of the book for which he is best known – Issues in Science and Religion (1966). This book reflected his experience of teaching in both the areas of science and religion – teaching interests which he was able to maintain throughout most of his academic career. During the 1970s, Barbour developed his interests further through a program on ethics, public policy, and technology, which identified and engaged with a series of religious issues. Issues in Science and Religion is widely regarded as an authoritative, clearly written, and learned book that introduced many people to the fascinating questions which were associated with this field. Since then, Barbour has authored or edited a series of works dealing with issues on the interface of science and religion (most notably Religion in an Age of Science, which appeared in 1990, based on the Gifford lectures given at the University of Aberdeen in 1989). He is widely regarded as the doyen of dialogue in this field, and was honoured for this by the American Academy of Religion in 1993. Barbour was awarded the Templeton Prize for Progress in Religion in 1999 in recognition of his efforts to create a dialogue between the worlds of science and religion.
Barbour has played an enormous role in catalysing the emergence of this distinct field, and has had considerable personal influence on shaping its dynamics – including his formulation of an influential typology of possible relationships between science and religion. Barbour's typology of ‘ways of relating science and religion’ first appeared in 1988 and remains widely used, despite some obvious weaknesses. Barbour lists four broad types of relations: conflict; independence; dialogue; and integration. In what follows, we shall set out and illustrate Barbour's fourfold scheme, before noting some questions that need further exploration.
Conflict
Historically, the most significant understanding of the relation between science and religion is that of ‘conflict’, or perhaps even ‘warfare’. This strongly confrontational model continues to be deeply influential at the popular level, even if its appeal has diminished considerably at a more scholarly level. ‘The war between science and theology in colonial America has existed primarily in the cliché‐bound minds of historians’ (Ron Numbers). This influential model was expounded in two influential works published in the later part of the nineteenth century – John William Draper's History of the Conflict between Religion and Science (1874) and Andrew Dickson White's History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom (1896). The best‐known late twentieth century representative of this approach is Richard Dawkins, who argues that: ‘Faith is one of the world's great evils, comparable to the smallpox virus but harder to eradicate.’ For Dawkins, science and religion are implacably opposed.
Yet this model is not restricted to anti‐religious scientists. It is widespread within conservative religious groups within Christianity and Islam, who are often virulently hostile to the idea of biological evolution. The creationist Henry M. Morris (1918–2006) published a sustained critique of modern evolutionary theory with the title The Long War against God (1989). In an appreciative foreword to the book, a conservative Baptist pastor declares that: ‘Modern evolutionism is simply the continuation of Satan's long war against God.’ Morris even invites us to imagine Satan imagining the idea of evolution as a means of dethroning God.
Yet many of the historical episodes that are traditionally placed in this category, or held to represent its manifestation, can be interpreted in other ways. The Galileo controversy of the seventeenth century, for example, is still presented as a classic example of ‘science against religion’, even though it is now recognized to be a much more complex and nuanced matter. Similarly, Darwin's theory of evolution is often presented in the popular media as anti‐religious in nature and intention, even though Darwin himself was adamant that it was not. Indeed, in 1889 the Anglican theologian Aubrey Moore remarked that: ‘Darwinism appeared, and, under the disguise of a foe, did the work of a friend.’ The issue of whether science and religion are in conflict all too often seems to rest on complex issues of interpretation, which are often sidelined by those looking for simple answers and slick slogans.
More importantly, the conflict model is increasingly being seen as a distinctively Western way of thinking, which is grounded in the specific histories and the implicit cultural norms of Western nations, particularly the United States of America. Researchers have noted that the relation of science and religion in non‐Western cultures – such as India – is understood in a very different (and much more positive) way. Recent surveys indicate that the general approach which Barbour designates ‘independence’ (see below) is dominant amongst scientists in North America and Western Europe, whereas a more collaborative or dialogical approach is dominant within scientific communities in Asia.
Although some Western cultural commentators regard the ‘warfare’ model as normative, it is nothing of the sort. It is simply one option within a spectrum of possibilities, which became influential as a result of a set of historical circumstances, rather than having anything to do with the essential nature of either science or religion. Furthermore, the ‘conflict’ model retains its credulity largely on account of conflicts arising from very specific issues – chiefly the teaching of evolution in schools and issues of therapeutic gene modification.
Independence
The Darwinian controversy caused many to distrust the ‘warfare’ or ‘conflict’ model. In the first place, it was seen to be historically questionable. Yet in the second, there was growing concern to prevent any alleged ‘conflict’ to damage either science or religion. This led many to insist that the two fields had to be regarded as completely independent of each other. This approach insists that science and religion are to be seen as independent, autonomous fields of study or spheres of reality, with their own distinct rules and languages. Science has little to say about religious beliefs, and religion has little to say about scientific study.
This approach is found in the 1981 policy statement of the American National Academy of Science, which declared that: ‘Religion and science are separate and mutually exclusive realms of human thought whose presentation in the same context leads to misunderstanding of both scientific theory and religious belief.’ It is also found in Stephen Jay Gould's model of ‘non‐overlapping magisteria’ (NOMA), which argues for the affirmation of mutual respect and the recognition of differing methodologies and domains of interpretation between science and religion:
I believe, with all my heart, in a respectful, even loving concordat between our magisterial – the NOMA solution. NOMA represents a principled position on moral and intellectual grounds, not a mere diplomatic stance. NOMA also cuts both ways. If religion can no longer dictate the nature of factual conclusions properly under the magisterium of science, then scientists cannot claim higher insight into moral truth from any superior knowledge of the world's empirical constitution. This mutual humility has important practical consequences in a world of such diverse passions.
A variant of this approach is provided by the American theologian Langdon Gilkey (1919–2004). In his 1959 work Maker of Heaven and Earth, Gilkey argues that theology and the natural sciences represent independent and different ways of approaching reality. The natural sciences are concerned with asking ‘how’ questions, where theology asks ‘why’ questions. The former deals with secondary causes (that is, interactions within the sphere of nature), while the latter deals with primary causes (that is, the ultimate origin and purpose of nature).
This independence model appeals to many scientists and theologians because it gives them freedom to believe and think what they like in their own respective fields (‘magisteria’, to use Gould's phrase), without forcing them to relate these magisterial to each other. However, as Ian Barbour points out, this inevitably compartmentalizes reality. ‘We do not experience life as neatly divided into separate compartments; we experience it in wholeness and interconnectedness before we develop particular disciplines to study different aspects of it.’ In other words, these circles cannot avoid some degree of overlap and interaction; they are not completely separate.
