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Christians, atheists, and public education
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I got tired of the “Atheism On a Bus” title for these articles, ergo the change. I need to remind readers, however, that this extended discussion of atheism and Christianity began as a commentary on signs placed by atheists on Chicago city buses. This is important because my assigned responsibility as an Examiner is to cover Christianity in Chicago, not Christianity in general. But the discussion generated by my first article is too important, I think, to end prematurely. So I hope, gentle reader, you’ll allow me a little leeway here. I promise, when this discussion has ended, I’ll go back to Clark and Addison, the source of life for any true Chicagoan, and remain there.
As the heading suggests, I’d like to talk a little about the way we educate (or ought to educate) our kids. I’m a retired English teacher, so I bring some experience to the table. (I’ll let others be the judge of how much insight or wisdom accompanies that experience.)
Easily, the most vexing pedagogical difficulty separating many Christians from many atheists centers on the Darwin vs. Genesis debate that, in spite of conclusions provided by the Scopes trial back in’26, continues to be waged. Did God create heaven and earth in six days, or has the universe evolved on its own over a period of thirteen (point something) billion years? Is the earth six thousand years old or is it four (point something) billion years old? Where do we find the real truth about when, and how, it all began . . . in Johnny’s science textbook or in Mary’s Bible?
Creationists have long argued that creationism should be taught in public school classrooms as an alternative cosmogony to the big bang. (In recent years, creationists have pretty much dropped the term “creationism” and replaced it with “intelligent design” . . . but it’s the same thing.) “Teach the controversy”, they plead. “Let the kids decide for themselves.” Non-creationists have, in opposition, long argued that religious persuasion should not be given the same credence as observable fact and, consequently, has no place in the classroom.
Let me say at the outset that I’m a creationist. I believe with all my heart that the universe in which we live is the product of divine intent. But, although I’m persuaded God created what Scripture calls, “heaven and earth”, I’ll be damned if I can tell you how he did it. I don’t think the answer is in Genesis, because Genesis gives us two altogether different, not to mention mutually exclusive, creation stories (which, by the by, poses no problem for Christian faith, given that the essential point to each of the stories centers on who did the deed, rather than on how he did it . . . i.e., on purpose, rather than on process). So, if the Bible gives me no significant insight into the cosmogony of my universe, it follows that Church dogma probably doesn’t have much to say in this regard, either. So where do I turn, then, for possible explanations? If you just answered, “To science, dummy!”, you are spot on.
I’m no scientist, but I’m convinced beyond any reasonable doubt that most conjectures propounded by biologists, and geologists, and botanists, and astronomers, and physicists, yadda yadda, have been propounded honestly and with all the careful integrity Lady Science demands from her acolytes. Insofar as these conjectures apply to how everything that is came into existence, I’m as content as the next guy to accept them as probabilities. More to the point, I’m as content as the next guy to accept them as legitimate products of scientific inquiry. And this is what should be taught in science classrooms.
Creationism is a philosophy, a theological argument, an article of faith. It is not science and should not be taught as science. Nor should it be taught as a viable alternative to science under the guise of “intelligent design”. If we want to discuss creationism in public school classrooms, let’s do it as part of a broader discussion of creation mythologies (there’s a zillion of ‘em out there, after all), call the class, “Theories of how everything got here”, and hand it over to the Philosophy department. But don’t pretend it’s science, ‘cuz it ain’t.
If there really is a God and if this really is his world, nothing science reveals to us about it should bother us. This includes anything science may have to tell us in regard to evolutionary processes. If this is not God’s world, no amount of frantic pulpiteering and Bible waving will make it so.
But . . . but, but, but . . . I do emphatically reserve the right to call my grandkiddies into my living room and tell them that, while what they are learning in science class is true, and valuable, and interesting as heck, there’s more to the story. I reserve the right to tell them they are here, and that the world in which they play is here, because at some time in the distant past, a loving and infinitely wise God said, or thought, “Let there be . . .” I reserve this right, not to undermine what they’re being taught in science class, but to clarify it. I stand with the mother who, in the second book of Maccabees (Catholic Bible), said, “I implore you, my child, look at the earth and sky and everything in them, and consider how God made them out of what did not exist, and that human beings came into being in the same way.”
So, my atheist friends, here’s the deal: I promise to keep my Bible out of public school classrooms if, in return, you will grant me the freedom to clarify to my grandkids, in the privacy of my own living room, some of what they are being taught in those classrooms. Okay?
Let’s give this a day or two, and then have a go at abortion rights.
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