The Question of Legitimate Authority: Considerations of Intelligent Design in Public Schooling
by
Sandra Riegle, M.A.
A Dissertation
In
CURRICULUM AND INSTRUCTION
Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Texas Tech University in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSLPHY
Approved
Douglas Simpson, Committee Chair
Barbara Morgan-Fleming
Margaret Ann Price
John Borrelli Dean of the Graduate School
August, 2007
Copyright 2007, Sandra Riegle
Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ABSTRACT iv
LIST OF NOMENCLATURE vi
CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTION 1
Intelligent Design, science, and questions of legitimate authority 1
Background to the problem 1
Considerations of authority 3
Modernity, Darwinism, and the problem identified 8
Intelligent Design, pedagogy, and power 12
II. LITERATURE REVIEW 16
The challenge of modernity: Religion, education, and the institutionalization of school 16
The early republic and religion: The church as moral education 17
The emergence of the State as the new republic, and the development of the common School: Identifying a means of unification through education 24
Education and the efficiency expert 28
Technique and the character of knowledge 31
Technique and a new education 34
Legitimate authority, the new science defined, and the challenge of modernity 42
ID and the problem of naturalism 44
III. METHODOLOGY 46
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A philosophical approach 46
Is all of modernity the challenge, or merely one particular aspect? 46
Is the inclusion of intelligent design in public school science curriculum a battle for power over hegemonic discourse and institutions of societal re-production? 58
Limitations 62
IV. INTELLIGENT DESIGN AND A HISTORY OF IDEAS: SYNTHESIZING RELIGION AND SCIENCE 64
Introduction 64
Modernity and Intelligent Design: Re-discovering the “ought” and the “is” 65
Intelligent Design and religion 80
The historical continuum 87
V. HEGEMONIC DISCOURSE AND INTELLIGENT DESIGN: WAGING THE CULTURAL WAR FOR THE EDUCATION OF POSTERITY? 93
Intelligent Design and considerations of good pedagogical practice 95
Intelligent Design, and the official and hidden curriculums 99
Intelligent Design and education for posterity 104
VI. CONCLUSION 111
Summary 111
Considerations for future research 119
ENDNOTES 122
REFERENCES 142
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ABSTRACT
This study will address some of the questions surrounding the contemporary
debate as to whether or not – or, the extent to which – Intelligent Design (ID) justifiably
can be included in public high school science curriculum. More specifically, its first
guiding question will unpack three primary arguments that ID proponents often assert to
validate its legitimacy, and to advance support for its inclusion in curriculum: namely, that ID is a valid insertion in the public school curriculum that allows for the re- placement of teleological concerns in modernity; that it is not neither a “God in the gaps” theory, nor essentially religious; and, finally, contrary to the contentions of some its critics, ID is not creation-science with a new name. The second guiding question of this study will address ID’s figurative placement in the culture war by examining: the extent to which recent attempts at its inclusion in the public school curriculum represent good
pedagogical practices; the hegemonic discourse that its advocates both debunk and adopt;
and the relevance that the combination of the afore-mentioned factors ultimately have
upon considerations of education for posterity.
The study will provide, primarily, philosophical and theoretical analyses of some
of the critical issues and questions surrounding ID. More specifically, it will weave
together theoretical and philosophical, as well as some historical, concerns, as it
addresses some of the prominent arguments that shape support for ID, and the question of
its authoritative status in public school curriculum. As such, this study will be an
analysis of relevant contemporary research, and offer insight both into how and why ID
has developed into an intellectual inquiry, and emerged as a potent idea supported by
numerous academics and at least some of the general the public. For its discussions
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regarding ID specifically, this document primarily will focus upon the writings of two
thinkers who have gained prominence in the continued development of the theory; namely, William Dembski, a mathematician and philosopher, and Michael Behe, a biochemist.
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LIST OF NOMENCLATURE
Faith: Baker Theological Dictionary of the Bible defines faith thus:
[b]elief, trust, and loyalty to a person or thing. Christians find their security and hope in God as revealed in Jesus Christ, and say ‘amen’ to that unique relationship to God in the Holy Spirit though love and obedience as expressed in lives of discipleship and stewardship. (Elwell, 1996, p. 236)
Intelligent Design: An idea developed in the late 20th century that puts forth the argument that life was created by an intelligent agent or force.
Modernity: An historical intellectual and cultural shift, occurring over centuries, characterized by developments such as an emphasis upon rationality and reason, empiricism, industrialization, and technologies. While historians such as Urban and Wagoner (2000) trace its roots in Enlightenment thought (Kant, etc.), others (Strauss, 1953) argue that its origins precede it.
Science: The NAS (1998) defines science thus:
… a particular way of knowing about the world … [in which] explanations are restricted to those that can be inferred from confirmable data [and] the results obtained through observations and experiments that can be substantiated by other scientists. Anything that can be observed or measured is amenable to scientific investigation. Explanations that cannot be based upon empirical evidence are not a part of science. (p. 27; italics added)
State: this term generally is used in the text in reference to the increased centralization and bureaucratization of the federal government that occurred in the U.S. most evidently during the first half of the twentieth century, with the rise of industrialization.
Theology: at its most basic, this term can be broken down etymologically to mean “′discourse about God’” (where theos means God and logos means word; McGrath, 1998, p. 1). In Western thought, the term historically came to be associated closely with Christianity (McGrath, 1998). Furthermore, in American history, the term developed to be
understood … [as] a discipline that combined biblical interpretation with one or another form
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of background theory. What distinguished theology from devotional or inspirational writing or narratives of religious experience was its interdependence with various creation. (Holifield, 2003, pp. 3-4)
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Chapter 1: Introduction
Intelligent Design, science, and questions of legitimate authority
Background to the problem
The inclusion of Intelligent Design (hereafter referred to as ID) in U.S. public schools can be conceptualized as a renewed attempt to challenge authoritative truth claims in the science curriculum. At issue for ID proponents, at least in part, is whether or not – and the extent to which – Darwinism and modern science have monopolized understandings of origins of the species and life and concurrently divorced teleological considerations from scientific inquiry. While its advocates argue thusly that public school educators must “teach the controversy” of Darwinian theory, ID critics question what this “controversy” is; i.e., for the latter, no such controversy exists. Indeed, for this latter group, the mere fact that Intelligent Design Theory (IDT) references a supernatural being or force renders it a problematic scientific theory, at best. In other words, while some of its advocates assert that the theory qualifies as science at least because it does not name a supernatural being or force but only refers to one, its opponents argue that legitimate science cannot invoke justifiably such supernatural explanations, at least because “science has absolutely no way of dealing with it” (Moore, 1983, p. 4). The authoritative truth claims of ID advocates thus rests upon some (at a minimum) tacit reference to religious values; those of its opponents, conversely, rests upon comparatively more secular, and hence more universal, values.
The contemporary debate about the place for ID in the U.S. public school curriculum thus exposes the fundamental contradictions, and subsequent attempts at
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synchronization and synthesis, between centuries old religious conflict in the United
States particularly, and the two traditions of thought in the West - classical Greek
philosophy as best articulated by Plato and Aristotle, and Judeo-Christian theology –
generally (Strauss, 1997e).1 Moreover, it exposes the centuries old conflict regarding the
relationship between religion and science, and the private and public roles that education
and schooling, respectively, have played in the conflict.2 The arguments for and against
ID today – and those for and against the inclusion of creation and creation-science, historically - in public school curriculum, it would seem, illustrate that, while both parties seemingly agree as to the importance and relevance of teaching morality – or, perhaps more accurately, values – they disagree about the extent to which modern science can aid in such discussions.
A fundamental underlying question to this argument thus rests upon the question of authority and legitimacy. Indeed, ID proponents contend that Darwinism has lost the legitimacy it once seemingly held both in academic and public circles, and thus it has lost the authority it enjoyed there as well. At least for this reason, the design inference
(Dembski, 1999; 1998), such advocates argue, at a minimum must be presented alongside
Darwinism in science curriculum, in order to present a more accurate and fair account of
the origins of life. Yet, one would do well to recall that Darwinists do not necessarily
make ultimate claims to the origins of life per se, but instead to claims of probable origins
of species (e.g., Darwin, 1836/2003; Dover, 2005). Despite this apparent fundamental
difference in query, ID advocates assert its legitimacy and authority within science, and
that ID is a valid and accurate counterpart, if not outright, replacement. In sum, ID supporters believe that the design inference, and its theological complement (Dembski,
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2002, 1999; Behe, 1996) intelligent design, present a legitimate and authoritative
scientific explanation for the origin of life (Scott, 2006, 2005).
This chapter presents a brief overview of the basic tenets of the design inference
and ID. In so doing, it presents the arguments of two seminal thinkers of ID – William
Dembski and Michael Behe. The issue of authority and legitimacy is essential to
understanding the contentions of ID proponents; by calling into question Darwinism, ID
proponents seek to undermine its academic respected status, and thus seemingly present
an equally valid theoretical explanation for creation and the subsequent development of
life (whether or not one agrees or disagrees with ID is not of issue here). Furthermore, by
presenting their theory in scientific language, ID proponents assert that they can account
for its constitutionality. Before this chapter discusses ID, however, it is necessary to
distinguish between authority and legitimacy, and to understand the relationship between
these terms. As such, it is towards this discussion that the chapter first turns.
Considerations of authority
An understanding of authority and a distinction between expert and institutional
authority first must be addressed. Specifically, authority is rooted in some sort of relationship, one in which a hierarchy is at least tacitly, if not legally, sanctioned. Indeed, as Benne (1943) states, authority is found in “relations of human interdependence… [and it] operates in situations in which a person, fulfilling some purpose or end, requires guidance from a source outside himself. His need defines his field of conduct or belief in which help is required” (p. 2). Moreover, the person in need “grants obedience” to this external source, the latter which can take the form of a person, a group, or a “method or
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rule, with a claim to be able to assist him in mediating his field of conduct or belief” (p.
2). Thus conceived, authority is understood as a social relationship, and underpinning
this acknowledgement of power lays a tacit – and not necessarily oppositional -
relationship to freedom (e.g., Benne, 1942). In other words, authority and freedom are
intertwined, at least insofar as authority, as a social relationship, is rooted in the
continuation of “value, method and practice” (Benne, 1942, p. 17). Coercive power
aside, authority is a way of relating and applying, e.g., our cultural, political, social, and
economic institutions and heritages.
In contemporary society, authority typically is understood as an embodiment of
wise counsel, sanctioned by power. Yet, recognition of authority also is awarded to those
who may be representative of some authority (Benne, 1942; Peters, 1960; Watt, 1982).
One way of distinguishing between these two types is by differentiating between the
authority, and an authority (Peters, 1982). Those in the former generally are regarded as having acquired knowledge of the how and the what, of practical affairs requiring
“coordinated efforts” of those conversant in the field; i.e., they are practical authorities
(Peters, 1960, p. 47). As such, these practical authorities are able to provide a type of
counsel that a representative does not and cannot by definition; specifically, these
practical authorities amalgamate “counsel and command,” and in so doing, are recognized as authors of whom communicate not only what they know, but also how they do what they know (Peters, 1960). Moreover, this issuance of command cannot come from innumerable sources, so authority in this sense must be focused, or centralized to some extent. As such, the authorities are appointed, at least insofar as this type of authority is recognized as necessary for the coordinated efforts of those trained in the
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discipline to carry forward the tradition (Peters, 1960). In other words, these appointed
authorities depend upon those who are “trained in a common tradition to receive [their]
new insights or discoveries into the tradition, and to qualify, correct, enlarge upon, and
communicate them” (Peters, 1960, p. 52). Moreover, their authority appointed, it consequently expires, and thus is not necessarily recognized as enduring.
Appointed authority thus is preserved and transferred within the institution
engineered to serve its purpose. For example, the authority of the second grade teacher,
qua second grade teacher, can be preserved when one retires, and another is hired to fill the position. In this instance, the authority of the position is maintained and transferred between persons. In short, appointed authority issues pronouncements, with the force of
command.
By contrast, an authority can be likened to the one who issues pronouncements,
which presumably are rooted in acquired talents and wisdom (Peters, 1960). At least in this way, knowledge and authority are linked, insofar as knowledge is a springboard of cognition. More concretely, knowledge can be understood as learning that in turn “may give rise to authority;” i.e., based upon what is learned, an authority is recognized and sanctioned (Watt, 1982). Such sanctioning does not necessarily equate to obedience; rather, in recognizing the authority through knowledge, the individual recognizes the
validity of some thing and agrees as to its importance and/or relevance; the individual
does not (necessarily) obey (Watt, 1982). Moreover, and equally important, this type of
authority need not be only a person; rather, it may be an idea, law, truth, science – in the
case of this latter instance, a theory such as Darwinism. As such, authority need not be
embodied; i.e., it oftentimes is applied figuratively to certain laws, theories, and ideas that
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have withstood, time and repeated testing. Here, for example, the authority of
Darwinism, qua scientific theory, has been upheld, as social and biological scientists uncover historical evidence that lends further credence to the idea. In short, that which is sanctioned is that which the individual finds intrinsically compelling and, as such, has
“nothing to do with the source from which we received it” (Watt, 1982, p. 45). The evidence, then, is the accepted authority, not the person (Watt, 1982). The person may guide with her reasoned advice, not her position. As such, her authority is impersonal, for she can refer and defer only to her reasons and counsel as justification for following her pronouncement. In other words, an authority is impersonal, for the reasons that ultimately are posited for accepting or rejecting some knowledge, truth, etc., ultimately are not her own.
Furthermore, the transference of this type of authority may stem from the scholarly pursuit of written texts and/or continued research, or what Watt (1982) refers to as passive authorities. Passive authorities are unable to “speak for themselves” and require “active authorities” – learned individuals – to assist an apprentice in “matching the appropriate” norm, law, etc., to the “facts of a particular case,” a transference of knowledge which cannot “be done in advance” (pp. 45-46).3
In an educational setting, this type of transference is evident in the relations, e.g.,
between a teacher and student, or between a tutor and student. In both of these examples,
the student is an apprentice, seeking to learn knowledge under the guidance of another.
Within this relationship, furthermore, the student well may become aware that his very
apprenticeship requires that he must rely on the guidance of others in numerous instances,
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because he is “not yet competent to assess” the subject or conclusion (Watt, 1982, pp. 48-
49). At least in this way, then, learned authority and the right to command are linked.
Here, the link between the emergence of Intelligent Design as a theoretical
response to Darwinism in academic (and public) circles, and upon legitimate authority,
seemingly begins to emerge. More specifically, the introduction and subsequent
development of the design inference and ID during the latter part of the 20th century, was proposed as an academic, scientific response to the authoritative status that Darwinism
largely had enjoyed since its inauguration during the latter part of the 19th century (e.g.,
Behe, 1998, 1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999, 1998a). This response to Darwinism, couched
as it was in scientific language, represented a shift in understandings of the origin of life
that had dominated the academy, from one that emphasized and examined the evolution
of organisms over billions of years, to one that emphasized and proffered that the origin
of life lies in creation. Yet, in order for this shift to have occurred and maintained
legitimacy, the very notion of science first had to be called into question; indeed, by
arguing that science essentially is empirical and at least in this way is fundamentally
divorced from teleological considerations, ID proponents could challenge the legitimacy
of a theory that seemingly did not account well for metaphysical questions (e.g., Behe,
1998, 1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999).4 Further, by purporting to argue that Darwinism is a
dated and invalid theoretical construct that cannot account for life and its development at
the macro level of analysis, ID supporters could challenge Darwinism seemingly on its own grounds (Behe, 1998, 1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999). Thus, both by applying the term science, and by re-introducing teleology to that science, ID advocates could assert an authoritative status to their theory that assigned it some legitimate ground upon which to
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challenge its rival (Dembski, 2002, 1999). Subsequently, the shift in understandings of
authority perhaps was possible at least because science was re-defined, but retained both
the moniker and the status the mere term generated.
It is the challenges that ID advocates identify as emanating from modernity that
this chapter next turns.
Modernity, Darwinism, and the problem identified
For ID proponents, the re-definition of science that occurred – beginning with the
Enlightenment generally and continuing through the 20th century more specifically –
represents a direct challenge to identifying and articulating an understanding of the
creation of life that allows for a supernatural force. Stated differently, ID supporters
advance the argument that Darwinism both is outdated and ineffective in accounting for
creation, and equally important, that its inclusion in the public school science curriculum
borders on secular dogmatism (or, for Dembski, on atheism); subsequently, it does not
allow for what they consider alternative views.
Despite arguments to the contrary, ID proponents, it would seem, assert that the
educative process is, as Phenix (1959) notes, at least tacitly religious at its core. To the
extent that the process is “implicitly governed by a set of basic convictions which are of a
religious nature … education is at least indirectly linked to ultimacy. … The making of
educational processes is thus implicitly governed by convictions of ultimate values” (pp.
18-19). At least because religion is linked to concerns of ultimate value, then, it
“provides the large framework within which education occurs” (p. 19).5 Importantly,
then, while ID advocates such as Dembski and Behe do assert that a particular religion
8 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 need not be invoked in the teaching of the theory in public school science curriculum, the fact that the former, especially, laments the divorce of Aristotle’s telos from science suggests that he finds modern science lacking an underlying moral impetus that traditional science – understood as that which pre-dating the rise of naturalism – once held (Dembski, 1999).
Indeed, for Dembski (1999), one of the biggest stumbling blocks – what he terms the “enemy” – to rejecting Darwinism and accepting ID is the continued identification of
“scientists”6 with naturalism. Part of the problem, as Dembski (1999) articulates it, lies in naturalism’s (which he also refers to as British natural theology) identification of a system of nature and subsequently, of natural laws. According to Dembski (1999), the former notion is the legacy left to the West from Spinoza’s and Schleiermacher respective critiques of miracles.7 But the problem is more than this; defining nature is of great import.8 As it is variously defined today, Dembski (1999) notes that there lies a
“telling omission,” for “[i]n no instance do we find nature identified with creation” (p.
97). The omission, he continues, is problematic at least because “creation is always a divine act, whereas nature is a self-contained entity independent of God. God is irrelevant to nature. … Nature is what the world would be if there were no God” (pp. 97-
98).9 The culprit ultimately is modern science, and most exclusively, naturalism.
A question for Dembski thus necessarily becomes how the modern world, with its
(as he describes it) unflinching and unquestioning acceptance of all things science, might
“cure” itself of this artificial divorce of God from scientific inquiry. Indeed, for Dembski
(1999), it is in large part due to the naturalists’ assumptions that “God plays no role in the world … [and] it is precisely the presence of God in the world that threatens to undo it,”
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that the place for gaining an appreciation and/or understanding “about God’s relation to
the world” is in jeopardy (p. 99). His response to this challenge is what he terms the
design inference, a mathematical theory that seeks to demonstrate that events conform to
patterns, while stopping short of providing an explanation as to why such conformity
exists (Dembski, 1998a, p. 227). By utilizing mathematical proofs to overtly question the
legitimacy of Darwinism specifically, Dembski’s (1998a) theoretical proof both attempts
to eliminate the probability of chance as an explanatory factor for the origins of life, and
concurrently attempts to allow for an appeal to an intellectual agent for the creation of
life, while stopping short of naming outright what that supernatural force might be.
Indeed, at issue for Dembski (e.g., 1999) is the chasm between science and theology that formed during the Renaissance, continued through the Enlightenment, and seemingly reached its apex during Industrialization in the U.S. during the latter part of the
19th, and well into the 20th, centuries.10 It was this chasm (and the concomitant rise of
naturalism, as well as the introduction of Darwinism), he asserts, that allowed for
scientists to call into question the legitimacy of theology for providing insight into the
origins of life. Here, Aristotelian metaphysics (which he credits for allowing “design”) is necessary but not sufficient for re-instating design into science; the theory must present,
as well, a theory of information, which he describes in mathematical terms, and which
has been discussed above. ID thus conceived and understood, he asserts, would
demonstrate mathematical and scientific legitimacy, and thus would provide an
authoritative blow to Darwinian evolution (Dembski, 2004, 2002, 1999).11
By contrast, Michael Behe’s (1996) contributions to the continued development
of ID focus upon criticisms of macroevolution specifically. His argument essentially
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hinges upon the assertion that although microevolution might provide limited explanatory
power in the development of some species, it cannot answer for what he terms
“irreducible complexity” at the molecular level. Modern science, it would seem for
Behe, is not as vexing a culprit as Dembski would contend, but it does lack sufficient
explicatory authority, e.g., for the step by step evolution of blood coagulation (1996, pp.
79-97). Stated differently and more generally, Behe identifies Darwinism’s proverbial
black box as an inability to account for macroevolution, at least because “natural
selection, the engine of Darwinian evolution, only works if there is something to select –
something that is useful right now, not in the future” (p. 95). It is contemporary science’s
seeming failure to provide what he considers legitimate science and explanatory authority
that seemingly is called into question.12
In sum, Dembski and Behe disagree about the degree of legitimacy and authority
Darwinism justifiably can be awarded. While the former debunks its authority outright, the latter appears more willing to assign it a limited degree of legitimacy, at least so far as microevolution is concerned. Yet, for both, Darwinism’s “problem” is rooted in its inability to provide sufficient explanatory power for the story of creation; it does not, in short, appear to allow for a supernatural – intelligent – cause.
Given its (at least) tacit references to this supernatural agent or force in the creation of life, and recent, though unsuccessful, attempts in states such as California,
Ohio, Kansas, and Pennsylvania to insert its study into the public school science curriculum as an “alternative” explanation to Darwinism, questions pertaining to its role in the contemporary culture wars for access to control over traditional and cultural symbols, as well as its claims to represent sound pedagogical practice, here become
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highly relevant (Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch, 2006, “’Critical analysis’ defeated in Ohio”;
Carpenter, 2005; Davey and Blumenthal, 2006; Dover, 2005; Forrest, 2005a, b;
Goodstein, 2006, 2005; Krauss, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Orr, 2005; Rudoren,
2006; Wexler, 2006, 1997; “Evolution speeding back to Kansas,” 2007). It is towards
these considerations that the chapter next turns.
Intelligent Design, pedagogy and power
The question of ID as a legitimate insertion in public school curricula has moved from discussion within academic circles to attempts at application in public school curricula. Given its tacit and overt references to theology, theism, and most particularly to Christianity, the question or extent to which ID is a valid academic undertaking has been challenged on the grounds of its constitutionality (Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch,
“’Critical analysis’ defeated in Ohio”; Carpenter, 2005; Davey and Blumenthal, 2006;
Dover, 2005; Forrest, 2005a, b; Goodstein, 2006, 2005; Krauss, 2006; Matzke and Gross,
2006; Orr, 2005; Rudoren, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997; “Evolution
speeding back to Kansas,” 2007). A court case in Dover, PA – Tammy Kitzmiller et al v.
Dover School District et al (hereafter referred to as Dover) - most recently examined this
question, and rendered it, in fact, a direct violation of First Amendment principles.
More specifically, the local school board in Dover, PA argued for an ID policy
that required biology teachers in public schools to issue a proclamation asserting that
Darwinism is merely a theory, and so can be questioned rightly as to its legitimacy and
authority as valid science. Further, the board sought to insert ID in its science
curriculum, as a countermeasure to Darwinism, in particular. The presiding judge in the
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case (PA Middle District Court; Judge John Jones) applied both the religious
endorsement question (introduced by Justice O’Conner in County of Allegheny v.
ACLU, 492 U.S. 573 [1989]) as well as the Lemon test, to determine the constitutionality
of the district’s ID policy (Dover, 2005).13
With regard to the former test, the Middle District Court (Dover, 2005) ruled that:
“(1) An Objective Observer Would Know that ID and Teaching About “Gaps” and
“Problems” in Evolutionary Theory are Creationist, Religious Strategies that Evolved
from Earlier Forms of Creationism14; (2) that “an objective student” (which the Court noted was not an actual, but in reality only a hypothetical student; p. 36) “would view the disclaimer as a strong official endorsement of religion” (p. 38), at least because the paragraph in the disclaimer that states Darwin’s theory is mere theory, and not fact, and that theory is riddled with “gaps … for which there is no evidence,” according to the judge, “singles out evolution from the rest of the science curriculum and informs students that evolution, unlike anything else that they are learning, is ‘just a theory’” (Dover,
2005, p. 40). For similar reasons, the court ruled that an “objective citizen” would have reason to view the disclaimer and IDT as an endorsement of religion.
Equally relevant, the Middle District Court found that the case violated the
Lemon test, at least because, among many notable violations, the president of the school board, Alan Bonsell, repeatedly had remarked that religion should be inserted into the school curriculum. He confronted public school teachers with his concerns about the instruction of evolution as fact in the science curriculum; the school board postponed, and later attempted to prevent the acquisition of, a biology textbook written by Kenneth
Miller, because of their concerns about the text’s treatment of evolution; various school
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board members had “spoke openly in favor of teaching creationism and disparaged the
theory of evolution on religious grounds” (Dover, 2005, p. 101); that after learning of the
negative treatment of evolution in Of Pandas and People (a book that advocates ID), the
board required that biology teachers use the text as a reference tool; and, that, finally, the
Board altered the biology curriculum, claiming that “’Students will be made aware of
gaps in Darwin’s theory and of other theories of evolution’” but did not, and to date had
not, provided reference texts (Dover, 2005, p. 116); the change, nonetheless, was passed
(see Dover, pp. 94-116). Ultimately, the judge in the case ruled that ID was not science,
and that the mandated disclaimers in effect violated the Establishment Clause.
The depositions of witnesses for the plaintiff and defendant, as well as the judge’s
decision, in the Dover case, in sum, reveal that the so-called controversy ultimately can
be understood as an extension of a cultural war (Forrest, 2005a, b; also Branch, 2006), wherein various groups seek access to traditional institutions that are repositories of societal re-production; in this instance, the U.S. public schools. More specifically, ID
advocates’ attempts to alter pedagogical practices and curricula so as to incorporate a theory that at least some of its advocates acknowledge is insufficiently developed to date and thus perhaps not yet ready for insertion into public school curriculum (Behe, 2005) underscores a struggle for control of cultural symbols and traditions in the so-called debate.
The remainder of this paper, then, seeks to unpack the extent to which the claims of ID advocates are in fact a mere continuum of previous attempts to invoke religion in public school curriculum, and that the proverbial battle for its insertion in public school
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curricula ultimately speaks to issues of hegemonic discourse, and a battle for control of
specific cultural institutions, e.g., the school.
The remainder of this study, then, will provide a theoretical and philosophical
analyses pertaining to the issues discussed above. Chapter two is a review of relevant
historical considerations that have shaped at least some of the issues at stake in its rise.
Chapter three provides a methodological explanation of the guiding research questions,
and the limitations of the study. Chapters four and five present more thorough analyses
of the research questions. Chapter six contains some summary and conclusive thoughts
on the topic.
In order to gain a better understanding of the background to the challenge that
modernity and the new science poses to ID advocates, however, a discussion of the shift
in focus within education that occurred during the 19th and early 20th centuries first must
be considered. This discussion is a narrative and theoretical history, so as to provide
context. As such, it is an atypical literature review, yet importantly it is the contention of
the author that it sets the context for the larger dissertation. Subsequently, it is towards
issues addressing historical and theoretical questions pertaining to the aforementioned change that this study next turns.
15 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Chapter 2: Literature review
The challenge of modernity: Religion, education, and the institutionalization of school
The relationship between religion and education in the U.S. historically has been a somewhat symbiotic one. While the relationship initially was explicit, it later developed in the U.S., in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, into an increasingly secular one, as
the rise of the modern, centralized state and the concomitant demands of civic education
increasingly displaced the previous overt references to organized religion – namely
Protestantism – in the hidden and official curricula (Counts, 1952; Cremin, 1961;
Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; Grieder & Romine, 1955; Johnson,
1992; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003). It was this displacement of religion in the formal
curriculum that religious-minded reformers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries called
into question, and which reached an apex both in the State of Tennessee v. John Thomas
Scopes (1925/2006), commonly known as the Scopes Monkey Trial, and in the public’s
response to the trial. The shift in emphasis in the relationship between religion and
education signified for some a cultural decline, of which the teaching of evolution
represented a most obvious target (Fraser, 1999).
Equally important and immediately relevant to this study, the concerns expressed
by some Intelligent Design supporters who call for the theory’s inclusion in
contemporary public school science curriculum mirror anxieties conveyed historically.
While the fundamentalist Christianity of the late 19th and early 20th centuries did not
share the apparent optimism that IDT implies, some of the latter’s underlying
assumptions mirror concerns expressed by its proponents (Fraser, 1999; Matzke and
16 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997; also Dembski, 2002; 1999).15 For example, some common themes that can be traced historically between these two groups include the decline of morals amid increased secularization, the decreasing freedom of expression for those who are religiously-minded, and perhaps most particularly, the amorality (at best) of contemporary science and the explicit challenge that Darwinism represents to biblical accounts of creation and life (Cubberley, 1919; Dover, 2005; Scott,
2006, 1997). At least for these reasons, then, it is necessary to review briefly the
relationship between religion and education in the U.S., to provide some insight into why
and how the shift toward secularization both is reflected in the debate, and how it has
helped to shape their arguments for inclusion in the curriculum. It is towards gaining an
understanding of some of the reasons triggered by the historical shift toward
secularization that next is considered.
The early republic and religion: The church as moral education
Religion played a fundamental role both in the early colonial period, as well as in
the years immediately preceding and following the Revolutionary War, with churches
frequently serving both as a locus of community services where families weekly gathered
to worship and socialize, and as a center for religious education (Cremin, 1951;
Cubberley, 1934; Fraser, 1999; Grieder and Romine, 1955; Hunter, 1991; McClellan,
1999; Urban and Wagoner, 2001; Wald, 1992). Indeed, the church and education essentially were synonymous during the colonial period, at least insofar as the Puritans’
Calvinistic traditions included an adherence to the belief that education at its core must have a religious objective (Cremin, 1951; Cubberley, 1934, 1922; Grieder and Romine,
17 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
1955). This aim was underscored by the fact that church attendance typically was
mandatory for school children (Cubberley, 1934, p. 42). Importantly, religious freedom
as outlined in the First Amendment was not the goal; as Fraser (1999) notes, although the
early colonists did seek to escape the religious persecution experienced in England, they
sought a “very narrow kind of freedom” (p. 13). More specifically, the insularity of the
established communities allowed them to create and maintain social, political and
economic structures that were, at least in practice, religiously based. Calvinist theology,
in other words, allowed for a religiously-run state. As Cubberley (1934) notes, the separation of church and state that later was established as part of the template for our modern school system seemingly was antithetical to a “Calvinistic conception of a religious State [which supported] a system of common schools, higher Latin schools, and a college, both for religious and civic end” (p. 25; also Fraser, 1999). For the colonists,
religious freedom essentially meant their own religious freedom; for them, Fraser (1999) notes, “the right to persecute – or at least to banish – anyone who did not share the
colony’s faith” was critical (p. 14; also Wald, 1991). The relationship between civic and
religious authority was one in which the latter initially took precedence, with education thus under the jurisdiction of the Church.
Evidence that the delicate balance of civic and religious authority - and by
extension, oversight on education - was weighted toward the religious end also was
apparent in the power that church authorities held within their communities. Ministers
and clergy typically determined the curriculum and its materials (Cubberley, 1934; De
Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003). Further, these same individuals directed hiring practices, and subsequently governed the conditions upon
18 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
which teachers were hired (Cubberley, 1934; also Grieder and Romine, 1955; Moore,
1989; Tyack, 2003). Morality – which typically translated to religion – was the primary
educational goal; as such, reading and writing lessons were of a religious nature.16 The
separation of church and state (and its institutions) was at best a theory; lacking a civic or
central authority to oversee educational practice, any supervision of schooling that
children received in these early colonies essentially was the domain of the local church
(Grieder and Romine, 1955, p. 78; Cubberley, 1934; Tyack, 2003; Wald, 1991).
Yet, underlying this initial lack of separation between religious and civic authority lay dormant the idea of a larger moral social order that emphasized civic concerns and
responsibilities. As historians have noted (Cremin, 1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De
Young, 1942; Tyack, 2003), the creation of a new republic rooted in concerns with
liberty, democracy, and freedom necessitated a visitation of a best means for educating a
knowledgeable citizenry to participate in its governance. Whereas the church’s early
educational motivation and influence had been critical for preparing local populations for
participation in a geographically limited and ideologically (as well as theocratically)
homogenous space, the formation of a new nation with a central civic authority required
that a bridge be built across the heterogeneity implicit in the different traditions and
practices of the various communities to overcome the homogeneity within them (Cremin,
1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; McClellan, 1999; Tyack,
2003, 1972).
The building blocks of this bridge were constructed in the Enlightenment.
Beginning with Copernicus’ astrological inquiries, continuing with the Kantian notion of
categorical imperative, and carrying on through Hobbes’ and Locke’s reconceptions of
19 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
natural right and natural law, Enlightenment thinking and its offspring modernity radically changed understandings of the relationship between the individual and society, and consequently, between the individual and the structures that function within her/his
society (Urban and Wagonner, 2000). Whereas intellectual thought – and its cultural practices – historically had identified with Aristotelian teleology, Enlightenment
scientists and philosophers dismantled, as Urban and Wagonner (2000) succinctly note,
“the Biblical and Aristotelian belief in a fixed and unchanging universe” (p. 14; also Kant
in Ebenstein and Ebenstein, 1991, pp. 528-546; Kilpatrick, 1924; MacIntyre, 1984).
Furthermore, central to modernity was what Urban and Wagoner (2000) refer to as the
“conviction that progress was inevitable and that, in time, the perfect – or at least, near
perfect – society would come into existence” (p. 66). Enlightenment thought conceived
of new ideas, both of the common man, and his relationship to the institutions that shaped
his life. By jettisoning morality from theology – i.e., by assigning morality to the
jurisdiction of reason rather than religious faith – modernity shifted the discussion of
individual and social progress from a nonsecular dialogue, where the church served as an
arbiter over political, economic, and social concerns, to an increasingly secular one (e.g.,
Cremin, 1951; Urban and Wagoner, 2000; also Cubberley, 1934; Johnson, 1992; Phenix,
1959). Reason provided the common man a means of controlling his own fate, rather
than feeling as though he remained at the mercy of a (sometimes) vengeful God.17
The cultural and intellectual shift, then, predominantly was toward secularization, with one important outcome, namely, the secularization of institutions, including the school, that historically at least had placed religion on an equal, if not higher, intellectual and practical rung on the proverbial ladder, with science (e.g., Johnson, 1992; also Fraser,
20 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
1999). Friedrich Nietzsche represented the culmination of the intellectual shift (Strauss,
1953). His disquieting statements referencing the death of God and the subsequent vitality and necessity of the will to power summed up intellectual and cultural re- conceptualizations of morality, whereby absolute moral purpose no longer was deemed to be the jurisdiction of religion (Nietzsche, 1881/1954, 1888/1954; also Ebenstein and
Ebenstein, 1991). Rather, for Nietzsche (1881/1954), institutions of thought such as religion, justice, etc., were societal constructs; as such, the greatest experience that man can know is that of “the hour of great contempt,” at which point he questions the good of
virtue, pity, reason, justice and happiness (pp. 125-126). He will realize that these are meaningless constructs, and that they perpetuate “self-complacency” (Nietzsche,
1881/1954, pp. 125-126).18 The Judeo-Christian God, in other words, was obsolete for
the new breed of man, of whom Zarathustra was the representative, and the Superman
was the quintessence. Nietzsche’s intellectual and philosophical influence, then,
signified what Strauss (1953) refers to as the third and final wave of the ushering in of
modernity, with secularization reflecting an augmenting rift between religion and science,
and ultimately portending the former’s displacement (also MacIntyre, 1984).
In America during the 19th century, this augmenting rift increasingly was visible
initially in institutions of higher learning. According to Johnson (1992), the
secularization in American institutions of higher learning specifically, and later, in the
common schools generally, was a historical process, whereby the role and function of
religion progressively was scrutinized and ultimately deemed incompatible with the goals
of formal education. Using the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign at the turn of
the 20th century as his benchmark, Johnson (1992) asserts that three alterations in
21 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Christianity’s relationship alongside the University led to the final watershed in the
divorce process of the two spheres of thought: (1) as the gulf between religion and
science grew more apparent, religion adopted popular psychology and individualism,
thereby dismissing theological definition; (2) Christianity defined individuals in relation
to their particular situations rather than as part of a transcendental whole, and furthermore, stressed affirmation of faith as essential for combating intellectualism; and finally, (3) religion’s consequent marginalization, in effect, was a tacit public acknowledgement that historical efforts to create a religiously united America had not
been realized.
Yet, despite its relegated placement outside the accepted realms of science within
academe as well as intellectual urbanity generally, religion retained its important, albeit
increasingly rationally irrelevant, provision of a unified meaning (Johnson, 1992).
According to Johnson (1992), the roots of secularization are found in this universal quest
for unified meaning, and the emergence of modern science, coupled with the break of
cultural and social unity in the U.S., compounded the dialectic by spinning this unity into
two distinct spheres, or what Johnson (1992) dubs the “Kantian defense.” Specifically,
both spheres were free to their perspective pursuits, with religion rooted in simple,
virtually nonintellectual faith (courtesy of evangelism) that asserted some unified whole
exists (in part a response to Darwinism), and science rooted in a comparatively faithless
and valueless vacuum, with inquiry, evidence and argument its said objectives.
Within this new religious tradition, then, religious study emerged as something
largely self-directed, self-determined, and autonomous, and as something rooted in
personal sentiments and experiences (Johnson, 1992). The result was a private,
22 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
secularized religious tradition necessary for making and retaining a “cultural and
personal” unity rather than providing and explaining holistically, and the emergence of a
new university, whose curriculum was modern science (Johnson, 1992, p. 576; also
Brekus, 1996; Juster, 1989; Moore, 1989).
It is this fundamental shift within modernity towards secularism that many critics
of modern science have identified as a corruption of morality and is used as the backbone
for arguments in a culture war in which the very fabric of morality is said to be at stake
(Fraser, 1999; Hunter, 1991; Wald, 1992). This war is, as Hunter (1991) argues, “in large part a struggle between competing truth claims, claims which are by their very nature
‘religious’ in character if not in content” (p. 58). The increasing public presence of religious-minded reformers – most particularly those identifying with Protestantism – became more visible as secularization continued to re-define cultural institutions and the larger milieu.19 For example, the growing political presence of creationists during the
early 20th century did shape, to some extent, the ongoing historical battle between
secularists and non-secularists, or perhaps more accurately, between religion and science
(Fraser, 1999; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997). At least in these ways, then, the rise of ID during the latter part of the 20th century exists
along a continuum, not necessarily and expressly a linear one (e.g., Scott, 1997), but one
that continues in the political tradition in the U.S. over the struggle initiated overtly by
early 20th century religious reformers to define social reality. Seemingly not lost to all of
those in the historical and contemporary battle to define that reality, as Hunter (1991)
asserts, is the fact that compromise on issues regarding morality are at best unlikely (also
Wald, 1992).
23 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Importantly, while Enlightenment intellectual thought and its successors had
significant influence upon cultural outcomes, the emergence of those cultural outcomes
signified a further challenge to defining social reality. With the increasing authority that
science was afforded both academically and socially, or both intellectually and culturally,
those who held fast to religious beliefs understandably perceived their way of life as
threatened. It is towards this historical consideration, and its implications, that this
chapter next turns.
The emergence of the state as the new republic, and the development of the common school: Identifying a means of unification through education
With the creation of a republican, civic-minded state arose a growing awareness
that the extension of suffrage to include the so-called common man necessitated the establishment of a school system that would provide an education rooted primarily in civic, rather than in explicitly religious, concerns (Cremin, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De
Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; Tyack, 2003). Indeed, as Cremin (1951) argues, the state benefited from providing its citizenry such an education, for, “if the state was to be dependent on common education for its very life, then it was the responsibility of the state to provide this education for its young” (pp. 76-77). Whereas in the early days of
the Republic, the church had retained jurisdiction of education – i.e., for and of its local
community - at least because of the absence of central (federal) governance, the
unification of the new nation depended upon the provision of an education that would
prepare citizens for “the exercise of citizenship” (Cremin, 1951, p. 48). More
specifically, whereas the church had been able to meet the demands of providing local
communities with denominational moral education as preparation for life within the
24 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
insular confines of that locale, the transfer of power and authority from these areas to a
larger, centralized state demanded educational provisions that would instill in citizens a sense of community, both at the local and state levels (Cremin, 1951; Cubberley, 1934;
Tyack, 2003). Patriotism emerged as a critical consideration.
Implicit in the “broad changes in the conception of man and society,” that
necessitated the establishment of an education encouraging patriotism, Cremin (1951)
asserts, were two intellectual movements that were developing, namely, the “liberalizing
of Christianity” and the ascent of an expressly “American philosophy of democracy” (pp.
12-15). Embryonic social and intellectual trends subsequently emerged during this time
that hinged upon what Cremin (1951) argues were four main factors: “(1) the
democratizing of politics; (2) the growth of the struggle to maintain social equality; (3)
the change in the conception of man and society; and (4) the rise of nationalism” (p. 1).
Enlightenment thinking, in short, was beginning to have a noticeable impact upon the
ideas that would shape the political, social, and economic philosophies and practices of
the new republic (Cremin, 1951; Urban and Wagoner, 2000). Modernity thus ushered in,
the pendulum of power shared by civic and religious authorities began to shift, from the
latter to the former. Educational focus accordingly shifted as well.20
More specifically, the backdrop of Enlightenment thinking, combined with the rise of industrialization, introduced new conceptions both of politics and of economy in the U.S. Free from the confines of feudalism, and steeped in the idea that industrious labor, toil, and creativity could provide the inroad to economic success, Americans gradually were faced with the somewhat daunting task of re-imagining education, to include ever increasing numbers of individuals, and prepare them for this emergent
25 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
society (Cremin, 1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Kilpatrick, 1924;
Tyack, 2003; Urban and Wagoner, 2000). The sectarianism that previously had riddled
school instruction thus became obsolete; preparation for participation in an urban or, later
(in the Midwest), an agricultural setting, became relevant (e.g., Counts, 1952; Cubberley,
1919). Accompanying the shift from church to state-run school, in other words, was a
move from overtly religious instruction toward a comparatively more secular education.
It is important to note that educational reform occurred neither swiftly nor
simultaneously across the country. Indeed, as states along the Eastern seaboard grappled
with the rise of industrialization, those in the Midwest wrestled with the realities of
frontier life (e.g., Grieder and Romine, 1955; Urban and Wagoner, 2000). Geography
and particular historical year aside, however, common school reformers did share a desire
not to eliminate religion from instruction; rather, they sought to modify its delivery from
one that was sectarian and denominational to one that was more inclusive (Cremin, 1951;
Cubberley, 1934; Tyack, 2003). Yet, importantly, this inclusivity remained religious,
specifically Protestant, at its core.21
Of equal importance, the discipline of science continued to gain prominence. The
newly emergent, and increasingly secular, education was influenced by the continued development of science in the academy (Cremin, 1961). For example, concomitant with the addition of agricultural and vocational training to the curriculum (e.g., Cubberley,
1919), Darwin’s developing theories of natural selection and descent with modification
were added to the biology curriculum. Although this inclusion neither was unanimous
nor uncontested, it did perhaps further underscore the anxieties that those with religious
sensibilities experienced in the face of a rapidly changing milieu (Fraser, 1999; also
26 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Foote, 1925/2006).22 Science, as an academic discipline, was gaining legitimacy and
authority both in the academy and, increasingly, among segments of the general public,
but was not universally acclaimed.
Industrialization and the advent of science thus seemingly brought a fundamental
shift not only in defining the essence of education generally, but also in the very notion of school. An underlying motivation that impelled religious-minded individuals to challenge, e.g., John Scopes’ decision to include Darwin’s theory of natural selection in his Tennessee biology classroom, might have included a sense of alarm at the challenge the new science generally, and Darwinism especially, posed to their understanding of faith and, by extension, life (Foote, 1925/2006; Fraser, 1999; Tyack, 2003). Such discussion is relevant to contemporary debates surrounding ID, at least insofar as
religious-minded reformers in the early 20th century, much like contemporary ID
advocates, contested science’s prominent place in education (Matzke and Gross, 2006;
Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997). More concretely, both identified and challenged
what they perceived was a definitive re-conceptualization of the aims of education, and
concurrently, the curriculum adopted to redress such a change (Counts, 1952; Cremin,
1951, 1961; Cubberley, 1934, 1919). Industrialization and the ever-changing milieu, they
sensed, ushered in a new way of interacting within the culture, for as society sought to
adjust itself to the changing landscapes, its leaders re-created some of the most primary
institutions, in order that these not become obsolete. More specifically, the changes
affecting the market forces had a profound impact upon the schools. Thus, it is to this
consideration that this chapter now turns.
27 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Education and the efficiency expert
The rise of industrialism at the end of the 19th and the turn of the 20th centuries
transformed the relationship between civilization and most of its tools (Counts, 1952;
Ellul, 1981, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b, 1971). During this time, the development of
techniques accelerated at a historically unprecedented pace. More specifically, what occurred was an explosion of what scholars have christened “the technological revolution,” or the onslaught of widespread development and implementation of techniques across and within numerous institutions, where the labor market generally and
the factory more specifically represented two of the most prominent examples.
The new direction in education was designed largely by educational efficiency
experts (Callahan, 1962). The task that fell upon these men hinged upon restructuring the educational system, in order to “adjust” its mission and overall organizational structure to
reflect other societal institutions such as government and business (Callahan, 1962;
Counts, 1952). Schools in a society reflect the values of that society. As such, the body
politic began to look toward schools to address the rise of industrialism, and its attendant
escalating reliance upon technologies. Given the emphasis upon the latter within these
other institutions, those individuals most familiar with efficiency seemed most qualified
to meet these demands (Callahan, 1962).23
Although the factors of efficiency and cost were not necessarily mutually
exclusive, the difficulty emerged when concern with the former took precedence over the
latter. More specifically, administrators, faced with burgeoning numbers of students,
their demands, and the costs of their (and their parents’) demands, were presented the
task of re-conceptualizing learning to reflect better the current milieu. Given the focus
28 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
upon economy and industry during this period, their task became one of re-
conceptualizing education to fit the demands of economy and industry (Callahan, 1962).
Whereas education previously had been conceived as that which concerned human nature and had incorporated at least tacit references to religion (most especially, Protestantism), such as with the liberal arts, humanities and the classics, education at this time began to emphasize skills and application. Education thus increasingly could become about the manipulation of techniques (Ellul, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b, 1971). It was, in short, increasingly and comparatively more secularized.
This shift in learning implicitly represented an alteration of conceptions of authority; much like authority in the industrial setting was defined in terms of power of command – institutional – authority in schools increasingly donned the mask of the institution. A “redefinition of learning, as schooling,” thus surfaced, where schools were awarded an “essential status” (Illich, 1973b, pp. 58-59). In other words, with the increasing emphasis upon education as learning to manipulate techniques, the need for schools (and what was learned therein) concurrently was amplified. Much like business and industry became institutionalized as a means of income and economic survival in a capitalist society, the school was institutionalized as a means of learning, to emerge
(ideally well) into society, underscoring, as well, survival. In essence, schooling as an institution surpassed a basic “interaction” (Counts, 1952) with society; indeed, as institutions generally, and schools more specifically,
increasingly … shaped our demands … [and] in the most literal sense our logic, or sense of proportion, [we came] to demand what institutions [could] produce, [and] soon believe[d] that we [could not] do without. (Illich, 1973b, p. 18)
29 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Schooling, then, was regarded as that which produced us for, and toward, society (Illich,
1973b). Considerations of morality – historically associated with Christianity generally
and Protestantism specifically – seemingly were jettisoned from the proverbial equation.
Its function as a public institution for educating the populace increasingly
continued to displace the Church’s position in formal education; religion, in sum, became
more privatized (e.g., Johnson, 1992). At least in these ways, technology shaped further
our education; scientific management lauded and incorporated within the school system,
and technique thereby gaining pre-eminence, schooling emerged as technique for
producing students fit for society (e.g., Ellul, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b). Underlying this
assumption was the notion that without such institutionalized schooling, our “next
generation” would be ill equipped to adjust.
Business and industry apparently had the motivation and sanctioning of “science,”
and consequently some of the body politic, to enter schools and assist educators with the
task of reconfiguration, so as to save the schools from becoming obsolete in the industrial
era (Callahan, 1962).24 Educators listened attentively to the direction of these leaders, and by incorporating ideas such as the Taylor Principle into the school system, they established schooling as an institution, and, consequently, altered the very structure and conception of learning and the school (Callahan, 1962). Yet, the significance of religion was not abandoned during this shift. Religious-minded reformers soon emerged during this time to address their concerns regarding this new emphasis upon secularization and science in the milieu, and more particularly, in the schools (e.g., Tyack, 2003). Although their concerns had support, as the Scopes trial suggests (Foote, 1925/2006), they did not have sufficient political capital to ensure that Darwinism would be eliminated completely
30 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
from the curriculum, and thereby achieve their at least implicit goal of debunking the legitimacy and authority of science generally and Darwinism specifically (they could, importantly, influence the extent to which it was included, in biology textbooks; Skoog,
1983). Although business and industry utilized the motivation and authority of science,
religious-minded reformers sought to debunk the latter’s legitimacy.
To the extent that the above is true, and in order to meet the needs of the students in the schools, school administrators and educators turned toward the task of altering the content of the curriculum in order to prepare the young for their futures. The institution of schooling thus established, it is toward the “adjustment” of content that this chapter now turns.
Technique and the character of knowledge
The character of knowledge transferred within the schools was scrutinized in
order to keep pace with the burgeoning society. Some early waves of this reform were
evident particularly during the latter half of the 19th century, when business leaders and
educators expressed a desire to establish “industrial courses and vocational schools”
(Callahan, 1962, p. 12). Fueled simultaneously by increasing numbers of children of
factory workers as well as by competition from Germany during the early part of the 20th
century, the demands of these leaders were met, with the attendant consequence, as
Callahan (1962) elucidates, that:
American education was pushed further into the training of clerks and factory workers and by that, much away from the liberal education of free men. (p. 14)
31 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
The techniques of industrial skill increasingly were emphasized in education and, as such,
deemed that which would enable the young to best survive in the social milieu outside of
the school. The shift, in other words, not only was secular, but also increasingly less
focused specifically on concerns of explicit emphasis upon traditional understandings and constructions of patriotism (e.g., the Christian patriot; Cremin, 1951; Cubberley, 1934;
Tyack, 2003), which had dominated the interests of civic-minded reformers of previous generations. Traditional conceptions of morality, it seemed, were awarded the proverbial backseat in the shift.
Yet, not all of the United States was industrialized at this time and, therefore, an industrial education would not suffice, e.g., for farmers in the Midwest. Thus, agricultural education and training were established, designed to equip the farmer with the requisite skills and education, in order that he could use his tools to function and survive (e.g., Cubberley, 1934, 1919). Those who participated in Westward expansion
(and their posterity) seemingly preferred – comparatively speaking, to those in industrialized settings – to retain overt religious instruction. According to Elson (1964), the need for any religiously moral education was underscored by farmers’ apprehension about the development of the intellect without a healthy dose of moral temperance
(Cremin, 1951). The emergence and subsequent rise of evangelism, and the enthusiasm
with which it was embraced in the Midwest, suggests that settlers craved a religion not
wedded to the traditional theological elements of older traditions, but rather to one that promoted the concept of the individual (Juster, 1989). This unbridled religious individualism thus accentuated the structure of a community where individual land ownership determined income and community status (Tyack, 1972).25 Whereas religious
32 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
individualism emerged to mean psychologized interpretation of personal situations amid
an increasingly secular world (Johnson, 1992), economic individualism emerged to mean
privatization and pursuit of individual ambitions.26 Two underlying common threads and
concepts between the industrial and agricultural settings were the increasing emphasis
upon the individual, and the adaptation of curricula content to fit the social milieu, as
society sought to integrate science, as well as new technologies, into the changing landscape.
These changes within academic settings tacitly altered the conception of authority within those settings. More specifically, knowledge that once had been transmitted from an authority now increasingly was transmitted from the authority. The institution emerged as that which could provide the students with the requisite skills to live (ideally well) in the milieu (Ellul, 1980, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b, 1971). With schools increasingly
(and more rapidly) required to provide students a means for learning how to manipulate technologies and at least become peripherally acquainted with the new science authority
shifted from the expert who could provide some advice in interpreting knowledge toward
the institution that could provide the credentials.
At least in these ways, the technique of learning permeated the content of
schooling. Further, the continued development and overlap of technique and science
provided a potent foundation for the emergence of science in the public sphere (as
contrasted, e.g., to academic circles) as that which could provide understandings both of
how we can adapt to our contemporary milieu, and how we best can understand our
origins. Where morality once had been awarded a prominent status in the curriculum,
33 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
both science and technology increasingly re-defined the very notion of education. What
this education looked like, more concretely, is now addressed.
Technique and a new education
The establishment of schooling transformed the relationship between that type of
knowledge that “can be learned from ordinary living, and [that which] must be learned as
a result of intentional teaching” (Illich, 1973b, p. 58). Intentional teaching, or that which
necessitated an individual’s participation in a specific setting with a professionally
designed specific curriculum, became the focus of learning. Education as such was less
about asking fundamental questions of human nature and human interaction; rather, it
was about interaction with – and adaptation to – techniques (e.g., Ellul, 1981, 1973;
Illich, 1973a, b, 1971). The escalating emphasis upon vocational education, coupled with a newly instigated mandatory component, underscored the belief in the necessity of formal education to prepare children for life. In addition to the compulsory aspect of the
newly developed educational structure, the attendant emphasis upon practical knowledge
and skills accentuated the school’s function of preparing students for adaptation toward a
particular society that utilized these tools, i.e., the industrial, technological society.
Certainly, “instruction must be useful in life” (Ellul, 1973, p. 344). To the extent that the
milieu increasingly was technique, then, this instruction captured this emphasis (Counts,
1952; Ellul, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b, 1971). It was technological in its essence and
necessitated a certain kind of education.
The education, in its quintessence, was technological and aimed toward
efficiency, organization, and productivity (Ellul, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b, 1971). Thus, the
34 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
outcome became the goal, at least insofar as the end objectives were identified at the
point of entry, and the extent to which a student was able to master them determined the
extent to which she could adapt well in the social milieu. In other words, her social end,
increasingly, was determined; the educational goal directed the child toward a specific
social end into that particular society, one which, for a definable segment of society,
lacked concerns with and about moral – oftentimes associated overtly with religious -
authority. While this goal may not have been negative on its face, the underlying
techniques applied to realize this aim called into question its inherent value, for:
The problem [was] that the child’s ‘freedom’ to explore, to participate in activities designed to enrich natural capacities [was] highly regulated, and habituat[ed]….ultimately, it [was] a ‘forced orientation’ . … a force directed toward a social end. (Ellul, 1973, p. 347)
Thus, this “forced orientation” wore the mask of educational freedom, yet at its core was a human technique with a resolute outcome, that of adapting for and toward the present society.
In this way, education mandated conformity to society, at least insofar as the covert, if not overt, expectation was that the child would develop her social consciousness toward “the same end as society” (Ellul, 1973, p. 347). In a secularized
and technological society, this translated into schooling as specialization, i.e., schooling
in an area that allowed for maximized learning and preparation toward some specific,
useful and productive end. It was an education preparing the individual for “conformity
to the structure of the needs of the technical group” (Ellul, 1973, p. 349). In this way, her
needs became synonymous with the needs of society, and greater conformity to those
external needs augmented the extent to which she could adapt well into society.
35 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
This “wellness” was acknowledged and sanctioned by society, in that, as Illich
(1973b) explains, “[p]eople who have climbed up the ladder of schooling [knew] whether
they dropped out and how uneducated they [were]” (p. 19). Schooling not only was
essential for learning; it had attached a status symbol, one that at the very basic level was
thought to indicate preparedness for adult society (Illich, 1973b). The more schooled in
technique the individual, the greater her perceived usefulness, and, consequently, her
status.
Here, again, authority increasingly wore an institutional – and secular - mask.
Specifically, schooling was technique for adaptation. While it is important to note that
technique was not exclusive to the industrial civilization, a part of what perhaps rendered
it problematic in modernity was the emphasis upon the need to adapt well to this
particular, technological milieu. It demanded conformity to the (increasingly secular)
present (Ellul, 1973). Given that the desired outcome was predetermined for each
student, the authority seemed to stem from the very (increasingly secular) institution that
could promise that outcome. Whereas an expert authority could give advice but no
guarantee what outcome would result upon reflection of that advice, the institution could promise, upon completion of its demands, the credentials necessary for gaining status
(Ellul, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b, 1971). Schooling, then, could provide that which the expert authority could not – a place in an emerging increasingly fluid, society.
The rapid pace of technological society accentuated a break with traditions, at least insofar as many were discarded amidst the focus on the moment.27 As the pace
quickened, a sense of discontinuity became apparent among many of those who were
schooled (Erikson, 1965; Keniston, 1970, 1965). More specifically, a definitive,
36 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 schooled youth culture was identified, one that scholars described as having arisen at least in part as a consequence of the technological society, for it was within this unique historical reality that this group implicitly was educated toward synthesizing their ego development and their sense of vocation (Keniston, 1965). The rapidity and fluidity of the technological milieu for and in which they were schooled to adapt underscored these attempts, at least to the extent that as change became the norm, their previous beliefs, ideologies, and practices were rendered obsolete within an ever-emergent structure
(Keniston, 1965). Tradition, and possibly traditional moral authority, then, were foregone, as the schooled sought understanding of the present.
No longer literally or figuratively needed on the farm, youth needed both somewhere to go (i.e., a direction) and meaning within that direction. Schooling became the outlet. More specifically, the institutionalization of schooling kept students in a structured, specific learning environment for longer periods of their lives than historically had been the case (Bettelheim, 1965). For example, students who once might have stopped their formal education after grade eight, in order to pursue a vocation, now were required by law to attend school for an additional four years. Consequently, youth were dependent upon the older generation for longer periods of time, both economically and psychologically, without reciprocity. Unable to support themselves sufficiently while in school, large numbers of youth remained dependent upon their parents to support them
(Bettelheim, 1965).
Their dependency extended beyond that made possible by their parents; it included those in the schools as well. More specifically, those youth who might have stopped their formal education in a previous milieu to pursue a non-academic vocation
37 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
now were forced to remain in school, subject to an imposed, institutional authority.
Moreover, these youth were subject to the authority of a teacher for a specified timeframe in their lives and were in this way dependent upon the teacher to transfer the practical knowledge of the curriculum. Yet, teacher preparation programs increasingly had placed emphasis upon human techniques and ability, e.g., to manage the classroom (Cremin,
1951; Cubberley, 1934, 1919; Foght, 1917). While such instruction undoubtedly was useful, teachers’ practical authority – that which expires (Watt, 1982) - seemingly was emphasized over their scholarly authority. In this way, youth perhaps began to perceive a void in learning where expert guidance and morality once had been present, but now were lacking substantively.
In the technological milieu, large numbers of youth remained dependent upon family and schools for longer periods of time to prepare them for emergence into the milieu. Moreover, these youth remained in legally imposed authoritative structures at a time in their lives when, developmentally, they sought historical identity for their peer group and generation and personal self-realization (Erikson, 1965). The problem that arose, then, seemingly was related to these developmental considerations, the difficulties
that, as Erikson (1965) explains, oftentimes meant that:
… youth … rejects parents and authorities and wishes to belittle them as inconsequential; it is in search of individuals and movements who claim, or seem to claim, that they can predict what is irreversible, thus getting ahead of the future – which means, reversing it. … so that it can devote itself to the details that it can manage once it knows (or is convincingly told) what they stand for and where it stands. (p. 15)
In a compulsory school setting, youth’s typical questioning of authority took place in a very public forum, whereas in a previous milieu, at least some of these growing issues
38 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
may have occurred only within the family or in privatized communities (i.e., not legally
imposed communities), such as the church. What these youth sought, then, perhaps was
something to fill the void where authority and morality (again, typically conceptualized
in religious terms) had been.
This sense of disconnect was evident in the schools. For example, in the sphere
of higher education, the lament of college professors over what was considered a breach
in respect for authority and tradition (Fitzsimons, 1972) was chronicled in professional
journals. Moreover, this challenge to authority by students was demonstrated on at least a few occasions, one of the most obvious perhaps being the Jackson State uprising.
Traditions seemingly lost within the school, a void was created where an authority once had been perceived to guide.
Here, the emphasis upon institutional authority seemingly emerged. More specifically, the erosion of the authoritative relationship between the generations apparently necessitated a re-conceptualization of the interactions between the older and younger generations. In schools, this relationship translated into a democratization of the learning environment. As Benne (1943) explains, teachers increasingly abdicated their authority to their students, at least as a result of their perception that “the fundamental basis of the traditional teacher function [was] eroded by changing and confused community relations and demands” (p. 11). Responding to the demands of the larger society and the focus upon the perceived freedom for the child, then, teachers interpreted their authoritative role as reduced. Moreover, Benne (1943) ascribes this tendency to a consequence of the “crumbling, under the impact of transformed cultural conditions, of those ideologies which traditionally stabilized and supported their authority” (p. 12).
39 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Although Benne (1943) does not assert that the democratization of the school
setting necessarily was negative, the problem that this posed for a youth seeking to find
where it stood in history (and, on an individual level, a place within society) perhaps created a wrinkle in the overarching acceptance of this classroom approach. More specifically, a youth in the throes of development - seeking yet not finding substantive expert authority, at least because those in authority wish to grant more autonomy to the individual learner – began to look toward the (secular) institution to provide some meaning and structure to life. As well, with religion a increasingly privatized affair (to the extent that the U.S. Supreme Court began to address issues of separation of church and state, more frequently and fervently), the institution of schooling perhaps took on a public role it had not historically enjoyed. The institution of schooling could survive, then, with the expert authority of those within it increasingly challenged. Succinctly, the relationships of the individuals within the institutions had been redefined, with youth seeking an expert human authority it increasingly could not find.
To the extent that this was true, an authoritative (secular) void emerged in schooling, at least to the extent that a person – i.e., the teacher – no longer embodied that role. As Benne (1943) and Ellul (1973) note, the perceived freedoms extended to the children created a learning environment in which exploration was encouraged for growth, yet it simultaneously effected understandings of hierarchies and mentoring, or more accurately, of apprenticeship in educational settings. Learned tutelage of and by the teacher apparently was minimalized, with the emphasis instead being placed upon the notion that attainment of knowledge was best accomplished through the focus upon the individual learner, with those activities geared toward a definitive and secular social
40 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
milieu (Ellul, 1981, 1973). Youth, at once questioning and seeking an authoritative guide
to offer meaning for its emergence, increasingly looked to the institution of schooling and
its institutionally sanctioned, and comparatively secular, authority to provide that
guidance.
The authoritative void that had emerged underscored the historical shift toward the privatization of religion. Because schooling had become a public, state-run institution, the role that the church played in education now had been relegated to something individual and private (Johnson, 1992; also Cremin, 1961; Cubberley, 1934;
Fraser, 1999; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003). The implications of this shift were significant, at least insofar as the state institutionalization of schooling provided to those who ran the institutions and determined the curriculum the authority to control, because of its public nature, “the symbols of national identity” (Hunter, 1991, p. 55). Conversely, religion, because of its privatized nature, was left to define the “symbols within personal experience” (Hunter, p. 53). To the extent that youth identified with schooling for emergence into society, then, they re-produced (at least tacitly) the continued privatization of religion, and its (perceived) ever-diminishing influence in education and the larger milieu.
The historical and contemporary struggle for power to determine the place of religion in public school curriculum thus underscores the significance of this battleground in the culture war. As Hunter (1991) notes, “schools reproduce our national identity” and, at least for this reason, “the deeper issue [for those on both sides of the debate] is the issue of who controls the institutional mechanisms of cultural reproduction” (p. 211).
The competing sides, in short, vied for the institutional authority to determine the
41 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
prominence – the very understanding – of science and religion, and the relationship
between the two. The relationship between these two disciplines and ways of knowing
thus altered, the continued development and influence of science in the early twentieth
century awarded it a social, political and academic capital that religion no longer could
claim exclusively. Science, in other words, seemingly emerged as the hierarchical public
victor in the culture war, with religion relegated to the private realm.
The historical shift from the church’s influence and role in education and the
milieu’s subsequent move toward secularization thus addressed, it is towards
understandings of, and contemporary efforts by ID advocates to re-define, academic
science that this chapter next turns.
Legitimate authority, the new science defined, and the challenge of modernity
The authoritative status that science had gained in the body politic and academic circles was rooted in technological advancements made during industrialism; equally poignant, its underlying philosophy had been well-established during the 18th century.
More specifically, the conceptualization of naturalism gained an increasing stronghold in intellectual circles. Among other tenets, naturalism included notions of empiricism and an emphasis upon nature (e.g., Dembski, 1999; Strauss, 1995a, b). Taken together, these two ideas altered the starting point of analysis: rather than at least implicitly invoking metaphysical considerations, naturalism looked at the “natural,” or the observable
(empirical), world, and ascertained truth claims based upon that which could be reasoned from that world. Born from the Enlightenment, naturalism essentially underscored the notion that reason not only allowed man to determine a proper, just moral course (e.g.,
42 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Kant; Hume), but that that moral code was not necessarily tied to the transcendental.
Indeed, naturalism took the Aristotelian distinction between theoretical and practical
sciences to a logical conclusion: by jettisoning the two, philosophy could study the realm
of the hypothetical and thus retain an element of metaphysicality, whilst the practical
sciences could examine that which man could control and know not only through his
sense perceptions, but through his observations of his world (Strauss, 1995c, p. 205).
Born within this new science was Darwin’s (1859/2003) theory of biological
evolution, which challenged overtly intellectually and culturally accepted ideas of the
development of life on the planet. Importantly, although Darwin’s research focused upon
the biological world, his theory later was adapted to explain the evolution of life for
humans. Paleontology, physics, chemistry, astronomy and, later, genetics and
biochemistry, were instrumental in providing theoretical and empirical arguments to
support the adaptation of Darwin’s theory of natural selection to the development –
indeed, the very emergence – of homo sapiens (Cremin, 1961). In sum, the acceptance of
Darwinism represented a direct, empirical blow to the legacy of Aquinas’ and Aristotle’s
theology and political philosophy, respectively; life now could be understood as historical
process and progress, rather than through faith and teleology (Kilpatrick, 1924; also
Aquinas, in Ebenstein & Ebenstein, 1991; Aristotle, 350 B.C.E./1984; MacIntyre, 1984;
Strauss, 1997b, pp. 97-101).28 The very notion of nature had been redefined.29
It is this re-definition of nature, and perhaps most accurately, the construction of
the concept of naturalism, that ID advocates take to task. It is towards this topic that the chapter next turns.
43 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
ID and the problem of naturalism
As noted in the previous chapter, ID advocates such as William Dembski (1999) have labeled naturalistic philosophy as the “enemy” of ID. This assertion rests upon the idea that naturalism represents a fundamental break with philosophic inquiries and analyses that essentially are moral – or perhaps more accurately, religious generally and
Christian specifically – at the core. According to Dembski (1999), “[u]nder the sway of
methodological naturalism, evidence remains a non-starter, and only naturalistic
explanations that appeal to inviolable natural causes are violable. Consequently, [it]
leaves no room for a designing intelligence whose action transcends natural laws” (p. 69).
The particular challenge of miracles seemingly is one that vexes Dembski;
methodological naturalism (and the philosophies of Spinoza and Schleiermacher) cannot
“preclude miracles” and this, combined with additional considerations (e.g., the
macroevolution question and the displacement of faith), render it a philosophic premises
that necessitates a “cure” in order that those who espouse a faith-commitment might find
a voice in modernity, and subsequently, science (Dembski, 1999).
Yet, Dembski’s (2004, 2002; 1999; Dembski and Ruse, 2004) arguments
represent a fraction of the argument against naturalism and the modern science. More
particularly, while Dembski’s (2002; 1999; also 1998a) critiques of modernity and
science address mathematical and philosophical ideas, Michael Behe’s (1996) analyses
focus upon biochemistry. Thus, while Behe can and does agree with Dembski that
naturalism is the root challenge to championing ID on a comparatively more public level,
his research introduces a more “scientific” examination; by introducing notions such as
44 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
“irreducible complexity” to the equation, Behe inserts a level of analysis with which individuals in the scientific community might (or not) identify.
The challenge of naturalism, then, is the precursor to the changes that occurred within industrialism; to the extent that naturalism represented a rupture with philosophic and moral discourse traditionally practiced in the West, the rise of industrialization perhaps signified the final break. Modernity and the new science, with roots in
Enlightenment thought and later the development of technology, brought to the forefront
considerations of morality – or more concretely, Christian “values,” belief and faith –
both in public discussion, and subsequently, in education.
This inquiry now succinctly posed, it is towards the research questions which will
provide the foundation of the latter chapters of this study that this document next turns.
45 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Chapter 3: Methodology
A philosophical approach
This study is a theoretical and philosophical discussion and analysis of some of
the critical issues and questions surrounding Intelligent Design. More specifically, it weaves together theoretical and philosophical ideas, as it deconstructs a few of the
prominent ideas that shape ID. These ideas include: the question of its authoritative
historical significance in public school curriculum, as well as its historical significance
and political location in the proverbial culture war for control of hegemonic discourse
and institutions of re-production, and the related implications its inclusion poses for
pedagogical practices. As such, this study is an analysis of relevant contemporary and
historical research.
The remainder of this chapter provides detail regarding the six research questions
that will guide the inquiry, as well as the limitations of the study. It is towards the former
of these two considerations that this chapter first turns.
Is all of modernity the challenge, or merely one particular aspect?
This broader inquiry is addressed in chapter four, and is unpacked by exploring
three guiding questions in the study. Specifically, it is analyzed by considering whether
or not – or the extent to which – ID (a) challenges a particular strand of thought within
modernity, namely, modern science; (b) essentially is veiled Christianity; and (c) exists
along a continuum of Judeo-Christian ideas that invoke the biblical God (i.e., that it is
creation-science with a new name).
46 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
In order to address the first question – the extent to which it challenges a specific
aspect of modernity, namely, modern science – an understanding of science and its
methodology first must be established. At issue in ID discussions are basic
understandings of science, insofar as ID advocates and opponents each stake a claim in
conceptualizing it accurately and authoritatively.30 Essentially, science can be defined as
“the state or fact of knowing; knowledge” (Merriam-Webster, 1986, p.1275). Yet, as the
National Academy of Science (NAS, 1998) documents, science is considerably more than
this basic definition; it is a
… particular way of knowing about the world … [in which] explanations are restricted to those that can be inferred from confirmable data [and] the results obtained through observations and experiments that can be substantiated by other scientists. Anything that can be observed or measured is amenable to scientific investigation. Explanations that cannot be based upon empirical evidence are not a part of science. (p. 27; italics added)
Further, its specific methodology is critical, at least because this defines the procedures
through which new information and knowledge is added, modified, or replaced. As
Moore (1983) explains:
In science, a hypothesis is posed and then data are sought that will support or refute deductions made from the hypothesis. The data come from observations and experiments and, to the extent that they can be verified, they allow us to accept the hypothesis as representing the state of the art. If the hypothesis deals with an important puzzle of science, there will be continuing attempts to check its accuracy as better tools and better procedures become available. Thus, our understanding of important problems of science is characterized, not by stasis, but by evermore explanatory explanations. (p. 6)
47 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
A foundational point upon which the two opposing sides in the ID controversy can
construct their arguments, it would seem, hinges upon the extent to which each
legitimately both can test its propositions and demonstrate its truth claims.
More than the above considerations, a delineation between scientific theory and
the popular usage of the term “theory” must be understood, at least because ID advocates
aver that Darwinism is “just a theory.” In popular language, the term theory often is used
to describe an idea or a guess (NAS, 1998, p. 4). In science, however, as the NAS
details, theory has a considerably more specialized understanding; it refers, essentially, to
“a well-substantiated explanation of some aspect of the natural world that can incorporate
facts, laws, inferences, and tested hypotheses” (p. 5). Lewis (1983) provides a further
explanation of the scientific definition of theory, noting that it:
consists of a set of ideas, a collection of facts, many lines of reasoning, and often some definitions. A single idea is not a theory. Nor is a set of ideas standing alone. … A theory is a Euclidean logical system, a hypothetico- deductive system, that includes ideas, facts, and lines of reasoning. (p. 39)
Scientific theory thus refers to a substantiated and researched logical system; at least for
this reason, it cannot be dismissed as an idea that is capriciously derived, or a notion that
is to be discounted because of a belief. Subsequently, and for example, then, Darwin,
ID’s proverbial poster child for all that is wrong with modern science and culture, cannot be written off because it is “just a theory.” As the NAS (1998) reports, Darwinism and its theory of “biological evolution accounts for three of the most fundamental features of
the world around us … . [and it is] the central organizing principle that biologists use to
understand the world” (p. 3; also Alexander, 1983; Lewis, 1983; Moore, 1983). It is, in short, a well-documented and researched theory that is supported by scientific fact.31 The
48 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
question to ID advocates here becomes one that asks whether or not (or the extent to
which) ID, too, is well-documented and researched, and supported by scientific fact.
ID proponents (Behe, 2004a, 2003, 1998, 1996; Dembski, 2004, 2002, 1999,
1998a, b; Dembski and Ruse, 2004) seemingly address this question through two primary
ideas: (1) ID is valid science at least because modern science’s lasting legacy is the
creation of a void that the rise and later demise of methodological naturalism left and,
also, that Darwinism cannot legitimately offer authoritative explanations of the origin of
life, much less of most species; and (2) ID theory has demonstrative mathematical,
philosophical and scientific analyses that support its claims. Further, its advocates
contend that the metaphysical component does not necessitate that a specific intelligent
designer or agent be named, only that one can be inferred (e.g., Behe, 2005, 1998, 1996;
Dembski, 2002, 1999, 1998a)
The second guiding question – whether or not (or the extent to which) ID essentially is veiled Christianity – here becomes relevant. More specifically, it is at this
juncture that the question of values – and the competition to define them – arises;
whereas scientific theory does not rest upon belief but instead upon fact, ID theory,
insofar as it refers to the supernatural, inserts faith and belief into the discussion. The
question, in other words, becomes one that begs differentiating between science and
theology, at least to the degree that the references in ID theory to the supernatural call
into question the relevance, by its very definition, of religion.32 The ID controversy, in
sum, represents another particular manifestation of what Hunter (1991) refers to as the
culture wars, a metaphorical conflict in which, he argues, “[w]hat is ultimately at stake
49 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
are deeply rooted and fundamentally different understandings of being and purpose” (p.
131).
The second question, then, calls into question whether or not – or the extent to
which – ID essentially signifies a continuation of the metaphorical culture wars, at least
as it represents a veiled attempt to re-insert particularly Christian “values,” beliefs, and
faith into a public school science curriculum that has divorced values and morality from
its interest (Forrest, 2005a, b).33 The inquiry as to whether or not ID constitutes a
legitimate and authoritative claim to science without the invocation of a tacit reference to
the Christian conception of God is essential to gaining an understanding of its claims to valid science. Given that ID advocates (Dembski, 2002, 1999; Behe, 2005, 1996) refer to a supernatural being or force as the intelligent designer, one might question how such references conflict with understandings and definitions of science.34
For the purposes of this study, the writings of William Dembski and Michael
Behe will be examined to provide both an understanding of the nature of ID advocates’
identification of naturalism as the underlying problem to modernity, and a discussion of
some of the basic premises upon which they construct their argument, with the aim of
debunking Darwinism specifically, and modernity generally. The selection of these two
authors hinges upon the recognition that each is a respected academic within their
academic disciplines, mathematics and philosophy, and biochemistry, respectively.∗ As
well, the diversity between their respective fields allows for a broader and more inclusive
(though not exhaustive) understanding of ID theory (addressed later in the chapter).
∗This claim is not to say that all agree with what Behe and/or Dembski write either academically or with regards to ID. Rather, it is to note that, while many in fact do disagree strongly with Behe’s and Dembski’s publications on ID in particular, this does not mean that they necessarily disrespect those views, or the men who make them. Furthermore, as the very public conversation over ID indicates, others do respect Behe’s and Dembski’s views.
50 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Their individual and collective works are used to unpack the guiding questions in this study generally, and the first two questions in chapter four, specifically.
The first of these two authors – William Dembski – addresses the first two guiding questions of this study through his philosophical and mathematical critiques of modern science, and his overt references to the relevance of theology in ID theory. For
Dembski (2004, 2002, 1999; Dembski and Ruse, 2004), the philosophical challenge of modern science is its identification with naturalism. Subsequently, his response to the overt challenge of naturalism is what he terms the design inference, a theory that seeks to demonstrate mathematically that events conform to patterns, yet stops short of explaining why such conformity is present (1998a, p. 227). By framing his argument in such a way,
Dembski (1998a) is able to avoid a tendency, as he states, “to turn this common occurrence into a metaphysical first principle” (p. 227). Essentially, Dembski’s theory seeks to eliminate the probability of chance as an explanation for the origins of life. As he explains (1998a), regularity, chance, and design are the “three competing modes of explanation” invoked when attempting to explain events (p. 36). By mathematically
“proving” that design explanation warrants a theoretical category in its own right, as a complementary rather than supplementary account for events, design “avoids committing itself to a doctrine of intelligent agency” (Dembski, 1998a, p. 36). What he seeks to avoid, then, is establishing necessarily a causal relationship between an event and its explanation.35
In order to avoid this pitfall and infer that design requires more than simply
making design a complementary arm to chance and regularity; it requires, as well, what
Dembski (2002, 1999, 1998a) refers to as an explanatory filter that allows one to
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eliminate confidently and without further questioning, the probability of chance and/or
regularity. This filter thus allows one to move from the occurrence of an event, to its
explanation. Dembski’s (1998a) logical proof, as he presents it, is as follows:
Premise 1: [Event] E has occurred. Premise 2: E is specified Premise 3: If E is due to chance, then E has small probability. Premise 4: Specified events of small probability do not occur by chance.36 Premise 5: E is not due to regularity. Premise 6: E is due to either a regularity, chance, or design. Premise 7: E is due to design. (p. 48)
His case in point is the creationist/evolutionist debate. As Dembski unpacks his
argument, LIFE is the Event E in question; the premises whereupon the two camps
disagree are three and five. Whereas creationists accept all the premises, evolutionists,
according to Dembski (1998a), reject the aforementioned particular premises, “to block
the conclusion of the design inference” (p. 61). It would seem, then, that the naturalists whom Dembski labels the enemy are guilty not only of bad science (empiricism and
naturalism), but of poor deductive logic skills.
The question remains (and again raises the guiding question in this study
pertaining to), how Dembski would define science. While Dembski (2004, 2002, 1999,
1998b; Dembski and Ruse, 2004) does not offer a single, comprehensive definition of the
term, his work collectively suggests that he might define it, much as he does ID, as the
“systematic study of intelligent causes and specifically of the effects they leave behind”
(1999, p. 47). Further, it synthesizes elements of causation and the metaphysical to allow
for the inference of an intelligent agent’s work in this world (Dembski, 2002, 1999).
Unlike the definition outlined by the NAS (1998), Dembski’s conceptualization of
science does not necessitate that considerations of the supernatural be eliminated; it is,
52 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
rather, essential for understanding life (Dembski 2004, 2002, 1999; Dembski and Ruse,
2004). His definition of science, in sum, mirrors his descriptions of ID.
Dembski’s conceptualization of science stands in contradistinction to that of naturalism. In his critiques of naturalism and naturalists, Dembski (2002, 1999, also
1998a) is seeking to debunk the legitimacy and authoritative status of the modern
conception of science and thus help to pave a road for a different notion, one that would
allow for his design inference, and by extension, Intelligent Design. Essentially, he
presents his case for the reinstatement of design within science by arguing that: (a) design
is a theory; (b) design can be conceptualized rightly as not only a blueprint, but also as a
“trademark, signature, vestige or fingerprint … [and thus provide for a means of]
discriminating intelligently from unintelligently caused objects;” and (c) design can used
to “denote agency itself,” without prescribing “how an intelligent agent caused it,”
thereby bypassing the quandary of miracles (Dembski, 1999, p. 127). More than this,
though, Dembski (1999) argues that design can be inferred correctly when three criteria
have been assessed: contingency, complexity, and specification (p. 128; also 1998).37 By
addressing the above questions to present an explanation (inference) and detect a cause
(ID), Dembski argues that a more traditional conceptualization of science can be re- introduced both to academics and to the general public.38
While Dembski (1999) argues that the design inference can stand alone (in that an
agent need not be introduced for explanation), he asserts that ID “is a scientific theory
with theological implications” (p. 187; 1998a). Such a claim would take the theory out of
the realm of science and place it in the ambit of the humanities. But it is precisely this
stark division and compartmentalization of the disciplines that Dembski (1999) wishes to
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take to task. The rift between the disciplines places theology as, at best, a handmaiden to
science, but typically it is relegated to a lower authoritative status when explanations of
origins of life and/or species are concerned; its legitimacy, in other words, is suspect.
Equally important, Dembski (1999) argues that, although ID has “theological
implications,” these implications need not be exclusively Christian. While he makes this
assertion, one well could question why he proceeds to discuss why “Christology” and
(biblical) Scripture allow for a best development and account of intelligent agency and ID
(1999, pp. 187-279). Such a discussion not only limits the application of the theory to
Christians, but calls into question its universal explanatory power, something that he
claims design theory is able to provide.
Of equal importance in the continued development of the theory is the work of
Michael Behe (2005, 2004a, b, 2003, 1998, 1996), a biochemist whose ideas at times
sharply contrast with those of Dembski. Both authors identify a particular challenge to
Darwinism which they claim at best limits explanatory power; namely, that Darwinism’s
relevance and accountability can be rightfully contested because it fails to provide a
viable explanation for macroevolution. Most specifically, Dembski (2002, 1999, 1998a) and Behe (1996) assert that, although Darwinism provides an account for the development of life at the micro level of analysis, it does not provide a viable account for
the same at the macro level. Given their respective academic credentials (mathematician
and biochemist, respectively), one should not be surprised that their reasoning for
challenging Darwin on this point is different.
Dembski (1999) questions the legitimacy of Darwinism’s account of what he
refers to as its “totalizing claim that [the mutation-selection mechanism] accounts for all
54 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 diversity of life,” noting that “[w]hat evidence there is supports limited variation within fixed boundaries” (p. 113). Macroevolution, which he describes as the “unlimited plasticity of organisms to diversify across all boundaries,” cannot necessarily be extrapolated justifiably from any legitimate claims Darwinism makes for microevolution
(1999, pp. 113, 250). Although he makes an allowance for the viability of microevolution, his statements elsewhere seek to call into question the legitimacy and authority of Darwinism in totality. Such sweeping statements as “[d]esign theorists … begin their critique by arguing that Darwinism is on its own terms a failed scientific research program” suggest as much (p. 112; italics in original). Further, Dembski (1999) seems to assign to Darwin a claim not readily made; namely, that it is a “creation story”
(p. 121). Darwinism is, however, at its core about the origin of species, and not about creation as Dembski conceptualizes the term – a subtle but critical difference (Darwin,
1859/2003; Dembski, 1999; Dover, 2005).
Behe (1996), by contrast, gives a comparatively bigger nod toward the viability of
Darwinism at the micro level but challenges its legitimacy at the macro level outright, noting that recent findings in biochemistry support the assertion that “unbridgeable chasms occur even at the tiniest level of life” (p. 15). For Behe (2005, 1996), the question of what he terms “irreducible complexity” at the molecular level provides sufficient grounds to invoke an intelligent agent into the argument. His line of reasoning posits that Darwinian evolution cannot provide a legitimate and scientifically authoritative account, e.g., of how biosynthetic pathways evolved or how immune systems were created. The essential question for Behe thus is rooted in causation, and what, specifically, “has caused complex systems to form” (1996, p. 176); the systems, he
55 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
argues, cannot function properly unless all components are present at the outset (2004b,
2003, 1996). It is that no known scientific explanation to date has gained legitimacy to
account for the question of origin of life which plagues Behe. Although Behe (2004b,
2003, 1996) does grant Darwin some respite for not unlocking the “black box,” - life
beyond the cellular level – because, he argues, science in the late 19th and early 20th centuries lacked the necessary physical and conceptual tools, it seems questionable that
Behe believes that contemporary science, in the relatively short time that it has begun to unlock that black box, should have acquired the sufficient or conceptual tools not only to investigate it but to provide an ultimate answer for the origin of life question. Stated differently, by his admission (Behe, 2005, 1996), biochemistry is a comparatively new area of discovery, and much work remains.39 One might do well to inquire as to what
time frame such researchers have to provide the missing explanations (Dover, 2005).
In sum, Dembski and Behe disagree about the extent to which Darwinism
continues to hold any degree of legitimacy and authority. While Dembski wants to
displace its authority across the board, Behe is comparatively more willing to assign
some legitimacy to certain aspects of it, i.e., mutation-selection. The underlying claim
for both remains that no explanation to date has provided a universally accepted, empirical account for the creation of life as we know it (the Big-Bang theory addresses the creation of the cosmos, a point Dembski [1999] notes). Subsequently, the workload remaining to uncover this question is, in varying degrees, ultimately – and ironically – closed:40 by invoking an intelligent agent – oftentimes referred to as God by Dembski
(1999), and on occasion assigned such an identity by Behe (2005) – both authors answer their question, minus the empirical evidence they demand of their opponents. At least for
56 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
these considerations, then, this study will analyze the works of Dembski and Behe to
address its guiding questions; while the former provides mathematical, philosophical and
theological justifications for ID, the latter provides a (modern) science analysis that his
counterpart does not.
Dembski’s and Behe’s individual and collective works can and are used to
address the third guiding question – whether or not ID exists along a continuum of Judeo-
Christian ideas and attempts to redefine science. Their respective arguments that ID in
fact represents legitimate science, some critics contend, are suggestive of arguments used
historically and philosophically to advocate the inclusion of creationism and creation-
science in public school science curriculum specifically and public school curricula
(hidden or official) generally (e.g., Dover, 2005; Forrest, 2005a, b; Hewlett and Peters,
2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997). To the extent
that this is accurate, their arguments speak to what may be referred to as the culture war,
a metaphorical conflict that, as Hunter (1991) explains, has historical roots, as “century-
old religious tensions” re-align themselves with and in contemporary alliances “to provide the foundations not only for competing moral visions … but for competing dogmas” (Hunter, 1991, pp. 67, 131). Importantly, the moral visions outlined by the competing sides are starkly divergent. Stated differently, the conceptualization of the
values at stake in this war are defined primarily by two groups; namely, those with
impulses toward orthodoxy, which includes but is not limited to evangelical Christians
and those who identify with conservative religious beliefs; and those with impulses
toward progressivism, which includes but is not limited to those who argue that “moral
authority tends to be defined by the spirit of the modern age, a spirit of rationalism and
57 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
subjectivism” (Hunter, pp. 44-45). Whereas those with the orthodox impulse advocate transcendent authority as that moral authority, those with the progressive impetus support a notion of moral authority derived from “the resymbolization of historic faiths and philosophical traditions” (Hunter, pp. 118-122). Whereas those with orthodox impulses retain concepts of the sacred in their discourse, those with progressive impulses seek instead to “interpret events from a scientific and naturalistic perspective” (Wald, 1992, p.
8). The values at stake are seen as diametrically opposed: religious and scientific; or, those predicated upon faith and those predicated upon reason. The opposition, then, is historical; as those with orthodox tendencies tend to identify with creationism, and later creation-science, those with progressive tendencies align themselves with re- conceptualizations of science. The third question in this section of the study, then, considers where ID falls in this ongoing metaphorical culture war.
Is the inclusion of intelligent design in public school science curriculum a battle for power over hegemonic discourse and institutions of societal re-production?
This broader inquiry also will be unpacked in chapter five, using three guiding questions. Specifically, the inquiry as to whether or not – or the extent to which – the inclusion of ID in the U.S. public school science curriculum raises questions pertaining to hegemony: (a) how recent attempts for its inclusion in public school curriculum ultimately attends to questions of pedagogical practices; (b) the extent to which it speaks to a battle for control of over education that implicates a desire for a paradigmatic shift in education and official curriculum; and (c) the extent to which this shift fundamentally alters the fabric of educational input and output for posterity.
58 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
The first of the aforementioned guiding questions –the question of pedagogical
practice – will be examined by synthesizing the depositions of witnesses for the plaintiffs
and defendants in the Dover (2005) case with critical thought theory (Apple, 2001, 1990,
1981; Apple and Christian-Smith, 1991; Giroux, 2001, 1986). More specifically, it will consider the ways and means ID advocates have attempted to insert IDT into the curriculum as well as the potential impact this has upon pedagogy and understandings of authority.
It is the complex relationship between church and state institutions – or, between religion, and politics and economy – that this first guiding question of this section addresses. Today, ID advocates have identified this intricate relationship, and use it to shape their discussions (Antolin and Herbers, 2001; Forrest 2005a, b; Hewlett and Peters,
2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler 2006, 1997). More specifically, by arguing that the current science curriculum is amoral and that, historically
(and before the advent of naturalism), science had incorporated Aristotelian notions of the metaphysical in its discourse, ID advocates invoke an argument that parallels concerns expressed by religious-minded reformers in the early 20th century (Dover, 2005;
Matzke and Gross, 2006; Randerson, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997).
Modernity, generally, is the identified problem, and Darwinism specifically, remains the challenge (Dembski, 2002, 1999). Subsequently, ID proponents serving on school boards compel public school science teachers to “’teach the controversy’” (i.e., use lesson plans that advocate that Darwinism is merely theory and insufficient for explaining the origins of life; Rudoren, 2006). States such as Iowa, California, Ohio, Kansas, and Pennsylvania have brought directly to the forefront the question of the extent to which ID justifiably is
59 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
authoritative science (Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch, “’Critical analysis’ defeated in Ohio”;
Davey and Blumenthal, 2006; Dover, 2005; Goodstein, 2006, 2005; Krauss, 2006;
Matzke and Gross, 2006; Orr, 2005; Rudoren, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006,
1997; “Evolution speeding back to Kansas,” 2007). School board members in the
aforementioned states have endeavored to pass mandates requiring the inclusion of ID in science classes, and argued that it be presented as a viable and legitimate alternative scientific theory to evolution (Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch, “’Critical analysis’ defeated in
Ohio”; Davey and Blumenthal, 2006; Dover, 2005; Goodstein, 2006, 2005; Krauss, 2006;
Matzke and Gross, 2006; Orr, 2005; Rudoren, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006,
1997; “Evolution speeding back to Kansas,” 2007). Their efforts have proved unsuccessful thus far, as the inclusion of ID in the public school science curriculum
remains highly contested. Yet, the question of how IDT advocates have suggested the
theory be included in the curriculum, as well as some of the possible ramifications this
has upon pedagogical practice and, by extension, understandings of a teacher’s authority,
is quite relevant.41
The second guiding question – the extent to which its insertion represents a call
for a paradigmatic shift in education and the curriculum – here becomes relevant. More
specifically, the shift toward secularization and the concomitant efforts of religious-
minded reformers to re-insert explicit or implicit Christian “values” into the public school
curriculum (hidden or official) has been addressed in numerous state, federal, and
Supreme Court cases (Alley, 1999; Dover, 2005; Dwyer, 1998; Fisher, 1995; Fraser,
1999; Hamilton, 2005; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Hunter, 1991; Matzke and Gross, 2006;
Nord, 1995; Prothero, 2007; Foote, 1925/2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wald, 1992; Wexler,
60 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
2006, 1997). At issue in each of these cases is the extent to which either the
Establishment or the Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment, or both, had been
violated.42 Yet, significantly, ID advocates claim that IDT, while “at once old and new”
(Dembski, 2002, p. 366) is distinct from the creation-science and creationism that was at
issues in previous court cases (e.g., Behe, 1996; Dembski, 1999; Dover, 2005; Forrest,
2005a, b; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler,
2006, 1997).43 Furthermore, by continuing to claim that a controversy exists and, concurrently, invoking language that paints ID supporters as politically marginalized
group, its proponents can utilize a language of injustice and oppression to debunk the
hegemonic positioning of modern science within academics and the larger society (e.g.,
see Dembski, 2004, 2002, 1999; Dembski and Ruse, 2004; Forrest, 2005a, b; Watson,
1997).
The third and final question – the question of education for posterity – here is
raised. As previously noted, the Court has deemed unconstitutional that equal time laws
requiring that schools where evolution is taught also teach creation-science (Edwards v.
Aguillard, 482 U.S. 578, 1987; in Alley, 1999, pp. 219-231). Further, the recent decision
rendered in Dover directly calls into question the constitutionality of ID’s inclusion in the
public school science curriculum. Although the decision certainly is limited in
geographical and jurisdictional scope, its impact seemingly has proved more wide-
ranging (e.g., Branch, “’Critical analysis’ defeated in Ohio”; Davey and Blumenthal,
2006; Dover, 2005; Goodstein, 2006, 2005; Krauss, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Orr,
2005; Rudoren, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997; “Evolution speeding back
to Kansas,” 2007). Yet, at least some ID advocates continue to wage a cultural battle for
61 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
its inclusion in public school curriculum, thereby sanctioning a continued
institutionalization of schooling which ultimately displaces an education for socialization,
for one rooted in critical thought.
This document, then, seeks to address the aforementioned questions, by utilizing
philosophical and theoretical inquiry and analyses. Yet, given the nature of this study, important limitations remain. It is towards these considerations that this chapter next will
turn.
Limitations
For discussions regarding ID specifically, this document primarily will focus
upon the writings of two seminal thinkers who have gained prominence in the continued
development of the theory; namely, William Dembski and Michael Behe. The former is
a respected mathematician and philosopher as well as a senior fellow at the Discovery
Institute’s Center for Science and Culture. Michael Behe is a well-regarded biochemist.
As well, this study will synthesize the depositions of plaintiffs and defendants in the
Dover (2005) case, in order to provide detailed account of the essential premises and
arguments surrounding some of the concerns regarding ID’s inclusion in public school
curriculum. While individually and collectively these authors and individuals do not
represent the whole of ID, their works and critical analyses, respectively, are respected by
ID advocates. This study provides a thorough analysis of Dembski’s and Behe’s works
on the topic, but it is not exhaustive of the subject.
Although this study includes analyses and references to some ID critics, it does
not provide extensive analyses of ID critics’ works, as this is beyond the particular scope
62 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
of inquiry in this study. More specifically, while this document considers ID critics and
criticisms of ID as they pertain to the questions discussed in the previous section,
additional examination of critics and criticisms are incidental. These arguments and
criticisms are relevant philosophically, theologically, politically, and legally (etc.), but they are beyond the scope of this study.
The above discussion outlines the guiding research questions and the limitations of this study. The remainder of the document unpacks the aforementioned inquiries, and offers historiographic, theoretical, philosophical, and legalistic analyses. Chapter four
addresses questions pertaining to the argument that ID challenges modernity on modern
science’s own terms. Points of consideration that help to direct this larger question
address some of ID’s criticisms of modernity; whether or not – or, the extent to which – it is essentially Christian; and lastly, whether or not – or, again, the extent to which – ID
exists along a continuum of Judeo-Christian ideas that invoke the biblical God. Chapter
five focuses on questions related to its continuation of the proverbial cultural war. Points
of consideration that guide this larger question are reflections upon pedagogical practice
and understandings of authority; hegemonic discourse and power; and lastly, some
possible implications for the education of posterity.
It is towards the former set of questions that the study now turns.
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Chapter 4: Intelligent Design and a history of ideas: Synthesizing religion and science
As noted in the previous chapter, science generally is conceptualized as that which can be observed, tested, and further substantiated; it is, in sum, measurable and, as such, rooted in empiricism (NAS, 1998). Science can be understood as a field of study whose focus is the natural world, a concept understood as the observable and measurable world. Given that its focus is the observable world and also that its tests require substantiation, its theories are open to scientific debate; the test to substantiate further a particular theory well might challenge that theory, if scientific data and tests can demonstrate that elements of that said theory are questionable (Lewis, 1983; NAS, 1998).
Intelligent Design advocates argue that Intelligent Design Theory is a legitimate scientific field of inquiry. Further, its supporters assert that the theory is a valid alternative scientific theory to Darwinism; succinctly, it is authoritative scientific theory that offers a legitimate explanation both for the origin of the species and for the origin of life (Behe, 2005, 2004a, b, 1998, 1996; Dembski, 2004, 2002, 1999; Dembski and Ruse,
2004). The task for ID theorists thus is both to debunk modern science – understood as naturalism – and to re-construct an understanding of science that allows for metaphysical factors which might include, but need not be limited to, a particular understanding of
God. In addition, the relationship between the ID advocate and his metaphysical agent or force need not be characterized as personal, as is the tradition in Judeo-Christian theology; the assertion that the agent could be an alien of the extra-terrestrial sort contradicts such a notion (Behe, 2005; Dembski, 2002, 1999). As Behe (2005) noted in his deposition for the Dover case, such an assertion, although invoked in IDT literature,
64 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
generally is not believed, nor invoked, to-date, by any of its advocates; it is an idea
merely for the sake of argument. These considerations, in sum, need to acknowledge,
explicitly, that an intelligent agent or force is responsible for the creation of life, and
furthermore, its existence at least must be able to be intuited (Dembski, 2004, 2002,
1999).
The remainder of this chapter focuses on three primary and guiding questions, namely: (1) the challenges of modernity as articulated by some ID proponents; (2) whether or not, or the extent to which, ID essentially is Christian; and finally, (3) the argument that ID exists – or not - along a continuum of Judeo-Christian ideas that invoke the biblical God. It is towards the first of these inquiries that the chapter next turns.
Modernity and Intelligent Design: Re-discovering the “ought” and the “is”
According to Dembski (1999), the death of British natural theology, and the subsequent metaphorical victory of Darwinism, has created a vacuum wherein science became void both of “empirical content” and perhaps most importantly, of (intelligent) design (p. 73). Although British natural theology theoretically incorporated the notion of a designer at work in the universe, its understanding of that designer, coupled with its conceptualizations of nature, paved the way for the modern purging of God from science.
Indeed, the problem, as Dembski (1999) sees it, was not that British natural theology attempted to wed the metaphysical with science, but rather that its conception of design could not conceive properly of order in the universe (indeed, this had been the conceptualization of science as conceptualized and developed in classical Greek philosophy). More succinctly, at its core, naturalism initially allowed that both natural
65 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 law and contrivance (or, that which has empirical content; e.g., Paley’s watchmaker analogy) alternately could explain order and design (Dembski, 2002, 1999). Ultimately, these two contradictory explanations could not co-exist within the theory; one had to emerge the victor. According to Dembski (1999), natural law eventually trumped contrivance (pp. 74-77; FN 3, p.289).
The uneasy result of this conquest, and the subsequent problem to science, is a profound re-definition of nature. According to Dembski (1999), the problem essentially
is that by locating design in natural laws rather than in the objects of nature, it becomes impossible to form a coherent connection between nature and any putative designer of nature. … What … [once] had seemed contrivances, that is, instances of order exhibiting clear marks of intelligence, now became contrivances only in the derivative sense of being automatic processes that were in turn designed. (p. 78)
Whereas design understood as contrivances could allow for the work of an agent who intervened to produce them (thereby “imputing design to things”), design conceptualized as “unknown (and perhaps unknowable) natural laws put in operation by the Creator” allowed that the laws, rather than the Creator, intervened (thereby “imputing design to the processes that give rise to those things;” Dembski, 1999, pp. 77-78). The initial attempt to commingle the two contradictory understandings of design thus established the crisis; the designer whose work could be evidenced in its objects was supplanted by the laws it had created. Consequently design, according to Dembski, was “stripped … of its force and meaning” (p. 79).
Yet, perhaps a more compelling distinction might have that which noted the differentiation between natural and positive laws. More concretely, political philosophers
(e.g., Simon, 1993, 1986; Maritain, 1951; Strauss, 1997b, d, e, 1995c, d, 1953; Voegelin,
1987) have explained that law exists fundamentally on two levels, the positive, or man-
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made, and the natural, or the transcendent and universal. Positive law allows for
comparatively more thoughts and actions than natural law; essentially it allows for the
right to be wrong. By contrast, natural law, which in Christian theology was first
developed by Thomas Aquinas transcends positive law (Aquinas, 1273/1988; Ebenstein
and Ebenstein, 1991; Fortin, 1987b). Essentially, these laws remain true whether or not
man discovers them and designs his positive laws in accordance with them. While
positive law does allow for human agency and change, natural law has an independent
status and an authority and validity that lie beyond the reach of human agency. In other
words, while positive laws can be changed, natural law is immutable, though it can be
disobeyed, and ignored. These two conceptions of law are not mutually exclusive, even
in a free society; indeed, freedom, practically speaking, always requires some element of
coercion because it must have law that has some force behind it.
It is perhaps this fundamental distinction between these two types of law that
Dembski (2002, 1999), in his discussions regarding the demise of intelligent agency in
scientific inquiry, is attempting to make and render problematic. For Dembski (1999), the essential problem became one wherein scientists and theologians “… were no longer impressed that the inscrutable wisdom of God was being worked out in those natural laws, [and they] started trying to make sense of those very natural laws that … had been instituted by the divine legislator” (p. 79). Because they could be (and eventually were) conceived of as “automatic,” the primacy and transcendence afforded to the laws, rather
than the agent or force, thus implied that understanding those laws, and any attempt to
design positive law in accordance with them, ultimately meant that the agent became mutable at best, while the laws were understood to “produce their effects by an
67 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
impersonal, automatic necessity” (Dembski, 1999, p. 79). More succinctly, scientists
began to differentiate between the laws and their Creator, and subsequently rendered that
Creator no longer omnipotent. At least in this way, man can claim “knowledge of the
nature of God” and refute the argument that “He is incomprehensible” (Strauss, 1997b, p.
129). While Dembski (1999) asserts that the danger in British natural theology was its ultimate nod toward natural law over contrivance, one might question whether or not it was the acceptance of positive law and historicism as the guiding rationalities in human thought and action (Strauss, 1953). What ID does, then, is restore the proper hierarchy between natural and positive law; it “promises to reinvigorate that ethical stream running from Aristotle through Aquinas known as natural law” (Dembski 1999, p. 150; italics added).
It is precisely here that Dembski’s argument becomes slightly convoluted and problematic, at least insofar as Aristotle’s and Aquinas’ arguments regarding teleology fundamentally are incongruous: where Aquinas argues for natural law, Aristotle argues
for natural right (Aquinas, 1273/1988; Aristotle, 350 B.C.E./1984; Fortin, 1987b; Strauss,
1953).44 This differentiation is not semantic; the very understanding of what nature is,
and thus how to understand ethics and morality, ultimately is at stake. For Aristotle and
his contemporaries, “only sense perception could allow insight” into the nature or natures
of things (Strauss, 1997b, p. 111). At least in this way, law ultimately had a positivistic
quality; by asserting that the completion of morality resided in “understanding or
contemplation … [which] is essentially a transsocial or asocial possibility,” a political
community thus was rendered “fundamentally good, and the same is true for the arts,” for
it is through contemplation and understanding achieved through and apart from these
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vehicles that man potentially could reach his natural end (Strauss, 1997b, p. 109; also
Aquinas, 1273/1988; Fortin, 1987b).45 For Aquinas, however, the primacy of natural
(Eternal) law necessarily takes precedence, at least because, in the Bible, “the first
founder of a city was the first murdered and his descendents were the first inventors of
the arts” (Strauss, 1997b, p. 109).46 The city, then, could be the place where the “biblical
God reveals Himself,” for the city is not fundamentally good; only in the desert, away
from the trappings of man, could the biblical God reveal Himself (Strauss, 1997b, p.
109). By juxtaposing natural law for natural right, in sum, Aquinas’ essential argument,
much like Aristotle’s, allows that “things operate independently” (Strauss, 1997b, p.
110). A profound difference is that, for Aquinas, these laws are revealed, and thus
necessitate a covenant between God and man, at least because God shows Himself to be
omnipotent and unknowable (Ebenstein and Ebenstein, 1991; Fortin, 1987b, Strauss,
1997b).47
A fundamental distinction in Dembski’s argument becomes apparent: by arguing for a
return to both Aristotle’s and Aquinas’ law, Dembski (1999) does not successfully account for his assertion that such a return would provide for the re-location of an intelligent agent or force in natural law. Aristotle’s god or gods, unlike that of Aquinas’, still allows for “things themselves [to] operate independently” because the god or gods of
Aristotle were not omnipotent (Strauss, 1997b, p. 110).48 Dembski’s (2002, 1999)
continued appeal to natural law keeps him rooted in that very aspect of modernity from
which he seeks escape. By staking a preference for the distinctly Protestant claim that
natural law is necessary but not sufficient for revelation (Henry, 1995) of an intelligent
agent’s or force’s existence and concurrently arguing for a return to Aquinas’ and
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Aristotle’s teleology, Dembski (2002, 1999) apparently undermines his own attempt to
authenticate ID by way of debunking British natural theology.
By falling prey to the modern idea of the validity of natural law and thus failing to
account for the concept of natural right and first principles, his argument inherently allows for an intelligent agent (or force) that can – and does – become muted, and can be
conceived logically as distinct from the very laws He (or it) creates (Strauss, 1995b, pp.
10-11; 1953). Stated differently, Dembski’s (1999) understanding of natural law, which
seems to alternate between Thomistic and Protestant conceptualizations, ultimately
cannot be reconciled with his own undertakings to reify the processes that demonstrate
that the work of an intelligent agent or force in the world. More concretely, Dembski
does not clearly demarcate the fundamental distinction between right and law, and more
profoundly, between natural right, and natural and positive law (Strauss, 1953).
Furthermore, Dembski’s (2002, 1999) argument that the empirical evidence necessary to reveal the work of God (or a force) in this world (e.g., the watchmaker analogy) that was
displaced in the rise and ultimate demise of British natural theology, perhaps is itself a
nod toward that very empiricism he seeks to debunk. More succinctly, one might make
the argument that the “reading” of “signs” in this world as demonstrative proof of the
work of an intelligent agent presupposes faith (e.g., Strauss, 1997b, p. 128-132).
Yet, the demise of British natural theology and the increasing emphasis upon positivism was not responsible solely for the crisis in modern science; rather, its final death knell, according to Dembski (2002, 1999), was rung with the introduction and subsequent acceptance of Darwinism both in science, and later, in certain segments of the
population.49 The challenges that Darwinism posed to “modern” science were twofold:
70 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 first, it validated the rising tide of positivism in the sciences by introducing a “natural” (in contradistinction to supernatural) explanation for the origin of the species (this differs from the origins of life, a point which Dembski does make); and second, it introduced elements of agnosticism and atheism into the sciences that before had been comparatively only peripherally accepted (Dembski, 2002, 1999). For Dembski (1999), then, the question that arises from this predicament becomes, as he states, whether or not:
Darwin’s insistence that biology limit its attention to naturalistic mechanisms, like variation and selection, was a case of the science driving the metaphysics? That is, Is it that science has solved or, perhaps better yet, dissolved the problems raised by a designer who acts in the world, and has science done this by giving an adequate naturalistic account of everything that was previously attributed to that designer? Or is it rather a case of naturalistic metaphysics driving science and redefining the nature of science? (p. 85)
As Dembski (2002, 1999) proffers, while naturalism constructed the stumbling block to acceptance of design within science, Darwinism single-handedly dealt the cumulative blow to design theorists’ credibility in the sciences during the latter part of the nineteenth century.
The consequences for future scientists, as well as for the general population, were enormous: left without a scientifically legitimated and authoritative account for the metaphysical – i.e., design – in science, Dembski (2002, 1999) argues that those who accepted Darwinism seemingly were left to live a life of agnosticism or atheism. For
Dembski (1999), such an omission is tantamount to “defin[ing] out of existence alternative explanations that attempt to account for life” and thus artificially constricting the discourse (p. 85). Indeed, Darwin and his supporters asked the wrong question; as
Dembski (1999) contends,
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If the fundamental question had not been What is the best empirical account of life that satisfies a naturalistic metaphysics? But instead What is the best empirical account of life irrespective of metaphysical commitments? then design could never have been dismissed as easily as it was. (p. 86; italics in original)
According to Dembski (1999), Darwin and his contemporary scientists were guilty not only of providing the final blow to British natural theology, they also seemingly were guilty of asking the wrong questions.
Dembski’s assertion of this reversion toward agnosticism and atheism for scientists perhaps is overstated, if one examines it in concert with recent findings indicating that many scientists in fact do acknowledge a belief in religion (“Spirituality high among university students,” 2005). A key differentiation they make, which
Dembski, Behe and other ID proponents do not, hinges upon the ways in which scientists variously interpret religious practices, and the extent to which understandings and practices of religion primarily are individualistic and focused upon notions of spirituality rather than the traditionally organized practices often used to measure religious devotion and affiliation. According to the results of a study published by Ecklund (“Spirituality high among university students,” 2005), numerous academics – more than approximately two-thirds of natural and social scientists – in fact do consider themselves religious, albeit perhaps “non-traditionally.”50 Such a rendering of religious belief and affiliation perhaps
speaks to the rational limits of the scientific enterprise referenced in chapter three;
namely, that concerns and questions regarding the supernatural are beyond the scope of scientific inquiry, at least because such claims and beliefs cannot be questioned (Lewis,
1983; NAS, 1998). The question, then, is the extent to which scientists are willing and
able to distinguish in their professional and private lives, between the demands and rigors
72 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 of science and those of faith and religion.51 In addition to this asking of the wrong questions, Darwin’s theory of speciation, Dembski (1999) argues, generally was unpopular and not accepted in his own day (pp. 83-84). A more palatable explanation had to be offered; for his contemporaries, evolution conceptualized only as a “selectionist mechanism” was insufficient for explaining the complexities of speciation and the development of life (Dembski, 1999, p. 83). Stated differently, Darwin’s colleagues accepted his theory of evolution because he was able to provide a purely mechanistic and naturalistic explanation for speciation, not necessarily on its own terms, but rather, because he was able to provide “a plausible picture of how mechanization could take command and make life submit to mechanistic explanation” (Dembski, 1999, p. 84).
Darwin’s theory generally was not “accepted as is;” rather, its general acceptance required that his theory coalesce with what Dembski (1999) refers to as “the rising tide of positivism in mid-nineteenth century Britain,” a challenge Darwin met by providing a purely mechanistic account for the origin of the species (p. 84).
It increasingly was accepted in academic circles and within (and by) some segments of the general populace. For ID advocates, this fact was, and remains, problematic, at least because Darwinism provides a starkly different rendering of the development of species than theological, metaphysical, or teleological explanations might
(and generally do). Further, whereas some ID supporters – Michael Behe (2005, 1996) prominent among them – do acknowledge that elements of Darwinism might provide legitimate explanations or raise legitimate questions for inquiry, they concurrently contend that Darwinism is at best suspect as authoritative science, in part because research to date has not provided sufficient detail about macroevolution (also Dembski,
73 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
2004, 2002, 1999). As Dembski (2002) notes, “Darwinian mechanism tells us the logic by which the history of life was shaped, but is silent about the details” (pp. 400-401).
While ID advocates isolate Darwinism as the primary theory that must – and should – be challenged to debunk naturalism, they identify modern science generally as the culprit, and the stumbling block, to the acceptance of design theory within science
(Dembski, 2002, 1999). Modernity and its offspring postmodernity are recognized as the broader problem.52 As Dembski (1999) argues, modernity, “with its commitment to rationality and science, is wonderfully adept at discerning the regularities of nature … [it] hopes to solve all our problems though science and technology” (p. 44). Furthermore, naturalism, which importantly he closely identifies with modernity, neglects to account for the origins of life. Its essential problem, he continues, is that its field of inquiry is limited to “the realm of space, time and energy” (Dembski, 1999, p. 98). As Dembski
(1999) understands it, modern science, in sum, focuses upon the “material or physical world” and, subsequently, imposes upon itself limitations that render it a self-sufficient, closed system of inquiry wherein “nature is all there is, [and thus] everything we do is constrained by nature’s laws. [Subsequently, (w)]ith no possibility of escaping the laws of nature, we cannot violate them” (p. 100). We are, in the end, accountable only to nature, rather than to a being that might hold us accountable to and for our “sins”
(Dembski, 1999, p. 100; the implications of this theological assertion and insertion are addressed later in this chapter).
At least because of the above, Dembski (2002, 1999) argues that ID represents an authoritative, alternative scientific theory to modern science and modernity generally, and to Darwinism, specifically. As noted in the previous chapter, the root of ID theory is
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what Dembski (2002, 1999, 1998a) dubs the design inference, which in essence is a
mathematical proof demonstrating that design is a logical, verifiable theory. Dembski
(1998a) distinguishes his mathematical proof – his design inference - from statistical
hypotheses testing by noting that, for the latter,
when a given chance hypothesis gets eliminated, it is typically because an alternate chance hypothesis has displaced it – essentially, chance gets displaced by chance. By contrast, a successful design inference sweeps the field clear of chance hypotheses. The design inference, in inferring design, eliminates chance entirely, whereas statistical hypothesis testing, in eliminating one chance hypothesis, opens the door to others. (p. 7)
Dembski (2002) posits the assertion that science must consider “that there is more to theory choice in science than empirical evidence” (p. 346). Empiricism, in other words, is sufficient but not absolutely necessary to infer design.
In order to infer design, then, three criteria cumulatively dubbed the complexity- speciation criteria must be established when considering a particular (and, perhaps, a particularly improbable) event;53 namely, contingency, complexity, and specification
(Dembski, 2002, p. 8; 1999, 1998a). These requirements are necessary because
[c]ontingency ensures that the object in question is not the result of an automatic and therefore unintelligent process that had no choice in its production. Complexity ensures that the object is not so simple that it can readily be explained by chance. Finally, specification ensures that the object exhibits the type of pattern characteristic of intelligence. (2002, p. 8)
Determining that a pattern exists and then eliminating other probable explanations for its
existence are how one legitimately can infer design; one need not witness empirical
evidence as modern science and, certainly, Darwinism, would do (Dembski, 2002, 1999,
1998a). The patterns themselves might be of the empirical sort (Dembski does argue that
75 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 modernity’s challenge to the concept of miracles is problematic; 2002, 1999). As
Dembski (1998a) notes, one must recall that simply because one has not observed an event does not mean that the event did not occur (p. 6). Further, these patterns, Dembski
(2002) notes, can be either specified or fabricated, with the former representing the “non- ad hoc patterns that can legitimately be used to eliminate chance and warrant a design inference” and the latter representing the “ad hoc patterns that cannot legitimately be used to warrant a design inference” (p. 12).
Design is revealed through the complexity-specification criterion, as Dembski
(2002, 1999, 1998a) calls it, and what he refers to as the explanatory filter can be illustrative for demonstrating the paths one takes in order to determine whether or not design indeed can be inferred. The filter, according to Dembski (2002, 1999, 1998a), is critical, at least because it enables one to determine that, if (a) an event is not contingent, then it can be attributed to necessity; (b) an event is not complex, then it can be attributed to chance; and (c) if an event is not specified, then it can be attributed to chance. Further, and more importantly, if an event is contingent, complex, and specified, then design can be inferred (2002, pp. 12-13; also Dembski, 1999, 1998a).
While Dembski (2002) does acknowledge that the legitimacy of his explanatory filter has been questioned, he ultimately rebukes these criticisms by arguing, essentially, that while there exists the danger that the explanatory filter both is incapable and inaccurate in its explicatory powers for inference, this
is a danger endemic to all of scientific inquiry. Indeed, it is merely a restatement of the problem of induction – to wit, that we may be wrong about the regularities (be they probabilistic or necessitarian) that have operated in the past and are applicable to the present. (p. 14)
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The design inference, and its offspring ID, thus is not rooted in the empiricism that largely defines naturalism, yet for Dembski and ID supporters, is legitimate and authoritative science (Behe, 2004a, b, 2003, 1998, 1996; Dembski, 2004, 2002, 1999,
1998a; Dembski and Ruse, 2004). The design inference is not concerned with causality,
at least because one must discern that an “event conforms to a pattern” and noting that
“what caused an event to conform to a pattern” are different questions (Dembski, 1998a,
p. 9). The focus of the design inference thus is presenting a logical argument that allows
one to eliminate legitimately and authoritatively “probabilitistic information” used to
explain a given event; or, as Dembski (1998a) summarizes succinctly, “the design
inference rules out explanations incompatible with intelligent agency” (p. 9).
The above contentions thus established for Dembski, the question remains
whether or not – or the extent to which – ID denotes legitimate and authoritative science.
While ID advocates affirm this statement at least for the explanations discussed above, its
critics (Alters, 2006, 2005; Dover, 2005; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Miller, 2005; NSTA,
“Position statement;” Padian, 2005) contend that ID represents, at best, poor science, if
indeed it constitutes legitimate science at all. For example, Kenneth Miller, a biologist
who testified on behalf of the plaintiffs in the Dover case, noted that although ID experts
have published research that supports their contention that ID is legitimate science and an
authoritative alternative theory to Darwinism, few of these publications have been subjected to peer review, an argument numerous other scientists have articulated vociferously, as well (Dover, 2005, p. 74). Furthermore, recent research indicates that
Behe’s (1996) notion of irreducible complexity – an argument that at once accepts
aspects of Darwinian evolution while debunking the theory generally – is questionable, at
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best (Behe, 2005; Bridgham, Carroll and Thornton, 2006; Chang, 2006b; Dover, 2005).
More specifically, Bridgham’s et al (2006) research suggests that molecular interactions
produced complexity; i.e., species were not, as Behe (1996) asserts, simply created that
way (Chang, 2006b). More concretely, Bridgham’s et. al. (2006) findings indicate that
systems thought (especially by ID experts) to be irreducibly complex could be reducibly
complex, when one considers that “tight interactions can evolve by molecular
exploitation – recruitment of an older molecule, previously constrained to a different role,
into a new functional complex” (¶1; Chang, 2006b). Such findings, when coupled, e.g.,
with Shubin, Daeschler, and Coates’ (2004) discovery of a 365-million year old fossil
limb of an ancient tetrapod suggests that “an increasing functional diversity within these
earliest stages of tetrapod evolution,” (¶1) demonstrates not only that scientific research
continues to make significant strides in opening Behe’s (1996) proverbial Darwinian
black box, but that anti-evolution sentiments continue to be countered with more
substantive, legitimate scientific research, as it is understood and practiced by the larger
scientific community (also Dover, 2005). The articles in which such findings as those
cited above were peer-reviewed, a claim that numerous ID theory articles and experts
cannot assert.54
The contradiction, at its core, stems from different conceptualizations of science
and the necessary protocol for validating findings and research. For example, ID
supporters assert that modern science’s insistence upon empiricism, coupled with the
prominence awarded to laboratory experimentation, limits scientists in their
understandings of truth (Behe, 2004b, 2003, 1998, 1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999).
Furthermore, whereas ID supporters argue that science should and indeed must include
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the metaphysical, its critics such as Forrest (2005a, b), assert that such considerations lie
within the jurisdiction of theology or philosophy (for example), rather than biology or
physics. While the two certainly are not mutually exclusive, the fact that theological hypotheses cannot be reconstructed – indeed, even observed at the outset -- is at least problematic because its accuracy cannot be tested (e.g., NAS, 1998, p. 6).55 As Moore
(1983) argues, evolutionists cannot invoke supernatural explanations because “science
has absolutely no way of dealing with it. Science is concerned with nature so, by
definition, something that is above or apart from nature eludes its grasp” (p. 4). In sum,
while ID advocates such as Dembski assert that the theory does constitute legitimate and
authoritative science, its rendering and practice of science contrasts starkly with that
generally accepted in the scientific community (Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch, 2006;
NSTA, “Position statement”).
While both science and theology historically have included understandings and
conceptualizations of the metaphysical and teleology, both do not place reason and faith
on equal planes. It is this very discrepancy that seemingly is taken to task in ID theory:
while science accentuates reason and oftentimes seemingly equates empirical evidence as
demonstrative of it, ID theory places a greater emphasis upon belief. The invocation of
an intelligent agent – sometimes referred to as a supernatural being or an intelligent
designer – necessitates that one believe in what one neither can see nor replicate. The
question remains as to whether or not – or the extent to which – the design inference in
fact does turn the “connection between event and pattern into a metaphysical first
principle” and, further, that this “metaphysical first principle” is at best implicitly the
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Christian conception of God (Dembski, 1998a, p. 9). It is this issue towards which this
chapter thus next turns.
Intelligent Design and religion
A second question, which extends from the first, pertains to whether or not, or the
extent to which, ID essentially is Christianity masquerading as science. Its leading
advocates staunchly deny any such assertion (e.g., Behe, 2003, 1998, 1996; Dembski,
2004, 2002, 1999). The fact that its supporters argue to the contrary does not validate
those assertions; subsequently, an examination of the rationale underlying those
assertions, as well as a consideration of the substance of those assertions, must be
conducted.
Before these issues are tackled, however, it first is necessary to understand how
religion can be conceptualized. According to Hunter (1991), religion, in the
contemporary culture wars, essentially is conceptualized either substantively or
functionally, or perhaps, by some combination therein. While those who adopt the
former posit that “religion should be defined by what it is,” those who adopt the latter
assert that “religion should be defined according to what it does” (p. 255; italics in
original). Whereas the substantive definition refers to the “′sacred’ or the ‘holy’” aspect
of religion, the functional conceptualization considers religion’s role and consequences
for individual and social existence, i.e., it understands religion both in its reference to the
sacred and also allows that “the sacred … could be any ultimate value or any orienting
principle adhered to by a social group” (Hunter, pp. 255-256). These two differing
conceptualizations of religion are not, as Hunter (1991) notes, “mutually exclusive”;
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rather, “[t]he substantive approach recognizes the functionality of religion and the functional approach recognizes the special qualities of the supernatural” (p. 256).
The distinction between these two conceptualizations of religion is relevant, insofar as one might inquire as to which of the two ID advocates assert is most relevant for understanding not only the theory generally, but how such conceptualizations
distinguish it distinctly from an inherently theological theory. By rejecting that ID theory
is veiled Christianity (Behe 2005, 1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999), its supporters invoke the
substantive argument. Conversely, by arguing that ID supporters can but need not
necessarily identify the supernatural agent in the theory as the Christian God (Behe,
2005, 1996; Dembski 2002, 1999), they invoke the functionality argument. Stated
differently, ID advocates underscore Hunter’s (1991) assertion that the two
conceptualizations of religion in fact are not mutually exclusive.
The fact that there exists varying levels of disagreement within the ID community regarding the extent to which Darwinian evolution can be incorporated legitimately in ID suggests that the substantive and functional conceptualizations of religion might serve particular purposes contextually (Behe, 1996; Dembski, 1999; Orr, 2005; also Hunter,
1991). More concretely, by variously highlighting the different conceptualizations of religion, and concurrently infusing the language of modern science, different ID experts perhaps seek to legitimate the theory on scientific grounds (e.g., Behe, 1996; Dembski,
1999).
Here, Behe’s (2003, 1998, 1996) research becomes especially relevant, at least because he asserts that aspects of Darwinian evolution (e.g., microevolution) can be incorporated within ID theory without necessarily undermining ID’s fundamental
81 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 premise, namely, that an intelligent agent created life. More concretely, Behe (2005,
1996) adopts Hunter’s (1991) functional conceptualization of religion in his research and its application in ID theory, at least insofar as he suggests that religion can be the completion of the theory, but it is not necessarily imperative that this be the case. As
Behe (1996) understands it, the reasons that scientists generally do not consider ID legitimate and authoritative science are three-fold. First, he argues that there is a general fear within the community “that while one side of the elephant is labeled intelligent design, the other side might be labeled God” (p. 233). Subsequently, “academic chauvinism” results, whereby scientists seek to uphold their reputations within their community, and remain loyal to their discipline (Behe, 1996, pp. 234-236). Second, many in the scientific community fear that, because of the historical battle in education between religion and science generally, and evolutionism and science particularly, their intellectual and academic reputations could be called into question should they attempt to journey outside both their professed area of expertise and opt out of the historical conflict between science and religion (Behe, 1996). Third, Behe (1996) argues that many in the scientific community “just don’t want there to be anything beyond nature” (p. 243; italics in original). Philosophical considerations, in other words, suggest, following the thinking of biochemist Richard Dickerson, that “it is not good science to offer the supernatural as an explanation for a natural event” (in Behe, 1996, p. 239).
While these arguments are understandable, Behe (1996) asserts that they are insufficient for rejecting ID as legitimate science or proclaiming it is religion masquerading as science. Behe (1996) upholds the divisions between academic disciplines such as science and theology, because “[e]very person has available the data
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of his or her senses and, for the most part, agree with other people on what that data is”
(p. 250). By focusing upon the comparatively more academic side of theological debates
about the science of ID (biochemistry, specifically), Behe (2005, 2004a, 1998, 1996)
emphasizes Hunter’s (1991) functional conceptualization of religion, thereby reducing
the explicit religiosity of the theory implicit (at least) in Dembski’s research, and underscoring, instead, general guiding principles.
Dembski’s (2004, 2002, 1999, 1998a; Dembski and Ruse, 2004) writings, conversely, alternate between Hunter’s (1991) substantive and functional conceptualizations of religion. For example, Dembski (2002, 1999) notes that the inference is only half of the puzzle; it is the task of theology to fill in the gaps. Such a
statement identifies a particular causal agent – one that, importantly, not only is metaphysical, but also religious. By his own admission, ID “is a scientific theory with theological implications. The relation between science and theology is therefore relevant to intelligent design” (Dembski, 1999, p. 187). While one could argue that theology and religion are not necessarily synonymous terms, Dembski (1999) argues that not merely theology, but Christology specifically, is the completion of the theological implications implicit in ID theory. As he claims,
I want to urge that we … use Christology as the lens not just for understanding the whole of Christian theology … but even more for understanding the various disciplines. … To see … that there need never be any worry about smuggling Christ into our scientific theories and thereby undercutting them, we need to understand how Christ can enter substantively into a scientific theory without violating its integrity. The point is to understand … that Christ is never an addendum to a scientific theory but always a completion. (1999, pp. 206-207; italics in original)
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Dembski (1999) devotes an entire section of Intelligent Design to the relevance and importance of Christology, and its relationship to ID (see also Dover, 2005; Forrest,
2005a, b). At least in this way, then, Dembski’s (2002, 1999) discussions regarding theology generally and Christology specifically denote Hunter’s (1991) substantive side of the conceptualization of religion; by arguing that a specific identification of the designer represents a best and most complete rendering of accounts, he invokes not only religion, but a concrete understanding of what that theology and religion is. He focuses, in other words, upon what religion is.
Furthermore, and in contrast to Behe’s (1996) assertions, Dembski (1999) argues that the polarization of the disciplines is problematic, at least because it cuts off dialogue that the various disciplines could use to further the truth claims each proffers. For
Dembski (1999), the solution is one that must include a re-synthesis; leaving the fields separate merely would perpetuate the crisis of modernity and the continued rejection of
ID as a legitimate and scientific rendering of accounts. Subsequently, he argues that the best means for achieving this re-integrated relationship of the academic disciplines best can be conceptualized in terms of the “mutual support model,” whereby
Theology can lend credence, increase the conditional probability of or render plausible certain scientific claims and not others. Likewise, science can do the same for theology. (1999, p. 191)
Although such arguments do make reference to Hunter’s (1991) functional conceptualization of religion, the starkness with which it contrasts to ID experts such as
Behe (1996) are notable, at least because the suggestion could be made that such a re- integration of the disciplines, whereby theology is regarded as the completion of an scientific theory, renders science at best the handmaid to theology (e.g., Strauss, 1997b).
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Indeed, Dembski’s numerous references to a need to re-avow teleology in the sciences is,
at a minimum, a tacit nod to Thomism.56 Hunter’s (1991) mutual support model, then,
while advancing a functional conceptualization of religion, perhaps concurrently
emphasizes the substantive side; by asserting that theology generally and Christology particularly represent the best completion of ID theory, Dembski (1999) suggests that ID recognizes religion both for the “orienting principle” to which Hunter (1991) refers, as well as it sacredness.
A further point perhaps underscores Dembski’s (2002, 1999) inclusive conceptualizations of religion. Dembski (1999) asserts that, although he does believe that
“Christ is indispensable to any scientific theory, even if its practitioners don’t have a clue about him [because t]he pragmatics of a scientific theory can, to be sure, be pursued without recourse to Christ,” he elsewhere argues that the designing agent need not necessarily be either the Judeo-Christian God, or the Christian God (p. 210).57 More
specifically, Dembski (2002, 1999) insists that alien life also can be identified as the
designing agent. At least in this way, he seemingly acknowledges the functionality of
religion; by leaving open the particular identification of the designer, he perhaps is
granting that religion generally, rather than a religion in particular, is vital for the
recognition and appreciation for the “ultimate values” Hunter (1991) describes.
Despite this seeming concession, one might inquire as to whether or not Dembski
holds these various designing agents on an equal plane. His insistence upon the ultimate
value of Christ and his teachings undermines this probability (Dembski, 1999). By
claiming alternately that one can identify the designing agent as one chooses, and also
that “Christology tells us that the conceptual soundness of a scientific theory cannot be
85 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 maintained apart from Christ,” (1999, p. 209) Dembski’s arguments are tantamount to saying that those who do not assert that Christology represents the best completion of ID theory either are too ignorant, obtuse, or otherwise uninformed to understand fully the theory in its totality.
The above considerations address a cross-section of the various arguments ID experts offer both to counter the criticism that ID is religion masquerading as science and to leave open the proverbial door for its relevance to theology. For Dembski (1999), the challenge put forth by critics that ID merely is a god-in-the-gaps theory collapses when one makes the necessary distinction between detactability and modality; his self- professed aim in developing the design inference and ID theory “is simply to make sure that no answer to the modality question is ruled out of court on a priori grounds” (1999, pp. 241-242). One well might question the extent to which Dembski himself rules out, on a priori grounds, scientific theories that uphold methodological naturalism in order to fulfill his desire that ID become the “′groundclearing operation’ to allow Christianity to receive serious consideration” in science particularly, and the various academic disciplines generally (Dembski, cited in Dover, 2005, p. 27; Forrest, 2005a, b). More succinctly, one might do well to question the oftentimes contradictory statements issued by Dembski and Behe regarding the relationship between ID theory, theology, and religion. Indeed, the very suggestion that religion serves a functional purpose, much less a substantive one, in developing ID theory to its logical conclusion signifies, at a minimum, an allegiance to the necessity of religion – which for Dembski (1999) is overtly Protestantism – for ID theory to achieve fruition (e.g., Forrest 2005a, b; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Hunter, 1991).
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The term ID Theory was coined in the latter part of the 20th century. Its
underlying premise shares a historical link with other strands of thought that sought to
debunk Darwinism and modern science. Critics (Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and
Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997) have noted that ID theory shares at
least a historical relationship – i.e., it exists along a continuum of ideas - with Christian
fundamentalism that cannot be ignored. It is towards this inquiry that the chapter last will
turn.
The historical continuum
A third question that stems from the above considerations as to whether or not ID
is legitimate science and whether or not it is in fact veiled Christianity hinges upon the
assertion by some critics that the theory, in truth, exists along a continuum of anti-
evolution sentiments oftentimes themselves emanating from fundamentalist Christian
beliefs (Antolin and Herbers, 2001; Dover, 2005; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and
Gross, 2006; Randerson, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997). While ID
advocates argue that design theory is “at once old and new” (Dembski, 2002, p. 366) and
in this way is a re-newed yet unique scientific paradigm that both debunks modern
science generally and Darwinism particularly, these critics question the extent to which
the theory is at a minimum either a by-product of creation-science, or a welcomed ally by
some creation-scientists (Antolin and Herbers, 2001; Dover, 2005; Forrest, 2007, 2005a, b; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Morris, 2006; Randerson, 2006;
Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997). This section will explore briefly the overlap of
87 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 creation-science and ID, and also the extent to which, despite ID and creation-scientists arguments to the contrary, their critics might have a legitimate grounds for consideration.
Here, Scott’s (2006, 1997) research on this question proves most illustrative: ID theory, he contends, indeed does exist along a continuum of antievolutionism, which itself “reflects theological conservatism and liberalism [and] also reflects inversely the degree of acceptance of modern science” (1997, p. 276; also Hewlett and Peters, 2006;
Matzke and Gross, 2006; Wexler, 2006, 1997). As Scott (2006, 1997) notes, the various ideological standpoints vary, e.g., in the extent to which readings of holy texts are wholly literal and findings of any science are included, each (with the significant exception of materialist evolutionists) includes understandings of, and references to the Judeo-
Christian generally and the Protestant especially, God. Thus, while creation-scientists, for example, interpret the creation story in Genesis literally, ID advocates generally do not believe in such literalist readings, and instead conduct evolutionary theory in “areas
… that are not yet well understood, though some of the evolutionary transitions and other phenomena that are supposedly too complex to be explained through natural causes are already partly explained, or are active areas of research” (Scott, 1997, p. 280; 2006; see also Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Morris, 2006; Wexler, 2006,
1997).
As noted earlier in the chapter, ID experts such as Michael Behe (2004a, b, 2003,
1998, 1996) conduct research in science that directly relate to evolution; the question of the extent to which their findings debunk Darwinism legitimately is one of the subsequent arguments such research raises (Dover, 2005; Scott, 2006, 1997). Yet, a sentiment of anti-evolutionism is implicitly contained in arguments veiled in scientific
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terminology (Alters, 2006; Branch, 2006; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross,
2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997).58 Stated differently, while the anti-
evolution sentiments vary in degree, they are present fundamentally, both in creationism,
and ID.59
The Institute for Creation Research (ICR) has addressed the issue of ID theory
and its overlap with creationism and creation-science. More specifically, Henry Morris
(2006), the Founder and President of the institute, argues that while creationists “certainly
do not see any conflict with scientific creationism” and ID theory, the two strands of
thought have vastly different lines of inquiry. Whereas ID theorists do not (at least
overtly) invoke the Bible and concurrently tackle modern science, creationists and
creation-scientists look to the Bible and history to construct their anti-evolutionary stance
(Morris, 2006). According to Morris (2006), for creationists and creation-scientists, the
fundamental question is an historical, rather than a scientific, one; the proper inquiry is
not whether evolution could happen, but whether or not it did, in fact, happen.60 By attempting to construct an argument that invokes an intelligent designer and attempts concurrently to represent a scientific paradigm, ID theorists are guilty of ignoring God.
For Morris (2006) and creationists ID provides “new arguments and evidences” but is
“good as far as it goes [because] it stops short of a valid and effective and useful worldview” (¶22). Biblical creationism, he concludes, should be used to “explain, amplify, and confirm” ID (2006).
Equally important, ID experts such as Dembski (1999) seek to distance the theory from creationism and scientific-creationism. For example, according to Dembski (1999), unlike scientific-creationism, ID “has no prior religious commitments and interprets the
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data of science on generally accepted scientific principles” (p. 247). More specifically,
he argues that ID “nowhere attempts to identify the intelligent cause responsible for the
design in nature, nor does it prescribe in advance the sequence of events by which this
intelligent cause had to act” (1999, p. 247). Such assertions suggest that, unlike scientific-creationism, ID can assert an academic legitimacy that the former could and can not.
Although both creationists and ID advocates assert that the two theories differ, there exists, as Judge John Jones noted in his Dover (2005) decision, a “long history of
Fundamentalism’s attack on scientific theory of evolution,” and that this “opposition
grew out of a religious tradition, Christian Fundamentalism that began as part of
evangelical Protestantism’s response to, among other things, Charles Darwin’s exposition
of the theory of evolution as a scientific explanation for the diversity of species” (2005,
pp. 21 and 19, respectively). Stated differently, although, as Dembski (1999, p. 247) and
Morris (2006) both note, ID does not “depend on the biblical account of creation” to
debunk its critics, both ideas share a strong affinity not only with anti-evolutionism, but
also with evangelical Protestantism’s particular distaste for Darwinism (Hewlett and
Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997; also
Hunter, 1991).
For example, the re-christening of historical fundamentalist, anti-evolution groups
– e.g., from creationism to creation science or scientific creationism – hinged upon the
fact that various Court decisions rendered the teaching of creationism in public schools a
violation of First Amendment principles (Dover, 2005, p. 21). Furthermore, and of particular relevance here, ID theory continues in this same tradition. One example that
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supports this contention is cited in the Dover (2005) case. Specifically, because the
words creationism and creationist were changed to Intelligent Design in the book Of
Pandas and People only after the Supreme Court ruled that the teaching of creation
science in public schools violated the establishment clause (Edwards, 1987, cited in
Dover, 2005, p. 32), the writers and publishers of the textbook underscored their affinity
with creationism; their actions suggest they realized the legal and judicial consequences
of retaining the original terms (Dover, 2005). Concurrently, their actions reinforce the
argument that ID theory exists along a continuum of fundamentalist ideas and historical attempts to refute Darwinism (Dover, 2005; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross,
2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997).
In addition, although ID advocates such as Behe (1996) do acknowledge that
certain aspects of Darwinism might be a legitimate scientific grounds of inquiry, their not
infrequent references to God, Jesus, and/or Christology suggests that the theory indeed
shares an affinity with the fundamentalist attempts to refute Darwinism that Jones noted
(Dover, 2005; Forrest, 2005a, b; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006;
Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997). Here, Behe’s (2005) testimony in the Dover
case, as Jones observed, is significantly relevant: despite his insistence that ID theory
need not identify the Judeo-Christian God as the designing agent, he admitted that “the
plausibility of the argument for ID depends upon the extent to which one believes in the
existence of God” (p. 28; italics in original).
At least in these ways, ID theory does exist along a continuum of historically
conservative and anti-evolutionist attempts to refute modern science generally and
Darwinism particularly. A question which stems from such considerations addresses the
91 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 extent to which the insertion of ID theory in public school science curricula represents hegemonic discourse, both in the curriculum, and in teaching practices. It is towards unpacking this question that this document thus turns.
92 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Chapter 5: Hegemonic discourse and Intelligent Design: Waging the cultural war for the education of posterity?
The questions addressed in the previous chapter focused upon the intersection of
religion and science in modernity, as well as some of the challenges that ID proponents
argue have arisen as a consequence of the eventual displacement of religion in the public
sphere and, subsequently, in education. While many ID advocates continue to assert that
Intelligent Design Theory (IDT) is not a God-in-the-gaps theory (Behe, 2005, 1996;
Dembski 1999), the fact that some of its leading supporters use essentially theological arguments to develop it beyond a mere (and purely) mathematical hypothetical61
(Dembski, 2002, 1999, 1998a) and others state explicitly that the theory’s very credibility
“depends upon the extent to which one believes in the existence of God” (Dover, 2005, p.
28; italics in original) suggest that the theory in fact has a strong religious component.
These statements, when coupled with considerations of the historical continuum of fundamentalist and conservative religious ideas that debunk both modernity and
Darwinism, lend further support to the argument that IDT essentially has a stanch religious element (Forrest, 2005a, b; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006;
Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997). Thus, whereas the historical symbiotic relationship between religion and education (discussed in chapter two) at one time allowed that religion be a moral guide for posterity, the emergence of “modern” science, coupled with the rise of the state, provided for a shift in education, whereby morality and civic-mindedness could be conceived of, and taught, in comparatively less religious vernacular (Counts, 1952; Cremin, 1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942;
Fraser, 1999; Grieder and Romine, 1955; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003). This
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displacement, as discussed in chapters two and four, is a particular challenge for ID proponents, whose stated goal is to re-introduce Christianity in science, and by extension, in education (Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch, 2006; Carpenter, 2005; Dembski, 2005; Dover,
2005; Forrest, 2005a, b; Padian, 2005).
Such a re-introduction raises pedagogical questions, beyond the constitutionality of teaching ID, that pertain to how its insertion into the curriculum speaks to the differentiation of the hidden and official curriculum, and also to whom the power to determine – and thereby control – that which is taught, belongs. Furthermore, and to date, attempts to incorporate IDT in the public school curriculum have introduced questions concerning the difference(s) between good, adequate, and poor pedagogy
(Alters, 2006, 2005; Carpenter, 2005; Dover, 2005; Padian, 2005). The expansion of the
public school curriculum to include ID ultimately addresses more than the superficial
argument of “teaching the controversy” of Darwinism and “alternative” theories of the
origins of life and species; at stake are both the virtue of good pedagogical practices and
the very education such practices pose for posterity.
The remainder of this chapter unpacks the above considerations. Specifically, it
addresses (1) the extent to which recent attempts to insert IDT into the curriculum reflects
good pedagogy; (2) the extent to which the inclusion of IDT ultimately reflects issues of
hegemony and power; and finally, (3) some of the implications its addition has for the
education of posterity. It is towards the first of these inquiries that the chapter will turn.
94 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
Intelligent Design, and considerations of good pedagogical practice
Recent attempts to insert IDT into public school curriculum have raised concern
regarding what constitutes good pedagogical practice (Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch, 2006;
Carpenter, 2005; Dover, 2005; Padian, 2005).62 More concretely, the question of the
distinctions between the mere introduction in the classroom to an idea such as IDT and
the actual teaching of that idea is relevant to the Dover and Cobb County cases, and more
recently, to the introduction of House Bill 625 in Mississippi.63 While mentioning an
idea neither necessarily carries the same weight nor includes the detail that classroom
discussion might, good pedagogy would allow a teacher a degree of academic freedom to
dissect various ideas in order to evaluate critically those ideas (Alters 2006, 2005; Apple,
2001, 1981; Giroux, 2001; 1986; Morrow and Torres, 1995). As Lynn (2006) notes, the
question of teachers’ academic freedom in the classroom does not award them the unmitigated freedom to introduce ID in a public school setting, at least because a few courts have ruled that teachers “are not hired to create curriculum in conflict with state
policies” and furthermore, they are not given control, carte blanche, “over what is taught
in their classrooms” (p. ix).
In his deposition, Alters (2005) argues for a constructivist-based educative
approach in order that “students learn something because [it is presented] in various
ways” (pp. 10-11). Apple (2001) and Giroux (2001, 1986) take this argument further and
argue that critical pedagogy is best pedagogy, at least because it requires that the
instructor develop a perspective that allows her to own the language and to be clear on
values that undergird that language. It provides an emancipatory, democratic platform
from which to guide students in their own knowledge construction. While ID advocates
95 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
in the Dover (2005; Carpenter, 2005) case argued that this was precisely their objective for the inclusion of IDT in the biology curriculum, it ultimately required that teachers knowingly ignore, as Alters (2005) testified, “the recommendations of the major science education organizations in the United States” (p. 21). Good pedagogy, in other words, was jeopardized, because teachers were required to ignore the pedagogical recommendations of leading science organizations in order to satisfy the questionable
objectives and proposals of the local (Dover) school board.
In addition to the above, Forrest (2005a) and Padian (2005), both of whom were
witnesses for the plaintiff in the Dover case, argued that the distinctions between good, adequate, and poor pedagogy, while relevant, does not go far enough; specifically, it does not take into account the fact that teachers are in positions of authority (see also Alters,
2006). At least for this reason, mentioning an idea can and does carry the weight, at a minimum, of their institutional authority. Good pedagogy necessarily involves considerations of authority as both appointed, institutionally sanctioned power, and wise counsel (also Watt, 1982).
As has been documented well, the Dover school board sought to make reference to IDT in biology classes by mandating that teachers read a disclaimer at the outset of instruction.64 As well, authorities in Cobb County School District sought to make
reference to the theory by placing evolution “warning labels” in public school textbooks
(“NSTA and NABT file science …,” 2005; Selman v. Cobb County, 2005).65 Regardless
of the means by and through which local groups endeavor to introduce ID into the
curriculum, what remains at stake is the teacher’s exercise of her authority as wise
counsel. Stated differently, the issue hinges, at least in part, upon considerations of the
96 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
exercise of legitimate authority (as well as what constitutes it), and its limits (e.g., Watt,
1982).66
Here, Brian Alters’ (2005) deposition in the Dover case proves illustrative in
highlighting the proverbial pedagogical line that is crossed when such mandates are instituted. A teacher’s practice, and by extension the legitimation of her authority as wise counsel, is compromised, at least because such laws require her “to ignore the leading scientific organizations in the United States. … [the problem becomes one of] conflating the difference between good teaching and ‘covering’ the material” (Alters, 2005, pp. 32-
33). Technically, she might be in compliance with local governance on the issue; however, the fact that she is required to act in defiance of academically and nationally recognized and affirmed pedagogical curricula at least tacitly undermines her legitimate authority as a science teacher (Alters, 2006, 2005). In other words, the transference of knowledge from teacher to apprentice is compromised, as the teacher acts first as an institutional, appointed authority, and only secondarily (and concurrently merely conciliatory) as knowledgeable expert (e.g., Peters, 1960; Watt, 1982).
An informal survey of 1,050-plus science teachers nationwide conducted by the
National Science Teacher’s Association (NSTA; “Survey indicates science teachers feel pressure …,” 2005) perhaps underscores the compromise that science teachers in – most especially, in biology – feel when questions of evolution instruction arise (also Alters,
2006, 2005). More concretely, thirty-one percent of respondents indicated that they felt
“pressured to include creationism, intelligent design, or other nonscientific alternatives to evolution in their science classroom” (“Survey indicates science teachers feel pressure
97 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
…,” 2005, ¶2). This is in direct opposition to the organization’s position statement,
which recognizes that
[t]here is no longer a debate among scientists about whether evolution has taken place. … Teachers are often pressured to include … nonscientific views such as ‘abrupt appearance,’ ‘initial complexity theory,’ ‘arguments against evolution,’ or ‘intelligent design theory’ when they teach evolution. Scientific creationist claims have been discredited by the available scientific evidence. They have no empirical power to explain the natural world and its diverse phenomena. (“Position statement,” ¶15)
Further, significantly more than half of these respondents (72%) indicated that they are familiar with the NAS and “other top scientific organization’s positions on the teaching of evolution, and that they disagreed (74%) that they should be required or asked to “de- emphasize or omit from their lessons the term ‘evolution’ so as not to draw attention to it” (“Survey indicates science teachers feel pressure …,” 2005, ¶2). These findings suggest that biology teachers indeed do feel as though their authority as wise counsel is conceded on some level, when questions of evolution and its legitimacy arise. While a minority of respondents indicated that they felt neither pressured nor willing to comprise their pedagogical integrity over the teaching of evolution (“Survey indicates science teachers feel pressure …,” 2005), the question of what constitutes good, versus merely adequate or even poor, pedagogy remains (also Alters, 2006, 2005; Branch, 2006). To the extent that they do feel and/or are required to mention ID as a valid scientific alternative to Darwin (as they were in the Dover case, and as the warning stickers in
Cobb County would have suggested), biology teachers – unlike chemistry or physics teachers – are asked to some degree, either overtly or tacitly, to traverse good scientific
98 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
pedagogy as it is understood by leading national science and teaching associations
(Alters, 2006, 2005).
Moreover, the legitimation of authority of others concomitantly is at stake. Stated differently, the exercise of authority includes consideration of teachers, administrators, as well as those parties that directly and indirectly impact the content and scope of curriculum, and it is the combined and particular authority of these groups and individuals that is questioned. This includes (apart from the teachers and administrators) textbook publishers, colleges and universities, special interest groups, and government officials and agencies (Marker and Mehlinger, 1992). While a teacher’s pedagogical practices might be that which are questioned directly, the fact remains that the content of what she teaches is determined by experts, many of whom are outside the school.
Furthermore, the instructive content and that which is discussed in the classroom are not the sole factors that shape students’ ideas, knowledge, and critical framework. The official curriculum, while determined by the aforementioned parties, concurrently is influenced by these same parties’ sometimes unstated hidden objectives. It is towards this topic, and its relevance to IDT, that the chapter next turns.
Intelligent Design, and the official and the hidden curriculums
The distinction between official and hidden curriculum here becomes relevant.
While the official curriculum is that which is sanctioned, by federal, state and local
authorities, the hidden curriculum includes those aspects of schooling, other than the
official curriculum, that produce changes in student values, perceptions and behaviors
(Marker and Mehlinger, 1992). These changes indeed are influenced by content
99 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
representation and its enactment (Marker and Mehlinger, 1992). At least because a
teacher must be aware of her authoritative status and subsequent capability to influence a
child’s education through her instruction, it is imperative that a teacher be aware of her
particular critical pedagogical approach, and how this might or not be communicated to her students in discussions pertaining to the official curriculum. Intentionally or not, hidden messages might or not be implicated or inferred from what she does or not say or enact (Marker and Mehlinger, 1992).
These hidden messages represented a key point of disagreement about the methods of instruction in the Dover (2005) case. Specifically, the Dover school board
and witnesses for the defendant argued that mention of ID in science class encouraged
“students to think critically about what they read and hear and learn, in a classroom and
outside of the classroom” (Carpenter, 2005, p. 12). However, the argument could be
advanced, as Forrest (2005a) noted in her deposition, that such an encouragement of ID
represented at least a covert sanctioning of religious instruction in the classroom (also
Boston, 2007; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997;
Wexler, 2006, 1997). Apart from the question of the unconstitutionality of IDT inclusion
in the public school science curriculum (one that was addressed in the rendering of the
case), the argument pertaining to the central role that educational institutions play in the
transference of cultural norms and values here becomes relevant (Apple, 2001; Ellul,
1981, 1980, 1973; Giroux, 2001, 1986; Illich, 1973a, b, 1971).67 The defendants in the
Dover (2005) case specifically, and ID advocates generally, contend that continued focus upon Darwinism in public school science curriculum, minus any reference to or of alternative theories that make mention of its gaps and deficiencies, represents at a
100 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 minimum a monopoly on official knowledge that fails to provide the opportunity for students to think critically about Darwinism and render for themselves the validity of its revered status in the science community (e.g., Alters, 2006, 2005; Matzke and Gross,
2006; Padian, 2005). The curricular focus on evolution in biology classes presents students with merely “a theory” on the origin of the species, and of life. A public sanctioning of IDT in the curriculum thus could afford the theory at least an open acknowledgement (and, perhaps most importantly, one that emanate from the scientific community) that Darwinism does not provide sufficient evidence for explanations regarding the origins of life. By granting IDT a valid insertion into the science curriculum, as its advocates have sought to do, the theory could disrupt the Darwinian monopoly in biology classes. The difficulty current pedagogical practices pose for some
ID advocates apparently hinges upon the assertion that official knowledge, as it is presented in the public school curriculum, omits allowance for critical evaluation of
Darwinism and “good” science (Carpenter, 2005).
An underlying argument becomes one centering upon questions of hegemony and power. According to Apple (2001, 1981) the hidden curriculum best is understood through the lens of hegemony and power. Educational institutions are repositories of structural determinants that reflect a discourse in economic and cultural power, and these powers historically have been the domain of specific groups (Apple, 2001, 1981).
Furthermore, cultural hegemony is maintained through the re-production of institutions that historically have defined and controlled the political, economic, and sociological functions of cultural symbols; schools and churches represent but two of the aforementioned institutions (Lears, 1985, pp. 568-570).68 To the extent that this is true,
101 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
the fact that members of the Dover school board sought to include ID in the science
curriculum signifies that the school curriculum became the site of battle in the ideological
culture war, with Darwinism and its supporters representing the dominant, hegemonic
group (e.g.., Branch, 2006; Forrest, 2005a, b; Matzke and Gross, 2006). If one considers
ID proponents’ (such as Dembski) argument that Darwinists specifically and scientists
generally have attained academic domination, then their efforts to include ID in the
science curriculum become more straightforward: in order to dethrone Darwinists and
their supporters from the cultural hegemony that they have enjoyed because of success in
the official curriculum, ID advocates seek, at a minimum, reference to their theory in
biology classes in order to gain access to the same academic and cultural power that
Darwinists and their supporters heretofore have monopolized (e.g., Forrest, 2005a. b;
Matzke and Gross, 2006).
A relevant point of consideration addresses the extent to which ID advocates have
adopted the language of hegemony, ideology, and power, and placed themselves as the
subordinate group upon whom the ruling group has “imposed a direction of social life”
(Lears, 1985, p. 568).69 By framing their argument as one in which Darwinists are
considered, both within Academe and by the general public, the experts on questions of the origins of life, ID advocates at least tacitly paint themselves as a marginalized group with a legitimate scientific claim. If IDT is presented to students as a valid alternative to evolution, they suggest, that should be sufficient (Carpenter, 2005). As Forrest (2005a) notes in her deposition, and is explicitly stated on the Discovery Institute’s website, ID advocates actively are frame and attempt to enact a public agenda expressly to alter the very definition of (modern) science. This stated objective contradicts the simplicity of
102 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 the claimed public school curricular agenda. More succinctly, the underlying goal, when considered in conjunction with Apple’s (2001, 1981) and Lears’ (1985) arguments regarding hegemony, ideology, and power, is to gain access and domination of the cultural symbols – using education and the official curriculum – as the institutional vehicles to accelerate the process, and acceptance, of that re-definition.
Some critical theorists (e.g., Berger and Luckman, 1967; Freire, 1985, 1982;
Lears, 1985) argue that the ability to recognize and name hegemonic cultural symbols is at least a first step towards enacting agency and, subsequently, toward liberation from oppression. Yet, at least part of the challenge in re-dressing apparent paradigms is not merely the ability to re-define cultural symbols, definitions, and traditions, but also to infuse them with new meaning (e.g., Kuhn, 1996, p. 143). New paradigms can emerge when new understandings of how certain things relate to one another (e.g., “by transforming previously accessible information into facts that, for the preceding paradigm, had not existed at all”; Kuhn, 1996, p. 141) are demonstrated.
It is precisely here that the paradigmatic shift that ID proponents propose becomes visible: by challenging both the rules of modern science and its paradigmatic hegemony – by claiming, as Kuhn (1996) calls it, an “awareness of anomaly” (p. 62) – ID advocates are re-defining the very problems that “modern” science identifies as those that are comparatively more “significant to have solved” (Kuhn, 1996, p. 110).70 Thus, although
ID supporters can reference and invoke scientific nomenclature (e.g., Behe’s notion of irreducible complexity) as demonstrative of the theory’s scientific legitimation, the fact that their arguments ultimately share, as noted in the previous chapter, a certain trajectory
(and overlap) with conservative and fundamentalist religious attempts to debunk both
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modern science and Darwinism suggests that they seek, more profoundly, to re-define the
“more significant problems” that science has the authority to define and articulate (also
Fraser, 1999; Hunter, 1991; Matzke and Gross, 2006; McClellan, 1999; Scott, 2006,
1997). In sum, by claiming to want not to redefine science per se, while concurrently attempting to fuse with new meaning the relationships between facts (fossil records) and theory (metaphysical first principles), ID advocates are manipulate what they claim to be hegemonic discourses to gain access to institutional powers, e.g., education (e.g., Antolin and Herbers, 2001; Behe, 1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999).71
At issue, then, is political control and hegemonic domination of national institutions and public symbols. What is at stake, ultimately, is education for posterity. It is towards this latter point that this section last turns.
Intelligent Design and education for posterity
When considering education for posterity, children hold fundamental interests in
education and are entitled to the right to equality before the law (Dwyer, 1998). Their
rights and temporal interests should be the standard by which states regulate their public
or religious educations (Dwyer, 1998). To date, the courts have treated children as
extensions of their parents’ interests rather than as entitled individuals and have justified
this by way of the Due Process Clause of the 14th Amendment and the Free Exercise
Clause of the First Amendment (Dwyer, 1998; e.g., Wisconsin v. Yoder). While
Dwyer’s (1998) argument pertains most directly towards re-shaping state policy
regarding religious education (indeed, his far-reaching project involves that of re-shaping
the larger societal views of child-rearing), his focus upon the rights of the child is
104 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
relevant when considering whether or not IDT should be included in the public school
curriculum.
For example, to the extent that education reflects the values of a society, efforts to
include ID in the curriculum suggest that ID might be valued by a populace in which a
majority claim to believe that humans did not evolve (e.g., “Did humans evolve? Not us,
say Americans,” 2006). Moreover, as Ellul (1981, 1980, 1973) and Illich (1973a, b,
1965) argue, the institutionalization of schooling represents a forced orientation that
wears the mask of educational freedom, wherein the outcome trumps the goal at least insofar as the end objectives are identified at the point of entry, and the extent to which a student is able to master them determines the extent to which she could adapt well in the social milieu. As such, the inclusion of ID in the science curriculum suggests at least tacitly that although students supposedly are presented with the choice to pursue it, the fact remains that persons in positions of authority (e.g., the teachers and assistant
principals) were directed to read the disclaimer regarding Darwinism specifically, thereby
covertly introducing objectives that both contradict accepted academic science wisdom
and the state curriculum regarding what that science curriculum should look like (Alters,
2006, 2005; Padian, 2005). Carpenter (2005) conceded this point in his deposition; when
pressed, he admitted that the Dover policy could persuade students to learn about ID (p.
49). The fact of whether or not ID represents good pedagogy is immaterial; the focus instead is presenting an idea, regardless of its scientific credibility, reflects the beliefs of the populace.
The question as to whether or not IDT might be included elsewhere in the public school curriculum is significant. More concretely, and as Forrest (2005a) argues, the fact
105 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007 that IDT constitutionally should not be included in the science curriculum does not necessarily preclude its exclusion from insertion elsewhere in the curriculum. While such a statement supports the idea that children’s temporal interests in educative matters might be re-examined, it well might be scrutinized through the lens of cultural capital.
Padian’s (2005) testimony case succinctly summarizes the predicament:
One is tempted to wonder where it will end. Do you have the principal coming in the social studies class the next day and saying that, well, what you read here about European Imperialism and Colonialism in your history book is all well and good, but there’s another theory … . Where will this end if you allow the whim of a special-interest-group issue to come in and simply countermand or contradict by virtue of the authority of a teacher reading this or a school board member or an administrator from school, coming in with the bravados of his position and saying, all of what you’re hearing now … there’s a whole other side to this. (p. 159)
The question as to whom defines and controls the curricular content and values of education for posterity (while always open for deliberation in reflective liberal democracy), must move beyond the interests of special interest groups. As Dwyer (1998) argues, the child’s temporal interests must be considered foremost; although parents certainly have a vested interest in their children’s education, the question of the child’s freedom of person, liberty of thought and expression, and political liberty must be considered.
This assumes that children are able to judge the validity of truth claims. It does not take into account the extent to which children are vulnerable to truth claims proffered by adults in positions of authority, e.g., teachers, administrators, and their parents. The question of moral autonomy becomes immediately pertinent; when children are presented with information that is offered as a truth claim – regardless of the extent to which that information is elaborated upon in the classroom, and/or addressed in the formal
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curriculum - they well might lack the necessary information, framework, and critical
thinking abilities to question or to counter those claims. Beyond the question of adequate
or good pedagogy, this addresses the critical evaluative skills that children might or not
possess. To the extent that many public school biology teachers are reluctant to teach evolution, then one well might ask not only the extent to which these same teachers are prepared to address any questions that might arise (and whether or not they indeed should, in a science class), but equally important, the extent to which students simply might or not accept as fact the claims proffered by the teacher (Alters, 2006, 2005;
Padian, 2005).
Here, Mills’ (2000) discussion of the role of public schooling in the transition of the American electorate from a body politic toward a mass society speaks, coupled with
Ellul’s (1981, 1973) and Illich’s (1973a, b, 1971) argument that the rise of the industrial society represents a definitive, substantive shift toward the conceptualization of learning as the technique of schooling, becomes especially relevant. Stated differently, Mills’
(2000) contention that the demise of the school as a liberal institution reflects Ellul’s
(1981, 1973) and Illich’s (1973a, b, 1971) assertion that the shift toward the notion of learning as schooling concurrently ushered in a modification in conceptualizations of authority within the schools, from places where expert knowledge could be accessed, to repositories of institutional authority that provided it products – students - societal status.
Indeed, Illich (1973b, p. 58) argues that the establishment of schooling transformed the relationship between that type of knowledge that “can be learned from ordinary living, and [that which] must be learned as a result of intentional teaching.” Intentional
teaching, or that which necessitated an individual’s participation in a specific setting with
107 Texas Tech University, Sandra Riegle, August 2007
a professionally designed specific curriculum, became the focus of learning. The
outcome became the goal, at least insofar as the end objectives were identified at the
point of entry, and the extent to which a student was able to master them determined the
extent to which she could adapt well in the social milieu (Ellul, 1981, 1973; Illich, 1973a,
b). Her social end, increasingly, was determined. At least in this way, public education
reinforced the position of the power elite; with an education that stressed adaptation, the
individual of the mass society could attain some degree of job advancement due to her
technical skill (Mills, 2000). What she increasingly did not and could not do was
question the degree to which she fundamentally sanctioned the society into which he
would emerge.
To the extent that ID advocates have tapped into this aspect of schooling, their
efforts to gain access and control of the curriculum suggests that education for posterity
would remain one rooted in socialization, rather than critical thought. By limiting teachers’ academic and pedagogical freedom (to make mention of an idea rather than explicate it), the scope of a teacher’s legitimate authority increasingly reverts to that of an institutionally appointed individual, rather than a knowledgeable expert (e.g., Watt,
1982). At least in this way, ID advocates reinforce the conceptualization and practice of education as an enterprise determined by the desires of a power elite, whose ultimate concern lies not so much with the well-being of posterity, but rather, with maintaining the legitimation of their own authority (e.g., Mills, 2000; Watt, 1982).
The question of the distinctions between rights and privileges becomes immediately applicable. Briefly, a privilege involves the freedom, in this case, to practice child-rearing without a guarantee of noninterference from the state (Dwyer,
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1998, p. 47). A right involves an entitlement by virtue of being a distinct person of equal
stature to others and with specific interests in one’s own well-being that is accompanied
by state obligation to recognize, respect, and protect those interests (Dwyer, 1998). In light of these definitions, the insertion of IDT anywhere in public school curriculum, as
an alternate theory to evolution, retains its fundamentally religious principles, while
presenting itself as a scientific claim (i.e., its co-opting of terms such as “theory”, etc.),
violates the privilege of a civic education that U.S. public schools offer. By providing the
child the right to an education that prepares her for participation in a democracy, her temporal interests must be those which are esteemed (Dwyer, 1998). While the child certainly has a privilege to access to religious instruction, the burden of the state, as a public entity, remains that of providing a best means for preparing the child for participation in the public sphere (Dwyer, 1998). IDT, to the extent that its underlying premise and stated goals are religiously-motivated (e.g., Antolin and Herbers, 2001;
Behe, 2005, 1996; Dembski, 2005; 2002, 1999; also Dover, 2005; Forrest 2005a, b;
Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006,
1997) and concurrently seek to re-define the modern science, seemingly contradicts the
objective of a public, civic-minded education.72
Insertions of IDT into public school curriculum to date reveal the extent to which
a modification of the curriculum has an impact upon pedagogical practices, and
concurrently addresses the larger political struggles for control of hegemonic discourse
that ultimately determine and shape the very fabric of education for posterity (e.g., Apple,
2001, 1981; Giroux, 2001, 1986). It is worthwhile to note that ID advocates’ intentions
are not malevolent, yet their invocation of language that depicts its supporters as
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outsiders or otherwise victims of a secular culture grossly distorts the somewhat comfortable institutional positioning (e.g., academics; school boards; legislatures) and consequent access to power that at least some of its advocates enjoy (e.g., Matzke and
Gross, 2006). The limitation (at least constitutionally) that ID imposes upon classroom instruction calls into question the very type of legitimate authority a teacher can exercise; subsequently, it alters her relationship both with her subject matter expertise (e.g., Alters,
2006, 2005; Padian, 2005), and with her students. The impact upon education for posterity cannot be understated. Lacking both an authority of wise counsel and training in critical thought, students are left to re-construct definitions (and infuse them with meaning) of each, with frames of reference that lack a substantive constructive element.
In this way, the cultural battle for control of hegemonic discourse – waged in the public schools – seemingly loses sight of the very groups for whose well-being the battle arguable is fought: posterity.
The above theoretical and philosophical considerations discussed, this document last turns toward some ideas for further – and future – research. These are thus addressed in the last chapter.
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Chapter 6: Conclusion
Summary
The questions addressed in this document have focused upon theoretical and philosophical issues pertaining to the main aspects of modernity that Intelligent Design proponents identify as most problematic for gaining continued and increasing acceptance of IDT. The questions have addressed, as well, considerations of its political location in the centuries-old culture war that persists today, wherein secular and nonsecular interests clash for control of hegemonic discourses and access to traditional repositories of cultural re-production, specifically, education.
As noted in chapter four, conceptualizations of modernity within IDT are limited to discussions pertaining to modern science generally and Darwinism specifically. The development of modern science, and the paradigmatic shift it created, are, according to
Dembski (2002, 1999), the culprits that have generated the crisis of modernity. By eliminating room for pondering the presence, or the reality, of a supernatural agent’s or force’s work in this world, modern science has cut off its practitioners, supporters, and a myriad of others, the necessary ingredient for gaining legitimate insight into the origin of life (Dembski, 2005, 2002, 1999; also Behe, 2005, 2004a, 1996).
As Dembski (2002, 1999) properly argues, metaphysical first principles traditionally did not lie outside the scope of scientific inquiry. What he does not acknowledge sufficiently, however, are the distinctions between the synthesis of those metaphysical first principles in classical Greek philosophy (e.g., when he references
Aristotle), and in Judeo-Christian thought (e.g., when he references Aquinas).
Understandings of science and teleology in antiquity conceptualized a god or gods that
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were not transcendent (or even monotheistic); rather, teleology best could be understood
in light of the civil society (Aristotle, 350 B.C.E./1984; Fortin, 1987b). Natural right, not
natural law, was that which transcended and ultimately shaped the public sphere (Strauss,
1953). Conversely, the Judeo-Christian tradition argued that natural law was the guiding standard, with a transcendent God that necessarily presupposed the very formulation of those laws (Strauss, 1997e). The difference is more than a semantic argument; by relocating the conceptualization of human excellence from that which can be realized in the (best) political life (man’s teleological end, i.e., is found in this life), to one that includes an afterlife, mortality itself takes on a new meaning:
one has only to reflect … on what happens to magnanimity when it is coupled with humility – a virtue nowhere to be found in Aristotle – or on what happens to courage when life on earth is considered within the larger perspective of man’s eternal destiny; for, surely, the Christian who looks forward to a heavenly reward in the event of death on the battlefield is not animated by sentiments identical to those of the heroic citizen who has no such assurance and who realizes that, by exposing his life for a noble cause, he risks the ultimate and irreparable loss of everything that men hold dear. (Fortin, 1987b, p. 270)
Civil society is re-conceptualized, at least insofar as it both “ceases to be uniquely
responsible for the totality of moral virtue” and concurrently is “itself judged by a higher
standard to which human actions must conform universally” (Fortin, 1987b, p. 258).
Seen in this context, the crisis of modernity is much more profound than Dembski (2002,
1999) might have us believe; at stake is not merely the question of the origin of life, but
the natural end of man (e.g., Fortin, 1987b). It is, in other words, the historical challenge
and inability to synthesize the rationality of antiquity, with the faith of Judeo-Christian
thought (e.g., Strauss, 1997b).
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Dembski (2005, 2002, 1999) and other advocates, by taking to task modern
science and Darwinism, seemingly contradict their very goal of re-inserting God into
science; by referencing the need to reassert both Aristotle’s and Aquinas’ conceptions of
natural law (despite the fact that, as noted in chapter four, Aristotle wrote of natural
right), they effectually argue for two very different teleological ends of man, as well as
two fundamentally different understandings of metaphysical first principles.
Furthermore, because Dembski (1999) identifies modernity with the rise of
naturalism and modern science specifically, the above concerns are insufficiently
addressed. The natural end of man, in antiquity, is a matter for political philosophy,
which itself synthesized philosophy, science and metaphysical first principles (Strauss,
1997e, 1953). For Judeo-Christian thought, the natural end of man is a matter for
theology, for which science might be a handmaid; certainly, it is not of equal stature
(Strauss, 1997e). The larger and more profound question is one that is either political and
philosophical, or political and theological.73 This is not how Dembski (1999) specifically
and ID advocates generally characterize the crisis of modernity. As such, they do not
address explicitly the very profound political changes that were swept in with the rise of
modernity; subsequently, their critique appears inherently limited, and intrinsically
unable to address the very challenges for which it seeks to provide answers (e.g., Behe,
1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999; Fortin, 1987b; Kilpatrick, 1924; Strauss, 1997b, d, 1953).
IDT advocates have considered resistance to the acceptance of their theory as a culture war (Forrest, 2005b, pp 159-160, also 2005a; Matzke and Gross, 2006). This war for ID theorists, as noted in chapter five, is characterized as one in which modern science
has eliminated concerns of teleological and metaphysical first principles, thereby leaving
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its current practitioners, experts, supporters, as well as posterity, a system of belief that
cannot account sufficiently, if at all, for a supernatural being or force (its historical
supporters and experts suffered this same metaphysical fate). Modern science has created
a void in belief systems; with its particular methodology and rationality as the guiding standard, scientists, and anyone presently or in the future, who espouse its paradigm are, or will be, left to wrestle with atheism or agnosticism as that which can provide answers for detail about, or insight into, the origin of life (Dembski, 1999).
While scientific inquiry indeed does posit that considerations of the supernatural lie beyond its scope (Lewis, 1983; NAS, 1998), this is quite a different statement than claiming that scientists and any of its current or future proverbial “victims” are left to wrestle with what remains; expressly, an appeal to agnosticism or atheism. Recent studies such as Ecklund’s (in “Spirituality high among …,” 2005) suggest that scientists
(who appear of special concern to Dembski, because of their “expert” influence), specifically, in fact do proclaim belief in some form of spirituality, albeit one that might diverge from traditional understandings of (organized) religion. Furthermore, scholars such as Wald (1992) have found that a majority of the American populace claim both to identify with, and practice, a particular religion. Perhaps part of the concern for ID supporters, then, is not so much that religion has lost its appeal (which certainly is not supported in findings regarding the general public; Wald, 1992), but rather, that its
(Judeo-Christian) traditional conceptualization and practice, at least in the scientific community, has been re-conceptualized. Their apprehension is that appeals to spirituality, while still affirming a belief in a transcendent force or being, need not necessarily invoke the Judeo-Christian God (Hewlett and Peters, 2006).
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The crisis of modernity, then, is not only the broad appeal of modern science and
Darwinism in academic circles and the general public; it includes the predicament that the institutions that were the traditional dwelling places for practice and instruction appear to have been displaced. The lament is towards what they consider a dissolution of pertinent beliefs that have shaped historically American public and private culture. By identifying the role that the development of modern science and the findings of
Darwinism have played in this unfortunate happenstance, ID theorists seek to restore religion as they interpret it to its proper political and historical place in society (Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006; 1997).
Concerns about the demise of community organizations within modernity is not new; apart from the conservative and fundamentalist religious groups who have grieved this aspect of the crisis of modernity (e.g., see Hunter, 1991; Wald, 1992), scholars such as Keniston (1965), Illich (1973a, b), and Ellul (1980, 1973) have asserted that the rise of industrialization in the West has resulted in a splintering of the public sphere, whereby institutions essentially became personified. This gave them a character and power which ultimately challenged both the awareness, and attendant exercise, of agency by individuals in the social milieu (Ellul, 1981, 1980, 1973; Illich, 1973a, b; Keniston,
1965). A significant difference between the critiques of the aforementioned authors and those of ID theorists, however, rests in the very fact that the latter, unlike the former, do not identify the institutionalization of education as problematic. Instead, ID supporters seemingly seek to benefit from this (e.g., Matzke and Gross, 2006). More concisely,
Keniston (1965), Illich (1973a, b), and Ellul (1980, 1973) critiqued the legitimation of the institutionalization of schooling, wherein the teacher’s authority as wise counsel was re-
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conceptualized and renegotiated to become that of the institutionally-appointed
individual. Conversely, the continued efforts of ID advocates to seek legislative support
for its inclusion alongside Darwinism in the public school science curriculum suggests
that they sanction first the authority of the (schooling) institution, rather than the wise counsel within those institutions (e.g., Watt, 1982) . ID theorists, while not new in this aspect of their critique, do present an interpretation with very specific – if not subtle – political ramifications (Boston, 2007; Forrest, 2005a, b; Matzke and Gross, 2006). To the extent that this is accurate, what is at stake is the very social structure of the contemporary milieu (e.g., Hunter, 1991); by seeking to de-legitimize the authority of modern science, and its experts and practitioners, and also to alter the public school
curriculum to reflect the resultant paradigmatic shift, ID theorists ultimately challenge the
relationship between institutions of secular and nonsecular education.
The political implications of this re-negotiation of the relationship between
societal institutions and the educative process are troubling, insofar as some of the stated goals by ID theorists tacitly suggest an aim toward the establishment of a theocracy
(Forrest, 2005a, b). Forrest (2005a, b) notes that the combination of IDT and the Wedge document74 lend very realistic support to concerns that the aims of ID theorists are that of
infiltrating and altering the fabric of American culture, from one that is liberal,
democratic, and free, towards one that is theocratic. To the extent that their goals contain
an element that would render this a possibility, the very foundation of American culture –
not merely education – is at risk (Branch, 2007; Forrest, 2005a, b; Matzke and Gross,
2006).75
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In these ways, one begins to understand more fully the attempts of ID advocates
to utilize the language of marginalization. As noted in chapter five, their efforts to make
an appeal to notions of justice and use the language of the oppressed, they can re-instate a
sense of agency for those who contend that the pedagogy of modern science violates their
religious rights. In this way, ID theorists begin to lay inroads for the re-introduction of
traditional religious beliefs and practices within Academe.
As discussed in this study, by seeking to re-define science with a theory that is,
despite arguments to the contrary, inherently religious, ID supporters suggest a re-
negotiation of the relationship between religion and science, in education. ID proponents
are seeking a reversion within education that echoes some of that which was taught in the
early 20th century (e.g., Antolin and Herbers, 2001; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997; also Fraser, 1999, McClellan,
1999). Certainly, their argumentation is more developed and sophisticated than those proffered in the early 20th century; IDT attempts to attack modern science on its own
terms (Behe, 2004a, b, 2003, 1998, 1996; Dembski, 2004, 1999, 1998a; Dembski and
Ruse, 2006; Matzke and Ruse, 2006). While ID theorists have not argued for a re- insertion of explicitly biblical content in the curriculum, the central theme of the dispute
in the centuries old culture war remains: the rise of secularism in education and the larger
society has displaced and decisively marginalized those with nonsecular concerns (e.g.,
Dover, 2005; Fraser, 1999; Hunter, 1991; McClellan, 1999; Scott, 2006, 1997). The aim
of ID proponents, much like their predecessors, is a successful de-legitimation of modern
science (for which Darwinism is the apparent target), as well as a re-validation, and re-
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incorporation, of religion in the public school curriculum, and American culture (e.g.,
Dover, 2005; Matzke and Gross, 2006).
The very fact that a majority of the U.S. population claims to identify with a
particular religious denomination or sect certainly suggests that ID advocates’ concerns
need not lie there (Wald, 1992). While the argument could be made that the task and
purpose of the educative process fundamentally reflects the belief systems of the
populace, and, because a significant percentage of the American public claims to identify
with a particular religion (Wald, 1992), the re-insertion of a theory that supports faith in a
supernatural agent or force into the public school curriculum merely reflects the current belief system of the American populace, one could make the counter-argument that this
line of reasoning contradicts the claim that American education supports either a pluralist
or multicultural model (Hunter, 1991). It also contradicts the contention that the
American education system prepares students for emergence into a predominantly civic-
minded, rather than theocratic-minded, society (e.g., Dwyer, 1998). In the IDT model,
education would mirror a reversion toward early twentieth century symbiosis of
education, religion, and science; consequently, ID supporters’ aims contradict the
objectives of a public, civic-minded education. Left out of the proverbial equation in this
particular side of the culture war is a profound concern for the right of the child to an
education that prepares her for participation in a liberal, free and democratic society. In
the context of IDT, her temporal interests are subjugated for adults’ concerns with her
other-worldly mortality (and the attendant morality). As has been discussed in this study,
the implications of education for posterity, and the very social and political constitution
of American culture, are at issue.
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While this study has been a philosophical and theoretical analysis of some of the
questions concerning IDT’s inclusion in the public school curriculum, it is far from exhaustive of the issues that characterize the so-called debate. The inquiries addressed in
this discussion present additional questions and potential areas of examination and
analysis for future researchers. It is toward this last point that this chapter turns.
Considerations for future research
While this study is limited in scope to philosophical and theoretical analysis of the
aforementioned questions, future studies could provide empirical regionally- and
nationally-based inquiries into the differences between what the official curriculum states
should be taught in science classes and what realistically is practiced. The continued survey of biology teachers, as well as studies of textbooks, could provide further insights into how evolution both is presented in the official curriculum (as represented in the textbooks), and in pedagogical practices. Future research could continue to survey the ways and means that evolutionary theory both is addressed in official curriculum and taught in the classroom (Padian, 2005).
Future studies could continue to examine closely local, state and federal official curricula and texts to determine shifts in thought and practice, from the incorporation of religion and science, toward a more secular education, at the K-12 levels.
Continued research and monitoring of present attempts to pass legislative measures for the inclusion of IDT, presently limited to science curriculum, also should be undertaken. Given that: the federal Supreme Court has ruled that equal-time mandates for evolution, creation-science and creationism in the schools are unconstitutional; that
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IDT as developed remains too close an offspring of these latter two overtly religious
ideas; and that IDT is insufficiently developed as a legitimate scientific area of study, a
fact acknowledged by some of its leading affiliates (e.g., Behe, 2005; DeWolf, West, and
Luskin, 2007); and lastly, that its advocates both recognize this last point and continue to
attempt to remodel it so as to account for its deficiencies; the very real possibility exists that IDT could emerge as a curricular insert elsewhere in public schools (Dover, 2005;
Forrest, 2005a, b). This alternative was cited both by Barbara Forrest (2005b) and Judge
Jones in the Dover (2005) case. Current endeavors, for example, to pass state-sanctioned
Bible courses of study might open avenues for its inclusion in such a curriculum.76 The extent to which ID continues to be developed by its theorists, coupled with the ways and means its supporters seek to insert into the public school curriculum could provide avenues of future research.
Lastly, continued monitoring of the constitutionality of IDT inclusion anywhere in the curriculum should be undertaken. As noted in chapter five, judicial rulings to date regarding the inclusion of IDT in public school curriculum have addressed its insertion in the science curriculum. Further, the rulings have been rendered locally; the U.S.
Supreme Court has not addressed the constitutionality of IDT in public school curriculum, although it historically has ruled on questions that peripherally address some of the same concerns, such as equal time legislation and religious instruction in public schooling. While the case in Dover ISD thus does speak to the constitutionality of IDT in public school science curriculum, the ruling itself is applicable only in the state of
Pennsylvania (Wexler, 2006). Certainly, the decision can be applied in other court cases, should the presiding judge chose to uphold Judge Jones’ conclusions. Furthermore,
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although Judge Jones (Dover, 2005) did determine that IDT inclusion is unconstitutional
in the science curriculum, ID supporters at the Discovery Institute, in wake of the
decision, shifted tactics, arguing that the theory is scientifically credible “while
simultaneously denying that ID was ready for the classroom” (Scott, 2006, p. 26; italics
added; see also Behe, 2005). These two examples characterize the continued efforts of
ID proponents to exploit what they consider unsettled and thus open avenues for its future
inclusion.
To the extent that legislators and individuals in positions of power continue to
advocate IDT, the case for the inclusion of IDT somewhere in the U.S. public school
curriculum appears far from settled, both legally and legislatively. For this reason,
researchers should continue to monitor repeated efforts, and measure the validity – e.g.,
philosophically, scientifically, and theoretically - of those efforts, in order to assess the degree of legitimate authority the theory merits, wherever its insertion may – or not – appear.
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NOTES
1 The argument that the contemporary crisis in the West can be traced to the contradictions inherent in these two stands of thought is argued quite well by Strauss (1997b, e). Strauss (1997b, e), it should be noted, does not address the Intelligent Design debate. Instead, his argument pertains to the challenges posed to the West in historical and recurrent attempts to synthesize reason – as represented by classic Greek philosophy – and faith – as represented by the Bible. 2 The debate about the viability and constitutionality of its inclusion or exclusion exposes the failure of those attempts, a failure that stems ultimately, as Strauss (1997b) succinctly argues, from each tradition’s identification of the “one thing needful” in seeking the good life:
… the one thing needful according to Greek philosophy is the life of autonomous understanding [whereas] (t)he one thing needful as spoken by the Bible is the life of obedient love. The harmonizations and synthesizations are possible because Greek philosophy can use obedient love in a subservient function, and the Bible use philosophy as a handmaid; but what is so used in each case rebels against such use, and therefore the conflict is really a radical one. Yet this very disagreement presupposes an agreement … because people must disagree about something and must agree as to the importance of that something. (pp. 104-105)
3 Wallace’s (1996) discussion of the need to fit ethical considerations and norms to match particular cases addresses this issue as well. 4 It is important to note here that Dembski (1998a) states that the theoretical aspect of the argument does not in and of itself address metaphysical questions; rather, the inference’s necessary counterpart tackles this question. Further, and equally important in advancing the contention that ID is in fact science, ID is, according to Dembski (1999), fundamentally “incompatible” with the notion of theistic evolution, which essentially purports that, as states, “the universe is designed” (p. 110). Yet, he argues, this notion cannot square with ID, at least because it “places theism and evolution in an odd tension. … insofar as there is design in the universe, it is design we recognize strictly through the eyes of faith. Accordingly the physical world in itself provides no evidence that life is designed. … Design theorists think the scientific evidence favors design whereas theistic evolutionists think it favors Darwin or one of his naturalistic successors” (Dembski, 1999, pp. 110-111). Thus:
the design theorists’ critique of Darwinism begins with Darwinism’s failure as an empirically adequate scientific theory, not with its supposed incompatibility with some system of religion belief. … Design theorists refuse to make this a Bible-science controversy. Their critique of Darwinism is not based on any supposed incompatibility between Christian revelation and Darwinism.
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Instead, they begin their critique by arguing that Darwinism is on its terms a failed scientific theory – that it does not constitute a well-supported scientific theory, that its explanatory power is severely limited and that it fails abysmally when it tries to account for the grand sweep of natural history. (Dembski, 1999, p. 112; italics in original)
The paper will address these points more fully later. 5 This paradox becomes more complex when concerns with civic-mindedness are introduced into the educative process; the matter of ultimate values, in other words, becomes not only about which particular religion might or not have claims to such a truth, but also about the question of the extent to which – and, indeed, whether or not – the concerns of the state legitimately and with equal authority can stake a claim to ultimate values (Dwyer, 1998; Phenix, 1959). In sum, the educative process, contrary to Phenix’s (1959) claim, is not necessarily religious at its core, but rather, inherently ethical. Whereas religious and moral values necessarily are local both historically and contextually, ethical questions cut across history and experience (e.g., Strauss, 1997a). The distinction perhaps is subtle, but important: while ultimate values posited in religious and moral terms are localized within a particular historical setting, ultimate values conceptualized within an ethical framework fuse reason with understandings of the transcendental. Thus, rationality, rather than history and experience, is the underlying principle. 6 Importantly, Dembski (1999) uses this term as a blanket description for all Darwinists. Only on a few occasions does he unpack this term, and acknowledge that some contemporary scientists – most notably biochemists -- in fact to support ID. 7 See Dembski (1999, pp. 49-70) for his analysis of their critiques. His fundamental argument against their critiques rests upon the assertion that both of their analyses posit that the “world is a closed system of natural causes operating according to universal natural laws” (p. 69). For Dembski (1999), a fundamental problem of both Spinoza and Schleiermacher rests upon his understanding that, in their works, they “[e]ssentially … have God lock the door and throw away the key, and then they ask whether God can get back into the room. By ordaining a system of nature, God builds a closed system of natural causes which has no way of accommodating miracles. … [t]heir critique … leaves as an open metaphysical question whether nature is such a closed system” (pp. 66-67). Ultimately, they made what Dembski considers a fatal error, by collapsing “causal and logical necessity” (Dembski, 1999, p. 62) As well, while Dembski (1999) would assign to Spinoza and Schleiermacher the credit for ushering in methodological naturalism and its emphasis upon empiricism, this perhaps ignores the fact that they were continuing in a tradition that had reached an apex before them. One well could argue that “[t]he great revolt against traditional thought or the emergence of modern philosophy or natural science was completed prior to Spinoza” (Strauss, 1997c, p. 154). 8 In his critiques of naturalism, and in his discussions about the Bible and nature, Dembski (1999) does not acknowledge that the Bible contains no word that translates to nature; in fact, the Bible makes no mention of it. To the extent that naturalists, and most
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particularly Spinoza, sought to re-instate philosophy as the rational mode of inquiry (rather than theology), this is an important point, at least because the philosophic tradition of the West, rooted in Greek thought, does include this term (see Strauss, 1997c, p. 111) 9 One might do well to inquire the extent to which circumstance and creation are related, and whether or not creation precludes evil, a point that Dembski (2002) seems unwilling to tackle. See Strauss (1997d, e). 10 For a discussion regarding this shift in emphasis from theology toward modern science, see also Urban and Wagoner (2000) and Johnson (1992). 11 Michael Behe (1996) disagrees with Dembski’s contentions here. According to Behe (1996): “[i]n a very real sense, the separateness of the spheres of science versus philosophy and religion is as it should be. Every person has available the data of his or her senses and, for the most part, can agree with other people on what that data is” (p. 250). Yet, his willingness to defer to what is essentially a theological and theistic position that seeks to authoritatively debunk Darwinism seemingly contradicts his own assertions (Behe, 2005). 12 Behe’s (2005) testimony in Dover (2005) is highly relevant and insightful on this point. 13 The endorsement test was defined concretely in Santa Fe Independent School District v. Doe, 530 U.S. 290 (2000):
‘in cases involving state participation in a religious activity, one of the relevant questions is ‘whether an objective observer, acquainted with the text, legislative history, and implementation of the statute, would perceive it as a state endorsement of prayer in public schools. … School sponsorship of a religious message is impermissible because it send the ancillary message to members of the audience who are nonadherents ‘that they are outsiders, not full members of the political community, and an accompanying message to adherents that they are insiders, favored members of the political community.’ (quoted from Dover (Middle District Court of PA, 04cv2688 [2005], p. 11; where also quoting Lynch v. Donnelly)
The Lemon Test requires that a three-prong test be utilized when determining constitutionality, particularly of the Establishment Clause: “(1) the statute must have a secular purpose; (2) its principal or primary effect must be one that neither advances nor inhibits religion; (3) it must not foster excessive entanglement with religion” (Lemon v. Kurtzman, 403 U.S. 602 [1971], quoted in Fisher, 1995, p. 751). 14 The Court ruled here, e.g., that the “federal legal landscape concerning opposition to teaching evolution, and its historical origins … grew out of a religious tradition, Christian Fundamentalism that began as part of evangelical Protestantism’s response to, among other things, Charles Darwin’s exposition of the theory of evolution as a scientific explanation for the diversity of species” (Dover, 2005, p. 19). Further, the Court ruled that ID “in its current form, came into existence after the Edwards case was decided in 1987” (Dover, 2005, p. 24). This was a point of importance, at least because the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that a Louisiana statute mandating balanced treatment for Creation- Science and Evolution-Science in its public schools was unconstitutional, as it violated
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the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment (Edwards v. Aguillard, 482 U.S. 578 [1987], in Fisher, 1995, pp. 801-804). Lastly, Judge Jones argued in Dover (2005) that “[a]lthough proponents of IDM occasionally suggest that the designer could be a space alien or a time-travelling cell biologist, no serious alternative to God as the designer has been proposed by members of the IDM, including Defendants’ expert witnesses” (p. 25). Two additional points need to be made here: that like the defendants in the Dover case, Dembski to date has not proposed a “serious alternative to God as the designer,” and that Michael Behe was one of the expert witnesses cited in the case (Dover, 2005; also Behe, 2005). 15 As Fraser (1999) argues, early fundamentalists identified their contemporary culture as decrepit (pp. 119-120). Further, their alignment with Protestantism was not ill-founded, at least because these two groups shared a belief that “their cultural dominance [was] receding rapidly in an increasingly diverse nation” (Fraser, 1999, p. 120). 16 Cubberley (1922), Tyack (2003), Johnson (1992) and Grieder and Romine (1955) all note that the content of the texts used in this early period were infused strongly – if not outright – with religious content. The Hornbook, McGuffy’s Reader, The Scriptural Prophecies Explained, as well as the Bible, all were used as curricular materials from which students would conduct their daily recitations. 17 Modernity, as captured both in Hobbesian and Lockean political philosophy, identified a state of nature for Man outside of society, which was individualistic at its core (Hobbes, 1651/1991; Locke, 1692/1947; 1690/1991; Strauss, 1953). Yet this presupposes that human life can be properly understood outside of society. The assumption, in other words, contradicts the historical reality (and the natural law philosophy) that people have never lived in such solitude (Strauss, 1997d, 1953). Indeed, even if one were to invoke the Judeo-Christian notion of the Fall, and argue that an attempt to understand human beings outside of civil society is analogous to understanding ourselves before sin, this would presuppose that one could live in this world without sin. And, as the story of Genesis shows, prior to the Fall, whereas Adam, as Man lacked knowledge of good and evil, or that which would enable and allow him to guide his own life (Strauss, 1997d; Wiesel, 1976), Adam as human became a person with choice (to live, and give it meaning), and mortality. Thus, it was only with the Fall that Man became mortal, human. More concretely, “[e]xpelled from paradise, [Adam the first man] entered time…[o]utside paradise, he became real” (Wiesel, 1976, pp. 26 and 28). Thus, in both examples, human nature can only be understood as that which pertains to life in this world, and in our relationships with each other (with Judeo-Christian theology adding the God and his law, and the natural law philosophers adding the element of transcendental law, for that which presupposes the foundations and contents of civil laws). In short, the modern conceptualization of a state of (secular) nature in which man rightly can be understood represents a break from previous Western traditions (Strauss, 1953). For thorough discussions on the significance of Enlightenment thinking and modernity in the West, see Maritain, 1951; Strauss, 1953. 18 Nietzsche (1888/1954; also Ebenstein and Ebenstein, 1991) wrote that Christianity corrupted man’s reason, at least because it emphasized pity and weakness. For him, faith represented “an expression of self-abnegation, of self-alienation. … The believer is not free to have any conscience at all for questions of ‘true’ and ‘untrue’: to have integrity on
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this point would at once destroy him” (Nietzsche, 1888/1954, pp. 638-639; italics in original). 19 It is important to note here Hunter’s (1992) assertions that the historical battle between Protestantism and Catholicism largely shaped the religious aspects of that side of the metaphorical culture war. According to Hunter (1991):
Understanding the American experience as late as the 19th century requires an understanding of the critical role played by anti-Catholicism in shaping the character of politics, public education, the media, and social reform. … [this anti-Catholicism played out very visibly in the schools because] skills, values, and habits of life are passed on to children in school, [and thus] it was inevitable that the schools would be an arena of cultural conflict, where the majority would assert its power and minority cultures would struggle to maintain a voice. (pp. 35-37)
The relationship between Catholics and Protestants in the U.S. helped to shape the very institution and curriculum of the public schools. On this topic, see Cremin (1961); Cubberley (1934); Fraser, (1999); Hunter (1991); McClellan (1999); Tyack (2003); Wald (1992). 20 Patriotic literacy, itself laced with specifically Protestant ideology, became the focus of civic-minded reformers during the 19th and early 20th centuries, at least because, as Tyack (2003) notes, these individuals determined that “political virtue” was waning (p. 41). The rise of the common school and, later, the creation of the public school system, necessarily addressed the question of the interdependent relationship between religion and education in the U.S. during the early days of the Republic and later, during the rise of industrialization (Cremin, 1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; Grieder and Romine, 1955; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003; Urban and Wagoner, 2000). As such, the emergence of the public school system ushered in an increased emphasis upon secularization, both in the schools and in the larger milieu. Indeed, reformers were faced with the seemingly daunting task of preparing a literate populace, versed both in civic and moral – commonly understood as Christian and Protestant – virtue (Cremin, 1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; Grieder and Romine, 1955; Hunter, 1991; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003; Wald, 1992). While the two certainly are (and were) not necessarily mutually exclusive, the extent to which they are (and were) inclusive, particularly in a society as religiously heterogeneous (e.g., Protestants, Catholics, Jews) as the United States, posed a potential challenge. More concretely, the task and purpose of the educative process fundamentally reflects the belief systems of the populace and, to the extent that moral concerns were understood as synonymous with religion, reformers seemingly needed to determine a means of fusing civic and religious concerns in the educative process. The demands of industrialization, coupled with the concurrent changing demands of the industrial and technological milieu, perhaps necessitated a shift toward secularization; the apex of modernity provided the platform for the introduction of secularization in public school curriculum, thereby altering the historical interdependent relationship between religion
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and education, from one that was inclusive, toward one that comparatively was increasingly exclusive (see Callahan, 1962; Cremin, 1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; Grieder and Romine, 1955; Kilpatrick, 1924; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003; Urban and Wagoner, 2000; for discussions regarding this shift). Despite the impact that industrialism had upon the institution of the school, the curriculum remained at its core true to the non-denominational ideals that Horace Mann (e.g., in Norton [ed.], 1965) and later educational reformers had introduced. Education of the common man toward both nationalism and morality – now conflated to mean essentially the Christian patriot – remained the concern of reformers, as the overt influence of the church had given way to the influence of political and economic institutions (Cremin, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; Fraser, 1999; Tyack, 2003, 1972). The separation of church and state within these public institutions remained, at best, murky. 21 The relationship between religious and civil authority in Midwest communities might prove illustrative of this development. Indeed, religion played a central role in Midwest settlement. The church was vital for religious education, with the old Sunday meetings affording community members opportunities to discuss the sermons (Cubberley, 1934, 1919). Oftentimes, the church and the school acted as provisional arms for the various community outlets, with schools typically housing the more secular versions of these gatherings (Cremin, 1961; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; Grieder and Romine, 1955; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003). Not infrequently, as well, the schools functioned as pulpits when a church building could not be constructed. The bonds between the two institutions were intricate, with each aiming toward varying goals of education. However, the large doses of morality contained in the textbooks used in the classroom, coupled with daily Testament readings, suggested that denominational morality enjoyed a prominent position in rural school curriculum and instruction. While sectarian morality was not separated from the common school curriculum in the Midwest initially, Theobald (1993) argues that the emergence of the Sunday school wrested the challenge of denominational moral education from schools to the church. It might be worthwhile to consider Theobald’s (1993) assertion about the aforementioned insularity of these communities, which frequently hinged upon denominational sects. If one considers the inclusion of morality in the rural school curriculum from this vantage point, the underlying purpose of inclusion suggests denominational affiliations that would not evaporate simply because of the emergence of Sunday schools. A strong tint of moral “ownership” thus emerges, as each person within the community held fundamentally similar beliefs, and excluded from the schools, as Theobald (1993) notes, those who were “different.” 22 In addition to the Scopes Trial (Foote, 1925/2006), Skoog (1983) argues that the limited inclusion of Darwin’s theories in biology textbooks used in public school science classrooms, especially in the first half of the 20th century, suggests that:
[t]he professional biologist’s acceptance of evolution as an important and unifying idea of the discipline had not been powerful enough to counterbalance the rejection and suppression resulting from opinion, legislation, and pressures exerted by organized religious groups, administrative edicts, publisher’s caution, threatened teachers, and numerous other
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forces. (pp. 83-84)
One might do well to consider the extent to which this argument might be used today, in the debate over inclusion both of ID, and the use of the textbook Of Pandas and People (1993). 23 The rise of industrialism brought with it innumerable grievances, among them a newly expanding primacy awarded to business values such as economy and efficiency; a rise in living costs; a public body of disgruntled citizens who, following the reports of muck- racking journalists, cried for reform, and reportedly bankrupt institutions and management of those institutions (Callahan, 1962). This combination of factors paved the road for a massive welcome of scientific management, or, the Taylor Principle. Christened as a science of efficiency, this principle asserted that the task for management in the new era was one rooted in “analyzing, planning, and controlling the whole manufacturing process in detail” (Callahan, 1962, p. 27). In other words, “science” – here, invoked primarily as an emphasis upon the rational – was inserted into business settings and management relations and, in so doing, was awarded the status of institutional authority, or, the power of command (Callahan, 1962; also Watt, 1982). The Taylor Principle asserted that the “judgment of the individual workman,” in order to attain a maximum level of production, should be “replaced by the laws, rules, principles, etc. of the science of the job which was developed by management” (Callahan, 1962, pp. 28-29). The incorporation of the Taylor Principle in business, then, heralded the atomization of the worker and his role in industrial settings, at least insofar as management’s primary function was that of controlling the “thinking” element, leaving those under his rule the task of executing his commands. A point of equal importance, however, hinged upon the notion that this atomization was “scientific.” Indeed, this body of knowledge, which had gained ascendancy in institutions of higher learning only recently, carried with it a seemingly unquestioned legitimacy, despite its own claims to the contrary (e.g., Johnson, 1992). It is important to note that this understanding of the term science differed from that used in the natural and biological sciences. Moreover, the comparatively more academic application (and practice) of science as a discipline was not rooted in an absolute belief system. In fact, quite the contrary was true; its findings were rooted in the theoretical. The values of science and rationality, under the umbrella of efficiency, economy and productivity in the emergent industrial society, thus provided industrial leaders, together with educational administrators seeking, the necessary principles and buzzwords to influence the shape of American schools (Callahan, 1962). Yet, the road for the introduction of the Taylor Principle to the schools had been paved, and the implementation of its doctrine followed. More specifically, where the Taylor Principle in an industrial setting shaped the factory, its operation in the schools created a school system modeled after the factory (Callahan, 1962; Hodas, 1993). Thus, where the aim of the factory was maximized production of some thing, e.g., a car, stamped and ready for consumption by society, the aim of the school was maximized production of some person, e.g., the student, learned and ready for emergence into the adult world. In addition, where the aim of the factory was maximized efficiency through standardized rules, regulations and ordinances, the aim of the school was maximized efficiency through standardized testing, grading systems, grade levels, and school surveys
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(Callahan, 1962). Moreover, where the aim of the factory was cost-effectiveness toward production of its commodities, economy, so, too, was the aim of the school. An underlying goal of administrators was not necessarily quality learning, so much as reducing the costs of learning (e.g., textbooks and materials) to educate increasing numbers of students (Callahan, 1962). At least in these ways, the school increasingly adopted the techniques of business to shape its emerging structure and goals. 24 Importantly, the significance of religion was not abandoned during this shift. One need only consider the controversy surrounding the Scopes Monkey Trial (Foote, 1925/2006) to understand this social – and political – reality. 25 Relevant here is literature (Ridge, 1993; Trachtenberg, 1982) that dispels the romanticized ideal of the settlement of the Midwest during the nineteenth century. Turner’s 1893 thesis describing the “gift of the West” as land, and Westward expansion as a process that “rebuil[t] a culture [that] placed great stress on individual effort, on survival, and on democratic and egalitarian principles” instead has been uncovered to appear quite non-democratic and economy-based (quoted in Ridge, p. 23; also Trachtenberg, 1982). Certainly, emphasis upon the individual is apparent in the settlement of the region; the vast expanses of land between communities and between farms within those communities translated into reliance on the family as the primary unit. It required, therefore, that the individual (and her family) be self-sufficient in learning survival techniques in this untamed area. A side note here is that, although federal authorities did articulate concerns about the need of educating the common man, the concern primarily was one of political economy and national development, rather than education, per se (Cremin, 1961, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Tyack, 2003). Passage of acts such as the Homestead Act, as well as the privatization of public lands for development of railroads and by large companies, underscored the aim of political economy through expansion (De Young, 1942; Trachtenberg, 1982). Further, although a clause in the Northwest Ordinance of 1787 stated that “’religion, morality, and knowledge being necessary to good government and the happiness of mankind, schools and the means of education shall be forever encouraged,’” mercenary concerns prevailed (quoted in De Young, 1942, p. 10). As De Young (1942) argues, the Continental Congress sought first to sell land, because it needed revenue. Furthermore, the Constitution’s omission of schools further underscores this point, at least because the Framers themselves were educated in a system where wealth determined education (De Young, 1942). Lastly, it should be noted that, incorporated within this structure, was the idea that “other” was negative, and therefore a threat. This “other” included Native Americans, and non-Protestants. 26 It is interesting to consider here Tocqueville’s (1835/1994) remarks on the tendency of Americans to disengage from the public sphere, unless the issues had a direct impact on their immediate well-being. This well-being typically took the form of economy, whereby one might engage in local politics, e.g., if the construction of a new road would affect his land or income in some way. This, Tocqueville (1835/1994) noted, compelled the individual to participate, not because he was enlightened about the dimensions of the issue, but rather because he had an individual (as contrasted with personal) stake in the matter. Tocqueville (1835/1994) reported, as well, that this individual stake was analogous to privatization, at least insofar as the individual retreated to his private sphere
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to pursue his individual needs and aspirations. The point here is that this privatization appears to have provided a springboard for the increasing importance of economy, as the goals of business, technology, efficiency, and industry took root in the West, through the cultivation of agricultural technique (see Jellison, 1993; Trachtenberg, 1982; also Tocqueville, 1835/1994; for a discussion of the variances between the individual and the personal in the polity, see Maritain, 1951). However, it is important to recall that the insularity underscored land ownership. Indeed, although the government stressed development and economy, what brought the people together initially was common belief, or religion. And on this topic, Tocqueville (1835/1994) noted that Americans indeed were, despite Europeans’ ideas to the contrary, a very religious people. A key difference between their religiosity and that of Europeans, he maintained, lay in the fact that in the U.S., religion was voluntary and so not mandated per se (Cremin, 1951, pp. 14-15; also Tocqueville, 1835/1994). 27 One of the most fundamental traditions affected was the central presence off multiple, private community organizations within a given locale. Indeed, as schools, business, and government became more bureaucratized and centralized, these “smaller” communities were relegated, at best, to a secondary status (Cremin, 1951; Cubberley 1922; De Young, 1942; Foght 1934, 1919; Johnson, 1992; Tyack, 2003). 28 Strauss (1997b) sums up the shift in thought brilliantly: the difference essentially is the fundamental distinction between the Biblical notion of return to the Garden of Eden, or the perfect beginning, and “the life characterized by the idea of progress” (pp. 87-89). More specifically, in the notion of return, “unfaithfulness or infidelity presupposes that fidelity or loyalty is primary. The perfect character of the origin is a condition of sin – of the thought of sin. Man who understands himself in this way longs for the perfection of the origin, or of the classis past. He suffers from the present, he hopes for the future” (Strauss, 1997b, p. 89). Alternatively, with the idea of progress, “the beginning is barbarism, stupidity, rudeness, extreme scarcity. … he has lost only his chains. … he does not merely hope or pray for a better future; he thinks that he can bring it about by his own effort. … What the others call rebellion, he calls revolution or liberation” (Strauss, 1997b, pp. 89-90). Furthermore, “in the Bible, the core of the process from the beginning to the end if not progress. … the core of the process as presented in the Bible is not intellectual-scientific development” (Strauss, 1997b, p. 96). The distinction, and the conclusions of each, thus are key: whereas the notion of return rests upon faith, the latter rests upon reason. With the ushering in of Enlightenment thought, naturalism, and modern science, the conceptualization of reason was re-defined, so that reason, aligned and often considered a synonym of science, focused upon the empirical, as faith lost its intellectual – although not certainly not cultural – legitimacy. For more on this topic, see also Johnson (1992); Urban and Wagoner (2000). 29 It is relevant here to note that the concept of natural right and natural law – both used in contemporary political parlance – were redefined during the modern period. As Strauss (1953) notes, the notion of natural as we understand it was anathema to the classics; for them, it essentially was borne “from the way in which they present themselves in political life, in action, when they are our business, when we have to make decisions” (p. 81). At least in this way, natural right was not “nature” as we understand it today; it was not the empirical world per se, but rather was rooted in understandings of
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man’s essence, which included his natural tendency toward seeking the good life, and establishing the just polis (Strauss, 1953). More than this, natural right presupposes natural law, at least insofar as right allows us to question authority, which as Strauss (1953) notes, “finds its legitimacy in law” (p. 89). In modernity, then, there is what Strauss refers to as the blurring of the is and the ought; the distinction between objective and subjective values is at best poorly drawn, and at least in this way we confuse, e.g., conventionalism with the transcendental, historicism with Aristotle’s telos. Nature so redefined thus limits us to seeking understanding from a fragmented community of thought and that which is, ultimately, ephemeral (Strauss, 1953). In addition to the above considerations, the very notions of objective and subjective were redefined during the modern period, with Max Weber (1978, 1968, 1949, 1917/1978, 1904/1958) drawing the definitive line between the two (Strauss, 1953). More specifically, according to Weber (1949), social scientists assigned meaning to phenomena; there existed no inherent meaning in any particular event (pp. 28-31). The cultural significance of any historical event could be deduced analytically only once the social scientist acknowledged that reality in its totality was infinite and hence unknowable in the broadest and most essential sense, and also chaotic (Weber, 1949, pp. 35-37; 1906/1978, pp. 111-112). Yet this did not translate into an absence of an infinite whole. Rather, because this infinite whole was unstructured and unknowable, it should be approached by examining its finite, or individual, components. Moreover, because description of reality itself was inexhaustible, that which caused any phenomenon to occur both was vast in its possibilities, as well as in its intrinsic explanatory value. Cultural significance, then, was understood as those explanations that offered a structured account of a part of the chaotic whole, and subsequently awarded that phenomenon some meaning. The task of the social scientist thus became one of constructing cultural significance for individual phenomenon, in order that reality would become structured (Weber, 1949, pp. 26-32; 1906/1978, pp. 112-124). In sum, whereas those of the historical school in which Weber was steeped asserted that the rendering of a judgment of possibility to explain causality in concrete relationships necessitated a relationship between fact and value, Weber conceived of this relationship as a fundamental distinction between the two concepts. In other words, for Weber, these two concepts necessarily are separate. In order to comprehend the meaning of an event and to assign its cultural significance, the social scientist first had to distinguish between facts and “value- judgments” (Weber, 1917/1978, pp. 69-80; 1949, p. 28). Whereas value was constructed and conferred, a fact essentially was absolute, insofar as it was that which was undeniably and actually already had happened (Weber, 1949, p. 28; 1917/1978, p. 76). Reality thus was understood as a composite of these two separate concepts; although the two occurred together, they essentially were distinguishable. With the line between fact and value now firmly and visibly drawn, the notion of nature could be jettisoned more persuasively from ideas of metaphysicality and teleology. The differentiation between the is and the ought, in other words, could be considered as that which is relative; at least because the ought ultimately cannot be made known to man’s reason, the is – that which he can observe, and can assign cultural significance -- becomes his focus (Strauss, 1953). 30Such a task, however, well may prove somewhat difficult, at least because it is this very definition (both its modern conceptualization and application) that is at issue in the ID
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controversy. Stated differently, ID advocates render modern science problematic, at least because, they argue, it has redefined nature as a closed system void of metaphysical considerations (e.g., Dembski, 1999). 31 The definition of fact in scientific terms might prove useful, as it oftentimes is used to distinguish that which is generally considered true, from that which is considered an opinion or belief. According to the NAS (1998), a scientific fact is “an observation that has been repeatedly confirmed” (p. 5). Lewis (1983) provides additional insight into the scientific conceptualization of the term; scientific facts, he notes, “play four roles in theories – they may support or fail to support a postulate, they may be explained, they may be predicted, and they may enter into lines of reasoning used to support, to explain, or to predict” (pp. 39-40). 32 As Mayr (quoted in NAS, 1998) explains, “the demarcation between science and theology” can be understood on three primary grounds: (1) “scientists do not invoke the supernatural to explain how the natural world works, and they do not rely on divine revelation to understand it. … [in science] an objective world exists outside of the influence of subjective human perception”; (2) scientists assume that this world is not chaotic but structured in some way and that most, if not all, aspects of this structure will yield to the tools of scientific investigation”; and (3) “most scientists assume that there is historical and causal continuity among all phenomena in the material universe, and they include within the domain of legitimate scientific study everything known to exist or to happen in this universe. But they do not go beyond the material world. …” (p. 43) 33 Such a question does not necessarily mean that all Christians are ID proponents, nor does it corroborate the assertion that only Christians can stake a claim in its authority (Hewlett and Peters, 2006). Importantly, while the 2005 Dover decision did affirm (utilizing relevant Supreme and federal court cases) that ID represents a thinly masqueraded attempt to cloak creation-science as science, and by extension, that it is not, in fact, a new idea but exists along a continuum of ideas that seek to re-introduce Christian beliefs and faith into public school curriculum, its proponents – some of whom are not Christian – argue the contrary (see Antolin and Herbers, 2001; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997). 34 The Discovery Institute in Seattle – the organization that publishes considerable information and literature in support of the idea – has sponsored an anti-evolutionary petition, which asks its followers to agree with the following statement: “‘We are skeptical of claims for the ability of random mutation and natural selection to account for the complexity of life. Careful examination of the evidence for Darwinian theory should be encouraged.’” Importantly, ID is not referenced in the petition, as it follows ID advocates’ tendency to argue not explicitly for ID, but for “alternatives to Darwinian theory” (“A scientific dissent from Darwinism,” 2007). The document allows for physicians, surgeons, chemists, mathematicians, and other academics in the natural sciences specifically to sign. To date, over 600 individuals in total have signed the dissent, the majority of who claim to be evangelical Christians. One self-proclaimed atheist reportedly signed the petition, and a few who do not claim conservative religious beliefs have done so, as well. As Chang (2006a) notes, however, the majority of the nonbiologists who have signed the document do not “conduct research that would directly address the question of what shaped the history of life” (¶11). Further, “of the signers who are evangelical Christians, most defend their doubts on
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scientific grounds but also say that evolution runs against their religious beliefs” (Chang,, 2006a, ¶12). Lastly, and equally important, Chang notes (2006a) that “[s]everal said their doubts began when they increased their involvement with Christian churches” (¶13). For a report on the petition, see Chang (2006a). To view the petition and read the Institute’s report on its document, visit www.dissentfromdarwin.org. 35 As Dembski (1998a) explains, statistical analysis is limited in its elimination of chance as an explanation; it eliminates only a specific probability distribution, thereby leaving open alternative distributions. Conversely, the design inference “eliminates chance in the global sense of closing the door to every relevant chance explanation” (Dembski, 1998a, p. 42). 36 Dembski (1998a) argues this point with his law of small probability, which states that “specified events of small probability do not occur by chance” (p. 5; see pp. 1-35 for his explanation of the law). 37 Very briefly, Dembski (1999) defines each of these three constructs as follows: Contingency, he explains, verifies that the event or object at issue did not arise from an unintelligent cause or process, which lacked any agency in its formation. Complexity theory rests upon the supposition of small probability. Specification he contrasts with fabrication; whereas the former are “non ad-hoc patterns that can legitimately be used to eliminate chance and warrant a design inference,” the latter are not, and thus cannot (see pp. 123-152 for a fuller explanation). 38 Dembski’s (2002, 1999) more traditional conceptualization of science includes e.g., a re-introduction of metaphysical concerns; a lack of (sole) emphasis on empiricism, and a heavy dose of Paley’s watchmaker analysis. See also Scott, 2006, 1997; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Hewlett and Peters, 2006. 39 While both Dembski (2002, 1999) and Behe (2005, 1996) attack the scientific community for failing to provide such answers to date, they do not hesitate to invoke a similar stance for further “proofs” for ID. As well, Dembski (2002, 1998) does make note of this challenge – that a lack of answers now does not translate into a lack of answers later -- yet he seems to argue that sufficient time has been granted, and Darwinism no longer is credible. It is relevant to note here that Behe (1996), in particular, does argue that although ID provides an ultimate answer, this should not deter scientists’ efforts to continue their research, to unlock as much of the black box as humanly possible. 40 Both counter that the invocation of an intelligent agent does not close the proverbial door (Behe, 1996; Dembski, 2002, 1999). Yet one does well to question not only what the motivation would be to uncover the so-called secrets of life when it is determined at the outset that such information is unknowable, but also the extent to which valid inquiry is conducted when the end of the argument seemingly justifies the means of the getting there. 41 ID supporters generally use conflicting interpretations of the word “theory.” When debunking Darwinism, for example, the term is used negatively, to suggest that it is insufficient for explaining the origin of life, and that it is outdated. When attempting to fight for the inclusion of IDT in the curriculum, conversely, the term theory is invoked to indicate, e.g., its legitimacy as science. See Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997; also Alters, 2006, 2005.
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42Although the First Amendment certainly provided for the preservation of Church and state separation while relegating each to separate spheres of influence and authority, the power that evangelical Protestantism continued to wield – if only seemingly peripherally – maintained considerable legitimacy, both in education and the larger society (e.g., Cremin, 1951; Cubberley, 1934; De Young, 1942; Fraser, 1999; Hamilton, 2005; Hunter, 1991; McClellan, 1999; Tyack, 2003; Wald, 1992). The principle of separation, as Phenix (1959) notes, cannot be over-valued when competing claims to ultimate authority are at stake, as was the case during the early part of the 20th century (although this so- called culture war certainly was not exclusive to this historical moment). According to Phenix (1959), the separation is:
so fundamental because in effect it denied that ultimacy belongs by right either to the state or to the church. A state with an established religion thereby sanctifies itself, and comes to be regarded as the temporal instrument of the divine will. An established religion is likewise confirmed in its exclusive claims when underwritten by the authority of the state. The limitation on both church and state implicit in the separation principle presupposes some other basis for ultimacy than these two institutions. (p. 40)
43 For example, the Supreme Court’s ruling in Edwards v. Aguillard held that Louisiana’s Balanced Treatment for Creation-Science and Evolution-Science in Public School Instruction Act -- which mandated that, where evolution was taught, creation-science must be included alongside in order to provide a “balanced” treatment of the “theories” of creation and development of life – did not have a secular purpose and, at least for this reason, was unconstitutional (in Alley, 1999, pp. 219-231). Furthermore, Supreme Court rulings, e.g., in Lemon v. Kurtzman, as well as in Edwards, Epperson v. Arkansas, Engel v. Vitale, and County of Allegheny v. ACLU, addresses the Establishment Clause (in Alley, 1999, pp. 82-96; 219-231; 194; 171-178; 338-359; Dover, 2005; also Fisher, 1995). Moreover, and equally important, these cases speak to the paradox of entanglement (Dover, 2005). These same arguments are at issue in the discussion of whether or not ID legitimately can be included in public school science curriculum, as the Dover (2005) case demonstrated. As well, the issue of the extent to which the compulsory aspect of schooling might or not violate religious practices and faith was raised, e.g., in Wisconsin v. Yoder (in Alley, 1999, pp. 466-482). The Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment thus was the addressed (Dover, 2005). 44 The fact that Dembski(2002, 1999) references Aquinas, rather than Augustine, as a theologian (and non-pagan philosopher) is interesting, at least because Dembski’s argument regarding Christology – a point addressed later in this chapter – speaks more toward Augustinian theology than Thomism. In respect to Dembski’s (2002, 1999) own argumentation, the present author has chosen and attempted – rightly or wrongly – to address Dembski on his own (specific) references. 45 As Strauss (1995b) notes, “… everything that comes into being through human action and is therefore corruptible presupposes incorruptible and unchangeable things – for
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instance, the natural order of the human soul – with a view to which we can distinguish between right and wrong actions (p. 13). 46 Although Strauss (1997b, e) does not reference Aquinas in his discussion, and instead references the Judeo-Christian tradition, the present author has attempted to apply his comments. 47 As Strauss (1997b) notes, in the Christian tradition, man must escape the confines of civil (i.e., man-made) society, in order to gain insight into His laws and thus morality. 48 Dembski (2002) does acknowledge that he does not want a “return to Aristotle’s theory of causation [because’ there are problems [with it], and it needed to be replaced” (p. 5). His “concern” lies with “what replaced it,” i.e., naturalism (Dembski, 2002, p. 5). Yet, this disclaimer does not negate the fact that he does advocate what he elsewhere calls a return to Aristotle’s and Aquinas’ law. 49 Dembski (1999) asserts often that the general public overwhelmingly accepts science – and Darwinism – as “fact.” Yet, this contradicts research and polls that suggest that at a majority of Americans consider themselves religious (Hunter, 1991; Wald, 1992). To the extent that these numbers are accurate, one would do well to question whether or not those who claim that they consider science and Darwinism “fact” concurrently consider, e.g., the story of Genesis “fact.” Such divergent accounts of the origins of the species and life, respectively, cannot be synthesized, an assertion with which even Dembski (2002, 1999) would agree. 50 Some of Ecklund’s (“Spirituality high among …,” 2005) findings include the following:
Biologists rank highest at 63.4% among those faculty claiming no religious affiliation, with physicists following at 51.5%. The number of Jewish faculty has declined, and the number of Catholics have increased in the natural and social sciences. There are no significant differences among social scientists or natural scientists in the frequency of religious service attendance. Almost one-half of who said they had not attended religious services in the past year. Over one-half of the Protestant and Catholic respondents identify with their liberal labels. Both natural and social scientists place the same importance on spirituality, but social scientists engage in more spiritual practices than natural scientists. Of those scientists who participate in ‘non-traditional’ religious practices (6.6% natural scientists and 8.6% social scientists), 20.4% of the natural scientists and 27.3% claim affiliations with Buddhism.
51 An additional point here pertains to the number of those trained in the sciences and science-based professions who have signed the Discovery Institute’s online petition, “A Scientific Dissent from Darwinism” (2007). As of January 2007, 686 individuals have signed. While the overwhelming majority, to date, are not in the sciences that directly are relevant to evolution research (e.g., biochemistry), the fact that their professional education and training is rooted, e.g., in chemistry and the physical and natural sciences,
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does pose the question as to whether or not the suspension of consideration for metaphysical first principles in their professional (and thus public) leaves a vacuum elsewhere; aware of the inherent challenge to the notion of objectivity across and within the sciences, they adhere to the notion professionally, while accounting for it differently personally. One might inquire as to whether or not those trained in the hard sciences implicitly are required -- more so, or perhaps on a different level, than their colleagues, e.g., in the social sciences – to make the distinction – and stake a claim – between that which is guided by reason, and that by faith. Such a question is purely speculative, and beyond the scope of this paper. 52 While Dembski (1999) does address both modernity and postmodernity as the problematic, his critique largely focuses upon modernity. Nonetheless, the present author will reference here Dembski’s (1999) own succinct critique of each, and the reasons each pose a critical challenge to ID:
Whereas modernity dismisses all sign-seeking from God, postmodernity allows it but then immediately restricts it to certain groups of religious believers. … Christianity is but one vendor in the marketplace of ideas, and postmodernity assigns each vendor equal status. Within postmodernity signs apply strictly within a community of discourse. … Whereas modernity asserts that the sign-giver always remains silent, postmodernity asserts that the sign-giver is irrelevant and that any signs are strictly a matter of private interpretation by the sign-seeker (p. 45).
Given these statements, one might question Dembski’s (1999) views, e.g., regarding religion and multicultural education. More concretely, by assigning “each vendor equal status,” postmodernity allows for the fact that, especially in religious discourse and belief, competing truth claims cannot be reconciled, at least because a truth claim that is believed by one group, in order to retain its ultimate truth, must show the un-truths in competing claims. One cannot logically make the argument that all truth claims are equally true, without implicitly stating that some aspect of her own, to the extent that it differs with another, is incomplete and/or inaccurate. Further, and in concert with the above considerations, one also could question the extent to which Dembski and ID supporters in fact do consider all religious truths, in the tribunal of ID, of equal stature. 53 It is interesting to note Dembski’s (1998a) remark that “it is not just the sheer improbability of an event, but also the conformity of the event to a pattern, that leads us to look beyond chance to explain the event” (p. 3; italics in original). Stated differently, Dembski wants to make the distinction between identifying a pattern a priori, and after, an event. This is important because statistical hypotheses testing through small probability tests allows one only to “designate a pattern prior to an event and then eliminate chance just in case the event conformed to that pattern” (i.e., the rejection region in statistics; 1998a, p. 3). Further, this is problematic at least because “[I]n the presence of small probabilities, patterns given prior to events always eliminate chance. In the presence of small probabilities, patterns identified after events may or may not eliminate chance” (1998a, p. 4).
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54 Behe (2005) admitted in his Dover testimony that his notion of irreducible complexity contains a defect, “because, while it purports to be a challenge to natural selection, it does not actually address ‘the task facing natural selection’” (p. 73). He acknowledges, as well, that in his continued research, he has not corrected yet that defect. Furthermore, and of equal note, Behe (1996) argues that Darwinian theory might be comparatively more legitimate for explaining the development and origin of life, if scientists could provide more concrete evidence for their suppositions. Yet, his reaction, e.g., when informed of the findings in Thornton’s et al research was, “‘[e]ven if this works, and they haven’t shown that it does … I wouldn’t have a problem with that. It doesn’t really show that much” (quoted in Chang, 2006b, ¶23; Behe, 2005). 55 The fact that Dembski (2002, 1999, 1998a) uses both a mathematical proof and philosophical arguments to argue for the validity of ID does not fully take into account the argument that such proofs and rationalities neither sufficiently prove nor disprove IDT (Hewlett and Peters, 2006). As Ebenstein and Ebenstein (1991) note in their discussions regarding Thomism’s attempted synthesis of Aristotelian philosophy and Christian theology: “If theological truth cannot be proved by philosophy, neither can it be disproved. Conflict thus is impossible” (p. 251). Furthermore, and perhaps more significant, Strauss (1997e) notes that, to the extent that one chooses to use reason as his guide in understanding “the fundamental questions,” one favors Athens, over Jerusalem, or reason, over revelation (Strauss, 1997b). Thus, while the two are not mutually exclusive because one cannot be used to prove or disprove the other, neither are they necessarily contradictory; they can agree that certain acts are moral and thus not demonstrate discord on a somewhat superficial level, their core premises are contradictory. 56 Dembski’s choice to reference Aquinas as opposed, e.g., to Augustine, is noteworthy, at least because he is non-Catholic scholar. For the purposes of this paper, FN 1 hopefully has addressed this sufficiently. 57 To be sure, Dembski (1999) asserts that Christ is the completion not only of science, but of all the disciplines, generally (p. 206). 58 While Behe’s (2005, 1996) assertions of irreducible complexity contain at least a tacit sentiment of anti-evolutionism, the motivation underlying his research cannot be quantified nor determined, outright. What can be questioned is the extent to which his research is peer-reviewed, and substantiated scientifically. See, e.g., Antolin and Herbers (2001); Dover, 2005. 59 As Dembski (2002, 1999, 1998a) emphasizes and as Scott (1997) notes, ID theory is the offspring of William Paley’s Argument for Design, which, as Scott (1997) succinctly summarizes, holds “that God’s existence could be proved by examining his works. … The existence of God was proven by the presence of order and intricacy” (pp. 279-280). ID theory incorporates many of the same ideas and arguments that antievolutionists generally, and creation-scientists in particular, historically have invoked in their arguments against Darwinism (Antolin and Herbers, 2001; Hewlett and Peters, 2006; Matzke and Gross, 2006; Scott, 2006, 1997; Wexler, 2006, 1997; also Morris, 2006). 60 Morris’ (2006) assertion that “[b]y attempting to argue without the Bible … the Intelligent Design theorists are ignoring the most important aspect of the whole question – namely, the history of life on Earth” further underscores his point (¶16).
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61 As Kuhn (1996) argues, “the competition between [scientific] paradigms” – in this case, IDT and Darwinism – “is not the sort of battle that can be resolved by proofs” (p. 148). The relevance of paradigmatic arguments will be addressed later in this chapter. 62 This point was a focus of the discussion in the depositions of Carpenter (2005), Forrest (2005b), Padian (2005) and Alters’ (2005) in the Dover case. 63 According to an article posted on the National Center for Science Education website (“Antievolution bill in Mississippi,” 2007), the bill, introduced by Mike Lott (R-District 124) on January 9, 2007, would allow that “’The school board of a school district may allow the teaching of creationism or intelligent design in the schools within the district. However, if the theory of evolution is required to be taught as part of the school district’s science curriculum, in order to provide students with a comprehensive education in science, the school board also must include the teaching of creationism or intelligent design in the science curriculum” (¶1). See also Matzke and Gross, 2006. This bill was tabled, once its supporters became aware of its violation of the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in Edwards v. Aguillard (Boston, 2007). 64 The disclaimer teachers were directed to read was thus:
The Pennsylvania Academic Standards require students to learn about Darwin’s Theory of Evolution and eventually to take a standardized test of which evolution is a part. Because Darwin’s theory is a theory, it continues to be tested as new evidence is discovered. The Theory is not a fact. Gaps in the Theory exist for which there is no evidence. A theory is defined as a well-tested explanation that unifies a broad range of observations. Intelligent Design is an explanation of the origin of life that differs from Darwin’s view. The reference book, Of Pandas and People, is available for students who might be interested in gaining an understanding of what Intelligent Design actually involves. With respect to any theory, students are encouraged to keep an open mind. The school leaves the discussion of the Origin of Life to individual students and their families. As a Standards-driven district, class instruction focuses upon preparing students to achieve proficiency on Standards-based assessments (quoted in Dover, 2005, pp. 39-43; capitalizations in original).
As noted in Dover (2005), teachers could opt not to read the disclaimer, should they think that it violated their teaching integrity. Should such an instance arise, then a school administrator would read the disclaimer to the class. 65 The warning labels placed in the textbooks read: “This textbook contains material on evolution. Evolution is a theory, not a fact, regarding the origin of living things. This material should be approached with an open mind, studied carefully, and critically considered” (quoted in Selman v. Cobb County School District, 2005, p. 8). The judgment in the case did not address the question of whether or not ID is constitutional for inclusion in public school science curriculum, as that was outside the scope of the case. Rather, the issue before the District Court was whether or not the
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inclusion of the sticker in the biology textbook represented a violation of the Establishment Clause. The Court ruled, ultimately, that it did. See Selman v. Cobb County School District (2005). 66 An important aside note here is that, while the inclusion of ID in the public school science curriculum poses constitutional challenges, the argument that it represents poor pedagogical practice is “unwise educational policy” (Scott, 2006, p. 26). 67 Apple’s (1981) work, in particular, elucidates the relationship between education and hegemony. More specifically, he notes that curriculum must “situate the knowledge, the school and the educator…within the real conditions that ‘determine’ these elements” (p. 121). Educators thus must consider, e.g., issues of hegemony and ideology, at least because these realities both determine the official curriculum, and aid the re-production of the power structures that determined that curriculum in the first instance. Stated differently, educators must consider hegemony and ideology to affect social, economic, and cultural change, at least because these (former two) concepts shape the discourse of the content, as well as the discourse of students’ and teachers’ values, perceptions, and behaviors (Apple, 1990). Apple’s (2001, 1990, 1981; Apple and Christian-Smith, 1991) work thus addresses the complexities of the hidden curriculum, by noting the relationship between education and curriculum, and hegemony and ideology. 68 It perhaps is worth noting here that the fact that groups may enjoy dominant and hegemonic power does not imply necessarily that the associated discourse is incorrect or unjust. Rather, hegemony and attendant discourses can be rendered problematic when, as Lears (1985) notes, these ruling groups “impose a direction on social life [so that] subordinates are manipulatively persuaded to board the ‘dominant fundamental’ express” (p. 568). In addition, that “symbolic universe” in any given society can become hegemonic [if it] can serve the interests of some groups better than others” (Lears, 1985, p. 573). In capitalist societies such as the U.S., then, this sometimes subtle manipulation of that symbolic universe might be accomplished, in addition to the more obvious physical institutions such as schools and churches, through media (Mills, 2000; Strauss, 1995a). More concretely, by diverting the attention of the democratic masses from the economic and political power elite to entertainment and sports, and concurrently presenting such divergences as newsworthy, the power elite can continue to enjoy a level of power, wealth, and prestige that has become institutionalized through the historical re-production and sanctioning of cultural symbols and traditions (Mills, 2000; Strauss, 1995a). Furthermore, and according to Mills (2000), the notion of a balance of power that previously had characterized understandings and approaches to political decisions has become obsolete at the upper and lower ends of the political spectrum. In other words, the idea of a balance of power now rests in middle class notions of justice, and Congress has emerged as the primary political body that wrestles with this interest. Subsequently, this shift in power, from a balanced one, towards one that favors the executive office, gave rise to the political outsider. It is he, rather than the career bureaucrat and civil servant, who has emerged to comprise the political elite. The political outsider’s authority, moreover, stems from his positioning between party politicians, pressure groups, and “outsiders in the executive administration,” and his related skill at mediating interests (Mills, 2000, p. 234). This authority is not legitimated, e.g., by scoring on a qualifying exam; instead, his authority stems from his institutional position. For ID
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supporters, then, the relevance of painting their political position as one (presently) of the outsider can be regarded as tactical; by claiming that Darwinists and modern scientists enjoy a monopoly in scientific discourse, they gain access to that very language that challenges middle class notions of justice (Hunter, 1991; Mills, 2000; Watson, 1997). Furthermore, by obtaining support of state and federal legislators (Mike Lott and Rick Santorum, respectively), ID proponents attain entrée within the institutions, to begin to affect change. In light of the above arguments, one might analyze ID proponents’ attempts to influence school boards and state legislatures, as efforts to gain legitimation for the theory and, subsequently, access to power that otherwise might be denied (e.g., Forrest, 2005a, b; Matzke and Gross, 2006). Stated differently, by gaining access and control to the structural determinants and symbols that re-produce modern societies (e.g., Parsons, 1959), IDT can alter the very fabric of American education and policy. 69 This approach historically has been assumed and enacted in the U.S. by numerous groups, which often have aligned with the political right and religious – typically Protestant – groups. A recent example is the emergence of the Christian Coalition. See Watson (1997). 70 Dembski (2005) references Kuhn’s (1996) work to illustrate his point on the matter. According to Dembski (2005), Kuhn “clearly taught us that the old guard is not going to change its mind. By being wedded to a failing paradigm, they suffer from the misconceptions, blindspots, and prejudices that invariably accrue to a dying system of thought. Intelligent Design is forcefully pointing up those failures” (¶34). 71 Here, one could raise Kuhn’s (1996) question regarding the necessity of identifying new measurements, manipulations, and also providing for a new paradigmatic plan (to determine “the legitimacy both of problems and of proposed solutions”, p. 101) to challenge the validity of ID as a new paradigm. This answer particular question, however, is beyond the scope of this paper. 72 The author wishes to thank S. McGough (2002) for her class discussions on this topic. 73 Hunter (1991) argues that the culture war is more than disagreements regarding definitions of modern science. As he notes, this proverbial war once could be understood to be “primarily a Protestant phenomenon (fundamentalist versus modernist) or a clash between pietists and the deistic and atheistic humanists” (p. 143). This, however, now is insufficient in understanding the very complex essence of the culture war:
The base of active involvement is much wider. And the range of issues has broadened. It is more than a debate about science … more than a debate about the uses and meaning of the Bible. These are no longer the ultimate issues. A completely different approach to public life is at stake, as is a fundamentally different structure of moral logic. (p. 143)
74 This is a document written by ID theorists, and has, as Forrest (2005a, b) notes, “stated goals [which aim] to refashion American culture” to reflect belief in an inherently Judeo- Christian interpretation of God. Indeed, the document’s opening paragraph reads as follows:
The proposition that human beings are created in the image of
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God is one of the bedrock principles on which Western civilization was built. Its influence can be detected in most, if not all, of the West's greatest achievements, including representative democracy, human rights, free enterprise, and progress in the arts and sciences.
The document then proceeds to discuss how its basic tenants will be phased into American culture and policy in the first half of the 21st century (“The Wedge strategy”). See http://www.antievolution.org/features/wedge.html 75 An additional note here is that, unlike the theocracies, e.g., of the Middle East, the majority of religious believers in the U.S. have been able, to date, to adapt their religion to modernity:
The key to making Christianity compatible with modernity was not to get the church to suddenly accept liberal interpretations of theology. It was to modernize society until the churches adapt to the world around them. … Christians live in societies that modernized politically, economically, and socially, and, along the way, adapted their faith. Religion in the Western world is now a source of spiritual inspiration and not a template for day-to-day living. (Zakaria, 2003, p. 150)
In arguing that IDT, and efforts to address it in public policy (which extends to and through education), threaten the dismantling of the liberal, free, and democratic structure of the U.S. government, part of the question might hinge upon the extent to which ID theorists and supporters in fact are adapting their beliefs “with the world around them,” or rejecting it outright. 76 In a new publication, Prothero (2007) argues that U.S. citizens are religiously illiterate at least peripherally speaks to the inclusion of IDT in public school curriculum. Prothero (2007) asserts that instruction about religion is substantively different than instruction in religion, and that the former is necessary at least because of the substantive role that religion historically has played in the U.S. Concurrently, instruction about religion could allow for insight into other religions, a vital point for attempting to understand the current war on terror (Prothero, 2007). Interestingly, Prothero (2007), the chair of the religion department at Boston University, includes ID in his “Dictionary of Religious Literacy” in his discussion/definition of creationism (pp. 171-172).
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