If one reads a very dull book closely, it becomes possible to say something interesting about it. Religion and science are rich subjects, and to make them dull is itself of interest. That it could be done by Stephen Jay Gould, who previously has written a number of excellent books, is also something to puzzle over. His newest book suggests an end to the historical clashes between science and religion.

The basis of Gould's proposal comes in the form of a coined acronym, NOMA, standing for "non-overlapping magisteria." Science and religion, he claims, exist in different domains of discourse, different "magisteria."

"Magisterium is, admittedly, a four-bit word," Gould writes, "but I find the term so beautifully appropriate for the central concept of this book that I venture to impose this novelty upon the vocabulary of many readers. . . . [the] magisterium of science covers the empirical realm: what is the universe made of (fact) and why does it work this way (theory). The magisterium of religion extends over questions of ultimate meaning and moral value. These two magisteria do not overlap . . ."

Gould purports to solve the clash between religion and science by pointing out that one is subject to faith and the other to testing. Therefore, he says, the endless arguments between them should end. It is rather like a teenager announcing that we need only all love each other for the world to be a better place. It may be true, but it is unlikely to rivet our attention. What is more interesting is the history of the argument itself. Gould uses various examples to explore this, but particularly the theory of evolution and the story of Columbus and the "flat earth."

According to Gould, "The myth of Columbus and the flat earth supports NOMA by the negative strategy of showing how the opposite model of warfare between science and religion often invents battles that never occurred, but arise only as forced inferences from the fictional model." In other words, the clash between religion and science is frequently artificially constructed to serve political ends.

Gould makes some effort to distinguish between religious feeling and organized religion, a differentiation that has excited the passions of many fine writers before him. Mark Twain writes about it in A Connecticut Yankee in the Court of King Arthur and Oscar Wilde in De Profundis. Both, like Gould, wrote to express their angry dismay and puzzlement at the human impulses that ossify and pervert individual religious feelings into authoritarian political organizations. With his proven knack for making long-dead figures come to life in prose, Gould could surely have written a superb book pursuing this theme through the history of science. He is exceptionally qualified to explore its flip side, the perversion of the mental technique of "science" into a political organization. But, sadly, he does little more than plunder from his back catalog for illustrations, scattering them through the book rather than basing the book upon them.

Referring to himself frequently, Gould pursues his argument in harsh and clanging tones, tones that fit badly with his pronouncements that what he says is simple, relevant, and revolutionary. His brash and repetitive protestations must weary those inclined to believe him and fail to sway those who disagree. Persuasion in cultural matters is based on the evocativeness of one's argument. Bleating shrilly does not win people over. Gould speaks with the grandiosity of a teenager caught up with his own cleverness. His audience is unmistakably himself. As a result, the tone of the book is often patronizing and pompous.

The term NOMA becomes reminiscent of Richard Dawkins' word "meme" as a similarly unnecessary coining to represent a straightforward idea. Here's an example no worse than any other, but typical of Gould's style:

NOMA is no wimpish, wallpapering, superficial device, acting as a mere diplomatic fiction and smoke screen to make life more convenient by compromise in a world of diverse and contradictory patterns. NOMA is a proper and principled solution based on sound philosophy to an issue of great historical weight. NOMA is tough minded. NOMA forces dialogue and respectful discourse about different primary commitments. . . . Thus, NOMA works as a taskmaker, not an enabler and NOMA therefore cannot expect to sweep toward victorious consensus amid universal smiles, and shouts of hosanna from both sides. But NOMA's success can only be liberating and expansive for all seekers of wisdom.

One gets fed up with NOMA.

Gould writes decently about the natural world having no intrinsic moral lessons to teach us. The same applies to his comments on the passivity, evil, and error that result from believing otherwise (Germanic racial superiority in both world wars, for example). There is an enjoyable sub-Orwellian analysis of the news coverage of a Berkeley conference on science and medicine in which he divides newspaper reports according to their brand of mental subterfuge ("woolly metaphor misportrayed as decisive content," "clutching at straws based on superficial similarity," "plain, old-fashioned illogic.") One remembers during these sections just how good a writer Gould has been in the past, and forgives him all the less for his deterioration.

The frequent mixed metaphors and the colloquialisms are vulgar. Not because they fail to sound like the traditional language of books on science and religion and philosophy, but because they are cheap. Gould uses "'Nuff said" and "I'd be pissed off" to add a fake gloss of plain talk in the same way students needlessly use long words to make essays sound academic. In both cases, the distaste of the reader results from the writer's dishonesty in attempting, by bluff, to cover up an essential thoughtlessness.

Stephen Jay Gould's Rocks of Ages is a book to beware of. Both the title and the subtitle, Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life, suggest a need to be on one's guard against pretension and pomposity.

To write on the conflict between religion and science in the belief that it can all be sorted out in a straightforward and simple manner is unavoidably to write rubbish. The hallmark of rubbish in the academies (as it is among teenagers) is grandiosity, and Gould has it in abundance. It makes one long to get out his older books, to confirm that they were as good as one remembers and to remind oneself that they were thoughtful, well-written antidotes to the kind of populist rubbish he has now come to write. The change is a shame and a curious one. Gould used to produce riveting short essays and well written longer books. How is it then that his recent work (say, from the 1997 book Full House onward) has had the smack of someone writing at speed, almost in a stream-of-consciousness manner, with very little thoughtfulness or revision? There is no doubt his editors are partly to blame for this, but, in the end, the responsibility is his own. Rocks of Ages is a book that would be instantly forgettable were it written by a newcomer. Written by Gould, who was once such a joy to read, it is a real disappointment.