The Case for a Creator (12 page)

To Meyer’s surprise, Kenyon stepped to the podium and actually repudiated the conclusions of his own book, declaring that he had come to the point where he was critical of all naturalistic theories of origins. Due to the immense molecular complexity of the cell and the information-bearing properties of DNA, Kenyon now believed that the best evidence pointed toward a designer of life.

Instead of science and religion being at odds, Meyer heard specialists at the highest levels of achievement who said they were theists—not in spite of the scientific evidence but because of it. As Sandage would say, “Many scientists are now driven to faith by their very work.”
⁶

Meyer was intrigued. It seemed to him that the theists had the intellectual initiative in each of the three issues discussed at the conference—the origin of the universe, the origin of life, and the nature of human consciousness. Even skeptics on the panels conceded the shortcomings of naturalistic explanations. Their main response was only to challenge the theists to provide “scientific answers” instead of merely invoking the idea of intelligent design.

That objection didn’t make much sense to Meyer. “Maybe the world
looks
designed,” he mused, “because it really
is
designed!”

As he walked away from the conference, Meyer was brimming with excitement over what he had experienced. Despite his background in science, he simply had been unaware of the powerful scientific findings that were supporting belief in God. All of this, he decided, was worth a much more thorough investigation.

He didn’t know it at the time, but his life’s mission had just crystallized.

INTERVIEW #2: STEPHEN C. MEYER, PHD

Already having earned degrees in physics and geology, Meyer went on to receive his master’s degree in the history and philosophy of science at prestigious Cambridge University in England, where he focused on the history of molecular biology, the history of physics, and evolutionary theory. He then obtained his doctorate from Cambridge, where his dissertation analyzed the scientific and methodological issues in origin-of-life biology—a field he first got excited about when he heard Kenyon speak at the Dallas conference.

In the past fifteen years, Meyer has become one of the most knowledgeable and compelling voices in the burgeoning Intelligent Design movement. He has contributed to numerous books—including
Darwinism, Design and Public Education;
Mere Creation: Science, Faith and Intelligent Design
;
Signs of Intelligence: Understanding Intelligent Design
;
Science and Christianity: Four Views
;
The Creation Hypothesis: Scientific Evidence for an Intelligent Creator
;
Science and Evidence for Design in the Universe
;
The History of Science and Religion in the Western Tradition
;
Of Pandas and People: The Central Question of Biological Origins
;
Darwinism: Science or Philosophy
;
and
Facets of Faith and Science
,
and is currently finishing books on DNA and the Cambrian explosion.

He has spoken at symposia at Cambridge, Oxford, Yale, Baylor, the University of Texas, and elsewhere; debated skeptics, including Michael Shermer, editor of
The Skeptical Inquirer
; written for magazines ranging from
Origins and Design
(where he’s an associate editor) to
The Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies
to
National Review
; appeared in the
Wall Street Journal
,
Washington Times
,
Chicago Tribune
,
and a host of other newspapers; and faced off with Darwinists on National Public Radio, PBS, and network television.

When I flew into snowy Spokane, Washington, to interview Meyer at Whitworth College, where he was an associate professor of philosophy, I wasn’t aware that he was in the midst of telling his colleagues that he would be leaving soon to become director and senior fellow at the Center for Science and Culture at the Discovery Institute in Seattle. His impending departure was a poignant time for Meyer, since he had spent more than a decade as one of the most popular professors at the school.

To steal some time alone, we commandeered a nondescript off-campus office, where decorating was an apparent afterthought, and sat down in facing chairs for what would turn out to be virtually an entire day of animated, rapid-fire conversation. In fact, the full transcript of our discussion would top a whopping thirty thousand words—a small book in itself!

At one point, Meyer said, “I was once tested for hyperactivity as a kid. Can you imagine?” Yes, I could. Dressed in a dark blue suit, patterned tie, woolly gray socks, and brown Doc Martin shoes, the lanky Meyer was crackling with energy, speaking enthusiastically in quick bursts of words. His wispy brown hair spilled down onto his forehead, giving him a youthful appearance, but his eyebrows were furrowed in intensity.

His students sometimes faulted him for an absentminded professor’s lack of classroom organization, but he made up for it with his infectious passion and disarming sincerity. When he answered my questions, it was in a thorough, systematic, and structured way, almost as if he were reading off invisible note cards. He came off as being brilliant, articulate, and driven.

After swapping some personal stories, we zeroed in on the issue of science and faith. His perspective, not surprisingly, was vastly different from the one I had when I began studying Darwinism in school.

“A ROBUST CASE FOR THEISM”

“We live in a technological culture where many people believe science trumps all other forms of knowledge,” I said to Meyer. “For example, philosopher J. P. Moreland described meeting an engineer who was completing his doctorate in physics. ‘According to him,’ Moreland said, ‘only science is rational; only science achieves truth. Everything else is mere belief and opinion. He went on to say that if something cannot be quantified or tested by the scientific method . . . it cannot be true or rational.’
⁷
Harvard geneticist Richard Lewontin claimed science is ‘the only begetter of truth.’
⁸
Do you agree with those perspectives?”

“No, I don’t,” came Meyer’s reply. “Ironically, to say that science is the only begetter of truth is self-contradicting, because that statement in itself cannot be tested by the scientific method. It’s a self-defeating philosophical assumption.

“Beyond that,” he continued, “while I certainly respect science, I don’t believe scientific knowledge necessarily takes precedence over other things that we know. For instance, Moreland has argued that there are some things we know more certainly through introspection than we know from the sciences. I know I have free will on the basis of my introspection, and no studies in the social sciences will convince me otherwise.”

He motioned toward a light switch on the wall. “I know I can turn that switch on, and I refute those who say I was determined thus,” he said, leaning over to turn on the light. “In addition, history can tell us much, even though we can’t test it by repeated experiment.

“Now, there’s no question that science does teach us many important things about the natural world. But the real question is, ‘Do these things point to anything beyond themselves?’ I think the answer is yes. Science teaches us many true things, and some of those true things point toward God.”

I quickly interrupted. “On the contrary,” I said, “when I learned about Darwinism as a student, I was convinced that science and faith were at odds—and that science definitely had the edge in the credibility department. What would you say to someone who believes that science and Christianity are destined to be at war?”

“Well, that’s certainly one way that people have conceptualized the relationship between science and faith,” he said. “Some claim science and faith are fundamentally at odds. Others have said science and faith represent two separate and distinct realms that don’t and can’t interact with each other.

“However, I personally take a third approach, which is that scientific evidence actually supports theistic belief. In fact, across a wide range of the sciences, evidence has come to light in the last fifty years which, taken together, provides a robust case for theism. Only theism can provide an intellectually satisfying causal explanation for all of this evidence.”

“For instance?”

“For instance,” he continued, “if it’s true there’s a beginning to the universe, as modern cosmologists now agree, then this implies a cause that transcends the universe. If the laws of physics are fine-tuned to permit life, as contemporary physicists are discovering, then perhaps there’s a designer who fine-tuned them. If there’s information in the cell, as molecular biology shows, then this suggests intelligent design. To get life going in the first place would have required biological information; the implications point beyond the material realm to a prior intelligent cause.

“Those are just three examples,” he concluded. “And that’s just the beginning.”

THE PROBLEM WITH NOMA

“Isn’t it dangerous to mix science and faith that way?” I asked. “A lot of scientists follow the lead of the late Stephen Jay Gould in saying that science and faith occupy distinctly different ‘magisteria’ or domains.

“He called this philosophy NOMA, which is short for ‘non-overlapping magisteria.’ He said: ‘The net of science covers the empirical universe . . . [while] the net of religion extends over questions of moral meaning and value.’
⁹
What’s wrong with having that kind of strong dividing line between the hard facts of science and the soft faith of religion?”

“I think NOMA is partially true,” Meyer said—a concession that surprised me a bit. “There are domains of science that are metaphysically neutral. They answer questions like: ‘How many elements are in the periodic table?’ Or ‘What is the mathematical equation that describes gravitational attraction?’ Or ‘How does nature ordinarily behave under a given set of conditions?’ Questions of this sort don’t affect big worldview issues one way or the other. Some people use Galileo’s old aphorism—‘Science tells you how the heavens go, and the Bible tells you how to go to heaven.’ ”

I jumped in. “That sounds trite, but it does make some sense.”

“Of course,” he said. “There is a sense in which science and religion do have different objects of interest and focus, like the nature of the Trinity on one hand, and what are the elementary particles present at the Big Bang on the other hand.

“However, there are other scientific questions that bear directly on the great worldview issues. For instance, the question of origins. If fully naturalistic models are correct, then theism becomes an unnecessary hypothesis. It’s in these instances where science and metaphysics intersect—where worldview questions are at stake—that it’s impossible to impose the NOMA principle. That’s because what science discovers will inevitably have implications for these larger worldview questions. The only real way to keep the two separate is to subtract from the claims of one or the other.

“You see, NOMA says science is the realm of facts, and religion is the realm of morality and faith. The essential problem is that biblical religion makes very specific claims about facts. It makes claims about the universe having a beginning, about God playing a role in creation, about humans having a certain kind of nature, and about historical events that are purported to have happened in time and space.

“Let’s just take the historic Christian creed: ‘I believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth: And in Jesus Christ his only son, our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; the third day he rose again from the dead.’

“Well, Pontius Pilate is situated historically in Palestine in the first century. A claim is made that Jesus of Nazareth lived at the same time. An assertion is made that he rose from the dead. God is called the Creator of heaven and earth. You see, it’s inherent to the Christian faith to make claims about the real world. According to the Bible, God has revealed himself in time and space, and so Christianity—for good or ill—is going to intersect some of the factual claims of history and science. There’s either going to be conflict or agreement.

“To make NOMA work, its advocates have to water down science or faith, or both. Certainly Gould did—he said religion is just a matter of ethical teaching, comfort, or metaphysical beliefs about meaning. But Christianity certainly claims to be more than that.”

This particular statement about Gould seemed vague. I wanted to pin him down by demanding specifics. “Could you give me one concrete example of how Gould watered down Christianity to make NOMA work?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “In his book
Rocks of Ages
, Gould reduces the appearance of the resurrected Jesus to doubting Thomas to being merely ‘a moral tale.’
¹⁰
This was necessary for Gould to do under the rules of NOMA because all of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances come from a religious document—the Bible—and NOMA says religion must confine its claims to matters of morality and values. But the Bible clearly portrays Jesus’ appearances as being actual historical events. Christianity hinges on the conviction that they really occurred.

“NOMA may try to exclude this possibility by restricting religion to mere matters of morality, but the writers of the Bible did not see fit to limit their claims about God to the nonfactual domain that NOMA has allocated to religion. Now, there might be some religions that can fit comfortably with NOMA. But biblical Christianity—because it’s built not just on faith, but on facts—simply cannot.”

Law professor Phillip Johnson also has been strongly critical of the NOMA concept. “Stephen Jay Gould condescendingly offers to allow religious people to express their subjective opinions about morals, provided they don’t interfere with the authority of scientists to determine the ‘facts’—one of the facts being that God is merely a comforting myth,” he said.
¹¹