For centuries, philosophers and theologians have spoken of God's "two books." Bonaventura called them the liber naturae and the liber scripturae. Francis Bacon, generations later, called them "the book of "God's Words" and the "the book of God's Works." Still later, natural theologians like William Paley maintained that the book of nature reflected the grace of God no less than the book of scripture.
Though scientists and scholars, when in a particularly poetic frame of mind, occasionally speak today of "two books," the vitality of the metaphor has greatly diminished. The notion that nature and scripture are both the product of a single divine author has been largely replaced, until recently at least, by the notion that science and religion are irremediably foreign and necessarily antagonistic.
This is a great shame. Taken seriously, the "two books" metaphor could have tremendous value today, more for the productive questions it raises, than for answers that it in itself might provide. Viewing nature and scripture as two books raises questions about how knowledge is (or ought to be) attained. To what extent, for example, might science be viewed as an exegetical pursuit? And if science is seen as a sort of exegesis, are there ways in which its methods can be augmented or improved by incorporating sophisticated exegetical techniques developed by theologians over the centuries?