For those still reading Ocellated, sorry for the lack of blogging goodness lately. Grad school has officially consumed my life, and I love it.

This week shows absolutely no signs of letting up either. A test today (bird orders of the world - which I’ll ace) and one tomorrow (advanced genetics — I’ll be beaten and disfigured to the point of being barely recognizable) will keep me snowed under. I also leave for a weekend in the Davis Mountains this Friday! I haven’t been back since I left this summer from thesis research.

What’s really been sucking up my time though is the Wednesday bible class lessons I’ve been doing over evolution. When I’m not working on school or other business jobs I have on the side, I’ve been working on those lessons.

Last week (the second lesson) was large scale evolutionary change. Cool things like the reptile-mammal transition, theropod dinosaur - bird transition, biogeography, adaptive radiations, vestigial traits, and the 2000 pound elephant in the room all along, human evolution. The audience (with a conservative evangelical background) did quite well, and took in stride human chromosome number 2 being the combination (fusion) of chimpanzee chromosomes 12 and 13. Indeed you can read a little about that evidence yourself here.

I have been spending much of the week since that lesson though struggling with a desire to feel merciful and forgiving, and a sense of righteous indignation. I expected some people to be upset. I mentally prepared myself for it and was (and am) fully determined to be polite and gracious in my conversations that ensue.

What’s frustrated me so was a conversation that I overhead as I made a beeline to the kitchen to grab liquid refreshment to quench the cracked and burning surface that was my throat after an extended period of talking with no breaks. One person in the class was talking to another and “refuting” everything they’d just seen. I completely stayed out of the conversation. But as I thought about it, what troubled me so was that this person was wasting an opportunity. At the front of the room, two biology grad students who’d just taught the class, both Christians, were available to answer questions. But instead of taking the opportunity to ask further questions and reflect on what they’d just heard, this person instead cornered someone to gripe about the class.

The irony is ripe here. The very creation story some cling as having to be literal teaches much about the dangers of pride and the virtues of humility. Yet pride and a lack of humility rear their ugly head when the evolution / creation issue gets discussed.

Oh well. That’s why I’m teaching the class. And at least for some people, I have little doubt they’ll find it worthy of their time and consideration.

… as the famous line from Monty Python goes.

Though I’ve recently felt close. I survived a test on Monday, with another one this afternoon.

In addition, tonight I start a 5 week series in the university class at church on the evolution / religion issue, and I’ve been spending a lot of time getting that prepared.

Here’s how the schedule looks to be shaping up.

• Week 1 — What is Science (briefly), natural selection, sexual selection.
• Week 2 — Large scale evolutionary change, the fossil record, genetics, biogeography, human evolution.
• Week 3 — early Genesis, nature of science, nature of religion, history of the church’s response to the theory of evolution.
• Week 4 — Christian frameworks for interfacing with science and religion — youth earth creationists, old earth creationists, intelligent design creationists, and evolutionary creationists.
• Week 5 — discussion. You can bet I’ll come prepared with plenty of open-ended questions in case the audience needs some prompting.

Not to leave you without something to look at though, I’ve put up some pictures of an outing a couple of weeks ago to a local ranch, where my university’s biology department hosts an annual Bioblitz, identifying every species regardless of taxa they possibly can.

I managed to get one picture in particular that I just really like.

Another highlight of the weekend was this Hoary Bat, a species I had previously only seen in pictures. They are arguably the most beautiful of bats found in the U.S.

More from me if I survive today.

My wife is a second grade teacher. The other day, she was teaching a cause and effect lesson to the little ones. You flip the light switch and what happens? They all grasped that example.

But why is there snow on the top of the mountain? They were baffled, and a hush fell over the class. Finally one little boy spoke up. “God put it there.” My wife responded with something along the lines of “That may be true, but we don’t study God in school” and then continued to explain cause (high elevation) and effect (snow doesn’t melt).

The little kid looked at her like she’d run over his puppy.

Amazing isn’t it? Here’s a second grader who deftly asks about a theology of nature. True, the phrase theology of nature won’t be in his vocabulary for many years to come, but he’s hit upon the subject nonetheless. And he’s quite unhappy that his answer — God did it — wasn’t accepted. I can only speculate that it’s an answer that’s worked very well for him in his prior experiences with adults.

I don’t know the little boy, his parents, or the family’s religious background. But it seems that the kid has already learned the false dichotomy. Either God put snow on the mountain, or He didn’t. Explain the snow by other means, and you’re attacking his belief system.

I find it sad but interesting because it seems to parallel the thinking of many adult Christians. They resist natural explanations for natural things because to them, it removes any room for God. (I’ve commented before on the irony that Creationists are in effect agreeing with atheists on this matter).

What would happen if we lived in a world where the little boy learned both at home and in his culture that the two beliefs do not have to be contradictory? That mountains, snow, and high elevation can yield their own secrets, but that one can, if one wishes, believe in a deeper underlying meaning to the world and people around us.

It seems to me that by the time our children added theology of nature to their vocabularies, they would be well on their way to having one.

Sorry folks. Things have been a little crazy lately. School started back up this week, and I’ve recently come across a plethora of web-related jobs. The will to post was sucked away.

The Personal

But I’m back today with some really exciting news. (Well, for us at least). My wife’s been trying to get a job as an elementary teacher. It hasn’t exactly been an easy road. Lots of candidates and few positions. Nonetheless, she terribly impressed some people in the school district last semester during her student teaching, and had a handful of interviews during the summer. Nuttin’ happened. So she took a job as a teacher’s aide. (They pay Chinese workers in an iPod factory more). As school started, it was just a matter of wait and see.

A few days ago, she learned that the school had two second graders too many. She had to wait a couple of days to make sure no one withdrew, and has now been offered the job. Much rejoicing has been had in our household, and partying into the late hours of the night1.

The Provocative

I’m boring you… It’s not that you don’t care, but you’ve got your own lives and jobs to worry about. So let’s talk about something controversial. Was this the “Hand of God“? It’s a question that I’ve had on my mind for years. How does God work? I don’t think there’s one answer, and so I’ll point out up front that undoubtedly many folks have different ideas on the subject. I’m not claiming to have the answer. Still, with my view perhaps in the minority, I think it fair to throw it out in the hopes that it might be more widely discussed.

Before asking if God gave my wife her job, let me share another story on how some claim to see God at work. We have some friends2, who shared a story about a couple on their honeymoon. They arrived at one of their hotels mid way through the week, only to discover that the place had gone out of business months earlier. Making matters worse, one of those ubiquitous conventions of some type or another was in town, and seemingly every place around was booked solid. Magically, a really nice place on the beach at a good price fell into their lap. “It was totally a God thing” my friend explained.

Really? A God thing?

It’s certainly not unusual for a Christian to hold this view. My experience is that in practice, the honeymoon example is getting far out on a thin limb. I imagine there are lots of Christian’s who would find that statement troubling. It’s akin to the God who got me a sweet parking space today at school. (And God, if you work that way, please forgive me and ignore what I say. I could really use that parking space at school. Getting one’s a nightmare!)

But while Christians gladly accept chance for trivial occurrences, we tend to invoke God for the big things. Like getting that first real job or meeting one’s spouse.

I do not. Largely because I find chance comforting. If God gets the honeymooner’s a hotel, why not do something for those in Asia when the Tsunami came ashore. Let’s not forget, there were a handful of honeymooners when it hit. Rhetorically I ask, “Does God love some honeymooner’s more than others?” Is God just if He intervenes in the world to make sure somebody gets a hotel room or a job, and then chooses to do nothing as massive catastrophes approach?

For what it’s worth, my view of God at work in this world goes something like this. Through his spirit, he has the power to transform lives. And I believe God is at work largely through the interactions of people, particularly (but not necessarily limited to) His people.

The Example

So here’s how I see my wife’s case. During her student teaching, she impressed a principle and an influential teacher. Those interactions — that she was known and liked — were what got her the job. (People, with free will, hired her). But as a matter of faith, I believe God can be very present and active in those interactions. (I say can be because I also believe we have the ability to shoot ourselves in the foot and close God out).

So when no job came, and she took the job as a teacher’s aide, God was still present. She had every opportunity to do wonderful things for others as an aide. At the last minute a real job came through. Her opportunities changed with the job, but remain nonetheless.

Do you see what I’m saying? For the believer, how do we say that God gave us this job? Could my wife not have served God as a teacher’s aide? As a secretary? It seems to me that in large part, she wants to be a teacher because she feels that her gifts lie in that area.

The Scripture

Certainly there’s scriptural precedence Christians viewing things that come their way as being the result of God. Right off my head I’m thinking of James 1:17:

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

I really don’t think you have to read it that way though. If you read the chapter for its context (always a good idea) it seems obvious enough that this statement is in stark contrast to the temptation of evil. Here’s a little more of the context from James 1:

When tempted, no one should say, “God is tempting me.” For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; but each one is tempted when, by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.

Don’t be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all he created.

The point is that a honeymooning couple is a good thing, regardless of whether they have some ups or downs with a hotel room on the trip. So is my wife’s new job as a teacher. You can read this passage as speaking to the root of good and evil — not that each and every specific “good thing” that happens is part of a predestined plan by God.

The Conclusion

I hope I’ve been gentle enough with this topic. I stated it at the beginning, and I’ll state it at the end. My view is not the only view, and frankly it’s a little more nuanced than I could convey, even in a lengthy post like this. But I do hope that Christians will be careful, and put a little more thought into the implications on how they attribute the good things in their life to a higher power.

Most of the time that I speak of intelligent design, Dembski, or his blog Uncommon Descent I’m highly critical. There’s lots not to like. But several days ago he posted a picture that was really quite nice — a “fire rainbow”.

fire rainbow over Idaho — click for larger picture

Once I stopped looking at the pretty picture and read the content, the feeling of appreciation quickly dissipated though. Dembski writes:

It’s the gratuitousness of such beaty that leads me to rebel against materialism.

Science, as a way of knowing, seeks materialistic explanations. That is, it seeks to explain the natural world solely by seeking natural explanations. This is what Dembski is referring to as materialism.

Now for what it’s worth, I (and probably all Christians) reject absolute materialism. That is to say that science is the only way of knowing something, that matter and nature are all there are, and that humans are simply an accidental byproduct.

But, is it a fair criticism to condemn science for seeking materialistic explanations? Should Christians (or for that matter others) be demanding that we seek more than just natural explanations for what we study? In one word — NO!

Let’s take the case of the fire rainbow. Snopes.com reports the precise conditions under which they form.

In general, a circumhorizontal arc (or “fire rainbow”) appears when the sun is high in the sky (i.e., higher than 58° above the horizon), and its light passes through diaphanous, high-altitude cirrus clouds made up of hexagonal plate crystals. Sunlight entering the crystals’ vertical side faces and leaving through their bottom faces is refracted (as through a prism) and separated into an array of visible colors. When the plate crystals in cirrus clouds are aligned optimally (i.e., with their faces parallel to the ground), the resulting display is a brilliant spectrum of colors reminiscent of a rainbow.

Far from being a mystery or a miracle, we know exactly how and under what conditions “fire rainbows” form. So, because this picture is beautiful, do I need to reject the naturalistic explanation that explains it? Better yet, for those of you with children, I’ll assume you find them beautiful too. Do you need to reject the theory of fertilization in order to be a good ChristianTM?

Clearly not. A Christian need not reject natural explanations for the natural world. Indeed it is the spectacular success of natural explanations that makes them so convincing. All a Christian must do is understand the place of natural explanations — that they explain the natural, observable world. Are there people who base their absolute materialism on naturalistic materialism? Yeah, sure. Are Christians free to disagree? Yeah, sure.

Dembski, like always, is creating a false conflict. It is the gravest of mistakes to lay the foundation of one’s faith on the belief that science can never explain something. I don’t care if it’s a fire rainbow, embryonic development, or even the origins of life. We can safely say that we live in a world governed by the laws of nature. Christians simply accept that God is the originator and sustainer of such laws.

A few days later though, it gets even more bizarre though in this post of predictions titled “If naturalistic materialism is true…“. I’m going to quote the first bit, and I’d like you to read it and carefully think about its implications.

If naturalistic materialism is true:

1. We are nothing but the sum of our parts. Our bodies are wholly explicable in terms of nature, and there is no aspect of our bodies that cannot be described in purely naturalistic terms, nor any means of describing ourselves other than naturalistic ones. Human beings are simply organic beings and nothing more, composed of organs which are composed of cells which are composed of molecules which are composed of atoms which are composed of sub-atomic particles (and, if string theory is valid, the particles are composed of various strings of energy), and that’s it. We are thus material beings and not spiritual ones. We have no souls. Consciousness is therefore nothing but a curious offshoot of biochemistry, a higher reasoning function of our brains that has arisen from the natural advantage afforded to us by both the size of the human brain and its level of complexity. It is NOT evidence that Man is a creature imago dei, but rather evidence of the power by which natural selection operating in tandem with random genetic mutation can operate.

THEREFORE, I PREDICT that scientists will one day construct a device capable of transporting a human body across vast regions of space–a device comparable to the “teleporter” as portrayed in the “Star Trek” TV series. It will disassemble a living human body at a molecular or sub-molecular level, transport those small bits of living organic material at high speed across great distance, and reassemble them to their original macroscopic configuration, with no ill effects to the body it has transported.

IF, HOWEVER, after several hundred years of scientific advance no such a device will have been formulated, this fact should be taken as an indication that naturalistic materialism is not true.

Consider what they’re really saying. The complexity involved in this “Star Trek” transportation device would be more than immense. It just might be impossible. For example, one source I came across suggested that a 150 pound person would contain ~7×1027 atoms. Simply put, that’s 7,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 atoms. (Don’t ask me how to say that number). Furthermore, 99% of them are carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen. Thus, taking the number of electrons that each of those elements have and doing a little math, 99% of the body’s atoms contain ~2.3×1028 electrons.

Why did I bore you with the numbers? Simply put, if you know anything about quantum mechanics, then you’d know that every single one of these atoms and electrons would have to be “transported”, with all of their quantum properties intact. From what I understand of quantum mechanics (not much) — we can only deal with these properties statistically and in fact, if we’re right, we’ll never be able to predict exactly how an electron (or any of the other subatomic particles) behave.

Yet Dembski’s post would have us believe that this is a reasonable test of science’s validity. Now Intelligent design makes no predictions and has generated no research — despite vociferous claims to the contrary from prominent ID supporters. Thus the incredible irony in using the word predictions has not escaped the attention of this writer. Instead of falsifiable predictions highlighting the utility and explanatory power of intelligent design, we get bold “predictions” about what science will or will not be able to do several hundred years from now. If science does not live up to the expectations outlined in Dembski’s post, then it is found to be wanting, and presumably intelligent design wins by default.

Follow the logic? I didn’t think so.

The rest of the post is just as amusing: Claims such as

• We should find other life within the universe — The universe is something like 150 billion light years wide. That means that the vast majority of the universe may lie well outside our ability to detect life. That said, life may well exist. Who knows if or when we’ll find it. What we don’t know about other planets doesn’t change what we do know about our own.
• We should observe speciation — here the writer is simply ignorant, as we have every reason to believe we have.
• If Darwin was right, then morality is purely subjective — Crap! I’d better go cheat on my wife and have sex with animals. If I want to, why wouldn’t I? Here’s the most vile claim in the book and one that I will fight my whole life against. One can be a “Darwinian” and a Christian. I’m hardly the only one.

These two posts represent the age old battle. Pitting science and religion against each other and creating false dichotomies which insult a person’s intelligence, designed to steer them away from science by playing to their fears and prejudices. To borrow Dembski’s word, it’s the gratuitousness of such criticism that angers me.

Jason Rosenhouse over at EvolutionBlog recently commented on an article by Michael Ruse about religion and evolution. That article was fine — I agree with Ruse’s point, but Rosenhouse misses the mark when it comes to religion.

For example, he writes

I agree with what Ruse is saying here, and I especially like that last paragraph. But I also think the fundamentalists have a point in protesting the willingness of people like Ruse to interpret the Bible metaphorically. The creation story in Genesis sure reads like history. There’s nothing in the text itself to suggest that it is anything but a description of actual historical events.

Nothing to suggest otherwise? How about two creation stories, clearly contradictory with each other. The second begins in Genesis 2:4 with Adam all alone, before the rest of creation and without Eve (this if read even close to literally). Yet we’ve just been told they were both made on the same day, at the end of a long process of creation. Now fundamentalists reconile this by simply claiming that the second story of creation is simply a “close up” of day seven in the first, with the creation of Adam and Eve. This simply isn’t tenable, and I’ll refer you to an old testament professor and “Why’s [He’s] Not a Creationist” for a good explanation of the whole thing.

And how about the rhythmic pattern of creation? The same pattern each day (and it was good), culminating in a day of rest… I’m no scholar or revolutionary for recognizing that this is poetic, even using devices of literature, rather than a literal history.

Jason continues:

To many Christians, Ruse’s suggestion seems like substituting fallible human judgments for the holy word of God. After all, why would God present his Word in a form so vague and malleable that it must be reinterpreted in the light of every new scientific discovery to come down the line? And if you concede that the Bible is routinely wrong in scientific matters (as all sensible people should concede), then why does it retain any worth when addressing moral or historical questions? If the merits of its empirical statements must be assessed on the basis of outside sources of knowledge, why shouldn’t we also assess it’s moral claims on the basis of non-Biblical sources? Either the Bible is the holy and inerrant word of God, or it is an ancient document written by people with no more claim to authority than any other document that has survived from that time. It’s hard to find a logically consistent middle ground.

Here’s a strawman. I can say the same thing about other types of literature. “And if you concede that Shakespeare is routinely wrong in scientific matters (as all sensible people should concede)…” So who’s wrong? Shakespeare or the way I’m trying to read Shakespeare? The problem is the same as it’s always been. Some (okay, many) Christians look to the Bible and attempt to derive answers for all kinds of scientific questions from the text. Jason is all too happy to accept that view of the Bible and club them over the head for it.

I don’t have a problem that the Bible is “routinely wrong in scientific matters.” I think it’s a gross error to hold ancient writers accountable for not saying something they were never trying to say in the first place. (Meaning that the intent or purpose of the writers has never been the same as our modern pursuit of science). Jason seems to think that the good book can’t be the holy word of God and an ancient document with the types of errancy common to ancient documents, both at the same time. My view of inspiration (and regardless if we’re in the minority — many other Christians as well), is not that God came down and literally penned the letters, or manipulatively controlled the person who did, but rather speaks to us through this ancient literature.

As far as judging the Bible on it’s moral claims, all I can say is that this is precisely why I’m a Christian. Perhaps the only reason. Jesus raised from the dead? Ehhh, doesn’t do much for me. I frankly find it hard to believe — that is until I put the gospel to the test. I believe that the gospel has the power to transform lives. Especially broken, really screwed up lives. (Which I believe to be all of us, in one area or another). This foundation — that I’ve struggled to follow the moral claims of the Bible and found them to be surprisingly powerful — is the “proof” I base my belief on.

Not only do I understand that this “proof” is simply unacceptable to many, I respect their freedom to make this decision. But I’m always disappointed when the same polite respect is not returned — thus my quibble with Jason’s post. It was a far cry from his excellent recent article on the state of intelligent design research, a topic on which I’m happy to agree whole-heartedly.

No doubt you’ve heard. The senate passed the bill to allow for expanded federal funding of embryonic stem cell research and Bush vetoed it, the first such veto of his presidency.

I’m hot. Not even because of people’s positions but rather the hypocrisy I see permeating this issue. The issue is what to do with thousands (more than 400,000 actually) fertilized eggs that sit in frozen storage around the county, left over from in vitro fertilization (which produces many more fertilized eggs than are used in the women seeking to get pregnant). The bill would have allowed for federal funding towards research using stem cells from these fertilized eggs. Some view this as tantamount to murder.

The irony is that if someone really feels that way, then in vitro fertilization is, to put it most bluntly, killing a handful of lives to create one or two. Yet I’ve never heard the outraged screams against in vitro fertilization that we’ve heard these last few days over embryonic stem cells.

Christians simply cannot have it both ways. You cannot say that abortion or stem cell research is morally wrong, and then turn around the moment you can’t have children and say, “Thank God for in vitro fertilization!” as you run off to the clinic creating excess embryos, and then blissfully enjoy the new family without ever reflecting on how you got it. If people really believe that life starts at the moment of conception, they cannot simply make exceptions when it’s convenient for them.

What defies belief to me is Bush’s 2001 “compromise” over federal funding of stem cell research, where he decided to allow federal funding for existing stem cell lines, justifying the position as limiting research only to the cases “where the decision on life and death has already been made.” I’m sorry Mr. President. The decision on “life and death” (in his words) has already been made. There’s over 400,000 embryos waiting to be thrown in the trash, and apparently that’s a better option that using them with the aim of curing disease.

I do not wish to villify people that hold pro-life convictions. However, particularly in the stem cell debate, I think we’ve gotten terribly close to the Catholic idea that even birth control is sinful (a position I’m strongly opposed to). I’m sorry, I do thank God every day for birth control, and actively pray that it continues to be effective. If though one does not accept that there is a difference between a small clump of cells with the potential for life and a baby, then one must be consistent in that belief.

Yes, I obviously support embryonic stem cell research. But I’d like to think I’m humble enough to recognize that my opinion is not the only opinion. I can respect, though I disagree with, someone who holds the conviction that life begins at conception. It’s hard to respect that position however when it becomes so clearly contradictory.

Purchase at Amazon

Just before I came back from thesis work, I finished up Finding Darwin’s God, by Ken Miller. Miller is a biochemist at Brown University who’s coauthored the Prentice Hall biology textbook used by roughly a third of U.S. high school and college students. He’s also a tireless defender of science education and widely gives talks and interviews on the subject. For example, his testimony in the Kitzmiller v Dover trial on intelligent design last year was particularly devastating to the defense. As such, he’s one of the most prominent Christians in the field of biology.

Why do science?

Early in the book, Miller asks the question - Why do science and why trust it? How can we know that the methods we use to study the solar system, or more to the point of his book — the Earth’s past — are trustworthy?

He gives a very exciting example. In the early 1800’s, scientists noticed that the sun’s visible spectrum included a series of black bars or gaps at precise locations within the spectrum. These became known as Fraunhofer lines, after the German physicist Joseph von Fraunhofer.

Fraunhofer lines from a solar spectrum

Scientists soon discovered that the lines corresponded with the presence of certain chemical elements. So for example, a scientist in the lab could produce dark lines at a precise location (wavelength) within a visible spectrum for a given element — say sodium. Seeing that these same lines existed for the same location within the solar spectrum, scientists deduced that sodium must be present in the sun. (And to be more precise, for many elements it’s a series of lines, not just one).

Quickly, in the lab, element after element was found to correspond to specific Fraunhofer lines in the sun’s solar spectrum, and we amassed a list of what the sun’s made of, though no one’s ever been to the sun, and indeed, no one will be taking a sample anytime soon.

The only problem was that a pesky line was found at 587.5 nanometers (in the yellow region of the spectrum) that nobody could reproduce in the laboratory. Scientists realized that this line was caused by element not yet discovered on earth — an element they named helium (from the Greek word “helios” meaning “sun“).

And thus helium was discovered in the sun some 30 years before it was found on earth, though the sun is 93 million miles away. (And naturally once discovered on earth, Helium gives a Fraunhofer line at the expected location of 587.5 nanometers in a visible spectrum).

Miller’s hope, with examples such as these, are that people will see the justification for the assumptions of science — that the laws of nature are consistent and apply universally. That Fraunhofer line at 587.5 nanometers in the sun could be caused by solar elves having a barbeque instead of helium. But it just happens to have been observed on earth 30 years later with seemingly the same properties, just like the rest of the elements.

On Christian objections to evolution

Miller then begins to go through the various types of Christian objections to evolutionary theory. He groups them roughly into young earth creationism, old earth creationism, and intelligent design. He analyzes each and, not surprisingly, finds their arguments to have weak or no scientific basis. Miller spends some time discussing the biochemical objections to evolution (as put forth by Michael Behe), since Miller himself is a biochemist. Honestly this part can be a little tedious. If one is interested in these debates, the information is freely available through the internet, and for someone with a background in science, there’s a lot of familiar information to review. Refreshingly though, Miller’s treats these opponents with respect, recognizing that they share a Christian faith and that some of them (though perhaps not all) honestly represent their beliefs.

Besides looking at the science of creationism however, Miller examines the theological implications of these Christian worldviews. Here, my enjoyment of the book was immense, as I’ve come to many of the same conclusions on how I relate my understanding of science (and evolutionary biology in particular) to my Christian faith.

When it comes to being a Christian scientist, Miller argues for the most fundamental and obvious of understandings — that we can trust what we see in the natural world around us (like Fraunhofer lines). What this means is that light coming from distant stars in the universe is a trustworthy record of our universe’s past and bones in the ground amid layers of rock are a trustworthy record of the earth’s history. This is in opposition to young earth creationists like Henry Morris who have advocated merely an appearance of age. They admit that the evidence looks a certain way, but simply hold that God made it look that way at the moment of creation. The theological implications with this view of God are enormous, as Miller points out. This view makes God out to be a liar (Miller’s word is charlatan) where everything we see around us is at its core a fraud. As I’ve been saying, why not believe that the universe is 5 minutes old, and that our memories (like light from distant stars and bones in the ground) were given to us at the moment of creation.

Throughout the book when examining these objections to evolutionary biology, Miller points out a ripe irony — that some Christians feel as though they can find God by showing science’s failure to explain some area of the natural world. If science can’t explain it, then God must have done it! Essentially, this view seems to hold that God exists only in our ignorance. When we discover how something works scientifically, God is now removed from the equation. This is a game that atheists are happy to play. In effect, they agree wholeheartedly with these Christians. Science or God but not both. I have long been saying that as Christians, if we truly believe that God’s real, we have absolutely nothing to fear from science. Science can only illuminate our understandings, bringing us closer to God.

Thus the first two hundred pages establish that evolution is a powerful scientific theory with broad support across the various subdisciplines of biology and that the objections of from its critics are scientifically baseless and their worldviews ill-founded.

Scientists who object to religion

Miller does not limit his criticism solely to creationists however. He also spends some time discussing the more forceful pronouncements of atheism done in the name of evolutionary biology. Folks like Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennet. I think many readers will appreciate this discussion simply because Miller criticizes both sides for using God or science unfairly, as a weapon to beat their opponents rather than a search for the truth. Certainly Miller is not saying that the only outcome of being a scientist should be belief in God. (I agree with him — we’ll get into free will later.) Rather, he’s saying that those who’ve come to the conclusion that God does not exist cannot support that claim purely from science. Properly done, science really is neutral to the question of God’s existence.

Where evolution and God meet

So how is evolution consistent with God’s power? Miller argues for the idea of free will. Not only did God extend free will to humanity, but indeed he extended free will to all of creation. At the core, his argument is that we can only have a meaningful relationship with God if that relationship is truly our choice. I like this analogy, as we can apply it to our own relationships. If my wife had no other choice than to love me, her love really wouldn’t be worth much. It’s the fact that she gives her love freely, though at any moment she could choose to withdraw it, that makes my relationship with her so valuable.

In the same way, Miller argues that God does not manipulate his creation. Neither humans who can choose to reject him, nor his creation which in it’s freedom produces the beauty we see around us. Miller imagines God’s desire to have a relationship with his creation as the ultimate goal, not bipedal primates named Homo sapiens. That is to say what we looked like and when we arrived was not God’s ultimate concern. Now this is undoubtedly a hard pill to swallow for some Christians who believe that God had humanity in mind from the beginning. But I would encourage anyone to read the book, because whether you agree with Miller or not, his view is very thought provoking, and is certainly consistent with the idea of an active God working our lives.

Miller further supports the idea of free will by comparing it with naturalistic determinism. Speaking on the implications of quantum theory, he suggests that nature itself really is indeterminate. As anybody with an undergrad degree in science does, I understand what quantum theory is. It’s that unfathomably mathematical theory nobody understands which describes the really small. If it’s right, then it means that at nature’s core, things do not march along inevitably on a fixed path. It’s not simply that we need to learn more or take better measurements. But rather that we truly can’t know.

For me personally, one of the most comforting aspects of understanding God to work through natural laws (like evolution) is a new found view of suffering. The God who creates our genetic code, base by base, and then throws in horrible genetic diseases is a sadist. The God who interrupts the laws of nature when it suits him but doesn’t lift a finger to relieve the pain from an approaching Tsunami is a tyrant. The God who places free will of the utmost importance on the other hand, is a God that values the authenticity and freedom of all that he’s made. He values it so much, that he places it above the hardships that come along with it. This is Miller’s point, or perhaps more precisely, what I took from it.

While the book’s not likely to solve the split in American life between evolution and religion (a wedge that’s been driven deep for over a century), it does offer an alternative to the wretched and mutually exclusive dichotomy of science or God. For a lot of people it’s both, and it’s a wonderful view of the world indeed.

Update: After publishing this review, I realized I had left something out. You can find the last chapter of Finding Darwin’s God online. It will give you an idea of what the book is like, and is well worth a read. I originally read this material months before reading the book, and didn’t find it to diminish my enjoyment of the book in any way. I think you’ll agree.

A recent post over at the Panda’s Thumb by Mark Isaak addressed The Larger Issue of Bad Religion. The Panda’s Thumb is a rowdy kind of place, and this post was no exception, spawning 324 comments (at the time I write this) since it was published.

Anticipating the backlash from a topic such as this, the author tries to narrow the definition of what bad religion is.

Everyone has different ideas about what is good in a religion, so it might seem that defining bad religion would be impossibly contentious. But there is one simple criterion which gets to the heart of most religion-related problems and which must be embraced by anyone who accepts the Golden Rule: A person is practicing bad religion if he or she, uninvited, attempts to impose any of their religious beliefs on another. A bad religion is any religion which condones such behavior. Other bad practices and beliefs can appear in religion, but by sticking to that one criterion, we can keep this simple and hopefully less controversial.

Hmmm. What do I think of that? Can I, as a Christian, agree with it?

First off, I don’t know the author at all, so I’m left to interpret what he’s written. Quite simply, if by impose he’s talking about forcefully or manipulatively bringing your religious beliefs to others, then I wholeheartedly concur with this definition. I believe there is strong Biblical precedent for such a view.

In fact, my real desire to comment on this post was its relevance to a discussion along these exact lines at church just last Sunday (the same day this post was published). We’ve been having a series of classes on grace — both how we receive it and how we extend it to others. Our class looked at the text in John 4: 1-26. In this passage, Jesus meets a women at a well who by cultural standards was probably held in low regard, and through the course of the story we learn that she’s been with at least five men. The interesting thing about the story is that Jesus simply does not confront her in the sense that many Christians today might confront someone they view as living in sin. Her actions and choices, even when face to face with Jesus, are her own.

Along the same lines, when I read the story in the beginning of Genesis, the picture of God I see does not include His creation on a leash. Adam and Eve have authentic meaningful choices, and their relationships with God are not contrived. Incidentally, Christian evolutionists are often derided for their treatment of early Genesis. Here again I suggest (not wishing to sound arrogant) that we’re actually getting the point of early Genesis as it was really intended, rather than missing it by turning it into some kind of warped scientific or historical text.

These two stories (and I could come up with many more no doubt) serve as examples of my core understanding of God’s relationship with us. It’s not a forceful or manipulative relationship. This is where many of His people and God now seem to differ. And this is precisely why I’m happy to concur with this definition of bad religion.

Back to the original post though. If, however, impose includes even talking to people about your beliefs, then I must withdraw my support from such a definition of bad religion. This touches upon the larger issue of the dirty word evangelism. I call it a dirty word because I am so put off by the ways in which many Christians conduct it. They clearly meet the criteria for bad religion by crossing the line of forcefulness and manipulation. But like so many things in life, this is a fuzzy line. While I certainly don’t choose to go up to total strangers and — uninvited — try to tell them about my religious beliefs, would doing so constitute “bad religion” if I were polite, immediately went elsewhere if they weren’t interested in talking, etc? While I would certainly find their approach distasteful — and even argue against it were I in a conversation with such people — I can’t say that all forms of traditional evangelism are necessarily bad religion.

I had planned on finishing up my review of Finding Darwin’s God by Ken Miller this evening (it’s been sitting in my drafts half finished for a week now), but as it turns out, Miller surfaced over the weekend for another reason.

Last month the folks at Uncommon Descent quoted Ken Miller, giving the impression that he was secretly a supporter of intelligent design. (Miller is a prominent proponent of theistic evolution.) The way it normally works at U.D. when Dembski puts something up is that he pastes emails which are from anonymous friends, colleagues, secret undercover agents, etc. And such was the case here, which he labeled as an “edited report” of Ken Miller’s talk at Texas Tech. Whoever this friend was, he quoted Miller thusly:

The most interesting part of the talk for me came at the end when the following question was posed: “Since biologists don’t really have a good grasp on the origin of life itself, and since life has clearly resulted some kind of self-organization to go from a bunch of chemicals to the point where we are today, couldn’t the origin of life be the point at which God’s involvement in creation was direct?” As this question was posed, at least a third of the students in the crowd nodded their heads yes. The professors in the crowd just looked confused; and scared. To my surprise however, Dr. Miller said, “absolutely!” That made the professors look even more confused.

Well, the truth is a pesky detail, and it’s surfaced. Ken Miller has written a response, and has the actual audio recording of the Q & A. The question, as it’s paraphrased above by Bill and friends was quoted fairly enough. The answer however is a complete fabrication.

Question: On the idea of the origin of life from the very beginning… That’s one of the problems ..[unintelligible].. It’s difficult to understand at this point how life got established. But my question would be is that if it was organized , you know, self-organized by proteins or whatever, then the idea that it’s even self-organizing and that life from them on seemed to be self-organizing, you know, through random mutation, however you want to look at it, does not that sound very similar to design, or some form of hand involved in the original that allowed it to unfold?

Answer: Now, since he spoke from the back, I think everyone heard him, so I won’t repeat that.

The answer is Yes, it does. And in a way, the very use of the word “design” to label the current anti-evolution movement is a brilliant piece of public relations. And the reason for that is that any person who sees meaning and purpose and order to the universe — and I certainly do — in a sense believes in a kind of “design,” that things sort of make sense. Einstein told us that the most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it seems to be comprehensible, and that’s an extraordinary statement to make. So that’s a kind of “design.”

But the interesting thing is that in the context of the public debate in the United States today, what you described is actually not what is called “intelligent design,” and here’s the way in which I would put it. I, and I think all other evolutionists, would point to the fact that the capacity for life is inherent in matter. Matter is…. Life is a chemical and physical phenomenon. I think that the universe does have a “design,” and that the design is so grand that it makes the evolution of life not only possible but almost inevitable.

The ironic thing is that the proponents of intelligent design actually don’t think that. Because they don’t think that the universe is well enough designed to make the evolution of life inevitable. They think constant intervention on the part of the creator is required to bring about the first life, the first living cell, the first chordate, the first insect, the first bird. In other words, the designer or the creator had to keep tinkering with it. So, in away, In think most biologists look at the universe and have a grander appreciation for the orderliness of the universe based on what many of us regard as the almost inevitability of the evolution of living things.

Now having been caught red handed, their response is to attack Miller and insist that their paraphrase was accurate enough. Somehow they can’t see why the difference between a four paragraphed nuanced answer where a Christian biologist explains his position on the “design” of the universe is any different from the unequivocal answer “Absolutely!”.

Naturally others have commented on this distasteful behavior. I point you to two good Christian responses.

What I’m interested in is why creationists (and I certainly include intelligent design proponents in this group, despite their shrieks to the contrary) show such outright venom to Christians who don’t have a problem enjoying science and worshipping God as part of an integrated worldview. You’ll notice in the first post at Uncommon Descent, Miller and Francis Collins (another scientist quoted) are approvingly spoken of for expressing their belief in God. Yet, when the ID folks are caught telling lies, the tone changes drastically.

I think I’ve figured out the reason. You see, the only credibility creationists have (and I know, the word credibility has got some people spitting up their drink right now) is that they point to those in science who’s worldviews don’t include God, and ask the question to their followers, “Do you want to believe in that?” To a very real degree, their only currency is convincing people that you can’t trust God and accept evolution.

Take this currency away and the fury begins. For the creationist, the scientist who believes in God is a far greater threat than the one who doesn’t. For in a very real, tangible way, his very existence makes the creationist a liar.

In a way it’s kind of scary. Is this really what awaits a Christian who chooses to pursue science? Have things really gotten this bad? That even lying about what someone said is acceptable, as long as they belong to the side of the evolutionary boogeyman? Sadly, I fear it is. And about the only thing I can do is keeping pointing it out and keep appreciating that not all Christians have it this wrong.