By Chet
Raymo '58, '64Ph.D.
An itch for God seems to be universal. In the course of history,
humans have invented tens of thousands of religions, many of which
are assumed by their adherents to be the divinely revealed true
faith. Atheism has always been something of an anomaly, and even
the word "atheism" has God lurking within it.
More than a century ago the American psychologist William James
set out to account for the universality of faith in The Varieties
of Religious Experience, a book that maintains a lively presence
on college reading lists.
James believed that psychological experiences, rather than the
tenets or practices of particular faiths, are the essence of the
religious life. Behind the warring gods and formulas of the various
faiths, he sought "states of consciousness" shared by all people.
We sense there is something wrong about things as they naturally
stand, he wrote, and we are saved from that wrongness by making
proper connections with higher powers.
The big question, which James was unable to answer, is whether
these universal states of consciousness are innate or culturally
transmitted. Nature or nurture? Genes or memes?
Genes, of course, are DNA sequences that reside in every cell
of our bodies and are passed largely intact from generation to
generation by sexual reproduction. Genes shape our bodies and
some behaviors.
Memes -- a coinage of the biologist Richard Dawkins -- are self-replicating
units of culture, ideas or concepts passed from one individual
to another through writing, speech, ritual and imitation. Memes
can be as trivial as jump-rope rhymes or as profound as a full-blown
theology.
Now, geneticist Dean Hamer of the National Institutes of Health
thinks he has the first proof that some part of religious behavior
is innate. He spells out his ideas in The God Gene: How Faith
is Hardwired into Our Genes, a book that was featured on
the cover of Time magazine and turned quite a few heads
in bookstores.
Hamer claims to have confirmed what James suspected: Although
the forms and practices of religion are memetic, a tendency toward
religious faith is in our genes.
Both conclusions can be something of an affront to those who
believe that religious faith and practice are responses to supernatural
revelation. But Hamer, like James before him, professes to leave
the existence or nonexistence of a supernatural being out of his
discussion. "This is a book about why humans believe," he writes,
somewhat disingenuously, "not whether those beliefs are true."
* * *
The gist of Hamer's argument is this: He has identified a gene
that correlates with a personality trait called self-transcendence,
as measured on a standard test called a "Temperament and Character
Inventory."
Self-transcendence is a term used by psychologists to describe
spiritual feelings that are independent of traditional religion.
It is not based on belief in God, frequency of prayer or any other
conventional religious practice.
Self-transcendent people tend to see everything, including themselves,
as part of one great totality. They have a strong sense of "at-oneness"
with people, places and things. They are likely to be environmentalists,
or active in the fight against poverty, racism and war. Self-transcendent
individuals are mystical. They are fascinated with things that
cannot be explained by science. They are creative but may also
be prone to psychosis.
In short, they are spiritual and inclined to belief in God.
Hamer administered the self-transcendence test to a thousand
random subjects. He also sequenced DNA samples from the same individuals,
looking specifically at nine genes known to code for chemicals
involved in brain activity.
One variation of one gene showed a statistically significant
correlation with high scores on the self-transcendence inventory.
The gene codes for a protein called a monoamine transporter, one
of a family of chemicals that controls crucial signaling in the
brain.
The gene is rather prosaically named VMAT2, and the relevant
variation is as simple as one chemical tread on the DNA spiral
staircase -- in the language of the geneticist, a C rather than
an A at position 33050 of the human genome. By analogy, this is
like changing a single letter in a dozen sets of the Encyclopedia
Britannica.
Clearly, both the title and subtitle of Hamer's book, while
provocative, are somewhat misleading. It is not "the" God gene
which he claims to have identified, but "a" God gene. Hamer readily
admits that more than one gene, and their expression in interaction
with the environment, are likely involved in something as complex
as religious behavior.
And it is not religious faith that is hardwired into our genes
but rather a single personality trait as measured by a standard
psychological inventory. Self-transcendent persons may or may
not believe in God.
Interestingly, there were no significant differences in scores
for self-transcendence among different racial or ethnic categories;
like religion, self-transcendence appears to be a universal human
trait. Nor was age a factor. However, women scored significantly
higher on the test than men, regardless of age, race or ethnicity.
Can Hamer be right? Can so slight a variation in our DNA incline
us toward religion?
It is a slim thread to hang a book on, certainly too slim a
thread to support the assertion that faith in God is hardwired
into our genes. But sturdy ropes are made of twisted threads,
and where Hamer has led others will follow. As geneticists explore
the newly sequenced human genome, we will surely hear more about
links between genes and behaviors, including religious behaviors.
Even if Hamer's central thesis is frail, his book is a welcome
summary of speculations on the natural origins of religion, an
informative survey of current genetic research and a fitting successor
to William James's The Varieties of Religious Experience.
* * *
A genetic link to spirituality will come as no surprise to students
of evolutionary psychology. Biologists Edward O. Wilson and Richard
Dawkins are just two of many prominent scientists who have proposed
innate religious behaviors.
Wilson writes: "The predisposition to religious belief is the
most complex and powerful force in the human mind and in all probability
an ineradicable part of human nature." And there are ample reasons,
he notes, why natural selection might have favored such tendencies.
For example, stratified and cohesive societies tend to fare
best in a conflict with their neighbors, says Wilson, and religion
provides both hierarchy and cohesion. But Wilson's supposition
assumes that natural selection can favor groups as well as individuals.
Not all biologists believe group selection plays a significant
role in evolution.
Richard Dawkins has suggested (admittedly without proof) that
what has been favored by natural selection is infant credulity.
The child who innately respects parental authority ("Don't go
in the water, or the crocodiles will eat you.") is most likely
to survive and to reproduce. An inborn credulity trait, if it
exists, might then be exploited by priests, shamans or tribal
elders as a way of gaining power or strengthening the cohesiveness
of the group, says Dawkins.
If such evolutionary biologists as Wilson and Dawkins are right,
spirituality is beneficial to our physical and mental health,
which is why "God genes" may have been selected by evolution.
Up to now, however, these biologists have been theorizing in the
dark. It is Hamer's contribution to provide the first concrete
link between a specific gene and religious behavior.
And what if it's true? What should be our response to the discovery
that the behavioral basis of faith is hardwired into our DNA?
Some believers will reasonably suppose that if God wanted us
to acknowledge his existence, he might logically provide us with
an innate predisposition to belief. (Although one might wonder
why he would provide the C-version of the VMAT2 gene to some of
us and not to others.)
Most believers, I would guess, will say that this "God-gene"
business is a tempest in a scientific teapot. They will admit
that some degree of self-transcendence may be innate, like a talent
for mathematics or music, but deny any relevance to revealed truth.
People of faith have traditionally resisted any attempt of "deterministic,"
"reductionistic" and "materialist" science to see religion as
anything other than supernaturally inspired. When Hamer first
broached the idea of a God gene in an essay for the online magazine
Slate, the response of believers was quick and overwhelmingly
negative, he tells us in the book. The war between science and
religion is evidently alive and well.
Some few of us, however, will agree with Francis Crick, co-discoverer
of the structure of DNA, who writes in his book The Astonishing
Hypothesis: "To understand ourselves, we must understand
how nerve cells behave and how they interact." Crick's "astonishing
hypothesis" -- that the soul is biochemical -- is not particularly
astonishing to most scientists.
* * *
In The Varieties of Religious Experience, William James
wrote: "The truth is that in the metaphysical and religious sphere,
articulate reasons are cogent for us only when our inarticulate
feelings of reality have already been impressed in favor of the
same conclusion." He did not, of course, have anything to say
about genes or brain chemistry as the source of the "inarticulate
feelings" -- it was too early for that -- but he was convinced
that an innate propensity toward belief lay behind every great
world religion, be it Buddhism or Catholicism. "The unreasoned
and immediate assurance is the deep thing in us, the reasoned
argument is but a surface exhibition," he wrote.
Almost a century later, E.O. Wilson agrees that religiosity
is innate. In his best-selling book Consilience, he writes:
"For many the urge to believe in transcendental existence and
immortality is overpowering. Transcendentalism, especially when
reinforced by religious faith, is psychically full and rich; it
feels somehow right." A thoroughgoing empiricist himself, Wilson
readily concedes that transcendentalism will always trump empiricism.
"The human mind evolved to believe in the gods," he says, "it
did not evolve to believe in biology."
And if it turns out that religion has its origins in brain chemistry,
is it necessarily a bad thing? Self-transcendence -- identification
with something greater than ourselves -- is an aspect of religion
we can all admire. Even a secular humanist such as Wilson acknowledges
that religion is largely beneficent. "It nourishes love, devotion
and, above all, hope. People hunger for the assurance it offers,"
he writes. "I can think of nothing more emotionally compelling
than the Christian doctrine that God incarnated himself in testimony
of the sacredness of all human life, even of the slave, and that
he died and rose again in promise of eternal life for everyone."
Certainly the Sermon on the Mount lays out a body of self-transcendent
memes we can all profitably live by. And if ever there was a meme
that deserved wide circulation it is "Do unto others as you would
have them do unto you."
Unfortunately, other of our religious memes have given us inquisitions,
crusades, pogroms and jihads. "Oh how we hate one another," said
Cardinal Newman, "for the love of God." Happy the world in which
a VMAT2 C-variant inclines us away from self-aggrandizement.
* * *
Hamer is cautious in suggesting the theological implications
of his research. However, as a biologist and geneticist, he offers
three insights into the perceived conflict between science and
faith.
Science can tell us whether there are God genes, he says, but
not whether there is a God. Spiritual experiences, like all experiences,
must be interpreted by our biologically constructed brains.
Spiritual enlightenment takes practice, he says, and self-transcendence
can be enhanced by such traditional practices as meditation, psychoactive
drugs or self-imposed physical rigors. What we do with our spiritual
genes is up to us.
Finally, and most important in Hamer's view, is the difference
between spirituality and religion, a point made equally strongly
by William James. Some part of spirituality may be an inherited
ebb and flow of monoamines in the brain, but the forms and practices
of religion are cultural and passed from one person to another
by learning or imitation.
It remains to be seen whether Hamer's research bears up to further
scientific scrutiny, and whether further research will reveal
even more of the biochemical basis for spirituality. If religious
behavior is part of our human nature, it is easy to understand
why religions are universal and why belief in God and personal
immortality are not going away any time soon.
* * *
And the war between science and faith? It is likely to continue,
perhaps become even more strident as science learns more about
how the mind works.
By definition, science cannot prove the existence or
nonexistence of the supernatural. What science can do is show
that there is no evidence, other than anecdotal, for immaterial
souls, miracles or answered prayers. Scientists generally are
reluctant to extend theories beyond what is necessary to explain
the phenomena. A 1996 survey of American scientists found that
46 percent are atheists and 14 percent doubters or agnostics.
Only 36 percent expressed a desire for immortality, and most of
those only moderately so. These numbers differ dramatically from
those of the general population; 95 percent of Americans profess
a belief in God, and more than 70 percent believe in an afterlife.
Although scientists as a group might be less traditionally religious
than the rest of us, in my experience they are no less "spiritual."
Microbiologist Ursula Goodenough, for example, is not a theist
but considers herself deeply religious. In her book, The Sacred
Depths of Nature, she reminds us that the word religion derives
from the Latin religio, to bind together again. She writes:
"We have throughout the ages sought connection with higher powers
in the sky or beneath the earth, or with ancestors living in some
other realm. We have also sought, and found, religious fellowship
with one another. And now we realize that we are connected to
all creatures. Not just in food chains or ecological equilibria.
We share a common ancestor. . . . We share evolutionary constraints
and possibilities. We are connected all the way down."
In revealing the universe of the galaxies and the DNA, science
opens our eyes to a creative power of far greater majesty and
mystery than the Olympian divinities of our ancestors, and many
of us would like to see theologians adapt their concepts or memes
to the new evolutionary story of the universe. As Wilson writes
in Consilience: "The spirits our ancestors knew intimately
first fled the rocks and trees, then the distant mountains. Now
they are in the stars, where their final extinction is possible.
But we cannot live without them. People need a sacred narrative."
Can such a narrative be found, one that is not in conflict with
science? Wilson thinks so. The true evolutionary epic, retold
as poetry, is as intrinsically ennobling as any religious epic,
he says. And many Catholic religious thinkers agree. They stand
ready to embrace the evolutionary story of creation as a satisfactory
ground for faith.
Thomas Berry, for example, a cultural historian and Passionist
priest, urges us to assimilate the scientific story of creation
-- what he calls the New Story -- into our religious and prayerful
lives: "The universe, the solar system, and the planet earth in
themselves and in their evolutionary emergence constitute for
the human community the primary revelation of that ultimate mystery
whence all things emerge into being."
The forms of religious belief that guided us in the past are
inadequate to energize our future, Berry says. The ancient Christian
creation story has functioned well in its institutional and moral
efficiency, but it is no longer the integral story of the Earth
and mankind, the story by which we live our daily, highly technological
lives.
For Berry, the spiritual significance of the New Story, the
scientific story, is this: The universe is a unity -- an interacting,
evolving and genetically related community of beings bound together
inseparably in space and time. Our responsibilities to each other
and to all of creation are implicit in this unity. Each of us
is profoundly implicated in the functioning and fate of every
other being on the planet and ultimately, perhaps, throughout
the universe.
Science cannot resolve the conflict between science and religion;
science must go wherever it is led by the empirical method. If
the conflict is to be resolved, it is up to persons of faith to
modify their concepts, and indeed this has been happening since
the beginning of human history. Most Catholics no longer talk
about banishing unbaptized babies to Limbo, and they no longer
believe the Bible offers a literal account of creation. The Index
of Forbidden Books is gone, Galileo has been rehabilitated and
Catholic institutions of higher education excel as centers of
scientific research.
So where does all this leave us? With plenty. Faith communities
at their best add immeasurably to the storehouse of human well-being.
Works of charity, celebration of the ineffable Mystery of the
world, rites of passage, ethical principles: All of these have
no conflict with science. And surely we can learn to celebrate
the wisdom of our respective faith traditions without seeking
to impose our traditions on others.
A thoroughgoing empiricist can without compromise agree with
the Greek novelist Nikos Kazantzakis: "We have seen the highest
circle of spiraling powers. We have named this circle God. We
might have given it any other name we wished: Abyss, Mystery,
Absolute Darkness, Absolute Light, Matter, Spirit, Ultimate Hope,
Ultimate Despair, Silence. But we have named it God because only
this name, for primordial reasons, can stir our heart profoundly.
And this deeply felt emotion is indispensable if we are to touch,
body with body, the dread essence beyond logic." In this sense,
every one of our tens of thousands of genes is a "God gene."
But past experience suggests that reconciling science and faith
will be slow, with a hefty dose of fundamentalist reaction along
the way. Genes and memes -- those primordial forces -- are sturdily
resilient.
Chet Raymo's latest book is Climbing Brandon: Science
and Faith on Ireland's Holy Mountain. He resides on the web
at www.sciencemusings.com.
(April 2005)
