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Crisis of faith
Scientists who use evolutionary psychology to explain religion are ignoring facts and missing the point.
By Margaret Wertheim
[12/24/99]

Christie for Christmas
Desperate for more Agatha Christie? Now there are two "new" mysteries by the late queen of clues.
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[12/23/99]

Tempting fate
Connie Willis' science fiction tackles time travel and chaos theory with Wodehousian wit.
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[12/23/99]

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Twilight of a feminist
Susan Brownmiller talks about the golden age of ideology and when it's OK for a woman to be a sex object.
By David Bowman
[12/22/99]

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"When Bad Things Happen to Other People" by John Portmann
A new look at Schadenfreude forgives us that nasty vice, but doesn't let us have much fun with it.
By Mary Elizabeth Williams
[12/22/99]

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For Reagan, religion was not an elusive private affair or a mystical revelation that the ancient desert eremites might have recognized, it was part of the quantifiable material world. Religion was true because it "worked." Americans want religion to pay off and give us a competitive edge. We are a nation of materialists, engineers and money-makers, not artist-monks, and our religion has a peculiar whiff of sanctimonious brimstone and hysteria: "Night of the Hunter" mixed with car salesmanship, gestalt therapy and a dash of the Harvard Business School. How much better if we could bring religion into line with what we really believe in: machines.

Also Today Crisis of faith Scientists who use evolutionary psychology to explain religion are ignoring facts and missing the point. By Margaret Wertheim

Since Galileo, religion and science have stubbornly refused to talk to each other. Like two disgruntled and bad-tempered old relatives forced to sit together at the same Christmas dinner table, they utter barely a word to each other except for an occasional "Bah!" According to many scientists, spirituality is largely an example of the Higher Twaddle, a gaseous domain of high-minded but improvable verbiage. Science is an arrogant, ill-mannered lout, say most religionists. The mood at table, alas, is grim.

But now into this awkward breach a larger-than-life gentleman has stepped. His name is Sir John Templeton, a brilliant mutual funds manager and committed Christian, a billionaire modestly domiciled in Barbados who established a charity known as the Templeton Foundation with the exuberant aim of reconciling the rival claims of religion and science. Recently, he has sponsored a number of science-religion conferences and discussions such as the open debate between Nobel Prize laureate Steven Weinberg and physicist-turned-priest John Polkinghorne, held in April 1998 at Washington's National Museum of Natural History.

Despite his 18th century and seemingly very English name, the 86-year-old Templeton is actually a Tennessee native who relinquished his American citizenship in favor of the British variety in 1968, and could thus be knighted. Having created the lucrative Templeton Growth Fund in 1954 (average annual growth 14 percent), he has come to be associated with a variety of odd-sounding bodies devoted to such missions as planetary wisdom, world peace and global harmony. Now Templeton has earmarked $40 million for the Foundation's pursuit of the ultimate intellectual Grail: scientific proof that faith really does pay -- in both the literal and figurative senses -- and that religion has a statistical basis underpinning it much like winged aircraft and off-shore investment. A vulgar conception of the Spirit, perhaps, but if it worked, to paraphrase Charles Fillmore, "The Lord would be my banker, for my credit is good."

Two years ago, the Foundation announced that it would fund experiments by professor Russell Stannard of the Open University and Herbert Benson of the Harvard Medical School into the medical effects of prayer. Stannard and Benson duplicated a similar experiment that Randolph Byrd conducted of coronary-care patients in San Francisco in 1988. Although Byrd's study initially seemed to show some positive results for prayers, his methods were later criticized, arousing widespread skepticism among scientists.

In the Stannard and Benson trial, two groups of hospitalized patients awaiting heart surgery were told that they were being prayed for by special "praying groups." Both sets were told that they were being assisted by concentrated prayer while in reality, only one group was the object of appeal. Stannard, a practising Christian, told a British newspaper that the Templeton Foundation had no vested interest in a positive outcome. "We are genuinely interested," he said with saintly neutrality, "in any experimentation that has a bearing on religion."

The carefully guarded results will likely be published in the year 2000. But in case there is a negative result, Stannard has a sly escape clause. It would not prove, he claimed, that prayer did not help. God, after all, might not be cooperative on that particular day. And why, for that matter, should he be especially interested in Open University experiments into his mysterious workings anyway? Then again, there might be a problem with what Stannard called "unwanted background noise," unaccountable prayers whizzing through the airwaves from more distant sources. Who could say? But if the outcome meant little if it was negative, why conduct the experiment at all?

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