. Clearly, these two statements are flatly contradictory. How can this contradiction be resolved? And more generally, among all of the above individual opinions and institutional positions, what contributes to a legitimate perspective on science’s worldview import? Science educators have discerned that the principal resource for properly determining the boundary between science’s powers and limits is an adequate understanding of scientific method. ‘‘Understanding how science operates is imperative for evaluating the strengths and limitations of science’’ (William F. McComas, in McComas 1998, p. 12; also see Gruender 2001). Similarly, ‘‘The ability to distinguish good science from parodies and pseudoscience depends on a grasp of the nature of science’’ (Matthews 2000, p. 326; also see Keeports and Morier 1994 and Machamer 1998). Furthermore, this topic of science’s method and limits connects with some broader issues. ‘‘Students educated in science should have an appreciation of scientific methods, their diversity and their limitations. They should have a feeling for methodological issues, such as how scientific theories are evaluated and how competing theories are appraised, and a sense of the interrelated role of experiment, mathematics and religious and philosophical commitment in the development of science’’ (Matthews 1994, pp. 2–3). Accordingly, this paper’s principal undertaking is its analysis of scientific method in Section 5, involving the defense of three theses. Clarity about scientific method leads to clarity about science’s potential to address worldview questions. However, before that, two brief sections discuss some crucial preliminaries.

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3 Stipulatory and Substantive Issues Can science support theism or atheism or neither? Among all of the issues regarding science’s worldview import that were reviewed in the previous section, this is the most significant and contentious dispute. And obviously, this dispute over science’s bearing on the worldview question about whether God exists is closely related to additional questions of immense scholarly and popular interest, including whether the universe is purposeful and whether miracles occur (see Hansson and Redfors 2006a). This big question – about science’s support for theism or atheism or neither – is a vexed question because it involves a tangled mixture of three stipulatory issues and one substantive issue. Until these four issues have been distinguished, there is little hope of a useful analysis, or even of a clear understanding of what many of the above quotations and ideas really amount to. A stipulatory issue, involving social conventions more so than philosophical reasons, regards the domain of science. Are supernatural beings and events, including God and miracles, inside or outside science’s domain? The rather prevalent doctrine of methodological naturalism says that scientific explanations should involve only natural entities, not anything supernatural, such as God or angels. But this doctrine, even if adopted wholeheartedly by a given individual or institution, is about the ordinary workings or legitimate business of science, whereas it is silent about whether supernatural beings exist and whether they interact with physical things in observable ways. (A different doctrine, ontological naturalism, says that only the physical world exists and nothing supernatural.) Another stipulatory issue is the boundary between science and the humanities, particularly philosophy, theology, and history. Given the topic of, say, reported miracles in the Bible or elsewhere, regardless whether a given person believes or disbelieves any of these reports, various persons may feel differently about whether this topic is the proper business of science or theology or history or whatever, or perhaps several of these disciplines. For better or for worse, science’s domain shifts from century to century, from nation to nation, and from culture to culture. Inevitably, science’s boundary is somewhat fuzzy and controversial. A third and final stipulatory issue is that scientific method may be given a much larger domain than science itself. Hence, science’s method may receive a different verdict than science’s hypotheses and evidence. That scientific method has broad applicability is the official position of the AAAS. ‘‘There are ... certain features of science that give it a distinctive character as a mode of inquiry. Although those features are especially characteristic of the work of professional scientists, anyone can exercise them in thinking scientifically about many matters of interest in everyday life’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 26). ‘‘All sciences share certain aspects of understanding – common perspectives that transcend disciplinary boundaries. Indeed, many of these fundamental values and aspects are also the province of the humanities, the fine and practical arts, and the social sciences’’ (AAAS 1990, p. xii; likewise, pp. 11, 16). However, despite the stipulatory issues that give science a fuzzy boundary in other respects, it is abundantly clear that science’s worldview import is a legitimate topic for science. As the world’s largest scientific organization, being the umbrella organization for nearly 300 scientific societies, the AAAS bids fair as representing a mainstream perspective on science. AAAS position papers on science address religion, God, the Bible, the clergy, prayer, and miracles with mostly sensible and balanced perspectives. Also, one can look forward to the ongoing conferences and publications of the Dialogue on Science,

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Ethics, and Religion (DoSER) program of the AAAS. One notable publication is a study of the interactions between science and Christianity (Lindberg and Numbers 2003). Furthermore, it is manifestly clear that science’s interaction with various worldviews, theistic and atheistic, is of sustained interest to many individual scientists. Indeed, considering only four of the main general science journals – Science (published by the AAAS), Nature, Scientific American, and American Scientist – hardly a month goes by without at least one commentary or book review, or even a feature article, regarding science and worldviews. That the scientific community is interested in larger questions than which brand of light bulbs last longest attests to its vitality, courage, and curiosity. Lastly, besides the above three stipulatory issues, there is also one huge substantive issue regarding worldviews. Is it possible for the sciences and humanities to find empirical and public evidence that bears on worldview hypotheses (such as theism and atheism), thereby providing reasons that count across worldviews in favor of a specific worldview? Focusing on ‘‘empirical and public evidence’’ in this question engages all worldviews alike. And combining ‘‘the sciences and humanities’’ bypasses stipulatory issues about the boundaries between the sciences and various humanities. Hence, this substantive question concerns what can be known about reality by means of publicly accessible evidence, irrespective of diverse views on controversial but inconsequential stipulatory issues. Having mentioned stipulatory issues in this section, the remainder of this paper concerns the substantive issue of science’s worldview import.

4 Seven Pillars of Science Many great ideas that have been pillars of scientific thinking and orthodoxy for centuries are emphasized in the AAAS vision of the nature and practice of science. Seven especially simple and important ones, which suffice for present purposes, are listed and named here. Before progressing to more advanced and controversial matters, these basics merit review and affirmation. Pillar P1: Realism. The physical world, which science seeks to understand, is real. This pillar is expressed beautifully in the simple words that ‘‘science is the art of interrogating nature’’ with ‘‘Commitment to understanding the natural world’’ (AAAS 1990, p. 17). Pillar P2: Presuppositions. Science presupposes that the world is orderly and comprehensible. ‘‘Science presumes that the things and events in the universe occur in consistent patterns that are comprehensible through careful, systematic study’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 25; likewise, 1990, p. 16). Pillar P3: Evidence. Science demands evidence for its conclusions. ‘‘Sooner or later, the validity of scientific claims is settled by referring to observations of phenomena. ... When faced with a claim that something is true, scientists respond by asking what evidence supports it’’ (AAAS 1989, pp. 26, 28). Pillar P4: Logic. Scientific thinking uses standard and settled logic. Scientists ‘‘tend to agree about the principles of logical reasoning that connect evidence and assumptions with conclusions’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 27; likewise, 1990, p. 16). Pillar P5: Limits. Science has limits in its understanding of the world. ‘‘There are many matters that cannot usefully be examined in a scientific way’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 26). Pillar P6: Universality. Science is public, welcoming persons from all cultures. ‘‘Men and women of all ethnic and national backgrounds participate in science and its applications. ... Because of the social nature of science, the dissemination of scientific information is crucial to its progress’’ (AAAS 1989, pp. 28–29).

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Pillar P7: Worldview. One of science’s important ambitions is contributing to a meaningful worldview. ‘‘Science is one of the liberal arts ... unquestionably,’’ and ‘‘the ultimate goal of liberal education’’ is the ‘‘lifelong quest for knowledge of self and nature,’’ including the quest ‘‘to seek meaning in life’’ and to achieve a ‘‘unity of knowledge’’ (AAAS 1990, pp. xi, 12, 21; likewise, 1989, p. 134). These seven ideas might seem merely platitudinous. But they are actually quite powerful when their implications are worked out. They are like Kolmogorov’s three simple probability axioms that generate countless probability theorems, or Maxwell’s four little equations that imply all of classical electricity and magnetism. The great fruitfulness of these ideas emerges from their joint assertion, rather than their individual contents. For instance, the presupposition of a comprehensible world (P2) energizes a hopeful pursuit of realism (P1), and that realism is implemented by science demanding adequate evidence (P3) and using standard logic (P4). Controversial and even contradictory claims emerge occasionally as AAAS position papers progress to advanced and challenging topics, including the present topic of science’s worldview import. Then the seven pillars serve a vital role. The merit of a questionable claim can be judged by its coherence, or lack thereof, with the seven pillars. 5 Scientific Method This section develops three theses intended to clarify science’s relationship with worldviews, with due consideration of the seven pillars of scientific orthodoxy. They concern full disclosure of scientific reasoning, legitimate presuppositions for science, and science’s worldview import. I have explored these and related topics in greater detail in my text on scientific method (Gauch 2002). However, the following brief account suffices for present purposes. Incidentally, reviews of this book have appeared in this and another education journal (Matthews 2004; Sherburn 2004). 5.1 Full disclosure Thesis 1 The first necessity for reaching a clear verdict on science’s worldview import is full disclosure of scientific reasoning, exhibiting all of the premises required to support a conclusion. Every scientific conclusion requires premises of three kinds: presuppositions, evidence, and logic. Full disclosure is the first prerequisite in showing that a particular question is within science’s reach (P5) and that a particular conclusion is true (P1). Only with everything out on the table can every component of an argument be checked. By contrast, a telling sign of ‘‘shoddy’’ and ‘‘doubtful assertions and arguments’’ is that ‘‘The premises of the argument are not made explicit’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 139). Incidentally, depending on the strength of the evidence in a given case, the conclusion may be certain or probable. Full disclosure is especially important for ambitious scientific inquiries addressing worldview issues, such as whether life is purposeful. But the requirements for full disclosure are best learned by beginning with a simple example, which suffices to reveal the general structure of scientific thinking, regardless how complex. Imagine or perform the following experiment. Envision or obtain a coin and an opaque cup covered with an opaque lid. Have someone else flip the coin, without your observing this process, and then put the coin in the cup if heads, or else put the coin elsewhere if tails.

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The question is then, ‘‘Is there a coin in the cup?’’ with the competing hypotheses being ‘‘There is a coin in the cup’’ and ‘‘There is not a coin in the cup.’’ And the experimental observation will be to lift the lid and look inside the cup. The present endeavor is to give a complete, fully disclosed argument with the conclusion that there is or is not a coin in the cup, as the case may be. This means that all premises needed to reach the conclusion must be stated explicitly, with nothing lacking. Assume that the experiment’s outcome is seeing a coin in the cup. Symbolize seeing the coin in the cup by ‘‘S’’ and its existence by ‘‘E,’’ where the hypotheses are E and not-E. This experimental evidence supplies the premise, ‘‘S.’’ The presupposition that the world is comprehensible supplies the premise that, in ordinary circumstances, seeing implies existence, or ‘‘S implies E.’’ Finally, logic supplies the premise that a valid argument form (modus ponens) draws the experiment’s conclusion: S; S implies E; therefore E. This reasoning is fully disclosed, these three premises supporting the first hypothesis that ‘‘There is a coin in the cup.’’ The general point is that the justification of a scientific conclusion amounts to legitimization of the presuppositions, evidence, and logic needed to support that conclusion. This is the crux of scientific method. Incidentally, all of these kinds of premises were identified already by pillars P2–P4, though the theory connecting them was not presented until this section. The concept of evidence is somewhat subtle, being deeply interconnected with presuppositions and hypotheses. Evidence has a dual nature, being admissible and relevant. Evidence is admissible, relative to available presuppositions, if those presuppositions make it accessible. For instance, presuppositions about the comprehensibility of the physical world allow for empirical evidence, such as citing the seeing of a coin. Otherwise, pillar P3 would be utterly undone. And evidence is relevant, relative to a particular set of hypotheses, if different hypotheses expect different observations, so that the actual observation bears differentially on the hypotheses’ credibilities. For instance, seeing a coin in the cup confirms the hypothesis that there is a coin in the cup, whereas it disconfirms the alternative hypothesis. Data are just admissible observations, whereas evidence is data plus interpretations of the data showing clear relevance for evaluating a specific hypothesis set (AAAS 1989, pp. 26–30, 1990, pp. 16–18). Presuppositions and evidence are different, though complementary. Presuppositions answer the question: How can we reach any conclusion at all to the present inquiry? They do not bear differentially on the credibilities of the hypotheses. But evidence answers the question: How can we assert one particular conclusion rather than another? For instance, presuppositions about the comprehensibility of the world are needed to reach any conclusion about a coin in a cup, whereas the evidence of seeing a coin in the cup supports assertion of the specific hypothesis that there is a coin in the cup. Testability is a core value of science. ‘‘To be useful, a hypothesis should suggest what evidence would support it and what evidence would refute it’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 27). The present simple example involving a coin exemplifies testable hypotheses. Different predictions regarding a physical outcome that is publicly accessible offer scientists an opportunity to test hypotheses or theories. Although hypothesis tests feature accuracy in fitting the data, additional more subtle criteria are also in play. Another consideration is parsimony or simplicity, which favors simpler theories among those that fit the data equally well (Gauch 2002, pp. 269–326). Yet another consideration is unification (Schupbach 2005). That is, ‘‘The credibility of scientific theories often comes from their ability to show relationships among phenomena that previously seemed unrelated’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 27). There are still more criteria for hypothesis testing and there are also interactions among these criteria. For

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instance, there is an interaction between parsimony and accuracy that has huge theoretical and practical significance (Gauch 2006). Anyway, the essential point here is that science concerns testable matters. It is important to have identified the basic components of scientific reasoning – hypotheses, presuppositions, evidence, logic, and conclusions – because statements with these different logical roles interact with worldviews in different ways. A statement’s logical role is as important as its content. The difference between ‘‘The universe is purposeless’’ and ‘‘The universe is purposeful’’ is obvious, marking out a vigorous debate. But equally different are ‘‘The universe is purposeless’’ in the logical role of a presupposition and this same ‘‘The universe is purposeless’’ in the role of a conclusion. As a presupposition, its function would be limited to selfcongratulatory discourse among kindred spirits. But as a conclusion from a sound argument, its audience would be the larger world. Of course, if a statement appears in an argument as both a presupposition and a conclusion, then the diagnosis is circular reasoning. Likewise, if a key statement’s logical role is unspecified and unclear, then the diagnosis is amateurish discourse. 5.2 Legitimate presuppositions Thesis 2 Science’s presuppositions about the existence and comprehensibility of the physical world are best legitimated by an appeal to rudimentary common sense. Anything less leaves science vulnerable to radical skepticism, which questions the comprehensibility or even the existence of the physical world. Anything more substantive, coming from a particular and favored worldview (such as atheism, Buddhism, Christianity, or Islam), needlessly jeopardizes science’s status as a public enterprise. Necessarily and inescapably, the belief that ‘‘The physical world exists and is substantially comprehensible to us’’ is a presupposition of science, not a conclusion. Neither can science inherit such a belief from some other discipline that can prove or support it. Instead, philosophy can prove that no supporting evidence is possible. Some beliefs are basic and oblivious to evidence because nothing else is more certain. For instance, ‘‘my not having been on the moon is as sure a thing for me as any grounds I could give for it’’ (Ludwig Wittgenstein, in Anscombe and Wright 1969, p. 17e). So, presuppositions must be an exception to the ordinary pattern that beliefs are justified by presenting evidence. Instead, the legitimization of science’s presuppositions must involve some different strategy. One simple strategy runs as follows. Adopt by faith a little scrap of rudimentary common sense, such as ‘‘I have not been on the moon’’ or ‘‘Moving cars are hazardous to pedestrians.’’ Then analyze this statement to understand what has already been presupposed about ourselves and our world, which will include that the physical world exists and is substantially comprehensible. Note that the same presuppositions would emerge from reflection on any such scrap of common sense and that these presuppositions are both necessary and sufficient to give science an ordinary realist interpretation (Polanyi 1962, pp. 160–171; Nash 1963, pp. 3–62). This strategy gives science just the right forum. On the one hand, cheerful confidence in some trinket of trivial knowledge excludes radical skepticism from science’s worldview forum, as pillar P1 requires. Science’s business is to presuppose common sense and then build scientific method, not to refute the skeptic and thereby establish common sense. On the other hand, all other worldviews are welcomed. Cobern and Loving (2001) and Meera

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Nanda (in Koertge 1998, pp. 286–311) discuss the functionality of standard science in our multicultural world. Fortunately, rather few persons would deny, with sincerity or consistency, that ‘‘Moving cars are hazardous to pedestrians.’’ As Palmer (1985, p. 14) quips, ‘‘Skeptics are like dragons. You never actually meet one, but keep on running across heroes who have just fought with them, and won.’’ Consequently, a single formulation of science’s presuppositions can work equally well for nearly everyone, in keeping with the requirement of pillar P6 that science be public. The simple presuppositions in pillar P2 do modest work, merely insisting that the physical world is comprehensible to us. They do not address the larger issue of how our world and we came to be so constituted, which requires the larger resources of a worldview. Different worldviews give divergent accounts. But fortunately, analysis of rudimentary common sense, which involves worldview commonalities, supplies the needed presuppositions. Nevertheless, philosophical questions can be raised regarding whether a given worldview can provide a coherent and satisfactory explanation for the existence and adequacy of the human rationality that common sense and mainstream science must presume. Certainly, ‘‘science has itself to appeal to a metaphysical basis,’’ that is, to an account of ‘‘the nature of reality’’ (Trigg 1993, pp. 4, 14). However, a separate issue remains regarding whether a deep account of reality is to be mandated as a requirement for scientific literacy or is to be left as an optional interest of some scientists. The latter seems more sensible and realistic. On pain of circular reasoning, it is a principle of logic that whatever is presupposed cannot also be concluded. The reverse also holds, that beliefs that are not presupposed retain their eligibility to be hypotheses with potential to become conclusions if supported by appropriate evidence. For instance, because science does not presuppose that electrons do or else do not exist, science can reach a conclusion about this, given proper evidence. Therefore, this recommended installation of science’s presuppositions serves pillar P7, giving science an exciting reach before encountering its limits. Science’s power to investigate so much emerges from its presupposing so little. 5.3 Worldview import Thesis 3 Science is worldview independent as regards its presuppositions and methods, but scientific evidence, or empirical evidence in general, can have worldview import. Methodological considerations reveal this possibility and historical review demonstrates its actuality. Pillar P7 affirms that science contributes to a meaningful worldview. This power of science follows easily from methodological considerations involving two of the other pillars of science. Pillar P2 grants science basic, common-sense presuppositions, which deliberately include no worldview-distinctive beliefs. And pillar P4 adopts standard logic, including the principle that beliefs that are not presupposed retain their eligibility to be hypotheses with potential to become conclusions if supported by appropriate evidence. Therefore, worldview-distinctive beliefs can retain eligibility. It may seem paradoxical or surprising that a worldview-independent method could yield worldview-distinctive conclusions. But of course, only a method that did not presuppose or favor a particular outcome could yield a conclusion worthy of consideration. A worldviewindependent method applied to worldview-informative evidence can reach worldviewdistinctive conclusions. The action is in the evidence. The evidence reflects reality.

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Furthermore, the AAAS asserts repeatedly that science having worldview import is not merely a possibility as methodological considerations indicate, but an actuality as historical review confirms. ‘‘The knowledge’’ that science ‘‘generates sometimes forces us to change – even discard – beliefs we have long held about ourselves and our significance in the grand scheme of things,’’ that is, worldview beliefs (AAAS 1989, p. 134). ‘‘Scientific ideas ... influence – and are influenced by – the wider world of ideas’’ (AAAS 1990, p. 24). The AAAS cites numerous examples of scientific knowledge that historically have greatly influenced specific worldview beliefs (AAAS 1989, pp. 63–68, 112–113, 118–119, 1990, p. 24). Manifestly, the action in these examples is in the evidence, or even in multiple lines of evidence converging on the same answer, rather than in presuppositions. So, this worldview import derives from empirical, public, scientific evidence. Finally, where is it reasonable to expect worldview inquiries using empirical and public evidence to be located? As already documented and argued here, science’s worldview implications constitute a proper and vigorous topic in science, philosophy, and education. Nevertheless, the next section explains that the primary location for empirical worldview inquiries may be expected elsewhere, in natural theology.

6 The Testability of Worldviews That science deals with testable matters involving empirical and publicly accessible evidence, whereas worldviews or religions deal with untestable matters, is a popular perception. In common parlance, science has facts, whereas religion has faith. Admittedly, both friends and foes of religion express this outlook (for example, Collins 2006; Dawkins 2003). But does this make sense? The answer to this question involves not only natural science, but also natural theology. The article on ‘‘natural theology’’ by Scott MacDonald in the Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy begins with ‘‘Natural theology aims at establishing truths or acquiring knowledge about God (or divine matters generally) using only our natural cognitive resources,’’ as contrasted with revealed theology (Craig 1998, vol. 6, pp. 707–713; likewise, see Audi 1999, p. 911; Blackburn 2005, p. 247). He further explains that ‘‘The phrase ‘our natural cognitive resources’ identifies both the methods and data for natural theology: it relies on standard techniques of reasoning and facts or truths in principle available to all human beings just in virtue of their possessing reason and sense perception.’’ Natural theology considers arguments both for and against theism, with proponents of both sides sharing a common impartial methodology. Because natural theology relies on empirical and public evidence to test competing hypotheses, which is the essence of scientific method, natural theology is that discipline within theology conducted by scientific method. Accordingly, natural theology honors the AAAS’s energetic call, already reviewed in Section 3, for scientific method to be applied in diverse domains of thought and life beyond science itself. Hence, one possibility is that evidence for worldview issues – such as whether God exists and whether the universe is purposeful – that is found in the natural world would primarily be assigned to natural theology, rather than natural science. Clearly, that territorial choice leaves unchanged the real issue of the strength of that evidence. It also leaves unchanged the character of that evidence. Natural science and natural theology alike rely on reasoning and facts available to all human beings with their endowments of reason and sense perception, that is, they both rely on empirical and public evidence (Gauch et al. 2002). Natural science seeks empirical evidence that bears on scientific hypotheses,

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whereas natural theology seeks empirical evidence that bears on worldview hypotheses. The relationship between natural science and natural theology is not one of complete separation and reciprocal irrelevance, but rather is one of partial overlap, mutual modification, and ongoing complementarity in the exciting pursuit of a unity of knowledge. Rationality can be pursued in both science and religion (Trigg 1993, 1998, 2002). It is beyond this article’s ambitions to argue that natural theology’s results support either theism or else atheism, nor alternatively that its indecisiveness favors agnosticism. The defense of any of these three positions would require careful examination of several principal categories of evidence and several key arguments. That labor, however promising or unpromising it might be, would be considerable. However, this is the place to argue that the sheer existence and character of this academic discipline invalidates any breezy dismissal of the idea that worldviews are testable. Three common dismissals all fail. First, breezy dismissal cannot be effected by presuppositions. Some scientists, philosophers, and educators advocate that science must necessarily presuppose that supernatural beings do not exist, or at least that supernatural beings do not interact with physical things in observable ways (as will be discussed more in Section 8). This is a breezy move because presuppositions are just adopted; they are neither questioned nor defended. But recall from Section 5.2 that science’s legitimate presuppositions include no such worldview-distinctive content. More fundamentally, human presuppositions have no power to dictate or control reality. Second, breezy dismissal cannot be effected by stipulations. Many scholars and certainly most scientists exclude supernatural entities from scientific explanations. But again, even if this methodological naturalism is adopted for science in a whole-hearted and even breezy manner, this move is irrelevant for present concerns. This section concerns whether empirical and public evidence can bear on worldview hypotheses within an inquiry having worldview-independent presuppositions. That does not depend on whether such evidence is in the domain of science or other disciplines or both. Recall from Section 3 that the substantive question concerns what ‘‘the sciences and humanities’’ combined can do with empirical evidence, which Thesis 3 reiterates as ‘‘empirical evidence in general,’’ in contrast to just scientific evidence. Third, breezy dismissal cannot be effected by in-principle arguments. An in-principle argument shows that by the very meanings of terms, or by the immediate implications of logical or methodological principles, that some particular outcome obtains – so no arduous, detailed empirical investigation is needed to reach a verdict. The most famous example of an in-principle argument bearing on worldview testability is Hume’s enormously influential argument against miracles (David Hume, in Earman 2000, pp. 140–157). He argued that the testimony for reported miracles (including those in the Bible), which is often presented as evidence in favor of a theistic worldview, cannot possibly overturn these miracles’ antecedent improbability based on the observed uniform course of nature. As Earman (2000, p. 5) observed, Hume’s novelty was ‘‘to launch an in-principle attack on the possibility of establishing the credibility of religious miracles.’’ The immediate implication is that no detailed examination of historical or other empirical evidence is necessary or even helpful for reaching a verdict on miracles, quite contrary to the tenor of the preceding literature on miracles. The appeal of in-principle verdicts, when appropriate, is that they can require less work and yet be more conclusive and comprehensive than empirical studies. But Earman delivered a magisterial case that Hume’s attack on miracles fails. In essence, Hume’s understanding of probability theory is simplistic and his consideration of

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multiple witnesses is inadequate. Hume’s argument has fallen on exceedingly hard times indeed (Houston 1994; Holder 1998; Shogenji 2003). The bottom line is simple and compelling for this and other in-principle arguments that attempt to make claims about reality: To know what happens in our world, you cannot just sit in your armchair and philosophize, but rather you must go and look and see what happens. The conclusion that natural theology merits careful examination, not breezy dismissal, has three implications for science education. First and foremost, a verdict on worldview testability requires a wider survey than just natural science. The key claim in the popular perception mentioned at the outset of this section is: Worldview hypotheses are untestable with empirical and public evidence. But understand that this requires the supporting claim: Natural theology is a complete failure. Therefore, only after someone has proven natural theology to be an abject failure is he or she in a position to argue that worldviews are untestable – and also has overturned the mainstream position that science itself has empirical and public evidence contributing to a meaningful worldview. By their very nature, worldview hypotheses are testable if they predict different outcomes for physical and publicly observable events – that is, if they exemplify successful exercises in natural theology or other empirical disciplines. Second, because worldview testability involves arduous examination of many kinds of empirical evidence, both inside and outside the natural sciences, this topic is unsuitable as a requirement for scientific literacy. On the other hand, because mainstream science (as represented by AAAS position papers) commends the application of scientific thinking in diverse domains of inquiry and life, the bearing of empirical evidence on worldview hypotheses is a legitimate interest of individual scientists, philosophers, educators, historians, and others. Third and finally, scientism is objectionable. To believe that only science has testable, real knowledge – not philosophy or theology or any other discipline – is simply unmitigated scientism. Hansson and Redfors (2006b) identified three interrelated aspects of scientism that are common in students’ perceptions of science: ‘‘Everything has or will have a scientific explanation,’’ ‘‘Things that cannot be proven or explained [by science] do not exist,’’ and ‘‘One should not believe in things that are not proven [by science].’’ They emphasized that science educators should help students to avoid these misconceptions. Clearly, scientism is an affront to pillar P5 regarding science’s limits. Scientism is outside mainstream science, as delineated consistently by position papers on science education. For instance, ‘‘Students should develop an understanding of what science is, what science is not, what science can and cannot do, and how science contributes to culture’’ (NRC 1996, p. 21). Science contributes to culture by energetically proclaiming its own testable knowledge – not by denouncing additional sources of testable knowledge that may in fact have great legitimacy and value. The previous Section 5.3 defended the mainstream position that scientific evidence can have worldview import. The thrust of this section has been that the broader resources of the sciences and the humanities combined have more potential for worldview import than the limited resources of the sciences alone. In the humanities, the sciences have allies in the pursuit of realism and meaning.

7 Three Problematic Perspectives Section 5 explored the implications of science’s method for science’s potential to weigh worldview hypotheses. By contrast, this section examines three prominent examples of alternative perspectives and shows them to be problematic.

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The first two examples selected here are the two statements about science’s worldview import that were quoted earlier from AAAS position papers on science. So far, it was noted that these two statements are flatly contradictory. But the mere detection of this contradiction says nothing at all about the truth or other merits of either statement – except that they cannot both be true. Hence, further discussion is warranted, particularly in terms of the seven pillars of science that are taken here as beneficial, venerable, stable, nonnegotiable features of mainstream science. Recall the first statement about science’s reach, that there are ‘‘beliefs that – by their very nature – cannot be proved or disproved (such as the existence of supernatural powers and beings, or the true purposes of life).’’ This statement claims that typical worldview issues, such as God’s existence and life’s purpose, are outside science’s purview. On two counts, this claim is problematic. First, as already documented, major general science journals, and even AAAS position papers, carry a long-standing and ongoing exploration of science’s worldview import. So, it is just plain false to say that the scientific community is not engaging worldview interests – even though there is still greater activity, of course, in the philosophical and theological communities. Furthermore, analysis of scientific method shows that in principle, because worldview-distinctive presuppositions are avoided, empirical and public evidence can address worldview hypotheses. Hence, there is neither conventional (stipulatory) nor methodological (substantive) support for this first AAAS claim. When pillar P7 stands, saying that science can contribute to a meaningful worldview, this claim of worldview irrelevance falls. Second, this AAAS claim is offered dogmatically, without any argumentation or evidence whatsoever. That violates pillar P3, which requires evidence for scientific assertions. That also displays a peculiar disregard for the AAAS’s own energetic repudiation of dogmatism and indoctrination (AAAS 1989, p. 135, 1990, p. xi). Next recall the second AAAS statement, with its insistent preamble that ‘‘There can be no understanding of science without understanding,’’ followed by its worldview content about ‘‘change and the fact that we live in a directional, although not teleological, universe.’’ This is also a problematic claim. First, just like the other AAAS claim, this one is also offered dogmatically, without a shred of evidence or argumentation. Yet whether the universe is purposeless or purposeful is highly controversial among scientists, among philosophers, among educators, among people in general, and between worldviews. Second, this preamble voices a disturbing rhetoric of exclusion. It excludes all Jews, Christians, Muslims, and others who believe in a purposeful universe from being accepted as persons having an understanding of science. To marginalize a sizable portion of the world’s population from being respected participants in science is a flagrant affront to pillar P6 about universality. This preamble also voices a deplorable rhetoric of indoctrination: only one worldview perspective is to be countenanced among the scientifically literate. Ironically, the two AAAS claims about science’s worldview import represent two opposite extremes: that science has nothing to say about typical worldview issues, or that science does support one particular worldview that merits official endorsement by scientific institutions and that compels assent from all scientists and everyone else claiming an understanding of science. By contrast, a mainstream position, which aligns with the seven pillars of science, involves a delicate balance located between these extremes. On the one hand, mainstream science happily recognizes science’s potential, alongside the humanities, to contribute to a meaningful worldview. Hence it is legitimate and

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exciting for individual scientists to take an interest in science’s worldview import and to reach their conclusions. But on the other hand, an institutional mandate for all scientists to reach the same conclusion, say about the universe’s purposelessness, seems ill advised. A more flexible and restrained outlook would be that interest in science’s worldview import is a valid option for scientists, but not a universal requirement for scientific literacy, and that worldview conclusions are for individual convictions and public discussions but not for institutional endorsements. The possibility must also be borne in mind that for many persons, the humanities, rather than the sciences, may be most informative in their worldview inquiries. Indeed, some individuals may reach their worldview convictions mostly on other grounds, even including personal experiences, and hence find science’s role limited to confirming and reinforcing convictions already held. AAAS position papers are carefully crafted by hundreds of outstanding contributors who work through several drafts over a period of several years with additional input from numerous reviewers. Make no mistake. AAAS position papers are intended to influence actions on the part of the President of the United States, the U.S. secretary of education, both houses of Congress, governors of all states, sources of financial support for science, universities and the agencies that grant them accreditation, business and labor leaders, the news media, military officers, scientists, educators, and finally, the general public (AAAS 1989, pp. 162–167, 1990, pp. 3–6). With great influence comes great responsibility. As they serve the scientific community and the larger world, the authors of position papers must clearly discern the different prerogatives and complementary roles of institutions and individuals. By publishing both position papers and Science, the AAAS provides ideal outlets for both institutional standards and individual opinions. However regrettable these two AAAS claims about science’s worldview import may be, fortunately the AAAS has already expressed humility and openness, saying that ‘‘their conclusions are set in a historical context and that all the issues addressed will and should continue to be debated’’ (AAAS 1990, pp. 25–26). Occasional errors in the course of exciting and real leadership are understandable. Nevertheless, as the AAAS frames its future position papers on science, failure to acknowledge serious errors in previous position papers would be irresponsible. Corrections should be explicit and decisive. For a third and final example of problematic perspectives on science’s worldview import, consider the skepticism about science expressed by Sir Karl Popper. He and Thomas Kuhn are particularly important scholars in the sense that they, and no other philosophers of science, are well known among scientists. Although many of their ideas are insightful and salutary, there are also some disturbing claims. Scientific American has published interesting interviews with them (Horgan 1991, 1992). Astonishingly, Popper claimed that ‘‘The statement, ‘Here is a glass of water’ cannot be verified by any observational experience’’ because of philosophical problems regarding universals that grip everyone (Popper 1968, p. 95). Now to say that ‘‘Here is a glass of water’’ is a knowledge claim beyond human competence constitutes a plainly spoken denial of common sense, just as would be rejection of the previous exemplars of rudimentary knowledge, such as ‘‘Moving cars are hazardous to pedestrians.’’ O’Hear (1989, p. 91) and Gauch (2002, pp. 136–137, 148) find such skepticism unwarranted and disturbing. If the trivial common-sense observation, ‘‘Here is a glass of water,’’ is beyond humans, then the harder scientific finding, ‘‘Water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen,’’ is way beyond us and challenging worldview conclusions are way, way beyond us. Such a crippled science has no worldview import. (Incidentally, Popper’s careful readers will have noticed the subtle irony here, that his readership is humans, even though humans constitute a universal just like glasses of water. Popper is entitled to speak for himself and to report

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that he has trouble with universals, but on his own terms, he cannot help himself to the presumption that other humans also suffer this same affliction.) Likewise, Kuhn’s claim that science is ‘‘arational,’’ expressed ‘‘with no trace of a smile’’ in his interview for Scientific American, is outside mainstream science that affirms science’s logic (pillar P4). Another philosopher of science, Paul Feyerabend, has expressed an even more skeptical view of science (Broad 1979; Theocharis and Psimopoulos 1987; Horgan 1993). Various skeptical, relativistic, and postmodern assessments of science collectively have considerable currency (Koertge 1998). But mainstream science rejects radical skepticism and universal fallibilism, not with evidence, but with the presupposition that the world is orderly and comprehensible (pillar P2). Again, whatever philosophy’s interests and business may be, science’s project is to presuppose common sense and then build scientific method, not to refute the skeptic and thereby establish common sense. Incidentally, Popper and Kuhn have had unmistakable influence on the two AAAS position papers discussed here, although they are not named or cited. The ideas of underdetermined theories and paradigm shifts appear repeatedly (AAAS 1989, pp. 26–27, 1990, pp. 17–18, 21, 24). Their skeptical tendencies play out in an awkward tension between science being ‘‘tentative’’ and ‘‘revisable,’’ and yet also being ‘‘durable’’ despite drastically diminished claims of being ‘‘true’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 26, 1990, pp. 20–21). The same ambivalence pervades position papers on science education from many nations (McComas 1998). However, deeming durability to be good presumes that durability is serving as a truth surrogate since the persistence of a false idea is bad. A historical or sociological claim of durability just cannot do the job of a scientific or philosophical claim of truth. Also, this attempted distancing from truth claims, presumably in the cause of philosophical sophistication, is inevitably facile and disappointingly sophomoric because these position papers confidently present literally hundreds of indisputable scientific facts that are anything but tentative and revisable. Plainly, some scientific ideas are certain, some are probable, and some are quite speculative. So, it is misleading to say that ‘‘Scientific knowledge,’’ without any qualification, ‘‘is tentative, approximate, and subject to revision’’ (AAAS 1990, p. 20). Kuhn (1970) and his interview in Scientific American (Horgan 1991) are cited in a report to Congress, The Objectivity Crisis: Rethinking the Role of Science in Society (Brown 1993). The Congress of the United States wanted a current assessment of science’s rationality and objectivity, so a 1993 symposium was co-convened by Representative George Brown and the AAAS for the purpose of providing ‘‘a philosophical backdrop for carrying out our responsibilities as policymakers’’ (p. iii). One contributor, influenced by Kuhn, reported that scientists should accept the new picture of science as myth. ‘‘Some scientists are still scandalized by the historical insight that science is not a process of discovering an objective mirror of nature, but of elaborating subjective paradigms subject to empirical constraints. ... Nevertheless, it is important to understand the nature, function, and necessity of scientific paradigms and other myths. ... [We] must depend on a priori faith in our various myths and sub-myths to exploit our limited capacity for reason’’ (Ronald D. Brunner, in Brown 1993, p. 6). Needless to say, some scholars might prefer that policymakers receive a less skeptical and more balanced view of science’s powers and limits. My reason for selecting these particular examples is their occurrence in influential position papers, but equally is their wide currency in popular conceptions of science. One need not look very long to find expressions of these three common views. (1) Careful science should be silent about worldview questions because science and religion are

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separate, nonoverlapping magisteria. (2) Modern science should unhesitatingly get on with a thoroughly naturalistic, atheistic worldview. (3) Postmodern science should forego universal truth claims about anything, especially worldviews. By contrast, I hold a fourth position. (4) The sciences and humanities can consider informative evidence that supports specific worldview conclusions suitable for individual convictions and public discussions but not institutional endorsements.

8 Necessary and Unnecessary Presuppositions The most extensive discussion in this journal of the present topic – science, worldviews, and education – is in the special issue on ‘‘Religion and Science Education,’’ edited by Matthews (1996). That issue provided an admirably fair and open forum for proponents of contrasting worldviews to present their positions. It begins with an article by Mahner and Bunge (1996a) followed by six responses (Lacey 1996; Poole 1996; Settle 1996; Turner 1996; Woolnough 1996; Wren-Lewis 1996) and finally a reply by Mahner and Bunge (1996b). The lead article defends two theses: that ‘‘a religious education is detrimental to a scientific one’’ and that ‘‘science and religion are incompatible.’’ The six responses, which include diverse theistic perspectives, critique Mahner and Bunge on many counts. But in their final reply, Mahner and Bunge claim that ‘‘these criticisms fail to affect our position.’’ The chief feature of this extended exchange is its lack of progress – its lack of effective engagement. Those who see science and religion as being compatible and those who see them as being incompatible are talking past each other – as any and every observer of this exchange can immediately see. Why? Why this lack of engagement, this lack of progress, this lack of change in view? Well, there are obvious sociological and psychological factors. People are raised with different cultures or religions or worldviews, and by their very nature of addressing life’s biggest issues, worldviews are often held in a rather entrenched manner. Nevertheless, moving on to intellectual factors, confusion about science’s presuppositions is playing a huge role in this exchange. Accordingly, the salutary call from Hansson and Redfors (2006b) to distinguish between science’s necessary and unnecessary presuppositions is pursued in this section. Mahner and Bunge (1996a) repeatedly insist that science must presuppose materialism. (Incidentally, despite some fine distinctions, they and their responders use ‘‘materialism’’ and ‘‘naturalism’’ and ‘‘atheism’’ as virtual synonyms.) However, explication of what they mean by a presupposition awaits their reply, Mahner and Bunge (1996b). ‘‘When we say that science presupposes materialism we mean something far stronger than just ‘science entails materialism’. That is, we mean that science would be rendered impossible if scientists were to take any ontological assumption above and beyond naturalism seriously.’’ Furthermore, they reply to one of their responders, saying: ‘‘Lacey appears to say that what we call a ‘presupposition’ of science, whether ontological, epistemological, or moral, is equivalent to faith in religion. However, nobody can argue in a vacuum, that is, without a basis of assumptions or presuppositions that are not questioned in the given context. In particular, nobody can do without a general outlook or world view.’’ At this point, it is instructive to turn to the Cambridge and Oxford dictionaries of philosophy for a definitive definition of this pivotal term, presupposition (Rod Bertolet, in Audi 1999, p. 735; Blackburn 2005, p. 290). Two notions are specified. The informal or pragmatic notion of presupposition is a belief that a speaker takes for granted, which though it is implicit and undefended, contributes to making the speaker’s position tenable.

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On the other hand, the formal or semantic notion is a belief that is a precondition for another proposition to be either true or false. The archetypical exemplar is that in order for the proposition, ‘‘The present king of France is bald,’’ to be either true or false, the presupposition that ‘‘The present king of France exists’’ must hold. Otherwise, that proposition simply lacks a referent, and so it is neither true nor false. A special kind of semantic presuppositions is termed absolute presuppositions. All propositions capable of truth or falsity within a system of thought depend ultimately on absolute presuppositions so deep that this system cannot possibly even question them. For instance, all intellectual life that takes place in community – such as the scientific community – presupposes that humans can communicate with one another, at least to some usable degree. Any contrary view is best regarded as a joke. The contrary is like the solipsist who asked a philosopher whether her own self is all that exists, whereupon the philosopher replied, ‘‘Why did you write a letter to me?’’ Again, it is like the Burns and Allen routine where Gracie tells an incredulous George about a boy who, in order to avoid having to purchase a train ticket, talked the conductor into believing that he was too young to speak. To talk about whether we can talk is nothing but an exercise in insincerity – unless it is a joke. Given this clear terminology – pragmatic, semantic, and absolute presuppositions – exactly what do Mahner and Bunge have in mind? The first quotation, about science being rendered impossible apart from presupposing materialism, clearly implicates a semantic presupposition. And the second quotation, about science needing an unquestioned basis or worldview because nobody can argue in a vacuum, seems like the language of an absolute presupposition, though the coarser identification as a semantic presupposition suffices here. But does their presupposition of atheism pass muster? On three counts, it does not. First, whether or not scientific thinking requires an atheistic worldview just is the grand debate in this exchange. So, although Mahner and Bunge may themselves regard this as a high-grade semantic presupposition, as this presupposition travels into the wider world of public discourse that also involves other persons, it must function as a mere pragmatic presupposition. Unless their audience happens to share the authors’ presupposition, it lacks force in other persons’ thinking. Needless to say, a pragmatic presupposition is problematic if the speaker’s audience has many individuals who do not also take the speaker’s presupposition for granted. Second, this presupposition, that science is rendered impossible without naturalism, essentially equals their theses merely expressed in different words, namely that science and religion are incompatible and hence religion is detrimental to science. So, Mahner and Bunge presuppose the truth of their theses. That is the very last thing that should ever be done with a thesis, to presuppose it! Recall the inexorable logic that that which is presupposed cannot also be concluded. Also recall that by definition, a presupposition is an unquestioned, undefended proposition. Hence, to proclaim naturalism as a presupposition, without evidence, rather than as a conclusion, with evidence, is to offer it in the weakest possible manner. When presuppositions dominate the outcome of a discussion or debate, that precludes evidence from having its proper influence. Third and finally, Mahner and Bunge’s papers exhibit a tortuous ambiguity between presuppositions and conclusions. They could hardly be more concise and insistent when they say, ‘‘science presupposes materialism’’ (italics theirs). And yet, throughout their papers, line after line of argumentation and evidence say that science supports or concludes materialism. They seem to want their materialism as both a presupposition and a conclusion of science – but of course, they cannot have it both ways. A presupposition can be disclosed, or even can be legitimated relative to a specified audience, but it cannot be

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vigorously defended by arguments and evidence and still retain its logical role or status as a presupposition. Most forcefully, they take their claim that science explains everything, along with some help from Ockham’s razor, as strong and even compelling evidence in favor of materialism. However, this argument that science explains everything merely shifts the action to the question: What is this ‘‘everything’’ that science explains? For instance, to recall a repeated dispute among the authors in that special issue, was Christ resurrected after being dead for three days and does this reported miracle have strong historical evidence? Accordingly, does this ‘‘everything’’ that has happened in our world include or exclude Christ’s resurrection? Because of the debate over Christ’s resurrection, which is but one among a thousand other disputed matters, there simply is no settled, public version of the ‘‘everything’’ that either science or a more comprehensive approach is burdened to explain. Consequently, the argument that science can explain everything – let alone the further contention that this success supports or necessitates naturalism – is a nonstarter, destined to perish amidst a thousand controversies without public consensus. Certainly, a scientist may claim that science can or will explain everything that he or she judges to be factual, but this appropriately weakened claim is too personal and subjective to interest the wider world. The exchange reviewed in this section, which was published a decade ago, still reverberates in its journal’s pages. Just several of the subsequent papers that have cited papers in that exchange are Martin (1997), Cobern (2000), Southerland (2000), and Gauld (2005). The presumption of materialism remains a common perspective. For instance, in Scientific American, Johnson (2006) opines, ‘‘The assumption of materialism is fundamental to science.’’ As the discussion of science, worldviews, and education continues, presuppositions will be enormously influential. Necessary presuppositions enable science to have a mainstream, realist interpretation. Unnecessary presuppositions of science can hinder discussions of important issues from progressing, erode the proper influence of evidence, blur the distinction between presuppositions and conclusions, undermine science’s status as a public endeavor, and pick needless fights regarding religions and worldviews.

9 Conclusions Science’s method is the main determinant of its potential for reaching conclusions with substantial worldview import. Perforce, such conclusions are based on publicly accessible evidence, standard reasoning, and minimal, common-sense, worldview-independent presuppositions. Precisely because science does not presuppose worldview-distinctive beliefs, such beliefs retain eligibility to become conclusions of science if admissible and relevant evidence is available. Indeed, the mainstream view is that the sciences and humanities can contribute to a meaningful worldview. Worldview-distinctive conclusions based on empirical evidence are suitable for individual convictions and public discussions, but not for institutional endorsements and scientific literacy requirements. Across the nations and over the centuries, diverse views of science’s worldview import have been fashionable. Consequently, current fashions are not a reliable indicator of scientific orthodoxy. Instead, the test of orthodoxy commended here is coherence with science’s most basic commitments, particularly the seven pillars that have been stable features of science for centuries and are also affirmed by the AAAS. Those strong pillars

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and their clear implications are great ideas that can be expected to endure, across the nations and over the centuries.

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Schupbach J.N. (2005) On a Bayesian Analysis of the Virtue of Unification. Philosophy of Science 72:594– 607 Settle T. (1996) Applying Scientific Openmindedness to Religion and Science Education. Science & Education 5:125–141 Sherburn R. (2004) Review of Scientific Method in Practice by Hugh G. Gauch, Jr. Journal of Biological Education 38(2):98 Shogenji T. (2003) A Condition for Transitivity in Probabilistic Support. British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 54:613–616 Smith M.U., Siegel H., McInerney J.D. (1995) Foundational Issues in Evolution Education. Science & Education 4:23–46 Southerland S.A. (2000) Epistemic Universalism and the Shortcomings of Curricular Multicultural Science Education. Science & Education 9:289–307 Sterelny K. (2006) Memes Revisited. British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 57:145–165 Swinburne R. (2000) Reply to Gru¨nbaum. British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 51:481–485 Swinburne R. (2005) Second Reply to Gru¨nbaum. British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 56:919–925 Theocharis, T. & Psimopoulos, M.: 1987, ‘Where Science has Gone Wrong’, Nature 329, 595–598; correspondence 1987, 330, 308, 689–690, 1988, 331, 129–130, 204, 384, 558; reply 1988, 333, 389 Trigg R. (1993) Rationality and Science: Can Science Explain Everything?. Blackwell, Oxford Trigg R. (1998) Rationality and Religion: Does Faith Need Reason?. Blackwell, Oxford Trigg R. (2002) Philosophy Matters: An Introduction to Philosophy. Blackwell, Oxford Turner H. (1996) Religion: Impediment or Savior of Science?. Science & Education 5:155–164 Weisberg J. (2005) Firing Squads and Fine-Tuning: Sober on the Design Argument. British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 56: 809–821 Woolnough B.E. (1996) On the Fruitful Compatibility of Religious Education and Science. Science & Education 5:175–183 Wren-Lewis J. (1996) On Babies and Bathwater: A Non-Ideological Alternative to the Mahner/Bunge Proposals for Relating Science and Religion in Education. Science & Education 5:185–188

Teaching the Philosophical and Worldview Components of Science Michael R. Matthews

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 697–728. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9132-4
Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008

Abstract A common feature of contemporary science education curricula is the expectation that as well as learning science content, students will learn something about science—its nature, its history, how it differs from non-scientific endeavours, and its interactions with culture and society. These curricular pronouncements provide an ‘open cheque’ for the inclusion of history and philosophy of science in science teacher education programmes, and for their utilisation in classrooms. Unfortunately this open cheque is too often not cashed. This paper will discuss an important aspect of the contribution of science to culture, namely its role in the development of worldviews in society. A case study of the adjustments to a central Roman Catholic doctrine occasioned by the metaphysics of Atomism which was embraced at the Scientific Revolution will be presented. Options for the reconciliation of seemingly conflicting scientific and religious worldviews are laid out, and it is claimed that as far as liberal education is concerned, the important thing is to have students first recognise what are the options, and then carefully examine them to come to their own conclusions about reconciliation or otherwise.

1 Introduction A common feature of contemporary science education curricula is the expectation that as well as learning science content and method, students will learn something about science— its nature, its history, how it differs from non-scientific endeavours, and its interactions with society and culture. Thus as well as disciplinary or technical goals, contemporary science curricula rightly seek to contribute wider educational goals. These have often been called ‘humanistic’, ‘cultural’ or ‘liberal’ goals. The American Association for the Advancement of Science expressed its commitment to cultural or humanistic outcomes of science education in its Project 2061 publication:

M. R. Matthews (&) School of Education, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_3

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Becoming aware of the impact of scientific and technological developments on human beliefs and feelings should be part of everyone’s science education. (AAAS 1989, p. 173) The position was elaborated a year later in The Liberal Art of Science: The teaching of science must explore the interplay between science and the intellectual and cultural traditions in which it is firmly embedded. Science has a history that can demonstrate the relationship between science and the wider world of ideas and can illuminate contemporary issues. (AAAS 1990, p. xiv) The AAAS believes that learning about science—its history and methodology—will have a positive impact on the thinking of individuals and will consequently enrich society and culture. Proper science education does this by the cultivation of worthwhile ‘Habits of Mind’.1 In Benchmarks for Science Literacy the AAAS says that education has to: prepare students to make their way in the real world, a world in which problems abound—in the home, in the workplace, in the community, on the planet. (AAAS 1993, p. 282) The unique contribution of the science programme to this more general problem-solving educational goal is the cultivation and refinement of specifically scientific habits of mind. These are meant to ‘spill over’ from the laboratory bench to the home, workplace, community and nation. For the AAAS, the wider ‘planetary’ problems are not just scientific and technical, they are also social, cultural, and ideological; and the conviction is that these problems can be, and perhaps only can be, solved by application of a ‘scientific habit of mind’. It is easy to think here of scientific issues such as global warming, extinction of species, forest clearing, rising of ocean levels, uncontrolled carbon emission, etc.; but social problems also include such mattes as unjust concentration of wealth and power, exploitative trading, globalisation and attendant unemployment, etc.; and finally there are ideological problems that are so clearly manifest in different aspects of the so-called ‘war on terror’ and the ‘clash of civilizations’. The AAAS are suggesting that this whole spectrum of problems is best, if not only, addressed with a scientific habit of mind and by the application of scientific method. The expectations of the AAAS have found their way through to the US National Science Education Standards where there is a separate content strand on ‘History and Nature of Science Standards’ (NRC 1996) this strand is to be covered in science programmes from kindergarten to year 12. Of this strand, the document says that: Students should develop an understanding of what science is, what science is not, what science can and cannot do, and how science contributes to culture. (NRC 1996, p. 2) And, The standards for the history and nature of science recommend the use of history in school science programs to clarify different aspects of scientific inquiry, the human aspects of science, and the role that science has played in the development of various cultures. (NRC 1996, p. 107) Norway has also recognised the benefit of an historical approach to school subject matter, saying in its State Education Framework that: 1

The basic statement is in AAAS 1989, chap. 12; 1993 chap. 12. Good (2005) amplifies the AAAS position and argues for incompatibility between scientific and religious habits of mind; Gauld (2005) defends the compatibility of the two outlooks.

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Knowledge about past events and achievements unite people over time. The knowledge of history enhances our ability to set goals and choose means in the future. Familiarity with what people have felt, thought and believed in earlier times expands the scope for insight and initiative and reminds us that today’s conditions will also change. Education must therefore provide a coherent and well-rounded body of knowledge. It must show how our perception is the outcome of a long process of creation that spans many generations, has crossed many borders and breached many barriers. Such an education induces respect and appreciation for what people before us have accomplished and allows us to place ourselves in a historical progression. (RMCER 1994, p. 29) Clearly the history of science is a wonderful and enriching way of developing a ‘‘Familiarity with what people have felt, thought and believed in earlier times’’. Students see and feel the same Nature that the ancient Greeks, medievals, Renaissance and nineteenth century people saw and experienced—seasons, tides, astronomical phenomena, earthquakes, a great deal of flora and fauna, anatomical realities, and so on are pretty much the same today and in ancient times. There is a rich body of knowledge documenting how earlier ages felt about Nature, and how they described and explained the natural events and phenomena, often in animistic, teleological or supernatural terms. If students are made familiar with these evolving patterns of understanding, then this ‘‘expands the scope for insight and initiative and reminds us that today’s conditions will also change’’. If students come to understand, and hopefully reproduce, even a few of the major breakthroughs in the history of science—determining that the earth is spherical and what its circumference measures, showing that contra experience the earth rotates on its axis and orbits the sun, ascertaining the longitude of one’s position in the ocean, that air is not homogeneous but comprised of separate gases, that plants convert water and a deadly gas to a life-giving gas, and so on—then this surely ‘‘induces respect and appreciation for what people before us have accomplished and allows us to place ourselves in a historical progression’’.2 And a science curriculum that displays the structure of scientific disciplines and connects the development of scientific knowledge with mathematics, technology, religion, industry and commerce would plainly ‘‘provide a coherent and well-rounded body of knowledge’’.3 The liberal or cultural curricular views advanced by the AAAS and evidenced in Norway’s Education Framework have a long history. The hope for a positive ‘spill-over’ effect from the learning of science to the improvement of society and culture is a 21st century restatement of the central plank of the European Enlightenment of the 18th century: The Enlightenment thinkers believed that the spread of science would ameliorate many of the enormous physical, social and ideological problems that then beset Europe—terrible religious wars, widespread and gross superstitions, witch crazes, plagues, absolutist and authoritarian monarchical regimes, a domineering and intrusive Roman Catholic Church, and equally domineering Protestant Churches where they had the opportunity, the Inquisition, and so on. In these circumstances it was not surprising that many thought that the method of the New Science that was so manifestly fruitful in the achievements of Newton should be applied more broadly and that it would have flow-on effects for the betterment of culture and society. Isaac Newton certainly had this view. As he stated it: ‘If natural philosophy in all its Parts, by pursuing this Method, shall at length be perfected, the Bounds of Moral 2

Two good books on this theme are Brody and Brody (1997) and Crease (2003). Some of the educational and historiographical debates concerning the use of history of science in science programmes are discussed in Matthews (1994, chap. 4).

3

The integrative possibilities of a historically-informed science curriculum are discussed in Matthews (2000a, pp. 10–18).

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Philosophy will be also enlarged’ (Newton 1730/1979, p. 405). David Hume echoed Newton’s expectation with the sub-title of his famous Treatise on Human Nature which reads, Being an Attempt to Introduce the Experimental Method of Reasoning into Moral Subjects. In the Preface he says he is following the philosophers of England who have ‘began to put the science of man on a new footing’ (Hume 1739/1888, p. xxi). The connection of science with the Enlightenment is arguably the greatest example of the social and cultural impact of science to which students can be introduced. Nearly a century ago John Dewey, in his influential article ‘Science as Subject-Matter and as Method’ (Dewey 1910) restated the Enlightenment conviction when he said that: ‘One of the only two articles that remain in my creed of life is that the future of our civilization depends upon the widening spread of the scientific habit of mind; and that the problem of problems in our education is therefore to discover how to mature and make effective this scientific habit’ (Dewey 1910, p. 127). He goes on to say: Scientific method is not just a method which it has been found profitable to pursue in this or that abstruse subject for purely technical reasons. It represents the only method of thinking that has proved fruitful in any subject. (Dewey 1910, p. 127) These curricular statements and Framework pronouncements provide an ‘open cheque’ for the inclusion of history and philosophy of science in science teacher education programmes, and for their utilisation in classrooms. Unfortunately this open cheque is too often not cashed. This paper will discuss an important aspect of the contribution of science to culture, namely its role in the development of worldviews in society; and then how this interaction of science and worldviews can be taught in school programmes. There are essentially two types of questions involved here. First, academic questions such as: Does science have a particular worldview? And, how does the worldview (or worldviews) of science engage with the social and cultural worldviews of its milieu? These questions are addressed by the disciplines of history, philosophy and sociology of science. Investigation of these factual questions lead fairly naturally to the normative question: How should scientific and cultural worldviews engage? For the eighteenth-century Enlightenment philosophers, and those in the Enlightenment tradition, cultural worldviews, including religious ones, should be informed by and accommodate themselves to the findings and worldview of science. Second, educational questions about how to deal with worldviews in science and other classrooms. Again, there are both factual and normative educational questions. Factually, there is a good deal of research on the impact of cultural worldviews on students’ ability and willingness to learn science. These are important considerations for pedagogy, especially in multicultural classrooms and for science teachers in non-Western cultures.4 Normatively, there are important questions concerning whether students should affirm science as well as learning it; and whether they should be taught to develop a scientific ‘habit of mind’, as the AAAS state the matter; or develop a ‘scientific temper’, as Pandit Nehru and his fellow modernisers at the independence of India stated the matter.5 These normative questions are most adequately addressed in the discipline of philosophy of 4 5

William Cobern (1991, 1996) canvasses much of the literature on this matter.

Nehru embraced Western Enlightenment ideals whilst studying science in England. At Indian Independence he sought, just as Jefferson had done at the independence of the United States, to embody these secular, scientific, Enlightenment ideals in the Indian constitution. He called them the ‘scientific temper’. In 1981, the Nehru Centre in Bombay published a booklet with this title, jointly authored by the leaders of Indian educational, scientific and industrial fields.

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education; a discipline sadly disappearing from teacher education programmes. If teachers no longer think seriously about the purposes of education and how they relate to personal and social well being, then questions about the content and aims of science education become trivialized, or settled by reference to whatever is the passing educational fad.6 Although the focus of this paper will be on science and worldviews, the discussion also bears upon the expectation in the US Standards that students come to know something about what is and what is not science. The desire for students to appreciate what is and what is not scientific is a common feature of all contemporary curricula; it is often a way of insulating science from engagement with religion. This insulation is frequently sought on pragmatic grounds. But the questions of demarcation, and of how science is uniquely identified, raise rich and important philosophical matters—for instance: Are metaphysical commitments and worldviews a part of science or extraneous to science? 2 Science and Philosophy Science raises philosophical questions and requires philosophical commitments: science and philosophy go hand-in-hand.7 Peter Bergmann expressed this point when he said that he learnt from Einstein that ‘the theoretical physicist is … a philosopher in workingman’s clothes’ (Bergmann 1949, p. v, quoted in Shimony 1983, p. 209).8 One commentator on the work of Niels Bohr remarked that ‘For Bohr, the new theory [quantum theory] was not only a wonderful piece of physics; it was also a philosophical treasure chamber which contained, in a new form, just those thoughts he had dreamed about in his early youth’ (Petersen 1985, p. 300). It is no accident that many of the major physicists of the 19th and 20th centuries wrote books on philosophy and the engaging overlaps between science and philosophy—for instance Boltzmann, von Helmholtz, Mach, Duhem, Eddington, Jeans, Planck, Bohr, Heisenberg, Born, and Bohm.9 Many less well known physicists also wrote such books; among the better ones being: Bridgman, Campbell, Margenau, Bunge, Chandrasekhar, Holton, Rabi, Shimony, Rohrlich, Cushing and Weinberg.10 A good many chemists and biologists have made contributions to this genre—for instance Haldane (1928), Polanyi (1958), Bernal (1939), Hull (1988), Mayr (1982), Gould (1999), Birch 6

Notoriously Constructivism is the most recent fad that has caused immense educational damage across a swathe of countries where teachers and administrators have fallen under its influence. On this matter see Matthews (1995, 2000b) and contributions to Matthews (1998b).

7

Some useful studies on the philosophical dimension of science are Smart (1968), Wartofsky (1968), Buchdahl (1969), Amsterdamski (1975), Trusted (1991), and Dilworth (2006).

8 The famous Paul Arthur Schilpp anthology of commentary on Einstein is titled Albert Einstein: Philosopher—Scientist (Schilpp 1951). 9 See for instance: Boltzmann, Theoretical Physics and Philosophical Problems (1905/1974), Helmholtz’s Science & Culture (1995), Mach’s The Science of Mechanics (1893/1960), Duhem’s The Aim and Structure of Physical Theory (1906/1954), Planck’s Where is Science Going? (1932), Eddington’s The Philosophy of Physical Science (1939), Jean’s Physics and Philosophy (1943/1981), Bohr Atomic Physics and Human Knowledge (1958), Heisenberg Physics and Philosophy (1962), Schro¨dinger My View of the World (1964), Born My Life & My Views (1968), and Bohm Wholeness and the Implicate Order (1980). 10 See for instance: Bridgman Reflections of a Physicist (1950), Margenau The Nature of Physical Reality (1950), Rabi Science the Centre of Culture (Rabi 1967), Bunge Philosophy of Science (Bunge 1998), Chandrasekhar Truth and Beauty (Chandrasekhar 1987), Campbell What Is Science?, (Campbell 1921/ 1952), Holton Thematic Origins of Scientific Thought (Holton 1973), Cushing Philosophical Concepts in Physics (Cushing 1998), Rohrlich From Paradox to Reality (Rohrlich 1987), Shimony Search for a Naturalistic World View (Shimony 1993) and Weinberg Facing Up: Science and Its Cultural Adversaries (Weinberg 2001).

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(1990), Monod (1971), and Wilson (1998). One very recent contribution to the genre is by Francis Collins, the geneticist and leader of the Human Genome Project (Collins 2007).11 This is not, of course, to say that all these good scientists wrote good philosophy: some did, others did not.12 The point is not that the scientists had a common philosophy, it is rather that they all philosophised; they all reflected on their discipline and their activity, and they saw that such reflection bore upon the big and small questions of philosophy. This fact supports the contention that philosophy is inescapable in good science; it should also suggest that philosophy is inescapable in good science education. The Oxford philosopher, R.G. Collingwood in his landmark study The Idea of Nature wrote on the history of mutual interdependence of science and philosophy and commented that: The detailed study of natural fact is commonly called natural science, or for short simply science; the reflection on principles, whether those of natural science or of any other department of thought or action, is commonly called philosophy. … but the two things are so closely related that natural science cannot go on for long without philosophy beginning; and that philosophy reacts on the science out of which it has grown by giving it in future a new firmness and consistency arising out of the scientist’s new consciousness of the principles on which he has been working. (Collingwood 1945, p. 2) He goes on to write that: For this reason it cannot be well that natural science should be assigned exclusively to one class of persons called scientists and philosophy to another class called philosophers. A man who has never reflected on the principles of his work has not achieved a grown-up man’s attitude towards it; a scientist who has never philosophized about his science can never be more than a second-hand, imitative, journeyman scientist. (Collingwood 1945, p. 2) What Collingwood says about the requirement of ‘reflecting upon principles’ being necessary for the practice of good science, can equally be said for the practice of good science teaching. Liberal education promotes just such deeper reflection and questioning of the basic laws or assumptions of any discipline being taught, including science. Any science textbook will contain terms such as ‘observation’, ‘evidence’, ‘fact’, ‘controlled experiment’, ‘scientific method’, ‘theory’, ‘hypothesis’, ‘theory choice’, ‘explanation’, ‘law’, ‘model’, ‘cause’, etc. As soon as one begins to explicate the meaning of these terms, and related concepts, then philosophy has begun. And the more their meaning, and conditions for correct usage, is investigated then the more sophisticated one’s philosophising becomes. The pupil who asks: ‘Miss, if no one has seen atoms, how come we are drawing pictures of them?’ has put their finger on just one of the countless philosophical questions to which science gives rise (the relationship of models to reality). Likewise the student who wants to know whether after seeing twenty white swans they can 11 Beyond the substantial and careful writers listed above it needs to be acknowledged that there is a veritable legion of insubstantial and careless writers whose books are nevertheless best sellers. These authors simply muddy the waters, and bring discredit to the programme of understanding the overlap of science and philosophy. 12 See, for instance, Susan Stebbing’s classic critique of the idealist philosophical conclusions drawn by Jeans and Eddington (Stebbing 1937/1958). See also Mario Bunge’s critiques of the idealist and subjectivist conclusions drawn from quantum mechanics by Bohm, Bohr and many proponents of the Copenhagen school (Bunge 1967).

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conclude that ‘all swans are white’ touches upon another philosophical dispute (the problem of induction and evidential support for theory). And the student who wants to know after watching countless objects eventually come to a halt after being pushed whether they can conclude that ‘all movement requires a mover’, is engaged with other philosophical questions (the role of idealisation in formulation of scientific law and whether scientific laws apply to everyday behaviour of bodies). Similarly the student who, having been told about the force of gravitational attraction that exists between bodies, asks why we cannot see it, touch it, smell it, or trip over it, is highlighting yet another core philosophical issue (the realist versus instrumentalist debate about theoretical terms).13 Beyond internal conceptual matters, textbooks and scientific practice give rise to questions about values and ethics—concerning for instance animal experimentation, honesty in reporting findings, justification for choosing certain lines of research rather than others, working for the military—industrial complex, and so on.14 Science also raises political questions—concerning for instance the responsibility of scientists for the use or misuse of their research, the legitimate and illegitimate roles of business and the state in controlling scientific research, and so on.15 Any reasonable appraisal of the science and political economy of the Green Revolution of 1960s brings a good many of these ethical and political dimensions of science into focus. All of the above might be called routine or technical philosophical matters. They are the kinds of questions occasioned simply by being thoughtful about language, reasoning and scientific practice; they are elaborated in any standard work on philosophy of science.16 Although ‘routine’ they should not be underestimated, as the degree of awareness of the questions, and some sophistication in appraisal of putative answers, is a mark of understanding the discipline of science and an indicator of scientific competence, and even of scientific literacy.17 This point deserves emphasis because of the considerable amount of research literature on the benefits of student argumentation in science classroom (Duschl and Osborne 2002). Clearly a part of arguing intelligently is understanding the terms that are used in an argument. If students argue about different scientific explanations, then some understanding of a scientific explanation is needed. Likewise making judgements about how evidence supports a particular belief, will be made more sophisticated if students have some appreciation of routine philosophical matters concerning the relation of evidence to hypothesis or belief—some modicum of inductive logic, of the logic of falsification, of Bayesian confirmation theory, and so on. This point was made famous by Socrates in his dialogues where before students got too far into argument about good acts or good government he had them go back to the question: What does ‘good’ mean? 13

For further discussion of the role of philosophy in science teaching, see Matthews (1994, chap. 5).

14

For discussion of values in science see Graham (1981), Resnik (1998), Lacey (2005), and contributions to Koertge (2005).

15

For discussion of these political dimensions of science, see contributions to Jacob (1994).

16

Some classics are Hempel (1966), Nagel (1961), Popper (1934/1959), and Scheffler (1963). It can be argued that their logical empiricist convictions resulted in them giving wrong answers to some questions, but they were perceptive in identifying the questions and rigorous in articulating answers, and this is what good philosophy is all about. See also recent texts such as Godfrey-Smith (2003), Bird (1998), Ladyman (2002); and anthologies such as Lange (2007) or Balashov and Rosenberg (2002).

17 A look at the appalling reasoning ability of students who have studied science for six or more years is enough to dispel any laxity about the achievement of ‘routine’ philosophical competencies. All of the standard logical fallacies are regularly repeated by students in scientific reasoning tasks, and more regularly repeated in their reasoning on non-scientific topics (Matthews 1994, pp. 88–93).

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It is important to stress here that ‘some sophistication in appraisal’ is what is sought for educational purposes: not getting the right answer, much less parroting a right answer provided by a teacher. A mark of proper and good education is awareness and engagement in serious questions, not jumping to the bottom line and regurgitating spoon-fed answers. The latter might be praised and rewarded in a Madras college, a Yeshiva school, an oldstyle Catholic seminary, or Chinese Communist Party training institute, but it is not what good liberal education promotes.18 This is a quite general point about the intelligent and competent mastery of any discipline, be it Mathematics, History, Psychology, Literature, Theology, Economics etc. They all have their own, and overlapping, concepts and standards for identifying good and bad practice and judgements; consequently there are philosophical questions about each discipline; there is a philosophy of each discipline. The intelligent learning of any discipline requires some appropriate interest and competence in its philosophy; that is simply what ‘learning with understanding’ means—an obvious educational point made by Ernst Mach (1886/1986) and more recently by Israel Scheffler (1970).19 If serious scientists, such as listed above, feel it important to write books on the philosophy of their subject, then the presumption is that science students will benefit from following their example and engaging with the same questions. The arguments of Mach and Scheffler have belatedly and independently, found expression in the wide international calls for students to learn about the ‘Nature of Science’ whilst learning science. One cannot learn about the nature of science without learning philosophy of science, which was precisely Mach and Scheffler’s argument.

3 Science and Metaphysics Science not only raises and is intertwined with the foregoing types of ‘routine’ philosophical questions, but these philosophical reflections lead inexorably to metaphysical ones, and finally to questions about worldviews. The phenomena and questions science investigates; the kinds of answers it entertains; the types of entities it recognises as having causal influence; the boundaries, if any, it sets to the domain of scientific investigation; and so on, all begin to touch upon or push against larger metaphysical commitments of an epistemological, ontological, and sometimes ethical kind. This ascent from studying nature (science) to philosophy to metaphysics is commonplace—hence, until the 20th century, the standard name for science was ‘natural philosophy’. Consider the Law of Inertia, the foundation stone of classical physics which is taught to every science student in school. It is usually stated as: ‘bodies either remain at rest or continue travelling in a straight line at a constant velocity unless acted upon by a force’. In better schools it might be ‘demonstrated’ by means of sliding a puck on an air table. In a purely technical science education the law is learnt by heart, and problems worked out using its associated formulae of F = ma. Technical purposes might be satisfied with correct memorisation and mastery of the quantitative skills—‘a force of X newtons acts on 18 In one especially appalling publication, one of the most cited and most awarded of current science educators boasts that 18/24 of his students at the end of a one semester course converted from realism to constructivism which he described as ‘the most mature epistemological theory’. On this matter of indoctrination, and its implications for teaching and learning about the Nature of Science, see Matthews (1998a). 19 Mach’s argument is discussed in Matthews (1990) and Scheffler’s argument is discussed in Matthews (1997).

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a mass of Y kilograms, what acceleration is produced?’—but the goals of liberal education cannot be so easily satisfied. Just a little philosophical reflection and historical investigation on this routine topic of inertia opens up whole new scientific and educational vistas. The medieval natural philosophers were in the joint grip of Aristotle’s physics, and commonsense beliefs resulting from their routine everyday experience; indeed Aristotle’s physics was more or less just the sophisticated articulation of commonsense. Aristotle’s empiricism is evident when he says that ‘if we cannot believe our eyes what can we believe’. A contemporary Aristotelian says that: Aristotle began where everyone should begin—with what he already knew in the light of his ordinary, commonplace experience. …. Aristotle’s thinking began with common sense, but it did not end there. It went much further. It added to and surrounded common sense with insights and understandings that are not common at all. (Adler 1978, pp. xi, xiii) These understandings resulted in the medieval commitment to the principle of Omne quod movetur ab alio movetur: the famous assertion of Aristotle, Aquinas and all the scholastics which translates as: ‘Whatever is moved is moved by another (the motor)’; and its inverse: if a motor ceases to act, then motion ceases. The principle grew out of daily experience, common sense and Aristotle’s physics. Clagett summarised Aristotle’s conviction as: for Aristotle motion is a process arising from the continuous action of a source of motion or ‘motor’ and a ‘thing moved’. The source of motion or motor is a force— either internal as in natural motion or external as in unnatural [violent] motion— which during motion must be in contact with the thing moved. (Clagett 1959, p. 425) Given the fact of motion in the world, then the principle led Aristotle to the postulation of a First Mover. Aquinas and the scholastics took over this argument except for them it became an argument for the existence of God.20 Medieval impetus theory was an elaboration of Aristotelian physics: the mover gave something (impetus) to the moved which kept it in motion when the mover was no longer acting (the classic case of a thrown projectile). Some, like da Marchia, thought this impetus naturally decayed and hence the projectile’s motion eventually ceased. Others, like Buridan, thought that the transferred power was only diminished when it performed work, and as pushing aside air was work, then the projectile’s motion would also eventually cease. Both theories were consistent with the phenomena: when a stone is thrown from the hand it goes only so far then drops to the ground.21 Galileo performed a thought experiment by thinking through Buridan’s theory to the circumstance of there being no work performed, in which case the projectile once impressed with impetus (force in modern speak) would continue moving forever. But for Galileo it would follow the earth’s contour. He repeated this circumstance with his experiment of a ball rolling down one incline and up another; as the second plane was gradually lowered towards horizontal, the ball moved further and further along it. He supposed that with the smoothest plane and the most polished ball, the ball would just keep moving on the second plane when horizontal; this was the visualisation of his theory of circular inertia.22

20

See the elaborate and informative discussion in Buckley (1971).

21

The classic works on medieval impetus theory are Moody (1975) and Clagett (1959).

22

The classic treatment is Clavelin (1974).

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Galileo had no idea of a body being able to move off the earth in a straight line away into an infinite void. Like everyone else, Galileo was both physically and conceptually anchored to the earth. It was only Newton who would make this massive conceptual leap sufficient to leave the earth and contemplate movement in an infinite void; by doing so he laid the foundation of modern mechanics.23 The whole two-thousand year history of the development of the law of inertia reveals a good deal, of course, about the structure and mechanisms of the scientific enterprise, including the process of theory generation and theory choice.24 Apart from interesting and important history, basic matters of philosophy arise in any good classroom treatment of the law of inertia: # epistemology-we never see force-free behaviour in nature, nor can it be experimentally induced, so what is the source and justification of our knowledge of bodies acting without impressed forces? If force is measured by acceleration, and if acceleration is a function of measures of time, then the magnitude of a supposedly independent force depends upon our metric of time. # ontology-we do not see or experience force apart from its manifestation, so does it have existence? What is mass? What is a measure of mass as distinct from weight? # cosmology-does such an inertial object go on forever in an infinite void? What happens at the limits of ‘infinite’ space? Were bodies created with movement? These are the sorts of considerations that prompted Poincare´ to say: ‘When we say force is the cause of motion, we are talking metaphysics’ (Poincare´ 1905/1952, p. 98). And as every physics class talks of force being the cause of motion, then there is metaphysics lurking in every classroom, just waiting to be exposed. The same movement from physics through philosophy to metaphysics and back again, occurs when the Newtonian ‘action at a distance’ law is reflected on;25 conservation of energy,26 air pressure,27 natural selection in evolutionary theory,28 and so on.29 But as well as movement upwards from the study of nature (science) to associated metaphysics, there is of course movement downwards. The study of nature presupposes certain metaphysical and procedural or methodological commitments: first the existence of an external world that is independent of the observer; second the universality of causation in that world, if something happens there is a cause that made it happen; and third the constancy of causation, if an event E has cause C today, then it will have the same cause tomorrow and the same cause in other places. To these three presuppositions might be added epistemological commitments such as: our mind or reason is such that we can come to know the external world. Some might add an additional epistemic presupposition of science: namely that appraisal of alternative beliefs needs to be rational; science is an 23

See Hanson (1965) and Ellis (1965) for excellent discussion of Newton’s formulation of inertia.

24

Among numerous histories of inertia, a useful one with pedagogical import is Coelho (2007).

25

The classic discussion of the interaction of physics and metaphysics in formulation of action-at-adistance laws is Mary Hesse’s Forces and Fields (Hesse 1961), where chapter XI is titled ‘The Metaphysical Framework of Physics’. 26 See Bunge (2000) for discussion of the metaphysical commitments required to justify the conservation of energy principle. 27

See discussion in Matthews (1994, pp. 60–70).

28

See discussion in Sober (1984).

29

As well as countless books, there are specialised academic journals dealing with philosophy of physics, philosophy of chemistry, and philosophy of biology.

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activity in which evidence is of central relevance in deciding upon truth or falsity, it is thus different from politics or business. These presuppositions, postulates or principles might be labelled Realism, Determinism, Lawfulness, Reason and Rationality. They are not self-evident; not all people and cultures have believed them, some have argued that it was the Christian worldview where God was removed from nature that, contra animism, allowed science to flourish; and some of these principles are disputed by contemporary philosophers of science. The principles are not directly proved by science rather they are the default metaphysical positions for the conduct of Western science. Duhem and Poincare´, at the beginning of the 20th century, called these principles ‘conventions’. Poincare´ wrote that: ‘while these laws are imposed on our science, which otherwise could not exist, they are not imposed on Nature’ (Poincare´ 1905/1952, p. xxiii). And reassuringly for a Realist he added: ‘Are they then arbitrary? No; for if they were, they would not be fertile’ (ibid.). One philosophical question here is how does ‘fertility’ bear upon the truth of the principles of the fertile research programme; another is how does such truth, if truth it be, give grounds for believing in the invisible entities postulated by the principles? Clearly one important task for educators who are exhorted to teach something about science, its impact on culture, and how it is distinguished from other ways of knowing is to reflect on whether philosophy and metaphysics is separate from or a part of science. Either way it is going to need to be taught. If metaphysics and philosophical commitments are an integral part of science, then they clearly need to be fleshed out, articulated and examined; if they are something separate from science, then it will need to be shown just how they are separate.

4 Science and Worldviews This amalgam of ontological, metaphysics, epistemological and ethical commitments, especially when extended to include religious or irreligious positions can loosely be called a ‘worldview’. A worldview encompasses ideas of nature-its constitution, origins and purposes if any; ideas of our place in nature and in the general ‘scheme of things’; ideas of what entities exist in the world—matter?, spirits? minds? Angels?; ideas about the powers and actions of such existing entities?; ideas of God and how God may or may not interact with the world including answering prayers, performing miracles, making Revelations, and anointing prophets or messengers; ideas of the Sacred; ideas of how knowledge is acquired and tested; ideas of the goodness or badness of human nature; and so on. A significant part of a scientific worldview is the scientific outlook, or habit of mind, as the AAAS call it. This has been called by Popper and others the critical spirit, a preparedness to put all questions on the table for serious and critical examination (Popper 1963, chap.1). This was the spirit of inquiry rekindled in the Western world with the Scientific Revolution, and codified and championed by the Enlightenment philosophers. As with most attempts at understanding institutions and intellectual frameworks, things that can be difficult to see in the present, can become clearer when viewed historically. This is the case with science and worldviews. Marx commented that although people make history, they do not make it as they choose; they make it under definite conditions inherited from their past and given by their milieu. So too scientists are products of their time and think with the language, theories, concepts and conceptual frameworks available to them— in Kuhn’s words, they become practitioners of ‘normal science’ (Kuhn 1970). But Marx also wrote that people who are made by history can also make history; so too science that is

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matured within a particular worldview can act on and change the worldview, either in part or in toto. Western science, for example, grew out of a European medieval worldview dominated by Aristotelian philosophy and Christian belief and practice, but with the Scientific Revolution of the 17th century, science began to negate parts of this worldview of Christendom and to transform other parts. Islamic societies have their own history of coming to terms with the New Science and its associated worldview; sometimes science has been constrained and limited-for instance evolution cannot be taught in many Islamic states-and other times Islamic beliefs are adjusted.30 The same process of engagement between science and worldviews occurs in other cultures.

5 Worldviews and the Scientific Revolution The Scientific Revolution of the 17th century occurred in a Europe whose scholarly life was permeated by Aristotelian philosophy; by convictions about ontology, epistemology, ethics and theology that were informed by the texts of Aristotle. Neo-Aristotelian Scholasticism, although not monolithic in its interpretation of Aristotle,31 dominated medieval and Renaissance universities.32 Scholastic philosophy was intimately connected with the Catholic Church, but it also held sway in Protestant seminaries and universities (Dillenberger 1961, chap. 2). As one commentator has observed: The Middle Ages mean simply the absolute reign of the Christian religion and of the Church. Scholastic philosophy could not be anything else than the product of thought in the service of the reigning Credo, and under the supervision of ecclesiastical authority. (De Wulf 1903/1956, p. 53)33 The Scholastic view was things were constituted by form and by matter; this was the doctrine or principle of hylomorphism; it was fundamental to the Aristotelian tradition. Fredrick Copleston has rightly noted that Aquinas, the greatest of the Scholastics,34 ‘took over the Aristotelian analysis of substance’ (Copleston 1955, p. 83) and: According to Aquinas, therefore, every material thing or substance is composed of a substantial form and first matter. Neither principle is itself a thing or substance; the two together are the component principles of a substance. And it is only of the substance that we can properly say that it exists. ‘Matter cannot be said to be; it is the substance itself which exists’. (Copleston 1955, p. 90) One contemporary Thomist repeats and affirms this formulation: Nature is then identified, as it is in the Metaphysics [of Aristotle], with ‘the first material substratum of all things which have in themselves a principle of movement and change’; and then with the form of these things, insofar as ‘what is potentially flesh or bone does not have its nature until it receives the form by which we define 30

A lot is written on the history of science in Islamic culture, and contemporary engagements between the two; see for example Hoodbhoy (1991). 31

For the varieties of medieval and renaissance Aristotelianisms, see Schmitt (1983).

32

On the doctrines and history of Scholastic philosophy see De Wulf (1903/1956).

33

Sadly this description, sans Church, fitted philosophy departments in most of the former communist states, and still fits philosophy departments in many Islamic states. 34

On the life and philosophy of Aquinas see Gilson (1929), Copleston (1955), Weisheipl (1974) and Kenny (1980).

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what flesh and bone is’. Both matter and form are nature but each in a different way, and unequally, since form is nature even more than matter is. (Brennan 1961, p. 251) The new science (natural philosophy) of Galileo, Descartes, Huygens, Boyle and Newton caused a massive change not just in science, but in European philosophy that had enduring repercussions for religion, ethics, politics and culture. The Enlightenment constituted the major part of this philosophical change. The British Enlightenment philosophers—Hobbes, Locke, Hume, Priestley; the French philosophes—Voltaire, Diderot, d’Alembert, Condorcet; plus of course Leibniz and Kant, all forged their philosophy in the light of the new science. But it is important to remember that the scientists were themselves philosophers, and laid out the central ontological and epistemological positions developed by the ‘professional’ philosophers. Not only was early modern philosophy responding to 17th century science, but the scientists themselves were philosophers.35 With the inevitable exceptions and qualifications required when talking of any largescale transformation or revolution in thought, it can be said that all the major natural philosophers of the time rejected Aristotelianism in their scientific practice and in their enunciated philosophy. Overwhelmingly the new philosophy to which they turned was corpuscularian, mechanical and realist—it has rightly been called the ‘Mechanical World View’.36 In this new world view, there was simply no place for the entities that Aristotelianism utilised to explain events in the world: hylomorphism, immaterial substances, natures, substantial forms, and final causes were all banished from the philosophical firmament. A foretaste of the coming mechanical world view can be found in Galileo’s distinction between, what will come to be called, the primary and secondary qualities of bodies. Seventy years later his distinction was repeated by Robert Boyle and was famously articulated by John Locke,37 and it has had an enduring presence in the subsequent history of Western philosophy. The distinction was at the heart of Galileo’s theory of matter; a theory that answers such basic ontological questions as: of what is matter constituted? And, what are the inherent and necessary properties of matter?38 For Aristotle and the Scholastics, matter was ultimately of the one stuff—‘prime matter’—gold, silver, timber, did not differ in their ultimate material, they just differed in how this material was arranged and what Forms animated it. For this philosophical tradition the properties or qualities of bodies were real. Colour, Heat and Odour belonged to bodies; the quality was a quality of the body. Heated red bodies were hot and they were red. These qualities are perceived by the senses, not generated by the senses. Aristotelians were realists, not subjectivists, about qualities. In contradiction to this, Galileo reached back to pre-Socratic atomistic sources, and to more recent medieval nominalist sources, for his account of matter. As a student he had read Democritus, Lucretius, and possibly other early atomists such as Leucippus the teacher of Democritus. For them colour and taste were opinions, mere names; what existed in the world was atoms and the void, and atoms had neither colour nor taste. They held a material monist position—all matter was an aggregate of invisible and indivisible ‘atoms’ each of which was made of the same material, and differing among themselves only in size 35

See discussion and texts in Matthews (1989).

36

For historical and philosophical elaboration of the mechanical world view see Dijksterhuis (1961/1986), Harre´ (1964), and Westfall (1971).

37

See Locke’s Essay Concerning Human Understanding Book II Chap. 8 (Locke 1689/1924, pp. 64–73).

38

On ancient, medieval and modern theories of matter, see contributions to McMullin (1963a, b).

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and shape. It was the particular aggregate of atoms that gave bodies their tangible properties; a body’s properties were not produced or caused by its Form. When new substances are created from different materials, their immutable atoms are just rearranged in different ways; there is no change of Form, because there was no Form to change. This atomistic ontology was so comprehensively rejected by Aristotle in this Physics and his Metaphysics that it disappeared from the philosophical firmament for over a thousand years until it was revived by some thinkers on the margins of medieval philosophy such as William of Ockham and Nicholas of Autrecourt. Galileo’s atomism is first and most famously stated in his The Assayer (Galileo 1623/ 1957) where he advances invisible ‘atomic’ motions as the cause of heat. He says: But first I must consider what it is that we call heat, as I suspect that people in general have a concept of this which is very remote from the truth. For they believe that heat is a real phenomenon, or property, or quality, which actually resides in the material by which we feel ourselves warmed. (Galileo 1623/1957, p. 274) Galileo makes explicit his atomism, or corpuscularianism, when he says: Those materials which produce heat in us and make us feel warmth, which are known by the general name of ‘fire’, would then be a multitude of minute particles having certain shapes and moving with certain velocities. Meeting with our bodies, they penetrate by means of their extreme sublety, and their touch as felt by us when they pass through our substance is the sensation we call ‘heat’. … I do not believe that in addition to shape, number, motion, penetration, and touch there is any other quality in fire corresponding to ‘heat’. (ibid) Galileo’s ontology was simply inconsistent with Scholastic metaphysics and thus with the medieval world view built upon it. Galileo’s distinction between primary and secondary qualities was the beginning of the unravelling of this ‘Medieval Synthesis’ and its replacement by the ‘Mechanical World View’ and ultimately the ‘Scientific World View’. Descartes, like Galileo, was a scientist (or ‘natural philosopher’ as was the designation until Huxley’s coining of the term ‘scientist’ in the 19th century); his philosophical and methodological reflections, for which in the history of philosophy he is duly famous, were informed by his scientific practice.39 He did have, like all scholars of the time, a demanding Aristotelian education which in his case was at the Jesuit College in La Fle`che.40 Although he mastered Aristotelianism, he did not embrace it. After a brief period studying Law, and a briefer period in the army of Maurice of Nassau, by happy circumstance he meet up with Isaac Beeckman who was, what would now be called, an engineer. They worked together on problems of music production, hydrostatics and falling bodies.41 He learnt the corpuscularian mode of thinking and analysis from Beeckman. As one commentator has remarked: No mechanic would appeal to teleological processes, occult virtues or immaterial causes to account for the functioning of a simple mechanical device. Explanations in the mechanical arts rested on the appeal to a clear picture of the structure and 39 Desmond Clarke provides a corrective to the common view, when he writes: ‘I interpret the extant writings of Descartes as the output of a practising scientist who, somewhat unfortunately, wrote a few short and relatively unimportant philosophical essays’ (Clark 1982, p. 2). 40

For Descartes’ early education see Gaukroger 1995, chaps. 1, 2.

41

Ibid chap. 3.

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interaction of the constitutive parts of the apparatus. As simple mechanical and hydro-dynamical devices showed, only motion or pressure can produce the rearrangement of parts and hence produce work. … Beeckman’s corpuscularianism reflected and reinforced these beliefs, because it permitted him [Descartes] to see on an ontological level that only motion need be asserted as the cause of motion, and that only displacement of parts need be asserted as the essence of change. (Schuster 1977, vol. 1, p. 59; cited in Gaukroger 1995, p. 71) Descartes’ scientific and mechanical collaboration preceded and informed the works that gave him his subsequent fame: Meditations (1641) and Principles of Philosophy (1644). He was first a scientist, then a philosopher; he turned his philosophical back not just on Scholasticism, but the entire philosophical tradition.42 Descartes concludes his Principles with a clear statement of the new Corpuscularian philosophy: Being certain that every body which we perceive is composed of other bodies so small that we cannot perceive them: I think on one who uses his reason can deny that it is better philosophy to judge what happens among these little bodies (which only their minuteness prevents us from perceiving) in the light of what we see happen among those bodies which we do perceive, and to account by these means for everything in Nature—as I have tried to do in this treatise—than to explain the same things by inventing I don’t know what others which bear no relation to what we perceive—first matter, substantial forms, and all that grand apparatus of qualities which many are in the habit of imagining, each one of which may be more difficult to know, than the things which are to be explained by them. (Descartes 1644/1983, Bk. IV, art. 101)43 Robert Boyle, another of the principal contributors to the New Science, was also an atomist and mechanical philosopher. He wrote in his The Excellency and Grounds of the Corpuscular or Mechanical Philosophy (1674) that: But I plead only for such a philosophy as reaches but to things purely corporeal, and, distinguishing between the first original of things and the subsequent course of nature, teaches concerning the former, not only that God gave motion to matter, but that in the beginning, he so guided the various motions of the parts of it as to contrive them into the world he designed they should compose (furnished with the seminal principles and structures or models of living creatures) and established those rules of motion, and that order amongst things corporeal, which we call the laws of nature. … the universe being once framed by God and the laws of motion being settled and all upheld by his incessant concourse and general providence, the phenomena of the of the world thus constituted are physically produced by the mechanical affections of the parts of matter, and what they operate upon one another according to mechanical laws. And now, having shown what kind of Corpuscular philosophy it is that I speak of, I proceed to the particulars that I thought the most proper to recommend it. (Stewart 1991, p. 139) 42 In his Discourse on Method he says that ‘I will say nothing of philosophy except that it has been studied for many centuries by the most outstanding minds without having produced anything which is not in dispute and consequently doubtful’ (Descartes 1637/1960, p. 8). For an intellectual biography of Descartes that pays detailed attention to his Scholastic philosophical education see Gaukroger (1995); for Descartes’ philosophy of science see Clarke (1982). 43 Descartes held a modified Atomism, in as much as he did not believe in a void; for him a plenum occupied the void of the ancient atomists. See discussion in Pullman (1998, pp. 157–163).

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In contrast to the infinite host of Aristotelian principles, Boyle says that: There cannot be fewer principles than the two grand ones of Mechanical philosophy—matter and motion. For matter alone, unless it be moved, is wholly unactive; and, whilst all the parts of a body continue in one state without motion at all, that body will not exercise any action nor suffer any alteration itself, though it may perhaps modify the action of other bodies that move against it. … Nor can we conceive any principles more primary than matter and motion. Neither can there be any physical principles more simple than matter and motion; neither of them being resoluble into any things whereof it may be truly, or so much as tolerably, said to be compounded. (ibid. p. 141) Boyle utilised his ‘two grand principles’ in the mechanical explanation of ‘occult’ properties such as magnetism and electricity. Boyle explained the dissolving power of acids by claiming that their corpuscles are ‘like so many little wedges and levers … [they] may be enabled to wrench open, or force asunder the little parts between which they have insinuated themselves …’ (Hall 1965, p. 247). Boyle rejected the Scholastic ontology of Substantial and Accidental Forms, Primary Matter, Natures and Final Causes in favour of the rudiments of the Mechanical World View. Newton, the greatest of all 17th-century scientists, was also a champion of the New Philosophy.44 Beginning in his student days, Newton embraced Galileo’s mathematical methods, his Copernicanism, his experimentalism, his rejection of Aristotle’s physics, his rejection of Scholastic philosophy, and his embryonic atomism.45 In the Preface of the Principia Newton identifies himself with the ‘moderns, rejecting substantial forms and occult qualities’ and endeavours ‘to subject the phenomena of nature to the laws of mathematics’ (Newton 1729/1934, p. xvii). In keeping with Boyle’s example of experimentally testing and utilising metaphysical positions, Newton in his Opticks gave an atomistic account of light and optical phenomena (Newton 1730/1979). After 300-odd pages of optical experiments and investigations, Newton in Query 29 of Book III says: Are not Rays of Light very small Bodies emitted from shining Substances? For such Bodies will pass through uniform Mediums in right Lines without bending into the Shadow, which is the Nature of Rays of Light. They will also be capable of several Properties, and be able to conserve their Properties unchanged in passing through several Mediums which is another Condition of the Rays of Light. (Newton 1730/ 1979, p. 370) Much can be said about Atomism and its role in the Scientific Revolution, but for current purposes it is suffice to repeat Dilworth’s judgement that: The metaphysics underlying the Scientific Revolution was that of early Greek atomism. … It is with atomism that one obtains the notion of a physical reality underlying the phenomena, a reality in which uniform causal relations obtain. … What made the Scientific Revolution truly distinct, and Galileo … its father, was that

44 Numerous works are available on Newton’s philosophy and metaphysics, among them are McMullin (1978), Stein (2002), McGuire (1995) and Hughes (1990). Although an atomist, Newton distanced himself from Descartes’ interpretation of the theory. 45

For Newton’s early scientific and philosophical formation see Herivel (1965).

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for the first time this empirical methodology [of Archimedes] was given an ontological underpinning. (Dilworth 2006, p. 201) In the following centuries, Atomism and its associated Mechanical Worldview was augmented and modified.46 To the ontology of atoms and the void there was added, with considerable struggle, attractive and repulsive forces. Leibniz famously denounced Newton’s attractive forces because he thought they re-introduced Scholastic occult entities to the ontology of natural philosophy (Hall 1980). In the 19th century, to this expanded mechanical ontology, were added magnetic and electric fields. This then provided the full range of scientifically legitimate explanatory and causal entities. The formulation of electromagnetic field theory by Maxwell, Boltzmann and Hertz fully stretched, and then ruptured, this atomistic ontology; and the energeticist interpretation of thermodynamics had the same result; and at the end of the century Mach, for example, abandoned atoms altogether.47 Quantum Mechanics has stretched scientific ontology even further, especially concerning the realities of space and time.48 Many of the major seventeenth-century contributors to the new science—Galileo, Descartes, Boyle, Newton—were believers, although in somewhat tense relations with their respective established churches (Roman Catholic for the first two, Anglican for the second two). Some in the religious camp rejected the new science; some wanted the new science, but not its associated metaphysics; and some, such as Joseph Priestley embraced both the new science and its atomistic metaphysics. When the Enlightenment philosophers of the eighteenth century stressed the materialism, mechanism and determinism of the new science they brought upon themselves the ire of most contemporary religious figures who saw the emerging new worldview as anti-Christian and atheistic. All of this is a wellknown story.49 Whenever atomism was entertained in the medieval and renaissance period it provoked intense theological and religious attention, if not outrage; atomism was a red-flag to proponents of the established, church-endorsed, philosophical orthodoxy. Peter Gassendi adopted Epicurean atomism in the early 17th century, but bent it to the dictates of the Catholic Church in which he was a priest. Thus he said, contra Epicurus that the atoms are not eternal in time, they are not infinite in number, and their initial motion was not sui generis, but rather they were moved by God. The Islamic tradition also decried the new scientific worldview, and its Enlightenment champions. A representative Islamic reaction to the Scientific Revolution can be seen when one contemporary scholar writes that the new science of Galileo and Newton had tragic consequences for the West because it marked: The first occasion in human history when a human collectivity completely replaced the religious understanding of the order of nature for one that was not only

46 On the history of Atomism and its connections with science on the one hand and with philosophy on the other, see Pyle (1997) and Pullman (1998). An older historical study that concentrates more on the philosophical side of Atomism is Melsen (1952). 47 There are many good accounts of the modification, and eventual breakdown, of the mechanical worldview. See especially Harman (1982, chap. 6), Einstein and Infeld (1938, chap. 2). 48 There are countless books on the worldview of modern physics: see for example, contributions to Cushing and McMullin (1989), especially Abner Shimony’s contribution ‘Search for a Worldview Which Can Accommodate Our Knowledge of Microphysics’. See also the contributions to the special issue of Science & Education dealing with Quantum Theory and Philosophy (vol. 12 nos. 5–6, 2003). 49

See for instance Porter (2000), Israel (2001) and Brooke (1991, chap. V).

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nonreligious but that also challenged some of the most basic tenets of the religious perspective. (Nasr 1996, p. 130) Nasr repeats Western religious and romantic laments about the new science when he writes: Henceforth as long as only the quantitative face of nature was considered as real, and the new science was seen as the only science of nature, the religious meaning of the order of nature was irrelevant, at best an emotional and poetic response to ‘matter in motion’. (Nasr 1996, p. 143)

6 The Logic of Atomism It should be apparent that the atomistic principles of Galileo, Boyle, Descartes and Newton were metaphysical: their postulated particles could no more be seen or felt than Aristotelian principles; nor could their size, shape and velocity be directly measured. Both the existence and properties of atoms were inferential. But the atomistic metaphysics was scientific in that experimental investigations were suggested. The tests were of course indicative not conclusive. These tests or explanations had the form: Metaphysical principle (M) implies some observation (O) The observation occurs (O) Therefore (M) is supported Each such test was a case of inference to hidden causes, not a case of induction to a wider sample, or generalisation from a sample to a population. Although both were inferences, they were inferences of different evidential kinds. All of the scientists were well enough schooled in Logic to realise that their tests for Atomism were examples of Aristotle’s Fallacy of Affirming the Consequent; and that metaphysical principles were not demonstratively proved by such tests. Aquinas was acutely aware of this logical point and its consequence for the degree of truth attributable to hypotheses in natural philosophy: We can account for a thing in two different ways. The first way consists in establishing by a sufficient demonstration that a principle from which the thing follows is correct. Thus, in physics we supply a reason which is sufficient to prove the uniformity of the motion of the heavens. The second way of accounting for a thing consists, not in demonstrating its principles by a sufficient proof, but in showing which effects agree with a principle laid down beforehand. Thus, in astronomy we account for eccentrics and epicycles by the fact that we can save the sensible appearances of the heavenly motions by this hypothesis. But this is not a really probative reason, since the apparent movements can, perhaps, be saved by means of some other hypothesis. (Summa Theologica, Ia. xxxii, I, ad2, in Duhem 1908/1969, p. 42) The early modern scientists thought that the new metaphysics was confirmed or supported or made plausible by the occurrence of predicted observations. The success of the new science provided confirmation, not proof, of its associated metaphysics. The onus was then on doubters of the new metaphysics, Berkeley for example, to come up with another metaphysics that explained the success of science, and more to the point, gave direction for new investigations and experiments that themselves would be successful. As Lakatos and others have pointed out, a theory or research programme gains very little epistemic merit if

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its proponents are constantly in a situation of just saying ‘me too’ in response to new phenomena and explanations unearthed by a rival programme; the alternative programme needs to suggest new and successful investigations (Lakatos 1970); or to be ‘fertile’ in Poincare´’s terms. Darwinism predicts intermediary species and is vindicated when they are found; Creationism cannot make this prediction, and when such intermediaries are found can at best say ‘yet another marvellous special creation’. The phenomenon of newly found intermediary species, is consistent with Creationism, but gives no epistemic merit to the theory because it was not predicted by the theory.

7 When Worldviews Collide: The Atomistic Heresy Just as science is associated with one or more worldviews, so too is religion; and both history and contemporary times bear witness to the fact that the worldviews of science and of religion do not always sit easily with each other. Worldview conflicts occasioned by disputes about Creation, Creationism, Teleology, Miracles, the existence of individual souls or spirits, and so on, have been comprehensively written upon, with just the past few years seeing bestsellers devoted to these conflicts (Dennett 1995, Dawkins 2006, Hitchens 2007). A less written upon, but very illustrative, example of debate about compatibility of scientific and religious worldviews concerns atomism, the central ontological plank of the Scientific Revolution. Among the numerous Christian positions that atomism seemingly threatened, the most basic and important one was the revered Roman Catholic, Orthodox and Eastern Uniate teaching on Christ’s presence in the Eucharist; the doctrine of Transubstantiation. The Eucharist was the sacramental heart of the Catholic Mass, and the Mass was the devotional heart of the Church. Belief in the Real Presence of Christ, brought into being by the priest’s consecration of the communion host, underwrote devotional practice and doctrinal authority. Denial of the Real Presence was a capital offence. It was a litmus test in the Inquisition, where failure the belief meant a horrible death at the stake. Scholastic philosophy, with its Aristotelian categories of substance, accidents and qualities could bring a modicum of intelligibility to this central mystery of faith—at consecration the substance of bread changed to the substance of Christ’s body, but the accidents remained that of bread. So Christ became truly present, even though there was no sensible change apparent. Thomas Aquinas formulated the orthodox doctrine as: All the substance of the bread is transmuted into the body of Christ… therefore, this is not a formal conversion but a substantial one. Nor does it belong to the species of natural mutations; but, with its own definition, it is called transubstantiation. (Summa Theologica III, q. 75, a. 4, in Redondi 1988, p. 212) This Thomist formulation, along with the Aristotelian philosophical apparatus required for its interpretation, was affirmed as defining Catholic orthodoxy at the Council of Trent in 1551. The Council was the bureaucratic and doctrinal base for the Church’s Counter Reformation which was prompted by Luther nailing his 95 theses to the door of Wittenburg Cathedral in 1517. The Council was a fusion of Faith, Authority and Metaphysics that would shape the Church’s response to the Galileo Affair some sixty years later, and energise its battle with the Enlightenment some two hundred years later. Although Galileo was, in 1615, warned not to hold or teach the Copernican doctrine of a moving earth, it was only after The Assayer and its endorsement of atomism, was published in 1623 that he faced serious theological charges. The nature of the charges, and the degree to which atomism was at odds with established religiosity and theology, can be seen in a

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condemnation brought anonymously by Father Giovanni de Guevara, a Vatican confidant of Pope Urban VIII. Guevara was a priest of a contemplative order whose very life revolved around adoration of the Eucharistic sacrament. He had a minimum of philosophical training; and but enough intelligence to see the conflict between Galileo’s atomistic position and the orthodox interpretation of the Real Presence—for Guevara they could not both be true (Redondi 1987, pp. 166ff). In his 1624/25 deposition he charged that: Having in the past days perused Signor Galileo Galilei’s book entitled The Assayer, I have come to consider a doctrine already taught by certain ancient philosophers and effectively rejected by Aristotle, but renewed by the same Signor Galili. And having decided to compare it with the true and undoubted Rule of revealed doctrines, I have found that in the Light of that Lantern which by the exercise and merit of our faith shines out indeed in murky places, and which more securely and more certainly than any natural evidence illuminates us, this doctrine appears false, or even (which I do not judge) very difficult and dangerous. …. Therefore, the aforesaid Author, in the book cited (on page 196, line 29), wishing to explain that proposition proffered by Aristotle in so many places—that motion is the cause of heat—and to adjust it to his intention, sets out to prove that these accidents which are commonly called colors, odors, tastes, etc., on the part of the subject, in which it is commonly believed that they are found, are nothing but pure words and are only in the sensitive body that feels them. … Now if one admits this philosophy of accidents as true, it seems to me, that makes greatly difficult the existence of the accidents of the bread and wine which in the Most Holy Sacrament are separated from their substance; … it follows [according to Galileo] that in the Sacrament there are substantial parts of bread or wine, which is the error condemned by the Sacred Tridentine Council, Session 13, Canon 2. … [Galileo’s position] is in conflict with the entire community of Theologians who teach us that in the Sacrament remain all the sensible accidents of bread, wine, color, smell, and taste, and not mere words, but also, as is known, with the good judgment that the quantity of substance does not remain. (Redondi 1987, pp. 333–334)50 The charge of Atomism against Galileo with its direct implications of heresy, was publicly made by Father Grassi, a prominent Jesuit professor of mathematics and astronomy at the Collegio Roman. In a book published in Paris in 1626 he wrote: I must now reply to the digression on heat in which Galileo openly declares himself a follower of the school of Democritus and Epicurus. … … I cannot avoid giving vent to certain scruples that preoccupy me. They come from what we have regarded as incontestable on the basis of the precepts of the Fathers, the Councils, and the entire Church. They are the qualities by virtue of which, although the substance of the bread and wine disappear, thanks to omnipotent words, nonetheless their sensible species persist; that is, their color, taste, warmth, or coldness. Only by the divine will are these species maintained, and in miraculous fashion, as they tell me. … Instead, Galileo expressly declares that heat, color, taste, and everything else of this kind are outside [inside?] of him who feels them, and therefore in the bread and wine, just simple names. Hence, when the substance of the bread and wine disappears, only the names of the qualities will remain. 50

A translation of the deposition, and discussion, is also available in Finocchiaro (1989, pp. 202–204).

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But would a perpetual miracle then be necessary to preserve some simple names? He should have realized how far he departs from those who with so much study endeavoured to stipulate the truth and permanence of these species, in such a way as to involve the divine power in this effect. … In the host, it is commonly affirmed, the sensible species (heat, taste, and so on) persist. Galileo, on the contrary, says that heat and taste, outside of him who perceives them, and hence also in the host, are simple names; that is, they are nothing. One must therefore infer, from what Galileo says, that heat and taste do not subsist in the host. The soul experiences horror at the very thought. (Redondi 1987, p. 336) Underlining the gravity of this charge against Galileo, Father Grassi adds that Transubstantiation ‘constitutes the essential point of faith or contains all other essential points’ (Redondi 1987, p. 336).51 Descartes’ matter theory was likewise condemned in 1671 because its categories did not allow an intelligent rendering of the doctrine of Transubstantiation. John Hedley Brooke, an historian sympathetic to claims about the positive contribution of religion to science, recognized the problem that atomism posed ‘especially for the Roman Catholic Church, which took a distinctive view of the presence of Christ at the celebration of the Eucharist’ (Brooke 1991, p. 141). He writes: With an Aristotelian theory of matter and form, it was possible to understand how the bread and wine could retain their sensible properties while their substance was miraculously turned into the body and blood of Christ. …. But if, as the mechanical philosophers argued, the sensible properties were dependent on an ulterior configuration of particles, then any alteration to that internal structure would have discernible effects. The bread and wine would no longer appear as bread and wine if a real change had occurred. (Brooke 1991, p. 142). Joseph Priestley, one of the luminaries of the British Enlightenment and a life-long Christian believer, well expressed the ill-ease felt about cloaking Christian doctrine in Scholastic clothes. In 1778 he wrote to the Jesuit ‘materialist’ philosopher Abbe´ Roger Boscovich saying that: the vulgar hypothesis [Aristotelian matter theory], which I combat, has been the foundation of the grossest corruptions of true christianity; and especially [those] of the church of Rome, of which you are a member; but which I consider as properly antichristian, and a system of abominations little better than heathenism. (Schofield 1966, p. 167) Despite such criticisms, the Catholic Church was guided by Tridentine decrees and decisions right through to the 20th century.52Pope Leo XIII promulgated his encyclical AEterni Patris that gave the name philosophia perennis (perennial philosophy) to 51 This contention echoed through all Catholic teaching, and devotional practice, right to the present day. As one Catholic Handbook states the matter: ‘The Catholic belief is that the sacrifice of the Mass is the sacrifice of the body and blood of Christ under the form of bread and wine’ (Lucey 1915, p. 93). 52

One hundred years after Priestley’s complaints to Boscovich, Joseph McCabe, a former Franciscan priest and professor of philosophy who left the Church in the 1890s, well described the state of Roman Catholic theology when he said of his theological training that: The various points of dogma which are contained (or supposed to be contained) in Scripture, were first selected by the Fathers, and developed, generally by the aid of the Neo-Platonic philosophy, into formidable structures. The schoolmen completed the synthesis with the aid of Peripatetic philosophy, and elaborated the whole into a vast scheme which they called theology. (McCabe 1912, p. 73)

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Thomism and directed Catholic educational institutions to base their philosophical and theological instruction upon it. In 1914 Pius X issued his Doctoris Angelici decree, stating that: We desired that all teachers of philosophy and sacred theology should be warned that if they deviated so much as an iota from Aquinas, especially in metaphysics, they exposed themselves to grave risk. (Weisheipl 1968, p. 180) A few years later the Code of Canon Law, promulgated by Pope Benedict XV in 1917, reinforced the position by requiring that all professors of philosophy hold and teach the method, doctrine and principles of St Thomas. The papal endorsement of 13th century philosophy continued through to 1950 when Pius XII in Humani generis demanded that future priests be instructed in philosophy ‘according to the method, doctrine and principles of the Angelic Doctor’ (Weisheipl 1968, p. 183). It was only in the final years of the 20th century, with Pope John Paul II’s 1998 encyclical, Fides et ratio, that the Catholic Church relaxed its attachment to Thomism as official Church philosophy. Thomism was downgraded from Absolute Truth to Highly Probable Truth (to perhaps express this important matter a bit lightly).53 On the face of it, this whole influential tradition of Roman Catholic teaching, which had enormous cultural and personal impact in Catholic Europe, Latin America, the Philippines, and elsewhere, was in flat contradiction to the worldview of science. Adjustments had to be made on one side or the other. This is a rich, fertile and engaging example of the impact of science on culture, and of culture’s responses and reactions to such impact.

8 The Survival of Scholasticism Not withstanding the above, and comparable other such accounts of the impact of early modern science on philosophy, it needs be said that Thomism and more generally Scholasticism was not wiped out at the Scientific Revolution; it did not collapse and die upon first sighting of the Principia. Thomism, and belief in its metaphysical positions, has survived to the present day. If one includes seminary professors, and if one judges who is a philosopher just by their title, then in the twentieth century there were probably more Thomist philosophers in the USA, Latin America, Australasia and Europe, than there were other kinds of philosophers (Passmore 1972). Of course there were numerous Churchcontrolled institutions that had faculties of Philosophy where shamefully no serious philosophising was allowed54. (as was the case with many Soviet faculties of Philosophy where genuine philosophising meant unemployment, if not worse). But not all Thomism (nor Marxism), was of this lamentable kind.

53 54

On John Paul II’s encyclical and how it reviewed and revised the status of Thomism, see Ernst (2006).

Concerning early 20th-century academic philosophy in Colombia, Daniel Restrepo wrote: ‘To the extent that the Columbian State was governed by theocratic criteria, philosophy, conceived as ‘‘servant of theology’’, played the role of ideological mediator in the political action and principles of those who had held power since 1886’ (Restrepo 2003, p. 144). Being able to ‘prove’ the falsity of positivism, determinism, and evolutionism was a requirement for entry to university! The English philosopher Anthony Kenny gives a depressing account of comparable pseudo-philosophy being practised in the Roman ecclesiastical universities through to the 1960s (Kenny 1985)

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There were, and still are, long established scholarly journals such as The Thomist, Modern Schoolmen, and New Scholasticism where Thomist philosophy is articulated. Although now clearly in decline, great centres of neo-Thomist thought did thrive in the 20th century, with the most notable being perhaps: the Institut Supe´rieur de Philosophie under Mercier at Louvain University; the Pontifical Medieval Institute at Toronto under Gilson; the Philosophy Faculty at the Jesuit St. Louis University; and the Dominican Albertus Magnus Lyceum at River Forest outside of Chicago under the guidance of William Humbert Kane.55 There were, and still are but in decreasing numbers, many highly learned Thomist and neo-Thomist philosophers, among the better know in the Anglo world are Etienne Gilson, Jacques Maritain and Bernard Lonergan.56 Among those who wrote explicitly on science and philosophy of science were E.L. Mascall (1956), James Weisheipl (1985), and William Wallace (1979, 1996). John Herman Randall Jr., who has written extensively on how the history of philosophy can only be understood in the context of the science of the time with which it was engaged,57 and who is by no means a Thomist, nevertheless observes that: ‘The physicists, face to face with their new world of fields of radiant energy, have been forced by that world to develop concepts strikingly similar ….to those of Aristotle’ (Randall 1958, p. 15). This is not the place to give even a summary evaluation of Aristotelian-Thomist metaphysics. Suffice for the argument being advanced here—about the impact of the Scientific Revolution on the dominant Scholastic metaphysics of the time, and its concomitant impact on the specific religious doctrine of transubstantiation that was articulated in Scholastic categories—to quote and agree with one former Thomist who reflecting on the decline of Thomism writes: The single doctrine in St. Thomas which probably causes the most trouble is that of primary matter, in its dual role as explanatory principle in both substantial change and individuation … Substance and accidents also cause trouble to many (Clarke 1968, p. 198) John Lamont, who in this volume defends parts of the metaphysics of Aristotle and Aquinas, saying that these parts have not been nullified by science, nevertheless admits that: the Aristotelian doctrines of hylomorphism and final causes are rarely defended by current neo-Aristotelians, and will not be construed as forming part of the broadly Aristotelian metaphysics discussed in this paper. (Lamont 2009) But as outlined above it was precisely the doctrine of hylomorphism that gave intelligibility to the doctrine of ‘The Real Presence’ of Christ in the Eucharist; and it was this doctrine that was inconsistent with the atomism of early modern science. It was 55 The last is of particular significance because it did put modern science centre-stage in its articulation of the ‘perennial philosophy’. For an account of the Lyceum’s principles and publications see the Introductory essay in Weisheipl (1961), also Ashley (1991). For examples of the kind of applied natural philosophy that it promoted see contributions to Kane et al. (1953). 56 There are many accounts of the mixed fortunes of 20th-century Thomism. For an account of the dominant individuals and strands, see John (1966); for reflections on the future of Thomism see Clarke (1968), Weisheipl (1968) and Lonergan (1974). 57 See the first volume of his three-volume The Career of Philosophy where he says ‘What is clear is that the central themes of modern philosophy have been the grappling with science and with individualistic values’ (Randall 1962, p. 22).

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science that undermined hylomorphism, not philosophy;58 and thus it was science that had such a major impact on the worldview and culture of a significant slice of modern society—the Catholic, Orthodox, Coptic and Uniate traditions.

9 Options for Reconciling Worldviews Examination of the Atomism heresy might seem arcane, but there are benefits to be derived; some issues, relationships and tensions are more obvious when viewed in the calmer light of history than in the often partisan glare of the present. The Atomism versus specifically Roman Catholic and Orthodox religious debate of the 17th century brings into focus a number of enduring philosophical, religious and cultural issues, among which are at least the following: 1. Does the Christian religion, make metaphysical claims? And are such claims best expressed in any particular philosophical system? 2. Is there a need for religious claims to be made intelligible or reasonable? 3. How adequate is Scholastic Thomism for the interpretation of Christian doctrine? 4. Should philosophical systems be judged by their theological adequacy or compatibility? 5. Does the Church have the authority to proscribe philosophical systems? These issues were argued within the Christian churches; they were debated in the Enlightenment; and are still debated.59 For example, the author of one work titled Christian Metaphysics straightforwardly argues that: The thesis which I submit to the critical examination of the reader is that there is one Christian philosophy and one only. I maintain, in other words, that Christianity calls for a metaphysical structure which is not any structure, that Christianity is an original metaphysic…[it is] a body of very precise and very well-defined theses which are properly metaphysical … (Tresmontant 1965, pp. 19–20) One such common metaphysical position, Vitalism, is clearly stated by a Catholic author: That there is a fundamental difference between living and non-living matter is obvious. Catholic philosophers hold that an organized or living substance is distinguished from inanimate matter in that the former is informed by a ‘vital principle’ which confers on it the characteristics we associate with life. (Gill 1943, p. 73) Such a position might be labelled ‘privileged’ in as much as the metaphysics comes from outside of science, not from within. This was the situation mentioned above when Gassendi modified the atomism of Epicurus to have it accord with Christian belief. Privilege for such metaphysical positions is usually is derived from Revelation, Theology, Philosophy, Intuition or perhaps Politics. Such privileged metaphysical views can be found enunciated by advocates of Judaic, Islamic, Hindu, Buddhist and a host of lesser religions; as well as of indigenous belief systems. These traditions would formulate the above five issues in 58 Atomism, as an ontology, came from outside science (natural philosophy), it was a philosophical position developed by the Greek pre-Socratics, notably Democritus and Epicurus; but it was adopted by the New Science, and derived its strength and credibility from the success of its scientific adherents. 59 For representative literature on this topic of ‘Christian Philosophy’ see Trethowan (1954) and Tresmontant (1965). For discussion of the suitability of Thomism as a vehicle for the interpretation of Christian doctrine, see McInerny (1966) and Weisheipl (1968).

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their own terms. And if ‘Marxism-Leninism’ is substituted for ‘Thomism’, and ‘The Central Committee’ is substituted for ‘Church’ then the above list of issues is applicable to the situation that pertained in the Soviet Union and its satellites; with the Lysenko case being the most public and scandalous reminder of how enduring are the issues.60 When considering the compatibility of science and religion, we need to distinguish a number of sometimes conflated issues: First, whether religious claims and understandings have to be adjusted to fit proven scientific facts and theories? There really is no longer any serious debate on this issue; sensible believers and informed theologians acknowledge that religious claims need to be modified, or given a non-literal interpretation to fit with proven or even highly probable science. Joseph Priestley, the 18th-century Enlightened believer, told the story of ‘a good old woman, who, on being asked whether she believed the literal truth of Jonah being swallowed by the whale, replied, yes, and added, that if the Scriptures had said that Jonah swallowed the whale, she would have believed it too’. Priestley thought that such convictions simply indicated that the term ‘belief’ was being misused in the context: ‘How a man can be said to believe what is, in the nature of things, impossible, on any authority, I cannot conceive (Rutt 1817–1732/1972 vol. 6, p. 33). All serious thinkers on the topic, since St Augustine, agree with Priestley.61 Second, whether religious believers can be scientists? Again, at one level, there is no debate on this matter. As a simple matter of psychological fact, there have been and are countless believers of all religious stripes who are scientists.62 But this sense of compatibility is of not much philosophical interest. The arguments and evidences put forward by these numerous eminent and believing scientists are relevant to the question of rational compatibility, but not just the fact that there are such believers. Undoubtedly some scientists are astrologers, others channel spirits, some might think they are Napoleon reincarnated, some are racist and others are sexist, and so on for a whole spectrum of beliefs that, as a matter of fact, have been held by scientists. No one doubts that science, as a matter of psychological fact, is compatible with any number of belief systems—recall that the Nobel laureates Philipp Lenard and Johannes Stark were both Nazi ideologues. Scientists are humans and humans notoriously can believe all sorts of crazy things at the same time; but such psychological compatibility has no bearing on the rationality or reasonableness of their beliefs, or the philosophical compatibility between science and belief systems. The latter is a logical or normative matter. The philosophically interesting question is whether a scientist can be a rational religious believer (or astrologer, diviner, re-incarnationer, racist, sexist, Nazi, etc.). Third, whether religion is compatible with the metaphysics and worldview of science? It is this last issue that has been the concern of this paper. Where there is such incompatibility 60

See Graham (1973), Joravsky (1970), Lecourt (1977) and Soyfer (1994).

61

There has been debate about just what degree of proof a factual scientific claim needs to have before it triggers a revision in a competing factual religious claim—Augustine thought revision was needed only in the face of absolutely proven ‘scientific’ claims. The details of this debate do not bear on the present argument; for the arguments, and the debate’s literature, see McMullin (2005). 62 John Polkinghorne could be picked out as an exemplar of a research physicist and believer, indeed he is an Anglican priest (Polkinghorne 1988, 1991, 1996). Many such individuals can be found contributing to journals such as Zygon: Journal of Religion & Science. For just one compilation of contemporary Christian scientists, see Mott (1991). There are comparable compilations of Hindu, Islamic, Mormon, and Judaic scientists. There may even be compilations of Scientologist scientists, and Christian Science scientists. These lists are relevant to the question of the psychological compatibility between scientific and religious beliefs, but not their philosophical or rational compatibility.

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between scientific and religious metaphysics and worldviews—as in the case of Atomism developed above—the options usually taken to reconcile the differences are to claim that: 1. Science really has no metaphysics; that it makes no metaphysical claims. This is the option made famous by the Catholic positivist Pierre Duhem.63 2. The metaphysics of science is false; at least any such purported metaphysics that is inconsistent with religious beliefs. This is the option advocated by the Scholastic tradition discussed above; by Tresmontant and Nasr who are quoted above; and by philosophical theologians such as Plantinga (2000), Mascall (1956), and numerous others. 3. There can be parallel, equally valid, metaphysics. This is an old option given recent prominence by Stephen Gould in his NOMA formulation (Gould 1999). 4. There is fundamental disagreement about the metaphysics required by science, hence alternative metaphysical systems and beliefs can be freely entertained. All these options have their problems, but this is not the place to elaborate them, other contributions to this special issue do so. As far as education is concerned, the important thing is to have students first recognise what are the options, and second carefully examine them and their implications and ideally take up a personal, if provisional, position on the matter.

10 Conclusion Science has contributed immensely to our philosophical and cultural tradition, this is part of the ‘flesh’ of science; too often, unfortunately, science teaching presents just the ‘bare bones’ of science—this is one reason why, notoriously, advanced ‘technical’ science is so often associated with religious and ideological fundamentalism and bigotry. The cultural flesh needs to be part of any serious science programme, and indeed this is now required in many contemporary curriculum statements. These requirements present an open cheque for historical and philosophical studies in science education; but for the cheque to be cashed teachers need the relevant knowledge, interest and enthusiasm for such studies. Unfortunately they are poorly covered in teacher education programmes. In a good liberal education students will learn about the philosophical dimensions of science, beginning with the routine matters listed early in this paper—matters of conceptual analysis, epistemology, ethics and so on. They will also learn about the metaphysical, especially ontological, dimensions of science, some of which have been discussed above. They should also be introduced to, and hopefully make decisions about the constitution and applicability of the scientific outlook, habit of mind or the scientific temper—is a scientific outlook required for the solution of social and ideological problems? And finally students should engage with the questions of science and worldviews, and study options for reconciling seeming conflicts in this area. All of this makes science classes more intellectually engaging, it promotes ‘minds-on’ science learning, and it might help inoculate students against snake-oil merchants who peddle various ‘metaphysical’ schemes and wonders—if students have all ready engaged with serious metaphysical questions and debates, and have been exposed to genuine wonders about the world and science’s coming to know something about it—they might be less likely to fall for whatever passing fantasies are doing the internet and television rounds. 63

See extensive discussion and bibliography in Martin (1991).

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In these three areas—philosophy, metaphysics and worldviews—teachers will need to guide and inform students, provide them with materials, and structure discussion and debate.64 But it does not mean that students should learn the correct options, or that teachers should give them correct answers. Immanuel Kant famously said that the motto of the Enlightenment was ‘Have courage to use your own reason!’ (Kant 1784/2003, p. 54). A century earlier, John Locke expressed this motif as a principle for liberal education in his 1689 Enlightenment classic, Essay Concerning Human Understanding, where he said: The floating of other men’s opinions in our brains makes us not one jot more knowing, though they happen to be true. What in them was science is in us but opiniatertry, whilst we give up our assent only to reverend names, and do not, as they did, employ our own reason to understand those truths which gave them reputation. And then proceeded memorably to say: Such borrowed wealth, like fairy money, though it be gold in the hand from which he received it, will be but leaves and dust when it comes to use. (Locke 1689/1924. p. 40) The same advice is applicable today. References Adler MJ (1978) Aristotle for everybody. Macmillan, New York American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) (1989) Project 2061: science for all Americans. AAAS, Washington, DC. Also published by Oxford University Press, 1990 American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) (1990) The Liberal Art of Science: Agenda for Action. AAAS, Washington, DC American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) (1993) Benchmarks for Science Literacy. Oxford University Press, New York Amsterdamski S (1975) Between experience and metaphysics. Reidel, Dordrecht Ashley BM (1991) The river forest school and the philosophy of nature today. In: Long RJ (ed) Philosophy and the god of Abraham. Essays in memory of James A. Weisheipl, OP. Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, Toronto, pp 1–15 Balashov Y, Rosenberg A (eds) (2002) Philosophy of science: contemporary readings. Routledge, London Bergmann P (1949) Basic theories of physics. Prentice-Hall, New York Bernal JD (1939) The social function of science. Routledge & Kegan Paul, London Birch LC (1990) On purpose. University of New South Wales Press, Sydney Bird A (1998) Philosophy of science. McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montreal & Kingston Bohm D (1980) Wholeness and the implicate order. Ark Paperbacks, London Bohr N (1958) Atomic physics and human knowledge. Wiley, New York Boltzmann L 1905/1974, Theoretical physics and philosophical problems. Reidel, Dordrecht Born M (1968) My life & my views. Scribners, New York Brennan SO’F (1961) The meaning of ‘‘Nature’’ in the Aristotelian philosophy of nature. In: Weisheipl JA (ed) The dignity of science: studies in the philosophy of science presented to William Humbert Kane O.P. The Thomist Press, pp 247–265 Bridgman PW (1950) Reflections of a physicist. Philosophical Library, New York Brody DE, Arnold R (1997) The science class you wish you had: the seven greatest scientific discoveries in history and the people who made them. Allen & Unwin, Melbourne Brooke JH (1991) Science and religion: some historical perspectives. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge

64 These educational goals should not just be the responsibility of the science teacher; they should be realised by informed and competent curricula coordination across the subjects of science, philosophy and history.

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Godfrey-Smith P (2003) Theory and reality: an introduction to the philosophy of science. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Good RG (2005) Scientific and religious habits of mind. Peter Lang, New York Gould SJ (1999) Rock of ages: science and religion in the fullness of life. Ballantine Books, New York Graham LR (1973) Science and philosophy in the Soviet Union. Alfred A. Knopf, New York Graham LR (1981) Between science and values. Columbia University Press, New York Hall AR (1965) Galileo and the science of motion. Br J Hist Sci 2:185–199 Hall AR (1980) Philosophers at war. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Hanson NR (1965) Newton’s first law: a philosopher’s door into natural philosophy. In: Colodny RG (ed) Beyond the edge of certainty. Prentice Hall, Englewood-Cliffs, NJ, pp 6–28 Harman PM (1982) Energy, force and matter: the conceptual development of nineteenth-century physics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Harre´ R (1964) Matter and method. Macmillan & Co, London Heisenberg W (1962) Physics and philosophy. Harper & Row, New York Helmholtz H von (1995) Science and culture: popular and philosophical essays, (edited with introduction by David Cahan). Chicago University Press, Chicago Hempel CG (1966) Philosophy of natural science. Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, NJ Herivel J (1965) The background to Newton’s ‘Principia’. Clarendon Press, Oxford Hesse MB (1961) Forces and fields: the concept of action at a distance in the history of physics. Thomas Nelson & Sons, London Hitchens C (2007) God is not great: how religion poisons everything. Hachette Book Group, New York Holton G (1973) Thematic origins of scientific thought. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Hoodbhoy P (1991) Islam and science: religious orthodoxy and the battle for rationality. Zed Books, London Hughes RIG (1990) Philosophical perspectives on Newtonian science. In: Bricker P, Hughes RIG (eds) Philosophical perspectives on Newtonian Science. MIT Press, Cambridge MA, pp 1–16 Hull DL (1988) Science as a process: an evolutionary account of the social and conceptual development of science. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Hume D (1739/1888) A treatise of human nature: being an attempt to introduce the experimental method of reasoning into moral subjects. Clarendon Press, Oxford Israel J (2001) Radical enlightenment: philosophy and the making of modernity 1650–1750. Oxford University Press, Oxford Jacob MC (ed) (1994) The politics of western science, 1640–1990. Humanities Press, Atlantic Highlands, NJ Jeans J (1943/1981) Physics and philosophy. Dover Publications, New York John HJ (1966) The Thomist spectrum. Fordham University Press, New York Joravsky D (1970) The Lysenko affair. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Kane WH, Corcoran JD, Ashley BM, Nogar RJ (eds) (1953) Science in synthesis. A dialectical approach to the integration of the physical and natural sciences. The Aquinas Library, River Forest, IL Kant I (1784/2003) What is enlightenment? In Hyland P (ed) The enlightenment: a sourcebook and reader. Routledge, London Kenny A (1980) Aquinas. Oxford University Press, Oxford Kenny A (1985) A path from Rome: an autobiography. Sidgwick & Jackson, London Koertge N (ed) (2005) Scientific values and civic virtues. Oxford University Press, New York Kuhn TS (1970) The structure of scientific revolutions, 2nd edn. Chicago University Press, Chicago (1st edn, 1962) Lacey H (2005) Values and objectivity in science. Lexington Books, Lantham MD Ladyman J (2002) Understanding philosophy of science. Routledge, London Lakatos I (1970) Falsification and the methodology of scientific research programmes. In: Lakatos I, Musgrave A (eds) Criticism and the growth of knowledge. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 91–196 Lamont J (2009) The fall and rise of Aristotelian metaphysics in the philosophy of science. Sci & Educ Lange M (ed) (2007) Philosophy of science: an anthology. Blackwell Publishing, Oxford Lecourt D (1977) Proletarian science? The case of Lysenko. Manchester University Press, Manchester Locke J (1689/1924) An essay concerning human understanding, abridged and edited by Pringle-Pattison AS, Clarendon Press, Oxford Lonergan BJF (1974) The future of Thomism. In: Bernard JF Lonergan SJ, Ryan WFJ, Tyrrell BJ (eds) A second collection. Darton, Longman & Todd, pp 43–53 Lucey JM (1915) The mass. The proper form of Christian worship. In: Cabinet of catholic information. The Treasury Publishing Company, pp 84–100 Mach E (1883/1960) The science of mechanics. Open Court Publishing Company, LaSalle IL Mach E (1886/1986) On instruction in the classics and the sciences. In: Mach E (ed) Popular scientific lectures. Open Court Publishing Company, La Salle, pp 338–374

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Margenau H (1950) The nature of physical reality: a philosophy of modern physics. McGraw-Hill, New York Martin RND (1991) Pierre Duhem: philosophy and history in the work of a believing physicist. Open Court, La Salle, IL Mascall EL (1956) Christian theology and natural science: some questions in their relations. Longmans, Green & Co., London Matthews MR (ed) (1989) The scientific background to modern philosophy. Hackett Publishing Company, Indianapolis Matthews MR (1990) Ernst Mach and contemporary science education reforms. Int J Sci Educ 12(3):317– 325 Matthews MR (1994) Science teaching: the role of history and philosophy of science. Routledge, New York Matthews MR (1995) Challenging New Zealand science education. Dunmore Press, Palmsterston North Matthews MR (1997) Israel Scheffler on the role of history and philosophy of science in science teacher education. Stud Philos Educ 16(1–2):159–173 Matthews MR (1998a) In defense of modest goals for teaching about the nature of science. J Res Sci Teach 35(2):161–174 Matthews MR (ed) (1998b) Constructivism in science education: a philosophical examination. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht Matthews MR (2000a) Time for science education: how teaching the history and philosophy of pendulum motion can contribute to science literacy. Kluwer Academic Publishers, New York Matthews MR (2000b) Constructivism in science and mathematics education. In: Phillips DC (ed) National society for the study of education, 99th yearbook, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp 161–192 Mayr E (1982) The growth of biological thought. Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA McCabe J (1912) Twelve years in a monastery, 3rd edn. Watts & Co., London McGuire JE (1995) Tradition and innovation: Newton’s metaphysics of nature. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht McInerny RM (1966) Thomism in an age of renewal. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame McMullin E (ed) (1963a) The concept of matter in Greek and medieval philosophy. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame McMullin E (ed) (1963b) The concept of matter in modern philosophy. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame McMullin E (1978) Newton on matter and activity. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame McMullin E (2005) Galileo’s theological venture. In: McMullin E (ed). The church and Galileo. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, pp 88–116 Melsen AG van (1952) From atomos to atom. Duquesne University Press, Pittsburgh Monod J (1971) Chance and necessity: an essay on the natural philosophy of modern biology. Knopf, New York Moody EA (1975) Studies in medieval philosophy, science and logic. University of California Press, Berkeley Mott N (ed) (1991) Can scientists believe? James & James, London Nagel E (1961) The structure of science. Routledge & Kegan Paul, London Nasr SH (1996) Religion and the order of nature. Oxford University Press, Oxford National Research Council (NRC) (1996) National science education standards. National Academy Press, Washington, DC Newton I (1729/1934) Mathematical Principles of Mathematical Philosophy (trans: Motte A, revised Cajori F). University of California Press, Berkeley Newton I (1730/1979) Opticks or a treatise of the reflections, refractions, inflections & colours of light. Dover Publications, New York Passmore JA (1972) A hundred years of philosophy. Pelican Books, London Petersen A (1985) The philosophy of Niels Bohr. In: French AP, Kennedy PJ (eds) Niels Bohr: a centenary volume. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA, pp 299–310 Planck M (1932) Where is science going? W.W. Norton, New York Plantinga A (2000) Warranted Christian belief. Oxford University Press, Oxford Poincare´ H (1905/1952) Science and hypothesis. Dover Publications, New York Polanyi M (1958) Personal knowledge. Routledge and Kegan Paul, London Polkinghorne J (1988) Science and creation: the search for understanding. SPCK, London Polkinghorne J (1991) Reason and reality: the relationship between science and theology. SPCK, London Polkinghorne J (1996) The faith of a physicist: reflections of a bottom-up thinker. Fortress Press, Minneapolis Popper KR (1934/1959) The logic of scientific discovery. Hutchinson, London

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Popper KR (1963) Conjectures and refutations: the growth of scientific knowledge. Routledge & Kegan Paul, London Porter R (2000) The enlightenment: Britain and the creation of the modern world. Penguin Books, London Pullman B (1998) The atom in the history of human thought. Oxford University Press, Oxford Pyle A (1997) Atomism and its critics: from Democritus to Newton. Thoemmes Press, Bristol Rabi II (1967) Science the centre of culture. World Publishing Company, New York Randall JH (1958) Nature and historical experience. Essays in naturalism and in the theory of history. Columbia University Press, New York Randall JH (1962) The career of philosophy. Columbia University Press, New York Redondi P (1988) Galileo heretic. Allen Lane, London Resnik DB (1998) The ethics of science. Routledge, New York Restrepo DH (2003) Philosophy in contemporary Colombia. In: Fløistad G (ed) Philosophy of Latin America. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, pp 143–154 Rohrlich F (1987) From paradox to reality: our basic concepts of the physical world. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Royal Ministry of Church, Education and Research (RMCER) (1994) Core curriculum for primary, secondary, and adult education in Norway, RMCER, Oslo, Norway Rutt JT (ed) (1817–32) The theological and miscellaneous works of Joseph Priestley, 25 vols. London (Kraus Reprint, New York, 1972) Scheffler I (1963) The anatomy of inquiry. Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis Scheffler I (1970) Philosophy and the curriculum. In: Scheffler I (ed) Reason and teaching. London, Routledge, 1973, pp 31–44. Reprinted in Sci & Educ 1(4):385–394 Schilpp PA (ed) (1951) Albert Einstein: philosopher–scientist, 2nd edn. Tudor, New York Schmitt CB (1983) Aristotle and the renaissance. Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA Schofield RE (ed) (1966) A scientific autobiography of Joseph Priestley (1733–1804): selected scientific correspondence. MIT Press, Cambridge Schro¨dinger E (1964) My view of the world. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Schuster JA (1977) Descartes and the scientific revolution, 1618–1634, 2 vols. University of Michigan Press, Ann Abor Shimony A (1983) Reflections on the philosophy of Bohr, Heisenberg, and Schro¨dinger. In: Cohen RS, Laudan L (eds) Physics. Philosophy and Psychoanalysis, Reidel, Dordrecht, pp 209–221 Shimony A (1993) Search for a naturalistic world view. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Smart JJC (1968) Between science and philosophy: an introduction to the philosophy of science. Random House, New York Sober E (1984) The nature of selection: evolutionary theory in philosophical focus. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA Soyfer VN (1994) Lysenko and the Tragedy of Soviet Science (trans: Gruliow L, Gruliow R). Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick, NJ Stebbing LS (1937/1958) Philosophy and the physicists. Dover Publications, New York Stein H (2002) Newton’s metaphysics. In: Cohen IB, Smith GE (eds) The Cambridge companion to Newton. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 256–302 Stewart M (ed) (1991) Selected philosophical papers of Robert Boyle. Hackett Publishing Company, Indianapolis, IN Tresmontant C (1965) Christian metaphysics. Sheed and Ward, New York Trethowan I (1954) An essay in Christian philosophy, Longmans. Green & Co., London Trusted J (1991) Physics and metaphysics: theories of space and time. Routledge, London Wallace WA (1979) From a realist point of view. University Press of America, Washington Wallace WA (1996) The modeling of nature: philosophy of science and philosophy of nature in synthesis. Catholic University of America Press, Washington, DC Wartofsky MW (1968) Conceptual foundations of scientific thought: an introduction to the philosophy of science. Macmillan, New York Weinberg S (2001) Facing up: science and its cultural adversaries. Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA Weisheipl JA (ed) (1961) The dignity of science. Studies in the philosophy of science presented to William Humbert Kane O.P. The Thomist Press, USA Weisheipl JA (1968) The revival of Thomism as a Christian philosophy. In: McInerny RM (ed) New themes in Christian philosophy. University of Notre Dame Press, South Bend, IN, pp 164–185 Weisheipl JA (1974) Friar Thomas D’Aquino: his life,thought and works. Basil Blackwell, Oxford Weisheipl JA (1985) Nature and motion in the middle ages. Catholic University of America Press, Washington DC

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Westfall RS (1971) The construction of modern science: mechanisms and mechanics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Wilson EO (1998) Consilience: the unity of knowledge. Little, Brown & Co. London

Author Biography Michael R. Matthews is an associate professor in the School of Education at the University of New South Wales. He has degrees in Geology, Psychology, Philosophy, History and Philosophy of Science, and Education. He has taught in high school, Teacher’s College and universities, and was Foundation Professor of Science Education at the University of Auckland. His books include The Marxist Theory of Schooling: A Study of Epistemology and Education (Humanities Press 1980); Science Teaching: The Role of History and Philosophy of Science (Routledge 1994); Challenging New Zealand Science Education (Dunmore Press 1995); and Time for Science Education: How Teaching the History and Philosophy of Pendulum Motion can Improve Science Literacy (Plenum Publishers 2000). His edited books include The Scientific Background to Modern Philosophy (Hackett 1989); History, Philosophy and Science Teaching: Selected Readings (Teachers College Press 1991); Constructivism in Science Education: A Philosophical Examination (Kluwer Academic Publishers 1998); Science Education and Culture (Kluwer Academic Publishers 2001, with F. Bevilacqua and E. Giannetto); and The Pendulum: Scientific, Historical, Philosophical and Educational Perspectives (Springer 2005, with A. Stinner and C.F. Gauld). He has published in science education, philosophy of science, and philosophy of education journals. He is Foundation President of the International History, Philosophy and Science Teaching Group; President of the Teaching Commission of the Division of History of Science and Technology of the International Union of History and Philosophy of Science; and Coordinator of the International Pendulum Project.

Worldviews and their relation to science Gu¨rol Irzik Æ Robert Nola

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 729–745. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9087-5 Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract Worldviews are not only about whether God exists or whether the world has a purpose. They can contain a lot more, or they can differ in excluding the existence of God and/or a purpose for the world. In this article we define worldviews as answering a variety of worldview questions, which we list. Once this is recognized, it becomes clear that scientific worldviews are also a species of worldviews that should not be dismissed categorically. We then distinguish between the project of constructing a scientific worldview and asking whether science itself has any worldview content. We argue that science, even when it is characterized quite minimally, does have worldview content. This has some important implications for science education, which we draw. Keywords

Worldview
Science
Naturalism
Multiculturalism

1 Introduction There is a tendency in science education literature to reduce the question ‘Does science presuppose any worldview beliefs?’ to questions such as ‘Can science tell us if God exists?’ or ‘Can science tell us if the universe has a purpose?’. Such reductions give the impression that worldviews are above all religious or that they necessarily and primarily involve issues addressed by religions. They may mislead us to conclude that because the answer to either of the latter two questions is negative, the former question should receive a negative answer as well.

Gu¨rol Irzik (&) English Department, Bogazici University, Bebek, Istanbul 80815, Turkey e-mail: [email protected] Robert Nola Philosophy Department, The University of Auckland, Private Bag 92019, Auckland, 1142, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_4

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In this article we first clarify what a worldview is. The present literature tends to characterize worldviews too narrowly. As we shall see, worldviews attempt to answer a number of important questions about life and the world, not all of which are religious. We suggest that worldviews should be defined broadly as answering non-religious worldview questions as well as religious ones. We give a representative list of such questions and draw attention to the multiplicity of different worldviews that can be grouped in different ways. Thus, there can be religious, philosophical, political, cultural, and scientific worldviews. These are not necessarily mutually exclusive of one another, though they can conflict on a number of issues. In an insightful article that breaks new grounds, Hugh Gauch (this issue) took up the question whether science can reach conclusions with substantial worldview import. He argued that although science can, and often does, influence and change our worldview beliefs by providing relevant evidence, it has itself no worldview content in its presuppositions and reasoning. Our paper is prompted by his provocative thesis. Although we disagree with him, we have received much inspiration from his article. If we want to understand the relationship between science and worldviews, we should pay as much attention to the notion of worldview as we do to that of science. Accordingly, in Sect. 2 we give a working definition of ‘‘worldview’’ and some examples of it. This enables us to see that there can be scientific worldviews as well as philosophical, religious, cultural and political ones. We believe that it is also important to distinguish between the project of constructing a scientific worldview and asking whether science itself has any worldview content. This brings us back to Gauch’s position and his seven pillars that characterize science. We think that the latter is at times unclear and omits some fundamental aspects of science. In Sect. 3 we point these out. In Sect. 4 we take up his core position and argue against it; we show that science, even when it is characterized quite minimally as he does, has significant worldview content. In our opinion the main differences between ourselves and Gauch are: (i) he thinks that science has no worldview content, and (ii) he does not give sufficient prominence to the critical nature of science, its methods and its mode of explanation. In Sect. 5 we show why these are so crucial for science and science’s having worldview import. The fact that science has worldview content has important implications for science education—both in itself and in the context of debates about multiculturalist conceptions of science. We draw these implications in Sect. 6.

2 What is a worldview? The New Oxford American Dictionary defines the term ‘‘worldview’’ as ‘a particular philosophy of life or conception of the world’ (‘‘worldview n.’’). According to the Dictionary of the Social Sciences, ‘From the German Weltanschauung, worldview refers to the total system of values and beliefs that characterize a given culture or group’ (‘‘worldview’’). The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy defines it as ‘an overall perspective on life that sums up what we know about the world, how we evaluate it emotionally, and how we respond to it volitionally’ (quoted in Gauch, this issue). Worldviews are characterized by their generality and their tendency to be comprehensive. They provide a framework for the way a person or a whole community makes sense of life and the world (understood to include the entire universe) in its most significant aspects and dimensions. Of course, what counts as significant also depends on the worldview we hold, but worldviews typically ask questions such as the following. (1) What sorts of things exist in the universe? (2) Is the

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universe created by an intelligent Being? If so, what are the Being’s properties and if not, what account can be given of creation? (3) What is the structure of reality? (4) Do humans have a nature or essence? (5) How should we live our lives? (6) What is good and bad, right and wrong? (7) What is the best form of government? (8) Is there a purpose to life in general, or to the universe as a whole? (9) Is there life after death? Since one of the most important functions of worldviews is to make sense of life and the world, worldviews also ask: (10) How should we go about answering these questions? Thus, worldviews are accompanied by an account of the methods whereby worldview questions are to be answered and what counts as a satisfactory mode of explanation or understanding. These in themselves can constitute further worldview beliefs and can range from the revelatory methods for sustaining religious worldviews to the quite different methodologies that sustain science and its critical stance. We do not claim that this list is exhaustive, but we believe that it is fairly representative of the kinds of question that worldviews attempt to answer. Using philosophical terminology, they may be roughly but conveniently classified as follows: Metaphysical/ontological worldview questions such as (1)–(4), (8)–(9); ethical/political questions such as (5)–(7); and, methodological/mode of explanation questions like (10). We are now in a position to give a more accurate and satisfactory characterization of worldviews. Working definition: A worldview is a set of beliefs, which provide, or purports to provide, a coherent and unified framework for answering worldview questions. Generally worldviews attempt to be all-encompassing unlike scientific theories, or even Kuhnian paradigms which tend to be more focused on answering their specific domain of questions such as those concerning geophysics, cancer cell reproduction, the business cycle, and the like. In being more comprehensive they tend to be vaguer in the questions they pose and the answers they give, though they are not entirely closed to greater precision and can draw upon some of the sciences in providing their answers. Naturally, worldviews that contain an anti-science perspective will not do this. Such diverse, extremely general and difficult worldview questions of the kind listed above have naturally given rise to a bewildering array of worldviews. Sometimes we group them in terms of cultures that gave rise to them. Thus, we speak of a ‘‘Western’’ worldview, an ‘‘African’’ worldview, or a ‘‘Maori’’ worldview. Other times we classify them in terms of whether they are political, religious, or philosophical, without claiming them to be mutually exclusive. We refer to, for instance, a liberal or a Marxist or a fascist or a totalitarian worldview; a Christian or an Islamic or Buddhist worldview; an Aristotelian or a Cartesian or an idealist or a materialist worldview, and so on. A Marxist worldview, for example, tries to answer as many worldview questions as possible from the perspective of dialectical and historical materialism. Similarly, an Islamic worldview aims to do the same within the framework of Quran and the teachings of prophet Mohammed. Needless to say, there may be different interpretations of dialectical and historical materialism just as there maybe, and indeed are, different interpretations of Quran and the teachings of prophet Mohammed. So it would be misleading to think that there is a single Marxist worldview or a single Islamic worldview. The same type of worldview often gives rise to many different tokens. In a classic book, Stephen Pepper addresses a number of questions in connection with worldviews, but instead prefers to speak of world hypotheses. He envisages that philosophy itself can be seen as a sequence of world hypotheses. In his view the early Milesian philosophers entertained much the same world hypotheses, despite their manifest differences. Even though Thales thought everything was water, Anaximander thought that everything was the boundless apeiron and Anaximenes thought that everything was air, there is a common ‘‘factor’’ that give their different accounts of the world’s basic substance

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a unity. All three, and others such as Empedocles and Anaxagoras, offered a similar style of explanation of happenings in the world in terms of the different basic substance that they postulated. Importantly Pepper proposes a hypothesis about the source of world hypotheses themselves in terms of what he calls the ‘‘root-metaphor theory’’ (Pepper 1942, Chapter V). For example the root metaphor of the Milesian world hypotheses involves: (1) the postulation of a basic substance, and (2) a model of the processes of change of the basic substance that can account for all the facts of the world, and (3) a detailed account of how all the facts of the world arise out of (1) by means of (2). Talk of ‘‘metaphor’’ in this context should not lead one to think that at bottom all is metaphorical. Instead Pepper’s use of the term ‘‘metaphor’’ is close to Thomas Kuhn’s notion of an exemplar (Kuhn 1970, pp. 187–191. An exemplar is a suggestive model solution to some typical problems, on the basis of which similar problems can be solved by analogy.) In the case of the Milesians the different phases of water, from ice to liquid and then to vapor, can serve as an exemplar which can be extended to other substances in order to show how different items can be bought under the scope of the program of explanations outlined by (1), (2) and (3). (Just how well the exemplar can be extended to other cases is a methodological matter that is crucial to the articulation of the worldview, but which we need not consider here.). Pepper also spells out a number of distinctive methodological principles whereby world hypotheses are to be judged as adequate or inadequate (see worldview question (10)). These include some familiar methodological principles having to do with adequacy to an evidential base, the extent to which this provides corroboration, the scope of the world hypotheses, their precision, and the degree to which they do not appeal to empty abstractions. (Why these are to be viewed as desirable criteria of method is a matter of meta-methodology to be discussed in any answer to worldview question (10)—a matter we need not enter into here.) Pepper also insists that world hypotheses ought to be autonomous and proposes a number of methodological maxims to realize this value. One important consequence of this principle is that world hypotheses are not to be eclectic mish-mashes of one another; each must stand in strong contrast to the other. Granted this characterization of world hypotheses Pepper goes on to claim that some world hypotheses, such as animism and mysticism, are inadequate; but four do pass muster, viz., what he calls ‘‘formism’’ (i.e., Platonic forms of realism), mechanism, contextualism and organicism. We will not explore these here (see Pepper 1942, Part 2). But each has their root-metaphor, or as we prefer to say exemplar, which provides the means whereby their program of explanation and understanding is to be realized. One may readily add to Pepper’s list world hypotheses such as those of Aristotle (which animated much of medieval philosophy), Cartesian dualism, Hegelian dialectic in its various forms, and varieties of naturalism (from Hume to Haeckel and onwards), and so on. Once we recognize the range of worldview questions and the multiplicity of worldviews, we immediately realize that there can be scientific worldviews as well; that is, there can be worldviews that try to address worldview questions on the basis of the best available science. Since the Scientific Revolution of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries science has shown such a spectacular progress that scientific worldviews became possible. Take, for instance, the variants on the theme of naturalism which begins with the ancient atomism of Democritus and Leucretius and extends to the mechanical worldviews that proliferated beyond the end of the 17th century; an account of this can be found in Dijksterhuis’s (1961) aptly entitled book The Mechanization of the World Picture. Mechanical, and more broadly materialist, models of physics and science were found to be seriously wanting during the 19th century. The contemporary inheritor of these earlier worldviews now goes by the label of ‘‘naturalism.’’ According to it, what exists is

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circumscribed by what our best available scientific theories postulate; or for those naturalists who still wish to give physics a prominent role, an even more circumscribed view is that of physicalism in which the rest of the biological and social world supervenes on what is postulated in physics. Those theories provide explanations of phenomena and inform us about the structure of reality—but from the stance of the ultimate science of physics. Here it will be useful to draw a distinction that many make, viz., that between ontological and methodological naturalism (see, for example, Papineau 2007). Gauch, too, makes this distinction; but as we shall see towards the end of Sect. 5, his distinction is different from ours in that he identifies the broad notion of ontological naturalism with the narrow doctrine of physicalism, whereas we would like to separate them. Ontological naturalism is the thesis that the world contains just those items that science postulates. For some this will involve not only the indispensable space-time items required in the sciences (including mentalistic items) but also the abstract items of mathematics, since these are also alleged to be indispensable for science. This is not a matter that we need enter into here; but it does put a different gloss on what naturalism in science and mathematics might be. What ontological naturalism definitely excludes are supernatural entities such as God, spirits, divinities and the like. Ontological naturalism is not to be confused with the narrower ontological doctrine of physicalism which admits only the entities postulated in the science of physics. That is, according to physicalism, reality is just physical, and if anything else exists then either it is reducible to, or supervenes upon, the physical. On the other hand, methodological naturalism is a doctrine about admissible explanations in science; it requires that explanations within science should appeal only to acceptable naturalistic items. This excludes all explanatory appeal to supernatural entities such as God, spirits and the like. But methodological naturalism, unlike ontological naturalism, is consistent with the existence of supernatural entities. Moreover, methodological naturalism does not exclude explanations in the social sciences, psychology and sciences of the mind, including our ‘‘folk psychological’’ explanations of actions, in terms of mental states. However, what we might call methodological physicalism would exclude appeals to such entities because they are not acceptable to a strong ontological physicalism. In our paper there is no need to adopt the stronger ontological version of naturalism; for our purposes it will suffice to adopt the weaker methodological naturalism in our account of scientific worldviews. Such naturalistic theories may even yield some of the values and norms by which we ought to live, say, on the basis of evolutionary ethics provided by neo-Darwinians and evolutionary psychologists (see Thomson 1995 for attempts in this direction by various authors). Naturalistic accounts of the world eschew any appeal to the supernatural; so some find that, as a worldview, any naturalism is seriously lacking when it comes to postulating a transcendent account of the purpose of human existence. But in rejecting the transcendent, naturalists are not necessarily incapable of giving an account of the meaning of human life. Rather they re-construe worldview questions about life’s meaning by locating meaning not in some other-worldly transcendent purpose, say, laid down by God, but rather in human volition; one’s life is meaningful only to the extent that each of us is able to imbue one’s life with meaning and purpose. Here humanism can unite with naturalism as a worldview, which rivals that of religions in providing an account of the meaning of life—but it reconstrues quite radically questions of meaning in naturalistic terms.1 1

See the final essay entitled ‘Weltanschauung’, Lecture 35 of Freud (1973), in which Freud attempts to address the conflict between a scientific worldview that would include his own psychoanalytic theories, and the various facets of a religious worldview.

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This is not to say that scientific worldviews give the most satisfactory answers to all of the worldview questions we have. But this is equally true of other worldviews. The point is that there can be scientific as well as non-scientific worldviews, and they deserve to be given equal chance to prove their mettle. To dismiss them outright as ‘‘scientistic’’ is either to take a too narrow view of what a worldview is or else to reflect a prejudice against them. A scientific worldview need not be scientistic. Scientism, as we understand it, is an exclusionary and hegemonic worldview that claims that every worldview question can be best answered exclusively by the methods of science (see Cobern and Loving 2001). Scientism is a worldview that claims to be in no need of resources other than science. By contrast, a scientific worldview may appeal to philosophy, art, literature and so on, in addition to science. For example, scientific naturalism can go along with a version of humanism in order to answer worldview questions about the meaning of life; it may make use of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment as much as it does of Aristotle’s Politics in order to gain insight into human nature and condition. It may even recognize the contributions of metaphysics and theology. A scientific worldview does not have to deny, for example, that the notions of a law of nature and natural law, in the sense that there are principles of universal validity rooted in nature, owe their origins as much to Aristotle’s metaphysics of substance as it does to Aquinas’s Christian theology. It is also important to distinguish between the project of constructing a scientific worldview and asking whether science itself has any worldview content. If our purpose is to construct a scientific worldview, then it is natural that we use the best available relevant science as a means of answering as many worldview questions as possible. It is in this sense that a scientific worldview makes maximal use of science. In this way, unlike some rival worldviews, it opens itself to change when our scientific theories change. Of course, if the scientific community is divided over what is the best theory for a given domain of phenomena, then it is best to refrain from appealing to that part of science for worldview construction. Sometimes it might be the case that even though there is a consensus on what is the best scientific theory, that theory may simply be of no help in answering a particular worldview question we have. In such cases, one may make use of other resources like philosophy, art, literature, and so on. For scientific worldview construction, science is a major resource for generating as many worthwhile worldview beliefs as possible; but it is not necessarily the only resource. By contrast, asking whether science itself has any worldview content is a different issue. Of course, much depends on what we mean by ‘‘science,’’ and philosophical theories of science have not reached a consensus about a satisfactory definition of science. For example, there are serious disagreements about the aims of science. While realists argue that truth is a fundamental aim of science, anti-realists argue variously that the aim of science is empirical adequacy, puzzle-solving, and so on. To overcome this difficulty, one strategy is to give a minimal characterization of science that reflects scientific orthodoxy and not get into controversial issues like the aims of science. Once such a characterization is formulated, one can then ask if it contains or presupposes any worldview beliefs. As we understand it, this is what Gauch attempts to do in his paper in this volume. His position is that while a minimal characterization of science acceptable to all parties can be provided, it by itself does not have any worldview content or presuppose any worldview beliefs. In the remainder of this article we will leave aside the topic of scientific worldviews and instead focus on the question whether science itself has any worldview content or presupposes any worldview beliefs. Elsewhere, we have given what we believe to be a satisfactory working definition of science, especially suited for science education (see Nola and Irzik 2005, pp. 201–204); we will not elaborate on this further here. Instead, for the

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sake of argument, we will follow Gauch’s strategy of a minimal characterization of science and show, pace Gauch, that science has important worldview content even when it is characterized quite minimally. 3 Gauch’s seven pillars of science Gauch lists seven pillars that characterize science. Pillar P1, realism, states that the physical world is real. According to pillar P2, called presuppositions, science presupposes that the world is orderly and comprehensible. Pillar P3 is named evidence and says that science requires empirical, public evidence for its conclusions. Pillar P4, called logic, states that scientific thinking employs standard logic. According to pillar P5, called limits, science has limits; it cannot explain everything. Pillar P6 says that science is open to all people from all cultures; in principle, anybody can engage in scientific activity. This is called universality. Finally, pillar P7, namely worldview, states that science contributes to a meaningful worldview.2 Gauch develops three theses regarding these pillars. What concerns us here is his Thesis 3: Thesis 3: Science is worldview independent in its presuppositions and method but scientific evidence, or empirical evidence in general, can have worldview import. Methodological considerations reveal this possibility and historical review demonstrates its actuality... A worldview-independent method applied to worldviewinformative evidence can reach worldview-distinctive conclusions. The action is in the evidence. The evidence reflects reality. (Gauch, this issue). We understand this as follows. Gauch believes that although the presuppositions of science and scientific method/reasoning have no worldview content, science may provide evidence that has bearing on a certain worldview belief, say p. Such evidence can be employed as a premise in an argument. Then using scientific reasoning (that includes standard logic), p is reached as a conclusion. Gauch seems to think that this is the only way science is relevant to worldview beliefs—if, that is, they can be obtained as the conclusion of an argument that contains evidence as one of its premises. Let us call this the argument–argument. Now, our major disagreement with Gauch concerns his Thesis 3. We defend just the opposite view that science does have worldview content even in its presuppositions and method (see Sect. 4). In other words, pillars P1–P4 and the scientific method are not worldview independent. In Sect. 4 we shall show that science, in the quite minimal sense Gauch intends it, has worldview content in other respects as well. Before we proceed any further, we would like to note that Gauch is not clear whether all or only some of the seven pillars are presuppositions of science. He explicitly calls pillar P2 ‘‘presupposition.’’ This gives the impression that only what is stated in pillar P2 is a presupposition. But elsewhere he speaks of pillar P1 also as a presupposition of science. His Thesis 2 states that ‘science’s presuppositions about the existence and comprehensibility of the physical world are best legitimated by an appeal to rudimentary common sense’ (Gauch, this issue; our emphasis.) So, according to Thesis 2, realism, too, is a presupposition of science. But is this right? That depends on what we mean by ‘‘presupposition.’’ 2

For this list, see Gauch (this issue); compare Cobern (2000, p. 237). Cobern’s list of presuppositions of science, however, differs from Gauch’s in some ways. More importantly, Cobern argues that there is no such list that characterizes adequately all of science.

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As Gauch himself explains, the term ‘‘presupposition’’ has several meanings. In the informal sense, it means an implicit, undefended belief of a person that he or she takes for granted. In the formal sense, a belief is a presupposition if it is a precondition for the truth or falsity of another belief. As Gauch notes, some presuppositions are so deeply entrenched that it would be absurd to question them. They are called absolute presuppositions. Now, clearly, realism is not an absolute presupposition of science since it has been questioned many times without falling into any absurdity, as the history of philosophy reveals. Otherwise, positions such as idealism, phenomenalism and skepticism would not be possible. It is worth remembering in this context that realism has been questioned and rejected even by scientists. Ernest Mach, who argued that the world is nothing but a complex of sensations is a case in point. Is realism a presupposition in the formal sense? Again, we do not think so because we cannot think of any scientific (as opposed to philosophical) belief whose truth or falsity depends on realism. One can adopt Mach’s empirio-critical position and do science without needing realism at all. This is not a position we endorse, but it is a possible position that one can adopt as a scientist and practice its trade. Finally, is realism a presupposition in the informal sense? Here, we can make a reasonable case for an affirmative answer in that most scientists take realism for granted in their daily activities, though there are exceptions such as Mach. Leaving aside P1, we can further ask whether all pillars of science are presuppositions or only some. Which ones and in what sense? Gauch does not say. There is further lack of clarity, not unrelated to the problem about presuppositions, in Gauch’s use of the notion of method vis-a`-vis his seven pillars. Gauch seems to take pillar P4, logic, as part of the scientific method. But logic is at the same time a presupposition of scientific thinking. Every scientific argument presupposes standard logic. So, does this mean that the scientific method, too, is a presupposition? What about various forms of inductivism, hypothetico-deductivism, and Bayesianism? Are these parts of the scientific method or not? Again, Gauch does not say. But since standard logic is purely deductive (and thus nonampliative), and since in science we also reason in non-ampliative ways, it follows that we do need some form of inductivism or hypothetico-deductivism or Bayesianism. We will exploit this situation for our purposes and take these forms of reasoning as part of the scientific method. In doing this we believe we are acting in accordance with the spirit of Gauch’s position.

4 Do the pillars of science have any worldview content? As we saw, Gauch contends that science is worldview-independent in its presuppositions and method. This means that neither realism nor the orderliness and comprehensibility of the world nor the use of logic have any worldview content. But why not? Since Gauch does not give any explicit reason for his contention, we conjecture that his reason has to do with the argument–argument and the fact that P1, P2 and P4 are presuppositions. Gauch thinks that, within the context of science, a belief can have worldview content only when it is the conclusion of an argument that employs (scientific) reasoning and evidence. But since every such argument presupposes P1, P2 and P4 according to Gauch, they cannot be its conclusion at the same time on pain of circularity. Hence, for him, P1, P2 and P4 (and other presuppositions of science, if any) do not have any worldview content. In other words, they are worldview-independent. (We could also say, equivalently, that they are worldview-neutral, that by themselves they have no worldview import.) We disagree. This is not the only way a belief can have worldview content. We submit that there are basically two ways a belief can have or acquire worldview content. The first

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way is by purporting to be an answer to a worldview question. But this is not the only way. A belief can also have worldview content if there is another worldview belief to which it is logically related. Thus, a belief will have worldview content if it entails, or is entailed by, or contradicts another belief that has worldview content. With this in mind, let us evaluate the worldview content of P1, P2 and P4. Consider pillar P1, realism, first. As it pertains to the natural and life sciences, we take it to mean that there is an external, physical reality independent of human mind. We prefer to call this ‘‘minimal realism’’ because it merely postulates the existence of a physical reality without saying anything about its structure or even whether it is knowable or not. Nevertheless, it is clearly a worldview belief because it partially answers one of the metaphysical/ontological worldview questions. It tells us that what exists includes physical reality. It is a partial answer because it does not tell us what else exits nor does it say that physical reality is the only thing that exists. Indeed, realism belongs to a group of worldview beliefs that may be called philosophical. This is not to say that only philosophical worldviews include it. Obviously, it can also be a part of other worldviews such as political worldviews (e. g. Marxism or liberalism). Realism is a worldview belief, which is at odds with philosophical worldviews such as idealism or phenomenalism. It will also clash with a religious worldview that takes the physical world not as real, but as an illusory reflection of a deeper, non-physical reality. Such is the import of the preface that Osiander placed at the beginning of Copernicus’ De Revolutionibus. Copernicus took a realist view of his Sun-centered cosmos while Osiander argued that it ought to be understood only as one of many models, which fit the phenomena we observe of the heavens. How the cosmos really is can only be a matter of divine revelation and not of model building in science, including Copernicus’ model. Gauch takes realism as a presupposition of science and says that it is best legitimated by common sense: Thesis 2: Science’s presuppositions about the existence and comprehensibility of the physical world are best legitimated by an appeal to rudimentary common sense. Anything less leaves science vulnerable to radical skepticism, which questions the comprehensibility or even the existence of the physical world. Anything more substantive, coming from a particular and favored worldview (such as atheism, Buddhism, Christianity, or Islam), needlessly jeopardizes science’s status as a public enterprise. (Gauch, this issue; our emphasis.). But the last sentence is an admission of P1’s worldview import. There may be a worldview that rejects an appeal to common sense for the justification of realism and that thereby denies the reality of the world. Clearly, such a worldview would be in conflict with the minimal realist worldview. The fact that this jeopardizes the public nature of science is beside the point. Indeed, the anti-realist can say ‘so much the worse for science’! Realism is a substantial worldview doctrine; so is its negation. But they cannot both be true, so one of them has to be rejected. Since, by Gauch’s criteria, realism is one of the pillars of science, it follows that science too has intrinsic worldview content in virtue of the fact that (a) it answers a worldview question and (b) it conflicts with other worldviews. Thus, realism is a worldview belief by both counts indicated above. Consider now pillar P2. It says that the world is orderly and comprehensible by human beings. But to say this is to make a typical worldview claim about the structure of reality. It is to answer a metaphysical/ontological worldview question. Indeed, it is an answer that clashes with the opposite worldview belief that the structure of reality cannot be comprehended in its totality by human beings who are necessarily finite. (The Augustinian

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worldview may come close to such a worldview.) Because P2 is an answer to a worldview question and because it contradicts with certain other worldview beliefs, it too has worldview content by both counts. Furthermore, it should be noted that pillar P2 can be challenged, and indeed has been challenged, by the entire Kantian school of social scientists such as Wilhelm Dilthey, Heinrich Rickert and Max Weber. These neo-Kantians claim that the world in itself is chaotic and thus unknowable. What gives it order and therefore makes it intelligible is the structure of our concepts or our minds. This means that the world in itself lacks any order. Pillar P2 presents a dilemma for Gauch: he must accept either that it is itself a worldview belief or else that it is not a pillar of science. Now what about Pillar P4, the use of logic and more generally of scientific method that includes logic? Science yields knowledge about the world through the application of the scientific method to public/empirical evidence. This is endorsed by Gauch as well: It may seem paradoxical or surprising that a worldview-independent method could yield worldview-distinctive conclusions. But of course, only a method that did not presuppose or favor a particular outcome could yield a conclusion worthy of consideration. A worldview-independent method applied to worldview-informative evidence can reach worldview-distinctive conclusions. The action is in the evidence. The evidence reflects reality. (Gauch, this issue; emphasis original). In this passage Gauch reiterates his earlier contention that scientific method is worldviewindependent and then adds that ‘but of course, only a method that did not presuppose or favor a particular outcome could yield a conclusion worthy of consideration’. We disagree with both of the ideas expressed here. The scientific method is not at all neutral with respect to worldviews. That it is the means by which knowledge of the world is obtained is a belief that has worldview content. Contrary to what Gauch claims, it favors a particular outcome, i.e. a specific way of interrogating nature and knowing about it. We can express this point more forcefully. Gauch’s pillars P1–P4 entail that the world can be known by scientific means, that science provides us with genuine knowledge of physical reality. (Recall: ‘The evidence reflects reality’. If that is the case, the evidence must be true or at least approximately true.) This view goes beyond minimal realism and is often called ‘epistemic realism’. Now, if epistemic realism is not a worldview belief, we do not know what is. Moreover, there are certain interpretations of Islam, and of Christianity, which deny that we can obtain any real knowledge about nature through empirical means. According to them, there is only one way and that is the way of revelation and faith (see Nola and Irzik 2005, p. 449). This shows that scientific method itself has worldview import before it is applied to evidence. Actually, what is at issue here is more than the scientific method. Certain religious worldviews simply deny that public/empirical evidence gives us any genuine knowledge about the structure of reality. Worse yet, what is sometimes questioned by beholders of some worldviews is standard logic itself. The Christian doctrines of the Trinity, or of the Eucharist, can be taken as examples here. Given the Catholic version of the Christian worldview, some find it hard to see how three distinct things, The Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit, can be one thing; hence a seemingly logical contradiction for Trinitarianism (perhaps avoided by Unitarianism). Again some find it hard to see how the wine and bread in the Eucharist can become the blood and body of Christ. There is alleged to be transubstantiation in which the substance of the bread and wine becomes the substance of the body and blood of Christ, but this latter substance retains the accidental appearance of

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bread and wine. For some the Trinity and the Eucharist are ‘‘mysteries that surpasseth all understanding,’’ and a strong faith is required to overcome the logical sticking points of reason. St Augustine was one of those who, after finding it hard to give reasons for the fundamental tenets of Christianity, recommended that one give up the search and simply accept the tenets on faith alone, no matter how contradictory they might appear.3 Such a stance has not always been adopted by the apologists of Catholicism. Medieval philosophers, such as Aquinas, did much metaphysical and logical work to show how the Trinity need not be a contradictory notion, and to show how two seemingly different substances can be in the same place at the same time. (The Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation and Luther’s doctrine of consubstantiation attempt to deal with this in their different ways.) Our point is not to explore these doctrines here in their various manifestations. Rather it is to show that since the use of logic is one of the pillars of science on Gauch’s account, and since it conflicts with a religious worldview belief (on some understandings of these worldviews), it cannot be worldview-independent.

5 Criticism and the mode of scientific explanation as sources of worldview import We have argued that science does presuppose worldview beliefs, that it has worldview content. So far, our focus has been science as it is characterized in terms of the seven pillars. However, these are not the only sources of worldview beliefs that stem from science. Science has worldview content in other ways or respects as well. Perhaps two of the most important of these is (a) the critical nature of scientific activity and (b) the mode of scientific explanation. Historians of science generally agree that science emerged in Ionian states along both sides of the Aegean sea around the 5th century BCE despite the fact that many other cultures had made numerous discoveries about stars, numbers, geometric figures, plants, and so on. So, why do they single out that part of the world and that period? The reason is that for the first time in the history of human kind, human beings began giving explanations of natural phenomena in terms of again natural phenomena4 and then set out to criticize them systematically (see, for instance, Lindberg 1992, Chapter 1). This marked the beginning of the end of the appeal to gods, spirits and other supernatural beings in order to account for natural phenomena. This new mode of explanation, coupled with the power of systematic and sustained criticism, was monumental in setting the course of science. They turned out to be extremely effective for achieving epistemic success and gave rapid rise to many impressive scientific systems such as ancient astronomy. The rest, as they, is history. To be sure, the elimination of supernatural beings and powers from science did not happen overnight. It took many centuries. As we know, even ‘‘the incomparable’’ Newton had to appeal to God’s intervention to save his theory of the planetary system from collapsing despite the spectacular successes of his mechanics in many areas. As is well known, Newton’s gravitational theory was able to solve only the two-body problem and had no means of taking into account the gravitational influences of more than two celestial objects simultaneously. As a result, Newton thought that our planetary system was unstable 3

For an account of the rejection of reason and an appeal to faith in the later St. Augustine, see Freeman 2002, pp. 292–294. Freeman also discusses the way in which St Paul dismisses reason when it comes into conflict with faith and his criticisms of ‘‘the philosophers’’ (ibid., Chapter 9).

4

We take it that what some writers mean by ‘methodological naturalism’ is nothing but this mode of scientific explanation. See Gauch (this issue) and Gauld (2005, p. 304).

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and bound to collapse unless God intervened every once in a while. However, when mechanics was developed in the 19th century, this problem was solved without needing any help from God. Laplace is reputed to have replied, when Napoleon pointed out that in his Me´canique Ce´leste there was no mention of God: ‘I have no need of that hypothesis’. Even for those who did argue for the existence of God, such as Leibniz, there was no need for God in any scientific account of the running of the cosmos. Leibniz, in his correspondence with Clarke (who argued on behalf of Newton) said that it would be a very poor watchmaker who had to adjust the hands on any clock he had made in order to make it keep the time. Divine intervention was a sign of a bad cosmos-maker, not the perfect cosmosmaker who having made the cosmos could then let it run without further intervention.5 Indeed, we can say that any appeal to supernatural powers became redundant all the way down to theories of the big-bang. Today, science can in principle explain any worldly event in a natural way, with the possible exception of the occurrence of the big-bang itself. Along with the mode of natural explanation, criticism is also crucial for the epistemic success of science. Once the importance of criticism was recognized, tools for criticism developed and proliferated. First Aristotelian logic and systematic observation, later methods of experimental testing, modern logic and statistics all contributed to the critical power of science. These enabled scientists to scrutinize their accounts of nature more effectively and improve upon them. It is fair to say that, generally speaking, no other human activity has internalized systematic and sustained criticism as much as science has. Openness to, and willingness to accept, criticism is essential to science. Scientific theories can be criticized in a number of ways using logical and empirical criteria. Is the theory consistent both in itself and with other accepted theories in neighboring fields? Is it simple and fruitful? Does it withstand observational and experimental tests? Does it solve the problems it has set for itself? Does it have wide explanatory scope? And so on. Obviously, scientific ideas can be criticized only if they are criticizable.6 Criticizability is a broader notion than testability. Testability implies criticizability, but the converse does not hold. Indeed, criticizability is so central to science that it should be included among the pillars of science as a presupposition in both senses of the term. Criticizability is a presupposition of science both because it is taken for granted in scientific inquiry and because it is a precondition of it. It may even be called an absolute presupposition since, without it, science would cease to exist. Accordingly, we suggest the following as the 0th pillar: Pillar P0. Scientific ideas are criticizable. Science is open to criticism and embodies an institutional willingness to accept and learn from criticism. Indeed, Gauch’s two pillars, namely P3 (use of evidence) and P4 (use of logic), require pillar P0. Pillar P0 makes the employment of empirical evidence and standard logic possible. The primary function of empirical evidence and standard logic is to subject scientific ideas (hypotheses, theories) to criticism to prove their mettle. Those that withstand against criticism are retained tentatively for further criticism, those that fail are revised or rejected wholesale. Without P0, P3 and P4 cannot take off the ground. P0 is also an important part of Merton’s ethos of science in which sociological norms of science, involving universalism, communalism, disinterestedness and organized skepticism, help promote the epistemic goal of advancing knowledge (see Merton 1973, Chapters 12 and

5 6

See Alexander (1956), especially xvi–xviii, 13–14 and 17–19.

The overwhelming importance of criticizability for science has been emphasized most by Karl Popper. See, for instance, his (1975).

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13). P0 will have worldview content to the extent to which there are worldviews that are dogmatic, that is, worldviews that are not open to, or do not tolerate, criticism. In a similar vein, the mode of scientific explanation outlined above has also worldview content. There are several cultural worldviews that are in direct conflict with it, to the extent to which they postulate the existence of gods and spirits for explaining worldly phenomena. The worldviews of native Indians in America, natives of Alaska, African Azande, Maoris in New Zealand are typical examples. Interestingly, Gauch is aware of this fact and tries hard to overcome the difficulty it creates for his position. It is worth quoting him in full: A stipulatory issue, involving social conventions more so than philosophical reasons, regards the domain of science. Are supernatural beings and events, including God and miracles, inside or outside science’s domain? The rather prevalent doctrine of methodological naturalism says that scientific explanations should involve only natural entities, not anything supernatural, such as God or angels. But this doctrine, even if adopted wholeheartedly by a given individual or institution, is about the legitimate business of science, whereas it is silent about whether supernatural beings exist and whether they interact with physical things in observable ways. (A different doctrine, ontological naturalism, says that only the physical world exists and nothing supernatural.) (Gauch, this issue). We can agree with much of the characterization of methodological naturalism given here (see our account in Sect. 2). But we disagree on some points. Naturalism, either ontological or methodological, need not be silent about supernatural entities. While ontological naturalism simply denies their existence, methodological naturalism merely requires that we not employ them in any explanation in science. Here methodological naturalism allows that there might be supernatural entities but that science should not appeal to them in its explanations. Another point we should note is that our characterization of ontological naturalism is different from Gauch’s. As we indicated in Sect. 2, what he means by ‘‘ontological naturalism’’ is what is typically called ‘‘physicalism’’ in the philosophical literature. Our characterization of ontological naturalism is broader than his, but this is just a terminological matter. There is a more substantial issue about which we disagree with Gauch. He takes methodological naturalism as a merely stipulatory issue, as a matter of whether science should or should not appeal to supernatural beings in its explanations. But this is not merely a stipulatory issue at all. As we have pointed out above, it is simply a historical fact that science has emerged by attempting to avoid referring to supernatural entities in its accounts of nature. Indeed, it is precisely this fact that differentiated scientific inquiry from mythology and religion in the first place. Gauch gives the impression that the mode of scientific explanation we have been describing is merely a ‘prevalent doctrine of methodological naturalism’ accepted by social convention. To say that it is conventional is to imply that it can be dispensed with if the scientific community decides to do so. By contrast, we have claimed that that science explains natural phenomena in terms of only natural entities is one of the essential and distinctive features of science, not just an optional doctrine adopted by some or most scientists, philosophers and educators. To give up methodological naturalism is to give up science. To argue this case (something we can’t do here), science needs to ally itself with philosophical critiques of supernatural entities; and it needs to add its own case for the non-explanatory nature of appeals to such entities beyond empirical investigation.

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6 Worldviews and multiculturalism: some implications for science education If we are correct in our view that science, even when it is characterized quite minimally, has substantial worldview content, then this fact has important implications for science education. This comes about most conspicuously in the context of certain multiculturalist proposals to include local belief systems into science education to be taught side by side with mainstream science. As is well known, there is a sizable number of science educators and philosophers of education who argue that mainstream science is just one of the many sciences that exist and that many local cultures (such as Alaskan natives and native Indians of America) have produced their own ‘‘sciences’’ and contributed to the stock of human knowledge (see, for instance, Aikenhead 2001; Kawagley et al. 1998; Kelly et al. 1993; Ogawa 1989, 1995; Pomeroy 1992; Snively and Corsiglia 2001; Stanley and Brickhouse 1994, 2001). Such belief systems are called variously as ‘Indigenous Knowledge’ (or ‘Indigenous Science’) and ‘Traditional Ecological Knowledge’. We do not doubt that the local cultures discussed by these authors, and indeed, many other cultures of the world have made numerous discoveries and produced valuable knowledge about the world. Indeed, it would be absurd to think that those cultures could have survived without producing substantial knowledge that helped them cope with the natural world. We will leave aside the question whether knowledge produced by them counts as science or not, as we have taken it up elsewhere in detail (Nola and Irzik 2005, Chapter 13). We will ask what happens, from the perspective of the worldview issue, if local cultural belief systems are taught in the science classroom along with mainstream science. Well, clearly, we will be teaching two systems of thought whose underlying worldviews are in many ways diametrically opposed to one another. For instance, while local belief systems often appeal to gods, spirits, witches, magic and other supernatural beings and powers in their explanations of natural events, mainstream science does not; sometimes such cultures do not respond to contradictions in their belief systems the way practitioners of mainstream science do7; for them respect for tradition turns out to be more important than critical discussion about tradition, and so on. This situation raises a host of pedagogical questions. Should we inform our students about these worldviews? If we do not, don’t we deprive them of valuable knowledge and the possibility of reflective engagement in an important matter? How should we teach these worldviews? Should we invite our students to compare and critically evaluate them or say that they are equally valid as some relativist science educators like Pomeroy and Ogawa claim? By what criteria can we compare worldviews? These are important matters that should be taken up if we want our students to be critical inquirers. Minimally, students should be made aware that these two worldviews conflict with one another at the level of explanation and possibly also at the level of the application of logic. This implies that they cannot both be true. One must choose, and it is our responsibility as educators to equip our students with sufficient critical skill for this task. This we can do by engaging in a discussion of what it means to argue logically and what it means to explain something adequately. To protest that this already favors the worldview of mainstream science is to miss the point. After all, the use of logic is a pillar of all science and every explanation must meet certain criteria to deserve its name. (For the nature of explanation, see Nola and Irzik 2005, Sect. 2.5). 7

For an interesting discussion of the Zande belief system, see Evans-Pritchard (1937), Winch (1977) and Jarvie (1977).

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Students may also be invited to reflect upon the role of criticism in the worldviews in question. We have already discussed at some length the notion of criticizability and that of criticism and their place in mainstream science. Students should be able to appreciate this dimension of science and ask whether or not it plays any significant role in local cultures in producing knowledge about the world. Science teachers should not refrain from inviting students to criticize their worldview beliefs in the name of respecting them. It may appear that such refrain is a mandate of multiculturalist politics of education that is concerned with paying cultures, especially minority cultures, their due recognition. It is not. Recognitional respect for an entire culture is a dubious notion. Cultures embody many practices and beliefs; some of them are fine, some not; some are true and others are false. The phrase ‘respect for a culture’ can only mean ‘recognizing the rights of their members’. But there is a world of difference between (a) respecting the right of a person (or a group of persons) to hold or entertain a belief that p and (b) respecting the content of p. (a) does not entail (b); one can hold to (a) but not (b). Thus within a liberal society in which there is freedom of speech (something which we endorse) we can respect the right of person X to believe in, say, witches, but we have no obligation to respect the belief in witches itself. A multiculturalist politics of education ought to be committed to (a), but not be committed to (b). p may be absurd, self-contradictory or simply wrong, in which case it is the moral responsibility of the teacher to show what is wrong with it in a pedagogically appropriate way. Unfortunately, however, many science educators who endorse multiculturalism often confuse (a) and (b) and mistakenly commit themselves to (b) as well as (a). (see Nola and Irzik 2005, Chapter 13 for a detailed discussion of multiculturalist politics of science education.). We believe that the worldview content of mainstream science should be taught regardless of whether local belief systems should be taught or not. In other words, independently of the issue of multiculturalism, the worldview content and worldview implications of science have intrinsic worth. The reason is simple. After all, worldviews are important precisely because they provide us with an overall meaningful perspective about life and the world in which we live, and if science can contribute to it in any way, so much the better. In this way will have more resources to construct our own worldviews or at least make an informed choice about the ones that already exist. This is not to say, however, that the worldview content of mainstream science should be taught dogmatically, much less be imposed on students. This would be against the very spirit of science, as expressed in Pillar P0. Science is above all a self-critical activity, whereby scientific theories are routinely subjected to empirical and logical scrutiny. Science is also a fallible activity, and students should be made aware that in the past many firmly held scientific theories or parts of them have been either revised or completely discarded and that the same faith may befall some of our best current theories. Furthermore, the same holds true for scientific worldviews as well since they rely on science, though not exclusively. To call a belief or a worldview ‘‘scientific’’ does not mean that they are certain, incorrigible or immune to criticism and revision. Indeed, in our view a core aim of science education is to turn students into critical inquirers, whether they inquire into science, scientific worldviews or non-scientific ones (see Nola and Irzik 2005, ‘‘Introduction’’).

7 Conclusion We have argued that science, even when it is characterized quite minimally, has substantial worldview content. This content derives from its presuppositions that include

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its criticizability, logic, the orderliness and the comprehensibility of the world, from its method of inquiry and mode of explanation. Of course, science is also relevant to worldviews by also providing empirical evidence and then reaching conclusions that have worldview content. This is not to say that science can answer every worldview question, but it is a rich and powerful source of worldview beliefs. Furthermore, by challenging, confronting and conflicting with other worldviews, it forces their defendants to improve upon them. Natural theology, for instance, owes as much to science as it does to religion. This is equally true of science as well. As the history of science reveals, science has emerged from mythological and religious worldviews, and one of the most remarkable episodes in the history of human kind, the Scientific Revolution in the 16th and 17th centuries, was significantly influenced by philosophical and religious beliefs. That religion always and necessarily is a hindrance to science or that the two are always in harmony with each other are simplistic views that are oblivious to historical detail. The nature of the relationship between science and religion depends heavily on the fine texture of historical circumstances (see Brooke 1991; Cobern 2000). For example, the 18th century scientist who gave us the beginnings of our modern theory of the age of the Earth, James Hutton, was himself a religious believer. Like many of the ‘‘founding fathers’’ of the USA, he was a deist, rather than a theist, who held that the rationality of science can be quite compatible with religion (and so he rejected the literal, or fundamentalist, reading of the Bible about the Earth’s origins in Genesis, a position that can also be found in St Augustine’s Confessions). A science education that did not acknowledge the worldview content of science and the interplay between science and worldviews would be an impoverished one. Acknowledgements We would like to thank Colin Gauld for helpful comments.

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Contemporary Science and Worldview-Making Alberto Cordero

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 747–764. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9119-1 Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract This paper discusses the impact of contemporary scientific knowledge on worldviews. The first three sections provide epistemological background for the arguments that follow. Sections 2 and 3 discuss the reliable part of science, specifically the characterization, scope and limits of the present scientific canon. Section 4 deals with the mode of thinking responsible for both the canon’s credibility and its power to guide speculative activity. With these preliminaries in place, the remainder of the paper addresses the issue of tolerance to ‘‘alternative perspectives’’. The analyses in this part focus on the extent to which mature scientific thought embodies open-mindedness, with pluralism and competition between perspectives as central themes. I argue for four related claims, concerning scientific literacy, the impact of the canon on rational speculation, the limits of scientific pluralism, and the popular idea that recent forms of ‘‘scientific (natural) theology’’ have rational merit and can help worldview-making in our age, respectively: (C1) Which theories and narratives (or parts of them) belong in the scientific canon, and whether they are worldview independent, are matters contingent upon the state of knowledge—not something one can convincingly determine on metascientific or transcendental insight. (C2) The current scientific canon and its associated methodology provide research with strong directionality, often against popular currents. (C3) Current science does marginalize some views dear to many people. (C4) Although natural theology ‘‘officially’’ purports to embody scientific methodology, all it presently has on offer are poorly thought out ventures embodying (at best) only relaxed versions of that methodology; if so, the relationship between current projects in natural theology and science cannot (without begging the question) be reasonably described as one of ‘‘partial overlap’’, ‘‘mutual modification’’, or ‘‘ongoing complementarity’’.

A. Cordero (&) Department Of Philosophy, Graduate Center CUNY & Queens College CUNY, City University of New York, Flushing, NY 11367-1597, USA e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_5

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1 Introduction Science gives us much reliable information about numerous areas of human interest. But the span of this information is uneven, the overall picture it provides full of gaps. Although plentiful, scientific knowledge leaves numerous areas poorly illuminated, including some of deep significance—like ‘‘ultimate foundations’’, liberty, and morality. Worldviews try to fill in such gaps. The terms ‘‘worldview’’ and ‘‘science’’ each admit many senses, so it will be good to render them manageably precise from the start. Worldview-making responds to an ancient urge to seek a comprehensive picture of the world—for the sake of understanding ourselves, for knowledge’s sake, and not the least for acting as best we can on the basis of such knowledge as we currently have. In Hugh G. Gauch’s characterization, A worldview is an overall speculative perspective on the world and life that embodies what is known, how the knowledge involved is evaluated, and how one responds to it (Gauch 2006). Worldviews come in many orientations—some are ‘‘philosophical’’ (inspired by physicalism, dualism, determinism, indeterminism, etc.), some are ‘‘religious’’ (inspired by Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, etc.), some are ideological (committed to social constructivism, Maoism, the Taliban Vision, etc.), among other orientations. The second noted term needing precision, ‘‘science’’, refers to an activity commonly valued for its growing practical applications, but also for the knowledge it yields. I characterize science, to a first approximation, as follows: Science is the rational pursuit of truthful understanding, honestly and forcefully conducted—an activity defined by a commitment to understanding and truth rather than by subject matter. Features central to this commitment include science’s public character and the structure and function of its best social institutions. Also of capital importance in the empirical sciences are care about data, predicted novelty and experimentation.1 I will take for granted this much about science’s achievement: (1) At least on some aspects of the world, current science offers theoretical accounts which are reliable; (2) jointly, these partial accounts constitute a scientific ‘‘canon’’—a body of information that is as well-established as anything we have and credible beyond reasonable doubt, and as such a ‘‘mandatory’’ component of compliance with scientific literacy in today’s world. (Here ‘‘reliable’’ is used in the ordinary sense of ‘‘credible and dependable’’, as when we talk about cats, mice and the like in ordinary life.) Although modest, this view of science is contested by some critics, but I believe their points have been adequately dealt with in the literature and will not concern myself with this matter here.2

1

In this paper my focus will be limited to theories, narratives, methods and goals amply recognized as satisfactory at the institutional scientific level—as opposed recognition in terms of private endorsement by individual scientists.

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Sweeping critiques of science of the global-skeptical and/or ‘‘postmodernist’’ varieties remain popular, despite the availability of compelling responses (see, for example, Sokal and Bricmont 1998). Not being concerned in this paper with grand skeptical critiques of science, I will simply assume a ‘‘down to earth’’ position regarding the best part of science, which is generally taken to include many fairly general theories as well as insight on the scope and limits of their credible applicability, along with much insight on reasons for pursuing and for not pursuing subsequent speculative lines (see also Cordero 2001).

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Part of the interest in worldviews comes from long-held ideas about the limits of empirical human knowledge, according to which science at one end, and religion and philosophy at the other, work in different keys. On this traditional view, natural science concerns itself with the empirical phenomena and asks how they occur, focusing on the relations of efficient causality underlying natural processes. From this perspective, understanding in the natural sciences is not quite ‘‘first class’’ because, it is said, scientific causal explanations cannot advance beyond connecting the discrete representations of outer experience through hypothetical generalizations. By contrast, it is also said, religion and philosophy are more fulfilling because they concern themselves with meaning and deal with the deepest why-questions, asking about the significance and purpose of the world. In more ‘‘modern’’ versions of this conception, the aim of natural science is identified as the pursuit of ever broader generalizations and explanations of an atomistic or associationist sort, whereas the human sciences are identified as seeking a more rewarding kind of understanding in terms of purpose, value and meaning—welcoming universality but placing at least equal weight on understanding individuality. Perhaps the most articulate defense of this outlook is found in Wilhelm Dilthey’s philosophy, in which human individuals are primarily regarded as points of intersection of the social and cultural systems in which they participate—admittedly an attractive way of looking at the human condition.3 But, can we still think of human individuals as points of intersection without also including with at least equal force and significance the biological? Epistemic advances in the last decades seem to recommend against too drastic a differentiation between the natural and human spheres. Evolutionary anthropology tells of a dynamic interplay between biology and culture which, growing evidence suggests, shaped human prehistory and continues to shape our lives today. In turn, biology continues a process of integration with the physical sciences started in earnest in the last century. Presently, biology and natural science are expanding their range in ways seemingly contrary to traditional demands of worldview neutrality for natural science, or so I will suggest. Comprehensive views of the world, including views about our own species, vary on the amount of speculation they embody. The Taliban View seems to rest on feral guesswork, unconstrained by what most of us in the West regard as ‘‘standard’’ epistemological prudence. Traditional worldviews are generally more circumspect, although hasty synthesizing seems to come with the genre. A particularly sober variety can be envisaged, however, one in which existing gaps in hard knowledge are filled in only to the extent that this can be done in harmony with the approach to learning encouraged by the mature sciences; offerings of this variety would insist on conceptual and epistemological harmony with the content and spirit of the reliable part of mature science. This paper aims to clarify the impact of contemporary scientific knowledge on worldview-making. The first three sections provide epistemological background for the discussion that follows. Sections 2 and 3 focus on the reliable part of science—specifically on the characterization, scope and limits of the present scientific canon; Sect. 4 deals with the mode of thinking responsible for both the canon’s credibility and its power to guide speculative activity. With these preliminaries in place, the remainder of the paper addresses the issue of tolerance to ‘‘alternative perspectives’’. The analyses in this part focus on the extent to which mature scientific thought embodies open-mindedness, with pluralism and competition between perspectives as central themes. I argue for four related claims concerning scientific literacy, the impact of the canon on rational speculation, the limits of 3

The continuing influence of Dilthey’s work is discussed in, for example, Rickman (1988).

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scientific pluralism, and the popular idea that recent forms of ‘‘scientific (natural) theology’’ have rational merit and can help worldview-making in our age, respectively: (C1). Which theories and narratives (or parts of them) belong in the scientific canon, and whether they are worldview independent, are matters contingent upon the state of knowledge—not something one can convincingly determine on metascientific or transcendental insight. (C2). The current scientific canon and its associated methodology provide research with strong directionality, often against popular currents. (C3). Current science does marginalize some views dear to many people. Scientific pluralism is bounded by knowledge and reason rather than popular demand. (C4) Although natural theology ‘‘officially’’ purports to embody scientific methodology, all it presently has on offer are poorly thought out ventures embodying (at best) very relaxed versions of that methodology. If so, the relationship between current projects in natural theology and science cannot (without begging the question) be reasonably described as one of ‘‘partial overlap’’, ‘‘mutual modification’’, or ‘‘ongoing complementarity’’. Claims (C1) and (C2) have to do with the knowledge base on which all reason-friendly overviews are meant to rest.

2 The Compelling Part of Science Insight about the world and life comes from many sources. One powerful old contributor is religion; others are art, literature, and philosophy. Science, a comparatively recent provider, has growing intellectual and pragmatic importance in our age, because of the strong reliability of much of the information it yields. Its intellectual and material products are discernible all around us, for good and ill. Scientific literacy is no longer optional, in the sense that a contemporary person seems unlikely to be able to make informed decisions without good command of arithmetic, algebra, elementary calculus, basic probability, and basic empirical science—physics, chemistry, geology, biology, cosmology and astrophysics.4 We are advised to abide by the compellingly credible parts of science. But which are those and what makes them so? In order to answer these questions, we need to consider the theoretical and instrumental methods serious scientists employ in their pursuit of knowledge. Not all that comes from science is equally ‘‘dependable’’. Individually and collectively, scientists are fallible and indeed often endorse claims that subsequently turn out to be false or hastily made. They are also not immune to the lure of financial, political and religious interests. More generally, the fertile human imagination is notorious for its capacity for falsely fulfilling dreams—hence the need for checking its products. So, when it comes to assessing claims and views, well-established credibility rather than provenance is the feature to focus on. Still, as a matter of historical finding, disciplines with lax resources for checking theories against hard facts are marred by diminished reliability. Particularly welcome as hard facts are implications specifically attributable to a theory that are genuinely surprising. If borne out, such implications advance the theory’s credibility. That is why Darwin’s theory, for example, is today so highly regarded by knowledgeable people: it led the public to expect extraordinary things that got 4

For a rough approximation to the current canon see Angier (2007).

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subsequently confirmed. Here is an illustration. For a long time Darwin’s critics took comfort in the difficulties of articulating a credible evolutionary history for the rise of cetaceans. Not that the theory ever failed to ‘‘stick its neck out’’ on this. In conjunction with the discovery that mammals began as land animals, Darwinian biology implied, for example, that whales should descend from land mammals and consequently have ancestors with structures intermediate between ones that function well in land milieus and ones that do so in aquatic milieus—an implication deemed absurd by early critics convinced that intermediate structures could not possibly work ‘‘anywhere’’. Scarce fossil records and absence of other forms of evidence made producing a compelling sequence a tall order. This changed with improvements in fossil gathering and the discovery of multiple dating techniques, including biological measurements of lineage separation. With such improvements in place, the demand on the theory became both precise and pressing: in addition to finding convincing continuity in the fossil record, the time of lineage separation of present whales from their conjectured original land counterparts should get compatible determinations from independent sources, in particular paleontology and physics on the one hand, and genetics and biochemistry on the other. And that is exactly what occurred. In recent decades, contrary to the predictions of all those earlier critics of evolutionary biology, a well-spaced array of intermediate species has been found for a lineage of whale morphology culminating in the current species and spanning back to an archaic land mammalian genus in proto-India, and its dating is coherent in the required way, to the credit of Darwinian biology.5 So, startling inferences are welcome. But not any implication will do. Known facts and regularities are easy to smuggle into a theory during its construction. Previously unimagined features of the world are a different matter. That is why the accent on predicted novelty in both contemporary science and philosophy of science is intense, and why considerable effort is being put in clarifying the sensed link between epistemic accreditation and predictive power. Following Leplin (1997): A prediction P, yielded with the help of a theory, is ‘‘novel’’ at time t if the following two conditions are met: (a) P is unique to the theory at t, and (b) P was not essentially involved in the reasoning that produced the theory. Well-attested predictive power makes a piece of scientific discourse more credible. Those parts of current scientific discourse that are believable beyond reasonable doubt— the present ‘‘scientific canon’’—together with similarly reliable stock from other sources provide a knowledge base available to us. It is made up of claims now rationally believed to be true. Truth matters, and science has arguably helped unveil some truth about the world. But this is a major assertion. A clarification about calling something ‘‘true’’ is in order. As a universal claim about nature, the Newtonian law of gravitation is strictly speaking false, yet there is a sense in which it deserves to be called ‘‘truth-like’’, because talk of approximate truth seems legitimate when there are specifiable conditions of approximation. In the case at hand, the law approximates, to a specifiable degree of accuracy, what is the case about a certain restricted domain6—stated as a coarse-grained generalization of limited applicability, the law holds beyond reasonable doubt in numerous broad contexts (for example, within 1% accuracy for all known bodies in the Solar System over periods of one year). Science gives us some recognizable truth in this way, even if (as a matter of fact 5

Zimmer (1998) offers a good presentation of the case.

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Psillos 1999, Chapter 11.

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rather than principle) it fails to give us either ‘‘all the truth’’ or ‘‘nothing but the truth’’ about anything. We get a significant measure of truth, at least in some areas, and that is the relevant point. Another important aspect of science is its intellectual dynamism. Theories and scientific domains change as more is found out about the world. Sometimes, areas long resistant to scientific exploration finally open up to it—a topic relevant to worldviews, to which I now turn.

3 What’s within Reach? Both in range and in depth, the scientific sphere has been expanding since Newton’s time. This has resulted in an increasingly accurate understanding of motion, heat and sound, light, chemical change, electricity and magnetism, organic life, the origin and evolution of biological species, the constitution of ordinary matter, the nature of the stars, the beginnings and development of the accessible universe, and more. The story is one of gradual interdisciplinary integration (as opposed to ‘‘logical reduction’’) of once separate subject matters. Initially independent disciplines have come to merge, helped by fruitful hypotheses of ontic correspondence (as in ‘‘the temperature of a system of particles is a measure of the average kinetic energy of the particles’’). Today, integrations of this sort enrich science both within and between disciplines. Illuminating conceptual links now connect physics and geology, geology and biology, chemistry and physics, biology and chemistry, and psychology and biology. This has important outcomes. When discourses are coherently conjoined, the yield in terms of understanding and derivable consequences generally exceeds the simple addition of the yields possible before conjunction. Typically, linking two initially separate theoretical approaches leads not just to ‘‘applications’’, but also to improved elucidations of the causal networks underpinning the various phenomena studied. Conjunction integrates theoretical narratives by making them more informative and textured. Consider the following illustration. Furry mammals usually host only one variety of lice. Why the human species hosts three kinds has been a mystery since time immemorial. Each louse variety is adapted to a different part of the body. One lives in the head; one lives in clothes, not on the skin; and the third lives in the pubic area. Standard paleoanthropology seems incapable of tackling this mystery on its own. Now, however, recent work that brings together biology and applied molecular physics appears to be making startling advances.7 By comparing DNA from the three varieties of lice, scientists are trying to track their natural histories and figure out how each linked with our lineage. Scalp lice seem to come directly from the ancestral line of humans and chimpanzees. Body lice appear to have evolved from scalp lice about 107,000 years ago, suggesting that our ancestors began to wear sewn clothes around that time. Pubic lice joined us last, seemingly from gorillas, which invites intriguing questions as to exactly how that happened. Leaving aside the intrinsic interest of this research line, for present purposes the case illustrates the growing integration of science into a body of knowledge of unprecedented power.

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I am referring to a study of the DNA of human lice conducted by a team led by Dr. David L. Reed of the University of Florida and published in the March 8, 2007 issue of the journal Biomed Central Biology, also reported by Nicholas Wade in The New York Times of March 8, 2007 (‘‘In Lice, Clues to Human Origin and Attire’’).

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Still, the scientific horizon is finite. How far into territories of human interest can it reach? Are there limits to the kinds of questions approachable by natural-scientific methods? Do some questions lie outside the potential reach of scientific knowledge? Certain developments call earlier reservations into question. Daring projects now explore areas once considered unattainable through empirical investigation. On the subject of mind, for example, the emerging fields of naturalized psychology and anthropology begin to display reasonably cogent theories about the nature and possibilities of our received humanity, about the actual arena of human responsibility, and more. Emblematic developments in these directions are found in the works of, for example, Daniel Dennett, Steven Pinker and Simon Baron-Cohen, among others.8 No fully developed theories are out as yet; but scientific light, it seems, may after all significantly illuminate issues once fiercely reserved to philosophy and religion. Science has been expanding its horizon and depth for three hundred years, and there is no convincing ‘‘necessary end’’ in sight to this process. The above considerations provide, I think, adequate grounding for conclusion (C1) on my list: (C1). Which theories and narratives (or parts of them) belong in the scientific canon, and whether they are worldview independent, are matters contingent upon the state of knowledge—not something one can convincingly determine on metascientific or transcendental insight. Claims (C2) and (C3) on my list build on a particular realization: in mature science, knowledge embodies strong directives for subsequent research; extant knowledge guides the imagination, and speculations are graded accordingly. This is the subject of the next section.

4 Science’s Epistemic Arrow I think one aspect not sufficiently recognized about mature science is the extent to which it provides more than factual knowledge about the world. Oddly enough it is a familiar aspect. When, early in the 19th century, the planet Uranus was found to deviate from its calculated orbit, the explanation of choice traced the anomaly to an as yet unobserved additional body in the Solar System. Numerous other alternative explanations of the deviation were imaginable at the time—the law of Newtonian gravitation might not be correct, Uranus might not be made of ordinary matter, unknown agencies might be at work at great distances from the Sun, perhaps even disembodied spirits might be involved. But such hypotheses were held in little value because of the massive success of Newtonian modeling in celestial mechanics, at the time with no clear disappointments on record. The Newtonian approach soon proved victorious. Careful calculations of the predicted orbit for the proposed addition to the Solar System (independently conducted by John Couch Adams and Urbain Le Verrier) were crowned with success in 1846, when a celestial body was convincingly spotted right where the calculations had predicted it should be. It was the planet we now call ‘‘Neptune’’. I use this episode because it exemplifies how the scientific canon embodies inductive directionality. Credible theories warrant speculative projection in current research ventures. The decision processes involved, strongly sensitive to extant background knowledge, 8

For a good sample of the respective approaches, see Dennett (1995), Pinker (2002), Baron-Cohen (2003).

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are generally neither simple nor ‘‘algorithmic’’. Options are sharpened up, resulting only rarely in the identification of a single uncontroversial ‘‘winner’’, but gains are generally made. In the days of Adams and Le Verrier, addressing the Uranus anomaly within the Newtonian framework was the option to take. The epistemic situation changed after Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity rendered problematic the kind of instantaneous action at a distance seemingly assumed in the Newtonian account. In the 1910s, Special Relativity was not yet experimentally corroborated (and thus remained low in terms of rational credibility,9), but it had enough rational motivations and methodological implications to fuel scientific action in various directions. Most straightforwardly, it challenged the received notion of gravitational interaction, and this provided Einstein with a cogent motivation to revise Newton’s law. The same epistemic context which had directed him to propose the Special Theory now pushed him to radicalize his proposal into the rethinking of Newtonian gravitation we call ‘‘General Relativity’’. The source of his doubts about Newton’s theory lay outside the standard domain of Newtonian mechanics, but the point is that Einstein’s speculative direction was coming from extant knowledge. Specifically, the rational pressure at work originated in Special Relativity, itself a response to recalcitrant difficulties encountered a decade earlier in the area of electrodynamic modeling of charged bodies in motion. Einstein’s scientific imagination was being guided by hard-earned knowledge and knowledge-based methodological insight. The larger idea I am trying to stress is that, in mature science, speculation is strongly guided by current knowledge—a point, I suggest, already envisaged in an early gesture toward a defense of ampliative inference against the global Cartesian skeptic: In experimental philosophy we are to look upon propositions inferred by general induction from phenomena as accurately or very nearly true, notwithstanding any contrary hypotheses that may be imagined, till such time as other phenomena occur by which they may either be made more accurate, or liable to exceptions. (Fourth rule of reasoning, Newton 1729/1934, p. 400; my emphasis.) The ampliative power licensed by Newton could be overgenerous. This was shown early on by problems that came up for Newton’s view of absolute space, and later by problems that came up in the late 1890s with the ether. His fourth rule needed a purgative supplement, which in due course came to include the scientific emphasis on prediction already highlighted in this paper. All the same, already at this early stage in modern science appreciation for the power of extant knowledge to provide research with inductive directionality is on view. However, even if scientific knowledge provides epistemic guidance, neither it nor the guidance it provides are metaphysically sacrosanct; both are open to rational revision, and have in fact been revised since the early days of modern science—in many cases substantially. Matters of justification are not a priori but amenable to empirical investigation. As Dudley Shapere has fruitfully stressed, science not only helps us learn about the world—it also helps us ‘‘learn how to learn’’.10 The cultural and philosophical impact of this aspect of science is not to be underestimated. Back in the 17th century, the new science rested on presuppositions then imagined to be immune to change. Some were mathematical (for instance, the idea that physical space was 9

As said, a theory is not rationally credible until adequate testing, specific to its differential content, is both carried out and gives results favorable to it. Nothing of the kind was yet available on behalf of Special Relativity in the 1910s.

10

Shapere (1991).

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Euclidean), some were metaphysical (like the believed primacy of action by contact). As knowledge developed, however, very many of those presuppositions came to be questioned and revised, often with major methodological impact (notably the rise of predictive power as an epistemic value). Meanwhile, the scientific canon and its accompanying methodology grew in content and turned into a body of knowledge in the light of which the epistemic promise of speculations are discussed and graded in science. Today, whether a given idea is epistemically worth pursuing depends primarily on its plausibility relative to current knowledge.11 My suggestion is thus as follows: (C2). The current scientific canon and its associated methodology provide research with directionality, often against popular currents. In general, the more detailed and textured the canon, the stronger and more specific its guiding power. Far from being neutral to speculative syntheses, contemporary science is in fact incompatible with very many of them. Astrology and creationism are straightforward cases in point. Methodological teleology seems another, or so I suggest in the next section.

5 Teleology, Now? Whether the universe is ‘‘ultimately’’ purposeless or purposeful remains a controversial question among scientists, among philosophers, among educators, and among people in general. Is there a ‘‘preferred’’ scientific position on this matter? At a very abstract level current knowledge is neutral on this issue. Ultimately, the universe might be fueled by ‘‘some purpose or other’’—we may just never be able to determine it. By the same token, ultimately, the Universe might be the dream of some pink elephant somewhere in space—we may just never be able to spot it. Although teleological and nonteleological interpretations of nature are both ‘‘possible’’ in principle, in practice the two seem to differ vastly in terms of projectibility or ‘‘harmony’’ with the reliable parts of science now in place. One may always insist on thinking in terms of external purposes, for example, by enforcing a ‘‘traditional’’ teleological interpretation on biological structures (focused on global and/or external goals). But the epistemic payoff of such a move is dubious. For one thing, approaches to nature in terms of external purposes now run against the scientific current. It was different until the 1850s or so. Back then serious thinkers were largely in agreement that the order and design displayed by organic life could result only from the work of some intelligence unimaginably greater than ours. To them, it seemed absurd to look at organic life in anything but strong traditional teleological terms. Then Charles Darwin spoiled that picture. He broke a powerful imagination barrier, then in place, by articulating a theory which amounted to a ‘‘possibility proof’’ for non-teleological accounts of biological development and the adaptation of living creatures to their environments. Darwin’s explanation revolves around a mechanism by which a succession of mindless processes can produce the kind of complexity previously thought explicable only in terms of the intentions and power of a ‘‘cogitative Being’’ (as Locke thought). According to 11 This and other related themes are the focus of much attention among philosophers interested in ‘‘methodological naturalism’’, roughly the view that ampliative reasoning in contemporary science follows principles laid out using substantive empirical knowledge, that success and effectiveness in promoting aims cannot be evaluated a priori, as both depend on contingent features of the world, and so they should be tested empirically the same way empirical theories are tested (Laudan 1996).

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Darwin, natural selection results from two phenomena: (1) virtually all species produce far more offspring than can possibly survive to reproduce; (2) offspring are not identical— small differences distinguish one from another.12 In the competition for resources some individuals will have inheritable attributes that give them an edge in survival and others will not. Individuals with favorable traits will be more likely to survive to reproduce and pass on those traits. The result, Darwin saw, is a process of gradual evolution of changes in species that enhance survival in their respective natural environments and elimination of traits that fail to do so. Darwin based his proposal on three main bodies of evidence: (a) the diversity of life; (b) the similarity of life; and (c) the fossil record. His theory quickly came to provide a non-teleological explanation of the origin and evolution of biological species in a context where intelligent design had always seemed necessary. After publication of The Origin in 1859, critics were quick to point out important objections to the credibility of Darwin’s approach. Some came from thermal physics, as with Lord Kelvin’s argument that the Earth could not be more than one million years old, a charge that remained compelling until the discovery of radioactivity, which provides our planet with an internal source of heat that lifts Kelvin’s temporal barrier massively. Other objections were biological. One particularly forceful charge had to do with problems faced by Darwin’s inadequate conception of heredity, a problem which did not disappear until Mendelian genetics was redeveloped in the early years of the 20th century. Also damaging to the Darwinian idea of gradual evolution were embarrassing gaps displayed for a long time by the fossil record. All these objections strengthened the appeal of old impossibility arguments against non-teleological biology. Prominent among such objections was the claim that an organ like the eye could not have developed gradually from non-eyes (‘‘What good is half an eye?’’), as was also the already mentioned idea that whales could not have developed gradually from ordinary mammalian structures. At the time of Darwin’s death in 1881, it remained unclear whether his approach would be able to handle persuasively these and similar charges. Against all the apparent odds, however, by the middle of the 20th century the Darwinian outlook had clearly began to meet the foregoing, and other, challenges.13 The above considerations, if correct, impact on worldview-making. But these are admittedly controversial matters. Some thinkers deny, in particular, the notion that science could ever be seriously at odds with teleological perspectives in natural philosophy. In Gauch’s opinion, for example, such a view expresses ‘‘a deplorable rhetoric of indoctrination’’.14 The anti-teleological stance, he says, voices a disturbing rhetoric of exclusion, because it excludes all Jews, Christians, Muslims, and others who believe in a purposeful universe from being accepted as persons having an understanding of science. Gauch endorses a position he takes to be ‘‘mainstream’’, according to which science rests on certain basic ‘‘pillars’’ which prevent science from favoring a non-teleological outlook on the world, in particular the following two15: 12

See Dawkins (1995) and Dennett (1995) for good presentations of the basic theory.

13

‘‘What good would be having just a bit of an eye?’’ The Darwinian answer is simple enough: the first individual organisms endowed with the rudiments of sensitivity to light had access to information with enormous potential value for their differential survival. For a digest on scientific approaches to the evolution of vision and whales see, for example, Dawkins (1995) and Zimmer (1998), respectively. 14 15

Gauch (2006).

These and other presuppositional claims Gauch compares to Kolmogorov’s simple probability axioms that generate countless probability theorems, also to Maxwell’s four equations that imply all of classical electricity and magnetism.

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Pillar P5 (on limits): Some issues are in principle beyond the grasp of the scientific mode of knowing and should be responded to accordingly. Science is radically limited in what it can cover. Pillar P6 (on universality): Science is public, welcoming persons from all cultures. ‘‘Men and women of all ethnic and national backgrounds participate in science and its applications. Science is a public endeavor, and as such it should welcome persons and ideas from all cultures. According to Gauch, it is a flagrant affront to Pillar P6 to marginalize a sizable portion of the world’s population, namely, those who favor traditional teleological perspectives on the world, from being respected participants in science. In his view, to do so also ignores Pillar P5. I find some truth in P5 and P6 above, but also much confusion. The truth I recognize in P6 resides mostly in some of its allusion to the public character of science. P5 and P6 seem otherwise unwarranted as general claims. Exemplifications of Pillar 5 are, typically, temporally indexed. And, as presented, Pillar 6 appears to rest on a populist interpretation of the public spirit of modern science. Consider P5. To be sure, as stated in AAAS (1989, p. 26), ‘‘There are many matters that cannot usefully be examined in a scientific way’’. However, even if that much is granted, there is still a gap between the AAAS statement and Gauch’s teleological stance. That some domains of inquiry are presently beyond science’s reasonable reach is not in question, but care is needed to distinguish between necessary limitations and contingent ones. The former are exceedingly difficult to establish; the latter are in principle defeasible. In addition, we need to take into account the extent to which the reach of science has been expanding of late. There remains much to be learned about any number of subjects, but again we must resist hasty conclusions. Scientific answers are now available to questions that seemed forever closed only a few generations ago—about the nature of space, time and matter, about history of the universe, about life, about the mind, and more. As already noted, recent scientific studies of the rise and nature of the human mind are strongly suggestive in this regard. While much remains in the dark, it would seem unwise to belittle the exciting work and progress now seemingly coming from the workshops of neuropsychologists, evolutionary psychologists, and philosophers of science (see note 8). There is simply no telling what will ‘‘never ever’’ fall within the grasp of scientific reason. As for Pillar 6, modern science certainly embodies a distinctly social way of pursuing knowledge, welcoming ideas and persons from all cultures. But we must resist populist interpretations of this decisive feature of modern science. Ideas and persons from all backgrounds are welcome to join in the pursuit of public knowledge, understood in a particular way. As John Ziman urged a generation ago,16 in our contemporary context ‘‘public knowledge’’ means information and reasoning backed up by persuasive argument and evidence, open to detailed checking by any outsiders willing to look into the matter. Related to this is the way scientific knowledge and rationality both constrain admission of proposals into the body of ‘‘established science’’ and epistemically take institutional precedence over individual preferences. Individual scientists often wax ‘‘mystical’’ about their novel ideas, and this often helps them to keep digging intellectually into the depths of nature. But more is required for their speculations to gain proper scientific acceptability, not the least of which is compelling evidence that can be appropriately replicated. Individually, a scientist can be tops in his/her field yet otherwise intellectually shortsighted— 16

Ziman (1968).

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that is, it is possible for someone to be both an excellent scientist and a lousy overviewer.17 It is thus helpful to allow here a rough distinction between ‘‘publicly established science’’ and ‘‘science in the trenches’’, the two types carrying different credibility grades. Established science comprises properly public representations and procedures that have stood the test of time and conceptual change, and are hence credibly relied upon, as with the scientific canon. On the other hand, science in the trenches can be hasty, and as wild as the individuals who forge it; as a matter of fact, much of it turns out to be either wrong or irrelevant to future research. Returning to Pillar 6, notice the distance between it, as formulated, and the way of being ‘‘public’’ just spelled out. Science does not welcome all ‘‘cultures and views’’ in just every way. It welcomes them as dialogical starting points. Science is emphatically not allinclusive towards positions that fail at the dialogical level or seem otherwise poorly thought out. Although very many people remain happy with naı¨ve creationism, today they can only be described as scientifically illiterate and treated accordingly. Why? In order to believe that human beings come from an act of creation that occurred less than 10,000 years ago, one needs to question not just Darwinian biology, but nearly all of modern biology, along with key dating techniques, and with that all the physics on which those techniques are based (this is, again, an effect of the high degree of integration now displayed by the natural sciences). Creationists need repudiate virtually all modern science. But, if so, they cannot be said to have much of an ‘‘understanding of science’’. Unfortunately the number of creationists runs in the tens of millions. So, Pillar 6 is wrong. Unless wild relativism is embraced, there is no escape from the realization that many popular views are simply intellectually obsolete. I thus think it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that, in an important way, contemporary science correctly marginalizes a sizable portion of positions, particularly the views of today’s traditionalist teleologist.18 Worldviews that fill the regions left blank by the current scientific canon may, in principle, proceed along teleological lines. The problem is that such a way of thinking has lost much of the rational plausibility it once enjoyed. Not only are the narratives which make the core of reliable science teleology-free, but they all result from projects that explicitly excise teleology from natural science, not to mention top-down design. And so, little scientific room seems to exist at present for speculative projects of the ‘‘purposeful universe’’ variety. To repeat, this is so, not in principle, but only in the light of specific developments, namely, the rise over the last century of non-teleological biology and natural science on the one hand, and the display of intellectual poverty made by teleological research over the same period. Traditional teleology, it has turned out, is not just dispensable in contemporary science, but arguably it now even functions like an obscurantist constraint on the imagination and, as such, hinders scientific progress. It is in the scientific triumph of anti-teleological natural science where, I suggest, resides the rationale for stating with AAAS (1990) that ‘‘there can be no understanding of science without understanding change and the fact that we live in a directional, although not teleological,

17 The philosopher Susan Stebbing provided a classic critique of the logical, metaphysical and ‘overview’ errors of two great English physicists and popularizers of science, Sir James Jeans and Sir Arthur Eddington in her Philosophy and the Physicists (Stebbing 1937/1958). Another case in point revolves around the strong ‘‘Anthropic Argument’’ initially advanced by scientists of the stature of B. Carter, B. J. Carr, and Martin Rees (see the last section of this paper). 18 Again, teleological natural science in the traditional sense remains certainly a logical possibility, but insisting at all cost on its contemporary relevance can be paralyzing.

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universe’’ (p. xiii). Like everything else in science, this judgment is open to the possibility of revision in light of further findings; but it stands firm now. Scientific methodology encourages open-mindedness and pluralism, but also a great deal of skepticism. The implications of this for worldviews intended to be harmonious with quality science are significant. Methodologically, the current projection of scientific knowledge strongly discourages traditional teleological speculation in cosmology, physics and biology. More generally, (C3). Current science does marginalize some views dear to many people. Scientific pluralism is bounded by knowledge and reason rather than popular demand.

6 Competition between Worldviews Religion is not necessarily incompatible with current science. The Vatican Academy, the Royal Society and The American Academy of Arts and Sciences, to mention three major institutions, have in their ranks some top scientists who are not irreligious. But one should tread carefully here. Compatible doctrines can be so merely by construction, like Leibniz’s theory of pre-established harmony, designed to handle the problem of free will in a world governed by deterministic physical laws. On that view, just as two clocks can tick at the same time without being in any kind of interaction, simply because of the way they have been constructed and set initially in motion, so the deterministic physical world could have been constructed and set to motion so as to unfold in harmony with the parallel unfolding of human free will. This doctrine, indifferent to the dictates of science, remains attractive to some people. Another religious project not necessarily incompatible with current science is ‘‘natural theology’’. Defenders of this option envisage religion-inspired worldviews publicly entertained and debated in competition with other outlooks. Debates of that sort did happen in the past and proved fruitful at the time. At some points in history scientific activity arguably benefited from supernaturalist assumptions, notably in the cases of Newton and Maxwell. Today, however, public knowledge in general, not just science, has moved far away from supernaturalism, and for good reasons. But there is no great consensus on this matter. Gauch and other thinkers believe there is still vibrancy in projects like natural theology in the style of Paley, a final topic to which I turn now. I will follow a characterization of this kind of natural theology by Scott MacDonald, adopted by Gauch (2006): ‘‘Natural theology aims at establishing truths or acquiring knowledge about God (or divine matters generally) using only our natural cognitive resources,’’ as contrasted with revealed theology. [From Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, (Edward Craig, ed., 1998) vol. 6, pp. 707–713] Thus understood, natural theology purports to rely on standard techniques of reasoning and facts or truths in principle available to all human beings just by virtue of their possessing reason and sense-perception. It is a theological discipline conducted by scientific method— one of whose central features is reliance on empirical and public evidence for testing competing hypotheses. Accordingly, natural theology seeks empirical evidence that bears on theological hypotheses the way natural science seeks empirical evidence that bears on scientific hypotheses. If contemporary natural theology indeed succeeded in advancing ideas this way, then the relationship between natural science and natural theology would

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not be one of complete separation and reciprocal irrelevance, but rather one of partial overlap, mutual modification, and ongoing complementarity in the pursuit of unity of knowledge. According to Gauch, ‘‘to believe that only science has testable, real knowledge—not philosophy or theology or any other discipline—is simply unmitigated scientism’’, which he considers an affront to pillar P5 regarding science’s limits Gauch (2006). I agree that science contributes to culture by proclaiming its own testable knowledge—not by denouncing additional sources of testable knowledge that may in fact have great legitimacy and value. But is this response enough to give natural theology a place in public discourse? Contemporary astrology is considered an intellectual failure in no small part because of its untestability and general intellectual unfruitfulness. If so, unless recent natural theology has a better yield on view than astrology and such, a similar charge against it should not seem unreasonable. The issue at hand is therefore whether or not natural theology is still a source of fruitful testable knowledge. A natural-theological hypothesis is testable if it predicts novel outcomes for publicly observable events in the sense outlined in Sect. 2. If it does make such predictions, and they are successfully corroborated, the contemporary project of natural theology should win credibility accordingly. The question is what yield of current intellectual relevance natural theology has on view. A serious problem I find in Gauch’s paper is the absence of any articulate argument for his optimistic take on natural theology. He mentions the miracle of Jesus of Nazareth’s resurrection, certainly a logically possible event. It may have happened. But acceptance that a certain event may have occurred as a matter of logical possibility hardly suffices to make natural science ‘‘open-minded’’ about it (certainly not more so than about, say, allegations that the flight of Icarus actually occurred in ancient times as narrated in the myth). For that, the event’s prospects need to be convincingly substantiated first. The task at hand is one of deciding whether a certain event not yet accepted as factual did actually occur. In science, epistemic weight regarding that kind of claim comes not from mere possibilities but from probabilities (as estimated with the help of current best theories). Jesus’ suggested resurrection is hugely problematic in this regard. The miracle it supposedly instantiates falls outside the sphere of scientific scrutiny on many grounds, not least because the mysteries it involves are not even deemed worth pursuing by current scientific lights. Leaving aside the event’s unrepeatability, the idea that any actual mammal may have come back to life after being literally dead for three days by any processes available in Jesus’ time violates just ‘‘too many’’ causal regularities central to physiology. Of course, religious thinkers may complain that this kind of reaction simply ignores the supernatural character of miracles. But surely this puts the cart before the horse. Until factual history or natural theology manages to produce some substantive and relevant results on behalf of the supernatural, making room for miracles and such seems inappropriate except as mere logical possibilities. It is no use trying to appeal to populist pluralism here. In order to demand epistemic room for miracles alongside current science, objective success from relevant factual history and/or the natural theology front is needed first. To demand otherwise would be to demand that we give up our current understanding of learning from experience. Gauch (2006) is very vague on the whole subject and does not tell us about specific projects whose manifest success might help his plea. But the question cannot be avoided: Is natural theology able to make an interesting case today? More precisely: What illuminating ideas has natural theology managed to really advance in the last 100 years? Does it have any epistemically interesting projects on view? Or, is current natural theology perhaps like ‘‘scientific

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astrology’’ (the kind reportedly sought by Mrs. Nancy Regan in the mid-1980s to assist her husband, then president of the United States)? One often-mentioned set of projects is linked to creationist ventures of a sort that has been variously exposed as hopeless. As already suggested, seemingly nothing in them can be rescued from extant critiques.19 The main argument against creationism is not subtle. Paleontological findings of the last half-century alone seem enough to destroy whatever plausibility creationist gambits might have once enjoyed. Another set of projects, hailed as very promising in some religious and scientific circles, speak of ‘‘Intelligent Design’’. Their central claim, to the effect that nature displays topdown planning, is difficult to substantiate. The opportunistic design apparent in such organs as the eye and prostate of mammals hurts rather badly the notion of an intelligent creator (let alone a merciful one). If anything, the imperfect working condition of the mentioned organs (to the extent that they work) seems to lend credit to the standard Darwinian outlook. Still, some thinkers presumed to be in the know disagree. For example, in Darwin’s Black Box, biochemist Michael Behe maintains that Darwinian biology simply cannot explain the level of complexity found in living organisms.20 According to Behe, the biochemistry of living cells is a ‘‘black box’’ that marks the end of the road for science. Darwinian random variation and natural selection are not enough, he says, and concludes that the complexity found within cells (in such phenomena as blood clotting, cellular cilia, transport of materials within the cell, the human immune system, and the synthesis of the building blocks of DNA) can only be the product of some Intelligent Designer. Behe does not seem aware of the considerable epistemological gap that separates antecedent (about the presence of complexity) and consequent (about the existence of God) in his assertion, but even leaving that problem aside, the ‘‘impossibility claim’’ he makes about Darwinian biology fails to convince on many other counts. Behe correctly identifies some areas still awaiting convincing Darwinian modeling, but then fails to turn this into a case against the universality of Darwin’s theory, which is what he needs. Like other critics before him, he points to the existence of difficult cases for evolutionary biology. Behe simply assumes that the complexity involved is inexplicable on Darwinian grounds. But, given the magnitude of his intended thesis, this is hardly satisfactory. Using specific case-examples to cast doubt on a given theory requires convincingly arguing that the theory in question actually cannot embed the cases at hand into its basic structures. That, for example, was the kind of argument Einstein articulated in his critique of Newtonian physics. As noted in Sect. 4, his initial focus was the case of electrically charged bodies in motion (recognized in the early 1900s as posing a serious theoretical problem to the conjunction of Newtonian mechanics and the classical theory of electromagnetism), and this led Einstein first to the Special Theory of Relativity and then to challenging Newtonian gravitation on the basis of the latter’s conceptual tension with the Special Theory. Throughout the episode, no knowledgeable person doubted that some deep part of the received conceptual framework would have to go. The constraining power of two key pillars of classical physics (Maxwell’s theory and Newtonian mechanics) stood weakened by a realization that something in the fundamental picture was wrong. Behe’s way of casting doubt on the Darwinian approach is not like Einstein’s. At most, Behe’s arguments might establish that the rise of living structures in nature involved more steps than is generally imagined, not that those additional steps actually require the work of non-Darwinian mechanisms, let alone Intelligent Design. The error at work is of course 19

A good short presentation of the case is found in Kitcher (1983).

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Behe (1996).

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an alluring one. Religious thinkers have been posing challenges akin to Behe’s ever since The Origin was first published in 1859, only to be disappointed by the resources of the Darwinian perspective to respond with at least appropriate anti-teleological explanatory schemata—on the evolution of whales, the eye, and more. Behe’s attacks are no better than those earlier complaints. It does not help Behe’s case that no favorable evidence for his sort of thesis seems to have yet made its way into any reputable scientific journal.21 Something one does find is assorted scientists faulting hypotheses like Behe’s for their serious lack of fertility (the idea of Intelligent Design has generated neither new predictions nor new scientific hypotheses22). Even more damaging to Behe’s case, I think, is a cursory look at the kind of work biochemists have been doing of late, particularly on such topics as the evolution of changing functions in proteins, the evolution of complexes like hormonereceptors by sequential mutations, the evolution of complex catalytic functions, and many more.23 Biochemist Behe, it turns out, is simply not up to date. And so, I for one see no promise in the popular arguments now in the air purporting to substantiate ‘‘Intelligent Design’’ in nature. Another set of recent ‘‘natural theology’’ projects revolve around arguments subsumed under the name ‘‘The Anthropic Principle’’. Typical presentations of the principle run as follows.24 If the universe were not isotropic, then we could not be here; we are here, so the universe is isotropic in order to make us possible. Similarly, we would not have been physically viable had the electric charge of protons, or the electron/proton mass ratio, or indeed any of the fundamental constants of nature had been slightly different; we are here, so the universe is thus in order to make us possible. It is a surprising proposal, given the glaring level of fallacy displayed in above typical renditions. I think all non-trivial versions of the anthropic argument on record are similarly faulty.25 Our presence does not explain isotropy—isotropy is simply one of very many necessary conditions for our being here. It actually explains nothing. Indeed, as important religious thinkers agree (McMullin 1981), for something like the Anthropic Principle to work as an argument one needs first to believe in God; only someone who already accepts that the universe is the work of an intelligent being (who put things together with the development of us in mind) could coherently imagine that our being here explains why the universe displays the observed isotropy and other necessary conditions of our physical existence. To people not yet converted to the faith, our being here explains nothing of the sort. Now, none of the above comments question the legitimacy of wondering why the universe presents the degree of isotropy astronomers have found in the firmament, what

21 ‘‘Whether ID is Science. Kitzmiller v.Dover Area School District/4’’. Internet reference: http://www.freemedialibrary.com/index.php/ Kitzmiller_v._Dover_Area_School_District_6:_curriculum,_conclusion 22 See, for example, ‘‘Defending science education against intelligent design: a call to action’’, Journal of Clinical Investigation 116:1134–1138 (2006). doi:10.1172/JCI28449. 23 For an accessible report on current work along these directions see, for example, ‘‘Ancient Protein Tells a Story of Changing Functions’’, by Kenneth Chang, published in The New York Times (August 21, 2007). 24 25

Two seminal references here are Carter (1974) and Carr and Rees (1979).

In their technical work cosmologists often appeal to ‘‘anthropic considerations’’. By these, however, they generally mean a weaker (indeed trivial) version of the principle, amounting to the requirement that cosmological hypotheses be compatible with all known facts and conditions necessary for their realization.

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initial conditions might have prompted it to develop, and so forth. But jumping to unwarranted (not to mention complacent) explanations hurts the rational project. Anthropic arguments are notorious for their tendency to self-deception. Where does all this leave us? Gauch’s suggestion is that empirical and public evidence from the sciences and humanities can support cosmologically substantive Christian worldviews. In this section I have argued against this position by attempting to show that contemporary science is less ‘‘worldview independent’’ than is often assumed, and that scientific reasoning reaches deeper and wider than many religious thinkers seem willing to acknowledge. This brings me to my final point: (C4) Although natural theology ‘‘officially’’ purports to embody scientific methodology, if my description of its recent intellectual products is correct, all it presently has on offer are poorly thought out ventures embodying (at best) very relaxed versions of that methodology. If so, the relationship between current projects in natural theology and science cannot (without begging the question) be reasonably described as one of ‘‘partial overlap’’, ‘‘mutual modification’’, or ‘‘ongoing complementarity’’. Such overlap or complementarity as once existed shrank dramatically after Darwin, and no credible ‘‘comeback’’ seems in sight. The above comments do not to deny the possibility that worldviews might be developed in which sophisticated articulations of religion and science work together coherently. My suggestion is simply that contemporary natural theology amounts to bad science (probably also bad theology, but I have meddled enough). Acknowledgement I would like to thank Michael Matthews, Peter Simpson, David Policansky, and Nick Jordan for helpful discussions.

References AAAS [American Association for the Advancement of Science] (1989) Science for all Americans. American Association for the Advancement of Science, Washington AAAS (1990) The liberal art of science. American Association for the Advancement of Science, Washington Angier N (2007) The canon: a whirligig tour of the beautiful basics of science. Houghton Mifflin, New York Baron-Cohen S (2003) The essential difference. Basic Books, New York Behe MJ (1996) Darwin’s black box. Simon & Schuster, New York Carter B (1974) Large number coincidences and the anthropic principle in cosmology. In: Longair MA (ed) Confrontation of cosmological theories with observational data. Reidel, Dordrecht, pp 291–298 Carr BJ, Rees MJ (1979) The anthropic principle and the structure of the physical world. Nature 278: 605–612 Cordero A (2001) Scientific culture and public education. Sci & Educ 10(2001):71–83 Dawkins R (1995) River out of Eden. Basic Books, New York Dennett DC (1995) Darwin’s dangerous idea. Simon & Schuster, New York Gauch HG Jr (2006) Science, worldviews, and education. This issue of Science and Education. Also available online at http://www.springerlink.com/content/p668904p854h5t6x/ Kitcher P (1983) Believing where we cannot prove. In: Abusing science: the case against creationism. Cambridge, MIT Press, MA, pp 30–54 Laudan L (1996) Beyond positivism and relativism. Westview Press, Boulder, CO Leplin J (1997) A novel defense of scientific realism. Oxford University Press, Oxford McMullin E (1981) Is philosophy relevant to cosmology? Am Philos Q (18):177–189 Newton I (1729/1934) Principia Mathematica, Second Edition, (trans: Cajori F), University of California Press, Berkeley. (First Edition, 1687)

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Psillos S (1999) Scientific realism. Routledge, New York Pinker S (2002). The blank slate. Penguin Books, London Rickman HP (1988) Dilthey today: a critical appraisal of the contemporary relevance of his work. Greenwood Press, Westport Shapere D (1991) The universe of modern science and its philosophical exploration. In: Agazzi E, Cordero A (eds) Philosophy and the origin and evolution of the universe. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, pp 87–202 Sokal A, Bricmont J (1998) Fashionable nonsense: postmodern intellectuals’ abuse of science. Picador, New York Stebbing LS (1937/1958) Philosophy and the physicists, Dover Publications, New York Ziman J (1968) Public knowledge. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Zimmer C (1998) At the water’s edge: macroevolution and the transformation of life. The Free Press, New York

Author Biography Alberto Cordero (Luis-Alberto Cordero-Lecca), Ph.D., M.Phil., M.Sc., L.C., is a full professor of philosophy at the CUNY Graduate Center and of philosophy and history at Queens College CUNY, City University of New York. He has degrees in science, the history and philosophy of science, and philosophy from Oxford, Cambridge, and Maryland, respectively. He is Director of Graduate Studies in Philosophy at Queens College, CUNY, and Honorary Director of the Program for Scientific Thought, Universidad Peruana Cayetano Heredia, Lima, as well as Titular Member of the Academie Internationale de Philosophie des Sciences and of the Institute de Hautes Sciences Theoriques, Brussels. His research focuses on naturalism, scientific realism, the philosophy of the natural sciences, and the philosophical history of science. He is the author of numerous scholarly articles, including ‘‘Contemporary Nativism, Scientific Texture, and the Moral Limits of Free Inquiry.’’ Philosophy of Science (2005); ‘‘Classical Properties in a Quantum-Mechanical World,’’ in Complexity and Emergence, J. Montecucco (ed.), World Scientific (2003); ‘‘Unity in a Single Scientific Field,’’ in The Problem of the Unity of Science, Jan Faye (ed.), World Scientific (2002); ‘‘Realism and Underdetermination: Some Clues From the Practices-Up,’’ Philosophy of Science (2001); ‘‘Scientific Culture and Public Education,’’ Science & Education (2001); and ‘‘Are GRW Tails as Bad as They Say?,’’ Philosophy of Science, (1999).

The Electromagnetic Conception of Nature at the Root of the Special and General Relativity Theories and its Revolutionary Meaning Enrico R. A. Giannetto

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 765–781. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9121-7 Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract The revolution in XX century physics, induced by relativity theories, had its roots within the electromagnetic conception of Nature. It was developed through a tradition related to Brunian and Leibnizian physics, to the German Naturphilosophie and English XIXth physics. The electromagnetic conception of Nature was in some way realized by the relativistic dynamics of Poincare´ of 1905. Einstein, on the contrary, after some years, linked relativistic dynamics to a semi-mechanist conception of Nature. He developed general relativity theory on the same ground, but Hilbert formulated it starting from the electromagnetic conception of Nature. Here, a comparison between these two conceptions is proposed in order to understand the conceptual foundations of special relativity within the context of the changing world views. The whole history of physics as well as history of science can be considered as a conflict among different worldviews. Every theory, as well as every different formulation of a theory implies a different worldview: a particular image of Nature implies a particular image of God (atheism too has a particular image of God) as well as of mankind and of their relationship. Thus, it is very relevant for scientific education to point out which image of Nature belongs to a particular formulation of a theory, which image comes to dominate and for which ideological reason.

1 Introduction: Conceptions of Nature The problem of the relationship between science and worldview, where this term is used also to mean a religious or anti-religious involvement, should not be discussed from an abstract theoretical point. Science as well as religion is not unique, there are many sciences and many religions, there are many scientific as well as religious theories and practices. Focusing on the science side, one must remember that science changes with time and that even different formulations of the ‘‘same’’ theory have different implications. There are many kinds of worldview to which I will refer: private worldviews of scientists or science E. R. A. Giannetto (&) Scienze della Persona, Universita` di Bergamo, Piazzale S. Agostino 2, Bergamo 24129, Italy e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_6

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educators, particular philosophical or religious worldviews diffused within our societies, and worldviews diffused within the scientific communities and which represent specific historical scientific trends like the mechanist conception of Nature. I believe that the kind of worldview I will refer to will be clear from the contexts of discourse. The situation is very complex: there are scientific theories which are strictly influenced by their ‘‘creator’’ scientist’s private worldview; there are cases in which the particular private worldview is mixed in a unique way with a religious, philosophical or scientific, historical worldview; there are other cases in which the scientist’s private worldview is not important and the historical worldviews stratified within the formalisms of the scientific theories are the most relevant ones. Especially within an educational framework, one should never impose her/his private worldview but one should deal with the science/religion problem from a historical perspective: one should show how science practices involve a conflict among various worldviews. Now, if one has a close look at historical scientific theories and practices, one can see that science has not only external implications for worldview and religion, but it has internal theological presuppositions. Beyond our particular beliefs—one can be a believer, a person with a religious perspective or an atheist—theological presuppositions of scientific theories are a historical fact emerging from the recent researches on the history of science. This historical entanglement between western science and theology is the consequence of the particular history of western culture, strictly bound to the history of western Christianity (Giannetto 2005a). This historical awareness is fundamental for science education and the student understanding of this entanglement must be part of our aim in science teaching. Here I would like to discuss briefly the particular case of the roots of the special and general theories of relativity, showing the different theologies to which the different formulations of these theories are related. Modern science, risen from the so-called scientific revolution, was characterized not only by experimental method and mathematical writing, but also by a new conception of Nature. This was the mechanist conception of Nature: Nature should no more be considered as a living animated being, but as a machine. Elementary constituents of Nature, like the constituents of a machine, are given by corpuscular or atomic matter, and matter was understood in terms of inertia and passivity. This new conception of Nature allowed the change of the epistemological status of mechanics from the ancient one to the Galileian-Newtonian one, and correspondingly the variance of the disciplinary corpus of mechanics and the meaning variance of the word ‘‘mechanics’’. In ancient and mediaeval cultures mechanics was a technology and a mathematical study of static machines like the lever. Mechanics involved an intervention over Nature to change the natural course of the events, and so could not furnish any knowledge of Nature. On one side, there was physics as a science of Nature, on the other side there was mechanics as a technology. Mechanics, through the scientific revolution, became the fundamental science of Nature only when Nature itself was considered as a machine. This meaning shift of the term ‘‘mechanics’’ was at the root of a new concept of science and of scientific experimental practices by mechanical instruments. The consequence was the transformation of technology in science and of science in technology too. These considerations give new light to Heidegger’s hermeneutical view (Heidegger 1954; Giannetto 1998) of the entanglement of science and technology. The anthropological growing relevance of material culture, since the so-called ‘‘Neolithic revolution’’, with the rise of modern capitalism was one of the most determinant

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factor of this process. In addition, the new theological paradigm dominant since the Reformation, by undervaluing Nature as something without any power in itself, determined the revaluation of ancient materialism and the rise of new mechanist conception of Nature. Before the Reformation, Nature was considered as the abode of God, that is of the Holy Spirit, and created as a powerful image of God; by Reformed theology there cannot be any power in Nature because it would limit the omnipotence of God (soli Deo Gloria) and so Nature must be considered as inert and passive matter without any power principle (Lindberg and Numbers 1986). This kind of theology was related to the humanist reaction to the Copernican revolution: the loss of physical centrality of mankind in the new Copernican cosmos (or in the Bruno’s infinite universe) led to the concept of spiritual superiority of mankind over Nature and all the other living beings considered as mere machines or automata (Descartes’ mechanist view). However, a non-living Nature can no more be considered an image of the living Christian God. A non-living Nature is something like a human artefact as a machine: thus, at the end of XVIII century, the mechanist view was starting to change itself into an atheistic perspective. Things changed in the late XIX century when physics was no more mechanics only, but also thermodynamics and electrodynamics. This new situation implied the problem of the very foundations of physics, and the correlated issue of the hierarchical relations among these different physical disciplines (McCormmach and Jungnickel 1986, vol II, pp. 211–253). The consequence was that at least four different ‘‘conflicting’’ conceptions of Nature were developed. The Mechanist conception of Nature, which was the most conservative one as searching for a mechanical reduction of the other physical disciplines and of all the physical concepts in terms of mass, space and time by means of the models of material point and action at-adistance forces. Hermann von Helmholtz (1821–1894), Heinrich Hertz (1857–1894) and Ludwig Boltzmann (1844–1906) were the most representative scientists of this perspective. The Thermodynamic conception of Nature, which had energy, entropy and system as fundamental concepts and was looking at thermodynamics as the real foundation block of physics. Its major exponents were Pierre Duhem (1861–1916) and Max Planck (1858–1947). The so-called Energetic conception of Nature, which was looking at energy as the fundamental unifying concept of physics and had its most important proponents in Georg Helm (1851–1923) and Wilhelm Ostwald (1853–1932). The Electromagnetic conception of Nature, based on the concepts of field, energy and charge was looking at electromagnetism theory as the foundation level of the other physical disciplines. Among the physicists who gave the most relevant contributions to this perspective there are: Hendrik Antoon Lorentz (1853–1928), Joseph Larmor (1857–1942), Wilhelm Wien (1864–1928), Max Abraham (1875–1922) and Henry Poincare´ (1854–1912). The electromagnetic conception of Nature has deep roots in the history of mankind and certainly has been developed by the elaboration of the Brunian–Leibnizian physics and tradition. On one side, it has been developed within the German physics or Naturphilosophie, on the other side mainly within English physics. William Gilbert (1540–1603) and then the same Johannes Kepler (1571–1630) were thinking about magnetism as the force which rules the order of our cosmos, of our Copernican world, and Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680) developed a theology of magnetism and of the magnetic Divine Universal Love (Benz 1989). Newton had introduced (gravitational) forces to overcome Descartes’ mechanist understanding of the world order: in his opinion, forces, as long as divine in their origin,

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should show the continuous Providential action of God as the only Power governing all the world (Giannetto 2005a). Indeed, after the process by which Newtonian gravitation was reduced from a divine active force to a passive property of inertial matter and Newton’s theology of gravitation was given up and mechanistic conception of Nature came to dominate, electricity came back to be considered the way to a new vitalistic conception of Nature. Electricity was considered an active force which could have been the origin of animated life, that is an active vital force, the Leibniz’ internal vis viva, as well as the same psyche´ within things— a sort of electric unconscious—or the same Anima Mundi. Many theologians and physicists (Benz 1989), like Prokop Divisch (1698–1765), Friedrich Cristoph Œtinger (1702–1782), Johan Ludwig Fricker (1729–1766), Gottlieb Friedrich Ro¨sler (1740–1790), developed a theology and psychology of electricity. The controversy on animal electricity at the end of XVIII and at the beginning of XIX century between Luigi Galvani (1737–1798) and Alessandro Volta (1745–1827), gave another turn to the consideration of the problem and its resolution with the dominance Volta’s perspective and his presentation, in 1800, of the first ‘‘electric machine’’, the battery, pointed out the victory of the mechanist view and the reduction of life to mechanisms to which even electricity could have been assimilated. It was the romantic physicist Johan Wilhelm Ritter (1776–1810) who turned Volta’s interpretation upside down, stating that, because there was not a specific animal electricity, the whole of Nature was a living and animated being just for the presence of electricity (Giannetto 2003, 2005c). Electric fluid was the psyche´ of everything. Romanticism continued to develop these ideas and Franz Anton Mesmer (1734–1815) spoke about animal magnetism, about a magnetic fluid as a universal soul, about psyche´ as a magnetic nervous fluid, about psychical sickness as magnetic diseases which could be healed by magnetic hypnotism (Giannetto 2007a). Maxwellian electromagnetism had shown that physical reality was not only inertial and passive matter, but also dynamical, active electromagnetic field, irreducible to a mechanical matter model. Furthermore, Maxwell’s equations present vacuum solutions, that is in absence of charged matter: electromagnetic field exists even when there is no matter. Thus, the possibility of a new non-dualistic view of physical reality was considered: if matter cannot exist without electromagnetic field and electromagnetic field can exist without matter, electromagnetic field could be the only physical reality and matter could be derived from the field.

2 Electromagnetic Conception of Nature and Special Relativity Usually, the electromagnetic conception of Nature has been considered as superseded by the developments of XX century physics. However, a close historical inquiry shows that the electromagnetic conception of Nature is at the roots of both the relativistic and quantum transformations of physics. Concerning relativity, the 1898, 1900, 1902, 1904 and (5 June) 1905 papers written by Poincare´ (Poincare´ 1898, 1900, 1902, 1904, 1905; Giannetto 1995) show that special relativity dynamics derived from, and was a first realization of, the electromagnetic conception of Nature. Albert Einstein’s (1879–1955) special relativity formulation was only an incomplete (without a gravitation theory) semi-mechanist version of this new dynamics. This historical recognition is also fundamental to understanding the first reception of special relativistic dynamics in all countries.

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A first complete presentation of this new dynamics appeared in the July 1905 paper written by Poincare´ and published in 1906 (Poincare´ 1906). In this paper, the new dynamics was presented as an invariant one by the Lorentz-Poincare´ transformation group, with a four-dimensional chrono-geometry of space-time, and it was derived from Maxwell’s theory of electromagnetism and contained also a theory of gravitation, absent in Einstein’s 1905 paper (Einstein 1905a). Concerning four-dimensional space-time, the dependence of Minkowski on Poincare´ is clear from a lecture delivered on 5 November 1907 by Minkowski but published posthumously on 1915 (Minkowski 1915; Giannetto 1995). Poincare´ proposed also a relativistic field theory of gravitation with the prevision of the existence of gravitational waves, propagating in vacuum with velocity c, that is the same velocity as light. The starting point was the electromagnetic self-induction phenomenon which was related to the so-called radiation reaction. When a charged particle is submitted to the action of an electromagnetic field, it is accelerated and it radiates. This radiation modifies the field and the new field modifies the acceleration of the particle, which again radiates and so on. In this way, the electromagnetic field depends on all the time derivatives of position up to the infinite one. This means that there is also a contribution to the field force proportional to the acceleration, the coefficient of which involves an electromagnetic mass, that is an electromagnetic contribution to the particle inertia. At this point, the question was: is it possible that mechanical (inertial and gravitational) mass was not a primitive concept and indeed is wholly due to this electromagnetic effect? Poincare´, among other scientists, realized that this was the case also for non-charged matter as long as it is constituted by charged particles: that is, mechanical mass was nothing else than electromagnetic mass, and electromagnetic mass is not a static fixed quantity but depends on velocity. Mass is so related to the electromagnetic field energy by the now well-known (now considered from a mechanist and not electromagnetic perspective) equation: m = Ee.m. field/c2. If mass is nothing else than electromagnetic field energy and charge can be defined, via Gauss’ theorem, by the electric field flux through a certain surface area, matter can be completely understood in terms of the electromagnetic field, and it has also active and dynamical features beyond the passive and inertial ones. If mass must be understood in terms of the electromagnetic field, mechanics must be derived from electromagnetism theory which becomes the fundamental theory of physics. If mass changes with velocity, Newtonian mechanics is no more valid and must be modified. The new mechanics must have the same invariance group as electromagnetic theory, that is the Lorentz-Poincare´ transformation group, to which a new relativity principle and a new gravitation theory (even gravitational mass changes with velocity) must also be conformed. From Poincare´’s perspective even gravitation is of electromagnetic origin. However, the new gravitational theory developed by Einstein’s general relativity theory did not take account of this idea (Einstein 1915). David Hilbert, simultaneously with Einstein, developed the same gravitational field equations (Hilbert 1916).

3 Einstein, Hilbert and the Origins of the General Relativity Theory The historical problem of the rise of the general relativity theory has been opened again in 1997 by a very relevant document discovered by Leo Corry: the typewritten draft of the 1915 work by David Hilbert (1862–1943), in which for the first time the field equations were presented. Leo Corry, Ju¨rgen Renn and John Stachel have communicated information

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about it within a short paper (Corry et al. 1997), and, 2 years later, it was followed by a very extensive study by Ju¨rgen Renn and John Stachel (Renn and Stachel 1999). Einstein only in 1907 started to deal with the problem of a new relativistic theory of gravitation; in 1913–1914, together with his friend Marcel Grossmann (1878–1936), he proposed a theory based on a pseudo-Riemannian Poincare´’s chrono-geometry of a four dimensional space-time. In July 1915, Hilbert, already engaged for many years in a project of axiomatization and ‘‘formalization’’ of physics, invited Einstein to deliver a lecture in Go¨ttingen on the new developments of his general relativity theory of gravitation (Mehra 1973, pp. 92–177; Earman and Glymour 1978). Further elaborations were presented by Einstein at the Prussian Academy of Sciences in Berlin, on 4, 11, 18 November 1915, and only on 25 November 1915—in a paper then published on 2 December 1915—Einstein presented the gravitational-metric field equations of general relativity (Einstein 1915). Hilbert, who in the meantime had been working on the same problem, presented the gravitational-metric field equations of general relativity in Go¨ttingen on 20 November 1915 anticipating Einstein by 5 days (Hilbert 1916). The derivation of equations was different for Hilbert and Einstein: Hilbert started from a variation principle, Einstein, on the contrary, from a more intuitive physical Ansatz. Historians and physicists have so identified two different and mutually independent paths, pointing out the more rigorous, axiomatic way followed by Hilbert as the royal road to the general relativity theory. On the contrary, Corry, Renn and Stachel have tried to demonstrate the dependence of Hilbert on Einstein, not only for all that is concerned with the roots of the general relativity theory, but also just for the derivation of the field equations: they have pointed out the differences between the Hilbert paper, printed on 31 March 1916 and the recently discovered draft, dated 6 December 1915 (Sauer, 1999; Vizgin 2001; Winterberg 2002; Bjerknes 2003). Other criticisms of Corry-Renn-Stachel’s work seem to me very relevant: beyond mathematical argumentations, it is important to take account of the fact that the Hilbert draft is incomplete, with gaps (Logunov et al. 2004). The more important differences concern the general covariance of the theory—not completely satisfied in the draft (there were, beyond the ten general covariant equations, four other non general covariant ones to guarantee the validity of the causality and energymomentum conservation principles) as well as in previous works by Einstein—and the ‘‘non-explicit’’ form of the field equations: the gravitational part of field equations was given by the variation derivative of the gravitational term HgK in respect to the metrics glm, but this derivative does not appear to have been calculated by Hilbert in the part of the draft that has been discovered (Renn and Stachel 1999; Logunov et al. 2004). In the draft, Hilbert so presented his field equations: p p ð1Þ ½ gK
lm þ oð gLÞ=oglm ¼ 0 where the term q (HgL)/qglm = Tlm individuates the matter-energy tensor, and L is the part related to matter (as considered of electromagnetic origin), of the general Lagrangian H: H ¼KþL

ð2Þ

where K represents the gravitational part. In the published version, on the contrary, Hilbert actually calculated the expression of the variation derivative:

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p p ½ gK
lm ¼ gðKlm  1=2Kglm

ð3Þ

and so the field equations become: Tlm ¼

p

gðKlm  1=2Kglm Þ

ð4Þ

. If one limits oneself to the problem of the field equations, it is clear that only the question of the form of the equations is important. Corry, Renn and Stachel have said that the presence of the term with the trace of the tensor K in Einstein’s paper led Hilbert to the calculus of the derivative. However, their position lacks the following point: regardless how important the explicit calculus of the derivative is for the physical interpretation of the theory, Hilbert was the first to write—and this, independently of Einstein—the correct field equations of general relativity. On the other hand, it is known that Hilbert soon informed Einstein about his results—as shown by Einstein’s letter to Hilbert dated 18 November 1915—and it is rather more plausible to think that, by reading Hilbert’s work, Einstein in some way understood the consequence of Hilbert variation derivative and so introduced the matter-energy tensor trace term modifying his field equations that did not contain it up to his 18 November paper. Thus, Einstein wrote his equations in the following form equivalent to Hilbert’s ones. Rlm ¼ cðTlm  1=2glm TÞ

ð5Þ

where R corresponds to K, and c is a constant. Thus, the hypothesis that Einstein derived his field equations by considering Hilbert’s ones is much more probable. This problem of the priority of Einstein or Hilbert is historically important by itself, but it is fundamental to understanding how two different worldviews have been at the roots of the theory. Indeed, the fundamental point is that in Hilbert’s theory matter (Tlm) is considered as of electromagnetic origin: the Hilbert and Einstein field equations are mathematically equivalent, but they do not have the same physical meaning. Hilbert’s point of view is related to a synthesis of the electromagnetic theory of Gustav Mie (Mie 1912a, b, 1913) and Einstein’s theory of gravitation. The Hilbert equations give automatically also Maxwell’s generalized electromagnetic field equations, which follow from the space–time structure induced by ‘‘electromagnetic matter’’ (Giannetto 2007b). Thus, an evolution line can be traced within the electromagnetic conception of Nature, starting from Poincare´’s special-relativistic dynamics and through Mie’s theory leading to Hilbert’s general-relativistic dynamics. And indeed, by the Hilbert electromagnetic general relativity, that is by the Hilbert electromagnetic theory of matter and gravitation, the cosmic and universal order came back to be related to magnetism as in the first proposals by Gilbert, Kepler and Kircher. Therefore, general relativity theory did not present itself univocally, but it appeared at least in a double form: there were at least two theories of general relativity. Einstein’s theory in which the priority of mechanics as independent from electromagnetism is again stated, together with the idea of inertial and passive matter as a primitive concept and substance mode. Einstein was not properly a mechanist: within his theory the metricgravitational field is real as much as matter, and so Nature has also active aspects beyond inert matter ones (space-time is not inert, but it is a dynamical variable), but mechanics is the ‘‘first’’ (physical) science and matter the ‘‘first’’ mode of the substance. The other

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theory, Hilbert’s one,—the first to be historically completed—is a dynamics dependent on a generalization of an electromagnetic theory of matter to include also the case of noninertial reference frames. This general-relativistic electromagnetic theory of matter is for Hilbert the ‘‘first’’ physical science from which electromagnetic and gravitational-metric field equations are derived. Einstein had elaborated the ideas expressed by Poincare´ in a 1904 lecture on the principles of mathematical physics; in particular, he there addressed epistemic difference between a physics of principles and a so-called constructive physical theory, which depends on some hypothesis about matter structure. However, Poincare´ had in mind the Maxwell electromagnetic theory as a physical theory of principles independent of a mechanical-material model of the electromagnetic field (Poincare´ 1904). Einstein, on the contrary, followed, at least from his 1915 generalization of relativity, the idea of a mechanics as a physical theory of principles, independent from an electromagnetic theory of matter structure (Einstein 1934). Thus, Hilbert and Einstein represent two very different conceptions of Nature, of physical reality and theory. This is not the whole story regarding differences between these two theories. Einstein, following Ernst Mach’s (1838–1916) criticism of Newtonian mechanics of absolute motion, had formulated and taken as the basis of his theory what he called ‘‘Mach’s principle’’: the tensor Glm = (Rlm – 1/2Rglm) must be determined by the tensor Tlm (Einstein 1918; Boniolo 1988; Giannetto 1994). Mach’s original perspective pointed out that inertia must not be considered as related to the existence of Newton’s absolute space as a reality in itself, but on the contrary the origin of inertia of a body (and of gravity) was related to existence of all the other masses of the remaining part of the universe (Mach 1883). Einstein’s request was to eliminate an absolute space-time, empty of matter, as a reality independent from matter: if there would exist a space-time independent from matter, there would be an entity like Newton’s absolute space, of which an operative definition by experimental measures cannot be given to furnish to it an actual physical meaning. However, already from 1917, the so-called ‘‘vacuum solutions’’ of general relativity field equations were found: these implied a violation of ‘‘Mach’s principle’’ and showed the possible existence of a space-time as an entity independent from matter. Indeed, these solutions pointed out the failure of Einstein’s theory as a fruit of a relational theory of space, time and motion. The problem of compatibility or incompatibility of Einstein’s theory with ‘‘Mach’s principle’’ is still the object of scientific and epistemic debates. Hilbert’s electromagnetic theory of general relativity, on the contrary, can indeed overcome this problem and constitutes a theory derived from a relational perspective on space, time and motion. In Hilbert’s theory, the vanishing matter-energy tensor, Tlm = 0, does not represent an absolute empty space-time, but only a matter empty space-time. The electromagnetic origin of matter implies that, even when Tlm = 0, the electromagnetic field tensor Flm is never 0 if glm is different from 0. That is, an absolute independent space-time does not exist, because a matter empty space-time is not an electromagnetic field empty space-time. There is an electromagnetic field even when matter is absent. Thus, Mach’s principle can be generalized within Hilbert’s perspective: the tensor Glm = (Rlm – 1/2Rglm) is defined by the electromagnetic field tensor Flm. Electromagnetic field as the only ultimate physical reality is at the root of both matter and space-time: space-time can exist even if there is no matter, but it cannot exist without electromagnetic field. Only within an electromagnetic conception of Nature—and not within a materialistic

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mechanist conception of Nature—a relational theory of space, time and motion can be developed. Reconsidering Hilbert’s ‘‘electromagnetic general relativity’’ is not a mere case of historiography, but gives us back the revolutionary perspective of the Poincare´’s electromagnetic conception of Nature related to relativity which had been obscured in Einstein’s semi-mechanist approach to general relativity: Hilbert’s perspective gives us back a relational conception of space, time and motion which seemed lost in Einstein’s theory.

4 Einstein’s Cosmic Religion and Hilbert’s Worldview Einstein’s ‘‘cosmic religion’’ (Einstein 1931, pp. 43–54), related to a deep feeling of unity between Nature and God and to the sense of poorness of man as a separate individual, has replaced the rigid Calvinist theology implied within XVII century physics. Even the theology of the Catholic Rene´ Descartes was related to the Calvinist one concerning the idea of God as the only existing power at the roots of mechanist conception of Nature; and so also the theology of divine forces within Isaac Newton’s mechanics. Einstein’s cosmic ‘‘theology’’ represented the death of the Mechanical God announced by Friedrich Nietzsche’s Zarathustra (Giannetto 2005a). The influence of Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677) on Einstein was evident in the elaboration of the general relativity theory (Jammer 1999). Spinoza’s theology (with his related physics) was a conscious or sometime unconscious background of Einstein’s scientific thinking and worldview and construction of the theory. Recognizing this relationship between Einstein’s general relativity and Spinoza’s theology is very different from acknowledging Einstein’s ideas about the general relationship between science and religion or about the effects of this theory on religion or theology. A theory by itself is an abstraction: apart from possible misunderstandings of a theory, a theory implies an interpretation which is related to its author’s worldview. Einstein’s own interpretation of general relativity is to be understood within Spinoza’s perspective. Certainly, other interpretations are possible, like Hilbert’s one, which represent other theories (a physical theory is not only a formal structure, but ever implies a semantics, an interpretation of physical reality). Spinoza’s aim was to overcome Descartes’ dualism of res extensa and res cogitans, and he elaborated a coherent monism of only one infinite substance, which was identified with God as Nature (Spinoza 1663–1675). Spinoza in some way tried to develop within the new theoretical context Bruno’s idea of God as an infinite power which expresses itself into an infinite universe (Giannetto 2005b). Einstein identified gravitation with space-time, making space-time a dynamical variable but determined by matter. As long as this force is produced and determined by matter, then force acts on matter, but space-time as this gravitational/inertial field of force is only a medium of interactions among matter bodies. Since the 1917 demonstrations of the existence of vacuum solutions, Einstein was going to become conscious of the possibility of existence of a space-time empty of matter. Thus, Einstein was going to give up Mach’s principle, by assuming that a space-time empty of matter can exist but considering it as a gravitational field, which exists independently of matter. In this way, Einstein was going to give up also the idea of the priority of matter over the (gravitational) field and to construct a theory of a unified field, even if in a different way to the Hilbert, Hermann Weyl or Arthur Stanley Eddington proposals.

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This development of Einstein’s idea about ultimate physical reality has to be understood in terms of Spinoza’s theology (Calaprice 2005, pp. 98–99, 191–210, 335). At variance with Descartes, Spinoza said that there is only one (kind of) infinite substance: thought and matter are only two distinct attributes of the one and same divine substance. Matter can be considered, and so space as extension, as an attribute of God just because the Reformed theology of the Eucharist postulates the ubiquity of the body of Christ, that is of the body of God (Funkenstein 1986). Intellects and physical bodies are respective ‘‘modalities’’, determinations of these two attributes. This implies, however, that matter is not reducible to inertial and passive spatial extension, because matter does not exist as an independent substance: reality is the unique divine substance, which is active and powerful. Matter and (geometrical) form as thought are distinguishable but intertwined (Spinoza 1663–1675). Given one attribute, the other one is also given; however, time is pure space and the substance is eternal. Thus, Einstein, following Spinoza, believed that there is no inertial and passive matter without the active geometrical form with which gravitation is identified: gravitation is not mere indefinite space extension but geometrical form, a metrical field; force is form. For Spinoza and Einstein, Nature is God itself: Deus sive Natura. Therefore, Nature is not reducible to inertial and passive matter, but is also geometrical form, which is gravitational/inertial field, active force. For Einstein matter comes logically first in respect to form/force and determines it; then, after the consciousness of the existence of vacuum solutions, on the contrary, form/force comes first (space-time is no inertial and passive thing but a dynamical variable), becomes independent from, and more important than, matter (Boniolo 1988; Giannetto 1994). Einstein perhaps was partially mechanist in 1905, when he was trying to reduce electromagnetic radiation to material corpuscles and Maxwell theory to a statistical (Einstein 1905b, 1906), non-fundamental theory, but he never was completely mechanist in the sense of reducing Nature to inertial and passive matter only. However, in Einstein there is a residual form of a mechanist conception: mechanics is always considered the first physical science and constitutes the independent foundation of all physics. At variance with Descartes and Newton and following Spinoza, Einstein considered force/power as not belonging only to God, to the Omnipotent God of Calvinist Reformed theology (soli Deo gloria), to a God separated from, and external to, Nature, to a God which subdues Nature under his laws (and, in Newton’s perspective, under the expressions of his power which are the same gravitational forces). From Einstein’s (Spinoza’s) point of view, force/power is indeed inside Nature, because Nature is God itself. Spinoza derived this idea from an interpretation of Giordano Bruno’s theology (Giannetto 2005b). In Einstein’s conception, general relativity does not involve a reduction of dynamics to geometry as in Descartes. At variance with Descartes, it is geometry that is part of dynamics in Einstein’s general relativity. However, the reduction of time to space implies that dynamics is indeed a statics. In Einstein’s 1917 view, the same universe had to be static, as long as it is the same divine, eternal and immutable, substance. Nature is static, with essentially static forces: space-time was not expanding, but static. This theological perspective of eternity and divine immutability of Nature–God had lead Einstein, in his 1917 Kosmologische Betrachtungen (Einstein 1917), to modify his field equations by introducing the so-called ‘‘cosmological constant’’. Einstein believed that this term could solve the problem of satisfying Mach’s principle within general relativity and, at the same time, could represent the necessary condition for a static universe: both these suppositions were shown to be illusory and false. Modified equations could not satisfy Mach’s principle and the universe could be expanding. After the observational data were

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interpreted as implying the expansion of the universe, Einstein declared that the introduction of the cosmological constant was his greatest error; however, contemporary cosmology considers this term as necessary to fit observations. Even if Einstein’s gravitational forces no more depend only on position as in Newton’s theory, but they depend also on velocity and acceleration, the fact that time and motion are not real in Einstein’s opinion implies that time is considered by him as a mere spatial dimension. Thus, following Einstein, forces are static because within velocity and acceleration time is a fictional variable and so they are mere functions of a four-dimensional space. Einstein’s perspective is static. This point, that is the refutation of ‘‘becoming’’, links Einstein—as showed by Federigo Enriques and Karl Popper—to Parmenides’ cosmology (Enriques 1921). However, in order to really understand Einstein, one has to understand how Spinoza had turned Giordano Bruno’s dynamical cosmology of becoming into a static perspective. At the cosmological level, however, Einstein’s perspective is in some respect different from Spinoza’s and Bruno’s conception: Einstein’s universe is not only static but also spherical and finite, even if unlimited into motion and time; in this respect, Einstein came back to Parmenides, Plato and Aristotle. Here, at a global level, the spherical geometrical form of the universe is assumed a priori by Einstein as a consequence of a ‘‘static theology’’, whereas, on the contrary, at a local level, geo-metric form is determined by matter distribution (the metric is determined by the matter-energy tensor). Even when observations led Einstein to accept the idea of an expanding universe and to give up his idea of a spatially-static universe, Einstein considered expansion in Spinoza’s way, sub specie aeternitatis, as long as time and motion are not real (there is indeed an expanding space and no real motion of galactic clusters, just like in Aristotle’s universe there was no stellar real motion but fixed stars on rotating spatial spheres). The vision of the world sub specie aeternitatis which Einstein took from Spinoza was also at the roots of his interpretation of the theory as a framework going beyond the relativity of space, time, motion and other physical concepts: theory shows what is independent from observers and reference frames, what is invariant; and physical reality is no more identified with what is experimentally measurable, but with what is mathematically invariant, that is also independent from time (time being relative). Hilbert’s perspective is more difficult to understand: Hilbert’s works are more technical and one has to analyse his formalism in its roots and to consider directly the electromagnetic worldview to which he was related. His link to the electromagnetic worldview was very probably Minkowski (Minkowski 1909). Hilbert’s point of view was very different from Einstein’s. Beyond the axiomatic approach common to his mathematics and physics work, physics completely changed at least the substantial core of his formalistic foundational conception (Kline 1980, Hilbert 1930). Physics is not a mere formal play with empty symbols, and meaning is fundamental for physics. In his formulation of ‘‘electromagnetic general relativity’’, geometrical form is not a priori assumed as independent from a physical semantics: geometry is to be considered part of physics and, as such, ‘‘empirical’’ (Hilbert 1930). Physical meaning is not given by inertial and passive matter reality, but by an active electromagnetic field to which the notion of matter as electromagnetic inertia is due (Hilbert 1918). In Hilbert’s perspective, geometrical form is no more given as a first datum and can never be considered an empty symbol or an empty vacuum as in Einstein’s theory, but is always related to the electromagnetic field at the root of matter. Hilbert’s matter is no more the realization or the semantic model of an empty geometrical form-idea; on the contrary, geometrical form-idea is contingent, a variable dependent on matter and deeply on the electromagnetic field.

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The internal developments of mathematics and physics related to non-Euclidean geometries, which Poincare´ had shown to be compatible with a principle of motion general relativity (Poincare´ 1902), implied that the idea of a curved space-time was suitable in Einstein’s view. And from a theological perspective, the rectifying and justifying straightness of the God of the Reformation, to which Descartes was implicitly referring in his justification of the inertia principle (concerning natural motion as rectilinear uniform motion) (Giannetto 2005a), could no more be considered as opposed to the curvilinear deviation (from straightness) of a Nature reduced to inertial matter with her casual Epicurean inclinations. In Spinoza and Einstein, Nature is the same God. The rectifying and justifying straightness of the God of the Reformation, to which Newton too was referring to correct the inertial centrifugal force of a Nature reduced to inertial matter and to rectify it in a closed circular or elliptical orbit by the introduction of external, divine, straight but centripetal, gravitational forces of universal fall (Giannetto 2005a), could no more be invoked to give a foundation to the Copernican or Keplerian systems of the world order. In Spinoza and Einstein, the straightness of God is the same straightness of Nature and curvature comes from God as well as from Nature. And in Einstein’s general relativity theory every frame of reference, even a geostatic ‘‘Ptolemaic’’ frame of reference is admissible and compatible with the relativistic gravitational forces and space-time metric field. If Nature, following Spinoza, is the same God, curvilinear motion too is natural and not due to matter chance or to an external action by God: it is implicit in the geometrical form of the universe and therefore due to the gravitational force existing inside Nature. In Spinoza, it is the global geometrical order, and not the absolute straightness of fundamental lines, which characterizes the divine substance; it is at the level of this same global geometrical order that it is possible to find a correspondence between cosmic order and ethical order, as shown by Spinoza’s ethics, more geometrico demonstrata (Spinoza 1663–1675). Thus, in Einstein, it is a non-Euclidean global geometrical order which can express the identity of God with Nature, where, in general, straight lines are curved geodetic lines. In Einstein’s opinion as well, there is no ethical implication from science, but a correspondence between science and ethics. Cosmic geometric order is not anthropocentric because, even if not an infinite one, the universe is unlimited and so without a centre; and no anthropocentric ethical order can correspond to this universe: Einstein’s ethics is nonspecist and lead him to vegetarianism, as well as to an admiration of Albert Schweitzer and of his ethics based on the reverence for all living beings (Schweitzer 1931). Einstein, indeed, wrote: Although I have been prevented by outward circumstances from observing a strictly vegetarian diet, I have long been an adherent to the cause in principle. Besides agreeing with the aims of vegetarianism for aesthetic and moral reasons, it is my view that a vegetarian manner of living by its purely physical effect on the human temperament would most beneficially influence the lot of mankind (Einstein 1930; Calaprice 2005). And furthermore: So I am living without fats, without meat, without fish, but am feeling quite well this way. It always seems to me that man was not born to be a carnivore (Einstein 1954a, b; Calaprice 2005). The contemplation of this Spinozian cosmic geometric order of Nature/God is at the roots of Einstein’s cosmic religion (Einstein 1931, pp. 43–54), which emancipates itself from

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primitive religion founded on the terror of divinities and from anthropocentric forms of religion interested only to the destiny of the individual man. The same Spinozian amor Dei intellectualis, in Einstein’s view, is at the roots of science itself: ‘‘science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind’’ (Einstein 1954a, b, p. 46). Science must not be reduced to a technology of dominion over Nature, but it is contemplation and knowledge of Nature–God. This perspective finally led Einstein to not follow a complete mechanist conception of Nature. Physical theory (from the Greek terms Theo`s, ‘‘God’’ and orao, ‘‘to see’’), like general relativity and then unified field theory, is, in Einstein’s opinion, really vision-contemplation of God. This is the fundamental reason for Einstein’s rejection of quantum mechanics as an incomplete theory. Einstein repeated many times, in the letters to Max Born dated 4 December 1926 and 7 September 1944 (Einstein et al. 1969), that ‘‘God does not play dice’’ or, as he already said in 1921 speaking about aether, ‘‘Subtle is the Lord, but not malicious’’, because Nature hides its secret but not by deception. Following Spinoza, Einstein considered the cosmic geometric order of Nature–God to be perfectly causal and deterministic, because it has to deal with the same nature of God and it cannot be otherwise. Everything is absolutely determined: free will is an illusion and the true freedom is to be uniform with such a cosmic and ethical geometric order. This theological presupposition, as explained in another work (Giannetto 2005a), has archaic roots within myth and in particular within the myth of the Milky Way as the Divine Great Mother, but certainly found in the Hebrew Spinoza, and from him in Einstein, as a residual part of the Christian theology of the Reformation, that is, a residual part of the Lutheran theology of enslaved will and of the Calvinist theology of predestination. This theology used the consideration of reason in respect to free will to understand the real nature of God (Funkenstein 1986). It was perhaps the drift of Einstein’s cosmological model to assume a priori a geometrical form—whereas in general relativity it is a posteriori, it depends on the effective matter motion—to lead Einstein to believe to a deterministic cosmic order. And this drift is certainly also due to the mechanist, deterministic conception of matter motion, historically related to Reformed theology. In the meantime, already since the end of XIX century, Poincare´’s chaos physics had completely changed classical and special relativistic celestial mechanics: no exact and continuous trajectory of planets and stars is determinable. Temporal evolution and motion are no more exactly represented at geometrical level and no more rhetorically eliminable into any static geometric configuration like an ellipse or parable or hyperbole. A very little perturbation, such as that one due to a comet fragment or to a ‘‘falling star’’, could lead to a great change in the ‘‘normal’’ celestial orbits, as a smile or a caress when we were born could change the future of our life or of the whole mankind history. As is well known, Hilbert rejected Leopold Kronecker’s God for the solution of the problem of the foundations of mathematics. However, many unconscious theological presuppositions are embedded within Hilbert’s physical theory. The electromagnetic conception of Nature to which Poincare´ and then Hilbert were related was a new form of a vitalist conception of Nature, which considered Nature not as a machine but as a living animate being. Such an electromagnetic conception of Nature was also linked to a previous theology of electromagnetism as well as to an archaic theology of Light (Benz 1989). The relationships between relativity and theology were discussed by Max Jammer and Torrance (Jammer 1999; Torrance 1969, 1976, 1980, pp. 75–108). These authors, however, do not take count of the differences between the mechanist and electromagnetic conceptions of Nature, between the Einstein and Poincare´ or Hilbert

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formulations of theories. Furthermore, my perspective would point out only the historical theological presuppositions consciously or unconsciously given as basis in the construction of a scientific theory and not external a posteriori correlations between science and theology. Light is the nature of God, Light is the nature of matter and of the whole creation; Light is the nature of intelligence and soul with free will (Torrance 1980). This theology of Light considered the nature of God not in terms of reason but in terms of the inscrutable and imponderable free will of Love (potentia Dei absoluta), which cannot be comprehended in any pre-constituted (geometric) form: divine cosmic order cannot be prefixed and predicted, it can be complex, unpredictable and manifest only at the end of a very long temporal evolution process as in Whitehead’s relativistic process theology (Whitehead 1929; Giannetto 2005a). The same quantum physics had its roots in the electromagnetic conception of Nature, in the (electromagnetic) wave properties of matter (Giannetto 2006). Following Werner Heisenberg in his first elaboration of the new quantum physics (Heisenberg 1925, 1927; Born et al. 1926), only electromagnetic variables as the frequency and the intensity of light are measurable quantities at microphysical level, and so mechanical variables have to be redefined in terms of electromagnetic observables. No geometric exact representation of the motion of matter or light propagation as well as of the evolution of the universe is possible (Giannetto 1987). Though Hilbert’s (and other mathematicians’) ideals of consistency and completeness of a formal mathematical theory could have had their direct or indirect influence on Einstein’s research into a complete (deterministic) physical theory—as well as Hilbert’s work on non-Euclidean geometries or on algebraic invariant quantities—Hilbert’s research on functional analysis and in particular on spaces of functions (then Hilbert spaces) opened the way to the understanding of the relationship between wave and matrix mechanics and to the axiomatization of quantum indeterministic physics and so to physical theory incompleteness. Hilbert’s finitary mathematics was also related to quantum physics (Hilbert 1930). From this point of view, only Hilbert’s ‘‘electromagnetic general relativity’’, related to an electromagnetic conception of Nature and to a linked theology of Light, can be considered a relational theory of space, time and motion, and a completely non-mechanist and potentially non-deterministic physical theory which can overcome the idea of a pre-fixed cosmic and ethic geometrical order. A ‘‘new alliance’’ (Prigogine and Stengers 1979; Giannetto 2005a) among God, mankind and Nature, a new cosmic and ethic order, non prefixed but the fruit of a complex dynamical, temporal free evolution, as well as of a free will of love and reverence for every living being, is in some way implied within this theory emergent from Einstein’s and Hilbert’s work.

5 Conclusions: Science Education and Worldviews The problem of the relationship between science and worldview, between science and religion is very important for science education and is related to the problem of the relationship among history of science, philosophy (of science) and science education (Gauch 2007; Matthews 1994, 1996; Martin 1994, Suchting 1995; Cobern 2000; Gauld 2005). The perspective here discussed points out that one can teach science within a historical approach, by showing its embedding into western culture. Science is not presented as a

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mere technical, mathematical or experimental practice, but within its historical and conceptual roots. The multiculturalism problem within science education could be dealt with teaching science not as a universal knowledge but as a form of western knowledge historically related to other western practices and disciplines like Christian religion or theology, western capitalism and technology, western philosophy. From this point of view, it will be clear that, beyond the general non-dogmatic method of science research, science has no unique worldview. Science in its historical practices is the place where different worldviews (like mechanist and electromagnetic worldviews, related to different theologies or different perspectives concerning religion) have been in conflict with each other. Not only different scientific theories, but even different formulations of a scientific theory have different presuppositions and implications for worldview as well as for religion. One particular formulation or interpretation of a scientific theory can dominate over other interpretations within the scientific community and constitute a scientific paradigm for reasons external to science, that is for ideological reasons. This was the case, here discussed, of the mechanist conception of Nature. By considering Nature and living beings as machines, as pure objects of which we can do what we want, it has been furnishing the ideological legitimation of the technological dominion over Nature and other living beings by mankind and of the capitalistic structure of our societies (Giannetto 2005a). This kind of technological and economical involvement has many implications concerning the relationships between western and non-western cultures and countries. The mechanist conception of Nature avoids any ethical question about Nature and animals, and so it is the basis of a specist ethics where animal rights are not considered. The mechanist conception of Nature is intrinsically anthropocentric and atheistic. Teaching relativity as well as general science education has ethical implications. Special and general relativity theories at the beginning of XX century had their hidden roots within the electromagnetic conception of Nature with revolutionary implications not only for the foundations of physics and science (the mechanist view is at the basis of a reductionist conception of science), but also for the new foundations of a non-anthropocentric, nonspecist ethics: animals are no more automata and must be respected. Hilbert eliminated the last remnants of a mechanist conception of Nature from Einstein’s theory. Hilbert completed in some way Einstein’s work, reconnecting himself to the electromagnetic roots of special relativity within Poincare´’s perspective. Within Hilbert’s electromagnetic worldview Nature, as well as animals, has to be considered a living animated being, whose living force is of electromagnetic origin. A living Nature is bound to a living God and the electromagnetic conception of Nature is strictly related to a theology of Light and to a religious worldview. References Benz E (1989) The theology of electricity. Pickwick, Allison Park Bjerknes CJ (2003) Anticipations of Einstein in general theory of relativity. XTX Inc., Downers Grove Boniolo G (1988) Mach e Einstein. Spazio e massa gravitante. Armando, Roma Born M, Heisenberg W, Jordan P (1926) Zu¨r Quantenmechanik II. Zeitschrift Physik 35:557 Calaprice A (ed) (2005) The New Quotable Einstein. Princeton University Press, Princeton Cobern WW (2000) The nature of science and the role of knowledge and belief. Sci & Educ 9(3):219–246 Corry L, Renn J, Stachel J (1997) Belated decision in the Hilbert–Einstein priority dispute. Science 278:1270–1273 Earman J, Glymour C (1978) Einstein and Hilbert: two months in the history of general relativity. Arch Hist Exact Sci 19:291

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Author Biography Enrico Antonio Giannetto is full professor of History of Physics at the, University of Bergamo, Italy. He is a graduate of the University of Padova in theoretical, elementary particle physics. He studied the history of science at the Domus Galilaeana in Pisa, and obtained his doctorate in theoretical physics (a quantumrelativistic theory of condensed matter) at the University of Messina. He has been working for many years at the University of Pavia within the History of Science & Science Education Group. His research interests cover the foundations, the history and epistemology of quantum and relativistic physics and cosmology, of medieval and modern physics, and science education.

Imagining the World: The Significance of Religious Worldviews for Science Education Michael J. Reiss

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 783–796. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9091-9 Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract This article begins by examining whether ‘science’ and ‘religion’ can better be seen as distinct or related worldviews, focusing particularly on scientific and religious understandings of biodiversity. I then explore how people can see the natural world, depending on their worldview, by looking at two contrasting treatments of penguin behaviour, namely that provided in the film March of the Penguins and in the children’s book And Tango Makes Three. I end by drawing some initial conclusions as to what might and what might not be included about religion in school science lessons. Science educators and teachers need to take account of religious worldviews if some students are better to understand the compass of scientific thinking and some of science’s key conclusions. It is perfectly possible for a science teacher to be respectful of the worldviews that students occupy, even if these are scientifically limited, while clearly and non-apologetically helping them to understand the scientific worldview on a particular issue. Keywords Science
Science education
Religion
Worldviews
Creationism
Intelligent design
Penguins

What it will be Questioned When the Sun rises do you not see a round Disk of fire somewhat like a Guinea O no no I see an Innumerable company of the Heavenly host crying Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty. (Blake 1810) For many science educators, whether or not they have any religious beliefs themselves, the relationship between science and religion, i.e. what is sometimes referred to as the ‘science/ religion issue’, may appear somewhat outside the scope of science education. However, a range of factors suggests that this perspective may be too narrow. These factors include a greater awareness of the benefits of dealing explicitly in the school classroom with the nature M. J. Reiss (&) Institute of Education, University of London, 20 Bedford Way, London WC1H 0AL, UK e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_7

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of science (Osborne et al. 2003; Lederman 2007) and, more particularly, the increasing significance of creationism and intelligent design in a number of countries (Dembski 1999; Ayala 2006; Edis 2007; Jones and Reiss 2007), particularly, but not just, the USA. In this article I attempt to do three things. First, to examine whether ‘science’ and ‘religion’ can better be seen, for the purposes of school science education, as distinct or related worldviews, focusing particularly on scientific and religious understandings of biodiversity. Second, to explore the ways in which people can see (imagine, read) the natural world in a certain way, depending on their worldview, by looking at two contrasting treatments of penguin behaviour. Third, to draw some initial conclusions as to what might and what might not be included about religion in school science lessons. My central argument is that substantial numbers of people, including school students, view the natural world in ways that differs greatly from the standard account presented in school science textbooks and lessons, and in ways that traditional conceptions of ‘scientific misconceptions’ cannot address. Unless science teachers take account of this, school science will fail to enable students to learn much of these areas of science at more than a superficial level or to engage students with science.

1 The Relationship between Science and Religion There is a large and growing literature on the relationship between science and religion. An extensive treatment of the issue is beyond the scope of this paper as one would need first to review what is meant by science and then what is meant by religion (many books, of course, have been written on each question) before beginning to examine the relationship between the two. The whole issue is compounded by the argument of Brooke (1991) that: There is no such thing as the relationship between science and religion. It is what different individuals and communities have made of it in a plethora of different contexts. Not only has the problematic interface between them shifted over time, but there is also a high degree of artificiality in abstracting the science and the religion of earlier centuries to see how they were related. (Brooke 1991, p. 321) Brooke’s argument is an empirical one, informed by detailed study of historical instances of the relationship between science (principally Western science) and religion (principally one or more of the branches of Christianity). A valuable categorisation of the range of ways in which the relationship(s) between science and religion can be understood is provided by Barbour (1990). Barbour, who focuses especially on epistemological assumptions of recent Western authors, identifies four main groupings (Reiss, in press). First, there is the relationship of conflict. I write ‘first’ because it is the first in Barbour’s list; it is also first in the minds of some modernists who do not have a religious faith (e.g. Dawkins 2006). Barbour doesn’t give reasons for the order of his listing but at least two can be suggested: comprehensibility and familiarity. It is both straightforward and familiar (given Barbour’s declared focus on recent Western authors) to see the relationship between science and religion as one of conflict. As, though, one might expect from a professor of science, technology and society, Barbour sees limitations in this way of understanding the science/religion issue. As he evocably puts it: In a fight between a boa constrictor and a wart-hog, the victor, whichever it is, swallows the vanquished. In scientific materialism, science swallows religion. In

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biblical literalism, religion swallows science. The fight can be avoided if they occupy separate territories or if, as I will suggest, they each pursue more appropriate diets. (Barbour 1990, p. 4) Barbour’s second grouping is independence, a relationship strongly defended by Gould (1999). Science and religion may be seen as independent for a number of reasons: because they use distinctive methods, because they ask different questions, or because they function as different languages. In any event, the result is that each is seen as distinct from the other and enjoys its own autonomy. Barbour’s third grouping moves beyond conflict and independence to dialogue (e.g. Watts 1998; Williams 2001; Polkinghorne 2005). As an example of dialogue, Barbour points out how our understanding of astronomy has forced us to ask why the initial conditions were present that allowed the universe to evolve, a question that has given rise to the anthropic principle, reflection on matters scientific by some theologians and reflection on matters theological by some scientists (cf. Rees 2003; Collins 2006). The point is not that the findings of science require a religious faith—that would be for the wart-hog of religion to devour the boa constrictor of science. Rather, the point is that scientific advances can give rise (no claim is made that they do for all people) to religious questions, so that a dialogue results. Barbour’s final grouping is one in which the relationship between science and religion is seen to be one of integration (cf. Polkinghorne 1994; Peacocke 2001). For example, in natural theology it is held that the existence of God or, at any rate, an appreciation of some of God’s attributes, can be deduced from aspects of nature rather than from revelation or religious experience (e.g. Ray 1691/2005; Reiss 1993). Natural theology has rather fallen out of favour. A more modern approach is process theology, which rejects a view of the world in which purely natural events (characterised by an absence of divine activity) are punctuated by occasional instances where God acts supernaturally. Rather, for process theologians, every event is understood ‘‘to be jointly the product of the entity’s past, its own action, and the action of God’’ (Barbour 1990, p. 29). Furthermore, God is not the Unmoved Mover of Thomas Aquinas but instead acts reciprocally with the world. Of course, Barbour’s categorisation is not the only one. Haught (1995) identifies the conflict position, the contrast approach, the contact approach and a fourth understanding, which: emphasizes the subtle but significant ways in which religion positively supports the scientific adventure of discovery. It looks for those ways in which religion, without in any way interfering with science, paves the way for some of its ideas, and even gives a special kind of blessing, or what I call confirmation, to the scientific quest for truth. (Haught 1995, p. 4) It is clear that the ways in which the relationship between science and religion is understood have changed over the years, depend on the religion in question and remain fluid (see also Al-Hayani 2005; Szerszynski 2005). Nevertheless, at the risk of oversimplifying, there are perhaps two key issues. One is to do with understandings of reality; the other to do with the nature of evidence and authority (Reiss, in press). Most religions hold that reality consists of more than the objective world and many religions give weight to personal and/ or (depending on the religion) institutional authority in a way that science generally strives not to. For example, there is a very large religious and theological literature on the world to come, i.e. after death, (e.g. Hick 1976/1985). However, science, strictly speaking, has little or (I would hold) nothing to say about this question, which is to do with the nature of

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reality. Equally, with regard to the nature of authority, many religious believers are likely to consider the recorded pronouncements of their religion’s founder(s) to be worth believing even if they seem contradicted by empirical evidence.

2 Scientific and Religious Understandings of Biodiversity The scientific understanding of biodiversity is far from complete but the narrative is a powerful one. Around 3.5 billion years ago, life evolved on Earth. Very little is known with any great confidence about this early history (Maynard Smith and Szathmary 2000), far less than is known, for example, about how stars form, grow and die. By the time of the earliest fossils, life was unicellular and bacteria-like. Fast-forwarding considerably, natural selection, possibly aided by other mechanisms (genetic drift, etc.), eventually resulted in the 10 million or so species, including our own, that we find today. For our purposes, the key point is that the scientific worldview is materialistic in the sense that it is neither idealistic nor admits of non-physical explanations (here, ‘physical’ includes such things as energy and the curvature of space as well as matter). There is much that remains unknown. How did the earliest self-replicating molecules arise? What caused membranes to exist? How key were the earliest physical conditions—temperature, the occurrence of water and so forth? But the scientific presumption is either that these questions will be answered by science or that they will remain unknown. Although some scientists might (sometimes grudgingly) admit that science cannot disprove supernatural explanations, scientists do not employ such explanations in their work (the tiny handful of seeming exceptions only attest to the strength of the general rule). Religious understandings of biodiversity are more diverse. Many religious believers are perfectly comfortable with the scientific understanding, either on its own or accompanied by a belief that evolution in some sense takes place within God’s holding (compass or care), whether or not God is presumed to have intervened or acted providentially at certain key points (e.g. the origin of life or the evolution of humanity). But many other religious believers adopt a more creationist perspective. Creationism exists in a number of different versions but about 40% of adults in the USA and over 10% in the UK believe that the Earth is only some 10,000 years old, that it came into existence as described in the early parts of the Bible or the Qu’ran and that the most that evolution has done is to change species into closely related species (Miller et al. 2006). For a creationist it is perfectly possible that the various species of gazelle had a common ancestor but this is not the case for gazelles, bears and squirrels—still less for monkeys and humans, for birds and reptiles or for fish and fir trees. Allied to creationism is the theory of intelligent design. While many of those who advocate intelligent design have been involved in the creationism movement, to the extent that the US courts have argued that the country’s First Amendment separation of religion and the State precludes its teaching in public schools (Moore 2007), intelligent design can claim to be a theory that simply critiques evolutionary biology rather than advocating or requiring religious faith. Those who promote intelligent design typically come from a conservative faith-based position. However, in many of their arguments, they make no reference to the scriptures or a deity but argue that the intricacy of what we see in the natural world, including at a sub-cellular level, provides strong evidence for the existence of an intelligence behind this (e.g. Behe 1996; Dembski 1998; Johnson 1999). An undirected process, such as natural selection, is held to be inadequate. Most of the literature on creationism (and/or intelligent design) and evolutionary theory puts them in stark opposition. Evolution is consistently presented in creationist books and

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articles as illogical (e.g. natural selection cannot, on account of the second law of thermodynamics, create order out of disorder; mutations are always deleterious and so cannot lead to improvements), contradicted by the scientific evidence (e.g. the fossil record shows human footprints alongside animals supposed by evolutionists to be long extinct; the fossil record does not provide evidence for transitional forms), the product of non-scientific reasoning (e.g. the early history of life would require life to arise from inorganic matter—a form of spontaneous generation rejected by science in the 19th Century; radioactive dating makes assumptions about the constancy of natural processes over aeons of time whereas we increasingly know of natural processes that affect the rate of radioactive decay), the product of those who ridicule the word of God, and a cause of a whole range of social evils (from eugenics, Marxism, Nazism and racism to juvenile delinquency)—e.g. Whitcomb and Morris (1961), Watson (1975), Hayward (1985), Baker (2003), Parker (2006) and articles too many to mention in the journals and other publications of such organisations as Answers in Genesis, the Biblical Creation Society, the Creation Science Movement and the Institute for Creation Research. By and large, creationism has received similarly short shrift from those who accept the theory of evolution. In a fairly early study the philosopher of science Philip Kitcher argued that ‘‘in attacking the methods of evolutionary biology, Creationists are actually criticising methods that are used throughout science’’ (Kitcher 1982, pp. 4–5). Kitcher concluded that the flat-earth theory, the chemistry of the four elements, and mediaeval astrology ‘‘have just as much claim to rival current scientific views as Creationism does to challenge evolutionary biology’’ (Kitcher 1982, p. 5). An even more trenchant attack on creationism is provided by geologist Ian Plimmer whose book title Telling Lies for God: Reason versus Creationism (Plimmer 1994) indicates the line he takes. Many scientists have defended evolutionary biology from creationism—see, for example, the various contributions in Selkirk and Burrows (1987), Good et al. (1992) and Jones and Reiss (2007) and an increasing number of agreed statements by scientists on the teaching of evolution (e.g. Interacademy Panel on International Issues 2006). The main points that are frequently made are that evolutionary biology is good science since not all science consists of controlled experiments where the results can be collected within a short period of time; that creationism (including ‘scientific creationism’) isn’t really a science in that its ultimate authority is scriptural and theological rather than the evidence obtained from the natural world; and that an acceptance of evolution is fully compatible with a religious faith, an assertion most often made in relation to Christianity (e.g. Southgate et al. 2005) whilst more obviously true of many other religions—including Hinduism, Buddhism and Judaism—and probably rather less true of Islam (Mabud 1991; Negus 2005; Edis 2007).

3 March of the Penguins March of the Penguins is a stunning 2005 National Geographic feature film. It runs for approximately 85 min, has a ‘U’ (Universal) certificate (i.e. is deemed to be ‘Suitable for all’ though, according to the back of the DVD casing, it ‘Contains mild peril’) and is accompanied by a beautiful coffee table book available in the original 2005 French and a 2006 translation into English (Jacquet 2006). For a photo gallery, downloads, a trailer, desktops, a screensaver and buddy icons see the official website (Warner Independent Pictures 2006) which gives a good impression of the exceptional footage in the full-length film. The website also starts with the words of Morgan Freeman that begin the English

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(USA) film: ‘‘In the harshest place on Earth, love finds a way. This is the incredible true story of a family’s journey to bring life into the world’’. The film has been an exceptional success. It won an Academy Award (an ‘Oscar’) in 2006 for Best Documentary Feature, was awarded Best Documentary at the 2005 National Board of Review and was nominated for Best Documentary in 2005 by the Broadcast Film Critics Association. In terms of revenue it the most successful nature film in American motion picture history, taking US$77.4 m at the box office and US$29.9 m in VHS rentals (Rotten Tomatoes 2007) and has its own Wikipedia entry (Wikipedia 2007a). It success gave a boost to the carton film Happy Feet with its rap-dancing Mumble (see http://www2.warnerbros.com/happyfeet/) and Christmas 2006 in the UK saw an explosion of penguin merchandise—I was even given a Happy Feet Advent Calendar from Marks and Spencer with five penguin finger puppets as well as the more traditional 25 pieces of chocolate. The reasons for the success of March of the Penguins are no doubt several: the photography is phenomenal; the emperor penguin’s story is extraordinary; the adults are elegant; the chicks are irredeemably cute as they look fluffy, feebly wave their little wings and learn to walk; the way in which the birds survive the Antarctic winter is awesome; the plaintive cries of mothers who lose their chicks in snow storms are heartrending. But one perhaps unexpected reason is that the film has been a great success among the Christian right. For example, if one enters ‘‘‘march of the penguins’’ Christian’ into Google, at the time of writing (20 January 2007) one finds 173,000 hits. Top of these is a review of the film by Mari Helms (n.d.) on ChristianAnswers.Net, which describes itself as ‘‘a mega-site providing biblical answers to contemporary questions for all ages and nationalities with 40thousand files’’ (ChristianAnswers.Net 2007). After a fairly detailed summary of the subject matter of the film, and reassurance that viewers won’t find much in the film to be objectionable (noting, for instance, under the sub-heading ‘Sex/Nudity’ that ‘‘The penguins mate during the film, but it is understood, not shown’’), the review goes on to discuss the lessons that the film has to teach about love, perseverance, the existence of God and friendship/ commraderie. An extended quote from the review [underlinings indicate hyperlinks to other pages on the ChristianAnswers.Net website] illustrates the presuppositions of the author: FRIENDSHIP/COMMRADERIE: All the penguins wait to start their journey until the last of them is out of the water, giving a sense of unity. As the penguins make their journey, they will all stop from time to time until one of them picks up the trail again, and then they all start moving. It is similar to what we are called to do in the body of Christ. 1 Corinthians 12:27–28 ‘‘Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. And in the church God has appointed first of all apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then workers of miracles, also those having gifts of healing, those able to help others, those with gifts of administration, and those speaking in different kinds of tongues.’’ While the fathers are caring for their unhatched chicks and braving the harshest of weather, they all huddle together in a huge heap for warmth. The ones on the outside rotate, so they all have a turn in the middle. Philippians 2:2–4 ‘‘then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.’’ I was truly fascinated by the lives of these penguins, maybe because I felt we as humans could emulate much of it and be better followers of the gospel of Jesus

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Christ. They all worked together towards a common goal; there was no fighting, gossiping and disorder. There was apparent ‘‘love,’’ cooperation and order. 1 Corinthians 12:25 ‘‘so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other.’’ I found the movie exciting and educational (but my three year old found it boring). What a great feeling it was to leave the theatre without watcher’s remorse (sitting through a movie that went against my value system or offended my Lord and Savior). (Helms, n.d.) In Barbour’s framework, this quote manifests an integrated relationship between science and religion. The worldview is one in which it is straightforward to read from penguin behaviour to human behaviour though it is worth noting that the argument is neither entirely anthropomorphic (in which non-human behaviour is interpreted as if it was the behaviour of humans) nor one in which the natural world is seen as the source of instruction as to how humans should behave. Rather, it is scripture that has primacy; the natural world is then held up not so much as a model for us to imitate but as an illustration of how the natural world can manifest that which God wishes for humanity. Such a reading of nature in March of the Penguins is facilitated by the wonderful photography which enables the viewer to read into the footage as much as (s)e reads from it. Indeed, Luc Jacquet has been quoted as saying ‘‘My intention was to tell the story in the most simple and profound way and to leave it open to any reading’’ (Miller 2005). So I, with a PhD and post-doctoral research in evolutionary biology (though also a priest in the Church of England with a conventional, albeit non-fundamentalist, Christian faith), can see it as a manifestation of the extraordinary ability of natural selection over millions of years to enable an organism to survive and reproduce in the most inhospitable of environments while others see it as a clear manifestation of Intelligent Design: To think that natural selection or even the penguins themselves could come up with the idea to migrate miles and miles multiple times each year without their partner or their offspring is a bit insulting to my intellect. How great is our God! (Gold 2005) Such a conclusion is despite the fact that the film begins by talking about how Antarctica used to be covered in tropical forest before it drifted South and then says of the emperor penguins ‘‘For millions of years they have made their home on the darkest, driest, windiest and coldest continent on earth’’ and is despite the fact that the film relates that females aggressively compete for males and depicts the way in which mothers who have lost their chicks may attempt to steal other chicks. The film is also honest, to the chagrin of some conservatives, about the fact that most emperor penguins are faithful to their partners for only one season; in the jargon of ethologists (those who study animal behaviour) emperor penguins are serially monogamous, unlike, for example, swans who typically pair for life—though extra-pair copulations do occur in swans (Barash and Lipton 2001). However, such mentions are brief. As Richard Blake has pointed out: ‘‘You get a sense of these animals—following their natural instincts—are really exercising virtue that for humans would be quite admirable,’’ he said. ‘‘I could see it as a statement on monogamy or condemnation of gay marriage or whatever the current agenda is.’’ (Miller 2005)

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4 And Tango Makes Three Blake’s quote, with which the previous section ends, leads nicely onto a very different treatment of penguins (chinstrap penguins rather than emperor), namely that provided in an illustrated children’s book And Tango Makes Three (Richardson and Parnell 2005). Like March of the Penguins, And Tango Makes Three has been widely acclaimed. In 2006 it was named an American Library Association Notable Children’s Book. It received the Henry Bergh Award and the Gustavus Myer Outstanding Book Award. It was named a Nick Jr. Family Magazine Best Book of the Year, a Bank Street Best Book of the Year, a Cooperative Children’s Book Council Choice, and a CBC/NCSS Notable Social Studies Trade Book. And Tango Makes Three was also a finalist for the 2006 Lambda Literary Award (Wikipedia 2007b). And Tango Makes Three tells the tale of a small colony of chinstrap penguins in Central Park Zoo in New York. As the book relates: Every year at the very same time, the girl penguins start noticing the boy penguins. And the boy penguins start noticing the girls. When the right girl and the right boy find each other, they become a couple. Two penguins in the penguin house were a little bit different. One was named Roy, and the other was named Silo. Roy and Silo were both boys. But they did everything together. They bowed to each other. And walked together. They sang to each other. And swam together. Wherever Roy went, Silo went too. They didn’t spend much time with the girl penguins, and the girl penguins didn’t spend much time with them. Instead, Roy and Silo wound their necks around each other. Their keeper Mr. Gramzay noticed the two penguins and thought to himself, ‘‘They must be in love.’’ (Richardson and Parnell 2005, no page numbers) What happens next is that Roy and Silo build a nest but, of course, cannot produce an egg. There’s a sad account of how Roy finds a rock and brings it to the nest; for day after day the two penguins alternate sitting on it and caring but, of course, nothing happens. They Mr Gramzay ‘‘found an egg that needed to be cared for and he brought it to Roy and Silo’s nest’’. Switching to the scientific language absent from the book, incubation proceeds successfully, and: Out came their very own baby! She had fuzzy white feathers and a funny black beak. Now Roy and Silo were fathers. ‘‘We’ll call her Tango,’’ Mr. Gramzay decided, ‘‘because it takes two to make a Tango.’’ (Richardson and Parnell 2005, no page numbers) The book ends soon afterwards and, throughout, it could not be more positive in its presentation of Roy and Silo. The drawings anthropomorphically show them surprised and disappointed when nothing happens to their rock despite their persistent incubation, and blissful when Tango emerges. The book closes with an authors’ note, the first paragraph of which reads: All of the events in this story are true. ... After years of living side by side in the Central Park Zoo, they [Roy and Silo] discovered each other in 1998 and they have been a couple ever since. Tango, their only chick, was born from an egg laid by

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another penguin couple named Betty and Porkey. That couple had often hatched their own eggs, but they had never been able to care for more than one at a time. In 2000, when Betty laid two fertile eggs, Rob Gramzay decided to give Roy, Silo, and one of those eggs a chance to become a family. (Richardson and Parnell 2005, no page numbers) So, we can rest assured that Roy and Silo, while gay, didn’t rush into their relationship [like any sensible couple, they took their time]; they have been faithful to one another for years [no promiscuity here]; Tango wouldn’t have survived unless Rob Gramzay had rescued her as an egg [perhaps an echo of the pro-life agenda]; Roy and Silo have been given their chance to become parents [mirroring the debate on reproductive rights in humans]; Tango is their only chick [the whole episode illustrates restraint]. Unsurprisingly, And Tango Makes Three has been controversial. At the time of writing (27 January 2007) it has 47 hits on Google News. Nearly all of these centre on rows about whether the book should be available in libraries. There have been a number of calls for it to be removed from the shelves, or placed in restricted areas, on the grounds that it promotes homosexuality. For example: Shiloh resident Lilly Del Pinto felt upset when her five-year-old daughter brought the book home. She was reading it to her when she got to a point where the zoo keeper says Roy and Silo must be in love. Then she realised it was not quite the straightforward animal tale she had expected. ‘That’s when I ended the story,’ she said. Now Del Pinto wants the book kept in a more mature section of the library or for parental permission to be sought for it to be taken out. (Harris 2006) However, in a twist that connects with the attempts of certain Christian ministries to get gay people to go straight (Erzen 2006), the arrival of Scrappy, a single chinstrap female from Sea World Zoo in San Diego, led to Silo moving out of his nest with Roy and in with Scrappy (Cohen 2005). This has been widely discussed in blogs. For example: So homosexuality exists in the natural world. Let’s get over it. Homosexuality exists among humans (we are after all not disconnected from the natural world no matter what some Creationists might suggest otherwise), but the question is rather how we who are so inclined can live that out, at least as Christians, in a godward direction so as to grow in the virtues and bear good fruit, becoming more like Christ, showing forth in some way the character of G-d: faithful, forgiving, compassionate, steadfast, self-emptying. (Christopher 2005) Unsurprisingly, Silo’s recent sexual proclivity has been seized on by moral conservatives unhappy with And Tango Makes Three: This book made me angry because it forced a questionable sexual practice on my children, passing it off as something as legitimate as their own family. It attempts to normalise something clearly abnormal. Penguins, like all other creatures, mate primarily for procreation. The fact that the keeper had to steal an egg from another couple to make a ‘‘family’’ shows that same-sex couples by themselves do not have what nature requires for them to conceive and bear children. Ironically, it was just announced that Silo has broken up with Roy and shacked up with Scrappy, a new penguin from the San Diego Zoo. Don’t you just love those bi-coastal relationships? And the real shocker is that Scrappy is—gasp!—a female penguin. Silo has been

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proclaimed as the nation’s first ex-gay penguin. Little doubt exists that they will need no intervention to produce a child. Regardless, this book has been insidiously and deceitfully placed in libraries across America to re-educate young children to accept all families as valid, whether they have two mommies, two daddies, three daddies or three mommies and two daddies. It is deceptively normal and intentionally aimed at children whose primary concern should be Legos and dolls. They push the debate on homosexuality into the kindergarten when the only debate children that age should be forced to decide is crust or no crust on their sandwiches. (Walden 2005) For readers wondering what happened next, as of December 2006 Silo was still with Scrappy but they had yet to produce an egg; Tango was now 6 years old and paired with Tazuni, another female; and Roy ‘‘has been seen alone, in a corner, staring at a wall’’ (GayPatriot 2006).

5 Possible Ways Forward When Teaching School Science As I hope is apparent, the intention of this article is not to argue that we should teach lots about penguins in school science, nor is the argument restricted to how we should teach animal behaviour or even biology. While it particularly easy to read the natural world in light of religious worldviews when the focus is on animal behaviour, a religious worldview enables, indeed, often requires, the viewer to see all of life within its compass (cf. Hansson and Redfors (2006) who discuss the importance of students’ religious views for their learning in cosmology). The two penguin stories and their reception are discussed here to indicate how deeply the worldview that a person (whether author, scientist, high school student, worshipper) has can influence how they imagine the world (cf. the Blake quote at the heading of this paper which shows, of course, that Blake was able to make, what was for him, the border crossing from science to religion and back again). Dingwall and Aldridge (2006) point out that many ‘blue chip’ TV wildlife programmes do not challenge creationist accounts and may even implicitly endorse notions of intelligent design with their emphasis on how well organisms are designed for their environments and lifestyles. A person can have more than one worldview and there are many worldviews other than religious ones but the religious worldview is a powerful and important one for many people. It provides a lens through which the world, including those aspects of the world that science focuses on, can be viewed. Much of the science education literature ignores the science/religion issue. However, a growing number of studies are trying to find effective ways of understanding the issues (e.g. Gauch, in press). More specifically, a number of studies have emphasised the value of using the evolution/creationism controversy as a way of showing how science works (Skehan and Nelson 2000; several contributors to Campbell and Meyer 2003). Whether or not it is appropriate, or even legal, to teach students in science classes about the nature of religious knowledge as well as the nature of scientific knowledge is likely to vary from country to country (cf. Kawasaki 1996; National Academy of Sciences 1999), from time to time, from school to school, and from teacher to teacher within a school (Reiss 2007). In the USA, in particular, teaching about religion is often held to be illegal in public (i.e. state-funded) schools on Constitutional grounds:

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The Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals has also ruled that a school can direct a teacher to refrain from discussing religion in classroom settings (Bishop v. Aronov, 1991), and the Supreme Court has stated that schools have a duty to make sure teachers do not inculcate religion (Lemon v. Kurtzman, 1971). The prohibition against an establishment of religion (as occurs with the teaching of creationism) in these situations outweighs the public school teachers’ right to free speech. (Moore 2007, p. 23) However, USA history teachers, for example, can teach about religion so long as it is appropriate for an understanding of the subject and provided they do not attempt to argue for or against a particular religion. In the same way, it seems possible that the USA courts would permit teaching about religion in science lessons in similar circumstances. Ways of teaching in the USA in the science / religion area in science lessons are explored by several of the authors in Jones and Reiss (2007). Perhaps the strongest argument for teaching anything about religion in a science class, whether at school, college or university, is if it helps students better to understand science. Martin (1994) put the point rather bluntly: I will maintain that learning pseudoscience and the paranormal should be part of the goal of science education. The goal should not be to instil such beliefs in students but to get them to think critically about such beliefs. Science education, I will maintain, should not be narrowly conceived. The goal of science education should not be to get students to understand science but to be scientific; that is, to tend to think and act in a scientific manner in their daily lives. Learning to think critically about pseudoscientific and paranormal beliefs is part of being scientific. (Martin 1994, p. 357) Teaching about aspects of religion in science classes could potentially help students better understand the strengths and limitations of the ways in which science is undertaken, the nature of truth claims in science, and the importance of social contexts for science (cf. Gauld 2005). However, there are also reasons to be cautious before teaching about aspects of religion in science classes (Reiss 1992). For example, a science teacher may feel that they simply don’t have the expertise to teach effectively about such matters, that these matters are better dealt with elsewhere in the curriculum, or that it is impossible to teach objectively about such matters so that one risks indoctrinating one’s students either into or away from a religious faith (e.g. Mahner and Bunge 1996). On the other hand, avoiding science/religion issues, when they are of relevance to students, may not only lead to a poorer understanding of the nature of science (cf. Cobern 2000), it may increase the chance that science remains irrelevant for some students, unconnected to their worldview. At a time when growing numbers of students in industrialised countries say that they find school science to be boring and irrelevant (e.g. Schreiner 2006), and drop it as soon as they can, this argument needs to be born in mind. In related vein, Mueller and Bentley (2007) argue that a more pluralistic approach to science education can help engage the diversity of students who are encountered by teachers in schools. At the very least, science educators and teachers need to take account of religious worldviews if some students are better to understand the compass of scientific thinking and some of science’s key conclusions, including the theory of evolution. Little is to be gained and much lost by ridiculing non-scientific worldviews. It is perfectly possible for a science teacher to be respectful of the positions that students hold, even if these are scientifically

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Whose Science and Whose Religion? Reflections on the Relations between Scientific and Religious Worldviews Stuart Glennan

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 797–812. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9097-3
Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract Arguments about the relationship between science and religion often proceed by identifying a set of essential characteristics of scientific and religious worldviews and arguing on the basis of these characteristics for claims about a relationship of conflict or compatibility between them. Such a strategy is doomed to failure because science, to some extent, and religion, to a much larger extent, are cultural phenomena that are too diverse in their expressions to be characterized in terms of a unified worldview. In this paper I follow a different strategy. Having offered a loose characterization of the nature of science, I pose five questions about specific areas where religious and scientific worldviews may conflict—questions about the nature of faith, the belief in a God or Gods, the authority of sacred texts, the relationship between scientific and religious conceptions of the mind/soul, and the relationship between scientific and religious understandings of moral behavior. My review of these questions will show that they cannot be answered unequivocally because there is no agreement amongst religious believers as to the meaning of important religious concepts. Thus, whether scientific and religious worldviews conflict depends essentially upon whose science and whose religion one is considering. In closing, I consider the implications of this conundrum for science education. Keywords Worldviews
Nature of science
Religion
Faith
Theism
Science education

My thinking on the relation between religion and science has profited immensely from my interactions with my colleagues from both sides of Butler’s department of Philosophy and Religion. I especially thank Chad Bauman, James McGrath, Tiberiu Popa and Paul Valliere for comments on an earlier draft of this paper S. Glennan (&) Department of Philosophy & Religion, Butler University, Indianapolis, IN, USA e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_8

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1 Introduction Towards the end of his life, in 1932, Sigmund Freud delivered a lecture entitled ‘‘On the Question of a Weltanschauung’’ in which he argued passionately for the ascendancy of the scientific over the religious Weltanschauung (worldview). Freud characterizes a Weltanschauung as an intellectual construction which solves all the problems of our existence uniformly on the basis of one overriding hypothesis, which, accordingly, leaves no question unanswered and in which everything that interests us finds its fixed place (Freud 1965, p. 158) Freud believed that the powerful appeal of religion is that it provides human beings with such a comprehensive Weltanschauung. But he believed that the religious Weltanschauung, for all its psychological appeal, was an illusion. In its place Freud put forward a scientific Weltanschauung that contained his own psychoanalysis as a part. The scientific Weltanschauung differs from the religious Weltanschauung because it does not provide the full range of answers that a religious Weltanschauung would: The Weltanschauung of science already departs noticeably our definition. It is true that it too assumes the uniformity of the explanation of the universe; but it does so only as a program, the fulfillment of which is relegated to the future. … It asserts that there are no sources of knowledge of the universe other than the intellectual workingover of carefully scrutinized observations … and alongside of it no knowledge derived from revelation, intuition or divination (ibid., pp. 158–159). While Freud was hardly the first to argue for the incompatibility of scientific and religious worldviews, his place in the history of the dispute over the relation between science and religion is of singular importance because Freud, using the techniques of psychoanalysis, sought to provide naturalistic explanations of religious experience and behavior. The details of Freud’s arguments for the incompatibility of scientific and religious worldviews need not concern us here. What is important, for my purposes, is to observe Freud’s general strategy for establishing his claim. The way that Freud cast the conflict presupposed that religion, as such, has a single characteristic Weltanschauung, while science, as such, has a second, incompatible one. There was, he thought, some essential character of science, what science educators have subsequently come to call the nature of science (or NOS), and there was, on the other hand, some essential character of religion, which we might call the nature of religion (NOR). Freud believed that by examining NOS and NOR, he could demonstrate that science and religion had essentially incompatible Weltanschauungen. Freud’s strategy has frequently been adopted by those who believe that science and religion are incompatible. Mahner and Bunge (1996a) pursued this strategy quite explicitly in the pages of this journal, and it has also been used in widely discussed books by Dennett (2006) and Dawkins (2006). By changing claims about NOS and NOR, the strategy can equally well be used by those arguing for the compatibility of religion and science. Polkinghorne, for instance, begins his compatibilist argument with chapters entitled ‘‘The Nature of Science’’ and ‘‘The Nature of Theology’’ (1986). Compatibilists and incompatibilists come to such different conclusions about the relation between science and religion simply because they offer such different accounts of what science and religion are, or should be. Lacy (1996) for instance, argues against Mahner and Bunge’s incompatibilism by arguing that they got both NOS and NOR wrong.

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This mode of argument is ultimately fruitless, because it begins from the false presupposition that science and religion have definable natures. Science, to some extent, and religion, to a great extent, are simply too diffuse as cultural phenomena to be said to have a nature. The way to move the discussion of the relationship between scientific and religious worldviews forward is to divide the question. While we cannot ask whether science and religion writ large are compatible or incompatible, independent or engaged, and so on, we can ask more specific questions about the relationship between various scientific and religious presuppositions, beliefs, theories and practices. My strategy in this paper will be to examine a five such questions that have proved to be particularly important in recent debates: 1. Is a reliance on faith inconsistent with scientific commitments to evidence? 2. Is a belief in a God or Gods contrary to a scientific commitment to naturalism? 3. Does a commitment to the truth and importance of sacred texts violate scientific canons of evidence? 4. Do developments in science—particular those in psychology and neuroscience— threaten to undermine religious doctrines about freedom of the will and the divine nature of the soul. 5. Do scientific explanations of the origins of moral behavior undermine the moral teachings of religions? These by no means exhaust the questions one might ask, but they do give some sense of what I mean by dividing the question. None of these questions admit of simple answers, because all depend upon the interpretation of contested concepts. Whether faith is inconsistent with commitments to evidence depends upon how one understands faith; whether believing in God is contrary to naturalism depends upon one’s idea of God; and so on for each of the other questions. And while, in the end we cannot provide a definitive answer about the relationship between scientific and religious worldviews, we will see some patterns emerge about the kinds of religious worldviews that are compatible with science.

2 Some Preliminaries on the Nature of Science Despite my skepticism, I am going to assume for purposes of this paper that science does have something like a nature. While I don’t want to discount the diversity of science and scientists, the institutional structure of modern science has enforced sufficient uniformity in attitudes, beliefs, and methods among scientists, that it is not a terrible idealization to talk of a NOS. In this journal, Hugh Gauch has made one attempt at characterizing the NOS by describing seven ‘‘pillars’’ of science, which he has gleaned chiefly by a review of documents from the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS). These seven pillars are: 1. The world which science seeks to understand is real …. 2. Science presupposes the world is orderly and comprehensible…. 3. Science demands evidence for its conclusions ‘‘Sooner or later the validity of scientific claims is settled by referring to observations of phenomena’’ …. 4. Scientific thinking uses standard and settled logic…. 5. Science has limits in its understanding of the world…. 6. Science is public, welcoming persons from all cultures….

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7. One of science’s important ambitions is contributing to a meaningful worldview …. (Gauch this issue) While these claims are hardly enough to give a full characterization of the nature of science, they do distill important features of the AAAS position and the great majority of scientists would likely agree with them. Philosophers of science might be more skeptical about certain of these claims. Notably, they might worry about just what is meant by the realism of the first pillar; they might wonder whether there is anything like a universal set of standards of ‘‘scientific logic’’; they might wonder whether scientific standards are really independent of culture, and so on. But I shall not worry too much about these questions. Gauch’s pillars do not provide anything like a demarcation line between the sciences and other empirically driven fields of human knowledge. Nor for that matter do they draw a sharp distinction between scientific and common sense empirical knowledge. While there might be some disputes about just how settled the logic is or in what respects the reality referred to in pillar one might have socially constructed elements, most social scientists and historians would accept these pillars as ideals. Thus, for the purposes of this paper, I shall construe science very broadly to include the social sciences, history, and empirically driven literary and cultural studies. Whatever the differences between the natural sciences and social sciences or the sciences and the humanities may be, empirically driven academic disciplines of all kinds find themselves in a similar position with respect to religion. While the science and religion literature has tended to focus particularly on issues raised by physics and evolutionary biology, analogous issues arise in connection with fields including cognitive science, Biblical archeology, ancient history, and historical linguistics. Implicit in Gauch’s seven pillars, and indeed in much of the writing on the nature of science, is a distinction between the presuppositions and methodology of science on the one hand, and particular scientific theories on the other. Such a distinction is especially important to Gauch because it allows him to formulate his thesis that the basic presuppositions and methodology of science are worldview independent, while the theories scientists develop as the result of their interrogation of nature may indeed have ‘‘worldview import.’’ While this distinction has heuristic value, it can also be very misleading. The problem is that methods of observation and standards of reasoning and evidence are deeply entangled with our theoretical knowledge. There is, as many philosophers of science have argued, no pre-theoretic notion of observation; neither is there any theory neutral ‘‘logic of induction.’’ These facts need not worry defenders of the scientific enterprise, but they do suggest that we should be wary of evaluating the relationship between scientific and religious worldviews in a way that divorces the methods of science from its fruits.

3 Five Questions With this preliminary understanding of the nature of science, we turn now to five questions about the relation between religion and science.

3.1 Is a Reliance on Faith Inconsistent With Scientific Commitments to Evidence? The answer to this question depends upon what one understands faith to be. Some religious people (as well as some secularists) espouse kinds of faith that are incompatible to Gauch’s pillars concerning logic and evidence, while others espouse faith positions that are entirely

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consistent both with the pursuit of science and the state of current scientific knowledge. While there are many different attitudes that have been characterized as faith, I shall describe three influential alternatives: faith as belief with minimal evidence, faith as submission to ecclesiastical or scriptural authority, and faith as expression of ultimate concern. Perhaps the most common conception of faith is that faith is belief with little or no evidence. A person might say that she believes that God exists as a matter of faith, where she take this belief to be rather like a belief that Uncle Edward exists, except that, unlike Uncle Edward, she’s never seen, felt, smelled or talked to God. Faith in this sense is clearly inconsistent with pillars three and four. Scientific (and indeed pre-scientific) canons of logic and evidence demand that we only believe in entities that we can either observe directly or that are theoretical entities, postulated by a well-confirmed theory that identifies the causes of observable phenomena. Science for instance allows us to believe in tigers (because we can see them) and in tiger genes, because these genes play a causal/explanatory role in a well-confirmed theory that explains the characteristics of tigers. But clearly we don’t have evidence for God in the way that we have evidence for either tigers or tiger genes. The inconsistency of faith of this kind with scientific standards of rationality is twofold. In the first place, the attitude of believing without evidence is inimical to the scientific spirit. It breeds what W.K. Clifford, in his famous essay ‘‘The Ethics of Belief’’ (2001) disparagingly referred to as ‘‘credulousness.’’ Moreover, beliefs that individuals take on faith may turn out to contradict specific claims of well-established scientific theories. To take it on faith, for instance, that there is no evolution of species on the earth requires one to reject a large amount of well-confirmed science. A second and related sort of faith involves obedience to authority in matters of belief. Some people construe faith as requiring them to believe things on the basis of the claims either of scriptural or ecclesiastical authority. A person might for instance believe as a matter of faith that the soul survives the body, because this is what the Pope has asserted ex Cathedra. Unquestioned obedience to authority in matters epistemological is also inimical to the scientific spirit. Those who embrace science need not reject authority as a ground for belief, but they must be prepared to evaluate when and to what degree authorities are worthy of trust. One can accept the testimony of authorities and eye-witnesses, but only if one pays attention to these individuals’ biases, limits and failures as observers. If one’s faith in an authority is unconditional, then it reduces to an unjustified belief in the infallibility of that authority, which again violates pillars three and four. There is a third approach to faith, expressed perhaps most forcefully by the theologian Paul Tillich (1957), in which faith is expression of one’s ‘‘ultimate concern.’’ True faith in Tillich’s view cannot contradict either scientific knowledge or practice, because it is concerned with an entirely different sphere of reality. It is not concerned with empirical questions about the composition and behavior of the cosmos, the earth or our brains. Neither is it concerned with questions of natural or human history—how the earth was formed or what happened in Jerusalem in 33 C. E. It is concerned instead with the essentially subjective questions of what we should do and what we should care about. What one is ultimately concerned with is not a matter of what one believes; it is a matter of what one believes in: How should one treat people? Where should one put one’s efforts? How should one feel about death? These are questions of value and meaning that cannot be decided by appeal to scientific evidence. I shall offer an argument for this claim below when I return to the relationship between scientific studies of human behavior and the moral teachings of religion; for the moment, it is enough to say that if I am correct in

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asserting that questions of value and meaning are not questions of belief that can be decided by appeal to evidence, then faith in Tillich’s sense is entirely consistent with the pillars of science.1

3.2 Is a Belief in a God or Gods Contrary to a Scientific Commitment to Naturalism? Like the previous question, the answer to this question depends upon the meaning of contested terms. There is no consensus amongst scientists and philosophers as to exactly what naturalism is, and there is no end to the different ideas human beings have had about God. To make sense of this question, then, I shall stake out one interpretation of scientific naturalism, and evaluate its compatibility with several prominent concepts of a God or Gods. Gauch is typical of many champions of the compatibility of science and religion in seeking to identify a core of scientific presuppositions and practice that is metaphysically neutral with regard to theism, and to distinguish this from scientifically inspired metaphysical or epistemological views that have clear worldview import (cf. Barbour 1997). It is often argued that the basis for this distinction between scientific and metaphysical claims is that the former are susceptible to empirical scrutiny while the latter are not (cf. Settle 1996). It is easy to see the attraction of this strategy for the scientifically minded theist. If questions of science are separate from questions of metaphysics and if theism is a metaphysical position, it simply becomes impossible to use the methods or results of science to argue for or against theism. Philosophical naturalists reject this argument because naturalists believe that (a) philosophical epistemology is continuous with the empirical methods of the sciences, and, as a result, (b) that metaphysical conclusions should be continuous with the results of scientific inquiry. In the debate between Mahner and Bunge and their critics, there is considerable dispute over whether naturalism is a presupposition of science or a conclusion drawn from scientific investigation. Mahner and Bunge argue that it is a presupposition, because ‘‘science would be rendered impossible if scientists were to take any ontological assumptions above and beyond naturalism seriously.’’ (1996b, 190). Gauch, however, rightly points out that at other places they seem to think naturalism is something one can find scientific evidence for (forthcoming). The root of this confusion lies in the failure on the part of the disputants to distinguish between naturalism as a methodological position and naturalism as a metaphysical position. It is telling that Mahner and Bunge explicitly equate naturalism with materialism. Materialism (or as it is more widely referred to in contemporary metaphysics, physicalism) clearly is a metaphysical position that suggests that a complete ontology of the world will consist wholly of entities and properties and relations that either reduce to or are at least supervenient upon the entities, properties and relations described by physics. Naturalism as a methodological position certainly does not presuppose such a metaphysics. Many naturalists are materialists (or physicalists), but this is presumably because this is where they think the results of empirical inquiry have taken them—not because they argued that 1

It must be confessed, that even if there is no possible collision between science and ultimate concerns in principle, there may be significant ones in practice. People’s ultimate concerns, and more generally their values or prejudices, certainly can alter the way they interpret scientific evidence. The theoretical issue at play here is whether it is possible either in principle or in practice to separate epistemic and non-epistemic values. My account requires one to believe that these values are at least largely separable in principle.

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materialism must be true a priori. It is also clear that many philosophers think there are sound empirical arguments against physicalism, at least in certain of its forms.2 In posing the question of whether naturalism is compatible with belief in a God or Gods, one should not identify naturalism with materialism or physicalism but with the methodological naturalism sketched above. Some people assume, essentially as a matter of definition, that naturalism precludes belief in a God or Gods. Gods, they reason, are supernatural beings, and are thus excluded by definition from the natural world. But given how supernatural beings are often characterized, they cannot typically be excluded a priori from nature. How belief in God fares with naturalism will depend upon what kind of being one takes God to be. While there are endless variations, I will focus on three broad conceptions of God that have been and continue to be important for theists. First, there is what can be called the people’s God—a God (or perhaps Gods) who is an active agent in the natural world and in human affairs. Second there is the God of the philosophers and theologians—a more abstract God who in some sense creates or sustains the world. Third, there is the God of the mystics—a God who is found in the subjective experience of the faithful rather than through his or her action in the world. Presumably the cognitively and culturally ‘‘original’’ conception of a God or Gods is the God I have called the people’s God—a being much like us but with superhuman powers. This is the God we see most often in Biblical literature, in classical mythology and in the sacred texts of pretty much every major religious tradition. Beings of these kinds are agents in the same sense in which human beings are. They have mental states like ours— beliefs, desires, emotions, and the like. They also have powers to act in the world on the basis of their mental states. In the Exodus narrative, for instance, Yahweh talks with Moses, gets angry at Pharoah, sending plagues, parts seas and so on. Robert McCauley calls Gods of this kind ‘‘culturally postulated superhuman (CPS) agents’’ (McCauley 2000, p. 74). Such a view of God is often criticized by theologians as primitive, but, as McCauley and others have argued, the view is cognitively natural and continues to play a central role in popular religion. Causal agency is a foundational concept in human cognition about the natural world. From infancy on, humans seek to organize, explain and predict events in their world by positing ‘‘other minds’’ (cf. Gopnik et al. 1999) Other minds and mental states are not directly observable, but common sense psychological theories about animate objects (like people or dogs) allow humans to explain, predict and control their environment. CPS agents are even less observable than human and animal agents, but positing unseen agents to explain unforeseen events is neither uncommon nor obviously irrational. When we see something unexpected change in our environment—the room is cleaned up or the garbage can is knocked down—we suppose that this change is due to the action of an unseen agent—Mom or the dog, for instance. It is not far to get from agents we didn’t see to agents we can’t see. But once one conceives of Gods as CPS agents, then it is possible to test claims about the existence of these agents in much the same way that one tests claims about the existence of any other theoretical entity. We appropriately choose to believe in the reality of theoretical entities when the theories that posit them are predictive and explanatory. CPS agent theories about the causes of natural or social phenomena thus compete with scientific ones, and what we find is that the development of successful scientific theories crowds out 2

There are many scientifically informed philosophers who think materialism has its limits. Among them are McGinn, Chalmers and Jackson.

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theistic ones. As our scientific knowledge grows, for instance, we find that our meteorological models do a lot better job of explaining and predicting the force of hurricanes than our theories about Poseidon’s moods. The comparative explanatory poverty of CPS agent theories is what in large part leads to the development of philosophical and theological concepts of God. Whiggish histories of the relationship between science and religion often see the move away from supernatural agency views as being a consequence of the scientific revolution and the enlightenment. While there some truth to this view, the reality is that the intellectual elites have, since antiquity, recognized problems with supernatural agent explanations and have accordingly shied away from literalist readings of religious stories of supernatural agency. Different theological accounts of God have different points of contact with scientific naturalism, but roughly speaking, the more one’s God concept has in common with the concept of an ordinary agent, the more likely one is to find incompatibility. On the one extreme, one finds the sort of God posited by Plotinus and other Neoplatonists. Plotinus’ God was what he called ‘‘the One’’—an ontologically fundamental unity from which all reality was said to emanate. Emanation is a category of ontological dependence that is difficult to explicate except metaphorically, but however it is explicated, it is clear that emanation is not a causal relation between an agent and the world. The One does not have beliefs, desires or a will, and is not in any ordinary sense an actor in the world. One can probably not make sense of a God of this kind if one adopts an empiricist criterion of meaning (e.g. Ayer 1952), but at least scientific theories of causal agency will not be able to compete with theism of this kind. Theologians and philosophers often seek a middle ground between the rather-like-us CPS agents that one finds in religious narratives and the very abstract ontological conception of God one finds in Neoplatonist and similar traditions. Typical of such views are those that claim that God an omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent creator. Such a view clearly has elements of agency. To say that God is omniscient is to say that God has beliefs (all true); to say he is omnipotent is to say that he has (and uses) the power to act in the world; and to say he is benevolent is to say that he has desires. At the same time, advocates of such a view typically argue that God does not intervene directly in nature in the way that ordinary agents do. Accordingly, conceptions like this have less clear empirical content than traditional CPS agent views and are more immune to empirical testing. Of particular interest in worldview debates are the concepts of God that are appealed to in natural theology. Natural theology looks to nature for evidence of God’s presence—in the existence of design in organisms or in the regularities of natural law, for instance. Natural theology in this sense is really not distinct from natural science at all, for, just like natural science, it seeks to provide explanatory accounts of natural phenomena by positing theoretical entities with determinate properties. Theodicies, which attempt to reconcile the benevolence of God with the existence of evil, behave similarly. In this case the task is not to seek evidence in the world for the existence of God, but to provide a theory of the relationship between God and the world that shows that various natural and human phenomena (in particular, natural and moral evil) are not inconsistent with the supposition of an agent that is benevolent and omnipotent. I will not comment here on the adequacy of these theories. It is enough to notice that these theories do indeed enter into competition with non-theistic theories of natural and human phenomena. But given the very abstract character of such theories, they are much harder to verify or falsify than CPS-agent theories.

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The relationship between popular and theological theories of God is analogous to the relationship between less and more abstract scientific theories. A scientific theory that, for instance, describes digestive mechanisms lies fairly close to surface phenomena and is accordingly, reasonably easy to test. Such theories are analogous to theories that posit a particular act (say a person getting over an illness) as the act of a supernatural agent. More abstract theological theories are analogous to more abstract scientific theories. Theories that posit God as a divine watchmaker are hard to test, but so is string theory. Whatever the philosophical or scientific merits of theological conceptions of God, this abstract theism has the disadvantage that it is extremely remote from religious practice and experience. To find a concept of God that is more connected with religious experience, we must turn to the mystics. Mystics seek God not as a distant being in or behind the world, but as a direct subjective experience of the divine. The aim of prayer, meditation or other individual or collective religious rituals is to generate a characteristic religious experience of enlightenment or Nirvana or some other form of oneness with God or the divine. There are mystical elements within most or all major religious traditions, and similarities in the practice and experience of mystics transcend sectarian divides. The crucial distinction between mystical and agency conceptions of God is the distinction between objective and subjective conception of God. Generally speaking, I understand the distinction between subjective and objective roughly in the way Nagel (1974) does. To say that an experience is subjective is to say that there is something it is like to have that experience. Subjectivity in this sense is intimately connected to consciousness. Subjective experience is private, in the sense that no one can have my subjective experience except me and the only way I can understand the subjective experience of others is by analogy to my own subjective experiences. Thus, when a mystic has an experience of God, that experience is essentially a set of subjective, conscious feelings, visualizations, sensations of peace or ecstasy, and so on. Skeptics can of course doubt that this religious experience is an experience of God, but in asking this question, the skeptic generally has in mind the view of God as an active agent in the world. If God is a cause of events in the world, God may be a cause of the psychological events that constitute a religious experience, but it may be something else (say eating a certain mushroom) that brought about the experience. To the extent that a person uses such experience as evidence for a claim of the existence of an objective agent in the world, the skeptic indeed has reason for doubt. But the mystic is not particularly concerned with the neurological properties of her brain during her experience, or what if anything exterior to her brain caused her brain to have these properties. The value of mystical experience does not lie in its ability to provide knowledge of the causes of events in the world, but in the quality of mind it brings to the experiencing subject. It is certainly possible to engage in scientific research on what goes on in the brains of people having religious experiences, but no degree of understanding of these processes would eliminate the experiences themselves. To suppose otherwise would be like supposing that understanding the neurochemistry of falling in love would cease to make falling in love feel like falling in love. When I have fallen in love, I now suppose that my brain cells have been flooded with oxytocin that somehow rewires my neural circuits in such a way as to create psychological dispositions to pair-bonding. But even if I were to understand this process perfectly in an objective sense, it would not eliminate my experience of falling in love. And it is the subjective experience of love, rather than its neurological basis, that is love for me. If I had not been lucky enough to fall in love, then nothing I could have learned about the neurobiology of love could tell me what love is. For

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just these reasons, someone with a mystical conception of God may perfectly happily study what’s going on in their brain, but doing so won’t make God go away.3

3.3 Does a Commitment to the Truth and Importance of Sacred Texts Violate Scientific Canons of Evidence? Like our other questions, how one answers this question depends crucially upon what one means when one calls such texts true, important or sacred. I’ll concentrate on the Bible, since that is likely to be most familiar such text to most readers, but the arguments here should apply equally well to the Qur’an, or to sacred texts of non-Abrahamic religions. The gist of my position will hardly be surprising—that it is possible to treat these texts as true and important so long as they are interpreted symbolically rather than literally—but it may still be worth considering briefly both how literalism conflicts with scientific standards of evidence as well as how and why certain symbolic approaches do not. While Biblical literature is diverse in genre, it is dominated by narratives describing past events of human and natural history. Because Biblical literature is not traditionally treated as ‘‘fiction’’ (and indeed long predates the concept of fiction), it is natural perhaps to take these narratives literally as reports of what readers would have seen and heard if they had been there. But to treat Biblical narratives in this journalistic manner is to put them in to the natural and social world. Once they lie in this world, then basic epistemic principles require (a) that readers evaluate the credibility of these reports in the same way they would evaluate the credibility of other written reports from the distant past, and (b) they seek to reconcile conflicts between the claims of these texts and claims made by other texts and other potential sources of evidence, including scientific evidence. Such inquiries, which are much of the business of contemporary Biblical studies, suggest that the case for Biblical literalism is exceedingly weak. Most Biblical scholars would probably not go so far as David Hume, who characterized the Pentateuch as ‘‘a book, presented to us by a barbarous and ignorant people, written in an age when they were still more barbarous, and in all probability long after the facts which it relates, corroborated by no concurring testimony, and resembling those fabulous accounts, which every nation gives of its origin’’ (Hume 1777, p. 130). But it is difficult, if one does not come to the matter with a kind of faith that we have already seen is inconsistent with a scientific worldview, not to conclude that there are many better explanations of why the Biblical narratives are as they are than that they are journalistically accurate accounts of events. A proponent of Biblical literalism might grant some of the evidence that suggests, for instance, that the authors of Biblical texts often wrote about events that they did not personally observe, but at the same time claim that, in virtue of divine inspiration, they still had access to the true history of these events. But if we take divine inspiration literally as some sort of mechanism by which God or the Holy Spirit manipulates the thoughts of an author, then we are positing precisely the sorts of CPS agents discussed in question two, and, as discussed above, the case against the existence of such agents is, from a scientific point of view, quite strong. The standard approach for the religious compatibilist is to argue for a symbolic reading of Biblical literature. Such an approach avoids contradicting canons of scientific evidence 3

Readers familiar with the philosophy of mind literature will note that this argument closely parallels standard arguments for the irreducibility of consciousness, qualia and other varieties of subjective mental states. See, e.g., Jackson 1982; Nagel 1974

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by interpreting Biblical texts as doing something other than journalistic reporting on the sort of facts for which science (including in this case ‘‘scientific’’ approaches to Biblical studies) can find evidence. While some critics see symbolic readings as a retreat in response to the demands of science, such readings predate modern science by many centuries and count among their proponents many church fathers and Saints (e.g., Origen, Augustine, Aquinas). Moreover, there is nothing that requires one to suppose that such interpretations are reinterpretations of authorial intent. Modern humans use myths, fables, and other fiction genres to express beliefs or value that they think are true and important. One need not literally believe in Santa Claus to believe in Santa Claus. It seems like nothing more than prejudice to suppose that Biblical authors hadn’t thought of this. (Look at how Plato, writing at a time roughly contemporary with much Biblical literature, uses myth to say what he believed could not otherwise be said.) A religious person might justifiably wonder why, if this is all there is to Biblical literature, that one could justifiably call such a text sacred. If a scientific worldview forces us to treat the Bible as myth or parable, aren’t we forced to conclude that its standing is on a par with that of any other work of imaginative literature? In short, doesn’t such a reading deny the Bible its sacredness? One can resist this conclusion, but only so long as one finds a notion of sacredness that is compatible with naturalism. The Bible’s sacredness cannot arise from the fact that it or its authors had a special kind of relationship with a CPS agent. But there are other ways to think about sacredness. Here’s one suggestion: The Bible is important to us—Jews, Christians and Muslims—because it is sacred within a tradition to which we belong. We especially honor and value it because it is ours. It reflects the wisdom of our fathers (mostly fathers, some mothers—symbolically speaking of course). We value it in much the same way that we might value a set of family pictures. The pictures are important to us because they picture things that are part of our past. Other people’s photo albums may contain pictures that are just as beautiful, charming or funny, and we might enjoy them, but we do not care about them in the way we care about our own anymore than they care about ours. Sacredness in this sense is wholly compatible with a scientific worldview and it makes explicable the fact that different texts can be sacred for different people.

3.4 Do Developments in Science—Particularly Those in Psychology and Neuroscience—Threaten to Undermine Religious Doctrines about Freedom of the Will and the Divine Nature of the Soul Whatever the merits of the opposing arguments, there is little doubt that a great number of scientists and science students do in fact identify themselves as religious and see no incompatibility between their faith and their science. To use a phrase popularized by Stephen Jay Gould (1997), religion and science are non-overlapping magisteria—domains of human life with fundamentally different concerns. But, many otherwise hard-nosed religious naturalists believe that the magisteria do indeed overlap when we consider one subject of immediate concern to us all—our immortal souls. The traditional Catholic response to this problem was given by Pius XII: The Teaching Authority of the Church does not forbid that, in conformity with the present state of human sciences and sacred theology, research and discussions, on the part of men experienced in both fields, take place with regard to the doctrine of evolution, in as far as it inquires into the origin of the human body as coming from

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pre-existent and living matter—for the Catholic faith obliges us to hold that souls are immediately created by God (Pius XII (pope) 1999) The hard question for the religious scientist is whether this division between body and soul, held as an article of faith, is consistent with the understanding of the nature of human and animal mind/brains that we derive from contemporary psychological and neuroscientific investigation. To repeat a by now familiar refrain of this paper, the answer to this question depends entirely upon what one means by a soul. On one way of understanding the soul, the supposition of an immortal and immaterial soul is akin to a scientific hypothesis. The soul is a special part of the mechanism that controls human bodies (or other bodies, if you believe in animal souls). This is in essence the Cartesian understanding of the soul—a special kind of substance whose properties (beliefs, desires, a will, etc.) influenced properties of the body. This is not the place for a detailed discussion of the arguments against Cartesian dualism, but I think it is fair to say that the ‘‘doctrine of the ghost in the machine,’’ as Gilbert Ryle so memorably described it, has been thoroughly repudiated by philosophers, psychologists and neuroscientists. It is not clear whether the theory is even conceptually coherent. Moreover, psychology and neuroscience have made and continue to make enormous strides in understanding the material basis of human and animal cognition, emotion, volition and behavior. But this is not the only way to think about the soul. Rather than thinking of the soul as an elusive causal agent within the natural order, it is possible to think about it subjectively and experientially. In a 1996 speech to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences that commented on Pius’ Encyclical, Pope John Paul II seems to point toward this way of understanding the soul: The sciences of observation describe and measure, with ever-greater precision, the many manifestations of life, and write them down along the time-line. The moment of passage into the spiritual realm is not something that can be observed in this way—although we can nevertheless discern, through experimental research, a series of very valuable signs of what is specifically human life. But the experience of metaphysical knowledge, of self-consciousness and self-awareness, of moral conscience, of liberty, or of aesthetic and religious experience—these must be analyzed through philosophical reflection, while theology seeks to clarify the ultimate meaning of the Creator’s designs (John Paul II (pope) 1996). This last sentence is crucial, for it suggests that what lies beyond the realm of scientific observation is the analysis and explanation of various kinds of experience—of moral conscience, of liberty and so on. On this view the soul that is the concern of the Church’s magisterium is the soul of first-person, subjective experience, not a piece of the mechanism that produces human behavior. The distinction between these two views of the human soul parallels the distinction between two views of the nature of God discussed in question two. If one chooses to think of the soul or God as agents—as unseen causers of events in the natural world—than one’s beliefs about God or the soul are scientific hypotheses about the causal structure of the natural world. Such hypotheses need to be evaluated using the same methods one uses to evaluate other such hypotheses, and they do not fare well. On the other hand, if one understands God or the soul subjectively—in terms of experience rather than causal agency—then God and the soul are not things at all. As such, questions about their existence or non-existence have no place in science.

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3.5 Do Scientific Explanations of the Origins of Moral Behavior Undermine the Moral Teachings of Religions? Like the science of the soul, the science of morality can seem pretty threatening to the religious believer. Many religious believers hold that the source of moral norms are divine commands, and attempts by cognitive psychologists and evolutionary biologists to provide a naturalistic explanation of the origins of religious belief seem like a big threat. There is a long history of scientific attempts to explain religious behavior and the connection between religion and moral norms (Freud 1967; Dawkins 2006; Dennett 2006; Wilson 1998), and while some of these attempts contain some rather speculative or down-right bad science, in principle there is nothing wrong with scientifically examining the origins and operation of religious institutions, religious beliefs, religious rituals, as well as the connection between these institutions, beliefs and rituals and moral behavior. To the extent that naturalistic theories of religious and moral behavior can be developed, will this undermine religious and moral teachings? Once again, it all depends. While this question touches on the science of religious behavior generally, let me focus on the question of the science of moral behavior—a topic of concern to religious believers but also to non-religious persons concerned with the nature of morality. Moral attitudes are cognitive states that give rise to various sorts of human behavior. These attitudes can be studied in a variety of ways: scientists may seek to understand the nature of the mental representations involved; they may seek to study variations in these attitudes across human populations; they may seek to understand how such attitudes develop in us from childhood, both in terms of genetic and environmental influences. More speculatively, they may offer evolutionary accounts—either biological or cultural—of moral attitudes. While these areas of research are methodologically complex, it seems reasonable to say that scientists in a variety of fields have contributed and will continue to refine theories that explain why human beings have the moral attitudes that they do. But whatever the merits of the ‘‘science of morality,’’ such a science cannot provide us with moral guidance. Any naturalistic account of moral attitudes can only tell us why, as a matter of fact, humans have the moral attitudes they do. They cannot tell us that these moral attitudes are in fact attitudes that we should (in a moral sense) have. To mistake a causal explanation of why we do believe things for a normative explanation of why we should believe things is to commit what philosophers call a genetic fallacy.4 Religious believers who think that ethical judgments derive their normative force from divine commands may run afoul of scientific arguments. If they believe that what causes people to have the moral attitudes they do is the activity of a divine agent, then this agent becomes a posited entity in the causal structure of the natural world and this hypothesis must compete with the sorts of causal explanations discussed in the previous paragraphs. Such a strategy will run into the problems discussed in the response to question two. If religious believers cite sacred texts or traditions as sources of moral authority, scientists may provide naturalistic explanations of why those texts or traditions contain the moral teachings they do—explanations that may raise doubts about the reliability of these sources. But while the results of scientific research may probe the causes of human moral attitudes, no research will answer or eliminate the basic moral questions that human beings

4

Some philosophers and scientists have argued that this sort of inference is not in fact fallacious and that we can get genuine normative claims about of ‘‘evolutionary ethics (Ruse and Wilson 1986). Such arguments seem to me to be weak. For a rebuttal of such claims, see Kitcher 2006.

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confront: what should we value in our lives, and how should we act towards ourselves and others?5 The fact that science properly construed cannot answer basic questions about morality does not imply much about how such questions should be answered. While such questions have been a perennial subject of concern to religious thinkers, they also have been a concern of secular philosophers and intellectuals of all stripes. The difficulties with scientific approaches to the study of moral theory should not be taken as providing an endorsement for religious approaches. My argument has only been meant to show that in looking for a foundation for moral judgments, neither the theist nor the atheist can look to science.

4 Conclusion I have sought to explore the relationship between religious and scientific worldviews by examining several particular questions about sources of potential conflict. This piecemeal approach seems the best we can do, because there are so many different kinds of religious worldviews we might encounter. Nonetheless, the review of these particular questions may allow us to say something about the sources of potential conflict between religious and scientific worldviews. The business of science is to explain and where possible predict the properties and behavior of objects and events in the natural world. If we construe science broadly, as I have suggested we must, the natural world must be taken to include the human world, including human minds, societies and all the artifacts of human culture. But the domain of science is delimited by the limitations of its foundational source of knowledge—publicly accessible features of the observable world. Broadly speaking, what appears to lie beyond this domain are (a) the subjective character of human experience and (b) values. In other words, science cannot answer questions about what it’s like and what to care about. In the heyday of logical positivism, these questions were just the sort of questions that were identified as nonsensical by the principal of verification (Ayer 1952). But as critics of the principle of verification have been quick to point out, the principal of verification was itself nonsensical by its own standards, since, as a principle of action, it cannot be verified empirically. The view that there are some questions science cannot answer is a view widely held— and in fact corresponds to the fifth of the pillars of science that Gauch derives from his reading of AAAS documents. Moreover, the way in which I have demarcated these questions is consistent with those pillars as well. Gauch emphasizes that science must be public, universal and evidence-based. These are exactly the features that cannot be provided in discussions of subjective experiences and values.6 It is tempting to conclude that Gould was right—that there can be no conflict between science and religion, because the magisterium of religion is concerned with subjective and normative questions, while the magisterium of science is concerned with objective and naturalistic questions. But it is important to recognize that Gould’s view is a normative 5

Scientific research may be able to help us think about how to achieve our moral ends, but it cannot show us what those ends should be. For instance, there has been a good deal of research of late on the science of happiness, and such research may tell us how we can most efficiently maximize people’s happiness. But such research, however good, cannot establish the fundamental moral claim that we ought to seek to maximize people’s happiness.

6

There may be universal moral standards or presuppositions, but these are not the same as the presuppositions of science. Similarly, there may be universal human similarities in our subjective experiences, but subjective evidence can still not be shared in the sense demanded by science.

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account of how we should interpret our science and our religion—not a description of actual religious and scientific practices. Paul Tillich’s (1957) normative account of religious faith provides one clear model of a religious worldview that does not overlap with science. Tillich’s view of faith and religious practice requires one to understand God in a remarkably abstract and non-personal way— God as ultimate concern. It also requires one to read scripture, liturgy and religious rituals in highly symbolic and non-literal ways. It requires that one entirely divorce questions of religious truth from scientific or historical truth. While such a view may be popular with some philosophers, scientists and theologians, it is not consistent either with popular religion, which is inextricably bound with notions of divine agency, or with the stated doctrine of many religious institutions. We are left with the problem we started with—that it is impossible to characterize in general the relationship between scientific and religious worldviews because there are such stark differences among religious worldviews themselves. This fact raises a significant problem for science education. In the United States and in many other industrialized democracies, educators have traditionally tried to keep religion out of the science classroom. This strategy is dictated by legal demands for separation of church and state, but it also makes sense on its own merits if religion and science are non-overlapping magisteria. But the strategy breaks down when students hold religious views that include claims about the nature of God, divine agency, and the authority of prophets and scriptures that contradict the claims of science. It is hard to separate science from religion in the classroom if students hold religious beliefs about the natural and social world and its history that are inconsistent with scientific evidence. Whatever the intellectual merits of the non-overlapping magisteria principle, many religious people have beliefs and attitudes that conflict with it. When a student makes faithbased claims about the natural world—including claims about the earth’s or human origins, human cognitive mechanisms, and the like—the science educator must be prepared to judge whether such claims are or are not supported by scientific evidence. And when that evidence goes against these claims, the educator must be prepared to say that they are very likely wrong—even if such an assertion contradicts a student’s deeply held religious beliefs. As science educators face this difficult task, it would be helpful for them to have some knowledge of the variety of ways in which it is possible to interpret faith, belief in God, the status of scripture, the nature of religious experience and the relation between religion and morality. Science educators need not tell students what to think about religion, but they can help students see that their own religious worldview is not the only religious worldview—not merely in the sense that there are other religious traditions besides the one they grew up in, but in the sense that there are a variety of worldviews embraced by those who belong to their own historical tradition. As science educators face the challenge of confronting their student’s ill-supported claims, it is comforting to think that at least some theologians will come to their aid. If we are to believe Paul Tillich, faith-based beliefs about nature and history are misguided not only as science but as theology. What looks to the scientist like epistemic foolishness may look to the theologian like idolatry. References Ayer AJ (1952) Language, truth and logic. Dover, New York Barbour IG (1997) Religion and science: historical and contemporary issues, revised edition. Harper Collins, New York

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Clifford WK (2001) The ethics of belief. In: Burger AJ (ed) The ethics of belief. Dry Bones Press, Roseville, CA Dawkins R (2006) The God delusion. Houghton Mifflin, New York Dennett D (2006) Breaking the spell: religion as natural phenomenon. Viking, New York Freud S (1967) Moses and monotheism. Vintage Books, New York Freud S (1965) New introductory lectures on psychoanalysis. Norton, New York Gauch H (2007) Science, worldviews and education. Sci & Edu (this issue) doi:10.1007/s11191-006-9059-1 Gopnik A, Meltzoff AN, Kuhl PK (1999) The scientist in the crib: minds, brains, and how children learn. William Morrow & Co., New York Gould SJ (1997) Nonoverlapping magisteria. Natural History 106(2):16–25 Hume D (1777) Enquiries concerning human understanding and concerning the principles of morals, third edition with text revised and notes by P.H. Nidditch, Clarendon Press, Oxford Jackson F (1982) Ephiphenomenal qualia. Philosophical Quarterly 32:127–136 John Paul II (pope): 1996, 1996-last update, Message to the pontifical academy of sciences: on evolution: magisterium is concerned with question of evolution for it involves conception of man. Message delivered to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, 22 October 1996 [Homepage of Eternal Word Television Network], [Online]. Available: http://www.ewtn.com/library/PAPALDOC/JP961022.HTM [Access Date: 2007, 2/21] Kitcher P (2006) Four ways of ‘‘biologicizing’’ ethics. In: Sober E (ed) Conceptual issues in evolutionary biology, 3rd edn. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, pp 575–586 Lacy H (1996) On relations between science and religion. Science & Education 5(2):125–141 Mahner M, Bunge M (1996) Is religious education compatible with science education? Science & Education 5(2):101–123 Mahner M, Bunge M (1996) The incompatibility of science and religion sustained: a reply to our critics. Science & Education 5(2):189–199 McCauley R (2000) The naturalness of religion and the unnaturalness of science. In: Keil F, Wilson R (eds) Explanation and cognition. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, pp 61–85 Nagel T (1974) What is it like to be a bat? Philosophical Review 83:435–450 Pius XII (pope) (1999) 1999-last update, Humani Generus: (Concerning some false opinions threatening to undermine the foundations of Catholic doctrine). Encyclical promulgated on 12 August 1950 [Homepage of Eternal Word Television Network], [Online]. Available: http://www.ewtn.com/library/ ENCYC/P12HUMAN.HTM [Access Date: 2007, 2/19] Polkinghorne J (1986) One world: the interaction of science and theology. Princeton University Press, Princeton Ruse ME, Wilson EO (1986) Moral philosophy as applied science. Philosophy: The Journal of the Royal Institute of Philosophy 61:173–192 Settle T (1996) Applying scientific open mindedness to religion and science education. Science & Education 5(2):125–141 Tillich P (1957) Dynamics of faith. Perennial Classics, New York Wilson EO (1998) Consilience: the unity of knowledge. Vintage Books, New York

Can Science Test Supernatural Worldviews? Yonatan I. Fishman

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 813–837. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9108-4 Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract Several prominent scientists, philosophers, and scientific institutions have argued that science cannot test supernatural worldviews on the grounds that (1) science presupposes a naturalistic worldview (Naturalism) or that (2) claims involving supernatural phenomena are inherently beyond the scope of scientific investigation. The present paper argues that these assumptions are questionable and that indeed science can test supernatural claims. While scientific evidence may ultimately support a naturalistic worldview, science does not presuppose Naturalism as an a priori commitment, and supernatural claims are amenable to scientific evaluation. This conclusion challenges the rationale behind a recent judicial ruling in the United States concerning the teaching of ‘‘Intelligent Design’’ in public schools as an alternative to evolution and the official statements of two major scientific institutions that exert a substantial influence on science educational policies in the United States. Given that science does have implications concerning the probable truth of supernatural worldviews, claims should not be excluded a priori from science education simply because they might be characterized as supernatural, paranormal, or religious. Rather, claims should be excluded from science education when the evidence does not support them, regardless of whether they are designated as ‘natural’ or ‘supernatural’.

The whole of science is nothing more than a refinement of everyday thinking.— Albert Einstein I have steadily endeavored to keep my mind free so as to give up any hypothesis, however much beloved (and I cannot resist forming one on every subject), as soon as the facts are shown to be opposed to it.—Charles Darwin There is one thing even more vital to science than intelligent methods; and that is, the sincere desire to find out the truth, whatever it may be.—Charles Sanders Pierce

Y. I. Fishman (&) Department of Neurology, Albert Einstein College of Medicine, 1300 Morris Park Avenue, Bronx, NY 10461, USA e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_9

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The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind pitiless indifference.—Richard Dawkins The recent court ruling in the United States against the teaching of ‘‘Intelligent Design’’ (ID) as an alternative to evolution in biology classes (Kitzmiller v. Dover Area School District; Jones 2005) has sparked public interest and has been hailed as a victory by the scientific community. One of the reasons given for the verdict is the notion that science is limited strictly to the study of natural phenomena and therefore that ID and other claims involving supernatural phenomena are outside the proper domain of scientific investigation. While the verdict is widely viewed as correct for other reasons cited in the court’s opinion, that particular rationale upon which it is based is questionable. Indeed, is science limited to the study of ‘natural’ phenomena? Does science presuppose Naturalism and thereby exclude supernatural explanations by definition? Are claims involving ‘supernatural’ phenomena inherently untestable and therefore outside the province of science? The present article argues that this is not the case. Science does not presuppose Naturalism and supernatural claims are amenable in principle to scientific evaluation [see Monton (2006) and Stenger (2006a) for a similar critique of Judge Jones’ verdict]. Indeed, science does have implications for the probable truth of supernatural worldviews (Gauch 2006, defends a similar thesis). To exclude, a priori, the supernatural would validate the complaint voiced by some ID adherents and other creationists that science is dogmatically committed to Naturalism and thus opposed in principle to considering supernatural explanations (Johnson 1999; see Stenger 2006a). On the other hand, if there is no fundamental barrier preventing science from evaluating supernatural claims, then to declare the study of supernatural phenomena out of bounds to scientific investigation imposes artificial constraints on scientific inquiry, which potentially would deny science the noble task of purging false beliefs from the public sphere or the opportunity to discover aspects of reality that may have significant worldview implications.

1 Major Scientific Institutions Claim That Science Cannot Test Supernatural Worldviews The notion that supernatural phenomena are fundamentally beyond the scope of scientific examination is promoted by two prominent scientific institutions, the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) and the National Academy of Sciences (NAS). For instance, in a letter to Senator Taylor of Oklahoma concerning the teaching of ID as an alternative to evolution in science classes the AAAS writes: ...because ID relies on the existence of a supernatural designer it is a religious concept, not science, and therefore does not belong in the science classroom. (AAAS 2006). Similarly, in the NAS publication, Teaching About Evolution and the Nature of Science, the following statements appear: Because science is limited to explaining the natural world by means of natural processes, it cannot use supernatural causation in its explanations... Explanations

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employing nonnaturalistic or supernatural events, whether or not explicit reference is made to a supernatural being, are outside the realm of science and not part of a valid science curriculum. Evolutionary theory, indeed all of science, is necessarily silent on religion and neither refutes nor supports the existence of a deity or deities. (NAS 1998). Echoing this position, in his verdict, presiding Judge John E. Jones III writes: ...we find that while ID arguments may be true, a proposition on which the Court takes no position, ID is not science...ID violates the centuries-old ground rules of science by invoking and permitting supernatural causation...While supernatural explanations may be important and have merit, they are not part of science...This rigorous attachment to ‘natural’ explanations is an essential attribute to science by definition and by convention. (Jones 2005). Given the prestige of these sources, their impact on the public’s view of science and on educational policy in the United States, and that they are presumed to represent the views of the scientific community at large, their assertions are not trivial and require careful scrutiny. The common position expressed by these statements is that science, by definition, is limited to studying phenomena of the natural world and hence can neither confirm nor deny supernatural claims. Thus, science is necessarily mute on the question of whether or not supernatural phenomena exist. Consequently, to the extent that religion involves supernatural entities or phenomena, there can be no conflict between scientific claims and religious claims. The late evolutionary paleontologist, Stephen Jay Gould, is commonly cited as a champion of the view that science and religion properly occupy two independent realms of inquiry, and hence that there can be no conflict between them. Science and religion, according to Gould, constitute non-overlapping magesteria (NOMA): the magesterium of science covers the empirical realm- what the universe is made of and why it works the way that it does, whereas the magesterium of religion deals with questions of ultimate meaning and value (Gould 1997). As the magesteria of science and religion do not overlap, a comfortable co-existence between them is guaranteed. Gould’s position concerning whether the existence of God is amenable to scientific inquiry follows similar lines: ‘‘Science simply cannot (by its legitimate methods) adjudicate the issue of God’s possible superintendence of nature. We neither affirm nor deny it; we simply can’t comment on it as scientists.’’ (Gould 1992). Similarly, some philosophers of a naturalistic bent have suggested that supernatural claims are untestable on the grounds that ‘‘supernatural entities are inscrutable and inaccessible as a matter of principle’’ (Mahner and Bunge 1996a, p. 17). On the other hand, in the same paper these authors have also argued that many supernatural claims are incompatible with scientific findings. That such a conflict is possible entails, however, that science can provide evidence against supernatural claims. Thus, if ‘testability’ means that there can be ‘‘evidence of whatever kind for or against a claim’’ (Mahner and Bunge 1996b, p. 11), then supernatural claims are testable after all.

2 Science Can Test Supernatural Claims: A Bayesian Perspective The aforementioned view that the supernatural is beyond the reach of scientific investigation- or, put more bluntly, that science cannot test, and indeed has nothing at all to say about the validity of supernatural claims- has been challenged by a number of scientists

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and philosophers. Before presenting these arguments, it is important first to define what is meant by a claim being ‘testable’. In the context of the present discussion, ‘testability’ is defined according to the definition offered by Mahner and Bunge (1996b). Specifically, a claim is ‘testable’ if there can be ‘‘evidence of whatever kind for or against a claim.’’ [italics added] (Mahner and Bunge 1996b, p. 11). Given this definition, there are at least three ways in which science can evaluate the probable truth of a claim: (1) by consideration of the prior probability of a claim being true, (2) by ‘‘looking and seeing’’ (i.e., by consideration of the evidence for or against a claim), and (3) by consideration of plausible alternative explanations for the evidence. These considerations (to be discussed further below) are naturally captured within the framework of Bayesian confirmation theory, which is widely considered to be a good description of how scientists (and indeed ordinary people under mundane circumstances, such as in a court of law) update or revise their degree of confidence in a hypothesis, starting with a given prior probability, on the basis of new evidence (see Howson and Urbach 1993 for a book-length discussion of Bayesian inference as a model of scientific reasoning; see also Pigliucci 2002, 2005). Bayes’ theorem, named after its originator, Reverend Thomas Bayes, can be straightforwardly derived from the probability axioms, and is commonly represented in the following form: P(HjEÞ ¼ P(EjHÞPðHÞ=½P(EjHÞPðHÞ þ PðEj
HÞPð
HÞ In this formula, H stands for a hypothesis that is being considered and E represents a new piece of evidence that seems to confirm or disconfirm the hypothesis. The term on the left-hand side of the equation represents the posterior probability of the hypothesis, given that some evidence, E, is observed. The right-hand side of the formula is a ratio, with the numerator representing the product of the prior probability of the hypothesis being true before considering the new evidence, P(H), and the probability of observing E given that H is in fact true, P(E|H). This latter quantity is referred to as the ‘likelihood’, and represents the degree to which the hypothesis predicts the data given the background information. The denominator of the formula represents the probability of observing the evidence under all mutually exclusive hypotheses. This can be expressed as the sum of the product of the likelihood and prior for the hypothesis in question and the product of the likelihood and prior for the negation of the hypothesis, or for any mutually exclusive set of alternative hypotheses. Thus, Bayes’ theorem indicates that our degree of confidence in a given hypothesis, in light of the evidence, P(H|E), is proportional to the prior probability of the hypothesis, P(H), times the likelihood given the truth of the hypothesis, P(E|H), and is inversely proportional to the prior probability times the likelihood given the truth of an alternative hypothesis or set of hypotheses,
H. All of these probabilities are assumed to be conditional also on any background information that may be available. Bayes’ theorem embodies how our initial degree of confidence in a hypothesis, represented by its prior probability, P(H), is modified on the basis of new evidence, which may either confirm or disconfirm the hypothesis in question by raising or lowering, respectively, its posterior probability, P(H|E). Thus, E confirms H to the extent that P(H|E) > P(H) and disconfirms H to the extent that P(H|E) < P(H). Support for Bayes’ theorem as a model of scientific inference is bolstered by its ability to formally capture many features of scientific practice, such as confirmation and disconfirmation by logical entailment, i.e, the hypothetico-deductive model of scientific explanation, the confirmatory effect of surprising evidence, and the differential effect of

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positive and negative evidence (for further discussion of how a Bayesian framework elucidates common scientific reasoning practices, see Howson and Urbach 1993). Important for the present discussion is how this Bayesian framework can be applied to the testing of supernatural claims. Recall that according to the definition of ‘testability’ presented earlier, a claim is testable if there can be evidence of whatever kind for or against the claim. Thus, the probability of a given supernatural claim, H, being true can be evaluated in the following mutually reinforcing ways: (1) by H’s prior probability, P(H), given our background evidence and theories, (2) by whether the available evidence, E, is probable or improbable on the assumption that claim H is true, represented by the likelihood, P(E|H), and (3) by whether or not there exist plausible alternative non-supernatural hypotheses,
H, that can account for the data, particularly hypotheses that enjoy a higher prior probability given their greater consistency with our background knowledge. Each of these three factors contributing to the evaluation of supernatural hypotheses will be discussed below.

2.1 Hypotheses Evaluated Based on Prior Probabilities Carl Sagan famously remarked that ‘extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence’. The Bayesian framework of scientific inference formally captures the relationship between the prior probability of a hypothesis and the notion of the ‘burden of proof’ (see Pigliucci 2005). The more extraordinary the claim (that is, the lower its prior probability, given our background evidence and knowledge of how the world operates), the greater the burden of proof on the claimant to provide evidence of sufficient strength and quality to overcome the initially low probability of that claim being true. Philosopher Richard Carrier provides an intuitive illustration of how the burden of proof shifts with the prior probability of a claim. The claim that ‘I own a car’, is not ‘extraordinary’, given that many people in my situation own cars; hence the burden of proof is low. In contrast, if I claim that ‘I own a nuclear missile’, it is quite reasonable to be skeptical, given the low prior probability of this claim being true in light of our background knowledge, and to demand some fairly convincing evidence for the claim (Carrier 2005, p. 223). Similarly, the claim that one has clothes hanging in one’s closet carries a low burden of proof, given prior experience of closets, most of which contained clothes, whereas the claim that one has an ‘invisibility cloak’ in one’s closet carries a high burden of proof, given the unprecedented nature of such entities (Sinnott-Armstrong 2004). Thus, even in the absence of direct evidence against a claim, the low prior probability of the claim being true can provide rational grounds for skepticism and disbelief. All else being equal, the extreme extraordinariness of supernatural phenomena in light of our background knowledge of how the world works provides good grounds for being initially very skeptical indeed. After all, supernatural entities have capacities that go far beyond powers that we know exist. For this reason, most adults are not agnostic about the existence of Santa Claus, given his possession of powers that transcend well-established generalizations concerning how the world works. Moreover, more mundane alternative hypotheses consistent with our background knowledge (to be discussed in Sect. 3 below) are available that can explain events that are traditionally attributed to Santa Claus, e.g., the seemingly miraculous overnight appearance of presents under the tree and the disappearance of milk and cookies. In the absence of evidence for Santa Claus, one should not remain agnostic, considering the probability of his existence to be around 50%, but should actually lean toward disbelief in his existence (see Scriven 1966).

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An important and related point is that just because we cannot definitively disprove a claim (such as the claim that ‘Santa Claus exists’), does not mean that we should believe it or remain agnostic about it. Indeed, in science no hypothesis, regardless of whether it concerns ‘natural’ or ‘supernatural’ phenomena, can be definitively proven or disproven. The ultimate aim of science is to explain the world by means of models that are more or less supported by the available evidence. As new evidence may arise that conflicts with our currently accepted models, no scientific hypothesis or theory can be proven with certainty or be immune from potential falsification. Scientific theories and hypotheses are defeasible. Nonetheless, a rough probability value, perhaps assessed via the Bayesian framework outlined above, can still be placed on a hypothesis, such that the hypothesis can be ‘proven’ or ‘disproven’ beyond a reasonable doubt (a familiar example being the innocence or guilt of a defendant in a court of law). Thus, our degree of confidence in a hypothesis based on the available evidence and our background knowledge may be expressed as a graded spectrum of probabilities ranging from near complete certainty through 50–50 agnosticism to near complete skepticism (see Scriven 1966; Dawkins 2006). As Richard Dawkins puts it in various ways in his book, The God Delusion, ‘‘[w]hat matters is not whether God is disprovable (he isn’t) but whether his existence is probable (Dawkins 2006, p. 54)... even if God’s existence is never proved or disproved with certainty one way or the other, available evidence and reasoning may yield an estimate of probability far from 50 percent (Dawkins 2006, p. 50)...[t]he fact that we can neither prove nor disprove the existence of something does not [necessarily] put existence and nonexistence on an even footing.’’ (Dawkins 2006, p. 49). Thus, just because something is possible does not mean that it is probable. Just because the existence of the Flying Spaghetti Monster has not been disproved does not mean that one is justified in believing that it exists. Dawkins’ use of the terms ‘prove’ and ‘disprove’ requires some clarification here. Dawkins intends these terms in this context to mean to prove or disprove definitively or with certainty, as is characteristic of deductive logic and mathematics. However, as the central thesis of his book is that God almost certainly does not exist (i.e., his existence is extremely improbable), it is clear that Dawkins does consider God’s existence to be disprovable in the weaker, defeasible sense used in law and science- namely, disprovable ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ (cf. Stenger 2007, for further discussion of this point). The erroneous assumption that science cannot even make probability judgments concerning the validity of supernatural claims Dawkins refers to as the ‘poverty of agnosticism’. Accordingly, Dawkins considers himself agnostic about God only to the extent that he is agnostic about fairies at the bottom of the garden (Dawkins 2006). Illustrating his position, he cites a well-known parable of Bertrand Russell concerning a claim that there is a china teapot in orbit about the sun (Russell 1952). Even though there is no direct evidence for or against the celestial teapot, background information can still provide a rational basis for evaluating the prior probability that the claim is true. Thus, most of us are not ‘‘teapot agnostics’’ but consider ourselves ‘‘a-teapotists’’. Even though the orbiting teapot has not been disproved, no one believes in it because there is no evidence for it and there is a lot of background evidence against it: teapots come from Earth, it would be expensive to send one into orbit around the sun, etc. So, a fortiori, no one should believe in God or spirits simply because their existence has not been definitively disproved. After all, they do violate known physical laws, and that constitutes an enormous amount of background evidence against them. In general, whether the so-called ‘‘argument from ignorance’’ (namely, that a claim is false because there is no evidence for it, or that a claim is true because there is no evidence against it) is fallacious depends on the context of prior probabilities (see Oaksford and Hahn 2004; Sinnott-Armstrong 2004).

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Absence of evidence can indeed be evidence of absence when either the prior probability of a given claim is low, or when the absence of evidence is unexpected on the assumption that the claim is true (to be discussed further in Sect. 2). In addressing the existence of what is widely considered to be the paragon of supernatural beings, Dawkins’ book, The God Delusion, goes right to the heart of the question of the testability of supernatural claims. Indeed, in his chapter, ‘The God Hypothesis’, Dawkins argues that ‘‘the existence of God is a scientific hypothesis like any other’’ (Dawkins 2006, p. 50) and that ‘‘a universe with a supernaturally intelligent creator is a very different kind of universe from one without.’’ (Dawkins 2006, p. 58). Dawkins’ arguments against the existence of God can be understood from a Bayesian perspective, as outlined earlier, whereby the probable truth of claims can not only be evaluated by whether or not their observational consequences are confirmed, but also by their prior probabilities given our background evidence and accepted theories. Dawkins argues that even though God’s existence cannot be definitively disproved, his existence is still highly improbable. Following other philosophers and scientists, Dawkins first dismisses several traditional arguments for the existence of God (e.g., the cosmological and teleological arguments) on the grounds that they either amount to special pleading or lead to an infinite regress of intelligent designers. If the universe’s existence requires an explanation in terms of an intelligent designer, then why doesn’t God, with all of his supreme and complex attributes, beg for an explanation in terms of yet another intelligent designer, ad infinitum? Indeed, who designed the designer? Alternatively, if God can simply exist without requiring an explanation, then why can’t the universe simply exist unexplained as well, thereby removing the need to posit a designer in the first place? As the character Philo remarks to his interlocutor Cleanthes in David Hume’s Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion: How, therefore, shall we satisfy ourselves concerning the cause of that Being, whom you suppose the Author of Nature, or, according to your system of Anthropomorphism, the ideal world, into which you trace the material? Have we not the same reason to trace that ideal world into another ideal world, or new intelligent principle? But if we stop, and go no further; why go so far? Why not stop at the material world? How can we satisfy ourselves without going on in infinitum? And, after all, what satisfaction is there in that infinite progression? Let us remember the story of the Indian philosopher and his elephant. It was never more applicable than to the present subject. If the material world rests upon a similar ideal world, this ideal world must rest upon some other; and so on, without end. It were better, therefore, never to look beyond the present material world...To say, that the different ideas which compose the reason of the Supreme Being, fall into order of themselves, and by their own nature, is really to talk without any precise meaning. If it has a meaning, I would fain know why it is not as good sense to say that the parts of the material world fall into order, of themselves, and by their own nature. Can the one opinion be intelligible, while the other is not so? (Hume 1779, pp. 63–64). Similarly, philosopher Thomas Nagel writes: ...it is surely incongruous to postulate a first cause as a way of escaping from the coils of an infinite series. For if everything must have a cause, why does not God require one for His own existence? The standard answer is that He does not need any, because He is self-caused. But if God can be self-caused, why cannot the world itself be self-caused? (Nagel 1959, p. 7).

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To the extent that these critiques demonstrate the failure of philosophical arguments to prove the existence of God, they neutralize whatever boost these arguments might have given to the prior probability of God’s existence. However, Dawkins goes further. Expanding upon this line of reasoning and reversing a common creationist argument, Dawkins maintains that God (a supremely intelligent being) is the ‘‘ultimate Boeing 747’’. If the probability of a 747 aircraft assembling by chance in a junkyard is infinitesimal, then so much lower must be the probability that a superior intelligence, such as God, just ‘‘happens to exist’’ without explanation. If a biological structure or phenomenon is so complex as to be vastly improbable in the absence of an evolutionary explanation for its existence, then all the more improbable and begging for an explanation must be the mind of a supremely intelligent being. As Dawkins comments: ...any God capable of designing a universe, carefully and foresightfully tuned to lead to our evolution, must be a supremely complex and improbable entity who needs an even bigger explanation than the one he is supposed to provide (Dawkins 2006, p. 147)... [t]o suggest that the original prime mover was complicated enough to indulge in intelligent design, to say nothing of mindreading millions of humans simultaneously, is tantamount to dealing yourself a perfect hand at bridge. (Dawkins 2006, p. 155). This ‘argument from improbability’, as Dawkins calls it, serves to dramatically lower the prior probability of God’s existence. The argument is intended to undermine the plausibility not just of particular gods, but of gods in a generic sense, including the noninterventionist God of Enlightenment Deism, provided that they are all conceptualized, at minimum, as highly intelligent beings. [A similar argument against Deism can be found in Shelley (1814).] However, the plausibility of the existence of particular conceptions of God, e.g., possessing the attributes of omnipotence and benevolence, or the existence of other supernatural entities may be further evaluated if their existence implies certain observational consequences that may be confirmed or disconfirmed by evidence. This describes the second way in which supernatural hypotheses can be evaluated, as will be discussed in the next section.

2.2 Hypotheses Evaluated Based on Confirming or Disconfirming Evidence The most commonly cited way to test a hypothesis in science- and indeed in everyday lifeis, to use the words of philosopher Keith Parsons, by simply ‘‘carefully looking and seeing’’ (Parsons 1989). This approach is embodied in the so-called hypothetico-deductive method thought to characterize the core of scientific practice. The basic idea is that if an entity, phenomenon, or effect exists, it is detectable in some way. Either its existence is directly observable or its existence is not directly observable but it causes effects or implies consequences which are directly observable (such as the track made by a subatomic particle in a bubble chamber). To test the hypothesis that there is an elephant sitting in the closet, all one has to do is to open up the closet and take a look. The absence of evidence for an elephant inside is good evidence that there is none. To take a more familiar example from medicine, a doctor has good reason to believe that a patient does not have a virus if he looks closely and finds no evidence for that virus, given that the patient would have easily detectable symptoms if the virus were truly present (SinnottArmstrong 2004). It is important to note that in disconfirming the existence of an entity or phenomenon, the absence of evidence is evidence of absence only when there is a good reason to believe

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that the evidence would be present if the hypothesis is true, or conversely that the evidence would be absent if the hypothesis is false (see Oaksford and Hahn 2004). Thus, contrary evidence is constituted either by the lack of evidence that is expected to be observed if the hypothesis is true or by the presence of evidence that is not expected to be observed if the hypothesis is true. These considerations are readily captured within the framework of Bayesian confirmation theory (Howson and Urbach 1993; Oaksford and Hahn 2004). Specifically, the likelihood, P(E|H), is high or low depending on whether the evidence, E, that is observed is probable or improbable, given that the hypothesis, H, is true. If hypothesis H entails or predicts with high probability certain observations, E, then H is confirmed to the extent that E is observed, and H is disconfirmed to the extent that E is not observed (provided that P(E|H) is greater than P(E|
H) and assuming in this case equal prior probabilities for H and
H). In the context of philosophical debates concerning the existence of God, such evidential arguments are often referred to in the philosophical literature as ‘‘God versus world’’ arguments (see Drange 1998). One well-known example is the so-called Argument from Evil. For instance, if God is conceived as all-good, all-powerful, and all-knowing, then it would seem unlikely that there should be as much evil and suffering in the world as there is, particularly if this evil and suffering has all the appearance of being gratuitous and failing to provide any greater good or moral benefit to the creatures involved. The atheistic Argument from Evil is one of the most widely discussed arguments in the philosophy of religion, and given the volumes written on the subject, an in-depth examination of the topic is beyond the scope of this paper (for further discussion, the author recommends the following: McCloskey 1960; Rowe 1979; Parsons 1989; Martin 1990; Rowe 1996; Drange 1998; Rowe 1998; Weisberger 1999; Everitt 2003; Metcalf 2004). Other evidential arguments against the existence of God include the argument from non-belief (Drange 1998) and the argument from divine hiddenness (Schellenberg 1993, 2004), to name a few. For instance, according to the argument from non-belief, the hypothesis that the God of the Abrahamic religions exists would imply that there should be no atheists, which is flatly contradicted by observations (cf. Drange 1998). These evidential arguments are generally intended not to definitively prove that God does not exist, but that, given the available evidence and God’s presumed attributes, the existence of God is highly improbable. Important for the present discussion, the fact that such evidential arguments are considered in the philosophical literature (from both atheistic and theistic perspectives), demonstrates that evidence is indeed relevant to the question of whether or not a deity with particular attributes exists. Some of these evidential arguments have been evaluated from a Bayesian perspective (cf. Rowe 1996; Ikeda and Jefferys 1997). Expanding upon philosophical ‘‘God versus world’’ arguments, a number of scientists and philosophers have advocated an empirical approach to the evaluation of supernatural claims. For instance, Dawkins argues that the existence of God is a legitimate scientific hypothesis that has observational consequences which may be confirmed or disconfirmed by the available evidence: The presence or absence of a creative super-intelligence is unequivocally a scientific question, even if it is not in practice- or not yet- a decided one. So also is the truth or falsehood of every one of the miracle stories that religions rely upon to impress multitudes of the faithful. (Dawkins 2006, p. 58–59). As an example of an empirical test of the God hypothesis, Dawkins cites a recent doubleblind, controlled study investigating the efficacy of intercessory prayer on the health and

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recovery outcomes of 1,802 patients undergoing coronary bypass surgery. The study, published in the American Heart Journal and funded by the John Templeton Foundation, which supports research on spirituality, showed no significant difference in recovery outcome between patients who were prayed for and those who were not (Benson et al. 2006; Dawkins 2006). In fact, subjects who knew that they were being prayed for actually fared worse than subjects who were blind with regard to their experimental group assignment, possibly due to anxiety caused by learning that they were being prayed for (Dawkins 2006). The essential point is that methodologically sound studies published in reputable scientific journals have been conducted to directly test the consequences of a supernatural hypothesis. In general, as reflected by the likelihoods in Bayes’ theorem, whenever a supernatural claim predicts with a specified degree of probability some state of the world, that claim can be tested simply by inspecting the world to see whether or not the world displays that state. For instance, the findings of modern neuroscience strongly support the dependence of perception, cognition, emotion, memory, decision making, and personality on the function of the physical brain. These mental functions can all be selectively altered, impaired, or obliterated by anatomically and physiologically specific modifications of brain function, as induced by drugs, hypoxia, stimulation with electric currents and magnetic fields, and brain damage. As Richard Carrier puts it, ‘‘...nothing mental happens without something physical happening...If destroying parts of a brain destroys parts of a mind, then destroying all the parts of a brain will destroy the whole mind, destroying you.’’ (Carrier 2005, pp.151–152). Since these neuroscientific findings are unexpected on the hypothesis of a transcendent, disembodied soul that survives death of the brain and retains personal identity, they constitute strong evidence against supernaturalism (see also Augustine 1997). Conversely, these neuroscientific findings are likely to be observed if Naturalism is true. In addition to controlled scientific experiments, some supernatural claims are testable by simple observation and a little statistics. At one time it was supposed that lightning was an instrument of the wrath of God. Benjamin Franklin’s lightning rod was even condemned as an attempt to thwart God’s will. But a little statistical research, of the kind that keeps insurance companies profitable, showed that lightning struck the wicked and virtuous without moral discrimination.1 More generally, the claim that there is a moral dimension to the cosmos concerned with human affairs is difficult to reconcile with the simple observation that natural calamities are randomly distributed with respect to religious affiliation, religiosity, and moral status. A classic example (which motivated Voltaire’s Candide) is the Lisbon earthquake of 1755 that killed tens of thousands on a Catholic holiday and destroyed numerous important churches. The cruelty and wastefulness of evolution by natural selection as well as the imperfections and suboptimal design of biological organisms constitute additional observations that are difficult to reconcile with the existence of a benevolent and intelligent supernatural designer (Darwin 1876; Smith 2001; Olshansky et al. 2003; Martin and Martin 2003). Scientists estimate that greater than 99% of all the species that have ever existed on earth have gone extinct. Moreover, the entire food chain, characterized by predation and parasitism, is a clear expression of the uncaring brutality of nature. As Dawkins comments, ‘‘[p]redators seem beautifully ‘designed’ to catch prey animals, while the prey animals seem equally beautifully ‘designed’ to escape them. Whose side is God on?’’ (Dawkins 2006, p. 134). While the existence of a benevolent and intelligent God is not logically inconsistent with the imperfection of organisms, mere logical possibility is not sufficient. 1

Thanks to Brent Meeker for suggesting this example.

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As Kelly Smith notes, ‘‘If we accept the mere possibility of an alternative explanation [i.e., supernatural creationism] as sufficient grounds to abandon an hypothesis [i.e., naturalistic evolution], we will never commit to any hypothesis whatsoever, because the alternatives to be ruled out are limited only by our imaginations.’’ (Smith 2001, p. 719). If God is a reasonable and intelligent being then He could reasonably be expected to produce designs at least as good as those that a human engineer could produce (Smith 2001). Yet there are numerous instances of flawed, deficient, or inefficient biological structures and mechanisms that no competent human engineer would countenance and which are indicative of the jury-rigged, mindless tinkering of evolution by natural selection rather than intelligent design (to name a few: the inverted wiring of the human retina, yielding a blind-spot, the close proximity of human reproductive and excretory organs, which increases susceptibility to infection, the shared function of the pharynx in eating, breathing, and speaking, which increases susceptibility to choking, the circuitous path of the recurrent laryngeal nerve, which extends down the neck to the chest, loops around the subclavian artery and then ascends back up to the larynx, instead of running directly from the brainstem to the larynx, as any competent engineer would have designed it; see also (Olshansky et al. 2003; Sawyer 2005; Martin and Martin 2003). As Smith comments, ‘‘...if a design in nature is clearly inferior to what a human engineer could produce, then we are entitled to request an explanation of this deviation from the RG-creationist [reasonable God-creationist] prediction.’’ (Smith 2001, p. 724). Whereas such observations are not necessarily unexpected on the hypothesis of a malevolent or incompetent deity, they are unexpected (and hence are improbable in terms of Bayesian likelihoods) on the hypothesis of a benevolent and intelligent designer who created the world with the interest of humans in mind. On the other hand, such observations can be expected on the hypothesis of naturalistic evolution. In his book, God: The Failed Hypothesis- How Science Shows that God Does not Exist, physicist Victor Stenger (2007) rigorously applies a ‘‘looking and seeing’’ approach to evaluating the God hypothesis and various religious claims. Although his book does not explicitly adopt a Bayesian perspective, many of his arguments are expressible in the hypothetico-deductive form typically used in the sciences and are hence easily accommodated within the Bayesian framework outlined here. Many of the attributes commonly associated with the traditional God of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam have specific consequences that can be tested empirically using the same standards that are applied in the investigation of any extraordinary claim in science. Like Dawkins, Stenger takes the existence of God to be a legitimate scientific hypothesis and, employing the standard scientific method of hypothesis testing, examines the observational implications of that hypothesis. Stenger argues that there are features of the world, revealed both by casual observation and by scientific examination, which would not be expected given the existence of an all-powerful, all-knowing, and benevolent intelligence that created the universe with humans in mind. These observations therefore count as evidence against the God hypothesis. After evaluating all the evidence, Stenger concludes beyond a reasonable doubt that the universe and life look exactly as they can be expected to look if there is no God. While discussion of the contents of Stenger’s book is beyond the scope of the present article, the important point to be made is that the existence of a deity, at least as conceptualized by the world’s great monotheistic religions, is inherently testable via approaches commonly employed in scientific practice (see also Pigliucci 1998). In general, most believers hold that gods, spirits, and paranormal phenomena have real effects on the world and on their lives. These effects should be testable by the methods of science. Indeed, many supernatural and paranormal claims have already been investigated by scientists, often at the behest of those intending to validate the supernatural. To name a

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few: the beneficial effects of intercessory prayer on patient outcomes (Aviles et al. 2001; Benson et al. 2006), paranormal or ‘‘psi’’ phenomena (see Alcock 2003), astrology (Carlson 1985; McGrew and McFall 1990; Kelly 1998), and the so-called ‘‘Bible Code’’ prophecies (McKay et al. 1999). If these hypotheses can legitimately be examined by science, then there is no principled reason why other supernatural claims cannot be so examined as well.

2.3 Hypotheses Evaluated Based on the Availability of Plausible Alternative Explanations Historically, the boundary between what has been defined as ‘natural’ or ‘supernatural’ has shifted with scientific progress. Disease, lightning, meteorites, and comets were all considered ‘supernatural’ phenomena until they were given law-like ‘natural’ explanations consistent with other empirically supported ‘natural’ theories. Thus, it is not just the lack of convincing evidence for the supernatural, but also the availability of alternative natural explanations that can provide grounds for skepticism about supernatural claims. Conversely, indirect support for the supernatural may be constituted by the absence of any plausible alternative natural explanation for a given phenomenon. For instance, if intercessory prayer were found to benefit prayed-for patients, this would constitute at least prima facie evidence for the existence of the supernatural. While a natural explanation for an effect of distant prayer is not logically impossible, it is reasonable to assess the probability of there being such an explanation to be low relative to a supernatural explanation. In general, the relevance of alternative explanations to the evaluation of hypotheses is formally captured within the Bayesian framework described earlier. Specifically, the posterior probability of a hypothesis, P(H|E), is inversely proportional to the likelihood for an alternative hypothesis (or set of alternative hypotheses), P(E|
H), times the prior probability of the alternative hypothesis, P(
H). These values are found in the denominator of Bayes’ theorem. Thus, the better the evidence is predicted by the alternative hypothesis, i.e., the higher P(E|
H), the less the evidence, E, supports the original hypothesis, H. Indeed, as Howson and Urbach (1993) note, the rationale behind the use of controls in scientific and medical research, e.g., a control group receiving a placebo instead of an experimental drug, is to make the denominator in Bayes’ theorem as small as possible. Thus, any differences that are observed between experimental groups can reasonably be judged to be due to the independent variable of interest (e.g., the experimental drug), rather than to some other extraneous factor (e.g., the swallowing of pills). Accordingly, the history of science has been characterized by the progressive ‘naturalization of the world’, providing non-supernatural alternative explanations for phenomena that were once thought to be explicable only by appeal to supernatural agents. When Napoleon asked Laplace about why there was no mention of a Creator in his work on celestial mechanics, the mathematician replied that he had no need for that hypothesis. Prior to the discovery of evolution by natural selection, even Darwin considered the argument for intelligent design as propounded by William Paley (1802) to be ‘‘conclusive’’ (Darwin 1876). However, the theory of evolution by natural selection effectively shattered Paley’s argument. As Darwin commented: The old argument from design in Nature, as given by Paley, which formerly seemed to me so conclusive, fails, now that the law of natural selection has been discovered.

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We can no longer argue that, for instance, the beautiful hinge of a bivalve shell must have been made by an intelligent being, like the hinge of a door by man. There seems to be no more design in the variability of organic beings, and in the action of natural selection, than in the course which the wind blows. (Darwin 1876). Modern science has already provided or is actively investigating naturalistic explanations for the origins of the cosmos (cf. Stenger 2006b; Vilenkin 2006), the formation of complex patterns in nature from simple rules (cf. Ball 1999), the emergence of complex biological traits and adaptations (cf. Carroll 2005; Davidson 2006), morality (cf. Ridley 1996; Katz 2000; Hinde 2002; Hauser 2006) , the so-called ‘‘anthropic coincidences’’, i.e., the fine-tuning of constants of physics for the emergence of complex life (cf. Stenger 1999; Stenger 2006b; Vilenkin 2006), religious and mystical experiences (Persinger 1983; Persinger and Healey 2002; Arzy et al. 2005), ‘‘near-death’’ experiences (Britton and Bootzin 2004; French 2005), ‘‘out-of-body’’ experiences (Blanke and Arzy 2005; Bunning and Blanke 2005; Arzy et al. 2006), and other phenomena that have been traditionally thought to be explicable only by invoking supernatural causes. While some of these explanations are still speculative, though still rooted in evidentially well-supported theories, the availability of alternative natural explanations for purportedly supernatural phenomena effectively serves to undercut evidential support for supernatural worldviews. To summarize, given the definition of ‘testability’ offered by Mahner and Bunge (1996b), there are at least three means by which supernatural hypotheses can be tested by science: by their prior probabilities, by their likelihoods, and by the availability of plausible alternative non-supernatural explanations. These considerations are readily captured within a Bayesian framework which models the reasoning by which hypotheses are commonly evaluated in scientific practice (Howson and Urbach 1993; Pigliucci 2002, 2005). A quantitative illustration of a Bayesian approach to the evaluation of a supernatural hypothesis is included in the Appendix.

3 Believing ‘‘On Faith’’ In light of the absence of evidence or in the face of negative evidence for their claims many believers in the supernatural insist that their belief in the supernatural is based ‘‘on faith’’, where ‘‘faith’’ is understood to be a legitimate justification for a claim irrespective of what the evidence might be. However, if evidence is entirely irrelevant to the justification of beliefs about reality, then (barring emotional motivations) the foundation of those beliefs becomes completely arbitrary. If a belief is thought to be immune to the standards of science because it refers to an entity or phenomenon for which no evidence is possible, then one is not only permitted to believe in a countless number of absurdities, but one is logically compelled to do so. If it is legitimate to believe without evidence in the existence of ancestral spirits, then it is not only legitimate, but obligatory to believe also in goblins, fairies, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, numerous ‘discredited’ gods, and countless other extraordinary entities for which there is no evidence. Moreover, as Richard Carrier notes, ‘‘[b]lind faith is inherently selfdefeating. The number of false beliefs always vastly outnumbers the true. It follows that any arbitrary method of selection will be maximally successful at selecting false beliefs. So the probability is always very high that a belief based on mere faith will be false.’’ (Carrier 2005, p. 60).

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Furthermore, as philosopher Michael Scriven writes: ...one cannot break the connection between everyday experience and religious claims, for purposes of defending the latter, without eliminating the consequences of religion for everyday life. There is no way out of this inexorable contract: if you want to support your beliefs, you must produce some experience which can be shown to be a reliable indicator of truth, and that can be done only by showing a connection between the experience and what we know to be true in a previously established way. So, if the criteria of religious truth are not connected with the criteria of everyday truth, then they are not criteria of truth at all... (Scriven 1966, pp. 104–105) Certainly, it is possible to devise ad hoc explanations for the absence of evidence or disconfirming evidence of the supernatural that would render supernatural claims immune to falsification. However, if such a strategy is permissible, then mundane claims involving natural phenomena are not falsifiable either, as one can always invent an ad hoc hypothesis to explain away any observation or the outcome of any experimental test. Clearly, science would never have developed to its present stage by following such an approach to the evaluation of evidence. This is not to say, however, that ad hoc explanations are never introduced in scientific practice to ‘save a hypothesis’. This can occur when the hypothesis in question has already received considerable empirical support via other experimental tests or convergent and independent observations. A single negative result is not sufficient to overthrow a well-worn theory, such as General Relativity. There may be plausible alternative explanations for the negative findings that would first need to be ruled out. However, the postulation of ad hoc explanations is rightly viewed with skepticism if the proposed explanations are themselves highly implausible; continued ad hoc rationalization of repeated bouts of contrary evidence betrays a commitment to preserve a desired hypothesis at all cost. As philosopher Walter Sinnott-Armstrong notes, ‘‘If we weaken our epistemic standards to accommodate irrefutable beliefs, then we might end up believing in the Great Pumpkin or, at least, holding that many absurd beliefs like this are justified.’’ (Sinnott-Armstrong 2004, p. 381). It might be argued that there are some supernatural hypotheses that are forever beyond the capacity of science to evaluate. An historical example is the existence of the noninterventionist God of Enlightenment Deism, as mentioned in Sect. 1. These might also include, for instance, the claim that ‘God has a beard’ or that ‘Heaven has gilded streets’, with information relevant to the evaluation of these specific claims being inherently inaccessible to mere mortals.2 However, these claims presuppose the existence of God and the persistence of some form of consciousness after death. Thus, if the existence of God and an afterlife are judged to be improbable in light of the available evidence and arguments, such as Dawkins’ ‘argument from improbability’ (discussed in Sect. 1), then such claims are rendered moot. On the other hand, even if some claims involving supernatural phenomena are inherently beyond scientific evaluation, this does not mean that all supernatural claims are, contrary to the official views of the AAAS and the NAS. Finally, there is no intrinsic difference between ‘natural’ claims and ‘supernatural’ claims concerning inaccessible entities (entities that will forever lack observable consequences). A contemporary example is the hypothesis that there exists not a single universe, but rather an infinite number of ‘‘bubble’’ universes comprising a gigantic ‘‘multiverse’’. In principle, information from each of these bubble universes is inaccessible from all the other bubble universes, so the existence of such additional universes cannot be empirically confirmed. 2

Thanks to an anonymous reviewer for suggesting these examples.

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[Nonetheless, the multiverse scenario is a consequence of inflationary cosmological theories for which there is some empirical support (e.g., see Stenger 2006b; Vilenkin 2006).] Thus, whatever difficulties inaccessibility of information might present for the evaluation of a hypothesis, they are neither inherent to nor exclusive to hypotheses involving supernatural entities or phenomena, but may apply also to natural hypotheses.

4 NOMA Again In the face of negative evidence, believers in the supernatural may retreat to a NOMA position, claiming that the phenomenon is in principle beyond the reach of science to investigate. For instance, responding to the ambiguous or negative results of earlier studies on the therapeutic effects of distant intercessory prayer, Chibnall et al. (2001) urge that research should avoid attempting to validate God through scientific methods. Specifically, they state that ‘‘the epistemology that governs prayer (and all matters of faith) is separate from that which governs nature’’ (Chibnall et al. 2001, p. 2530) and, in implicit endorsement of the NOMA position, that ‘‘prayer resists scientific explication and, unfortunately, nature has nothing to say about the ways of God.’’ (Chibnall et al. 2001, p. 2532). Chibnall et al. (2001) conclude that ‘‘[w]e do not need science to validate our spiritual beliefs, as we would never use faith to validate our scientific data.’’ (Chibnall et al. 2001, p. 2535). However, many see NOMA as a ploy designed to insulate supernatural claims from potential scientific refutation. As Dawkins comments: NOMA is popular only because there is no evidence to favour the God hypothesis. The moment there was the smallest suggestion of any evidence in favour of religious belief, religious apologists would lose no time in throwing NOMA out of the window (Dawkins 2006, p. 59). A common criticism of scientific research into the efficacy of intercessory prayer, which has been voiced by Chibnall et al. (2001) and other commentators, is that the Bible forbids ‘testing God’, and that prayer studies are in fundamental violation of this admonition. However, in response to the article by Chibnall et al. (2001), Harris and Isley (2002) note that there are passages in the Bible where ‘testing God’ is quite acceptable: Have the authors considered I Kings 18:19–40? In this record, the prophet Elijah conducted a controlled experiment designed to show the Israelites the power of the true God. Elijah challenged 450 prophets of Baal to offer a sacrifice to their god, and he would do the same to his God. The prespecified end point in this trial was ‘‘and the God which answers by fire, let Him be God.’’ After hours of observing spirited but fruitless pleas to Baal, Elijah called on his God, and the rest is history (as were the 450 prophets also soon to be!). This was clearly ‘‘testing God’’. Why did He not only allow the test, but convincingly participate as well? (Harris and Isley 2002) Another commentator on the article by Chibnall et al. (2001) writes as follows: If prayer and faith, however intangible these concepts may be, are touted to have physiological effects, then they should be subject to scientific measurement. You cannot have it both ways: claiming physical effects for prayer but demanding that these claims be exempt from scientific study because they are in the realm of beliefs. It is hard to imagine that God, the infinite creator of the universe, would feel threatened by having the physical effects of prayer subjected to scientific study!

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However, some of those who claim to speak for Him are clearly threatened by this prospect. (Smith 2002). Along similar lines, Dawkins writes: ...the alleged power of intercessory prayer is at least in principle within the reach of science. A double-blind experiment can be done and was done. It could have yielded a positive result. And if it had, can you imagine that a single religious apologist would have dismissed it on the grounds that scientific research has no bearing on religious matters? Of course not. (Dawkins 2006, p. 65). There is empirical support for the suggestion that earnest believers in the supernatural will often count any empirical evidence favorable to their hypothesis as highly significant and ignore negative evidence as ‘irrelevant’ or ‘inappropriate’ or try to explain it away by introducing ad hoc rationalizations (cf. Kelly 1998). When the evidence overwhelmingly goes against their hypothesis they may suggest that their theory is scientifically untestable after all, thereby retreating to a NOMA position. However, this line of reasoning does not indicate that supernatural hypotheses are inherently untestable, but rather the dedication of true believers to a favored hypothesis. The cognitive foundations and psychological motivations underlying belief in the supernatural are considered in the next section.

5 Natural Psychological Explanations for the Origin and Persistence of Supernatural Worldviews If there is no independently verifiable evidence for the supernatural, and indeed there is evidence against the supernatural, then why do so many continue to hold a supernatural worldview? Why do gods persist? There is a growing literature dealing with the psychology of religion and the cognitive foundations of belief in supernatural agents, such as gods, spirits, and ghosts. For instance, in his book, Faces in the Clouds: A New Theory of Religion, Stewart Guthrie (1993) provides ethnographic and psychological evidence for a widespread tendency of humans to anthropomorphize their experience of the world, to see faces in the clouds, to hear voices in the wind, to see purpose in events, even when none is present. Along similar lines, a number of cognitive scientists (Hinde 1999; Barrett 2000; Castelli et al. 2000; Blakemore and Decety 2001; Boyer 2001; Atran 2002; Blakemore et al. 2003; Atran and Norenzayan 2004; Tremlin 2006) have proposed the existence of ‘agency detection’ and ‘theory of mind’ modules in the brain that predispose us to infer an agent behind events and to expect that agent to have a mind with intentions. There would be powerful selective pressures for the evolution of such modules, as detection of agents would confer clear survival advantages. Given that false positives (e.g., mistaking a rock for a bear) are tolerable, but that false negatives (e.g., mistaking a bear for a rock) can be deadly, the best policy is to err on the side of assuming agents as causes of events. Hence, people are particularly sensitive to the presence of intentional agency and seem biased to over-attribute intentional action as the cause of a given state of affairs, particularly when the evidence is ambiguous or vague (Guthrie 1993; Barrett 2000). Inferring the existence of gods, spirits, and ghosts as agents responsible for unexplained events is therefore a natural byproduct of psychological and cognitive processes that evolved to deal with more mundane issues of survival (Hinde 1999; Barrett 2000; Boyer 2001; Atran 2002; Boyer 2003; Atran and Norenzayan 2004; Tremlin 2006). Dennett (2006) and Dawkins (2006) have also advocated an evolutionary

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byproduct explanation for the near universal tendency of humans to believe in supernatural agents, or at least to be prone to acquiring the concepts from their cultural milieu. Moreover, the potential to alleviate existential anxieties, such as fear of death, calamity, loneliness, and loss, offers powerful emotional motivation to believe in supernatural agents (Atran 2002; Atran and Norenzayan 2004; Norenzayan and Hansen 2006). Indeed, religious ritual and prayer are intended fundamentally to provide an apparent degree of control over events by negotiating with and placating the gods and spirits to ensure protection and enhanced survival (Atran 2002; Boyer 2003; Atran and Norenzayan 2004). In the tradition of Freud, M.D. Faber has written on the psychobiological underpinnings of religious belief, providing evidence that prayer (‘‘supplication’’) and accompanying belief in gods and angels can be traced to a subconscious emotional longing for the protection and care that we received from our seemingly omniscient and omnipotent parental figures during our early years as infants. As Faber writes: Are we to regard it as merely coincidental that the Parent-God, whom we approach as helpless, dependent children, possesses as one of His cardinal attributes the telepathic ability to read our requirements before we have pronounced them, exactly as the caregiver was able to do early on? ...In the beginning was a caregiver who could intuitively fathom, and meet, our needs. Our wishful, religious inclinations will not allow such a one to slip away. (Faber 2004, p. 150–151). Thus, according to Faber, the foundation of the religious experience as a whole derives from a subconscious effort to ‘‘locate for us sources of attachment and security as we undertake our separate, dangerous journeys through the world... [This effort] is inextricably bound up with our animistic tendency to people the environment with projective versions of the parental care-giving figure.’’ (Faber 2004, p. 215). Thus, ‘‘[t]he very basis of religious feeling, the very root itself, is both infantile and naturalistic.’’ (Faber 2004, p. 216). However ultimately convincing these accounts may be, they at least provide plausible explanations for the psychology of belief which do not require invoking extraordinary processes or appeal to anything supernatural. In light of the earlier discussion concerning the relevance of alternative hypotheses to the evaluation of supernatural claims, to the extent that this literature provides plausible alternative naturalistic explanations for the prevalence and persistence of belief in supernatural agents and phenomena, it constitutes indirect evidence against supernatural worldviews.

6 Going Wherever the Evidence Leads In Science and Creationism: A View from the National Academy of Sciences, the NAS states: Creationism, intelligent design, and other claims of supernatural intervention in the origin of life or of species are not science because they are not testable by the methods of science. (NAS 1999). This statement assumes that there is a well-defined demarcation between ‘natural’ and ‘supernatural’ phenomena, and between ‘science’ and ‘non-science’ or ‘pseudoscience’. However, despite various attempts to do so (see Martin 1994; Mahner and Bunge 1996a, b), defining what properly constitutes ‘science’ and distinguishes it from ‘non-science’ has been notoriously difficult, and runs the risk of arbitrarily excluding from scientific consideration phenomena that might actually exist. What is generally uncontroversial is that

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the practice of science, at least ideally, involves adherence to certain epistemological norms that have demonstrated past success as strategies aimed at getting at the truth. These norms include: telling the truth, proportioning one’s level of confidence in a hypothesis to the total available evidence (both positive and negative), controlling for extraneous factors and experimenter bias, and attempting to rule out more mundane alternative explanations consistent with background knowledge before considering extraordinary hypotheses. In agreement with other authors (e.g., Laudan 1983; Monton 2006; Stenger 2006a), the present author maintains that demarcating ‘science’ from ‘pseudoscience’ or ‘natural’ from ‘supernatural’ is not only problematic but unnecessary. The crucial question is not, Is it science? or Is it supernatural?, but rather, Is there any good reason to believe that claim X is true? Whether the entities or phenomena posited by claim X are defined as ‘natural’ or ‘supernatural’ is irrelevant to the scientific status of the claim. If the fundamental aim of science is the pursuit of truth—to uncover, to the extent that humans are capable, the nature of reality—then science should go wherever the evidence leads. If the evidence were to strongly suggest the existence of supernatural phenomena, then so be it. While the position that science cannot evaluate supernatural or religious claims - and hence that there can be no conflict between science and religion—may satisfy political aims (for instance, ensuring continued support for science by religious taxpayers), it is disingenuous, having the appearance of a ploy designed to protect religion from critical examination. Moreover, such a view is antithetical to the spirit of open and unbiased scientific inquiry, whereby any phenomenon, regardless of whether it is designated ‘natural’ or ‘supernatural’, should be a legitimate subject for study and critical examination.

7 Science Does Not Presuppose Naturalism. Whether or Not the Supernatural Exists Is an Empirical Question Some philosophers have argued that science presupposes a naturalist metaphysics on the grounds that the practice of science would be impossible if supernatural explanations are allowed (Mahner and Bunge 1996a, b). However, Naturalism is not a premise or presupposition of science—it is a conclusion of science, albeit a tentative one, based upon the available evidence to date (for a similar position, see Martin 1994; Isaak 2002; Stenger 2003; Carrier 2005; Monton 2006; Stenger 2006a; Stenger 2007; Gauch 2006). As Richard Carrier notes, ‘‘...rejection of the supernatural is not a priori, it is not declared ‘before examining the facts.’ It comes only from a scientific investigation of the evidence.’’ (Carrier 2005, p. 211). Hugh Gauch expresses a similar view: Science is worldview independent as regards its presuppositions and methods, but scientific evidence, or empirical evidence in general, can have worldview import...human presuppositions have no power to dictate or control reality... Precisely because science does not presuppose worldview-distinctive beliefs, such beliefs retain eligibility to become conclusions of science if admissible and relevant evidence is available. (Gauch 2006). After all, science might have discovered evidence for the supernatural, for instance: finding the earth to be less than 10,000 years old (thereby confirming the biblical account and precluding Darwinian evolution by natural selection), that extra-sensory perception and other paranormal phenomena exist (e.g, that psychics routinely win the lottery), that intercessory prayer improves patient outcomes or can lead to re-growth of amputated

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limbs, that astrology makes detailed and successful predictions, that mental faculties persist despite destruction of the physical brain, and that specific prophecies claimed to be acquired by communication with the spirits of dead relatives are later confirmed. Indeed, the very aim of so-called ‘Natural Theology’ has been to uncover evidence of divine design in the natural world, as exemplified by the famous opus of William Paley, entitled, Natural Theology, or Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of the Deity Collected from the Appearances of Nature (Paley 1802). As noted earlier, even Darwin initially considered Paley’s evidential arguments for intelligent design to be persuasive. The aforementioned observations would not prove conclusively that the supernatural exists, as it is always possible that a naturalistic explanation will ultimately be found to account for them (e.g., evolution by natural selection). However, in the absence of such naturalistic explanations, these observations would still constitute powerful, albeit defeasible, support for supernatural worldviews. The best explanation for why there has been so far no convincing, independently verifiable evidence for supernatural phenomena, despite honest and methodologically sound attempts to verify them, is that these phenomena probably do not exist. Indeed, as discussed earlier, absence of evidence, where such evidence is expected to be found after extensive searching, is evidence of absence. That empirical science does have implications for the existence of the supernatural may explain why the vast majority of scientists who are members of the NAS are atheists (Larson and Witham 1998). Nonetheless, it is important to emphasize that while the current state of knowledge would argue against the existence of supernatural entities and phenomena, it is conceivable that future evidence might provide support for a supernatural worldview over a naturalistic one. The essential point is that supernatural worldviews are inherently testable via approaches employed in standard scientific practice. Thus, contrary to the positions expressed by Judge Jones, the AAAS, and the NAS, the reason why supernatural or religious claims, such as those of ID/Creationism, do not belong in science classes is not because they have supernatural or religious content, but rather because there is either no convincing evidence to support them or science has debunked them. For instance, a major claim of the ID movement is that certain biochemical pathways such as the blood-clotting cascade and cellular structures such as the bacterial flagellum are ‘‘irreducibly complex’’ and hence could not, in principle, have evolved by stepwise Darwinian evolution (Behe 1996). This is a testable claim, which has been tested and empirically falsified, along with many other ID claims (Perakh 2003; Stenger 2003; Shanks 2004; Young and Edis 2004; Monton 2006; Pallen and Matzke 2006; Stenger 2006a). As philosopher Larry Laudan has argued, ‘‘Creationists make a wide range of testable assertions about empirical matters of fact... [Creationist] claims are testable, they have been tested, and they have failed those tests.’’ (Laudan 1982). This position has been echoed by other philosophers and scientists. For instance, physicist Victor Stenger writes: ID is testable, tentative, and falsifiable. For example, William Dembski [a leading proponent of ID] asserts a ‘law of conservation of information’ which implies that information cannot be generated by natural processes. This is provably wrong. Information is negative entropy and the second law of thermodynamics allows for the entropy of systems interacting with their environments to decrease and thus information to increase naturally. Michael Behe’s examples of ‘‘irreducible complexity’’ have similarly been refuted. (Stenger 2006a).

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Thus, there is ample justification for the conclusion of philosopher Bradley Monton that ‘‘ID should not be dismissed on the grounds that it is unscientific; ID should be dismissed on the grounds that the empirical evidence for its claims just isn’t there.’’ (Monton 2006).

8 Implications and Challenges for Science Education While as a matter of principle, science must pursue truth, regardless of religious or political sensitivities, on a practical level such an endeavor clearly has the potential to offend those who hold supernatural worldviews and thereby impede science education. Thus, science educators face the challenge of maintaining both intellectual integrity and the receptivity of students to potentially controversial scientific material. As Martin notes with some concern (Martin 1994), beliefs in supernatural and paranormal phenomena are widespread among the general population, students, and even science educators. Martin views this as indicative of a failure of science education. Science educators have not only the duty to communicate scientific findings and currently supported theories to their students, but also to teach a scientific approach to the evaluation of claims, regardless of whether they concern ‘natural’ or ‘supernatural’ phenomena. Martin (1994) maintains that giving students correct information, educating them on how to critically examine evidence for a given hypothesis (including alternative hypotheses), and to utilize fundamental principles of scientific investigation should all be a part of science education. This approach may in turn serve as an antidote to the prevalent acceptance of pseudoscientific and paranormal claims. Indeed, Martin argues that science educators should include a critique of paranormal phenomena, such as ESP, dousing, and ghosts, as an integral part of science education right from the beginning (Martin 1994). This suggestion may be viewed as a bit extreme, especially given the limited time available in science classes for dealing with more ‘mundane’ science. However, there may be a place in general science classes for considering and evaluating theories that Martin classifies as ‘pseudoscience’ as a pedagogical tool for teaching critical thinking skills. Brent Meeker (personal communication) has recommended that these include pseudoscientific theories that hardly anyone believes and whose refutation can be easily demonstrated, e.g. psychic surgery, dowsing, and astrology, but that the connection to the paranormal, Creationism, and the power of prayer is perhaps best left implicit, as these topics may present a contentious distraction in the classroom. There is also enormous educational value in presenting a historical perspective on science to provide a framework for understanding how science has arrived at its currently accepted theories about the world. For instance, educators might have students consider questions along the lines of the following: How was it shown that the earth is round and orbits the sun? How was the germ theory of disease proven? Why don’t we believe in phlogiston and the luminiferous aether? While the question of what material is appropriate in a given educational context will have to be decided by individual educators and their institutions, it is clear that teaching critical thinking skills in addition to factual information will not only foster scientific literacy, but may have far reaching beneficial consequences for how students conduct their daily lives and for a society all too often enticed by the paranormal and deceived by potentially dangerous pseudoscientific claims. By fostering critical thinking and a scientific frame of mind there is an increased likelihood that students will adopt a skeptical attitude toward supernatural claims in light of the scientific evidence against them. Importantly, critical thinking and a scientific approach to claims are not just for scientists and debunkers

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of the supernatural. A well-informed population proficient in critical thinking will be better equipped to make intelligent decisions concerning crucial political issues of our day, such as global warming and governmental foreign policy. Indeed, an intellectually honest engagement with reality is a prerequisite for promoting the long-term interest of individuals and society at large. Acknowledgments This work was motivated in part by discussions on Professor Victor Stenger’s ‘AVOID’ online list serve and by two articles, Monton (2006) and Stenger (2006a), which defend a similar thesis. The author is grateful to the editor, Dr. Michael Matthews, Jonathan Colvin, Keith Douglas, Anna Grossman, William Jefferys, Brent Meeker, Victor Stenger, RJ Welsh, and two anonymous reviewers for helpful comments and suggestions on a previous version of the paper. Special thanks to Brent Meeker for significant editorial contributions.

Appendix: Testing God: A Bayesian Approach A believing Christian amputee prays to the Christian God for re-growth of his arm:

Hypotheses: God exists = +H God does not exist =
H Assume equal prior probabilities for H and
H: P(+H) = 0.5; P(
H) = 0.5

Evidence: Amputee’s arm grows back after prayer = +E Amputee’s arm does not grow back after prayer =
E PðþEjþHÞ ¼ 0:9 If God exists, there is a 9/10 chance that the amputee’s prayers will be answered- this is based on the passage in the King James Bible: ‘‘And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.’’ Matt 21:22). P(+E|+H) is set equal to 0.9 (a high probability) instead of 1.0 to leave open the possibility that the amputee failed to utter the prayer perfectly or that the amputee’s faith, although he is an avowed and devout believer, is not sufficient to merit God’s beneficence PðþEj
HÞ ¼ :00001 If God does not exist, there is a 1/100,000 chance that the amputee’s arm will grow back naturally. This is empirically a grossly over-optimistic estimate, since there have been many times 100,000 amputees, all of which have failed to have their limb grow back; But we don’t set it to zero because there is always a possibility that there is something we don’t know about how nature operates. Further, it is possible that, within the lifetime of this particular amputee, medical science will discover a way to cause the arm to re-grow through natural means.

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PðþHjþEÞ ¼ PðþEjþHÞ  PðHÞ=½PðþE= þ HÞ  PðHÞ þ PðþEj
HÞ  Pð
HÞ (Bayes’ Theorem) PðþHjþEÞ ¼ 0:9  0:5=ð0:9  0:5 þ :00001  :5Þ ¼ :45=ð:45 þ :000005Þ1:0

PðþHj
EÞ ¼ 0:1  0:5=ð0:1  0:5 þ 0:99999  :5Þ ¼ :05=ð:05 þ :499995Þ:09

PðþHjþEÞ [ PðþHÞ (i.e., the posterior probability of +H, given +E, is greater than the prior probability of +H.) PðþHj
EÞ\PðþHÞ (i.e., the posterior probability of +H, given
E, is less than the prior probability of +H.) Therefore, the hypothesis that the Christian God exists, H, is confirmed by evidence, E, and is disconfirmed by evidence,
E. Hence, the fact that no devout Christian amputees have ever had their limbs grow back following prayers to the Christian God requesting limb re-growth is strong evidence that the Christian God does not exist. (The example presented above is inspired by the website: http://whywontgodhealamputees.com/) References Alcock JE (2003) Give the null hypothesis a chance: reasons to remain doubtful about the existence of psi. J Conscious Studies 10:29–50 American Association for the Advancement of Science (2006) Letter to Senator Stratton Taylor. Available at www.aaas.org/news/releases/2006 Arzy S, Idel M, Landis T, Blanke O (2005) Why revelations have occurred on mountains? Linking mystical experiences and cognitive neuroscience. Med Hypotheses 65(5):841–845 Arzy S, Seeck M, Ortigue S, Spinelli L, Blanke O (2006) Induction of an illusory shadow person. Nature 443(7109):287 Atran S (2002) In gods we trust: the evolutionary landscape of religion (evolution and cognition Series). Oxford University Press, USA Atran S, Norenzayan A (2004) Religion’s evolutionary landscape: counterintuition, commitment, compassion, communion. Behav Brain Sci 27:713–770 Augustine K (1997) The case against immortality. Available at www.infidels.org/library/modern/ keith_augustine/immortality.html Aviles JM et al (2001) Intercessory prayer and cardiovascular disease progression in a coronary care unit population: a randomized controlled trial. Mayo Clin Proc 76:1192–1198 Ball P (1999) The self-made tapestry: pattern formation in nature. Oxford University Press, USA Barrett JL (2000) Exploring the natural foundations of religion. Trends Cogn Sci 4(1):29–34 Behe MJ (1996) Darwin’s black box. The Free Press, USA Benson H et al (2006) Study of the therapeutic effects of intercessory prayer (STEP) in cardiac bypass patients: a multicenter randomized trial of uncertainty and certainty of receiving intercessory prayer. Am Heart J 151:934–942 Blakemore SJ, Decety J (2001) From the perception of action to the understanding of intention. Nat Rev Neurosci 2(8):561–567 Blakemore SJ, Boyer P, Pachot-Clouard M, Meltzoff A, Segebarth C, Decety J (2003) The detection of contingency and animacy from simple animations in the human brain. Cereb Cortex 13(8):837–844

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Shelley PB (1814) A refutation of deism. Reprinted in Joshi ST (ed) Atheism: a reader. Prometheus Books, USA, 2000, pp 69–77 Sinnott-Armstrong W (2004) The argument from ignorance. Reprinted in Martin M, Monnier R (eds) The improbability of god. Prometheus Books, USA, 2006, pp 380–384 Smith KC (2001) Appealing to ignorance behind the cloak of ambiguity. In: Pennock R (ed) Intelligent design creationism and its critics: philosophical, theological, and scientific perspectives. MIT Press, USA, pp 705–735 Smith PW (2002) The effects of prayer: scientific study. Arch Intern Med 162:1420 Stenger VJ (1999) The anthropic coincidences: A natural explanation. Reprinted in Martin M, Monnier R (eds) The improbability of god. Prometheus Books, USA, 2006, pp 125–149 Stenger VJ (2003) Has science found god? the latest results in the search for purpose in the universe. Prometheus Books, USA Stenger, VJ (March, 2006a) Supernatural science. Skeptical Briefs (CSICOP quarterly newsletter), p 11 & p 15 Stenger VJ (2006b) The comprehensible cosmos: where do the laws of physics come from? Prometheus Books, USA Stenger VJ (2007) God: the failed hypothesis: how science shows that god does not exist. Prometheus Books, USA Tremlin T (2006) Minds and gods: the cognitive foundations of religion. Oxford University Press, USA Vilenkin A (2006) Many worlds in one: the search for other universes. Hill & Wang, USA Weisberger AM (1999) Suffering belief: evil and the Anglo-American defense of theism (Toronto studies in religion). Peter Lang Publishing, USA Young M, Edis T (eds) (2004) Why intelligent design fails: a scientific critique of the new creationism. Rutgers University Press, USA Author Biography Yonatan I. Fishman is an Assistant Professor of Neurology at Albert Einstein College of Medicine of Yeshiva University, Bronx, New York. He received his BA in cognitive science and cell biology from Vassar College, and his MS and PhD in Neuroscience from Albert Einstein College of Medicine of Yeshiva University. He currently does research in the Laboratory of Behavioral Neurophysiology at Albert Einstein College of Medicine investigating neural mechanisms underlying the perception of complex sounds such as those of music and speech.

The Interplay of Scientific Activity, Worldviews and Value Outlooks Hugh Lacey

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 839–860. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9114-6 Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract Scientific activity tends to reflect particular worldviews and their associated value outlooks; and scientific results sometimes have implications for worldviews and the presuppositions of value outlooks. Even so, scientific activity per se neither presupposes nor provides sound rational grounds to accept any worldview or value outlook. Moreover, in virtue of reflecting a suitable variety of worldviews and value outlooks, perhaps including some religious ones, science is better able to further its aim. An extended argument is made that, although the materialist worldview has de facto been widely associated with the development of modern science, the scope of scientific inquiry is improperly limited when constraints, derived from materialism, are generally placed upon admissible scientific theories. Some implications for science education are sketched in the conclusion.

1 Introduction Scientific activity—its forms, trajectories and priorities—tends to reflect particular worldviews and their associated value outlooks; and scientific results sometimes have implications for worldviews and the presuppositions of value outlooks. Nevertheless, the principal conclusions of this article are, first, that scientific activity per se neither presupposes nor provides sound rational grounds to accept any worldview or value outlook and, second, that in virtue of reflecting a suitable variety of worldviews science is better able to further its aims. It follows that, although the worldview—often called materialism—has de facto been widely associated with the development of modern science and even considered ‘‘the scientific view of the world,’’ the scope of scientific inquiry is improperly limited when constraints derived from materialism are generally placed upon H. Lacey (&) Philosophy Department, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, PA 19081, USA e-mail: [email protected] H. Lacey Universidade de Sa˜o Paulo, Sa˜o Paulo, Brazil M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_10

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admissible scientific theories. Adopting such constraints is not well grounded in the aim of science, and is better explained by reference to dialectical relations that link it with holding what I call the values of technological progress, whose rational credentials depend on certain presuppositions about the role of technological progress in furthering human well being, which in turn are nourished by the values of capital and the market.

2 ‘‘Scientific Activity,’’ ‘‘Worldviews,’’ ‘‘Value Outlooks’’ 2.1 Scientific Activity I distinguish analytically (not temporally) five moments of scientific activity. (1) Choosing a general methodological approach: this includes adopting a strategy (see Sect. 3.1) and specifying the criteria for appraising scientific theories and knowledge. (2) The conduct of research: determining priorities; theoretical innovation, elaboration and critique; development of mathematical (and computer) models and methods; construction of instruments (for measurement or intervention) and experimental apparatus; experimental/observational activity; analysis of data; ethical conditions and restrictions. (3) Accepting/rejecting theories and appraising proposals for scientific knowledge. (4) Applying established scientific knowledge in technological practice. (5) Appraising the legitimacy of particular applications and conducting whatever research—e.g., on side effects (risks) and alternatives—that it may require. Judgments made at all five moments should be responsive to the aim of science. Any account of the aim of science is bound to be controversial. Noting this, I propose that it may be stated as follows: to generate and consolidate theories (i) that express empirically grounded and well confirmed knowledge and understanding of phenomena and (ii) that enable the discovery of novel phenomena and novel means for generating phenomena; (iii) of increasingly greater ranges of phenomena, including phenomena brought about (or sought for) in the course of experimental and measurement operations (often for the sake of testing theories or the development of technological applications), and (iv) such that no phenomena of significance in human experience or practical social life—and generally no propositions about phenomena—are (in principle) excluded from the compass of scientific inquiry; and (v) frequently with a view to the technological application (or other kind of practical use) of the knowledge and discoveries represented in them.1 The aim of science underlies the scientific attitude: accept scientific theories and put statements into the stock of consolidated objective scientific knowledge only if they are well confirmed in the light of available (and adequate) empirical data and, thus, only if adequate responses have been made to all reasonable criticisms that have been made against them; and, when these conditions are not met: withhold such judgments pending 1

This statement of the aim of science draws upon arguments in Lacey (1999a, Ch. 5; 2004; 2005a, Part I). It is intended to be sufficiently encompassing to cover all the activities that scientists usually call ‘‘scientific,’’ and also controversially, not to exclude a priori from the category of ‘‘scientific’’ any forms of systematic empirical inquiry (including, e.g., those that generate the knowledge that informs traditional agricultural or medical practices). It also does not incorporate any metaphysical viewpoint. Obviously individual scientists and institutions may contest it, or they may articulate a variety of more specific aims, e.g., prioritizing differently the various components of the stated aim putting greater or less emphasis on understanding or utility, or subordinating it to other interests (personal, military, corporate or financial) of their own. Furthermore, philosophers may interpret the aim according to favored epistemological or metaphysical viewpoints, e.g., empiricist or realist (van Fraassen 1980).

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additional research. The scientific attitude also values its own further penetration into daily life and experience and the domain of public policy, so that wherever possible actions and policies become informed by consolidated scientific knowledge—hence item (iv). Ceteris paribus to act informed by beliefs that are inconsistent with consolidated scientific knowledge is contrary to the scientific attitude. Sometimes, however, the immediacies of action or policy enactment require making decisions, where none of the available options can be informed adequately by consolidated scientific knowledge. Then, it is consistent with maintaining the scientific attitude to endorse a proposal, and permit it, rather than its negation, to inform a course of action on grounds of preponderance of evidence that are influenced by the values that endorse the action; indeed there is no rational alternative in such situations (Lacey 2005b; Douglas 2000).

2.2 Worldviews I will take a worldview to be a comprehensive account of the nature of the various kinds of objects that make up the world, of how they are structured and related and interactive with one another, and of their origins, possibilities and (in some worldviews) destinies. It includes an account of human nature: of what is distinctive about human beings, of what grounds their sense of being moral agents and bearers of value, of what their historical origins are, and of how human agency is expressed in an environment, which has physical, ecological and social dimensions, by means of bodily movements; and also of what are the possibilities open to human life, including (in some worldviews) what are the possibilities of human flourishing and the means to realizing them, or what is the significance of human life.2

2.3 Value Outlooks A person holds values of various kinds (personal, ethical, social, etc) in ways that tend to mutually reinforce one another so that they constitute a more or less coherent totality, the person’s value outlook. Holding a value is not simply affirming one’s adherence to it. It also involves commitment to enhance or maintain its role in one’s life, as reflected (e.g.) in its role in explaining the goals chosen to shape one’s actions and the standards deployed to evaluate one’s own and others’ actions, as well as in appraising social institutions and their policies and programs. Holding a value outlook may be explained by reference to its strong embodiment in a social group of which one is a part, perhaps with some input from hypotheses of evolutionary psychology; or, for explanation is not the same thing as rational justification, it may be rendered coherent, ordered and rationally worthy of being held (as well as explained) by certain presuppositions about human nature (and nature) and about what lies in the realm of human possibilities.3 2

Worldviews may be more or less articulated. A largely unarticulated worldview may form part of the taken-for-granted ‘‘common sense’’ of a culture, making it resistant to critical appraisal and development through participation in rational dialogue. However, any worldview can develop. Just as ‘‘scientific’’ worldviews develop over time (largely in response to scientific developments), although a considerable body of scientists always tends to lag behind, so too ‘‘religious’’ worldviews can develop (also, in part, in response to scientific developments). Criticism of worldviews should be attentive to these matters.

3 For details and defense of the account of values sketched here, see Lacey (1999a, Ch. 2; supplemented by 2005a, Sects. 1.1, 3.1). It is illustrated below (Sect. 3) when presuppositions of the values of technological progress are introduced.

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A worldview typically goes hand-in-hand with a value outlook, so that the two are adopted together; or at least the worldview leads to giving verbal allegiance to norms that are based on the value outlook. The relationship can vary from case to case. It might involve subordinating the value outlook one holds to the proposals of a worldview, hence, e.g., grounding values on metaphysics or divine fiat. Or, it might involve accepting a worldview precisely because it underlies a value outlook that is considered incontestable. Or, there might be complex, multi-faceted affinities between them, as illustrated in the next section. Generally, I suggest, the rational defense of a value outlook rests on presuppositions—about human nature and the possibilities open to it, to nature and to society—that are integral to its associated worldview and open in some measure to empirical inquiry. Thus, scientific advances may (in rationally appropriate ways) have impact both on worldviews, on the presuppositions of value outlooks, and thus on value outlooks themselves.

3 The ‘‘Scientific’’ Worldview and the Values of Technological Progress Leading scientists and philosophers of science have often associated modern scientific practices with a particular worldview, ‘‘scientific materialism,’’ or simply ‘‘materialism’’ (Mahner and Bunge 1996) or ‘‘physicalism’’ (Maxwell 2004), even considering it to be ‘‘the scientific worldview,’’ presupposed by scientific practices and/or supported by consolidated scientific results. (Others, e.g., van Fraassen 2002, have challenged the association.) Materialism is not a static view. It develops over time as many of its concrete details become extrapolated from the best-confirmed theories of the moment. This worldview is said to provide an account of the world, as it really is, not one that reflects particular human experiences and interests or cultural presuppositions; and scientific activities are said to give us access to the details of this world. It is an account of the world that supposedly dissociates from experiential, value, and cultural particularities, contingencies and context. I will sketch the materialist worldview after first introducing some remarks about scientific methodology.

3.1 Scientific Methodology: The Decontextualized Approach Acting so as to further the aim of science requires, as I have argued elsewhere (Lacey 1999a, b, 2005a; see also Sect. 4.4. below), that scientific (systematic empirical) inquiry be conducted under a strategy, which has two principal constituents. First, a set of constraints on the kinds of theories and hypotheses that may be entertained in a research project; it includes prescriptions for the categories that may be used in formulating theories, and specification (in general terms) of the kinds of possibilities that may be explored. Second, criteria for selecting the kinds of empirical data that acceptable theories should fit, thus specifying what are the relevant empirical data to attempt to procure, and the appropriate descriptive categories to use for making observational reports, as well as the phenomena, and the aspects of them, that are to be observed, measured, and/or experimented upon. While pursuing the aim of science requires adopting a strategy, the aim (as stated above) leaves open that it may, perhaps must, be pursued under a variety of incommensurable but complementary strategies; hence the salience of Moment 1 of scientific activity (see Sect. 2.1).

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Modern science has adopted almost exclusively a methodological approach that I will call the decontextualized approach (DA) (Lacey 1999a, 2005a). It incorporates strategies4 under which potentially admissible theories are constrained to those that can represent and explain phenomena and encapsulate their possibilities in terms that display their lawfulness, thus usually in terms of their being generated or generable from underlying structure and its components, process, interaction, and the laws (characteristically expressed mathematically) that govern them. Historically, a considerable variety of strategies that fit into DA have been utilized, ranging (e.g.) from the mechanical approach of the 17th century culminating in the mathematical approach of rational mechanics, the molecular approach of modern chemistry, the admissibility of fundamental probabilistic laws in quantum mechanics, to the use of neurophysiological and computer models in the study of the mind. Representing phenomena in this way decontextualizes them, by dissociating them from any place they may have in relation to social arrangements, human lives and experience, from any link with value (thus deploying no teleological, intentional, ethical, value-laden or sensory categories), and from whatever possibilities they may gain in virtue of their places in particular social, human and ecological contexts. Complementing these constraints on admissible theories, empirical data are selected, sought out—normally subject to meeting the conditions of inter-subjectivity and replicability—and reported using descriptive categories that are generally quantitative, applicable in virtue of measurement, instrumental and experimental operations. Thus, like the theoretical representations of the phenomena they describe, the data, too, are stripped of all links with values and dissociated from any broader context of human practices and experience.

3.2 The Materialist Worldview I take the materialist worldview to affirm that the world—the totality of things and phenomena, and the possibilities they permit—can be adequately represented with categories that may be deployed in the variety of strategies (current ones and others not yet conceived) that fit into DA. By stating materialism in this way, I underline that it is a developing worldview. It is not tied to the categories deployed in any of the particular strategies that fit into DA. It does not entail physicalism, any forms of reductionism, or determinism; and its concrete content is not fixed but open to be filled in and modified as scientific research unfolds and new, unexpected varieties of strategies that fit into DA are introduced and found fruitful. So characterized, materialism is inseparable from a particular approach to scientific methodology, albeit one widely considered exemplary (and, by some, the only authentic one), viz. DA, and its prospects for consolidation depend on the results that scientific investigation, conducted according to DA, has delivered and will continue to deliver. There is no doubt that research conducted according to DA has been extraordinarily fruitful, having produced understanding of an ever increasing number and variety of phenomena, and well confirmed knowledge that has been used to inform numerous technological innovations. DA is also highly versatile, and within it new varieties of strategies, introduced to deal with hitherto recalcitrant phenomena, have regularly been created as research has unfolded. There can be little doubt that this expansion, responding well to all items of the aim of science except item (iv), will continue; and, hence, we expect that 4

In the cited works I called these ‘‘materialist strategies.’’ Here I refer to them as ‘‘strategies that fit into DA’’ (see criticism offered by McMullin 1999, to Lacey 1999b).

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technological innovations will continue to find places in ever more domains and dimensions of human life. This remarkable expansion may inspire confidence, even virtual certitude, that—apart from barriers set by human and technological limitations—it is only a matter of time until all phenomena fall within the compass of DA, i.e., that the expansion provides compelling support for materialism. Certainly, given the versatility of DA and the occasional introduction of strategies that hitherto had not been conceived, no bounds can be put on where the expansion may lead. Furthermore, since the expansion is accompanied by great changes in the world of lived experience that are occasioned by technological innovation, this world may be so changed that phenomena that lie outside of the compass of DA become marginalized in it. In such an eventuality, the compass of the approach may be not only unbounded, but also practically comprehensive: phenomena of all kinds can be accounted for in it. DA’s compass may be unbounded, however, but not comprehensive. It may expand to encompass more and more kinds of phenomena. Nevertheless, to a significant degree the phenomena it comes to encompass are themselves created (in experimental and technological contexts) by scientific activities themselves, so that other kinds of phenomena may continue to remain outside of the reach of DA. Being unbounded is not evidence for comprehensiveness.

3.3 Is Materialism Supported by the Results of Scientific Research? Materialism is well supported only if there is good reason to believe that the compass of DA is not only unbounded, but also comprehensive. This is not merely a logical point. Often enough, in ordinary discourse and in the humanistic disciplines, phenomena are characterized in a way that represents them as integral to a context. It requires a compelling argument that these phenomena can be grasped within DA (the decontextualized approach); i.e., that, when we describe these phenomena using only categories permissible in the strategies that fit into DA, we will be able to encapsulate all the significant possibilities that they admit. I have in mind, among other examples, the following: (a) human actions that we routinely describe using intentional (and sometimes value) categories and explain not lawfully, but by reference to an agent’s beliefs and goals, which themselves are ultimately explained within a narrative that incorporates the values held by the agent; (b) objects in an ecological system that are explained (and the possibilities open to the system anticipated) in terms of their relations with all the components of the system considered as a more or less sustainable whole, and not simply in terms of the underlying lawful order of these objects; and (c) religious phenomena where the faithful understand that the most fulfilling human possibilities derive from their relationship with God. I know of no compelling argument that in principle DA cannot encompass phenomena of these kinds; but to date it has not done so adequately. This does not mean, however, that we lack or must lack some scientific (systematic empirical) understanding of them, for we grasp some of them quite well by way of inquiry that deploys categories that are not reducible to those deployed within DA, and the knowledge gained of them is confirmed using standard criteria for theory and knowledge appraisal. Elsewhere I have provided examples. In Lacey (2005a, Part II), I argued (and documented) that an impressive body of consolidated empirical knowledge has been obtained by research conducted under ‘‘agroecological strategies’’ (see below, Sect. 4.2), which are complementary to but not reducible to strategies that fit into DA, and this knowledge informs the productive practices of agroecology. In Lacey and Schwartz (1996), we discuss how one might investigate the

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formation and transformation of values of human agents under strategies that permit the use of intentional categories.5 Clearly the issues involved here go far beyond what can be discussed in a single article.

3.3.1 Human Agency Consider, for now, only the phenomena of human agency that are routinely described and explained using intentional categories, where the explanations cannot be paraphrased so as to display the actions as lawful. Much about human agency so understood is presupposed in the conduct of scientific research (regardless of the strategies under which it is carried out), in appraising claims of scientific knowledge, in composing histories of science, and in displaying confidence that the compass of DA will continue to expand. The intentional categories used to grasp human agency—belief, goal, values, and the like—are indispensable now for understanding our social (including scientific) practices and, generally, how we interact with the world (other human beings, material objects and anything else that there might be); and this understanding can be refined and expanded in the course of systematic empirical inquiry (as, e.g., in Lacey and Schwartz 1996). They are also indispensable for understanding ourselves as moral agents and persons capable of engaging in rational ethical discourse. I am loath to concede that these categories may not be necessary to categorize human beings as they really are: we really are moral agents, and any worldview should recognize this. Of course this is not a decisive argument that in the future, within DA, a theory could not be developed, in which the phenomena of moral agency would come to be understood (see, e.g., Dennett 1987). In a newspaper article, Dennett is described as ‘‘one of many who have tried to redefine free will in a way that involves no escape from the materialist world while still offering enough autonomy for moral responsibility,’’ and as one who holds that ‘‘evolution, history and culture have endowed us with feedback systems that give us the unique ability to reflect and think things over and to imagine the future, [so that] free will and determinism can co-exist.’’ And he is quoted as saying: ‘‘All the varieties of free will worth having, we have. We have the power to veto our urges and then to veto our vetoes. ...We have the power of imagination, to see and imagine futures. ...That’s what makes us moral agents.’’ (Overbye 2007). Whatever one makes of this, Dennett is not stating confirmed scientific results, but an outlook on the world, a sketch for a strategy of research within DA, and anticipation of what that research will produce. Dennett has his reasons for pursuing this research program with energy and urgency. They do not show, however, that—in accounts of how the world really is—we can dispense with intentional categories, especially as in putting forward his arguments he must and does make liberal use of intentional categories.6 They also do not show that there is no good reason to proceed with research conducted under strategies that do not fit into DA. If Dennett’s anticipated results are eventually to become well confirmed, they will need to be shown—in the light of standard criteria for appraising scientific theories—to produce ‘‘better’’ understanding of the phenomena of human agency than that produced using intentional categories (e.g., that 5

See also Porpora (2006) for arguments about limitations of ‘‘methodological agnosticism’’ for investigating religious experience.

6

Dennett has an interesting response, in which he proposes a pragmatic role for ‘‘intentional stance,’’ which he distinguishes from the ‘‘design’’ and the ‘‘physical’’ stances, and which may be applied (he maintains) not only to human agents, but also to numerous material systems such as computers and robots (Dennett 1987).

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offered in Donagan 1987, and Taylor 1985), and hence to have refuted the most powerful objections to the prospects of his and other materialist research programs, e.g., behaviorist (Rachlin 1994), reductionist (Armstrong 1968) and eliminatist (Churchland 1999). Attempts to consolidate the materialist worldview on the basis of the established results of scientific inquiry require that research be pursued, not only within DA, but also under strategies in which agency, characterized intentionally, is the object of inquiry. Otherwise, any claim to have ‘‘better’’ understanding could be dismissed as an artifact of the alternative not having been developed. Thesis 1 The materialist worldview is not well grounded now in the established results of scientific investigation.

3.3.2 Conflicting Intuitions Conflicting intuitions are in play here. While few would deny Thesis 1, many think that it is virtually foreordained that eventually the materialist worldview would be established, for (they are convinced) there really are no serious competitors. One intuition lying behind this conviction is a descendant of Descartes’ reflections on ‘‘clear and distinct’’ ideas, viz. that only results obtained within DA meet satisfactory standards of intelligibility—as if intentional categories, somehow lost in an interpretive mist, are incurably vague.7 A second intuition reinforces the first. It draws on the facts that human beings are part of the same world as material objects, that they interact with them in virtue of their bodily character, that their ‘‘mental’’ powers are clearly linked with brain phenomena in such a way that failures of rationality (an essential component of human agency) may be explicable in terms of brain events, and that they have originated as a species by way of evolution from material objects. The intuition is that, in the light of these facts, human beings should themselves be considered material objects (albeit ones that, because of their complex organization, have developed unique powers), explicable in principle with the same kind of principles that explain other material objects. Only in this way is a unified account of the world possible. The two intuitions, about intelligibility and unification, have obvious appeal. Unification is a cognitive value. So too is explanatory comprehensiveness—and the former does not outrank the latter. It is not an a priori truth that explanatory comprehensiveness is compatible with providing a unified view of the world. Unification provides compelling support for materialism only if explanatory comprehensiveness is achievable in principle within DA. But (Thesis 1) developments of science have not shown that this is so and maybe they never will. Perhaps phenomena are so variegated that a unified account of them is not possible. (One might desire and commit oneself to develop a unified account of phenomena, but that does not amount to evidence for its possibility.) A conflicting intuition is that perhaps only multiple, complementary accounts— accounts derived from inquiry conducted under a pluralism of incommensurable but complementary strategies—can provide comprehensiveness (cf. Dupre´ 1993). Human agency, e.g., may be such that the possibilities open to it cannot be encapsulated under only one kind of strategy (like those that fit into DA, which indeed are necessary to grasp some of the facts listed in the previous paragraph). Strategies that deploy irreducible intentional 7

I have been bemused by generations of my students treating materialism as if it were given a priori, arguing that the categories it favors uniquely meet appropriate standards of intelligibility, even as they unself-consciously display clarity as they fluently use intentional idiom in making their arguments.

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categories, and others that enable agents to be represented as social beings, may also be necessary. Proposing that the possibilities open to human agents can be grasped only with the aid of multiple, complementary strategies in this way is to consider human beings as bodily, social agents. It is not to revert to metaphysical (Cartesian) dualism, a view of the world that adds an additional substance (mind, soul) to the material objects of the world, although it can entertain the hypothesis that the possibilities open to human agency cannot be derived solely from the principles that account for the evolutionary origin of the human species. In any case, the intuition in play here, that the world may not be open to a unified account, involves conflict neither with established scientific results nor with the scientific attitude. Methodological pluralism, when it supports a place for strategies that do not fit into DA, tends not to be taken seriously in mainstream scientific institutions, and it has little impact on extant scientific institutions. This is not to say that it is rejected completely: adopting the scientific attitude widely, and holding empirical judgments to accord with inductive and statistical canons, is urged where DA cannot be followed (e.g., in the social sciences and certain risk assessments); but then there is a tendency to treat the scientific credentials of this research as suspect, as somehow ‘‘less than fully science’’—in this way, insinuating that genuine ‘‘sound science’’ is conducted only within DA.

3.4 Is Materialism a Presupposition of Scientific Research? Why is DA privileged almost to the point of exclusivity in modern science? Appeal to the materialist worldview being a presupposition, cannot provide a justificatory answer. Such a presupposition would permit generally constraining scientific activity for the sake of conforming to a metaphysical view that is well supported neither by available empirical evidence (Thesis 1) nor by sound a priori argument.8 That would run counter to the scientific attitude. Presupposing materialism may explain, though not rationally justify, the privilege given to DA. Certainly, throughout the history of modern science commitment to materialism has, to some extent, served this function by backing the view that really there are no significant alternative strategies that might be adopted in scientific research. The presupposition of materialism, however, is not necessary to explain this privilege. A better explanation can be found (see Lacey 1999a: Ch. 6, 1999b, 2005a: Ch. 1, for the details) when we consider the way in which modern scientific knowledge has, on application, served a certain conception of utility (domination of nature, technological progress). This reflects that item (v) of the aim of science has been elevated in significance and given a particular (value laden) interpretation, and it also illustrates (Lacey 2005a: Ch. 5) how there can be important connections between Moments 1 (methodology) and 4 (application) of scientific activity (Sect. 2.1).

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If materialism is a presupposition of scientific activity then, without further ado, viewpoints like creationism and ‘‘intelligent design’’ are ‘‘non-’’ or ‘‘anti-scientific.’’ But why is it legitimate to constrain permissible theories to accordance with materialism, and not to accordance with these viewpoints? The real problem for the scientific status of these outlooks is that they do not engender fruitful research strategies, i.e., strategies that enable theories to be accepted and knowledge confirmed according to standard scientific canons of appraisal—and, in the case of creationism, that it makes claims that are inconsistent with wellconfirmed scientific results.

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3.4.1 The Values of Technological Progress Scientific knowledge consolidated within DA tends to serve especially well the practical interests that reflect value outlooks that incorporate what I call the values of technological progress (VTP). These values include: according high ethical and social value to expanding the scope of the human capacity to exercise control over natural objects, especially as embodied in technoscientific innovations (i.e., innovations informed by scientific results confirmed within DA), to innovations that increase the penetration of technologies (objects, systems, solutions to problems) ever more intrusively into ever more domains of modern (daily and domestic) lives, experiences and institutions, and to the definition of problems in terms that permit technoscientific solutions. VTP also involves not subordinating the value of control of natural objects systematically to any other ethical and social values but, on the contrary, according prima facie legitimacy to implementing technoscientific innovations, even tolerating a considerable measure of social and environmental disruption for its sake. There are complex mutually reinforcing relations between adopting DA and holding VTP.9 Results obtained within DA—demonstrating the practical utility that follows from its remarkable fecundity and versatility—have on application contributed greatly towards the embodiment of VTP in hegemonic economic and political institutions, and they continue doing so at an accelerated pace. At the same time, the continued development of this kind of science depends not only on the direct or indirect financial support of these institutions, but also on the creation of sophisticated instruments and equipment, themselves products of applications of scientific results obtained within DA, for essential laboratory activities connected with experiment, measurement and data analysis. (See Lacey 1999a: Ch. 6, for an account of the full array of these relations.)

3.4.2 Explaining the Privilege Granted to the Decontextualized Approach without Presupposing Materialism We may now explain the privilege granted to DA in terms of the existence of these relations, and the fact that VTP are held by vast numbers of people in contemporary societies and highly embodied in hegemonic economic and political institutions. Indeed, for many people today, holding these values does not seem to depend on much conscious reflection, for they are integral to the self-understanding of our age, and their presuppositions are widely taken to be truisms. Moreover, their high embodiment in hegemonic institutions is strengthened today by the mutually reinforcing relations that also exist between them and the values of capital and the market, for institutions that embody the latter values are the primary bearers today of VTP. When the privilege given to DA is justified by appeal to the materialist worldview, the scientific attitude is not adhered to, for (now) there is not a strong empirically-based case 9

This is not to say that scientific research per se aims immediately for application; that all confirmed scientific results do lead to applications (understanding need not be systematically subordinated to utility); that adopting DA is always rationalized by reference to these relations with VTP (see Sect. 4.4); or that all results consolidated within DA fail to serve interests of value outlooks that contest VTP. I do contend, however, that, where VTP is contested, granting exclusivity to DA is also challenged; and also that, generally, choice of research strategy should be responsive to the general features of the objects of investigation, rather than our conception of such features being subordinated to what can be grasped under a favored strategy (see Sect. 3.4, Thesis, 4).

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that all phenomena are of a kind that will enable them to be grasped by categories that may be deployed within this approach. The alternative explanation just proposed does not have this drawback. On the other hand, it links scientific activity with a particular value outlook. Thus it leads to the denial of the value neutrality of science. Then, the social value of specific items of scientific knowledge (though not their epistemic credentials), or their significance for one’s social projects, becomes open to contestation. This proposed explanation for the privilege accorded to DA does not amount to being a justification for it, because it does not suffice to show that according this privilege to DA adequately advances the aim of science. It does not establish that only research conducted within DA constitutes a satisfactory response to the aim, since it does not provide arguments either to deny that research might be conducted under strategies, which do not fit into DA and which might be fruitful, and whose results would be better suited to serve interests that are shaped by a rival value outlook, or that value outlooks that question VTP have presuppositions that are inconsistent with well-confirmed scientific results.

3.4.3 Presuppositions of the Values of Technological Progress Granting privilege to DA would be justified, however, if there were compelling reasons to hold VTP. Holding them, like holding any set of values, is rendered coherent and rationally justified by appeal to certain presuppositions, which (I suggest) include proposals like the following (Lacey 2005a, Ch. 1):10 (a) On-going technoscientific innovation expands human potential and provides benefits that can be made available to all human beings. (b) Technoscientific solutions can be found for virtually all practical problems (in medicine, agriculture, communications, transportation, energy provision, etc.), including those occasioned by the ‘‘side-effects’’ of technoscientific implementations themselves. (c) For most of these problems there are only technoscientific solutions. (d) The values of technological progress represent a set of universal values that must be part of any viable value outlook today—there is no viable alternative. I identify these as presuppositions of VTP because it would be practically inconsistent to hold the values and deny the bulk of these proposals. All of them are open to empirical inquiry, not within DA, but in the historical/ social sciences. Nevertheless, those who cite them tend not to do so on the basis of such research; they tend to consider them obviously justified by the historical record. Often a remarkable certitude is expressed about the presuppositions of VTP even by those who insist that scientific inquiry cannot produce certainty, so much so that those who question them tend to be dismissed as ‘‘anti-science,’’ ‘‘anti-progress,’’ or bearers of some ethically suspect agenda.11 This ‘‘contradiction’’ perhaps flows out of a conundrum that is lurking. If I am right, the justification of the privilege granted to DA to the point of exclusivity depends on rationally holding VTP, which in turn have presuppositions that can only be investigated under strategies that do not reduce to those that fit into this approach. 10 Variations on such proposals are integral to the rhetoric of advocating that public support be made available for technoscientific advances. We find them in advertisements, news programs, editorial comments, political campaign rhetoric, and in the statements of spokespersons of scientific institutions when they seek funds for their on-going projects: e.g., stem-cell research, the human genome project, nanotechnology, and research and development of transgenics. More and subtle social scientific research on these matters would be welcome. See Lacey (2005a, part II) for documentation of the rhetoric in the transgenics case (see also Note 16), and also for all other matters in the text referring to transgenics and to forms of agriculture that do not use them, especially agroecology. 11

See Lacey (2005a, Ch. 11; 2006a: Ch. 6) for how proposals like (d) may be investigated empirically.

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To avoid contradiction here one must drop the virtual exclusivity granted to DA, and replace it by highly ranked value (compared with some other strategies) that is grounded on a value argument that draws upon results open to inquiry in the social sciences. But then the argument would be compelling only if the research were conducted and the presuppositions clearly supported by the evidence. This rankles. It means that the privilege granted to ‘‘genuinely-sound science’’ becomes vulnerable to the outcomes of inquiry in disciplines whose scientific credentials are seen as inferior. Moreover, if a proposal like (d) is to be investigated empirically, alternatives that embody competing values would have to be provided with the conditions in which their viability could be tested, and this would pose some barriers to efforts to further the manifestation of VTP. Still, according to the diagnosis offered here, the rational justification for granting comparative privilege to DA and for holding VTP depends on conducting such social research. It is easy to ignore such a diagnosis given prevailing attitudes in scientific institutions. In them, the combination of certitude of the unique epistemic credentials and social value of science conducted within DA,12 and strong allegiance to VTP, tend to be seen as more compelling than any rationalizing discourse could be. Indeed it is apparently so compelling that a condition on any rationalizing discourse is that it recognizes their justification. This is as if the ground for accepting the presuppositions of VTP (contrary to the scientific attitude) is simply that they are presuppositions of holding these values.

3.4.4 Materialism and the Values of Technological Progress The materialist worldview may play a supporting role here too. According to it, the objects of inquiry are not per se objects of value, since they can be understood entirely in terms of categories admissible in strategies that fit into DA, which do not include value ones. Then, when we exercise control over these objects, informed by the soundly accepted results of inquiry conducted within DA, we are dealing with them ‘‘as they really are.’’ That (it is said) is why commitment to VTP has led to such remarkable success, and also why we can be confident, as stated in presupposition (b), that all risks can be dealt with by more research conducted within DA—certainly the objection does not have to be confronted that technological controls pose the risk of undermining value in the world ‘‘as it really is.’’ Minimally, therefore, materialism removes potential objections to commitment to VTP. Also, given materialism, since value categories do not apply to objects ‘‘as they really are’’ and objects acquire value only in virtue of their place in human practices, it would be odd to uphold values that do not involve acting informed by how objects ‘‘really are.’’ Hence materialism, insofar as it is compatible with any values being held in a robust sense, fits easily with holding VTP. Looking in the opposite direction, acting so as to further the manifestation of VTP serves to provide a social context in which the empirical case for materialism may appear stronger. For successful furtherance of these values produces the growing penetration of technoscientific objects (whose workings are explicable in terms of understanding gained 12 I do not question the epistemic credentials of results properly accepted within DA. I do question, however, that their epistemic credentials suffice to endorse their general social value compared to the value of the other results, which have comparable epistemic credentials, that I maintain may be obtained under alternative strategies that do not fit into DA. (The epistemic credentials of the science—conducted according to DA—that has led to developments of transgenics are not superior to those of the science—conducted under strategies that are not reducible to those that fit into DA—that informs agroecology; and, for certain value outlooks, the latter has greater social value; see Sect. 4.2)

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within DA) throughout daily life and social institutions, so that empirical investigation of these spaces will show a multiplicity of objects grasped within DA. To the extent that these objects are taken as characteristic of these spaces, the domain of lived experience fits nicely into the materialist worldview; action that reflects VTP produces a world whose salient objects are as materialism maintains that all objects are. Accepting the materialist worldview and holding VTP go hand in hand. Together—or separately—they endorse granting privilege for adopting DA to the point of exclusivity. But, lacking empirical support for the presuppositions of VPT and for the potential comprehensiveness of research conducted within DA, together they amount simply to a commitment to grasp the world under the constraint of materialism and to act on it so as to further the manifestation of VPT. They amount, in other words, to being the foundation of a way of life, no doubt one that they consider to have shown, through its successes to date, the promise to generate its vindication and display its worth as its practice unfolds. Certainly it is a compelling way of life for many people in the contemporary world. Many of its outcomes have been widely hailed as of extraordinary ethical and social value, and many social forces are allied with it. Thesis 2 The materialist worldview is not a presupposition of scientific research. Neither it, nor any role played by the values of technological progress, suffice rationally to justify adopting the decontextualized approach virtually to the exclusion of conducting research under competing strategies. Nevertheless, not the aim of science, but accepting the materialist worldview and holding the values of technological progress, and following the way of life of which they are the foundation, together serve to explain the privilege that the decontextualized approach has gained in modern science.

4 Costs of Privileging the Decontextualized Approach The commitment to grasp the world under the constraint of materialism, and to act on it so as to further the manifestation of VPT, is not derived from the aim of science. It does contribute to further the aim of science, but in a skewed and costly way.

4.1 Ignoring the Presuppositions of the Values of Technological Progress A first cost has already been referred to. The way of life founded on this commitment discourages attention being paid to, and inquiry being conducted on, presuppositions of its justification, viz., those of holding VTP. It does this by downplaying the significance and epistemic credentials of research (e.g., in the social sciences) that is conducted under strategies that do not fit into DA.

4.2 Lack of Neutrality A second cost has also been briefly mentioned: scientific inquiry conducted within this way of life, in the context of application, may lack neutrality. Many of its confirmed results are applicable only in projects that embody VTP (and those of capital and the market), and not

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in projects nurtured by competing values.13 This is a cost of social importance especially in the impoverished parts of the world. As an illustration, consider the scientific knowledge that informs agricultural uses of transgenic plants. (See Note 10.) It is applicable almost exclusively in projects that embody VTP. Transgenics were introduced because of interests linked with capital and the market, and not because of a scientific consensus that they were needed for agricultural practices that would be sufficiently productive to meet the world’s food and nutrition needs. They have almost no applicability in the projects of those—many grassroots rural movements in the impoverished parts of the world and (with variation) some organic and ‘‘ecological’’ farmers in the advanced industrial societies—who hold the values of sustainability and grassroots empowerment (VSGE) (Lacey 2005a, p. 138), which include achieving a balance of productivity, ecological sustainability, preservation and utilization of biodiversity, social health, strengthening of the agency of local communities, including their participation in the development process, and respect for their cultural and traditional values14 (cf. Altieri et al. 1996, pp. 367–368). This is not to say that the agricultural practices of those who hold VSGE do not involve application of confirmed scientific knowledge. I (often citing Altieri) have paid special attention to the practices of agroecology, an approach to farming whose aim is directly to further the manifestation of VSGE (Lacey 2005a: Chs. 5, 10). These practices benefit from the application of empirically confirmed knowledge consolidated under agroecological strategies, under which ‘‘mineral cycles, energy transformations, biological processes and socioeconomic relationships’’ are considered in relationship to the whole system, confirming generalizations concerned not with ‘‘maximizing production of a particular system, but rather with optimizing the agroecosystem as a whole’’ and so with ‘‘complex interactions among and between people, crops, soil and livestock’’ (Altieri 1987, pp. xiv–xv). Under these strategies the objects of investigation are not decontextualized. They are investigated, and their possibilities explored, as components of agroecological systems, which have essential human, social and value dimensions. Research conducted under these strategies has proved to be fruitful, and that remains unaffected by the fact that special interest accrues to it mainly in view of holding VSGE.15 Unless this research is developed, available scientific knowledge, considered as a totality, cannot manifest neutrality—and item (iv) of the aim of science is ignored and (v) is interpreted in the light of a particular value outlook, viz., VTP. Furthermore, unless research is conducted aiming to appraise the productive potential of agroecology and other forms of agriculture, the claim, routinely made as part of the discourse of legitimation of 13 Knowledge confirmed within DA is cognitively neutral, i.e., it has no logical implications in the domain of values, since the categories of its theories lack value categories. This does not mean that it manifests applied neutrality, i.e., that it may inform more or less evenhandedly projects that embody any viable value outlook (Lacey 1999a, Ch. 10). In the text I am referring to applied neutrality. 14 How the analysis of the transgenics case can be generalized to many other (though not all) technoscientific innovations warrants further discussion. Note that those who hold VSGE do not deny the value of technological innovation per se. Rather they appraise the value of technological innovations case-by-case in the light of how they may fit into the projects that embody these values. VSGE and VTP cannot be pursued simultaneously in the same social locations, for their respective pursuits require incompatible conditions. 15 For details on agroecological strategies see Lacey (2005a, Sect. 5.4), and for documentation of the empirical fruitfulness of research conducted under them see Altieri (1995) and Lacey (2005a, Ch. 10). Note that agroecological strategies complement DA and often make use of results consolidated within it; knowing the chemical and microorganism components of agroecological systems, e.g., depends on research conducted within DA. No one recommends that research conducted within DA be altogether dropped and replaced by agroecological research, but only that it cease to be privileged to the point of exclusivity. DA does retain a measure of privilege: all strategies can make use of some results obtained within it, and so it is an essential and major component of scientific research per se.

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transgenics, that there are no viable alternatives to using transgenics, cannot be empirically appraised. Certainly it does not follow from the fact that it cannot be adequately investigated within DA, for that would conflict with the scientific attitude and weaken Moment 5 of scientific activity (Sect. 2.1). When the commitment is made to grasp the world under the constraint of materialism and to act on it so as to further the manifestation of VPT, and so to prioritize uniquely research conducted within DA, there is little provision made for research to be conducted under these other strategies and what does manage to get conducted tends to be de-valued, and so the aim of science is pursued in only a one-sided, value-partisan way. That is why I said above (Sect. 3.4) that this commitment may serve to explain the privilege that DA has gained, but it does not justify it. The aim of science is compatible with fruitful strategic pluralism, and only if such pluralism is admitted in scientific activity (considered as a worldwide endeavor) can neutrality be considered a value capable of greater manifestation.

4.3 Risk Assessment A third cost has to do with risk assessment. VTP include that the implementation of technoscientific innovations, whose efficacy has been demonstrated, prima facie (subject to rebuttal) has legitimacy. Judgments of legitimacy depend on considerations about benefits, risks and alternatives. Any innovation involves some risks. A necessary condition for legitimacy is that there is adequate evidence that potentially serious risks can be contained or managed in the light of available regulations. In practice, where VTP are held, this amounts to holding that an innovation, whose efficacy has been demonstrated and that some corporation or person considers beneficial, may legitimately be implemented provided that it passes standard risk assessments that tend to focus on the quantitative and probabilistic study of (anticipated) hazards for health and the environment over the relatively short time scale of laboratory and controlled field studies, deploying categories acceptable within DA. (Any unforeseen risks that may come to cause harm can be dealt with, according to presupposition (b) of VTP (Sect. 3.4), with applications derived from conducting more research within DA.16) Consider again the case of transgenics. Transgenics are biological objects, open to (e.g.) genomic and molecular biological investigation conducted under strategies that fit into DA. They are also socio-economic objects, mainly objects located in the agroecological systems of multinational agribusiness, those actually in use mostly commodities or otherwise enmeshed in intellectual property rights claims. Standard risk assessment has kept some potentially harmful varieties of transgenics from being marketed. Nevertheless, it is unable to address, among other things, (a) potential social risks—e.g., monopolization of the world’s food supply, undermining the conditions for other forms of farming, impoverishment and dislocation of small-scale farmers—and (b) potential risks to the environment occasioned by transgenics in virtue of the fact that usually they are commodities and 16 It was not foreseen (at least, not well publicized) that the implementations of the Green Revolution would risk considerable environmental degradation and that its crops would become highly vulnerable to infestations. Now, it is said, introducing certain varieties of transgenics can contribute to reverse these damages: the ‘‘solution’’ to damage caused by technoscientific implementations is more, and more sophisticated, technoscience. Also recently, following the publication of the international report on the fact of global warming and its causal roots in aspects of industrial and technological practices, there has been a veritable avalanche of newspaper articles, reflecting presupposition (b) and also (c), advocating technoscientific solutions to the problem (e.g., Tierney 2007).

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integral to current projects of large corporations, and (c) ecological and long-term environmental risks that arise because of social mechanisms, e.g., the failure (or inability) of farmers to adhere to regulations that are assumed to be in place when judgments of risks in practice are based on standard risk assessments (Lacey 2005a, Ch. 9). These are examples of risks that cannot be investigated adequately within DA. Often enough spokespersons of scientific and agribusiness organizations insist that there is no scientific evidence that there are serious risks occasioned by using the transgenics currently in use. But this means only that they have passed standard risk assessments, so that there is no evidence that there are serious risks available from research on risks conducted within DA. But that is not sufficient for asserting that there is scientific evidence that there are no serious risks, since it ignores the possibility of conducting research under other strategies. One might say that, if one holds VTP, social and socially occasioned risks are tolerable and therefore do not need to be investigated. But that is a value judgment, not a view sanctioned by the aim of science. Risk is, of course, an essentially value-laden concept. What is a serious risk from the perspective of VSGE (e.g., undermining traditional forms of agriculture) may be simply ‘‘the price of progress’’ for those who hold VTP, for whom the risk of loss of profit may be more salient than any other risk. The aim of science cannot play an adjudicating role here. Its furtherance requires, in principle, that all dimensions of potential risk, regardless of how they are valued, be pursued in empirical inquiry, and research conducted virtually exclusively within DA cannot adequately do this. The widespread institutionalization of the virtual exclusive deployment of DA has the effects, not only that important classes of phenomena and possibilities remain un- or under-investigated and that programs aiming to investigate them are dismissed as ‘‘not scientific,’’ but also (from the point of view of those who contest VTP) that great social risks are taken leading to harm that is not even tracked until it reaches the point when it can no longer be ignored. Those who contest VTP, as well as those who advocate the adoption of the ‘‘precautionary principle’’ (COMEST 2005; Lacey 2006b), are motivated to investigate certain phenomena (e.g., of risks and alternative practices) that require the adoption of strategies that do not fit into DA. It should now be clear that, in contrast to the demeaning of such research, this is thoroughly in accordance with the aim of science and following the scientific attitude.

4.4 The Scientific Attitude and Religious Worldviews A fourth cost is that acceptance of a wide range of worldviews, including all religious ones, becomes considered to be in conflict with the scientific attitude. Mahner and Bunge (1996), e.g., maintain that accepting religious beliefs is inimical to the wholehearted pursuit of scientific knowledge, but they also maintain that materialism is integral to the pursuit of science. We have seen, however, that discord with the materialist worldview is not the same thing as discord with established scientific results, just as contesting VTP need not cause discord with the scientific attitude and may even strengthen it. We have also seen that questioning materialism and contesting VTP tend to go hand in hand. Research cannot be conducted under the aegis of the aim of science (as stated in Sect. 2.1) without adopting a strategy, for the aim by itself provides no direction regarding what phenomena and possibilities should be prioritized and, for any domain of phenomena, no specification of what are the relevant kinds of empirical data to procure and the appropriate descriptive categories to use for making observational reports, and what kinds of theories should be posited so as to be put into contact with the data. But, given the

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current state of development of the sciences, we have no reason to accept that any one or all of the strategies of DA can suffice to grasp all phenomena that are significant in the realm of lived experience. I have pointed to phenomena of human agency and of agroecological systems as eluding the grasp of DA. I would add many religious phenomena, despite recent arguments that they can be grasped under the strategies that frame research on biological and cultural evolution (e.g., Dawkins 2006; Dennett 2006; Silver 2006). I see little to endorse in these arguments, at root because they lack an adequate phenomenology of religious faith and practices. Their broad generalizations tend to discount differences between religions, and especially between ‘‘authentic’’ and ‘‘inauthentic’’ versions of a specific religion, e.g., in the JudeoChristian tradition, differences between worship of ‘‘the one true God’’ and idolatrous practices. They ignore the concrete histories of the religions and do not investigate the lives of exemplary religious figures in order to test the credibility of their testimony of religious experience, and to explore what they mean by faith in God and how that faith is essentially linked with other values, e.g., love and justice. These are core religious phenomena that need to be explained. A symptom of the failure to deal with (or even to be aware of) such phenomena is that none of the cited authors discuss, or list in their bibliographies, either recent (or classical) theological thought where religious worldviews are elaborated and developed in part in response to scientific developments, or competent contemporary philosophers (who are well aware of developments of contemporary science) who have defended religious faith and practices in a variety of ways (e.g., Archer et al. 2004; Collier 2003; Cottingham 2005; Porpora 2006; Taylor 2002, van Fraassen 2002). They offer speculative explanations of generalizations that they have stated about religion, without doing the investigation to find out whether salient phenomena fall under these generalizations. Their arguments do not merit endorsement, not because they are somehow out of order in the light of religious criteria or because faith can ignore well confirmed scientific results, but because they offer no explanations of countless core religious phenomena, and their strategies lack the conceptual resources that can characterize these phenomena in ways that are recognizable by the religious faithful. They have not provided explanations of why vital religious worldviews are accepted. Instead they have presupposed that religious worldviews are untenable because they conflict with materialism; then there can only be ‘‘naturalistic’’ explanations of religious practices, and the explanations they sketch pass as the best that can be done today. Commitment to materialism does indeed provide motivation to seek for naturalistic explanations of religious phenomena, but that does not mean that the scientific attitude requires taking this stance (cf. van Fraassen 2002). Nothing in my argument of the previous paragraph proves that well confirmed evolutionary-based explanations of religious practices will not be produced. Although I am skeptical, perhaps the reductive program associated with materialism, not only connected with religion, but also with agency and agroecology, will eventually be successful. But its success will only be well established if it proves to offer ‘‘better’’ explanations—in the light of standard criteria for appraising scientific knowledge—than those produced under strategies currently appropriate for investigating agency, agroecology, religion (and numerous other domains). So, the motivation provided by materialism to develop naturalistic explanations in these domains does not eliminate the need to carry out investigation under other strategies. Materialism does not provide an empirically grounded reason to exclude from consideration explanations developed under competing strategies, or indeed descriptions of experienced phenomena that deploy categories that have no place within DA.

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4.4.1 Strategic Pluralism Since the phenomena found in the world of lived experience vary greatly in kind with the practices in which they are generated or experienced, empirical investigation of this world requires that a variety of strategies be adopted for the sake of wholehearted pursuit of the aim of science. But, obviously, we cannot investigate all phenomena. Inevitably, what is investigated reflects human interests, which are shaped by worldview and/or value commitments. The strong social embodiment of VTP explains the appeal of adopting DA virtually to the exclusion of other strategies. This does not mean that the adoption of DA is always to be explained by reference to VTP. There are phenomena (e.g., astronomical ones) that, because of the kind of phenomena that they are, can only be investigated within DA; and the interest of investigating them has little to do with the exercise of control (see Note 9). Given the fertility and versatility of DA, as well as its prestige in mainstream scientific institutions and programs of science education, there is strong incentive to adopt it. Thus, arguments that it is not likely to produce a comprehensive grasp of phenomena may not, by themselves, serve to generate interest in phenomena that cannot now be grasped within DA and in adopting strategies under which understanding of them might be generated and confirmed. That interest, I think, becomes vital mainly where there are people who hold values, contesting VTP, whose projects can be strengthened by gaining understanding of some of these phenomena. VSGE, e.g., furnishes a reason to adopt agroecological strategies; the values incorporated into the precautionary principle a reason to expand the range of strategies deployed in risk assessment; and values, connected with human dignity and rights, a reason to deploy strategies that deploy intentional (and value) categories for investigating human agency (Lacey 1999a, Chs. 2 and 9). Just as holding VTP may be reinforced by accepting the materialist worldview, so too holding values that compete with them may be reinforced by accepting worldviews that are incompatible with materialism. In many parts of Latin America, e.g., the Christian worldview that is integral to the theology of liberation reinforces VSGE (Lacey 2006a).17 Then, that worldview serves to motivate adopting agroecological strategies, and so contributes to testing the limits of DA and to further the aim of science. A similar point holds regarding the investigation of human agency and religious phenomena. The fourth cost, then, affects science too, and not just (e.g.) religious practices. The aim of science itself is curtailed when it is held that all worldviews incompatible with materialism are posed against the scientific attitude (cf. Gauch 2007, Sect. 8). This is not to deny that some religious worldviews do conflict with established results of science, and this constitutes sufficient reason to reject them. Indeed a long tradition of theological rationality and biblical interpretation maintains that there are, in addition to the sciencebased ones, compelling theological reasons to reject such religious worldviews (Mariconda and Lacey 2001). Thesis 3 There is not a sharp line between worldviews and scientific results. Worldviews—including religious ones—are subject to modification, development (or rejection), and improvement in the course of responding to scientific results.

17 Holding VSGE has presuppositions, including the qualified negation of those of VTP, that are open to empirical inquiry. That there can be a religious ground (among others) for striving to bring about alternatives for the future is empirically relevant to appraising, e.g., presupposition (iv) of VTP. However, consistency with the worldview of liberation theology is not a criterion for appraising either the scientific credentials of results generated under agroecological strategies or the presuppositions of VSGE.

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A worldview posits the kinds of objects that there are in the world and the possibilities that are open to them, and it specifies the categories that may play a role in describing human actions and interactions and their effects. Furthermore, reflecting Thesis 3, it is likely to include more specific proposals, which are important for appraising how adequately the worldview makes sense of experience, and which (under the appropriate strategies of investigation) are posited in theories that may be empirically tested. This is especially clear in the case of materialism for, on my characterization, it is directly responsive to developments made within DA. But not only there! Sound Christian theology, articulating the Christian worldview, proposes, e.g., that selfishness can be overcome, that transgressions can always be forgiven, that sin represents a diminution of human beings, that God created the world, and that Jesus Christ is both God and man. Even though the first three of these proposals are formulated using moral and theological categories, this does not mean that they cannot be part of theories developed to make sense of human behavior and its possibilities, and thereby be open to appropriate empirical appraisal. They could certainly be vulnerable to the deliverances of the empirical record—if, e.g., evolutionary psychology were to develop to the point that the explanation it comes to give of the phenomena described in these proposals shows the theological account to be lacking. It is not inevitable that this will happen, or that it will not; it all depends on how science conducted under a variety of strategies develops. Thesis 4 Provided that a variety of strategies are permitted in scientific inquiry and that the chosen strategies are appropriate given the particular object of investigation, in principle no phenomena lie outside the compass of scientific investigation. Thesis 4 does not imply that reasonable religious commitments cannot be made in the absence of scientific studies of phenomena like those mentioned in the previous paragraph, or that scientific investigation by itself could reasonably provide support for making them, even if the means were actually available to carry out the relevant investigations (for complementary arguments, see van Fraassen 2002). On the other hand, it does imply that classical arguments—like Galileo’s famous argument of the ‘‘two books,’’ the book of nature and the book of revelation (Galilei 1623, discussed in Mariconda and Lacey 2001), that there cannot be contradiction between religious outlooks and scientific results—cannot be sustained. It does not follow, however, that necessarily more and more contradictions will emerge, and that the purview of religious claims must necessarily be reduced as the scope of science is augmented. Rather, Thesis 4 is consistent with holding that, when attention is given to religious claims, classes of phenomena might be investigated under strategies that otherwise would have been ignored; and also with finding out that such theological categories as ‘‘sin,’’ ‘‘grace’’ and ‘‘idolatry’’ are entirely suitable for articulating and explaining important experiential truths. Thesis 5 Not only is it compatible with the scientific attitude to accept some religious worldviews, but also their being held by some scientific practitioners might serve to further the pursuit of the aim of science.

5 Conclusion I have not argued that accepting the materialist worldview is incompatible with maintaining the scientific attitude or that accepting a religious worldview is a requirement for the sound pursuit of scientific research. I have drawn two conclusions. First, the scientific

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attitude is not tied to any one worldview, materialist, religious or other. Second—in view of the links between accepting a worldview and holding a value outlook, and holding a value outlook and adopting a certain kind of strategy in research—furthering of the aim of science can benefit from cultivating a healthy pluralism (both of worldviews and value outlooks) among the practitioners of science; the pursuit of the aim of science is weakened when one worldview (and/or value outlook), even materialism (or VTP), comes to practically unchallenged predominance. Advocating pluralism of worldviews in this way does not mean that I consider acceptance of a worldview to be an arbitrary matter or one for which reasons, which can be discussed and criticized, cannot be given. I do not think that compelling reasons are available to accept any one particular worldview. Yet a way of life tends to reflect a worldview, so we cannot abstain on these issues (cf. van Fraassen 2002). In this article I cannot get into the issue of what kinds of reasons enter into the reasonable acceptance of a worldview—scientific research is relevant, but is always likely to be inconclusive. So we should not insist that there is a ‘‘scientific worldview.’’

5.1 Implications for Science Education Nothing in this conclusion gives any comfort to those who would introduce into the science classroom religious outlooks that are inconsistent with consolidated scientific results. These outlooks are indeed incompatible with the scientific attitude (and also with a good amount of theological thinking). On the other hand, it challenges the link of modern scientific research with materialism. Good scientific education, I suggest, should not foster this link and, instead, encourage students who hold any of the multiplicity of worldviews that do not clash with the scientific attitude. This is not easy to do. Science education has been institutionalized in such a way that its disciplinary boundaries have emerged in the course of investigation conducted with DA, and there are many practical, pedagogical reasons to continue teaching science in this way. But scientific education does not need commitment to materialism. The core activities of the classroom and laboratory—enabling students to learn available scientific knowledge and the methodologies for discovering and appraising it, and apprenticing some of them into the conduct of scientific practices—do not depend on there being a ‘‘scientific worldview.’’ Note that, fitting with my statement of the aim of science, these activities deal with phenomena that are known and being investigated, and the criteria for cognitively appraising the understanding gained of them have nothing to do with a relationship with any worldview, including materialism. Especially in the early stages of science education, given the role that results obtained within DA can play in research under all strategies, it seems appropriate to cultivate the scientific attitude by gaining experience with the results and possibilities of research conducted within DA. Clearly there is social support for this, because of the value attributed to many applications of these results. Students will obviously be introduced to the possibilities of applied science. It is here, it seems to me, that it should be emphasized that the efficacy of a technological innovation (which is indeed explicable within DA) does not suffice for its ethical and social legitimacy. Then, in the context of issues about risks (Sect. 4.3) and alternatives (4.2), the possibility of conducting research under strategies, which do not fit into DA, could be introduced, and its connection with value outlooks and worldviews considered. In this way, the exclusivity given to DA would be put into question, and questions would be raised about the linkage of science with materialism and with VTP.

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Especially in higher education, special courses could be designed with these matters in mind. A biologist collaborator (Professor Amy Vollmer, Swarthmore College) and I have developed and, on several occasions, taught such a course, an advanced undergraduate course, ‘‘Biotechnology and Society: The Case of Agriculture.’’ In this course, we combined instruction in the methods and uses of genetic engineering in agriculture, with detailed explorations of a wide gamut of the literatures of risks of using transgenics, of issues raised both for research and farming practices connected with intellectual property rights and the patenting of transgenic seeds and related aspects of genetic engineering, and of alternative approaches such as agroecology. Then, with this background, we discussed (and required students to write about) the arguments for and against the ethical and social legitimacy of the rapid, widespread introduction of transgenic crops into present-day agricultural practices, paying special attention to agricultural needs and options in impoverished regions of the world. I offer this as an example of how special courses can be designed so as to raise questions that are immediately pertinent to the uses of the science that students are studying. Consistent with maintaining that the first task of scientific education is to teach some scientific knowledge (gained within DA) and to cultivate a sense of how empirical inquiry and appraisal works, I see no reason why scientific education should not also require attention to the question: how can we engage in scientific research so that it can contribute to the utmost to furthering human well-being? Considering answers to this question requires grappling with competing worldviews and value outlooks. References Altieri MA (1987) Agroecology: the scientific basis of alternative agricultures. Westview, Boulder Altieri MA (1995) Agroecology: the science of sustainable agriculture, 2nd edn. Westview, Boulder Altieri MA, Yurjevic A, Von der Weid JM, Sanchez J (1996) Applying agroecology to improve peasant farming systems in Latin America. In: Costanza R, Segura O, Martinez-Alier J (eds) Getting down to earth: practical applications of ecological economics. Island Press, Washington Archer M, Collier A, Porpora D (2004) Transcendence, critical realism and god. Routledge, London Armstrong DM (1968) A materialist theory of the mind. Routledge & K. Paul, London Churchland P (1999) Eliminative materialism. In: Perry J, Bratman M (eds) Introduction to philosophy: classical and contemporary readings. Oxford University Press, New York Collier A (2003) On christian belief. Routledge, London COMEST – World Commission on the Ethics of Science, Technology (2005) The precautionary principle. UNESCO, Paris Cottingham J (2005) The spiritual dimension: religion, philosophy and human value. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Dawkins R (2006) The god delusion. Houghton Mifflin, Boston Dennett D (1987) The intentional stance. MIT Press, Cambridge Dennett D (2006) Breaking the spell: religion as a natural phenomenon. Viking, New York Donagan A (1987) Choice: the essential element in human action. Routledge & Kegan Paul, London Douglas H (2000) Inductive risk and values in science. Philos Sci 67:559–579 Dupre´ J (1993) The disorder of things: metaphysical foundations of the disunity of science. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Galilei G (1623) The assayer. In: Discoveries and opinions of Galileo, translated with an introduction and notes by Stillman Drake, Garden City, NJ, Doubleday, 1957 Gauch HG (2007) Science, worldviews and education. Sci & Educ. doi:10.1007/s11191-006-9059-1 Lacey H (1999a) Is science value free? Values and scientific understanding. Routledge, London Lacey H (1999b) Scientific understanding and the control of nature. Sci & Educ 8(1):13–35 Lacey H (2004) Is there a significant distinction between cognitive and social values? In: Machamer P, Wolters G (eds) Science, values and objectivity. Pittsburgh University Press, Pittsburgh, pp 24–51 Lacey H (2005a) Values and objectivity in science. Lexington, Lanham, MD

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Lacey H (2005b) On the interplay of the cognitive and the social in scientific practices. Philos Sci 72(5):977–988 Lacey H (2006a) A Controve´rsia sobre os Transgeˆnicos: Questo˜es Cientı´ficas e E´ticas. Ide´ias e Letras, Sa˜o Paulo Lacey H (2006b) O Princı´pio de Precauc¸a˜o e a Autonomia da Cieˆncia. Sci Stud 4(3):373–392 Lacey H, Schwartz B (1996) The formation and transformation of values. In: O’Donohue W, Kitchener R (eds) The philosophy of psychology. Sage, London Mahner M, Bunge M (1996) Is religious education compatible with science education? Sci & Educ 5(2):101–123 ´ guia e os Estorninhos: Galileu sobre a Autonomia da Cieˆncia. Tempo Mariconda P, Lacey H (2001) A A Social 13:49–65 Maxwell N (2004) Is science neurotic? Imperial College Press, London McMullin E (1999) Materialist strategies. Sci & Educ 8(1):37–44 Overbye D (2007) Free will: now you have it, now you don’t. The New York Times, 2 January 2007, F1, 4 Porpora D (2006) Methodological atheism, methodological agnosticism and religious experience. J Theory Social Behav 36:57–76 Rachlin H (1994) Behavior and mind. Oxford University Press, New York Silver LM (2006) Challenging nature: the clash of science and spirituality at the new frontiers of life. HarperCollins, New York Taylor C (1985) Human agency and language: philosophical papers, vol 1. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Taylor C (2002) Varieties of religious experience: varieties of religion today. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Tierney J (2007) An early environmentalist embracing new ‘Heresies’. The New York Times, 27 February 2007, F1, 3 van Fraassen B (1980) The scientific image. Oxford University Press, Oxford van Fraassen B. (2002) The empirical stance. Yale University Press, New Haven

Author Biography Hugh Lacey is Senior Research Scholar and Scheurer Family Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at Swarthmore College (PA, USA), and a regular visiting professor at Universidade de Sa˜o Paulo (Brazil). His recent published work has addressed issues about the connections between science and values and ethics. It includes the books: Is Science Value Free? (London: Routledge), 1999; Values and Objectivity in Science (Lanham, MD: Lexington), 2005; and A Controve´rsia sobre os Transgeˆnicos: questo˜es e´ticas e cientı´ficas (Sa˜o Paulo: Ide´ias e Letras).

Fall and Rise of Aristotelian Metaphysics in the Philosophy of Science John Lamont

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 861–884. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9118-2
Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract The paper examines the fortunes of Aristotelian metaphysics in science and the philosophy of science. It considers the Enlightenment claim that such a metaphysics is fundamentally unscientific, and that its abandonment was essential to the scientific revolution. The history of the scientific revolution and the metaphysical debates involved in it is examined, and it is argued that the eclipse of Aristotelian views was neither complete, nor merited. The evolution of Humeian and positivist accounts of science is described, and it is shown how the severe problems with these accounts, together with a revival of Aristotelian concepts in philosophy, have led to the rebirth of broadly Aristotelian accounts of the metaphysics underlying science.

1 The Enlightenment Dismissal of Aristotelian Metaphysics, and its Neo-Aristotelian Opponents A certain picture of the history of science runs like this. Science, in the Western world, was first developed by the ancient Greeks. The science of antiquity fizzled out, however, and was extinguished during the Dark Ages and the anti-intellectual Middle Ages. With the Renaissance, ancient science was rediscovered, and was profoundly transformed by the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century. This revolution established science as we know it, and this science brought along with it revolutionary change in human possibilities and our way of understanding the universe. The crucial positive features that made possible the scientific revolution were the notions of the mathematical description of nature as central to science, and the centrality of experiment in establishing and choosing between scientific theories. The crucial negative advance was the rejection of an Aristotelian understanding of the world, which involved a pseudo-scientific metaphysics that was incompatible with genuine science. This picture is an essential component of the larger picture of history promoted by the Enlightenment, in which Aristotelian notions are J. Lamont (&) Department of Theology, Catholic Institute of Sydney, Strathfield, NSW 2140, Australia e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_11

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identified as part of anti-scientific scholastic obscurantism, whose overthrow by true science was a crucial part of the victory of reason over Catholicism (in the view of Protestant Enlightenment figures) or Christianity (in the view of deists, agnostics and atheists). The greater one’s knowledge of intellectual history, the less of this account one is inclined to accept. It is still however a picture that has considerable influence. The object of this paper is to give an idea of the current revival of Aristotelian metaphysical themes in the history and philosophy of science, and to argue against this picture of science and its history. The Aristotelian understanding under discussion is not restricted to the views of Aristotle himself, but extends to the wide tradition that was inspired by him and accepted his basic ideas. Within this tradition, we can distinguish a metaphysics, and a scientific account of the world. (The divisions are not meant to correspond to the way Aristotle himself categorised his thought.) Metaphysics, roughly speaking, is concerned with the most fundamental questions about what things are. Science, as opposed to metaphysics, takes the physical universe alone as its subject matter, and attempts to give a fully detailed account of the universe that would if completely successful provide explanations or predictions for all non-random physical happenings. The Aristotelian position we are considering is in favour of Aristotle’s metaphysics, not his science; it holds that Aristotle’s metaphysical account of the universe contains the essential elements that must be presupposed by any scientific account, although it does not defend all of his metaphysical views. An assumption that will be made by this paper is that metaphysical positions are relevant to scientific understanding and progress. This assumption has been questioned by some historians of science, who argue that the essential advances underlying the scientific revolution were in fact achieved by artisans, rather than through any philosophical or metaphysical reflection.1 If this claim is true, the main theoretical source of the scientific revolution, to the extent that there was such a source, was arguably furnished by Dark Age monks. Aristotle scorned to discuss technology, on the grounds that it was beneath the philosopher’s notice. The first Europeans to take technology seriously as a branch of knowledge were Benedictines. Their motto, ‘ora et labora’, gave work as well as prayer a spiritual status, and their livelihoods depended on it (unlike classical philosophers, who usually handed over physical work to slaves). This led them to be the first European thinkers to classify technology as a legitimate branch of knowledge, and also to be the first to make a practice of leaving written descriptions of it, a key element in technological advance.2 The project of continually innovating and improving on previous technology did not exist in antiquity, whose technological progress was sporadic. The influence of monks was crucial to its emergence in the Middle Ages. It is certainly true that artisans, technological advance, and the problems posed by technology, were crucial to the scientific advances of the seventeenth century. In addition to the practical and experimental skills and mentality that were fostered by being an artisan, the experiments that underlay these advances depended on technological innovations such as telescopes; and the role of artillery, for example, in posing problems connected with the flight of projectiles, is well known. However, it will be assumed that 1 2

For defences of forms of this thesis see Zilsel (2003), Rossi (1970), Smith (2004).

See Ovitt (1987), Whitney (1990), White (1978). White’s contested thesis is that Christian theology is responsible for the development of technology in Europe, a development he sees as a disaster on ecological grounds.

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these factors are not a sufficient explanation for scientific advance–they were after all present in other cultures, such as China, which did not reach the same scientific level–and that arriving at a correct metaphysics is related to, and important for, scientific achievement. The depreciation of Aristotelian metaphysics mentioned above is connected to the fact that in the seventeenth century, Aristotelian science was rejected, and replaced by the far superior Newtonian physics and Copernican astronomy. This rejection has generally been equated with a justified rejection of the whole Aristotelian scheme of things–science and metaphysics all together. The claim that the whole Aristotelian scheme of things was mistaken and unscientific can be called the ‘Enlightenment claim’. The contrary claim asserts that the metaphysical structure of the world that is presupposed by science is a basically Aristotelian one. Contemporary advocates of this neo-Aristotelian view do not hold that the entire Aristotelian metaphysics is correct, but they do argue that the correct metaphysics is broadly Aristotelian. There are degrees of commitment to an Aristotelian metaphysics. The most basic form of Aristotelianism involves accepting things, rather than events, as causes, and attributing their causal activity to their possession of properties that are by nature causal powers. This rules out a conception of laws of nature as simple descriptions of regular patterns, and the claim that being a cause or an effect results from fitting in to some universal pattern. A more specific form adds that claim that things are sorted into natural kinds by their fundamental causal powers; a yet more specific form asserts that the properties that make a thing belong to a given natural kind are possessed necessarily by that thing, and constitute its essence. Scientific investigation, on this view, proceeds by discovering the causal powers that are associated with things of a given kind, and laws of nature, in science, amount to statements about the causal powers possessed by different kinds of thing. More specific still is the assertion that the essence of a thing is its substantial form. This claim is as specific as current neo-Aristotelianism gets; the Aristotelian doctrines of hylomorphism and final causes are rarely defended by current neo-Aristotelians, and will not be construed as forming part of the broadly Aristotelian metaphysics discussed in this paper. The Enlightenment view, on the other hand, postulates laws of nature, rather than causal powers and natural kinds, as the basis of scientific explanation. (The Aristotelian view need not deny the existence of laws of nature; it simply denies that such laws can exist or be understood independently of objects with causal powers.) Support for the neoAristotelian position comes from two sources; a new understanding of the history of science, and developments in philosophy itself.

2 Historical Reconsiderations of the Role of Aristotelianism in Science One factor that contributed to a new understanding of the history of science was the replacement of Newtonian physics by Einstein’s theory of relativity. Before this replacement, it was generally thought that science prior to the 17th century was bad science simply because it gave the wrong answers to scientific questions, and that part of the achievement of the scientific revolution–part of what constituted it as a revolution–was just its coming up with true science rather than false science. When Newtonian physics was superseded, this attitude could no longer be maintained. It was not just that Newtonian physics turned out to give the wrong picture of the world; it was that this wrong picture could not be blamed on bad science. Newtonian physics was thoroughly confirmed by rigourous experiment for two hundred years, encountering no serious difficulties until the

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late nineteenth century. The success of seventeenth-century science could no longer be put down to its having achieved the right description of the world, and, conversely, giving the wrong description of the world could no longer be used as a reason for dismissing preNewtonian science. A common medieval understanding of science as having the purpose of ‘saving the appearances’, that is, giving a theory that would predict all observed phenomena but that would not claim to actually give a description of reality, gained plausibility as a result of this change, since it offered a way of explaining how Newton was a great scientist despite his theory not being correct. (This idea was not in fact original to the Middle Ages, since it was proposed by Ptolemy.) The idea of ‘saving the appearances’ as the object of science was adopted by Pierre Duhem (1861–1916), the physicist, philosopher of science, and historian of science. Duhem’s argument for this thesis continues to be significant, partly through its influence on W.V. O. Quine, the most influential American philosopher of the second half of the twentieth century. Duhem’s position differed from that of current neo-Aristotelians; while himself espousing an Aristotelian metaphysics, he thought that science was in practice unable to arrive at knowledge of the essences of things, and that it was not its function to do so (see Duhem 1987, pp. 90–91). Current neo-Aristotelians espouse scientific realism (a view characteristic of Australian and New Zealand philosophers, who make up a large part of the most significant advocates of this view), and assert that an Aristotelian metaphysics is preferable precisely on the grounds of its suitability as an analysis of scientific theory and practice. Duhem’s importance as a support for the neo-Aristotelian position lies in his revolutionising of the history of science, a revolution that rehabilitated the scientific importance of medieval thinkers.3 He brought about this revolution through being the first historian to give real consideration to (or even to actually read) key medieval scientific texts, a consideration that led him to conclude that the so-called ‘scientific revolution’ did not occur in the seventeenth century at all, and was not a revolution, but was instead a steady process that began in the middle ages. This conclusion means that the Enlightenment view is false, and that Aristotelian metaphysics is not incompatible with science, since it was accepted by the medieval scientists who got the modern scientific project off the ground. Duhem’s historical account met with an opposition that was partly motivated by hostility to his positivistic understanding of science as ‘saving the appearances’. Edwin Burtt (1892–1989) and Alexander Koyre´ (1892–1964), the most important of the historians of science who followed Duhem and reacted against him, were both inclined towards scientific realism, and both of them held that abandonment of an Aristotelian metaphysics was essential for the proper development of science––that this abandonment was in fact a true scientific revolution in something like the Enlightenment sense.4 An initial problem with this position is that ancient science, whose achievements are not disputed, was itself Aristotelian more often than not, at least in its approach to the physical universe; many important scientists of antiquity adhered to the Middle Platonist synthesis, which applied Aristotle’s basic framework to the material world, and a transformed version of Platonic thought to the immaterial world. This is an important fact to keep in mind when considering medieval science, since the Middle Ages read Aristotle through the lenses of 3 See Duhem (1954, 1969, 1985, 1987, 1996). Duhem also wrote a number of articles for the 1912 Catholic Encyclopedia, which has helpfully been placed online at http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/index.html; they are ‘Albert of Saxony’, ‘History of Physics’, ‘Jean de Sax’, ‘Jordanus de Nemore’, ‘Nicole Oresme’, ‘Piere de Maricourt’, and ‘Thierry of Freburg’. 4 See Burtt (1954), Koyre´ (1957), Lindberg (1990).

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the Aristotelian commentators of mid- and late antiquity (and to a lesser extent through Muslim and Jewish commentators), who were generally working out of this synthesis, and who often added elements to Aristotle’s system, or presented alternatives to parts of his system.5 Epicureanism, on the other hand, whose atomism was the closest equivalent in antiquity to the anti-Aristotelian philosophical positions celebrated by the Enlightenment view, did not make any significant contributions to science. (Epicurus himself was notorious for claiming in his letter to Pythocles that the sun was more or less the size it appears to be to us, about 30 cm across as Cicero recounts it, and his followers were hostile to the very notion of geometry.6) Further historical investigation has largely substantiated the view that the essential elements of science were in place during the middle ages, and refuted Burtt and Koyre´’s claims. The basic outline of science was indeed already present in Aristotle, who saw science as a matter of deriving general principles from particular observed instances–– which he called induction––and then using the general principles to explain and predict further particular happenings––which he called deduction. This outline is however too basic on its own to give a satisfactory description of the nature of science, since it leaves unanswered the question of how one gets the general principles from the particular observations. Aristotle made a start on this question, but it was medieval scholars who answered it in its essentials. Robert Grosseteste (c.1168–1253), the bishop of Lincoln, and his pupil the Franciscan Roger Bacon (c.1214–92), added the crucial notions that before moving from particular instances to a general principle, one should accumulate more evidence through experiment, and one should submit the general principle that is proposed as an explanation for the particular instances to experimental testing. Grosseteste also laid down that in addition to seeking particular instances that support a general principle, one should choose between alternative general explanations for particular happenings by attempting to falsify the proposed explanations, and seeing which explanation survives this test. (This method of falsification is better known to current philosophers of science as the central theme of Karl Popper’s philosophy of science, although Popper disimproves Grosseteste’s account by presenting falsification as the only method for science.) Several of the inductive scientific methods codified by John Stuart Mill, in Mill (1973)––the method of agreement, the method of difference, and the joint method of agreement and difference––were also formulated by Grosseteste, Duns Scotus, and William of Ockham. ‘Ockham’s Razor’, the claim that, other things being equal, the simplest theory should be preferred, is a methodological principle of fundamental importance (see Baker 2004). The notion that mathematical descriptions of reality are essential to science was explicitly formulated by Grosseteste and Roger Bacon, although it was not original to them–it had its roots in Pythagoreanism and Augustinian Neo-Platonism; the influence of Augustine was decisive in this respect in the Middle Ages, and especially strong in the Franciscan order, which preferred Augustinianism to Aristotelianism, and produced many of the most significant medieval scientists (Bacon was a Franciscan). Significant advances in such mathematical description were made by the Oxford Calculators––Thomas Bradwardine, William Heytesbury, Richard Swineshead, and John Dumbleton––at Merton College in the first half of the fourteenth century (see Sylla (1991)). This account of the achievements of medieval science should not be thought of as claiming that no significant basic advances in scientific methodology were made in the 5 6

For a survey see Sorabji (2005).

This was because Euclidean geometry contradicted some of Epicurus’s metaphysical principles. Epicurus’s follower Polyaemus roundly asserted that ‘all of geometry is false’; see Cambiano (1999), p. 587.

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seventeenth century. One such advance was Galileo’s assertion of the importance of abstraction and idealisation. Galileo accounted for the behaviour of falling bodies by describing how free fall would work in a vacuum, and then explaining the actual behaviour of falling bodies as resulting from this account modified by the effects of the medium in which the actual bodies we encounter are travelling. Such idealisations may rarely or never occur in the actual world, and hence cannot simply be derived from experience or produced by experiment; they were however necessary for the development of Newton’s physics. Another advance was Pascal and Fermat’s formulation of the mathematics of probability, an entirely new departure the results of which are now essential to every science.7 A clearer grasp of the value of a piecemeal approach to scientific problems, that does not attempt to give a universal theory as an explanation for phenomena, was also important for scientific progress. These advances do not however justify the Enlightenment view that proper science began in the seventeenth century. They greatly extended the power of science, but were not necessary for its existence. This is not to say that the scientific developments of the seventeenth century do not deserve to be described as a revolution. The error of the Enlightenment picture lies in its characterisation of this revolution as consisting in the birth of serious science, rather than as a revolution within science. The advances of the seventeenth century revolutionised an already existing scientific enterprise, whose birth had occurred in the Middle Ages. This is properly described as a birth, not simply as a rebirth of the ancient project of science, because of significant differences between the ancient and medieval scientific enterprises. One such difference was in their institutional contexts. When the Catholic Church developed universities for the training of clerics, and included Aristotle’s scientific works in the university programme of studies, it gave science a central role in an essential institution of society. There was no comparable institutional framework for science in the ancient world. Partly as a result, the medieval scientific enterprise involved a continuous process of investigation, with a view to acquiring more knowledge; whereas scientific progress in antiquity was sporadic, and scientific activity was often confined to learning previously acquired knowledge. The Enlightenment picture of the Middle Ages as a period of scientific darkness is thus the opposite of the truth. Since this is so, it cannot be claimed, as the Enlightenment view does, that an Aristotelian metaphysics is incompatible with good science.

3 The Scientific Revolution and Aristotelian Metaphysics Of course this is only a partial result from the neo-Aristotelian point of view. The fact that Aristotelian metaphysics is compatible with good science is not yet an argument for its truth, since the same might be true of other metaphysical outlooks. An opponent of the neoAristotelian view might point out that in fact the great scientific advances of the seventeenth century were accompanied by the abandonment of Aristotelian metaphysics, and ask why, if the Aristotelian view is the best one, it was abandoned in the course of scientific advance. There are several things that the neo-Aristotelian can say in answer to this question. One straightforward point is that Aristotelian science and Aristotelian metaphysics fell together because seventeenth-century defenders of Aristotelianism did not usually draw an adequate 7

For discussion of the evolution of the concept and mathematics of probability, see Byrne (1968), Hacking (1975), Daston (1988), Hald (1990).

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distinction between them; but this was due to the inadequacies of Aristotelians, not to deficiencies in Aristotelian metaphysics itself. To this merely defensive point should be added a twofold reply. For one thing, the anti-Aristotelian metaphysics propounded by many seventeenth-century scientists were not in fact ones that anyone would now want to accept, and for another, not all essential Aristotelian concepts were in fact universally abandoned by scientists. In considering this reply, there are underlying factors that should be kept in mind. One is the danger of a ‘Whig’ view of intellectual history, that assumes that major changes in intellectual outlook are necessarily for the better, and that influential figures gain their influence through having deep and valuable insights. Consider Spinoza; his odd version of pantheism is not very credible, and never was, but he nonetheless had great influence in the seventeenth century (see Israel 2001). Another is the full emergence, with the publication of Newton’s Principia, of what Thomas Kuhn has called ‘normal science’. This is the practice of developing and applying a particular scientific theory, as opposed to trying to find a new scientific theory that gives a different account of some fundamental aspect of the universe––the latter being the activity that Kuhn describes as bringing about a scientific revolution. Newton’s physics was the first theory that was powerful enough to make normal science a worthwhile endeavour; its application and extension was able to occupy scientists for two centuries (and in fact is still practised, for those areas in which it is not practical to apply relativity or quantum mechanics). This produced a certain separation between philosophical thought and science as it is generally carried on. When scientists practice normal science, they no longer need to think about fundamental issues, such as the nature of the basic metaphysical framework that underlies science. That is not to say that they do not make use of such a framework; it is rather that they do not need to consider how it should be explicitly formulated. The acquiescence, after the eighteenth century, of most philosophers, and some scientists, in Humeian or Kantian accounts of metaphysics, epistemology, and the laws of nature, need not therefore be held to reflect the actual intellectual imperatives of philosophy or scientific practice, as opposed to a simple acceptance of the dominant philosophical trends of their times. A further development that needs to be kept in mind is the increasing separation of philosophers from science after the seventeenth century. Descartes and Leibniz were significantly involved in science, and Locke, while not making any great scientific contributions, at least trained as a physician. Hume, however, was a librarian and historian. This separation meant that while scientists engaged in normal science could disregard strictly philosophical questions, philosophers were increasingly liberated from any need to reconcile their philosophical views with scientific work. All these factors can be cited by neo-Aristotelians in defence of the view that the long eclipse of broadly Aristotelian conceptions in the philosophy of science need not count as a serious objection to these conceptions. To substantiate this defence, however, we need to look at the history of this eclipse in some detail. Evidence for both sides of the neo-Aristotelian defence can be found in Locke. In one mood, he does not deny the existence of Aristotelian substantial forms, but only rejects the idea that such forms can play a part in science. …I have often mentioned a real Essence, distinct in Substances, from those abstract Ideas of them, which I call their nominal Essence. By this real Essence, I mean, that real constitution of any thing, which I the foundation of all those Properties, that are combined in, and are constantly found to co-exist with the nominal essence … Supposing the nominal essence of Gold, to be body of such a peculiar Colour and

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Weight, with Malleability and Fusibility, the real Essence is that constitution of the parts of Matter, on which these qualities, and their Union, depend; and is also the foundation of its solubility in Aqua Regia, and other Properties accompanying that complex Idea … Nor indeed can we rank, and sort Things, and consequently (which is the end of sorting) denominate them by their real Essences, because we know them not. Our Faculties carry us no farther towards the knowledge and distinction of substances, than a collection of those sensible Ideas, which we observe in them (Locke 1975, pp. 442, 444). Here Locke is following the epistemology associated with the Royal Society. The founding members of the Royal Society rejected the investigation of real essences as too ambitious, and thought that science should confine itself to the systematic description and prediction of observable and quantifiable qualities (see van Leeuwen 1963, pp. 40–41). The idea that this should be one of the goals of science is a real advance that puts its finger on a problem with the original Aristotelian understanding of scientific explanation. According to this understanding, one explains why a thing acts as it does by discovering its real essence, and showing how its causal activity flows from this real essence; and the question of why it has that essence is not one that needs an answer, because all there is to being that thing is its being a thing of that essential kind. The trouble with this understanding is that it is often too ambitious. In chemistry, for example, it was only in the twentieth century that such explanations began to be possible, because it was only then that chemical interactions began to be explained in terms of the properties of fundamental particles such as electrons. For such particles, it is arguable that we can give explanations in terms of real essences, because we can claim that all there is to being (for example) an electron, is having its properties of mass, charge, and spin. However, this does not mean that chemistry did not provide any scientific explanations prior to the twentieth century. The notion of scientific explanation thus needs to be expanded beyond the original Aristotelian conception, to include explanations of the kind sought by the founders of the Royal Society. (The approach needed for this expansion was already present in the medieval notion of ‘saving the appearances’, but this notion tended to be put forward as an alternative to the Aristotelian approach to science, rather than as an addition to it.) In Aristotelian terms, this kind of explanation will involve identifying things of a certain kind, and establishing experimentally that things of this kind behave in characteristic ways, but not trying to account for this behaviour in terms of the real essence of those things. A simple example would be identifying samples of gold with a spectrometer, and determining that they are insoluble in nitric acid, but soluble in aqua regia (a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acid). However, contrary to Locke’s claim, admitting scientific explanations of this type need not be accompanied by rejecting any scientific role for real essences. Instead, it gives them a further role; we can explain the truth of generalisations like these ones about the solubility of gold by saying that they result from the underlying real essence of gold, and we can pursue an understanding of this real essence by attempting to determine how it can explain such generalisations. This in fact is exactly what scientists do; they look for an underlying structure that confers upon gold both its power to affect spectroscopes in certain ways, and its capacities to dissolve or resists dissolution in various substances. So the real implication of the Royal Society’s approach to scientific explanation is that the notion of such explanation should be broadened, instead of altered to eliminate real essences. This broadening will still leave real essences playing a fundamental role, since they will be the ultimate goal and ending point of scientific explanation.

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It should be conceded that Locke’s approach to scientific explanation had a certain plausibility in the historical circumstances he was in. The prospect of giving real essences as explanations of chemical behaviour did not show even the vaguest promise of fulfilment until Niels Bohr developed his conception of the atom, centuries later–a fact that shows how the case for metaphysical conclusions can be closely related to the state of science. The difficulty of giving such explanations may explain a common objection to Aristotelianism made on the seventeenth century, to the effect that, as Newton said, it postulates ‘occult qualities’ that ‘put a stop to improvement in natural philosophy’ (Newton 1952, p. 542). In the absence of any idea of what the real essences of things actually are, an attempt to explain phenomena through appealing to real essences will end up being vacuous. Locke illustrates the unacceptable elements of the seventeenth-century rejection of Aristotelianism in his rejection of natural kinds. And that the Species of Things to us, are nothing but the ranking them under distinct Names, according to the complex Ideas in us; and not according to precise, distinct, real Essences in them, is plain from hence; That we find many of the Individuals that are ranked into one Sort, called by one common name, and so received as being of one species, have yet Qualities depending on their real Constitutions, as far different from one another, as from others, from which they are accounted to differ specifically. This, as it is easy to be observed by all, who have to do with natural Bodies; so Chymists especially are often, by sad Experience, convinced of it, when they, sometimes in vain, seek for the same Qualities in one parcel of Sulphur, Antimony, or Vitriol, which they have found in others. (Locke 1975, p. 443) Fortunately for chemistry, as Peter Geach points out,8 chemists paid no attention to Locke’s strictures on this topic, assumed that the differences between parcels of substances pointed out by Locke were due to impurities, and developed ways of purifying substances that enabled chemical research to be carried on. In so doing, they developed a science that used natural kinds as a basic notion, a notion ultimately organized––with great scientific fruitfulness––in Mendeleev’s periodic table. The ‘zoo’ of particles postulated by the Standard Model in physics is also a classification into natural kinds of a more fundamental sort. A somewhat similar combination of epistemological modesty and ontological error can be found in Newton. His modest approach can be found in Definition VIII of the Principia: I … use the words attraction, impulse, or propensity of any sort towards a centre, promiscuously and indifferently, one for another; considering these forces not physically, but mathematically: wherefore the reader is not to imagine that by those words I anywhere take upon me to define the kind, or the manner of any action, the causes or the physical reason thereof, or that I attribute forces in a true and physical sense, to certain centres (which are only mathematical points): when at any time I happen to speak of centres as attracting or as endued with attractive powers. (Newton 1725, p. 12) In the following passage, however, we see stated not only a modest view of scientific theories, but a highly contestable presentation of an alternative to the rejected Aristotelian account of the metaphysical foundation of these theories. 8

Geach remarks that ‘As regards natural kinds in the animate world, Locke’s scepticism was largely based on a credulous acceptance of old wives’ tales: about rational parrots, and about ‘‘monsters’’ or ‘‘changelings’’ produced by the intercourse of bulls with mares, cats with rats, and ‘‘drills’’ with women’. Geach (1961), p. 88.

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All these things being considered, it seems probable to me, that God in the beginning formed matter in solid, massy, hard, impenetrable, moveable particles … It seems to me farther, that those particles have not only a force of inertia accompanied with such passive laws of motion as naturally result from that force, but also that they are moved by certain active principles, such as is that of gravity, and that which causes fermentation, and the cohesion of bodies. These principles I consider, not as occult qualities, supposed to result from the specific forms of things, but as general laws of nature, by which the things themselves are formed; their truth appearing to us by phenomena, though their causes be not yet discovered. For these are manifest qualities, and their causes only are occult. And the Aristotelians gave the name of occult qualities, not to manifest qualities, but to such qualities only as they supposed to lie hid in bodies, and to be the unknown causes of manifest effects: Such as would be the causes of gravity, and of magnetic and electric attractions, and of fermentations, if we should suppose that these forces or actions arose from qualities unknown to us, and uncapable of being discovered and made manifest. Such occult qualities put a stop to the improvement of natural philosophy … (Newton 1952, pp. 541–542) Here Newton makes the crucial postulation of general laws, rather than Aristotelian forms, as the explanation for the manifest phenomena that fit into the general principles discovered by science. His rejection of Aristotelian qualities as ‘occult’ trades on an ambiguity in the meaning of ‘occult’. If it is taken as meaning occult as opposed to manifest––i.e. not directly observable, as opposed to observable–it is true that Aristotelian qualities (of some kinds) and forms are taken to be occult. However, Newton seems in this passage to be equating ‘occult’ with unknowable. This is just what Aristotelians deny; they hold that the nature of unobservable qualities and forms can be inferred from observation, and can once inferred serve as the basis for predictions of future observations. To make this equation, one must establish that being unobservable means being unknowable. Neither Newton nor Locke could consistently argue for this view, since both of them believed in the existence of an immaterial God; only with Hume did the claim that knowledge is restricted to observation, in the non-Aristotelian sense of ‘observation’ used by Locke, get developed in a consistent philosophical framework. Newton makes it clear in this passage that the general principles discovered by science are not the same as the general laws of nature, but instead result from these laws. He does not give an explicit account of what these laws are, but his understanding of them can be inferred from his letters to Dr. Richard Bentley (1662–1742), an Anglican clergyman and scholar. In his first letter he remarks of his Principia, ‘When I wrote my treatise about our system, I had an eye upon such principles as might work with considering men, for the belief of a Deity; and nothing can rejoice me more than to find it useful for that purpose.’ (Newton 1782, p. 429) Some of the principles that Newton had in mind were straightforward forms of the argument from design, such as arguing from the ordering of the planets and stars to the necessity of a deity to put them in that order. In his fourth letter, however, he suggests a further argument that casts some light on his understanding of natural law. It is inconceivable, that inanimate brute matter should, without the mediation of something else, which is not material, operate upon, and affect other matter without mutual contact; as it must if gravitation, in the sense of Epicurus be essential and inherent in it. And this is one reason, why I desired you would not ascribe innate gravity to me. That gravity should be innate, inherent and essential to matter, so that

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one body may act upon another at a distance through a vacuum, without the mediation of any thing else, by and through which their action or force may be conveyed from one to another, is to me so great an absurdity, that I believe no man who has in philosophical matters a competent faculty of thinking, can ever fall into it. Gravity must be caused by an agent acting constantly according to certain laws, but whether this agent be material or immaterial is a question I have left to the consideration of my readers. (Newton 1782, p. 438) Newton had been formed in the ‘mechanical philosophy’ argued for by Robert Boyle and Descartes, an understanding of the universe deliberately formulated to replace Aristotelianism. It held that the only properties possessed by material things were the passive attributes of shape, motion, and solidity, with active power belonging only to spiritual beings. Several things about the mechanical philosophy are worth noting, in the context of a discussion of Aristotelian metaphysics. The general rejection of Aristotelian views was the work of its advocates, and the mechanical philosophy was the view that replaced Aristotelianism. The mechanical philosophy was, however, wrong. The replacement of Aristotelianism by the mechanical philosophy was not, as the Enlightenment picture would have it, in any way a move away from religious belief. Its main proponents, Descartes and Robert Boyle, were sincerely religious; to the extent that the mechanical philosophy had a religious connotation, it was with one theological outlook rather than another. Descartes’ spiritual director, Cardinal Pierre Be´rulle, the founder of the French school of spirituality, which formed the basis for the training of Counter-Reformation Catholic priests, was an enthusiast for Descartes’ philosophy, which he promulgated through the Paris Oratory that he founded. The Jansenists Arnauld and Nicole, authors of the influential Port-Royal Logic, were also enthusiasts for Descartes’ physics. Steven Nadler remarks that ‘Nicole greatly appreciated the Cartesian absolute distinction between mind and body as providing a solid foundation for proving the existence of God and the immortality of the soul’ (Nadler 1988, p. 579). Arnauld attacked Leibniz for reintroducing the notion of substantial form. The Jansenist Pascal rejected Aristotelianism; his important experiments with a barometer were partly intended to refute the Aristotelian denial of the existence of a vacuum. The rejection of Aristotelianism was part of what appealed to the Oratory and the Jansenists about the mechanical philosophy. As extreme Augustinians, they disliked the influence of Aristotle on Catholic theology, which they believed tended to promote an excessively liberal conception of the freedom of the human will. Most Newton scholars hold that in denying that gravitational attraction could be exercised by material things, he meant to imply that it was immediately produced by divine action.9 Alternative interpretations are that he thought gravity to be due to the action of other spiritual agents carrying out God’s purposes, or to God’s directly adding attractive power to material things that are themselves incapable of exercising it.10 (Newton’s speculations about explaining gravitational attraction through an ether do not contradict any of these interpretations. In accordance with his conception of the basic nature of matter quoted above, he thought of this ether as being composed of separate particles, for which the problem of explaining action at a distance would still arise.) Any one of these interpretations serves to explain Newton’s contention that God is not only the creator of the universe––the conclusion of his argument from design––but also its governor, continually 9 10

See Koyre´ (1965), pp. 149–163, esp. pp. 149, 152, 149; Cohen (1987); Westfall (1986), p. 233. See Henry (1994) for discussion of alternative interpretations of Newton’s view of gravity.

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involved in regulating its activity. Newton’s ‘general laws’, then, are laws in a real sense; they are conceived and enforced by the lawgiver of the universe, God. Newton’s followers expressed this view in more explicit ways. William Whiston, who succeeded Newton as Lucasian professor of mathematics at Cambridge, asserted: ‘Tis now evident, that Gravity the most mechanical affection of Bodies, and which seems most natural, depends entirely on the constant and efficacious, and, if you will, the supernatural and miraculous influence of Almighty God … I do not know whether the falling of a Stone to Earth ought not more truly to be esteemed a supernatural Effect, or a Miracle, that what we with the greatest surprise should so stile, its remaining pendulous in the Open Air: since the former requires an active influence in the First Cause, while the latter supposes non-annihilation only. (Whiston 1708, p. 284.) Samuel Clarke, writing in consultation with Newton, defended Newton’s view of gravity against Leibniz’s objection that it required constant miraculous intervention by God, by claiming that direct divine interventions in the world are only miraculous if they produce an unusual result; ‘Natural and Supernatural are nothing at all different with regard to God, but distinctions merely in Our conceptions of things. To cause the Sun [or Earth] to move regularly, is a thing we call Natural; to stop its Motion for a Day, we call supernatural: But the One is the Effect of no greater Power than the other: nor is the One, with respect to God, more or less natural or Supernatural than the other.’ (Clarke 1978, p. 362.) Newton’s opposition to Aristotelian metaphysics thus did not involve his offering an evidently superior alternative.11 The success his views achieved is no doubt due in part to the enormous prestige that attached to his thought, in virtue of his great achievements. But it was also connected to the achievements themselves. One connection has been noted above; the great power of his theory made it possible for scientists to devote themselves wholly to ‘normal science’––to developing and expanding a theoretical conception of the world, without worrying about the metaphysical issues it raises. Another connection is to his methodological separation between a scientific account of phenomena and a metaphysical account of the underpinnings of those phenomena. The existence of this separation is contestable; one can argue that science in fact involves an implicit metaphysical picture of the world, and that scientists thus necessarily operate with such a picture when they are doing science, even if the metaphysics to which they assent philosophically is a quite different one. But the idea of such a separation was undoubtedly valuable for scientific advance. It meant that scientists could offer a justification for proceeding with their investigations without concerning themselves with the metaphysical issues involved in them, and thus without having their scientific work obstructed by struggles with metaphysical issues. (This approach to science was itself dependent upon the emergence of normal science as a full-time occupation, since revolutionary scientific developments, in physics at least, usually require some reflection on metaphysical issues; thus Einstein’s early work on relativity was influenced by his reading of Hume and Ernst Mach.12) The dispute between Clarke and Leibniz mentioned above indicates that Newton’s views did not meet with universal acceptance. Leibniz was the main opponent of Newton’s banishment of active power from the material world, and the source of an alternative line 11 His view on gravity is now presented as ‘Intelligent Falling’, a satirical parody of the ‘Intelligent Design’ position of anti-Darwinists; see http://www.theonion.com/content/node/39512 12

See Jammer (1999), pp. 40–41.

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of thought on the nature of physical things. Educated at first in the Aristotelian school, Leibniz embraced the mechanical philosophy in his youth.13 He abandoned his adherence to it, however, upon concluding that it was unable to give an account of the observed properties of matter, and explicitly set out to defend and incorporate certain Aristotelian notions in his metaphysics. Accepting the point that matter conceived of as characterised solely by shape and motion was necessarily passive, he rejected Newton’s view that its activity resulted from divine intervention. Instead, he argued that the mechanical philosophy’s view of matter was false, that physics required the postulation of active forces that belonged to the nature of physical things, and that the Aristotelian notion of substantial form should be revived to give an account of these forces. Indeed, he went further, and argued that all there is to the nature of physical things are their powers to act and to be acted upon. (This talk of active forces in things gets reinterpreted in his peculiar metaphysics as talk of the harmonised changes within isolated monads, but when Leibniz is actually doing physics, he uses the concept of active force as an explanatory principle.) His views on the active nature of matter were accepted and used by Joseph Priestley and Roger Boscovich, who defined atoms in Leibnizian fashion as centres of fields of force. Boscovich in turn exerted an important influence on Michael Faraday and his development of field theory.14 Faraday asserted a Leibnizian view of matter, saying of it that ‘the substance consists in the powers’. (Harman 1982, p. 77.) Boscovich’s influence continued in James Clerk Maxwell15 and Lord Kelvin, who remarked that ‘My present assumption is Boscovichianism pure and simple’. (Whyte 1961, p. 191.) Thus, as the neo-Aristotelian Brian Ellis remarks,16 there is an important tradition stemming from Leibniz that endorses the Aristotelian notion of active powers in things, and that gave rise to significant scientific achievement. It is instructive to consider Leibniz’s disagreements with Aristotelian views as well as his agreements, since they exemplify the main objections raised to Aristotelianism. He complains that the scholastics thought they could ‘explain the properties of bodies by mentioning forms and qualities, without going to the trouble of examining their method of operation: as if someone thought it sufficient to say that a clock has a time-indicative quality which comes from its form, without considering what all that consists in.’ (Leibniz 1973, p. 20.) He also criticises scholasticism for holding what he calls the ‘physical influx’ view of causation; ‘the way of influence is that of ordinary philosophy [viz. scholasticism]; but as it is impossible to conceive of either material particles, or immaterial species or qualities as capable of passing from one of these substances to the other, we are obliged to abandon this view’. (Leibniz 1973, p. 131.) This conceives of the Aristotelian understanding of causation as involving the literal passing of some entity from the thing that is a cause to the thing that is being causally affected, with the entities being either material particles, or actual qualities of things––as if, when a seal is pressed on wax, the actual shape of the seal, the particular configuration that belongs to that particular seal, is somehow taken from the seal and passed on to the wax. There are in fact contemporary advocates of theories of causality that have some resemblance to ‘physical influx’ ones,17

13

See Garber (1982) on Leibniz’s early views.

14

See Iltis (1973) for discussion of Leibniz and his followers.

15

See Harman 1998, pp. 195–196.

16

See Ellis 2001, pp. 263–268.

17

See Ehring (1986) and (1997), and Dowe (2000).

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but Leibniz’s description of ‘physical influx’ accounts of causation corresponds neither to the medieval Aristotelian view18 nor to the position of contemporary neo-Aristotelians.

4 Hume, Positivism, and the Eclipse of Aristotelianism Although Leibniz’s ideas remained important for science, in philosophy his views were largely eclipsed by those of Hume, who developed the dominant ideas of the seventeenth century in the opposite direction from Leibniz. Hume restricted not just scientific theory, but all belief about causation, to positions about the pattens of manifest qualities. He departed from the previous Empiricists in denying that we could have any experience or concept of the notions of efficacy, agency, power, force, energy, necessity, connection, or productive quality, on the grounds that such notions are nowhere to be found in our experience. In this he was rejecting the Aristotelian account of sense perception; when Aquinas argued against occasionalism, the position that God is the sole cause of all effects, he did so partly on the grounds that we directly observe the causal action of one thing upon another, and hence that occasionalism is contrary to the evidence of our senses.19 Recent scholarship has led to two accounts of the position of Hume.20 The new interpretation of Hume sees him as holding something like the epistemology of the Royal Society and Locke, where he does not deny the existence of causes that are distinct from, and give rise to, our sense experience, but only insists very strictly on our complete inability to know or conceive of what they are. The old interpretation of Hume, the one generally accepted until the 1980s, sees him as insisting that the very notion of anything existing aside from our sense experience is meaningless; the only things that exist are ‘ideas’. For the old Hume, all there is to causation in the objects is the existence of ‘… an object, followed by another, and where all the objects similar to the first are followed by objects similar to the second’ (Hume 1951, p. 150). Hume concedes that our notion of causation includes more than such regular succession, but holds that this ‘more’ is furnished by something within ourselves, not in the objects we describe as cause and effect; it consists in a feeling of expectation that an object of the first kind will be followed by an object of the second kind, a feeling that itself always follows when we have enough experience of objects of the one kind being followed by objects of the other kind. Hume points out that on this understanding, we have no rational grounds for believing that objects of one kind will be followed by objects of another kind, but concludes that since we have no choice about forming such beliefs, this lack of rational basis is not a problem. Since the old Hume was the one generally accepted for most of the period under discussion, it is his views that we will consider, without thereby intending to take a position on what the real Hume actually thought. Hume’s views present obvious difficulties for an account of science, but his ideas were so dominant that until the middle of the twentieth century the accounts that were attempted had affinities with his thought, and never rejected its fundamental starting-points. This is 18 Suarez, for example, simply meant by ‘physical cause’ a cause that has a real influence on the production of an effect, as opposed to one that was termed a cause but did not actually produce an effect (as for example a factor that is described as a cause on the basis of its not preventing something it can and should prevent); see Suarez (1994), p. 16–17. 19 20

See Aquinas (1975), ch. 69, pp. 226–235.

For the new Hume, see Strawson (1989), Wright (1983); for the debate between interpretations, see Read and Richman (2000).

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the case even with Kant and his followers. Kant’s belief in synthetic a priori knowledge restored in a certain sense some of the knowledge that Hume’s scepticism had banished, but only in a certain sense. It did not describe this knowledge as available through sense experience, as the Aristotelian view holds, and it did not assert that it applied to things as they are in themselves, only to things as we understand them––this displaying a clear kinship with Hume’s views on sense experience, and on the element of the concept of causation that is contributed by our own minds. What eventually led to the loss of the pre-eminence of fundamentally Humeian schemes in the philosophy of science was a development that at first was thought to show great promise for them. This development emerged from the direction of nineteenth-century mathematics. This century, which saw the emergence of pure mathematics as an explicitly recognised discipline, was characterised by efforts to place the foundations of mathematics on an explicit and rigourous basis. Eliminating unclarity and appeals to intuition in the foundations of arithmetic and calculus was a principal focus of the work of mathematicians such as Weierstrass, Cantor, Peano, and Hilbert. As part of this movement, the Jena mathematician Gottlob Frege undertook the project of basing arithmetic upon logic. This project required him to develop modern logic, the greatest logical achievement since Aristotle. This achievement was taken up by a general move away from Kant in Germanlanguage philosophy (and from Hegel in English philosophy),21 in the work of the logical positivists (later termed logical empiricists), a group principally composed of the members of Moritz Schlick’s Vienna Circle, but also including Hans Reichenbach’s Berlin Circle. A. J. Ayer, and Bertrand Russell during the ‘logical atomist’ stage of his thought, advanced views similar to the positivists; Ernst Mach and Ludwig Wittgenstein, while not members of this movement, should be mentioned as important influences on it. Russell and Ayer were close to the British Empiricist tradition in their views on epistemology and perception, and they can be described as developing this tradition by applying the new predicate logic devised by Frege to its expression. For the logical positivists, the possibility of using logical and mathematical advances to replace the Kantian notion of the a priori was of more interest than traditional empiricist positions on epistemology and perception (on this see Coffa (1991) and Friedman (1999)). A basically Humeian notion of the nature of causation in the objects was however common to all of these thinkers. The opportunity that the positivists thought was presented by the development of modern predicate logic was that of giving a fully rigourous account of scientific theories, in a structure that satisfied the demands of empiricism conceived on Humeian lines. Predicate logic made possible a description of the world in a formal language that had a formal structure comparable to that of mathematical systems. The grand vision of the positivists was to carry on the project begun by axiomatising mathematics, and produce a complete unification of science by expressing scientific theories in axiomatic form. The appeal of predicate logic for this project was not only its formal structure, but also its extensional nature. In extensional logics, the validity of inferences and the truth of complex statements is solely a function of the truth of the atomic statements that compose them; and the truth of the atomic statements is simply a matter of whether or not the states of affairs that they describe actually obtain. Such a logic is thus well adapted to describe Hume’s world of ‘loose and separate’ existences, where the existence of one thing in no way results from the exercise of the power of another, and where the notion of necessity has nothing answering to it in external reality. 21

For the move away from Kant, see Coffa (1991), Friedman (1999), and Frederick Suppe (1977), pp. 6–14.

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The positivist axiomatisation of science employed three kinds of terms: logical and mathematical terms; observational terms, referring to sensations (in earlier versions) or to directly observable physical happenings or things (in later versions); and theoretical terms, which are defined using the observational terms. (Since mathematical statements were thought, following Frege and Russell, to be explicable in terms of first-order predicate logic and set theory, the addition of mathematical terms to the vocabulary of theories did not make a fundamental difference to their content.) The axioms of the theory were statements of fundamental laws of nature that made use only of theoretical terms. The intellectual breadth and depth of the positivist project had no parallels in previous accounts of science. The strength of the project, and the intellectual honesty of its main proponents, was displayed in the revisions it underwent. The attempt to apply their approach to the whole of human knowledge was recognised as a failure, and its scope was restricted to an analysis of scientific theory. The attempt to define terms by giving their verification conditions was also found to fail through excess of ambition, and the notion of verification, and the notion of verification was replaced by that of confirmation.22 The positivist goal of formalisation meant that a formal logic of confirmation was required, a demand that posed the first substantial check for the positivist view. Carnap’s initial formulation of such a logic did not succeed, and the whole project of accounting for science in terms of confirmation was attacked by Popper, who proposed its replacement by falsification. It also faced grave difficulties in accounting for fundamental change in science, such as the replacement of Newton’s account of gravity by Einstein’s. Such change did not in fact happen in the way the positivist account of confirmation demanded, which was through the accumulation of masses of evidence that confirmed the later theories better than the former ones. The positivist account of science nonetheless retained its popularity, so much so that its later versions earned the description ‘the Received View’ among philosophers of science.23 It is precisely the intellectual power and sophistication of the various versions of the Received View that make it important for the neo-Aristotelian position. It is the best effort that could be offered as a defence of a Humeian view, and if it could not succeed, a Humeian account of science has no prospects. It was in fact the very clarity and scope of the Received View that made it vulnerable to criticism; its precise statements made difficulties more evident, and harder to avoid or answer. (Much of the credit for this intellectual power, and for the responsiveness of positivists to well-founded criticism, is owed to the great intellectual honesty of Carnap.) In giving an overview of these difficulties, we move from a narrative of the eclipse of Aristotelian views to an account of the factors that have led to their re-emergence. Hume’s original problem of induction was an obstacle for the Received View (as Popper pointed out), and, unlike Hume, its proponents were not willing to settle for scepticism about inductive and causal knowledge. In addition to their unwillingness to deny the status of knowledge to science, Hume’s uncomplicated account of the genesis of our causal beliefs could not be plausibly applied to the more sophisticated means of scientific investigation practised by science. The situation of induction was worsened when Nelson Goodman added his ‘new riddle of induction’ to the original difficulty posed by Hume. Goodman describes the riddle thus;

22 23

On this see Carnap (1936–1937).

An important popularising description of the positivist programme is given in Ayer (1936). For a standard account of the Received View, its evolution, and objections to it, see Suppe (1977).

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Suppose that all emeralds examined before a certain time t are green … Now let us introduce another predicate less familiar than ‘green’. It is the predicate ‘grue’ and it applies to all things examined before t just in case they are green but to other things just in case they are blue. Then at time t we have, for each evidence statement asserting that a given emerald is green, a parallel evidence statement asserting that emerald is grue. The question is whether we should conjecture that all emeralds are green rather than that all emeralds are grue when we obtain a sample of green emeralds examined before time t, and if so, why. (Goodman 1955, pp. 74–75.)24 Goodman’s riddle was an insurmountable obstacle to the positivist project of describing the logic of confirmation in purely syntactic terms. Further problems with the Received View arose in the area of explanation. Its account of scientific explanation is the ‘deductive-nomological model’ (DNM), which claims that explanation occurs through the explanandum of a scientific explanation––a statement describing what is explained––being deductively implied by other true statements, that describe laws of nature and initial conditions.25 This met with a number of difficulties,26 the most well known one being the case of the flagpole. From laws about the behaviour of light and information about the height of a flagpole and its location relative to the sun, we can deduce––and thus explain––the length of the flagpole’s shadow. However, we can equally well deduce the height of the flagpole from the length of its shadow. We want to say that the height explains the length of the shadow, not vice versa, but the DNM provides no resources for doing this. The Received View’s account of theoretical terms was a strict working out of Locke’s claim that nominal definitions were the only ones useful in science. The severe problems encountered by this account called into question this Lockean approach. One line of objection came from scientific realists, who wanted to understand statements about theoretical, unobservable entities such as atoms as true claims about the existence of unobservable entitites, rather than assertions whose meaning was exhausted by their implications for observable happenings. Another line of objection called into question the demarcation between theoretical and observational terms. With the abandonment of the Empiricist ‘way of ideas’, and its modern descendant, phenomenalism, and the replacement of statements about sensation in the object language of positivist theories with statements about physical objects and happenings, it became harder to draw a principled distinction between these categories.27 A further objection came from Quine, inspired by Duhem. He pointed out that assertions about theoretical entities cannot in fact be translated into claims about a specific subgroup of observational statements, and then confirmed or falsified according as these statements turn out to be true or false, and asserted that ‘our statements about the external world face the tribunal of sense experience not individually but only as a corporate body’. (Quine 1961, p. 41.) An example to illustrate this claim can be taken from astronomy; basing a scientific judgment on what we see through a telescope requires us to assume laws of optics as governing the telescope’s image, and is thus not simply an appeal to our visual experience.

24

See Stalker (1994) for discussion of Goodman’s new riddle.

25

For the DNM see Hempel (1965).

26

Discussed in Woodward (2003a, b).

27

See Suppe (1977), pp. 80–86.

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A yet further difficulty comes from the idea of defining theoretical terms in an observational language. This implies that if the observations associated with a term change as a result of investigation, then the meaning of the term changes. But this then makes it difficult to explain how different theories can disagree––a difficulty that is if anything increased by adopting Quine’s claim about the relation of theory to experience; and this in turn makes it hard to explain how preference of one theory over another can be rationally justified. Paul Feyerabend, indeed, drew from the notion of incommensurability the conclusion that such preference cannot be justified, and denounced the imperialism of scientists who claimed that their theories were in any way superior to the views of believers in witchcraft.28

5 Rebirth of Aristotelianism in the Philosophy of Science These problems helped to motivate the first serious reintroduction of the notion of real essences and necessary properties into philosophy since the work of Leibniz. Crucial to this reintroduction was the development of a formal modal logic of necessity and possibility by C. I. Lewis and Ruth Barcan Marcus,29 which gave precision and power to modal reasoning and the idea of modal properties. Saul Kripke, who developed a semantics for modal logic, led this metaphysical revival.30 Part of the appeal of Hume’s banishing necessity from science arose from the unpalatable nature of the position he and the other British Empiricists were opposing. The rationalist view of Descartes and Leibniz claimed that knowledge of the necessary features of the world was given a priori, through reflection upon innate ideas. If a scientific understanding of the world is to include necessary features of things, though, this means that scientific knowledge can be arrived at through simple reflection, without the need for experiment. Descartes and Leibniz said just that, but the Empiricists quite reasonably found this impossible to swallow. Kripke effectively attacked the view that knowledge of necessary truth need be a priori, while knowledge of contingent truths must be a posteriori; in doing so, he removed a fundamental prop of the Humeian position. He also argued for existence of necessary properties in things, and for a notion of real essences as the properties of things and kinds that science reveals as underlying and explaining their observable characteristics. Hilary Putnam, whose concerns were more focused on the philosophy of science and the problems of giving an account of theoretical terms, also defended the notion of natural kinds, and gave an account of the reference of natural kind terms that paralleled Kripke’s account of the reference of proper names.31 The attempt to argue for essentialism on the basis of Putnam or Kripke’s accounts of reference has not been successful,32 but current neo-Aristotelians do not base their views on versions of Kripke or Putnam’s direct theory of reference. Molnar, a leading neoAristotelian, is content to adopt the view of ‘good old, much maligned John Locke’ on nominal and real essence in explaining natural kind terms. (Molnar 2003, p. 22.) Another important move towards Aristotelianism resulted from attempts to give an account of dispositional properties. Properties of this sort, like charge, spin, and mass, are 28

See Feyerabend (1975) and (1987).

29

See Lewis (1932), Marcus (1946, 1947).

30

See Kripke (1980).

31

See Putnam (1975).

32

For criticism of the causal theory of reference as a basis for essentialism, see Salmon (1982) and Shapere (1984), ch. 18.

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essential to science,33 but attempts to explain these properties in the extensional logic used by positivism proved a failure.34 Any plausible account of scientific laws governing these properties therefore needed to resort to subjunctive or modal statements to describe them. This in itself was a fundamental departure from positivism, since it raises the question of the truthmakers for such statements; what are the features of the real world that account for them? This departure did not, however, prove drastic enough, because analysis of dispositional statements in terms of subjunctive or modal conditionals face severe problems.35 Philosophers of science have thus moved towards postulating dispositions as real and irreducible properties of things. But this move is simply an acceptance of Aristotelian powers of things as the fundamental principles of causal and scientific explanation. The step of introducing subjunctive statements was related to fundamental problems in the positivist account of laws. This account, again because of its extensional nature, was unable to rule out laws about nonexistent things being vacuously true, and unable to distinguish between laws of nature and true accidental generalisations.36 These weaknesses have led philosophers to question the very notion of laws of nature. One line of attack is to ask how these laws, if they are understood as something more than mere uniformities, are supposed to explain or influence what goes on in the world.37 On Newton’s view, there is an intelligible answer to this question; laws of nature are the uniformities that God has decided to bring about, and things conform to them because God makes them. If we do not want to get God involved in science in this way, however, no answer is available. An even more fundamental objection is made by Nancy Cartwright, who asserts that scientific knowledge does not in fact come in the form of laws of nature, if such laws are understood as universal generalisations about one kind of event being associated with another. She gives as an example the concept of mass; The relevant vocabulary of occurrent or measurable properties in this case is the vocabulary of motions––positions, speeds, accelerations, direction and the like. But there is nothing in this vocabulary that we can say about what masses do to one another … when one mass attracts another, it is completely open what motion occurs. Depending on the circumstances in which they are situated, the second mass may sit still, it may move towards the first, it may even in the right circumstances move away. There is no one fact of the matter about what occurrent properties obtain when masses interact. (Cartwright 1999, p. 65.) She concludes that it is the causal powers of objects that science investigates and reveals. Initially, the proposed alternatives to the Received View focused on the questions of how scientific theories are justified and replace one another, rather than on the question of the metaphysical structure they ascribe to the world.38 This focus, however, did not give answers to the central problems posed by the Received View. In response to these problems, a movement began towards restoring broadly Aristotelian accounts of causation, 33

See Thompson (1988) on the necessity of dispositional terms for physics.

34

See the paper by Carnap, and criticisms of his approach, in Tuomela (1978).

35

On the problems raised for conditional analyses of dispositions by the problems of masking and finkish dispositions, see Martin (1994), Lewis (1997), Mumford (1998) ch. 3, Bird (1998), Choi (2006); for survey and bibliography concerning dispositions generally, see Fara (2006). 36

For these difficulties see Armstrong (1983), Tooley (1977, 1987).

37

For this objection to laws of nature see Mumford (2004).

38

The main examples of this approach are Popper (1935), Kuhn (1962), Lakatos (1970) and (1978), Laudan (1977).

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essence, and explanation; a development that linked up with moves towards Aristotelianism in metaphysics generally, independent of the particular problems of the philosophy of science.39 The pioneering work here was done by Harre´ and Madden, and has been extended by Nancy Cartwright, George Molnar, Brian Ellis, John Heil, and Alexander Bird.40 An important element in this movement is an idea suggested by Sydney Shoemaker (1980) in response to Goodman’s new riddle of induction. Shoemaker answered the challenge of giving a non-syntactic account of the real properties to which induction should be applied, by proposing that the only real properties were causal properties.41 The idea that all real properties are causal properties has been named the ‘Eleatic Principle’, and is argued for by D. M. Armstrong among others; ‘… it seems possible to conceive of a property of a thing which bestows neither active nor passive power of any sort. But if there are such properties, then we can have absolutely no reason to suspect their existence. For it is only in so far as properties bestow powers that they can be detected by the sensory apparatus or other mental faculty.’ (Armstrong 1978, pp. 40–41.) The Eleatic Principle is in fact a revival of a central Aristotelian notion. It turns the tables on Hume’s asking ‘what is causality?’, by asking ‘ what isn’t causality?’ It also helps to understand the error in Leibniz’s ‘physical influx’ account of the Aristotelian understanding of causality. Leibniz, in this account, is portraying Aristotelian metaphysics as identifying causal powers with some other kind of property. In fact, the Aristotelian idea is that the properties that account for the bringing about of effects just are causal powers;42 there is nothing more to the nature of such properties than their capacity to bring about effects of a certain sort. The neo-Aristotelian philosophers counter the standard seventeenth-century objections to Aristotelianism by arguing that these objections are caricatures, or else invalid, along the lines sketched out in the discussion of Locke’s views given above. They assert that their approach solves the problems concerning induction, laws, explanation, and dispositional properties that have been mentioned above. They are supported by the fact that difficulties with Hume’s views have been around for some time. Hume’s account of the formation of causal beliefs has always met with some scepticism, on the grounds that regular association is neither sufficient nor necessary for the formation of such beliefs.43 Hume’s claim that all we observe in objects is regular succession has also been challenged.44 The new respectability of Aristotelian ideas has given these objections a philosophical home to go to, since they have a live philosophical option to support. Most neo-Aristotelians have confined their espousal of Aristotle’s views to his views on substance, cause, and essence; his hylomorphism has not found any takers. Recent defences of physical intentionality, however, could be seen as advancing a view at least analogous to Aristotle’s postulation of 39 It should be mentioned that Popper introduced the Aristotelian notion of causal powers early on, in an attempt to give an account of notions of probability involved in quantum mechanics; see Popper (1957) and (1959), and Molnar (2003), pp. 105–107. 40 See Harre´ and Madden (1975), Bird (2005a, b, 2006), Ellis (2001), Molnar (2003), Heil (2003), Cartwright (1983, 1989, 1999). 41

He elaborates on this idea in Shoemaker (1984).

42

Thus, Aquinas, in explicating Aristotle’s remarks in Physics book VIII 255b17, says that ‘to ask why a heavy thing is moved downwards is nothing other than to ask why it is heavy.’ Aquinas (1963), p. 511. This of course assumes Aristotle’s account of gravity; a Newtonian or Einsteinian account of gravity would rephrase the description of being heavy. 43 44

See Ducasse (1969), p. 16.

See Michotte (1946/1963), Anscombe (1981), pp. 136–137; Leslie and Keeble (1987), Fales (1990), p. 15; Sperber et al. (1995).

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final causes in things.45 Neo-Aristotelians are also open as a rule to expanding Aristotle’s ontology to include events and processes.46 The neo-Aristotelian position is now a well-established option in the philosophy of science. It has not swept all before it; there is a good deal of support for versions of most of the historical alternatives to it, with the exception of pure Humeian regularity theory, which has very few takers nowadays. The position of David Lewis is the nearest thing to an influential Humeian approach in philosophy nowadays, although it is not very popular among philosophers of science.47 Lewis supplements a Humeian attitude to the actual world with a modal account of causation, explicated in terms of relations to possible worlds. Bas van Fraassen offers a version of ‘saving the appearances’.48 Dretske, Tooley, and Armstrong explain scientific truth through appealing to laws of nature, which are conceived of as contingent relations between universals.49 Prediction of the future of philosophy is always risky, but there are factors that incline one to think that the neoAristotelian view will continue to thrive. Much of the support for its opposition is still based on assuming an anti-Aristotelian tradition whose underpinnings have been removed by historical and philosophical criticism. It is relatively new and in need of further development, which always attracts philosophers interested in making a name for themselves. Its long-term success will depend on how well this further development works out, but we can be confident that the idea of Aristotelian metaphysics as an exploded medieval illusion will not be revived. References Anscombe GEM (1981) Causality and determination. In: Collected philosophical papers, vol. II. Metaphysics and the philosophy of mind, Basil Blackwell, Oxford Aquinas St. T (1963) Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics (trans: Blackwell RJ, Spath RJ, Thirkell WE). Routledge & Kegan Paul, London Aquinas St. T (1975) Summa contra gentiles book 3 part 1 (trans: VJ Bourke) Notre Dame University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame Armstrong DM (1978) A theory of universals. CUP, Cambridge Armstrong DM (1983) What is a law of nature? CUP, Cambridge Ayer AJ (1936) Language, truth and logic. Victor Gollancz, London Baker A (2004) Simplicity, the Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy (Winter 2004 edn.). In: Zalta EN (ed) URL = http://www.plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2004/entries/simplicity/ Bird A (1998) Dispositions and antidotes. Philos Q 48:227–234 Bird A (2005a) The dispositionalist conception of laws. Found Sci 10:353–370 Bird A (2005b) Laws and essences. Ratio 18:437–461 Bird A (2006) Potency and modality. Synthese 149:491–508 Burtt EA (1954) The metaphysical foundations of modern science. Doubleday, Garden City, NY Bryne E (1968) Probability and opinion: a study of medieval presuppositions of post-medieval theories of probability. Martinus Nijhoff, The Hague Cambiano G (1999) Philosophy, science, and medicine. In: The Cambridge history of Hellenistic philosophy, CUP, Cambridge Carnap R (1936–1937) Testability and meaning I. Phil Sci 3:419–471. Testability and meaning II. Phil Sci 4:1–40 Cartwright N (1983) How the laws of physics lie. OUP, Oxford Cartwright N (1989) Nature’s capacities and their measurement. OUP, Oxford 45

For such defences see Molnar (2003), ch. 3; Martin and Pfeifer (1986), Place (1999a, b).

46

See e.g. Ellis (2001), pp. 162–165.

47

As remarked on by Woodward (2003), pp. 3–4.

48

See van Fraassen (1980, 1989, 2002).

49

See Dretske (1977), Tooley (1977, 1987), Armstrong (1983).

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Cartwright N (1999) The dappled world: a study of the boundaries of science. CUP, Cambridge Choi S (2006) The simple vs. reformed conditional analysis of dispositions. Synthese 148:369–379 Coffa A (1991) The semantic tradition from Kant to Carnap: to the Vienna station. CUP, New York Cohen IB (1987) Newton’s third law and universal gravitation. J Hist Ideas 48:571–593 Daston L (1988) Classical probability in the enlightenment. Princeton University Press, Princeton Dowe P (2000) Physical causation. CUP, Cambridge Dretske F (1977) Laws of nature. Phil Sci 44:248–268 Ducasse CJ (1969) Causation and types of necessity. Dover, New York Duhem P (1954) The aim and structure of physical theory (trans: Wiener P). Princeton University, Princeton Duhem P (1969) To save the phenomena (trans: Doland E, Maschler C). University of Chicago Press, Chicago Duhem P (1985) Medieval cosmology: theories of infinity, place, time, void, and the plurality of worlds. In: Ariew R (ed) (trans: Ariew R). University of Chicago Press, Chicago Duhem P (1987) Pre´mices philosophiques. In: Jaki SL (ed) Brill, Leiden Duhem P (1996) Essays in history and philosophy of science. In: Ariew R, Barker P (eds) (trans: Ariew R, Barker P). Hackett, Indianapolis Ehring D (1986) The transference theory of causation. Synthese 67:249–258 Ehring D (1997) Causation and persistence. OUP, Oxford Ellis B (2001) Scientific essentialism. CUP, Cambridge Fales E (1990) Causation and universals. Routledge, London Fara M (2006) Dispositions, the Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy (Fall 2006 edn.). In: Zalta EN (ed) URL = http://www.plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2006/entries/dispositions/ Feyerabend P (1975) Against method. Verso, London Feyerabend P (1987) Farewell to reason. Verso/New Left Books, London Friedman M (1999) Reconsidering logical positivism. CUP, Cambridge Garber D (1982) Motion and metaphysics in the young Leibniz. In: Hooker M (ed) Leibniz: critical and interpretive essays. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis Geach P (1961) Aquinas. In: Anscombe GEM, Geach PT. Three philosophers, Oxford, Basil Blackwell Goodman N (1955) Fact, fiction, and forecast. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass Hacking I (1975) The emergence of probability. University Press, Cambridge Hald A (1990) A history of probability and statistics and their applications before 1750. Wiley, New York Harman P (1982) The natural philosophy of James Clerk Maxwell. CUP, Cambridge Harman P (1998) Energy, force, and matter: the conceptual development of nineteenth-century physics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Harre´ R, Edward H. Madden E (1975) Causal powers. Blackwell, Oxford Heil J (2003) From an ontological point of view. OUP, Oxford Hempel CG (1965) Aspects of scientific explanation and other essays in the philosophy of science. Free Press, New York Henry J (1994) Pray do not ascribe that notion to me: God and Newton’s gravity. In: Force JE, Popkin RH (eds) The books of nature and scripture: recent essays on natural philosophy, theology and biblical criticism in the Netherlands of Spinoza’s Time and the British Isles of Newton’s Time. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht Hume D (1951) An enquiry concerning human understanding. In: Selby-Bigge LA (ed) 2nd edn. Oxford, Clarendon Press Iltis C (1973) The Leibnizian-Newtonian debates: natural philosophy and social psychology. Br J History Sci 6:343–377 Israel J (2001) Radical enlightenment: philosophy and the making of modernity 1650–1750. OUP, Oxford Jammer M (1999) Einstein and religion. Princeton University Press, Princeton Koyre´ A (1957) From the closed world to the infinite universe. Harper and Row, New York Koyre´ A (1965) Gravity an essential property of matter? Newtonian Studies, London Kripke S (1980) Naming and necessity. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass, orig. pub. 1972 Kuhn TS (1962) The structure of scientific revolutions. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, (2nd edn. pub. 1970) Lakatos I (1970) Falsification and the methodology of scientific research programmes. In: Lakatos I, Musgrave I (eds) Criticism and the growth of knowledge. CUP, Cambridge Lakatos I (1978) The methodology of scientific research programmes. In: Worrall J, Currie G (ed) CUP, Cambridge Laudan L (1977) Progress and its problems. University of California Press, Berkeley Leeuwen HG van (1963) The problem of certainty in English thought, 1630–1690. Martinus Nijhoff, The Hague

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Leibniz G (1973) Leibniz: philosophical writings. In: Parkinson GHR (ed) (trans: Morris M, Parkinson GHR). Dent, Toronto Leslie J, Keeble S (1987) Do six-month-old infants perceive causality? Cognition 25:265–288 Lewis CI (1932) Symbolic logic (with C.H. Langford), The Appleton-Century Company, New York Lewis D (1997) Finkish dispositions. Philos Q 47:143–158 Lindberg DC (1990) Conceptions of the scientific revolution from bacon to butterfield: a preliminary sketch. In: Reappraisals of the scientific revolution, CUP, Cambridge Locke J (1975) An essay concerning human understanding. In: Nidditch P (ed) Oxford, Clarendon Press Marcus RB (1946) A functional calculus of first order based on strict implication. J Symbol Logic 11:1–16 Marcus RB (1947) The Identity of Individuals in a Strict Functional Calculus of Second Order. J Symbol Logic 12:1–16 Martin CB (1994) Dispositions and conditionals. Philos Q 44:1–8 Martin CB, Pfeifer K (1986) Intentionality and the non-psychological. Philos Phenomenol Res 46:531–554 Michotte AE (1946/1963) The perception of causality. Basic books, New York Mill JS (1973) A system of logic ratiocinative and inductive, in Collected works of John Stuart Mill, vol. VIII, University of Toronto Press, Toronto Molnar G (2003) Powers: a study in metaphysics. In: Mumford S (ed) OUP, Oxford Mumford S (1998) Dispositions. OUP, Oxford Mumford S (2004) Laws in nature. Routledge, London Nadler S (1988) Cartesianism and Port-Royal. The Monist 71:573–584 Newton I (1725) Mathematical principles of natural philosophy, 3rd edn. (trans: Motte A, rev. Cajori F, 1952), Encyclopedia Britannica, Chicago Newton I (1782) Opera. In: Horsley S (ed) vol. IV, London Newton I (1952) Optics. Encyclopedia Britannica, Chicago Ovitt G (1987) The restoration of perfection: labor and technology in medieval culture. Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick Place UT (1996) Intentionality as the mark of the dispositional. Dialectica 50:99–120 Place UT (1999) Intentionality and the physical: a reply to Mumford. Philos Q 49:225–231 Popper K (1935) Logik der Forschung, Vienna, Julius Springer Verlag, (trans: as The Logic of Scientific Discovery, 1959), Hutchinson, London Popper K (1957) The propensity interpretation of the calculus of probability, and the quantum theory. In: Ko¨rner S (ed) Observation and interpretation in the philosophy of physics. Dover, New York Popper K (1959) The propensity interpretation of probability. Br J Philos Sci 10:25–42 Putnam H (1975) The meaning of ‘‘Meaning’’. In: Mind, language and reality: philosophical papers, vol. 2, CUP, Cambridge Quine, W.V.O.: 1961, ‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism’, In: From a logical point of view, 2nd rev. edn. Harvard University Press, Harvard Read R, Richman KA (eds) (2000) The new Hume debate, Routledge, London Rossi P (1970) Philosophy, technology, and the arts in the early modern era (trans: Attanasio S), Harper & Row, New York Salmon NU (1982) Reference and essence. Basil Blackwell, Oxford Shapere D (1984) Reason and the search for knowledge. Reidel, Boston Shoemaker S (1980) Properties and inductive projectability. In: Cohen LJ, Hesse M (eds) Applications of inductive logic. Clarendon Press, Oxford Shoemaker S (1984) Identity, cause & mind: philosophical essays. CUP, Cambridge Smith PH (2004) The body of the artisan: art and experience in the scientific revolution. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Sorabji R (2005) The philosophy of the commentators. 200–600 A.D.: volume 2: physics. Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY Sperber D, Premack D, Premack A (1995) Causal cognition. OUP, Oxford Stalker D (ed) (1994) Grue!: the New Riddle of induction, Open Court, Chicago Strawson G (1989) The secret connexion: causation, realism, and David Hume. OUP, Oxford Suarez F (1994) On efficient causality: metaphysical disputations 17, 18, and 19 (trans: Freddoso AJ), Yale University Press, New Haven Suppe F (1977) The search for philosophic understanding of scientific theories. In: Suppe F (ed) The structure of scientific theories 2nd edn. University of Illinois Press, Urbana Sylla ED (1991) The Oxford calculators and the mathematics of motion 1320–1350. Harvard Dissertations in the History of Science, New York & London Thompson IJ (1988) Real dispositions in the physical world. Br J Philos Sci 39(1):67–79 Tooley M (1977) The nature of laws. Can J Phil 7:667–698

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Author Biography John Lamont is from Winnipeg, and studied at the University of Manitoba, the Dominican College in Ottawa, and Oxford. After a Gifford Fellowship at the University of St. Andrews, he took up a post at the Catholic Institute of Sydney in Australia, where he is currently working. He is the author of Divine Faith (Ashgate, 2004), and a number of papers in philosophy and theology.

Modern Science and Conservative Islam: An Uneasy Relationship Taner Edis

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 885–903. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-008-9165-3 Ó Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008

Abstract Familiar Western debates about religion, science, and science education have parallels in the Islamic world. There are difficulties reconciling conservative, traditional versions of Islam with modern science, particularly theories such as evolution. As a result, many conservative Muslim thinkers are drawn toward creationism, hopes of Islamizing science, or other ways to retain the primacy of faith while continuing efforts to catch up with modern technology. Muslims argue that science and Islam coexist in harmony, but both intellectually and institutionally, the Islamic world harbors many tensions between science and religion.

1 Introduction Discussions of science and religion in an Islamic context are invariably complicated. For example, it is easy to observe that today, contributions to natural science from majority Muslim countries are negligible (Hoodbhoy 2007). But disentangling the various social, political, and economic reasons that could help explain this lack of productivity is very difficult. It is possible, however, to examine a narrower set of questions concerning Muslim thinking about science, religion, and education. After all, among Muslim populations, the public role of religion has undergone a noticeable revival in recent decades. Arguments concerning the compatibility of Islam and science have acquired a renewed vigor, and Muslim efforts to catch up to technological modernity without sacrificing the central public role of religion continue to raise questions about science, secularization, and public education. Based on Edis 2007. All translations from Turkish are the authors. Thanks are due Michael Matthews for the invitation to contribute to the issue. T. Edis (&) Department of Physics, Truman State University, Kirksville, MO 63501, USA e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_12

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The familiar Western debate over science and religion is framed in a Christian context. Curiously, much of the literature on science and religion originating among Muslims also shares this Christian emphasis. A common modernizing Muslim view has been that Islam does not share Christianity’s quarrel with science, being an inherently rational, even scientific, religion. For example, Muslim thinkers often claim that conflicts between science and religion are due to the authoritarian church structure of medieval Christianity. Lacking centralized religious authorities, Islam avoids such difficulties (S¸ ahin 2001, pp. 177–182; Aydın 2000, p. 86). Such thinkers typically add that the relationship between Islam and science should be without friction, as long as the materialist philosophy that has illegitimately been grafted onto science in the secularized West is discarded. Present reality is far from this ideal of harmony. Both popular and intellectual culture in Muslim lands is marked by uneasiness with those aspects of modern science that are more ambitious than an activity of collecting and cataloguing facts. Moreover, Muslim environments are fertile territory for pseudoscientific notions that promise to harmonize modern knowledge and traditional beliefs. Claims that modern science and technology are miraculously prefigured in the Quran, that science supports divine creation rather than evolution, or that the sciences should be ‘‘Islamized’’ attract attention and widespread support (Edis 2007; Guessoum 2008). Many Muslim ideas about science and religion parallel Christian responses to modern science. But there are differences as well. Where supernatural and metaphysical claims about the nature of reality are concerned, Islam and Christianity are very similar, and they face a similar challenge from the naturalistic tendency of modern science. Yet Islam and Christianity are different enough in their history and theological emphases that comparing their responses to modern science can be very illuminating. One clear difference today is that many forms of Christianity have gone much farther toward making peace with science. Such liberal religious currents are not unknown in the Muslim world, but they tend to be much less developed. It is an open question whether an accommodation with science analogous to that proposed by liberal Christianity will become more viable within Islam.

2 Resisting Evolution Evolution is the most prominent flashpoint between modern science and conservative Abrahamic religions, therefore Muslim responses to evolution are particularly interesting. There are, naturally, a full range of options endorsed by Muslims, from more liberal statements of compatibility to complete rejection of evolution. Nevertheless, the more conservative views appear stronger. Anti-evolutionary views are widespread among Muslims and influential in educational environments. Among devout intellectuals, evolution typically prompts distrust, and many consider it obvious that nature is formed according to an explicit divine design. Part of this resistance to evolution is motivated by scriptural concerns. Muslims may not always agree on how to interpret their sacred writings, but they enjoy a remarkable consensus on the Quran being a completely divine text that is free from any human influence. This does not always lead to naive literalism—as in the Christian case, widespread literalism is a modern, populist tendency—but most often Muslim scholars take Quranic pronouncements at face value. The Quran lacks the kind of detailed creation story that opens the book of Genesis, but it mentions a creation in 6 days and alludes to a Genesislike story. When mentioning human origins, the Quran is slightly more specific, stating that

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humans were specially created out of materials such as clay, and that everyone has descended from Adam and Eve. Due to the vague nature of Quranic allusions to divine creation, conservative Muslims do not need to adopt extravagant beliefs about geology and astrophysics that characterize the ‘‘young-earth’’ creationism popular among conservative Protestants. Muslims are usually not very interested in the age of the earth, and rarely insist that the universe was created in 6 days only a few thousand years ago (Edis 1994; for example, Bucaille 1979, pp. 133–149). Muslims also do not have to deny that common descent accounts for much of the history of life. Many Muslim thinkers have come to endorse a limited version of evolution, particularly if major transitions are understood to be due to divine intervention, and humans are clearly set aside as a special creation. If there is a common theme in Muslim resistance to evolution, it is that devout thinkers reject the naturalistic, Darwinian view of evolution that dominates modern science. The notion that the history of life can be explained entirely through natural mechanisms is unacceptable. Professor Adem Tatlı, a prominent Turkish creationist, explains that ‘‘In the end, the theory of evolution states that all creatures come about through accidents without a prior plan or guidance, or that they originate by chance. Creationists state that everything from atoms to galaxies was created in a conscious, planned, wise, and purposeful fashion. This is the point where the theory of evolution conflicts with religions’’ (Tatlı 2005). Evolution is a problem not just because of traditional interpretations of a number of Quranic verses, or even conflicts with more developed doctrines. Devout Muslim thinkers perceive Darwinian evolution to be a theory that is embedded in a completely naturalistic description of the world. They oppose this naturalism, preferring a supernaturalistic picture where divine harmony and moral significance are visible in the everyday operations of nature. It is not difficult to see why religious thinkers should be concerned about naturalistic tendencies in science. Naturalists, especially in their physicalist variety, think that combinations of physical laws and random events suffice to describe nature (Edis 2004; Melnyk 2003). Darwinian evolution is important for such naturalistic ambitions, since it explains complex organisms in physical terms. The intricate complexity of living things has always suggested that they have been designed for a purpose, and therefore life has historically been a prime example in arguments that a supernatural intelligence has designed our world. Philosophers such as David Hume criticized the traditional argument from design, but Darwinian evolution was a more decisive counterargument, as it provided a compelling naturalistic explanation of functional complexity (Rachels 1991). The Darwinian mechanism relies on accidents as a source of genetic novelty, and natural selection to favor those variants that enjoy an advantage in reproduction. And as such, Darwinian evolution does not merely make sense of patterns in evidence such as the fossil record, it also locates creativity within the world described by physicists. This is a significant challenge to traditional religious conceptions of nature. Moreover, natural science has continued to exploit Darwinian thinking beyond biology, especially within cognitive and brain science. Evolution has become an important component of scientific approaches to human culture, from explanations of morality to the culturally universal belief in supernatural agents (Bulbulia et al. 2008). Daniel Dennett (1995) calls Darwinian evolution a ‘‘universal acid’’ against supernatural beliefs. This is, by and large, an accurate description, and religious thinkers disturbed by the naturalistic drift of modern intellectual life have good reason to blame Darwinian evolution. There are also practical reasons to target evolution above all. Many sciences, such as physics and cognitive neuroscience, continue to inspire skepticism about supernatural realities, but their contributions come as part of complex, often technical arguments that

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have little effect beyond an academic subculture. Evolution provides a much more direct challenge to traditional beliefs about scripture, humanity’s place in nature, and divine creativity. Islam, like the other Abrahamic religions, has been most comfortable conceiving of humans as a special creation halfway between the beasts and the angels. It is easy to see the difficulty of reconciling evolution with such a traditional picture of nature. Muslim thinking about evolution is further influenced by the centuries-long struggle of Muslim countries to adopt superior Western technologies. Modernizing Muslim intellectuals have long aspired to assimilate technical knowledge while guarding against secularizing cultural influences. Since evolution has been entangled in religious controversy from its beginning, and since the Darwinian view of evolution has provided scientific support for an ongoing secularization of modern intellectual culture, this is further reason for devout Muslim intellectuals to be suspicious of evolution. Muslim thinkers are typically very aware of, even enthusiastic about, the benefits of Western technology. This technology, however, is linked to modern Western science and its ambitious conceptual schemes that suggest humans are part of an impersonal natural order. Muslims often criticize the secular West as a material success but spiritual failure. Evolution, in this context, symbolizes the godless path taken by secular science. Many of these reasons for resisting evolution are shared with conservative Christianity and Judaism. So unsurprisingly, Muslim critics of evolution rely on arguments very similar to those used by Christians and Jews. There are, as can be expected, a wide variety of forms of resistance. Grassroots constituencies favor outright creationism. Their literature often attributes evolution to anti-God philosophies or conspiracies among scientists; literalminded readings of the Quran and the authoritative traditions of mainstream Islam decisively rule out evolution. Conservative populism, however, can only go so far. Science, and forms of naturalism inspired by science, enjoys some influence in public intellectual debate. More important, modern-day educational establishments are committed to science, and even conservative Muslim constituencies favor technology and are anxious to catch up to technologically advanced countries. So there is also a need for a more intellectually sophisticated form of resistance. Many Muslim intellectuals would like to construct a culturally more authentic alternative to the naturalistic currents of thought inseparable from Western science. They desire a new, explicitly Muslim institutional structure for science, one which would restore God to the center of their conception of nature. So, just as in the West the Intelligent Design movement has developed an antievolutionary position with a more intellectual image, there are plenty of Muslim scholars and scientists who publicly reject Darwinian evolution. There are also important differences between the forms of resistance inspired by different religions. In western Europe, antievolutionary activity is negligible except within small fundamentalist populations and immigrant Muslim communities (Kepel 1997; van Raaij 2005); where conservative Christianity is stronger, such as in Poland and in some Russian Orthodox circles, creationist sentiment is stronger. And naturally, the strongest variety of Christian creationism is found in the United States, where opinion polls find that about half of Americans are creationists and most of the rest accept only a non-Darwinian, guided form of evolution. But whatever the level of popular resistance to evolution, creationism has become an intellectually marginal position in culturally Christian and postChristian countries. The intellectual high culture in the Western world does not challenge evolution. Creationists and intelligent design proponents are self-conscious as outsiders who attempt to restore an outlook that has been rejected by intellectual elites and educational establishments. Muslim creationists, however, can count not just on popular support but a significant degree of acceptance in their intellectual cultures.

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Popular resistance to evolution is not in doubt. Evolution has not penetrated much into Muslim environments, and where it has, we also find the world’s most successful creationist enterprises. For example, a 2005 survey examined the numbers of adults who accepted evolution in 34 countries. Thirty one were in Europe, together with Japan, the United States, and Turkey. Turkey was the sole Muslim representative, but also a country known for its Western orientation and secular political tradition. Around 60% of most European populations favored evolution, and 25% rejected it. The notoriously religious Americans came thirty-third on the list, but Turkey was in last place, with 25% favorable toward evolution while more than half of Turks opposed it (Miller et al. 2006). But again, there is more to Muslim creationism than grassroots support. Muslim critics of evolution do not go against a strong consensus of their intellectual high culture. A little-doubted sense that nature is a divine design remains the common intellectual background. Darwinian evolution is a Western import, defended by westernizing elites within Muslim societies. Antievolutionary views, in contrast to Western forms of creationism, are devoted not to reversing a defeat but to defending a strong and authentic local point of view. Muslim creationists are closer to being intellectual insiders than marginalized outsiders.

3 Creationism in Turkey The late nineteenth century European debate over evolution that followed the publication of The Origin of Species found echoes in the Muslim world. Some reform-minded and Western-educated intellectuals in decaying states such as the Ottoman Empire thought westernization was the only possible way forward. When evolution became a subject of controversy in Europe, this also attracted the attention of westernizing elites, since science was clearly one of the keys to Western success. Making sense of biology or the fossil record was not the foremost concern of such elites; the philosophical and theological debate over evolution seemed more important. For some of the most extreme westernizers, evolution confirmed nineteenth century materialist philosophy and highlighted how clerical obscurantism stood in the way of social progress. Both among Arabs and Turks in the Ottoman Empire, a handful of intellectuals became known for their embrace of evolution ¨ zervarlı 2003; Ziadat 1986). (O Most Muslims, and even most modern-oriented Muslims, however, were much more cautious. The implicit materialism of Darwinian theory was one immediate obstacle. And in a climate where importing technology, while preserving the essentials of Muslim culture, were overriding concerns, the fact that Darwin’s most enthusiastic defenders flirted with culturally revolutionary ideas did not help the reception of evolution. Moderate westernizers wanted instead to borrow Western science but make it Muslim by purifying it of materialist ideas. More traditional Muslim scholars condemned evolutionary thinking as impiety, but modernist, reforming Islamic thinkers also found evolution to be unacceptable. Jamal al-Din Afghani, one of the leading figures in early Islamic modernism, had nothing but praise for science, and using European science to revive Islamic intellectual life was an important theme in his proposals for reform in Muslim lands. Nevertheless, he attacked evolution as an absurdity that was unacceptable to Muslims (Keddie 1968, pp. 130–174). As a result, Darwinian ideas did not penetrate into Muslim lands. A small segment of an elite showed enthusiasm, but otherwise evolution was either unknown or superficially described only to be denounced. With limited discussion and public knowledge of evolution, a fully worked-out creationist opposition to Darwin also did not develop. Even

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among the educated minority of Muslim populations, few had any serious knowledge of evolutionary biology. The vast majority, intellectuals included, maintained a naively creationist perception of life. Nonetheless, some radical modernizers continued to be interested in evolution. For example, Mustafa Kemal Atatu¨rk, founder and first president of the Turkish Republic, was very interested in Darwin’s theory when he was a student in the Ottoman War Academy (Kazdag˘lı 2001, p. 17). The secular westernizers who came to lead Turkey in the 1920s made sure that the modern education system that they implemented included instruction in natural science, together with topics such as evolution. This did not produce a notable creationist reaction, as the newly secularized education system included more serious insults to traditional religion than the material in biology textbooks. Therefore the secularist embrace of Darwin did not lead to public opposition to evolution, since evolution remained only a minor point of friction among much more direct challenges to the traditional social role of religion. Underground religious movements rejected Darwinian thinking, and religious publications included occasional anti-evolutionary statements. But for the most part, people passively resisting official secularism extended their distrust to evolution without singling Darwin out for special criticism. In the 1970s, evolution started to generate more controversy. The creationist literature of this decade continued to denounce evolution as going against religion and true science alike. They included some typical creationist claims, such as the notion that the extreme improbability of protein formation by pure chance demonstrated that evolution was impossible (Akbulut 1980). The more notable development came when an Islamist party became a junior coalition partner in some governments. Some Islamist members of parliament objected to evolution in textbooks (Atay 2004, pp. 136–137). They were not successful, but religious conservatives were clearly becoming more vocal about their discomfort with evolution. Attacking evolution may have been an indirect way to confront official secularism. Turkish creationists found success in the mid-1980s, after the civil strife in the late 1970s led to a military takeover (Edis 1994). Though the generals cited Islamist extremism among the reasons for their coup, they considered the political left to be a more serious threat. So they put more emphasis on Islam as a force that might promote national unity. For example, they imposed a new constitution that reaffirmed secular government but also included features such as mandatory religious instruction in schools. In practice, this almost always meant a class in orthodox Sunni Islam. The dictatorship promoted conservative educational and cultural policies. A 1983 report of the State Planning Organization endorsed the idea of a ‘‘Turkish-Islamic Synthesis’’ as a national cultural policy. The planning report attacked Darwin as an apostle of materialism: ‘‘Prominent among naturalist views that reduce humans to nature, count them as part of it, and deny human spiritual superiorities that do not exist in nature and cannot be derived from nature, is Darwin [sic.]. This biological hypothesis has declared humans to be of monkey origin, and asserted that the mechanistic workings of nature are completed with the last stage of evolution progressing from monkey to human’’ (quoted in Timurog˘lu 1991, pp. 82–83). The generals soon handed power over to a conservative government that continued similar cultural and educational policies. Religious conservatives took control of the Ministry of Education. As a result, creationism received official endorsement for the first time. To bring about this change, Muslim conservatives sought inspiration from ‘‘scientific creationists’’ among American Protestants. The December 1992 issue of Acts and Facts, a publication of the Institute for Creation Research (ICR), described the events as:

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‘‘Sometime in the mid 1980s, the Turkish Minister of Education, Mr. Vehbi Dinc¸erler . . . placed a call to ICR. . . . [H]e wanted to eliminate the secular-based, evolution-only teaching dominant in their schools and replace it with a curriculum teaching the two models[.] As a result, several ICR books which dealt with the scientific (not Biblical) evidence for creation were translated into Turkish and distributed to all Turkey’s public school teachers.’’ Minister Dinc¸erler also enlisted Adem Tatlı, a university professor and creationist, asking him to prepare a report on evolution and education. Tatlı recalls commenting, ‘‘Darwinism, along with Marxism and Freudism, constitutes the basis of materialist philosophy. Your opposition to evolution theory may, I fear, lose you your position.’’ The Minister replied: ‘‘I feel the spiritual responsibility of 15 million children of the nation on my shoulders. The faith of our youth is shaken by the one-sided presentation of such a theory. For the truth of this matter to be understood and be set in its proper course, let not only one, but a thousand Vehbi positions be sacrificed.’’ Tatlı’s report describes evolution as ‘‘a theory that has not been able to become a law for 120 years,’’ and recommends ‘‘inclusion in the curriculum of the shortcomings of this theory and opposing opinions’’ (Tatlı 1990). Tatlı relies on American creationist literature; he often cites leaders of ICR, presenting them as Western scientists who have come to understand the scientific failure of evolutionary theory. Tatlı’s report would come to reflect and inspire official policy in Turkey. The Ministry of Education translated American creationist books and distributed them to teachers free of charge. Creationism appeared in high school biology textbooks, some of which presented evolution as a clearly mistaken idea, concluding that the universe and all forms of life were specially created (Gu¨nbulut 1996, p. 268). Since then, religious conservatives have been in and out of power. How evolution appears in Turkish textbooks depends largely on who controls the Ministry of Education at the time.

4 Varieties of Creationism In the 1990s, Turkish creationism flourished. Islamist intellectuals regularly attacked evolution, calling it a materialist myth that corroded morality and religion. In Turkish academic circles, a number of conservative religious scientists argued for an ‘‘alternative biology’’ that emphasized traditional Islamic perceptions of divine design in nature (e.g., Yılmaz and Uzunog˘lu 1995). But the most important development started in 1998, when Turkish creationism became a modern, media-driven, popular pseudoscience. Indeed, Turkey became the center for an aggressive Islamic creationism with international influence. The new Turkish creationism is driven by the output of ‘‘Harun Yahya,’’ a pseudonym that has become the brand name for the best known form of Islamic creationism (Edis 1999; Edis 2003). Harun Yahya creationism is notable for its distinctly modern flavor. In Turkey, the Yahya literature and associated organizations such as the ‘‘Science Research Foundation’’ support Turkish nationalism, without exhibiting the common conservative religious hostility toward the secular Turkish state. They do not insist on traditional cultural symbols such as Islamic dress, conspicuously endorsing modern clothing and lifestyles. They present an image of modern, technologically sophisticated people who enjoy success in a global capitalist economy. They implicitly claim to have reconciled science and religion, and found a way to affirm traditional spirituality while enjoying the benefits of modern life.

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The novelty of Harun Yahya’s brand of creationism is the well-funded, entrepreneurial, media-savvy nature of the enterprise. In contrast, there is very little new about the content of this creationism. As detailed in an endless stream of publications under the Yahya brand, Yahya’s creationism is a grab-bag of traditional Islamic objections to independent creativity within nature, arguments taken from Christian creationists and intelligent design proponents, and opportunistic borrowings from Western writers who proclaim signs of God revealed by modern science. Yahya brings up common creationist themes, stating that transitional fossils do not exist, that intermediate forms are impossible anyway, that the alleged evidence supporting evolution is fraudulent, that physical cosmology has discovered that the universe is a divine design, and that evolution at the molecular level is statistically impossible. Yahya also explains why Western scientists and Turkish fellowtravelers say that evolution is correct, since it is so obviously false. Like many Christian creationists, Yahya thinks that scientists have been ensnared by materialist, anti-religious philosophies that have nothing to do with true science (Yahya 1997). The Yahya material appeals to a global, modern audience. It is marketed to people who depend on science and technology in their lives, but understand science as little more than an isolated collection of facts. The Yahya material, as with most other forms of Islamicflavored pseudoscience, mainly supplies the ‘‘facts’’ that confirm already existing religious beliefs. Harun Yahya is an example of a crude, popular way of opposing evolution. None of the work produced under the Harun Yahya label is intellectually serious. Creationists in Turkey have little difficulty finding academic voices to support them, but much of this is due to a desire to combat a common enemy in secularism or materialism. Still, there is no shortage of Islamic varieties of creationism expressed in a more intellectual idiom. Many respected academic thinkers adopt versions of creationism grounded in traditional Muslim theology. For example, philosopher of science Osman Bakar, who has held prestigious academic appointments in both his native Malaysia and the United States, attacks evolution as a materialist philosophy that attempts to deny nature’s manifest dependence on its creator (Bakar 1987; Bakar 2003). Seyyed Hossein Nasr, a leading scholar of Islam who has long been based in American universities (currently at George Washington University), argues that Darwinian evolution is logically absurd, and that it conflicts with the hierarchical view of reality presented by all genuine religious traditions. Both Bakar and Nasr rely on many classic creationist arguments, some which would not be out of place in Yahya’s writings. Nasr argues that mathematics and information theory preclude evolution: ‘‘One cannot study the cell as it is done today, accept information theory and at the same time accept the current interpretations of the theory of evolution according to which, through temporal processes and without an external cause, which itself must be of a higher order in the sense of being able to increase the information contained within a gene, the amount of information contained within the genes does increase and they ‘‘evolve’’ into higher forms.’’ Nasr also says that life opposes the second law of thermodynamics, which means that ‘‘inert matter evolving into life forms’’ is impossible. He states that ‘‘the paleontological record hardly supports the evolutionary hypothesis no matter how far it is stretched and how far-fetched is its interpretation,’’ that the Cambrian explosion is inexplicable by evolution, that mutations can only lead to very limited change, and so on (Nasr 1987, pp. 237–239). Nasr’s citations for such claims include works by Christian creationists associated with the Institute for Creation Research. In a Muslim context, such denunciations of evolution are not considered disreputable. Indeed, Nasr’s views do not just appear in

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popular texts intended for a conservative Muslim market, but in academic books in religious studies put out by university presses. Thinkers such as Bakar and Nasr, however, are not primarily concerned with listing what they think are mistakes in evolutionary theory. They are more interested in constructing an alternative view of science. They want a philosophy of science that is grounded in classical Muslim conceptions of reality. Bakar supports efforts to develop an ‘‘Islamic science’’ that would incorporate a traditional Muslim perspective into its study of nature (Bakar 1999). Nasr hopes for a revival of the traditional Muslim religious sciences, including the more occult and metaphysical sciences, in order to reintroduce a sense of the sacred into modern science. He envisions lower levels of reality depending on higher, more spiritual levels, which leads to an alternative to evolution: Even today, certain scientists who realize the logical and even biological absurdity of the theory of evolution and some of its implications and presuppositions believe that the only other alternative is the ex nihilo doctrine, unaware that the traditional metaphysical doctrine interprets the ex nihilo statement as implying an elaboration of man’s being in divinis and through stages of being preceding his appearance on earth. This doctrine of man, based on his descent through various levels of existence above the corporeal, in fact presents a view of the appearance of man which is neither illogical nor at all in disagreement with any scientific facts—and of course not necessarily hypotheses and extrapolations—provided one accepts the hierarchy of existence, or the multiple levels of reality which surround the corporeal state. . . . [T]he whole modern evolutionary theory is a desperate attempt to substitute a set of horizontal, material causes in a unidimensional world to explain effects whose causes belong to other levels of reality, to the vertical dimensions of existence. (Nasr 1987, pp. 169–170) Such ideas may enjoy no scientific support, but they receive serious attention within Muslim intellectual culture. Western scientific practice is not affected by the metaphysical and theological doctrines expressed by Nasr or Bakar. But in the Muslim world, it is not as easy to ignore theology. In various forms, the idea of reviving and modernizing medieval Muslim views of knowledge is quite popular. Though attractive, calls to rebuild science with Muslim foundations have not been entirely convincing. The main difficulty is that ideas such as those espoused by Bakar and Nasr do not make much contact with actual, productive science. Hence conservative Muslims continue to explore other ways to resist evolution. For example, the intelligent design (ID) movement that has recently been active in the United States has also attracted some Muslim attention. Intelligent design incorporates many intuitions about design and creation common to many religions. Seyyed Hossein Nasr claims that information cannot be created within nature, and insists that information and creativity are injected into the material world from higher levels of reality. These are among the main themes of intelligent design. So far, Muslims have not been deeply involved with the US-based ID movement. One exception is a moderate Islamist Turkish journalist, Mustafa Akyol. Akyol has been promoting ID in Turkey, and has even been a pro-ID voice in American media. Since ID is often accused of being a repackaging of Christian creationism, ID proponents take pains to highlight how people from diverse religious backgrounds support ID. In 2005, Akyol testified in support of ID in hearings held by the Kansas State Board of Education. ID is likely to have some influence on more sophisticated Muslim thinking about evolution, even though ID is almost universally rejected by the Western scientific

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community. There is much common ground between Muslim opponents of evolution and Western thinkers promoting some version of intelligent design. Even ambitions to reconstruct science in order to restore God to the center of the way we understand nature can be found among both Muslims and Christians. Some Christian philosophers sympathetic to ID propose a ‘‘theistic science’’ that would counter the way mainstream science has veered toward naturalism by taking divine design to be a basic assumption (Moreland 1994; Plantinga 1991). Muslim hopes to Islamize science can also be taken in a more ecumenical direction. Theologically conservative Muslims, including influential intellectuals, tend to oppose evolution, and often their opposition echoes varieties of creationism found in Christian countries such as the United States. But the way recent Islamic creationists have been borrowing from their Christian counterparts should not obscure the deeper resonance the notion of divine design has with common Muslim ways of thinking. Muslim high culture— the culture of devout scholars and public intellectuals—already assumed intelligent design was an obvious fact about nature, long before the American ID movement. Most devout Muslim thinkers take it to be self-evident that life forms and nature are a product of design, that the cosmos is a divinely guided, harmonious place where Muslim metaphysics and morality is seamlessly joined with the orbits of the planets and the songs of the birds.

5 Partial Acceptance of Evolution Creationism is the most straightforward way of preserving traditional Muslim perceptions of nature. Opposing evolution, however, invites a direct conflict with modern science. Since science and technology enjoy considerable prestige, many Muslims are also motivated to look for some accommodation between evolution and their interpretation of Islam. Some theologians look to verses such as 24:45, ‘‘And God created all animals from water: some of them travel on their bellies, some travel on two legs, some travel on four. God creates what God will; God is capable of all things,’’ and announce that this sounds much like the scientific story of life originating in the oceans. It might even hint at gradual evolution. Strict creationists object to such overly imaginative and compromising interpretations. Harun Yahya insists that Islam cannot allow evolution (Yahya 2003). Seyyed Hossein Nasr also disagrees: ‘‘The evolutionary thesis has also penetrated into the Islamic world through the writings of many of the modernists who picked up the idea either in its scientific or philosophical sense. They then tried to extend the meaning of certain verses of the Quran to include the idea of evolution, although the Quran, like other sacred scriptures, states clearly that the world and all creatures were created by Allah and that the origin of man is not some prehistoric animal but the divinely created primordial man who in the Islamic tradition is called Adam’’ (Nasr 1994, pp. 185–186). Theologians who accept a measure of evolution draw the ire of creationists. But such theologians do not defend Darwinian, naturalistic evolution as biologists understand it. They accept evolution in the sense of common descent (often with the exception of humans) but they think of evolution as a process under explicit divine guidance. This compromise view, guided evolution, still preserves the sense that nature is obviously a product of intelligent design. Even very liberal-sounding theologians tend to be guarded toward Darwinian evolution. For example, The Turkish theologian Muhammet Altaytas¸ says that evolution does not conflict with Islam, ‘‘provided that this theory stays within scientific boundaries and is not

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confused with metaphysics and does not present certain hypotheses as ‘scientific facts’’’— for example, the claim that ‘‘everything exists through chance and without purpose’’ (Altaytas¸ 2001, p. 82). This sounds reasonable, but since Darwinian evolution explains life and complexity without invoking any external purpose, it is hard to see more than a lukewarm acceptance of common descent in such pronouncements. In any event, guided evolution may be an improvement over creationism, but it cannot satisfy the scientific community. Such non-Darwinian conceptions of evolution no longer have any currency in science. After the mid-twentieth century, biology did not refer to any purposive or intrinsically progressive forces (Provine 1988). Modern science describes the history of life and complexity in terms of physical mechanisms combining chance and necessity. The idea of guided evolution does, however, have a significant political virtue: it helps dampen cultural and institutional conflicts between science and religion. If divine guidance can be interpreted as a metaphysical gloss that does not interfere with the study of nature, it will allow biologists to remain religious while preventing any overt supernatural influence on the objects of their research. In turn, liberal religious thinkers can say that the way that life forms changed over time does not conflict with their faith. So guided evolution is attractive to liberal Muslims, even though, as Nasr points out, mismatches with traditional interpretations of the Quran remain a real concern. It might be possible to reinterpret scripture to make it conform to modern knowledge, but Muslims typically see this as bowdlerizing their religion. Guided evolution is not the only non-creationist option in Muslim countries. Some constituencies support Darwinian evolution, most obviously, academic biologists and secularists. Both of these are Western-influenced minorities. In Turkey, some secular scientists and intellectuals have commented on creationism and on writers such as Harun Yahya. They have not been effective, only deploring the popularity of creationism and denouncing it as an aspect of Islamist politics. Secularist critics of creationism insist that there is no conflict between a properly understood Islam and evolution, but in doing so, they require Islam to become a privatized, individual faith similar to liberal Protestantism. Removing religious faith from the public realm, including scientific investigation, would prevent conflict between science and religion. Such strict secularism is not, however, politically popular. Defending evolution by associating it with secularism is not likely to be very successful. Scientists in Muslim countries are relatively weak and disorganized compared to the Western scientific community. In Turkey, where organized creationism is most active, scientists have little time and few resources for a political fight against creationism. Moreover, there is plenty of creationism within Turkish universities, including among science faculty. This is not unusual in the Muslim world. A survey comparing biology faculty from Lebanon with Australian biologists, for example, finds very significant skepticism about evolution (Vlaardingerbroek and El-Masri 2006). Throughout most of the Muslim world, the life sciences typically focus on biomedical applications. This causes a further lack of emphasis on evolution in biology education. Indeed, most Muslim countries emphasize the applied sciences, so that engineering is a much more prestigious area of study than the natural sciences. Therefore the culture of applied science affects the perception of evolution in Muslim universities. Applied scientists tend to downplay the theoretical frameworks vital to basic science, and they typically are more religious than researchers in basic science. For example, a 2005 poll of American medical doctors, conducted by the Louis Finkelstein Institute for Social and

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Religious Research, found that 34% agreed more with intelligent design than with evolution. For the Muslim physicians in the sample this number rose to 73%. The result is that Muslim academics only lend weak support to evolution, whether as scientists or more liberal-minded theologians who accept guided evolution. Indeed, resistance to evolution is easy to encounter within academic circles as well as within populist religious movements.

6 Created Nature Muslim opponents of evolution continually write about the dangers of materialism. They do this even though materialists—or scientific naturalists, or physicalists—are rare in the Muslim world. Conservative Muslims have faced off against westernizers and secularists for a long time, but few westernizers have ever rejected all supernatural claims. Until recently, Marxist materialism could have been a political option, but Marxism has faded away. Many Marxists have converted to political Islam. But it is today, when nearly everyone claims to be a good Muslim in their own fashion, that creationism has become most visible. Creationists still perceive plenty of materialism to oppose. To believers, Islam is more than a set of religious practices. It is also a symbol of all that is good. Anything that goes wrong, especially modern problems such as crime or sexual laxity, must be due to deviations from Islam. There are problems, problems are caused by impiety, and the most extreme impiety is materialism. ‘‘Materialism’’ is largely a symbolic enemy that has little to do with scientists and philosophers who are skeptical about supernatural beliefs. Creationists call for a moral mobilization; they aim to protect the community of the faithful from spiritual corruption. The moral thrust of creationism has much to do with the social circumstances of the creationist public. Creationists respect science, because technology is an important part of their lives. And creationists speak to a modern audience, not rural traditionalists. So they handle religiously uncomfortable aspects of modern science by declaring that ‘‘true science’’ actually supports their views—they put their trust in an alternative ‘‘creation science.’’ Muslim creationism flourishes in a social environment very similar to that which sustains creationism in the United States (Eve and Harrold 1991). Though creationism appeals to a modern constituency, traditionally Muslims primarily rely on sacred texts to validate their claims. Creationism sits in between, relying on both text-based and ostensibly scientific forms of legitimation. To bridge this gap, Muslims often use the notion of fitra, or created nature, a concept already familiar from Islamic theology. Everything in creation, especially human beings, are supposed to have an essential nature that determines their proper place and function. For example, the created nature of humans is such that we are all born as submitters to the One God and hence Muslims; only later social indoctrination turns people toward other religious paths. Western converts to Islam often call themselves ‘‘reverts,’’ since they have reverted to the natural state of humankind. In more mystical currents of Islam, fitra often refers to a primordial Platonic ideal of human perfection. Though it takes various forms, the idea of fitra always means that the created nature of humans is inscribed with specifically Muslim ideals. Religious scholars will typically say that cosmetic surgery is not permitted if it frivolously interferes with God’s creation, but it is permissible if it corrects a defect and thereby brings someone closer to the ideal of the fitra. Created nature embodies a moral ideal, and deviations from this ideal state are morally tainted. Even the imperfections of

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human nature can tell us about this ideal. Unbridled male sexuality, for example, is a created weakness, but it can become a strength in its proper place, which is the Muslim family. So a modern audience that respects science as well as scripture can use the concept of fitra to link the two approaches. Fitra comes to mean created nature as revealed by biology as well as religion (Edis and Bix 2005). Humans and all living things, after all, are supposed to be created by God, and they must have definite roles in the divine scheme of things. Evolution, therefore, can threaten Muslim understandings of the nature of morality, since evolutionary theory emphasizes varying populations and does not allow for a fixed created nature. From a Darwinian evolutionary perspective, it is also hard to think of morally higher or lower states being reflected in biology. Muslim tradition conceives of nature hierarchically, and plants and animals are beings at a lower level. This means that when ‘‘humans, who have a rank in the order of reality that is not merely at the level of instinct, bring themselves down to such a level by their own hands, the result will be evil’’ (Aydın 2000, p. 118). It is morally disastrous to say that humans are a species of animal. Therefore, like Christian and Jewish creationists, Muslims associate Darwinian evolution with social Darwinism, sexually ‘‘animalistic’’ behavior, family breakdown, and similar anxieties about modern life. Harun Yahya, for example, claims that belief in evolution is motivated by perverse ideologies, saying that ‘‘We can add [to racists, fascists, socialists, etc.] those homosexual ideologues who try to explain their sexual deviation by ‘a genetic variation produced by the process of evolution.’ These ‘scientific’ vanguards of the homosexual movement claim that homosexuality arose in a certain stage of the process of sexual evolution and contributed to the progress of this process. In doing so, they seek to legitimize their perversion’’ (Yahya 1997, p. 307). Muslim creationism, then, was almost inevitable. The modern social environment no longer presents traditional social roles as just the unquestioned, natural order of things. So conservative Muslims need to reaffirm a view of the world in which traditional roles make sense. This need goes beyond creationism. Controversies about gender roles also produce examples of how morality and created nature is connected to biology in modern Muslim apologetics (Edis and Bix 2005). Modernization has meant greater public opportunities for women, and more pressure for women to join economic production. The status of women is always a flashpoint in the struggle between westernized and conservative Muslims; the dress of women is the most visible marker of difference between traditional and more secular people. Conservative Muslims point to sacred texts endorsing a primarily domestic role for women. For example, in the Quran, 4:34 says ‘‘The men are supporters of the women, by what God has given one more than the other, and by what they provide from their property.’’ Commentators explain that husbands have to protect and provide for their wives because God has made men stronger than women and so responsible for their protection. Referring to sacred texts, however, is not the only form of legitimization that is effective in a modern environment. Therefore some popular Muslim apologists try to persuade their audience by invoking science and created nature. An intriguing example comes from the writings of Su¨leyman Ates¸ , a leading Turkish theologian who has served as head of the national Directorate of Religious Affairs. In the 1990s, Ates¸ wrote a number of books defending the faith and justifying the traditional place of women. Addressing a modern audience, Ates¸ could not solely rely on sacred texts. Instead, he drew on a conception of created nature that incorporates ideas going back to ancient Greek philosophy. Defending 2:228, which says that ‘‘men have a rank above [women],’’ Ates¸ says that ‘‘as a whole, the

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male sex has been created superior to the female. Even the sperm that carries the male sign is different from the female. The male-bearing sperm is more active, carrying light on its head, the female sperm is less active. The egg stays stationary, the sperm seeks her out, and endures a long and dangerous struggle in the process.’’ This echoes ancient medical notions about weaker, less perfect female seed. Ates¸ adds, ‘‘Generally in nature, all male animals are more complete, more superior compared to their females. For example, the cock compared to the hen, the ram to the ewe, the male lion to the lioness, is more beautiful and stronger,’’ (Ates¸ 1991, pp. 36–37) sounding much like an Aristotelian natural historian. Since the Greek philosophical tradition has had considerable influence on the training of traditional religious scholars, some Muslim feminists blame Hellenistic philosophy for what they claim are distorted, anti-woman interpretations of the sacred sources (e.g. SeifAmirhosseini 1999). More feminist interpretations, however, show little sign of catching on, though they draw academic interest among scholars attracted by their rhetoric of ¨ s¸ u¨r puts it, classical Islamic liberation (for a critique, see Moghissi 1999). As Serpil U civilization saw social roles in created nature; ‘‘within the ideology of Islam, . . . the sexual division of labor becomes a fundamental principle, a divine and eternal natural law ¨ s¸ u¨r 1992, p. 135). Today, popular Muslim determined by God when creating the sexes’’ (U understandings of science, particularly biology, operate in a similar context. Naturalistic tendencies within modern science are threatening, not only because they clash with a traditional understanding of scripture, but because they threaten a deep-seated Muslim perception of a divine and moral order visible in nature.

7 An Illusion of Harmony Rampant pseudoscience and popular apologetics based on opportunistic abuse of science are very easy to find in the Muslim world today. Such Muslim distortions of science are similar to views current among conservative Christians. US Congressional Representative Marilyn Musgrave declares, in a speech against gay marriage, that ‘‘our rights exist within the context of God’s created order. The self-evident differences and complementary design of men and women are part of that created order’’ (quoted in Hamilton 2005, p. 52). A majority of devout Muslims would probably agree, sharing a similar understanding of the ‘‘created order’’. Conservative Christian notions of created nature, however, are not as well developed, and have limited appeal outside a fundamentalist subculture. In contrast, many Muslim thinkers who enjoy a broad influence are committed to strongly non-Darwinian views and insist that Muslim morality is reflected in created nature. The divine creation must be harmonious at all levels: scripture, nature as revealed by science, and Muslim metaphysical thinking must all smoothly fit together in a God-centered picture of reality. Going beyond popular pseudoscience, the more sophisticated versions of creationism try to make this underlying harmony clear. Conservative Christians also believe that nature and scripture must be in harmony, but their views about created nature lack the depth of the Muslim concept. Leading Muslim thinkers take harmony for granted. For example, consider Said Nursi, one of the leading Muslim thinkers of the twentieth century, notable for his efforts to modernize theology and resist secularism. Nursi inspired the powerful ‘‘Nur movement’’ in Turkey, which, while being enthusiastic in its support for technology and capitalism, is also a driving force behind much Turkish pseudoscience. In his writings, Nursi continually speaks of harmonious relationships within the universe and between the universe and

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humans, who are the crown of creation and the center of the universe. So harmonious is the universe that ‘‘in no way could confused chance, blind force, aimless, anarchic, unconscious nature interfere in that wise, percipient particular balance and most sensitive order. If they had interfered, some traces of confusion would certainly be apparent. Whereas no disorder is to be seen anywhere’’ (quoted in Vahide 2003, p. 17). To Nursi, as with most devout Muslim intellectuals, order and purpose are clearly visible in nature. Nursi emphasizes this perception of harmony, saying that the visible divine order in nature is a better reminder of the Creator than all the demonstrations of philosophical theology. Throughout the world, attempts to Islamize knowledge and revitalize Muslim culture continue to draw on concepts of harmony rooted in the classical Muslim perception of reality. They often take an organic view of nature. As the International Institute of Islamic Thought puts it: All things in creation serve a purpose and all purposes are interrelated, as a means and an end to one another. This makes the world one telic system, vibrant and alive, full of meaning. The birds in the sky, the stars in the firmament, the fishes in the depths of the ocean, the plants and the elements—all constitute integral parts of the system. No part of it is inert or evil, since every being has a function and a role in the life of the whole. Together, they make an organic body whose members and organs are interrelated. (AbuSulayman 1989, p. 37) Sayyid Qutb, a leading Islamist theorist, also describes the universe as an organic unity characterized by harmony and balance, where Islamic law is analogous to physical laws in being part of the universal divine law structuring all reality (Euben 1999, p. 76). Muslim thinkers tend to say that harmony, as with all important theological ideas, is directly derived from the Quran and other sacred texts. This overlooks the range of possibilities in interpreting religious writings. After all, the Quran is a disorganized book with ambiguous meanings; different interpreters will emphasize or downplay different parts. Mainstream Muslim tradition, however, has emphasized plain readings that support a purposeful, harmonious nature immediately created by God. The intellectual high culture of Islamic civilization has done the same. Early Muslim philosophers adopted ‘‘proofs’’ of God from Greek and Christian philosophy. Compared to the more abstruse metaphysical proofs, however, the argument from design ended up with the most influence. The harmony of our complex world pointed to a purposeful design by God. In today’s circumstances, where Muslims grant science considerable cognitive authority, the design argument becomes even more prominent. Popular apologetics and devout intellectual productions alike try to reinforce the traditional perception of design and harmony in nature. The theories of modern science, and particularly Darwinian evolution, disrupt the picture of harmony. Evolutionary biology makes it more difficult to seek sharp boundaries in life that carry moral meaning. There are many human differences rooted in biology, but these are never separate from culture and environment, and they do not have any obvious transcendent purpose or moral implication. Moreover, biotechnology promises even greater fluidity. Using technologies such as the birth control pill, we can modify human biology or its consequences. Furthermore, evolutionary explanations of human behavior portray moral and spiritual beliefs as emerging within nature, rather than being handed down from above (Bulbulia et al. 2008). All in all, trends in evolutionary science make it increasingly difficult to reconcile natural science and the Muslim conception of a harmonious, morality-infused nature. So many devout Muslims perceive a moral void in Western science. They ask what Islam might contribute to a scientific understanding of our world, and their answers

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invariably involve morality and spirituality. They say that a science illuminated by Islam would be conscious of moral imperatives; it would not destroy the environment; it would not produce technologies of oppression and alienation; it would understand the biology of the sexes in a framework of dignity and respect for complementarity; it would, most radically, oppose the myth that science is value-free (Sardar 1984). And an Islamic approach to science would accomplish all this because it would recognize the divine truth at the center of all the partial truths gathered by science. Some Muslim thinkers claim that all that is true in science was already anticipated by the Quran, that Islam is literally a scientific religion. Some state that assimilating science to Islam requires more; at the least, Muslims need to replace unacceptable theories such as Darwinian evolution. Others insist that an Islamic science is a moral science, and that Muslims must practice science differently. But the most ambitious thinkers want a stronger Islamic response to science. Muslims must go beyond resisting materialist theories in natural science and immoral uses of technology. This is vital but not enough; Muslims must also respond at the level of basic metaphysical assumptions. They must reconstruct science around an Islamic vision. They must constrain science by the higher truths of revelation. At the very least, they must excise the materialist philosophy that appears in the guise of scientific fact. Osman Bakar, for example, tries to sketch an Islamic approach that is distinctly different than secular modern science. Islamic science is supposed to be based upon a different philosophy of science, it should therefore rely upon different methods. Contemporary naturalism presents a bottom-up view of the world, where complex processes such as those that make up life are assembled out of simpler physical events. Bakar inverts this bottom-up approach and proposes to restore the top-down view of the world favored by religious traditions: There is an hierarchy of universality of laws of creation corresponding to the hierarchy of the created order. For example, biological laws are more fundamental and universal than physical or chemical laws since the former laws concern the biological domain which possesses a higher ontological reality than the physical domain which gives rise to the latter kind of laws. But the biological laws themselves are subject to a higher set of cosmic laws which are spiritual in nature. If the attempt to unify all the known existing laws in physics and biology is progressively pursued and in an objective manner, then a point is reached whereby the higher, nonphysical orders of reality would have to be seriously considered and examined. (Bakar 1999, p. 72) Proposals to Islamize science are always very ambitious, starting with sweeping metaphysical statements and proceeding to plans to reconstruct science in a way that removes offenses to traditional Islamic beliefs. But such ambitions strongly contrast with the complete lack of actual scientific productivity that results from these endeavors. And without new and interesting scientific results, proposals to Islamize science remain a form of cultural defense rather than a serious alternative to mainstream ways of doing science. After all, Muslims feel pressure to adopt science because of its real-world success. Ideas to improve science by making it recognize morality or higher levels of being are easy to come by, but none of these lead to any concrete reason that would help overturn the naturalism that so bothers Muslim sensibilities. So the most radical Muslim thinkers about science also exhibit a curious lack of imagination. All they produce are variations on a theme of reviving the classical Islamic view of knowledge, of restoring obvious harmony to the universe. That is a dead end, as are postmodern complaints about science not being value-free. It is unfortunate that Western physicists are so intimately involved with

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weapons research, but their bombs really do work. Science needs institutional values that promote learning about the world, but moral constraints on the scientific enterprise are up to social negotiations, not anything intrinsic to science as a form of inquiry.

8 Conclusion Too much Muslim thinking about natural science continues to be caught between irrelevance and falsehood. Some Muslims add ‘‘because God wills it’’ to naturalistic accounts, to remind themselves that natural patterns only exist at the sufferance of the divine will. Even if this is an irrelevant metaphysical gloss, it impedes communication with non-Muslim scientists, and no attempt to give it real content seems promising. Many Muslims oppose Darwinian evolution, and in doing so they routinely misdescribe the world. And if they try to follow those Christian liberals who say God is invisibly present behind the scientific account of events, they again end up with an irrelevant gloss, with mere hand-waving. The problem is that nothing Muslims have done so far has responded to the main challenge that modern science has posed for theistic religions: the growing sense that God has become optional, that it is a metaphysical ghost that is best removed from descriptions of the universe (Edis 2002). Conservative Christians have long faced a similar challenge, with many traditional Christian doctrines coming to seem irrelevant or likely false within the picture of the world drawn by the sciences. In the Christian and post-Christian world, there have been many responses to such challenges, including efforts to abstract philosophical principles from the successful practices of modern science and apply them to the question of what science may say about various worldviews (e.g. Gauch and other contributors to this volume). Such efforts tend not to convince too many parties in the debate between science and religion. The concrete achievements of science are the most difficult to deny. In that case, a broad consensus of various sciences in describing the world, when achieved, might carry more weight than more philosophical approaches. Muslims also do not want to have their beliefs marginalized by such a well-respected institution as modern science. But the science and religion debate is different in a Muslim context. Technological prowess is as compelling to Muslims as anyone else. But arguments derived from a more Western philosophical tradition, influenced by Christian theology, are bound to be even less convincing to Muslims. At present, liberal, compatibilist theological options are noticeably weaker among Muslims. In both research and education, we should not expect Muslim cultural responses, to challenges based on science, to follow the more familiar Western patterns. References AbuSulayman A (ed) (1989) Islamization of knowledge: general principles and work plan, 2nd edn. International Institute of Islamic Thought, Herndon Akbulut S¸ (1980) Darwin ve Evrim Teorisi. Yeni Asya Yayınları, Istanbul _ Altaytas¸ M (2001) Hangi Din? Eylu¨l Yayınları, Istanbul _ ¸ im Yayınları, Istanbul _ Atay T (2004) Din Hayattan C ¸ ıkar: Antropolojik Denemeler. Iletis _ Ates¸ S (1991) Gerc¸ek Din Bu (Volume 1). Yeni Ufuklar Nes¸ riyat, Istanbul _ ˆ mın Evrensellig˘i. Ufuk Kitapları, Istanbul _ Aydın MS (2000) Isla Bakar O (1987) Critique of evolutionary theory: a collection of essays. The Islamic Academy of Science, Kuala Lumpur Bakar O (1999) The history and philosophy of Islamic science. The Islamic Texts Society, Cambridge

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Bakar O (2003) The nature and extent of criticism of evolutionary theory. In: Zarandi MM (ed) Science and the myth of progress. World Wisdom, Bloomington Bucaille M (1979) The Bible, The Qur’an and Science. American Trust Publications, Indianapolis Bulbulia J et al (eds) (2008) The evolution of religion: studies, theories and critiques. Collins Foundation Press, Santa Margarita Dennett DC (1995) Darwin’s dangerous idea: evolution and the meanings of life. Simon and Schuster, New York Edis T (1994) Islamic creationism in Turkey. Creation/Evolution 34:1–12 Edis T (1999) Cloning creationism in Turkey. Rep Natl Cent Sci Educ 19(6):30–35 Edis T (2002) The ghost in the universe: god in light of modern science. Prometheus Books, Amherst Edis T (2003) Harun yahya and Islamic creationism. In: Chesworth A et al (eds) Darwin day collection one. Tangled Bank, Albuquerque Edis T (2004) Chance and necessity—and intelligent design? In: Young M, Edis T (eds) Why intelligent design fails: a scientific critique of the new creationism. Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick Edis T (2007) An illusion of harmony: science and religion in Islam. Prometheus Books, Amherst Edis T, Bix AS (2005) Biology and ‘created nature’: gender and the body in popular Islamic literature from modern Turkey and the West. Arab Studies Journal 12:2/13:1:140–158 Euben RL (1999) Enemy in the mirror Islamic fundamentalism and the limits of modern rationalism. Princeton University Press, Princeton Eve RA, Harrold FB (1991) The creationist movement in modern America. Twayne, Boston Guessoum N (2008) The Qur’an, science, and the (related) contemporary Muslim discourse. Zygon 43(2):411–431 _ Gu¨nbulut S¸ (1996) Ortadog˘u Din Ku¨ltu¨ru¨. Kaynak Yayınları, Istanbul Hamilton MA (2005) God vs. the gavel: religion and the rule of law. Cambridge University Press, New York Hoodbhoy P (2007) Science and the Islamic world—the quest for rapprochement. Phys Today 60(8):49. doi: 10.1063/1.2774098 ¨ BITAK _ Kazdag˘lı G (2001) Atatu¨rk ve Bilim. TU Yayınları, Ankara Keddie N (1968) An Islamic response to imperialism: political and religious writings of Sayyid Jamal al-Din ‘al-Afghani’. University of California Press, Berkeley Kepel G (1997) Allah in the West: Islamic movements in America and Europe. Stanford University Press, Stanford Melnyk A (2003) A physicalist manifesto: thoroughly modern materialism. Cambridge University Press, New York Miller JD, Scott EC, Okamoto S (2006) Public acceptance of evolution. Science 313:765–766. doi: 10.1126/science.1126746 Moghissi H (1999) Feminism and Islamic fundamentalism: the limits of postmodern analysis. Zed Books, London Moreland JP (1994) Theistic science and methodological naturalism. In: Moreland JP (ed) The creation hypothesis: scientific evidence for an intelligent designer. InterVarsity Press, Downer’s Grove Nasr SH (1987) Knowledge and the sacred. State University of New York Press, Albany Nasr SH (1994) A young Muslim’s guide to the modern world, 2nd edn. KAZI Publications, Chicago ¨ zervarlı MS (2003) Said Nursi’s project of revitalizing contemporary Islamic thought. In: Abu-Rabi IM O (ed) Islam at the crossroads: on the life and thought of Bediuzzaman Said Nursi. State University of New York Press, Albany Plantinga A (1991) When faith and reason clash: evolution and the Bible. Christ Sch Rev 21(1):8–32 Provine WB (1988) Progress in evolution and meaning in life. In: Nitecki MH (ed) Evolutionary progress. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago Rachels J (1991) Created from animals the moral implications of Darwinism. Oxford University Press, Oxford _ _ _ S¸ ahin A (2001) Islam ve Sosyoloji Ac¸ısından Ilim ve Din Bu¨tu¨nlu¨g˘u¨. Bilge Yayıncılık, Istanbul Sardar Z (ed) (1984) The touch of Midas: science, values and environment in Islam and the West. Manchester University Press, Manchester Seif-Amirhosseini Z (1999) ‘A change in the conception of Muslim women’. Islam21 20:15–18 _ _ Tatlı A (1990) Evrim Iflas Eden Teori. Bedir Yayınevi, Istanbul Tatlı A (2005) Evrim Teorisi Nasıl Anlatılmalı. Zafer 345 (September) _ Timurog˘lu V (1991) Tu¨rk-Islam Sentezi: 12 Eylu¨l’u¨n Eg˘itim ve Ku¨ltu¨r Politikası. Bas¸ ak Yayınları, Ankara _ ¨ s¸ u¨r S (1992) Islamcı Kadınların Yas¸ am Alanı: Tepkisel Indirgemecilik U mi? In: Arat N (ed) Tu¨rkiye’de _ Kadın Olgusu. Say Yayınları, Istanbul

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Vahide S¸ (2003) Toward an intellectual biography of Said Nursi. In: Abu-Rabi IM (ed) Islam at the crossroads: on the life and thought of Bediuzzaman Said Nursi. State University of New York Press, Albany van Raaij B (2005) Darwin is de profeet niet. de Volksrant, April 9 Vlaardingerbroek B, El-Masri YH (2006) The status of evolutionary theory in undergraduate biology programmes at Lebanese universities: a comparative study. Int J Educ Reform 15(2):150–163 _ Yahya H (1997) Evrim Aldatmacası: Evrim Teorisi’nin Bilimsel C ¸ o¨ku¨s¸ u¨ ve Teorinin Ideolojik Arka Planı. _ Vural Yayıncılık, Istanbul _ Yahya H (2003) Why Darwinism is incompatible with the Qur’an. Global Publishing, Istanbul ¨ V, Izmir _ Uzunog˘lu S (1995) Alternatif Biyolojiye Dog˘ru. TO _ Yılmaz I, Ziadat AA (1986) Western science in the Arab world: the impact of Darwinism. McMillan, London

Author Biography Taner Edis is an associate professor of physics at Truman State University, Kirksville, MO, USA. He was born and raised in Turkey, where he completed his first science degree, before moving to the USA where he received his PhD in physics from the Johns Hopkins University. He has written extensively on science and religion; his most recent book is An Illusion of Harmony: Science and Religion in Islam (Prometheus Books 2007).

Science and worldviews in the marxist tradition C. D. Skordoulis

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 17, No. 6, 559–571. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9092-8
Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2007

Abstract This paper is about the relationship between Marxism, Science and Worldviews. In Section I, the paper gives a descriptive definition of the scientific viewpoint based on a materialist ontology, a realist epistemology, and the recognition that science is a social activity. The paper shows in Section II that there are currents in contemporary Marxism which relate favourably to science. In Section III, the paper examines Marx’s encounter with Natural Philosophy and Materialism by analysing the influence of Epicurus on Marx. Section IV examines Marx’s positive attitude towards natural science. Section V discusses the relation between science and ideology and proposes a scheme to defend the thesis that science establishes a conceptual autonomy from the forms of social consciousness existing in the social formation. Finally Section VI examines the historical infusion of Marxism into the Western scientific community in the 1930s, and the positions adopted by Marxists when they have considered science education. One basis for science and another for life is apriori a lie Karl Marx, 1844

1 Introduction This paper is about the relationship between Marxism, Science and Worldviews—a controversial subject on which a vast, and contradictory, literature exists.1 One of the reasons 1

Some of the central literature is: David-Hillel Ruben’s Marxism and Materialism: A Study in Marxist Theory of Knowledge (1979), P. Murray’s Marx’s Theory of Scientific Knowledge (1988), G. McCarthy’s Marx’ Critique of Science and Positivism (1988), G. Kitching’s Marxism and Science: Analysis of an Obsession (1994), and D. Little’s The Scientific Marx (1986).

C. D. Skordoulis (&) Physics & Epistemology, University of Athens, Athens 15784, Greece e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_13

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for the controversy is that both Science and Marxism have been understood in various ways over the last 100 years. A further complication is that the Anglo-Saxon term ‘‘Science’’ differs from the German term ‘‘Wissenschaft’’. The first implies an empirical science, while the second implies a philosophical and more speculative science.2 Marx wrote in German and was addressing mainly a German audience. This is something emphasized lately by Marxist scholars such as Collier (2004) and Bensaid (2002). Another reason is that Marx himself did not write a systematic treatise on science, but throughout his writings there are passages in which he comments on the nature of science and on general questions of scientific methodology. Most of Marx’s comments on methodology and science are scattered in such works as The Holy Family, The Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts, the Theses on Feuerbach, The German Ideology, the Grundrisse, Capital, and in his Correspondence. Although there are also several places in which Marx compares his own historical, economic and political studies with the research carried out by natural scientists the luck of a systematic treatise on science leaves ground for conflicting interpretations. The most important reason, however, for the history of controversy is that ‘‘Marxism’’ as a term does not name a unitary body of theory.3 In fact, at the beginning of the 21st century and for the foreseeable future it is more appropriate to talk not about ‘‘Marxism’’ but about ‘‘Marxisms’’. So the obvious task for this paper is to clarify firstly which science relates to which Marxism and then to proceed in describing the relation between the two, which is the central task of this paper. Consequently statements such as appearing in the first chapter of Koertge’s House Built on Sand (Koertge 1998) about ‘‘marxists of every stripe’’ or the attack on Marxism and Marxists mounted in P. Gross’ and Levitt’s Higher Superstition (1994) are likely to be both unjust and incorrect, as they place Marxists, social constructivists and postmodernists collectively in the same wagon concerning their attitude towards science. It is true that Marxism is not at present fashionable in academia and that a number of scholars have abandoned Marxism for postmodernism. The divorce as exemplified by the works of Harvey (1990), Eagleton (1996), Meiksins-Wood and Foster (1997), and Callinicos (1989) is permanent and irreversible, while the hybrid of ‘‘postmarxism’’ does not seem to have any future and is treated with suspicion by both divorcees. This paper is structured as follows: In Section I, a descriptive definition of the scientific viewpoint is given as based on a materialist ontology, a realist epistemology, and equally importantly the recognition that science is a social activity. Based on these premises, the paper shows in Section II that there are currents in contemporary Marxism which relate favourably to science as developed on the grounds of materialist ontology and a realist epistemology. In Section III, the paper examines Marx’s encounter with Natural Philosophy and Materialism by analysing the influence of Epicurus on Marx referring to Marx’s doctoral dissertation and proposing the view that Marx’s thesis was a ‘‘transitional work’’ that achieved a first partial rupture with Hegelianism. Section IV examines Marx’s positive attitude towards natural science and makes specific references to his realism. Section V discusses the relation between science and ideology by revisiting the Lysenko affair and proposes a scheme to defend the thesis that science establishes a conceptual autonomy 2 3

For example, in a philosophical science a philologue or a literary critic is considered to be a scientist.

Wallis Suchting in the foreword of his Marx and Philosophy (1984) states that Marxism is like ‘‘an inhabited countryside which when seen from a great altitude seems homogeneous enough but when surveyed from closer up presents a rather different picture…you may see different towns…linked by roads some of which have not been used for a long time…’’.

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from the forms of social consciousness existing in the social formation. Finally Section VI examines the historical infusion of Marxism into the Western scientific community in the 1930s, and the traditional positions adopted by Marxists when they have considered science education.

2 Science: Materialist Ontology, Realist Epistemology, Social Activity This paper is concerned with the Marxist understanding of ‘Science’; ‘Natural Science’ to be more specific, and not Wissenschaft. However it needs to be remembered that Marx was not a natural scientist; he was a social scientist and although he was a philosopher he was not a philosopher of science by twentieth century standards. It will be argued that Marx’s views on science can be related favourably to a certain tradition of philosophy of science; for example the tradition expressed by Mahner and Bunge when they write that ‘the viewpoint of science comprises a naturalist ontology, a realist epistemology and a system of internal values (endoaxiology) coinciding with the free search for truth’(Mahner and Bunge 1996). The Marxist tradition also concurs with Mahner and Bunge when they further claim that scientific truth is not absolute but partial or approximate, that science’s naturalism is a kind of materialism, not a reductionist but an emergentist materialism, and most importantly that science is also a social activity.4 The study of science as a social activity is itself a social science where analytical concepts such as ideology, culture, relations of production etc are employed. Philip Kitcher (1998) describes two clusters of phenomena in the practice of science:

2.1 The Realist/Rationalist Cluster • Research can progress, increasing our powers of prediction and intervention. • So we can claim that hypothesized entities exist independently, and that our descriptions are approximately correct. • Our theories are vulnerable to future refutation. Revision is always possible. • Views rest on evidence, so disputes can be settled by standards of reason and evidence. • These standards of reason and evidence also change and progress over time.

2.2 The Socio-Historical Cluster • • • •

4

Science is practiced by humans with their cognitive and social limitations. Scientists always bring preconceptions and categories with them. Social structures of science influence its practice, and the intra-theoretical debates. Social structures influence judgements of what is most significant, and sometimes the answers that are proposed and accepted.

It has to be noted at this point that a fundamental element of the Marxist conception is ‘Dialectics’. Bunge in his Scientific Materialism (1981, Chapter 4) advances a severe criticism on Dialectics or to be more precise in one version of Dialectics. The reader should know that a precise definition of Dialectics is still open in contemporary Marxist literature. In a Special Issue of the journal Science & Society on Dialectics (Vol. 62, No. 3, Fall 1998), F. Jameson (1998, p.358) states that: ‘dialectic is as yet unrealised, a kind of an unfinished project…it is not a form of thought generated by this particular kind of society for which positivism, empiricism and various other traditions are more appropriate’.

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A central point of the various debates both among Marxists and also between Marxists and social constructivists is the degree to which social structures (social ideology, state institutions etc) influence the practice of science. The celebrated ‘‘Lysenko affair’’ falls in this category.

3 The Theoretical Landscape of Marxism In order to give a general topography of the theoretical landscape of Marxism we shall draw basically on Perry Anderson’s Considerations on Western Marxism (Anderson 1976). In this work Anderson employs a chronological and spatial categorization in order to distinguish between the two main traditions of Marxism: the ‘‘Classical Tradition’’ and what he calls ‘‘Western Marxism’’. The ‘‘Classical Tradition’’ starts with Marx in the mid 19th century, includes all the well known contributors to Marxist theory such as Engels, Lenin, Luxemburg, Bukharin, Trotsky and others; it ends with the defeat of the popular movements in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s, the rise of fascism and Nazism, and the stalinization of the USSR signified by the execution of Bukharin in 1938 after the parody of the Moscow trials, and the assassination of Trotsky in 1940. At this stage the ‘‘Classical Tradition’’ ceases to exist and is replaced by the official Soviet type Marxism-Leninism, a doctrinaire ideology of legitimation of a tyrannical regime. Born out of this political defeat was the current of ‘‘Western Marxism’’ with Lukacs, Korsch and the early Frankfurt School as its first generation thinkers. Luka´cs, in his History and Class Consciousness (1923/1971), argued that Marx was not a realist, and that he did not believe that the natural world exists independently of our knowledge of it. Luka´cs abandoned this view in the 1930s after reading Marx’s Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts, which convinced him of the importance of recognising the ‘‘ontological objectivity of nature’’. ‘‘Western Marxism’’ found each center of gravity in philosophy where a series of second generation thinkers (Adorno, Horkheimer, Sartre, Lefebvre, Marcuse) developed the field of ‘‘Critical Theory’’ not in isolation from surrounding currents of non-Marxist thought but in creative tension with them. This trend of Western Marxism became known as ‘‘Critical Marxism’’. Most of the thinkers in the critical Marxist camp insisted on the importance of Marx’s debt to Hegel. In this respect ‘‘Critical Marxism’’ has often been equated with Hegelian Marxism. For ‘‘Critical Marxists’’, Marx was nothing more than a radical Hegelian, and their theory was more dialectical than materialist. Anderson also places the anti-Hegelian critics of marxist humanism, namely the schools of Galvano Della Volpe in Italy and Louis Althusser in France, in the Western Marxism tradition. This is a matter of great dispute in Marxist literature. He also gives prominent position to the current of Isaac Deutcher, Roman Rosdolsky and Ernest Mandel which in fact is what has survived from the ‘‘Classical Tradition’’ of the pre Second World Period. Della Volpe’s masterpiece Logic as a Positive Science (1980) draws parallels between Kant’s critique of Leibnitz and Marx’s critique of Hegel, while Althusser’s Marxism relies heavily on the philosopher G. Bachelard, the historian G. Canguilehm, and the tradition of French structuralism. Althusser believed that Marx’s thought developed through an epistemological rupture with Hegelianism. Ernst Mandel in his most philosophical work, The Formation of the Economic Thought of Karl Marx (1977), defended the continuity of Marx’s thought from the Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts (1844/1977) to Capital (1859/1967). Mandel was a follower of

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French Enlightenment and also ‘‘a hard rationalist believing in the limitless capacity of scientific knowledge’’ (Aschcar 1999). Mandel was not an anti-Hegelian, in fact he has written extensively on alienation (one of the central concepts of Hegelian philosophy) so he cannot be placed alongside Della Volpe and Althusser. Mandel writes about ‘‘critical scientific Marxism’’ in contrast to the ‘‘scientific Marxism’’ of the schools of Della Volpe and Althusser. Mandel, in his The Place of Marxism in History (Mandel 1986), defends the classical view that Marx transformed the idealist dialectics of Hegel into materialist dialectics, the basic premises of which are: # Material reality (nature and society) exist independently of the desires, passions, intentions and ideas of those who try to interpret it. It is an objective reality, which thought seeks to explain. Naturally, the processes of cognition, of mastering knowledge (and therefore science, including social science) are themselves objective processes, potential objects of critical scientific examination. # Thought can never identify totally with objective reality, if only because the latter is in perpetual transformation, and the transformation of reality always precedes in time the progress of thought. But it can get closer and closer to it. Reality is therefore intelligible. Thought and science can progress (though not necessarily in a linear and permanent manner), and this can be verified concretely and practically, in human history by the consequences (verified predictions, successful applications, etc) that are the practical results of these advances. The ultimate criterion of the veracity of thought, of science, is therefore practical. # Thought is effective (scientific) in sofar, as its explanation of the real processes is not only coherent to explain what already exist, but can also be used to predict what does not yet exist, to integrate this prediction into the interpretation of the real process considered as a whole, and to alter and transform reality in line with a preestablished goal. In the last analysis, knowledge is a tool of survival for humankind, a means by which this species can change its place in nature and, thereby, increase its viability. Callinicos (1983, 1989)) can also be considered to belong in the ‘‘critical scientific Marxism’’ tradition. The common points between Mandel’s The Place of Marxism in History (1986) and Callinicos’s The Revolutionary Ideas of Karl Marx (1983) are more than their differences. Both of them combined academic work with political involvement, along the lines of the ‘‘Classical Tradition’’. With all the limitations of this approach which is not by any means complete5, one can distinguish at least two main currents within Western Marxism: the ‘‘scientific Marxism’’ of Della Volpe and Althusser, and the humanist ‘‘Critical Marxism’’ initiated by G. Lukacs and the Frankfurt School in the 1920s. A third current, ‘‘critical scientific Marxism’’, is mainly associated with the ‘‘classical tradition’’. While ‘‘Scientific Marxism’’ emphasizes the scientific character of Marxism, ‘‘Critical Marxism’’ is highly suspicious of science, its practice, and efforts of social scientists to emulate natural science. The two currents of Marxism differ in the importance they ascribe to Hegel’s influence on Marx. Criticism of science has been a characteristic feature of 5

In this analysis I do not make any references to schemes such as the British Cultural Marxism of the Birmingham School (Stuart Hall, Raymond Williams, E. P. Thomson), Analytical Marxism (G.A. Cohen, J. Elster), PostMarxism (E. Laclau, Ch. Mouffe) etc. An exhaustive analysis however will add very little to the paper and will be tiresome for the reader.

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Hegelian perspectives within Marxism. Alternatively, Marxists who embrace science have a tendency to minimize Hegel’s influence on the development of Marx’s thought. Critical Marxists conceive of Marxism as critique rather than science; they stress the continuity of Marx with Hegel, the importance of the young Marx, the ongoing significance of the young Marx’s emphasis on ‘‘alienation’’ and are more historicist. Scientific Marxists have stressed that Marx made an epistemological rupture with Hegel after 1845, requiring a methodology whose paradigm is the mature Political Economy of Capital rather than the humanism of the Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts. Critical Marxists stress the continuity between the young and old Marx because the young Marx was a Hegelian wishing to establish Marxism’s permanent link with the tradition of German philosophy of which Hegel was the culmination. Correspondingly, Scientific Marxists stress the break that the maturing Marx made from ideology to science, as well as ascribing sharp differences between ideology and science in general.

4 Marx’s Encounter with Natural Philosophy and Materialism A central point of distinction between Critical Marxism and Scientific Marxism is their commitment, or lack of, to ontological materialism. Critical Marxism tends to ignore materialism in its analyses promoting the predominance of social factors over the natural ones, of society over nature. For Louis Althusser materialism becomes central mainly in his later writings. From about mid-1982 to mid-1986, he wrote a number of pieces which sought to delineate a certain ‘unique tradition’ of materialism; an ‘underground current’, a ‘materialist tradition almost completely ignored in the history of philosophy’, which was not present (explicitly anyway) in his earlier writings. This he called both the ‘materialism of the encounter [mate´rialisme de la rencontre]’ and ‘aleatory materialism’ (Suchting 2004). For Althusser ‘every . . .materialism of the rationalist tradition . . . including that commonly attributed to Marx, Engels and Lenin . . . is a materialism of necessity and teleology, i.e., a disguised form of idealism’. This traditional materialism regards order as immanent in disorder (which is teleological), and contingency as an exception with respect to a fundamental necessity. Althusser finds the historical origin of ‘aleatory materialism’ in Epicurus. It is by reference to him that he presents its basic principles, and by reference to which he identifies it, or elements of it, in a wide variety of later thinkers: in the first place Machiavelli, Spinoza and Marx. Epicurus emerges as a central figure of Marx’s materialism in the work of J B Foster (2000) who declares that from Epicurus, Marx in his doctoral thesis developed his critique of teleological explanations in natural and human history. In studying Epicurus’ natural philosophy, Marx was addressing a view that had a powerful influence on the development of European science and modern naturalist-materialist philosophies. For Marx, Epicurus was the ‘‘the greatest representative of the Greek Enlightenment’’6 representing, most importantly, a non-deterministic materialism. In Epicurus, one could find a materialist conception of nature that rejected all teleology and all religious conceptions of natural and social existence. In the Epicurean materialist worldview, knowledge of the world started with the senses. The two primary theses of Epicurus’ natural philosophy make up what we today call the principle of conservation: nothing comes from nothing, and nothing being destroyed is 6

K. Marx and F. Engels, Collected Works, Vol.1, p.73.

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reduced to nothing. The study of Epicurus provides a way of understanding Marx’s materialism in natural philosophy. Marx’s study of ancient and early modern materialism brought him inside the scientific understanding of the natural world in ways that influenced all of his thought, since it focused on evolution and emergence, and made Nature, not God, the starting point. Moreover, Marx’s encounter with Hegel has to be understood in terms of the struggle that Marx was carrying on regarding the nature of materialist philosophy and science. Epicurus, not Hegel, emerges as the pivotal figure in Marx’s early development (Foster 2002). Marx’s doctoral dissertation assumes special weight in this account, marking a significant rupture with Hegel. Rather than contained within the idealist philosophy of the Hegelian system, Marx’s thesis aimed at formulating an anti-teleological materialism that incorporated the ‘‘activist element’’ of Hegelianism. Building on Epicurus, Marx’s emergent materialism denied neither the objectivity of nature, as Hegel did, nor humans’ active relation to nature and to each other. Two aspects of Epicurus’s materialism were especially important for Marx: First, all divine intervention, direct or indirect and thus all absolute determinisms, all teleological principles, were expelled from nature. The very creation of the world, according to Epicurus, can be accounted for only by reference to the realm of chance, created by the ‘swerve’ of the atom. Second, his argument for the swerve is evidently premised on the objectivity of nature independent of human thought, in contrast to the Hegelian formulation. Yet Epicurus went beyond a view that reduced thought to ‘passive sensation’. Quite the contrary, Epicurus believed that perception through the senses is only possible because it expresses an active relation to nature–and indeed, of nature to itself. Even more significant for Marx’s thinking was Epicurus’s notion that material existence was only evident through change, that is, evolution. For Marx, dialectical reasoning can be considered as a necessary element of our cognition, arising from the emergent, transitory character of reality.7 Marx developed a ‘‘dialectical naturalism’’ that admits a dialectical approach to the study of nature as well as society. Hence, Marx’s examination of Epicurus’s dialectical treatment of evolution provided a much more thoroughgoing materialist foundation for subsequent investigations of human society. Marx’s doctoral thesis shows that he was ambivalent from the start about the Hegelian system. Foster (2000, p.65) insists that ‘not only did Marx demonstrate an independence from Hegel in his very first literary work; he did so on the basis of an encounter with materialism, which was to have a lasting influence on his thinking’. Still, Marx’s doctoral thesis was a ‘‘transitional work’’ that achieved only a partial rupture with Hegelianism.

5 Marx’s Science-Realism Karl Marx devoted his life in investigating human society, in discovering the relations between men and in so doing he intended to achieve objective scientific knowledge of social life (Cohen 1955). For Marx, Capital is a work of science. In Capital, he compares his ‘‘scientific analysis of competition’’, based on an account of the ‘‘inner nature of capital’’, to the way in which astronomers explained the ‘‘apparent motions of the heavenly bodies’’ by developing a theory of ‘‘their real motions...which are not directly 7

For a thorough treatment of the relation between evolution and dialectical reasoning the reader can refer to the work of the Marxist Biologists Levins and Lewontin (1985).

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perceptible by the senses’’ (Marx 1859/1967, p.316). Marx sees science as a dialectical process in the sense that its methods and concepts, as well as its theories, develop over time in dynamic interaction with one another and with the material world, allowing progressively more accurate descriptions of reality to emerge. Marx is a scientific realist who holds that science aims to give us knowledge of the underlying structure of an independently existing material world. While recognising that ‘‘sense-experience must be the basis of all science’’ (Marx 1844/1977, p. 94), Marx rejects the empiricist view that science is largely concerned with systematising what is directly observable rather than with discovering underlying causes. As Allen Wood notes, Marx ‘criticises empiricists for emphasising observation too much at the expense of theory, and for treating scientific concepts and theories only as convenient mechanisms for relating isolated facts rather than as attempts to capture the structure of reality’ (Wood 1981, p.162). In Capital Marx notes: ‘‘all science would be superfluous if the outward appearance and the essence of things directly coincided’’ (Marx 1859/1967, Vol.3, p.817). In the first Thesis on Feuerbach he takes it to be obvious that there are ‘‘sensuous objects, really distinct from the thought objects’’ (Marx 1845/1970) so that ‘‘the priority of external nature remains unassailed’’ (Marx and Engels 1845–46/1970), and he critisizes the views of the Young Hegelians in the 1840s by comparing them to what he regards as the absurd view that the world is constructed by consciousness. Marx’s intellectual development and his attitude towards science had been affected by figures such as the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus, Charles Darwin and the German chemist Justus von Liebig. From Epicurus, Marx in his doctoral dissertation developed his critique of teleological explanations in natural and human history. From Darwin, Marx developed a distinctive theory of ‘co-evolution’ that accounted for the ways in which society shaped, and in turn was shaped by nature. Linking together Marx’s materialism with his critique of capitalism is the concept of ‘metabolism’- Stoffwechsel (Foster 2002), which Marx derived from the work of the German chemist Justus von Liebig. Marx and Engels greeted Darwin’s theory and described it as ‘‘the basis in natural history for our views’’.8 Not only did they study Darwin intensely, they were also drawn into the debates concerning human evolution that followed immediately on Darwin’s work. Marx in a letter to F. Lassale wrote that Darwin’s The Origins of Species, ‘‘provides a basis in natural science for the historical class struggle’’.9 What could this mean? Marx shared with Darwin a view of history characterized by struggle, adaptation, transformation, and the dialectical interplay of organism and nature. Marx’s great innovation was to take Darwin’s conception of natural history, in which organism and environment alike are transformed, to comprehend human history as a co-evolutionary process. In Marx’s hands, the concept of metabolism has a broad social meaning referring to the complex, dynamic, interdependent set of needs and relations brought into being and constantly reproduced in alienated form under capitalism and a more specific meaning that refers to material exchanges between nature and society (Foster 2000). Marx derived the notion of metabolism from Justus von Liebig’s pioneering work in Soil Chemistry, published in the early 1840s, and read by Marx while completing the first volume of his Capital. In 1866 he wrote to Engels, ‘‘I had to plough through the new agricultural chemistry in Germany, in particular Liebig and Scho¨nbein, which is more important for 8

Letter from Marx to Engels, December 19, 1860 in K. Marx and F. Engels, Collected Works, Vol.40, p.551.

9

K. Marx and F. Engels, Collected Works, Vol.41, p.232.

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this matter than all of the economists put together.’’10 Indeed, ‘‘To have developed from the point of view of natural science the negative, ie destructive side of modern agriculture,’’ Marx noted in volume one of Capital, ‘‘is one of Liebig’s immortal merits’’ (Marx 1859/1967, p.638).

6 Science as Social Activity: The Conceptual Autonomy of Science In addition to advocating a realist conception of science, Marx emphasises that science can only be fully understood in its broader social context. In The German Ideology he asks: ‘Where would natural science be without industry and commerce? Even this ‘‘pure’’ natural science is provided with an aim, as with its material, only through trade and industry’ (Marx and Engels 1845–46/1970). Or as he puts it in Capital: ‘modern industry ... makes science a productive force distinct from labour and presses it into the service of capital’.11 Thus, Marxists strive to understand the Scientific Revolution and the rise of modern physics in the 17th century in the context of the development of capitalism. It does not follow, however, that science is subordinate to bourgeois ideology. This reasoning is developed by supporters of the doctrine of a ‘‘proletarian science’’ as opposed to ‘‘bourgeois science’’ (Paul 1979). It is true that the unprecedented phenomenon of the ideologization of the natural sciences appeared in the USSR under Stalin (Graham 1973). The Stalinist destruction of critical scientific thought laid the groundwork for ‘‘Lysenkoism’’; the movement named after the agronomist Lysenko who became a high ranking official in Soviet Biology by denouncing modern genetics as inconsistent with Dialectical Materialism. Lysenko’s views were not only a travesty of Marxist thought they were also eventually to result in major damage to Soviet agriculture (Soyfer 1994). In mentioning the Lysenko Affair it is difficult to avoid comparing the accusations made against soviet geneticists with Galileo’s fate in the hands of Inquisition; or the Macarthy purges of scientists, such as David Bohm, in the USA in the 1950s. In all cases, a dominant social order integrates a doctrinal interpretation of natural phenomena into its system of ideological hegemony and uses its secular arm to crash any scientific attempt to challenge that interpretation. The idea that the existing natural sciences are bourgeois is quite alien to classic Marxist thought; it is a Stalinist theoretical innovation that is best described as inverted positivism. Whereas positivism wanted to ‘‘naturalize’’ the human and social sciences, Stalinism attempted to ‘‘politicize’’ the natural sciences. Science establishes a conceptual autonomy from the forms of social consciousness, and ideologies, existing in the social formation. This conceptual autonomy of science underpins a discontinuity between scientific practice and those patterns of ideology and material interests that constitute any particular social conjuncture. Historically social conflicts have developed over the appropriation and/or suppression of new scientific knowledge. From the standpoint of the dominant social forces, new scientific concepts are always potentially subversive: they are a potential challenge to the prevailing ideological formation. For instance, in Western Europe, since the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the special cognitive authority of science has caused major social clashes over the cultural appropriation of each successive scientific innovation by competing social forces, state institutions, ideological movements – the 10

K. Marx and F. Engels, Collected Works, Vol.42, p.227.

11

K. Marx, Capital, Vol. 1, Chapter XIV, section 5, p.361.

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Catholic and Protestant churches, the Soviet Academy, the Romantic Movement, National Socialism, and so on. For the dominant social forces, the subversive potential of scientific ideas could – given the discontinuity of scientific practice from popular forms of social consciousness and its institutional containment—be controlled within a specialist elite. But in the case where scientific ideas attained a popular diffusion, the dominant political power had to adopt a strategy of suppression over the appropriation of these new scientific ideas. This frequently has taken the form of a one-sided elaboration and articulation of scientific ideas to render them consistent with the dominant cultural forms. From the standpoint of the popular classes and social movements, new scientific ideas served as a major source of ethical legitimacy. They furnished new resources for the critique of the established order since scientific advances remove the irrational bases of the established forms of social and political authority—the Divine Right of Kings, the monopoly on Souls held by colonizing powers, and so on.

7 Marxism among the Scientists. Implications for Science Education This last section examines the infusion of Marxism in the scientific community and its initial implications for science education. The starting point is the appearance of the Soviet delegation at the Second International Congress of the History of Science and Technology in London in 1931, and whose papers have been collected in Science at the Cross Roads (Werskey 1971). The most famous of the contributions to Science at the Crossroads is Boris Hessen’s paper ‘The Social and Economic Roots of Newton’s Principia’, which provides a detailed analysis of the way in which the development of Classical Physics was influenced by the economic and technological developments of the 17th century. Hessen focuses on the period of the English Revolution of the 1640s, and examines the impact on the development of physics of economic and technological factors. But Hessen did not present a vulgar reductionist view. While economic and technological factors play a crucial role in shaping the development of science, Hessen also discusses the influence of philosophical and political ideas, arguing that it is necessary to ‘analyse more fully Newton’s epoch, the class struggles during the English Revolution, and the political, philosophic and religious theories...reflected in the minds of the contemporaries of these struggles’ (Werskey 1971, p.177). Hessen’s essay initiated a new field of study that has been subsequently called ‘social history of science’. Two years later, Bukharin edited an important collection titled Marxism and Modern Thought (Bukharin 1935) which contains important discussions of ‘‘Marxism and Natural Science’’ (Y. M. Uranovsky), ‘‘The Old and the New Physics’’ (S.I. Vavilov) and ‘‘Marx and Engels on Biology’’ (V. L. Komarov). Unfortunately this period of Soviet intellectual vitality was about to be extinguished: within a few years many of the contributors to the two volumes, including Bukharin and Hessen, became victims of Stalin’s purges (Gasper 1998). Although extinguished in the Soviet Union the work of Bukharin, Hessen and others, influenced a generation of radical scientists in Britain who turned to Marxism and became brilliant popularisers of science and energetic promoters of science education. G. Werskey has written a collective biography of five of these famous British Marxist scientists. His Visible College includes Hyman Levy, J.B.S. Haldane, Lancelot Hogben, J.D. Bernal and

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Joseph Needham (Werskey 1979).12 P.M.S. Blackett, who became President of the Royal Society and a Nobel Laureate, was another scientist and leftist influenced by the papers of the Soviet delegation in the 1931 Congress. These scientists founded a tradition that produced a number of influential popular and scholarly works.13 They were also very active as lecturers and also science popularizers and in the periodical press. J.G. Crowther is considered to be the first science journalist, and was science editor of Oxford University Press. J.B.S. Haldane wrote a regular column in the Daily Worker which was later compiled by the biologist John Maynard Smith. But the most influential single work in this tradition was J. D. Bernal’s14 The Social Function of Science (1939).15 The view of science of this group is best represented by the following passage from the work: Already we have in the practice of science the prototype for all human common action. The task which the scientists have undertaken—the understanding and control of nature and of man himself—is merely the conscious expression of the task of human society. The methods by which this task is attempted, however imperfectly they are realized, are the methods by which humanity is most likely to secure its own future. In its endeavour, science is communism (Bernal 1939, p.414). Bernal was deeply concerned with the state of science education. His criticisms have been echoed down the decades by others but his suggestions are still relevant. In The Social Function of Science he wrote that the chief benefit of science education is that it teaches a child about the actual universe in which he is living, and how to think logically by studying the method of science.16 He insists that the way in which educated people respond to pseudo-science such as spiritualism or astrology, not to say more dangerous ones such as racial theories, shows that previous years of education in the method of science in Britain or Germany has produced no visible effect whatever (Bernal 1939, p.72). Bernal devoted fifteen pages of The Social Function to ‘‘Changing the Teaching of Science’’. He advocated introducing an element of discovery into science teaching, thus 12 Werskey’s work refers exclusively to Britain. Well-known Marxists scientists in the anglo-saxon world are also Benjamin Farrigton and Dirk Struik. Generations of Marxists scientists and educators appeared and flourished nearly everywhere in the western world with the most celebrated declaration being Albert Einstein’s ‘‘Why I am a Socialist’’ (Monthly Review Vol.1, No1). 13

J.G. Crowther’s The Social Relations of Science (1941), Joseph Needham’s Time: The Refreshing River (1943) and History is on Our Side (1945), followed much later by his monumental Science and Civilization in China (1954), J.B.S. Haldane’s The Inequality of Man (1932), The Marxist Philosophy and the Sciences (1938), Lancelot Hogben’s Science for the Citizen (1938), Hyman Levy’s A Philosophy for a Modern Man (Left Book Club, 1938).

14 Bernal worked tirelessly for the cause of socially responsible science. He felt that the progress of science was sufficient to alleviate the many problems that confront humankind. He believed that science should concern itself in a planned way to improving the lot of humankind. He did irreparable harm to his cause by the constancy of this support for the Lysenko affair; even as late as 1949 he was reviewing Lysenko’s work in a favourable light. 15 This publication was followed by a number of books, the most relevant of which are The Freedom of Necessity (1949) and the four-volume Science in History (1954). Bernal’s influence was celebrated in The Science of Science (1964) and Needham’s in Changing Perspectives in the History of Science (1973). 16 The study of the method of science is praised also by the eminent French Marxist Physicist Paul Langevin when he writes: ‘‘…the child’s field of vision will widen progressively along with his discovery of the immediate world. This will enable him to find his place there, as well as an ever widening circle. He will follow the true way of culture which goes from the near to the far, from the particular to the general, from the concrete to the abstract, from individuality to generality, from egocentric to altruistic interest’’. (La Pensee, Vol.1, No1).

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predating the discovery-learning movement. He has also argued for the inclusion of questions of social responsibility in the teaching of science—another contemporary theme. Also of contemporary significance is his call for teaching Science for All which would empower citizens through developing their abilities to see that everyone not only has a general picture of the world in terms of modern knowledge, but also appreciates and can use the type of argument on which that knowledge is based, to be able to safeguard themselves from ‘anti-rational tendencies which are otherwise at the command of all reactionary forces’ (Bernal 1939, p.248) and to provide an understanding of the place of science in society to enable the citizen appreciate the role of science on society. In making these suggestions Bernal was asking for radical changes in the science teaching of his day. Bernal emphasized the important role of science teachers. For Bernal science teachers, with their special knowledge, represented one of society’s great resources, and it was important that this resource should be used for the benefit of society. At the same time in addressing practical, and controversial social problems and in giving leadership to their students they would need to be thoughtful, aware that ‘anti-scientific and anti-social forces are powerfully entrenched in the school system’ (Bernal 1949, p.143). He believed that if school teachers knew their job they would be able to convince the society that a rational approach to social problems is not politics but plain common sense (Cross and Price 1988). Bernal’s general attitude on science teaching is given epigrammatically: ‘Science and education are powerful weapons for the defence of democracy, and for making possible the extension and development of democracy in the direction of an ordered, yet free, co-operative community’ (Bernal 1949, p.158).

References Anderson P (1976) Considerations on Western Marxism. Verso, London Aschcar G (1999) Ernest Mandel: An Intellectual Portrait. In: Aschcar G (ed) The Legacy of Ernest Mandel. Verso, London Bensaid D (2002) Marx for our Times. Verso, London Bernal JD (1939) The Social Function of Science, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London; (2nd Edition M.I.T. Press, 1967) Bernal JD (1949) The Freedom of Necessity. Routledge and Kegan Paul, London Bernal JD (1954) Science in History, Watts and Co., London (2nd edn., 1957; 3rd edn., 1965; also Penguin, 4 vols. 1969) Bernal JD (1964) After twenty-five years. In: Goldsmith M, Mackay A (eds) The Science of Science. Penguin, Harmondsworth, pp 285–309 Bukharin NI (1935) Marxism and Modern Thought. Routledge, London Bunge M (1981) Scientific Materialism. Reidel, Dordrecht Callinicos A (1989) Against Postmodernism: A Marxist Critique. Polity Press, Cambridge, UK Callinicos A (1983) The Revolutionary Ideas of Karl Marx. Bookmarks, London Cohen R (1955) On the Marxist Philosophy of Education. In: Henry NB (ed) Modern Philosophies and Education. The Fifth-fourth Yearbook of the National Society for the Study of Education, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, Illinois Collier A (2004) Marx. Oneworld Publications, Oxford Cross RT, Price RF (1988) J. D. Bernal and Science Education: A Tribute to the 50th Anniversary of the Publication of ‘‘The Social Function of Science’’. Research In Science Education 18:152–159 Crowther JG (1941) The Social Relations of Science. Macmillan, London Della Volpe G (1980) Logic as a Positive Science. New Left Books - NLB, London Eagleton T (1996) The Illusions of Postmodernism. Blackwell, Oxford Foster JB (2000) Marx’s Ecology. Monthly Review Press, New York Foster JB (2002) Marx’s Ecology in Historical Perspective. International Socialism Journal 96 Winter 2002 Gasper P (1998) Marxism and Science. International Socialism Journal 79, July 1998 Graham LR (1973) Science and Philosophy in the Soviet Union. Alfred A. Knopf, New York

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Gross P, Levitt N (1994) Higher Superstition: The Academic Left and its Quarrels with Science. John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore Haldane JBS (1932) The Inequality of Man and other Essays. Harmondsworth, Penguin, London Haldane JBS (1938) The Marxist Philosophy and the Sciences. George Allen and Unwin, London Harvey D (1990) The Condition of Postmodernity. Blackwell, Oxford Hogben L (1938) Science for the Citizen: A Self Educator Based on the Social Backqround of Scientific Discovery. George Allen and Unwin, London Jameson F (1998) Persistencies of the Dialectic. Science & Society 62(3):358–371 Levins R, Lewontin R (1985) The Dialectical Biologist. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA Kitcher P (1998) A Plea for Science Studies. In: Koertge N (ed) A House Built on Sand. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 34–36 Kitching G (1994) Marxism and Science: Analysis of an Obsession. Pennsylvania State University Press, University Park, Pennsylvania Koertge N (1998) Scrutinizing Science Studies. In: Koertge N (ed) A House Built on Sand. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 3–6 Levy H (1938) A Philosophy for a Modern Man. Left Book Club, London Little D (1986) The Scientific Marx. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis Luka´cs G (1923/1971) History and Class Consciousness. trans. Rodney Livingstone, Merlin Press, London Mahner M, Bunge M (1996) Is Religious Education Compatible with Science Education? Science & Education 5:101–123 Mandel E (1986) The Place of Marxism in History. International Institute of Research & Education – IIRE, Notebooks Series No.1, Amsterdam, (2nd Edition, 1994, Humanities Press, New Jersey) Mandel E (1977) The Formation of the Economic Thought of Karl Marx. New Left Books - NLB, London Marx K (1859/1967) Capital. Vols. 1-3, International Publishers, New York Marx K (1844/1977) Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts. In: McLellan D (ed) Karl Marx: Selected Writings (2nd Edition, 2000). Oxford University Press, Oxford Marx K (1845/1970) Theses on Feuerbach. In: Arthur CJ (ed) Marx & Engels: The German Ideology. Lawrence & Wishart Ltd, London, p. 121 Marx K, Engels F (1845–46/1970) The German Ideology- Part I: Feuerbach. In: Arthur CJ (ed) Marx & Engels: The German Ideology. Lawrence & Wishart Ltd, London, p 63 Marx K, Engels F (1975) Collected Works. International Publishers, New York McCarthy G (1988) Marx’s Critique of Science and Positivism. Kluwer, Dordrecht Meiksins-Wood E, Foster JB (1997) In Defense of History: Marxism and the Postmodern Agenda. Monthly Review Press, New York Murray P (1988) Marx’s Theory of Scientific Knowledge. Humanities Press International, Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey Needham J (1973) Autobiography. In: Teich M, Young R (eds) Changing Perspectives in the History of Science: Essays in Honour of Joseph Needham. Heinemann, London Needham J (1943) Time: The Refreshing River. George Allen and Unwin, London Needham J (1945) History is on Our Side. George Allen and Unwin, London Needham J (1954) Science and Civilization in China. 7 vols, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Paul DB (1979) Marxism, Darwinism and the Theory of Two Sciences. Marxist Perspectives 5:116–143 Ruben D-H (1979) Marxism and Materialism: A Study in Marxist Theory of Knowledge. 2nd edn. Harvester Press, Brighton Soyfer VN (1994) Lysenko and the Tragedy of Soviet Science. trans. L. Gruliow & R. Gruliow, Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick, NJ Suchting W (1984) Marx and Philosophy. McMillan, London Suchting W (2004) Althusser’s Late Thinking About Materialism. Historical Materialism 12:1:3–70 Werskey G (1971) Science at the Cross Roads (Papers presented to the International Congress of the History of Science and Technology held in London from June 29th to July 3rd, 1931, by the Delegates of the USSR). Frank Cass, London Werskey G (1979) The Visible College. Allen Lane, London Wood A (1981) Karl Marx. Routledge, London (2nd edn. 2004)

Science and Worldviews in the Classroom: Joseph Priestley and Photosynthesis Michael R. Matthews

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 929–960. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-009-9184-8
Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2009

Abstract This paper elaborates on the life and publications of Joseph Priestley, the eighteenth-century polymath. The paper outlines his particular place in the European Enlightenment; it stresses the importance of philosophy and worldview in his scientific work on pneumatic chemistry, the composition of air, and his discovery of the process of photosynthesis (or the ‘restoration of air’ as it was called at the time); finally the paper indicates ways in which Priestley’s work on photosynthesis can be utilised in the school classroom to advance the understanding of scientific subject matter, to promote an understanding of the nature of scientific procedure and methodology, and finally to evaluate some basic tenets of the European Enlightenment that Priestley so passionately advocated.

1 Introduction There are three important social and educational considerations that justify dealing with Joseph Priestley in school science programmes: first, at all levels schools are asked to address the pressing environmental problem of the ‘goodness of air’ (to use Priestley’s phrase) and consequently the process of photosynthesis on which Priestley shed so much early light; second, ‘nature of science’(NOS) goals are included in numerous international curricula and Priestley’s writing well illustrate many of the essential features of NOS; third, there is a widespread concern in education and in culture with reappraising and reexamining of the tenets of the European Enlightenment tradition, a tradition to which Priestley made significant contributions, and whose essential features are manifest in Priestley’s life and writings. Photosynthesis is a fundamental process for life on earth, with many biologists rating it the most important natural process; as such it has for long been a core part of the school biology curriculum. But it is well known that children at all levels have great difficulty M. R. Matthews (&) School of Education, University of New South Wales, Sydney, NSW 2052, Australia e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_14

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comprehending and understanding photosynthesis: students’ conceptual understanding of the process routinely lags behind what might be anticipated from their grade level, and from the curriculum they have been taught.1 Given the current well-publicised environmental problems concerning the state of the atmosphere, carbon trading, CO2 emissions, green-house gases, forest preservation, and so on, then the inadequate student and general public knowledge of such a fundamental natural process becomes more pressing. The science part is tied up with two basic complementary processes: photosynthesis2 and respiration. Photosynthesis: carbon dioxide ? water ? energy (light) ? organic compounds (starch) ? oxygen Respiration: organic compounds ? oxygen ? carbon dioxide ? water ? energy The first process represents both ‘carbon capture’ and the restoration of air; when buried coal seams are dug up, or forests cut down and burnt there is massive carbon release via the second process. The two processes are major components of the earth’s ‘carbon cycle’. Clearly it is important for students to learn about these processes, and their wider social, economic, cultural and ethical dimensions and impacts. This is part of responsible citizenship. But additionally there is great value in learning about how these fundamental processes came to be discovered and understood; such learning provides appreciation and understanding of the nature of science and the scientific enterprise. Schools are also expected to teach about the NOS; not just the content or method of science, but about the ‘bigger picture’ of science: its methodology, philosophy, history and, more broadly, its relationship with society, culture, religion and worldviews.3 For example, the American Association for the Advancement of Science in its The Liberal Art of Science says: The teaching of science must explore the interplay between science and the intellectual and cultural traditions in which it is firmly embedded. Science has a history that can demonstrate the relationship between science and the wider world of ideas and can illuminate contemporary issues. (AAAS 1990, p. xiv) Finally, at many levels of education there is a concern to re-examine the philosophical, cultural, political and religious tenets of the European Enlightenment that guided the establishment of modern liberal, secular, democratic societies and nations. For many, science is only contingently connected to liberal, democratic and secular institutions and culture. For such folk science has become illegitimately associated with a specific Enlightenment worldview. This has prompted a concern to examine ‘what is living and what is dead’ in the Enlightenment tradition. Multiculturalism in education, concerns for the preservation of Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK), the ‘Science Wars’, the call to end ‘Grand Narratives’, the supposed ‘clash of civilisations’, Feminist Epistemology, the ubiquity of Postmodernist critiques of Western philosophical and political assumptions—

1

Among countless studies documenting children’s inadequate (given age and grade level) understanding of photosynthesis see: Barker (1995), Can˜al (1999), Eisen and Stavy (1988), Lin and Hu (2003), Wandersee (1985) and references therein.

2

The term ‘photosynthesis’ was coined in 1898 by the Englishman Charles Barnes (1858–1910) to denote the complex biological–chemical process of the ‘synthesis of complex carbon compounds out of carbonic acid, in the presence of chlorophyll, under the influence of light’ (Gest 2002, p. 7). The equation for the process is: 6CO2 ? 6H2O ? solar energy ? C6H12O6 ? 6O2.

3

For some of the arguments and literature, see Matthews (1994) and contributions to McComas (1998).

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are all part of an on-going reappraisal of the Enlightenment heritage.4 This can be seen in the words of two science educators who conclude a recent article with the clarion call: What remains here is the question how to deprivilege science in education and to free our children from the ‘‘regime of truth’’ that prevents them from learning to apply the current cornucopia of simultaneous but different forms of human knowledge with the aim to solve the problems they encounter today and tomorrow. (van Eijck and Roth 2007, p. 944) To de-privilege science, and free children from the regime of truth, are starkly at odds with the Enlightenment tradition. But such calls are depressingly common in current science education literature; that they are being made underlines the importance of being clear about the strengths and weaknesses of the Enlightenment tradition. Priestley was one of the foremost scientists (natural philosophers) of the eighteenth century, he was a life-long devout Christian minister, and he was an energetic exponent of Enlightenment principles, in particular the necessity of applying the methodology of the new Newtonian science to all fields of inquiry—historical, theological, educational, ethical, the separation of Church and State, freedom of speech, freedom of religion, decriminalisation of religious beliefs, the freedom of science (including historical studies of religious scripture) from political and religious control, and he was a ceaseless advocate of education. Thus some appropriate study of Priestley’s life and work allows each of the above current educational concerns to be productively addressed.

2 Some Appraisals of Priestley Modern appreciation of Priestley has been significantly influenced by the harsh judgement of Thomas Kuhn in his best-selling Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Kuhn 1970). In a famous passage Kuhn writes of the irrationality of paradigm change and of old paradigms just dying out until ‘at last only a few elderly hold-outs remain’. He then singularly names Priestley as an example ‘of the man who continues to resist after his whole profession has been converted’ and adds that such a man ‘has ipso facto ceased to be a scientist’ (Kuhn 1970, p. 159). Kuhn essentially ‘blackened’ Priestley’s reputation in the academic world. Kuhn’s has become the widely-accepted obituary for Priestley—the stubborn old man who held on to belief in a peculiar phlogiston substance and who resisted the dawning light of Lavoisierian chemistry. Pleasingly, some historians and philosophers have provided extensive studies that refute Kuhn’s caricature of Priestley.5 A generous and accurate assessment of Priestley was given by Frederic Harrison in his Introduction of a nineteenth-century edition of Priestley’s Scientific Correspondence, as follows: If we choose one man as a type of the intellectual energy of the eighteenth century, we could hardly find a better than Joseph Priestley, though his was not the greatest mind of the century. His versatility, eagerness, activity, and humanity; the immense range of his curiosity in all things, physical, moral, or social; his place in science, in theology, in philosophy, and in politics; his peculiar relation to the Revolution, and 4 5

Guides to some of this literature can be found in Bunge (1994) and Passmore (1994).

See the studies of Robert Schofield (1964, 1983, 1997, 2004); John McEvoy (1978–1979, 1983, 1990; McEvoy and McGuire 1975) and William Brock (2008).

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the pathetic story of his unmerited sufferings, may make him the hero of the eighteenth century. (Bolton 1892, Introduction)

3 Priestley’s Life There has been a good deal written about Priestley’s life and accomplishments that teachers can draw on for elaborating contemporary lessons.6 He was born in Yorkshire in 1733 and died on 6th February 1804 in the United States in the small isolated backwoods town of Northumberland in the state of Pennsylvania. Although the bicentenary of his death was rightly marked in historical and chemical circles, it unfortunately went largely unnoticed in education circles. This is a pity as Priestley was a dedicated teacher, educationalist, and perhaps the first modern science teacher. As well as teaching, Priestley wrote a number of influential works on the theory and practice of education. His most famous work—An Essay on a Course of Liberal Education for Civil and Active Life (1765)—was written and published while teaching at Warrington Academy.7 Priestley had a severe and disturbing Calvinistic upbringing.8 In his late teenage years, being a religious dissenter and hence barred from Oxford and Cambridge universities,9 he attended Daventry Academy where he read Locke, Newton, Hartley and many of the major philosophical, scientific, and religious works of the time. It was an institution where the ‘serious pursuit of truth’ was the preoccupation (Priestley 1806/1970, p. 75).10 This was in marked contrast to the scholarly climate in the established universities.11 He acquired fluency in Greek, Latin, Syriac and a number of European languages including, later, High Dutch. At 22 years of age he was ordained a Dissenting minister, the duties of which vocation were the central preoccupation of his adult life. He ministered in a number of small rural towns, where he also established schools being perhaps the first ever teacher of science to engage students in laboratory work (Schofield 1997, p. 79). In his late twenties he taught language, history, logic, and literature at the Warrington Academy where he also began 6

The definitive and exhaustive biographical study of Priestley is Robert Schofield’s two volume work (Schofield 1997, 2004). Priestley’s autobiography (2 vols.) is in Priestley (1806/1970). Recent popular accounts of Priestley can be found in Jackson (2005) and Johnson (2009). The following anthologies contain excellent material on Priestley: Rivers and Wykes (2008), Schwartz and McEvoy (1990), and Anderson and Lawrence (1987).

7

This was reprinted 16 times and had many translations. A selection of the text is in Passmore (1965).

8

In his Memoirs Priestley writes: ‘I felt occasionally such distress of mind as it is not in my power to describe, and which I still look back upon with horror’. (Priestley 1806/1970, p. 71)

9

In the United Kingdom, the established Anglican Church was powerfully backed by the State. The Cavalier (Royalist) Parliament passed the Corporation Act in 1661 and the Act of Uniformity in 1662. These Acts prohibited dissenters or ‘nonconformists’ (Presbyterians, Anabaptists, and later Methodists and Unitarians) from government office, universities, and being officers in the armed forces; and prevented them from establishing their own congregations, schools, and academies. The same strictures applied to Roman Catholics; and of course to Jews, Muslims and Atheists. For good measure, the ‘Five-Mile Act’ was passed in 1665, this prohibited a Dissenting minister or Catholic priest from coming within 5 miles of a city, corporate town or borough.

10

For accounts of the Dissenting academies see Parker (1914), McLachlan (1931), Watts (1983, 1991) and Wykes (1996).

11 The same year that Priestley went to Daventry, Edward Gibbon was sent to Oxford to further his education, but instead of a community of scholars, he found only ‘wastrels and gossips’ (Gibbon 1776– 1788/1963, p. 13). Richard Westfall in his biography of Newton says that Cambridge at the time was ‘fast approaching the status of an intellectual wasteland’ (Westfall 1980, p. 190).

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reading contemporary works in chemistry and electricity that supplemented his earlier readings of Newton’s optics and astronomy. At age 34 years he was called as minister to the Presbyterian Chapel in Leeds which was a centre for Yorkshire’s newly born and thriving commercial and industrial life. He left Leeds and worked for 5 years as a secretary and children’s tutor for Lord Shelburne a prominent liberal English politician who negotiated the Treaty of Paris that ended the American Revolution. During this employment he travelled in Europe famously meeting in October 1774 in Paris with Antoine Lavoisier with whose name Priestley’s has ever since been entwined because of controversy over the discovery of oxygen and Priestley’s dogged refusal to accept the latter’s ‘new’ chemistry.12 Priestley lent support to the American and French revolutions seeing both of them as the victory of liberty and freedom over the stultifying autocratic power of the Established Church (be it Roman Catholic in the ancien re´gime of France, Anglican in the United Kingdom, or Lutheran in Germany) and State.13 He publicly rejected Trinitarian belief notwithstanding that such action was a capital offense at the time, and founded the Unitarian sect. These political and religious views stretched Shelburne’s liberalism too far and Priestley left his employ to become, in 1780, minister for the Dissenting chapel in Birmingham which was the home of the largest industrial and commercial operations in England— though like Leeds, still not having a parliamentary representative. Here Priestley became a member of the small, but important and influential ‘Lunar Society’, a group of chemists, natural philosophers, medical men, industrialists, and clergy who dedicated themselves to the advancement of ‘useful knowledge’.14 This happy and productive decade of his life came to an abrupt end on July 4, 1791 when on the third anniversary of the French Revolution his home, laboratory and library were destroyed by an enraged ‘King and Church’ mob. England was never a comfortable place for supporters of the 1789 French Revolution and it was distinctly less so after initial ‘middle-class’ revolution gave way to the Commune in 1792, and after England joined the counter-revolutionary, reactionary coalition in war against France in 1793. So at age 61 years, after various close dissenter friends and political liberals were transported as convicts to Botany Bay, Priestley fled England in 1794 and travelled to Northumberland in a remote rural corner of Pennsylvania where he spent the last decade of his life writing, ministering, and productively engaging with prominent politicians, especially Thomas Jefferson.15 He died in 1804 in his own stillstanding home and now ‘Priestley Museum’.16 3.1 European Society In considering Priestley’s life and work, it needs be recognised that he saw the spread of scientific practice and habits of mind as the main, if not only, way to roll back the daunting 12 A good popular account of the intellectual entanglement of Priestley and Lavoisier is Jackson’s A World on Fire (Jackson 2005). See also Severinghaus (2003). 13

For a selection of Priestley’s political writings see Miller (1993). For commentary on his political philosophy see Graham (1989, 1990) and Kramnick (1986). 14 Erasmus Darwin was a member of the society; it was far more energetic and progressive at the time than the august Royal Society. See studies of the society by Schofield (1963) and Uglow (2002). 15 16

For studies of Priestley in America see Smith (1920), Graham (1995, 2008) and Johnson (2009).

The Priestley House is now a National Monument. In 1874, at the centenary of oxygen’s discovery, the American Chemical Society was founded there.

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tide of superstition, ignorance and absolutism that had engulfed Europe. So much of what Priestley argued for at great personal cost—the separation of Church and State, the decriminalisation of religious belief or lack of it, public debate about and criticism of authority—is now so taken for granted in the secular West that the magnitude of his, and the other early Enlightenment thinkers, historical achievements can be easily passed over. Recall that as late as 1773 the Presbyterian Church of Scotland reaffirmed its belief in witchcraft (Lecky 1914, vol. 1, p. 151), and the last witch execution took place in Poland in 1793 when Priestley was already 60 years of age. Recall that the Spanish Inquisition was still hanging, burning and imprisoning heretics until 1834 (Kamen 1965, p. 278). Recall that the Papal States existed until 1870, and there the Pope ruled over perhaps the most corrupt, venal and incompetent government in all Europe, where countless thousands were imprisoned and executed for supposed crimes against religion (McCabe 1946, chap. XIV). And recall that Europe was awash with supposed miracles and apparitions, and prayers were purportedly being answered everywhere and everyday. In the late nineteenth-century the Bollandist Catalogue of Roman Catholic Saints had 25,000 entries, where each saint had to have performed at least two certified miracles to be canonised (Lecky 1914, p. 158). Against this background Priestley advocated a seamless connection between the investigation of nature and the investigation of witches, heretics, miracles and government policy: empirical evidence for belief was demanded in all cases. For him, there was just one epistemology, not one for claims about plants and planets, and a different one for claims about witches and spirits.

4 Priestley’s Publications Christian ministry was the most important thing in Priestley’s life, and he keeps affirming this from his ordination in 1755 at age 22 to his death at age 70.17 But along with his active clerical life, Priestley published an enormous number of substantial and authoritative works across a wide range of fields: these included over two hundred books, pamphlets and articles in history of science (specifically of electricity and optics), political theory, theology, biblical criticism, church history, theory of language, philosophy of education, rhetoric, as well as chemistry for which he is now best known. Included in this corpus are about twenty substantial multi-volume works many of which went into second, third and fourth editions. Priestley’s Collected Works (25 vols.), which do not include all his scientific publications, are in Rutt (1817–1832). Some of Priestley’s scientific correspondence is in Schofield’s edited anthology (1966). A selection of his political writings is in Miller (1993). The most accessible source for a range of his major writings is still the 350-page anthology edited by John Passmore (1965).18

5 Priestley and the Enlightenment Marx wrote of people making their own history, but not as they pleased; they make it under circumstances handed to them from the past. People are formed and limited by large-scale 17

There are numerous studies of Priestley’s theological and religious life. See Clark (1990), Brooke (1990) and Wykes (2008).

18 A full bibliographic listing of Priestley’s books, pamphlets and articles is contained in Schofield (2004, pp. 407–422). Google-Scholar-Books is an excellent source.

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cultural circumstances, ideologies, and social—especially economic—practices. But they are not entirely so formed; they are not just the deterministic result of circumstances. Priestley well illustrates this dynamic. Priestley’s life spanned the core years of the European Enlightenment which was inspired by the achievements and writings of the New Science of Bacon, Galileo, Huygens, and above all Isaac Newton.19 Indeed the whole Enlightenment began with the conviction of Newton, Locke, Hume and others that the methods of the New Science should be applied in the moral and political sciences. Newton expressed the matter in his Opticks as: ‘If natural philosophy in all its Parts, by pursuing this Method, shall at length be perfected, the Bounds of Moral Philosophy will be also enlarged’ (Newton 1730/1979, p. 405).20 David Hume echoed this expectation with the sub-title of his famous Treatise on Human Nature which reads, Being an Attempt to Introduce the Experimental Method of Reasoning into Moral Subjects. In the Preface he says he is following the philosophers of England who have ‘began to put the science of man on a new footing’ (Hume 1739/1888, p. xxi). In the early eighteenth century, England was the teacher of Europe. As one historian has written: ‘in the 1730s and 1740s … virtually everything English was in demand in Europe … Above all, Newton and Locke were almost everywhere eulogized and lionized’ (Israel 2001, p. 515).21 Another historian, Louis Dupre´, has commented that: The second half of the seventeenth century and the first one of the eighteenth witnessed the breakthrough of modern science and the establishment of new scientific methods. Newton changed not only our world picture but our very perspective on reality. There is hardly a field in which his influence does not appear. …[the Enlightenment was] first and foremost a breakthrough in critical consciousness (Dupre´ 2004, p. xii) At Daventry Academy Priestley read Newton and Locke and their major expositors, and there began developing his particular variant of the Enlightenment worldview. He was a devout Christian, not a Deist believing in an impersonal Creator or ‘Intelligent Designer’ who set the world going then left it alone. He believed in a personal God, and concurrently developed a rationalist and materialist worldview which was consistently brought to bear upon his scientific and other investigations, and was in turn reinforced by these investigations. Towards the end of his life, in 1800, he wrote to Lynde Oliver saying: I rejoice to find that in you that philosophy is joined to Christianity, from which it is too much separated. With me this is a primary object, and philosophy, much as I have attended to it, only a secondary one, as my writings here [USA] as well as in Europe will show. (Schofield 1966, p. 302) Priestley was a polymath with staggeringly wide interests, but more than this he explicitly sought for coherence and intellectual unity in his scholarly, personal, religious and political activity. Newton had established that the single law of attraction applied on earth and in the heavens. Priestley thought the same simplicity of law would apply through 19

For selections of important Enlightenment texts see Gay (1970, 1977), Eliot and Stern (1979), Kramnick (1995) and Hyland et al. (2003). Recent comprehensive Enlightenment studies are Porter (2000) and Israel (2001).

20 At the time ‘moral philosophy’ covered a broad field, it meant more or less all studies other than ‘natural philosophy’ (or science, in our terms). 21 The Newtonian programme in natural philosophy, and its extension to social and moral philosophy, was not greeted with complete and unqualified enthusiasm in Europe. There were local struggles over its science and its wider application. On the former see Guerlac (1981), on the latter see Shank (2008).

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the social and mental (psychological) realms as well; this in part because there was only a single substance, matter, throughout all realms. He was a forceful advocate of the materialist tradition in the Enlightenment. He was a ontological monist; rejecting all dualisms in natural philosophy, psychology and religion.22 He did not believe there were a multiplicity of kinds of substance in the world: recourse to ‘imponderable fluids’, including Lavoisier’s caloric, to explain magnetic, electric, optical or heat phenomena was both unnecessary (as they explained nothing, and the phenomena could be explained by suitable movement of particles), and fanciful as no such entities (non-material ‘fluids’) existed. As he said of supposed electrical fluid: ‘there is no electric fluid at all, and that electrification is only some [new] modification of the matter of which any body consisted before that operation’ (Schofield 1966, p. 58). As he rejected the whole Aristotelian system, the world simply did not contain Forms and Essences. He agreed with Newton, Descartes and other critics that these were merely ‘occult’, imaginary causes. Priestley’s materialist world was very sparsely populated; it contained no souls, no minds and no spirits. In the Introduction to his edition of Hartley’s Theory of the Human Mind Priestley writes: I rather think that the whole man is of some uniform composition, and that the property of perception, as well as the other powers that are termed mental, is the result (whether necessary or not) of such an organical structure as that of the brain. (Priestley 1775b, p. xx) Elsewhere in a discussion of materialism and determinism he conjoins theological and philosophical arguments for support of his monist ontology. The consideration that biases me, as a Christian, exclusive of philosophical considerations, against the doctrine of a separate soul, is that it has been the foundation of what appears to me to be the very grossest corruptions of Christianity, and even of that very anti-christianism, that began to work in the apostles’ times, and which extended itself so amazingly and dreadfully afterwards; I mean the oriental philosophy of the pre-existence of souls, which drew after it the belief of the pre-existence and divinity of Christ, the worship of Christ and of dead men, and the doctrine of purgatory, with all the popish doctrines and practices that are connected with them and supported by them. (Priestley 1778, pp. xvi) In his elaboration of Hartley’s psychology, Priestley wrote: when, agreeably to the dictates of reason, as well as the testimony of scripture rightly understood, we shall acquiesce in the opinion that man is an homogeneous being, and that the powers of sensation and thought belong to other arrangements of matter, the whole fabric of superstition, which had been upon the doctrine of a soul and of its separate conscious state, must fall at once. (Priestley 1790b, p. 83) For Priestley, his epistemology (Empiricism) related to his ontology (materialist monism), and both related to his theology (Unitarianism) and to his psychology (Associationism). All the foregoing bore upon his political and social theory (Liberalism). He was a consciously synoptic or systematic thinker: knowledge and life was a whole, whose parts had to relate consistently. Whether Priestley achieved the coherence he sought has been a matter of considerable debate. From the very outset, many have disputed the 22

For Priestley’s materialism see (Priestley 1777a, b, 1778). For critical exposition and discussion of his position see Schofield (1970, pp. 261ff), Tapper (1982) and Dybikowski (2008).

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coherence of Priestley’s claimed conjunction of ontological materialism and Christian belief. Seeking coherence and achieving it are two different things. Priestley was committed to a Christian worldview that was informed by natural philosophy. The worldview is developed throughout his work; one partial expression is in the Preface to his History of Electricity: A philosopher [scientist] ought to be something greater, and better than another man. The contemplation of the works of God should give sublimity to his virtue, should expand his benevolence, extinguish everything mean, base, and selfish in his nature, give dignity to all his sentiments, and teach him to aspire to the moral perfections of the great author of all things. What great and exalted being would philosophers be, would they but let the object about which they are conversant have their proper moral effect upon their minds! A life spent in the contemplation of the productions of divine power, wisdom, and goodness, would be a life of devotion. The more we see of the wonderful structure of the world, and of the laws of nature, the more clearly do we comprehend their admirable uses to make all the percipient creation happy, a sentiment which cannot but fill the heart with unbounded love, gratitude, and joy. Even every thing painful and disagreeable in the world appears to a [natural] philosopher, upon a more attentive examination, to be excellently provided, as a remedy of some greater inconvenience, or a necessary means of a much greater happiness … Hence he is able to venerate and rejoice in God, not only in the bright sunshine, but also in the darkest shades of nature, whereas vulgar minds are apt to be disconcerted with the appearance of evil. (Priestley 1767, Preface) With such a worldview, the pursuit of what we now call ‘scientific’ knowledge was a religious virtue, indeed almost a religious obligation; to ignore the world, was to ignore God’s handiwork, to find out about the world was to give respect and honour to God. In a 1800 letter to Lindsey Price he says that ‘Indeed there is a natural alliance between them [theology and natural philosophy], as there must be between the word and works of God’ (Smith 1920, p. 133). Certainly there was a religious obligation not to thwart the advance of knowledge; not to stand in the way of, or suppress, truth. And as authoritarianism and absolutism was antithetical to the pursuit of truth, both had to be opposed in Churches and States. For Priestley religion and epistemology were combined or co-dependent. Contrary to many popular present-day views, for Priestley religious knowledge was not a different kind of knowledge with a different epistemology.

6 The Philosophical and Experimental Path to Photosynthesis (‘The Restoration of Air’) To the end of the sixteenth century, Aristotle was the most significant figure in the history of Western thought. Along with everything else he accomplished, he was the founder of biological science. He was an amazingly acute observer of the natural world who wrote five books on animals and one on plants.23 But for 2,000 years, two Aristotelian scientific/ philosophical positions—first his account of plant nutrition, second his account of the elemental nature of air—thwarted the provision of a correct account of the Restoration of 23

See the excellent two-volume Jonathan Barnes edition of Aristotle’s Collected Works (Barnes 1984). For good introductions to his thought see Lloyd (1968) and Adler (1978). For an informed and sympathetic account of his formative role in Western natural philosophy see Grant (2004, chap. 2).

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Air (photosynthesis). Both Aristotelian positions grew out of his more fundamental embrace of observation-based commonsense as the foundation of all natural philosophy. One contemporary Aristotelian writes: ‘In an effort to understand nature, society and man, Aristotle began where everyone should begin—with what he already knew in the light of his ordinary, commonplace experience’ (Adler 1978, p. xi). In his On Plants Aristotle sees the parallel between plants and animals, saying: ‘the absorption of food is in accordance with a natural principle, and is common to both animals and plants … and animals and plants have to be provided with food similar in kind to themselves’ (Barnes 1984, vol. 2, p. 1,253). In his treatise On the Soul he mentions how plants are fed: ‘if we are to distinguish and identify organs according to their functions, the roots of plants are analogous to the head in animals’ (Barnes 1984, vol. 1, p. 662). Plant roots and animal mouths both have the function of absorbing food. Plants have their head, so to speak, in the ground; this accords with people’s naı¨ve and immediate understanding, and with their agricultural practice: plants build themselves up from seeds by taking food and water from the soil through their roots. This was the basis of the medieval ‘analogist’ understanding of plants. Very slowly this commonsense view of plants began to be unravelled by seventeenth-century ‘experimentalist’ investigators who took as their model not Aristotelian observation of plants but Baconian and Galilean-like experiments on plants.24 The second conceptual barrier to an understanding of photosynthesis was the Aristotelian conception of Air: until Priestley’s time the understanding of air as a single, fundamental, non-divisible element held sway in science (natural philosophy) and of course in everyday life. In the Aristotelian worldview or scheme of things water was another such singular element (along with Earth and Fire). It was recognised that not all air was the same: just as water could be made dirty and fouled, so too could air be contaminated by smoke, dust, putrefaction, and so on. Such was the bad air of mines, swamps, prisons, etc. But the bad airs were not thought of as a composite, they were regarded, in modern terms, as a mixture; like dirty water, the impurities were just added to, and carried in, the air. The properties or physics of air—in particular air pressure and its dependence on altitude, and the compressibility of air—had been investigated by Torricelli, Boyle, Pascal, von Guericke and others, but not the composition of air. The Aristotelian ‘elemental’ category acted as an ‘epistemological obstacle’ to such investigations.25 Priestley well expressed this understanding in his justly famous Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air: There are, I believe, very few maxims in philosophy that have laid firmer hold upon the mind, than that air, meaning atmospherical air (free from various foreign matters, which were always supposed to be dissolved, and intermixed with it) is a simple elementary substance, indestructible, and unalterable, at least as much as water is supposed to be. (Priestley 1775a, vol. II, p. 30) This Aristotelian and commonsense picture was beginning to break down in Priestley’s time. The mechanical worldview of Galileo, Boyle, Newton and the New Science was seen to render pointless the whole Aristotelian metaphysical picture and its corresponding scientific programme of explanations in terms of natures, forms, and essences transforming matter in accord with inner teleological potentials. On the Aristotelian account, an acorn 24 25

See Delaporte (1982) and discussion in Barker (1995).

This is the expression coined by Gaston Bachelard (Bachelard 1934/1984) to indentify deep-seated, unconscious conceptual barriers to possible kinds of scientific investigations. These categories blocked completely some lines of investigation and shaped the form of others. The notion was elaborated and utilised by Louis Althusser (1969).

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seed contained the potential of the tree, and this potential directed the development of the seed into an acorn tree, not a banana tree or a rose bush. With the demise of Aristotelian metaphysics, the idea of air and water as fundamental, homogenous, elements was made contingent or contestable; it was something that could be investigated by empirical procedure; and this was done. Along with the philosophical critiques of Aristotelian metaphysics, the new science legitimated the experimental investigation of nature; it was no longer constrained by the Aristotelian strictures on interfering with nature. For Aristotle, natural philosophy was to study ‘natural motions’ not ‘violent motions’. Experiment, which constrained nature, resulted in unnatural motions, and thus shed no light on natural processes.26 Johann Baptista van Helmont (1577–1644), the Flemish physician and cross-over figure between alchemy and chemistry, had published his famous willow-tree experiment showing that over a 5 year period, a willow-tree seedling planted in a pot gained around 164 pounds of ‘tree material’ seemingly just from the addition of water (van Helmont 1648). Thus water was apparently being turned into wood, an earthy material; water was ‘transmuted’ into earth, as the alchemists expressed it. Robert Boyle (1627–1691), the well-known English natural philosopher and less wellknown alchemist,27 utilised van Helmont’s experiments in his detailed criticism of the Aristotelian metaphysical system published in his The Sceptical Chymist (Boyle 1661). He by-passed Helmont’s potted earth by growing plants just in water, and found the same effect: the plant grew (an increase in earthy material) just by addition of water. This result strengthened the alchemist’s claim that water could be transmuted into earth, thus refuting the Aristotelian view that they were separate elements. Stephen Hales (1677–1761), the English clergyman, in his Vegetable Staticks (Hales 1727) recognised experimentally that air literally entered into plants when they grew, and was in turn given off by growing plants. The worldview that motivated and informed his quantitative and experimental investigation of nature was the then standard Christian one: Since … the all-wise Creator [had] observed the most exact proportions, of number, weight and measure, in the make of all things; the most likely way, therefore, to get any insight into the nature of those parts of the creation, which come within our observation, must in all reason be to number, weigh and measure. (Hales 1727, p. 1, in Scott 1970, p. 44) Hales recognised the importance of leaves in the growth of plants and in the absorption and exhaustion of air, saying: We may therefore reasonably conclude, that one great use of leaves is what has been long suspected by many, viz. to perform in some measure the same office of the support of vegetable life, that the lungs of animals do, for the support of animal life; plants very probably drawing thro’ their leaves some part of their nourishment from the air. (Hales 1727, in Nash 1948, p. 340) Joseph Black (1728–1799), a Scottish chemist had, in 1756 by heating marble (calcium carbonate), isolated and identified carbon dioxide or ‘fixed air’ as he called it.28 He recognised that it was a thoroughly different kind of air from atmospheric air—it turned 26

For qualification of this standard interpretation, see Newman (2004, chap. 5).

27

See Principe (1998). For Boyle’s relationship with contemporary chemistry, see Boas (1958).

28

Called ‘fixed’ because he thought it was, as a whole air, trapped or ‘fixed’ in calcium and other metal carbonates; the heating released the air; when dissolved in limewater and precipitated, it again became fixed.

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limewater milky and did not support combustion. A colleague wrote of Black’s discovery that: He had discovered that a cubic inch of marble consisted of about half its weight of pure lime and as much air as would fill a vessel holding six wine gallons… What could be more singular than to find so subtile a substance as air existing in the form of a hard stone, and its presence accompanied by such a change in the properties of the stone. (Leicester 1956/1971, p. 134). Thus began the idea that there were a number of separate airs; the term ‘gas’ coined by van Helmont was not widely used. But despite these advances the idea that common atmospheric air was a composite of airs (gases) was not at all widespread. As late as 1771, the French chemist Turgot was writing of air as a ‘ponderable substance which constantly enters into the state of vapour or expansive fluid according to the degree of heat contained’ (Brock 1992, p. 102).

7 Priestley’s First Steps towards the Discovery of Photosynthesis Priestley did not begin serious chemical studies until his early 30s, during his ministry at the Leeds Presbyterian Chapel (1767–1773). In quick succession, by utilising a new method of collecting airs over water and mercury,29 and by utilising a new and massive burning lens as a source of heat,30 Priestley created, isolated, and listed properties of a dozen or more of the major ‘airs’ including:

Priestley’s name

Modern name

Formulae

Year 1772

Phlogisticated air

Nitrogen

N2

Red nitrous vapour nitrous acid air

Nitrogen dioxide

NO2

1772

Dephlogisticated nitrous air ‘laughing gas’

Nitrous oxide

N2 O

1774

Nitrous air

Nitric oxide

NO

1774

Fluor acid air

Silicon tetrafluoride

SiF4

1775

Marine acid air

Hydrogen chloride

HCl

1772

Alkaline air

Ammonia

NH3

1774

Inflammable air31

Carbon monoxide, also, hydrogen

CO

1802

H2 Vitriolic acid air

Sulphur dioxide

SO2

1774

Dephlogisticated air

Oxygen

O2

1774

29 This was a refinement of a collecting trough first used by Stephen Hales; it involved linking a retort flask to a jar inverted over water. Priestley then used mercury for collecting water-soluble airs—a technique not previously thought of. He recognised the source of error in Hales equipment: ‘I have never thought the communication between the external and internal air sufficiently cut off, unless glass, or a body of water, or in some cases, quicksilver, have intervened between them’ (Priestley 1772b, p. 252). 30 This was a 12 inch (30 cm) magnifying glass with a 20 inch (50 cm) focal distance that gave more heat than any other means available. Continental chemists were purportedly using it to melt diamonds. 31 Almost to the end Priestley failed to distinguish carbon monoxide and hydrogen; both were colourless, odourless and inflammable.

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7.1 The 1772 Royal Society Talks The experiments and investigations of airs, conducted in Leeds by Priestley, were announced to the scholarly world in a series of talks he delivered to the Royal Society in London in March 1772. The talks subsequently were published as his famous 118 page paper in the Society’s Philosophical Transactions of the same year—‘Observations on Different Kinds of Air’ (Priestley 1772b). This paper was translated into many European languages; it was widely read, including by Lavoisier; and in 1773 it was awarded the coveted Copley Medal of the Royal Society—the eighteenth century equivalent of the Nobel Prize.32 The paper was elaborated, with further experiments, first in his three volume Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air (Priestley 1772a, b), then in its six volume revision (Priestley 1774–1786), finally published as Priestley (1790a). These publications established Priestley as the undisputed ‘father of pneumatic chemistry’.33 On 21 February 1770 he wrote to his life-long intimate friend and fellow Unitarian Theophilus Lindsey (1723–1808) that ‘he was now taking up some of Dr. Hale’s inquiries concerning air’ (Schofield 1997, p. 237). As he wrote in his Royal Society address: The quantity of air which even a small flame requires to keep it burning is prodigious. It is generally said, that an ordinary candle consumes, as it is called, about a gallon in a minute. Considering this amazing consumption of air, by fires of all kinds, volcanoes, etc. it becomes a great object of philosophical inquiry, to ascertain what change is made in the constitution of the air by flame, and to discover what provision there is in nature for remedying the injury which the atmosphere receives by this means. Some of the following experiments will, perhaps, be thought to throw a little light upon the subject. (Priestley 1772b, p. 162) Priestley’s Christian worldview motivated this quest: with centuries of animal and human respiration, plus volcanoes and natural fires, the atmosphere should be progressively rendered unfit for human life; but there were theological reasons why this could not happen. A beneficent all-powerful Creator would not design such a world; God must have made some provision for the natural restoration of air. Priestley’s first thought, or hypothesis, was that as air is necessary both for animal and vegetable life, then both animals and plants must process air in the same manner. But experiment led him to reject this idea. As he wrote: One might have imagined that, since common air is necessary to vegetable, as well as to animal life, both plants and animals had affected it in the same manner, and I own that I had that expectation when I first put a sprig of mint into a glass jar standing inverted in a vessel of water; but when it had continued growing there for some months, I found that the air would neither extinguish a candle, nor was it at all inconvenient to a mouse, which I put into it. (Priestley 1772b, p. 162) Priestley’s investigations bore fruit, and on 23 August 1771 he wrote again to Lindsey saying: ‘I have discovered what I have long been in quest of, viz, that process in nature by 32 33

For further details of the paper and the Copley Medal see Guerlac (1957) and McKie (1961).

Good accounts of early pneumatic chemistry can be found in Stillman (1924/1960, chap. 12), Leicester (1956/1971, chap. 14), Partington (1957, chap. 6), Siegfried (2002, chap. 6). It is noteworthy that most of the major figures in the new science were born within 20 years of each other: David Macbride (1726), Joseph Black (1728), Jan Ingen-Housz (1730), Henry Cavendish (1731), Joseph Priestley (1733), Richard Kirwan (1733), Carl Scheele (1742), Jean Senebier (1742) and Antoine Lavoisier (1743).

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which air, rendered noxious by breathing, is restored to its former salubrious condition’ (Schofield 1966, p. 133). On 1 July 1772 he wrote to Benjamin Franklin saying: I have fully satisfied myself that air rendered in the highest degree noxious by breathing is restored by sprigs of mint growing in it. … A mouse.. continued in it five minutes without showing any sign of uneasiness, and was taken out quite strong and vigorous, [while] a mouse died after being not two-seconds in a part of the same original quantity of air, which had stood in the same exposure, without a plant in it. (Schofield 1966, p. 104) In his Royal Society address Priestley said: This observation led me to conclude, that plants, instead of affecting the air in the same manner with animal respiration, reverse the effects of breathing, and tend to keep the atmosphere sweet and wholesome, which it had become noxious, in consequence of animals living and breathing, or dying and putrefying in it. (Priestley 1772b, p. 166) Priestley did suggest a mechanism for the beneficent effect: ‘this restoration of vitiated air is affected by plants imbibing the phlogistic matter with which it is overloaded by the burning of inflammable bodies’ (Priestley 1775–1777, vol. 1, p. 49), but in keeping with his strict epistemological principle of only giving cautious or provisional status to conjectured unseen mechanisms, he added ‘whether there be any foundation for this conjecture or not, the fact is, I think indisputable’ (ibid). His distinction between observational facts upon which there could and should be agreement, and unseen, putative mechanisms was a fundamental one for Priestley. The distinction appears many times in this writings. For example, in a 1779 letter to Giovanni Fabroni concerning plants thriving in inflammable air, he says: ‘The facts appear to me to be rather extraordinary. You must help me to explain them, for I am a very bad theorist’ (Schofield 1966, p. 171). His insistence on the distinction was such that he has sometimes been called a ‘proto-positivist’. The 1772 paper is a tour de force and justly known as a landmark in the history of science. It describes Priestley’s manufacture of soda water (Pyrmont water); his creation, but not recognition, of oxygen by heating saltpetre (potassium nitrate); his nitric oxide test for the ‘goodness of air’; and last but not least his identification of the mechanisms for the restoration of ‘the goodness of air’. Any one of these achievements singularly would probably have earned him the Copley medal. 7.2 Soda Water Among his chemical discoveries, he became in 1767 the first person ever to create and bottle soda water; or ‘Pyrmont water’ as he called it.34 Pyrmont was a famous medicinal spa in Hanover. Priestley saw that the Pyrmont bubbles were carbon dioxide (fixed air) that he had captured as a by-product of a Leeds brewery and that he was able to independently produce by mixing chalk and acid, and capturing the emitted air in a bladder, thus putting it under pressure. There was, at the time, great interest in ascertaining the efficacious component of English and Continental mineral waters, but no one was thinking of manufacturing them. Priestley, who recognised the enormous wealth that could be made, nevertheless turned down the opportunity of commercial bottling of his Pyrmont water, 34 See Priestley (1772a). An informative discussion of the soda-water episode, with diagrams of apparatus, can be found in (Gibbs 1967, pp. 57–58, 69–70). See also Golinksi (1999, pp. 112–117).

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saying he preferred to search for truth, not money. The commercial opportunities were not lost on J. J. Schweppe who from 1793 began manufacturing and selling high-pressure soda water from his factory off Cavendish Square. As they say, the rest is history.35 7.3 Testing the Goodness of Air An important step towards understanding the process of restoration of air by plants (photosynthesis) was having some quantitative test for the ‘goodness of air’. Without such a test, it was akin to saying that some treatment made something heavier, or longer, without scales or tapes to indicate just how much heavier or how much longer. Priestley’s novel nitrous air test provided such a quantitative instrument. Until this test, the only means available for ascertaining the ‘goodness of air’ were variants of the miner’s canary. When Priestley began his observations on air, he used the length of time that a mouse lived in an enclosed air as a measure of its goodness. He recognised the limitations. When he produced his dephlogisticated air (oxygen) by heating mercurius calcinatus (mercury oxide) he applied his mouse test, saying that the gas was: … at least, as good as common air; but I did not certainly conclude that it was any better; because, though one mouse would live only a quarter of an hour in a given quantity of air, I knew it was not impossible but that another mouse might have lived in it half an hour; so little accuracy is there to be had in this method of ascertaining the goodness of air. (Priestley 1775a, vol. II, p. 40) Accuracy of this order was simply unacceptable for the emerging science of the time, where instruments existed for refined and reliable measurement of mass, length, time, temperature and atmospheric pressure.36 The mouse test also stoked the embryonic romantic and humanistic reactions against the new science, which were so dramatically captured by Joseph Wright of Derby in his 1768 evocative painting of the ‘Pigeon in the Air Pump’. There a bird lies dead from suffocation in an evacuated jar, with a pensive audience looking on, and one woman looking away.37 Priestley encountered this reaction: Anna Laetitia Aikin, the daughter of a close friend, and an admirer of Priestley published a book of verse in 1773 that contains a poem entitled ‘The Mouse’s Petition’ … it concerns a mouse which she found in a cage in Priestley’s study. She knew the nature of his experiments and also of his championing of human freedom, so wrote the piece, leaving it alongside the cage, to provoke him.38 O hear a pensive prisoner’s prayer, For liberty that sighs; And never let thine heart be shut Against the wretch’s cries! For here forlorn and sad I sit, Within the wiry grate; And tremble at the approaching morn, Which brings impending fate. 35

See Coley (1984).

36

See contributions to Fra¨ngsmyr et al. (1990) and Wise (1995).

37

For an informative discussion of the Romantic responses to science, see Passmore (1978, 1994).

38

The poem is in O’Brien (1989, p. 62). This book also contains a wealth of material on Warrington Academy and Priestley’s teaching career there.

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If e’er thy breast with freedom glowed, And spurned a tyrant’s chain, Let not thou strong oppressive force A free-born mouse detain! Pleasingly for mice, for the repute of science, and for precision in pneumatic measurement, Priestley found a new chemical test for the goodness of air. On 21 July 1772, he wrote to his close friend, the Dissenting minister and statistician Richard Price (1723– 1791) that: I have also discovered that air receives, in a great measure, the very same kind of injury from flame, as from respiration but only about one-third in degree. To ascertain this I make use of a new and accurate measure of the fitness of air for respiration, viz a mixture of air generated by spirit of nitre [nitric acid, HNO3;] from all metals, I believe, except zinc One-third of this kind of air mixed with two-thirds of common air makes it hot, red, and turbid for some time, and is so far from making any addition to the bulk of it, that it considerably diminishes it. By this means I have a very large scale of mensuration. It has no sensible effect on air unfit for respiration [nitrogen or carbon dioxide] on whatever account it be so. I have no occasion therefore, to make use of mice etc. to ascertain the fitness of air. (Schofield 1966, p. 107) Priestley took a given volume of insoluble, colourless nitrous air, mixed this with double its volume of insoluble, colourless common air, waited for the reaction which formed soluble, brown nitrous vapour to take place, then shook the resultant air over water and measured how much was dissolved by noting the rise in water level in the collecting jar. In modern terms, the nitrous air (NO) was combining with oxygen (O2) in the air to form the red, turbid, and soluble nitrogen dioxide (NO2). The more the water rose, the more oxygen had been consumed, hence the better the ‘goodness’ of the air in the sample. This was his famous, and much-used, Nitrous Air [nitric oxide, NO] Test for the goodness of air.39 7.4 The Copley Medal At the Royal Society meeting on 30 November 1773 the President, Sir John Pringle, presented the Society’s prestigious Copley Medal and gave a lengthy and informed address which nicely summarises Priestley’s work on the rehabilitation of air.40 It is well known that flame cannot long subsist without a renewal of common air. The quantity of that fluid which even a small flame requires is surprising: an ordinary candle consumes, as it is called, about a gallon of air in a minute. Now, considering the vast consumption of this vital fluid by fires of all kinds made by man, and by volcanoes, it becomes an interesting inquiry, to ascertain what change is made in the air by flame; and to discover what provision there is in Nature, to repair the injury done by this means to our atmosphere. DR PRIESTLEY, after relating the conjectures of others, and not finding them satisfactory, was fortunate in falling upon a method of restoring air, which had been vitiated by burning of candles in it. This led the way to 39

For more on the nitrous air test, see Boantza (2007, pp. 513–516), Conant (1948a, pp. 74–75), Gibbs (1967, pp. 76–77), and McEvoy (1978–1979, pt. II, pp. 105–108).

40

The complete 11-page address is reproduced in McKie (1961).

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the discovery of one of the great restoratives which Nature employs for this purpose; to wit, vegetation. …… From these [Priestley’s] discoveries we are assured, that no vegetable grows in vain, but that from the oak of the forest to the grass of the field, every individual plant is serviceable to mankind; if not always distinguished by some private virtue, yet making a part of the whole which cleanses and purifies our atmosphere. In this the fragrant rose and deadly nightshade co-operate; nor is the herbage, nor the woods that flourish in the most remote and un-peopled regions unprofitable to us, nor we to them; considering how constantly the winds convey to them our vitiated air, for our relief, and for their nourishment. And if ever these salutary gales rise to storms and hurricanes, let us still trace and revere the ways of a beneficent Being; who not fortuitously but with design, not in wrath but in mercy, thus shakes the waters and the air together, to bury in the deep those putrid and pestilential effluvia, which the vegetables upon the face of the earth had been insufficient to consume. (McKie 1961, pp. 9–11)

8 Priestley’s Final Steps Towards Photosynthesis When Priestley left Leeds in 1773 to begin work as a librarian, companion, and child’s tutor for Lord Shelburne, he had put into place a good many pieces of the ‘restoration of air’ puzzle. In the 1770s and 1780s he would return to the puzzle and put other pieces into place. Priestley’s ‘experiments and observations’ in 1778 caused him to refine his 1772 accounts of the restoration of air. He wrote: In general, the experiments of this year were unfavourable to my former hypothesis. For whether I made the experiments with air injured by respiration, the burning of candles, or any other phlogistic process, it [the air] did not grow better but worse. In most of the cases in which the plants failed to meliorate the air they were either manifestly sickly, or at least did not grow and thrive, as they did most remarkably in my first experiments in Leeds; the reason for which I cannot discover (Priestley 1779–1786, vol. I, p. 298, in Nash 1948, p. 359). One of his problems was lack of sufficient light: experiments conducted outdoors gave better results than those conducted indoors, especially when away from windows. He scaled down the degree of conviction that he placed in the restoring power of vegetation, saying: Upon the whole, I still think it probable that the vegetation of healthy plants, growing in situations natural to them, has a salutary effect on the air in which they grow. For one clear instance of the melioration of air in these circumstances should weigh against a hundred cases in which the air is made worse by it, both on account of the many disadvantages under which all plants labour, in the circumstances in which these experiments must be made, as well as the great attention, and many precautions, that are requisite in conducting such a process. I know no experiments that require so much care. (Priestley 1779–1786, vol. I, p. 299, in Nash 1948, p. 360) Priestley did acknowledge that ‘the method I now use in examining the state of air was much more exact than any that I was acquainted with at that earlier period of my observations on air’ (ibid). This was a reference to his nitrous air test; he was getting better

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quantitative measurements, but the implications of the measurements were indecisive because of ignorance of all the relevant factors in the restorative process—a standard problem in the beginning stages of any science. 8.1 The Green-Matter Problem Priestley at the beginning of his Experiments and Observations relating to various Branches of Natural Philosophy (Priestley 1779–1786), the book that presents his second ‘round’ of pneumatic studies, says: Few persons, I believe, have met with so much unexpected good success as myself in the course of my philosophical pursuits. My narrative will show that the first hints, at least, of almost everything that I have discovered, of much importance, have occurred to me in this manner. In looking for one thing I have generally found another, and sometimes a thing of much more value than that which I was in quest of. But none of these unexpected discoveries appear to me to have been so extraordinary as that which I am about to relate; and it may serve to admonish all persons who are engaged in similar pursuits, not to overlook any circumstance relating to an experiment; but to keep their eyes open to every new appearance, and to give due attention to it, how inconsiderable soever it may seem. (Priestley 1779–86, p. 335) Priestley had been responding to Thomas Percival’s critique that fixed air (carbon dioxide) was indeed, contra Priestley, good for plants. Priestley thought that Percival’s technique compromised his conclusion, because the experimental and control groups kept differing by more than just the one salient feature (McEvoy 1978–1979, Pt. III, pp. 159– 160). He tried a better design by growing plants in Pyrmont (carbonated) water and ordinary water. He described his ‘unexpected good success’: In the course of my experiments on the growth of plants in water impregnated with fixed air, I observed that bubbles of air seemed to issue spontaneously from the stalks and roots of several of those which grew in unimpregnated [ordinary] water; and I imagined that this air had percolated through the plant. It immediately occurred to me, that if this was the case, the state of this air might possibly help to determine what I was at the time investigating, viz. whether the growth of plants contributes to purify, or to contaminate the air. For if this air should prove to be better than common air, I thought it would show, that the phlogiston of the imbibed air had been retained in the plant, and had contributed to the nourishment of it, while that part of the air which passed through the plant, having deposited its phlogiston, had been rendered purer by that means. (Priestley 1779–1786, p. 337) His first thought was that the plants had processed common air contained in the water, and by doing so had made purer air. But the major surprise was that when he took the plants out of the water and relocated them to another phial, the original phial contained green matter on its sides and this seemingly continued to produce the same pure air as was originally thought to be produced by the growing plants. The discovery of the restorative function of ‘green matter’ in water was a major challenge to Priestley’s ‘vegetable’ hypothesis for the restoration of air, and for a while he abandoned his hypothesis. It would have been easy for him to save his vegetable hypothesis by declaring the green matter a vegetable, but he did not do this. Priestley’s refusal to bend ‘facts’ to suit a preferred theory, was characteristic of all his intellectual endeavours; indeed of his whole life.

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In July 1778 he wrote about this to an Italian correspondent, Marsilio Landriani (1751– 1827): But what I believe you will find most unusual is the spontaneous production of dephlogisticated air from the green matter which grows in jars in which water has been kept a long time. This green matter looks like a vegetable; but I cannot yet say that it is really so. Observing a phial covered with that substance, I inverted over it a large jar filled with water and partially coated on the inside with the same green matter, and in about two days I collected approximately a half pint of very pure dephlogisticated air, without heat and without any other chemical process whatever. This is another way that nature restores the vitiated atmosphere. I will try to diversify this experiment. (Schofield 1966, pp. 165–166) Priestley’s ‘diversified experiments’ on green matter involved him using closed vessels and he thought he had carefully excluded vegetable matter from his experimental phials.41 Still green matter was produced in the water. The only way he could see it being a vegetable was to believe in spontaneous generation, of vegetable from non-vegetable, and his metaphysics would not allow that. Hence the favoured hypothesis was rejected. Within a few months of penning the above letter, and while working on a range of philosophical, theological and political tasks, he was prepared to think further about the source of the pure air he saw released by green matter and plants in his phials. Initially he thought it came from the green matter or leaves, but he was able to devise a nice experimental test of this hypothesis. In September 1779 he wrote to his good friend Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790) relating that: Though you are so much engaged in affairs of more consequence [drafting the Declaration of American Independence], I know it will give you some pleasure to be informed that I have been exceedingly successful in the prosecution of my experiments since the publication of my last volume [his Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Airs]. I have confirmed, explained, and extended my former observations on the purification of the atmosphere by means of vegetation; having first discovered that the green matter I treat of in my last volume is a vegetable substance, and then that other plants that grow wholly in water have the same property, all of them without exception imbibing impure air, and emitting it, as excrementitious to them, in a dephlogisticated state. (Schofield 1966, pp. 178–179) His test for the source of the pure air was: That the source of this pure air is the impure air in the water is evident from all the plants giving only a certain quantity of air, in proportion to the water in which they are confined, and then giving more air in fresh water. (ibid) And he further observed that: From these observations I conclude, that the reason why my sprigs of mint sometimes failed to purify air, was their not being always healthy in a confined state, whereas these water plants are as much at their ease in my jars as in the open pond. (ibid) 41 He did not recognise that the green matter was indeed carried as microscopic airborne particles; so despite his closed vessels, it was already there.

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But, various friends to whom he related his ‘green matter’ observations convinced him that the material was a microscopic plant—algae as it is now termed. In 1781 he wrote in volume two of his Experiments and Observations relating to various Branches of Natural Philosophy that: Several of my friends, however, better skilled in botany than myself, never entertained any doubt of it being a plant; and I had afterwards the fullest conviction that it must be one. Mr Bewly has lately observed the regular form of it in a microscope. (Priestley 1781, p. 16, in Nash 1948, p. 368) Other experiments confirmed that the green matter, along with aquatic green leaves only produced pure air in the presence of sunlight; heat was no substitute for light. Thus the vegetable hypothesis was restored, and indeed extended: not only did vegetation restore atmospheric air depleted by fires and animal respiration, it also restored water whose dissolved air was being rendered noxious by respiration of fish. Priestley’s research on the restoration of air basically finished at this point. Most of the outlines of what would in the late nineteenth-century come to be called ‘photosynthesis’ were in place.42 Subsequent developments were made by Priestley’s Dutch contemporary and correspondent Jan Ingen-Housz (1730–1799) whose Experiments Upon Vegetables was published in London in 177943; by the Swiss pastor and naturalist Jean Senebier (1742–1808); and finally another Swiss scholar Nicolas The´odore de Saussure (1767– 1845).

9 Priestley’s Providential Worldview Pringle’s above-cited Copley Medal address well conveys the overarching sense of cosmic Design, teleology, and anthropocentric purpose that constituted Priestley’s worldview and that of most natural philosophy of the period.44 It was the deep-seated idea of Providence, which, for most, flowed naturally from belief in a beneficent Creator. God was absolutely pervasive in medieval and early-modern natural philosophy; for all natural philosophers, nature was in the foreground of their investigations, but God was the background, they simply assumed that they were studying God’s handiwork; in much the same way as a person today studying a clock is aware that they are studying something that someone made, and that what they are seeing reflects good or bad design and craft skills.45 Providence was variously held to govern the natural world (the occurrence of earthquakes, storms, etc.), human history (the outcome of wars, etc.), and finally individual human lives

42 After the passage of 60 years, a still excellent treatment of the historical development of early photosynthesis studies is the essay of Leonard Nash in James Conant’s Harvard Case Studies in Experimental Science (Nash 1948, pp. 369–434). For more recent work see Morton (1981) and Pennazio (2005). 43 See Gest (2000) for discussion of the priority debate concerning Priestley and Ingen-Housz’s contribution to the understanding of the role of light in the vegetable ‘restoration of air’. 44 The ideas of Design and Providence were famously articulated by another of Priestley’s contemporaries, William Paley (1743–1805), whose Natural Theology (Paley 1802/2006) was a compulsory text for all students in Cambridge and Oxford. 45

See, among numerous sources, Funkenstein (1986), Grant (2004), and contributions to Lindberg and Numbers (1986).

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(recovery from illness, avoidance of accidents, etc.). Priestley shared this ubiquitous worldview. In his First Principles of Government he wrote: Such is my belief in the doctrine of an over-ruling providence, that I have no doubt, but that every thing in the whole system of nature, how noxious soever it may be in some respects, has real, though unknown uses; and also that every thing, even the grossest abuses in the civil or ecclesiastical constitutions of particular states, is subservient to the wise and gracious designs of him, who, notwithstanding these appearances, still rules in the kingdoms of men. (Miller 1993, p. 6) Priestley’s investigation of the Restoration of Air cemented his worldview. For him nature is shown thus to be so wonderfully formed that ‘good never fails to arise out of all evils to which, in consequence of general laws, most beneficial to the whole, it is necessarily subject’ (Priestley 1779–1786, vol. II, p. 63, in McEvoy 1978–1979, Pt. III, p. 164). In his Memoirs he wrote that the greatest virtue of scientific studies was their tendency ‘in an eminent degree, to promote a spirit of piety, by exciting our admiration of the wonderful order of the Divine Works and Divine Providence’ (Priestley 1806/1970, p. 200). And further, with the philosophical unbelievers of the Enlightenment directly in mind (just as Isaac Newton had in writing the Principia), Priestley adds that those of a ‘speculative turn’ could not avoid the perception and admiration of ‘this most wonderful and excellent provision’ (ibid). This final step from natural processes to divine (supernatural) properties, from knowledge of the world to knowledge of God, was the standard inference in all natural theology (theological speculation which was independent of revelation). In his History of Electricity Priestley had written: .. the investigation of the powers of nature, like the study of Natural History, is perpetually suggesting to us views of the divine perfections and providence, which are both pleasing to the imagination, and improving to the heart. (Priestley 1767/ 1775, p. iv) Priestley realised that this step it was not logically compelling, it was not demonstrative. It was ‘suggestive’, and psychologically it ‘could not be avoided’. In the eighteenth century, both things were true given background knowledge and culture; but then, and now, the step was not logically compelling; it was not demonstrative. Priestley well knew that the step from observation of nature to unseen natural mechanisms did not result in indubitable knowledge. Aristotle and the medievals recognised the same limitation for this argument form; they knew that an argument of the form: T (theory) implies O (observation) O (observation occurs) Therefore T (is true) is invalid. The argument commits the Fallacy of Affirming the Consequent; many other Ts could also imply O, thus any particular T was not proved by occurrence of O. Consequently the step from observation to supernatural mechanisms was even less compelling. Priestley’s argument for a providential worldview is best understood as neither a deductive argument (which would clearly be invalid) nor as an inductive inference (the argument is not from a sample to a whole), but as an abductive argument, to use the term introduced by Charles Sanders Peirce in the late nineteenth century. More recently this kind of argument has been called ‘inference to the best explanation’. Its structure is as follows:

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There is some well-documented observation O about the world If some theory or supposition T were true, then O would be expected to be the case Therefore O provides grounds for believing in the truth of T To use one of Peirce’s examples, if we find fish fossils inland far from the current ocean shore (O), then we can abduce the theory or hypothesis that the ocean once covered the area (T). This theory provides the best current explanation of O. Thus O provides support for belief in T. This typical piece of scientific reasoning is neither deductive nor inductive; Peirce labelled it ‘abductive’, and of course he recognised that it was not demonstrative (Peirce 1931–1935, vol. 2, p. 629). The observation O provides support for belief in T; it does not prove the truth of T. The process begins with the scientific assumption that there has to be some explanation of O; in science there is also the assumption that there is a natural explanation of O; super-natural best explanations are not allowed, they are ruled out by commitment to methodological naturalism. For Priestley, O is the restoration of air, and T is his Christian worldview. The latter provides the best explanation of the observed phenomena. He knew that inferences to the best explanation were still tentative and not demonstrative. But the inference had another support: Priestley was an ardent believer in the Christian Revelation; his entire life was spent as a Christian clergyman and serious scholar of scripture. His view was that the two classes of premises—observations of nature plus revelation—jointly justified a compelling inference to divine or supernatural agency as the best explanation of the effects his science disclosed. A small minority in eighteenth-century Europe, including the Deists, rejected the idea of Divine guidance or superintendence in Nature and in History. David Hume (1711–1776) had rejected the Design Argument in his Dialogues concerning Natural Religion (Hume 1779/1963). So too did Erasmus Darwin (1731–1802) a contemporary of Priestley and fellow member of the Birmingham Lunar Society. These writers did not believe that theism provided the best explanation for nominated natural processes, but they were voices more or less crying in the wilderness and both were criticised by Priestley.46 However within half-a-century of Priestley’s death the work of Darwin would severely challenge the theistic picture of a providential natural world. Priestley’s observations about natural processes, such as the role of vegetation in the restoration of air, would hold, but less and less there was agreement with his theological explanations of the observations. After Darwin, the recognition of adaptation without design was a commonplace; there was a competing ‘best explanation’ for the existence of O which was also a natural explanation, it did not require recourse to supernatural agency. Many gave up Judeao-Christian (and Islamic) belief; many retained the belief sans Providence; many, such as contemporary ‘Intelligent Design’ proponents, reinterpreted Providence to align it with a seemingly ‘independently functioning’ world.47 Even with his conviction of Faith being justified by Reason, Priestley maintained to the very end his epistemological commitment to free inquiry and public debate, famously writing that: 46 47

See Priestley (1787).

These are all philosophically and theologically complex options. Clearly Christian and Islamic belief among philosophically and scientifically sophisticated people survived Darwin, with many retaining some conception of Providence. The life-long atheist Anthony Flew has recently said that ‘intelligent design’ is in fact the only possible ‘best explanation’ for the emergence of life on earth. Good overviews of the options taken in the nineteenth century are Moore (1979) and Brooke (1991, chap. 8). Among numerous philosophically and scientifically sophisticated modern such works are Jaki (1978), Mascall (1956) and McGrath (2004). See also contributions to the journals Science and Christian Belief and Science and Christian Faith.

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But should free inquiry lead to the destruction of Christianity itself, it ought not on that account to be discontinued. For we can only wish for the prevalence of Christianity on the supposition of its being true; and if it falls before the influence of free inquiry, it can only do so in consequence of its not being true. (Priestley 1785, p. 23)

10 Priestley in the Classroom William Brock in his massive The Fontana History of Chemistry describes Priestley as ‘one of the most engaging figures in the history of science’ (Brock 1992, p. 99). Enough has been indicated here to give credence to Brock’s claim. Enough has also been said to support the claim that the practice of science is interwoven with philosophy and worldviews: all three mutually affect each other. As mentioned at the outset, there are three strong considerations that make for fairly easy and natural utilisation of Priestley’s life and work in classrooms: The acknowledged environmental problem of the ‘goodness of air’, the inclusion of ‘nature of science’ in many curricula, and the widespread concern with reappraising aspects of the European Enlightenment tradition. Priestley can be used to further student understanding of each of these matters. With the lessons from the past few decades of incorporating historical and philosophical studies into science programmes,48 there are some obvious ways in which Priestley’s work might be incorporated. 10.1 Historical Vignettes Suitable for the curriculum at any level is the presentation by students or teachers of brief historical vignettes concerning Priestley. At a minimal level this is designed to put a human face on chemistry and biology lessons and to indicate something of the history of the subject. Such vignettes can be tailored to the interests, sophistication and grade level of the class. Topics might include Priestley’s religion, his politics, his educational theory and practice, his marriage and family life, his support of the American and French Revolutions, his dealings with Lavoisier, his creation of soda water, his opposition to the new oxygen theory of combustion, his opposition to colonisation and the slave trade, his influence on the Founding Fathers of the USA, and so on. Additionally vignettes might be presented on the wider scientific, political, social, religious, and intellectual circumstances of Priestley’s time: the practice of religious discrimination, the intertwining of religion and state in Europe and England, the role of science in the French and English Enlightenments and its role in European Imperialism, the state of parliamentary government, European colonisation, the impact of the French Revolution, the social effects of embryonic capitalist production in England,49 the role of science in the furtherance of navigation, commerce and industry. Vignettes can take the form of individual or group essays that might be presented to the class as talks or power48 49

See contributions to the journal Science & Education from its first volume in 1992 to the present.

In 1733, the year of Priestley’s birth, John Kay invented the flying shuttle that allowed one weaver to do the work of many; in 1768, while Priestley was ministering in Leeds, James Hargraves produced the spinning jenny which multiplied the effectiveness of cloth production, one year later James Watt patented his steam engine one of which was soon powering Josiah Wedgwood’s pottery enabling his export of fine china worldwide. All of this technology enabled embryonic capitalism to take root in Priestley’s England. Priestley’s individualism, liberalism, his democratic concerns for parliamentary representation, and his arguments for minimising State power—was all music to youthful capitalist ears.

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point presentations. They can contribute to better understanding of scientific content, to better appreciation of the scientific tradition and hopefully a sense of being indebted to that tradition, to increased interest in science, and to more general educational goals concerning students’ sense of place, culture and identity. One not inconsiderable advantage of vignettes is that they allow controversial matters to be dealt with in classrooms with the safety of historic remove. While, for example, critical discussion of the State, of censorship, and of religious entanglement in the State, might be dangerous or forbidden in many contemporary Western and Islamic societies, or in Communist China, it can be relatively safe and objective to discuss these matters in the context of Priestley’s arguments.50 10.2 Historical-Investigative Teaching A more rigorous way of bringing Priestley to the classroom is to try to wed laboratory classes to historical stories; that is, to follow along the path of experimental science; to follow in the footsteps of the masters, as one might say. While doing this, it is possible to reproduce something of the intellectual puzzles and scientific debates that originally prompted the experiments. Participation in this sort of journey can give students a much richer appreciation of the achievements, techniques, and intellectual structure of science, whilst developing their own scientific knowledge and competence. Ernst Mach (1838–1916), perhaps the first science educator as distinct from teacher, recognised this at the end of the nineteenth century, when he wrote that: … every young student could come into living contact with and pursue to their ultimate logical consequences merely a few mathematical or scientific discoveries. Such selections would be mainly and naturally associated with selections from the great scientific classics. A few powerful and lucid ideas could thus be made to take root in the mind and receive thorough elaboration. (Mach 1886/1986, p. 368). With the exception of Holmyard, Bradley and a few others in England, and Conant and some others in the US, Mach’s suggestions were by science teachers.51 Mach’s approach was famously taken in Conant’s Harvard Case Studies in Experimental Science (Conant 1948a). Chapter Two is titled ‘The Overthrow of the Phlogiston Theory: The Chemical Revolution of 1775–1789’ (Conant 1948b), while Chapter Five is titled ‘Plants and the Atmosphere’ (Nash 1948). The chapters provide historical texts, glossaries, details of experimental apparatus, and so on. In recent times Nahum Kipnis has promoted this historical–experimental approach (Kipnis 1996, 1998). He has, for example, based a course on Optics around retracing the classic, and usually very simple, experiments and demonstrations in the history of the subject (Kipnis 1992). Students read original literature, they re-enact historical experiments, and themselves elaborate and debate interpretations of what they see in the laboratory. Readings and experiments on the restoration of air could suitably be substituted for the optics material. In such courses students do not just read history, they do practical work and carry out investigations; but instead of the practical activities being isolated, they are connected with a tradition of scientific development. Another current example of this historical-investigative approach is at the University of Chester where John Cartwright has taught an elective history of science course that has a 4–6 week component on The Discovery of Oxygen. The course Aims are: 50

See Wandersee and Roach (1998) for examples of types and effectiveness of such vignettes.

51

For Mach’s educational theory and practice see Matthews (1990).

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1. To promote an understanding of the historical origins of science and the distinctive nature of scientific enquiry. 2. To develop an awareness of the interaction between scientific thinking and the wider culture. 3. To foster an empathetic understanding of ideas from previous cultures. 4. To develop an awareness of the nature of historical inquiry. 5. To enable students to appreciate the force and impact of scientific thinking and ideas. The course and its Student Guide (Cartwright 2004) are a nice example of a wider, contextual approach to the teaching and learning of chemistry. It could provide a template for a comparable course on The Discovery of Photosynthesis. Priestley’s studies on the restoration of air are well suited to this historical-investigative approach. A good many of his discoveries are relatively simple to reproduce: making soda water, producing oxygen by heating metal oxides, darkness versus light conditions for effectiveness of green plants in restoring air, the nitrous air test, the observation of ‘green matter’ and the conditions under which it creates pure air, and so on. What makes the use of Priestley attractive is that he wrote very complete and readable accounts of his work. Priestley meant for his experiments to be reproduced by readers. His writings were a means for the education of the populous, and thus to realising Priestley’s conception of the true goal of the Enlightenment—the development of an informed citizenry who respected reason, were distrustful of authority, prized autonomy and who recognised an open society and public debate as the preconditions of knowledge growth in all fields of endeavour, but especially for scientific and religious understanding. 10.3 Historical Development and Student Cognition Historical-investigative approaches have the obvious advantage of connecting with the processes of children’s own intellectual and conceptual development. This was a basic claim of Piaget’s Genetic Epistemology: The fundamental hypothesis of Genetic Epistemology is that there is a parallelism between the progress made in logical and rational organisation of knowledge and the corresponding formative psychological processes. (Piaget 1970, p. 13) The claim has been much contested,52 nevertheless at a suitably coarse level it offers guidance to teachers. In his 1938 Chemistry text J. C. Hogg said this: The historic development is a logical approach. The slow progress of the early centuries was owing to a lack of knowledge, to poor technique and to unmethodical attack. But these are precisely the difficulties of the beginner in chemistry. There is a bond of sympathy between the beginner and the pioneer. (Hogg 1938, p. vii. In Klopfer 1969) Furiomas et al. (1987) documented the parallels between adolescents’ conceptions of gases and the history of chemistry and made pedagogical suggestions based on this parallelism. James Wandersee, in his study of the understanding of photosynthesis in a cross-grade group of 1,400 USA students, pointed to the same phenomena:

52

See Levine (2000) and references therein.

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The principal conclusion to be drawn from the findings is that the history of science can help science educators anticipate students’ misconceptions about photosynthesis. More specifically, three patterns emerge from the analysis of students’ responses on the PCT [Photosynthesis Concept Test]. (1) Younger students (elementary and junior high) are more likely to hold concepts of photosynthesis which were previously accepted by ‘scientists’ but now have been discarded or greatly modified. (2) Societal practices (such as those about raising plants) tend to encourage students to hold outdated concepts of photosynthesis. (3) Students at all grade levels studied may hold misconceptions about photosynthesis which are similar to those which have occurred and are documented in the history of science. (Wandersee 1985, p. 593) Not surprisingly, suggestions of Piaget’s recapitulation thesis are confirmed in anthropological studies of different cultures’ understanding of plant growth. Concerning New Zealand Maori, Miles Barker writes that: Central to the traditional Maori view of the forest is an image which has much in common with that of the Western European analogists: each giant forest tress is conceptualised as a man standing on his head …The metaphysics of earth, fire, air and water which underpinned the analogy in the Western world were paralleled in New Zealand by an extensive primeval cosmology of events and deities … (Barker 1995, p. 100) 10.4 Interdisciplinary Teaching Priestley’s intellectual engagements were wide-ranging—Science, Theology, Education, Politics, History, Philosophy—it is unrealistic to think that all this can be covered in a science course. But it is not unrealistic to hope that some coordination between subject areas can be achieved in a school, or college, and thus for teachers in related fields to work together on the ‘big picture’ presented by Priestley’s work. Such coordination is of course almost unheard of in school systems. History, science, mathematics, music, social studies, literature, philosophy—all go their own way, with barely a passing curricular nod to each other. From the students’ point of view, and even from the teachers’, knowledge is truly fragmented. However, well chosen themes such as ‘The Restoration of Air’ that are heuristically rich, can organise a curriculum to maximise the degree to which the interdependence of knowledge becomes more transparent. It may be, minimally, a matter of looking at existing independently generated curricula and simply pulling the related parts together and arranging for some coordination and cross-referencing. But it can be more than this. A praiseworthy example, and potential model, of coordination between disciplines occurs at the Oberstufen Kolleg of the University of Bielefeld, Germany. The college utilises a ‘Historical–Genetical Approach to Science Teaching’. At the Oberstufen Kolleg: … there is attention given to the historical, social and philosophical dimension of science. Frequently, historical examples are presented in a rather anecdotal fashion in courses of science, in order to motivate students for the ‘real thing’, the scientific content. History and philosophy are merely instrumentalised and serve to ‘sell the product’. Our intention differs: we consider the historical and philosophical dimension to be an essential part of science and of instruction in science, that aims to present science in a social and historical context. (Misgeld et al. 2000)

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And, Working with case studies, particularly taken from times of historical upheaval, seems to us the way to ask questions about the process of the development of science: What they are, how they work, why they work. This basically endless search for internal and external influences on the formulation of scientific theory as well as for the consequences, social and economical, the search for social context, the relation to other human endeavours and cultural advances leads to the realisation, that science is part of social development and therefore itself capable of change. (Misgeld et al. 2000) Selections from the range of Priestley’s work on restoration of air, on methodology, on philosophy, and theology, would make excellent material for such cooperative endeavours. The school curriculum might then look something like the following table with subjects or disciplines in the columns and topics in the rows.

11 Conclusion Priestley is an underutilised figure in science education. Although his contribution to the discovery of oxygen is recognised, this is usually glossed by comment about him being an obscurantist concerning Lavoisier’s new chemistry and a dogmatist concerning his own adherence to the phlogiston account of combustion and respiration. Unfortunately Priestley’s contribution to the modern understanding of photosynthesis is seldom mentioned in school curricula. This is a pity as his role was pivotal, and students can very easily be led through many of the same steps that he took. There is the opportunity for students to ‘walk in the footsteps’ of a great scientist and thereby not only learn scientific content, method and methodology, but also to get a sense of participation in a tradition of thought and analysis that is at the core of the modern world. Such Priestley-guided participation allows students to appreciate and understand key elements of the scientific tradition: hard work, experimentation, independence of mind, a

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respect for evidence, a preparedness to bring scientific modes of thought to the analysis and understanding of more general social and cultural problems, a deep suspicion of authoritarianism and dogmatism, and the concern for promotion of an open society as the condition for the advance of knowledge. Bringing Priestley into education allows light to be shed upon the mutual interaction of worldviews and science; it allows the scientific sources of the European Enlightenment to be investigated; and it allows the evaluation of the special Enlightenment niche occupied by Priestley, namely the theistic, albeit dissenting, strand of the Enlightenment. Understanding and appreciating this connection between science and the Enlightenment, and having the opportunity to examine what is dead and what is living in that tradition can be a major contribution of science classes to the general education of students in the modern world.

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Schofield RE (1983) Joseph Priestley: theology, physics and metaphysics. Enlight Dissent 2:69–81 Schofield RE (1997) The enlightenment of Joseph Priestley: a study of his life and work from 1733 to 1773. Penn State Press, University Park, PA Schofield RE (2004) The enlightened Joseph Priestley: a study of his life and work from 1773 to 1804. Penn State Press, University Park Schwartz AT, McEvoy JG (eds) (1990) Motion toward perfection: the achievement of Joseph Priestley. Skinner House Books, Boston Scott EL (1970) ‘The McBridean doctrine of air. An eighteenth-century explanation of some biochemical processes including photosynthesis’. Ambix 27:43–57 Severinghaus JW (2003) Fire-air and dephlogistication—revisionisms of oxygen’s discovery. In: Roach RC et al (eds) Hypoxia: through the lifecycle. Kluwer Academic Publishers, New York, pp 7–19 Shank JB (2008) The Newton wars and the beginning of the French enlightenment. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Siegfried R (2002) From elements to atoms: a history of chemical composition. DIANE Publishing, Darby Smith EF (1920) Priestley in America, 1794–1804. P. Blakistons Son & Co, Philadelphia Stillman JM (1924/1960) The story of Alchemy and early chemistry. Dover Publications, New York Tapper A (1982) The beginnings of Priestley’s materialism. Enlight Dissent 1:73–81 Uglow J (2002) The lunar men: five friends whose curiosity changed the world. Faber & Faber, London van Eijck M, Roth W-M (2007) Keeping the local local: recalibrating the status of science and traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) in education. Sci Educ 91:926–947 van Helmont JB (1648) Ortus Medicinae, Leyden. English translation by J. Chandler, Oriatrike, London 1662 Wandersee JH (1985) Can the history of science help science educators anticipate students’ misconceptions? J Res Sci Teach 23(7):581–597 Wandersee JH, Roach LM (1998) Interactive Historical Vignettes. In: Mintzes JJ, Wandersee JH, Novak JD (eds) Teaching Science for Understanding. A Human Constructivist View. Academic Press, San Diego, pp 281–306 Watts R (1983) Joseph Priestley and education. Enlight Dissent 2:83–100 Watts R (1991) Revolution and reaction: ‘Unitarian’ academies, 1780–1800. Hist Educ 20(4):307–323 Westfall RS (1980) Never at Rest: A Biography of Isaac Newton. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Wise MN (ed) (1995) The Values of Precision. Princeton University Press, Princeton Wykes DL (1996) The Contribution of the Dissenting Academy to the Emergence of Rational Dissent. In: Haakonssen K (ed) Enlightenment and Religion: Rational Dissent in Eighteenth-century Britain. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 99–139 Wykes DL (2008) Joseph Priestley, Minister and Teacher. In: Rivers I, Wykes DL (eds) Joseph Priestley: Scientist, Philosopher, and Theologian. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 20–48

Responses and Clarifications Regarding Science and Worldviews Hugh G. Gauch Jr.

Originally published in the journal Science & Education, Volume 18, Nos 6–7, 905–927. DOI: 10.1007/s11191-007-9133-3
Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008

Abstract This article responds to the other 10 papers in this thematic issue on science and worldviews and it clarifies some of the points in my lead article. The Bayesian framework provides helpful structure for worldview inquiries by recognizing and integrating both public and personal evidence. Drawing upon the other 10 papers, six kinds of potential evidence or considerations are identified: the problem of evil, evolution, miracles and prayer, the Anthropic Principle, religious experience, and natural theology. The thesis is defended that considerations informing worldview convictions include public evidence from the sciences and the humanities and personal evidence from individual experience. Additional topics addressed briefly include scientific realism, the tentativeness of scientific knowledge, science’s presuppositions, the relationship between natural science and natural theology, the nature of religious faith, and the importance of philosophy in science education. Seven questions are posed for which further leadership from the AAAS and NAS would benefit the scientific community.

1 Introduction Although my lead article had a rather general perspective on science and worldviews, this response article takes a more specific perspective. This shift was prompted by the fine contribution from Glennan, ‘‘Whose Science and Whose Religion?’’ which emphasizes that the relationship between science and worldviews/religions depends greatly on the specific version of science and the specific worldview under consideration (also see Lacey and Reiss). Accordingly, for the most part, this response article engages just one specific version of science and just three specific worldviews. This one conception of science is mainstream science, which the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) and the National Academy of Sciences (NAS) have well characterized in their position papers in every respect except for the topic of this thematic issue, the relationship H. G. Gauch Jr. (&) Crop and Soil Sciences, Cornell University, 519 Bradfield Hall, Ithaca, NY 14853, USA e-mail: [email protected] M.R. Matthews (ed.), Science, Worldviews and Education. DOI: 10.1007/978-90-481-2779-5_15

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between science and worldviews. And these three worldviews are those that predominate in this issue: atheism (or naturalism), generic theism, and Christian theism. This article offers responses and clarifications in reply to the other 10 articles. Of course, this brief response cannot address every matter raised in about 230 pages of text, so it must be selective. Sections 2–4 address three topics that seem especially important: worldview reasoning, worldview evidence, and worldview convictions. Section 5 gives concise responses to several additional matters. Section 6 lists difficult questions about science and worldviews for the AAAS and NAS to consider addressing in their future position papers so that the scientific community can gain a clearer conception of mainstream perspectives. Finally, Sect. 7 offers several conclusions. The ambitions of my lead article, which are the same for this response article, are to analyze the implications of science’s method for science’s worldview import and to identify potentially relevant kinds of evidence, but to amass and assess the evidence is beyond my ambitions.

2 Worldview Reasoning The article by Fishman advances the conversation about science and worldviews by its clear and insightful application of Bayesian reasoning to worldviews. For those interested in structuring their worldview thinking in a formal manner, Bayesian reasoning provides a powerful tool. His citation to Howson and Urbach (1993) is especially welcome because every scientist and science educator should read that superb book on scientific reasoning. Perhaps in part because my career of 35 years at Cornell University has involved statistical analysis of ecological and agricultural data and because my book on scientific method encourages scientists to give greater consideration to the Bayesian paradigm (Gauch 2002, pp. 217–268), I also think that Bayesian reasoning is relevant in worldview inquiry. This topic merits additional discussion. The paper by Bayes (1763) has been republished several times to make it more readily accessible (for instance, Press 1989, pp. 173–217; Swinburne 2002, pp. 117–149). It was preceded by impressive developments in probability theory by Bernoulli, Pascal, DeMoivre, and others. However, the novelty in Bayes’s seminal paper, as Richard Price noted in his accompanying letter submitting Bayes’s paper to the Royal Society, was to solve the so-called ‘‘converse’’ or reverse problem required for inductive reasoning (Press 1989, pp. 185–188; Earman 1992, pp. 8–9, 18). Let E represent some evidence and H a hypothesis. The probability of evidence E occurring given hypothesis H, which is denoted by the conditional probability P(E|H) where the vertical bar is read as ‘‘given,’’ requires deductive reasoning. By contrast, the reverse conditional probability concerns hypothesis H being true given that evidence E occurs, P(H|E), and it requires inductive reasoning. Bayes’s celebrated theorem relates these two quantities, as the Fishman article explains. Scientific reasoning involves both deduction and induction (Gauch 2002, pp. 156–268). Deduction is reasoning from a given hypothesis to expected data, whereas induction is reasoning from actual data to the probability that a hypothesis is true. Deduction produces predictions and induction tests predictions. The foremost question that scientists ask is whether a hypothesis (or theory or model) is true, given the data or evidence, so scientific conclusions typically have the form P(H|E). That renders the Bayesian paradigm a crucial component of scientific reasoning. Philosophers have applied Bayesian reasoning to worldview inquiries. Actually, this began at the very outset in 1763 because Price’s letter, which communicated Bayes’s paper

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to the Royal Society, mentioned the application of Bayes’s inductive reasoning for showing the existence, wisdom, and power of the Deity. Swinburne (2004) presents an extensive and widely discussed Bayesian argument for the existence of God, while Swinburne (1996) provides a more concise version. Swinburne (2002) also edited a book on Bayes’s theorem. The philosophical conversation about Bayes’s theorem and God’s existence has even found its way into the pages of Scientific American (Shermer 2004; Wiggins 2007). The ratio form of Bayes’s theorem for the simple case of just two competing hypotheses, H1 and H2, given evidence E, is: PðH1 jEÞ PðEjH1 Þ PðH1 Þ
¼ PðH2 jEÞ PðEjH2 Þ PðH2 Þ This equation formalizes how we learn from experience, particularly how we update a previous belief upon the arrival of new evidence. Jeffreys (1983, p. 15) provides a simple example: ‘‘Suppose that I know that Smith is an Englishman, but otherwise know nothing particular about him. He is very likely, on that evidence, to have a blue right eye. But suppose that I am informed that his left eye is brown—the probability is changed completely.’’ And the lesson he draws from this example is that ‘‘It is a fact that our degrees of confidence in a proposition habitually change when we make new observations or new evidence is communicated to us by somebody else, and this change constitutes the essential feature of all learning from experience.’’ The three terms in the above equation are called the posterior, likelihood, and prior, so the essence of Bayes’s formula is: the posterior equals the likelihood times the prior. The prior and posterior represent beliefs about the hypotheses’ probabilities before and after considering the new or additional evidence E, while the likelihood weighs the chances of obtaining evidence E under various assumptions about which hypothesis is true. The principle of the total evidence says that all admissible and relevant evidence should be taken into account. Bayes’s formula partitions the total evidence into two parts: evidence E in the likelihood and everything else in the prior. For instance, in Jeffreys’s simple example, the new evidence in the likelihood is the observation of Smith’s brown left eye, whereas the other available information in the prior is that most person’s eyes are of the same color and that Smith is an Englishman, a population in which blue eyes predominate. Bayes’s theorem obtains P(H|E) from its reverse P(E|H) and the prior P(H). But understand that a hypothesis H has dramatically different roles in these two conditional probabilities, P(H|E) and P(E|H). In the conclusion P(H|E), the hypothesis H is being questioned and inductive reasoning is assessing its probability given the evidence E (and the prior information). But in the likelihood P(E|H), the hypothesis H is given—that is, H is assumed for the moment to be true—and deductive reasoning is assessing the probability that evidence E would occur given that H is true. When weighing competing hypotheses (or theories or worldviews), both academic integrity and the pursuit of truth demand that all hypotheses—favored or disfavored—be represented accurately. This demand for honest inquiry always holds, but doubly so in the deductions involving P(E|H) where the expected consequences or predicted evidence are worked out under the (temporary) assumption that the hypothesis is true. If an investigator dislikes a particular hypothesis H, the case against H must marshal convincing evidence E, whereas the case against H must not trade in misrepresenting H even beyond recognition by those who hold and favor it.

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The salient feature of the likelihood is that evidence E is informative if and only if competing hypotheses make different predictions about the likelihood of E occurring. Hypotheses or theories are rewarded for predicting the data better than their competitors. Evidence is not just raw data but also involves interpretation of the data to render the data relevant for testing the particular hypotheses under consideration (Gauch 2002, pp. 125–131). Evidence is interpreted data. Hypothesis H1 in Bayes’s equation above may render the evidence E likely, so P(E|H1) is large. Nevertheless, H2—that is, H2 accurately represented and properly interpreted— also requires careful consideration because H2 might possibly render E even more likely, making P(E|H2) larger than P(E|H1). Then E would favor H2, even though H1 considered in isolation without its competitors might seem to be handling E quite satisfactorily. The nature and availability of the prior information, which is other than the evidence E, varies. Accordingly, prior probabilities can be of three kinds. (1)

(2)

(3)

Objective. The other or background knowledge may be clearly specified and known to all investigators. For example, hypotheses about a mouse’s genotype can be tested by evidence on the phenotypes of its progeny while knowledge of the mouse’s pedigree supplies an exact, objective prior readily agreed upon by all (Gauch 2002, pp. 245–246). Noninformative. In the absence of prior information, a plausible way to model ignorance is to assign all hypotheses the same prior probabilities. This minimizing of the influence of the prior automatically shifts the influence to the evidence assessed in the likelihood, which may seem sensible when that evidence is all that the researchers have. Nevertheless, definite knowledge of equal priors is not the same as an ignorant guess of equality, so the conclusions in the posterior are less secure (Gauch 2002, pp. 234–235). Subjective. Different persons may possess different background knowledge. For example, two doctors may both read about a clinical trial for which standard drug A was superior three times and new drug B was superior seven times. One doctor may have had nine successes out of 11 patients given drug A, and hence may be reluctant to switch to the new drug. But the other doctor may have had only four successes out of 15 patients given the standard drug, and hence may be inclined to switch to the new drug. Hence, unless the evidence is very strong, the other information and experience that various individuals possess may lead them to different conclusions, even though they all know and agree about evidence E. Typically, the kind of prior that worldview inquiry has is a subjective prior (Swinburne 2003, pp. 30–31).

To review this section and recall Fishman’s article, Bayesian reasoning identifies three influences on conclusions. A given hypothesis, say H1, is favored over its alternatives by some winning combination of a favorable prior, confirming evidence, and discredited alternatives—that is, by large P(H1)/P(H2), large P(E|H1), and small P(E|H2). Finally, beyond the rather easy job of pointing out the useful structure of the Bayesian framework, what is really needed for worldview reasoning is a general theory of how to formulate reasons that count across worldviews. Otherwise, all that worldviews can offer is self-congratulations. Pursuit of that theory would be particularly well motivated for those individuals who trust that a worldview’s success in delivering cosmopolitan reasons is itself a key diagnostic indicator of a worldview’s truth, simply because truth supports better and stronger reasons than error. But regrettably, I know of no ideal reference to cite. Until philosophers or other scholars provide a nice account of worldview-spanning, cosmopolitan reasons, some useful ideas may be derived from Newell (1986), Trigg (1993, 1998),

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Schum (1994), Gauch (2002, pp. 124–153), Gauch et al. (2002), and especially Shafer (1976). Meanwhile, mastering the Bayesian paradigm, with its combination of public evidence in the likelihood and personal evidence in the prior, is a fine start.

3 Worldview Evidence Recall from Sect. 1 that reflecting the conversation in this thematic issue, three worldview hypotheses are emphasized in this response article: atheism, generic theism, and Christian theism. And recall from the preceding Sect. 2 that Bayes’s theorem formalizes the reasoning used in learning from experience, involving the likelihood representing some evidence and the prior representing other information. The pivotal question that arises next is: What evidence is available for worldview inquiries? Or more pointedly: What evidence favors a particular worldview and also counts across other worldviews? Several articles in this issue give their answers. This section reviews six kinds of evidence, listed roughly in order of the amount of attention they received in this thematic issue. The other input required for Bayesian reasoning, the prior, is deferred to the next section. 3.1 The Problem of Evil The article by Fishman discusses the problem of evil within a Bayesian framework and concludes that it constitutes evidence in favor of atheism. The problem of evil is standard fare in the philosophy of religion (van Inwagen 2006). It is generally regarded as a serious challenge for theism, though theologians attempt to reconcile the existence of God with the presence of evil, as Glennan mentions. The space that can be devoted to this exceedingly complex problem in a journal on science education is severely limited—even in this thematic issue on science and worldviews, it is merely a few pages. And this response article’s consideration of this problem is briefer yet. Accordingly, my ambitions regarding the problem of evil are limited to raising three questions that some readers may want to ponder should they turn to the more thorough conversation found elsewhere, principally in the philosophy literature. First, are variants of the problem of evil more comprehensive and engaging than the standard problem? Certainly, one may be astonished and disgusted at the amount of evil in this troubled world: ravaging diseases, devastating wars, dehumanizing poverty, natural disasters, deep disappointments, cruel death, and so on. That said, equally certainly, one may be astonished and delighted at the amount of good in this beautiful world: precious children, meaningful work, good friends, glorious sunsets, fun sports, great books, and so on. Accordingly, one might feel that an alternative problem that encompasses both aspects of life, which may be termed ‘‘the problem of good and evil,’’ sets forth a more balanced, realistic, comprehensive, and potentially fruitful project of philosophical inquiry that resonates much better with lived experience. Second, does the observation of evil count as data or evidence? Or to rephrase this question, the problem of evil is usually regarded as a challenge for theism—even the foremost challenge—but why? The Bayesian framework reveals that if extensive evil counts against theism, necessarily that is because theism predicts less evil than atheism. But that supposition is far from obvious, so some philosophical homework needs to be done here. For the Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) in particular, the

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Bible narrative is one of a tremendous conflict between good and evil that dwarfs atheism’s story of purposeless processes and deleterious mutations and destructive earthquakes and such. Granted, a suitably simplistic or contrived theism may predict less evil than does atheism, so the problem of evil would count against such theism. And a sufficiently vague and generic theism may have such an indefinite prediction about the amount of evil as to render analysis pointless. But a theism that predicts even more evil than atheism encounters the opposite outcome of being a theism that is confirmed by the observation of extensive evil. Third and finally, turning from theoretical questions to a practical one, why is there no apparent correlation between the amount of suffering a person endures and that person’s inclination toward atheism? If evil and suffering truly support atheism, then one might expect great suffering to move people toward atheism, or at least Deism. But no such trend is even remotely apparent. Furthermore, there are glaring exceptions, such as the saints of the Orthodox and Catholic churches who, as a group, experienced suffering surpassingly beyond the ordinary lot of mortals. Perhaps the more gripping question for some persons is not why there is so much evil, but rather whether there is also gloriously great and lasting good that overshadows and overturns the evil, at least in the long run. 3.2 Evolution The explanatory and predictive successes of evolutionary biology are often taken as a refutation of theistic understandings of the origin and diversity of life. A curious feature of the debate between some theists and atheists who are prominent biologists, however, is the virtually complete lack of disagreement over the biological facts (as well as the associated facts from chemistry, geology, and other sciences). For instance, consider the books about evolution and its worldview import by atheists Dawkins (1996, 2006) and Wilson (1998) and theists Conway Morris (2003) and Collins (2006). These biologists are seeing the same biological facts, but are interpreting these facts from within different worldviews. Indeed, the article by Reiss emphasizes how worldview commitments can influence perceptions of nature. To cite one specific example, atheists typically presume that random processes like gene mutations must be purposeless processes—so random does necessarily imply purposeless. But Collins (2006, p. 205; also see pp. 80–82) believes in a God who inhabits eternity, so ‘‘God could be completely and intimately involved in the creation of all species, while from our perspective, limited as it is by the tyranny of linear time, this would appear a random and undirected process’’—so random does not necessarily imply purposeless. Incidentally, the Cordero article affirms a AAAS (1990, p. xiii) statement that science reveals a purposeless universe—although my lead article notes the inconsistency of that statement with another AAAS (1989, p. 26) statement that science cannot assess the true purposes of life. The present objective is not to resolve this dispute regarding whether random implies purposeless. Rather, the intended lesson is that the controversy between theistic and atheistic understandings of biology among professional biologists is mostly caused by disputed philosophical interpretations of undisputed scientific facts. In particular, the rhetoric that ‘‘random means purposeless’’ is not an automatic deliverance of science, but rather implicates some serious philosophical homework. To appreciate the huge role of disputed interpretations of undisputed facts while deriving evolution’s worldview import, see the opposing views of Oxford biologist Dawkins (2006) and Oxford theologian

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McGrath (2005); also McGrath and McGrath (2007). Also compare the views of atheist philosopher Ruse (2003) and Christian theologian Haught (2006). The same data can be seen as different evidence because of interpretive differences. The broader lesson here is that working out the worldview implications of evolution requires not only careful science but also careful philosophy. This recognition sets limits to the reach and reliability of individuals and institutions for proclaiming evolution’s worldview import when their expertise is confined to the sciences and lacks augmentation from the humanities. 3.3 Miracles and Prayer Do miracles actually happen? Obviously, their occurrence favors theism, whereas their absence favors atheism. Answers to this question have taken two radically different approaches that may be termed in-principle and empirical arguments. An influential argument by Hume claims that our extensive experience of the uniformity of nature outweighs any testimonial evidence about miracles, especially when that testimony is motivated by the desire to establish some religion (David Hume, in Swinburne 1989, pp. 23–40 and Earman 2000, pp. 140–157). Consequently, in principle it is impossible to tender credible evidence for miracles and therefore one need not bother examining the details of miracle claims. By contrast, before Hume’s influence was felt, it was presumed that any case for or against miracles turns on examining the empirical evidence for individual miracle claims, be they historical or recent. But mercifully, this contest between in-principle and empirical approaches has reached its end because, as mentioned in my lead article, philosophers have argued decisively that a verdict on miracles depends on the empirical evidence (Johnson 1999; Earman 2000; John Earman, in Swinburne 2002, pp. 91–109). To decide whether miracles occur, armchair philosophizing is fruitless, but rather one must go and look and see what happens in this world. That outcome should not seem strange to a scientist. The article by Cordero rejects a particularly prominent miracle claim, Jesus’ resurrection, because ‘‘The miracle it supposedly instantiates falls outside the sphere of scientific scrutiny on many grounds’’ and it ‘‘violates just ‘too many’ causal regularities central to physiology.’’ But this is precisely the in-principle sort of argumentation that wholly lacks philosophical support and that discourages even bothering with examining the evidence—which possibly includes some empirical and public evidence. Whether the examination of that evidence might be deemed historical scrutiny rather than scientific scrutiny is an inconsequential matter of boundaries between academic disciplines, whereas the real issue is whether at least some of that evidence is empirical and public. To insist that everything that has happened in this world’s history cannot include anything that violates ‘‘too many’’ causal regularities known to science is just to beg the question about the matter in dispute, namely what has happened in this world. To repeat two sentences from my lead article: ‘‘Because of the debate over Christ’s resurrection, which is but one among a thousand other disputed matters, there simply is no settled, public version of the ‘everything’ that either science or a more comprehensive approach is burdened to explain. Consequently, the argument that science can explain everything— let alone the further contention that this success supports or necessitates naturalism—is a nonstarter, destined to perish amidst a thousand controversies without public consensus.’’ In contrast to in-principle argumentation, the empirical and historical sort of argumentation regarding Jesus’ resurrection is exemplified by Habermas (2003) and Wright (2003).

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To be clear, I am not saying that these thousand ‘‘disputed matters’’ cannot have overwhelming evidence in favor of a particular conclusion in some cases, nor that individual scientists lack the prerogative of formulating and promulgating positions on such matters. Rather, I am insisting that the scientific community and its institutions do lack the prerogative of addressing many such matters for the twin reasons that (1) the scientific community lacks adequate consensus and (2) it lacks adequate competence for those matters that principally require expertise in other disciplines, including philosophy, theology, and history. Science’s contribution to worldview inquiry at the institutional level is enhanced by focusing on those matters for which scientists do have reasonable consensus and sufficient competence. One category of putative miracles that has received much attention is intercessory prayer for health, which many scientists see as being amenable to empirical study followed by statistical analysis. The article by Fishman cites several clinical trials that failed to find any benefit from prayer and takes this as evidence in favor of atheism. However, the most extensive study of prayer and health that has come to my attention is the book by Koenig et al. (2001), providing a comprehensive and critical analysis of 1,200 studies and 400 research reviews (also see Koenig and Cohen 2002). In this scholarly work published by Oxford University Press, they find a positive or neutral or negative relationship between religion and health for individual studies, but an overwhelmingly positive relationship overall. Individual studies varied in the diseases examined, interventions administered, outcomes measured, sample sizes, and other factors, but prayer was a common component of religious practice. A worthwhile verdict on prayer requires extensive survey of the evidence as well as careful interpretation of its worldview import. The relative plausibility of natural or supernatural explanations depends on the particulars of a given case, including whether a healing is physical or mental and whether it is gradual or instantaneous.

3.4 The Anthropic Principle Nothing in all of science is more obvious and certain than that many things are exactly right for life to exist in our universe, including numerous constants in physics and chemistry and numerous details of the universe’s history and expansion (and similarly countless things are also just right about our galaxy, our region of our galaxy, our sun and solar system, and our planet earth). Indeed, many special conditions are just right for life, but does this fact have worldview import? That is the question behind the so-called Anthropic Principle (or fine-tuning argument), which is mentioned by Fishman and Reiss and discussed by Cordero. With reference to one of these special conditions, isotropy, Cordero claims that the Anthropic Principle is without import for theism: ‘‘Our presence does not explain isotropy—isotropy is simply one of very many necessary conditions for our being here. It actually explains nothing. Indeed, … for something like the Anthropic Principle to work as an argument one needs first to believe in God.’’ The language in the Cordero article is about life explaining special conditions. Of course, that makes no sense, as he insists. But that observation is irrelevant because typically the language in discussions of the Anthropic Principle runs the opposite way, about special conditions (due to God or else luck) explaining life (Barrow and Tipler 1986; Rees 2000). That is, life is the explanandum, that which is to be explained, rather than the explanans, that which does the explaining. Hence, the competing theistic and atheistic

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explanations of life are that ‘‘God caused the special conditions required for life’’ and ‘‘Luck explains the special conditions required for life.’’ In the Abrahamic worldview, the explanation for the world fostering life, as expressed forcefully by the prophet Isaiah (45:18), is that God, who also created the heavens, created and fashioned the earth to be inhabited. On the other hand, in the atheistic worldview, from Epicurus to the present, we just got lucky. In one popular account of this luck, there exist a huge or even infinite number of universes, mostly chaotic, but we just happen to be in a lucky one where things are just right for life. There is also a third option that blends the first two. In a Deistic worldview, God caused the initial Big Bang, but subsequently humans emerged merely as an accidental, unintended, and unnoticed product of random evolutionary developments. Recall Cordero’s objection that for the Anthropic Principle to work as an argument for theism, one needs first to believe in God—which, of course, reduces this argument to circular reasoning. But does the same circularity apply to the atheist position? That is, in order to stick with luck as the explanation for numerous special conditions, must one first be firmly convinced that God does not exist? The trouble is that there is luck, and then there are lots and lots and lots and lots of luck—and the latter may be harder to handle than the former. Positing a huge or infinite number of universes to account for some lucky ones favorable for life—the multiverse hypothesis—plays to the intuition that if one rolls the dice enough times, eventually a remarkable outcome will occur. But the appropriateness of that analogy depends crucially on the implicit assumption of there being a specific kind of universe generating mechanism, namely one that produces non-interacting universes with occasional favorable ones. That assumption is questionable, given the highly speculative nature of multiverse theory. For instance, what if an occasional killer universe occurs, having a powerful and disruptive kind of radiation with a mode or speed of propagation that causes that radiation to destroy any potential for life in many other universes? If on average each killer universe takes out more than one promising universe, then this particular multiverse hypothesis hinders, rather than helps, an explanation for life. Instead of the above analogy about rolling dice, a more appropriate analogy would be that if you play with matches enough times, eventually you will get burned. Or for another instance, what if one speculates that future developments in theoretical physics will show that merely a few physical constants underlie all the others and that the universe generating mechanism often assigns values to these constants that are likely to favor life? Then life is likely in our universe, whether or not other universes also exist, so one may obey Ockham’s razor and dispense with the multiverse theory in favor of the much simpler theory that this one and only universe had the needed little bit of luck. Consequently, whether a multiverse would render life in our own universe more probable or else less probable, or even whether the multiverse hypothesis is unnecessary and irrelevant, depends on a detailed account of the universe generating mechanism. To say the least, that account is not yet available. At any rate, taming extravagant luck with mere speculation may test one’s nerve. If the atheist worldview is true, then indeed lady luck explains our universe’s hospitality to life; and if the Abrahamic worldview is true, then indeed God’s activity explains our universe’s hospitality. But in terms of reasons that count across worldviews, both theistic and atheistic accounts of the Anthropic Principle seem to have modest force. Apparently, for most persons, this is a relatively minor consideration, with worldview convictions dominated by other factors. However, for persons with great interest in astronomy and physics, a given understanding of the Anthropic Principle may be influential.

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3.5 Religious Experience Does religious experience, which is common although not universal, count as evidence of God’s existence and presence? Or, does religious experience have a different, naturalistic explanation not involving God? The articles by Fishman, Glennan, and Lacy address these questions. Naturalists have offered two main explanations for the persistence of religious experience, even though God and the supernatural do not exist. The older explanation is wish fulfillment, that believers want a supernatural parental figure to alleviate anxieties, provide comfort, and obtain help. The newer additional explanation is agency detection, that powerful selective pressures for the evolution of abilities to detect agency or intentions in other persons (and in animals) has had the unfortunate side effect of prompting many persons to be hyperactive in inferring the existence of supernatural agents responsible for events, especially otherwise unexplained events. ‘‘Hence, people are particularly sensitive to the presence of intentional agency and seem biased to over-attribute intentional action,’’ even in terms of ‘‘gods, spirits, and ghosts,’’ as Fishman explains. A great concern in Fishman’s article is the biased, one-sided thinking of religious people. ‘‘There is empirical support for the suggestion that earnest believers in the supernatural will often count any empirical evidence favorable to their hypothesis as highly significant and ignore negative evidence as ‘irrelevant’ or ‘inappropriate’ or try to explain it away by introducing ad hoc rationalizations.’’ There is much worry about ‘‘the dedication of true believers to a favored hypothesis.’’ But curiously, no worry is ever expressed about the dedication of atheists to their favored worldview. Ironically, Fishman’s text reads like a one-sided concern over one-sidedness. Granted, ‘‘Commitment to materialism does indeed provide motivation to seek for naturalistic explanations of religious phenomena,’’ as Lacey observes. And granted, Bayesian reasoning (and indeed any sensible thinking) rewards a hypothesis for discrediting its competitors, as Sect. 2.3 of Fishman’s article explains and Sect. 2 of this review article reiterates. But what about the other way around? Certainly, there have been naturalistic explanations of religious experience, but there have also been theistic explanations of atheistic experience. The Biblical narrative of The Fall is about humanity’s attempt to avoid God. Hence, it seems quite one-sided not to even mention this familiar competitor to the naturalist’s hypothesis, which has been around for over three millennia. Similarly, less one-sidedness and more balance could be desired in the discussion of people’s wishes. Much ink has been spilt over the theist’s wishes for security and help. But is the atheist’s world devoid of attractions, comforts, and wishes? For starters, the atheist is captain of his or her own ship and even gets to construct his or her own personal ethic of what is right and what is wrong and afterward gets to grade his or her own exam—rather than having to be subjected to God’s will and standards and judgment. On the other hand, the theist’s world is not limited by human contrivance and effort, but also includes new and surprising possibilities for life and meaning that only God can give. So, both sides seem to exhibit a remarkably successful emotional adaptation, being able to wish for what they perceive that reality offers. This reminds me of a high-school friend of quite limited means who often said that he preferred his cheap old car to a new one because his car, affectionately called his ‘‘pea-green pneumatic perambulator,’’ had what he called ‘‘personality.’’ Mercifully, the real story of human desires and wishes as regards worldviews can be dispatched with marvelous economy in a single sentence. The great attraction of atheism is control, whereas the great attraction of theism is surprise.

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Finally, Lacey’s article ascribes poverty to naturalistic explanations of religious experience for the most fundamental and devastating reason of all, namely that naturalists have failed to engage religious experience as it actually is. Naturalists ignore ‘‘countless core religious phenomena,’’ especially ‘‘the concrete histories of the religions,’’ so their caricatures of religion are not even ‘‘recognizable by the religious faithful.’’ That is, actual religious experience involves not only emotional rewards, but also historical events, reported miracles, eye-witness testimonies, saintly exemplars, transformed lives, sacrificial service, loving communities, and more—and it is this whole package, not just one piece of it, that constitutes the item to be explained. Naturalistic explanations need to engage not only the subjective or psychological aspect of religious experience, but also the historical and evidential basis of that experience.

3.6 Natural Theology A few paragraphs in my lead article mentioned natural theology as another discipline besides natural science that also uses standard techniques of reasoning as well as empirical and public evidence ‘‘in principle available to all human beings just in virtue of their possessing reason and sense perception.’’ I said that it was beyond that article’s ambitions to argue that natural theology supports either theism or else atheism, nor alternatively that it is unsuccessful in showing anything. Rather, I merely argued that the sheer existence and character of this academic discipline invalidates any breezy dismissal of the idea that worldviews are testable. Complaints about being misrepresented rapidly become tiresome, but perhaps this single paragraph of complaints in my response article can be tolerated. Cordero critiques my lead article, reporting ‘‘Gauch and other thinkers believe there is still vibrancy in projects like natural theology in the style of Paley’’ and ‘‘Gauch’s suggestion is that empirical and public evidence from the sciences and humanities can support cosmologically substantive Christian worldviews,’’ and he also refers to ‘‘Gauch’s teleological stance’’ and my ‘‘optimistic take on natural theology.’’ But this misrepresentation of my article is unfortunate because readers who turn to those pages to find this reported content can only be disappointed. There is no verdict on natural theology, but rather a clear statement that no evaluation is undertaken. No mention of Paley or his arguments is to be found—indeed, I have never even read that author. Nor is any evidence tendered to support Christianity. Incidentally, Cordero attributes three statements to me (about the worldview concept, Pillar 5, and Pillar 6) as citations followed by double-indented material, which is a standard format for indicating quotation, but lest readers misinterpret this material, none are accurate quotations of my text and the first apparent quotation has some content with which I would not agree. At the other end of the spectrum, Fishman insists that science concludes, not presupposes, that naturalism or atheism is true, and he cites my article for a ‘‘similar position.’’ Certainly, ‘‘similar’’ could be construed in several different ways, but again to avoid disappointed readers, I would clarify that neither does my lead article deliver a defense of atheism. And Glennan reports, ‘‘Gauch is typical of many champions of the compatibility of science and religion in seeking to identify a core of scientific presuppositions and practice that is metaphysically neutral with regard to theism, and to distinguish this from scientifically inspired metaphysical or epistemological views that have clear worldview import.’’ But of course, the real issue for the compatibilist view is not the worldview-independent presuppositions, but rather the potentially worldview-informative evidence, which my article does not engage or assess, so the fortunes of the

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compatibilist view are not evaluated. Anyway, readers who see in my lead article a defense of Christianity or a defense of atheism are being too generous in their perception of my modest efforts. Because my lead article is clear from start to finish about the boundaries of its ambitions, these misrepresentations are unwarranted. I would be quick to add, however, that relative to the admirably insightful and wonderfully stimulating content in these authors’ papers, what are registered here are minor complaints. And as stated from the outset, this review article is similarly circumscribed in its ambitions. It further elaborates scientific reasoning and it compiles from the other articles a list of kinds of evidence that enter into worldview inquiries. But given the limitations of space and the context of a journal on science education, it neither assesses that evidence nor argues for a particular worldview, as would commonly occur in journals on philosophy or theology. The Cordero article doubts that the contemporary project of natural theology still produces fruitful testable knowledge. Recall from my lead article that natural theology considers arguments both for and against God’s existence. Hence, it comes in both theistic and atheistic versions. Thus it seems that what Cordero argues for is not that natural theology is unsuccessful, but rather that an atheistic natural theology—that is, an explanation of cosmology and biology and consciousness and religious experience and everything else purely in terms of natural entities and processes—is impressively successful. Similarly, Fishman does not cast his paper in the language of natural theology, and certainly there is no need to do so, but nevertheless his paper can also be read as a sophisticated rendition of an atheistic natural theology. The noted book by Wilson (1998) on Consilience is an exceptionally comprehensive attempt to bring everything into an atheistic understanding, so it too can be read as atheistic natural theology. Likewise, Fishman draws extensively from Stenger (2007). On the other side, Swinburne (2004) and McGrath (2006) represent theistic versions of natural theology. A new direction in theistic natural theology is defense of a specific theism, rather than a generic theism. As Earman (2000, p. 3) remarks, ‘‘In philosophy, … almost all ambitious projects are failures.’’ Accordingly, one may have a strong intuition that a generic theism with minimal content is easier to defend than a more ambitious and specific theism such as Christianity, particularly when limited to empirical and public evidence. On the other hand, as is particularly evident in the Bayesian framework, hypotheses or worldviews making very specific and bold predictions are easier to test definitively than those offering rather vague and generic predictions. So, the opposite intuition is also conceivable. At any rate, recently some scholars have recognized that many lines of argumentation that have been mainstays of Christian apologetics for centuries have some fraction of their evidence that is publicly accessible, so evaluation of that evidence can be framed as an exercise in natural theology. That is, some portion of evidence bearing on competing worldview hypotheses may be testable directly by empirical and public evidence, even though another portion does rely on testimony or authority or revelation in ways unsuited to natural theology’s projects. To mention just two of these recent projects, Swinburne (2003 and Richard Swinburne, in Davis et al. 1997, pp. 191–212) frames Christ’s resurrection and Gauch et al. (2002) frame Bible prophecy as exercises in natural theology that use a Bayesian framework. The huge functional difference between a generic natural theology and a specific (or ‘‘ramified’’) Christian natural theology is that the latter does, whereas the former does not, create a tight link between natural theology and revealed theology. Manifestly, this is not the place to judge the merits or demerits of natural theology’s projects—either traditional or new; either generic or specific. But it is the place to suggest two standards for a worthwhile evaluation. First, before assuming that natural theology is

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an archaic and dying discipline, realize that little effort is needed to obtain numerous citations to the steady stream of scholarly books or chapters pertaining to natural theology (in both theistic and atheistic versions) coming from prestigious academic publishers, such as Cambridge University Press and Oxford University Press. Second, a current evaluation should consider the new directions as well as the traditional arguments of natural theology. Although extensive work is needed to evaluate natural theology’s merits, mere inspection reveals its intentions. Its objective is worldview inquiry based on empirical and public evidence available to all—an argumentum ad omnes. The role of the material on natural theology in my lead article in its Sect. 6 on the testability of worldviews was explained there: ‘‘The thrust of this section has been that the broader resources of the sciences and the humanities combined have more potential for worldview import than the limited resources of the sciences alone.’’ This functions as support for Thesis 3 in the preceding Sect. 5.3, that ‘‘scientific evidence, or empirical evidence in general, can have worldview import.’’ That is, consideration of ‘‘empirical evidence in general’’—which includes natural theology, history, and other disciplines in the humanities—broadens the resources for worldview inquiry beyond ‘‘scientific evidence’’ alone, thereby making an inquiry more likely to yield satisfactory and reliable results. And the roles of the additional material on natural theology in this article are to respond to the other authors’ articles and to support an additional Thesis 4 that appears in the next section. The six kinds of evidence for worldview inquires reviewed here are not a complete list, though they include some of the foremost considerations. Additional lines of evidence mentioned in this thematic issue include prophecy, philosophical arguments such as the ontological argument, out-of-body and near-death experiences, and the argument from non-belief. For present purposes, however, the above review must suffice to indicate something of the diversity and complexity of the considerations that enter into worldview choices. Although this section’s six topics are treated individually, a worldview gains coherence and power by being systematic. Accordingly, proponents of any given worldview tend to have a rather typical and largely predictable pattern of positions on all six topics. Indeed, the case for a particular worldview typically takes the form of a cumulative case combining several lines of evidence and argumentation, which may be formalized by the Bayesian framework. Shermer (2004) provides an especially concise, one-page Bayesian example of a cumulative case regarding God’s existence that involves six lines of evidence and a noninformative prior (0.5 probability for theism and 0.5 probability for atheism), showing how different numbers support a conclusion of theism or else atheism. Precisely because both theism and atheism are extremely comprehensive theories with many implications for what will be experienced and observed, a cumulative case is natural and fitting. The potential difficulties with a cumulative case, however, are that the action may be spread thinly over so many different considerations as to try a reader’s endurance and, worse yet, that the various lines of evidence may interact in complicated ways, making it hard to locate the real action anywhere in particular. The ideal resolution is for a cumulative case to include at least one or two lines of evidence that considered singly bear substantial evidential weight, specifically in a manner that counts across diverse worldviews (after granting only rudimentary, common-sense presuppositions that legitimate appeals to empirical and public evidence). Finally, given the subtlety of interpreting worldview evidence, the likelihood of satisfactory results can be increased by being aware of logical fallacies (Pirie 2006), one-sided argumentation (Walton 1999), and the logic of reliable inquiry (Kelly 1996). The principal

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objective of such training is to correct one’s own blunders—and only secondarily to critique others.

4 Worldview Convictions A striking feature of the six kinds of worldview evidence reviewed in the previous section, which serve to support worldview conclusions and convictions, is that four of these six considerations are basically philosophical or theological, rather than scientific: the problem of evil, miracles and prayer, religious experience, and natural theology. And even the two considerations that are largely scientific—evolution and the Anthropic Principle—bear on worldview conclusions mostly by means of subtle and disputed interpretations of the settled and undisputed data, so even that literature reads more like philosophy of science than ordinary science. The highly philosophical character of Sect. 3 is doubly striking because it reviews the articles in this issue of a journal on science education, not a journal on philosophy or theology, so one might have expected the conversation to be more scientific in character. Hence, the worldview evidence used to support worldview convictions appears to be quite wide-ranging, having what could be classified as science constituting just a fraction— perhaps only a rather small fraction. Manifestly, the sciences contribute worldview evidence and thereby influence worldview conclusions, but so also do the humanities. Yet another substantial influence on worldview choices has hardly even been mentioned so far in this thematic issue on science and worldviews, so it still needs to be identified and characterized. Recall from Sect. 2 that Bayesian reasoning partitions the total evidence into two parts: particular evidence (such as the six kinds just reviewed) goes into the likelihood term, and everything else goes into the prior term. Also recall from the outset of Sect. 3 on worldview evidence that the prior—this other half of the story—was deferred to this section. The prior needs to be examined to reveal another important influence on worldview conclusions. What is in the prior for a worldview inquiry? After the likelihood term has digested as much worldview evidence of an empirical and public sort as a given investigator’s energy and concentration allow, what remains left over for the prior is principally what I would term individual experience. The likelihood concerns a public, shared project, whereas the prior concerns individual, subjective influences. For a specific example that has prompted lively discussion in this thematic issue: what about intercessory prayer? Does it work? On the one hand, there are individual clinical trials and meta-analyses of numerous trials with their statistical analyses that provide a public, shared inquiry. On the other hand, there is also individual experience. As I would expect is also the case for most individuals who, like me, interact with many persons, I have acquaintances who know, either from direct observation or from a dependable report from trusted friends and family, of miraculous healings or other miracles. I also have acquaintances whose entire experience of life suggests nothing whatsoever beyond the ordinary workings of the physical world. And to be clear, in referring to miracles here, I mean real, honest-to-God, full-blooded miracles—not the ‘‘miracle’’ of seeing one’s own child born, nor the ‘‘miracle’’ of getting that dream job. To be more concrete, envision a person who has had the following individual experience. This person has known a friend from that friend’s childhood who developed advanced Hodgkin’s disease as a teenager. He was scheduled to begin medical treatment, but during the weekend preceding the start of therapy, his mother took him to a healing service in a nearby

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city for prayer. He was healed completely, so his doctors cancelled their plans and he received no treatment whatsoever. Since then, he has lived for decades in superb health, although he still bears the little scars where the biopsies were taken that had confirmed his diagnosis. Another friend’s father contracted multiple sclerosis that worsened over three years until he was confined to a wheel chair. During the next three years, his muscles were atrophied and he was unable to walk. Then at Mass he had a vision of the resurrected Jesus telling him that he would be healed. Two days later, he could walk; and within six weeks, full mobility and coordination were restored, with good muscle mass and strength. He returned to his career in strenuous construction work for somewhat over 20 years and then retired a few years ago. He has never shown any sign of the MS returning. Another personal friend, while camping alone in a remote place to conduct ecological research in a national forest, had a vision of Jesus telling her that her brother had just died. Since that happened long before the advent of cell phones, she then hiked out of the woods to the nearest telephone. Sadly, she got the tragic news that her brother had just been killed in a motorcycle accident. And envision that this person also knows of several more such events from close and trusted friends from all continents, especially Africa. Well, by the very concept of miracles, they are rare, so not everyone has had similar individual experience. But by the commonplace situation of knowing many persons, it is far from rare to encounter individuals who believe that miraculous healings actually happen on the basis of occurrences in their particular circle of acquaintances. And the same holds for visions of Jesus (Wiebe 1997). Of course, one can equally readily envision another person with a compelling life experience of encountering nothing supernatural whatsoever. It is a big world, after all. The message here is that individual experience is another influence when individuals establish their worldview convictions, in addition to public projects. Generalizing beyond the present example of miracles and prayer, individual experience can modulate what one makes of all six kinds of worldview evidence reviewed in the previous section. Accordingly, to the three theses already presented in my lead article, in this response article I would add a fourth thesis. Thesis 4 Considerations that inform worldview choices include: (1) empirical and public evidence from the sciences, (2) empirical and public evidence from the humanities, and (3) the individual experience of a given person that is meaningful for that person although it may not qualify as empirical and public evidence for the wider world. Accordingly, science has significant but limited competence for addressing worldview questions, particularly whether God exists and whether the universe is purposeful. Thesis 4 takes a delicate middle ground between two rejected extremes. On the one hand, by insisting that science has ‘‘significant’’ competence for worldview inquiries, it rejects the non-overlapping magesteria view that science and religion/worldview are wholly separate. On the other hand, by insisting that science has ‘‘limited’’ competence, specifically because the humanities and individual experience are also contributing worldview insight, it rejects the scientistic attitude that science alone provides reliable, respectable knowledge of our world. The sciences without the humanities are lame. And public knowledge without individual experience is dehumanizing. By its recognition of individual experience, Thesis 4 also rejects appeals to a ‘‘received view’’ when the actual situation is one of widespread disagreement and lack of consensus. For instance, the article by Fishman suggests, ‘‘The best explanation for why there has been so far no convincing, independently verifiable evidence for supernatural phenomena, despite honest and methodologically sound attempts to verify them, is that these

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phenomena probably do not exist.’’ But whether there is ‘‘convincing’’ evidence for the supernatural is contentious for people in general and for scientists in particular. So not surprisingly, Fishman appeals to survey results for a particular subpopulation of scientists offering more supportive evidence, noting ‘‘the vast majority of scientists who are members of the NAS are atheists’’ (also see Graffin and Provine 2007). The world’s population, currently somewhat over 6 billion persons, is approximately 32% Christians, 19% Muslims, 19% atheists, 14% Hindus, 9% tribal or animist religions, 6% Buddhists, and 1% other, which includes 0.3% Jews (McManners 1993, pp. 648–649). Now for questions such as whether the earth is several billion years old and whether the human and chimpanzee genomes have a common ancestor, it makes good sense to privilege scientists, or even especially distinguished scientists. But for a question such as whether miracles occur, it is not at all obvious that a small sample of elite scientists is guaranteed to give more satisfactory results than the worldwide population of all humans. In any case, if a ‘‘received view’’ depends on just which group of persons gets votes, then the choice of voters constitutes just one more contentious matter. Unless objective considerations provide adequate consensus on which persons are worth taking seriously, then a proffered ‘‘received view’’ may have the cash value of ‘‘this is who agrees with me,’’ which does not buy much. For instance, the prior for a worldview inquiry about whether God and the supernatural exist that is offered in Sect. 2.1 of the Fishman article is: ‘‘All else being equal, the extreme extraordinariness of supernatural phenomena in light of our background knowledge of how the world works provides good grounds for being initially very skeptical indeed.’’ This is a perfectly fine prior for Fishman and likeminded individuals. But it would be a mistake to think that this prior is incumbent on all persons. The actual meaning of this prior can be clarified, particularly for those who are new to the Bayesian framework, by giving a somewhat expanded rendition: ‘‘After processing our shared evidence as a public project in the likelihood term, the background knowledge and experience that go into my personal or subjective prior is that everything has a natural explanation almost certainly—although if your background knowledge and experience are otherwise, you may have a quite different prior.’’ A principled distinction needs to be made between ‘‘our’’ and ‘‘my’’ and ‘‘your’’ components of a Bayesian analysis having a public likelihood and a personal prior. Crucial features of any Bayesian analysis with a subjective prior are the relative influences of the public likelihood and the personal prior. A strong prior, such as being ‘‘very skeptical indeed’’ of one of the competing hypotheses from the very outset, may grant the likelihood term little further work to reach the desired conclusion, which can be nice in the right context. But if a prior is both strong and controversial, then the conclusion may reflect personal experience more so than public evidence, and hence the reasoning may fail to count across worldviews. Incidentally, the intent of Thesis 4 is not to cut science down to size in order to make room for the humanities and individual experience. It may be that in a given person’s analysis, science alone is rather indecisive, as the Lacey article suggests. And yet, science may contribute significantly to a cumulative case involving additional considerations— irrespective of whether the proffered case is for atheism or generic theism or Christian theism or whatever. On the other hand, in another person’s analysis, science singly may deliver a decisive verdict. And yet, precisely in this case, one would expect and seek consilience. That is, hopefully science and the humanities and individual experience would all deliver the same worldview verdict. Indeed, the optimal outcome would be decisive science, decisive humanities, and decisive personal experience, with consilience among all three.

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The grand question that exercises several of the other authors in this thematic issue is: Which worldview do you believe is true, and what reasons can you give to defend it? Like those authors, I also have a strong and settled conviction about which worldview is true. Furthermore, this question of truth is the most significant question that can be raised about worldviews. However, for the present context of a science education journal, as contrasted with a philosophy or theology journal, it seems to me that the question of worldview truth is just too ambitious. Regarding science’s worldview import, my personal opinion is that a science education journal can serve delectable hors d’oeuvres, but the banquet must be sought elsewhere. Accordingly, a different question seems more feasible, even if less dramatic: Can you live true to your own worldview and participate appropriately in a scientific community having persons holding diverse worldviews? For instance, is it feasible for the scientific community to welcome wholeheartedly both those who think the universe is purposeful and others who deem it purposeless—as well as those who have no opinion, or those whose views are changing, or even those who have no interest whatsoever in such matters? To give these questions a reasoned and principled answer—as contrasted with merely some political solution or enforced policy—what needs to be resolved first are the matters addressed in Theses 1–4. If these or similar theses stand, then an answer in the affirmative is supported that has the intellectual merit of being grounded in a philosophical understanding of scientific method.

5 Additional Responses and Clarifications This section gives brief responses to several topics raised by other authors in this thematic issue. These topics are placed in no particular order. Each topic begins with a lead question. Does mainstream science presume a realist ontology? Pillar P1 in my lead article cites AAAS support for this. The Lamont article shows neo-Aristotelian support and the Skordoulis article shows Marxist agreement. But from ancient Greek to present thinkers, there have been alternatives that reject the physical world’s existence or comprehensibility or significance (Gauch 2002, pp. 27–72, 134–143). Idealism says that only minds and ideas exist, but not the physical world (Pirie 2006, pp. 101–104). Kantians and neo-Kantians, as reviewed in the Irzik/Nola article, as well as some constructivists, say that the mind imposes the structure on our perceptions, so the legitimate subject matter for science is our experience rather than any independent, external reality, which might even be totally chaotic. Skeptics from Pyrrho to Hume doubt our access to reality. Some Eastern religions see this world as a rather insignificant illusion. Plato thought that prime reality consists of the Forms, so a dog is but a shadowy and imperfect copy of the real Form of a dog, whereas Aristotle thought that individual dogs are thoroughly real. Yet another posture, found in the Irzik/Nola article, is that realism is a philosophical doctrine rather than a scientific necessity: ‘‘we cannot think of any scientific (as opposed to philosophical) belief whose truth or falsity depends on realism.’’ Thomas Kuhn also took that stance (Gauch 2002, pp. 84–89). It is perplexing that a realist, idealist, and radical constructivist could all give the same answers on an exam about, say, molecules or fossils or frogs or galaxies, and yet what they mean and refer to could be wholly disparate. To say the least, this reveals the profound interconnection between philosophy and science that the Matthews article ably articulates.

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The careful Giannetto article explores the debates in physics about the fundamental nature of matter and the relation between quantum mechanics and relativity theory. And equally foundational for science are the very concepts, explored in the penetrating Lamont article, of deductive and inductive and modal logic, probability, causation, explanation, natural laws, properties and powers and essences of things, and parsimony. For these and many other considerations, proper science reflects a profound humility. Nevertheless, mainstream science does take dogs and cows and electrons and such as being real things in an independent, external world in which human bodies, with their feet and eyes and mitochondria and such, are located. As Boghossian (2006, pp. 130–131) concludes: ‘‘The intuitive view is that there is a way things are that is independent of human opinion, and that we are capable of arriving at belief about how things are that is objectively reasonable, binding on anyone capable of appreciating the relevant evidence regardless of their social or cultural perspective. Difficult as these notions may be, it is a mistake to think that recent philosophy has uncovered powerful reasons for rejecting them.’’ Is all science tentative and revisable? Common language in position papers on science says so and the Fishman article concurs. ‘‘Scientific knowledge is not absolute; rather, it is tentative, approximate, and subject to revision’’ (AAAS 1990, p. 20), ‘‘scientists reject the notion of attaining absolute truth and accept some uncertainty as part of nature’’ (AAAS 1989, p. 26), and ‘‘Current theories are taken to be ‘true,’ the way the world is believed to be, according to the scientific thinking of the day’’ (AAAS 1990, p. 21). Since these statements lack any qualifiers, implicitly they pertain to all science. However, that would imply a troubling, though presumably unintended, endorsement of radical skepticism, leaving nothing undoubted. Indeed, all scientific knowledge includes that the earth orbits the sun. Is that tentative and revisable? Or, is ‘‘the earth orbits the sun’’ a certain and unrevisable fact that was established conclusively several centuries ago, is still established now, and always will be established in the future—at least until some cataclysmic collision or event changes this? Another consideration is that science’s common-sense inheritance, which the Matthews article notes in Aristotle, includes seemingly unassailable items like, ‘‘I have not been on the moon’’ and ‘‘Moving cars are hazardous to pedestrians,’’ as mentioned in Sect. 5.2 of my lead article. Accordingly, a more workable position for mainstream science as actually practiced is that some science is certain, some is more or less probable, and some is rather speculative. And a worthwhile question is: Does universal and eternal tentativeness exemplify philosophical sophistication or sophistry? The reason why a position on science’s competence in ordinary investigations bears on science’s competence in worldview inquiries is that if science languishes over easy inquiries such as whether the earth orbits the sun, or even whether moving cars are hazardous to pedestrians, then automatically science languishes over truly challenging inquiries regarding the occurrence of miracles or the existence of God. If testing the competing hypotheses that ‘‘the earth orbits the sun’’ and ‘‘the sun orbits the earth’’ is too hard for humans, then surely testing ‘‘miracles do occur’’ and ‘‘miracles do not occur’’ is way too hard. What are science’s presuppositions? The main role of my Theses 1 and 2 is to show that the simple, common sense presuppositions of mainstream science are worldview independent. This perspective receives additional development in the articles by Lacey, Fishman, and Irzik/Nola. This minimizing of the influence of the presuppositions is strategic because this maximizes the influence of the evidence, as Theses 3 and 4 insist. However, the Irzik/Nola article expresses strong disagreement with my concept of worldviews and my handling of presuppositions.

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The first of the two main disagreements is that worldviews should be characterized more broadly as answers to many questions besides religious ones, whereupon the presuppositions of science are immediately seen to have much worldview content. Supposedly, this opposes Gauch, who ‘‘thinks that science has no worldview content,’’ which ‘‘means that neither realism nor the orderliness and comprehensibility of the world nor the use of logic have any worldview content.’’ In response, Sects. 4 and 5.2 of my lead article emphasize the worldview content in science’s inheritance from common sense, which is so substantial as to dismiss skeptical or anti-realistic worldviews from consideration in mainstream science. So, the difference here is merely one of packaging. I prefer to package rudimentary worldview content about the existence and comprehensibility of the physical world in a philosophical reflection on common sense, with that prelude then allowing science to inherit presuppositions that support appeal to observation and experiment as admissible evidence. Although I see empirical investigation as a philosophical prelude followed by scientific inquiry, I have no objection to any other packaging, including that of Irzik/Nola. The second main disagreement expressed by Irzik/Nola is that Gauch ‘‘does not give sufficient prominence to the critical nature of science, its methods and its mode of explanation.’’ Accordingly, an additional Pillar P0 is proposed, that ‘‘Scientific ideas are criticizable,’’ where critizability is taken as a broader notion than testability. In response, if a hypothesis or theory is testable, then perforce it is also subject to criticism. I for one cannot see that criticizability adds anything to testability, but I certainly have no objection if others owning sharper pencils than mine prefer to make this distinction. Science’s pillars, like logic’s axioms, do not individuate uniquely, so many variants are entirely acceptable. For instance, I could be inclined to add a Pillar P8 regarding resilience, with ample quotations from AAAS position papers, saying that scientists individually and the scientific community collectively have corrective procedures that allow inquiry to converge on truth, despite some blunders and errors along the way. But all in all, I prefer my concise list of seven pillars. Anyway, the central point is that science’s presuppositions are worldview independent within the context of mainstream science because they are worldview informative in excluding challenges to realism, the orderliness and comprehensibility of the world, and the rational use of logic that may be found outside mainstream science. As for my neglecting the methods of science, besides my brief lead and response articles in this thematic issue, see Gauch (2002) for further discussion of scientific method. How do natural science and natural theology relate? Especially the following suggestion prompts this question: If one is using scientific method, which fundamentally is to rely on empirical and public evidence, then perforce one is doing science. So, if natural science and natural theology both rely on empirical evidence, then inasmuch as both use scientific method, they both are science, meaning that natural theology should just be assimilated into natural science. Whether that assimilation makes sense, however, depends on the matter that Glennan insightfully emphasizes, namely whose version of science one selects. But first recall the definition from Sect. 5 of my lead article, that natural theology seeks knowledge of God and the supernatural by means of standard techniques of reasoning and empirical and public evidence available to all persons just in virtue of their possessing reason and sense perception. On the one hand, for several centuries science has adopted the doctrine of methodological naturalism, as Irzik/Nola document, requiring that natural phenomena be explained in natural terms without appeal to God or anything supernatural (also see Glennan, Lacey, and Reiss). Lindberg (1992, pp. 223–234) traces this history with exceptional insight.

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Patently, since natural theology weighs hypotheses about phenomena having God as their explanation, it cannot possibly be assimilated into a version of science that excludes such explanations. On the other hand, especially during the past decade, a rapidly increasing number of scientists are insisting that religions make claims having observable outcomes—a favorite example being whether intercessory prayer promotes health—so such claims are testable by science, just like whether some drug alleviates some disease. Books claiming that science proves or else disproves God are a growth industry, with many becoming best sellers. Hence, it is arguable that contemporary scientific culture is rapidly and decisively dumping the venerable doctrine of methodological naturalism. Or, a more sober possibility would be that methodological naturalism is adopted for routine explanations, especially for repeatable experiments, such as how a pH shift causes a color change; whereas it is rejected for ambitious explanations, especially for singular events, such as how the universe came into being. Understand that regardless whether a given scientific argument concludes that theism or atheism is true, in either case both hypotheses must be considered, that God does and God does not exist, so equally in either case methodological naturalism must be suspended—the conclusions are opposites but the hypothesis set is identical. Since I would not care to speculate on future assessments or implementations of methodological naturalism, for now a bottom line must be reached without assuming any particular trends. In any case, the literature in natural theology involves much philosophical and historical content, as well as scientific content, so at most only part of that wide-ranging literature could be assimilated into science. That being the case, it makes sense for natural theology to remain the umbrella discipline for the whole range of public evidence bearing on hypotheses about God and the supernatural. At the same time, that subpopulation of scientists who reject the restriction of methodological naturalism (at least for apparently singular or possibly miraculous events) may also engage the science fraction of natural theology’s evidence as an exercise within natural science, thereby arguing, in accord with a given scientist’s convictions, for a theistic or else atheistic worldview. That limited enterprise within natural science could have much merit, particularly if it maintains an adequate conversation with the larger enterprise in natural theology. What is the nature of religious faith? For starters, science involves faith in the existence and comprehensibility of the physical world. These presuppositions are unprovable and hence are ultimately matters of faith, but they are also unproblematic, answering to common-sense experience that has prompted nearly universal consensus—at least within mainstream science. By contrast, religion involves faith in highly controversial matters, answering to experience and evidence within a given tradition, but not across humanity, so providing reasons that count across worldviews becomes more complicated and challenging. Consequently, the topic of faith is more prominent in the context of religion. Accordingly, it receives attention in the articles by Fishman and Glennan. A common and yet demeaning concept of religious faith, which is encountered in the concluding sentence of Hume’s critique of miracles (Earman 2000, p. 153) and in the rhetoric of Dawkins (2006, p. 308), may be expressed by the slogan, ‘‘faith is believing without evidence or even contrary to evidence.’’ McGrath (2005, pp. 82–102) has critiqued Dawkins’s caricature of religious faith. In actuality, the topic of faith and reason ranks high among those topics that have generated an enormously rich philosophical literature over the centuries, so caricatures are unwarranted. The same is true of other topics that have been explored thoughtfully, such as the Trinity and the Eucharist. One of this thematic issue’s authors, Lamont (2004), has published a book on divine faith. Turner (2004) analyzes the roles of faith and reason for inquiries regarding whether God exists.

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Finally, what constitutes learning with understanding? The Matthews article emphasizes the philosophical content and basis of science: ‘‘The intelligent learning of any discipline requires some appropriate interest and competence in its philosophy; that is simply what ‘learning with understanding’ means.’’ It quotes Collingwood (1945, p. 2), that ‘‘a scientist who has never philosophized about his science can never be more than a second-hand, imitative, journeyman scientist.’’ This perspective has profound implications for science education. That article also cites several position papers calling for science education to include science’s interactions with culture and society. Matthews emphasizes that ‘‘Science not only raises and is intertwined with … ‘routine’ philosophical questions, but these philosophical reflections lead inexorably to metaphysical ones, and finally to questions about worldviews. … This ascent from studying nature (science) to philosophy to metaphysics is commonplace.’’

6 Seven Questions for the AAAS and NAS A central aspect of my lead article is its commentary on AAAS, NAS, and other position papers as regards science’s worldview import. Several other articles in this thematic issue, especially the Matthews article, also engage position papers on science. And a major purpose of this response article is to communicate to the AAAS and NAS seven important questions that are actively debated in the scientific literature in general and in this thematic issue in particular. The AAAS and NAS could serve the scientific community strategically by providing further clarification on these matters in future position papers. For each question, the request is for the AAAS and NAS to identify which potential answers constitute mainstream science, which constitute acceptable variants, and which constitute rejected alternatives. Of course, not all scientists are expected or required to agree with all AAAS and NAS positions, but arguably at the very least these positions do represent a distinguished point of departure. In some cases, different recommendations or prerogatives might be indicated for individuals and institutions. (1) (2) (3) (4)

(5) (6) (7)

Does science have or need a metaphysical position, such as realism? How much scientific knowledge is tentative and revisable? Do science’s presuppositions have any worldview content beyond the rudimentary and unproblematic content inherited from common sense? Does scientific evidence potentially or actually support specific conclusions, either for individuals or for institutions, pertaining to controversial worldview beliefs, such as whether God exists, whether the universe is purposeful, whether humans have souls or life beyond death, and whether humans have free will? Do the humanities legitimately influence worldview convictions, specifically with empirical and public evidence? Does individual experience legitimately influence worldview convictions, even if it may not qualify as empirical and public evidence for the wider world? How much does science influence worldview convictions relative to the totality of all legitimate sources of worldview evidence?

Past position papers have been exceedingly helpful. They have expressed (mostly) sensible positions on science’s worldview import, but with the major limitation of not giving reasons and explanations for those positions. Future position papers will need to give positions with reasons. Unavoidably, that will involve philosophy of science as well as science itself. Also, as with any living tradition, there may be some need to clarify or even retract occasional statements in past position papers. Among the strategies that might be

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considered or implemented for providing a principled account of science’s worldview import, one is grounding the reasons for the recommended position in a philosophically rich account of scientific method. 7 Conclusions The intent in my lead and response articles for this thematic issue on science and worldviews has been to characterize science as having worldview-independent presuppositions and methods that put the action in its empirical and public evidence. Neutral or impartial methodology creates a level playing field for hypotheses to compete, thereby giving true hypotheses a natural and proper advantage, in accordance with the scientific attitude of intentionally pursuing truth. The most basic feature of scientific method is that presuppositions, evidence, and logic combine to support conclusions. Other articles in this issue show how Bayesian reasoning structures worldview inquiry, identify several kinds of evidence typically considered in worldview inquiry, and emphasize the need to engage specific versions of science and specific religions or worldviews. The energetic vision of the AAAS and NAS position papers on science education includes an emphasis on scientific method and also on the broader application of scientific thinking in all aspects of life that involve some empirical evidence. Acknowledgments For making my article the lead article in this issue on science and worldviews and for editing this thematic issue, I would like to express my gratitude to the editor of Science & Education, Michael Matthews. He deliberately sought and successfully obtained contributions from outstanding scientists, philosophers, and educators who are proponents of a tremendous diversity of perspectives and positions. I also thank the authors of the other 10 articles for their stimulating contributions: Cordero, Fishman, Giannetto, Glennan, Irzik/Nola, Lacey, Lamont, Matthews, Reiss, and Skordoulis. I appreciate the generosity of Springer for publishing my lead article electronically in November 2006 as an open-source document. And I appreciate the interest in my lead article and this thematic issue that has been shown by several scholars at the AAAS and NAS.

References AAAS (American Association for the Advancement of Science) (1989) Science for all Americans. AAAS, Washington, DC AAAS (1990) The liberal art of science. AAAS, Washington, DC Barrow JD, Tipler FJ (1986) The anthropic cosmological principle. Oxford University Press, Oxford Bayes T (1763) An essay towards solving a problem in the doctrine of chances. Philos Trans R Soc 53:370– 418. Reprinted with a biographical note by G.A. Barnard in 1958 in Biometrika 45:293–315 Boghossian PA (2006) Fear of knowledge: against relativism and constructivism. Oxford University Press, Oxford Collingwood RG (1945) The idea of nature. Oxford University Press, Oxford Collins FS (2006) The language of God: a scientist presents evidence for belief. Free Press, New York Conway Morris S (2003) Life’s solution: inevitable humans in a lonely universe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Davis ST, Kendall D, O’Collins G (eds) (1997) The resurrection. Oxford University Press, Oxford Dawkins R (1996) The blind watchmaker: why the evidence of evolution reveals a universe without design. Norton, New York Dawkins R (2006) The God delusion. Houghton Mifflin, Boston, MA Earman J (1992) Bayes or bust? a critical examination of Bayesian confirmation theory. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA Earman J (2000) Hume’s abject failure: the argument against miracles. Oxford University Press, Oxford Gauch HG (2002) Scientific method in practice. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge; Chinese edition 2004, Tsinghua University Press, Beijing; reviewed in 2004 by Michael R Matthews in Science & Education 13:251–253

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Gauch HG, Bloom JA, Newman RC (2002) Public theology and scientific method: formulating reasons that count across worldviews. Philosophia Christi 4:45–88 Graffin GW, Provine WB (2007) Evolution, religion and free will. Am Sci 95(4):294–297 Habermas GR (2003) The risen Jesus & future hope. Rowman & Littlefield, New York Haught JF (2006) Is nature enough? meaning and truth in the age of science. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Howson C, Urbach P (1993) Scientific reasoning: the Bayesian approach, 2nd edn. Open Court, Chicago, IL Jeffreys H (1983) Theory of probability, 3rd edn. Oxford University Press, Oxford Johnson D (1999) Hume, holism, and miracles. Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY Kelly KT (1996) The logic of reliable inquiry. Oxford University Press, Oxford Koenig HG, Cohen HJ (eds) (2002) The link between religion and health: psychoneuroimmunology and the faith factor. Oxford University Press, Oxford Koenig HG, McCullough ME, Larson DB (2001) Handbook of religion and health. Oxford University Press, Oxford Lamont JRT (2004) Divine faith. Ashgate, Burlington, VT Lindberg DC (1992) The beginnings of western science: the European scientific tradition in philosophical, religious, and institutional context, 600 BC to AD 1450. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL McGrath AE (2005) Dawkins’ God: genes, memes, and the meaning of life. Blackwell, Oxford McGrath AE (2006) The order of things: explorations in scientific theology. Blackwell, Oxford McGrath AE, McGrath JC (2007) The Dawkins delusion? atheist fundamentalism and the denial of the divine. InterVarsity Press, Downers Grove, IL McManners J (ed) (1993) The Oxford illustrated history of Christianity. Oxford University Press, Oxford Newell RW (1986) Objectivity, empiricism and truth. Routledge & Kegan Paul, New York Pirie M (2006) How to win every argument: the use and abuse of logic. Continuum, New York Press SJ (1989) Bayesian statistics: principles, models, and applications. John Wiley, New York Rees M (2000) Just six numbers: the deep forces that shape the universe. Basic, New York Ruse M (2003) Darwin and design: does evolution have a purpose? Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA Schum DA (1994) The evidential foundations of probabilistic reasoning. John Wiley, New York Shafer G (1976) A mathematical theory of evidence. Princeton University Press. Princeton, NJ Shermer M (2004) God’s number is up. Sci Am 291(1):46 Stenger VJ (2007) God, the failed hypothesis: how science shows that God does not exist. Promethius, Amherst, NY Swinburne R (ed) (1989) Miracles. Macmillan, New York Swinburne R (1996) Is there a God? Oxford University Press, Oxford Swinburne R (ed) (2002) Bayes’s theorem. Oxford University Press, Oxford Swinburne R (2003) The resurrection of God incarnate. Oxford University Press, Oxford Swinburne R (2004) The existence of God 2nd edn. Oxford University Press, Oxford Trigg R (1993) Rationality and science: can science explain everything? Blackwell, Oxford Trigg R (1998) Rationality and religion: does faith need reason? Blackwell, Oxford Turner D (2004) Faith, reason and the existence of God. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge van Inwagen P (2006) The problem of evil. Oxford University Press, Oxford Walton D (1999) One-sided arguments: a dialectical analysis of bias. State University of New York Press, Albany, NY Wiebe P (1997) Visions of Jesus. Oxford University Press, Oxford Wiggins C (2007) How can Bayes’ theorem assign a probability to the existence of God? Sci Am 296(4):108 Wilson EO (1998) Consilience: the unity of knowledge. Alfred A. Knopf, New York Wright NT (2003) The resurrection of the son of God. Fortress Press, Minneapolis, MN

Author Biography Hugh G. Gauch, Jr. is a senior research specialist in the department of Crop and Soil Sciences at Cornell University. He received a B.S. in botany from the University of Maryland and an M.S. in plant genetics from Cornell University. His research specialty has been statistical analysis of ecological and agricultural data and his current teaching focus is scientific method. His most recent book is Scientific Method in Practice, published by Cambridge University Press in 2002 and its Chinese edition published by Tsinghua University Press in 2004.

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AUTHOR INDEX Abraham, M. Adams, J.C. Adler, M. Afghani, J. Aikenhead, G. Akyol, M. Aldridge, M. Alembert, J.-B.L.R. d’ Alexander, H. Al-Hayani, F.A. Althusser, L. Altieri, M. American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) Anacimenes Anaxagoras Anaximander Anaximenes Anderson, P. Anscombe, G.E.M. Aquinas, T. Archer, M. Arcus, R.B. Aristotle Armstrong, D.M. Arnauld, A. Association for the Education of Teachers in Science (AETS) Atatu¨rk, M.K. Ates¸, S. Audi, R. Augustine, St. Ayala, F.J. Ayer, A.J. Bacon, R. Bakar, O.

Baker, S. Barash, D.P. Barbour, I.G. Baron-Cohen, S. Barrow, J.D. Bayes, T. Beeckman, I. Behe, M.J. Benedict XV, Pope Bentley, M.L. Bentley, R. Bergmann, P. Bering, J.M. Bernal, J.D. Bertolet, R. Be´rulle, P. de Betancourt, I. Birch, L.C. Bird, A. Blackburn, S. Blackett, P.M.S. Blake, W. Boghossian, P.A. Bohm, D. Bohr, N. Boltzmann, L. Bonaparte, N. Born, M. Boscovich, R. Boyle, R. Bradwardine, T. Brennan, S.O’F. Brickhouse, N.W. Bridgman, P.W. Broad, W.J. Brooke, J.H.

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Brown, G.E. Brunner, R.D. Bukharin, N. Bunge, M. Buridan, J. Burrows F.J. Burtt, E. Byrne, E. Callender, C. Callinicos, A Cambiano, G. Campbell, J.A. Campbell, N.R. Cantor, G. Carlsen, W.S. Carnap, R. Carrier, R. Cartwright, N. Chandrasekhar, S. Choi, S. Churchland, P. Cicero Clarke, D. Clarke, S. Clifford, W. Cobern, W.W. Coffa, A. Cohen, B. Cohen, H.J. Cohen, I.B. Collier, A. Collingwood, R.G. Collins, F.S. Collins, S. Conant, J.B. Condorcet, M.-J.-A.-N. Copernicus, N. Copleston, F.C. Cordero, A. Corry, L. Corsiglia, J. Craig, E. Craig, W.L.

Cummins, C.L. Cunningham, C.M. Cushing, J.T. d’Alembert, J. da Marchia Darwin, C. Daston, L. Davies, P. Davis, S.T. Davson-Galle, P. Dawkins, R. De Wulf, M. Della Volpe, G. Demastes, S.S. Dembski, W.A. Democritus Dennett, D.C. Descartes, R. Deutscher, I. Dewey, J. Diderot, D. Dijksterhuis, E.J. Dilthey, W. Dilworth, C. Dinc¸erler, V. Dingwall, R. Divisch, P. Donagan, A. Dostoyevsky, F. Douglas, H. Dover Area School District Dowe, P. Dretske, F. Ducasse, C.J. Duhem, P. Dumbleton, J. Duns Scotus Dupre´, J. Duschl, R.A. Earman, J. Easterbrook, G. Eddington, A.S. Edis, T.

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Ehring, D. Eijck, van M. Einstein, A. Ellis, B. Empedocles Engels, F. Enriques, F. Epicurus Erzen, T. Etinger, F.C. Evans-Pritchard, E.E. Faber, M.D. Fales, E. Fara, M. Faraday, M. Fensham, P. Fermat, P. Feyerabend, P.K. Fishman, Y. Franklin, B. Freeman, C. Frege, G. Freud, S. Fricker, J.L. Friedman, M. Galilei Galileo Galvani, L. Garber, D. Gassendi, P. Gauch, H.G. Jr. Gauld, C.F. Geach, P. Giannetto, E.R.A. Gilbert, W. Gill, H.V. Gilson, E. Glennan, S. Gold, J. Good, R.G. Goodman, N. Gould, S.J. Graffin, G.W. Grassi, O.

Grosseteste, R. Grossmann, M. Gruender, D. Gru¨nbaum, A. Guevara, de G. Guthrie, S. Habermas, G.R. Hacking, I. Haeckel, E. Hafner, M.S. Hald, A. Haldane, J.B.S. Hansson, L. Harman, P. Harre´, R. Harris, P. Harvard Committee Haught, J.F. Hayward, A. Hegel, G. Heidegger, M. Heil, J. Heisenberg, W. Helmholtz, von H. Helms, M. Hempel, C. Henry, J. Hertz, H. Hesse, M. Hessen, B. Heytesbury, W. Hick, J. Hilbert, D. Hitchens, C. Hobbes, T. Hofmann, J.R. Hogben, L. Holder, R.D. Holton, G. Horgan, J. Houston, J. Howson, C. Hull, D.L.

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Hume, D. Hutton, J. Huygens, C. Iltis, C. Irzik, G. Israel, J. Jacquet, L. Jammer, M. Jarvie, I.C. Jeans, J. Jeffreys, H. John Paul II, Pope Johnson, D. Johnson, G. Johnson, P.E. Jones, J.E. Jones, L. Kane, W.H. Kant, I. Kawagley, A.O. Kawasaki, K. Keeble, S. Keeports, D. Kelly, G.J. Kelly, K.T. Kelvin, L. (see Thompson, W.) Kenny, A. Kenny, D. Kepler, J. Kerato, T. Kitcher, P. Kitzmiller, T. Koenig, H.G. Koertge, N. Kolmogorov, A. Korsch, K. Koyre´, A. Kripke, S. Kuhn, T.S. Lacey, H. Lakatos, I. Lamont, J.R.T. Laplace, P.-S.

Larmor, J. Larson, E.J. Laudan, L. Le Verrier, U. Lederman, N.G. Leeuwen, H.G. van Leibniz, G.W. Lenin, V.I. Leo XIII, Pope Leplin Leslie, J. Leucippus Leucretius Lewis, C.I. Lewis, D. Lindberg, D.C. Lipton, J.E. Locke, J. Lonergan, B. Lorentz, H.A. Loving, C.C. Lukacs, G. Luther, M. Luxemburg, R. Lysenko, T.D. Mabud, A. MacDonald, S. Mach, E. Machamer, P. Madden, E.H. Mahner, M. Makkreel, R.A. Mandel, E. Marchia, da Marcus, R.B. Margenau, H. Mariconda, P. Maritain, J. Martin, C.B. Martin, M. Marx, K. Mascall, E.L. Matthews, M.R.

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Maxwell, J.C. Maxwell, N. Maynard Smith, J. Mayr, E. McCabe, J. McComas, W.F. McDonald, S. McGrath, A.E. McGrath, J.C. McIntyre, A. McManners, J. McMullin, E. Meeker, B. Mendeleev, D.I. Merton, R. Mesmer, F.A. Meyer, S.C. Michotte, A.E. Mill, J.S. Millar, R. Miller, J.D. Minkowski Molnar, G. Monod, J. Monton, B. Moore, R. Morier, D. Morris, H.M. Morris, S.C. Mueller, M.P. Mumford, S. Musgrave, M. Nadler, S. Nagel, T. Nanda, M. Napoleon, B. (see Bonaparte, N.) Nash, L.K. Nasr, S.H. National Academy of Sciences (NAS) National Curriculum, Britain National Research Council (NRC)

National Science Foundation (NSF) Needham, J. Negus, M.R. Nehru, P. Nelson, C.E. Newell, R.W. Newton, I. Nicole, P. Nola, R. Norris-Tull, D. Norris-Tull, R. Numbers, R.L. Nursi, S. O’Hear, A. Ogawa, M. Okamoto, S. Osborne, J. Osiander, A. Ovitt, G. Paley, W. Palmer, H. Pap, A. Papineau, D. Parker, G.E. Parnell, P. Parsons, K. Pascal, B. Passmore, J. Peacocke, A. Peano, G. Pennock, R.T. Pepper, S. Pinker, S. Pirie, M. Pius X, Pope Pius XII, Pope Place, U.T. Plantinga, A. Plato Plimmer, I. Plotinus Poincare_ , H.

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Polanyi, M. Polkinghorne, J. Polyaemus Pomeroy, D. Poole, M. Popper, K.R. Porpora, D. Press, S.J. Price, R. Priestley, J. Project 2061 Provine, W.B. Psimopoulos, M. Ptolemy Putnam, H. Pyrrho of Elis Pythocles Quine, W.V.O. Qutb, S. Rabi, I.I. Rachlin, H. Randall, Jr. J.H. Ratcliffe, M. Ray, J. Read, R. Redfors, A. Reiss, M.J. Renn, J. Restrepo, D. Richardson, J. Richman, K.A. Rickert, H. Ritter, J.W. Robinson, A. Rohrlich, F. Rosdolsky, R. Ro¨sler, G.F. Rossi, P. Roth, W.-M. Ruse, M. Russell, B. Sagan, C. Salmon, N.

Scheffler, I. Schlick, M. Schreiner, C. Schum, D.A. Schupbach, J.N. Schuster, J. Schwartz, B. Scott, E.C. Scriven, M. Selkirk, D.R. Settle, T. Shafer, G. Shapere, D. Sherburn, R. Shermer, M. Shimony, A. Shoemaker, S. Shogenji, T. Skehan, J.W. Skordoulis, C.D. Smith, K. Smith, M.U. Smith, P.H. Snively, G. Socrates Sorabji, R. Southerland, S.A. Southgate, C. Spinoza, B. Sputnik Stachel, J. Stalker, D. Stanley, W.B. Stebbing, S. Stenger, V.J. Sterelny, K. Strawson, G. Suarez, F. Suppe, F. Swinburne, R. Swineshead, R. Sylla, E.D. Szathmary, E.

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Szerszynski, B. Tatlı, A. Taylor, C. Templeton, J. Thales Theocharis, T. Thompson, J.J. Thomson, P. Thomson, W. (Lord Kelvin) Tillich, P. Tipler, F.J. Tooley, M. Torrance, T.F. Tresmontant, C. Trigg, R. Trotsky, L. Trowbridge, J.E. Tuomela, R. Turner, D. Turner, H. Urbach, P. Fraassen, B. van Inwagen, P. van Volta, A. Voltaire, F.M.A. de Von Liebig, J. Walden, S.R. Wallace, W. Wallace, W.A. Walton, D. Wandersee, J.H.

Watson, D.C.C. Watts, F. Weber, B.H. Weber, M. Weierstrass, K. Weinberg, J.R. Weisberg, J. Weisheipl, J. Westfall, R.S. Whiston, W. Whitcomb, J.C. White, L. Whitney, E. Wiebe, P. Wien, W. Wiggins, C. William of Ockham Williams, P.A. Wilson, E.O. Winch, P. Witham, L. Wittgenstein, L. Woodward, J. Woolnough, B.E. Wren-Lewis, J. Wright, C. Wright, G.H. Wright, N.T. Yahya, H. Zilsel, E. Ziman, J.

Sci & Educ (2009)

SUBJECT INDEX Abductive inference Abrahamic faiths Act of Uniformity Action at a distance Adam and Eve Agency detection Agency, divine Agency, human Agnosticism Agro-ecology Education, aims of (see Education) Air pressure Air Aristotelian understanding of seventeenth-century studies of Air, elemental nature of Alternative hypotheses and explanations American Revolution Ancient astronomy Ancient atomism and science Angels Animism Anthropic coincidences Anthropic Principle Apeiron Applied science Argument from design, Newton on Argumentation in school science argumentum ad omnes Aristotelian metaphysics causation commonsense inertia

hylomorphism, Priestley’s objection to philosophy physics deduction induction logic Aristotle Art Astrology Atheism Atomism (corpuscularianism), see also Mechanical Worldview ancient Greek Galileo Descartes Boyle Newton Roman Catholic opposition to and theology Augustinianism Australasian philosophy Axiomatisation of science in positivism Background information Barometer Bayes’ theorem Bayesian theory likelihoods Benedictines Berlin Circle Bible, literalism prophecies Big-bang Biodiversity Biotechnology Birmingham Riot Bollandist Catalogue of Catholic saints

Sci & Educ (2009)

Border crossing, cultural in education British Empiricism Buddhism Burden of proof Burning lens Calvinism Capitalism Cartesian dualism Cartesian mechanics Catholic Church Catholicism Causal powers Causation, David Lewis on Causation, Hume on Causation, Leibniz on Causation, nature of Causation, perception of Chance and necessity Chemical processes seventeenth-century studies of Priestley’s investigations of role of light Chemistry China Christianity Christianity, conservative Christianity, liberal Christianity, medieval Clash of civilisations Cognitive neuroscience Common descent Common sense philosophy of conception of air Boyle’s criticism of biology Confirmation Conservation of energy Consilience Constructivism education, in Contextualism Contingent a priori knowledge Controls, in scientific research

Copernicanism Corporation Act Corroboration Cosmological argument Council of Trent Creationism, Christian Creationism, Islamic Creationism, young-earth Critical Marxism Critical theory Critical thinking Criticizability Cross-disciplinary teaching Culturally Postulated Superhuman (CPS) Agents Culture impact on science worldviews and Cumulative case Darwinian evolutionary theory, criticism of Darwinism Darwinism, social Decontextualized method in science (DA) Deduction Deductive-nomological model of explanation Deism Demarcation, of science and non-science Demarcation, between natural and supernatural Design, argument from Determinism (see also Worldview, mechanical) Disciplinary integration Dispositional properties Divine hiddenness, argument from Education, aims of science (see Science education) Liberal Einstein, ‘cosmic religion’ ethics Quantum theory, rejection of

Sci & Educ (2009)

Eleatic Principle Electricity, animal Electro-magnetic, conception of nature field theory Electrons, as fundamental particles Enlightenment opposition to cultural responses to educational aspirations India, impact on United States, impact on constitution philosophers Newton’s influence on achievements of materialist tradition in Epicureanism Epistemology Essence, real vs. nominal Ether, Newton on Evidence Evil, problem of Evolution (see also Darwinism) Darwinian guided Evolutionary ethics Evolutionary theory (see also Darwinism) Explanation, scientific Extensional logic Faith Falsification Feminist epistemology Field theory First Amendment Fitra Five-Mile Act Flying Spaghetti Monster Formism Franciscans French Revolution Spirituality, French school of Gender roles Genesis

Geology German Naturphilosophie God, existence of, as scientific hypothesis Gravitational theory Gravity, Aristotle on Newton’ theory Einstein’s theory Green Revolution Green-matter problem Grue Habits of Mind, scientific (see Science, Habits of Mind) Harvard Committee Harvard Project Physics Hegelian dialectic Hinduism Historical awareness in science education Historical vignettes History of science in science teaching Homosexuality Human agency nature rights Human Genome Project Humanism Humanities Hylomorphism Hypothetico-deductive model of scientific explanation Idealisation in science Idealism Ideology Ignorance, argument from Impetus theory Improbability, argument from Indigenous Knowledge Indoctrination Induction, Aristotle’s conception of, new riddle of traditional problem of Inductivism

Sci & Educ (2009)

Inertia Aristotelian medieval Galilean Newtonian law of Infinite regress Inquiry teaching Instrumentalism Intelligent Design Islam science, and medieval Sunni Islamizing science Japan Judaism Kantianism Law of nature Learning, with understanding Liberal education (see Education) Liberalism Liberation, theology (see Theology) Lisbon earthquake Literalism, scriptural Literature Logic Logical atomism Logical positivism Logical thinking, in science students Logicist program in mathematics Lunar Society Lysenko Mach’s Principle March of the Penguins Marxism epistemology USSR, in Mass Materialism (see worldview materialist, metaphysics materialist) emergent

Mathematics Mathematics, development of in 19th century Matter, Electro-magnetic conception of mechanical conception of Mechanical philosophy Mechanical worldview (see Worldview, mechanical) Mechanical worldview Islamic opposition to Roman Catholic opposition to Mechanics Middle Ages, in Mechanism (see Worldview, mechanical) Medieval philosophy science Synthesis Merton College, Oxford Metabolism Metaphysics science, and religion, and empirical confirmation of, Soviet Union, in force, of theology, and materialist Methodological naturalism (see Naturalism, methodological) Methodological pluralism Mill’s Methods Mind, theory of Mind-body distinction Miracles Misconception Modal logic Moral Theory Morality Mouse test for ‘goodness’ of air Multiculturalism education, in Multiverse Mysticism

Sci & Educ (2009)

National Science Education Standards (USA) Natural kinds Natural law Natural theology (see Theology, natural) Naturalism, methodological ontological scientific Nature of Science (NOS) international curricula statements presuppositions USA Science Education Standards history of science, dependence upon instrumental learning of indoctrination about Near-death experience Necessary a posteriori knowledge Neo-Aristotelianism Neo-Platonism Neptune, discovery of Neuroscience Newton, Rules of Reasoning Newtonian physics Nitrous air test for ‘goodness’ of air Non-belief, argument from, Non-overlapping magesteria (NOMA) Normal science Norway, State Education Framework Objectivity Observational/theoretical distinction Occasionalism Ontology Organicism Ottoman Empire Out-of-body experience Papal States Paradigm

Paranormal phenomena Paris Oratory Parsimony (also Simplicity) Penguins Phenomenalism Philosophy of science, Islamic Positivism Instrumentalism Photosynthesis children’s understanding of Priestley’s discovery of history of Physical intentionality Physicalism, methodological ontological Physics Platonism Pneumatic chemistry, origins of Poland Positivism (see Philosophy of Science) Postmodernism Prayer scientific investigation of Predicate logic Presuppositions of science (see Science) Priestley, Joseph reputation Life America, life in publications materialism, and airs discovered by Royal Society talks Providence, and House Primary and secondary qualities Galileo’s distinction Projectile motion prophecies Providence Priestley’s belief in Darwin, impact of

Sci & Educ (2009)

Pseudoscience Psychology Pythagoreanism Qu’ran Quantum theory Einstein’s rejection of (see Einstein) Rationality Realism Reasoning ability, students Reductionism Reformation, theology (see Theology) Relativity, general theory special theory Religion, philosophy of psychology of nature of Religious belief prevalence revelation prayer, power of angels (Jinn) miracles classrooms, discussing in worldviews, and philosophy, and Respiration Resurrection of Jesus Christ Revelation Risk assessment Romanticism Root-metaphor theory Royal Society of London Copley Medal Russell’s celestial teapot Scholastic philosophy, medieval Scholasticism Columbia, in Roman Catholic Church, in medieval philosophy, and Science education Science Education Standards, USA Science Wars

Science culture, dependence upon presuppositions of methods of method versus methodology ‘Habits of Mind’ (scientific attitude) philosophy, relation to ethics (values), and metaphysics, and conventionalism, and worldviews, and worldviews, reconciliation options political dimensions of nature of aims of ethos of Wars (see Science Wars) education (see Science education) Scientific explanation Marxism method (see Science) realism terms, definition of theory, interpretation of ‘Habits of Mind’, (see Science) ‘Temper’ Scientific Revolution worldview, changes in scientists as philosophers Scientism Secularism Secularization Skepticism Social sciences Soda (Pyrmont) water Soul, immortality of Special creation Spinoza’s theology Spirits Standard Model in particle physics Statistics

Sci & Educ (2009)

strategies, agroecological strategies, of the decontextualized approach Substantial form Supernatural beliefs scientific testing of incidence of worldviews historical connections with science agents Synthetic a priori knowledge Taliban worldview (see Worldview, Taliban) Technology Technology, influence of on scientific development Teleology Darwinian rejection of historical belief in traditional beliefs in Templeton Foundation Testability Testimonial evidence Theism Theological presuppositions of science Theology, Calvinist liberal Lutheran Muslim Natural process of liberation Reformation, in the Theoretical terms status of Theory change Thermodynamic conception of nature Thermodynamics Thomism (see also Scholasticism) Roman Catholic Church, and the contemporary Traditional Ecological Knowledge

Transcendent transgenics Transubstantiation doctrine of hylomorphism, dependence upon Trinitarianism Truth Turkey Two-body problem Unitarianism United Kingdom, science curriculum Universities, influence of on scientific development Value judgment Values of sustainability and grassroots empowerment (VSGE) Values of technological progress (VTP) Values of technological progress, presuppositions of Verification conditions Vienna Circle Vitalism Weltanschauung Western Marxism Westernization Willow-tree experiment of van Helmont Witchcraft Worldview, Christian convictions definition of import of science materialist mechanical reasoning about scientific children’s learning, and culture, and religious Taliban

Sci & Educ (2009)

Contributors

Alberto Cordero is professor of philosophy and history at Queen’s College and the Graduate Centre, City University of New York; and Honorary Director of the Program for Scientific Thought, Universidad Peruana Cayetano Heredia, Lima, Peru. He has a PhD in philosophy from the University of Maryland; a MPhil degree in philosophy of science from Trinity College, Cambridge; and a MSc degree in nuclear physics from Worcester College, Oxford. Among his recent publications are: ‘Why Objectivist Programs in Quantum Theory Do Not Need an Alternative Logic’, forthcoming DATE??? in Paul Weingartner (ed.), Alternative Logics: Do Sciences Need Them?, Springer Verlag; ‘Rival Theories Without Observable Differences’, in M. Pauri (ed.), Observability, Unobservability and Their Impact on Scientific Realism, Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2000; ‘Physics and the Underdetermination Thesis: Some Lessons from Quantum Theory’, forthcoming in Proceedings of the Twentieth World Congress of Philosohy, S. Dawson (Managing Editor). Boston: Federation Internationale de Societes de Philosophie & Boston University; ‘Two Bad Arguments Against Naturalism’, in J. Mosterı´n (ed.), Current Issues in the Philosophy of Biology, 1998. Taner Edis is an associate professor of physics at Truman State University, Kirksville, MO, USA. He was born and raised in Turkey, where he completed his first science degree, before moving to the USA where he received his PhD in physics from the Johns Hopkins University. He has written extensively on science and religion; his most recent book is An Illusion of Harmony: Science and Religion in Islam (Prometheus Books 2007). Yonatan I. Fishman is an assistant professor of neurology at Albert Einstein College of Medicine of Yeshiva University, Bronx, New York. He received his BA in cognitive science and cell biology from Vassar College, and his MS and PhD in neuroscience from Albert Einstein College of Medicine of Yeshiva University. He currently does research in the Laboratory of Behavioral Neurophysiology at Albert

Sci & Educ (2009)

Einstein College of Medicine investigating neural mechanisms underlying auditory scene analysis and the cortical processing of complex sounds such as those of music and speech. Hugh G. Gauch, Jr. is a senior research specialist in Crop and Soil Sciences at Cornell University. He received a BS in botany from the University of Maryland in 1964 and an MS in plant genetics from Cornell University in 1966. His research specialty is statistical analysis of ecological and agricultural data. He has written three books, 80 papers, and statistical software that has gone to over 4,000 laboratories. His most recent book is Scientific Method in Practice, published by Cambridge University Press in 2002, which also has a Chinese edition published by Tsinghua University Press in 2004. Enrico Antonio Giannetto is professor of History of Physics at the University of Bergamo, Italy. He is a graduate of the University of Padova in theoretical, elementary particle physics. He studied the history of science at the Domus Galilaeana in Pisa, and obtained his doctorate in theoretical physics (on a quantum-relativistic theory of condensed matter) at the University of Messina. He has been working for many years at the University of Pavia within the History of Science & Science Education Group. His research interests cover the foundations, the history and epistemology of quantum and relativistic physics and cosmology, of medieval and modern physics, and science education. Stuart Glennan is professor of philosophy at Butler University. He received his BA in philosophy and mathematics at Yale University, and his PhD in philosophy from the University of Chicago. He has published papers in philosophy of biology, philosophy of psychology, and general philosophy of science. His research interests include causation, explanation, and the structure and function of scientific models and theories. Gu¨rol Irzik is a professor of philosophy at Bogazici University, Turkey and a member of the Turkish Academy of Sciences. He received his BS degree in electrical engineering and MA degree in mathematics, both from Bogazici University, and his PhD degree in Philosophy of Science from Indiana University, Bloomington in 1986. He was a visiting fellow at the Center for Philosophy of Science, Pittsburgh University and a visiting professor at Duke and Auckland Universities. He has published articles on causal modelling, Carnap, Popper, Kuhn, ciritical rationalism, science education, human needs, and commercialization of science in such journals as British Journal for the Philosophy of Science, Philosophy of Science, Studies in History and Philosophy of Science, Economics and Philosophy, Science & Education and in various collections. He is the co-aouthor (with R. Nola) of Science, Philosophy, Education and Culture (Springer 2005) and co-editor (with Gu¨ven Gu¨zeldere) of Turkish Studies in the History and Philosophy of Science (Springer 2005). John Lamont is a lecturer in systematic theology at the Catholic Institute of Sydney. He received his DPhil in philosophical theology, at Oxford University (2000), his

Sci & Educ (2009)

Licentiate in sacred theology (STL), at the Colle`ge dominicain de philosophie et the´ologie, Ottawa (1996), his Master of Studies degree in philosophy, at Oxford University (1988), his BA (Hons) in philosophy and economics, from University of Manitoba (1986). He has published Divine Faith (Ashgate, 2000). Among his articles are ‘The nature of the hypostatic union’, The Heythrop Journal (DATE ????); ‘Aquinas on subsistent relation’, Recherches de the´ologie et philosophie me´die´vale, (2004); ‘Plantinga on Belief’, The Thomist (2001); ‘Aquinas on divine simplicity’, The Monist, (1997); and ‘An argument for an uncaused cause’, The Thomist (1995). Hugh Lacey is Scheuer Family Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at Swarthmore College and Visiting Research Fellow in a project, ‘The Origins and Meaning of Technoscience’, in the Philosophy Department, Universidade de Sa˜o Paulo. He received his BA (1962) and MA (1964) degrees from the University of Melbourne, and his PhD degree (1966) in History and Philosophy of Science from Indiana University. In recent years he has written extensively on issues of the role of values in science, publishing the following books: Is Science Value Free? (London, Routledge, 1999); Values and Objectivity in Science (Lanham, MD, Lexington); A Controve´rsia sobre os Transgeˆnicos: questo~es e´ticas e cientı´ ficas (Sa˜o Paulo, Ide´ias eLetras, 2006). Michael R. Matthews is an associate professor in the School of Education at the University of New South Wales. He has degrees in Geology, Psychology, Philosophy, History and Philosophy of Science, and Education. His PhD in philosophy of education is from UNSW. He has taught in high school, Teacher’s College and universities, and was Foundation Professor of Science Education at the University of Auckland. His books include The Marxist Theory of Schooling: A Study of Epistemology and Education (Humanities Press 1980); Science Teaching: The Role of History and Philosophy of Science (Routledge 1994); Challenging New Zealand Science Education (Dunmore Press 1995); and Time for Science Education: How Teaching the History and Philosophy of Pendulum Motion can Improve Science Literacy (Plenum Publishers 2000). His edited books include The Scientific Background to Modern Philosophy (Hackett 1989); History, Philosophy and Science Teaching: Selected Readings (Teachers College Press 1991); Constructivism in Science Education: A Philosophical Examination (Kluwer Academic Publishers 1998); Science Education and Culture (Kluwer Academic Publishers 2001, with F. Bevilacqua and E. Giannetto); and The Pendulum: Scientific, Historical, Philosophical and Educational Perspectives (Springer 2005, with A. Stinner and C.F. Gauld). He has published widely in science education, philosophy of science, and philosophy of education journals. Robert Nola is professor of philosophy at The University of Auckland. He obtained an MA and MSc in Philosophy and Mathematics and a PhD in Philosophy at The Australian National University. He teaches and publishes in philosophy of science and related issues, including the sociology of science and science education. He also published papers in nineteenth century philosophy, including Marx and Nietzsche. His research areas are epistemology, metaphysics, and philosophy of science, especially issues to do with realism and relativism. He has twice had a Visiting Fellowship at the Pittsburgh University Centre for Philosophy of Science. His recent books include a

Sci & Educ (2009)

collection (with Howard Sankey), After Popper, Kuhn and Feyerabend; Recent Issues in the Theory of Scientific Method (Kluwer, 2000) and the book Theories of Scientific Method (Acumen Publishing, 2007). Earlier he had published Rescuing Reason: A Critique of Anti-Rationalist views of Science and Knowledge, (Kluwer, 2003). With Gu¨rol Irzik he published Philosophy, Science, Education and Culture (Springer, 2005). His most recent publication is a collection of papers, co-edited with David Braddon-Mitchell Conceptual Analysis and Philosophical Naturalism (MIT Press, 2009). A recent departure is work on politics and religion in the paper ‘Religion is Owed no Respect’ to appear in the Croatian Journal of Philosophy. Michael Reiss is assistant director and professor of science education at the Institute of Education, University of London. He obtained his BA, MA, PhD, and PGCE degrees from the University of Cambridge, and an MBA degree from the Open University. He is Chief Executive of Science Learning Centre London, Honorary Visiting Professor at the University of York, Docent at the University of Helsinki, Director of the Salters-Nuffield Advanced Biology Project, a member of the Farm Animal Welfare Council and editor of the journal Sex Education. His research and consultancy interests are in science education, bioethics and sex education. Science education books of his include Jones, L. & Reiss, M.J. (eds) Teaching about Scientific Origins: Taking Account of Creationism (2007), Peter Lang; Braund, M. & Reiss, M.J. (eds) Learning Science Outside the Classroom, Routledge Falmer (2004); Reiss, M.J. Understanding Science Lessons: Five Years of Science Teaching, Open University Press (2000), and Reiss, M.J. Science Education for a Pluralist Society, Open University Press (1993). Constantine D. Skordoulis is professor of physics and epistemology of natural sciences in the Department of Education, University of Athens. He has studied in the Faculty of Natural Sciences in the University of Kent at Canterbury, UK and worked as a visiting researcher in Oxford, Jena and Groningen. He is a member of the International Academy of the History of Science and Secretary of the Teaching Commission of the Division of History of Science and Technology of the International Union of History and Philosophy of Science. He is the editor of the interdisciplinary journal Kritiki and his research focuses on the materialist conception of nature and the diffusion of scientific ideas in the European periphery.