Religion and Science - draft Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry

Religion and Science Helen De Cruz, Senior lecturer, Oxford Brookes University This is a draft for an entry for the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Comments welcome Word count: 13,800 excluding references Table of contents 1. What are religion and science, and how do they interrelate? 1.1. A brief history of the field of science and religion 1.2 The scope of science and religion 1.3 Models of the interaction between science and religion 1.4 The scientific study of religion 1.5 Religious beliefs in academia 2. Science and religion in Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism 2.1 Science and religion in Christianity 2.2 Science and religion in Islam 2.3 Science and religion in Hinduism 3. Contemporary connections between science and religion 3.1 Divine action and creation 3.2 Human origins 4. Future directions in science and religion 4.1 Evolutionary ethics 4.2 Implications of cognitive science of religion for the rationality of religious beliefs Bibliography Internet Resources Related Entries The relationship between religion and science is the subject of continued debate in philosophy and theology. To what extent are religion and science compatible? Are religious beliefs sometimes conducive to science, or do they inevitably pose obstacles to scientific inquiry? The interdisciplinary field of “science and religion”, also called “theology and science” or “religion and science”, aims to answer these and other questions. It studies historical and contemporary interactions between these fields, and it provides philosophical analyses of how they interrelate. This entry provides an overview of the topics and discussions in science and religion. Section 1 outlines the scope of both fields, and how they are related. Section 2 looks at the relationship between science and religion in three religious traditions, Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism. Section 3 discusses contemporary topics of scientific inquiry where science and religion intersect, focusing on creation, divine action, and human origins. Section 4 concludes by looking at a few future directions of the study of science and religion. 1. What are science and religion, and how do they interrelate? 1.1 A brief history of the field of science and religion Since the 1960s, scholars in theology, philosophy, and the sciences have studied the relationship between science and religion. Presently, science and religion is a recognized field of study with dedicated journals (e.g., Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science), academic chairs (e.g., the Andreas Idreos Professor of Science and Religion at Oxford University), scholarly societies (e.g., Science and Religion Forum) and annual conferences (e.g., European Society for the Study of Science and Theology Annual Meetings). Most of its authors are theologians (e.g., John Haught, Sarah Coakley), philosophers with an interest in science (e.g., Nancey Murphy), or (former) scientists with a long-standing interest in religion, often also ordained clergy (e.g., the physicist John Polkinghorne and the biochemist Alister McGrath). About the term “science and religion”, Cantor and Kenny (2001) point out that the “and” is not generally understood in a purely conjunctive sense. Commonly, authors in the field of science and religion are actively engaged in attempts to reconcile or integrate the fields, and arguments that science and religion are incompatible (e.g., Coyne 2015, Dawkins 2006, Dawes 2016) occupy a minority position. The systematic study of science and religion started in the 1960s, with authors such as Ian Barbour (1966) and Thomas F. Torrance (1969) who challenged the prevailing view that science and religion were either at war or indifferent to each other. Ian Barbour’s Issues in Science and Religion (1966) set out several of the enduring themes of the field, including a comparison of the methodology and theory in both fields. The first specialist journal on science and religion, Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science was also founded in 1966. While the early study of science and religion focused on methodological issues, authors from the late 1980s throughout the 2000s developed contextual approaches, including detailed historical examinations of the relationship between science and religion (e.g., Brooke 1991). Peter Harrison (1998) challenged the warfare model by arguing that protestant interpretations of the Bible on conceptions of nature helped to give rise to science in the 17th century. Peter Bowler (2001, 2009) drew attention to a broad movement of liberal Christians and evolutionists in the 19th and 20th centuries who aimed to reconcile evolutionary theory with religious belief. In the 1990s, the Vatican Observatory (Castel Gandolfo, Italy) and the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences (Berkeley, California) co-sponsored a series of conferences on divine action. It had contributors from philosophy and theology (e.g., Nancey Murphy) and the sciences (e.g., Francisco Ayala). The aim of these conferences was to understand divine action in the light of contemporary sciences. Each of the six conferences, and each edited volume that arose from it, was devoted to an area of natural science and its interaction with religion, including quantum cosmology (1992), chaos and complexity (1994), evolutionary and molecular biology (1996), neuroscience and the person (1998), and quantum mechanics (2000) (see Russell et al. 2008, for a book-length summary of the findings of this project). In the contemporary public sphere, the most prominent interaction between science and religion concerns evolutionary theory and creationism/Intelligent Design. The legal battles (e.g., Kitzmiller versus Dover 2005) and lobbying surrounding the teaching of evolution and creationism in American schools suggest that religion and science inevitably conflict. However, even when one focuses on the reception of evolutionary theory, the relationship between religion and science is complex. For instance, in the United Kingdom, scientists, clergy, and popular writers, sought to reconcile science and religion during the 19th and early 20th century, whereas the US saw the rise of a fundamentalist opposition to evolutionary thinking, exemplified by the Scopes trial in 1925 (Bowler 2001, 2009). In recent decades, Church leaders have issued conciliatory public statements on evolutionary theory. Pope John Paul II (1996) affirmed evolutionary theory in his message to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, but rejected it for the human soul. The Church of England publicly endorsed evolutionary theory (e.g., M. Brown 2008), including an apology to Charles Darwin for their initial rejection of his theory. Also recently, evolutionary explanations of religious belief (and of cognition more generally) have become a topic of investigation in the science and religion debate, in particular the question of whether such explanations can somehow strengthen or cast doubt on religious belief, or are neutral. Most work in the field of science and religion has been examined in the context of Christianity—to what extent can Christian beliefs be brought in line with the results of western science be brought in line with Christian beliefs? Science and religion has recently turned to an examination of non-Christian traditions, such as Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam, providing a rich picture of interaction. 1.2 The scope of science and religion Science and religion make claims about what constitutes reality. Many discussions in the field of science and religion are about the extent to which these claims are conflicting. It is important to get at least a rough sense of what science and religion are, before moving onto these discussions. One challenge posed to the field of science and religion is that its constituent terms are not unchanging terms with a clear meaning; rather, they vary across times and cultures. Before the 19th century, the term “religion” was rarely used. For medieval authors such as Aquinas, the term religio meant piety or worship, and was not applied to religious systems outside of what was considered orthodoxy (Harrison 2015). The term “religion” obtained its current meaning through the works of early anthropologists such as E.B. Tylor (1871), who systematically used the term for religions across the world. The term “science” as it is currently used also became common in the 19th century. Prior to this, science was referred to as “natural philosophy” or “experimental philosophy.” William Whewell (1834) standardized the term “scientist” to refer to practitioners of diverse natural sciences. Philosophers of science have attempted to demarcate science from other knowledge-seeking endeavors, in particular pseudoscience and religion. For instance, Karl Popper (1959) claimed that scientific hypotheses (unlike religious ones) are in principle falsifiable. Many philosophers working on this topic agree that there is a difference between science and religion, even if it is historically contingent (e.g., Taylor 1996). They disagree, however, on how to demarcate the two domains. One way to distinguish between science and religion is that science has a naturalistic outlook, whereas religion routinely appeals to the supernatural. In everyday life, people frequently combine naturalistic explanations with supernatural ones. For example, someone may think that a bad exam result may be due to a lack of studying (a natural explanation), but that it is also God, or “the universe” telling them to study something else (Legare et al. 2012). Scientific explanations, by contrast, do not use supernatural entities: nature is a causally closed domain. For example, neuroscientists believe that our thoughts are ultimately caused and constituted by brain states, which are the result of physical processes. Naturalists draw a distinction between methodological naturalism, an epistemological principle, and ontological or philosophical naturalism, a metaphysical principle (Forrest 2000). Since methodological naturalism is concerned with the method of science (in particular, the kinds of mechanisms that are being invoked), it does not make any statements about whether supernatural entities exist. They might exist, but are outside of the ambit of scientific investigation. Some authors (e.g., Mahner and Bunge 1996) have argued that the scientific method implies ontological naturalism. Others (e.g., Rosenberg 2014) hold that taking the results of science seriously means giving negative answers to persistent questions such as whether humans have free will or whether there is moral knowledge. However, these stronger conclusions remain controversial. The view that science can be demarcated from religion in its methodological naturalism is more commonly accepted. For instance, in the Kitzmiller versus Dover (2005) trial, the philosopher of science Robert Pennock was called to testify by the plaintiffs on whether Intelligent Design was a form of creationism, and therefore religion. If it was, the Dover school board policy violated the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. Building on earlier work (e.g., Pennock 1998), Pennock argued that Intelligent Design, in its appeal to supernatural mechanisms, was not methodologically naturalistic, and that methodological naturalism was an essential component of science: while it is not a dogmatic requirement, it flows from reasonable evidential requirements, such as the ability to test theories empirically. Methodological naturalism is a recent development in the history of science. Natural philosophers such as Isaac Newton, Johannes Kepler, Robert Hooke, and Robert Boyle regularly appealed to supernatural agents in their explanations. The X-club, a lobby group for the professionalization of science founded in 1864 by Thomas Huxley and his friends, aimed to promote a science that would be free from religious dogmas. The X-club may have been in part motivated by the desire to remove competition by amateur-clergymen scientists in the field of science, and thus to open up the field for full-time professionals (Garwood 2008). 1.3 Models of the interaction between science and religion Several typologies characterize the interaction between science and religion. The most influential remains Barbour’s (2000) distinction between conflict, independence, dialogue, and integration. Subsequent authors, and Barbour himself, have refined and further amended this model. However, others (e.g., Cantor and Kenny 2001) have argued that the model is not useful to understand past interactions between the fields The conflict model is exemplified by two historical narratives: the trial of Galileo over his support of heliocentrism (see Dawes 2016 for a contemporary re-examination), and the reception of evolutionary theory in Victorian England (see Bowler 2001). The conflict model was developed in the 19th century by two books: Draper’s (1874) History of the Conflict between Religion and Science and White’s (1896) two-volume opus A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom. These authors argued that science and religion essentially discuss the same domain so they inevitably conflict. Barbour (2000) – in line with the vast majority of authors in the science and religion field – is highly critical of the conflict model, and believes it is based on a shallow and partisan reading of the historical evidence. Two views that seem to have little in common, extreme biblical literalism (Young Earth Creationism) and scientific materialism both assume a conflict model. They both assume that if science has it right, religion is wrong, or vice versa. While the conflict model is at present a minority position, some authors have used philosophical argumentation (e.g., Philipse 2012) or carefully re-examined historical evidence such as the Galileo trial (e.g., Dawes 2016) to argue for this model. Plantinga (2011) has argued that some scientific findings are in principle compatible with religion (for instance, God may have used evolution as a mode of creation), but that others are not, e.g., evolutionary psychology. The independence model holds that science and religion treat separate domains that ask distinct questions. Stephen Jay Gould (2001, 739) developed an influential independence model with his NOMA principle (“non-overlapping magisteria”): “The lack of conflict between science and religion arises from a lack of overlap between their respective domains of professional expertise.” He identified science’s areas of expertise as empirical questions about the constitution of the universe, and religion’s domain of expertise as ethical values and spiritual meaning. The NOMA principle is descriptive, but also normative: religious leaders should refrain from making factual claims about, for instance, the truth of evolutionary theory, just like scientists should not claim insights on moral matters from an empirical perspective. Nevertheless, Gould saw that there might be interactions at the joint borders of each magisterium, such as our responsibility toward other creatures. One obvious problem with the independence model is that, if religion is barred from making any statement of fact, it becomes difficult to justify the claims of value and ethics, e.g., one cannot argue that one should love one’s neighbor because it pleases the creator (Worrall 2004). Dialogue presents a mutualistic relationship between religion and science. Unlike independence, dialogue assumes that there is some common ground for both fields, particularly in their presuppositions, methods, and concepts. For example, the Christian doctrine of creation may have encouraged science by assuming that creation (being the product of designer) is both intelligible and orderly, so one can expect there are laws that can be discovered. Creation, being a product of God’s free actions, is also contingent, so the laws of nature cannot be learned through a priori thinking, which prompts the need for experimental investigation. By looking at the methods of scientific and theological inquiry, Barbour (2000) discerned similarities in theory-dependence, a reliance on rich metaphors and models, and a preference for theories that are coherent, comprehensive, and fruitful. In dialogue, the fields remain separate but they can talk to each other, using these common methods, concepts, and presuppositions. Integration is more extensive in its unification of science and theology than dialogue. Barbour identifies three forms of integration. The first is natural theology, inferring the existence of God from features of the world (relying on the sciences). The second, theology of nature, does not start out from science but from a religious framework, and examines how this can be revised or enriched with findings of the sciences. For example, Alister McGrath (2016) provides a thick Christian theology of nature, examining how nature (and scientific findings) can be regarded through a Christian lens. Thirdly, Barbour believed that Whitehead’s process philosophy would be a promising way to integrate science and religion. All integration attempts thus far have met with mixed success. While it sounds attractive in theory (especially to theologians) to integrate science with religion, it is in practice difficult to do justice to both the science and religion aspects of a given domain, especially given their complexities. For example, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1971), who was both knowledgeable in paleoanthropology and theology, ended up with an unconventional view of evolution as teleological, and on unorthodox theology (with an unconventional interpretation of original sin which brought him into trouble with the Catholic Church). 1.4 The scientific study of religion One field in which science and religion are closely connected is the scientific study of religion, which can be traced back to seventeenth-century natural histories of religion. Natural historians attempted to provide naturalistic explanations for human behavior and culture, including domains such as religion, emotions, and morality. For example, Bernard de Fontenelle’s De l’Origine des Fables (1724) provided a causal account of belief in the supernatural. People provide supernatural explanations when they cannot understand the natural causes underlying extraordinary events: “To the extent that one is more ignorant, or one has less experience, one sees more miracles” (1724/1824, 295, my translation). De Fontenelle foreshadows Auguste Comte (1841) in his belief that myths would gradually give way to scientific accounts. In the philosophical literature, Hume’s Natural History of Religion (1757/2007) is the best-known example of a natural historical explanation of religious belief. It traces the origins of polytheism—which Hume thought was the earliest form of religious belief—in ignorance about natural causes combined with fear and apprehension about the environment. By deifying aspects of the environment, early humans tried to persuade or bribe the gods, thereby gaining a sense of control. In the nineteenth and early twentieth century, authors from then newly emerging scientific disciplines, such as anthropology, sociology, and psychology, examined the naturalistic roots of religious belief. They did so with a broad brushstroke, trying to explain what unifies diverse religious beliefs across cultures, rather than accounting for cultural variations. In anthropology, the idea that all cultures evolve and progress along the same lines (cultural evolutionism) was widespread. Cultures with differing religious views were explained as being in an early stage of development. For example, Tylor (1871) regarded animism, the belief that spirits animate the world, as the earliest form of religious belief. Comte (1841) proposed that societies, in their attempts to make sense of the world, all go through the same stages of development: the theological (religious) stage is the earliest phase, where religious explanations predominate, followed by the metaphysical stage (a non-intervening God), and culminating in the positivity or scientific stage, marked by scientific explanations and empirical observations. The sociologist Émile Durkheim (1915) considered religious beliefs as social glue that helped to keep society together. The psychologist Sigmund Freud (1927) thought that religious belief was an illusion: a childlike yearning for a fatherly figure. The full story Freud offers is quite bizarre: in past times, a father who monopolized all the women was killed by his sons, who ate him afterwards. The sons felt guilty and started to idolize their murdered father. This, together with taboos on cannibalism and incest, started the first religion. Freud also considered the “oceanic feeling” as one of the origins of religious belief, is a feeling of limitlessness and of being connected with the world. He thought this feeling was a remnant of how an infant experiences the self, prior to being weaned off the breast. The philosopher and psychologist William James (1902) was interested in the psychological roots and phenomenology of religious experiences, which he considered as the ultimate source of more institutionalized religions. From the 1920s onward, the scientific study of religion became less concerned with grand unifying narratives, and focused more on particular religious traditions and beliefs. Anthropologists, such as Edward Evans-Pritchard (1937/1965) and Malinowski (1925/1992) no longer relied exclusively on second-hand reports (usually of poor quality and from distorted sources) but engaged in serious fieldwork. Their ethnographies indicated that cultural evolutionism was mistaken and that religious beliefs were more diverse than was previously believed. They found that religious beliefs were not the direct result of a lack of knowledge of naturalistic mechanisms, for instance, Evans-Pritchard noted that the Azande were well aware that houses could collapse because termites ate away at their foundations, but the Azande would still appeal to witchcraft to explain why a particular house had collapsed. More recently, Cristine Legare et al. (2012) found that people in various cultures straightforwardly combine supernatural and natural explanations, for instance, South Africans are well aware AIDS is caused by a virus, but may also believe that the viral infection was ultimately caused by the working of a witch. Psychologists and sociologists studying religion also began to doubt that religious beliefs were rooted in irrationality, psychopathology, and other atypical psychological states as James (1902) and other early psychologists maintained. In the US, in the late 1930s through the 1960s, psychologists had a renewed interest for religion, fueled by the observation that religion refused to decline and seemed to undergo a substantial revival (see Stark 1999 for an overview). During these seminal years, psychologists of religion have made more fine-grained distinctions between types of religiosity, including extrinsic religiosity (being religious as means to an end, for instance, getting the benefits of being in a social group) and intrinsic religiosity (people who adhere to religions for the sake of the teachings) (Allport and Ross 1967). Both psychologists and sociologists now commonly study religiosity as an independent variable, with impact on a wide variety of domains, including health, criminality, sexuality, and social networks. A recent development in the scientific study of religion is the cognitive science of religion. This is a multidisciplinary field, with authors from, among others, developmental psychology, anthropology, philosophy, and cognitive psychology. It differs from the predominant twentieth-century study of religion by its presupposition that religion is not a purely cultural phenomenon, but the result of ordinary, early developed, and universal human cognitive processes (e.g., Barrett 2004, Boyer 2002). Some authors regard religion as the byproduct of cognitive processes that do not have an evolved function specific for religion. For example, Paul Bloom (2007) argues that religion emerges as a byproduct of our intuitive distinction between minds and bodies: we can think of minds as continuing, even as the body dies (e.g., by attributing beliefs to a dead family member), which makes belief in an afterlife natural and spontaneous. Another family of hypotheses regards religion as a biological or cultural adaptive response that helps humans solve cooperative problems (e.g., Bering 2011). Through their belief in big, powerful gods that can punish, humans behave more cooperatively, which allowed human group sizes to expand beyond small hunter-gatherer communities. Groups with belief in big gods thus outcompeted groups without such beliefs for resources during the Neolithic, which explains the current success of belief in such gods (Norenzayan 2013). 1.5 Religious beliefs in academia Until the eighteenth century, it was common for scientists to have religious beliefs and for those beliefs to guide their work. In the seventeenth century, the design argument reached its peak popularity and natural philosophers were convinced that science could provide evidence for God’s providential creation. The natural philosopher Isaac Newton had deeply held, albeit unorthodox religious beliefs (Pfizenmaier 1997). By contrast, the contemporary anecdotal and systematic picture suggests scientists have lower religiosity compared to the general population. There are vocal exceptions, such as the geneticist Francis Collins, who was the leader of the Human Genome Project. His book The Language of God (2006) and the BioLogos Institute he founded both advocate compatibility between science and Christianity. Sociological studies have probed the religious beliefs of faculty members, particularly in the United States. They indicate a significant difference in religiosity of faculty members compared to the general population. Surveys such as those conducted by the Pew forum (Masci and Smith 2016) find that nearly nine in ten adults in the US say they believe in God or a universal spirit, a number that has only slightly declined in recent decades. Religious belief is lower among younger adults, but even among the youngest adults, the percentage of theists is about 80%. Atheism and agnosticism are prevalent among academics, especially among those working in elite institutions. For example, a survey among National Academy of Sciences members, who are all senior academics, overwhelmingly from elite faculties, found that the majority disbelieved in God’s existence (72.2%), with 20.8% being agnostic, and only 7% theists (Larson and Witham 1998). Ecklund and Scheitle (2001) analyzed responses from academics from 21 elite universities in the US. About 31.2 % of their participants self-identified as atheists and a further 31 % as agnostics. The remaining number believed in a higher power (7 %), sometimes believed in God (5.4 %), believed in God with some doubts (15.5 %), or believed in God without any doubts (9.7 %). In contrast to the American general population, the older scientists in Ecklund and Scheitle’s sample did not show higher religiosity—in fact, they were more likely to say that they did not believe in God. By contrast, Gross and Simmons (2009) had a more heterogeneous sample of professors from American colleges, including community colleges, elite doctoral-granting institutions, non-elite four-year state schools, and small liberal arts colleges. They found that the majority of university professors (full-time tenured or tenure-track faculty) had some theistic beliefs, believing either in God (34.9%), in God with some doubts (16.6%), in God some of the time (4.3%), or in a higher power (19.2%). Belief in God was influenced both by type of institution (lower theistic belief in more prestigious schools) and by discipline (lower theistic belief in the physical and biological sciences compared to the humanities). These findings indicate that academics are more ideologically diverse than has been popularly assumed and that they are not all naturally opposed to religion. Even so, in the US the percentage of atheists and agnostics in academia is higher than in the general population, a discrepancy that requires an explanation. One reason might be a bias in academia against theists. For example, when sociologists were surveyed whether they would hire someone if they knew the candidate was an evangelical Christian, 39.1% said they would be less likely to hire that candidate (Yancey 2012). Another reason might be that theists internalize prevalent negative societal stereotypes, which leads them to underperform in scientific tasks and lose interest in pursuing a scientific career. Rios et al. (2015) found that non-religious participants believe that theists, especially Christians, are less competent in science and less trusting in science. When this stereotype was made salient, Christian participants performed worse in logical reasoning tasks (which were misleadingly presented as “scientific reasoning tests”) than when the stereotype was not mentioned. It is unclear whether religious and scientific thinking are cognitively incompatible. Some studies suggest that religion draws more upon an intuitive style of thinking, distinct from the analytic reasoning style that characterizes science (Gervais and Norenzayan 2012). On the other hand, the acceptance of theological and scientific views both rely on a trust in testimony, and cognitive scientists have found similarities between the way children and adults understand testimony to invisible entities in religious and scientific domains (Harris et al. 2006). Thus, more research is needed to examine whether religious and scientific thinking styles are in tension. 2. Science and religion in Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism Most studies on the relationship between religion and science have focused on Christianity, with only a small number of works devoted to other religious traditions (e.g., Brooke and Numbers 2011). Relatively few monographs pay attention to the relationship between science and religion in non-Christian milieus (e.g., Judaism and Islam in Clark 2014). Since western science makes universal claims, it is easy to assume that its encounter with other religious traditions is similar to the interactions observed in Christianity. However, because there are important differences in creedal tenets (e.g., in Hindu traditions God is usually not entirely distinct from creation, unlike in Christianity), and because science has had distinct historical trajectories in other cultures, one can expect disanalogies in the relationship between science and religion in different religious traditions. To give a sense of this diversity, this section provides a bird’s eye overview of science and religion in Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism. 2.1 Science and religion in Christianity Christianity is an Abrahamic monotheistic religion, currently the largest world religion. It developed out of Judaism from a group of followers of Jesus in the first century AD. Christians adhere to revelations from a group of canonical texts, which include the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament, which comprises texts inherited from Judaism) and the New Testament, which contains the Gospels (historical narratives on the life and teachings of Jesus, attributed to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John), as well as events and teachings of the early Christian churches (e.g., Acts of the Apostles, letters by Paul), and Revelation, a prophetic book on the end of times. Given the prominence of revealed texts in Christianity, a useful starting point to examine the relationship between religion and science in Christianity is the two books metaphor (see Tanzella-Nitti 2005 for an overview). Accordingly, God revealed Godself through the “book of nature”, with its orderly laws, and the “book of scripture”, with its historical narratives and accounts of miracles. Augustine (354430) argued that the book of nature was the more accessible of the two, since scripture requires literacy whereas illiterates and literates could read the book of nature. Maximus Confessor (c. 580-662), in his Ambigua, compared scripture and natural law to two clothes that enveloped the Incarnated Logos: Jesus’ humanity is revealed by nature, whereas his divinity is revealed by the scriptures. During the Middle Ages, authors such as Hugh of St. Victor (ca. 1096-1141) and Bonaventure (1221-1274) came to realize that the book of nature was not at all straightforward to read. Given that original sin marred our reason and perception, what conclusions could humans legitimately draw about ultimate reality? Bonaventure used the metaphor of the books to the extent that “liber naturae” was a synonym for creation, the natural world. He argued that sin has clouded human reason so much that the book of nature was in fact unreadable, and that scripture was needed as it contains teachings about the world. Christian authors in the field of science and religion continue to debate how the two books interrelate. Concordism is the attempt to interpret scriptures in the light of modern science. It is a hermeneutical approach to Bible interpretation, where one expects that the Bible foretells or somehow reflects scientific facts, such as the Big Bang theory, or evolutionary theory. As Denis Lamoureux (2008, chapter 5) details, on the face of it, many scientific-sounding statements in the Bible are false: the mustard seed is not the smallest seed, male reproductive seeds do not contain miniature persons, there is no firmament, and the earth is not flat, nor is it immovable. Thus, any plausible form of integrating the books of nature and scripture will have to involve more sophisticated moves. Some theologians, such as John Wesley (1703-1791), have proposed the addition of other sources of knowledge to scripture and science: the Wesleyan quadrilateral (a term not coined by Wesley himself) is the dynamic interaction of scripture, experience (including the empirical findings of science), tradition, and one’s own reason (Outler 1985). Christian authors who have attempted to integrate science and religion (e.g., Barbour 2000, Haught 1995, Lamoureux 2008, Murphy 1995) tend to use theological models (e.g., classical theism, kenosis, the doctrine of creation) combined with findings from the sciences. John Haught (1995) argues that the theological view of kenosis anticipates scientific findings such as evolutionary theory: a self-emptying God (i.e., who limits Godself), who wants to create a world truly distinct and autonomous would have to make a world with internal self-coherence. A selforganizing universe is the result. Barbour (1990) developed a critical realist attitude to scientific findings, trying to find a middle way between what he perceived as naïve realist views (straightforward scientific realism) and more instrumentalist approaches. Murphy (1995, 329-330) outlines doctrinal and scientific requirements for approaches in science and religion: ideally, an integrated approach should be broadly in line with Christian doctrine, especially core tenets such as the doctrine of creation, while at the same time it should be in line with empirical observations and not undercut the practice of science. Several historians of science have argued that Christianity, in particular the doctrine of original sin, was instrumental to the development of western science. For instance, Peter Harrison (2009) argues there was a widespread belief in the early modern period that Adam, prior to the fall, had superior senses, intellect, and understanding. As a result of the fall, human senses have become duller, our ability to make correct inferences has diminished, and nature itself has become less intelligible. To understand nature at all, postlapsarian humans (i.e., humans after the fall) are no longer able to exclusively rely on their a priori reasoning. They are now required to supplement their reason and senses with observation and instruments, such as microscopes and telescopes. As Robert Hooke wrote in the introduction to his Micrographia (1665, cited in Harrison 2009, 5): “every man, both from a deriv’d corruption, innate and born with him, and from his breeding and converse with men, is very subject to slip into all sorts of errors ... These being the dangers in the process of humane Reason, the remedies of them all can only proceed from the real, the mechanical, the experimental Philosophy [experiment-based science].” Another example of a theological development that may have led to the development of science was the Condemnation of Paris (1277), which forbade teaching and reading natural philosophical views that were considered heretical, such as Aristotle’s physical treatises. As a result, the Condemnation opened up intellectual space to think beyond ancient Greek natural philosophy. For example, medieval philosophers such as John Buridan (fl. 14th c), following Aristotle in his belief that there could be no vacuum in nature, but once the idea of a vacuum became possible, natural philosophers such as Evangelista Torricelli (1608-1647) and Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) could experiment with air pressure and vacua (see Grant 1996, for discussion). As further evidence for a formative role of Christianity in the development of science, some authors point to the Christian beliefs of prominent natural philosophers of the seventeenth century. For example, Kelly Clark (2014, 42) writes, “Exclude God from the definition of science and, in one fell definitional swoop, you exclude the greatest natural philosophers of the so-called scientific revolution—Kepler, Copernicus, Galileo, Boyle, and Newton (to name just a few)”. Others authors even go as far as to say that Christianity was unique and instrumental in catalyzing the scientific revolution—according to Stark (2004), the scientific revolution was in fact a slow, gradual development from medieval Christian theology. In spite of these very positive readings of the relationship between science and religion in Christianity, there are sources of enduring tension between both fields. For example, there is (still) vocal opposition to the theory of evolution among Christian fundamentalists. Also, in many domains, scientific explanations of phenomena have encroached on the religious explanations in the last few centuries. For example, natural disasters such as earthquakes, and epidemics such as smallpox, were commonly attributed to God as divine retribution for Sabbath breaking, drunkenness, and other sins, but since the eighteenth century, geological and epidemiological explanations have become more prevalent. This can also be seen in popular culture, for instance, with the increasing popularity of inoculation against smallpox and other diseases in the eighteenth and nineteenth century (Numbers 2003). 2.2 Science and religion in Islam Islam is a monotheistic religion that emerged in the 7th century, following a series of revelations to the prophet Muḥammad. The term “Islam” also denotes geo-political structures, such as caliphates and empires, which were founded by Muslim rulers in the 7th century, and continue up to the present, including the Umayyad, Abbasid and Ottoman caliphates. Additionally, it refers to a culture which flourished in this political and religious context, with its own philosophical and scientific traditions (Dhanani 2002). A defining characteristic of Islam is its belief in one God (Allāh), who communicates through prophets, including Adam, Abraham, and Muḥammad. Allāh’s revelations to Muḥammad are recorded in the Qurʾān, the central religious text for Islam. An importance source of jurisprudence and theology next to the Qurʾān is the ḥadīth, an oral corpus of attested sayings, actions, and tacit approvals of the prophet Muḥammad. There are two major branches of Islam, Sunni and Shia, based on a dispute on the succession of Muḥammad. As the second largest religion in the world, Islam shows a wide variety of beliefs. Core creedal views include the oneness of God (tawḥīd), the view that there is only one undivided God who created and sustains the universe, prophetic revelation (in particular to Muḥammad), and an afterlife. Beyond this, Muslims disagree on a number of doctrinal issues. The relationship between Islam and science is complex. Today, predominantly Muslim countries, such as the United Arabic Emirates, enjoy high urbanization and technological development, but they underperform in common metrics of scientific research, such as publications in leading journals and number of citations per scientist (see Edis 2007 for discussion). Moreover, Islamic countries are also a hotbed for pseudoscientific ideas, such as Old Earth creationism and, to take some examples of papers presented at a conference on science and Islam held in 2006 in Kuwait, the creation of human bodies on the day of resurrection from the tailbone, or the superiority of prayer in treating lower-back pain compared to conventional methods (Guessoum 2009, 4-5). This lack of scientific prominence is remarkable given that the Islamic world far exceeded European cultures in the range and quality of its scientific knowledge from approximately the 9th to the 15th century, excelling in domains such as mathematics (algebra and geometry, trigonometry in particular), astronomy (serious consideration, but not adoption of heliocentrism), optics, and medicine. These domains of knowledge are commonly referred to as “Arabic science”, to distinguish them from the pursuits of science that arose in the west (Huff 2003). Many prominent Arabic scientists were polymaths, achieving lasting fame in disparate domains such as poetry, astronomy, geography, and mineralogy (e.g., Omar Khayyám, 1048-1131). Other examples include al-Fārābī (ca. 872- ca. 950), a political philosopher from Damascus who also investigated music theory, science, and mathematics, and the Andalusian Ibn Rušd (Averroes, 1126-1198), who wrote books on medicine, physics, astronomy, psychology, jurisprudence, music, geography, as well as a Greek-inspired philosophical theology. A major impetus for Arabic science was the patronage of the Abbasid caliphate (7581258) centered in Baghdad. Early Abbasid rulers, such as Harun al-Rashid (ruled 786- 809) and his successor Abū Jaʿfar Abdullāh al-Ma'mūn (ruled 813-833), were significant patrons of Arabic science. The former founded the Bayt al-Hikma (house of wisdom), which commissioned on a large and systematic scale translations of major works by Aristotle, Galen, and many Persian and Indian scholars into Arabic. It was cosmopolitan in its outlook, employing astronomers, mathematicians, and physicians from abroad, including Indian mathematicians and Nestorian (Christian) astronomers. Throughout the Arabic world, public libraries attached to mosques provided access to a vast compendium of knowledge, which was not only instrumental in spreading Islam but also Greek philosophy and Arabic science. The use of a common language (Arabic), as well as common religious and political institutions and flourishing trade relations encouraged the spread of scientific ideas throughout the empire. Some of this transmission was informal (see Dhanani 2002, 77 for an account of Ibn-Sīnā’s education), some formal, e.g., in hospitals where students learned about medicine in a practical, master-apprentice setting, and in astronomical observatories and academies. The decline and fall of the Abbasid caliphate dealt a blow to Arabic science, but it remains unclear why it ultimately stagnated, and why it did not experience something analogous to the scientific revolution in western Europe. Some liberal Muslim authors, such as Fatima Mernissi (1992), argue that the rise of conservative forms of Islamic philosophical theology stifled more scientificallyminded natural philosophers. In the 9th to the 12th century, the Mu’tazila (a philosophical theological school) helped the growth of Arabic science thanks to their embracing of Greek natural philosophy. But eventually, the Mu’tazila and their intellectual descendants lost their influence to more conservative brands of theology. Al-Ghazālī’s influential eleventh-century book The incoherence of the philosophers (Tahāfut al-falāsifa) was a scathing and sophisticated rebuttal of the Mu’tazila, showing that their metaphysical assumptions could not be demonstrated. This book vindicated more orthodox Muslim religious views. As a result, Muslim intellectual life became more orthodox, less open to non-Muslim philosophical ideas, and this ultimately led to the decline of Arabic science. The problem with this narrative is that orthodox worries about non-Islamic knowledge were already present before Al-Ghazālī and continued long after his death (Edis 2007, Chapter 2). Tellingly, medieval Muslims called the natural sciences (natural philosophy inspired by Greek writings) “foreign science.” The so-called “Islamic sciences” were devoted to the study of the Qurʾān and ḥadīth, the law, the Arabic language, poetry, and theology (Huff 2003, 31). Moreover, the study of law (fiqh) was more stifling for Arabic science than for theology. The 11th century saw changes in Islamic law that discouraged heterodox thought: lack of orthodoxy could now be regarded as apostasy from Islam which is punishable by death, whereas before, a Muslim could only apostatize so by an explicit declaration. If, as an Arabic scientist, one published ideas that did not agree with core elements of Muslim orthodoxy, it could be regarded as a form of “clandestine apostasy” (zandaqa) (Griffel 2009, 105). Al-Ghazālī himself only regarded the violation of three core doctrines as zandaqa, statements that challenge monotheism, the prophecy of Mohammed, or the resurrection after death. All this created a stifling climate for Arabic science. In the second half of the 19th century, when science and technology became firmly entrenched in western society, Muslim empires were languishing or colonized. Scientific ideas, such as evolutionary theory, were equated with European colonialism, and thus met with distrust (Clark 2014, chapter 14). In spite of this negative association between science and western modernity, there is an emerging literature on science and religion by Muslim scholars (mostly scientists). They work on several topics. The first is the question to what extent Islam and science are compatible. Nidhal Guessoum (2009) holds that science and religion are not only compatible, but in harmony. He pushes back against the idea of treating the Qurʾān as a scientific encyclopedia, something other Muslim authors in the debate on science and religion tend to do, but he adheres to the no-possible-conflict principle, outlined by Ibn Rushd: there can be no conflict between God’s word and God’s work. If an apparent conflict arises, this means the Qurʾān has not been interpreted correctly. A second topic is evolutionary theory. The Qurʾān has a six-day creation narrative (like the Hebrew Bible), but there is room to interpret days as very long spans of time, rather than 24-hour periods. As a result, Old Earth creationism is more influential in Islam than Young Earth creationism, exemplified by the Atlas of Creation, a glossy coffee table book that draws heavily on Christian Old Earth creationism, written by the Turkish creationist Adnan Oktar under the pseudonym Harun Yahya. This book was distributed worldwide at universities (Hameed 2008). Arabic scientists, such as al-Jāḥiẓ (776-868), had some notion of adaptation and perhaps gradualism, albeit not a theory of evolution. The specific worry for Islam about evolution is that the Qurʾān explicitly mentions the special creation of Adam out of clay, and the idea that he would be preceded by hominin ancestors is deemed unacceptable. Nevertheless, several Muslim scientists have advocated acceptance of evolution, including Guessoum (2009) and Rana Dajani (2015). 2.3 Science and religion in Hinduism Hinduism denotes diverse religious and philosophical traditions that emerged in the Indian subcontinent between 500 BCE and 300 CE. It is the world’s third largest religion. The vast majority of Hindus live in India; others mostly live in Nepal, Sri Lanka, and Southeast Asia (Hackett 2015). In contrast to the major monotheistic religions, Hinduism does not draw a sharp distinction between God and creation— there are, of course, pantheistic and panentheistic views in Christianity, Judaism and Islam, but these are minority positions. Many Hindus believe in a personal God, and identify this God as immanent in creation. This view has ramifications for the science and religion debate, in that there is no sharp ontological distinction between creator and creature (Subbarayappa 2011). Philosophical theology in Hinduism (and other Indic religions) is usually referred to as dharma, and religious traditions in India, including Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, and Sikhism, are referred to as dharmic religions. Philosophical schools within dharma are referred to as darśana. One factor that unites dharmic religions is the importance of foundational texts, which were formulated during the Vedic period, between ca. 1600 and 700 BCE. These include the Véda (Vedas), which contain hymns and prescriptions for performing rituals, Brāhmaṇa, accompanying liturgical texts, and Upaniṣad, a collection of metaphysical treatises. The Véda appeal to a wide range of gods who personify and embody natural phenomena such as fire (Agni) and wind (Vāyu). More gods were added in the following centuries (e.g., Gaṇeśa and Sati-Parvati in the 4th century). Ancient Vedic rituals encouraged knowledge of diverse branches of science, including astronomy, linguistics, and mathematics. Astronomical knowledge was required to determine the timing of rituals and the construction of sacrificial altars. Linguistics developed out of a need to formalize grammatical rules for classical Sanskrit, which was used in rituals. Large public offerings also required the construction of elaborate altars, which posed geometrical problems and thus led to advances in geometry. Classic Vedic texts also frequently used very large numbers, for instance, to denote the age of humanity and the Earth, which required a system to represent numbers parsimoniously, giving rise to a 10-base positional system and a symbolic representation for zero as a placeholder, which would later be imported in other mathematical traditions (Joseph 2000). In this way, ancient Indian dharma encouraged the emergence of the sciences. Around the 6th-5th century BCE, the northern part of the Indian subcontinent experienced an extensive urbanization. In this context, medicine became standardized (āyurveda). This period also gave rise to a wide range of philosophical schools, including Buddhism, Jainism, and Cārvāka. The latter defended a form of metaphysical naturalism, denying the existence of gods or karma. The relationship between science and religion on the Indian subcontinent is complex, in part because the dharmic religions and philosophical schools are so diverse. For example, Cārvāka proponents had a strong suspicion of inferential beliefs, and rejected Vedic revelation and supernaturalism in general, instead favoring direct observation as a source of knowledge. Such views were close to philosophical naturalism in modern science, but this school disappeared in the twelfth century. Natural theology also flourished in the pre-colonial period, especially in the Advaita Vedānta, a darśana that identifies the self, Atman, with ultimate reality, Brahman. Advaita Vedāntin philosopher Śaṅkara (700-750 CE) was a theistic author who regarded Brahman as the only reality, both the material and the efficient cause of the cosmos. Centuries before natural theologians such as Samuel Clarke (1675-1729) or William Paley (1743-1805), he formulated a design argument and a cosmological argument, drawing on analogies between the world and artifacts: in ordinary life, we never see non-intelligent agents produce purposive design, yet the universe is suitable for human life, just like pleasure-gardens or palaces are designed for us. Given that the universe is so complex that even an intelligent craftsman cannot comprehend it, how could it have been created by non-intelligent natural forces? The conclusion Śaṅkara drew was that it must have been designed by an intelligent creator (C. M. Brown 2008, 108). From 1757 to 1947, India was under British colonial rule. This had a profound influence on Indian culture. Hindus came into contact with science and western technology, and, after some time, also received formal education in English. For local intellectuals, the contact with western science presented a challenge. How could they assimilate these ideas with their Hindu beliefs? Mahendrahal Sircar (1833-1904) was one of the first authors to examine evolutionary theory and its implications for Hindu religious beliefs. Sircar was an evolutionary theist, who believed that God used evolution to create the current life forms. Evolutionary theism was not a new hypothesis in Hinduism, but the many lines of empirical evidence Darwin provided for evolution gave it a fresh impetus. While Sircar accepted organic evolution through common descent, he questioned the mechanism of natural selection as it was not teleological, which went against his evolutionary theism (this was a widespread problem for the acceptance of evolutionary theory, one that also Christian evolutionary theists wrestled with, see Bowler 2009). He also argued against the British colonists’ beliefs that Hindus were incapable of scientific thought, and encouraged fellow Hindus to engage in science, which he hoped would help regenerate the Indian nation (Brown 2012, chapter 6). The assimilation of western culture prompted various revivalist movements from the nineteenth century onwards that sought to reaffirm the cultural value of Hinduism. These revivalist movements put forward the idea of a Vedic science, where all scientific findings are already prefigured in the Véda and other ancient texts (see e.g., Vivekenanda 1904). This idea is still popular within contemporary Hinduism, and is quite similar to ideas held by contemporary Muslims, who refer to the Qurʾān as a harbinger of scientific theories. Responses to evolutionary theory (see Brown 2012 for a thorough overview) were as diverse as Christian views on this subject, going from creationism (denial of evolutionary theory based on a perceived incompatibility with Vedic texts) to acceptance. Authors, such as Swami Dayananda Saraswati (19302015), who also formulated design arguments, rejected evolutionary theory. By contrast, Swami Vivekananda (1863-1902), a proponent of the monistic Advaita Vedānta) enthusiastically endorsed evolutionary theory and argued that it is already prefigured in ancient Vedic texts. More generally, he claimed that Hinduism and science are in harmony: Hinduism is scientific in spirit, as is evident from its long history of scientific discovery (Vivekenanda 1904). In the 20th century, Indian scientists began to gain prominence, including C.V. Raman (1888-1970), a Nobel Prize winner in physics, and Satyendra Nath Bose (1894-1974), a theoretical physicist who described the behavior of photons statistically, and who gave his names to bosons. However, these authors were silent on the relationship between their scientific work and their religious beliefs. By contrast, the mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan (1887-1920) was open about his religious beliefs and their influence on his mathematical work; for instance, he claimed that the goddess Namagiri helped him to intuit solutions to mathematical problems. Likewise, Jagadish Chandra Bose (1858–1937), a theoretical physicist who worked on radio waves, thought that the Hindu idea of unity was reflected in the study of nature. He started the Bose institute in Kolkata in 1917, the earliest interdisciplinary scientific institute in India (Subbarayappa 2011). 3. Contemporary connections between science and religion Contemporary work in the field of science and religion encompasses a wealth of topics, including the origin of consciousness, free will, ethics, and human nature. Here follows an overview of two topics that generated substantial interest and debate over the past decades: divine action (and the closely related topic of creation (one form of divine action), and human origins. 3.1 Divine action and creation Before scientists developed their views on cosmology and origins of the world, Western Christian cultures already had an elaborate doctrine of creation, based on Biblical texts (e.g., the first three chapters of Genesis and the book of Revelation) and the writings of church fathers such as Augustine. The doctrine of creation has the following interrelated features: first, God created the world ex nihilo, i.e., out of nothing. Differently put, God did not need anything pre-existing to make the world, unlike, e.g., the Demiurge (from Greek philosophy), who created the world from chaotic, pre-existing matter. Second, God is distinct from the world; the world is not equal to or part of God (as is proposed by pantheism or panentheism) or a (necessary) emanation of God’s being. Rather, God created the world freely. This introduces a radical asymmetry between creator and creature: the world is radically contingent upon God’s creative act and is also sustained by God, whereas God does not need creation (Jaeger 2012b, 3). Third, the doctrine of creation holds that creation is essentially good (this is repeatedly affirmed in Genesis 1). The world does contain evil, but God does not directly cause this evil to exist. God plays an active role in creation, not merely passively sustaining it, such as using special divine actions (e.g., miracles and revelations) to care for creatures. God made provisions for the end of the world, and will create a new heaven and earth, thus eradicating evil. Related to the doctrine of creation are views on divine action. Theologians commonly draw a distinction between general and special divine action. Drawing a distinction between general and special divine action allows for creatures to be autonomous and indicates that God does not micromanage every detail of creation In this way, one can theistic view that steers clear of both deism (God only is involved with the general sustenance but does not alter the course of history) and occasionalism (whereby God manages up to the smallest details and creatures do not have any causal efficacy)(Murphy 1995). Unfortunately, there is no universally accepted definition of these two concepts in science and religion (and theology more generally), and some phenomena are difficult to classify as either general or special divine action. For example, the Eucharist (in the Roman Catholic tradition) or healing miracles outside of scripture seem mundane enough to be part of general housekeeping (general divine action) but still seem to involve some form of special intervention on God’s part. One way to distinguish them (Wildman 2008, 140) is to regard general divine action as the creation and sustenance of reality, and special divine action as the collection of specific providential acts, often at particular times and places, such as miracles and revelations to prophets. In the science and religion literature, there are two central questions on creation and divine action. To what extent are the Christian doctrine of creation and traditional views of divine action compatible with science? How can these concepts be understood within a scientific context, i.e., what does it mean for God to create and act? Note that the doctrine of creation does not say anything about the age of the Earth, nor does it specify a mode of creation. This allows for a wide range of possible views in the science and religion literature, of which Young Earth Creationism is but one that is consistent with scripture. Indeed, some scientific theories, such as the Big Bang theory, first proposed by the Belgian priest Georges Lemaître (1927), look congenial to the doctrine of creation. The theory seems to support creatio ex nihilo as it specifies that the universe originated from an extremely hot and dense state around 13.8 billion years ago (see e.g., Craig 2003), although some authors have argued against the interpretation that the universe had a temporal beginning (e.g., Pitts 1998). However, the net result of scientific findings since the seventeenth century has been that God was increasingly pushed into the margins. This encroachment of science on the territory of religion happened in two ways: first, scientific findings—in particular from geology and evolutionary theory—challenged biblical accounts of creation, in particular; second, the emerging concept of scientific laws in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century physics seemed to leave no room for special divine action. These two challenges will be discussed in this subsection, along with proposed solutions in the contemporary science and religion literature. Although the doctrine of creation does not specify a mode of creation, Christian authors have traditionally used the Bible as a source of historical information. Biblical exegesis about the creation narratives in the Bible, especially Genesis 1 and 2 (and some other scattered passages, such as in the Book of Job), remains fraught with difficulties. Are these texts to be interpreted in a historical, metaphorical, or poetic fashion, and what are we to make of the fact that the order of creation differs between these accounts (Harris 2013)? The Anglican archbishop James Ussher (1581-1656) used the Bible to date the beginning of creation at 4004 BCE. Although such literalist interpretations of the Biblical creation narratives were not uncommon, and are still used by Young Earth creationists today, theologians have offered alternative, non-literalist readings of the biblical materials (e.g., Augustine 416/2002). From the seventeenth century onward, the Christian doctrine of creation came under pressure from geology, with findings suggesting that the Earth was significantly older than 4004 BCE. From the eighteenth century on, natural philosophers such as de Maillet, Lamarck, Chambers, and Darwin, proposed transmutationist (what now would be called evolutionary) theories, which seem, on the face of it, incompatible with scriptural interpretations of special creation of species. Following the publication of Darwin’s Origin of Species (1859), there has been an ongoing discussion on how to reinterpret the doctrine of creation in the light of evolutionary theory (Bowler 2009). Ted Peters and Martinez Hewlett (2003) have outlined a divine action spectrum to clarify the distinct positions about creation and divine action in the contemporary science and religion literature. They discern two dimensions in this spectrum: the degree of divine action in the natural world, and the form of causal explanations that relate divine action with natural processes. At one extreme are creationists. Like other theists, they believe God has created the world and its fundamental laws, and that God occasionally performs special divine actions (miracles) that intervene in the fabric of laws. Creationists deny any role of natural selection in the origin of species. Within creationism, there are Old and Young Earth creationism, with the former accepting geology and rejecting evolutionary biology, and the latter rejecting both. Next to creationism on the spectrum is Intelligent Design creationism, which affirms divine intervention in natural processes. Evolutionary leaps (saltations) are required to move from one complex state to another. Intelligent Design creationists (e.g., (Dembski 1998) believe there is evidence of intelligent design in the way organisms exhibit irreducible complexity. Like other creationists, they deny a significant role for natural selection in shaping organic complexity. The main difference is they do not readily label the intelligent designer as God—this may be for strategic reasons, in particular, Intelligent Design creationists hope to circumvent the constitutional separation of church and state in the US which prohibits teaching religious doctrines in public schools (see e.g., Forrest and Gross 2004). Like other forms of creationism, it favors an interventionist account of divine action. Theistic evolution is situated in of the scale. Theistic evolutionists prefer a noninterventionist approach to divine action: God still creates, indirectly, through the laws of nature (e.g., through natural selection). The motivation for this stance is often a form of the free will defense: God prefers to let nature run its course according to its laws so it could become autonomous and free. The molecular biologist Kenneth Miller (1999/2007, 269) writes, “a Deity determined to establish a world that was truly independent of His whims, a world in which intelligent creatures would face authentic choices between good and evil, would have to fashion a distinct, material reality and then let His creation run.” The theologian John Haught (2000) likewise regards divine providence essentially as self-giving love, and natural selection and other natural processes as manifestations of this love, as they foster autonomy and independence. While theistic evolutionists still allow for special divine action, particularly the miracle of the Incarnation in Christ (e.g., Deane-Drummond 2009), deists think there is only general divine action: God has laid out the laws of nature and lets it run like clockwork. The next view, all at the end of the divine action spectrum is ontological materialism (or naturalism), the idea that there is no God and that natural laws are sufficient to explain the world (e.g., Worrall 2004). Materialists do not appeal to factors beyond nature. Views on divine action were influenced by developments in physics and their philosophical interpretation. In the seventeenth century, natural philosophers, such as Robert Boyle and John Wilkins, developed a mechanistic view of the world as governed by orderly and lawlike processes. Laws were understood as immutable and stable, which created difficulties for the concept of special divine action (Pannenberg 2002). How could God act in a world that was determined by laws? One way to regard miracles and other forms of special divine action is to see them as actions that somehow suspend or ignore the laws of nature. David Hume (1748, 181), for instance, defined a miracle as “a transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the deity, or by the interposal of some invisible agent”, and, more recently, Richard Swinburne (1968, 320) defines a miracle as “a violation of a law of Nature by a god.” This concept of divine action is commonly labeled interventionist. Interventionism regards the world as causally deterministic, so God has to create room for special divine actions. By contrast, non-interventionist forms of divine action (e.g., Murphy 1995) require a world that is, at some level, non-deterministic, so God can act without having to suspend or ignore the laws of nature. In the seventeenth century, the explanation of the workings of nature in terms of elegant physical laws seemed to suggest the ingenuity of a divine designer. The design argument reached its peak not with Paley’s Natural Theology (1802), which was a late voice in the debate on the design argument, but during the seventeenth and early eighteenth century (McGrath 2011). For example, Samuel Clarke proposed an a posteriori argument from design by appealing to Newtonian science, calling attention to the “exquisite regularity of all the planets’ motions without epicycles, stations, retrogradations, or any other deviation or confusion whatsoever” and “[t]he inexpressible niceties of the adjustments of the primary velocity and original directions of the annual motions of the planets, with their distance from the central body and their force of gravitation towards it”. He concluded that Newtonian science clearly indicated, “the supreme cause and author of all things must of necessity be infinitely wise” (cited in Schliesser 2012, 451). However, there was an alternative interpretation of the new law-based physics: a universe that was able to run smoothly without requiring any intervening God. The increasingly deterministic understanding of the universe, ruled by deterministic causal laws as e.g., outlined by Laplace (1799), seemed to leave no room for special divine action, which is a key element of the traditional Christian doctrine of creation. Newton himself resisted this interpretation in an addendum to the Principia in 1713: the planets’ motions could be explained by laws of gravity, but the positions of their orbits, and the positions of the stars—far enough apart so as not to influence each other gravitationally—required a divine explanation (Schliesser 2012). Advances in 20th century physics, including the theories of general and special relativity, chaos theory, and quantum theory, overturned the mechanical clockwork view of creation. The physicist Arthur Eddington (1882-1944) already proposed “religion first became possible for a reasonable scientific man” thanks to these developments (cited in Bowler 2001, 36). But it took until the later decades of the twentieth century before theologians took up the challenge of reinterpreting theology in the light of modern science, for example in the five conferences and six volumes co-sponsored by the Vatican Observatory and the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences in Berkeley on scientific perspectives on divine action. Chaos theory and quantum physics have been explored as possible avenues to reinterpret divine action. John Polkinghorne (1998) proposed that chaos theory not only presents epistemological limits to what we can know about the world, it also provides the world with an “ontological openness”, in which God can operate without violating the laws of nature. One difficulty with this model is that it moves from our knowledge of the world to assumptions about how the world is: does chaos theory mean that outcomes are genuinely undetermined, or only that we as limited humans cannot predict them (Murphy 1995)? Murphy (1995) outlined a bottom-up model where God can act in the space provided by quantum indeterminacy. These attempts to locate God’s actions either in quantum mechanics or chaos theory, which Lydia Jaeger (2012a) has termed the “physicalism-plus-God”, have met with sharp criticism (e.g., Saunders 2002, Jaeger 2012a,b). William Carroll (2008) argues— building on Thomistic philosophy—that authors such as Murphy and Polkinghorne are making a category mistake: God is not a cause in a way creatures are causes, competing with natural causes, and God does not need indeterminacy in order to act in the world. Rather, as primary cause God supports and grounds secondary causes. While this solution is compatible with determinism (indeed, on this view, the precise details of physics do not matter much), it blurs the distinction between general and special divine action. There has been a debate on the question to what extent randomness is a genuine feature of creation, and how divine action and chance interrelate: does God play dice? Chance and stochasticity are important features of evolutionary theory: the non-random retention of random variations. In a famous thought experiment, Gould (1989) imagined that we could rewind the tape of life back to the time of the Burgess Shale (508 million years ago); the chance we would end up with anything like the life forms we have today is vanishingly small. Simon Conway Morris (2003) has argued against this, appealing to instances of convergent evolution which purportedly show that species very similar to the ones we know now (including human-like intelligent species) would evolve under a broad range of conditions. Under a theist interpretation, randomness could either be a merely apparent aspect of creation, or a genuine feature. Alvin Plantinga (2011, 121) suggests that randomness is a physicalist interpretation of the evidence. God may have guided every mutation along the evolutionary process. In this way, God could “guide the course of evolutionary history by causing the right mutations to arise at the right time and preserving the forms of life that lead to the results he intends.” By contrast, some authors in science and religion see the stochasticity as a genuine design feature, and not just as a physicalist gloss. Their challenge is to explain how divine providence is compatible with genuine randomness. (Under a deistic view, one could simply say that God started the universe off and did not interfere with how it went, but that option is not open to the theist, and most authors in the field of science and religion are theists, rather than deists). Elizabeth Johnson (1996), using a Thomistic view of divine action, argues that divine providence and true randomness are compatible, God gives creatures true causal powers, thus making creation more excellent than if they lacked such powers, and random occurrences are also secondary causes; chance is a form of divine creativity that creates novelty, variety, and freedom. One implication of this view is that God is a risk taker. Johnson (1996) uses metaphors of risk taking that, on the whole, leave the creator in a position of control, such as jazz improvisation. But it is a risk nonetheless. Why would God take it? There are several solutions to this question. The free will theodicy says that a creation that exhibits true stochasticity can be truly free and autonomous: “Authentic love requires freedom, not manipulation. Such freedom is best supplied by the open contingency of evolution, and not by strings of divine direction attached to every living creature” (Miller 1999/2007, 289). Others go a step further, arguing that a combination of laws and chance is not only the best way, but the only way for God to achieve God’s creative plans, the “only way theodicy” (see e.g., Southgate 2008 for a defense). 3.2 Human origins Christianity, Islam, and Judaism have similar creation stories, which are all based on the first chapter of the Hebrew Bible (Genesis). According to Genesis, humans are the result of a special act of creation. Genesis 1 offers an account of the creation of the world in six days, with the creation of human beings on the sixth day. It specifies that humans were created male and female, and that they were made in God’s image. Genesis 2 provides a different order of creation, where God creates humans earlier in the sequence (before other animals), and only initially creates a man, fashioning a woman later out of the man’s rib. Islam has a creation narrative similar to Genesis 2, with Adam being fashioned out of clay. These first handcrafted humans are regarded as the ancestors of all living humans today. Together with Ussher’s chronology, the received view in western culture until the eighteenth century was that humans were created only about 6000 years ago, in an act of special creation. Traditionally, humans have occupied a privileged position in creation accounts. In Christianity, Judaism, and some strands of Islam, humans are created in the image of God (imago Dei). There are three different ways in which this image-bearing is understood (Cortez 2010). According to the functionalist account, humans are in the image of God by virtue of things they do, such as having dominion over nature. The structuralist account emphasizes characteristics that humans uniquely possess, such as reason. The relational interpretation sees the image as a special relationship between God and humanity. Humans also occupy a special place in creation as a result of their fall, or original sin. In Genesis 3, the account of original sin stipulates that the first human couple lived in the Garden of Eden in a state of innocence or perfection (depending on the interpretation of the narrative). By eating from the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Good and Evil, they fell from this state, and death, manual labor, as well as pain in childbirth were introduced. The Augustinian interpretation of original sin emphasizes the distorting effects of sin on our reasoning capacities (the so-called noetic effects of sin). As a result of sin, our original perceptual and reasoning capacities have been marred. This interpretation is quite influential in contemporary analytic philosophy of religion, for example, Plantinga (2000) appeals to the noetic effects of sin to explain diversity in religious belief and unbelief in his extended Aquinas/Calvin model, i.e., why not everyone believes Christianity is true given that such beliefs would be properly basic. Whereas Augustine believed that the pre-lapsarian state was one of perfection, Irenaeus (second century) saw Adam and Eve prior to the fall as innocent, a bit like children who were still in development. He believed that the fall frustrated, but did not obliterate God’s plans for humans to gradually grow spiritually, and that the Incarnation was God’s way to help repair the damage. Scientific findings and theories relevant to human origins come from a range of disciplines, in particular geology, paleoanthropology (the study of ancestral hominins, using fossils and other evidence), archaeology, and evolutionary biology. These findings challenge traditional religious accounts of humanity, including the special creation of humanity, the imago Dei, the historical Adam (and Eve), and original sin. In natural philosophy, the dethroning of humanity from its special position predates Darwin and can already be found in early transmutationist works. For example, Benoît de Maillet’s posthumously published Telliamed (1755, the title is his name in reverse) traces the origins of humans and other terrestrial animals from sea creatures. Jean Baptiste Lamarck proposed chimpanzees as the ancestors to humans in his Philosophie Zoologique (1809). Robert Chambers’ anonymously published Vestiges of Creation (1844) stirred controversy by its detailed naturalistic account of the origin of species. He proposed that the first organisms arose through spontaneous generation, and that all present organisms evolved from them. He argued that all humans have a single evolutionary origin: “The probability may now be assumed that the human race sprung from one stock, which was at first in a state of simplicity, if not barbarism” (p. 305), a view starkly different from the Augustinian interpretation of humanity in a prelapsarian state of perfection. Darwin was initially reluctant to publish on human origins. He did not discuss human evolution in his Origin of species but promised that “Light will be thrown on the origin of man and his history” (1859, 487). Huxley (1863) wrote the first book on human evolution from a Darwinian point of view. Man’s Place in Nature discussed fossil evidence, such as the then recently uncovered Neanderthal fossils from Gibraltar. Darwin’s (1871) Descent of Man identified Africa as the likely place where humans originated, and used comparative anatomy to demonstrate that chimpanzees and gorillas were most closely related to humans. The anatomical resemblance between humans and other great apes was even apparent to a nonevolutionist such as Linnaeus, who classified humans and primates together in the order Anthropomorpha. In the twentieth century, paleoanthropologists debated whether humans separated from the other great apes (at the time wrongly classified into the clade Pongidae) long ago, about 15 million years ago, or relatively recently, about 5 million years ago. Molecular clocks—first immune responses (e.g., Sarich and Wilson 1967), then direct genetic evidence (Rieux et al. 2014)—favor the shorter chronology. The discovery of many hominin fossils, including Ardipithecus ramidus (4.4 million years ago), Australopithecus afarensis (the fossil called “Lucy”), about 3.5 million years old), the Sima de los Huesos fossils (Spain, about 400,000 years old, ancestors to the Neanderthals), Homo neanderthalensis, and the intriguing Homo floresiensis (small hominins who lived on the island of Flores, Indonesia, dated to 700,00012,000 years ago) have created a rich, complex picture of hominin evolution. Fossils are now also supplemented by detailed analysis of ancient DNA extracted from fossil remains, bringing to light a previously unknown species of hominin (the Denisovans) who lived in Siberia up to about 40,000 years ago. Taken together, this evidence indicates that humans did not simply evolve in a linear fashion, but that human evolution resembles an intricate branching tree, with many dead ends, in line with the evolution of other species. Genetic and fossil evidence favors a relatively recent origin of our species, Homo sapiens, in Africa at about 200,000 years ago, with some limited interbreeding with Neanderthals and Denisovans (less than 5% of our DNA) (see Stringer 2012 for an overview). In the light of these scientific findings, contemporary science and religion authors have considered the questions of human uniqueness and imago Dei, the Incarnation, and the historicity of original sin. Some authors have attempted to reinterpret human uniqueness as a number of species-specific cognitive and behavioral adaptations. For example, J. Wentzel van Huyssteen (2006) considers the ability of humans to engage in cultural and symbolic behavior, which became prevalent in the Upper Paleolithic, as a key feature of uniquely human behavior. Other theologians have opted to broaden the notion of imago Dei. Given what we know about the capacities for morality and reason in non-human animals, Celia Deane-Drummond (2012) and Oliver Putz (2009) reject an ontological distinction between humans and non-human animals, and argue for a reconceptualization of the imago Dei to include at least some non-human animals. Joshua Moritz (2011) raises the question of extinct hominin species, such as Homo neanderthalensis and Homo floresiensis, which co-existed with Homo sapiens for some part of prehistory. To what extent do such hominins partake in the divine image? Within the Christian science and religion literature, there is also discussion on how we can understand the Incarnation (the belief that the Jesus, the second person of the Trinity, became incarnate) with the evidence we have of human evolution. The generally accepted Chalcedonian metaphysical view regards Jesus Christ as one person with two natures, human and divine. Science and religion authors tend to interpret Christ’s divine nature quite liberally. For instance, Arthur Peacocke (1979) regarded Jesus as the point where humanity is perfect for the first time. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1971) had a teleological, progressivist interpretation of evolution: according to him, Christ is the progression and culmination of what evolution has been working toward (even though the historical Jesus lived 2000 years ago). According to Teilhard, evil is still horrible but no longer incomprehensible, it becomes a natural feature of creation—since God chose evolution as his mode of creation, evil arises as an inevitable byproduct. Deane-Drummond (2009), however, points out that this interpretation is problematic: Teilhard worked with a Spencerian model of evolution as progressive, and he was anthropocentric, seeing humanity as the culmination of evolution. Current evolutionary theory has repudiated the Spencerian progressivist view, and adheres to a stricter Darwinian model. DeaneDrummond, who regards human morality as lying on a continuum with social behavior of other animals, conceptualizes the fall as a mythical, rather than a historical event. The fall represents humanity’s sharper awareness of moral concerns and its ability for making wrong choices. Drawing on the wisdom tradition, she regards Christ as incarnate wisdom, situated in a theodrama that plays against the backdrop of an evolving creation. As a human being, Christ is connected to the rest of creation, as we all are through common descent. By saving us, he saves the whole of creation. Debates on the fall and the historical Adam have centered on the question to what extent these narratives can be interpreted in the light of science. On the face of it, limitations of our cognitive capacities can be naturalistically explained as a result of energetic and other biological constraints, and there seems little explanatory gain to appeal to the narrative of the fall. Nevertheless, some authors have attempted to interpret the theological concepts of sin and fall in a way that is compatible with paleoanthropology. Peter van Inwagen (2004) interprets original sin in the light of historical and paleoanthropological evidence. God providentially guided hominin evolution until there was a tightly-knit community of primates, endowed with reason, language, and free will, and this community was in close union with God. At some point in history, these hominins somehow abused their free will to distance themselves from God. For van Inwagen, the fall was a fall from perfection, following the Augustinian tradition. As John Schneider (2014) observes, there is no genetic or paleoanthropological evidence for such a community of superhuman beings. Schneider (2014) and Helen De Cruz and Johan De Smedt (2013) favor an Irenaean, rather than an Augustinian interpretation of the original sin narrative, which does not involve a historical Adam, and emphasizes original innocence as the state that humans had prior to them sinning. 4. Future directions in science and religion This final section will look at two examples of work in science and religion that have received a lot of recent attention in the literature, and that probably will be important in the coming years: evolutionary ethics and implications of the cognitive science of religion. 4.1 Evolutionary ethics Even before Darwin formulated his theory of natural selection, Victorian authors fretted over the implications of evolutionary theory for morality and religion. The geologist Adam Sedgwick (1845/1890, 84) worried that the transmutationist theory of The Vestiges of Creation (1844) were true, it would imply that “religion is a lie; human law is a mass of folly, and a base injustice; morality is moonshine”. Evolutionary theorists from Darwin (1871) onward explicitly argued that human morality is continuous with social behaviors in non-human animals, and that we can explain moral sentiments as the result of natural selection. More contentiously, Michael Ruse (e.g., Ruse and Wilson 1986), who started a revival of evolutionary ethics in the 1980s, has argued that our belief that morality is objective is an illusion that helps us to cooperate better. Contemporary evolutionary ethicists argue that our ability to make moral judgments, which Joyce 2006 terms our “moral sense,” is the result of natural selection. This capacity has evolutionary precursors in the ability of non-human animals to empathize, cooperate, reconcile, and engage in fair play (see e.g., de Waal 2009 for a popularizing account). Some philosophers (e.g., Street 2006, Joyce 2006) have argued that the evolution of the moral sense has implications for the purported objective, mind-independent status of moral norms. Since we can explain ethical beliefs and behaviors as a result of their long-term fitness consequences, we do not need to invoke ethical realism as an explanation. Some authors in science and religion ask whether evolutionary challenges to moral beliefs apply in an analogous way to religious beliefs (see Bergmann and Kain 2014, especially part III). Others have examined whether evolutionary ethics makes appeals to God in ethical matters redundant. John Hare (2004), for example, has argued that this is not the case, because evolutionary ethics can only explain why we do things that ultimately benefit us, even if indirectly (e.g., through the mechanisms of kin selection and reciprocal altruism). Evolutionary ethics does not explain our sense of moral obligation that goes beyond biological self-interest. According to Hare, evolutionary theory predicts that we would always rank biological self-interest over moral obligations. Therefore, theism, divine grace in particular, provides a more coherent explanation of why we feel we have to follow up on moral obligations. An intriguing development in this field is the collaboration between theologians and scientists. For example, the theologian Sarah Coakley has closely collaborated with the mathematician and biologist Martin Nowak to understand altruism and game theory in a broader theological and scientific context (Nowak and Coakley 2013). 4.2 Implications of cognitive science of religion for the rationality of religious beliefs The cognitive science of religion examines the cognitive basis of religious beliefs. Recent work in science and religion has examined the implications of this research for the justification of religious beliefs. De Cruz and De Smedt (2015) have examined recent work in cognitive science of religion and show that arguments in natural theology are also influenced by evolved cognitive dispositions. For example, the design argument may derive its intuitive appeal from an evolved, early-developed propensity in humans to ascribe purpose and design to objects in their environment. They argue that this complicates natural theological projects, which rely on a distinction between the origins of a religious belief and their justification. Kelly Clark and Justin L. Barrett (2011) argue that the cognitive science of religion offers the prospect of an empirically-informed Reidian defense of religious belief. Thomas Reid (1764) proposed we are justified in holding beliefs that arise from cognitive faculties universally present in humans which give rise to spontaneous, non-inferential beliefs. If cognitive scientists are right in proposing that belief in God arises naturally from the workings of our minds, we are prima facie justified in believing in God, according to Clark and Barrett (2011). Ryan Nichols and Robert Callergård (2011), however, argue that this defense only works for perceptual faculties, memory, and reliance on testimony, not for the mix of culture and evolved biases that constitute religions, as this is not a Reidian faculty. Other authors (e.g., Visala 2011) claim that the cognitive science of religion does not have positive or negative epistemological implications. John Wilkins and Paul Griffiths (2013) argue that the evolved origins of religious beliefs can figure in an evolutionary debunking argument against religious belief, which they formulate along the lines of Kahane (2011): Causal Premise: S's belief that p is caused by the evolutionary process X Epistemic Premise: The evolutionary process X does not track the truth of propositions like p Conclusion: Therefore, S's belief that P is not justified (warranted) Wilkins and Griffiths (2013) argue that the epistemic premise can sometimes be resisted: evolutionary processes do track truth, for instance, in the case of commonsense beliefs, and by extension, scientific beliefs. 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Other Internet resources https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Relationship_between_religion_and_science http://biologos.org/ https://ncse.com/library-resource/science-religion Related Entries http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/natural-theology/ http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/hume-religion/ http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/teleological-arguments/ http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/cosmological-argument/