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between our magisterial – the NOMA solution. NOMA represents a principled position on moral and intellectual grounds, not a mere diplomatic stance. NOMA also cuts both ways. If religion can no longer dictate the nature of factual conclusions properly under the magisterium of science, then scientists cannot claim higher insight into moral truth from any superior knowledge of the world's empirical constitution. This mutual humility has important practical consequences in a world of such diverse passions.

      A variant of this approach is provided by the American theologian Langdon Gilkey (1919–2004). In his 1959 work Maker of Heaven and Earth, Gilkey argues that theology and the natural sciences represent independent and different ways of approaching reality. The natural sciences are concerned with asking ‘how’ questions, where theology asks ‘why’ questions. The former deals with secondary causes (that is, interactions within the sphere of nature), while the latter deals with primary causes (that is, the ultimate origin and purpose of nature).

      This independence model appeals to many scientists and theologians because it gives them freedom to believe and think what they like in their own respective fields (‘magisteria’, to use Gould's phrase), without forcing them to relate these magisterial to each other. However, as Ian Barbour points out, this inevitably compartmentalizes reality. ‘We do not experience life as neatly divided into separate compartments; we experience it in wholeness and interconnectedness before we develop particular disciplines to study different aspects of it.’ In other words, these circles cannot avoid some degree of overlap and interaction; they are not completely separate.

      Dialogue

      A third way of understanding the relation between science and religion is to see them as engaged in a dialogue, leading to enhanced mutual understanding. As the late pope John Paul II commented in 1998: ‘The Church and the scientific community will inevitably interact; their options do not include isolation.’ So what form might their interaction take? How might they complement each other? For John Paul II, the answer was clear: ‘Science can purify religion from error and superstition; religion can purify science from idolatry and false absolutes. Each can draw the other into a wider world, a world in which both can flourish.’

This point was further developed by the ‘Dialogue Group’ of scientists and Catholic bishops in the United States, who declared that: ‘Science and religion can offer complementary insights on complex topics like the emerging bio‐technologies.’ We see here a recognition that the moral limitations placed on the natural sciences by virtue of the amoral character of the scientific method leads to a realization of the need to supplement the scientific discussion from other sources. We shall return to this discussion later in this work (179–85).

      This dialogue respects the distinct identity of its participants, while exploring shared presuppositions and assumptions. Ian Barbour regards this model as probably the most satisfactory of the possible range of approaches. It is also found throughout the recent writings of John Polkinghorne, who points out a series of significant parallels between the two magisterial. For example, both science and religion involve at least some degree of personal judgement, in that both deal with data that is ‘theory laden’. Similarly, both involve a series of what might be termed ‘fiduciary’ assumptions – for example, that the universe is rational, coherent, ordered, and whole. A similar concern underlies Alister E. McGrath's Enriching Our Vision of Reality (2016), which aims to enhance the intellectual rigour of Christian theology through an extended dialogue with the natural sciences, especially in relation to issues of methods of investigating and representing reality.

      Integration

      A fourth understanding of the way in which science and religion interact can be found in the writings of the British theologian Charles Raven (1885–1964). In his Natural Religion and Christian Theology (1953), Raven argued that the same basic methods had to be used in every aspect of the human search for knowledge, whether religious or scientific. ‘The main process is the same, whether we are investigating the structure of an atom or a problem in animal evolution, a period of history or the religious experience of saint.’ Raven vigorously resists any attempt to divide the universe into ‘spiritual’ and ‘physical’ components, and insists that we must ‘tell a single tale which shall treat the whole universe as one and indivisible.’ Barbour himself is very sympathetic to this approach, and sees process thought as a catalyst to this process of integration. A similar outlook is found in the later writings of Arthur Peacocke, who interprets evolution as God's preferred mode of creation.

      It is important to note that Barbour tends to present these four options as stages in an intellectual journey of discovery, perhaps analogous to John Bunyan's classic The Pilgrim's Progress. The intellectual wayfarer might begin with Conflict, following by a brief and unsatisfactory flirtation with Independence, and finally finding a satisfactory resting place in Dialogue or some form of Integration. Both the Conflict and Independence models are wrong, Barbour argues, whereas the Dialogue and Integration approaches are right. Inevitably, those who are interested in trying to find a reliable and unbiased account of the possibilities will find Barbour's presuppositions slightly unsettling at this point, and wonder if less prescriptive approaches might be available.

So what difficulties are raised by this simple taxonomy? The most obvious is that it is inadequate to do justice to the complexity of history. As Geoffrey Cantor and Chris Kenny point out in a thoughtful critique of Barbour's approach, history bears witness to a series of complications that cannot be incorporated in simplistic taxonomies. It is difficult to refute this point. Barbour's four‐fold scheme is useful precisely because it is so simple. Yet its simplicity can be a weakness, as much as a strength.

      More seriously, the model is purely intellectual in its approach, concerning how ideas are held together. What about the social and cultural aspects of the matter, which play such an important role in any attempt to understand how the interaction of science and religion works out in practice, either in the past or the present? There has been a growing trend in recent scholarship to shift the analysis away from a purely intellectual approach to the interaction of science and religion, in order to consider their symbolic and social dimensions, where the interaction is much more nuanced.

      Furthermore, the historical context often needs close examination. Supposed tensions and conflicts between science and religion, such as the Galileo controversy, often turn out to have more to do with papal politics, ecclesiastical power struggles, and personality issues than with any fundamental tensions between faith and science. Historians of science have made it clear that the interaction of science and religion is determined primarily by the specifics of their historical circumstances, and only secondarily by their respective subject matters. There is no universal paradigm for the relation of science and religion, either theoretically or historically.

      The case of Christian attitudes to evolutionary theory in the late nineteenth century makes this point particularly evident. As the geographer and intellectual historian David Livingstone demonstrated in his ground‐breaking study of the reception of Darwinism in two very different contexts – Belfast, Northern Ireland, and Princeton, New Jersey – local issues and personalities were often of decisive importance in determining the outcome, rather than any fundamental theological or scientific principles.

      Nevertheless, despite its limitations, the framework set out by Barbour remains helpful as a means of approaching the field of science and religion studies. It represents a useful description of possible approaches but should not be pressed too far in terms of a rigorous analysis of the issues. Perhaps it could be thought of as a useful sketch of the terrain, rather than as a detailed and precise map.

      This sketch has been extended by others working in the field, such as Ted Peters, who suggests that ten approaches can be discerned, four of which rest on the assumption of conflict between science and religion and six of which offer approaches which assume there is a truce or even a potential partnership between them. Peters describes these as follows:

      The first four assume conflict or even war: (1) scientism; (2) scientific imperialism; (3) theological authoritarianism; and (4) the evolution controversy. Six additional models

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