God and Nature Summer 2019
God and the Assumptions of Scientific Research
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By John Hall
Whatever we do, we make assumptions. This is certainly true in scientific research, but do these assumptions have any connection with Christianity? I first encountered this question in a course on science and Christianity as a sophomore, and I have been mulling it over ever since. My answer applies specifically to the physical and biological sciences rather than to the social or human sciences, but it has given me insight into my Christian faith.
While doing research in these sciences, we make four tacit assumptions. First, we assume that we are studying a real, physical world. Second, the world has a coherent order that we are trying to understand. Third, humans have a substantial though not necessarily perfect ability to understand this order. Finally, the order is not uniquely determined by the first two assumptions. For this reason, our knowledge must rely on observation and experiment (which is observation under controlled conditions). Where did these assumptions come from?
Whatever we do, we make assumptions. This is certainly true in scientific research, but do these assumptions have any connection with Christianity? I first encountered this question in a course on science and Christianity as a sophomore, and I have been mulling it over ever since. My answer applies specifically to the physical and biological sciences rather than to the social or human sciences, but it has given me insight into my Christian faith.
While doing research in these sciences, we make four tacit assumptions. First, we assume that we are studying a real, physical world. Second, the world has a coherent order that we are trying to understand. Third, humans have a substantial though not necessarily perfect ability to understand this order. Finally, the order is not uniquely determined by the first two assumptions. For this reason, our knowledge must rely on observation and experiment (which is observation under controlled conditions). Where did these assumptions come from?
"Both theology and astronomical observation supported our second assumption of a world of coherent order." |
There were elements of Europe’s mediaeval culture that helped lay the foundations for modern science. For science to thrive, some beliefs, such as those derived from Aristotle’s reasoning, had to be discarded, while other ancient beliefs made positive contributions. Among the latter was the belief that God created a real world that was distinct from himself. This gave us our first assumption. By contrast, Eastern pantheistic religions either deny the existence of a concrete world or consider the concept nebulous.
Mediaeval scholars were certain that God was rational and concluded that therefore his creation would be too. Biblically, this belief reflects the fact that God is just rather than arbitrary and capricious. Theological considerations were not the only source of this conviction, though. Empirically, scholars had long recognized the regularity of heavenly motions, and this regularity was reflected in Aristotle’s astronomy. Both theology and astronomical observation supported our second assumption of a world of coherent order.
Polytheistic religions with their competing gods, such as had existed in Europe before Christianity, could not have given this assurance.
It would seem almost a truism that we have the capacity to understand the world, but where does this capacity come from? Christians believe we have been made in the image of God, who has given us the capacity to relate to him in a way that is not open to the animals. As a consequence, we are able to understand the world to a much higher degree. This does not mean that we have unlimited understanding. (Struggling with quantum physics always drove that home to me.) We are certainly limited, but we are unsure where the limits are. Thus, the third assumption is also rooted in our Christian faith.
In mediaeval Europe, Christians understood that God didn’t have to create the world—he did so by his own free choice. This leaves the latitude of his creative activity unclear, though. Aristotle taught that the world could function in only one way. Mediaeval scholars rejected this view, arguing instead that while God’s choices had to be consistent with his own nature, they were not restricted in any other way.
The scholars’ initial dependence on pure reason and the works of ancient authorities as sources of knowledge were deeply entrenched; it took a long time for the centrality of empirical study to become recognized. It was easy to assume that God would create a perfect world, and Greek philosophy provided clear ideas about what was perfect. This was particularly evident in astronomy. In Timaeus, Plato wrote that the cosmos had to be spherical because the sphere was the perfect shape. Aristotle and others built on this idea by concluding that the heavenly bodies moved in circles around the center of the cosmos at constant speed. Like the sphere, the circle had perfect symmetry, and any variation in speed would imply an imperfection. This cosmology persisted in natural philosophy despite Ptolemy’s failure in his Almagest to account for the actual motions of heavenly bodies without variable speeds, epicycles, and offsets from a common center.
The discrepancy between philosophical assertions and astronomical observations was resolved only with the revolution that started with Copernicus, continued with Kepler, and culminated with Newton. God’s creation still worked in a remarkable way, but discovering how it worked required an interplay between Kepler’s analysis of Tycho Brahe’s empirical observations and Newton’s theorizing. Scientific ideas are now judged primarily by the evidence, though older attitudes still linger in our desire for beauty in the equations.
The above discussion makes the connection between our faith and the assumptions underlying our scientific research clear. These assumptions do not match Eastern pantheistic or polytheistic beliefs. Nevertheless, some concerns should come to mind. First, doesn’t the resurrection of Christ and other miracles conflict with the assumption of a coherent order?
I will consider only miracles that involve people and are often seen as signs. We should first note that such departures from coherence are relatively rare, apparently sporadic, and the impact of each one is localized in space and time. They have no lasting effect on how the physical world works in general. Thus, our assumption of a coherent order can be generally rather than universally true without producing any problems for science.
An alternative possibility is that miracles may reflect a coherent order beyond what we currently understand. There is a precedent for this. The strict order of the Aristotelian heavens was sporadically challenged by the rare occurrence of comets, novae, and meteors—now these phenomena fit comfortably into our science.
We must also consider whether God has acted since the big bang in miracle-like ways that have had lasting effects on natural history. I believe that we cannot reject this possibility a priori, but it seems unnecessary. We no longer believe with Calvin that God intervenes to hold back the oceans, or with Newton that God tweaks the solar system to keep it stable. Any new claims to the contrary that I have scrutinized have always had fatal, though sometimes subtle, flaws.
There is a second concern. Philosophical naturalism, a form of atheism, also makes the four assumptions discussed above. From this some have concluded that our methods are really naturalistic. When we go into the lab, they think, we leave our Christianity outside the door. However, some forms of Eastern pantheism, of Buddhism in particular, also deny the existence of any god, and Eastern pantheism does not share all of our assumptions. Thus, not all forms of atheism necessarily lead to these same four basic assumptions. What is more, an orderly universe is not necessarily an autonomous one, either in an atheistic or in a deistic way. Western philosophical naturalists’ understanding of the assumptions is stunted by ignoring their Christian roots. The only justification the philosophical naturalist has for making these assumptions is pragmatic, since there is no doubt that they have led to successful scientific understanding of reality.
Even though these assumptions are grounded in our faith, some may object that I have given Biblical revelation no direct role in understanding the physical and biological world. There is good reason for this, and the history of astronomy again provides a cautionary tale. In the mid-sixth century, many Christian scholars like John Philoponus at Alexandria accepted Aristotelian cosmology. One man who criticized them was Cosmas Indicopleustes, a widely traveled merchant who had become a monk. In his work Christian Topography, Cosmas condemned these Christian scholars as heretical for adopting the views of pagan philosophers—in particular, the view that the cosmos was spherical and that the earth had antipodes. He justified his own flat-earth view, which he considered the Biblical one, by reference to scripture. In particular, he inferred from the proportions of the Old Testament tabernacle that the earth is twice the length from east to west that it is from north to south. A millennium later, some scholars were using Biblical quotations that suggested the fixity of the earth and movement of the sun to defend Aristotelian cosmology against Copernican innovation. Today we may excuse the Bible’s language as merely observational, but four hundred years ago some thought it was exact. Relying on scripture failed dismally in the old astronomy, and there is no reason to believe that it works any better in modern cosmology or biology.
The inapplicability of scriptural revelation to physics and biology should drive one lesson home to us. Our four assumptions have limited scope. Knowing how God makes the physical and biological creation work leaves much more to be known. In particular, these sciences cannot tell us how to relate to God or even how to relate to each other. These matters are of great importance to us, and Biblical revelation is essential for understanding them. Both theology and science benefit us. Theologian J. I. Packer has said that theology should lead to doxology. So should scientific research.
John W. Hall is a retired biostatistician who earned his Ph. D. in mathematical statistics. He first became interested in the philosophy of science as an undergraduate while studying for his degree in honors physics. In retirement he also researches his family genealogy in possible violation of Titus 3:9.
Mediaeval scholars were certain that God was rational and concluded that therefore his creation would be too. Biblically, this belief reflects the fact that God is just rather than arbitrary and capricious. Theological considerations were not the only source of this conviction, though. Empirically, scholars had long recognized the regularity of heavenly motions, and this regularity was reflected in Aristotle’s astronomy. Both theology and astronomical observation supported our second assumption of a world of coherent order.
Polytheistic religions with their competing gods, such as had existed in Europe before Christianity, could not have given this assurance.
It would seem almost a truism that we have the capacity to understand the world, but where does this capacity come from? Christians believe we have been made in the image of God, who has given us the capacity to relate to him in a way that is not open to the animals. As a consequence, we are able to understand the world to a much higher degree. This does not mean that we have unlimited understanding. (Struggling with quantum physics always drove that home to me.) We are certainly limited, but we are unsure where the limits are. Thus, the third assumption is also rooted in our Christian faith.
In mediaeval Europe, Christians understood that God didn’t have to create the world—he did so by his own free choice. This leaves the latitude of his creative activity unclear, though. Aristotle taught that the world could function in only one way. Mediaeval scholars rejected this view, arguing instead that while God’s choices had to be consistent with his own nature, they were not restricted in any other way.
The scholars’ initial dependence on pure reason and the works of ancient authorities as sources of knowledge were deeply entrenched; it took a long time for the centrality of empirical study to become recognized. It was easy to assume that God would create a perfect world, and Greek philosophy provided clear ideas about what was perfect. This was particularly evident in astronomy. In Timaeus, Plato wrote that the cosmos had to be spherical because the sphere was the perfect shape. Aristotle and others built on this idea by concluding that the heavenly bodies moved in circles around the center of the cosmos at constant speed. Like the sphere, the circle had perfect symmetry, and any variation in speed would imply an imperfection. This cosmology persisted in natural philosophy despite Ptolemy’s failure in his Almagest to account for the actual motions of heavenly bodies without variable speeds, epicycles, and offsets from a common center.
The discrepancy between philosophical assertions and astronomical observations was resolved only with the revolution that started with Copernicus, continued with Kepler, and culminated with Newton. God’s creation still worked in a remarkable way, but discovering how it worked required an interplay between Kepler’s analysis of Tycho Brahe’s empirical observations and Newton’s theorizing. Scientific ideas are now judged primarily by the evidence, though older attitudes still linger in our desire for beauty in the equations.
The above discussion makes the connection between our faith and the assumptions underlying our scientific research clear. These assumptions do not match Eastern pantheistic or polytheistic beliefs. Nevertheless, some concerns should come to mind. First, doesn’t the resurrection of Christ and other miracles conflict with the assumption of a coherent order?
I will consider only miracles that involve people and are often seen as signs. We should first note that such departures from coherence are relatively rare, apparently sporadic, and the impact of each one is localized in space and time. They have no lasting effect on how the physical world works in general. Thus, our assumption of a coherent order can be generally rather than universally true without producing any problems for science.
An alternative possibility is that miracles may reflect a coherent order beyond what we currently understand. There is a precedent for this. The strict order of the Aristotelian heavens was sporadically challenged by the rare occurrence of comets, novae, and meteors—now these phenomena fit comfortably into our science.
We must also consider whether God has acted since the big bang in miracle-like ways that have had lasting effects on natural history. I believe that we cannot reject this possibility a priori, but it seems unnecessary. We no longer believe with Calvin that God intervenes to hold back the oceans, or with Newton that God tweaks the solar system to keep it stable. Any new claims to the contrary that I have scrutinized have always had fatal, though sometimes subtle, flaws.
There is a second concern. Philosophical naturalism, a form of atheism, also makes the four assumptions discussed above. From this some have concluded that our methods are really naturalistic. When we go into the lab, they think, we leave our Christianity outside the door. However, some forms of Eastern pantheism, of Buddhism in particular, also deny the existence of any god, and Eastern pantheism does not share all of our assumptions. Thus, not all forms of atheism necessarily lead to these same four basic assumptions. What is more, an orderly universe is not necessarily an autonomous one, either in an atheistic or in a deistic way. Western philosophical naturalists’ understanding of the assumptions is stunted by ignoring their Christian roots. The only justification the philosophical naturalist has for making these assumptions is pragmatic, since there is no doubt that they have led to successful scientific understanding of reality.
Even though these assumptions are grounded in our faith, some may object that I have given Biblical revelation no direct role in understanding the physical and biological world. There is good reason for this, and the history of astronomy again provides a cautionary tale. In the mid-sixth century, many Christian scholars like John Philoponus at Alexandria accepted Aristotelian cosmology. One man who criticized them was Cosmas Indicopleustes, a widely traveled merchant who had become a monk. In his work Christian Topography, Cosmas condemned these Christian scholars as heretical for adopting the views of pagan philosophers—in particular, the view that the cosmos was spherical and that the earth had antipodes. He justified his own flat-earth view, which he considered the Biblical one, by reference to scripture. In particular, he inferred from the proportions of the Old Testament tabernacle that the earth is twice the length from east to west that it is from north to south. A millennium later, some scholars were using Biblical quotations that suggested the fixity of the earth and movement of the sun to defend Aristotelian cosmology against Copernican innovation. Today we may excuse the Bible’s language as merely observational, but four hundred years ago some thought it was exact. Relying on scripture failed dismally in the old astronomy, and there is no reason to believe that it works any better in modern cosmology or biology.
The inapplicability of scriptural revelation to physics and biology should drive one lesson home to us. Our four assumptions have limited scope. Knowing how God makes the physical and biological creation work leaves much more to be known. In particular, these sciences cannot tell us how to relate to God or even how to relate to each other. These matters are of great importance to us, and Biblical revelation is essential for understanding them. Both theology and science benefit us. Theologian J. I. Packer has said that theology should lead to doxology. So should scientific research.
John W. Hall is a retired biostatistician who earned his Ph. D. in mathematical statistics. He first became interested in the philosophy of science as an undergraduate while studying for his degree in honors physics. In retirement he also researches his family genealogy in possible violation of Titus 3:9.