Science and Spirituality

When I fly, I know there are angels beneath the wings holding us aloft. I don’t have to see them to know they’re there – and don’t expect I ever will see one. But flying is magical, and wouldn’t be possible without divine intervention. I am not ignorant of the science behind flight. In college I studied Bernoulli’s laws, and the dynamics of how wings pull a plane up into the sky. After 21 years, I’m a little rusty on the equations, but I know more or less how wings work. That knowledge never for a moment made it any less magical.

I also know that sometimes planes fall out of the sky with devastating effect, and pray that mine will not be one of them. Typically my prayers never rise to the level of consciousness, but on particularly turbulent flights, they are very much the center of my attention. But I’m also aware that when planes fall from the sky, the good folks at NTSB can usually piece together what went wrong from the parts that remain – and that the results of their investigation are never ‘angelic inattention’.

As much as I find the technological details of flight fascinating, there are existential questions for which these reveal nothing. Though unnatural, flight is the manifestation of one of humanity’s longest held dreams, and its reduction to mere aerodynamics and metallurgy somehow seems a vulgarity.

On the other hand, it is precisely that vulgarity I hope for on the part of those designing, building, and maintaining these lofty miracles. It does not matter to me at all whether these engineers, technicians and mechanics find poetry in human flight, or consider it a gift from God, or whatever. I want them to know and flawlessly apply the relevant science – period.

When somebody I care about is sick, I pray for a quick recovery and a return to full health. Those prayers are as sincere, and immediate (if perhaps less demonstrative) as any medieval supplicant depicted by the creative minds of Monte Python. I believe fully in the power of those prayers – and take comfort in sharing them. But for many illnesses there is a scientifically prescribed treatment – whether it is bed-rest, antibiotics, surgery, or whatever; and my prayers are accompanied by advice to follow doctor’s orders. When my Mother was fighting lymphoma our fervent prayers were accompanied by helping Mom stay on her meds schedule. Six years have passed, and Mom’s smile remains a part of our lives today. Was it the prayers, the meds, the dietary changes? I don’t know and don’t care.

So am I a hypocrite? A man of science who falls back on religion when I’m insecure? Maybe – but if so, I’m a sincere hypocrite, because I truly believe in both science and faith, and don’t feel any irreconcilable conflict between them. Maybe a term would be a ‘belt and suspenders’ believer. Am I superstitious? Yup! Let’s go to the source – Stevie Wonder defines ‘superstitious’ as ‘when you believe in things that you don’t understand …’, and I’m willing to cop to that. I also happen to believe in quantum theory, and I don’t really understand that (and neither do you).

Science and faith fulfill different yearnings in our desire to understand our universe. While they sometimes overlap—and occasionally even come into conflict—that conflict often disappears upon further reflection.

As fibers which support an integrated view of the universe, science and faith each has its strengths, and its weaknesses. But when woven together, the strengths complement and reinforce one another. It should probably not come as a surprise that some of the best minds in science and in faith often hold one another in high esteem - and that at the frontiers if knowledge, they face many of the same questions.

I suppose it is good that this esteem is not universal. A bit of creative tension between these realms of reality is good for each, since it keeps each honest, and discourages intellectual complacency. The view that the lens of faith allows us into ethical matters of science moderates the dehumanization which a purely scientific perspective might engender. And scientific advances often require a revision of the distinction between foundational tenets and traditional beliefs. Solid theology and sound scientific practice are both strengthened by this intercourse.

The wonders of our world and the universe tantalize our human need for intellectual exploration. Our imaginations soar to the furthest reaches of immense galaxy clusters millions of light years away, then return to delve into the infinitesimal quarks, leptons, and other components of sub-atomic particles; from the universe’s origins within an infinitely dense pre-Big Bang center, to our speculations of the eventual end state—these are the grist for our mental mills.

And the inestimable magnificence of God—however we perceive him/her/it to be—is likewise an incredibly tempting diet on which we may sustain ourselves. While some may maintain that everything we need to know about God was revealed long ago through a finite chain of prophets, others find fresh nourishment in the world around us, and our expanded exchange with diverse cultures. Neither is wrong, but openness breeds inquiry.

The old saw that ‘Great minds think alike’ is no truer in science than in religion. Good minds think alike; great minds diverge violently on matters most of us never consider. For every conflict between somebody like Martin Luther and Pope Leo X, there is a Newton vs. Leibnitz. The blood that is let in these exchanges fertilizes the soil on which the next generation of knowledge will flower.

It is only the failure of our own imaginations that imposes an ‘either/or’ decision in matters of science and faith. While scientific theory doesn’t require the existence or majesty of God, it also doesn’t preclude it– zealots on either side notwithstanding. When Galileo worked through the motions of the planets, it posed no threat to Christian doctrine – but the doctrinaire reaction of the church did. Likewise, the development of the science of evolution doesn’t set itself up in opposition to spirituality –evolutionary scientists include strong believers of every faith tradition. If they don’t cite God in their research, it should be no more surprising than that an aircraft engineer doesn’t cite God when he defines what weld to use to support a wing spar.

Are there evolutionary scientists who reject the existence of God? Of course there are. Atheists, agnostics, and believers of every stripe populate all professions. If somebody like Richard Dawkins can’t see outside his little silo, that doesn’t invalidate his science – it simply identifies him as a human being, with all the prejudices that accompany that status. If he wishes to nourish only his intellect, and starve his spirit, I wish him ‘vaya con dios’ … or , more to his preference, ‘vaya sin dios’. I’ll read his science, and ignore his theology. Likewise, if a spiritual leader can’t bridge the gap between spirituality and science, I will do my best to form my opinions of his spiritual teachings on their own merits – and look elsewhere for science.

I choose to see the hand of God in science – but placed there with such subtlety that no fingerprints remain. How much more wondrous it is to know a God with the skills to design a dynamic world; one which need not be micro-managed – but one in which life instead employs natural processes to adapt and achieve continuity. Rather than refuting the existence of God, to my eye, this reinforces it, and leaves me in even greater awe.

So in this spirit I applaud the 150th anniversary of the publication of The Origin of the Species – not as a poke in anybody’s eye, but as a fitting recognition of the transformative nature of knowledge.