"I put the ways of childhood behind me" — my remembrance of Dan Dennett

For five years through 2018, our humanist community, the Humanist Hub*, met every Sunday afternoon at our suite in Harvard Square for fellowship, music, and a speaker. Our advisory board included luminaries of humanism such as Rebecca Goldstein, Steven Pinker, and Dan Dennett. These friends of the organization regularly spoke at Humanist Hub events. One of the most memorable, for me, was Dan Dennett's talk in November 2017, "The Science of the Soul (and where to go from here)."

I was lucky enough to be asked to introduce Dan, and shared thoughts about what his work had meant to me. I've included my lightly edited script below. The video on Facebook includes more jokes (and laughs) and shows a typical Sunday program at the Hub. The program starts at 13:30, with music at 20:30, my remarks starting at 27:30, and Dan's talk starting at 37:20.

Science, intuition and the "strange inversion of reasoning"

A few days ago I wrote about scientific thinking as an antidote to intuition. Not just an alternative to it, but something like the opposite of intuition. The intentional, energy-consuming move to a systematic deliberative mode of thought is utterly different from the easy and instantaneous nature of intuition.

Some of our intuitions are clearly built-in. Many of the famous failings of our intuitive System 1, described by Daniel Kahneman in Thinking, Fast and Slow, seem to be hard-wired. Some are perhaps the unavoidable result of trade-offs that buy speed and decisiveness at the expense of accuracy and completeness. Others might be adaptive despite being occasionally delusional: I'm thinking here of optimism bias. Some days we just need some good old optimism bias!

But some of our most famous intuitions are more complex and a bit harder to attribute to brain wiring or adaptive tricks. These are intuitions that seem to affect how we see the whole world, all of existence, all day. I think it's intuition (and nothing else) that makes us feel that something complex, that shows design, must have come from a designer. That a universe has to have a beginning, and therefore a "beginner." That a mind like ours must somehow come from a bigger mind somewhere else. That seemingly uncaused events must have had a cause. Which are all probably related to a sense that the universe is haunted.

I'm not sure that these intuitions are all universally human—some are likely to be deeply cultural. But the point is that well beyond our intution that the sun moves through the sky or that the earth can't be a spinning ball, there are intuitions about the very fabric of existence.

Do not infest your mind with beating on the strangeness of this business. Chapter 6 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

ALONSO: This is as strange a maze as e’er men trod,
And there is in this business more than nature
Was ever conduct of. Some oracle
Must rectify our knowledge.

—The Tempest, Act 5, Scene 1 

That's one of two epigraphs at the beginning of Chapter 6 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution, "The Myth of Extraterrestrials," by Simon Conway Morris. It seemed odd to me when I started reading the book, but it makes some sense now that I've made it to the end. Conway Morris wants (or needs) there to be more to this business than nature "was ever conduct of." This final chapter makes that clear, and by that I mean that it makes the author's desire/need clear. It is, sadly, a fitting end to the book.

Recall that Life's Solution, the author's 2003 book that made convergence a household word, is subtitled Inevitable Humans in a Lonely Universe. The notion that our species (or something very much like it) is "inevitable" is (in my view) a reasonable conjecture once one is faced with the pervasiveness of evolutionary convergence. I enjoyed that book when I read it all those years ago, and became convinced that evolution was not merely blundering around finding the weird and wonderful—it was algorithmically churning toward design, and then toward better design. I was then in a Christian world where it seemed that "adaptationism" was a Bad Thing embraced by extremists and (oh god) atheists, but here was a rock-star Christian paleontologist who was all in on adaptation. I loved that rebel vibe, then and now. But then, and also now, I was baffled by his apparent desire to be alone. Not alone in his office, but alone in the universe.

Thoughts on complicity before reading Complicit by Max Bazerman

I have been thinking regularly about complicity for the last several years. It became a central ethical theme of mine in 2016 and it has occupied my thoughts and ideas since. And yet, it recently occurred to me that I seem to be using it as a folk remedy, a kind of folk science in which I use the concept in my thought and sometimes in my conversations as a kind of prop without careful definition of what I mean when I say it. So I decided to work on that, and came home from last month's Tucson Festival of Books with a stack of treasures that includes Complicit by Max Bazerman.

I haven't started it yet (I'm currently slogging through the Six Myths of Evolution mess by Simon Conway Morris). And this means I have an opportunity to do a little experiment. In the spirit of pre- and post-instruction assessments in education, I thought I'd write about what I think now about complicity. Then after I've read the book, I'll write about what I've learned and what has changed.

First, why 2016? It's not that the concept was new to me then. It's that a particular kind of evil was erupting, coincident with my own reflection as a secular humanist (aka atheist) on my many years as a Christian. It was the year of the public emergence of the hate-based cult of Donald Trump, a cult that relies almost entirely on conservative Christianity. Then, as now, I pointed out that Trump is not the cause of the sickness of the right — he's a symptom. The causes include nationalism, racism, ignorance, dishonesty, and fear-based hate. All of those things have deep roots in American conservative Christianity. And for more than 25 years, I had been a part of American conservative Christianity, which I'll call evangelicalism.

On Jane Anger, Shakespeare, apostasy, and blasphemy

Bardolatry has been a cornerstone of Quintessence of Dust since I conceived it. I love the plays, sure, but there's always been something else going on.

"Jane Anger"

Shakespeare is one of those extraordinary phenomena that tempts us to seek extraordinary explanations. Like Harold Bloom, I think of the mystery as essentially unsolvable — Shakespeare is impossible. Complex conspiracy theories about Shakespeare's identity are to me mere acknowledgements that the mystery can't be solved. For me, to attribute Shakespeare to (say) Francis Bacon is to simply rename the mystery. I don't need an answer to "Who was Shakespeare?" It doesn't actually matter to me, because my Bardolatry was never based on facts about the Bard's life.

For a few decades of my life, I was also a Christian. I was comfortable with mystery — about the metaphysical nature of the god I was confessing, stuff like that. Most of my fellow travelers were worried about how to "reconcile" their religious story (about sin and "the fall" and the bible all that) with plain facts about the natural world. I wasn't. One key example: I didn't need an answer to "Who was Adam?" It didn't matter to me, because my willingness to believe in the Christian god had nothing to do with facts about his "life" or about Adam's life. What I did care about was my mistaken belief that this god is worthy of my admiration and worthy of my attention. When I realized he is an insecure loudmouth bully with no capacity for moral responsibility, I ended the toxic relationship almost ten years ago. I won't explore deconversion here; suffice it to say that I concluded that the Christian god is a deviously complex and largely harmful human creation. In religious parlance, this is called apostasy.

The Day Without Yesterday by John Farrell: How did Lemaitre do it?

My first post on John Farrell's The Day Without Yesterday identified two themes the book raises for me: the intellectual milieu into which modern cosmology came to be, and the reasons why Georges Lemaître was able to "lead Einstein and the rest of his generation into a new, truly dynamic model of the universe." (p. 53) The second post looked at the intellectual environment and ended like this:

Some of the greatest minds in human history were overtly resistant to a new model of the universe, a model that was (at least in retrospect) clear from math and physics known at the time. If it could happen to them, it could happen to anyone, and of course it has happened constantly through intellectual history. I think we owe it to Lemaître to reflect on how it will happen again. It has to. Data doesn't wait for minds to be ready.

And yet somehow Lemaître's mind was ready. How? Why?

This question is really interesting to me, and John sets it up brilliantly throughout the book before asking it explicitly in the penultimate chapter (pp. 186-7):

... Lemaître's insights were in fact key in almost all the important milestones of early modern cosmology... He was the first to see how the Einstein and de Sitter models were but two limited cases of a larger body of expanding universe models; he was the first to see that such models had to evolve from a super-dense state; and perhaps most importantly—from the very beginning—he was the first to tie the predictions of relativity about cosmology to actual astronomical observations. How did he do it?

I wrote previously that Lemaître is a scientific hero. It's not enough to point to his scientific accomplishments, which are historic by any account. I think his greatness is magnified by the fact that he stood apart, clear-eyed, amongst a cadre of brilliant minds who were somehow unable to see what he could see. I don't think you can read The Day Without Yesterday without feeling admiration and even awe toward the priest-scientist.

The Day Without Yesterday by John Farrell: "conservatism and hesitation"

In my first post on John Farrell's The Day Without Yesterday, I identified two themes the book raises for me: the intellectual milieu into which modern cosmology came to be, and the reasons why Georges Lemaître was able to "lead Einstein and the rest of his generation into a new, truly dynamic model of the universe." (p. 53) Let's look at that milieu.

The first chapter of the book describes the first time Lemaître and Einstein met in person. Lemaître had published a paper suggesting that the universe was dynamic, indeed that it could be expanding. On meeting Lemaître, Einstein brushed the priest off, even referring to the idea as "abominable." Wow.

Now, John suggests that Einstein was not being a jerk but was instead expressing his personal distaste (revulsion even) to the very notion that the universe was expanding. And this matters because:

The modern world's comprehension of the universe is one of the most fascinating subjects in the history of science. But the history of modern cosmology is one of constant doubt, second-guessing, obstinacy, missed opportunities, distraction, and outright denial. (p. 13, emphasis mine)

To me, that list starts like a normal recitation of human imperfection, hardly remarkable to anyone who has worked in science. Until the end. Obstinacy is bad enough (if fully human) but outright denial? That sounds a bit more serious. And it is.

The Day Without Yesterday by John Farrell: introductory comments

Let's start with full disclosure. John Farrell is a good friend, and we met here at Quintessence of Dust more than 15 years ago. John was one of the first people to read and comment on (and link to) the blog. We share many passions: science, faith/science interactions, writing, the Boston Red Sox, Shakespeare, and Harvard Square. John plays pickup hockey (that's something we don't have in common) and more than once has reminded me (in pubs in Harvard Square) that we are both lucky to have all our hair.

And yet it was not until the last few months that I bought and read his (so far) masterpiece, The Day Without Yesterday. I don't know why it took so long. Surely one reason is that I've only in the last year and a half been reading more books—I've worked as an editor for more than a decade and that means many hours of intensive reading with attendant reading fatigue. But I think another reason—and this is embarrassing to admit—is that I thought I knew the story. Father of the Big Bang, Catholic priest, yeah okay I got it.

I was wrong. And if you think you know the story without reading this book, then you're probably wrong too. The tale is inspiring and exciting, frequently frustrating, and ultimately awe-inspiring, not because of the Big Bang itself (ooooh aaaah) but because the long-overlooked main character, Georges Lemaître, is a hero of science. As I read John's book, I came to think that "Father of the Big Bang" (cutesy double entendre notwithstanding) partially obscures this man's stature as a scientist.

BioLogos and Christian unity. Part I: The cost of artificial unity

Christian unity is not something to take lightly. Famous biblical proof texts urge us to pursue it. Basic theological commitments establish it as a primary goal of believers. Basic human nature would seem to drive us to seek solidarity with those who share fundamental beliefs. So when a Christian – especially a Christian in the midst of a dispute or disagreement with another Christian – makes an appeal for unity, only a fool would rise to disagree. Considered in isolation, talk of unity is powerfully persuasive to Christian believers. "Considered in isolation." That's where I will focus as I try to explain (again) why talk of unity can be inappropriate and even dangerous when it is offered outside of context. In short, I take the following to be evident: unity is not an end in itself, and is not achieved by wishful thinking or gushy happy talk. I'll look at those two points in two posts on BioLogos and Christian unity.

So, I'm occasionally frustrated by the stance of my friends at BioLogos when it comes to Christian unity. Consider a recent and widely-discussed piece by Darrel Falk, on the question of why BioLogos is co-sponsoring a conference (called The Vibrant Dance) with two organizations known to regularly misrepresent science: Reasons To Believe (RTB) and the Discovery Institute (DI). Falk notes that this choice has been criticized by believers and skeptics alike. In my opinion, his defense of that choice misses the most important criticisms. His defense amounts to a claim that Christian unity matters more than just about anything else. Specifically, he asserts that "what we have in common far outweighs the differences we may experience." And "we" is BioLogos, RTB, The DI, and an interesting group of other organizations, one of which is my employer (Calvin College). I will have words for Calvin in the near future. Here are some comments on his reasoning and his claims in that post.

Stealing it back

So is evolution a weapon of unbelief, empowering the dark forces of atheism in their assault on Christendom by air, land and sea? It's sure easy to hear the dogs of war howling in the background of the weird debate over whether the NCSE is biased toward belief.

I don't have time to post my thoughts on that debate right now. Instead, I offer a talk I gave in a Calvin College chapel service in 2005, which I've been intending to share here since the beginning. The topic was the Psalms. The title was "Stealing It Back." I've edited it slightly. I think it says a lot of what I think when I see smart atheists (who I like and respect) using the chilling language of armed conflict when discussing the simple question of whether faith and science are "compatible."

Calvin College chapel
19 September 2005
"Stealing It Back"

First, a quick disclaimer about my use of the term "struggles." I do want to tell you about my journey as a Christian academic scientist and the power of God's word to bring strength into our lives. But I don't want you to think that I've had it rough or that I would ever compare the bumps in this journey to the kinds of experiences that we'd call suffering. It helps me in this regard to recall my wife's frequent response when I whine about my "struggles" (mostly unfinished grading): waa waa waa.

So seriously, some thoughts on how God's word has been a rock to me, a light unto my path. I want to highlight three questions or issues in the journey, and show how Psalm 104, a personal favorite, has been a rock for me.

Early in my career, when I was in graduate school, I'd often find myself in a conversation something like this:

"So Steve, what is it that you're studying again?" "Oh, I'm interested in the subcellular mechanisms underlying enhanced neurite outgrowth induced by steroid hormones in cultured neurons from the moth nervous system."

Well, not really...I would patiently explain that I was interested in how nerve cells grow and that I was studying the question in a model system where it was easy to do that. The next question would go something like this: "Why on earth would you want to do that?"

One person did actually ask the question just like that; typically it would be more polite, and would assume that my work had one or both of the following motivations: 1) to cure diseases (in humans, not moths); or 2) to witness to unbelievers. In fact, my work then and now does touch on both those things and they're both of obvious importance. But imagine what it sounded like to me when a church leader said to someone else, about me: "Isn't it great that Steve's there at Harvard Medical School doing research? Think of all the opportunities he has to witness to those people." It didn't seem to enter anyone's mind that studying God's creation could have a more intrinsic value than that.

It was certain of the Psalms that grounded me here, and helped me to see that my calling was not merely a vehicle to get me into the presence of the godless early and often. I'm sorry that I missed Scott Hoezee's message on Psalm 19, because I quoted that Psalm in my dissertation, writing, "the heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Same goes for neuronal morphology."

Psalm 104 is an extended reflection on creation. Here's how it describes some of God's interactions with natural creation:

The LORD wraps himself in light as with a garment; he stretches out the heavens like a tent and lays the beams of his upper chambers on their waters. He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind. He makes winds his messengers, flames of fire his servants.

– Psalm 104:2-4, TNIV

and later in verse 31 the Psalmist says:

May the glory of the LORD endure forever; may the LORD rejoice in his works.

Why look intently at the creation and try to understand it? Because it's cool; God thinks it's cool. He gets delight from it, rides around on it. He rejoices in it. To enter the examination of God's creation is to share God's delight in what he has made. It's his creation. He made it. He thinks it's great.

A second struggle I had was one that arises as a consequence of the fact that much biological science can in fact be used to help cure disease or grow food or help meet various human needs. Strangely, at least in the Christian circles we used to frequent, this created a tension between God's miraculous provision and his non-miraculous provision. There was something better about miraculous healing, for example, than healing brought about by, say, antibiotics. In fact, we did occasionally hear claims that one should forgo certain medical interventions and instead seek God's healing. The problem with this sort of thinking is that it ignores God's claims here in Psalm 104 to be behind all provision of pretty much every kind.

He makes springs pour water into the ravines; it flows between the mountains. They give water to all the beasts of the field; the wild donkeys quench their thirst. The birds of the sky nest by the waters; they sing among the branches. He waters the mountains from his upper chambers; the land is satisfied by the fruit of his work. He makes grass grow for the cattle, and plants for people to cultivate— bringing forth food from the earth: wine that gladdens human hearts, oil to make their faces shine, and bread that sustains their hearts. The trees of the LORD are well watered, the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.

– Psalm 104:10-16, TNIV

I'd love to try manna sometime, because I'm curious, but if you want to eat bread from God's hand, you can buy it at D&W. (If you try to buy some wine to gladden your heart, though, be prepared to show ID).

In Psalm 104, God claims every form of provision as his own. If our scientific efforts to understand spinal cord injury someday get people out of wheelchairs, God will claim that too. Psalm 104 helped me abandon the notion that non-miraculous provision is not God's provision.

The last struggle I've had as a Christian biologist has been the one you probably assumed we'd spend our whole time on. Yes, the topic is evolution. Early in my development as a Christian scientist I worried that evolution could threaten the idea of God as the creator of life. I think I know why I had this worry, and I'll talk about it in a second, but the worry disappeared over time as I learned more and more about God's limitless claims on this universe. Here in Psalm 104 God is identified as the source of just about every biological process I can think of. We've already noted his hand in the provision of food of all kinds for all kinds of creatures. (We left out lions, who "roar for their prey and seek their food from God.") Verses 24-30 are central to my hopeful commitment to biology:

How many are your works, LORD! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. There is the sea, vast and spacious, teeming with creatures beyond number— living things both large and small. There the ships go to and fro, and the leviathan, which you formed to frolic there. All creatures look to you to give them their food at the proper time. When you give it to them, they gather it up; when you open your hand, they are satisfied with good things. When you hide your face, they are terrified; when you take away their breath, they die and return to the dust. When you send your Spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the ground.

That word there in verse 30, "created," I learned recently, is bara, the same word used in Genesis 1-2. It was Psalm 104 that finally helped me to rest in the knowledge that whatever the process of biology that we're considering, death, reproduction, feeding, whatever...it's all God's hand. Period. Studying animal development is studying creation, Bara Creation.

Now why was this so significant for me? Well surely because it helped remove doubts I may have been harboring about God's wisdom and omnipotence as a creator. But also because it exposed for me one of the biggest lies that often crops up in discussions of biology among Christians.

You see, there are two big problems that Christians who oppose evolution seem to have with it. 1) Some Christians say it's a lousy theory and that evolution didn't happen. If you think about it, that's just an empirical question like those faced in any science all the time. 2) Some Christians say evolution can't have happened because that would mean God didn't create living things. There are whole movements in Christianity right now that are dominated by the claim that if naturalistic explanations for life are true, then God is out of the picture. I hope you'll agree that a biologist making that assumption is in dangerous territory while considering the evidence for evolution.

Psalm 104 destroys that assumption. It's simply not true that those things about life that have been explained naturally have thereby been removed from God's oversight or responsibility. Soaking in Psalm 104 helped me to finally stop worrying about what I might find while examining the living world, because whatever I find there already belongs to him.

But one last thing, and an explanation for the title of this talk. This notion that a naturally explainable phenomenon is not in God's purview ought to be laughable on its face. So where did it come from, and why is it still so strong? Why was I worried that evolution could eliminate God as Creator?

Don't have time to explore that now, but suffice it to say that some enemies of our faith (and quite a few confused Christians) are deliberately repeating and defending this nonsense, painting a picture of a God who gets smaller every time another scientific experiment is completed. It seems to me that there's been a robbery. Something rightfully God's, and ours, has been stolen.

So what should we do? Well, this is where my journey as a Christian biologist is now. It's not so much that I want people to accept evolutionary theory. I want us, as Christians, to see God as the ruler and sustainer of creation, however it might be ruled and sustained.

You're probably all too young to know much of anything about Charles Manson. He was a homicidal maniac back in the 1970's, and a famous book about him and his followers got its title from a Beatles song that Manson incorporated somehow into his wickedness. The song is called "Helter Skelter." On U2's Rattle and Hum album, you'll find a recording of "Helter Skelter" from 1987 (right around the year some of you were born). Bono introduces the song like this: "This is a song Charles Manson stole from the Beatles. We're stealing it back." This is how, reflecting on Psalm 104, I see part of my mission as a Christian biologist. Opponents of our faith stole the reverent study of the biological world from the church. We're stealing it back.

...so our response to the living world can be like that of the Psalmist after considering God's creation:

I will sing to the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.

– Psalm 104:33, TNIV

Weekly sampler 12

Shall we play a game? Recall Hugh Ross' fictional tale about the "team of physicists" that remade molecular genetics. Ross claimed, falsely, that:

They noticed that the quantity of "junk" in a species' genome was proportional to that species' degree of advancement.

The biological truth is the opposite: amount of DNA, "junk" or otherwise, is so uncorrelated with other aspects of biology that the situation was termed a paradox when it was first uncovered. Well...let's see the paradox in living color. In the next few Weekly samplers, I'll present you with some organisms (all animals) and we'll see how well you can guess their relative amounts of DNA (per genome) based on their "degree of advancement." Good luck! (Hint: use a quarter; it's easier to catch, and easier to find on the floor if you drop it.)

Which organism has the larger genome?
	This one?	Or this one?
1
2
3

Answers are here. Explanation can be found on the superb blog of one of the world's leading experts on genome size.

1. This story is 6 years old, but I never heard it till this week. A 52-year-old woman gets DNA testing to determine whether she can serve as an organ donor for her son. The tests reveal that she is apparently not the mother of two of her children. But...she is the mother of all of her children. How can this be?

She's a tetragametic chimera, meaning simply that her body is composed of cells descended from two genetically distinct embryos which evidently fused very early in development. Her ovaries are descended from one of those embryos, but her blood descends from the other. The result: she conceived children with gametes derived from one embryo, but her blood (which was used for the genetic tests) comes from the genetically-distinct other. Each of her cells has just one "parent", but as a whole she is derived from two distinct embryos, each of which arose from two distinct sperm/egg pairs; thus she, as a whole, is derived from four gametes instead of the typical two. Wild! And lots of fun for certain friends of mine who (like me) enjoy reflecting on human personhood and personal identity.

2. The newest issue of The Economist has an interesting piece on a large new European scientific collaboration.

“Explaining Religion”, as the project is known, is the largest-ever scientific study of the subject. It began last September, will run for three years, and involves scholars from 14 universities and a range of disciplines from psychology to economics. And it is merely the latest manifestation of a growing tendency for science to poke its nose into the God business.

Bring it on!

3. This View of Life is a nice-looking site that aims to be "a beginner's guide to a science-based understanding of evolution." I'd love to hear some feedback from anyone who's checked it out. (Via the ASA listserv.)

4. Read Ryan Gregory on the much-abused concept of Just-So Stories.

5. Earlier this week, I heard an interesting story on MarketPlace about "video games that are good for you." I think I'll ditch Text Twist and try this instead. The games "reduce stress and boost self-confidence." Do they have any that add time to the day?

6. At the Howard Hughes Medical Institute (HHMI), a site called BioInteractive is crawling with "free resources for science teachers & students." Lectures, animations, "virtual labs." It's a mixed bag, but very much worth a stroll. (Via Panda's Thumb.)

In high praise of Howard Van Till

Howard Van Till is one of my heroes. It's been a month and a half since his address to the Grand Dialogue, and I still think about it, even though the ideas were all familiar to me. I think this is due partly to the fact that the excellent talk displayed Howard's disarming warmth and generosity, and partly to the fact that he was already one of my heroes. Here I'll discuss some of the main points of the talk, and in the process I hope you'll discover why I hold Howard Van Till in such high esteem.

Howard is professor emeritus of physics and astronomy at Calvin College, where I teach and work. The publication of his 1986 book The Fourth Day – and the ensuing controversy at the college and especially in the Christian Reformed Church (CRC) – had an enormous impact on both. Some commentators suggest that the disputes over evolution that were spawned by the book are largely responsible for the existence of an entire denomination, the United Reformed Church, which represents one of the major secessions from the CRC in the last two decades of the 20th century. The book actually did not tackle biological evolution so much as it described cosmic evolution, the ancient universe, and the tragedy of "scientific creationism." It contains immense wisdom on the nature of science, and many of my colleagues still give it pride of place on their bookshelves.

The controversy exacted a toll, though, and I know just enough of the story to know that it is a sordid and disgraceful tale. I suspect that Howard is hundreds of times more gracious than I would be. And some of his recent public remarks give me the impression that the scandalous (if not blasphemous) behavior of our community led Howard to move away from traditional Reformed Christianity. Howard's theological pilgrimage is not my subject here, but this aspect of Howard's journey is something of a backdrop for my own life as a Reformed Christian scientist, if only because I couldn't do what I do at Calvin if it weren't for Howard and his contemporaries.

Howard's talk was entitled "IS THE COSMOS ALL THERE IS? The quest for answers to big cosmological questions." There are plans to post video at the Grand Dialogue site, but in the meantime you can download the extensive outline that Howard provided from my personal website.

Here are Howard's main questions, with comments that don't already appear on the outline, and then some comments on the question & answer period that followed the lecture.

1. Why is there something rather than nothing?

Howard says this is a "hard question," and I guess we have to agree with him there. This was one of my favorite sections of the lecture, so here it is approximately verbatim, in quasi-dramatic form.

Religion. Because God made something.
Howard. Sorry, that's the answer to a different question. You still have to explain why there's a god vs. no god.
Religion. But it's impossible for God not to exist. He necessarily exists.
Howard. Sorry, that's just too easy. Not all assertions are true, even if offered by brilliant philosophers or theologians.
(Steve. Touché.)
P.W. Atkins & Co. It just happened. From nothing.
Howard. Sorry, that doesn't work either.

I'll just interject here that one reason I look up to Howard Van Till is that he seems to share my discomfort with being identified with a "side."

Howard. What about: "we don't actually know." What we have here is a profound mystery that should inspire profound awe and humility.

At that point, Howard referred to a folk singer named Iris DeMent, and quoted this lyric:

Everybody's wonderin' what and where they they all came from
everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go
when the whole thing's done
but no one knows for certain
and so it's all the same to me
I think I'll just let the mystery be

The song is "Let the Mystery Be" from the Infamous Angel album.

2. What is the universe like?

Howard identified this as an "easier" question, but he tackled one not-so-easy question when addressing the nature of the universe.

As you can read on the outline, Howard described the universe as "big and old, nearly empty and mostly cold," but emphasized the fact that the universe has "a formational history that is readable by natural sciences," including a formational history of life on earth. Then he outlined what he calls the "Right Stuff Universe Principle" (RSUP), which posits that the universe ("amazingly") has the Right Stuff (resources, potentialities, and capabilities) to actualize everything we see, naturally. (Call it "fine tuning" if you want; same thing as near as I can tell.)

As you might guess, 'naturally' means 'without the need for supernatural filling-in', and 'supernatural action' means specifically coercive divine action; I learned that this latter phrase is the language of process theology. Howard's summary: "The principle is a statement about the adequacy of natural causes to accomplish all the formational histories in question."

If you've read Howard on "robust formational economy" then much of the preceding should sound pretty familiar. But then Howard addressed this question, which I find tiresomely familiar: how did science come to adopt the assumption of the "adequacy of natural causes to accomplish all the formational histories in question"? Quoting Howard:

Some religious critics object to science unfairly excluding supernatural causation. Sorry…that’s a serious and mischievous misrepresentation of the history of science’s consideration of assumptions. [...] The “hybrid” approaches were discontinued because they were inadequate to explain formational histories. The “right stuff” principle was adopted because it worked.

The ellipses indicate parts I didn't write down, but I think it's clear what Howard is getting at. And I think he's completely right. Can you see why this man is one of my role models? The RSUP, in Howard's eyes, is more than just "fine tuning," more than just "getting a bunch of numbers right." It is a truly astounding fact of the natural world. And it raises an obvious and difficult question.

3. How can something as remarkable as the RSUP be true?

Howard proposed several possible answers, found on the outline, including three religious answers worth expanding here (roughly quoting Howard in all cases):

• In the spirit of St. Augustine, assert that the cosmos is a creation, a manifestation of the Creator's creativity and generosity. God was both able and willing to give it that rich a being. Howard: this is the solution I used to recommend, and still recommend to those embracing “traditional Christian theism.”
• In the spirit of process theology, postulate that the very natures of God, the world and the God/world relationship are such that supernatural intervention is excluded and so the RSUP has to be true.
• In the spirit of the ID movement, cancel the question. Deny that the universe has the Right Stuff.

I'm waiting for someone to explain process theology to me. I did buy a brand new book at the conference, which contains lots of process theology (or so I'm told). I'm interested, but my commitment to "traditional Christian theism" is non-negotiable, so I guess I'll just browse.

Howard dismissed the "Cosmic Casino Hypothesis" (the RSUP is the result of dumb luck) as "not very helpful" and he seemed cool to the multiverse. I suspect he favors this last option, quoting as best I can:

And then there's agnosticism, or humility. We'll just say that we don’t really know. Let the mystery be.

4. Does the universe need a creator, and if so what does a creator do?

In this part of the talk, the main idea I found notable was the question of whether there has always been a universe. If I got Howard right here, he said:

I was taught that the answer is clearly “no.” But I’m inclined to disagree now.

I'm not sure what he meant on that one.

5. How would anyone know what a creator is like?

Howard introduced this final section by noting that this question was likely to be the most "disturbing and thought-provoking" of the lecture, stating with disarming good humor but unapologetic bluntness that "I want you to go home with new questions." His focus was on scientific explanations for religious belief, and the outline provides significant detail.

And it was interesting, and it was thought-provoking, but it was hardly disturbing to me, probably because I don't understand why explaining something – whether it's religious belief or photosynthesis or genetic recombination or zits – reduces its religious significance, its majesty, or even its mystery. I've heard about Pascal Boyer's work, and Justin Barrett's, and it's cool stuff, and I just don't get all freaked out about it. Explanation is no alternative to belief.

Howard emphasized the idea (after Justin Barrett) that belief in the supernatural could have emerged through the action of our so-called hyperactive agency detection device (HADD), which is basically the high-sensitivity aspect of our consciousness that jumps at the sound of a twig snapping in the forest. After exploring these interesting ideas, Howard concluded that "having religious beliefs is as natural as natural can be." Then he closed with comments that I jotted down as follows:

But then…how can this brain be trusted to give us true answers [to the big questions above]? One suggestion that is worth testing: perhaps we should deal with these intuitive beliefs the same way we would deal with a ‘snap’ sound in the jungle. We should begin with our intuition, but then turn the question over to our slower, more rational evaluation and see if it holds up. (I place a very high value on rational, as many are quick to point out...) Run the belief through some basic tests, and dare to honor the score. Don’t believe something because it's “emotionally reassuring” or because “tribal orthodoxy” holds it to be true.

"Dare to honor the score." That's a dramatic challenge, and I think Christians should be unafraid to accept it. We have nothing to fear from a sober examination of God's world.

Aftermath and concluding comments

After the lecture, there were responses from two local physicists, including my friend and colleague Deb Haarsma, then there were questions from the audience.

Watching Howard handle questions was, for me, impressive and humbling, and it was this experience that caused me to conclude that Howard was not just a hero but a true role model. Somehow, he's able to combine generous openness with blunt (even fierce) criticism. Some examples:

• In his response to a rambling comment from an audience member, Howard concluded: "I don't know as much as I used to." The audience answered with its biggest applause of the day.
• His response in full to a sickeningly self-indulgent sermon riddled with Christianese platitudes and proof texts: "You've given your testimony and we should just leave it at that."
• One perceptive questioner wondered whether the evolutionary explanation of belief (HADD) would cast the same doubt on scientific understanding as it would on religious belief. Howard identified this as "a classic question and a good one," and agreed that both science and religion "deserve equal criticism." But then this: "When I look at how traditional beliefs are handled in religion vs. science, I think science is doing a superior job with respect to examining its 'traditional beliefs'."

That last comment is the kind of fearless confession that makes me admire Howard so much. It's just not fashionable, especially among Christians, to say that science is better at self-criticism and error correction than is Christianity. But it's true, and maybe someday I'll learn, from Howard, how to be brutally frank without being brutal.

One last thing. I don't know whether Howard Van Till self-identifies as a Christian. And I don't intend to walk away from my faith (or, more specifically, from what I believe to be revelation) under the influence of scientific explanation. But when the subject is science and explanation, I agree with Howard a lot more often that I do with most of the Christians I know, and he has a passion for truthtelling that would completely transform the so-called faith-science dialogue, if even a few more people followed his lead.

Crossing the divide

I recently recommended a very nice new blog by Mike Beidler called The Creation of an Evolutionist. It's subtitled "My journey from young earth creationism to evolutionary creationism," and it's downright fun to read. Mike is engaging and bright. He writes with enthusiasm and joy, so it's hard to imagine that his journey might have been difficult in places. But I'm sure it was.

Others have shared here and elsewhere about the trauma that many experience when considering the abandonment of creationism, an experience I mostly avoided because I never fully embraced creationism, and certainly never adopted a young-earth position. But it's easy for me to understand the emotional environment in which such struggles occur, and that's why I'm glad commenters like David O. have insisted on pointing out that the debunking of crude folk science (like the Reasons To Believe train wreck) is not helpful in the absence of a sound theological framework. Why? Because the obstacles that keep most Christians from embracing evolution and an ancient creation are not merely (or even mostly) academic in nature. They're deeper, much deeper than that: they're emotional, tied to the most basic ways by which Christians define themselves.

In the newest issue of Science, a remarkable News Focus piece tackles this very subject. You need a subscription to access the article online. I'll quote it extensively here, but if you are at all interested in this topic, I urge you to get a copy and read it. I find the article remarkable not just for its coverage of the issue, but for the fact that it is published in Science, one of the most prominent science journals in the world.

The article is "Crossing the divide," written by Jennifer Couzin, and it displays this tagline: "Like others who have rejected creationism and embraced evolution, paleontologist Stephen Godfrey is still recovering from the traumatic journey." Godfrey works at the Calvert Marine Museum in Chesapeake Bay; he was raised in a "fundamentalist" Christian environment but came to a "staunch acceptance of evolution."

Godfrey's "anguished path" began with his study of fossils. 'Anguished' sounds right:

With this shift came rejection from his religious community, estrangement from his parents, and, perhaps most difficult of all, a crisis of faith that endures.

After noting the immense emotional appeal of creationism and the cruel God-or-science choice it typically presents, Couzin observes:

People like Godfrey tend not to advertise their painful transition from creationist to evolutionist, certainly not to scientific peers. When doubts about creationism begin to nag, they have no one to turn to: not Christians in their community, who espouse a literal reading of the Bible and equate rejecting creationism with rejecting God, and not scientists, who often dismiss creationists as ignorant or lunatic.

Gosh, that paragraph about sums up one of my main goals as a Christian biologist: to offer fellow Christians at least one other choice. I hope it saddens you as much it does me, and it oughtn't matter whether you believe or not.

There are some rough spots and simplifications in the piece: Couzin refers to the "fateful apple" in Eden, for example, and seems to suggest that only "biblical literalists" hold that "belief is generally an all-or-nothing proposition." (Though I think I know what she means.) The descriptions of the harrowing journey from YECism to evolutionary creation, however, are raw and jarring. Woven into Godfrey's story are quotes from Denis Lamoureux, Brian Alters, and Christopher Smith, Godfrey's brother-in-law who is a Baptist pastor here in Michigan. But it is Godfrey's "anguished path" that is laid out in disheartening detail. Examination of fossil strata (and footprints therein) finally leads to the "explosion" of his YEC ideas.

Godfrey ran through bitterness, anger, and disappointment about having been deceived for so many years. He sought out creationists and confronted them. Late in graduate school, he and his devout Christian wife, mother-in-law, and mother attended a weekend symposium at a Bible school in New York state, where Godfrey says he angrily stood up at the end of a talk and argued passionately with the speaker.

Well...gulp. That reaction is understandable, even laudable, but I think Dr. Godfrey would agree that it's not the way that things should go for long. Indeed, he identifies at least some times when one ought to let sleeping dogs lie.

But sometimes, former creationists believe, changing minds is not worth the heartache it brings. Godfrey no longer considers evolution worth mentioning to his parents, now 78 and 79 years old, and he asked that they not be contacted for this article. “You can live your life just fine and not know squat about evolution,” he says.

The hardest parts of the story for me to read were those that described his parents' distress, convinced as they are that "their afterlife depends on embracing creationism." But before you conclude that he (or I) would embrace laissez faire, consider his passion here:

Just as he longs for biblical literalists to be more receptive to evolution, Godfrey also wishes that biologists would join the discussion. He was incensed 5 years ago when, participating in an evolution-creationism debate at Bishop’s University, where he once argued against the fossil record, no one from the biology department attended.

Ouch! Not in my house.

According to Couzin, "Godfrey is conflicted about how, and how forcefully, to press his case." He co-wrote a book with his brother-in-law; his father prayed that it would fail to be published at all, and Godfrey seems unconvinced that the book had any impact.

I want to hear voices like Godfrey's, and David Opderbeck's, and others who have traveled this "anguished path." I've explained elsewhere why I don't think laissez faire is always – or even usually – the right approach. But my path was far less anguished, and I never knew the complete isolation that so many of these wise people experienced. (Thank God.) So I'm listening.

Christendom cannot continue to construct and support folk science and desperate dishonesty. It must not continue to employ falsehood in the "defense" of the gospel. But the dismantling of these corrupt and toxic structures has to be done for the sake of the gospel, and not for any other reason.

That's my pledge. Hold me to it.

De-bunking, not debunking

I'll soon post the first in a series of articles that will explain why I believe that Christians are unwise to turn to Reasons To Believe (RTB) or to other proponents of "intelligent design" for competent Christian commentary on evolutionary biology. I think it's important for Christians to reject folk science and the lack of integrity its presence implies, and my goal in creating Quintessence of Dust is to help Christians understand biology.

But in response to my introductory post on RTB's repeated misuse of the concept of "junk DNA," a commenter, dbecke, raised a very serious concern regarding this quest of mine:

I'm still looking for a philosophical and theological position here that isn't "folk" philosophy or theology. As I mentioned earlier, I'm not sure it does a great service to those of us in the evangelical community who want to confront this honestly to merely debunk popular creationist organizations. We need serious evangelical theological input on how all this relates to the doctrines of scripture, man, and the fall. Are there theologians at Calvin, for example, who will accept and contextualize your position? Otherwise it seems to me that there's a danger of debunking people's faith along with the folk science. [italics are mine]

My comment in response mentions some resources that dbecke and others might consult in search of evangelical "contextualization" of common descent, and I try to reveal why it is that I'm not as agitated by the theological issues as are some of my friends and colleagues. But that is insignificant compared to the risk of "debunking people's faith," which is my subject here.

I think the thrust of dbecke's point is that the exposure of deficient creationist folk science by itself is not helpful, because thinking evangelicals also need a theological framework within which to consider natural history and causation. In a very basic sense, I agree, because I affirm that all Christians need a theological framework within which to consider all of creation. And even more generally, I think that dbecke is right to call on evangelical scholars to carefully consider the ancient earth and common ancestry in the context of historic confessions of Christian faith and traditional commitments of evangelical Protestantism.

But I have two big problems with the way the challenge is presented. Addressing these concerns gives me the opportunity to be clear about my theological perspective, and about the risks I see in most creationist apologetics. My intent, then, is not to contradict or correct dbecke as much as it is to explain exactly why I strive to discredit creationist folk science (and lies).

My two objections to this challenge involve my rejection of these two proposals:

1. It is assumed that the faith of a Christian can be undermined ("debunked") by rhetoric or argumentation; and
2. It is asserted that, given the aforementioned assumption, the debunking (by a fellow Christian) of bogus apologetic claims entails unacceptable risk to the faith of those who embraced those claims.

In short, I don't buy the premise and I disagree even more vehemently with the conclusion.

Those who know what it means to be Reformed might already understand my rejection of the premise. I hold faith to be a function of God's grace, so that people come to faith by virtue of the work of God, who alone brings the dead to life. I'm a good enough Calvinist to believe that no one can be snatched out of God's hand. Therefore, I don't believe that people are won to faith by reason, and conversely I don't believe that people can be separated from Christ by argumentation. (How all this actually works is another topic.) So if I seem to be unmoved by warnings about "debunking" people's faith, chalk it up to my Calvinism (and roll your eyes if it helps).

But I'm even more concerned about the suggestion that debunking folk science can lead to the "debunking" of someone's faith. For the sake of argument, let's grant that someone could be talked out of their belief. Now let's imagine someone who has based some measure of his belief on false claims regarding the natural world. For example, let's consider someone who has come to faith after reading Creation as Science by Hugh Ross. (We'll call this person Sam.) Now let's assume that Sam actually believes that "biologists have yet to observe any significant evolutionary change, other than extinctions" (p. 142) and that Sam concludes (with Ross) that this factoid (among others concocted by RTB) points to the reliability of Genesis 1. Sam's faith is contaminated by folk science, and in this case the folk science is bogus and easily refuted.

Sam's faith, then, is vulnerable to whatever extent it is dependent on folk science. And there are three possible outcomes here. Maybe Sam will sail through life without ever confronting the most basic facts about evolution. Or maybe Sam will live in blissful ignorance until the fateful day that s/he meets, say, Sam Harris. Or maybe Sam will meet fellow Christians who will help decontaminate his or her faith and, if all goes well, leave her or him strengthened and encouraged by the knowledge that the foundation of our faith is not to be found in our understanding of eukaryotic genetics.

If you want to worry about Christians being exposed to the "debunking" of their faith, you should worry most about that second possibility. (See Ronald Numbers' testimony at the beginning of The Creationists for an example.) If you want to help, then think about ways to encourage Christians in their faith as defined by your favorite creed, focused on the only one with the power to save. And if you want to express anger, vent it at those who are peddling shabby folk science labeled as 'apologetics'.

One of my aims is to help people de-bunk their faith. Bunk is worthless at best, dangerous at worst, and a disgrace to the name of Christ in any case.

I'll sign off with this little fable I composed (in consultation with a budding novelist to whom I've been married for 23 years and 3 days). I hope it crystallizes my ideas and intentions so that I don't need to express them again soon.

The New Bicycles

Once there was a town in which there were many large highways that converged around a prominent hill. Atop that hill sat the town's only library. In order to get to the library, citizens of the town had to traverse the highways, which were frequented by speeding trucks and vehicles driven by reckless and malicious punks. The highway system was occasionally expanded, and there were frequent — if not always confirmed — reports of grisly deaths on the highways. Citizens had always found various ways to get to the library in safety, but many never attempted the trip, and folks were always looking for safer and more convenient routes to the top of the hill.

One day there was a commotion in the town square, which was situated about a mile from the library. A tall, wise-looking man in a suit was advertising a new and highly effective means of getting to the library. He was selling bicycles, and his claims were extraordinary. "This bicycle," he announced, "will get you safely to the library every time, and it will be faster and easier than any other means you can imagine. This bicycle has been compared to every other conveyance ever designed, and it has been found to be utterly superior to all of them."

Some people were a little skeptical, and asked some obvious questions. How do you know so much about bicycles? "I worked for ten years as a car salesman." Who designed the bike? "I did, with some help from my assistant, who has done detailing on motorcycles." How does it work? "Simple. Just read the manual. You ride, really fast, straight up this road till you get to the library." Wait, is it really that easy? "It sure is. I explain it all in my books." But what about the dangerous highway crossings? "No problem at all. The bike sails right through. Works every time."

He sold a lot of bikes, and people seemed happy with the product. Some ecstatic customers returned and reported that they had reached the library without so much as a scratch. Some had even seen the murderous punks on the road, but reported no problems. (Those that didn't return...well, no one heard from them, so I guess everyone thought they were okay.)

But one day a new person showed up in the town square. She rode up on a Kona Dr Dew (you know, the all-weather twelve-speed with fenders and disc brakes) wearing bike shorts and a super cool jersey. Her helmet had a sun visor, and her backpack clanked with tools. She was quite curious about the bikes that the man was selling, but he didn't seem interested in discussing them with her.

She looked the bikes over, then she started talking to his customers. "I wouldn't buy that bike if I were you." Why not? "It's quite poorly made. For one thing, it doesn't have any brakes." How would you know it doesn't have brakes? "Well, I'm a cyclist and a bicycle repair specialist." So? The man who sold me this is a famous bike salesman. He once sold cars, you know. "Yes, I know, but I think it's pretty clear he doesn't know very much about bikes. This bike is dangerous. It will get you to the library quickly and easily, but it's not safe. You're in danger when crossing the roads." Someone else scoffed. Oh, nonsense. I've ridden mine to the library, and I'm fine. I brought back this book about how to go really fast across the highway on my bike. It's written by the salesman.

The cyclist continued inspecting the bikes, discovering numerous flaws in their design and learning that the customers rode the bikes through some particularly dangerous intersections. As she urged people not to buy or ride the salesman's bikes, she found that some were confused about their options. Are you saying there are bikes that are better than this one? "Oh, yes, definitely. You can get a bike with brakes and with gears and with mirrors. But you don't need a bike at all. You can walk. There are stoplights and crosswalks at some of the intersections elsewhere in town. You can get to the library without so much risk, and you can enjoy the view of the town on the way. It takes longer, and it's more effort, but it's fun and interesting, and you can use the money you would have spent on the bike to buy good walking shoes. Or books."

Then the cyclist was approached by an earnest young man. Why are you telling people to get off the bikes? Some of them might not get to the library. "I'm not telling them to skip the library. I'm not even telling them they have to walk. I'm just trying to get them off those dangerous bikes." But the bikes get them there quickly and easily, and some people depend on the bikes for their access to books. "Y'know, kid, I'm certain that there are other ways to get to the library -- walking, for instance. But even if some people need a bike, there are other bikes that are much better made. Sometimes they're even a lot cheaper. I mean, that guy at Macbeth Cyclery is pretty much giving them away. And I repeat: these bikes here are dangerous. Some of the punks on that road are trying to hurt people who are on the way to the library. Crossing the highway with a defective bike is foolish, don't you think?" The young man shook his head. I don't know. Are you sure that people won't get hurt on the way to the library? "No, I'm not sure of that, and I'm not saying that walking removes all risk. But I'm sure that people are not better off when they're riding across a freeway on a bike with no brakes that was designed by a car salesman."

Why I like the "New Atheists"

Recently I made a few comments on Greg Laden's Blog over at ScienceBlogs, in which I expressed some, um, concern regarding an aroma of ugly anti-Christian thuggery. The context was a silly (and banal) article on the "War on Christmas," which is some idiotic dustup in the so-called Culture Wars.

I've bashed Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion repeatedly on this blog. I'll probably do it again. And I dissed another crappy blog at ScienceBlogs because it consists of far more "atheist chest-beating" than science or scientific commentary.

All this might give the impression that I don't like atheists, or that I object when they get loud and feisty, or that a prominent aim of this blog is the debunking of atheist claims or the engagement of atheist polemics. Let me be clear: none of the above is true.

My primary audience — the group of people for whom I intend to write — is Christian, and especially evangelical. This doesn't mean that I assume that only Christians will read or appreciate the blog, but it does mean that I nearly always write with thinking Christians in mind. I am working to discredit the anti-evolution folk science of Reasons To Believe because I want evangelicals to abandon apologetics that damage the reputation of Christ and the church, and so I'm writing about their elementary errors for the sake of Christian integrity. Debunking nonsense and disarming attacks of various kinds are major goals of mine, but the targets aren't atheists — they're Christians.

But still, you might wonder what I think of the New Atheists. In short: I think they're a welcome addition to the public square. Here are a few of my reasons.

1. Christianity (perhaps I should say Christendom) needs opposition.

For one thing, such opposition is a bit like peer review. The New Atheists aren't merely announcing their unbelief. They're saying, "we think your belief is idiotic." And they're saying, "we think your belief is harmful." I say we think of those challenges as negative comments from a manuscript reviewer. In science, when you get a nasty review of a manuscript, you either revise the manuscript or you explain to the editor why the reviewer is mistaken. (Or both. Usually both.) Even if the reviewer is a butthead, her/his critique must be effectively dealt with if the editor is to be convinced that the paper is worthy of publication. As I've mentioned before, peer review often makes the original article much better.

Moreover, active opposition can expose weaknesses that the church is otherwise unable to see or unwilling to acknowledge. These flaws might be noted by the critics, or they might be revealed in the ways Christians respond to the attack.

2. Unbelievers should be represented in the public square, in the same way that various faiths are (or ought to be).

The Christian Right has its culture warriors, other faiths have their well-known organizations and representatives. Right-wing Christians can applaud James Dobson, and thereby contribute to the cultural conversation; others of us can oppose him, and similarly stake a claim. How can it be unhealthy or inappropriate for atheist voices to speak similarly on behalf of like-minded persons?

3. The New Atheists are providing atheists an opportunity to clarify their various cultural positions, individually and collectively.

I suspect that many atheists don't care to be identified with an "atheist community" at all, but to whatever extent they do, they can use the New Atheists as a starting point for identifying areas of specific interest in public discourse. The New Atheists are speaking loudly in the public square, and some of them have staked out positions that may not represent anything remotely resembling a generalized "atheist" position.

I am eager to know, for example, whether most atheists would find Francis Collins' description of his conversion to represent a religious attack on science. Sam Harris apparently does. Is this a typical position for an atheist? For an atheist scientist? I would prefer to work with unbelievers who reject such warmongering, just as I would prefer to work with Christians who denounce and disavow just about everything Pat Robertson has ever said. The New Atheists, if nothing else, have created new topics for discussion, and given everyone new opportunities to weigh in on those questions.

4. The attack of the New Atheists has encouraged me as a Christian.

Wait...huh? I'm dead serious. I've read most of Dennett's Breaking the Spell, as well as his Darwin's Dangerous Idea and much of Consciousness Explained. (I really enjoy his writing and his arguments.) I haven't read any of Sam Harris other than that sickening letter to Nature, nor have I read Hitchens (outside my ravenous consumption of everything he writes in the Atlantic Monthly). But I've read almost everything Dawkins has ever written, including The God Delusion, and I've seen the hilariously sycophantic pleading on his behalf by Dennett and Michael Shermer. And this is my response:

That's it?! That's all you got?!

Now don't get me wrong. I don't think the New Atheists are stupid for doubting, or even for considering Christianity to be rubbish. I just don't find anything in their writing that is a threat to my belief.

So...here's to the New Atheists. May God richly bless them.

Belief, evolution, evil, and me

My recent post on the so-called problem of evil has generated some interesting comments that are worth addressing in a separate post. The comments raise questions of a somewhat personal nature, but because I write as a Christian, I think the issues are fair game.

One commenter, Ron, addresses the "compatibility" of God and suffering, and reads Scott Carson to be claiming that we must either blame humans for the whole mess, or dismiss suffering as unimportant since "the body is just a physical shell." I think Scott's answer is bigger than that, and would point Ron to some of Scott's more recent articles, but Ron's remarks do raise the question of what I think of suffering and the "problem of evil."

And Paul wonders why I believe any of Christianity, after correctly noting that I don't think that evolution or the problem of evil poses "a threat to Christians."

First evolution (i.e., common descent, and specifically shared ancestry between humans and other creatures). In my view, evolution as a scientific explanation is no more a threat to Christian belief than any other scientific explanation. (My favorite comparisons would involve embryonic development, where natural explanation is ubiquitous, largely uncontroversial, and contradicted by certain readings of certain biblical passages.) If evolution is a special problem for Christians, the problem is not in the explanation, but in the historical narrative. I don't consider that a "threat" to Christian belief, but I do think it's a problem worth working on. Perhaps by the end of this post it will be clear why I'm not threatened by the historical narrative issue.

Let me explain a little more about why I think evolutionary theory is no different from other science in its potential to undermine belief. Science, to me, is the rational exploration of God's creation. This ongoing exploration has enabled humans to assemble reliable explanations for innumerable phenomena of interest: sunrise and sunset, moonlight, weather, growth and development of plants and animals, causation of various diseases. Some of these are phenomena for which biblical writers offered "explanations" that are either incorrect (on a plain reading) or are not natural explanations at all. In my view, various "scientific" accounts in the Bible are easily seen to be folk science or, more generously, what John Calvin called "accommodation." This fact about scripture was known to many Christians long before anyone even dreamed of an ancient earth or common descent. Evolution came very late to that game, and it seems to me that those who claim to reject faith upon reading in Genesis about the "two great lights" in "the vault of the sky" are on better footing than those who reject Christianity because evolution falsifies "each according to its kind."

Furthermore, in case this isn't already obvious, I reject any implication that natural explanation even addresses divine action or agency. Psalms 104 and 139 famously deal with biological phenomena of great interest to biologists, including predation and human embryonic development, and assign causation to God using some of the same Hebrew words used in more fantastic contexts in Genesis. More to the point, Paul in Colossians 1 seems to identify Christ as the source of essentially all natural causation: "For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." And so I find distinctions between natural and supernatural causation to be pedantic at best, dangerous at worst. God works in the world. I'm curious about how he does it, and I happen to believe that much of this work can be understood.

The problem with evolution, as I've noted before, is that the history of human sin (i.e., the fall) does not fit clearly as a historical narrative. And while I concede that this is a problem, I don't see how it's a deal-breaker for Christian belief (or for my belief, anyway). Before I explain why, let me turn to the problem of evil.

It seems to me that the problem of evil, as typically presented, reduces to something like this: "If I were God, I would do X. God doesn't do X. This is a problem."

Don't like that paraphrase? How about this one: "God must be good. If he's good, he should do good things. And he should stop bad things. I have determined that he doesn't always do good things and/or stop bad things. This is a problem."

I haven't written the problem in those ways so that I can convince unbelievers that the problem is silly or that they are stupid for wrestling with it. I wrote it like that to illustrate how I, as a believer, see the "problem." My faith doesn't start with moral reasoning or other judgments and end with God, like this: "I have determined that God does good things, therefore I will believe in Him." Indeed, that kind of talk is antithetical to my Reformed perspective. I start with my belief. I start with an act of grace, leading to belief. I start with God: "completely wise, just, and good" as the Belgic Confession puts it. And, noting that biblical authors -- and Jesus himself -- did not seem to fret about the "problem of evil," I conclude that the existence of suffering is, in fact, "compatible" with God's character and existence. The alternative, that I would judge God's actions, is an absurdity to me as a believer.

And this leads me to Paul's question: why do I believe? He offers me these choices: "Do you believe it because you are convinced by some reasoning or does it just resonate with you?" It's not the former, so I guess it's the "resonate" thing. I can't really say why I believe; I attribute my faith to an act of God himself, in good Calvinist fashion. But I can offer this additional observation regarding "what makes me tick": I see my faith and my reading of scripture as radiating out from the life of Jesus. His incarnation, life, death, and ascension are The Story. I don't start at the beginning, with the ancient Near Eastern cosmology, then work my way through till I get to Pentecost. I really do focus on Jesus, the Alpha and the Omega.

As I explained before, my emphasis on Christ's preeminence makes the academic issue of Adam's actual home address a mere curiosity. And natural evil? Well, among other things, his incarnation accomplished this: he didn't make our suffering go away; he entered into it with us. That might not be what I "want," or what I would do, but it's so very different from the sterile Hobson's choice that standard "problem of evil" formulations present.

All right, sorry that went on so long. My intent was to be open about my belief, and the perspectives that underlie my thoughts on this blog. Now back to some hard science.

Oh look. It's the problem of evil.

There are some really superb blogs over at Science Blogs, and some of the best ones are required reading here. It's hard to stomach PZ's religious blatherings, but he's a gifted science writer and a skilled commentator on developmental issues in evolution. Laelaps is a treasure trove, and Shelley Batts should have won that scholarship; her neuroscience blog, Retrospectacle, is varied and always sharp. And I'm sure that undiscovered treasures are buried in the many blogs I've never visited.

But there are some blogs over there that are little more than the diaries of atheists. Not that there's anything wrong with that (i.e., godlessness): Larry Moran's Sandwalk is one of my must-reads, as is Abbie Smith's ERV, and like many well-informed bloggers who are evolutionists, both are skeptics. Their blogs are important because they're full of serious science, the kind of analysis that is actually more dangerous to creationism and ID than the newsletter fodder that gets pinned up on the walls of the blogs of less thoughtful commentators. If the bosses at Science Blogs haven't already tried, they should beg Larry Moran to move Sandwalk to Science Blogs. And if they're starting to consider a no-growth policy, then they should let Sandwalk take the place of the surprisingly shallow EvolutionBlog of Jason Rosenhouse.

Early on here at QoD, I had EvolutionBlog on my Blogs of Note list, simply because a prominent blog (as evidenced by its presence at Science Blogs) on "the endless dispute between evolution and creationism" seemed apropos. But it's sadly short on science, and long on anti-faith chest-beating. Ooh, but here's something new: the problem of evil.

There are at least two things that I find odd about much of what passes for atheist commentary on the problem of evil. First, folks like Rosenhouse seem to think that every instance of suffering (by humans or giraffes or echidnas or moths) represents a new instance of the problem of evil, as though the problem is magnified with each new meal by a carnivore. Heaping more dead salmon on the pile, it seems to me, doesn't change the basic problem of suffering in God's world. Second, I'm fascinated by the nearly-ubiquitous implication that the problem of evil is somehow linked to common descent. Huh? Humans, including Christians, were quite well acquainted with suffering and natural evil -- on an apocalyptic scale -- long before Darwin scooped Wallace. The problem of evil, if it's a problem for Christianity, isn't linked in any unique way to evolutionary theory.

But there's not much more for me to say, because Scott Carson does it so much better. I've removed the worthless EvolutionBlog from my blogroll, and replaced it with Carson's An Examined Life. (Thanks to John Farrell for the tips.) His latest post, Notes from the Scorecard Department, is the kind of blog article that should make textbook publishers nervous. If you're a Christian, be warned: you may find harsher words there for yourself than for blissfully ignorant bloggers like Jason Rosenhouse. And if you think the question of suffering is a big deal, start with Carson's claim that the Problem of Evil isn't a problem at all. No matter how you come down on the question, take note of the difference in depth of thought and analysis. Rosenhouse:Philosophy :: Behe:Genetics.