The Book of Works

My childhood was not a happy one. It wasn’t my parents—they were fine, and I was never abused or mistreated by my family. They were militant atheists, and I grew up with no concept of God or anything beyond a materialistic world, but that didn’t bother me until much later. The problem I had as a child was where I was living. Brooklyn, New York, is not a gentle place, and it was perhaps even less so in the 1950s and 60s than it is now. The boys in the neighborhood played rough, as boys tend to do, but there was a deeper menacing presence surrounding us as children. Many of the adults we knew were connected in some degree to the pervasive crime families that dominated parts of New York City at the time.

And then there were the gangs. I remember arriving at school one day to find a young man hanging on the fence, where he had been left the night before as a punishment and warning. The police arrived and took him down. He was badly injured but alive, and he refused to speak a word. It was a powerful message to the whole neighborhood.

Shortly after I reached adolescence, something changed on my block. The guys I had hung out with all decided to form their own gang. I wanted to be a part of it, but my parents put their foot down and forbade it. I tried to defy them, but in the end, reason (and perhaps the hand of God?) prevailed, and I told the guys that I would not be joining them in their exciting plans to spread mayhem through the neighborhood.

While this was obviously the right decision, I suffered for it for several years. I became the new gang’s primary target. Getting home from school became a terrifying and dangerous daily adventure. No matter how many new routes I came up with to avoid them, I was attacked and beaten several times over the next few years, and it wasn’t until I finally left Brooklyn for college that I had any sense of safety in my life.

While I no longer felt the kind of fear that had tormented me, what I couldn’t leave behind was my anger. The one time I had gotten the better of my tormentors was when I became so angry that I let loose and actually hurt one of them badly. As an adult, I retained the sense of rage that I felt against the gang, and particularly the leader. I would fantasize about meeting him somewhere and doing him great harm. At different times, I told some of the details of my childhood experiences to people close to me, and each time I received sympathy and understanding. I also would add how angry I felt, and how that anger had given me strength and the iron determination to never be a victim, to always fight for the safety and security of myself and those I loved. I was a pretty tough guy, and I was proud of it.

I never thought that the way I felt about that part of my life would or could ever change, and I had no interest in it changing. But it did. In my 40s, I was not a believer, but I had managed to go from the strict atheism of my youth to being an agnostic questioner of the purpose of life, and to considering the possibility that science did not actually have all the answers to every question.

One day, I told the story of my childhood to a Christian friend, as an explanation of how I had become such a tough guy. She expressed sympathy, but she added something I had never heard or even imagined before: “You need to forgive them.” The words provoked an angry reaction from me. “Never!” I told her. “I hate them for what they did. If I saw them today, I would kill them!” She looked at me in silence for a while. She then said, “Do you hear yourself? Your rage is killingyou, not them. Let it go. Forgive them. Jesus asked for forgiveness for those who crucified Him. He taught us to forgive our enemies.”

I sat there stunned, and somewhat hurt. I was thinking, “Why doesn’t she respect this anger that is so central to my very essence?” Then it struck me: What kind of person thinks of an emotion like anger as part of their essence? How can I be that kind of person? And then I felt a kind of breath, something I couldn’t recognize, come over me. It happened in an instant, and it left me with a vision of joy and peace washing away the dark anger in my soul. I started to cry, and with great emotion I said the words that could never have come before: “I forgive them” and once out of my mouth, everything changed. There was an immediate sense of relief and lightness as a heavy weight inside me disintegrated and left me feeling—free.

I didn’t become a Christian at that moment. I still had a ways to go on my journey. But it was an enormous step for me to take, and the Holy Spirit was there, waiting for me, ready to hold me and guide me. Some years later, the Spirit again showed mercy and presented me with the experience that removed all doubts and hesitation, and I devoted my life to following the risen Christ. Praise God for His grace that saved a sinner like me.

This post was first published as an article in More to Life Magazine, Dec 1, 2019.

I am very excited about the release of my book, and I hope and pray that it gets into the hands of those who need it, those whose lives will be improved by reading it. There are, of course, many other Christian books out there. I’m thrilled that so many great Christian books are being published, some written by friends and people I admire.

I don’t think of these books as competition with my own book, but as collaborations in a common cause to spread the good news of Jesus Christ. In the following list, I have highlighted books authored by people I have met, some of whom I count as friends, and some I have only spoken to once or twice. Either way, I am happy to showcase their work here. All are recently published or coming out soon. My listing them here does not mean I necessarily agree with everything they say, but I do think all these books are well worth reading. In addition to my own, of course!

The first two on the list, by Gregg Davidson and Carol Hill, were released on the same day as mine by the same publisher, Kregel.

Friend of Science, Friend of Faith Gregg Davidson

A Worldview Approach to Science and Scripture Carol Hill

The Story of the Cosmos Daniel Ray and Paul Gould

The Genealogical Adam and Eve S Joshua Swamidass (Coming in December)

A Theory of Everything (that Matters) Alister McGrath.

Confronting Christianity Rebecca McLaughlin

God Can’t Thomas Jay Oord

Faith Across the Multiverse Andy Walsh

Science and Faith Hannah Eagleson

Mere Science and Christian Faith Greg Cootsona

God’s Good Earth Jon Garvey

Christianity and the (R)evolution in Worldviews in Western Culture Joel Edmund Anderson

Bringing the Exodus to Life: Book 1 Phillip Cottraux

I suppose it’s appropriate that this post  has a title that contains several questions, since the book itself opens with a chapter called “The Importance of Questions.” The answers to the (six) questions posed by the title could take the space of another book, but I will try to compress a bit.

As all writers know, writing a book and getting it published are two entirely different things. I don’t have a terribly clear answer as to why I began “writing” this book, other than I have always loved writing (this is not my first book) and at some point I thought it would be good to put many of my thoughts about science and my growing Christian faith on (what has now become metaphorical) paper. I put the word writing in quotes in the previous sentence, because what turned into this book began about a decade ago with putting together a bunch of paragraphs and snippets from earlier writings. From then until my retirement in 2015, the book grew slowly as I added more material, moved stuff around, and began thinking about what I really wanted to say.

With advice and help from my wife (more about her below), I started working on the book in earnest after retirement. I started constructing chapters, threw out a lot, and tried to develop some themes and consistency.

A couple of years later, in the summer of 2017, I began showing the chapters to my wife, Aniko. Although not a native speaker, she is an expert linguist, writer, and editor in English, as well as a brilliant researcher (which is the only reason that some of my initial errors in the science part of the book were corrected). She began to edit the chapters as I finished what I thought was the final version (Ha!). I had another reader/editor, a friend from my church, Mark Meredith, the husband of our pastor (Pastor Martha Meredith wrote one of the endorsements of the book). Mark was and remains a huge supporter of the book and is also a skilled editor with a slightly different perspective on some of the material that either Aniko or I had. During the late summer and fall of 2017, I was sending chapters to Mark, and then giving those edited pages to Aniko for the (as we began calling them, somewhat prematurely) the “final final” versions.

In late 2017, I began to think about the terrifying process of seeing if I could find some way to get the book published. My initial thought had been self-publishing, based on a realistic appraisal of the chances of any new, unknown author finding a publisher or an agent. Those odds have been estimated at around 1%, but I decided to at least give it a try before going the self-publishing route. I found a list of Christian literary agents and began writing proposals. From my experience as a research scientist and then an administrator of the review of research proposals at the NIH, I had learned the most important thing about writing proposals: FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS!!!

This meant writing a different proposal for each agency, since, of course, they all have different requirements for what to include and how. One size definitely does not fit all, and the chance that an agent will even look at a book proposal, which is already quite low, drops to zero if the supplicant does not follow the submission guidelines precisely.

So I wrote about a half dozen different proposals and sent them out in two batches. The first batch of three got one reply: “Thank you—this looks interesting, but I cannot take it on.” I focused on the “interesting” part and was encouraged. The next set of three included one to an agent at the Steve Laube Agency, which everyone on the internet seemed to agree was the best Christian literary agency in the country. I sent the proposal to Dan Balow, a relative newcomer to the agency who specialized in non-fiction, and whose blog I liked. Yes, when pitching to an agent, learn who they are, and what they want. It’s worth the time and effort. At least it was in my case, because on  January 16, 2018, I got a reply from Dan telling me he found the proposal interesting—and could we talk on the phone the next day?

I was stunned, flabbergasted, amazed, grateful, and totally euphoric. (Aniko sometimes says I am prone to what she calls Syperbole—I don’t know where she gets that idea.) The next day Dan and I had a great conversation, and he became my agent. We quickly finished the final edits on the final chapters, sent him a full manuscript, and began the next phase of the publication adventure—waiting for news.

I began this blog in May 2015. I had just retired from the NIH, and I was fortunate enough to receive a grant from the John Templeton Foundation for two years that allowed me to do research on gene regulatory network theory and work on this blog and other things (see below). The blog posts here are therefore part of the work product or outputs of the Templeton grant.

As I hope most of my readers know, my book The Works of His Hands: A Scientist’s Journey from Atheism to Faith will be released on November 19 by Kregel Publications. This book was also a part of my promised outputs for the Templeton grant. I have created a new web page to help promote the book at https://theworksofhishands.com.

I have also decided, with the encouragement of my publisher, to combine my blogging activity with my book promotion in one website. My next blog post will be posted at the following link:

https://theworksofhishands.com/blog

In order that readers still continue to get notifications of new posts, I will also post the title and the first few lines of each post here at The Book of Works, followed by a link to the full post on the new site. I strongly encourage all readers to follow me on The Works of His Hands.

The Book of Works will not go away, and I may eventually return to this site as my primary blog.

But for now, I will say, “See you soon, at the other place.”

In the 1960s, a climatologist named Edward Lorenz worked on developing a set of difference equations to study weather forecasting. This type of equation is used to model what happens to a system as a function of time: a variable is traced from the beginning (time = 0) in repeating steps (iterations) at each time (t = 1,2,3, etc.).

Lorenz found logical, expected results when a constant used in the equation was set at a particular level, but at higher values, the results showed a strange, oscillating pattern with time. The higher the value of the constant, the more irregular the cycles became, and at a certain point, they lost all semblance of regularity and fluctuated wildly in a chaotic fashion. Chaos theory was born.

Lorenz also found that when he rounded out the value used for the starting condition, using 5.21 instead of 5.21332, for example, the solutions over time showed a completely different pattern. This extreme dependence on initial conditions is sometimes called the “butterfly effect,” after the idea that a butterfly flapping its wings in China could create a storm in Texas a few days later. Chaotic dynamics occur in many, if not all, complex dynamic systems, like the stock market, national economies, heart physiology, and so on. And, of course, the most complex of all systems, human society, is totally ruled by chaos theory. I call this the “human effect,” and I believe it has some interesting philosophical implications.

Humans have been compared to a collection of gas molecules randomly colliding and going in unpredictable ways but en masse forming a highly deterministic and predictable system. But gas molecules make no choices; their individual behavior is truly random. Ours is not, which is what makes history so fascinating.

It’s entirely rational to propose that everything any of us do or say can have enormous effects on the state of the world. If I decide to stop during a walk and look into the window of a store, I will arrive at the bookstore five minutes later than I would have if I hadn’t stopped. That means I will enter the store just as another customer is leaving. I bump into him, we both apologize, he stops to pick up the books he dropped, I help him, we exchange a few words, and he goes on his way. That 45-second delay makes him too late to flag the taxi he would otherwise have gotten, and he needs to wait a good 15 minutes before he gives up on finding a taxi and calls Uber. The Uber driver picks him up. If the man had found the cab that I made him miss, the Uber driver would have picked up a woman a few blocks away. But since he didn’t, the woman gets into another Uber and finds that the driver looks familiar. It is in fact a man she knew in college, and after some conversation, they remember each other. They exchange numbers, meet a few days later, begin dating, fall in love, get married, and have children. Their children grow up, and the oldest becomes a scientist and discovers a cure for a disease. So the lives of thousands of people are saved by the child of the woman who took a different Uber because the man I bumped into was a few seconds later than he would have been if I hadn’t paused to look at the store window.

I just made that fantasy up, but such things happen all the time, and with some thought and research, examples are easy to find. The idea of the human effect is wonderfully illustrated in the film It’s a Wonderful Life. Aside from the film’s other great qualities, it is quite special in that it represents the first, and still one of the very few, example of a detailed and rigorous thought experiment on the basic principles of chaos and complexity theory. It has some pretty profound scientific and religious implications, which is why, of course, I like it.

As in all experiments, there is a model system—in this case, a typical small American town. The hypothesis to be tested is that the existence of a single individual (Jimmy Stewart’s character) has major, unpredictable, and irreversible effects on the behavior of the system. It provides an early glimpse of  the revolutionary idea (unknown at the time the film was made) that complex systems are highly dependent on initial conditions.

I know, this isn’t science—it’s melodrama. But my point is that this story should make us think about the reality that for good or ill, we are all critical to the reality of everyone else.

Humanity is a huge system. And everyone who is part of that system (which is everyone) has a role in what happens next. What this means is that nothing we do or say is ever lost, because the effects or ripples of our actions continuously rebound throughout history. I know that sounds silly. Imagine the millions and millions of people who have ever lived, and all the words and actions of all those people, all but the tiniest fraction of which are lost forever to our knowledge. But that is where my faith comes in. I don’t think they are lost.

All human lives are important, valuable, and (in my own religious view) holy. So choose what you do and say wisely, my friends. My life depends on it.

Why doesn’t God step in and stop bad things from happening?

On a cool cloudy day in Manhattan, a young mother walking with her three children (one in a stroller) was caught in a sudden downpour. She was pushing the stroller, holding the hand of her little girl, and juggling a bag of groceries on top of it. When the rain came down, she started to hurry, because she was afraid the baby, who had been sniffling, would get sick. The oldest was giving her trouble, and she yelled at him to be quiet while she hurried to cross a side street before the light turned. The rain was heavy, and visibility was bad. She didn’t see the car turning, and the driver, also in a hurry and not completely sober, didn’t see her. She and all three of her kids were killed.

Except that didn’t happen. Here’s the true version. I had gone to do some shopping, and having checked the weather forecast, I brought a small folding umbrella with me. When I got to the store, I was surprised to see my wife there, shopping. (This was before cell phones.) She was on the way home from work and also had an umbrella. We started walking home together just as the rain began pouring down in buckets. In the hope of staying dry, we each opened our own umbrellas. As we got to the first cross street, I saw the woman with the three kids bent against the rain and rushing to get out of it.

I was not a Christian at this time, but I had been going to church occasionally, and I was in the process of thinking about Jesus, the Gospels, and the possibility that God was real. Without more than an instant’s thought, I crossed the avenue, went up to the woman, and gave her my umbrella. She gave me a smile, said thank you in Spanish, and I could see the relief on her face. She held the umbrella over the stroller, and continued more calmly on her way, joking with her kids, and stopping at the corner for the light to turn back to green. My wife caught up to me and gave me a smile. We walked the rest of the way home under one umbrella, which was fine.

Did God prevent a tragedy there? We will never know. The first paragraph is clearly derived from my own imagination. Did the Holy Spirit come to me and whisper the suggestion of a charitable and selfless act? That is probably the case—first, because this was a time when the Holy Spirit seemed to be actively engaged with me; and second, because such charitable acts toward strangers were not among my habits. I had been born and raised in that city, where interactions with strangers are not part of the culture.

Perhaps this story is only one of millions of stories of God’s interventions to prevent tragedies that we can never know about, and the tragedies that do occur are those where the intended agent (in this case, me) chose not to follow the whisper of God’s urging. What I think is crucial is that if my fantasy is actually true and God used me to save four innocent lives, then we must all always be open to doing acts of kindness and mercy, because we, humans, acting here in the physical world, are one of the ways in which God intervenes for good. Theologian Thomas Jay Oord, in his new book God Can’t suggests that this is always the way that God works in love to bring about transformation in the world. I don’t know if that’s always true. But now, as a follower of Christ, I certainly do believe that at least once, many years ago on a rainy New York street, that is exactly what He did, and I was blessed beyond measure to be His instrument.

Last week I was standing at the ocean’s edge on a beach in eastern Long Island, and I remembered that at an earlier point in my life, while still an agnostic, I used to (in a way) worship the ocean. Whenever I would get to a seashore, on whatever continent, whether a sandy beach or a rocky coast, I would think “Here I am, sea, once again, back to be with you.” I would watch the waves and think in some way that they were expressions of friendship, much like the wagging of dog’s tail, or the wave of a human.

This kind of pantheistic nature worship is not at all uncommon among atheists or agnostics with some degree of spiritual connection. Even some theists, including Christians, will occasionally succumb to the marvelous beauty of God’s creation and lean toward worshiping the creation instead of the Creator. As Denis Alexander says in his book Is there Purpose in Biology?, quoting theologian Aubrey Moore:
“For the Christian theologian, the facts of nature are the acts of God.”

Alexander goes on to demolish the extreme forms of “natural theology” that hold nature to be an entity worthy of worship. He discusses the brilliant Christian pioneer of chemistry, Robert Boyle, who demythologized “the idea of nature as a quasi-independent entity.”

I had a rude awakening regarding the imagined friendship between myself and the sea. Those who read my post “How I spent my Summer Vacation” last year might recall my telling of an incident with a pair of dolphins off the coast of Maine that I interpreted as a positive spiritual experience with God’s creatures. But a few years before that event, I was in the same boat off the same coast and had an altogether more sobering and in fact life-threatening encounter with the reality of the ocean.

A rare hurricane was threatening the coast where we were spending our vacation, and I had to move the boat into a safe place. I decided to bring it back to the launch ramp where I could easily put it back on its trailer. This entailed going from where the boat was moored near our house to a small inlet a few miles along the coast. I started out with no problems, even though the outer bands of the hurricane were already hitting us. There was a heavy rain and the water near the mooring was choppier than usual. But we were on the leeward (protected) side of an island, and when I passed under the bridge that connected the island to the mainland, I immediately entered a different world, one that I was unfamiliar with.

The sea was rough, rougher than I had ever seen it, with swells 4 to 6 feet high and coming rapidly. After 10 minutes, I realized I could make no progress against the wind and current, and that I had to give up my plan and turn around. My 12-foot boat was barely under the control of the 20-hp outboard engine, and it was all I could do to keep the bow pointed into the wind and waves. I realized to my horror that turning around would be almost impossible, since as soon as the boat was broadside to the waves it would capsize.

At that point I called out in desperation, “Stop!” Of course, it didn’t, and I thought “the ocean doesn’t care about you at all.” I had no options— there were no other boats around, no people on the shore or the bridge. There was nothing I could do. Finally, I took a deep breath, gunned the engine to top speed, and turned the boat. Sure enough, one wave hit just as I was 90 degrees to the wind, and I almost went over, but the momentum of the turn brought me around. In another three minutes the waves propelled the boat back under the bridge, and I was safe. Exhausted, terrified, soaking wet, and a bit wiser, I dragged the boat up onto the dock of a neighbor.

So I no longer talk to the sea. I still love it, but I no longer think of it as anything other than what it is, a marvelous part of this splendid planet, in turn, created as a small part of this universe by God. The shock of understanding that nature doesn’t really care about us humans has long worn off. What counts is that God does care for us, and even more, that we care about each other, and that’s all we need.

Last week, as I watched the waves crash onto the shore and looked out at the vast ocean, I was not thinking about any relationship I once imagined I had with the world- wide seas, but instead I focused my attention on the distant figure of a swimmer as she (my beautiful wife)  moved in the water, and felt the real wonder of true love.

I recently tweeted something that raised quite a few eyebrows among scientifically minded folks, both atheists and Christians.

The tweet implied that I believe that evolution cannot explain all human characteristics, and that a divine intervention in the form of a miracle must have been involved in the creation of a creature that can write symphonies and invent the internet. I gave the impression that I was relying on magic, and disputing mainstream scientific evidence.

What I believe is that evolution is one of the tools that God uses in creation. But it isn’t the only such tool. This is abundantly clear in the origin of life, where it is simply impossible to invoke our understanding of the evolutionary process to produce the first life forms. People who say that “life evolved” tend to think of evolution as equivalent to natural selection, but the fact is that biological (Darwinian) evolution requires some very special biochemical mechanisms (extremely accurate genotype replication and extremely accurate translation of genotype to phenotype) in order to function. These mechanisms could not have evolved by those same mechanisms.

Does this mean that I presuppose some magical, supernatural, or non-materialistic source for the emergent transitions that lead to origins, such as that of life or human consciousness? It might appear so from my tweet, which like too many of my tweets was not properly worded. Twitter is an entirely inappropriate format for the expression of deep philosophical ideas, as most (smarter) people have already discovered, and I am slowly beginning to learn.

First, let’s remember that some of what we now think of as purely scientific statements of natural reality would have previously been thought of as supernatural nonsense. This includes all of quantum theory and some aspects of relativity (time slowing down, space bending etc.). Second, while God is a supernatural entity, all of His creation (which includes all origins) is part of nature, and God is not a magician, but the creator of a lawful universe.

Most importantly, we must remember that while where we are today in terms of our understanding of reality is far beyond where we were yesterday, it’s also far behind where we’ll be tomorrow. That’s obvious from our technological progress and is also true (perhaps at a slightly slower pace) for our scientific understanding of nature.

So when I say that the natural processes that have been proposed cannot explain all the characteristics of humanity and there must be another source, what I really mean to say is that evolution as we know it is not sufficient to account for human exceptionalism. The other source is not God as opposed to naturalism, because I believe God is the single source for everything in nature. What I meant is that the other source is some as yet unknown, alternative tool that God uses to create.

What is that tool? We don’t know, but I believe it’s related to the phenomenon of emergence, where systems or collections of components suddenly become something entirely new, another (epistemic, though not ontological) level of reality. Does God wave a magical wand, or speak an incantation whenever one kind of reality undergoes this mysterious process and a new form of reality emerges? No, just as God does not need to magically create the mutations that are part of the evolutionary mechanism. But until we have the same depth of understanding of what emergence is and how it works that we have for evolution, we can only think of it as “another source.”

Does all of this mean that I am a Deist, or that I think that God never intervenes in the world of nature, but has front-loaded creation with all the tools needed to produce what we now see? No, because as a Christian, I know that God not only is present in our lives, but that He appeared in human form for the express purpose of intervention in the world of human beings. And the creation we know did not spring into existence all at once, but in temporal stages, as alluded to  in Genesis.

I might also be wrong about the emergence (as opposed to the evolution) of humanity. Perhaps, as some recent evidence indicates, the process was as slow and gradual as any other evolutionary change, with the appearance of new features like sophisticated language; artistic creativity; intellectual depth capable of inventing mathematics, logic, and technological solutions; awareness of ourselves and the world; romantic love; sophisticated sense of humor; complex music; compassion and altruism; and quite a few other considerably interesting new traits.

But so far, this evidence does not convince me, because neither I nor anyone else can even articulate what human consciousness really is, and so to explain it in terms of evolutionary mechanisms seems impossible.

The good news (which isn’t really news, since it’s been true forever and will be true far into the future) is that we still have a lot to learn, and I am of the firm belief that as we go forward to tackle these really difficult questions related to the nature of emergence, and as we try to gain a better insight of our own natures, we will find more tools of God’s creation and learn ever more about the nature of God, the creator of all.

Carl Sagan’s Cosmos came out while I was an atheist, and I thought it was a wonderful TV series. I loved the state-of-the-art graphics, and, of course, Sagan was a master documentarian. I know now that there was quite a bit of anti-religious propaganda in the script, but at the time it didn’t bother me, because, well, I was an atheist, so I didn’t notice it, and it wouldn’t have bothered me if I had noticed it. I believe it was quite mild compared to the in-your face anti-theism so prevalent today.

In fact, when Neil deGrasse Tyson announced he was doing a remake, I thought it was quite exciting. There was certainly plenty of new science in astronomy and cosmology to catch up on. This time, though, as a Christian I was keenly aware of the potshots and distortions of history and theology that were beamed out to the public in the name of science.

But my goal is not to review the Cosmos TV show. Instead, I want to discuss a new book recently published that is a marvelous antidote and a gentle rebuttal to the tone of Cosmos. The book is called The Story of the Cosmos, edited by Daniel Ray (an online friend) and Paul Gould. The chapters are all about cosmology, astronomy and related sciences, but there is not much about biochemistry, so I read it as an educated layman.

The Story of the Cosmos is a joy to read. The quality of the writing and the impeccable scientific content of the essays make this book a wonderful counter-argument to the Sagan/Tyson narrative of a meaningless, purposeless, Godless cosmos. The individual authors, all expert authorities in their fields, tackle subjects as diverse as black holes, fine-tuning, binary stars, meteorites, and the history and literature of the scientific study of the universe, all from a Christian theistic worldview. This book is all about declaring the glory of God by studying the heavens.

As would be expected, the different authors employ a variety of styles in their chapters, but all of them are eminently readable for the non-specialist (like me) and full of interest and insights. Educational and entertaining, this book would make a marvelous gift for a student of any age who is interested in learning about the science of cosmology without the tired anti-religious propaganda that pervades so much of popular scientific literature and media.

While I found every chapter to be intriguing and informative, I especially enjoyed Consolmagno’s humble and straightforward accounts of his laboratory work on meteors, Salviander’s story of black hole denialism, and Gonzalez’ treatment of a subject of great interest to me–exoplanets and astrobiology. William Lane Craig, the famous apologist, theologian, and philosopher, has an outstanding chapter that summarizes many of his familiar apologetic arguments and goes into new areas stimulated by newer findings.  The other chapters are equally beautifully written and interesting, and you might be hard pressed to choose your own favorites. Congratulations to editors Daniel Ray and Paul Gould for a magnificent job on this volume, which I believe will be essential reading for anyone interested in science and Christian faith.

I originally intended to post a review on the book’s Amazon page, but I was prevented from doing so. Apparently, something in my profile triggered a rejection of my review, because it reflected information in another reviewer’s profile. Huh? After a few attempts to correct this error, Amazon basically told me that the decision stands. The good news is that the book is selling well, despite the lack of a review from me. Here is the link to the Amazon page for ordering the book, or, of course, you could patronize your local bookstore. Either way, I strongly recommend obtaining a copy. It’s a great reference, and a pleasure to read. Order  it here.

I recently had a “debate” with atheist activist Aron Ra. Aron is known for his sharp attacks on Christian apologists, as well as for being a staunch and highly educated defender of evolution. We first met two years ago, when he invited me for an interview on his YouTube channel, and we ended up having a pleasant and polite conversation (not, however, entirely lacking in disagreements).

The discussion we had a week ago was similar in tone. One reason Aron and I seem to get along, despite his fervent ant- theism, is mutual respect. He respects me for my scientific credentials and for my willingness to actively witness for the reality of evolution, including engaging in debates with well-known young-earth creationists. I respect him for his intelligence and the depth and breadth of his biological knowledge (especially in phylogenetics and cladistics).

At the very end of the discussion, just before the Q&A, Aron said (in response to my statement that I am not an apologist and not trying to convert atheists):

“One of the problems we have now in the US is we are so polarized. When you and I were young, the common man knew you have to be a fool to reject science. Science is real. But everybody also had this notion that they go somewhere when they die. And the atheists and the creationists were both on very far extremes. But now we have this polarized society where that middle-of-the-road guy, the person who holds both perspectives (science and faith) is almost absent. People are walking away from religion, and others are walking away from science. I would rather go back to that time than what we have now.”

I said I was in complete agreement, we thanked each other for the discussion, and we went to the questions.

I am very happy about that debate/discussion, not because I won or I convinced anyone that my position was correct, but because I feel that it could stand as a model for how to discuss things with someone you don’t agree with. And yes, as Aron and I proved, it’s possible to do so. One wouldn’t think it could be, listening to our President and his political opponents. (I don’t mean to imply that the two sides here equal).

Polarization is probably an understatement. In religion, in politics, in matters of sexuality and identity, people (especially people online) are ready to demolish, destroy, defame, denigrate, and otherwise attack those with whom they disagree.

I consider myself to be a militant moderate. This doesn’t mean that I tolerate actual fascists, racists, communists or radical crazies of any stripe. Buy unlike a good number of younger folk, I have had real life experiences with all of those, and I know how bad they are, and how dangerous they are for our society. But if we treat everyone who holds a different perspective than we do on the important issues of life and society as a pariah, we will continue to slide toward mutual hatred, and possibly violence.

We have already been there. In the late 1960s, the political divide over the war in Vietnam and Civil Rights was more contentious and violent that the current situation. It was exhausting and frightening. In one demonstration, a brick thrown by a construction worker narrowly missed me (it would have killed me). At Columbia University, I saw a cop beat a student bloody while smiling and cursing. And there were always those brave souls who threw bottles and stones at the cops from the safe back of the crowd. A lot of people were killed in the civil strife of those times.

What counts is our mutual humanity. All of us humans are one family, and it’s time to stop this incessant hatred. We can disagree, we can argue, we can vote for different people, we can worship different Gods or no god, but we cannot forget the universal truth taught by all religions – all people are our brethren. Learn to live with them, and perhaps even love them. It’s worth it.