Did We Evolve?

Here’s the link to this article by Merle Hertzler.

Years ago, people began to study the rocks. They noticed something they did not expect. They found fossils in the rocks that were the remains of plants and animals that were quite different from the life that we know today. The lower the rock layer, the more unusual the fossils became. People began to identify different layers that they had observed in the ground. Each layer had distinct characteristics and distinct fossils.

They discovered that, when the layers overlapped, they consistently appeared in the same order wherever they looked. It occurred to them that these layers might represent distinct time periods, with each being the result of the accumulation of sediments in a particular timeframe. The layers that are always lower must surely be the oldest, and the layers that are always higher must be younger. These explorers identified the different layers and put together what is known as the geologic column.

When I was an ardent defender of young-earth creationism, the geologic column began to trouble me. Why do we find nothing close to a modern mammal in layers older than the Quaternary and Tertiary periods (last 65 million years)? Why are no trilobites ever found after the Permian period (248 million years ago)? Why does every dinosaur fossil date at least 60 million years older than every human fossil? How can a creationist explain it?

Discovery of the Geologic Column

The geologic column was not invented to prove evolution. Creationists discovered it before Darwin. They simply put together what they could see in the rocks. These explorers were not evolutionists. Adam Sedgwick, for example, discovered the Cambrian and Devonian periods, and believed that God had created life. When Darwin later came along and presented his theory, Sedgwick disagreed. But he did not dispute the geologic column. He could see that life was quite different in the past.

These men had developed a viewpoint known as Catastrophism. They believed that God had created a strange world system with strange life a long time ago. They called it the Cambrian period. It seemed to them that God must have wiped out the Cambrian life in a catastrophe, for the Cambrian life was no longer found in the layers above it. So perhaps Cambrian life had been catastrophically wiped out, and God had re-created the world with different species. This they called the Ordovician period.

But as one went up from the Ordovician layer, he would again find another distinct layer. Well then, these men concluded, another catastrophe must have ended the Ordovician period, and the Creator had produced yet another world, the Silurian.

Each of the periods, in turn, was wiped out only to be replaced by something new. Finally, the current time period–the Quaternary–was reached. After each catastrophe life was created that was somewhat different from the life in the previous world.

Adam Sedgwick A creationist who helped develop the geologic column before Darwin.
How Good Are Those Young-Earth Arguments? By Dave E. Matson. More on the history of the discovery of the geologic column.
Geological Time Machine Learn more about the geologic column

Geologic Column links

Catastrophism

How could they fit this idea with the Bible? Well, folks “found” a convenient gap in Genesis 1. In Gen.1:1 we are told that God created the heavens and the earth. And people decided there was a large gap between verse 1 and verse 2. In this gap, the Cambrian, Ordovician, Silurian, Devonian, and all of the other ancient periods, took place.

Finally, the last catastrophe occurred, wiping out the Neogene Period. As a result of this last catastrophe the earth was without form and void once again until God would re-create the earth one last time. These men wrote that Genesis 1:2 picks up the story after the last period had been wiped out, making the earth void–“And the earth was without form and void”–and a new creation was ready to begin. The story of this last creation is supposedly told in the remainder of Genesis 1. So, all of these periods and catastrophes were supposedly hidden between Genesis 1:1 and 1:2. Thus, people were able to fit these geological observations with the Bible.

I think that, perhaps, their creative insertion of a gap into Genesis 1 did not do justice to the text, but we digress.

Science has advanced since the early 1800’s when this view was prevalent. Yes, science still believes there were catastrophes in the past, but these catastrophes did not actually wipe out all of life. We always find life forms that survived through the transition to the next period. We cannot explain the whole fossil record by resorting to catastrophes and new creations.

The Progression of Life

The discovery of radiometric dating has greatly increased our understanding of the geologic column. We are now able to determine the dates of rock layers that fossils are buried in and are able to track when different life forms came into existence and when they died off. We discover that new creatures were not introduced all at once at the beginning of each period. Rather, new species have been continually introduced into the environment throughout time.

This last point is troubling for creationists. For how did each of these new species emerge? How, for instance, did the Mesohippus–an early species of horse– come into existence? Imagine that you are walking through a meadow when suddenly–BOOM–an adult Mesohippus pair materializes out of nowhere right in front of your eyes. Are we to believe that this is the way God created? And did God continually create millions of species throughout the ages, always resorting to this spectacular out-of-nothing creation? BOOM! There is a new species of horse. BOOM! A new monkey. BOOM! God just decided to create a new kind of rat. Look! Right at your feet. BOOM! A lion. BOOM! Watermelon. BOOM! T Rex. BOOM! Is this even plausible?

Such creation events violate the laws of nature including the laws of conservation of mass, thermodynamics, and biogenesis. Did God suspend these laws many millions of times in order to complete these many acts of creation?

The facts are beginning to get difficult for Creationists. Now, when earth history was thought to consist of a series of creations and catastrophes, one might be able to suggest that these were magical intervals where God stepped in and re-created the world. But are we to believe that God repeated these little acts of special creation many, many millions of times?

Not only do we find that new species have repeatedly been introduced into the world, but we find an interesting thing when we arrange the fossils in the order that they first appear. We find an uncanny consistency with evolution theory. At the bottom we find simple life forms. As we move up, the fossil record begins to diversify, and includes fish, then reptiles, then mammals, and finally, humans.

My Epiphany

Years ago, I was fighting the good fight of creation on the Internet. I argued that evolution was impossible, for it required that the genetic code had to be changed to make new kinds of animals. It did not seem feasible to me that evolution could do this. I argued in the CompuServe debate forum, basing my arguments on Michael Denton’s Evolution: A Theory in Crises.

My favorite illustration was the difference between mammals and reptiles. The differences between living mammals and reptiles are substantial. Mammals all have hair, mammary glands, a four-chambered heart, and the distinct mammalian ear, with three little bones inside. These features are found in no living reptiles. I argued that this is because there is no viable intermediate between the two, that an animal could have either the reptile genetic code or the mammal code but could not be in the middle.

An evolutionist disagreed with me. He told me that in the past there had been many intermediates. He said that there were animals that, for instance, had jaw and ear bones that were intermediate between reptiles and mammals. How did he know this? He gave a reference to an essay in Stephen Gould’s Ten Little Piggies. I wrote back that since the local library had a large collection of children’s books, I should be able to find that book. (I thought that was quite a zinger.)

I borrowed the book and found an interesting account of how bones in the reptile jaw evolved and changed through millions of years to become the mammals’ ear. That sounded like such a clever tale. How could Gould believe it? Perhaps he made it up. But there was one little footnote, a footnote that would change my life. It said simply, “Allin, E. F. 1975. Evolution of the Mammalian Middle Ear. Journal of Morphology 147:403-38.” That’s it. That’s all it said. But it was about to make a huge impact on me.

You see, I had developed this habit of looking things up, and had been making regular trips to a university library. I was getting involved in some serious discussions on the Internet and was finding the scientific journals to be a reliable source of information. Well, I couldn’t believe that a real scientific journal would take such a tale seriously. But wait. Before I would declare victory, I needed to check it out.

On my next trip to the library, I found my way to the biomedical journal archive. I retrieved the specified journal and started to read. I could not believe my eyes. There were detailed descriptions of many intermediate fossils. The article described in detail how the bones evolved from reptiles to mammals through a long series of mammal-like reptiles.

I paged through the volume in my hand. There were hundreds of pages, all loaded with information. I looked at other journals. I found page after page describing transitional fossils. More significantly, there were all of those troublesome dates. If one arranged the fossils according to date, one could see how the bones changed with time. Each fossil species was dated at a specific time range. It all fit together.

I didn’t know what to think. Could all of these fossil drawings be fakes? Could all of these dates be pulled out of a hat? Did these articles consist of thousands of lies? All seemed to indicate that life evolved over many millions of years. Were all of these thousands of “facts” actually guesses?

I looked around me. The room was filled with many bookshelves; each was filled with hundreds of bound journals. Were all of these journals drenched with lies?

Several medical students were doing research there. Perhaps some day they would need to operate on my heart or fight some disease. Was I to believe that these medical students were in this room filled with misinformation, and that they were diligently sorting out the evolutionist lies while learning medical knowledge? How could so much error have entered this room? It made no sense.

The Evolution of the Mammalian Middle Ear by Edgar F. Allin. The paper that initiated my journey.
Taxonomy, Transitional Forms, and the Fossil Record By Keith B. Miller. A good overview with illustrations.
Transitional Vertebrate Fossils FAQ By Kathleen Hunt. Lists many transitionals (this link is to the mammal-like reptile section of that file)
Jaws to Ears in the Ancestors of Mammals at UC Museum of Paleontology Understanding Evolution website.

Transitional Fossil Links

How can you explain those mysterious mammal-like reptiles? Reptiles and mammals today are quite distinct from each other. Mammalian features include differentiated teeth (incisors, canines, premolars, molars), double rooted teeth, a distinct jaw joint, three bones in the ear (stapes, incus, malleus), the diaphragm, limbs under the body, a different arrangement of toe bones, and a braincase that is firmly attached to the skull. No reptile has these features. But when we look at ancient fossils, we find a strange series of animals with features in the middle.

They begin 300 Ma (million years ago) in the Pennsylvanian. It was a different world. There were no mammals, flowering plants, or even dinosaurs. According to the fossil record, these would all come later. The world belonged to amphibians and reptiles. Early Synapsids such as Haptodus appeared. Their dentary jaw bones rose in the place where later animals would have a new jaw joint–the mammalian joint.

Then advanced pelycosaurs (270 Ma) like the Dimetrodon had signs of a bony prong for the eardrum. Later, cynodonts like the Procynosuchus (236 Ma) had jawbones more similar to mammals, but they still had the reptile’s jaw hinge.

The Probainognathus (238 Ma) and the Thrinaxodons (227 Ma) have signs of two distinct jaw joints, the reptilian and the mammalian. This allowed some of the bones that had been part of the reptile’s jaw to transmit vibrations to the ear. This was the beginning of the special mammalian ear bones.

By the time the Sinoconodon appears (208 Ma) the mammalian jaw joint predominates, and the reptilian jaw joint is small.

The Morganucodon (205 Ma) has teeth like a mammal, a distinct mammalian jaw joint, and only a tiny remnant of the reptile’s jaw. It’s malleus and incus ear bones remain attached to the jaw.

 © UC Museum of Paleontology Understanding Evolution, www.understandingevolution.org.

By the late Cretaceous period (80 Ma) early placental mammals like the Asioryctes had jaws and ears that were transformed to the mammalian type. Two of the reptile’s jaw bones, the quadrate and the articular were no longer part of the jaw. Instead, they had become parts of the middle ear, the malleus and incus.

This is only a brief overview of these strange creatures. In fact, there are thousands of species that span many millions of years, with many intermediate stages of many different features.

Now what on earth was God doing? Why was he slowly introducing mammalian features into the fossil record? Why did he progressively change the design of the jaw, ear, teeth, and limbs until the animals look more and more like mammals? Should I just shrug my shoulders? “God moves in mysterious ways.” Problem resolved? No, I shall ask why.

Did God learn from experience and introduce new creatures with improvement every several thousand years or so? Creationists would cringe at that suggestion. Then why do we find this progression? It is difficult to escape the all-too-obvious conclusion: God must have allowed the first mammal to evolve from reptiles through a process involving many millions of years.

As a Creationist, I finally came to the point where I considered that possibility. It instantly become apparent that this would be a huge change in worldview. For if the first mammal evolved from reptiles, then where did the second mammal come from? If God used thousands of transitions to evolve the first mammal, did he then just copy that design to create the second and third mammals? That makes no sense. These mammals must have evolved also.

In fact, we would need to conclude that all mammals have evolved from these mammal-like reptiles. Think for a minute of all the varieties of mammals that you know–elephants, tigers, mice, dogs, and whales, to name a few. Did all of these descend from a sequence of mammal-like reptiles? Is there any other way to explain all these intermediates?

The impact of that day in the library was truly stunning. I didn’t know what to say. I could not argue against the overwhelming evidence for mammal evolution. That was hopeless. But neither could I imagine believing it. Something had happened to me. My mind had begun to think. It was becoming free. And it was not about to be stopped. Oh no. There is no stopping the mind set free.

I went to the library and borrowed a few books on evolution and creation–diligently studying both sides of the argument. I started to read the evolutionist books with amazement. I had thought that evolutionists taught that floating cows had somehow turned into whales; that hopeful monsters had suddenly evolved without transitions; that one must have blind faith since transitional fossils did not exist; that one must simply guess at the dates for the fossils; and that one must ignore all of the evidence for young-earth creation. I was surprised to learn what these scientists actually knew about the Creationist teachings of flood geology, of the proposed young-earth proofs, and of the reported problems of evolution.

And I was surprised at the convincing answers that they had for these Creationist arguments. I was surprised to see all the arguments they had for evolution. I read with enthusiasm. I learned about isochrons, intermediate fossils, the geologic column, and much, much more.

I would never see the world in the same light. Several weeks later I found myself staring at the fossil of a large dinosaur in a museum. I stared with amazement. I looked at the details of every bone in the back. I wondered if a design so marvelous could really have evolved. But I knew that someone could show me other animals that had lived earlier that had transitional features to this dinosaur. And I knew that one could trace bones back through the fossil record to illustrate the broad path through which this creature had evolved. I stared and I pondered. And then I pondered some more.

Within days, I had lost interest in fighting evolution. I began to read more and write less. When I did debate, I confined my arguments to the issue of the origin of life. But I could no longer ignore what I had learned. Several months later I first sent out an email with probing questions to a creationist who had arrived on the scene. He never responded. I have not stopped questioning.

Horse sense

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the debate forum. I was asked to sit on the wrong side. By this time, I was no longer identifying myself as a creation apologist, but as an explorer, a questioner, a fence sitter. That’s when I met Jim. Jim arrived on the debate scene filled with his message, that of Intelligent Design (ID). The ID viewpoint concedes that the earth might be billions of years old, but stresses that life forms required specific design. I liked the concept–it was my only option beside evolution.

I explained that I was sitting on the fence and could not make up my mind. Jim informed me that evolution was believed only by people that had been biased by methodological naturalism (the scientific method of looking for natural causes for everything). Me? Biased by naturalism? I, who was grasping desperately for any option but evolution? I, who had invested so much of my time fighting evolution? I, who had given thousands of dollars to creationist organizations? Me? How could it be that I was biased for naturalism?

No, I explained, it was not my bias that brought me where I was, it was the evidence that was bothering me.

“What evidence?” Jim asked.

I wrote back, explaining the strength of the evolutionary viewpoint. First there were all of those intermediate fossils. Then there was the evidence of embryology, comparative anatomy, and the geographic distribution of animals. The more I wrote, the more it all seemed to fit together. Jim disagreed.

29+ Evidences for Macroevolution by Douglas Theobald, PhD.
Horse Evolution by Kathleen Hunt
Science and Creationism: A View from the National Academy of Sciences This book helped me find my way out of Creationism.

Evolution Links

The discussion quickly centered on the well-known horse series. According to evolutionary understanding, the modern horse, donkey, and zebra evolved from something like the fox-sized creature known as hyracotherium. There are hundreds of intermediate horse fossils of dozens of species that have been found between these two extremes. Jim conceded that all of those intermediates might have indeed existed at the times claimed but insisted that the horses did not evolve from one type to another. Instead, he claimed that each new kind of horse was created unique. Apparently, God kept rolling out a new horse model every million years or so.

How did these new horses come into existence? Did a pair of adult horses suddenly materialize out of nowhere? Was God still creating horses this way today? Could I be walking through a meadow some day and suddenly have a new kind of adult horse materialize before my eyes? As a young-earth creationist, I would have envisioned creation something like that. But I would have seen it as a one-time miracle in which everything was created in one week. I could always argue that creation week was a magical week, and that things were very different then. But now I was being asked to see this as an ongoing process for millions of years. It seemed so implausible. Was Jim insisting that this is the way it happened? No, Jim had no comment on how new species came into existence. He just knew it wasn’t by evolution.

But why couldn’t it be by evolution? God could certainly do it that way, couldn’t he? After all, don’t you believe that he creates humans by allowing them to grow from a fertilized egg to a fetus to a baby to an adult? If he allows us to “evolve” from a fetus to an adult, perhaps that is the way he created animals in the first place.

I could not conceive of another way of creating new creatures that was consistent with the fossil record and made sense. Did God create an endless series of animals that popped up out of nowhere? It’s not very likely. Could he have used organic material that was in the ground from previous life forms? After all, Genesis says that he used the dust of the ground to make man. Is it evil to suggest that God could have used organic material in the ground to form the next horse in the series? I didn’t think so. But if we concede this as a possibility, can we allow that God could have used the raw material of an existing horse embryo and modified it to make the next kind of horse inside a mare’s womb? Could God have used a Mesohippus embryo to form the first Miohippus inside a Mesohippus? Would it be evil to suggest that? I didn’t think so. It does make more sense than zapping it into existence out of nowhere. Right? Could God have allowed the genetic material of one species of horse to become modified so that it became the next kind? Could he have made many small changes through many generations until the next species appeared?

As I continued to press Jim for an answer, I observed that I was now arguing for evolution– theistic evolution, yes, but definitely for evolution.

Jim was somewhat with me to the last step, but he could not make that leap to evolution. But to me, it did not seem evil to take that step. The best explanation for the horse series was that the modern horse evolved from something like the Hyracotherium. And the Hyracotherium evolved from the first mammals, which evolved from the mammal-like reptiles. And these must surely have evolved from animals similar to reptiles, which evolved from primitive animals, which evolved from one-celled creatures. The first horse evolved from a microbe. I now believed in evolution.

Human Evolution

Then there was that final hurdle, the hardest one. If God allowed a speck of life to evolve into a reptile, which evolved into mammals, which then evolved into apes, did he stop there? Where did humans come from? Is it possible that God evolved everything up to ape, and then instantly created man with the same organs that had evolved for years? Did he develop the mammal’s ear over time, and then suddenly create a human from scratch with the same ear design that had taken millions of years to evolve? Somehow that didn’t seem consistent. It sure was hard to admit that. But the facts were clear. The ear design that had surely evolved was also in me.

Martin Lubenow had written a book called Bones of Contention. It was my last hope. It argued that there was no evidence for the evolution of humans. His strongest argument, to my mind, was that fully human bones had been found which were more than 1.5 million years old, older than many of the reported transitional fossils between ape and man. This would have ruled out those creatures as direct ancestors of humans, for humans existed before them. I knew I had better not parrot what I had heard until I looked at the other side. I had seen postings on the web from a Harvard anthropology professor, Greg Laden. So, I asked him what he thought about these ancient human fossils.

“What fossils?” he wanted to know.

I told him that Lubenow had listed fossil KNM-ER 1470 in his book as a very old human fossil. I didn’t know what those numbers meant, but Greg knew.

He told me that he had used a cast of that very fossil skull in his classroom and explained in detail how the features were intermediate between humans and apes.

The creationist argument evaporated. This supposed human fossil wasn’t even human. It had many ape-like features. What was this strange creature, with characteristics of both man and ape? Many similar creatures have been found. Did God create a series of intermediate creatures between ape and man before he finally got it right? Or did he allow man to evolve? I could see only one option– evolution.

​ Fossil Hominids: The evidence for human evolution. By Jim Foley
KNM-ER 1470 Creationists can’t decide if this homo habilis is a man or an ape.

Hominid Fossil Links

What about God?

We have come a long way. Did we eliminate God? Many people think not. They have found that they can believe in both evolution and God. Could not God have used evolution as his tool? If you believe that God allowed you to grow from a single fertilized egg to a fetus to an adult, why could he not have allowed the whole human race to evolve from a single cell? Some say that God did exactly this, that he started the process of evolution and let it proceed. Others say he nudged it along as it progressed. There is nothing within the concept of evolution that eliminates God.

I will hold off discussing the existence of God until later. First, we have a more pressing concern. Perhaps you understand the evidence for evolution, but your knowledge of the Bible makes it difficult for you to accept it. So, we need to next take a close look at the Bible.

Yes, lets look at the Bible,


Addendum: Q&A

WASN’T DARWIN JUST TRYING TO GET AWAY WITH SIN?

A reader, JB, wrote that, perhaps, Darwin’s sin “was the reason for his search to find a supposed reasonable alternative”.

I recommend that JB read Darwin’s book, The Origin of the Species. This book presents the reasons for Darwin’s conclusion. The book has nothing to do with wanting to find a way to get away with sin. It involves solid reasoning. Don’t believe me? Read it for yourself.

I think JB would search long and hard to find a better explanation for the available data then the Theory of Evolution.

WHAT MAKES THINGS EVOLVE?

This question, and the ones that follow, were asked by another reader.

Animals and plants evolve because their bodies are controlled by genes which occasionally experience random changes known as mutations. Some of these changes are good for survival, some are not. The creatures that have the most favorable genes are more likely to survive and pass their genes to the next generation. This causes creatures to gradually change into a form that best allows them to survive in their environment.

WHY DID MAN DEVELOP, AND YET MONKEYS STILL EXIST?

Actually, we really didn’t come from monkeys. Rather, monkeys, apes, and humans all descended from a common ancestor (which, incidentally, was probably close to modern monkeys). The various offspring of this ancestor ended up exploiting various niches of nature to earn their survival. And so, they diversified into many species, each with its own niche. Monkeys continue to survive in the tops of the jungles, finding plenty of food up there and quickly scrambling from tree to tree to escape predators. Humans would not do good in that environment. So, we have both humans and monkeys, each surviving in a different way in a different environment. See a discussion of this at this thread.  I also discuss this in more detail later in this series.

ARE WE TRULY JUST AN ACCIDENTAL MUTATION, OR DO OTHER FORCES CAUSE SUCH CHANGES?

The mutations are random. However, the forces of selection for survival drive the creatures to survive in their niche.

WHY DO SOME ANIMALS LIKE CROCODILES STAY THE SAME FOR HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS?

Once an animal has become well established in a large niche, if that environment remains stable, the physical changes to that creature often become small. Thus, since sharks and crocodiles have evolved to be well adapted to certain stable roles in the environment, they have little need of further change. Their genes continue to mutate, but the forces of natural selection hold the physical forms of the creatures stable with time.

SCIENTISTS DO ADMIT THAT IT SEEMS THERE WERE EVOLUTIONARY JUMPS FROM ONE SPECIES TO ANOTHER, SO WHAT MAKES THIS HAPPEN?

Jumps occur when isolated populations find themselves in a different environment. Creatures sometimes change “rapidly” to meet the new requirements. These changes take thousands of years, but compared to the age of the earth, the change is relatively rapid. A good picture of how this happens can be seen in the various dog breeds. Most of these breeds developed in the last several thousand years as humans guided their environment and selected those that they wanted to breed. Thus in a few thousand years, we see great differences in the dogs. Should this breeding continue, we will one day have many different species of dogs with different characteristics.

WILL WE HUMANS EVOLVE INTO SOMETHING ELSE IN A MILLION YEARS, AND IF SO WHAT DRIVES IT?

Certainly human genes will be different in a million years. The extent and direction of the changes depend on the environment. Interestingly, we as humans can affect our environment, and thus can influence the future or our species.

IS THERE ONE OR TWO BOOKS THAT COULD EXPLAIN EVOLUTION FOR ME, IN SIMPLE TERMS?

I would begin at the Talk.Origins Archive. Also, many have found The Selfish Gene and The Blind Watchmaker by Richard Dawkins to be good introductory books to the mechanisms of evolution.

Copyright Merle Hertzler 2002, 2005, 2022. All rights reserved.

How Old is the Earth?

Here’s the link to this article by Merle Hertzler.

NASA GOES-13 Full Disk view of Earth Captured August 17, 2010

Last night some very special packages arrived at your house. They had made a long journey. They had been traveling for millions of years, or so I have been told. Finally, they reached your house last night. I am referring, of course, to the light from the distant stars.

Some of my readers might not believe this light had been traveling that long. They have a book that they trust. They understand that book to say the universe is less than 10,000 years old. If the universe is only a few thousand years old, then no, the light was not traveling millions of years. The believer in both the Bible and science has a dilemma.

I can understand this concern. I too, was once a young earth creationist. I figured there needed to be some explanation that had the light traveling no more than 20,000 years. I now think I was wrong. There were indeed millions of years.

The calculation for the light’s travel time is quite simple. You take the total distance traveled and divide it by the speed that the light traveled. Simple math. Simple answer.

SN 1987A

Ah, but what if the stars really are not as far away as the scientists claim? How can scientists be so sure the stars are far away? Let’s look at one measurement that was made. On February 23, 1987, a supernova, which is a vast star explosion, was observed. It is known as SN 1987A. About eight months after we observed the explosion, we saw reflections from the explosion in a distant gas cloud ring that circled the supernova. The ring can be seen as an orange circle in the photo. The reason the reflected light was delayed eight months was that it took time for the light to travel from the supernova to the distant gas clouds and then to reflect from there back to earth. (See illustration below.) And so, we can conclude that it took light about eight months–or 0.66 years– to journey from the supernova to the gas ring.

Enhanced photo of SN-1987A Source: SciTechDaily

Knowing the time that it took to reach the ring, and knowing the speed of light, we can calculate the distance to the ring. Knowing this distance and measuring the angle between the supernova and the reflection as seen from the earth, we can use simple trigonometry to calculate the distance of the supernova from the earth. If you forget high school trig, no problem, astronomers have calculated it for you. The supernova was far enough away that light had to travel 169,000 years to get here.

So, if you think the universe is say 6000 years old, how is it that we can see this supernova and the reflected light? If the light really came from the supernova, it had to travel 169,000 years to reach earth. It must have left the supernova long before the traditional date of Creation, 4004 BC. And so many of us conclude that the universe must be far more than 6000 years old.

“Ah,” one might say, “You are merely assuming that the light actually began its journey at that supernova. Were you there? Maybe God created a beam of light on its way to the earth at creation. The lights came on, and the beam of light in the illustration was already created complete on its path to earth. It only looks like the light came from the supernova.”

There is a big problem with this view. We are not merely seeing a simple beam of light. We see events such as this supernova explosion in the light that arrives. Did these explosions really occur? If the light was created part way between the star and the earth in such a way that it looked like an explosion, then what we have is a hoax. We have an elaborate deception designed to look like an explosion that never happened.

Further, the light from the explosion was not seen until 1987. If the universe is 6,000 years old, then the beam had to be set up far enough away that it took 6,000 years before we first saw it. And the beginning of the light beam from the ring around the supernova needed to be set back so that it took 8 additional months for the light from the ring to reach us. The hoax is becoming more complex. What could possibly be the reason for this other than to deliberately deceive us?

Space Telescope Science Institute Additional photos of SN 1987A
Supernova 1987A  Refutes 6000 Year Old Universe by Geno Castagnoli
Properties of the SN 1987A Circumstellar Ring by N. Panagea et. al. The original paper measuring the distance to this supernova.

SN 1987A links

If we were to assume that the Bible was God’s perfect revelation, but that the light from the stars was deceiving us, how could we trust such a God’s written revelation? For if God’s physical evidence is deceptive, could not the written evidence also be deceptive?

Suppose that God had deliberately faked the light of an explosion that had never happened. If he did this, how would we know anything about the universe? Once we postulate that an all-powerful, deceptive God is manipulating the data, we could know nothing. Such a God could be fooling us in everything we observe. We may think a lightning strike is electrical, but if a deceitful God is in charge, maybe he is only fooling us. We may think the laws of physics apply, but a deceitful God could be manipulating the data. So, if God is all-powerful, and is deceitfully manipulating the universe, we would know nothing.

Let’s rule out a deceitful God. Then I can reach no other conclusion but that the distant star light has been traveling for millions of years.

Some readers may have thought of another way out of this dilemma. “Yes,” they would say, “the light traveled that far, but it went really, really fast. Perhaps the speed of light was different back then.”

This is an old Creationist claim, which has been thoroughly refuted [1]. The speed of light is constant.

Besides, in the case of this supernova, a faster speed of light would not help. Light from the supernova took 8 months to reach the outer ring. Suppose light was traveling ten times as fast when it started its journey. Then the light would have gone ten times further during those 8 months it took to reach the cloud ring. The ring would be ten times bigger than we have calculated. This would mean that the triangle in the illustration above is ten times as big, and the distance to earth is ten times as far. This only makes the problem worse! Now the light would need to travel much further to get to earth. So even if the light had started out faster, it would not resolve the problem for those that believe the earth is 6,000 years old.

The light we see in the photo above simply could not have made it to earth if the universe is less than 169,000 years old. Something is wrong with the 6000-year time frame.

I use SN 1987A as an example because it was in a galaxy that was close enough that we could photograph it. We can see that other supernovas are occurring much further away. The light that arrives from the most distant stars would have taken billions of years to reach earth. Yet we see it. Can you reach any other conclusion but that the universe is billions of years old?

But what about the Bible?

The conclusion of an old universe will not be easy for some Christians to reach. You have a high regard for the findings of true scientific observation and reason, but you also trust the Bible. And your Bible seems to indicate that the universe is thousands of years old, not billions. So, you are faced with a conflict. One solution would be to just ignore the physical observations of the universe. Another solution would be to just ignore the Bible. Neither of those is satisfactory to you.

There are some other options. Either you could modify your observations of starlight so that it is compatible with your interpretation of the Bible, or you could modify your interpretation of the Bible so that it is compatible with the physical observations. We have tried to modify our observations of the universe to match a 6000-year-old earth and failed. So, the natural follow-up question for many Christians is, “Can the Bible be interpreted to be compatible with an old universe?”

Many Christians have found that the Bible can indeed be interpreted that way. For instance, Norman Geisler, one of the foremost Evangelical apologists, writes:

One of the biggest problems for the young earth view is in astronomy. We can see light from stars that took 15 billion years to get here. To say that God created them with the appearance of age does not satisfy the question of how their light reached us. We have watched star explosions that happened billions of years ago, but if the universe is not billions of years old, then we are seeing light from stars that never existed because they would have died before Creation. Why would God deceive us with the evidence? The old earth view seems to fit the evidence better and causes no problem with the Bible.[2]

Notice that this quote does not come from a godless, atheist infidel. No, it comes from a leading Evangelical authority. He finds that an old earth causes no problem with the Bible. And many leading Evangelical scholars have been publicly open to an old-earth view, including Lee Strobel, John Ankerberg, Pat Robertson, William Lane Craig, Hugh Ross, Hank Hannegraff, and Francis Schaeffer.

Notable Christians Open to an Old Earth Interpretation, at Reasons to Believe by Hugh Ross.
Affiliation of Christian Geologists Christian geologists who believe in an old earth.
Old Earth Ministries by Greg Neyman. “Dedicated to sharing the Gospel, supporting Christians who believe in an old earth, and ending the false teaching of young earth creationism.”
Not ‘Apparent Age’: God is not deceptive A Christian perspective making many of the same points found on this page.

Evangelical Old-Earthers

There are several ways in which the Bible can be interpreted to be compatible with an old universe. One of the most popular is to assume that each “day” in Genesis actually represents a long period of time. Other options have been proposed. If your interpretation of the Bible is making it difficult to accept the obvious conclusion from nature, you may want to look at some of the links above before you proceed.

The Fossil Record

I will move on. Not only do we find that the stars are old, but we can see that the earth is old.

All around the world we find many layers of underground fossils and sediments. Where did all of these fossils come from? Glenn Morton, a former young-earth Creationist writer, has written a description of the fossil record as it appears in North Dakota. He describes the 3-mile-thick fossil record, which includes animal fossils, burrows, shark teeth, coal, and fecal pellets (click here to see it offsite).

Where did all of these layers come from? How is it that we find animal fossils, teeth, and fecal pellets spread throughout the record? It is difficult to escape the conclusion that all of these are the remains of real animals that were buried. But if animals have been buried 3 miles deep, and other animals have been buried on top of them, and still others on top of them up through all 3 miles of sediment, one must surely conclude that it took a long time for all those layers to accumulate.

Let’s look at another example of the details found in the fossil record. Specimen Ridge in Yellowstone Park is a 2000-foot-high wall of rock that includes the petrified remains of 18 forests, each one growing on sediments that were deposited on the forest layer below it. [3]

Now think about that. A forest grew and was covered up by a catastrophic volcano and landslide. The soil weathered until it became fit for plant life to grow again. Another forest grew. Many years later it too was wiped out in another catastrophe. The process repeated until at least 18 forests grew and were wiped out. Surely it takes a long time for one forest to be covered, for the soil to weather, and for another forest to grow above it, only to be covered again. Do you not agree that the bottom of this ridge–down below those 18 fossilized forests–is very old?

How can young-earth believers explain the fossil record? Some have tried to say that God created all of these layers at the beginning of the world. But is that logical? Are we really to believe that the fossil bones of dinosaurs and buried forests were put into the rocks at the creation of the world? That would mean that those dinosaur fossils did not come from real animals. Is it possible that God just buried all of those fake fossils down there? That doesn’t seem likely. Could God be so deceptive? I think we have agreed to rule out a deceptive God.

So, we must conclude that the fossils are real, and that the rocks in which dinosaur fossils were found were formed after those dinosaurs had lived and died. Therefore, many of the rocks down there could not have been formed during a one-week creation. They had to be formed later, sometime after the dinosaurs that they cover had died.

Now the same reasoning that makes me think that the dinosaurs were real, also convinces me that the fish and trilobite fossils found far below the dinosaur fossils are also the real remains of real animals that once lived. And so, these rocks must also have been formed long after the origin of the earth. These fossils simply could not have existed in the earth from the beginning. They must have been made later, and there must have been a long period of time involved.

Flood Geology

Some young-earth creationists have tried to argue that the bulk of the fossil record was formed during Noah’s flood, a view known as flood-geology. I had read such books as a teenager and was convinced that they described the way the fossil record was formed. Years later, I would find that the problems with this view are insurmountable.

For instance, in the middle of the Grand Canyon we find a buried sand dune, which was made of wind-blown sand. Now flood geologists claim that the rock layers in the Grand Canyon were created during Noah’s flood. But if those rock layers were formed during the flood, why do we see buried sand dunes amid the deposits? Something is wrong here. Surely there were no winds blowing sand around under the flood waters. How then is this dune in the middle of the deposits? If this dune occurred before the flood, how can you explain all the fossil-bearing layers below it? And if the dune occurred after the flood, how can you explain all the layers above it? Where did they come from? So, a global flood does not explain the fossil record.

Problems with a Global Flood . By Mark Isaak. Learn why scientists do not take flood-geology seriously.
The Geologic Column and its Implications for the Flood by Glenn Morton. Find out what is below the surface of the earth.
The Impossible Voyage of Noah’s Ark at National Center for Science Education.
Noah’s Flood and Creation Science at Old Earth Ministries.

Flood links

And what about the cave systems, footprints, and animal burrows that we find throughout the fossil record? How can these things be created during a raging flood? Animals would not be walking around leaving footprints if a flood was going on above them, would they? And how can a cave possibly get formed in the middle of a flood? So, it seems to me that the flood cannot explain the fossil record. The layers of rock must have been formed over a very long period of time.

Isochrons

How old is the earth? Surprisingly, modern science has been able to answer that question to a high degree of accuracy. A technique known as radiometric dating is used to find the age of the rock layers. These dates are based on the knowledge that some elements in rocks decay to form other elements. We know how fast they decay. Thus, if we know what the original concentrations of the elements in a rock were, and know what the concentrations are today, and if we can establish that there were no outside disturbances that interfered with the process, we can calculate the age of a rock. That sounds like a lot of unknowns. Young-earth Creationists love to point them out as if scientists had never thought about them. They are wrong. Scientists have dealt with these questions and understand the process.

This gets a little technical here, but I think we should take a brief look at Rb-Sr isochrons. This was the clincher for me. I had once argued that the earth is young, but when I learned about isochrons, I soon changed my mind.

Scientists use isochrons to calculate the original composition of certain elements in a rock, and to show that contamination has not affected the result. Does that sound like magic? It isn’t. It turns out that the element rubidium-87 (Rb-87) in rock decays to form strontium-87 (Sr-87) at a known rate. The more Rb-87 in a rock, the faster Sr-87 accumulates. So, if we know the concentration of Rb-87 of any sample, we will know the rate at which the Sr-87 concentration increases with time. And knowing this rate of change, we can calculate back to any time in the past and determine what the Sr-87 concentration would have been.

Rocks also have another form of strontium, Sr-86, which stays constant with time.

Scientists measure the amount of Sr-87 in a rock by looking at the Sr-87/Sr-86 ratio. As Sr-87 accumulates, the Sr-87/ Sr-86 ratio increases. What does this tell us? One sample doesn’t tell us much. Let’s look at another sample from a different location on the same formation where there is more Rb-87. This point will experience a faster change in its Sr-87/Sr-86 ratio because there is more Rb-87 to decay. Again, we can calculate this ratio back through time. In a valid sample, we will find that, at some point in the distant past, both samples had the same Sr-87 /Sr-86 ratio. Scientists can repeat the process for a number of samples in a rock formation, and all will show that they had nearly the same Sr-87/Sr-86 ratio at that point in the past (see graph).

This is interesting. For, in rock formations that come from a single flow of lava, the strontium comes from one source, and would indeed have had the same Sr-87/Sr-86 ratio throughout when the rock layer was formed. The most obvious reason for the correlation of these ratios is that this is the point when the lava that created this formation was flowing, with strontium from one source spread throughout the lava. So, this must be the date of the lava flow. This procedure yields ages of many millions of years. [4]

What other explanation is there? Could God have scattered these elements in the rocks at different concentrations, using a different Sr-87/Sr-86 ratio at each point depending on the local Rb-87 content, so that it looks like the rocks existed through millions of years of decay? Nope. Remember, we are ruling out a deceitful God.

The Ages of Rocks

We have looked at only one method of dating rocks. There are more than 40 radiometric dating methods. Scientists usually do more than one test on a rock formation and find excellent correlation between the dates found. With so many different methods–each based on different principles–and with each arriving at the same answer, isn’t that strong evidence that the dates found are correct?

Even if you do not understand the concepts, there are thousands of scientists that do. And there is a scientific consensus that radiometric dating is valid, and that these rocks are many millions of years old.

It is important to understand that there are animal fossils under these rocks. Now you agree with me that these fossils were formed from the remains of animals, don’t you? And you surely must agree that the rocks on top of those animal fossils must have been deposited after those animals had lived. So the rocks on top of the fossils–the rocks that we evaluate with radiometric dating–could not have been formed when the earth was first formed. They must have been formed later.

If we were to suggest that God deliberately manipulated the elements to change the apparent date, it would mean that he did it when the volcano that formed those rocks erupted many years after the earth began. Did God manipulate the data many hundreds of times throughout the ages as these various rocks solidified? I cannot imagine God doing that, can you? Surely, he would not be bothered with deliberately manipulating the data every time a volcano erupts.

Radiometric Dating: A Christian Perspective by Roger Wiens at American Scientific Affiliation.
Radiometric Dating and the Geological Time Scale by Andrew MacRae
How Old is the Earth? by G. Brent Dalrymple

Age of the Earth links

I can only come to one of two conclusions. Either those rocks are many millions of years old, or God used extremely elaborate means to make the rocks look old. The deception would be so subtle that nobody could have possibly been fooled by it until scientists had reached the modern understanding of radioactivity. Could God have deliberately faked all of these components of all of these rocks, just so we would arrive at the wrong answer when we tried to date them years later? That doesn’t seem likely to me. If we rule out deliberate deception, I am left with believing that the rocks are old.

So, can we blame demons?

Someone once told me that these rocks are not the work of God, but of the devil. She said the devil put these rocks down there, because that was the only way he could fool smart people. That devil was clever, huh?

Okay, suppose that a volcano erupts in Hawaii. Do a host of demons swarm over the lava to manipulate the elements and make it look old? Science cannot seem to detect such demons. Besides, if demons are doing that, shouldn’t the rocks from recent volcanoes date to millions of years old? Rocks from recent volcanoes do not yield old ages when tested. Have the demons forgotten to manipulate the elements?

Sure, we could postulate that these demons worked only in the distant past. But then I need to ask why there is so much volcanic rock down there if the earth is 6000 years old. Yes, we could postulate that another swarm of underground demons was down there causing volcanoes.

Then I would ask why we find no mammals or people in the older layers. Again, we could postulate yet another host of demons, who chased all of the mammals away from the early volcanoes.

We could continue to postulate yet another demon for every problem with this hypothesis. Do you see how throwing all of these demonic entities into the solution makes it all implausible? Every time we add yet another demon to fix a flaw in the hypothesis, the whole idea becomes less likely.

William of Occam discovered long ago that simple explanations are usually more likely to be true than explanations that require multiple ad hoc explanations. Once we start multiplying entities–once we add one demon after another to explain each detail–we could prove anything. We could state, for instance, that the earth was flat, and could propose a different demon for every evidence to the contrary. If that is acceptable, no idea could then be proven false. If everything can be proven, in actuality we would know nothing. So, scientists look for the simplest explanations, the ones that do not need multiple ad hoc assumptions.

The simplest explanation is that the rocks look old because they are old.

Other Evidence

How old is the earth? Rocks on the earth have been dated at 4 billion years old. Many meteorites have been dated, and we consistently find an age of about 4.5 billion years. Evidence indicates that the meteorites and the earth were formed at about the same time, about 4.5 billion years ago.

Perhaps you are not into the study of radioactive elements and exponential decay. How about counting? You can certainly do that. If you were to cut down a tree and count 100 rings, you would know that this tree was 100 years old. We can do a very similar thing with the polar ice caps. The ice builds up another thin layer every year. People have drilled down through the ice and counted the layers. They find more than 50,000 distinct layers before they begin to fade together. Doesn’t that prove that the earth is more than 6000 years old?

Young Earth Creationism

Years ago, organizations like the ICR had convinced me that the earth was young. They used arguments that sounded good when I heard only one side. They told me, for instance, that the earth’s magnetic field was decreasing. They said that the magnetic field must have started out strong several thousand years ago and decreased since then. That sounded convincing to me. Since I, who knew little about the earth’s magnetic field, was convinced by their argument, did that prove that the argument was correct? Of course not.

The real test of a scientific proposal is not the ability to convince the public, but the ability to convince those that understand the relevant facts. Those that understood recognized that the claim for a constantly decreasing magnetic field was false, for it did not account for all of the components of the earth’s magnetic field and did not recognize the evidence that the magnetic field has been fluctuating throughout earth history. Those who understood the earth’s magnetic field were not convinced with this young-earth argument.

You may hear arguments from the young-earth crowd that sound impressive. Please understand that scientific-sounding arguments that convince the public do not prove a concept is true. An idea should be considered scientific only if it stands up when those who understand the science involved analyze it and accept it. That is the real test.

Institute for Creation Research (ICR) is the granddaddy of the young-earth creation movement.
The Age of the Earth by Chris Stassen at Talk.Origins

Young Earth Claims

I conclude that the earth is very old. We can see distant starlight. We can dig up old fossils and date rocks to billions of years. And a lot can happen in a billion years.

Sunday Times gives a lukewarm review to an accommodationist book

Here’s the link to an interesting article written by evolutionary geneticist Jerry Coyne and posted to his website, Why Evolution is True.

March 12, 2023 • 11:15 am

The only reason to write books about reconciling science and religion—as opposed to, say, reconciling sports and religion or business and religion—is if the two fields conflict in some way, and thus require reconciliation. After all, if  religion were purely philosophical, lacking any empirical claims, there would be no need to reconcile science and religion, for science is not philosophy.

As I argued in Faith Versus Fact, the never-ending attempts to reconcile science and religion come precisely because they are in conflict—in conflict about what is true in the universe and about how to ascertain those truths. Science has a toolkit for (provisionally) ascertaining what’s true in the universe: a toolkit including observation, replication, doubt, testability, prediction, and so on.

Religion’s toolkit includes three things: authority, revelation, and scripture, none of which is a reliable guide to the universe.  If these were reliable, all religions would converge on the same truth claims. Jesus would be either a prophet, as he is in Islam, or the son of God/God, as he is in Christianity. Jesus would have visited America, as the Mormons claim, or not (as Christians believe.). I could go on, but of course as author, I recommend reading my book (for a cheaper take on my thesis, read the archived version of my 2010 USA Today column, “Science and religion aren’t friends.” (I’m still amazed I got that published.)

Though I claim that my book killed off any reconciliation between science and religion, the attempt won’t lie down. That’s because, except for fundamentalists, religious people, along with nonbelieving “faitheists” who think religion is false but still necessary for society, don’t want to think that their own religious delusions make them unfriendly to modern science, which WORKS. You’re not a credible human if you think science isn’t the best way to find out empirical truths.

Yet, the attempts continue, spurred on by philosophers like Ronald Numbers who argue that conflicts between science and religion are only apparent but not real. The Scopes Trial, or the saga of Galileo versus the Church weren’t really about science/religion conflicts, but were merely the results of sociological or political differences.

They’re partly right, but mostly wrong. Tennessee’s Butler Act, which forbad the teaching of human evolution (but not evolution of other species) was not about politics, but about the fact that the new theory of evolution directly conflicted with the accounts given in Genesis I and II.

And so accommodationism returns in this new book by Nicholas Spencer, an author described on Amazon as:

Senior Fellow at Theos, a Fellow of International Society for Science and Religion and a Visiting Research Fellow at Goldsmiths, University of London

Theos is a pro-religion think tank in London founded by “the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, and the then Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Cormac Murphy O’Connor.” As Wikipedia notes, it ” maintains an ecumenical position.” That is, it’s pro-Christian.

Here’s Spencer’s book (click to preorder), which I haven’t read as it won’t be out in the U.S. until May 23. I’ll simply highlight today’s Sunday Times of London review.

The review of Spencer’s book by James McConnachie can be reached by clicking on the headline below; but for nearly everyone it’s paywalled. Fortunately, you can find it archived for free here.

Apparently Spencer doesn’t accept Steve Gould’s position that science and religion occupy distinct and non-overlapping magisteria (a false claim advanced in his book Rocks of Ages, which I heavily criticized in a TLS review you can see here). No, Spencer thinks it’s more complicated than that, but whatever their relationship is, it’s not antagonistic. (Indeed, in some trivial senses they aren’t antagonistic, as in the observation that there are religious scientists, one that Spencer apparently makes much of. Quotes from McConnachie’s review are indented:

For Spencer, [Buzz] Aldrin stands in a long line of scientists and scientific icons whose thought and work have been inspired and shaped by their religious convictions. Through history the “magisteria”, or realms, of science and religion have not been antagonistic, he argues, still less non-overlapping, but rather “indistinct, sprawling, untidy, and endlessly and fascinatingly entangled”.

Spencer has covered some of this ground before in sophisticated and readable histories of Darwin and religion, atheism and the centrality of Christianity to western thought. This book, though, is surely his magnum opus. It is astonishingly wide-ranging — there is a whiff of the encyclopaedia about it — and richly informed.

. . . From here on the narrative of a clash between science and religion is weighed, and found wanting. Medieval Christians, Spencer argues, responded to Greek science — transmitted through the “fragile brilliance” of medieval Islamic science — with enthusiasm. They used astronomical observation to prove what the Bible told them: that “the heavens declare the glory of God”.

Renaissance astronomers thought something similar. Even Galileo — much-championed by anticlerical types — “was no sceptic, let alone a heretic”. (And he probably didn’t mutter “And yet it moves” shortly after vowing in front of the Inquisition that the Earth was at the centre of the universe.)

The touchstone about whether one can see this history objectively is whether they admit that yes, the clash between Galileo and the church was largely about observation conflicting with religion. McConnachie continues:

“If the marriage of science and religion was harmonious across much of Europe in the Enlightenment,” Spencer writes, “it was positively blissful in England.” He traces a line of devout English theorists and experimenters from the “fiercely religious” Isaac Newton — a man more interested in theology than physics — through to a suite of English “clerical naturalists”.

This lineage culminated in Charles Darwin, who had started training for ordination as a younger man and lived in a rectory when he was older — “lacking only the dog collar and the Christian faith” to be a clergyman, as Spencer puts it. Even the older, agnostic Darwin had his religious doubts and yearnings. Spencer describes the poignant note given to him by his wife, Emma, encouraging him to leave room for faith. Underneath her words, he later wrote: “When I am dead, know that many times, I have kissed and cried over this.”

Darwin was at best a deist, and trying to claim he was conventionally religious is another touchstone of academic dishonesty.

There are so many moments like that — myths not so much busted as brought down by controlled demolition. The 1860 Oxford evolution debate, which set Darwin’s monkey-descended champions up against the scoffing bishop? By the end of the century most Christians accepted evolution.

If you know about the Oxford debates, or about the initial reaction of religious people to Darwin, you’d know that the marriage was not “blissful” at the outset. Christians accepted Darwin because they had to: the evidence was overwhelming. Yet they still held onto superstitious and antiscientific notions of Jesus, so in what sense is that a “blissful marriage”? “Cognitive dissonance” is more like it.

And of course most Christians in the U.S. do not accept evolution in the naturalistic sense. A 2019 Gallup poll showed that of all surveyed Americans, 40% believe God created humans in their present form, another 33% think that humans evolved but that the evolution was guided by God, and a mere 20% held the naturalistic view that humans evolved and God had no part in directing the process. That means that nearly 3 out of 4 Americans hold a view of human origins that contravenes science (regardless of whether God was in charge, science doesn’t show that evolution was “directed” at all).

After praising Spencer’s writing, McConnachie gets down to his overall assessment of the book:

The argument could sometimes be summed up as “it’s more complicated than that”, plus “let’s replace a narrative of conflict with one of collaboration”. It’s so reasonable. So Anglican! But then Spencer is a senior fellow at the Christian think tank Theos, which exists to challenge negative representations of religion in western countries, believing that “faith, and Christianity in particular, is a force for good in society”.

In other words, Spencer’s book is tendentious, and nothing I’ve read about it in either the Amazon summary or McConnachie’s review adds to what’s already been written by previous accommodationist authors. After all, there are only so many ways to claim that science and religion are friends.

McConnachie’s final take:

At heart, then, Magisteria is a plea for religion to remain entangled in our lives and in our science. I’m not convinced. That word from Spencer’s subtitle, “entangled”, references quantum entanglement, whereby two separate particles are mysteriously linked, so that the state of one is bound up with the other, even if they are far apart. Einstein sceptically summed this up as “spooky action at a distance”, and I feel similarly about Spencer’s view of the interaction of science and religion. The two realms overlap only if you accept the validity of religious beliefs to start with. And Spencer’s own narrative, despite himself, reveals a historical disentangling — a slow withdrawal of the spookiness from science. Whether or not you see that as a good thing depends, ultimately, whose side you are on.

It sounds to me as if McConnachie is a nonbeliever, since he appears to reject “the validity of religious beliefs.” He also recognizes that the history of the “blissful marriage” is one of inevitable divorce as science pushes God back into the corner as an ineffectual deity unable to cure children of cancer but powerful at deciding who wins football games.

I’ll close with a great paragraph on this supposedly blissful marriage written by The Great Agnostic, himself, Robert G. Ingersoll:

There is no harmony between religion and science. When science was a child, religion sought to strangle it in the cradle. Now that science has attained its youth, and superstition is in its dotage, the trembling, palsied wreck says to the athlete: “Let us be friends.” It reminds me of the bargain the cock wished to make with the horse: “Let us agree not to step on each other’s feet.”

Tenacity, the Art of Integration, and the Key to a Flexible Mind: Wisdom from the Life of Mary Somerville, for Whom the Word “Scientist” Was Coined

Here’s the link to this article.

Inside the hallmark of a great scientist and a great human being — the ability to hold one’s opinions with firm but unfisted fingers.

BY MARIA POPOVA

This essay is adapted from my book Figuring

A middle-aged Scottish mathematician rises ahead of the sun to spend a couple of hours with Newton before the day punctuates her thinking with the constant interruptions of mothering four children and managing a bustling household. “A man can always command his time under the plea of business,” Mary Somerville (December 26, 1780–November 28, 1872) would later write in her memoir; “a woman is not allowed any such excuse.”

Growing up, Somerville had spent the daylight hours painting and playing piano. When her parents realized that the household candle supply had thinned because Mary had been staying up at night to read Euclid, they promptly confiscated her candles. “Peg,” she recalled her father telling her mother, “we must put a stop to this, or we shall have Mary in a strait jacket one of these days.” Mary was undeterred. Having already committed the first six books of Euclid to memory, she spent her nights adventuring in mathematics in the bright private chamber of her mind.

Mary Somerville (Portrait by Thomas Phillips)
Mary Somerville (Portrait by Thomas Phillips)

Despite her precocity and her early determination, it took Somerville half a lifetime to come abloom as a scientist — the spring and summer of her life passed with her genius laying restive beneath the frost of the era’s receptivity to the female mind. When Somerville was forty-six, she published her first scientific paper — a study of the magnetic properties of violet rays — which earned her praise from the inventor of the kaleidoscope, Sir David Brewster, as “the most extraordinary woman in Europe — a mathematician of the very first rank with all the gentleness of a woman.” Lord Brougham, the influential founder of the newly established Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge — with which Thoreau would take issue thirty-some years later by making a case for “the diffusion of useful ignorance,” comprising “knowledge useful in a higher sense” — was so impressed that he asked Somerville to translate a mathematical treatise by Pierre-Simon Laplace, “the Newton of France.” She took the project on, perhaps not fully aware how many years it would take to complete to her satisfaction, which would forever raise the common standard of excellence. All great works suffer from and are saved by a gladsome blindness to what they ultimately demand of their creators.

As the months unspooled into years, Somerville supported herself as a mathematics tutor to the children of the wealthy. One of her students was a little girl named Ada, daughter of the mathematically inclined baroness Annabella Milbanke and the only legitimate child of the sybarite poet Lord Byron — a little girl would would grow to be, thanks to Somerville’s introduction to Charles Babbage, the world’s first computer programmer.

When Somerville completed the project, she delivered something evocative of the Nobel Prize-winning Polish poet Wisława Szymborska’s wonderful notion of “that rare miracle when a translation stops being a translation and becomes… a second original” In The Mechanism of the Heavens, published in 1831 after years of work, Somerville hadn’t merely translated the math, but had expanded upon it and made it comprehensible to lay readers, popularizing Laplace’s esoteric ideas.

Solar System quilt by Ellen Harding Baker, begun in 1869 and completed in 1876 to teach women astronomy when they were barred from higher education in science. Available as a print and a face mask. (Smithsonian)

The book was an instant success, drawing attention from the titans of European science. John Herschel, whom Somerville considered the greatest scientist of their time and who was soon to coin the word photography, wrote her a warm letter she treasured for the rest of her days:

Dear Mrs. Somerville,

I have read your manuscript with the greatest pleasure, and will not hesitate to add, (because I am sure you will believe it sincere,) with the highest admiration. Go on thus, and you will leave a memorial of no common kind to posterity; and, what you will value far more than fame, you will have accomplished a most useful work. What a pity that La Place has not lived to see this illustration of his great work! You will only, I fear, give too strong a stimulus to the study of abstract science by this performance.

Somerville received another radiant fan letter from the famed novelist Maria Edgeworth, who wrote after devouring The Mechanism of the Heavens:

I was long in the state of the boa constrictor after a full meal — and I am but just recovering the powers of motion. My mind was so distended by the magnitude, the immensity, of what you put into it!… I can only assure you that you have given me a great deal of pleasure; that you have enlarged my conception of the sublimity of the universe, beyond any ideas I had ever before been enabled to form.

Edgeworth was particularly taken with a “a beautiful sentence, as well as a sublime idea” from Somerville’s section on the propagation of sound waves:

At a very small height above the surface of the earth, the noise of the tempest ceases and the thunder is heard no more in those boundless regions, where the heavenly bodies accomplish their periods in eternal and sublime silence.

Years later, Edgeworth would write admiringly of Somerville that “while her head is up among the stars, her feet are firm upon the earth.”

Milky Way Starry Night by Native artist Margaret Nazon, part of her stunning series of astronomical beadwork.

In 1834, Somerville published her next major treatise, On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences — an elegant and erudite weaving together of the previously fragmented fields of astronomy, mathematics, physics, geology, and chemistry. It quickly became one of the scientific best sellers of the century and earned Somerville pathbreaking admission into the Royal Astronomical Society the following year, alongside the astronomer Caroline Herschel — the first women admitted as members of the venerable institution.

When Maria Mitchell — America’s first professional female astronomer and the first woman employed by the U.S. government for a professional task — traveled to Europe to meet the Old World’s greatest scientific luminaries, her Quaker shyness could barely contain the thrill of meeting her great hero. She spent three afternoons with Somerville in Scotland and left feeling that “no one can make the acquaintance of this remarkable woman without increased admiration for her.” In her journal, Mitchell described Somerville as “small, very,” with bright blue eyes and strong features, looking twenty years younger than her seventy-seven years, her diminished hearing the only giveaway of her age. “Mrs. Somerville talks with all the readiness and clearness of a man, but with no other masculine characteristic,” Mitchell wrote. “She is very gentle and womanly… chatty and sociable, without the least pretence, or the least coldness.”

Months after the publication of Somerville’s Connexion, the English polymath William Whewell — then master of Trinity College, where Newton had once been a fellow, and previously pivotal in making Somerville’s Laplace book a requirement of the university’s higher mathematics curriculum — wrote a laudatory review of her work, in which he coined the word scientist to refer to her. The commonly used term up to that point — “man of science” — clearly couldn’t apply to a woman, nor to what Whewell considered “the peculiar illumination” of the female mind: the ability to synthesize ideas and connect seemingly disparate disciplines into a clear lens on reality. Because he couldn’t call her a physicist, a geologist, or a chemist — she had written with deep knowledge of all these disciplines and more — Whewell unified them all into scientist. Some scholars have suggested that he coined the term a year earlier in his correspondence with Coleridge, but no clear evidence survives. What does survive is his incontrovertible regard for Somerville, which remains printed in plain sight — in his review, he praises her as a “person of true science.”Phases of Venus and Saturn by Maria Clara Eimmart, early 1700s. Available as a print.

Whewell saw the full dimension of Somerville’s singular genius as a connector and cross-pollinator of ideas across disciplines. “Everything is naturally related and interconnected,” Ada Lovelace would write a decade later. Maria Mitchell celebrated Somerville’s book as a masterwork containing “vast collections of facts in all branches of Physical Science, connected together by the delicate web of Mrs. Somerville’s own thought, showing an amount and variety of learning to be compared only to that of Humboldt.” But not everyone could see the genius of Somerville’s contribution to science in her synthesis and cross-pollination of information, effecting integrated wisdom greater than the sum total of bits of fact — a skill that becomes exponentially more valuable as the existing pool of knowledge swells. One obtuse malediction came from the Scottish philosopher Thomas Carlyle, who proclaimed that Somerville had never done anything original — a remark that the young sculptor Harriet Hosmer, herself a pioneer who paved the way for women in art, would tear to shreds. In a letter defending Somerville, she scoffed:

To the Carlyle mind, wherein women never played any conspicuous part, perhaps not, but no one, man or woman, ever possessed a clearer insight into complicated problems, or possessed a greater gift of rendering such problems clear to the mind of the student, one phase of originality, surely.

Somerville’s uncommon gift for seeing clearly into complexity came coupled with a deep distaste for dogma and the divisiveness of religion, the supreme blinders of lucidity. She recounted that as religious controversies swirled about her, she had “too high a regard for liberty of conscience to interfere with any one’s opinions.” She chose instead to live “on terms of sincere friendship and love with people who differed essentially” in their religious views. In her memoir, she encapsulated her philosophy of creed: “In all the books which I have written I have confined myself strictly and entirely to scientific subjects, although my religious opinions are very decided.”

Above all, Somerville possessed the defining mark of the great scientist and the great human being — the ability to hold one’s opinions with firm but unfisted fingers, remaining receptive to novel theories and willing to change one’s mind in light of new evidence. Her daughter recounted:

It is not uncommon to see persons who hold in youth opinions in advance of the age in which they live, but who at a certain period seem to crystallise, and lose the faculty of comprehending and accepting new ideas and theories; thus remaining at last as far behind, as they were once in advance of public opinion. Not so my mother, who was ever ready to hail joyfully any new idea or theory, and to give it honest attention, even if it were at variance with her former convictions. This quality she never lost, and it enabled her to sympathise with the younger generation of philosophers, as she had done with their predecessors, her own contemporaries.

Shortly after the publication of Somerville’s epoch-making book, the education reformer Elizabeth Peabody — who lived nearly a century, introduced Buddhist texts to America, and coined the term Transcendentalism — echoed the sentiment in her penetrating insight into middle age and the art of self-renewal.

Why (Almost All) Cosmologists are Atheists

Here’s the link to this article by Sean M. Carroll.


(2003)

[This essay was originally presented as a talk at the “God and Physical Cosmology: Russian-Anglo American Conference on Cosmology and Theology” at Notre Dame in January/February 2003 and subsequently published in Faith and Philosophy 22(5), pp. 622-640, in 2005.]

Abstract

Science and religion both make claims about the fundamental workings of the universe. Although these claims are not a priori incompatible (we could imagine being brought to religious belief through scientific investigation), I will argue that in practice they diverge. If we believe that the methods of science can be used to discriminate between fundamental pictures of reality, we are led to a strictly materialist conception of the universe. While the details of modern cosmology are not a necessary part of this argument, they provide interesting clues as to how an ultimate picture may be constructed.

1. Introduction

2. Worldviews

3. Theory Choice

4. Cosmology and Belief

5. Conclusions

1. Introduction

One increasingly hears rumors of a reconciliation between science and religion. In major news magazines as well as at academic conferences, the claim is made that that belief in the success of science in describing the workings of the world is no longer thought to be in conflict with faith in God. I would like to argue against this trend, in favor of a more old-fashioned point of view that is still more characteristic of most scientists, who tend to disbelieve in any religious component to the workings of the universe.

The title “Why cosmologists are atheists” was chosen not because I am primarily interested in delving into the sociology and psychology of contemporary scientists, but simply to bring attention to the fact that I am presenting a common and venerable point of view, not advancing a new and insightful line of reasoning. Essentially I will be defending a position that has come down to us from the Enlightenment, and which has been sharpened along the way by various advances in scientific understanding. In particular, I will discuss what impact modern cosmology has on our understanding of these truly fundamental questions.

The past few hundred years have witnessed a significant degree of tension between science and religion. Since very early on, religion has provided a certain way of making sense of the world–a reason why things are the way they are. In modern times, scientific explorations have provided their own pictures of how the world works, ones which rarely confirm the preexisting religious pictures. Roughly speaking, science has worked to apparently undermine religious belief by calling into question the crucial explanatory aspects of that belief; it follows that other aspects (moral, spiritual, cultural) lose the warrants for their validity. I will argue that this disagreement is not a priori necessary, but nevertheless does arise as a consequence of the scientific method.

It is important from the outset to distinguish between two related but ultimately distinct concepts: a picture of how the world works, and a methodology for deciding between competing pictures. The pictures of interest in this paper may be labeled “materialism” and “theism.” Materialism asserts that a complete description of nature consists of an understanding of the structures of which it is comprised together with the patterns which those structures follow, while theism insists on the need for a conscious God who somehow rises above those patterns[1]. Science is most often associated with a materialist view, but the essence of science lies as much in a methodology of reaching the truth as in any view of what form that truth might ultimately take. In particular, the scientific method is an empirical one, in contrast to appeals to pure reason or to revelation. For the purposes of this paper I will assume the validity of the scientific method, and simply ask what sorts of conclusions we are led to by its application.

Within this framework, there are two possible roads to reconciliation between science and religion. One is to claim that science and religion are not incompatible because they speak to completely distinct sets of questions, and hence never come into conflict. The other is to assert that thinking scientifically does not lead to rejection of theism, but in fact that religious belief can be justified in the same way that any scientific theory might be. I will argue that neither strategy succeeds: science and religion do speak to some of the same questions, and when they do they get different answers. In particular, I wish to argue that religious belief necessarily entails certain statements about how the universe works, that these statements can be judged as scientific hypotheses, and that as such they should be rejected in favor of alternative ways of understanding the universe.

Probably nothing that I say will be anything you have not heard elsewhere. My goals here are simply to describe what I think a typical scientist has in mind when confronted with the question of science vs. religion, even if the scientists themselves have not thought through these issues in any detail.

2. Worldviews

One of the most difficult tasks in discussing the relationship between science and religion is to define the terminology in ways that are acceptable to everyone listening. In fact, it is likely impossible; especially when it comes to religion, the terminology is used in incompatible ways by different people. I will therefore try to be as clear as possible about the definitions I am using. In this section I want to carefully describe what I mean by the two competing worldviews, materialism and theism, without yet addressing how to choose between them.

The essence of materialism is to model the world as a formal system, which is both unambiguous and complete as a description of reality. A materialist model may be said to consist of four elements. First, we model the world as some formal (mathematical) structure. (General relativity describes the world as a curved manifold with a Lorentzian metric, while quantum mechanics describes the world as a state in some Hilbert space. As a more trivial example, we could imagine a universe which consisted of nothing other than an infinitely long list of “bits” taking on the values 0 or 1.) Second, this structure exhibits patterns (the “laws of nature”), so that the amount of information needed to express the world is dramatically less than the structure would in principle allow. (In a world described by a string of bits, we might for example find that the bits were an infinitely repeated series of a single one followed by two zeroes: 100100100100…) Third, we need boundary conditions which specify the specific realization of the pattern. (The first bit in our list is a one.) Note that the distinction between the patterns and their boundary conditions is not perfectly well-defined; this is an issue which becomes relevant in cosmology, and we’ll discuss it more later. Finally, we need a way to relate this formal system to the world we see: an “interpretation.”

The reader might worry that we are glossing over very subtle and important issues in the philosophy of science; they would be correct, but needn’t worry. Philosophy of science becomes difficult when we attempt to describe the relationship of the formalism to the world (the interpretation), as well as how we invent and choose between theories. But the idea that we are trying, in principle, to model the world as a formal system is fairly uncontroversial.

The materialist thesis is simply: that’s all there is to the world. Once we figure out the correct formal structure, patterns, boundary conditions, and interpretation, we have obtained a complete description of reality. (Of course we don’t yet have the final answers as to what such a description is, but a materialist believes such a description does exist.) In particular, we should emphasize that there is no place in this view for common philosophical concepts such as “cause and effect” or “purpose.” From the perspective of modern science, events don’t have purposes or causes; they simply conform to the laws of nature. In particular, there is no need to invoke any mechanism to “sustain” a physical system or to keep it going; it would require an additional layer of complexity for a system to cease following its patterns than for it to simply continue to do so. Believing otherwise is a relic of a certain metaphysical way of thinking; these notions are useful in an informal way for human beings, but are not a part of the rigorous scientific description of the world. Of course scientists do talk about “causality,” but this is a description of the relationship between patterns and boundary conditions; it is a derived concept, not a fundamental one. If we know the state of a system at one time, and the laws governing its dynamics, we can calculate the state of the system at some later time. You might be tempted to say that the particular state at the first time “caused” the state to be what it was at the second time; but it would be just as correct to say that the second state caused the first. According to the materialist worldview, then, structures and patterns are all there are–we don’t need any ancillary notions.

Defining theism is more difficult than defining materialism, for the simple reason that theist belief takes many more forms that materialist belief, and the same words are often taken to mean utterly different things. I will partially avoid this difficulty by not attempting a comprehensive definition of religion, but simply taking belief in the existence of a being called “God” as a necessary component of being religious. (Already this choice excludes some modes of belief which are sometimes thought of as “religious.” For example, one could claim that “the laws of physics, and their working out in the world, are what I hold to be God.” I am not sure what the point of doing that would be, but in such a case nothing that I have to say would apply.)

The subtlety has therefore been transferred to the task of defining “God.” I will take it to mean some being who is not bound by the same patterns we perceive in the universe, who is by our standards extremely powerful (not necessarily omnipotent, although that would count), and in some way plays a crucial role in the universe (creating it, or keeping it going, etc.). By a “being” I mean to imply an entity which we would recognize as having consciousness–a “person” in some appropriately generalized sense (as opposed to a feature of reality, or some sort of feeling). A rather concrete God, in other words, not just an aspect of nature. This notion of God need not be interventionist or easy to spot, but has at least the capability of intervening in our world. Even if not necessarily omnipotent, the relevant feature of this conception is that God is not bound by the laws of physics. In particular, I don’t include some sort of superhero-God who is bound by such laws, but has figured out how to use them in ways that convey the impression of enormous power (even if it is hard to imagine ultimately distinguishing between these two possibilities). When I say that God is not bound by the laws of physics, I have in mind for example that God is not limited to moving more slowly than the speed of light, or that God could create an electron without also creating a corresponding positively charged particle. (We are not imagining that God can do the logically impossible, just violate the contingent patterns of reality that we could imagine having been different.) Of course these are meager powers compared to most conceptions of God, but I am taking them to be minimal criteria. There are various types of belief which are conventionally labeled as religious, but inconsistent with my definition of God; about these I have nothing to say in this paper.

It should be clear that, by these definitions, materialism and theism are incompatible, essentially by definition. (The former says that everything follows the rules, the second says that God is an exception.) It does not immediately follow that “science” and “religion” are incompatible; we could follow the scientific method to conclude that a materialist description of the world was not as reasonable as a theist one. On the other hand, it does follow that science and religion do overlap in their spheres of interest. Religion has many aspects, including social and moral ones, apart from its role in describing the workings of the world; however, that role is a crucial one, and necessarily speaks to some of the same issues as science does. Suggestions that science and religion are simply disjoint activities[2] generally rely on a redefinition of “religion” as something closer to “moral philosophy.” Such a definition ignores crucial aspects of religious belief.

In judging between materialism and theism, we are faced with two possibilities. Either one or the other system is logically impossible, or we need to decide which of the two conceivable models better explains the world we experience. In my view, neither materialism nor theism is logically impossible, and I will proceed on the idea that we have to see which fits reality better. Of course arguments against materialism have been put forward which do not rely on specific observed features of our world, but instead on either pure reason or revelation; I won’t attempt to deal with such arguments here.

3. Theory Choice

Given this understanding of materialism and theism, how are we to decide which to believe? There is no right answer to this question, and sensible arguments can only be made after we agree on some basic elements of how we should go about choosing a theory of the world. For example, someone could insist on the primacy of revelation in understanding deep truths; in response, there is no logical argument which could prove such a person wrong. Instead, I would like to ask what conclusion we should reach by employing a more empirical technique of deciding between theories. In other words, we address the choice between materialism and theism as a scientist would address the choice between any two competing theories.

The basic scientific assumption is that there is exists a complete and coherent description of how the world works. (This need not be a purely materialist description, in the language of the previous section; simply a sensible description covering all phenomena.) Although we certainly don’t yet know what this description might be, science has been extremely successful at constructing provisional theories which accurately model some aspects of reality; this degree of success thus far convinces most scientists that there really is a comprehensive description to be found. This underlying assumption plays a crucial role in determining how scientists choose between competing theories which are more modest in their goals, attempting to model only some specific types of phenomena–in a nutshell, scientists choose those models which they feel are more likely to be consistent with the true underlying unified description.

We can make such a sweeping statement with some confidence, only because it avoids all the hard questions. In particular, how do we go about deciding whether a theory is more or less likely to be consistent with a single coherent description of nature? It is at this point that the judgment of the individual scientist necessarily plays a crucial role; the process is irreducibly nonalgorithmic. A number of criteria are employed, including fit to experiment, simplicity, and comprehensiveness. No one of these criteria is absolute, even fit to experiment; after all, experiments are sometimes wrong.

Let me give an example to illustrate the different criteria employed by scientists to judge theories. When we observe the dynamics of galaxies, we find that the apparent gravitational force exerted by the galaxy on particles orbiting far around it is inevitably much larger than we would expect by taking into account the combined mass of all the visible material in the galaxy. A straightforward and popular hypothesis to explain this observation is the idea of “dark matter,” the notion that most of the mass in galaxies is not in stars or gas, but rather in some new kind of particle which has not yet been observed directly, and which has an average mass density in the universe which is approximately five times greater than that of ordinary matter. But there is a competing idea: that our understanding of gravity (through Einstein’s general relativity) breaks down at the edges of galaxies, to be replaced by some new gravitational law. Such a law has actually been proposed by Milgrom, under the name of “Modified Newtonian Dynamics,” or MOND[3]. At this point we don’t know for certain whether the dark matter hypothesis or the MOND hypothesis is correct, but it is safe to say that the large majority of scientific experts come down in favor of dark matter. Why is that? On the one hand, there is a sense in which MOND is more compact and efficient: it has been demonstrated to accurately describe the observations of a wide set of galaxies, with only a single free parameter, while the dark matter idea is somewhat less predictive on this score. But there are two features working strongly in favor of dark matter. First, it makes detailed predictions for a wide class of phenomena, well outside the realm of individual galaxies: clusters of galaxies, gravitational lenses, large-scale structure, the cosmic microwave background, and more, while MOND is completely silent on these issues (there is no prediction to verify or disprove). The second (closely related) point is that MOND is not really a complete theory, or even a theory at all, but simply a suggested phenomenological relation that is supposed to hold for galaxies. Nobody understands how to make it part of a larger consistent framework. Therefore, despite the greater predictive power of MOND within its domain of validity, most scientists consider it to be a step backward, as it seems less likely to ultimately be part of a comprehensive description. (Nobody can say for sure, so the issue is still open, but the majority has a definite preference.)

It should be clear why choosing between competing theories is difficult–it’s a matter of predicting the future, not of applying a set of unambiguous criteria. Nevertheless, it’s not completely arbitrary, either; it’s simply a matter of applying a set of somewhat ambiguous standards. Fortunately, cases in which a certain theory would be favored by applying one reasonable criterion while a different theory would be favored by applying a different reasonable criterion are both rare and typically short-lived; the acquisition of additional experimental input or increased theoretical understanding tends to ultimately resolve the issue relatively cleanly in favor of one specific model.

According to this description, the evaluation of a scientific theory involves both a judgment about the theory itself and about the more comprehensive theory which would ultimately describe nature. While a number of disparate factors are applied to concrete theories, the criteria relevant to judging competing comprehensive theories are much more straightforward: among every possible model which fits all of the data, we choose the simplest possible one. “Simplicity” here is related to the notion of “algorithmic compressibility”: the simplicity of a model is judged by how much information is required to fully specify the system. There is no a priori reason why nature should be governed by a comprehensive model which is at all simple; but our experience as scientists convinces us that this is the case.

It should be clear how these considerations relate to the choice between materialism and theism. These two worldviews offer different notions of what form a comprehensive description will take. Acting as scientists, it is our task to judge whether it seems more likely that the simplest possible comprehensive theory which is compatible with what we already know about the universe will turn out to be strictly materialistic, or will require the introduction of a deity.

4. Cosmology and Belief

If we accept the scientific method as a way to determine the workings of reality, are we led to a materialist or theist conclusion? Naïvely, the deck seems to be stacked against theism: if we are looking for simplicity of description, a view which only invokes formal structures and patterns would appear to be simpler than one in which God appeared in addition. However, we are constrained to find simple descriptions which are also complete and consistent with experiment. Therefore, we could be led to belief in God, if it were warranted by our observations–if there were evidence (direct or otherwise) of divine handiwork in the universe.

There are several possible ways in which this could happen. Most direct would be straightforward observation of miraculous events that would be most easily explained by invoking God. Since such events seem hard to come by, we need to be more subtle. Yet there are still at least two ways in which a theist worldview could be judged more compelling than a materialist one. First, we could find that our best materialist conception was somehow incomplete–there was some aspect of the universe which could not possibly be explained within a completely formal framework. This would be like a “God of the gaps,” if there were good reason to believe that a certain kind of “gap” were truly inexplicable by formal rules alone. Second, we could find that invoking the workings of God actually worked to simplify the description, by providing explanations for some of the observed patterns. An example would be an argument from design, if we could establish convincingly that certain aspects of the universe were designed rather than assembled by chance. Let’s examine each of these possibilities in turn.

We turn first to the idea that there is something inherently missing in a materialist description of nature. One way in which this could happen would be if there were a class of phenomena which seemed to act without regard to any patterns we could discern, something that stubbornly resisted formalization into a mechanistic description. Of course, in such a case it would be hard to tell whether an appropriate formalism actually didn’t exist, or whether we just hadn’t yet been clever enough to discover it. For example, physicists have tried for most of the last century to invent a theory which described gravity while being consistent with quantum mechanics. (String theory is the leading candidate for such a theory, but it has not yet been fully developed to the point where we understand it well enough to compare it to experiment.) It is hard to know at what point scientists would become sufficiently frustrated in their attempts to describe a phenomenon that they would begin to suspect that no formal description was applicable. However, it is safe to say that such a point has not been reached, or even approached, with any of the phenomena of current interest to physicists. Although there are undoubtedly unsolved problems, the rate at which successful theoretical explanations are proposed for these problems is well in accordance with expectation. In other words, there does not seem to be any reason to suspect that we have reached, or are about to reach, the fundamental limits of our ability to find rules governing nature’s behavior.

A more promising place to search for a fundamental incompleteness in the materialist program would be at the “boundaries” of the universe. Recall that a complete mechanistic picture involves not only patterns we discern in nature, but some boundary condition which serves to choose a particular realization of all the possible configurations consistent with such a pattern. In the realm of science, this is an issue of unique concern to cosmology. In physics, chemistry, or biology, we imagine that we can isolate systems in whatever initial state we like (within reason), and observe how the rules governing the system play themselves out from that starting point. In cosmology, in contrast, we are faced with a unique universe, and must face the issue of its initial conditions. One could certainly imagine that something like a traditional religious conception of God could provide some insight into why the initial state was the particular one relevant to our universe.

In classical cosmology initial conditions are imposed at the Big Bang, a singular region in space-time out of which our universe was born. More carefully, if we take our current universe and run it back in time, we reach a point where the density and curvature of space-time become infinite, and our equations (gravity described by Einstein’s general relativity, and other fields described by the standard model of particle physics) cease to make sense. This initial moment must apparently be treated as a boundary to space-time. (A boundary in the past, not in any direction in space.) As we now recognize, the conditions near the Big Bang are by no means generic; the curvature of space (as opposed to that of space-time) was extremely close to zero, and widely separated parts of the universe were expanding at nearly identical rates. What made it this way? Do we need to accept the imposition of certain boundary conditions as an irreducible part of our worldview, or is there some way of arguing within a bigger picture that these conditions were somehow natural? Or do we simplify our description by invoking a God who brought the universe into existence in a certain state?

Nobody knows the answers with any certainty. The best we can do is to extrapolate from what we think we do know. In this context, modern cosmology does have something to teach us. In particular, we now know that the issue of boundary conditions is more complicated than it might appear at first. Indeed, we now understand that, despite appearances, the universe might not have a boundary at all. This could happen in one of two ways: either the Big Bang might actually be smooth and nonsingular, or it might represent a transitional phase in a universe which is actually eternal.

The first possibility, that the Big Bang is actually nonsingular, was popularized by the Hartle-Hawking “no boundary” proposal for the wave function of the universe[4]. Discussions of this proposal can be somewhat misleading, in that they frequently refer to the idea that the universe came into being out of nothing. This would be hard to understand, if true; what is this “nothing” that the universe purportedly came out of, and what caused it to come out? A much better way of putting the Hartle-Hawking idea into words would be to say that the apparent “sharp point” at the beginning of space-time is smoothed out into a featureless surface. The mechanism by which the smoothing purportedly happens involves technical details of the geometry of the space-time metric, and in all honesty the entire proposal is very far from being well-formulated. Nevertheless, the lesson of the Hartle-Hawking work is that we don’t necessarily have to think of the Big Bang as an “edge” at which space-time runs into a wall; it could be more like the North Pole, which is as far north as you can possibly go, without actually representing any sort of physical boundary of the globe. In other words, the universe could be finite (in time) and yet be unbounded.

The other way to avoid a boundary is more intuitive: simply imagine that the universe lasts forever. Like the Hartle-Hawking proposal, the idea of an eternal universe requires going beyond our current well-formulated theories of general relativity and particle physics. In the context of classical four-dimensional gravitation, it is well known that the conditions which we believe obtained in the very early universe must have originated from a singularity. Extensions of this picture, however, can in principle allow for smooth continuation through the veil of the Big Bang to an earlier phase of the universe. Within this scenario there are two possibilities: either what we see as the Big Bang was a unique event, about which the universe expands indefinitely in either direction in time; or it was one occurrence in an infinitely repeating cycle of expansions and recontractions. Both possibilities have been considered for a long time, but have received new attention thanks to recent work by Veneziano and collaborators (the “pre-Big-Bang” model[5]) and Steinhardt, Turok, and collaborators (the “cyclic universe” model[6]).

In either case, an attempt is made to circumvent traditional singularity theorems by introducing exotic matter fields, extra dimensions of space, and sometimes “branes” on which ordinary particles are confined. For example, in the model of a cyclic universe advocated by Steinhardt and Turok, our universe is a three-brane (three spatial dimensions, evolving in time, for a total of four space-time dimensions) embedded in a background five-dimensional space-time. Motion in the extra dimension, it is suggested, can help resolve the apparent Big-Bang singularity, allowing a contracting universe to bounce and begin expanding into a new phase, before eventually recollapsing and starting the cycle over again.

I don’t want to discuss details of either the pre-Big-Bang scenario or the cyclic universe; for one thing, the details are fuzzy at best and incoherent at worse. Neither picture is completely well-formulated at this time. But the state of the art in early-universe cosmology is not the point; the lesson here is that we are not forced to think of boundary conditions being imposed arbitrarily at the earliest times. In any of the scenarios mentioned here, the issue of initial conditions is dramatically altered from the classical Big-Bang scenario, since there is no edge to the universe at which boundary conditions need to be arbitrarily imposed. Thus, one cannot argue that we require the initial state of the universe to be specified by the conscious act of a deity, or that the universe came into existence as the result of a single creative act. This is by no means a proof that God does not exist; God could be responsible for the universe’s existence, whether it is boundaryless or not. But these theories demonstrate that a distinct creation event is not a necessary component of a complete description of the universe. Although we don’t know whether any of these models will turn out to be part of the final picture, their existence allows us to believe that a simple materialist formalism is sufficient to tell the whole story.

Being allowed to believe something, of course, is not the same as having good reasons for doing so. This brings us to the second possible way in which scientific reasoning could lead us to believe in God: if, upon constructing various models for the universe, we found that the God hypothesis accounted most economically for some of the features we found in observed phenomena. As noted, this kind of reasoning is a descendant of the well-known argument from design. A few centuries ago, for example, it would have been completely reasonable to observe the complexity and subtlety exhibited in the workings of biological creatures, and conclude that such intricacy could not possibly have arisen by chance, but must instead be attributed to the plan of a Creator. The advent of Darwin’s theory of evolution, featuring descent with modification and natural selection, provided a mechanism by which such apparently improbable configurations could have arisen via innumerable gradual changes.

Indeed, modern science has provided plausible explanations for the origin of all the complex phenomena we find in nature (given appropriate initial conditions, as we just discussed). Nevertheless, these explanations rely on the details of the laws of physics, as exemplified in general relativity and the standard model of particle physics. In particular, when we consider carefully the particular laws we have discovered, we find them to be specific realizations of more general possible structures. For example, in particle physics we have various kinds of particles (fermions, gauge bosons, a hypothetical Higgs boson), as well as specific symmetries among their interactions, and particular values for the parameters governing their behavior. Given that the universe is made out of fermions and bosons with particular kinds of interactions, to the best of our current knowledge we do not understand why we find the particular particles we do, or the particular symmetries, or the particular parameters, rather than some other arrangement. Is it conceivable that in the particular realization of particles and forces of our universe we can discern the fingerprints of a conscious deity, rather than simply a random selection among an infinite number of possibilities?

Well, yes, it is certainly conceivable. In fact, the argument has been made that the particles and interactions we observe are not chosen at all randomly; instead, they are precisely tuned so as to allow for the existence of human life (or at least, complex structures of the kind we consider to be necessary for intelligent life).

In order for this argument to have force, we must believe both that the physical laws are finely tuned to allow for life (i.e., that the complexity required for life to form is not a robust feature, and would generally be absent for different choices of particles and coupling constants), and that there is no simpler alternative explanation for this fine-tuning. I will argue that neither statement is warranted by our current understanding, although both are open questions; in either case, there is not a strong reason for invoking the existence of God.

Let’s turn first to the fine-tuning of our observed laws of nature. It is certainly true that the world we observe depends sensitively on the particular values of the constants of nature: for example, the strength of the electromagnetic and nuclear forces. If the strong nuclear force had a slightly different value, the balance which characterizes stable nuclei would be upset, and the periodic table of the elements would be dramatically altered[7]. We could imagine (so the argument goes) values for which hydrogen were the only stable element, or for which no carbon was formed in the life cycle of stars. In either case it would be difficult or impossible for life as we know it to exist.

But there are two serious holes in this argument, at least at our current level of expertise: we don’t really know what the universe would look like if the parameters of the standard model were different, nor do we know what are the necessary conditions for the formation of intelligent life. (Both of these claims are open to debate, and there are certainly scientists who disagree; but if nothing else these are the conservative positions.)

To appreciate the difficulty of reliably determining what the universe would be like if the constants of nature took on different values, let us imagine trying to figure out what our actual universe should look like, if we were handed the laws of subatomic physics but had no direct empirical knowledge of how particles assembled themselves into more complex structures. A fundamental obstacle arises immediately, since quantum chromodynamics (the theory of quarks and gluons, which gives rise to the strong nuclear force) is a strongly coupled theory, so that our most straightforward and trustworthy techniques (involving perturbation theory in some small parameter, such as the fine-structure constant of electromagnetism) are worthless. We would probably be able to conclude that quarks and gluons were bound into composite particles, and could even imagine figuring out that the lightest nearly stable examples were protons and neutrons (and their antiparticles). It would be very hard, without experimental input, to calculate reliably that protons were lighter than neutrons, but it might be possible. It would be essentially impossible to determine accurately the types of stable nuclei that protons and neutrons would be able to form. We would have no chance whatsoever of accurately predicting the actual abundance of heavy nuclei in the universe, as these are formed in stars and supernovae whose evolution we don’t really understand even with considerable observational input. Most embarrassingly, we would never have predicted that there was a significant excess of matter over antimatter, since the process by which this occurs remains a complete mystery (there are numerous plausible models, but none has become commonly accepted[8]). So we would predict a world in which there were almost no nuclei at all, the nucleons and antinucleons having annihilated long ago, leaving nothing but an inert gas of photons and neutrinos. In other words, a universe utterly inhospitable to the existence of intelligent life as we know it. Of course, perhaps life could nevertheless exist, of a sort radically different than we are familiar with. As skeptical as I am about the ability of physicists to accurately predict gross features of a universe in which the laws of nature are different, I am all the more skeptical of the ability or biologists (or anyone else) to describe the conditions under which intelligence may or may not arise. (Cellular automata, the simple discrete systems popularized by Wolfram and others[9], provide an excellent example of how extreme complexity can arise out of fundamentally very simple behaviors.) For this reason, it seems highly presumptuous for anyone to claim that the laws of nature we observe are somehow delicately adjusted to allow for the existence of life.

But in fact there is a better reason to be skeptical of the fine-tuning claim: the indisputable fact that there are many features of the laws of nature which don’t seem delicately adjusted at all, but seem completely irrelevant to the existence of life. In a cosmological context, the most obvious example is the sheer vastness of the universe; it would hardly seem necessary to make so many galaxies just so that life could arise on a single planet around a single star. But to me a more pointed observation is the existence of “generations” of elementary particles. All of the ordinary matter in the universe seems to be made out of two types of quarks (up and down) and two types of leptons (electrons and electron neutrinos), as well as the various force-carrying particles. But this pattern of quarks and leptons is repeated threefold: the up and down quarks are joined by four more types, just as the electron and its neutrino are joined by two electron-type particles and two more neutrinos. As far as life is concerned, these particles are completely superfluous. All of the processes we observe in the everyday workings of the universe would go on in essentially the same way if those particles didn’t exist. Why do the constituents of nature exhibit this pointless duplication, if the laws of nature were constructed with life in mind?

Beyond the fact that the constants of nature do not seem to be chosen by any intelligent agent, there remains the very real possibility that parameters we think of as distinct (for example, the parameters measuring the strength of the electromagnetic and nuclear forces) are actually calculable from a single underlying parameter. This speculative proposal is the goal of so-called grand unified theories, for which there is already some indirect evidence. In other words, it might turn out to be that the constants of nature really couldn’t have had any other values. I don’t think that, if we discovered this to be the case, it would count as evidence against the existence of God, only because I don’t think that our present understanding of these parameters counts as evidence in favor of God.

But perhaps the parameters are finely tuned; we might imagine that our understanding of physics, biology, and complexity some day will increase to a degree where we can say with confidence that alternative values for these parameters would not have allowed intelligent life to evolve. Even in that case, the existence of God is by no means the only mechanism for explaining this apparently unlikely state of affairs; a completely materialist scenario is provided by the well-known anthropic principle. Imagine that what we think of as the “constants of nature” are merely local phenomena, in the sense that there are other regions of the universe where they take on completely different values. This is a respectable possibility within our current conception of particle physics and cosmology. The idea that there are different, inaccessible regions of the universe is consistent with the theory of “eternal inflation,” in which space-time on large scales consists of innumerable distinct expanding universes, connected by regions of space driven to hyperexpansion by an incredibly high-energy field[10]. Within each of these separate regions, we can imagine that the matter fields settle into one of a large number of distinct metastable states, characterized by different values of all the various coupling constants. (Such a scenario is completely consistent with current ideas from string theory[11], although it is clearly at odds with the idea from the previous paragraph that all of the coupling constants might be uniquely calculable. The truth is that either scenario is possible, we just don’t know enough at this point to say with confidence which, if either, is on the right track.)

In a universe comprised of many distinct regions with different values of the coupling constants, it is tautologous that intelligent observers will only measure the values which obtain in those regions which are consistent with the existence of such observers. This is nothing more fancy than the reason why nobody is surprised that life arose on the surface of the Earth rather than the surface of the Sun, even though the surface area of the Sun is so much larger: the Earth is simply a much more hospitable environment. Therefore, even if we were to be confident that tiny alterations in the particles and couplings we observe in our universe would render life impossible, we would by no means need to invoke intelligent design as an explanation.

5. Conclusions

The question we have addressed is, “Thinking as good scientists and observing the world in which we live, is it more reasonable to conclude that a materialist or theist picture is most likely to ultimately provide a comprehensive description of the universe?” Although I don’t imagine I have changed many people’s minds, I do hope that my reasoning has been clear. We are looking for a complete, coherent, and simple understanding of reality. Given what we know about the universe, there seems to be no reason to invoke God as part of this description. In the various ways in which God might have been judged to be a helpful hypothesis–such as explaining the initial conditions for the universe, or the particular set of fields and couplings discovered by particle physics–there are alternative explanations which do not require anything outside a completely formal, materialist description. I am therefore led to conclude that adding God would just make things more complicated, and this hypothesis should be rejected by scientific standards. It’s a venerable conclusion, brought up to date by modern cosmology; but the dialogue between people who feel differently will undoubtedly last a good while longer.

See article for Notes and References.

Why Religious Experience Cannot Justify Religious Belief

Here’s the link to this article by David Kyle Johnson.

April 30, 2021


(2020)

[This article was originally published in Socio-Historical Examination of Religion and Ministry, Vol. 2, No. 2 (Fall 2020), pp. 26-46.]

As [Paul] was traveling, it happened that he was approaching Damascus, and suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him; and he fell to the ground… (Act 9:3-4, NASB)

In Chapter 9 of their 1999 book, Phantoms in the Brain, entitled “God and the Limbic System,” neuroscientist V. S. Ramachandran and Sandra Blakeslee told the story of a patient named Paul—a Goodwill store assistant manager who has been blessed—or haunted—by intense religious experiences all his life. Ironically, Paul’s experiences mirror, almost exactly, those of his biblical namesake: the Apostle Paul. “I remember seeing a bright light before I fell on the ground and wondering where it came from.”[1] Like the Apostle, Paul’s experiences completely changed his life, and he goes on to write, at great length, about the profundities of religious truths—”an enormous manuscript … [that] set out his views on philosophy, mysticism and religion; the nature of the trinity; the iconography of the star of David; elaborate drawings depicting spiritual themes, strange mystical symbols, and maps.”[2] But unlike the Apostle’s, Paul’s brain can be directly observed by modern science—and we now know what causes his religious experiences: focal seizures in his temporal lobe. Each one coincides with a religious experience and produced in Paul what has come to be known as “temporal lobe personality.”

Similar experiences happen to individuals of every religion, yet they teach those individuals vastly different, even contradictory, things. The Apostle Paul’s experience, for example, taught him that Jesus was the Messiah, the son of God, and (arguably) that he was identical to God himself.[3] Muhammad’s religious experiences, which inspired his writing of the Qur’an, taught him the exact opposite—that Jesus was “no more than a messenger” (Q al-Ma’idah 5:75), that “[i]t is not befitting to (the majesty of) God that He should beget a son” (Q Maryam 19:30-35), and that it would have been blasphemy for Jesus to have claimed to be God (Q al-Ma’idah 5:116-117). Of course, similar disparities among those who have religious experiences abound. A Buddhist’s religious experience will likely teach him that there is no God, no persons, and no afterlife, whereas a Christian’s will teach him that there is a God and if a person worships him properly, one can enter Heaven.

These facts seem to raise serious doubts about the ability of religious experiences to justify religious beliefs, especially for the modern academic theist who is aware of them. Why this is true, however, has not yet been clearly identified. To be sure, many have attempted to argue that these facts do not threaten the justificatory power of religious experience; but those say they do have yet to accurately articulate why.[4] It is the goal of this essay to do so. The author will argue that, at least for those aware of such facts, such as the modern academic theist, the diversity of religious experience and the existence of neurological explanations for religious experience entail that religious experience cannot justify religious belief. First, the author will define and identify the significance of religious experience. Then, the author will argue that the diversity of religious experience establishes its unreliability, rendering its justificatory value moot. Lastly, the author will argue that modern scientific explanations for religious experiences do the same by presenting an alternative and preferable natural explanation of those experiences. The author will do so utilizing two epistemic theories that are prized by theistic philosophers of religion: reliabilism and virtue epistemology.

Defining and Using Religious Experience

Before establishing that religious experience cannot justify religious belief, it is important to define religious experience and the role theists claim it plays in justifying their belief. Religious experiences can be defined as encounters with “the divine” that are ultimately caused by the divine—in which “the divine” is broadly defined to encompass as many religious notions as possible (e.g., the Christian God, the Hindu Brahman, and the Buddhist Void). Some are professed to be visual or auditory experiences not brought about by the ordinary senses; others are simply intellectual realizations (without accompanying experiences). Still others are reactions to worldly stimuli—perhaps an ordinary stimulus (e.g., seeing God in a sunset) or a seemingly miraculous stimulus (e.g., witnessing a faith-healing)—while others are what one might call mystical experiences, which William James said were ineffable (i.e., they cannot be accurately described).[5] Most are likely passive (one cannot will them to occur) and transitive (they only occur for a short period of time). And while most are also noetic (convey insights into deep truths), others may simply consist in what Jonathan Haidt called “uplift” (something one might feel while singing a hymn at church).[6] It is difficult to say more than that but, presumably, that does not matter—because, supposedly, when one has a religious experience, one will know it.[7]

Religious experience has played a significant role in justifying religious belief throughout the history of religion. In addition to the aforementioned role it played in the production of both Christian and Islamic texts, religious experiences appear in Scripture as well: Moses, via his burning bush experience, comes to believe that he should lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Mary and Joseph, via angelic announcement, learn of Jesus’ miraculous conception. The apostles, in Acts 2, after receiving the Holy Spirit, learn how to speak in different languages. Nonbiblical religious experiences include the conversion of C. S. Lewis and the visions of Bernadette Soubirous.[8] The political and historic significance of religious experience also cannot be forgotten. The Roman Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity after a religious experience and tried to influence the entire empire to do likewise. In 2005, George W. Bush told Palestinian ministers that a religious experience inspired him to invade Afghanistan and Iraq.[9]

The role that religious experience plays in justifying religious belief is probably most clearly made by the Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga. In his 2000 book, Warranted Christian Belief, when articulating his “Aquinas/Calvin (A/C) model,” Plantinga spoke of humans possessing a sixth sense, the sensus divinitatis, which is attuned to the divine. Through it, the Holy Spirit can instigate beliefs in selected believers through what amounts to a religious experience. As an example, Plantinga has spoken of looking upon a mountain vista and coming to believe that it, and the universe, was designed by God.[10] According to Plantinga, such beliefs are “properly basic.” They are justified (even though they are not based on evidence), not because the religious experience provides “evidence” for the belief in question (which it does not), but because it justifies theistic belief in the same way that seeing a tree can justify one’s belief that a tree exists.[11] In fact, most defenses of religious experience’s ability to justify religious belief rely on some kind of “sense of sight” analogy.[12]

The ability of religious experience to justify religious belief is important because many theists (although not all) admit that evidence for God’s existence, and other religious beliefs, can be found nowhere else.[13] The classic arguments for God’s existence, for example, fail. The justification provided by religious experience can also help theists who admit to having no good answer to the evidential problem of evil. Plantinga has even argued that beliefs instigated by religious experience are immune to evidential challenge.[14] But let the reader now consider two arguments that religious experience cannot justify religious belief for the modern academic theist—an inductive argument based on religious diversity and another derived from natural explanations for religious experience.

The Diversity of Religious Experience

The fact that devotees of different religions have religious experiences that lead them to contradictory conclusions seems to threaten the ability of religious experience to provide justification for religious belief. But exactly how this threat should be understood is not straightforward. David Silver articulates it in terms of the individual; the justification that X is true provided by one person’s religious experiences can be nullified by the trustworthy testimony of a friend who also had a religious experience but instead came to believe ~X.[15] But there are a few flaws with his account.

First, it is not clear that even trustworthy testimony can “transfer” the justification provided to someone who has a religious experience to someone else. William James, for example, would argue that the friend’s religious experience can only provide justification for the friend’s religious belief—not the original person’s.[16] So the original person may still have more reason to believe X than ~X and thus not be in the epistemic bind Silver describes. More importantly, Silver’s individualistic account does not seem to fully appreciate the threat posed by the realization that there are millions of epistemically virtuous, morally upstanding people, who belong to other religions and have religious experiences that teach lessons contrary to one another. Lastly, Silver’s argument does not show that religious experience fails to provide justification for religious belief. It just shows that the evidence initially provided by a religious experience can be counteracted by contrary evidence, leaving one in an epistemically neutral position. The problem that arises from the diversity of religious experience, however, seems to entail something more: that religious experience cannot provide justification for religious belief in the first place.

Theistic philosophers, like Plantinga, are fond of reliabilism—the notion that beliefs are justified if they are produced by “reliable processes” (i.e., processes that are trustworthy, that usually lead to true belief). This is why Plantinga, for example, thinks that his religious experiences justify his religious belief—because they were processes instigated by the Holy Spirit, and any such process must be truth-preserving. But the diversity of religious experience calls into question the reliability of religious experience itself.

To understand why, suppose there are only two religions in the world, with half the world’s population belonging to each, and that the religions are mutually exclusive (only one can be true). Suppose also that religious experiences, which tell the experiencer that their religion is true, are had by adherents of both. Since both religions cannot be true, the religious experiences of at least half the world’s population are leading them astray— producing false belief. Consequently, one must conclude that religious experience is not reliable; half of the time, it results in incorrect conclusions. In such a situation, one could not be justified by a religious experience to believe what it suggests is true; it is just as likely, as not, that it is leading the experiencer astray.

The problem, of course, is that the conditions in the real world are even less favorable. There are five major world religions, only one of which can be true, and there is at least one major split in each. So, without adjusting for the popularity of certain religions, religious experience produces wrong belief 90% of the time. And even taking popularity into account, and assuming the best case scenario in which the most adhered to religion (Christianity at 31%) is true, and the generous assumption that Christian religious experiences are uniform, religious experience still leads the experiencer astray two-thirds of the time. That hardly makes it a reliable truth-preserving process.[17] So, since the diversity of religious experience entails that religious experience is not a reliable truth-preserving process, and if it is not it cannot justify religious belief, the diversity of religious experience entails that religious experience cannot justify religious belief.

To respond, one cannot merely claim one’s religious experience is stronger than someone else’s; no one has access to how strong the religious experiences of others are. In fact, the others could simply in turn claim that theirs is stronger—and that leads right back to the same problem.

One might also try to divide religious experience into different kinds, and claim that one kind—one’s own kind—is reliable. Unfortunately, attempts to do so will either beg the question (one cannot claim to know so via one’s religious experience) or undermine the epistemic authority of the kind of religious experience being argued for. For example, if one provides additional evidence for the beliefs produced by a certain kind of religious experience (to show that kind of religious experience reliably leads to true beliefs), then it will be that evidence—not the religious experience—that is doing the justificatory work for the beliefs in question.

Erik Baldwin and Michael Thune, defenders of Silver’s thesis, point out that theists fond of Plantinga’s A/C model are likely to respond to threats posed to the reliability of religious experiences by observing, “If indeed one’s religious experience is reliable, then the belief is still justified.”[18] But, although that conditional is true, it does not help one defend religious experience’s ability to justify religious belief. As already shown, there is good reason to think the antecedent of this conditional is false—and if it is false, there is no good reason to think that religious experience can justify religious belief. Indeed, there is good reason to think that it cannot. Because religious experience leads the experiencer astray at least two-thirds of the time, one knows it is not an accurate determiner of religious truth.

The truth of this conditional does entail that, for any given process that justifies a belief, one does not need to know that process is trustworthy (what Plantinga would call “reliable”) in order for it to justify the belief in question. For example, even if one does not know that one’s faculty of sight is trustworthy—after all, one might be dreaming—if it is indeed trustworthy, then it does in fact reliably produce true belief and thus can justify one’s belief that the world is real (at least according to reliabilism). But if one’s faculty of sight is not in fact untrustworthy—suppose it regularly produces hallucinations—then it cannot justify one’s belief. What’s more, if one has good reason to think that it is untrustworthy (suppose one knows that it produces hallucinations two-thirds of the time), then it certainly cannot justify one’s belief! And in such a situation, pointing out “if it were reliably accurate, it would justify belief” does not change this fact, nor does it make one’s sight-based beliefs justified.

Perhaps one might continue the point further, suggesting: Even though the diversity of religious experience provides evidence that religious experience is untrustworthy, it still might be that one’s religious experience is reliably accurate—maybe one’s religious belief really is instigated by the Holy Spirit—and thus, contrary to the claim of this paper, it is at least possible that religious experience can justify religious belief despite the diversity of religious experience. But this seems patently false. To see why, consider another analogy with sight.

If one has good reason to think their faculty of sight is untrustworthy (perhaps one has good reason to believe one is living in a computer simulation), even if it turns out their sight is accurate (one is, in fact, not in a computer simulation), one’s doubt about the trustworthiness of one’s senses erases any justification that their faculty of sight can provide. In fact, if one has good reason to doubt their sight, one should not believe what it tells them, even if it is telling them the truth. In the same way, even if it turns out that one happens to belong to the one true religion and their religious beliefs were bestowed by God via a religious experience (and they are thus reliable), the diversity of religious experience still gives one good reason to doubt the reliability of the religious experience. Thus, it cannot justify one’s religious belief, and one should not believe what it purports to be true.

If one is unaware of the reasons to question the trustworthiness of religious experience (e.g., the diversity of religious experience) and it also happens that one has the kind of religious experience that is accurate (e.g., an experience caused by God)—in that very special circumstance, religious experience would likely justify religious belief. But this will not help the academic theist (or anyone reading this paper) for they cannot claim such ignorance. Thus, the paper’s thesis still stands.

The other solution to this problem is to look for overlap to thus defend “the unanimity thesis”: Yes, the doctrines supported by religious experience throughout the world’s religions are contradictory, but that is because people interpret their religious experiences through the lens of their culture and religious traditions. A Christian will see Jesus; a Hindu, Brahman. But the “core” of all religious experience is the same: it is an encounter with an indescribable reality (often called “the Real”) which gives rise to feelings of peace and blessedness that tends to make one less selfish. So, while religious experience may be untrustworthy as a means to true belief about specific religious doctrines, it does reliably produce accurate beliefs regarding these “core” elements. So, religious experience can justify those beliefs.

The idea that there is a common core of religious experience has been defended by Peter Byrne, Aldous Huxley, Bertrand Russell, C. D. Broad, and John Hick (just to name a few).[19] Ironically, however, their accounts of this core are largely incompatible. For example, Hick claims that “the Real” is indescribable and incomprehensible by human language and understanding, while Byrne says it can be described and understood by human concepts both negatively and relationally.[20] By itself, this fact seems to refute the unanimity thesis. But even setting such disagreements aside, another problem remains. To sensibly claim that such a core is common amongst those who have religious experiences, the phrases used to describe this supposed “core” are so amorphous and ambiguous that they are meaningless. “A distinction-less reality gave me a feeling of peace and made me less selfish.” This could mean so many different things that two people could have two completely different experiences, which share no core at all, yet describe them in exactly this way.

But even if one is willing to concede that all religious experiences have a common core and justify such beliefs, this paper’s thesis is only slightly weakened. It is still the case that religious experience cannot justify most of the religious beliefs that religious adherents claim they do—beliefs specific to their particular brand of religion. What’s more, the fullest version of the author’s thesis can still be defended because even those defending the unanimity thesis will not be able to avoid the objection of the next section: the problem of natural explanations for religious experience.

Natural Explanation for Religious Experience

Readers saw, in the introduction, a natural explanation for some religious experiences: focal seizures within the temporal lobe. This has actually helped identify the part of the brain responsible for the production of religious experiences. But epilepsy is not the only way one’s temporal lobe can become appropriately stimulated to produce religious experiences. Fasting, illness, meditation, stress, sleeplessness, drugs—even expectation and the right circumstances (e.g., going to church camp) will alter one’s temporal lobe and produce a religious experience. Michael Persinger has even invented a transcranial magnetic stimulator that, when applied to one’s temporal lobe, reportedly produced religious experiences in his test subjects. His device has come to be known as “The God helmet.”

To understand the argument of why potential natural explanations for religious experience reduce their justificatory power, let one consider the case of someone who had a religious experience while wearing the God helmet and subsequently came to believe in the existence of “the Real” based on that experience.[21] Would one say that belief was justified? Of course not. Why? Because in order for it to reliably convey accurate knowledge about the Real, and be genuine, the religious experience must ultimately be caused by the Real. Yet the idea that it was caused by Persinger’s God helmet is a much better explanation (most notably, it is more parsimonious since it does not invoke any extra entities or assumptions) and is, thus, the explanation that a rational person should prefer.

Notice that it will not do to suggest the subject coincidentally happened to have a religious experience that was caused by the Real while wearing the God helmet, and that the God helmet did not play a causal role in producing the religious experience. This is clearly just an unfalsifiable ad hoc excuse to save the religious experience’s justificatory power. Notice also that it will not do to suggest that the Real somehow used the God helmet to produce the religious experience, thus actually being its ultimate cause. Not only is this explanation also ad hoc, and not only is its explanatory power low—because it invokes the inexplicable and raises more questions than it answers—but it also multiplies entities unnecessarily by invoking extra outside influences when none are needed.[22] One need not invoke the Real to explain the experience; the God helmet alone will do. In addition, “the Real” explanation also contradicts known physical laws—like the causal closure of the physical, the conservation of energy, and the conservation of momentum—by having a nonphysical entity interact with the physical world. As Ted Schick, author of How To Think About Weird Things, would undoubtedly point out: The purely natural explanation should be preferred because it is more “adequate.” It has wider “scope” (because it explains more), it is “simpler” (because it requires fewer assumptions and entities), and is more “conservative” (because it does not conflict with established facts).[23] Given that one should conclude that the Real was not involved in the production of the experience, one should conclude that the religious experience was not genuine and thus does not justify the belief it produces.[24]

All this makes abundantly clear why the religious experiences of Paul, the Goodwill store assistant manager, cannot justify religious belief. Since one has good reason to think that religious experiences can be produced by temporal lobe seizures, and one knows that Paul has temporal lobe epilepsy, temporal lobe seizures are the best explanation for the religious experiences he has. Invoking God as an explanation of the seizures would, for the same reasons as above, be a less parsimonious, less wide scoping, and less conservative ad hoc excuse.

But what about religious experiences in other circumstances when one is not wearing the God helmet or does not have temporal lobe epilepsy, so one does not have direct awareness of what is going on inside the experiencer’s brain at the time of the experience? Should one still favor the natural explanation? Of course. Consider someone who has a religious experience of the Real while fasting, meditating, highly stressed, ill, on drugs, or depriving themselves of sleep. For example, when I attended Southern Nazarene University, a chapel speaker once said that, after not eating for two weeks, he saw Jesus walk through a wall and convey divine truths to him. Sure, one cannot directly observe what their brain was doing at the time of the experience, but one can still ask, “What is the best explanation for the cause of their experience?” Has their physical condition altered their brain and produced the experience, or has the Real reached down from the great beyond to teach them a lesson? The latter multiplies entities beyond necessity, raises more questions than it answers, invokes the inexplicable, and is not conservative. The natural explanation, on the other hand, is quite simple, coheres with how the brain works (and malfunctions), and offers a robust explanation. And it will not do well to suggest that God somehow “used” the altered physical state to produce the experience, for the same reason it will not do to suggest that God used Paul’s seizures, or the Real used the God helmet. Clearly the natural explanation should be preferred.

This is true even for the spontaneous religious experience that one has merely in a conducive environment, such as church camp or a church service. Although it is possible that the Real reached down from outside the physical realm to bestow knowledge of its existence, it is still more likely that one’s own expectations and environment overstimulated their temporal lobe or otherwise influenced their brain to cause the experience.[25] The latter explanation should be preferred, and as such, the religious experience in question cannot justify the belief it produces.

Of course, one cannot prove that the religious explanation is false, but that something cannot be proven false is no reason to think it is true. That would be an appeal to ignorance. In the absence of proof, the best explanation should be preferred, and clearly the natural explanation will always be the best since it will always be simpler, have wider scope, and be more conservative. If a religious experience is produced by purely natural means, it is not a genuine religious experience and cannot justify religious belief. So, in short, since the academic theist can likely never be justified in believing that a religious experience is genuine, religious experience can likely never justify their religious belief.

To reinforce this line of reasoning, consider phlogiston—a substance that was once thought to account for heat by flowing in and out of objects as they became hotter and cooler. Once it was discovered that heat is merely a result of the movement of molecules, it became irrational to believe in phlogiston. One could invoke phlogiston to explain the movement of the molecules, but doing so is less simple, less explanatory, not conservative, and the movement of the molecules can be accounted for without it. If one can explain something with less, one should. Likewise, since one can explain religious experiences with less, one should.

Understanding this argument reveals why the most famous attempts to circumvent the problem of natural explanation for religious experience are insufficient. For example, Robert Ellwood argues that identifying the neural correlate of a religious experience cannot establish it is illusory; if it did, then identifying the parts of the brain responsible for visual sensations would force one to conclude that everything one sees is illusory.[26] But the argument that has been presented by this paper does not merely identify a neural correlate of a religious experience. It also identifies the cause of the experience as something else besides what must cause it in order for the experience to be genuine—a seizure, drugs, or the environment. Yes, the realization that visual sensations are correlated with activity in the visual cortex does not give one reason to think that they are illusions; but that is because this realization does not give one reason to think that visual sensations are not ultimately caused by the objects they are reported to be of. If one found out, however, that the most likely ultimate explanation of a visual sensation was something besides the objects one was apparently perceiving—for example, suppose one realized that the best explanation for why one was seeing pink elephants was the work of alcohol on one’s visual cortex—then one should conclude that their visual sensation was illusory. In that case, one would not be justified in believing in the existence of what one’s visual sensations were suggesting was there (in this case, pink elephants). Potential natural explanations for religious experiences provide a better explanation for religious experience that is not ultimately caused by the object that the experience is reportedly of. Since to be genuine (and to justify belief) a religious experience must be caused by the object that the experience is reportedly of, natural (neural) explanations make religious experiences incapable of justifying that belief.

C. D. Broad argues that the fact that altered physical states correlate with religious experiences does not mean they are illusory because:

[If] there is an aspect of the world which remains altogether outside the ken of ordinary persons…. It seems very likely that some degree of mental and physical abnormality would be a necessary condition for getting sufficiently loosened from the objects of ordinary sense perception to enter into cognitive contact with this aspect of reality. Therefore, the fact that those persons who claim this peculiar kind of cognition generally exhibit certain mental and physical abnormalities is rather what might be anticipated if their claims were true. One might need to be slightly “cracked” in order to have some peep-holes into the super sensible world.[27]

There are a few problems with this argument, however. First, as Jeff Jordon argues, it seems quite odd to suggest that there are necessary conditions for having a religious experience.[28] Divine presence is a divine prerogative. But in addition, as a response to the argument presented, Broad’s critique is insufficient. While it is possible that temporal lobe seizures open up a cognitive gateway to the great beyond, that explanation is not more adequate than the purely natural one for all the reasons cited above: it is a less simple, nonconservative explanation with narrow scope.

But what if there is not an immediately available natural explanation? What if there was no fasting, meditating, or anything else that one can think of which could alter the brain in the right way? Can one conclude, in such a situation, that one had a genuine religious experience? No. The fact that one cannot think of a natural explanation is not reason to think that there is not one; again, that would be an appeal to ignorance. It is more likely that one’s inability to think of a natural explanation is due to one’s ignorance than it is to there being no natural explanation. This is akin to reasoning made by medical doctors when they cannot diagnose a disease. Their inability to come up with a natural explanation is not good reason to appeal to divine wrath or demonic possession; it is much more likely that the natural explanation is just hidden because of their lack of knowledge. Besides, something like undiagnosed temporal lobe seizures will always be a better (simpler, wider scoping, more conservative) hypothesis than a supernatural one.

But what if one does not know that religious experiences have potential natural explanations? What if one is ignorant of the developments of neuroscience? Can one be justified in believing their religious experience has a supernatural origin then? Perhaps, but this is not going to help the modern academic theist justify their religious belief via religious experience. First, the author doubts many actually are ignorant of such things. Second, even if they are, this does not allow them to justify their religious belief in this way. Why? The answer lies in an epistemic theory often defended by theists: virtue epistemology. To see why, return once again to the disease analogy.

Suppose that an academic theist has somehow remained ignorant of the germ theory of disease. He then contracts the flu but does not understand why, and does not even know that there are natural explanations for such illnesses. Can he justifiably believe that the infection is caused by a demon? No, for even though he does not know there are natural explanations, he should. By remaining ignorant of the germ theory of disease, he has neglected his epistemic duty. He is epistemically blameworthy and, as a result, his ability to be justified in this belief is nonexistent.

In the same way, an academic theist who has remained ignorant of the natural explanations for religious experiences cannot hide behind this ignorance. He should be aware of such things; at the least, it is his duty to learn about things directly relevant to his theistic belief—and this is obviously one of them. He has neglected his epistemic duty. He is thus epistemically blameworthy, and his ability to be justified in this belief is nonexistent.

Interestingly, however, religious experience might have been able to justify religious belief in earlier times. If natural explanations are not completely available (e.g., undiscovered), one cannot be expected to know about them and, thus, be derelict in one’s epistemic duty. The Apostle Paul, for example, could have been justified in thinking that disease was caused by demons and that his religious experience on the road to Damascus was one of supernatural origin. But if he were alive today, he could not—for he should know the germ theory of disease and that his conversion experience mirrors exactly the symptoms of temporal lobe epilepsy.

So perhaps the Apostle Paul could have been justified, by his religious experience, in believing that Jesus was the Messiah. He did not know about the better natural explanations for his experience, nor could he have been expected to. But an academic theist cannot be so justified, either by their own religious experience (they should be aware of the better natural explanations) or by relying on Paul’s (for one knows it is much more likely that Paul was a temporal lobe epileptic). And the same holds for all religious experiences; they cannot, for the modern academic theist, justify religious belief.

Conclusion

Ramachandran, in his chapter about Paul the Goodwill store assistant manager, essentially dodges the obvious questions regarding the legitimacy of Paul’s religious experience: “But why do patients like Paul have religious experiences?….One [possibility] is that God really does visit these people. If that is true, so be it. Who are we to question God’s infinite wisdom? Unfortunately, this can be neither proved nor ruled out on empirical grounds.”[29] While he is right that it can neither be proved nor disproved that God visits Paul (because nothing in science can be proved or disproved), it would be an appeal to ignorance to suggest this is a reason to accept the hypothesis that God does. It also does not mean that evidence and scientific reasoning cannot be brought to bear on the question, nor does it mean that there is not good reason to reject this possibility. And clearly, since the neurological explanations for religious experience are more adequate, they should be preferred. To not accept them is unscientific and irrational, just as it would be to think that demons cause disease. As seen, one could lump God on as an additional causal mechanism, where God is the cause of the neurological state, but this is unnecessary. Such states can be, and are, accounted for completely by natural mechanisms—the effects of God helmets, seizures, drugs, fasting, illness, stress, and even the environment—on one’s brain. Lumping God onto the explanation makes it less simple, raises more questions than it answers, invokes the inexplicable, and conflicts with existing knowledge. Therefore, it should be avoided.

Ramachandran also wrote that natural explanations for religious experience have no bearing on whether or not God exists: “My goal as a scientist … is to discover how and why religious sentiments originate in the brain, but this has no bearing one way or the other on whether God exists or not.”[30] However, again, while it is true that neurological explanations for religious experience do not disprove God’s existence, it is clearly false that they have no bearing on it since natural explanations for religious experiences negate their ability to provide evidence for God’s existence. If one relies on religious experience to provide justification for one’s belief in God, as many theists do, clearly discovering natural explanations for religious experiences has great bearing on one’s justification for belief in God. In addition, if it can be effectively argued that belief in God (or religious belief in general) originally arose because of religious experience, but religious experience has a purely naturalistic cause, then significant doubt arises about God’s existence.

One might reply that such reasoning commits the genetic fallacy, but such a reply misunderstands that fallacy. The genetic fallacy entails that one cannot dismiss evidence for a theory by identifying the origin of that theory. For example, one cannot dismiss the hypothesis that the structure of Benzene is circular (“ring shaped”) based on the fact that the idea came to Kekule in a dream because the subsequent evidence that he was right is insurmountable. But the genetic fallacy does not mean that the origin story of a thing is irrelevant to whether or not that thing exists. One could, for example, provide good reason for not believing in El Chupacabra by pointing out that the myth started when Madelyne Tolentino confabulated a story after watching the movie “Species” in 1995.[31] Identifying the belief’s origin cannot be used to dismiss the subsequent “evidence” for El Chupacabra (there are other ways of doing that); but the fact that belief in El Chupacabra does not actually originate from an genuine sighting of a blood-sucking, goat-killing cryptocreature—but instead from a confabulated story—is good reason to think that there is no such thing. Likewise, without good evidence for God’s existence—something that many who rely on religious experience admit—the fact that belief in God does not originate in God, but instead in naturally caused religious experiences, would be good reason to think that there is no God.

Swinburne has defended the ability of religious experience to justify religious belief with the “principle of credulity”: “(in the absence of special considerations), if its seems (epistemically) to a subject that x is present (and has some characteristic), then probably x is present (and has that characteristic).”[32] In other words, unless there is some reason to think otherwise, if a person has an experience which seems to be of x, then it is rational to believe that x exists. This paper has not argued that this principle is false. It has shown why (when x = God), there are indeed “special considerations.” The diversity of religious experience and the existence of natural explanations for religious experience entail that, when it comes to whether religious experiences are genuine, there is always some reason to think otherwise.[33]

See article for Notes and References.