“Scientists animated by the purpose of proving that they are purposeless constitute an interesting subject for study.” —Alfred North Whitehead, The Function of Reason
True story. In November of 2022, I was delighted to take a First Class seat on a flight. Finally! I had flown enough miles to earn a bump to the big seat. Even though it was just a short connecting flight, I relished it. I had just given a talk at a university to a group of Catholic students about Fr. Jaki’s work regarding the Christian birth of modern science, and I was heading to Maine next to give a talk about Mary at a women’s Advent by Candlelight dinner. The gentleman next to me struck up a conversation. “Coming or going?”
“I’m leaving. I was just at the university here to give a talk.” Yep, I bragged.
“Oh, I work at the university. What was your talk about?”
“Well, it’s kind of hard to explain, but I am a chemist who studied theology, and I give talks about faith and science.” Pointing to my gold St. Benedict Medal on a hefty gold chain, a gift from a fellow Catholic chemist, I added, “I’m Catholic.”
I always feel compelled to explain. Priests, friars, and religious sisters walk around in full display as Catholic by their clothing. For laity, it’s not as obvious, which is why I like wearing a medal. People often misunderstand my work as well. A guy once told me that he really likes rocks too after I told him I teach classes on science and theology. It took me a full sixty seconds to figure out what he meant. The man next to me on the plane understood though.
“Well, then we could not be more different!” He was friendly. “I’m what you call a hard-core atheist. No doubt here. Atheist. No god. That’s it.”
We both nodded and let all that sink in. Catholic medal-wearing speaker lady next to hard-core atheist man just riding in First Class. Before the plane even got off the ground, we’d established that we’re polar opposites. I fidgeted nervously trying to decide what to say next, then he very kindly threw me a line.
“I’m a scientist too.”
Now, let me stop right here and tell you that this is code for camaraderie among scientists. Though opposites on the God question, we connected as scientists, and he knew that I knew what my next statement would be. It’s practically scripted ever since the time of Galileo.
“Oh, how about that! Well, you must tell me about your work!”
Scientists love to talk about their work to someone else who is interested. It is a really good feeling to be heard and understood. Plus, I didn’t need to talk again until we were over nine kilometers separated from the mass of Earth.
He told me his research focuses on the transmission patterns of viruses. If a virus is transmitted by contact or through the air, then it spreads among infected individuals in different patterns accordingly. Think about it. If a virus can move from one organism to another through the air, then spreading patterns in a geographic area will look different than if the virus can spread only when people actually touch each other. There are other factors, such as the time it takes for the virus to be detected and the length of time people are contagious.
He had just received a multi-million-dollar federal grant from the National Institutes of Health to research COVID-19 transmission patterns, and he needed more graduate students in his lab. He was heading to South American to recruit students to the university to work with him. We discussed how he sees the transmission patterns vary, how he knows what type of transmission is occurring, how his team collects and analyzes the data, and why South American students are so interested in research. Honestly, it was fascinating to learn how someone can look at where people are being infected with a virus and discover the molecular secrets of how that virus gets around. This information can be lifesaving on a large scale, and I acknowledged as much. My praise was genuine.
He went on to tell me how he became interested in this kind of work. He is concerned about the impact that humans have on the planet.
“People don’t seem to care,” he said.
He noted how he wears recycled clothing and drives an efficient car, walking as much as he can. He looked out the window of the plane, always a beautiful sight for any scientist, and expressed his respect for this big system we call home. I agreed. That is also what my talks are about, except through a Christian lens. Science is the study of the handiwork of God. I didn’t say that, but I thought it.
Then we talked about the pandemic. I mentioned that I have seven children and that, as a mother, I am grateful for the work he does.
He said, “Don’t take this the wrong way…”
I shook my head and assured him I only take words for what they are. (Scientists are nothing if not literal.)
“The absolute WORST thing anyone can do to this planet is have so many kids.”
He went on to explain how the planet is over-populated, and that people think having kids is good in the moment, but they don’t realize what those kids will do the planet in the future, that one reason viruses spread so easily is because there are so many people. He said childbearing is really a short-sighted, selfish act.
Now, I’m socially shy, but in a verbal match, I’m pretty good on my feet. Our conversation had just crossed a line from science to philosophy and theology, and I knew it. This is my wheelhouse. I know when to hold ‘em, fold ‘em, walk away, or run. I decided to match his energy and be straightforward.
“I disagree,” pointing to my medal. “Our world views are different.” Now I said it. “I see science as the study of Creation.” (I love this phrase so much.)
He nodded.
I remember thinking that I almost asked him what he’d like me to do with those bio-machine children of mine. Omit them? Starve them? Refuse them medical care to save resources? Ask them to only wear recycled clothing and drive efficient cars? I didn’t want to start a fight, and he had warned me.
Years of engaging atheism after my own conversion, heck, years of plain old life, have taught me that there are times and places for arguing. Sitting in First Class is just not one of them. So, I stared past him out the window for a while, gave him some side-eye, and then decide to go positive.
“You know, we really aren’t so different. You’re an atheist. I’m a Catholic mom of seven. But we both have a purpose to leave this world better than we found it.”
I swear; I thought he was going to fly through the roof of that plane. He turned and looked right at me.
“Oh, no, no! No. I don’t believe in that. No purpose.” He waved his hand at the view out the window. “There is no purpose.”
He was adamant. That aspect of the conversation was definitely over. I recalled a detail from his research to redirect the conversation and threw him a line, returning the favor as a way around the God question. We talked some more. I told him about the scientific research I had done on nanocomposite materials for renewable energy. Then the plane landed, and we wished each other success.
I went to my Catholic dinner in Maine where women were entering Advent to prepare for the celebration of the birth of Christ. He went to South America using federal grant funds for the purpose of recruiting youth to devote their lives to life-saving research that is, in his words, purposeless.
As a student of St. Thomas, I always transpose philosophical statements into statements about the use of language. Aquinas would ask, in what sense do you mean "purpose?" The purpose of the oxygen mask over staged above your head on the airplane is to provide oxygen in the event there is a loss of cabin pressure. From the higher perspective of the airline, oxygen masks are provided for the purpose of meeting regulatory requirements. Yet higher, congress enacts regulatory requirements to preserve human life. Higher yet, citizens demand we preserve human life in order to honor the dignity and worth of persons in a Christian society.
As we go higher in the analogical senses of the word "purpose", atheists get queasy. They are uncomfortable crossing over into the nature of persons, and certainly the idea that persons share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity. The atheist might go as far as to admit regulatory requirements are the purpose of the oxygen masks. The rest? It's just psychology. Neurons. Superstition. A social agreement to act as if persons have intrinsic dignity which they do not.
Speaking as a psychologist, I find that a cop out.
"Why something, why not nothing?" This seems to be a haunting question for atheists. On the one hand they know it's a valid question that could dash their worldview. Yet, on the other, they instinctively know it can't be disproved as frivolity under a microscope.
The biggest problem, however, in conversing with an atheist on such matters is the length of time needed to convince them of innate purpose in nature. On too many of these conversations, when the conclusion of demonstrating the presence of purpose starts to become apparent, they flee.
Perhaps atheists have become accustomed to an immoral lifestyle which prevents them from exploring the existence of purpose. I've noted many atheists will start bringing up moral questions when they start to see the inevitable consequence of natural purpose requiring the presence of a mind.
I have such acquaintances to whom I can only pray for their predicament.
"The New Biology" by Stanciu/Argros seeks to show nature as being more cooperative than it is competitive. Corollary: cooperation as such requires a mind.