Intelligent Dishonesty (by design)
Opinion Paper: 29 March 2006
–by Mike Murray
I am an admirer — not an adversary — of those who professionally engage in scientific endeavors. I envy them their efforts; I applaud their accomplishments. Nevertheless, I have to say it: many of them have lately been getting off the subject.
If I raise my voice here in something less than total praise of scientists, however, neither do I seek to bury them. Nor do I intend to cross technical swords with those who’ve devoted their lives to memorizing intricate formulas and making complex calculations. I’m quite certain that anyone with a “fud” (that’s a Ph.D. to those of you not familiar with academia) in physics can run rings around me at the chalk board.
Still, I am deeply troubled by the bashing that theology has been taking in recent years at the hands of career scientists. Before you get the wrong idea, you should know that I am not a member of any organized religion (or of any disorganized one, either). I grew up Catholic, but I long ago shed my adherence to the tenets of that — or any other — religious faith.
I have a vague, conceptual belief in some kind of “supreme being.” I see that conviction as being not at all at odds with science. I have stated it before and I will repeat it here: There is no belief system — scientific, religious, or any combination thereof — that escapes the requirement of faith.
For, to those scientists who say that a god cannot exist since one cannot be proved (and because no one can say from where such a god would have come), the retort is obvious. If the physical matter that presumably exploded in a “Big Bang” wasn’t created by a god, from where did that come? If a god did not create the stuff from which the universe supposedly evolved, who — or what — did?
If it cannot be proved that “God always was,” neither can it be proved that “matter always existed.” A degree of faith (or of sticking one’s head in the sand) is involved, whichever way you slice it.
Scientists of many stripes — most notably those in the fields of physics, astronomy, and biology — have in recent years been vigorously attacking the notion of “intelligent design.” More precisely, they have been attacking the notion of an “Intelligent Designer.” A Creator. God.
Case Western Reserve University’s Lawrence Krauss is quoted by Jim Holt in a piece first published in Slate as stating flatly, “…theology, if it’s relevant, has to be consistent with science. At the same time I was thinking, ‘It doesn’t matter what you have to say, because whatever theology has to say is irrelevant to science’.” Krauss was one of several theologians and scientists who had been invited to the Vatican for discussions about the future of the universe. (It’s refreshing to see that Krauss entered the talks with an open, objective mind.)
Even the late Carl Sagan — a man whom I regard highly — argued many times that there is no god. My regard for Sagan survives the fact that he gratuitously gave credit for an age-old musing to his wife, Ann Druyan, in one of his final books: The Pale Blue Dot.
Druyan’s argument went like this: that it is improbable that a god, any god, would have created all of the universe for the exclusive enjoyment of we humans here on Planet Earth. Did Sagan really believe that his beloved, second-wife Annie was the first person to entertain that particular thought-experiment? Really?
My regard for Carl Sagan also survives the fact that, in his final years, the good doctor seemed more interested in politics than in science. He seemed more interested in attacking conservatives and in bashing religion (particularly Christianity) than in conducting valid, meaningful, research.
No matter. Such were the man’s earlier accomplishments in engaging millions of people worldwide in scientific contemplation that they dwarf his eventual political indulgences. Sagan’s late-in-life trading on his popularity to advance political agendas was made possible — after all — by the fact that he had, undeniably, built one heck of a reputation. He made science accessible, interesting, wonderful.
Still.
The presumption of too many people working in scientific positions is thus: science is objective (legitimate), religion is subjective (faith-based). In the matter of the latter, there is no argument; in the case of the former, I disagree.
Scientific methodology calls for observation, experimentation, or contemplation (or some combination of the three) to move a hypothesis to a theory. If other scientists independently replicate a presenter’s results — and if no one succeeds at attempts to disprove the core contention(s) within some period of time — the proposed theory becomes “accepted” theory. It often remains unproven. Many times, a new theory eventually supplants it.
Hence, even when scientists do make honest efforts at objectivity, actual proof (the hurdle they demand that theologians clear in order to establish legitimacy) is routinely absent in their own work.
The scientists who argue against a Supreme Being’s hand in the creation of the universe cite the giants of physics past. They speak of Nicholas Copernicus, who (like Aristarchus in ancient times before him) departed from Ptolemy (Claudius Ptolemaeus), arguing for a solar system in which the Earth circles the Sun — instead of the other way around. They breathe the name of Galileo Galilei, who suffered house arrest at the hands of the Catholic Church in his later years for defending that very notion.
Those same scientists invoke the memory of Johannes Kepler, who worked out the ellipses that the planets scribe in their journeys around Old Sol. And they recall Isaac Newton’s theory of gravity, and then Albert Einstein’s revision — through his work on general relativity — to bolster their views.
Pretty heady stuff, that. And a most impressive list of experts.
But those making the argument for “matter evolving to consciousness” — without any help at all from any kind of Creator — commit a grievous intellectual sin: the sin of omission. For, while they faithfully report some facts relating to the evolution of physics theory, they studiously edit out that which fails to serve their postulates (or, worse, that has the potential of undermining them altogether).
Kepler, Galileo, Newton, Einstein — they were all seeking to reveal the hand of God, not to disprove it. They were all believers in a Supreme Being, one who they (devoutly) reckoned created the universe. They were all attempting to “read the mind of God,” as Einstein (and perhaps Kepler before him) put it. (Stephen Hawking often repeats that phrase — usually without attribution — in discussing the Holy Grail of present-day physics: the so-called Unified Theory, the “theory of everything.”)
Moreover, those who invoke the largest names in physics in making their arguments leave out even more. For example, Galileo did argue for the earlier-established notion that the Earth circles (oops, sorry Johannes: ellipses) the Sun. But all parties were then certain that one or the other heavenly body constituted the very center of the universe.
The Catholic Church wrongly believed that the universe revolved around the Earth, in a geocentric system. But Galileo was only slightly less wrong in asserting that the entirety of the universe revolved around the Sun (in a heliocentric system).
Newton — building on work done previously by Kepler — told us that gravity is a force, capable of acting at a distance in predictable ways. He worked out successful calculations that relied on the associated masses and distances of respective bodies, ultimately arriving at his inverse-square law.
Einstein said that Newton was correct, to a point. But his paper on general relativity held that objects do not use mass to act directly on other objects in an unconnected way through the emptiness of space. Rather, Einstein argued that objects use mass to warp the very fabric of space, a warping that subsequently acts on bodies traveling through the disturbed, distorted space-time fabric.
Kepler first “knew” that the planets’ orbits were circles (what, but a perfect geometric shape, he reasoned, would God use to guide their motions?) Later, he accepted that only elliptical transits fit the detailed observations of Tycho Brahe, that only they allowed for mathematically accurate orbit predictions.
Galileo “knew” that our Sun was the center of the universe.
Newton “knew” that gravity could act through a vacuum to pull one object toward another. Einstein “knew” that completely disjointed objects could do no such thing. He “knew” that something must connect them. Einstein “knew” that a massive body acts on the area around it, warping space-time in such a way that it — subsequently — influences the motion of objects affected by the disturbed medium (in much the same way, he argued, that Michael Faraday’s and James Clerk Maxwell’s work demonstrated that a magnet creates a field around it, which then influences ferrous material passing through it).
Today, physicists think they “know” that at least part of an area of study that Einstein inspired (via his study of light transmission, and his subsequent breakthroughs that led to the “light quanta” particles we today call photons, and that completed current wave-particle theory) is at odds with some of his earlier work. At the very least, they “know” that the physics of the very large (that which explains the motions and actions of stars, solar systems, galaxies, and such) does not comport well with the quantum-mechanics physics of the very small (sub-atomic particles like quarks and neutrinos).
Physicists, astronomers, and cosmologists over the years have “known” so many things that were later displaced by other “known” things. How much are they wrong about today?
Consider the currently in-vogue Big Bang theory of the universe’s creation. All of the known universe was once ( 8 to 15 billion years ago, depending upon which astronomer you consult) compressed into a space smaller than the head of pin. A titanic explosion sent forth matter in all directions. That matter eventually became the galaxies, stars, planets, moons, asteroids, comets, etc. that we see today.
There were a few difficulties with that theory, however. First among them was the issue of matter distribution. In a perfect explosion, energy and matter (post-Big Bang) would have been scattered uniformly about, everything thrown everywhere away from everything else, making the coalescence necessary to form larger objects impossible.
No problem. Hypotheses were developed that allowed for irregularity in early universe matter distribution, clearing the way for the “clumping” necessary for gravity to make gas, dust, and, ultimately, larger objects such as stars. (The stars, in turn, fused gases into heavier elements, spewing them forth at the times of their deaths, to form a variety of celestial objects.)
But there was an earlier, even bigger, difficulty with Big-Bang theory. When Edwin Hubble first discovered — with the help of Milton Humason — that the universe was expanding, a can of worms was opened.
The Doppler-effect, red-shifted results of their spectrometry observations revealed an everywhere-expanding universe. That is, in every direction they looked, galaxies were moving away from each other and the Earth (and, therefore, its Milky Way-galaxy home). More startling, the further galaxies were from us and each other, the faster they were “receding.”
It was these results that led to the very notion of the Big Bang. For, they reasoned, if one were to “run the clock backward,” to regress that which they observed, wouldn’t all the matter run back into itself and settle into a single point? It seemed to make sense. (So persuasive were Humason’s and Hubble’s observations that Einstein, after reviewing the evidence first-hand at Mount Wilson observatory in 1931, immediately abandoned his belief in a “cosmological constant.”)
There was a fly in the ointment, however. Although an expanding universe was consistent with a Big-Bang start, the observed acceleration of galaxies was at odds with established laws of inertia and gravity. Think of it this way: the Big Bang was a momentary event — one big push. It’s kind of like a shot putter heaving his implement, or a catapult releasing its load. From the instant of initial impetus onward, gravity and inertia dictate that deceleration should occur. Instead, in the case of the observations at Mt. Wilson, the exact opposite was happening.
If you think that scientists revised their earlier hypothesis in the face of troubling new data, think again. Rather than review the reasonableness of their beliefs, they came up with a new phenomenon — still unproven — that they hoped would make sense of it all: “dark energy.” It is a force (unseen, undetected), that reconciles away messy incongruities.
They could be right about dark energy. Who knows? It’s for sure, however, that they don’t. Not yet, anyway. But that hasn’t stopped some among them from offering the hypothetical, the speculative, to the wider audience as accepted theory. It is not my intention to criticize these best-guess attempts at getting at the mysteries of the universe. Still, it does make scientists’ charges of subjectivity against theologians seem hypocritical and weak.
In a strange intersection of things religious and scientific, consider the following: Hindus believe that the universe undergoes an endless series of births, deaths, and rebirths — on a timescale of billions of years. That belief fits very neatly with one scientific theory of our universe’s potential fate.
Given the current “runaway expansion” that seems to be underway, scientists wonder if there is enough matter in the universe for gravity to eventually pull everything back together, into an ultimate Big Crunch. Following that event, they presume, would be another Big Bang. (The repeating cycle would result in an “oscillating” universe.) If there is insufficient matter — visible and dark — for that eventuality, endless expansion would, they figure, lead to a Big Chill.
Hindu dogma’s provision for a cosmos of endless beginnings and ends seems eerily congruent with science’s oscillating-universe model. That coincidence doesn’t argue for the reasonableness of religion. But it does demonstrate that scientists stretch credulity when they assert that they deal in things sober, and theologians in things fanciful.
In perhaps science’s most egregious misrepresentation, it offers the research of Charles Darwin — first as empirical evidence for evolution, and then as “proof” that there is no God. (Darwin did not, by the way, discover the concept of natural selection. He, instead, improved it by supplying greatly enhanced data.) And, while Darwin did provide compelling documentation for evolutionary steps in Earth’s history, he likely would have chafed at the notion that his was an “evolution versus God” argument.
Darwin was raised as a Unitarian. While engaged in higher-education study, he became an Anglican. It is true that, when publicly pushed to take a side in the religion debate, he ultimately embraced an agnostic position (neither arguing for — nor against — a god). But there is no indication that he was an atheist, that he thoroughly rejected the notion of a Supreme Being.
In what appears to have been an attempt to strike a compromise between pro- and anti-religious factions, Darwin chose a neutral posture. Darwin would probably have rejected the argument being made in his name today: that is, that it should be an absolutely either / or choice when it comes to discussions of evolution and intelligent design. To him, those two concepts were probably not mutually exclusive.
Darwin surely disbelieved the biblical “Garden of Eden” story. Nevertheless, there is no indication that he was hostile to the religious beliefs of others (as are many of the people invoking his memory today). I suspect that he was at least open to the possibility that some form of Creator provided initial mass, mass that many people believe evolved into the world we see today.
Consider the following two proposals. One holds that a bolt of cloth — the Shroud of Turin — contains the two-thousand-year-old visage of Jesus Christ. Carbon-14 dating results are mixed, as are studies of the raised, textural imprints on the material (though scanning electron-microscope analysis reveals something that encourages believers).
The other hypothesis says that a piece of rock found on the Earth’s surface during the 1990s is a meteorite that came from the planet Mars oh, say, a billion years ago. Scientific supporters contend there is evidence of what they say could be microbial poop on it. Alien, billion-year-old, microbial fecal-matter residue. Maybe. Celebrations were loud and long from some scientific quarters at the glorious “discovery.”
I’ll leave it to you to decide which one is the harder scenario to accept as “truth,” which one requires a greater leap of faith. But I do know one thing. Too many scientists hold theologians to standards to which they, themselves, do not adhere.
For far too many physicists, astronomers, and biologists it’s presently a case of “wrong in part, wrong in toto” when it comes to theology. According to them, if there was no actual Garden of Eden (and if there is any chance at all that life exists elsewhere in the universe), then the religious types are all wet.
What if scientists were held to that same standard? They’ve been wrong many, many times over the centuries. Copernicus (and Aristarchus) proved Ptolemy wrong about his earth-centric system. Kepler corrected the errant notion of circular orbits for planets. Newton likewise altered some earlier-held beliefs while refining his theories about gravitation. Einstein revised Newton and Maxwell. Today, many physicists are hard at work in their efforts to go beyond Einstein, to add to or modify the ideas of Field, Relativity, and Quanta.
In the past, scientists often thought they “knew” things, only to be proved — at least partially — wrong by those who followed in their footsteps. If members of society now said to scientists (as many of them are saying to theologians): “Sorry, if you’re wrong even a little, you’re wrong completely …and you have nothing to say to us,” would they deem it reasonable?
It would be wrong to attack scientists’ laudable efforts at observation, experimentation, and contemplation in formulating hypotheses and theories that seek to move our understanding of the physical world forward. It is just as wrong, in my judgment, for scientists to engage in religion-bashing. Regardless of one’s personal beliefs on the subject of theology, such activity is uncalled for. Counterproductive, even.
Moreover, a great many of history’s giants, working in a variety of scientific fields, have sought to prove God’s handiwork — not to dispel it. To use them today, deceptively (directly or indirectly), in the service of religious detraction is more than heresy. It is intellectual dishonesty.
Copyright ©2006 Michael F. Murray All rights reserved.
cross-posted at: mike-murray.com
