Maury's Faith

On this date in 1806, Matthew Fontaine Maury was born.

Maury was a true cross-disciplinary scientist. A published astronomer, oceanographer and geologist, he is best known for his work on oceanic geology, or perhaps as one of the great mediators between science and religion, a need as dire today as it was 200 years ago.

As one would expect of a 19th century man of learning, Matthew grew up in an educated family. His grandfather was Reverend James Maury, teacher of both James Madison and Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson even lived with the Maurys for two years. James emphasized geography, making it a central part of his lessons, and is widely credited with encouraging young Jefferson's later push to settle the West.

After the death of his beloved brother John, an officer in the Navy, Matthew's parents forbade him to enter naval service. Then, as now, there was no way to better encourage a curious mind than to forbid it something, and Matthew entered the Navy in 1825. He would, from that point forward, always remain in love with the sea, even after a shipboard injury forced him to abandon sailing at the age of 33.

One of his best-known studies had rather mixed effects, depending on your perspective. He was the first to systematically chart whale sightings, realizing that the great whales were migratory and followed certain paths. While this was, of course, a revelation in marine biology, and a hugely important biological finding, it also led to far more efficient harvesting of whales, to the point that populations could not withstand.

Maury was also a founding member of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. During the Civil War, he developed a new form of torpedo for the South that had serious implications for enemy shipping. Had he been on the Northern side, he may have been remembered as a hero, but his scientific achievements are largely lost in his allegiance to the South.

Above all else, though, Maury was a man of faith. He quoted scripture, read the Bible daily, and was by all accounts a strictly Christian man. His science was a profession, and a great love of his, but never interfered with his beliefs, nor vice versa. Some so-called creation scientists would put him forward as an example of someone that would clearly take their side today, but I have to disagree. I think he would be, as many scientists today are, more of a spectator in the conflict between religion and science, and I like to believe that a man so dedicated to both ways of knowing saw no reason why they should be so at odds.

Tomorrow, The Real Dr. Strangelove

Darwin and the Anglican Church

On this date in 1938, the Church of England officially recognized, and accepted, the theory of evolution.

That's 70 years ago today. An interesting thing to ponder as we face another round of religion vs. evolution in our own time. In Florida, Bill Foster is running for mayor of St. Petersburg, and has publicly linked Darwinism with the Columbine shootings and other tragedies. (Thanks to Pharyngula for the link). On the federal scale, we have a major candidate for President, in Mike Huckabee, who is clearly against the teaching of evolution in schools.

So how did the Church of England, a sect with a long history going back to the fourth century, come to accept Darwin's theory of evolution by natural selection? Perhaps the decision had its roots in the church's pride in its native son. After all, Darwin did attend a Church of England school. The decision was part of the 1938 Commission on Doctrine, but if one man was responsible for its passing, it would have to be Bishop Ernest William Barnes.

Barnes was part of what may have been the last generation of the scientist/priest. A mathematician and fellow of the Royal Society, he was also an avid biological collector, and made frequent trips into the wild to observe and collect. In 1927, he wrote a famous letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, in which he outlined his beliefs in evolution and promised "to show why they did not seem to upset the main Christian position". In a brilliant turn of phrase, he finished his letter "No man shall drive me to Tennessee or to Rome." Only two years before, the state of Tennessee had made its famous case against John Scopes, in the so-called "Monkey trial".

He was hardly the first or the only voice in favor of evolution, but he may have been the best known. His view that theology "must take into account the God of Nature revealed by science" was an insight that many of us would welcome eighty years after he wrote it. He and his kind managed to convince the Church of England to officially accept evolution, and to deny any claim that it somehow undermined or conflicted with their teachings. Though the debate continues even within the Church of England, we can look back on this as a victory not only for the proponents of evolution, but for the much larger populace that yearns for science and religion to more easily coexist, as two forces which should, at their best, make human life better.

Fittingly, tomorrow's article is Maury's Faith.