A biogenesis for Doyle

Which would be more impressive: taking a pool ball and placing it, by hand, in a pocket, or sinking all fifteen balls with one shot? (This is not a trick question; go with the obvious answer.)

You do not honor the giver of a gift by loudly proclaiming your refusal for all time to use what was given. You do not display your loyalty, patriotism and virtue by pledging that you will be stupid. If Osama bin-Laden tells you that today is November twenty-seventh, it is not a blow for freedom and the good guys to say no, no, it's Wombatzember eleventy-zilliard. It's just ridiculous flailing.

A lot of my students are young Earth creationists. That's fine; at that age, I was a Republican. People outgrow ideas as they sag and buckle under the weight of information and life experience. (I'm not a Democrat, just in case you drew that conclusion.) But outgrowing young Earth creationism is pretty urgent, as clinging to that belief doesn't accomplish anything they think they're accomplishing.

To begin with, it doesn't make a danged lick of sense. I won't try to lay out the case for natural selection, because it isn't my field and I would have to shave off nuances and mangle details all over the place. But I've studied it a good deal and struggled through explanations from colleagues of mine who know what they're talking about, and I don't have any residual doubts.

But what's more, acknowledging natural selection doesn't negate faith in God. It is true that it offers an account of how life could have come about on Earth without a Creator (although it doesn't entail that conclusion), but that's entirely consistent with God's character. God does not hold us hostage. The door into God's presence is not locked from the inside. People whose character moves them to flee from Him will find that He's left space for them to live with that choice. If, every single day, fiery letters arose in the sky with the sun that said "I exist. And hurry up and get saved, won't you?" then the matter would be settled: only terribly insane people could reject God. (Well, possibly also people who were both blind and skeptical.) But that's simply not the way things are. Chaïm Perelman talks about the difference between demonstration and persuasion, and the Greeks distinguished ἐπιστήμη, true and certain knowledge, from φρόνησις, practical reasoning. In each case, the former refers to matters about which there is not room for reasonable disagreement, while the latter consists of that which could be otherwise. God leaves His existence in this world in the realm of things which could be otherwise, because if He didn't, the entire concept of "faith" would be nonsensical.

Last, we are intelligent and capable of reasoning because God gave us those gifts. We were made in His image, and beasts were not. We were made capable of reasoning in complex, abstract and subtle ways that separate us from His other living inventions. When we stubbornly insist on mutilating reason in order to show our loyalty to Him, we don't glorify Him at all. Instead, we trample on His gifts. God does not require of us that we believe anything that is not true. When we find that a matter is complex, why should that surprise us? The world is complex, as is its Creator. When we grab at slogans or brutally simplify matters in order to silence people who question, or even deny, God's glory, we duplicate their errors; but in our case it's worse, because we do it in His name.

The more we know about how natural selection has shaped life on Earth, the more wonderful it is. God set in motion a pattern of forces, operations and dynamics that brought about all of it, like a pool player setting up the universe's most breathtaking trick shot. And before any of us came to be, as products of that miracle, He knew us. And understanding that is in no way a rejection of faith: furthest thing from it.

A mnemonnie for Conic

For years, when I've covered informative speaking, I've talked about what a good idea it is for a speaker to give the audience memory tricks for the material in the speech, and I always ask students for examples that they used in school. They offer up Roy G. Biv, King Philip Came Over For Good Steak, and a few others, and I always chip in Please Excuse My Drunk Aunt Sally. That's a memory trick for the order of operations in math: first, do parentheses and exponents, then multiply and divide, and finally, add and subtract.

The students giggle at my version, because their teachers say Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally. But, as I explain, that makes no sense. Excusing my drunk Aunt Sally is understandable, because she's probably a little too loud, and might even be hitting on everything in pants. But if she's dear, then why are you asking people to excuse her? Are you ashamed of her? What, is it because she's old? Because she's not cool? What's wrong with you?

Anyway, every once in a while I wake up in the middle of the night, wide awake, and there's no telling where my mind will wander, and last night I had an attack of wakeful, wandering mind. And I got to thinking about other phrasings of this mnemonic. It being the middle of the night and all, I have to admit that a lot of them sound like the title of a horror movie.

• Please educate my dumb Aunt Sally.
• Please exterminate my deadly Aunt Sally.
• Please exfoliate my dry-skinned Aunt Sally.
• Please expel my delinquent Aunt Sally.
• Please excommunicate my Donatist Aunt Sally.
• Please execute my diabolical Aunt Sally.
• Please exorcise my demonic Aunt Sally.
• Please extradite my drug-dealing Aunt Sally.
• Please eat my delicious Aunt Sally.
• Please exhume my dead Aunt Sally.

A palindrome for Loren

So yesterday afternoon, my Bible professor colleague broached the subject of palindromes. I thought for a minute or two and came up with one that included my name: "Le Doyle, el yodel." Not exactly deathless verse, but it serves. That left him empty-handed, so we talked for a moment about how we might work his name into a palindrome, but nothing presented itself, and he had to run on to class.

Now, every day I have a half-hour walk to and from work, which is a nice, unhurried span of woolgathering in my day. All sorts of doodads and geegaws cross my mind. This one raveled together on this morning's trip. Imagine that, to everyone's surprise, an active volcano roared up out of the ground right behind the Pomajevich Faculty Building. I mean, it's been that kind of year, right? In keeping with our luck? And since we're all academics, the first order of business wouldn't be to call 911 or run for our lives. No, we would have to label it. The volcano would need a name. Since this volcano would obviously have as its agenda burning up Christians, we'd name it Nero.

I'm sure you see this coming.

Our reckless, wildly irrational students, bringing to bear the same good sense that drives them to take nutria on a merry chase -- because, after all, you can shake off rabies with nothing more than a good night's sleep and a dose of Airborne®, right? -- would frolick in the magma. Naturally, they'd borrow Tracy's shovel to scoop up a big helping of it, put it in a heat-resistant bucket, and bring it to BTH class. And when Loren asked, "Youngsters, what in the world is that?" they'd answer ...

"Nero lava, Loren!"

QED.