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.

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.

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.