This is a remarkable book indeed. Unlike many others, the volume under review takes readers right into the complexities of matters without simplifying or distorting shortcuts. The well‐crafted, cautious language makes the demanding subject matter accessible to nonexperts as does the systematic, very reflective unfolding of argument with its many cross‐references. Further, despite the tremendous amount of literature cited, information overload and unnecessary accumulation of data are avoided. This, surely, is the work of someone mastering the subject who is fully aware of the “tsunami of somewhat contradictory data” (180). All chapter headings end with a question mark (trailed by short, often disputatious quotations from various sources) to indicate that what follows exposes the reader to issues rather than to simple facts. “This is a ‘both – and’ book. Those who prefer confrontational ‘either – or’ discourse should look elsewhere” (14).

The author, Denis Alexander (born 1945), is a seasoned researcher in molecular biology with broad international experience. He is Founding Director (Emeritus) of the Faraday Institute for Science and Religion at Cambridge, UK, and a former editor of the journal Science and Christian Belief. He has published widely on interdisciplinary themes with special interest in the dialogue between science and religion, convinced that “it is often both academically and personally fruitful to engage in interdisciplinary projects” since participation therein “extends one's horizon beyond the walls of the laboratory” (301).

Genes, Determinism and God is based on the Gifford Lectures Denis Alexander delivered at St. Andrews University, Scotland, in December 2012. In this book he not only tackles the impact of genetic research on the concept of free will and personal responsibility, but also passionately addresses issues of distorted public opinion regarding genetic determinism articulated in phrases like nature and nurture, hereditarian and behaviorist, innate and learned, genes and environment, because “all forms of dichotomous thinking have been thoroughly subverted by recent biological findings” (1).

The book consists of twelve well‐proportioned and conveniently subdivided chapters (with few figures interspersed) preceded by a short preface (vii–viii) and the introduction (1–15), while chapter notes (303–09), the bibliography (311–55), and an extensive, detailed index (357–85) come at the end. The first two chapters (15–38 and 39–61) unfold the history of the ‘nature–nurture’ discourse from antiquity to the twenty‐first century, while Chapter 3 (62–86) reports about recent advances in biological research perceiving the genome as “embedded as but one component in a complex system in which each component contributes a critical functionality to the system as a whole” (64). Variable gene products like alternative splicing, RNA modifications, and posttranslational protein modifications, to mention but a few, contribute their share in the development of living systems, as do epigenetic regulations of gene expression, transposons, the microbiome, and the virome, that “huge storehouse of extra genetic diversity” (86). To communicate this dynamic complexity terminologically, the author suggests in Chapter 4 (87–108) the new acronym DICI (for Developmental Integrated Complementary Interactionism), demonstrating its explanatory power by taking human development as an example to show that “the dichotomous language of nature and nurture is completely inadequate as a way of understanding human identity” (107f). He then puts the soundness of DICI to the test by asking in Chapter 5, “Is the worm determined?” (109–33), lucidly demonstrating that “all … genetic differences are integrated with an emerging complex neuronal system that carries within it the tendencies that influence different behavioral traits” (132f).

Chapters 6–10 embark upon human behavioral genetics and its often misconceived, sometimes disastrous impact on explaining certain peculiarities of character. Chapter 6 (134–61) surveys quantitative behavioral genetics, a “field” which “is not going to help … with questions of free will and determinism” (161), and the focus of Chapter 7 (162–87) is on molecular behavioral genetics (including medical genetics). Here the author cautions his colleagues “to take great care over the pubic presentation of … results, particularly … to avoid the pitfall of extrapolating wildly from scanty data to broad societal conclusions,” reminding them repeatedly of “the mantra that ‘correlation does not entail causation’” (182). How behavioral genetics impact the interpretation of intelligence testing, religiosity, and political attitudes is described in Chapter 8 (188–212), how it is used to explain sexual orientation in Chapter 9 (213–232), and how genetic argumentation is used in deciding criminal liability in Chapter 10 (233–53). Assessing the various scenarios, the author bemoans in conclusion “the sheer naivety of all participants concerning the scope and application of genetics” (251) because they mistakenly assume that “increasing biological knowledge in the neurosciences and genetics necessarily undermines the notion of human responsibility” (253).

Chapter 11 (254–78) designs “a framework” that enables “a rational discussion” between biology and philosophy “concerning the extent to which genetic variation impinges on the human experience of choosing freely” (255). This is achieved by first alerting us to the “two language sets” of the “I” and “it” relationships to life and world, both not mutually exclusive but “essential and … part of our daily discourse” (257); and, second, by introducing yet one other neologism, DAME (for Developmental Dual‐Aspect Monistic Emergentism) to emphasize “that the contrast between minds and bodies is drawn in terms of attributes or properties,” not of substances, because “it is only by adopting a perspectival attitude towards the data (the I/it divide) that” one comes “to the conclusion that the single‐substance system displays two distinct properties, the mental and the physical” (263). Actually, “there is nothing in genetics that falsifies the reality of free will, even though variant genes can, on occasion, subvert the ‘I’ on whom free will depends” (278).

Chapter 12 is dedicated to the explicit discourse with theology, using the biblical notion of humankind made in the “image of God” as the interface. Such a conversation is deemed possible—and necessary, because “[n]ever before have the findings of science regarding the human person seemed so compatible with a Christian understanding of human personhood”—and never before has this understanding been “so relevant to the bioethical challenges arising from advances in genetics” (286). Perceiving humans as made in the image of God crucially impacts the way humans act. It does not provide a “‘magic wand’ solution to the tricky ethical dilemmas” occurring from insights gained in molecular biology, but it does “as a general framework … often help nudge the conclusions in one direction more than another” and provides “an absolute barrier” when “really horrific suggestions are made,” favoring genocide or infanticide, for instance (298). The author thus ends in emphasizing responsible exercise of free will by both the research community and the general public when dealing with bioethical issues.

No doubt, this book is a demanding read. Being nonapologetic and devoid of polemics it represents the science–religion discourse at its best. It is well suited to serve as the reference standard for any like undertaking.