ABSTRACT
Most people regard science and religion as distinct categories, the terms as denoting two “natural kinds” that differ in important respects. Indeed, discussions of the evolution vs. creationism issue in teaching have often taken for granted that the two categories are distinct and non-overlapping. In recent years, intelligent design advocates have muddied the waters somewhat, asserting that their approach is also scientific and should receive adequate recognition within the context of science courses (Ruse, 2005). The claim has met with resistance from most scientists and from teachers as well. Intelligent design is not “real” science, they argue, but instead represents a back door by which theological concepts can enter the science classroom (Kitcher, 1982). What then is science? What is religion? The present essay will not result in a definitional solution to this issue. Instead, I hope to characterize the kind of thinking that is manifest in each domain. My strategy here is similar to that used by Charles Darwin. In the second chapter of his epochal Origin of Species (1859), Darwin sorted through multiple definitions of the term “species,” concluding that in fact there was no need for a definition, but only a need to roughly characterize the differences between varieties and species. What was essential, he argued, was recognition of a fundamental fact-that there was variation among individuals within a species (however defined), and a continuum of variation, from individuals within a variety, to varieties within a species, and from species to species. Whether to set terminological limits drawing a boundary between species and varieties, say, was thus an arbitrary move. Instead, the task was to develop a theory that explained how variation arose and how it acted under the pressures of natural selection. Similarly, I approach the topic of the difference between science and religion as a task in which what counts is showing the similarities and differences, not defining each in some fixed, and ultimately arbitrary, fashion. My goal is to contribute toward an explanation of the ways in which science and religion work on a cognitive level, that is, to characterize the kind
of thinking that underlies each, and to locate that thinking within our knowledge of cognition generally. In thus naturalizing the issue, I hope to contribute to an understanding of the most effective ways to educate young people in science. There is general recognition that differing epistemologies are at play in the difficulty (e.g., Sinatra & Nadelson, this volume), and while there have been many discussions of what students need to know by way of scientific method, there is less discussion of how to overcome the gaps, or why it is so difficult to do so. Understanding the differences between science and religion may contribute to the goal, especially when religious beliefs of students are under challenge by theories such as evolution. The discussion should also highlight the reasons why teaching evolutionary theory is difficult, particularly when competing religious beliefs are directly evoked by fundamental questions about the nature and origin of life and the nature of the human species that are central to an understanding of evolution. Shtulman (2006) has noted how many misinterpretations and misunderstandings of evolution can be found even among students who have long studied it. In part, the difficulties associated with learning about evolution are not different from those associated with learning other sciences. It requires, for example, an understanding of the nature of statistical distributions, a difficult topic in its own right. Learning physics must overcome some aspects of folk physics (a point made by the “misconceptions” literature, e.g., Clement, 1982; Rohrer, 2002); so also much of what has to be learned about evolution contradicts folk biology as well. For example, as Shtulman notes, evolutionary theory abandons the intuitive belief in an “essence” that defines a given species. Unlearning such ontological presuppositions is difficult, especially when the new material requires shifts in epistemological conceptions as well as ontological conceptions (Chi, 1992; Chinn & Malhotra, 2001; Dole & Sinatra, 1998). When the concepts of science conflict with concepts derived from religious belief, the problem is likely to be especially difficult, given the different ways in which belief in the two domains is maintained. A “young earth” creationist, for example, will necessarily need to abandon his or her conception of the age of the Earth in order to understand one of the fundamental claims grounding evolutionary theory, namely, that the Earth is very old and that processes of random variation and change have had many millions of years to work. Since the young Earth claim is maintained by the mechanisms of deferential authority and is deeply embedded within closely held ontological presuppositions, it is not surprising that the task is difficult, nor that acceptance of evolution presupposes changes in an entire system of epistemological concerns (Hofer & Pintrich, 1997). My primary example in this chapter is based on a historical figure, Michael Faraday. Historical episodes have a unique contribution to issues of epistemological change because they allow us to see deeply into the epistemological presuppositions of the scientists and to their reflective (and hence more
observable) aspects (Tweney, 2001). By contrast with studies of current science, we do not always need to struggle to understand those presuppositions, nor are we as likely to overlook important aspects. Further, it is easier to understand the content of the science itself. Perhaps most importantly, it is easier to see the cultural and social aspects of historical science, given the advantages of hindsight, and their long-term consequences (for similar views on the pedagogical uses of history of science, see Nersessian, 1995; Matthews, Gauld, & Stinner, 2004; Tweney, 2008).
