Religious Truth and Scientific Truth -- An Exploration
This is the third installment of my exploration of Philip Clayton’s Adventures in the Spirit (Fortress, 2008). This effort is offered as a contribution to the Transforming Theology conversation, and effort to bring critical theology into engagement with the church and the community, so that both theology and the church might be transformed, and as they are transformed, so might the world.
In his pursuit of a suitably critical faith, Philip Clayton takes up in chapter 2 of Adventures in the Spirit, a comparison of scientific and theological truth. He asks the pertinent question – is scientific truth different from theological truth? If we answer that they are the same, then couldn’t theology eventually be subsumed under the sciences? If not, then will not theology be excluded from the conversations taken up in the sciences? Either choice seems unsettling for those pursuing theological questions.
In pursuit of an answer, he turns to phenomenology – a “field of philosophy that attempts to describe the way that phenomena actually appear, noting similarities and differences between diverse areas of human experience” (p. 38). From that perspective, he wrestles with these two forms of inquiry. He explores these questions in three ways: First, in terms of science’s “natural attitude,” or objectivity; second “hermeneutical construal,” or science as a subjective human activity; and finally “negating the negation” – or, “neither dichotomizing nor identifying their two types of truth” (p. 39).
In the pursuit of truth, we must understand the nature of both science and theology. Traditionally, science is understood to be objective and testable, while theology is subjective, passionate, and inherently perspectival (pp. 41-42). But one could argue that science has a perspectival element, and theology a more objective one. When approached phenomenologically, this picture doesn’t seem adequate. At the very minimum, the two quests seem compatible with each other. In fact, one could argue that there is no real difference, for science itself is perspectival (especially the social sciences). That is, even the scientist has an interpretive context to work from (42-43).
Without getting into the details of the definitions of science, Clayton asks the question – if we understand science hermeneutically, isn’t the approach to religious truth pretty much the same as that of scientific truth? And as for objectivity, Clayton notes that believers are often better able to incorporate doubt into their pursuit of truth than can scientists. He writes regarding what he calls “secular believers”:
“Such believers remain committed to the beliefs and ritual practices of their tradition while at the same time holding them open to (active or passive) doubt. In a dynamic that Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, and their friends have completely overlooked, this means that religious believers may actually evidence a more tentative, hypothetical stance toward their beliefs than many scientists do. The scientist may (sometimes? frequently?) Be more firmly and devoutly attached to her theories than (some? many?) religious believers are to theirs” (p. 47).
At this point of the discussion I’d like to note a caution that Karl Giberson raises in Saving Darwin (HarperOne, 2008). Giberson cautions against too closely identifying theology and science – especially the claims that theology is one of the sciences or that beyond that it is the queen of the sciences. Having made that note, I’m intrigued by this attempt to bridge the two so that at least there’s room for conversation.
Clayton, in the end, however, opts for a third perspective. Even as science and theology/religion are not completely different modes of reality, neither are they identical. They are, however, compatible. He gives several reasons as to why this is true.
In his pursuit of a suitably critical faith, Philip Clayton takes up in chapter 2 of Adventures in the Spirit, a comparison of scientific and theological truth. He asks the pertinent question – is scientific truth different from theological truth? If we answer that they are the same, then couldn’t theology eventually be subsumed under the sciences? If not, then will not theology be excluded from the conversations taken up in the sciences? Either choice seems unsettling for those pursuing theological questions.
In pursuit of an answer, he turns to phenomenology – a “field of philosophy that attempts to describe the way that phenomena actually appear, noting similarities and differences between diverse areas of human experience” (p. 38). From that perspective, he wrestles with these two forms of inquiry. He explores these questions in three ways: First, in terms of science’s “natural attitude,” or objectivity; second “hermeneutical construal,” or science as a subjective human activity; and finally “negating the negation” – or, “neither dichotomizing nor identifying their two types of truth” (p. 39).
In the pursuit of truth, we must understand the nature of both science and theology. Traditionally, science is understood to be objective and testable, while theology is subjective, passionate, and inherently perspectival (pp. 41-42). But one could argue that science has a perspectival element, and theology a more objective one. When approached phenomenologically, this picture doesn’t seem adequate. At the very minimum, the two quests seem compatible with each other. In fact, one could argue that there is no real difference, for science itself is perspectival (especially the social sciences). That is, even the scientist has an interpretive context to work from (42-43).
Without getting into the details of the definitions of science, Clayton asks the question – if we understand science hermeneutically, isn’t the approach to religious truth pretty much the same as that of scientific truth? And as for objectivity, Clayton notes that believers are often better able to incorporate doubt into their pursuit of truth than can scientists. He writes regarding what he calls “secular believers”:
“Such believers remain committed to the beliefs and ritual practices of their tradition while at the same time holding them open to (active or passive) doubt. In a dynamic that Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, and their friends have completely overlooked, this means that religious believers may actually evidence a more tentative, hypothetical stance toward their beliefs than many scientists do. The scientist may (sometimes? frequently?) Be more firmly and devoutly attached to her theories than (some? many?) religious believers are to theirs” (p. 47).
At this point of the discussion I’d like to note a caution that Karl Giberson raises in Saving Darwin (HarperOne, 2008). Giberson cautions against too closely identifying theology and science – especially the claims that theology is one of the sciences or that beyond that it is the queen of the sciences. Having made that note, I’m intrigued by this attempt to bridge the two so that at least there’s room for conversation.
Clayton, in the end, however, opts for a third perspective. Even as science and theology/religion are not completely different modes of reality, neither are they identical. They are, however, compatible. He gives several reasons as to why this is true.
- First, objectivity remains the “regulative ideal” of science, while this isn’t true of religion. Science can be done with the head alone, but not religion. (P. 49).
- Science is interested in mastering nature – that is, its search for truth is predicated on the belief that this pursuit will prove useful in understanding and making use of nature. Religion, Clayton suggests, is marked by a sense of “unpossessability.” He writes: “The religious attitude never claims to master the object of devotion, even in those moments of greatest closeness when the mystic believes she is most clearly perceiving the divine” (p. 50). To try to master nature through religion is to venture into magic.
- Unlike science, for religion, the divine is not just one object among many. For religion (theology), the divine is the “ground of all experience.”
- Science is geared toward narrowing the differences of perspective – you test and discern which theory works best. Religion, Clayton says, is enriched by religious differences. Now, I believe that there are those would beg to differ. The ecumenical movement and even some interfaith movements have been predicated on discerning a common ground that seeks to eliminate differences. Insistence on religious orthodoxy can also move toward narrowing the differences, but Clayton offers a different way (p. 51).
The key – so far as I can tell – to this pursuit of truth is to recognize our boundaries of understanding. Science will be more objective than theology. Both entail a degree of doubt, but faith often moves beyond doubt to take things by faith. Our goal, however, is to develop a critical faith, one that doesn’t simply engage in “easy believism.” It is a faith that is able to pursuit truth by asking hard questions. It is a faith that is able to have a conversation with science – neither trying to dominate nor being subject to it. From here, we continue the conversation.
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