The late Stephen Hawking's collection of essays,
Brief Answers to the Big Questions, was released this past Fall. Interestingly, most of the publicity it did attract seemed to focus on Hawking's belief that there isn't a God. Toward the end of the essay, Hawking writes (p. 64),
We are each free to believe what we want, and it's my view that the simplest explanation is that there is no God. No one created the universe and no one directs our faith. This leads me to a profound realisation: there is probably no heaven and no afterlife either. I think belief in the afterlife is just wishful thinking. There is no reliable evidence for it, and it flies in the face of everything we know in science.
It's worth considering this passage in more detail. At the front end, he speaks of belief and probability: belief in God and the probability in a heaven or the afterlife. Interestingly, he distinguishes between the existence of a God (or gods) from the possibility of an afterlife or heaven, correctly recognizing that the existence of one does not demand the existence of the other. The focus on belief and probability is appropriate given that scientific enterprise can only speak to the functioning of the natural world. Unfortunately, Hawking immediately abandons this perspective when dismissing the possibility of the afterlife because "there is no reliable evidence for it, and it flies in the face of everything we know in science." All of which is too bad, for as the sociologist, Christian Smith, notes, that just because we can't observe or discover something, doesn't mean it isn't true (
Atheist Overreach, p. 93). One would hope that someone as brilliant as Hawking would know the limits of the scientific method, but apparently he does not.
Hawking also displays little or no interest in learning why faith continues to persist in the modern world. He remarks toward the beginning of the essay that people "cling to religion, because it gives them comfort, and they do not trust or understand science" (p. 25). If he had bothered to actually spend some time studying religion (and it's clear that he didn't), Hawking would have learned that religion's persistence is not due to a lack of education, a poor understanding of science, or because it offers comfort in the face of a meaningless universe. Rather, it appears that religion’s appeal is rooted much deeper in our evolutionary history. At least three streams of thought inform this perspective. One, which is associated with cognitive scientists of religion, argues that religion is an evolutionary accident, that is, a byproduct of separate (but adaptive) process. Another contends that religion, or at least some forms of it, helped human groups adapt to various evolutionary pressures; this perspective is associated primarily with the work of the evolutionist, David Sloan Wilson. Finally, the philosopher Steven Asma argues that religion persists because it is good for us; he sees it is a necessary and much needed mechanism that has helped and continues to helps people manage and regulate their emotional instincts, of which "comfort" is only one of five emotional instincts he identifies.
If Hawking had studied religion, he would've also learned that approximately 40% of American scientists affirm a belief in a God "to whom one may pray in the expectation of receiving an answer." by which they meant "more than the subjective, psychological effect of prayer." (This is a surprising high percentage given that a high proportion of mainline Protestant pastors wouldn't even be able to affirm it.) And, then, there is Hawking's fellow member of the Royal Academy of Science, John Polkinghorne, who taught mathematical physics at Cambridge (as well as spending time at Princeton, Berkeley, Stanford, and the European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN)), where he explored quantum theory and played a role in discovering the quark. Polkinghorne resigned his position at Cambridge to study theology and be ordained as an Anglican priest. He subsequently served several parishes, but he is best known for his writings on the intersection of science and religion. Surely, Hawking would concede that Polkinghorne "understands science."
Finally, Hawking begins his essay noting that scientists are "increasingly answering questions that used to be the province of religion" (p. 25). He is correct, of course. What is interesting, though, is how little scientists who make claims about religion take any time to actually study it. Imagine if the reverse was true. What would happen if theologians began writing about quarks, black holes, and multiple universes, but before doing so, they only bothered to consult an undergraduate textbook on physics? They'd be laughed out of the building. But that is exactly what many scientists do with regards to religion. Scientists with little or no knowledge about religion feel competent to pontificate about it at length. As the Marxist (and Roman Catholic) literary critic, Terry Eagleton, remarked in his review of Richard Dawkins's book,
The God Delusion:
Imagine someone holding forth on biology where only whose only knowledge of the subject is the Book of British Birds, and you have a rough idea of what it feels like to read Richard Dawkins on theology. Card-carrying rationalists like Dawkins, who is the nearest thing to a professional atheist we have had since Bertrand Russell, are in one sense the least well-equipped to understand what they castigate, since they don’t believe there is anything there to be understood, or at least anything worth understanding. This is why they invariably come up with vulgar caricatures of religious faith that would make a first-year theology student wince. The more they detest religion, the more ill-informed their criticisms of it tend to be. If they were asked to pass judgment on phenomenology or the geopolitics of South Asia, they would no doubt bone up on the question as assiduously as they could. When it comes to theology, however, any shoddy old travesty will pass muster. ("Lunging, Failing, Mispunching")
So, why are scientists who lack any competence in matters of theology taken seriously when they make theological claims? They are because of the "authority, status, and prestige" science enjoys in the West (
Atheist Overreach, p. 97). Be that as it may, "authority, status, and prestige" aren't a substitute for actual knowledge. Thus, I agree with Christian Smith, who argues that before scientists
Publicly pronounce on metaphysics and theology, they should be obliged to satisfy two conditions. First, they should learn enough about real metaphysics and religion to be able to speak accurately and intelligently about them. And second, they should make clear in their writing and speaking that they are no longer making scientific claims but rather switching modes of discourse and epistemological frameworks to discuss metaphysics or religion. (Atheist Overreach, p. 99)
Unfortunately, I doubt Smith's argument will have much effect, at least in the short run. As the philosopher (and atheist) John Gray notes in his recent book,
The Seven Types of Atheism, "While atheists may call themselves freethinkers, for many today atheism is a closed system of thought” (p. 2). Put differently, many are as dogmatic as the religious believers they deride.
