The Convergence of Science and Religion
By Charles H. Townes
The author, a scientist and activer church member, explains why he believes that science and religion may ultimately converge. Dr. Townes, whose work on the maser won him a Nobel Prizze in 1964, [was] Provost and Professor of Physics at MIT.
"The ever-increasing success of
science has posed many challenges and conflicts for religion —
conflicts that are resolved in individual
lives in a variety of ways. Some accept
both religion and science as dealing
with quite different methods, and thus
separate them so widely in their thinking that no direct confrontation is possible. Some repair rather completely
to the camp of science or of religion
and regard the other as of little importance, if not downright harmful.
To me science and religion are both
universal and basically very similar. In
fact, to make the argument clear, I
should like to adopt the rather extreme
point of view that their differences are
largely superficial, and that the two
become almost indistinguishable if we
look at the real nature of each. It is
perhaps science whose real nature is
the less obvious, because of its blinding superficial successes. To explain
this, and to give perspective to the non-scientists, we must consider a bit of
the history and development of science.
The march of science during the 19th
century produced enormous confidence
in its success and generality. One
field after another fell before the objective inquiry, experimental approach,
and logic of science. Scientific laws
appeared to take on an absolute quality,
and it was very easy to be convinced that science in time would explain
everything.
This was the time when Laplace
could believe that if he knew the position and velocity of every particle in
the universe and could calculate sufficiently well, he would then know the
entire future. Laplace was simply
expressing the evident experience of
the time, that the success and precision
of scientific laws had changed determinism from a speculative argument
to one that seemed inescapable.
This was the time when the devout
Pasteur, asked how he as a scientist
could be religious, simply replied that
his laboratory was one realm, and that
his home and religion were a completely different one.
Scientific Absolutism
There are today many vestiges of this
19th century scientific absolutism in
our thinking and attitudes. It has given
Communism, based on Marx's 19th
century background, some of its sense
of the inexorable course of history and
of "scientific" planning of society.
Toward the end of the 19th century,
many physical scientists viewed their
work as almost complete and needing
only some extension and more detailed
refinement. But soon after, deep
problems began to appear. The world
seems relatively unaware of how deep
these problems really were and of the
extent to which some of the most
fundamental scientific ideas have
been overturned by them. Perhaps
this unawareness is because science
has been vigorous in changing itself
and continuing to press and has also
diverted attention by ever more successes in solving the practical problems
of life.
Many of the philosophical and conceptional bases of science have, in
fact, been disturbed and revolutionized. The poignancy of these changes
can be grasped only through sampling
them. For example, the question
whether light consists of small particles
shot out by light sources or by wave
disturbances originated by them had
been debated for some time by the
great figures of science. The question
was finally settled in the early 19th
century by brilliant experiments that
could be thoroughly interpreted by
theory. The experiments told scientists of the time that light was unequivocally a wave and not particles.
But about 1900, other experiments
turned up that showed just as unequivocally that light is a stream of
particles rather than waves. Thus
physicists were presented with a deeply
disturbing paradox. Its solution took
several decades and was only accomplished in the mid-1920's by the development of a new set of ideas known
as quantum mechanics.
The trouble was that scientists were
thinking in terms of their common everyday experience, and that experience encompassed the behavior of
large objects but not yet many atomic
phenomena. Examination of light or
atoms in detail brings us into a new
realm of very small quantities with
which we have had no previous experience, and where our intuitions
could well be untrustworthy. And now
in retrospect, it is not at all surprising
that the study of matter on the atomic
scale has taught us new things, and
that some are inconsistent with ideas
that previously had seemed so clear.
Physicists today believe that light is
neither precisely a wave nor a particle,
but both, and we were mistaken in even
asking the question, "Is light a particle
or is it a wave?" It can display both
properties. So can all matter, including baseballs and locomotives. We
don't ordinarily observe this duality in
large objects, because they do not
show wave properties prominently. But
in principle we believe they are there.
We have come to believe other
strange phenomena as well. Suppose
an electron is put in a long box where
it may travel back and forth. Physical
theory now tells us that, under certain
conditions, the electron will sometimes
be found toward one end of the box
and sometimes toward the other, but
never in the middle. This statement
clashes absurdly with ideas of an electron moving back and forth, and yet
most physicists today are quite convinced of its validity and can demonstrate its essential truth in the
laboratory.
The Uncertainty Principle
Another strange aspect of the new quantum mechanics is called the uncertainty principle. This principle shows that if we try to
say exactly where a particle (or object)
is, we cannot at the same time say
exactly how fast it is going and in what
direction; or, if we determine its velocity, we can never say exactly what
its position is. According to this theory,
Laplace was wrong from the beginning.
If he were alive today, he would probably understand along with other
contemporary physicists that it is
fundamentally impossible to obtain the
information necessary for his precise
predictions, even if he were dealing
with only one single particle, rather
than with the entire universe.
The modern laws of science seem,
then, to have turned our thinking away
from complete determinism and toward a world where chance plays a
major role. It is chance on an atomic
scale, but there are situations and
times when the random change in position of one atom or one electron can
materially affect the large-scale affairs
of life and, in fact, our entire society.
A striking example involves Queen
Victoria, who, through one such event
on an atomic scale, became a mutant
and passed on to certain male descendants in Europe's royal families
the trait of hemophilia. Thus one unpredictable event on an atomic scale
had its effect on both the Spanish
royal family and, through an afflicted
czarevitch, on the stability of the
Russian throne.
Einstein and Chance
This new view of a world that is not predictable from physical laws was not
at all easy for physicists of the older
tradition to accept. Even Einstein, one
of the architects of quantum mechanics, never completely accepted the
indeterminism of chance that it implies.
"Herr Gott wurfelt nicht" — the Lord
God doesn't throw dice! It is interesting to note also that Russian Communism, with its roots in 19th century
determinism, for a long time took a
strong doctrinaire position against the
new physics of quantum mechanics.
When scientists pressed on to examine still other realms outside our
common experience, further surprises
were found. For objects of much
higher velocities than we ordinarily
experience, relativity shows that very
strange things happen. First, objects
can never go faster than a certain
speed, regardless of how hard they
are pushed. Their absolute maximum
speed is that of light — 186,000 miles
per second. Further, when objects are
going fast, they become shorter and
more massive — they change shape and
also weigh more. Even time moves at
a different rate; if we send a clock
off at a high velocity, it runs slower.
The Cat-Kitten Concept
This peculiar behavior of time is the
origin of the famous cat-kitten conceptual experiment. Take a litter of six
kittens and divide them into two
groups. Keep three of them on earth;
send the other three off in a rocket
at a speed nearly as fast as light, and
after one year bring them back. The
earth kittens will obviously have become cats, but the ones sent into
space will have remained kittens. This
theory has not been tested with kittens,
but it has been checked experimentally
with the aging of inanimate objects
and seems to be quite correct. Today
the vast majority of scientists believe
it true.
Scientists have now become a good
deal more cautious and modest about
extending scientific ideas into realms
where they have not yet been thoroughly tested. Of course, an important
part of the game of science is, in fact,
the development of general laws that
can be extended into new realms. These
laws are often remarkably successful
in telling us new things or in predicting things that we have not yet directly
observed. And yet we must always be
aware that such extensions may be
wrong, and wrong in very fundamental
ways. In spite of all the changes in
our views, it is reassuring to note that
the laws of 19th century science were
not so far wrong in the realm in which
they were initially applied — that of
ordinary velocities and of objects
larger than the point of a pin. In this
realm they were essentially right, and
we still teach the laws of Newton or of
Maxwell, because in their own im-
portant sphere they are valid and
useful.
We know today that the most
sophisticated present scientific theories, including modern quantum
mechanics, are still incomplete. We
use them because in certain areas they
are so amazingly right. Yet they lead
us at times into inconsistencies that
we do not understand, and where we
must recognize that we have missed
some crucial ideas. We simply admit
and accept the paradoxes and hope that
sometime in the future they will be
resolved by a more complete understanding. In fact, by recognizing these
paradoxes clearly and studying them,
we can perhaps best understand the
limitations in our thinking and correct
them.
With this background on the real
state of scientific understanding, we
come now to the similarity and near
identity of science and religion. The
goal of science is to discover the order
in the universe, and to understand
through this order the things we sense
around us — even man himself. This
order we express as scientific principles
or laws, striving to state them in the
simplest and yet most inclusive ways.
I believe the goal of religion is to understand (and hence accept) the
purpose and meaning of our universe
and how we fit into it. Most religions
see a unifying and inclusive origin of
meaning, and this supreme purposeful force we call God.
Understanding the order in the universe and understanding the purpose
in the universe are not identical, but
they are also not very far apart. It is
interesting that the Japanese word for
physics is butsuri, which translated
means simply the reason for things.
Thus we readily and inevitably link
closely together the nature and the
purpose of our universe.
What are the aspects of religion
and science that often make them
seem almost diametrically opposite?
Many of them come, I believe, out of
differences in language used for historical reasons, and many from quantitative differences that are large enough
that unconsciously we assume they are
qualitative ones. Let us consider some
of the aspects where science and religion may superficially look very
different.
The Role of Faith
The essential role of faith in religion
is so well-known that taking things on
faith rather than proving them is
usually taken as characteristic of religion and as distinguishing religion
from science. But faith is essential to
science too, although we do not so
generally recognize the basic need and
nature of faith in science.
Faith is necessary for the scientist
even to get started, and deep faith is
necessary for him to carry out his
tougher tasks. Why? Because he must
have confidence that there is order in the universe and that the human mind — in fact, his own mind — has a good
chance of understanding this order.
Without this confidence, there would
be little point in intense effort to try
to understand a presumably disorderly
or incomprehensible world. Such a
world would take us back to the days
of superstition, when man thought
capricious forces manipulated his universe. In fact, it is just this faith in an
orderly universe, understandable to
man, that allowed the basic change
from an age of superstition to an age
of science and has made possible our
scientific progress.
The necessity of faith in science is
reminiscent of the description of religious faith attributed to Constantine:
"I believe so that I may know." But
such faith is now so deeply rooted in
the scientist that most of us never stop
to think that it is there at all.
Einstein affords a rather explicit
example of faith in order, and many of
his contributions come from intuitive
devotion to a particularly appealing
type of order. One of his famous remarks is inscribed in German in Fine
Hall at Princeton: "God is very subtle,
but he is not malicious." That is, the
world that God has constructed may
be very intricate and difficult for us to
understand, but it is not arbitrary and
illogical. Einstein spent the last half
of his life looking for a unity between
gravitational and electromagnetic fields.
Many physicists feel that he was on
the wrong track, and no one yet knows
whether he made any substantial
progress. But he had faith in a great
vision of unity and order, and he
worked intensively at it for 30 years
or more. Einstein had to have the kind
of dogged conviction that could have
allowed him to say with Job, "Though
he slay me, yet will I trust in him."
For lesser scientists, on lesser
projects, there are frequent occasions
when things just don't make sense, and
making order and understanding out of
one's work seems almost hopeless.
But still the scientist has faith that
there is order to be found, and that
either he or his colleagues will someday find it.
The Role of Revelation
Another common idea about the
difference between science and
religion is based on their methods of discovery. Religion's discoveries
often come by great revelations.
Scientific knowledge comes by logical
deductions, or by the accumulation of
data that are analyzed by established
methods in order to draw generalizations called laws. But such a description of scientific discovery is a
travesty on the real thing. Most of the
important scientific discoveries come
about very differently and are much
more closely akin to revelation. The
term itself is generally not used for
scientific discovery, since we are in
the habit of reserving revelation for the
religious realm. In scientific circles
one speaks of intuition, accidental
discovery, or simply that someone had
a wonderful idea.
If we compare how great scientific
ideas arrive, we see that they all look
remarkably like religious revelation
viewed in a non-mystical way. Think of Moses in the desert, long
troubled and wondering about the
problem of saving the children of
Israel, when suddenly he had a revelation by the burning bush. Consider some of the revelations of
the New Testament. Think of Gautama Buddha, who
traveled and inquired for years in an
effort to understand what was good
and then one day sat down quietly
under a Bo tree where his great ideas
were revealed.
Similarly, the scientist, after hard
work and much emotional and intellectual commitment to a troubling
problem, sometimes suddenly sees the
answer. Such ideas much more often
come during off-moments than while
confronting data.
A striking and well-known example is
the discovery of the benzene ring by
Kekule, who, while musing at his fireside, was led to the idea of a vision
of snakes taking their tails in their
mouths.
We cannot yet describe the human process that leads to the creation of an important and substantially
new scientific insight. But it is clear
that the great scientific discoveries,
the real leaps, do not usually come
from the so-called "scientific method,"
but rather more as did Kekule's — perhaps with less picturesque imagery,
but by revelations that are just as
real.
Another aspect of the difference between science and religion is based on
the notion that religious ideas depend
only on faith and revelation, while
science succeeds in actually proving its
points. In this view, proofs give to
scientific ideas a certain kind of absolutism and universalism that religious
ideas have only in the claims of their
proponents. But the actual nature of
scientific "proof" is rather different
from such simple ideas.
Proving a Set of Postulates
Mathematical or logical proof involves choice of some set of postulates, which hopefully are consistent
with one another and which apply to a
situation of interest. In the case of
natural science, they are presumed to
apply to the world around us.
Then, on the basis of agreed-on laws
of logic, which must be assumed, one
can derive or "prove" the consequences of these sets of postulates.
How can we be sure the postulates are satisfactory? The mathematician Godel has shown that in the most
generally used mathematics, it is fundamentally impossible to know whether
or not the set of postulates chosen are
even self-consistent. Only by constructing and using a new set of
master postulates can we test the consistency of the first set. But these in
turn may be logically inconsistent
without the possibility of our knowing
it. Thus we never have a real base
from which we can reason with surety.
Godel doubled our surprises by showing
that, in this same mathematical realm,
there are always mathematical truths
that fundamentally cannot be proved
by the approach of normal logic. His
important proofs came only about three
decades ago, and have profoundly affected our view of human logic.
There is another way by which we
become convinced that a scientific idea
or postulate is valid. In the natural
sciences, we prove it by making some
kind of test of the postulate against
experience. We devise experiments to
test our working hypotheses, and believe that those laws or hypotheses are
correct that seem to agree with our
experience. Such tests can disprove
a hypothesis, or can give us useful
confidence in its applicability and correctness, but they can never prove in
any absolute sense.
Can religious beliefs also be
viewed as working hypotheses,
to be tested and validated by
experience? To some this may seem a
secular and even an abhorrent view.
In any case, it discards absolutism in
religion. But I see no reason why
acceptance of religion on this basis
should be objectionable. The validity
of religious ideas must be and has
been tested and judged through the
ages by the experience of societies and
of individuals. Is there any great
need for them to be more absolute
than the law of gravity? The latter is a
working hypothesis whose basis and
permanency we do not know. But we
risk our lives daily on our belief in
it, as well as on many other complex
scientific hypotheses.
Science usually deals with problems
that are so much simpler and situations
that are so much more easily con-
trollable than does religion. The quantitative difference in the directness
with which we can test hypotheses in
sciences and religion generally hides
the logical similarities that are there.
A controlled experiment on religious
ideas is perhaps not at all possible,
and we rely for evidence primarily on
human history and personal experience.
But certain aspects of natural science
and the extension of science into social
sciences have also required similar use
of experience and observation in testing
hypotheses.
Suppose now that we were to accept
completely the proposition that science
and religion are essentially similar.
Where does this leave us, and where
does it lead us? Religion can, I believe,
profit from the experience of science,
where the hard facts of nature and
the tangibility of evidence have beaten
into our thinking some ideas that mankind has often resisted.
First, we must recognize the tentative nature of knowledge. Our present
understanding of science or of religion
is likely, if it agrees with experience, to
continue to have an important degree
of validity just as does Newtonian
mechanics. But there may be many
deeper things that we do not yet know and that, when discovered, may modify
our thinking in very basic ways.
Expected Paradoxes
We must also expect paradoxes, and
not be surprised or unduly troubled by
them. We know of paradoxes in
physics, such as that concerning the
nature of light, which have been resolved by deeper understanding. We
know of some that are still unresolved.
In the realm of religion, we are
troubled by the suffering around us
and its apparent inconsistency with a
God of love. Such paradoxes confronting science do not usually destroy
our faith in science. They simply remind us of a limited understanding,
and at times they provide a key to
learning more.
Perhaps in the realm of religion
there will be cases of the uncertainty
principle, which we now know as such
a characteristic phenomenon of physics. If it is fundamentally impossible
to determine accurately both the position and velocity of a particle, it should
not surprise us if similar limitations
occur in other aspects of our experience. This opposition in the precise
determination of two quantities is also
referred to as complementarity; posi-
tion and velocity represent complementary aspects of a particle, only one
of which can be measured precisely at
any one time.
Nils Bohr has already suggested that
perception of man and his physical
constitution represents this kind of
complementarity. That is, the precise
and close examination of the atomic
makeup of man may of necessity blur
our view of him as a living and spiritual
being. In any case, there seems to be
no justification for the dogmatic position taken by some that the remarkable
phenomenon of individual human personality can be expressed completely in
terms of the presently known laws of
behavior and molecules. Justice and
love may also represent such comple-
mentarity. A completely loving approach and the simultaneous meting
out of exact justice hardly seem
consistent.
These examples are only somewhat
fuzzy analogies of complementarity as
it is known in science, or they may indeed be valid, though still poorly
defined, occurrences of the uncertainty
principle. But in any case, we should
expect such occurrences and be forewarned by science that there will be
fundamental limitations to our knowing
everything at once with precision and
consistency.
Converge, They Must
Finally, if science and religion are
so broadly similar, and not arbitrarily limited in their domain, they
should at some time clearly converge.
I believe this confluence is inevitable,
for they both represent man's efforts
to understand his universe and must
ultimately be dealing with the same
substance. As we understand more in
each realm, the two must grow together. Perhaps by the time this
convergence occurs, science will have
been through a number of revolutions
as striking as those that have occurred
in the last century and will have taken
on a character not readily recognizable
by scientists of today. Perhaps our
religious understanding will also have
seen progress and change. But converge they must, and through this
should come new strength for both.
In the meantime, with tentative understanding, uncertainty, and change,
how can we live gloriously and act
decisively today? It is this problem, I
suspect, that has so often tempted man
to insist that he has final and ultimate
truth locked in some particular phraseology or symbolism, even when the
phraseology may mean a hundred
different things to a hundred different
people. How well we are able to
commit our lives to ideas that we
recognize in principle as only tentative
represents a real test of mind and
emotions.
Galileo espoused the cause of
Copernicus' theory of the solar system
at great personal cost because of the
church's opposition. We know today
that the question on which Galileo
took his stand, -the correctness of
the idea that the earth rotates around
the sun rather than the sun around the earth, is largely an unnecessary question. The two descriptions are equivalent, according to general relativity,
although the first is simpler. And yet
we honor Galileo for his pioneering
courage and determination in deciding
what he really thought was right and
speaking out. This was important to
his own integrity and to the development of the scientific and religious
views of the time.
The authority of religion seemed
more crucial in Galileo's Italy than it
usually does today, and science
seemed more fresh and simple. We
tend to think of ourselves as now more
sophisticated, and of both science and
religion as more complicated, so that
our position can be less clear-cut. Yet
if we accept the assumption of either
science or religion, that truth exists,
surely each of us should undertake the
same kind of task as did Galileo, or
as did Gautama long before him. For
ourselves and for mankind, we must
use our best wisdom and instincts, the
evidence of history and wisdom of the
ages, and the experience and revelations of our friends and heroes in order
to get as close as possible to truth
and meaning. Furthermore, we must
be willing to live and act on our
conclusions."
Sources:
- The Improvement Era. V. 71, 02. The Convergence of Science and Religion. por Charles H. Townes. Mutual Improvement Association. (Archivo de Internet Archive).
- (Download the original article as PDF, from Think Magazine,1966. March-April)