The Illusion of Scientific Omniscience: How Hawking’s Deification of the Laws of Nature Exposes the Limits of Science.
People often criticize philosophy for failing to provide definitive answers about the true nature of reality—specifically, what reality fundamentally is. However, I believe this same criticism applies equally to science. While science is highly effective at describing how the natural world behaves, it ultimately cannot explain the deeper essence of reality.
My argument is that science, much like philosophy, cannot tell us what reality is at its core. Even the question “What is reality?” is fundamentally philosophical rather than scientific. If someone claims that reality is simply matter, they are making a philosophical statement, not a scientific one, because that assertion is not testable or falsifiable—it lies outside the scope of scientific inquiry.
Science is limited to the quantitative—it can describe the measurable properties and behaviors of matter, but it cannot explain what matter is in an ontological sense. For example, science can tell us that an electron has a negative charge and orbits the nucleus of an atom. It can measure the electron's mass and predict its behavior under certain conditions. But this tells us nothing about the true nature of an electron or the deeper nature of reality itself. Science can describe the behavior of matter, but it cannot explain why matter exists or what gives it its fundamental nature.
At its core, science is exclusively concerned with what can be measured and quantified. The defining characteristic of all material things is that they possess extension—they occupy space and have measurable properties such as mass, charge, and velocity. From this extension follows the ability to measure and describe them mathematically. However, measurable properties alone do not explain the underlying reality behind them—they describe how things behave, not what they are.
This distinction highlights the fundamental limit of scientific inquiry. Science excels at describing patterns, relationships, and laws that govern the material world. It can tell us how matter behaves under certain conditions, but it cannot answer the deeper question of why reality exists or what it ultimately is. The essence of existence, the nature of consciousness, and the meaning of life remain philosophical questions that science is inherently unequipped to address.
Therefore, the criticism that philosophy cannot provide definitive answers about the nature of reality applies equally to science. Science can describe the properties and behaviour of matter in great detail, but it cannot explain the ultimate nature of existence. The deepest questions—about why the universe exists, what reality is, and what consciousness means—remain outside the scope of scientific inquiry. Science can describe reality, but it cannot define it.
When we perceive and recognise the existence of things, we do so primarily through these quantitative properties. However, while quantities allow us to observe and describe material things, they do not confer existence upon them. The mere presence of quantitative properties does not provide an explanation of the essence or nature of a thing.
Quantities cannot serve as the terms by which we answer the fundamental question, "what is it?" - they describe, but they do not explain. Nevertheless, quantities possess a distinct and unusual autonomy that sets them apart from other forms of description. When regarded as properties of physical objects, quantities can only be verified or falsified through reference to other quantities - through measurement and observation.
The ability to manipulate and analyse quantities, however, should not lead one to mistake technical expertise for omniscience. Mastery of quantitative reasoning does not elevate one to the status of an archangel, let alone God. The authority of science ends where the quantitative ends. Whenever an assertion contains propositions that are not reducible to measurable terms, science loses its relevance.
A simple proposition such as "the table is there" illustrates the sharp limits of scientific relevance.
Science cannot establish the existence of the table as a matter of fact; it can only describe the physical dimensions, weight, and material composition of the table. The proposition "the table is there" points to the essential distinction between existence and description - something science is fundamentally unequipped to address.
This distinction also answers the question: do quantities alone define reality? Science can say something about nearly everything, but in fact, it can say very little about the most important things - particularly if one insists that fundamental questions about purpose, morality, and meaning are excluded from the domain of measurable properties.
If a scientist seeks to uncover the purpose of something through scientific means, they commit a category error. Purpose, like essence, is not quantifiable; unless purpose can somehow be measured - which it cannot - it remains outside the competence of science.
The question of free will illustrates this limitation acutely. However strong a scientist's drive for unified explanation might be, there exists no quantitative unit with which to measure free will.
The very nature of free will resists reduction to the logic of science. Thus, it requires little reflection to recognize that science is ultimately powerless to address the questions that matter most to human beings - questions of purpose, morality, and existence - despite its authority over the quantitative properties of the material world.
This limitation has profound implications for the relationship between science and religion. For a religious person, looking to science for proof of God is an exercise in futility.
If believers wish to establish solid intellectual foundations for their religious convictions, they must seek them outside of science. Science can provide knowledge about quantities, but it can offer nothing more.
Furthermore, a common criticism of philosophy in the modern era is that it is pointless, worthless, and ultimately unnecessary. It is often argued that philosophy contributes little of practical value and, more significantly, that it fails to provide definitive answers about the nature of reality. Critics contend that philosophy’s inquiries into existence, meaning, and truth are futile because they do not yield concrete, testable conclusions — unlike the empirical methods of science. This perception has led to the dismissal of philosophy as an abstract, unproductive discipline, detached from the practical concerns of everyday life.
If your criticism of philosophy is that it cannot provide definitive answers about the nature of reality, I would argue that the same criticism applies equally to science. While science is highly effective at describing the properties and behaviour of matter — such as electrons or quarks — it ultimately falls short of explaining what these entities fundamentally are. Science can tell us how an electron behaves, measure its charge, and predict its interactions, but it cannot tell us what an electron is at its core. Nor can science determine whether material reality is the only thing that exists.
Science is fundamentally limited to describing the quantitative aspects of reality. It excels at identifying patterns, measuring properties, and making predictions about how matter will behave under certain conditions. This predictive capacity has led to extraordinary technological advancements and has allowed us to manipulate the physical world to remarkable effect. However, it is a mistake to assume that science’s ability to describe and predict the behaviour of matter extends to answering deeper metaphysical questions about the nature of existence itself. Science remains silent on questions of meaning, purpose, and ultimate reality — the very questions that have occupied human thought for millennia.
Therefore, the common criticism that philosophy fails to provide definitive answers to fundamental questions about reality or existence is equally applicable to science. Just as philosophy cannot offer falsifiable answers to questions about the essence of reality, neither can science. Science’s strength lies in its capacity to describe and predict the behaviour of the material world, not in answering why it exists or what it ultimately means.
This distinction matters because life is not solely about understanding the properties of matter. Describing the charge of an electron or the structure of a molecule may satisfy scientific curiosity, but it does not address the deeper human need to grapple with questions of purpose, existence, and meaning. Surely, existence would feel hollow if the scope of human inquiry were limited to the physical characteristics of matter. If science were the only valid form of knowledge, then we would have to remain silent on questions of God, morality, consciousness, and meaning — yet these are the very questions that shape human life and society.
Ultimately, while science is a powerful tool for understanding the material world, it is not equipped to answer the deepest questions that define the human experience. Just as philosophy cannot resolve these questions through empirical evidence, neither can science. To criticize philosophy for failing to provide definitive answers to these questions while holding science exempt from the same standard is intellectually inconsistent.
A striking example of the subtle yet significant crossover between philosophy and science is reflected in the work of Stephen Hawking and other prominent scientists. In the opening segment of The Grand Design (2010), which he co-authored with Leonard Mlodinow, Hawking famously declares that "philosophy is dead" because science has supposedly replaced it. This assertion is not only deeply philosophical in nature, but it also reflects a troubling ignorance of philosophical inquiry among modern scientists and broader culture—a trend that I believe has contributed to our current societal, spiritual, and even existential crisis. The fact that Hawking's claim itself is a philosophical proposition exposes the inherent contradiction in his argument: he denies the value of philosophy while making a claim that rests entirely on philosophical reasoning.
One particularly revealing example of this philosophical sleight of hand occurs when Hawking discusses the existence of the laws of nature—especially the law of gravity. In The Grand Design, he argues that the existence of the law of gravity implies that the universe could have spontaneously created itself from nothing, without the need for a divine creator. Hawking writes, "Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing." He grounds this claim in principles from quantum mechanics and general relativity, proposing that the universe could have emerged from quantum fluctuations—a temporary shift in energy permitted by the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. In Hawking's framework, gravity acts as a form of negative energy that balances out the positive energy of matter, resulting in a net total energy of zero. Since the total energy of the universe could effectively be zero, it follows that the universe could create itself without violating the principle of energy conservation. He concludes that this process of spontaneous creation is "the reason there is something rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist."
The problem with Hawking's reasoning, however, is that it is infused with philosophical claims masquerading as scientific conclusions. The idea that the existence of the law of gravity implies that the universe had to create itself is not a scientific statement—it is a metaphysical claim. Science can describe how gravity operates within the framework of observable phenomena, but it cannot explain why gravity exists in the first place or why there is a universe rather than nothing. The question of why we exist or why the universe exists at all lies squarely within the domain of metaphysics and philosophy. To claim that science can resolve these questions is to conflate description with explanation and to confuse the quantitative with the ontological.
Moreover, the very concept of "nothing" as used by Hawking is not truly "nothing" in the philosophical sense. In quantum mechanics, "nothing" refers to a vacuum state where quantum fluctuations occur—but this is not true nothingness. Philosophically, "nothing" would mean the absence of anything—no laws, no fields, no potentiality. Since science is confined to the measurable and observable, it cannot speak to the metaphysical nature of nothingness. Therefore, Hawking’s assertion that science can explain why there is something rather than nothing is not only a philosophical overreach—it is a category mistake.
This is why Hawking’s dismissal of philosophy is self-defeating. His book is filled with philosophical claims disguised as scientific insights. When he shifts from describing the mechanics of the universe to making claims about existence and meaning, he steps beyond the limits of empirical science and into the realm of metaphysics. The fact that even one of the greatest physicists of our time could so easily blur the boundary between scientific description and philosophical explanation underscores the enduring relevance of philosophy. Science can tell us how the universe operates, but it cannot answer the deeper question of why it exists in the first place. That remains a philosophical question—and no amount of scientific discovery can bypass or eliminate the need for philosophical inquiry.
Furthermore, it’s important to note how, in Hawking's explanation of the law of gravity, he is not merely presenting a scientific description—he is making a metaphysical claim. He is assigning an ontology and an essence to the law of gravity, elevating it from an observable regularity to an explanatory cause. But the law of gravity is fundamentally a descriptive framework—it reflects consistent patterns in the behaviour of matter, nothing more. It does not possess causal power in itself.
A helpful analogy to clarify this distinction is the example of a snooker player hitting a snooker ball. Newton's second law of motion can describe and predict the trajectory of the ball once it has been struck—it can calculate the ball’s speed, direction, and eventual resting point with great accuracy. But Newton's law of motion cannot make the ball move; the ball requires an agent—a snooker player—to initiate the motion. The law merely describes the relationship between force, mass, and acceleration once the agent has acted. The law itself is powerless to cause the ball to move.
The same fundamental category error appears in Hawking’s reasoning. When Hawking claims that the law of gravity implies that the universe could have spontaneously created itself, he is tacitly ascribing causal power to the law itself—as though the law of gravity were an agent capable of initiating the existence of the universe. This is a profound metaphysical error. Laws of nature are descriptive, not generative. They describe how the universe behaves once it exists; they do not explain why the universe exists in the first place.
This leads to a broader philosophical and theological point: humans are naturally religious, metaphysical, and philosophical beings. Even when individuals reject traditional religious frameworks, they subconsciously replace them with alternative forms of metaphysical belief. Hawking, despite rejecting the idea of a personal God, effectively engages in a form of pantheism. His "God" is not the God of classical mono-theism, but rather the law of nature itself. He deifies the law of gravity and the material order, elevating them from descriptive principles to explanatory forces with creative power.
This tendency is not unique to Hawking—it is a common pattern among modern physicists and scientific materialists. Many prominent scientists outwardly reject the concept of God while simultaneously elevating the physical universe or the laws governing it to a status of ultimate explanatory authority. The notion that the universe could spontaneously create itself from "nothing" through the operation of physical laws is itself a theological position disguised as a scientific one.
This reveals an underlying truth about human nature: the impulse to seek ultimate explanations—whether through science, philosophy, or religion—is inescapable. The metaphysical need to account for existence does not disappear when one rejects classical religious frameworks; it simply reappears in disguised forms. In Hawking’s case, the law of gravity becomes the metaphysical foundation—the creative force that replaces the divine. His claim that the universe can and will create itself "because there is a law such as gravity" is not a scientific statement—it is a metaphysical assertion cloaked in scientific language.
Therefore, Hawking’s reasoning exposes not only a philosophical error but also a theological one. To suggest that laws of nature can explain the existence of the universe is to confuse description with causation, and in doing so, to elevate the natural order to the status of divinity. The problem with this move is not just that it’s philosophically unsound—it’s that it reflects the inescapable human tendency toward religious belief. Even when God is formally rejected, something else inevitably takes His place. The question is never whether one will worship, but what one will worship. Hawking’s God is not the God of Abraham—it is the law of gravity.
