As a professional scientist, I am often asked to speak about my faith to Christian groups. At a meeting for Christian doctors in Australia (whither I had gone en route to trap mice on the sub-Antarctic Macquarie Island), I was urged to write down my understanding of the creation events, because it seemed both scriptural and helpful to that audience of educated men and women. This led to a book first published as Adam and the Ape in 1975, and revised as God and Evolution in 1988 (reprinted 2001). I often meet people who thank me for publishing my ideas, since they are more convincing to them than the traditional understanding of God as the Great Watchmaker who made the world in a 6-day period 6,000 years ago. I frequently wonder why the old view persists as stubbornly as it does. My provisional belief is that 'young-earth creationists' are frightened of the challenges of a God who is Lord of change as well as of changelessness, and who may surprise by his demands and unexpectedness; this implies that young-earth creationists may be erecting a deity who is a wall against the reality of God himself. The irony of this anti-Darwinian position is that Charles Darwin destroyed the intellectual legitimacy of such a God, who acts only from outside his world; Darwin forced us to recognise the God revealed in the Bible is one who is also present in process and mechanisms. As the Oxford theologian Aubrey Moore commented in 1889 as he reflected on the changes in understanding of God and his relationship to creation during the nineteenth century:

"Science had pushed the deist's God farther and farther away and at the moment when it appeared as if He would be thrust out altogether, Darwinism appeared and under the guise of a foe, did the work of a friend. [This] conferred upon philosophy and religion an inestimable benefit by showing that we must choose between two alternatives: either God is everywhere or He is nowhere; He cannot be here, and not there. We must frankly return to the Christian view of direct Divine agency, the immanence of Divine power in nature from end to end, the belief in a God in whom not only we but all things have their being; or we must banish Him altogether."

This is the answer to the notorious claim by Richard Dawkins, that Darwin made it possible to be an intellectually-fulfilled atheist. Dawkins is right only if we ignore the possibility that there is a God who creates and who we can know by faith. I've known Richard Dawkins for a long time, and he knows that he can't rubbish me on the science, because he and I, have rather similar ideas about evolutionary matters, but he is very focused on narrow aspects of his understanding. And he won't take on board the possibility that there are others ways of looking at his understanding in his case, particularly on evolution. He and I once debated for thirty minutes, on a BBC program, and he wouldn't answer my questions.

It is worth recalling the tradition that God wrote two books: the Bible (a book of words) and Creation (a book of works). Darwin himself reproduced on the title page of the Origin of Species words written by Francis Bacon in 1605, presumably approving of them:

"Let no one think or maintain that a man can search too far or be too well studied in the book of God's word or in the book of God's works; but rather let all endeavour an endless progress or proficence in both."

Both books have the same author; the difficulty and challenge is understanding the different languages used, and then responding to their uncompromising message.

God's action in the world:

Can we - can I as a scientist - make sense of a God who is active in a world where we know so many of the processes which affect and control the world? In the middle of the twentieth century, it was fashionable to argue that God operated in the things we could not rationally explain; He was a God-of-the-gaps, even if the gap was operating at the pico-level of quantum indeterminancy. This was intellectually unsatisfying because it meant that God was doomed to an ever decreasing role as our knowledge grows. Although it is still heard, the God-of-the-gaps idea has remained as an escape-route for believers rather than an incentive for non-believers to learn more about the "God" most people claim to believe in.

The crux is the nature of causation. We tend to assume that when we know "the" cause of some event, we know everything about it. This easily leads to a doctrinaire reductionism, which is scientifically illogical. As scientists we need to defend operational reductionism because that is what we practice in order to investigate particular mechanisms, but we are on very dangerous ground if we claim that identifying one cause automatically provides a complete explanation of an event. It is both sensible and philosophically proper to distinguish between operational (or pragmatic) and doctrinaire reductionism. Doctrinaire reductionists have problems explaining emergent properties, i.e. new properties that arise through the interaction of simpler traits and which are repeatedly significant in biology; extrapolating from higher to lower levels of organisation will almost certainly miss them. For example, it is impossible to predict from the properties of oxygen and hydrogen the characteristics of water, a liquid which freezes at 0˚C but has a maximum density at 4˚.

As J. B. S. Haldane argued: "If my mental processes are determined wholly by the motion of atoms in my brain, I have no reason to suppose that my beliefs are true. They may be sound chemically, but that does not make them sound logically … In order to escape from this necessity of sawing away the branch on which I am sitting, so to speak, I am compelled to believe that mind is not wholly conditioned by matter. But as regards my own very finite and imperfect mind, I can see by studying the effects on it of drugs, alcohol, disease and so on, that its limitations are largely at least due to my body. Without my body, it may perish altogether, but it seems to me quite as probable that it will lose its limitations and be merged into an infinite mind or something analogous to a mind which I have reason to suspect exists behind nature. How this might be accomplished I have no idea."

Professor Donald MacKay headed an interdisciplinary university research team working on communication mechanisms of the human brain. MacKay coined the term "nothing-buttery" to describe excessive and, to him, illegitimate reductionism, illustrating his point with the instance of someone receiving a message in Morse Code. To the uninitiated (or even a physicist analysing the periodicity and spectrum of light), the flashes would be "nothing but" flashes of light; to someone who could decode the message, he might be informed about a ship in distress or told about impending danger to himself. Such a message would not be detected by an ardent reductionist.

MacKay faced the lure of reductionism by exploring 'complementarity,' building on neo-Thomist thought and the works of Austin Farrer and Michael Polanyi. Farrer suggested that God's action in the Universe could usefully be described in terms of 'double agency.' He argued that it is impossible to conceive of God's way of acting simply in terms of our own methods, and therefore the 'causal joint' between God's action and ours must remain hidden. He believed each event in the Universe can be regarded as having a double description, which means it can be spoken of in terms of the providential action of God while at the same time having a full natural explanation: "God's agency must actually be such as to work omnipotently on, in and through creaturely agencies, without either forcing them or competing with them … He does not impose an order against the grain of things, but makes them follow their own beat … He makes the multitude of created forces make the world in THE

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MacKay built upon these ideas, using the well-known contradiction that light and electrons can behave - or be described - as either particles or waves. This is not resolved by saying with Sir Lawrence Bragg that one interpretation might be held on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and the other on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. The Danish physicist Niels Bohr suggested more helpfully that these apparently different properties could be described as complementary: "The phenomena transcend the scope of classical physical explanation, [so] the account of all evidence must be expressed in classical terms … evidence obtained within a single picture must be regarded as complementary in the sense that only the totality of the phenomena exhausts the possible information about the objects." Bohr believed that this could provide a model for other situations, similarly analysable by alternative conceptual systems. For example, "In biological research, references to features of wholeness and purposeful reactions or organisms are used together with the increasingly detailed information on structure and regulatory processes … It must be realised that the attitudes termed mechanistic and finalistic are not contradictory points of view, but rather exhibit a complementary relationship which is connected with our position as observers of nature."

Others have seized on complementarity as a valuable concept. Robert Oppenheimer applied it to mechanistic versus organic analyses of life-processes and to behavioural versus introspective descriptions of personality; Charles Coulson to problems of mind versus brain, free will versus determination, theology versus mechanism; William Pollard to human freedom versus divine providence. MacKay extended the notion to dynamic processes, using the analogy of a television programme which can in principle be described fully in terms of electronics and neurophysiology, but also in terms of its intended "message" (extending to the rules of a game or morality of a relationship) as understood by the programmer's producer - who can at any time "pull the plug," i.e. the whole depends on him (or her).

Richard Dawkins regards the complementarity model as the most viable approach to science-faith issues. He calls it the "no-contest" model, on the grounds that its adherents regard science and religion as about different things, being "equally true, but in their different ways." He prefers it to the two other common models, which he describes as "total independence" and "inevitable conflict." He labels them respectively "know-nothing" (i.e. that a main function of religion is to explain what we call science) and "know-all" (defined as religion being good for you, although its truth does not matter). However, he seeks to deflate the "no-contest" model by claiming that its adherents accept "the biblical account of the origin of the universe (the origin of life, the diversity of species, the origin of man) - all those things are now known to be untrue ... [but] they regard it as naive in the extreme, almost bad taste, to ask of a biblical story, is it true?"

In espousing complementarity, MacKay stands in contrast to conventional approaches (well exemplified by the writings of John Polkinghorne and Arthur Peacocke, two of the more informed modern scholars) by affirming the unqualified compatibility of God's unrestricted sovereignty and full human responsibility. He condemns the ideas of God as a machine-tender, however nuanced, on the grounds that although it can be "stretched ad hoc to fit the biblical data it purports to embody, the expectations it evokes are radically out of key with much of what the Bible has to say about God's activity. Instead of finding a ready place within its framework, concepts such as creation or miracle appear as disconcerting 'difficulties' felt (by non-Christians at least) to be vaguely incoherent with the rest of the picture they are offered. Worst of all, the whole facet of biblical teaching that deals with God as immanent in the events of nature is made to seem quite intelligible."

MacKay forces us to look hard at the relationship of God to creation. When we do this, it is clear that the Bible as a whole represents God in far too intimate and active a relationship with daily events to be represented in simple mechanical terms. He does not come in only at the beginning of time merely to 'wind up the works' or 'light the touch-paper' for the Big Bang; rather he continually 'upholds all things by the word of his power (Hebrews 1:3); 'In him [i.e. Christ] all things hold together' (Colossians 1:17). Here is an idea radically different from that of tending or interfering with a machine. It affects not only apparently inexplicable happenings (if any), but the whole concern that the Bible associates with the constant activity of God. God is portrayed as the primary agent in feeding the ravens and clothing the lilies (Luke 12:12-28); it is He who is active in the 'natural' process of rainfall and of growth; even wicked men depend on Him for their existence (Matthew 5:45) and serve His purposes (Acts 2:23). In MacKay's words, "The whole multi-patterned drama of our universe is to be continually 'held in being' and governed by him."

Evolution and spirituality:

The idea of 'holding in being' is not familiar to us, except possibly as a mystical notion which we may warm to but have difficulty in analysing. I suspect most scientists are unhappy about invoking mysticism, particularly where it touches their own speciality. I have dwelt on my understanding of God's interactions with the natural world because for me it gives a robust basis for seeing the world as truly God's and not merely some sort of naturalistic epiphenomenon of a distant and impersonal creative force. I accept the authority of the Bible because words are the obvious medium of communication. The Bible tells me a coherent story centred around God's care and support for His creation; disagreements about dating, (human) authorship, reliability of detail, etc., are secondary to this core. My experience confirms my expectation from the Bible about the transforming activity of God working in my life, protecting, guiding and answering prayer. For me, God is creator, redeemer and sustainer, which is the historical Christian faith. I have no need to hedge or fudge because of scientific advances. My job is to read both books of God as intelligently as I can.

But such faith carries implications. The first commandment given in Genesis 1:28 was to "have dominion" over the rest of creation. Dominion in the context is of creatures in God's image, in whom God implanted a responsiveness to his being, who are reliable and hence responsible; it is a word used of kingly rule, of which the ideal for the Israelites was the caring shepherding reigns of David and Solomon. In other words, God has appointed us to be stewards or care-takers for Him. We are called to be active managers of the world in which we live, our world (or in modern parlance, our environment) is much more than a mere stage for our existence or for God's saving work. One of the most well-known verses in the Bible is "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son" (John 3:16). The Greek word translated "world" is cosmos. Paul speaks of Christ's death on the cross as reconciling all things to God, "all things, whether on earth or in heaven" (Colossians 1:20).

It is intriguing that many people who profess to have no faith in a supernatural being, nevertheless find a deep awe in the natural world (e.g. Julian Huxley, Max Nicholson, Arne Naess); I empathise with Ursula Goodenough in her Sacred Depths of Nature - and regard it extremely odd that this widespread (perhaps universal) sense of awe and wonder so often remains unanchored to the God who has revealed Himself in the Judeo-Christian scriptures and in the Koran where the notion of steward (khalif) is clearly portrayed. Is it not at this point that scientists, trained and practised in analysis, should be able to help others to translate spirituality into faith?

Perhaps the problem is that we are unwilling to subject spirituality to the same analytical rigour that we employ with other concepts. Gordon Wakefield has described spirituality as a term which "sounds significant, with a touch of mystery, seeming to allow escape from the intellectual quest and wearisome wrestling with mental problems." But, after reviewing different approaches, he points out that "spirituality is not a technique but a lived faith." The challenges to religious authority in the middle of the nineteenth century which fuelled the Bishop of Oxford's opposition to Darwinian evolution and which were in fact about factors which legitimise change rather than either Darwinism or religion, also sparked a cascade of fraud and ridiculousness which has culminated in the plaintive sadness of the New Age. (The history of the searches for "the" key to solve the mysteries of the universe has been chronicled by Peter Washington in Madame Blavatsky's Baboon, 1993; the conclusion seems to be that this Gnostic grail seems to have as much reality and prospect of success as the answer to the great Question of Life, the Universe and Everything described by Douglas Adams in the Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy - which is, of course, forty-two).

It is almost certainly better to go back to the awe which is so common but so difficult to describe in scientific language. This awe is a bonus for non-believers; for the believer it is an acknowledgement of God's handiwork. The psalmist had no doubts, "When I look up at your heavens, the work of your fingers, at the moon and the stars you have set in place, what is a frail mortal, that you should be mindful of him, a human being that you should take notice of him?" (Psalm 8:3,4).

Chris Patten, former Governor of Hong Kong, crystallised this understanding: "The relationships between man and his environment depends, and always will depend, on more than just sound science and sound economics. For individuals part of the relationship is metaphysical. Those of us with religious conviction can, if we are lucky, experience the beauties, as well as the utilities of the world as direct manifestations of the love and power of God."

Awe can be regarded as a stimulus for stewardship. Stewardship is a rational conclusion from a study of the natural world and its misuse; when awe is added to stewardship it provides a motive for action as well as an occasion for enjoyment. It is easy to misunderstand or misdirect this as mere emotion. For example, ecotourism is often no more that a capitalisation of awe; but if we couple awe to stewardship, we have a powerful engine for creation care.

Conclusion:

Science can inform faith, because a mature understanding of the multiple nature of causation and the limits of science means that we can embrace a picture of God as both immanent and transcendent with no need for linguistic gymnastics or philosophical straining. God does not intervene in nature; he upholds his creation moment by moment. We do not have to shout across infinite space to be heard by God; he (or she) is with us, in us, behind us. We are not 'puppets' or robots dependent upon a careful designer, but individuals protected and guided by an indwelling Spirit, once we acknowledge his presence and authority. Commentators from David Hume to C. S. Lewis have wrestled with God's action in the world, but to no avail. They have been asking the wrong question: the problem is not where or how to fit God into a causal nexus, but how to relate to an ever-present and personal agent.

It is fashionable to seek wisdom from primitive religion and native people. The danger is that we accept uncritically all they want to tell us. Their ways may be tested by time (although that is not always the case), but there is no intrinsic reason why their practices should be more effective or ethical than a wisdom nourished by reason. Notwithstanding, it is certainly worth peeling away the irrelevant shells which cloak our western post-modern culture. We live in God's world; let us study and rejoice in this world: "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands" (Psalm 19:1).

The wisdom writings of the Old Testament repeatedly warn that 'the fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.' And that is were our ambition should be. We need a complete doctrine of creation, not the emasculated one of the 'creationists' who fail to read properly the books of nature; not the empty one of the liberals who censor the books of nature and Scripture so radically that it is difficult to find where God is; not the mutilated one of the deists, who push God so far away that he becomes irrelevant; not the sacramental one of the panentheists and their allies, who seek to fit God to their own perceptions; and not the God of the philosophers who has to be improperly squeezed into the gaps of their understanding. Only when we are bold and brave enough to face up to the real world and to God's word, written and made flesh, will we begin to have a sufficiently robust doctrine. Only then will we be able to develop a positive ethic of life and rightly discern the limits of humankind, and only then will we become good stewards of our own life and environment.

Those of us who live in great cities and shield ourselves from the raw environment would do well to remember God's question to Job: "Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me. Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone - while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?" (Job 38:2-7).

This ought to lead us to a humility in which we can share the sacred depths of nature described by Ursula Goodenough and the contentment of the Orkney crofter written about by Robert Rendall:

"Scant are the few green acres that I till,
But arched above them spreads the boundless sky,
Ripening the crops; and round them lie
Long miles of moorland hill.
Beyond the cliff-top glimmers in the sun
The far horizon's bright infinity;
And I can gaze across the sea
When my day's work is done.
The solitudes of land and sea assuage
My quenchless thirst for freedom unconfined;
With independent heart and mind
Hold I my heritage."

Is not his a spirituality on which all can agree - and in principle, share?