Intelligent Design has taken root in higher education:
Overshadowed by attacks on evolution in high-school science curricula, intelligent design is gaining a precarious and hotly contested foothold in American higher education. Intelligent-design courses have cropped up at the state universities of Minnesota, Georgia and New Mexico, as well as Iowa State, and at private institutions such as Wake Forest and Carnegie Mellon. Most of the courses, like Mr. Ingebritsen's, are small seminars that don't count for science credit. Many colleges have also hosted lectures by advocates of the doctrine.
The spread of these courses reflects the growing influence of evangelical Christianity in academia, as in other aspects of American culture. Last week, the Kansas state board of education adopted new science guidelines that question evolution.
Intelligent design does not demand a literal reading of the Bible. Unlike traditional creationists, most adherents agree with the prevailing scientific view that the earth is billions of years old. And they allow that the designer is not necessarily the Christian God.
Still, professors with evangelical beliefs, including some eminent scientists, have initiated most of the courses and lectures, often with start-up funding from the John Templeton Foundation. Established by famous stockpicker Sir John Templeton, the foundation promotes exploring the boundary of theology and science. It fostered the movement's growth with grants of $10,000 and up for guest speakers, library materials, research and conferences.
Intelligent design's beachhead on campus has provoked a backlash. Universities have discouraged teaching of intelligent design in science classes and canceled lectures on the topic. Last month, University of Idaho President Tim White flatly declared that teaching of "views that differ from evolution" in science courses is "inappropriate."
Citing what they describe as overwhelming evidence for evolution, mainstream scientists say no one has the right to teach wrong science, or religion in the guise of science. "My interest is in making sure that intelligent design and creationism do not make the kind of inroads at the university level that they're making at the K-12 level," says Leslie McFadden, chair of earth and planetary sciences at the University of New Mexico, who led a successful fight there to re-classify a course on intelligent design from science to humanities. "You can't teach whatever you damn well please. If you're a geologist, and you decide that the earth's core is made of green cheese, you can't teach that."
This is troubling, to say the least. The problem here is not that intelligent design is being discussed at all--one can easily imagine a classroom environment in which such discussions are appropriate, say, the philosophy of science, or a philosophy class about epistemology, or even a religion class--but that is not what is happening here. Intelligent design is being discussed in the context of "science" class by a "scientist" to his "science" students. The problem is, none of this is "science" as that term is properly understood.
Presumably, there is something to the idea that college students are adults, and, as adults, they are expected to deal with situations in which they are told things by others which are incorrect. Further, part of being an adult is figuring out what is incorrect, and ignoring it. But the problem is more complex than that. The idea of a cell, or another part of an organism being "irreducibly complex" is a tempting one for intelligent design apologists because it implies a concreteness and finality that perplexing theological questions don't: the thing is too complex to have evolved from nothing, the argument goes, therefore, there must be some alternate explanation. Intelligent design must have had a hand in designing such a complex thing.
But that's not science, and to contend that it is, is to bastardize the word "science" much in the way that "love" or "hate" have been cheapened by overuse.
Other biologists have discussed evolution in the context of it being a theory, in order to avoid confrontation:
Warren Dolphin, who also teaches introductory biology at Iowa State, says he's begun describing evolution to his class as a hypothesis rather than as a fact to avoid confrontations with creationist students. "I don't want to get into a nonproductive debate," he says. "What I'm saying is so contrary to what they're hearing in their small town, their school, their church that I won't convert them in 40 lectures by a pointy-headed professor. The most I can do is get them to question their beliefs."
The most valuable thing a college education can do for one is to supply one with the skills to question one's beliefs. Indeed, one could make the same argument about religious faith: the only religious faith worth having is the one that forces you to question that faith. Else you are not a thinking person, but an automaton. Those without the capacity to think critically about what they hold as beliefs are the most pathetic, and dangerous, type of person. Man's capacity for inerrant faith is frightening, whether that faith be a political ideology such as Nazism or a religiously-based one such creationism (euphemistically, intelligent design.)
As is usually the case, Richard Dawkins is helpful when contemplating the tendency of man to believe in "irreducible complexity":
Creationism has enduring appeal, and the reason is not far to seek. It is not, at least for most of the people I encounter, because of a commitment to the literal truth of Genesis or some other tribal origin story. Rather, it is that people discover for themselves the beauty and complexity of the living world and conclude that it “obviously” must have been designed. Those creationists who recognise that Darwinian evolution provides at least some sort of alternative to their scriptural theory often resort to a slightly more sophisticated objection. They deny the possibility of evolutionary intermediates. “X must have been designed by a Creator,” people say, “because half an X would not work at all. All the parts of X must have been put together simultaneously; they could not have evolved gradually.”
Thus the creationist's favourite question “What is the use of half an eye?” Actually, this is a lightweight question, a doddle to answer. Half an eye is just 1 per cent better than 49 per cent of an eye, which is already better than 48 per cent, and the difference is significant. A more ponderous show of weight seems to lie behind the inevitable supplementary: “Speaking as a physicist, I cannot believe that there has been enough time for an organ as complicated as the eye to have evolved from nothing. Do you really think there has been enough time?” Both questions stem from the Argument from Personal Incredulity. Audiences nevertheless appreciate an answer, and I have usually fallen back on the sheer magnitude of geological time.
It now appears that the shattering enormity of geological time is a steam hammer to crack a peanut. A recent study by a pair of Swedish scientists, Dan Nilson and Susanne Pelger, suggests that a ludicrously small fraction of that time would have been plenty. When one says “the” eye, by the way, one implicitly means the vertebrate eye, but serviceable image-forming eyes have evolved between 40 and 60 times, independently from scratch, in many different invertebrate groups. Among these 40-plus independent evolutions, at least nine distinct design principles have been discovered, including pinhole eyes, two kinds of camera-lens eyes, curved-reflector (“satellite dish”) eyes, and several kinds of compound eyes. Nilsson and Pelger have concentrated on camera eyes with lenses, such as are well developed in vertebrates and octopuses.
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