Critical Approaches to Science and Religion is a welcome contribution to the subfield of science and religion, which tends to be overly dominated by voices that are Christian, white, and male (as valuable as those voices are). As the editors of this volume rightly note, there has not yet been enough work done to examine how histories of “slavery, patriarchy, and colonialism” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 1) have shaped the field, thus putting the area at risk of perpetuating oppressive assumptions and conclusions. A volume like this has been sorely needed. It is important to emphasize, however, along with the editors of the project, that this volume by itself is not enough. I echo the hope of the editors that it will chart a course for new directions of research in science and religion and generatively “engage, enrage, and embolden future scholars” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 378) to imagine and work to produce a more just world. The importance of this work has only increased since the publication of the volume in 2023, as authoritarianism and xenophobia continue to fuel political violence and threats to academic freedom. Indeed, patriarchy, racism, and colonialism are far from being relics of the past—so fresh, rigorous diagnosis and analysis of these ills are constantly demanded. This volume serves an important role to this end.

There were many aspects of the volume I found simultaneously challenging and edifying, and I want to commend, in particular, Myrna Perez Sheldon’s contribution entitled “A Feminist Theology of Abortion.” I also reference this essay as a way of providing context for some questions and observations that emerged for me about the volume as a whole. I express these in the hopes of sparking further conversation and a creative extension of the themes and arguments of the book. Perez’s essay is one of the most nuanced and creative pieces of writing to date on the topic of reproductive justice. It reflects on the destructive legacies of both the sciences and religions when it comes to the issue of reproductive justice by examining the “parallel violences done to women by racial biopolitics and patriarchal Christianity” (Perez Sheldon 2023, 62). She persuasively argues that reaction to Christian ethnonationalist abortion politics in the United States should not drive us to uncritically embrace so-called “scientific” approaches to reproductive rights without taking seriously the ways in which these approaches have colluded with racist and eugenicist aims. In fact, as she demonstrates, the global history of abortion policy is shot through with eugenicist ideology. At the same time, acknowledging the reality of the entanglement of abortion policy with eugenics, in her view, does not legitimize an embrace of right-wing pro-life policies that would seek to abolish access to abortion. Perez Sheldon argues that for people who can or will experience pregnancy, both religion and science have been false friends, claiming to bring protection or liberation but doing violence instead.

Perez Sheldon’s integration of theoretical insight with wisdom from activists working on the ground provides an excellent example of some of the best aspirations of the volume, including its intention to develop “knowledge for social change” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 4), in contrast to knowledge that remains ensconced in the academy, and “design a future that is more just and humane” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 1). Particularly effective is Perez Sheldon’s (2023, 79) suggestion of “deep listening” as a practice that can help people to “break out of the bind between religion and biopolitics.” Perez Sheldon’s radical refusal to oversimplify material and lived realities that are inexorably complex is admirable. Her ethical exhortation to readers is to listen to pregnant people—to trust women to make their own medical choices, not because women are morally perfect, but because allowing that freedom is worth the risk that women might make mistakes. The orientation to praxis in this essay is important and compelling.

Perez Sheldon’s essay is especially helpful because it developed in detail one concrete perspective on what type of “more just and humane” world the editors and authors of the volume imagine and want us to strive for. The essay centers on a single important issue and does not attempt to solve this complicated bioethical reality in a facile way. It illuminates complexity to provide deeper understanding and then points toward a specific ethical goal (more trust of women) and a practice to help us make progress toward that goal (deep listening). This essay, in my view, achieves the aspiration set out by the editors of the volume to provide a clearer picture of what it could look like to imagine “alternative futures where we might live better together” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 4).

The introduction to the volume indicates that this political and ethical orientation is a key contribution that distinguishes it from what are seen as overly theoretical approaches to science and religion, and this is a needed reorientation in the field. As the editors state, “we intend to reorient the ethical trajectory of this field to a more overtly political framework that centers the racial, gendered, sexualized, and colonized natures of science and religion” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 4). But given this is expressed as a central goal of the work, I hoped for a more expansive account of the ethical and political implications to be drawn out in more concrete terms. In other words, I wondered, after finishing the book, if the editors and authors have a shared and clear vision of the varied ethical trajectories they hope to point us toward. Certainly, it is the case (as they acknowledge) that “there is no single vision of an alternative future,” and this plurality is expected and desirable (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 14). In many cases throughout the volume, however, the ethical, or political ideals readers are meant to be motivated to work toward are present in more impressionistic or inchoate ways rather than being clearly developed. For example, the editors speak at one point of a focus on “belonging, wholeness, and human flourishing” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 7), but these values are not treated again in explicit or systematic ways in the subsequent essays. It is possible to interpret certain contributions in the volume as subtly or implicitly related to these values, but again, much of the positive content and potential in these terms is left undeveloped.

I focus on this issue since the editors clearly express a desire to produce “knowledge for social change” as a central goal of the project. This must not be change simply for the sake of change (i.e., from one mediocre or evil system to another equally mediocre or evil system) but rather change for the better or movement toward some good or desired ethical ideal. As mentioned earlier, for the editors, this is movement toward a “future that is more just and humane” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 1). In my view, it is important to be at least somewhat specific about what this more just and humane world must entail, since it cannot be taken for granted that readers will have the same background assumptions the authors and editors have about what such a world ought to look like. The question of ethics also raises the problem of how to ground a particular ethical vision in order to make a case for why some ethical norms should be preferred over others.

My desire to see a more concrete ethical vision developed in this project no doubt emerges from the inclinations and orientations of my own home discipline (theology), which tends to be more comfortable than other disciplines constructing normative frameworks or ethical ideals. I appreciate that most (but not all) of the contributions in this volume are historical in nature, and thus, as the editors note in the conclusion, this historical orientation can result in a “reluctance to participate in normative analyses” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 376). Certainly, critical historical scholarship can be an essential element in its own right of crafting a constructive vision for the future. A great strength of this project is its historical analysis, which illuminates the extent to which a variety of violent systemic sins (patriarchy, colonialism, slavery, etc.) have shaped—and, in some cases, continue to shape—the field of science and religion. Yet, as the conclusion argues, diagnosing what is wrong with the existing world is not sufficient to create a new one (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 378). As a result, a tension exists in the volume between the desire of the editors to facilitate the work of constructively building this new world and the toolset of most of the contributors, who, given their disciplinary training, would be less inclined to make normative claims.

To return to the problem of grounding an ethical framework, it is crucial to remember that one always emerges from more essential beliefs about the nature of reality, or, in other words, ontology. Without some account of a fundamental ontology, it is difficult and perhaps impossible to construct an ethical vision that has any positive content. As Elizabeth Grosz (2017, 4) has argued, one’s ontic commitments shape one’s vision of the good life and formation of ethical ideals. Accordingly, the ethical ambitions expressed by the editors would have perhaps been aided by the insights of ethicists, theologians, and philosophers to contribute to the valuable historical work contained within this project. At certain points in the volume, however, the editors suggest a resistance to, or even rejection of, the kind of metaphysical reflection that would have served to ground their ethical commitments. For example, the excellent essay by Perez Sheldon discussed earlier is described by the editors as advocating for a “postsecular theology that does not rely on metaphysical assertion or doctrinal authority” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 19). At the same time, in contrast to these rejected options, they claim her essay suggests “something more profound: making trust in women sacred in contemporary debates over abortion policy” (Perez Sheldon, Ragab, and Keel 2023, 19). It is not clear to me that the volume avoids metaphysical assertion. What would it mean for trust in women to be “sacred” outside of an appeal to metaphysical categories? Rather, I suspect there is an implicit metaphysics—even if untraditional—that is operative in the work, grounding the ethical orientation of the volume, even as metaphysics is held at arm’s length by the editors. Said otherwise, it must be the case that the editors have some fundamental beliefs about the nature of reality, the divine, the possibility for human life to be meaningful, etc. that motivate and justify the ethics they want to direct us toward. In my view, their moral vision would be more effectively achieved if it were set within the context of a more explicitly articulated ontology.

The editors of (and contributors to) this volume express a profound awareness of the ways in which certain epistemologies, knowledge claims, and ethical systems can become tools of violence and oppression. As the historical analyses within this book demonstrate, all too often, claims to objectivity, rationality, and virtue have resulted in violence against those deemed wrong, irrational, or sinful. Disciplines like feminist science studies, Indigenous studies, and many other areas of critical thought have done important work to reveal the violence of many of the knowledge traditions that define the Western world. Nevertheless, despite the inherent risks involved, we cannot abandon categories like objectivity, rationality, and normative ethical claims. As Donna Haraway (1991, 579) argues, despite our historical conditioning and social construction, we still live in a shared world. There can be no collaborative work to pursue justice without real (even “objective”) knowledge claims about the nature of reality (ontology) and ethical norms. As Haraway (1991, 580) argues, objectivity does not have to mean claims to omnipotence or transcendence of historical location, but “we could use some enforceable, reliable accounts of things not reducible to power moves and agonistic, high-status games of rhetoric or to scientistic, positivist arrogance.” Objectivity, for Haraway, involves acknowledging one’s situatedness and limitations as well as one’s responsibilities to others. Objective knowledge for Haraway is accountable for its effects. In my view, something like Haraway’s notion of objectivity as partial perspective or an account of critical realism as an epistemological frame would be useful for a volume like Critical Approaches to Science and Religion, which has such an emphasis on illuminating the destructive abuses of power hidden in many (especially Western) knowledge traditions. Without an accompanying positive account of how knowledge claims are still possible despite the risk of corruption and violence, a strong critical focus risks nihilism.

I express these criticisms in the context of enthusiasm for the goals and hopes of the volume and a desire to see more of what it provides in the subfield of science and religion. In fact, the criticisms I articulate here emerge as a result of my agreement with the editors about the profound evil of patriarchy, racism, and colonialism, and a recognition of their ongoing destructive presence in this world. This volume calls us to see these evils more clearly, rebuke them, and insist upon a better and more liberative future. A stronger articulation of an ontology to ground ethical and political action would enable the editors to name the societal ills they identify as evil—morally wrong, everywhere, and for everyone. It would also provide content and motivation for their positive ethical vision. Without an ontological foundation, arguments about the immorality of patriarchy, racism, and colonialism fail to achieve coherence. Against what standard are these realities deemed immoral? A richer account of epistemology and objectivity would provide a way of understanding how knowledge claims and ethical norms can be both critiqued and deconstructed while also being meaningfully constructed. While this project moved me in profound ways, it also provides an opportunity to imagine (with and beyond this volume) new futures and practices that can help us build in those directions. In my view, the volume represents a very successful first step that will hopefully evoke/provoke further scholarly work to develop these seeds.

In reflecting on the tension between the potential violence of the creation of knowledge claims and norms alongside the seeming necessity to do so, I wonder if insights from aesthetics could provide a generative spark. In particular, Hans-Georg Gadamer’s understanding of how a work of art dynamically “comes to presentation” could be useful. He expresses this in his Truth and Method (1960). For Gadamer, art is not static, it is a dynamic event that facilitates an encounter with difference. In order for the event of an artwork to be effective, it requires ongoing playfulness, as it evokes a “to and fro” movement between the viewer’s own “hermeneutic horizon” and the encounter with difference as expressed in the work of art that challenges, provokes, and expands the limited horizon of the viewer (Gadamer [1960] 1989, 103). Interpreting a work of art is a dialogical, creative response. It is flexible and requires rhythmic movement within the context of a defined structure that leaves room for what Gadamer refers to as “leeway” (Spielraum). As Cynthia Nielsen (2022, 140) argues, “leeway is central both to Gadamer’s account of play and his understanding of art. Without leeway, play’s movement loses its creativity and is reduced to monotonous, mechanical movement. Without leeway, art has no play, and consequently, no movement.” The movement within an artistic encounter is structured, orderly, and reciprocal but allows for improvisation, which is where innovation and novelty occur.

We might consider the discernment of ethical norms and the construction of knowledge claims using the analogy of the “coming to presentation” of a work of art. Through practices of deep listening, as suggested by Perez Sheldon, we encounter difference that makes a truth claim, proposes an argument, challenges us, expands our horizons, and invites a response. Through a creative, noncoercive, and generous process of give-and-take and to-and-fro that is structured but not mechanical or rigid, we improvise our way—always imperfectly—to more compassionate, merciful, and just futures. The work of art, like a knowledge claim or an articulation of an ethical norm, is historically located, embodied, and expresses a partial perspective. It also, however, gives an account of some reality. This account may provoke anger, disagreement, enthusiasm, joy, or other responses from the community. The community that receives the artwork may also decide it does not reflect their shared perception of the world. Like a work of art, a knowledge claim provides a limited, embodied, historically conditioned but nevertheless real and even perhaps “objective” (as Haraway defines the term) account of reality. A claim/argument comes into contact with difference, and if it is received in a spirit of playfulness and openness that allows horizons to be expanded, deeper insight into reality can be achieved. I am sure there is much more that could be said about the rich body of insights provided to us by this volume, but I conclude my remarks here and look forward to the ongoing to-and-fro discussion this volume will continue to evoke.

References