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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 assume a truce or even more, they pursue partnership: (5) the Two Books; (6) the Two Languages (separation; independence); (7) ethical alliance; (8) dialogue leading to creative mutual interaction; (9) naturalism; and (10) theology of nature.