Science in Christian Perspective
Making Sense of Me
WALTER R. HEARN
762 Arlington Ave.,
Berkeley, California 94707
From: JASA 30 (March
1978): 20-24.
The view of myself presented me by
my own discipline of biochemistry is clearly a mechanistic one. Biochemists see
man (used here in its broadest sense to include male and female, individual and
species) as a biochemical machine. We know a lot about how the machine operates
and are learning more all the time.
In spite of its usefulness for scientific investigation, the machine model of
man is not received with joy by most people. Its detractors include thoughtful
nonscientists not otherwise antagonistic toward a scientific outlook, and some
scientists, especially those whose work has not led them to investigate human
beings. Such persons express concern that use of the machine model has a
dehumanizing effect on all who touch it, and worry about the distorted picture
of humanity gained from its use.
This paper has grown out of my response, as a biochemist and as a Christian, to
such criticisms. Some of my professional colleagues silence critics by
ceaselessly pointing to medical applications of biochemistry, since few people
are willing to say they would gladly do without life-saving medical knowledge.
Badgered by the argument that so much modern medical practice is based on our
understanding of biochemical mechanisms, they may grudgingly tolerate the
mechanistic view underlying it.
That tactic has little appeal for me. Even if medicine were God's footstool, I
doubt that we should swear by it. The danger of dehumanization that may arise
from looking at man as machinery is undeniable. I have seen it even in
hospitals, among practitioners busily engaged in saving lives.
This paper is not a defense but an inquiry. What is the alternative to a
mechanistic view? If we are not to see ourselves as biochemical machines, what
20
other view should we adopt? And what can be done with it? Perhaps we can't do
biochemistry. I am one biochemist free to accept that possibility, since I no
longer have an economic stake in the field. Having resigned from biochemical
employment, I've found I can get along without a lot of biochemistry, and that I
can't afford much modern medicine.
Refining Some Past Ideas
What I can afford in my umbilically detached state is philosophy. Let me correct
that before professional philosophers throw up their hands at yet another
unwanted refugee from science whose vain babblings threaten to give their field
a bad name. What I have time for now is what Charles S. Peirce called "the
Pure Play of Musement,"1 My recent musement leads me to refine
some ideas I have written about in the past. For example, in an article entitled
"ContraCyclops; or, Getting the Whole Picture ,"2 I
contrasted two ways of looking at things, saying that my scientific view and my
Christian view complemented and enriched each other. Certainly many profound
thinkers have contrasted the scientific way of looking at things with "the
other way," Christian or not. C. P. Snow, of course, wrote a very famous
essay on "The Two Cultures."3 Later, in The Two Cultures:
and a Second Look4 he responded to criticisms by those who couldn't
see themselves fitting into either of his two categories:
I respect those arguments. The number 2 is a very dangerous
number: that is why the dialectic is a dangerous process. Attempts to divide
anything into two ought to be regarded with much suspicion. I have thought a
long time about going in for further refinements; but in the end I have decided
against it. I was searching for something a little more than a dashing metaphor,
a good deal less than a cultural map: and for those purposes the two cultures is
about right, and subtilising any more would bring more disadvantages than it's
worth. (p. 16)
In "A Biochemist Shares His Faith,"5 I said that most of us
recognize in ourselves two basic perspectives or dominant modes of thought, a
subjective mode and an objective mode. That dichotomy still seems valid to me,
resulting from our dual status as individual persons and members of our species.
We can try to see ourselves either "from the inside" or "from the
outside," as we would look to our fellow human creatures or to our Creator.
And although in science we stress the objective mode, I think most of us
acknowledge that we operate in both modes both as scientists and as Christians.
What I have come to see as divided into at least three parts is not the
perspective from which we see ourselves, but what we see ourselves as. The model
we use affects not only what we see but even what we mean by "seeing."
To summarize my tentative conclusion in the most blatant oversimplification
possible, I suggest that there are two basic alternatives to Man as Machine:
they are Man as Animal; and Man as Spirit. It is the argument of this paper that
the three models are equally valid, each representing a component of our human
nature not to be neglected. A further argument is that we are unlikely to do
much better, to combine them into some supermodel. That is, I suspect that the
appropriate arena for synthesis, for wholeness, is human life itself rather than
a highly refined philosophical view. In other words, as undissected persons, we
serve as living models for each other. And, of course, Jesus Christ serves as
the supreme model for Christians.
If Man as Machine is distasteful to some, I doubt that Man as Animal and as
Spirit are any more tasteful to many. At least I tried to choose more neutral
and more equally balanced terms than RenČ Duhos used in his recent book, Beast
or Angel? Choices That Make Us Human.6 One suspects that Dubos is more
comfortable with Man as Spirit than with Man as Animal. To indicate the opposite
preference, I suppose he could have called his book "Highest Primate or
Devil?"
Perhaps some terms for mental activities associated with the three models are
less value-loaded than names for the models themselves. Thus,
"thinking" is what we do like higher machines; sensation or
"feeling" is what we share with higher animals; and
"knowing" (in the sense of Michael Polaoyi's "tacit
knowledge" or perhaps of "moral conviction") is what we have in
common with higher spirits. Although we recognize differences in these three
ways of "seeing things," in some usages they are essentially
interchangeable. I can say, "I think I'm having trouble getting my point
across"; or, "I feel I'm having trouble getting my point across";
or, "I know I'm having trouble getting my point across."
Well, I sense that I'm having trouble getting my point across. What did Jesus
mean when he said that the "great and first commandment" is to love
the Lord our God with all our heart, and with all our soul, and with all our
mind (Matthew 22:37-38,
Many Christians yearn for a world- and life-view that will provide a single, integrated viewpoint. I suspect that man is too complex for that.
nsv)? I take it to mean that we are to love God with our whole selves, a
composite of emotional, volitional, and intellectual elements.
Making Sense
I would like for this paper to be more than an elaborate play on words, but I
confess that it began that way. I was musing on different ways of using our
minds to "make sense," struck by the nuances of various words derived
from the Latin sensus or sentire ("to feel, perceive").
I had been listening to my son's over-amplified rock music. To its driving beat,
I responded with sympathetic vibrations of various motor connections of my
central nervous system. A bit later, listening to music of my own choice, I
found myself responding to a delicate baroque piece in an entirely different
way. The contrast led me to dwell on the difference between amplitude and
discrimination in sensory perception and brought the two words
"sensuality" and "sensitivity" to mind. Later, my musically
trained wife, trying once more to interest me in learning to play the piano,
assured me that music should fascinate someone of my turn of mind because of the
mathematical logic of its scales. In other words, music was also
"sensible." Conceivably one could respond to a given piece of music in
all three ways simultaneously: with a sensual or emotive response; with a
sensitivity to the artistic perfection or "rightness" of the piece;
and with an understanding of the "mechanism" of how the notes fit
together, of their sequences and harmonic interactions.
Although I'm almost as tone-deaf in philosophy and psychology as in music, the
three "senses" in which my mind could (at least theoretically) respond
to a complex stimulus made immediate "sense" to me. I had a flashback
to my nervous participation, years before, in a university faculty forum on the
subject, "What is Truth?" Before my turn came to speak I had listened
to an existentialist, a rationalist, and an empiricist each defend his own
criteria for truth. Each showed that the other two were dead wrong-yet all three
made sense to me. The existentialist sensed what was true from within himself,
from his feeling for what was real at the moment. The rationalist distrusted
changeable human feelings but had confidence in an enduring structure of reality
he could sense beyond our human imperfections. The empiricist trusted neither
his feelings nor revealed insights, but at least part of the world made sense to
him because he could think of a way to test its truth (or rather, its falsity).
In my stumbling synthesis, I commented that the three systems seemed to agree
that truth is "that which endures" (if the "now" of the
existentialist is taken as "the eternal present"). I said that as a
Christian I saw Christ as the Truth, the Alpha and Omega unbounded either by
time or by imperfection, yet available to us and inviting us to put him to the
test by trusting in him.
I realize that I have used carelessly a number of terms whose precise
definitions are important to various disciplines. I have also used some that are
almost indefinable. "Spirit" is probably one such word.
"Mind" may be another. In What, Then, Is Mats? A Symposium of
Theology, Psychology, and Psychiatry7 Paul Meebl and his co-authors
said in an appendix that the word "mind":
. . has become a synechdochical catch-all for almost everything
psychic, intellectual, emotional, and whatnot. It may be regarded as a term
which describes an aspect of the behavioral content, such as memory,
consciousness, unconsciousness, knowledge, will, and feeling. Its use has become
so broad that it may serve the person who believes that man has a soul as well
as the one who does not. For definitive purposes the word has all but lost its
value. (p. 320)
Yet the word "mind" was used throughout that excellent symposium
volume! For an amateur it might be safer to copy Charles Reich8 and refer to
Models I, II, and III, and the perceptions associated with them. Whatever we
call them, I think we lose something valuable from our human repertoire if we
neglect any one of them.
If we fail to recognize our animal nature we are likely to play down emotional
aspects of our life that stem from biological drives and needs. Our empathy
capacity toward others may become attenuated, so that toward Cod as well as man
we become "heartless." Also, we may forget that we occupy an
ecological niche in a delicately balanced nature; to ignore our need for a
biologically sustaining environment is to endanger our species as well as
others. Neglect of our animal nature may cost us the experience of living in the
simple present tense.
On the other hand, one thing that seems to distinguish us from other animal
species is a kind of awareness of ourselves and of the possibility of
self-conscious choices in our behavior. If we fail to cultivate moral
sensitivity, we live on an animal level in the "now" and cut ourselves
off from the past and future, let alone the eternal. If we lose the possibility
of reasons for action, of reason itself, of ultimates from which we can reason,
we become trapped in our immediate environment, unable to transcend it.
I suspect that until the rise of scientific thinking, these were the basic
possibilities for human beings, either to be influenced by the immediate
environment or to transcend it by rational or spiritual insights. There remains
a third possibility: to change the environment. Even if technology arose from
accidental discovery and was originally handed down by tradition, it led little
by little to deliberate manipulation, to asking "What would happen if
...?"-eventually to modern science.
Science has in common with the first outlook that it is grounded in the
immediate phenomena of nature and in common with the second that it eventually
provides a means of transcending nature with a theoretical structure. It differs
from the first in its goal of impersonal objectivity and from the second in its
focus on proximate rather than ultimate questions. It asks not "How do I
feel about this?" or "Is it right?" but "Will it work?"
It is concerned solely with a chain of cause-and-effect, with mechanics; when it
deals with man it gives us a mechanical picture of ourselves. If we neglect it,
we lose that much capacity to analyze critically, to predict behavior of persons
and things, and to innovate.
Reductionism
Scientists are often accused of reductionistic thinking, perhaps rightly so. But
it seems to me that reductionism is what you get in any of these outlooks if you
neglect the other two. Much of modern American life looks to me like
reductionistic hedonism. And a minister who says that the only important
question is whether or not a person is saved is as much a reductionist as my
biochemical colleague who used to insist that the only important questions are
those that can be answered by quantitative experiments. Reductionism leads to
chauvinism, in which proponents of a particular way of looking at reality defend
it against all others. Finally we get to a kind of gnosticism in which one view
is seen as accounting adequately for the others. We have seen scientists assume
that man is nothing but a biochemical machine; argue that increasing the federal
research budget is the only way to save the country and mankind; and explain
away religious convictions as obviously the products of social channeling of
biological responses. Some of us who are Christians have probably also seen our
scientific curiosity and tentativity regarded as evidence of retarded spiritual
growth.
Personal preference for one model over the others may be unavoidable, but all of
us should beware of "nothing buttery," which is Donald MacKay's
illustrative term for reductionism.9 But even if we can't achieve a
completely even balance individually, we can help provide balance collectively.
Balance is particularly needed within the Christian community. Whatever danger
of mechanistic reductionism exists outside, I suspect that within the church the
mechanistic aspect is the one most likely to be neglected.
Two examples of its neglect come to mind. I recently read an autobiographical
narrative written by an outstanding Christian woman. Throughout her book she
emphasized love for God and man as "feeling," as hurting when others
hurt. Theological scholars who hold orthodox doctrines without showing their own
feelings upset her. Only once or twice in the entire book did she ask any
questions about anything. Her only curiosity focused on her own emotions or on
people she wanted to help, "What must they be feeling?" Any lapses
into analytical thought, however, were attributed to her physical exhaustion,
illness, or loneliness. She would get some rest or go have a pizza with a friend
and her questions would go away. There is no doubt that she has been an
effective witness for Jesus Christ. But is her witness a balanced one?
I have also recently seen a church go through a process of shaking out many of
its most thoughtful members because loving Cod became limited in another
direction. There it came to be defined as submitting to elders and
"apostles" who "knew" God's will and who regarded honest
questioning as Satan's way of dividing and attacking the church. No doubt these
elders have been right about some things, at least on occasion. But is their
church as whole as it should be?
There are certainly temptations to sin mechanistically. I doubt that they are
greater than temptations to sin animalistically or spiritually, just different.
Perhaps in our biological aspect we find it easiest to be selfish, to put our
own needs above those of others. But it's also there that compassion for our own
kind, and by extension to others, is most easily generated, along with the sheer
joy of living as a creature in God's world, Our spiritual aspect may make us
more susceptible to pride and rebellion, but it's also there that we acquire our
moral responsibility, our sense of justice and protection for the oppressed.
Perhaps thinking mechanistically does make faith more difficult for us, or at
least more complicated. Yet it can also open for us new possibilities for
imitating our Creator, for sharing his relationship to the world, and for
continuing his work with our minds and hands. For machines, unlike animals and
spirits, are put together by humans. To think of machines is to appreciate what
it is like to be a creator, and to think of ourselves as machines is to
appreciate more fully that we are God's created beings.
Being God's Machines
However, mechanistic thinking is relatively new, and that may make it harder for
some Christians to accept. Science was developed in a systematic way long after
both the Old and New Testaments were completed. The Bible shows concern for
man's biological well-being along with his spiritual well-being. But there is
very little analysis or technical detail. A case could be made that Jesus taught
his disciples to question tradition, and that the kind of faith he engendered
was a "try-it-and-see" kind of trust akin to experimentation. I won't
try to make that case here. It's enough for me that Jesus told us to love God
with all our minds. Whatever the mind set of his followers then, our minds are
set by the culture in which we live to think mechanistically. We should abandon
anything in our culture that gets in the way of our love for God, but everything
else should be offered up to God in worship. Christians trained in science learn
to worship God by thinking as well as by feeling and knowing.
Although I wish to pay due respect to the machine model of myself, I want it
understood that I prefer the company of whole persons to that of machines. I am
not likely to confuse the two, even though I once went so far as to give my
Underwood typewriter coauthor status on an essay about men and machines.10
In another essay, "Whole People and Half Truths,"11 I
expressed my concern about the mechanization of human beings:
In science, as in other fields, the machines we have increasingly
come to rely on are highly complex, "almost human," But as machines
take on more human attributes, we see human beings not freed to become more
human, as we had hoped, hot constrained to become more and more like machines.
This mechanization of people seems to come not so much from under. standing
ourselves mechanistically as from competing among ourselves for the available
resources. Machines perform sub-human tasks more efficiently than humans can.
One makes a machine of himself simply by limiting himself to a single objective
at a time. That is the way to "get things done." Competition forces us
to that kind of efficiency. (p. 95)
We need not fear recognition of our machine nature, if we are God's machines.
That should enable us to do God's will more skillfully and therefore even more
responsibly and joyfully. It is when we let competition or the fear of it turn
us into heartless, self-serving machines that the mechanistic picture becomes
almost unbearable. I remember from my old economics textbook a description of
that kind of model, the "economic man":
who is dominated exclusively by motives of loss and gain. He is
represented as a kind of calculating machine, who measures all his actions in
dollars and is governed by no other consideration. At least, he is so visualized
by his critics. A truly economic man would budget his income in the most
economical manner possible, so that he would always get the greatest possible
value for his money and would never spend a dollar for one thing if he could get
more utility by spending it for something else. Other things being equal, he
would always buy every commodity at the lowest price for which it could be
secured. As a business man, he would hire labor at the lowest possible wages and
drive an equally hard bargain with all of those from whom he purchased materials
or borrowed capital. He would produce those goods whose prices were highest, in
proportion to the labor and capital employed, and would sell them to those who
offered the highest prices.12
The same textbook said that most men are not economic in the extreme sense of
that term, but that business men are probably more like the model than consumers
or laborers:
This is not because business men are any less susceptible to
ordinary human emotions than other people, but the immediate objective of every
business enterprise is to make profits, and all the activities of a business are
means to this end . . . So; in deciding upon policies in the employment of men
and in the marketing of their products, pecuniary loss or gain will be the most
important and deciding factor, and they will buy where goods can be had at
lowest prices and sell where they get the highest prices, all other things
considered. Except in retail markets, where goods are sold to ultimate
consumers, and in the labor market, where services are sold by individual
workers, business men are the active parties on both sides of most price
transactions. We will not be far wrong in assuming, therefore, that in such
eases, consideration of loss and gain will have a predominant iofluence.12
That description of a man who is cold and amoral in his business dealings,
forced by economic competition into a machine-like role, makes me glad I've been
a biochemist instead of a business man. Although the Bible is not concerned with
biochemistry or other sciences, at least my scientific thinking about
biochemical mechanisms never seemed to separate me from God. I didn't worship
biochemistry or build my whole life around it, so when God had other things for
me to do, I could walk away from it. The Bible does say clearly that we cannot
serve both God and mammon.
Finally, I know that many Christians are not satisfied with having to use
multiple models to make sense of man. They regard the multiplicity as unwieldy
and as untrue to man's unity as a created whole. They yearn for a world- and
life-view that will provide a single, integrated viewpoint. I wish them well,
but I suspect that man is too complex for that. But if we love the Lord our God
with all our heart, and with all our soul, and with all our mind, it seems to me
that we will demonstrate our wholeness, if not individually as Christians, then
collectively as the body of Christ.
REFERENCES
1Charles S. Pierce, "A Neglected Argument for the Reality of
God," Hibbert journal 7, 90-112 (1908); reprinted in Values in a Universe
of Chance, ed. by Philip P. Wiener, Doubleday Anchor Books, 1958.
2W. R. Hearo, "Contra-Cyclops; or, Getting the Whole
Picture," Right On, CWLF, Berkeley, September 1972.
3C. P. Snow, "The Two Cultures," New Statesman, 6, October
1956.
4C. P. Snow, The Two Cultures: and a Second Look, Mentor Books, 1989.
5W. R. Hearn, "A Biochemist Shares His Faith," in Why I Am
Still a Christian, ed. by E. M. Blaiklock, Zondervan, 1971.
6Rene Dobos, Beast or Angel? Choices That Makes Us Human, Scribner's,
1974.
7Paul Meehl et al., What, Then, Is Man? A Symposium of Theology,
Psychology, and Psychiatry, Concordia Publishing House, St. Louis, 1958.
8Charles Reich, The Greening of America, Random House, 1970.
9Donald M. MacKay, The Clockwork Image, InterVarsity Press, 1974, p.
21.
10W. R, Hearn, "Three Perspectives on Men and Machines.
III," Journal ASA 22 (4), 136.1, December, 1970.
11W. R. Hearn, "Whale People and Half Truths," in The
Scientist and Ethical Decision, ed. by Charles Hatfield, InterVarsity Press,
1973.
12Raymond T. Bye, Principles of Economics, F. S. Crafts and Co.,
1941, p. 296.
13Raymond T. Bye, op. cit., p. 297.