Chapter 10
COOPER CONSIDERATIONS: SCIENCE, RELIGION, AND FAMILY
Sometimes family members don’t see eye to eye. Yet through our differences, there is almost always something to be learned. The Coopers from The Big Bang Theory provide rich ground for a “learning through family differences” thesis. True, precious few of us have fathers who once wrestled a bobcat for licorice. Yet many of us must navigate relationships with our siblings, even though most of us aren’t as different as Sheldon and Melissa, and all of us have had to negotiate some differences with our parents. As we’ll see, Sheldon and Mary Cooper can learn from their differences, and we in turn can learn from them.
Mary Cooper obviously has loved Sheldon dearly ever since he fell out of her at the Kmart. She comforted him in the aftermath of his “ass-kickings” at the hands of the neighbor kids—before and after his failed sonic death ray solution. She didn’t stand in his way as he left for college at the tender age of eleven, and she accepted his decision to study science, which resulted in a physics Ph.D. at age sixteen. Yet aside from an occasional trip to California—land of the heathen—to mollify Shelly’s meltdowns, Mary doesn’t leave Texas. She has led most of her life surrounded by those who tend to look, think, and act more or less as she does—that is to say conservative, biblically based Christians.
It’s not that Mary is completely ignorant of other cultures or faiths. In “The Luminous Fish Effect,” she tells the gang about an Indian gentleman from her church, Dr. Patel. She elaborates, “It’s a beautiful story. The Lord spoke to him and moved him to give us all 20 percent off on LASEK—you know, those that needed it.” Yet neither Raj nor Howard is Christian. Mary acknowledges this fact by interrupting one of her prayers, turning to Raj and Howard, and saying, “Now, after a moment of silent mediation, I’m gonna end with ‘in Jesus’ name,’ but you two don’t feel any obligation to join in. [beat] Unless, of course, the Holy Spirit moves you.” Mary bows her head and takes Howard’s hand; Howard uncomfortably takes Raj’s, and then everyone eats the meal Mary prepared for them.
The awkwardness continues in Mary’s more direct interactions with Raj. In “The Electric Can Opener Fluctuation,” Sheldon learns that Leonard, Howard, and Raj had falsified some of his magnetic monopole data. (In their defense, he was being a giant North Pole “dic-tator.”) Sheldon thought that he finally had confirmed string theory, but his reputation is now ruined. He goes home, looking for his mother’s comfort. The guilty trio travel to Texas to apologize and bring Sheldon back to California. Mary cordially greets them. Approaching Raj, she inquires, “What about you? Radge, isn’t it?” Raj looks at his feet and shakes his head affirmatively. Mary continues, “Oh, you still having trouble talking to the ladies?” She (knowingly) chuckles to herself but continues, “Because you know, at our church, we have a woman who is an amazing healer. Mostly she does crutch and wheelchair people, but I bet she’d be willing to take a shot at whatever Third-World demon is running around inside of you.”
Given the progress of neurobiology and psychology, it’s difficult to believe that some sort of supernatural demon causes Raj’s selective mutism. In “The Maternal Capacitance,” Dr. Beverly Hofstadter is “fascinated” by Raj’s condition. She admits it “is quite rare” but attributes it to “a pathological fear of women.” Mary’s diagnosis of Raj probably relies on Scripture, not science. In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus speaks to “demons”; these “unclean spirits” possess people, causing great suffering. Jesus heals their suffering by casting out the demons.1 Furthermore, the Gospel of Mark affirms that “signs accompany those who believe: in my name they will cast out demons; . . . they will lay their hands on the sick and they will recover.”2
If Mary believes, as a number of conservative Christians do, that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God, then her introducing Raj to her friend at church is much more credible. Yet biblical inerrancy is a hotly contested topic among scholars. Nevertheless, is the devout believer required to interpret Scripture in this way? Genesis 41:57 states, “All the countries (all the earth) came to Egypt to buy grain from Joseph.” Reading “all” literally, would that include Scotland or those native to North America? Similarly, 2 Chronicles 9:23 asserts, “All the kings of the earth . . . sought Solomon to hear his wisdom.” Did Celtic or Korean kings seek Solomon’s presence? And did the Genesis patriarch Seth live to be exactly 912 years old?
Contemporary philosopher Peter van Inwagen argues that God might have good reason not to inspire biblical authors to always convey literal truths. He notes, “A scientifically accurate rewriting of Genesis would turn it into something all but useless, for the result would be inaccessible,” having “little pedagogical value for most people at most times.”3 This may also apply to references to “demons” in the New Testament. Biblical authors simply may not have been in the proper historical position to share scientifically based insights about psychological maladies. Moreover, by invoking popular beliefs of the time, even if not literally true, Mark’s basic message about Jesus seems emboldened: Jesus is a great healer of various maladies—physical, psychological, spiritual—apart from the literal existence of demons.4
Perhaps the most awkward interaction between Mary and Raj is found in “The Luminous Fish Effect.” As Mary cooks the gang dinner, she approaches Raj and says, “I made chicken, I hope that isn’t one of the animals that you people think is magic?” Mary probably intends to be considerate of Hinduism’s traditional beliefs in karma and reincarnation, but her question drips with condescension. Mary may contend that Hindu belief and practice contain elements of “magic,” but it is incredibly unlikely that Hindus see it that way. In fact, a devout Hindu might instead see the biblical Jesus as something of a magician.
Because religious belief and practice seem central to the human experience, the issue of religious diversity is of paramount importance. The haughty derision associated with dubbing the beliefs of others “magical” seems inappropriate. Tolerance and dialogue seem the better course.5 After all, if Mary had been raised in India, it is very likely that she would practice some form of Hinduism. Perhaps this means that all religious beliefs are in some sense true or equally valid. The problem with this approach is that different religions believe contradictory things. They can’t all be right. Christians believe that the One God is personal, but Hindus deny this. Christians believe Jesus is divine, but Jews deny it. So, how can we tell which beliefs are true? Is anyone in a justified position to claim that another’s religious beliefs are simply false? Furthermore, if not all religious beliefs can be true, how should adherents of one religion conceptualize the beliefs of other religious adherents?
Anyone serious about his or her religion ought to take these questions seriously. Philosophers tend to conceptualize religious diversity into three competing camps: exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism. The exclusivist says that not all religious beliefs are true and that religious adherents professing false doctrines cannot achieve salvation or enlightenment. The inclusivist, similar to the exclusivist, believes that not all religious beliefs are true; however, she also believes that there are multiple paths to salvation or enlightenment. The pluralist believes that all religious beliefs, in some sense, are true or equally valid (at least, among the major religious traditions), and that there are multiple paths to salvation or enlightenment.6
Mary is not above being stern or practicing tough love. In “The Luminous Fish Effect,” growing weary of waiting for Sheldon to come to his senses, she strides to his bedroom closet, retrieves a pair of pants, and declares, “Put those on.” A pajama-clad Sheldon asks, “What for?” Mary replies, “Because you’re going to go down to your office, you’re going to apologize to your boss, and get your job back.” As Sheldon is about to start a fit, Mary rhetorically asks, “I’m sorry, did I start that sentence with the words ‘if it pleases your highness’?”
Yet five minutes before she tells her son to “get cracking” so they can “shove off” to Dr. Gablehauser’s office, Mary spies Sheldon by the edge of his bed, working on something “that looks awful fancy.” We can only wonder how many times she has started conversations in this way. Nevertheless, Sheldon informs his mother that it’s his “idea of what DNA would look like in a silicon-based life form.” Mary’s demeanor immediately changes. He has ceased being her little “snicker-doodle” and has (again?) assumed the role of scientist in need of reminder: “But intelligently designed by a creator, right?” It’s far from clear that, at least in her mind, there is any question here. She is blunt: DNA of any kind can result only from intelligent design (and not even her genius son is intelligent enough to be the designer she has in mind).
Mary’s rhetorical question reminds us of the tumultuous relationship between science and religion in the United States. The conflict was recently revived, in part, by biochemist Michael Behe with his idea of “irreducible complexity.” In his words: “By irreducibly complex I mean a single system composed of several well-matched, interacting parts that contribute to the basic function, wherein the removal of any one of the parts causes the system to effectively cease functioning.”7
Although Behe prefers the molecular machine examples of cilium or blood clotting, the eye is a classic example of a system that seems irreducibly complex. An eye missing half of its parts doesn’t see half as well; it doesn’t see at all. According to Behe, this is supposed to be evidence that some systems cannot form gradually, piece by piece, via Darwinian processes. The problem is that given Darwinian theory, functions can be selected for only if they provide some evolutionary advantage. Nonfunctional systems (“half-eyes”) cannot be advantageous; thus, some biological systems—those that require all of their parts to have a beneficial function—must have been created all at once by some intelligent designer.
This may be a case where Mary could benefit by further discussion with her son and his scientist colleagues. (Does anyone have Professor Crawley’s new phone number?) Darwin himself anticipated this sort of criticism. Rather than envisioning half an eye, he had us consider an organism that possesses light-sensitive cells of some sort. This would pose an evolutionary advantage over animals that lacked them. Thus, this trait would be selected for and, presumably, would be refined and made more complex over time.8
Contemporary microbiologists apply Darwin’s basic insight to Behe’s position on molecular machines—including the bacterial flagellum, his favorite example of an irreducibly complex system. The flagellum works like an outboard motor. Its rotation makes the bacterium’s filament tail whip around in a corkscrew fashion. This motion works like a propeller, allowing the bacterium to “swim.” The motor is a complex structure of forty proteins. Take any one away, and the motor doesn’t work, which is why Behe believes that it is irreducibly complex. Recent studies, however, have found a structure very similar to the flagellum that performs a different task. Bubonic plague–carrying bacteria use the filament as if it were a syringe. The “plunger” contains a subset of the proteins that compose the flagellum “motor.” It doesn’t spin, but it transports the poison through the “syringe” and into another cell. This apparatus doesn’t help the bacterium swim, but it functions perfectly for transmitting disease. Therefore, there is a sense in which natural selection could favor structures similar to those Behe deems irreducibly complex, which leads microbiologist Kenneth Miller to conclude, “That’s why the irreducible complexity argument falls apart.”9
The deeper philosophical worry here is that people such as Mary Cooper must be wary of a “god-of-the-gaps” approach to their religious beliefs. This approach is sometimes invoked when scientists have difficulty, under the current paradigm, immediately explaining some newly found natural phenomenon. Some believers are quick to conclude that “it must be the product of design,” only to have scientists later offer a plausible naturalistic explanation. This process, if repeated a sufficient number of times, has an erosive and corrosive effect on religious belief.
The context of Darwinian evolution reminds us of Mary chastising her son for his (short-lived) professional goal of teaching in Texas. Recall in “The Electric Can Opener Fluctuation” that Sheldon initially refuses to travel back to California with Leonard, Raj, and Howard, announcing, “No, this is my home now. Thanks to you [motioning to the guilty trio], my career is over and I will spend the rest of my life here in Texas trying to teach evolution to creationists.” Mary will have none of this talk: “You watch your mouth, Shelly. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion.” Sheldon retorts, “Evolution isn’t an opinion, it’s fact.” Mary quickly adds, “And that is your opinion.” Sheldon, looking toward his friends again, states, “I forgive you. Let’s go home.”
Mary’s point about everyone being entitled to their opinion is true, but probably not in the way she intends. Yes, everyone should have the right to speak on a topic; it would be dismissively rude to silence anyone simply because you don’t wish to hear what he or she has to say. Yet it doesn’t follow from this that everyone’s opinion is equally weighty or plausible. Sheldon and Howard are both entitled to their opinion about whether “Toby” is a snowy field cricket, but Professor Crawley’s opinion rules the day because he is the resident expert on insects. Sometimes an opinion is more trustworthy exactly because the person offering it is an expert in the field. A scientist, for example, would be in a better position than a nonscientist to gauge the legitimacy of Darwinian evolution.
There is a great deal more that needs to be explored. It is commonplace to distinguish between microevolution and macroevolution. The former deals with small changes in biological systems that result from various environmental pressures. The latter deals with larger changes that are more difficult to observe. It’s quite plausible for Leonard’s dog Mitzie to have given birth to an albino puppy—well, before she died—but it is implausible for her to have given birth to a rabbit. Some scientists counter that, ideally, given enough small “micro” changes and enough time, you might observe “macro” changes. Still, some wonder, even assuming the Earth is very old, whether enough time has elapsed to account for the great diversity we observe in the animal kingdom. What of the fossil record? Does it contain unexpected gaps or not? For that matter, we must get clearer about what a “scientific fact” is, when a theory is “true,” and what role observation plays in scientific research.
With all of this work still to do, perhaps Mary is better advised to first make friends with Bernadette, rather than being so quick to scold Sheldon. This harkens back to English philosopher John Locke’s (1632–1704) sage advice: “He that believes without having any reason for believing may be in love with his own fancies, but neither seeks truth as he ought nor pays the obedience due his maker, who would have him use those discerning faculties he has given him, to keep him out of mistake and error.”10 If educated opinions are weightier than noneducated, even believers seem well-advised to explore science.
In “The Luminous Fish Effect,” Mary provides some context for Sheldon’s egg-scrambling, fish-glowing, poncho-weaving meltdown: “He gets his temper from his daddy. . . . He’s got my eyes. . . . All that science stuff, that comes from Jesus.” It’s not uncommon for parents to describe their children in this way. Furthermore, given Mary’s religious moorings, it’s not surprising that she believes Sheldon’s most spectacular gift—his keen mind—comes from God. In fact, there might be more than meets the eye in her contention that “all that science stuff comes from Jesus.”
The first issue implicit in Mary’s claim is whether we would expect the existence of theoretical physicists simply given Darwinian processes. Contemporary philosopher Alvin Plantinga argues that we would not expect this if naturalism were true.11 In fact, he contends that the probability of unaided Darwinian processes resulting in the existence of a Sheldon Cooper is extremely low (to say nothing of Albert Einstein or Stephen Hawking). Moreover, he says that the probability of our cognitive faculties effectively tracking truth at all is very slight in a thoroughgoing Darwinian approach. In a strict Darwinian approach, the advanced human brain guarantees propagating the species, not truth. Beyond that, Plantinga states that if thoroughgoing Darwinians accept his contentions about cognitive reliability, this actually serves to undercut their approach. If Darwinians are correct that the probability of human cognitive reliability is low, then they have no reason to believe their theory is true! Thus, the fact that Sheldon exists is reason for Mary to believe that he ultimately has supernatural origins.
The second issue implicit in Mary’s claim is the fact that Sheldon—and the rest of us, of course—is alive in the first place. Plantinga’s complex argument aside, it’s well-known that Darwinian processes only explain how biological systems behave. Darwinian theory doesn’t explain the existence of biological systems. What are the odds that life would develop on Earth from “primordial soup” all by itself? Scholar Stuart Pullen uses recent laboratory attempts to show that the odds of just one protein molecule emerging unaided from prebiotic materials are incredibly small, specifically, “1 time is 2350 tries or 1 time in 2.2 × 10105 tries.”12 Such numbers are difficult to fully comprehend, but that’s the whole point. The odds of life emerging from nonlife are so astronomically remote that its happening is a virtual impossibility.
Some scholars apply this kind of reasoning to make cosmological conclusions. What are the odds that the universe would possess conditions suitable for life in the first place? Given what is currently known about the laws of physics and corresponding mathematical constants, that the “big bang” would produce a universe such as ours seems incredibly unlikely. According to theoretical physicist Paul Davies, if the initial explosion of the big bang had differed in strength by as little as one part in 1060, the universe would have either quickly collapsed back on itself or expanded too rapidly for stars to form. In either case, life would be impossible. Philosopher John Jefferson Davis likens the accuracy of one part in 1060 to firing a bullet at a one-inch target on the other side of the observable universe, twenty billion light-years away, and hitting the target.13 These sorts of considerations lead various scholars to conclude that between the hypotheses that we are here by blind chance or we are here as the result of intelligent design, it must be the latter because the odds of the former are so astronomically remote.
Of course, we haven’t yet tackled the issues of why we have the fundamental laws of physics we do or the corresponding mathematical constants we do, when others seem logically possible. Why only these laws? Why only these constants? Furthermore, we haven’t explained why the big bang happened in the first place. At best, thoroughgoing naturalists must take these facts as brute, with no further explanation possible, but is this conclusion intellectually satisfying? Might there be some sort of ultimate explanation? If so, it will certainly take us beyond the realm of physics. No wonder Sheldon once claimed that his work delving into theoretical physics will help him “tear the mask off nature and stare at the face of God.”14
Math is hard. Even fictional physicists such as Sheldon know this. Recall his quip to Penny in “The Luminous Fish Effect.” She stops by to ask whether he needs anything from the market; he smirks, “Oh, well, this would be one of those circumstances that people unfamiliar with the law of large numbers would call a coincidence.” Can the same be said about finding apparent evidence of design in the cosmos? It’s difficult to say, but perhaps we should follow Beverly and Sheldon. In “The Maternal Capacitance,” when they acknowledge that they feel very comfortable around each other, Sheldon remarks, “It’s surprising because I generally don’t feel comfortable around—well, anyone.” Beverly concurs, “Nor I.” Intrigued, Sheldon asks, “What are the odds that two unique individuals as unique as ourselves would be connected by someone as comparatively workaday as your son?” More intrigued, Beverly inquires, “Is that a rhetorical point, or would you like to do the math?” Sheldon: “I’d like to do the math.” Thus, whether the intuitions of those who see design in the universe hold up depends on our doing the math (or at least on someone ensuring the math is done correctly).
Sheldon and scientists such as him (Leonard, Bernadette) are uniquely suited to determine whether the statistical improbabilities of getting life from nonlife or cosmological fine-tuning hold up. As philosopher Philip Kitcher points out, the kind of probability-based arguments often employed by proponents of design depend on background knowledge. Whether something is statistically unlikely depends on many related factors. The more we know about these factors, the more likely our probability judgments are to be trustworthy. Yet do we know enough about the primordial soup or the initial conditions of the big bang to justify probability statements about them? Kitcher wrote,
The origin of life is a very hard problem precisely because we have so little idea about the constraints on a solution. . . . The challenge is to go further, to specify how it might have been done. To respond to that challenge, you have to guess, to make assumptions about the initial conditions—and some inspired guesswork, followed by ingenious experimental research, has revealed that some aspects of original life can be simulated. What the decades of research also reveal is that our ignorance of those initial conditions is so extensive, and the range of possible assumptions so vast, that probability estimates are likely to be deceptive.15
Increasing scientific knowledge can and will help us make more informed judgments about some of the most important questions there are. By being careful about the science, Sheldon is more assured about the math. In being more confident of his math, he will (perhaps) be in a better position to conclude that it’s God’s face he’s staring at when he makes his Nobel Prize–winning breakthrough.
Clearly, Mary can learn quite a bit from her son. Given his vast knowledge of physics, she could better grasp van Inwagen’s point about why the author(s) of Genesis might not convey literal scientific truths about creation. Becoming more familiar with his colleagues, she may develop a deeper appreciation for other faiths or at least the fact of religious diversity. Sheldon could explain to her all of the paradigm-shifting advancements, making a god-of-the-gaps approach to religious belief tenuous, yet with his continued advancements into theoretical physics, he might actually bolster her belief that all of this “science stuff comes from Jesus.” (Of course, he thought that teaching Penny “a little physics” was difficult—what must it be like to have one’s mother as a student?)
Sheldon could benefit from his mother’s religious inclinations, especially as they pertain to his research. His religious leanings are clouded anyway. In “The Zarnecki Incursion,” he exclaims, “Why hast thou forsaken me, O deity whose existence I doubt,” but in “The Panty Piñata Polarization” he admits, “No, I don’t know what Jesus thinks about.” Most scientists do perfectly well with their pragmatic assumption of not including God in their research, yet by reminding Sheldon of the possibility of more ultimate explanations for what he discovers, Mary may inch him toward more intellectually satisfying conclusions.
Of course, Sheldon and Mary Cooper are very different people with vastly different perspectives. The one thing they have in common is their stubbornness. If they could only communicate, they might find that Sheldon can help broaden Mary’s perspectives and Mary can, in a way, deepen Sheldon’s perspectives. These effects certainly seem beneficial, and if the Coopers can benefit by communicating with one another, what does that say about us and our family relationships?
NOTES
1. See, for example, Mark 5:6–14 and 7:24–30. It’s interesting that not all instances of Jesus laying hands on his followers involved casting out a demon. At 7:32–37, Jesus cures a deaf and mute man by putting his fingers in the man’s ears and by touching the man’s tongue.
2. Mark 16:17–18. Yet the vast majority of biblical scholars hold that verses 9–20 of chapter 16 are not original to Mark. See, for example, Bart D. Ehrman, Misquoting Jesus (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2005), 65–68.
3. Peter van Inwagen, “Genesis and Evolution,” in David Shatz, ed., Philosophy and Faith (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2002), 365.
4. Fundamentalist biblical Christians are surprisingly diverse. Some believe the Earth is quite young, others hold that it is quite old. This diversity also leads to different interpretations of specific biblical passages. Professor Barkman reminds us that some biblical Christians uphold the literal existence of demons, and doing so leads to intriguing philosophical implications for the problem of evil. See, for example, Alvin Plantinga, God, Freedom, and Evil (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdman’s, 1977).
5. Sheldon arguably overcompensates for his mother’s apparent unfamiliarity with Hinduism. In “The Pirate Solution,” he is quick to qualify Raj’s claim that in Hinduism, “cows are gods.” Because it is conceivable that a religion “from the inside” may appear differently from more “outside” academic perspectives, perhaps Sheldon’s blunt critique is a bit harsh. Dialogue and friendly inquiry seem preferable to Sheldon simply telling Raj what Hindus actually believe. (Yet then again, we are talking about Sheldon here.)
6. For a notable exclusivist voice, see Alvin Plantinga, “Pluralism: A Defense of Religious Exclusivism,” in Thomas Senor, ed., The Rationality of Belief and the Plurality of Faith (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 191–215. For an influential inclusivist voice, see Karl Rahner, “Religious Inclusivism,” reprinted in Michael Peterson, ed., Philosophy of Religion: Selected Readings (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 502–513. The leading advocate for religious pluralism is John Hick. See his An Interpretation of Religion (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989).
7. Michael Behe, Darwin’s Black Box (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996), 39.
8. Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species (New York: New York University Press, 1998), 187.
9. The discussion of the bacterium flagellum is indebted to NOVA’s Judgment Day: Intelligent Design on Trial (Boston: WGBH Educational Foundation, 2007), scene 7. Miller’s quote is also taken from this source. For additional examples of Darwinian processes selecting for novel functions from systems that perform other functions, see Kenneth R. Miller, Finding Darwin’s God (New York: Harper Perennial, 2007), 140–161. To be fair, Behe, in his latest book, has offered responses to the sorts of concerns Miller raises; see Michael Behe, The Edge of Evolution (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2008).
10. John Locke, Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690), IV.xvii. 24.
11. Alvin Plantinga, Science and Religion: Are They Compatible? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 17. For a sort of precursor to Plantinga’s argument, see Locke, Essay Concerning Human Understanding, IV.x.10.
12. Stuart Pullen, Intelligent Design or Evolution?: Why the Origin of Life and the Evolution of Molecular Knowledge Imply Design (Raleigh, NC: Intelligent Design Books, 2005), 102.
13. The claims by Davies and Davis are quoted in Robin Collins, “A Scientific Argument for the Existence of God,” in Michael Murray, ed., Reason for the Hope Within (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999), 49.
14. For an accessible and highly influential attempt to rationally justify God’s existence via similar considerations, see Richard Swinburne, Is There a God? (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996).
15. Philip Kitcher, Living with Darwin (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 98–99. Elliot Sober is another philosopher who doubts that we have a sufficient grasp of background assumptions to determine whether the universe is the product of design. See his “The Design Argument,” in William E. Mann, ed., The Blackwell Guide to the Philosophy of Religion (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005), 117–147.