Who Are We? Beyond Earth at the Intersection of Bioscience and Religion

From the December 16, 2022 issue of the Transformational Times

Who Are We? Beyond Earth at the Intersection of Bioscience and Religion

Annie Friedrich, PhD and Ryan Spellecy, PhD

In December 2022, the Medical College of Wisconsin, Marquette University, and Viterbo University hosted its first seminar on ‘Big Questions’ at the intersection of bioscience and religion. A perhaps unlikely pairing of a theologian and an astronomer explored what it means for humans to be unique in the vastness of the universe…

A theologian and an astronomer walk into a room…while this may sound like the beginning of a joke, this was the scene on December 5, 2022, for the inaugural session of a new seminar series called "Big Questions," which explores the intersection between bioscience and religion. Moderated by MCW’s Aasim Padela, MD, this series aims to foster interdisciplinary humble and fruitful dialogue, build bridges of understanding, and spark curiosity at the juncture of religion and science. The series seeks to replace the question of science or religion with “where do science and religion find common ground?”

More than 50 MCW faculty, staff, medical students, and community members heard from Astronomer Jennifer Wiseman, PhD and theologian Jonathan Crane, PhD, MPhil, MA. Dr. Wiseman is the Emeritus Director of the Dialogue on Science, Ethics, and Religion at the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Dr Crane is the Raymond F. Schinazi Scholar of Bioethics and Jewish Thought at the Ethics Center, and Professor of Medicine and Religion at Emory University.

The question that began this series is a simple one: if there is life on other planets, what does that mean for human significance? Dr. Wiseman explored this question in light of astronomical discoveries, while Dr. Crane offered a Jewish perspective on the question of human uniqueness in the context of life beyond earth. While these perspectives may seem to be at odds, Drs. Wiseman and Crane had more in common than one might think, which is perhaps the point of interdisciplinary dialogues such as these.

In the vastness of the universe, are humans significant?

As Dr. Wiseman approached the podium, the lights were dimmed as a breathtaking photo of thousands of stars filled the screen. Thanks to technology like the Hubble Telescope, stars are no longer just small pinpricks of light; the image on the screen showed bright flashes of red, blue, and yellow. According to Dr. Wiseman, there are more than 200 billion stars in our Milky Way galaxy alone, which may lead one to feel small and insignificant.

Astronomer Carl Sagan may sum up this feeling of insignificance: “Who are we? We find that we live on an insignificant planet of a humdrum star lost in a galaxy tucked away in some forgotten corner of a universe in which there are far more galaxies than people.” And yet, Dr. Wiseman did not find this insignificance or smallness deterministic or fatalistic. Rather, she saw this as an opportunity to be inspired. Space exploration provides an invitation to explore what we don’t yet know or have not yet encountered, and Dr. Wiseman accepts that invitation gladly.

Betzelem Elohim: A Jewish perspective on human uniqueness

At the end of her remarks, Dr. Wiseman offered a counter to Dr. Sagan’s quote in Psalm 8:3-4 which says, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is the man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” Dr. Crane picked up the Psalms, as well, acknowledging that Jewish tradition recognizes that things outside of this earth are significant because God created them.

Yet, their significance is not a threat to our own. Humans are particularly unique, according to Dr. Crane, because humans are betzelem Elohim, made in the image of God. But what if other beings who are also “made in the image of God” are discovered? Would human uniqueness and superiority fail? We may not be the exclusive owners of betzelem Elohim, but we were given revelation, and Dr. Crane notes that this dialogue with God is what matters.

The significance of human significance

While questions of human uniqueness and significance are surely important questions worthy of exploration for their own sake, one might well be skeptical of the importance of these questions when our pediatric hospital is at—or over—capacity due to a triple threat of COVID, RSV, and influenza. When pressing deadlines or clinical responsibilities overwhelm, taking time for philosophical reflection may seem trivial at best or irresponsible at worst.

But, as Dr. Crane argued, being “made in the image of God” provides a certain comfort that allows us to “take risks” about science, healthcare, and the pursuit of knowledge. Reflecting on human significance—whether from a religious or scientific perspective—encourages us to push forward in our research endeavors and to take risks in our teaching as we develop a new curriculum and employ teaching techniques and modalities that may stretch us. As we seek to transform medical education, surely, we could all use comfort and the permission to take risks, as transformation does not come without challenges and risks.

Perhaps some of us are already confident of human significance. When a learner comes to us for help, overwhelmed by the subject matter or stresses of life, we take time to listen because we know they are unique and significant. If we did not believe in human significance and the intrinsic value of human beings, perhaps we would not have chosen this field in the first place.

Yet this affirmation of human significance, whether from a scientific or religious perspective, reminds us to approach our work with a spirit of service and compassion that can transform the practice of medicine, medical education, and the biomedical sciences.

Annie Friedrich, PhD, HEC-C is an Assistant Professor of Bioethics and Medical Humanities in the Institute for Health and Equity at MCW.

Ryan Spellecy, PhD, is the Ursula von der Ruhr Chair in Bioethics and Professor of Bioethics and Medical Humanities, and Psychiatry and Behavioral Health, at MCW.

“Is There a Doctor Onboard?” Doctoring and Prayers at 35,000 Feet

From the December 16, 2022 Spiritually in Medicine issue of the Transformational Times

“Is There a Doctor Onboard?” Doctoring and Prayers at 35,000 Feet

By Adina Kalet, MD, MPH

Given the theme of Spirituality in Medicine in this week’s Transformational Times, Dr. Kalet shares the most recent of many experiences she has had answering the overhead call on airplanes. In this case, the faith traditions of both the doctor and of the patient led to series of surprises and unique styles of gratitude for caring and kindness expressed in prayer …

Given that I was listening to a movie through my headphones while my hands were busy knitting, the announcement just barely registered. We were three hours away from our destination, and a long, uncomfortable eight hours into our flight. After a few seconds delay, I untangled myself and headed toward the uniformed purser standing in the aisle. 

“I am a doctor. How can I help?” She looked me over and nodded discretely toward the young, pale, diaphoretic, and mildly distressed bearded man slumped in his seat. 

The flight attendant whispered, “He is asking for medication, but I can’t administer anything without a physicians order.” She gestured to her handheld device. “This is what we have available.” She looked back-and-forth from the man in the seat to me. “We are over land now, so if you decide…” Her voice trailed off, suggesting that, on my say-so, they were prepared to land the plane.

“Give me a minute to assess the situation,” I said. She offered to retrieve a blood pressure cuff and oxygen tank.  

My new patient’s religious garb, facial hair, and head covering told me that he was part of an Ultra-Orthodox Jewish family. I grabbed my sweater and covered my bare shoulders since, in his culture—one I know intimately—modesty is paramount. In his community’s view of the world, a secular appearing, barefooted and bareheaded woman might be dismissed or treated with suspicion. I assumed he would avoid eye contact and refuse to let me touch him. To be trusted enough to make an accurate medical assessment, I needed to minimize the barriers.  

Leaning over him, I introduced myself and asked him to tell me what was going on. I was happy to see that he was fully awake and alert, spoke fluent mildly-accented English, was willing to make eye contact, and seemed eager for my help. He described his weakness, dizziness, and nausea. After asking permission, I carefully and firmly ran my hand over the key locations (no belly, chest, or calf tenderness) landing on his wrist to feel for his radial pulse. I engaged him in conversation about his health and recent events as I monitored the cardiac rate and rhythm. He had been perfectly healthy  and described no ominous symptoms. 

The relatives surrounding him were eager to tell me that they had all spent the day before in a hospital emergency room with a beloved relative. As his uncle graphically described the details of how the old woman had fallen and had sustained a nasty, bloody gash, my patient became paler, his heart rate went up, and his pulse became “thready.” Before long, he was dry heaving into a plastic bag. Clearly, the stress of hearing the story again was taking a toll. I expressed my empathy for the upsetting situation to the group. My patient’s pulse slowed a bit. 

The flight attendant handed me the automatic blood pressure device. As I wrapped the cuff around his arm, I confirmed he had eaten little, had slept poorly, and had not had anything to drink during the flight because the options were not guaranteed to meet his religious requirements. The machine finished its reading and, although not dangerous, his blood pressure was quite low. 

We laid him as flat as the airplane seat would allow and elevated his legs. I assessed the width of the aisle just in case we needed to get him on his back. Happily, his blood pressure climbed a bit and his pulse headed toward normal. 

The flight attendant pointed out that we were seven miles above the Earth, and some supplemental oxygen might help. We put the mask on him and started the flow. He “pinked” up immediately, and his nausea resolved. Soon, he was able and eager to drink fluids. As time passed, his symptoms resolved, and he felt stronger. 

I spent a few minutes talking with his relatives, including the old woman with the fresh stitches and a bandage above her eye. I was able to fend off one of his aunts who offered several nonspecific pills she had in her carry-on bag. Everyone noticeably relaxed and soon I felt comfortable enough to return to my seat. 

The flight attendant stopped by, reporting that she had told the pilot we were not anticipating an emergency landing. She offered me a gift from the airline which I tried to refuse but, in the end, I accepted some extra miles for my frequent flyer account. 

After a while, the patient’s aunt came by, an emissary from the senior male members of the family. She thanked me profusely for my help, then said, “Your smile and gentleness are a blessing from G-d! You didn’t need to be kind, but you were.”  The family wanted to give me something in return for my kindness. 

“No!” I said. “That is very kind, but this is my work. There is no need for gifts.”

“Well, then,” she replied, “you will be in our daily prayers.” She nodded, thanked me again, and returned to her seat. I smiled, found my headphones, and went back to my knitting. 

I was relieved that things turned out so well; they don’t always. This was not my first rodeo. I have had  a few opportunities to answer “the call” on airplanes, at the theater, and on the sidewalk.  Given the settings, the medical intervention and decision-making options are severely limited. Had the situation worsened, and I had needed extra hands to help start an IV or do chest compressions, I suspect other healthcare workers might have appeared, or the trained crew members would have been there to assist. Depending on the acuity of the crisis, I might have recommended to the pilot that she land the plane.

But, on this day, that was not what was needed. In the end, what was most needed and appreciated was kindness. This experience, as well as medical student Sarah Root, in her essay in this issue of the Transformational Times, reminds me once again, through the the words of Sarah’s physician grandfather, “that medicine is not just a practice, but a privilege.”

We reached our destination and headed our separate ways. I am humbled to know that there is a family, not so very different from my own, that is prayerfully grateful for our moments together at 35,000 feet. 

Adina Kalet, MD MPH is the Director of the Robert D. and Patricia E. Kern Institute for the Transformation of Medical Education and holder of the Stephen and Shelagh Roell Endowed Chair at the Medical College of Wisconsin.