CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

TOLERANCE, HUMILITY, PATIENCE

A PASTOR EXPLAINS HIS HONEST READING OF GENESIS. His scientist friends object, sometimes incorrectly. The conversation ends. A fracture.

I am a skeptic of the conflict. The question of Adam and Eve sits at a fracture in society, but the question itself is an exchange between worlds. In view of this fracture, my goal is to “make room for our differences, even as we maintain our own beliefs and practices.”1 In this way, the fracture might become a crossroads.

Entirely consistent with the evidence, Adam and Eve, ancestors of us all, could have been de novo created, in our recent past. The only way evolutionary science presses on a traditional reading of Genesis is by suggesting, alongside Scripture, that there were people outside the Garden. This account recovers important traditions in the Church, showing they could be true together, alongside the evolutionary account of our origins. Science does not tell us one way or another.

This advance in understanding arises out of ongoing “civic practices rooted in three aspirations: tolerance, humility and patience.”2 Working out these practices, my colleague John Inazu, at the Carver Project in St. Louis, a lawyer, attends to the role of legal authority in society. I am attending to scientific authority. As far as the law is concerned, we are free to believe whatever we want to about human origins, and disagreements will likely persist for a very long time. Public education, however, will always answer to mainstream scientists, and rightly so. Scientists carry immense authority over our account of origins. How should our authority be wielded?

1. 1. The secular scientist has authority in the public square, and our civic practice might serve a common good.

2. 2. The faithful nontraditionalist can make space for those with whom they disagree by making space for the traditional account of Adam and Eve.

3. 3. The committed traditionalist has opportunity for a new confidence. Whether or not evolution is true, they can make space for differences, and for evolutionary science.

4. 4. Common stories in a fractured society are valuable and rare. Larger questions are possible to pursue together in a common narrative of origins.

This book arose from an ongoing civic practice. This practice continues on, as we seek a new sort of community, gathering around the grand questions together. If we can make space for one another, a common narrative could become a meeting ground, even if each of us takes different parts of the story as fact and fiction.

THE SECULAR SCIENTIST

Secular science is a community of scientists that gathers to understand nature in a particular sort of way. As whole, it is not guided by theological agendas. “Secular,” as I am using it here, means “fair,” not antireligious or atheistic. For this reason, science includes atheists and agnostics, but also Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists. Whatever our personal beliefs, we all follow a rigorous set of rules for adjudicating evidential claims, rules I followed here in this book. I am a Christian, but I am also a secular scientist.

Some public scientists are atheists. In 2018, I came into acquaintance with one such scientist, Jerry Coyne. He is an evolutionary biologist of renown, in part for his book Why Evolution Is True.3 In an exchange about my work with the American Association for the Advancement of Science, I was struck by his exquisite sensitivity to how atheists are discussed by Christians.4 It reminded me that the casual (and the vicious) vilification of atheists is far too common and comes with societal consequences. My personal experience with atheists in science, including Coyne, is that they are fair, tolerant, and intelligent, but fiercely committed to the integrity and honesty of science. They are not my enemy. Is the atheist my neighbor?5 Lest there be doubt, the secular scientist is our neighbor. Nothing changes if our neighbor is an atheist, even if of the antireligious sort. We must love our neighbor. If we are to follow Jesus, this is not optional. Scientists, even those we perceive as antireligious atheists, are not enemies. Most scientists seek a real exchange with the religious public where we could make progress with one another.6

This book, moreover, is written following the rules of secular science. It is not a challenge to my colleagues’ understanding of our origins. It is, rather, a better understanding of how human evolution interacts with beliefs outside science. In 2011, Coyne wrote a concise statement of the prevailing consensus on Adam and Eve:

These are the scientific facts. And, unlike the case of Jesus’ virgin birth and resurrection, we can dismiss a physical Adam and Eve with near scientific certainty.7

In context, Coyne is responding to a public controversy about evolutionary science and Adam and Eve. In important ways, Coyne is right. He envisions Adam and Eve as a recent couple without people outside the Garden. This scenario does appear to be ruled out by the evidence. A better response is available now.

If Adam and Eve lived in the recent past, they could be ancestors of everyone, but science demonstrates with near certainty that there were people outside the Garden. How might theologians make sense of this?

This response is entirely aligned with science, making no compromises with the evidence. This response is also tolerant and humble, acknowledging that we have different beliefs about Adam and Eve, and these beliefs might not be changed. It is a patient response too, seeking to listen to theologians. This practice encourages the sort of civic dialogue in which trust can grow.

In early 2019, I came into acquaintance with Richard Lenski, a leading scientist who studies evolution in bacteria. The two of us, along with Nathan Lents, authored a review of an Intelligent Design book.8 Displeased with our review, they called us “Darwinists,” which is code for “anti-religious.” Lenski pointed me to a quote he treasures from an old book called Telliamed. Says the Indian philosopher to the French missionary,

Things I intend to communicate to you; perhaps they will at first appear to you opposite to what is contained in your sacred books, yet I hope in the end to convince you that they are not really so.9

A conversation about origins begins. Science seems, at first, opposite of deeply held religious beliefs (fig. 18.1). Perhaps this is not so. Lenski admires the Indian philosopher’s tolerant, humble, and patient sentiment. I do too. Science is doing fine as it is; we need not change it. Scientists carry authority in the public square. We do good by exercising this authority with virtue.

THE NONTRADITIONALIST

Some Christians take ahold of evolutionary science by affirming a nontraditional account of Adam and Eve, rather than the traditional account as it was defined in this book. At the same time, they affirm many far more important traditional doctrines, such as the Resurrection of Jesus. They may also hold a faithful view of Scripture, perhaps consistent with other traditions in the Church.

Nontraditionalists often press the false dilemmas of evolution, offering their understanding of Adam and Eve as the solution to the challenge of evolutionary science. In a recent book, for example, scientist Dennis Venema argued science demonstrated that Adam and Eve did not exist; theologian Scot McKnight concorded with a mythical Adam and Eve in his reading of Genesis.10 Promoting this message, evolutionary creationists at BioLogos argued for a decade that the traditional account of Adam and Eve was ruled out by scientific evidence. Though evolutionary creationists still “dismiss” the traditional account, to their credit, they now admit it is not ruled out by evidence.11 Certainly, some versions of the traditional account are in conflict with evolutionary science. Some versions, though, are not in conflict. Evolutionary creationists may continue to dismiss the traditional account, or perhaps they will adapt. Whatever they choose to do, as long as there are people outside the Garden, nothing in evolutionary science itself unsettles the traditional account.

Humility, tolerance, and patience are important guides, guarding against abuse of scientific authority. Tim Keller confessed his belief in the de novo creation of Adam and Eve. Evolutionary creationists might be convinced Keller is wrong, but in humility they could accept they may not be able to change his mind. In tolerance, they could make space for Keller, even though they disagree with him. In place of confrontation, Haarsma could have invited Keller into science, explaining how de novo creation could be understood alongside evolution. In patience, then, she could have sought to understand why Keller affirms a traditional reading of Genesis.

A practice like this serves the Church, and it also serves science. Some reject the nontraditional theology of evolutionary creationists, but they might find other ways to approach mainstream science. More of society is welcomed into science as we make space for differences.

Figure 18.1. The traditional de novo account of Adam and Eve situates itself within a mystery. In science, Adam and Eve fall outside the genetic streetlight. Evolution plays out in the mystery outside the Garden, and science gives us information to fill in details of this mystery. Binding together several traditions in the churches, this account affirms the monogenetic de novo creation of Adam and Eve, and it accommodates literalism. Adam and Eve’s lineage began within a larger population and became everyone to the “ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

THE TRADITIONALIST

The shift in our understanding creates new space for traditionists. Traditionalists are often boxed in to defensively resisting evolution, forced to find comfort in an oppositional stand against mainstream science. There is a better way. A confident traditionalist could arise, unthreatened by evolution.

I closely read what traditionalists write, attentive to their concerns and objections. In November of 2017, a large edited volume was published.12 This tome of 1,007 pages included scientific, philosophical, and theological critiques of evolutionary creation. The most cogent critiques were in the theological section, edited by the theologian Wayne Grudem. He explains why traditionalists oppose evolution, focusing almost exclusively on Adam and Eve.13 But, as this book shows, evolutionary science should not unsettle the traditionalist. If there is a conflict, it is between traditional and nontraditional theology of Adam and Eve, not with evolutionary science itself. As I wrote in response to Grudem,

I see firsthand the strength of evolutionary science. What version of theistic evolution could be theologically sound? This question, I hope, can be received with empathy by a new generation of theologians. Help us find a better way.14

A recovery of the traditional account is a better way. For decades now, over a century, the argument about evolution has continued. In place of endless argument, join a new narrative. Creationists from Reasons to Believe and Concordia Seminary in St. Louis participated in the workshops for this book, even though they do not affirm evolution. We found a recovery of traditional theology together.

A traditional view of Scripture, also, is served with a practice of humility, tolerance, and patience. If we are to recover the traditional account, however, let us reject wooden traditionalism that forces agreement everywhere. Scientific authority is easily abused, and so is religious authority. Let us foster a larger ecclesial conversation, where faithful heterodoxy is accepted, perhaps even valued, as we make space for differences. In this larger conversation, in place of conflict and division, the many-colored wisdom of God might become visible to us all.

A COMMON STORY

Evolutionary science splintered the traditional account of Adam and Eve, fracturing our common narrative. The splintering can be undone. A larger narrative contains the origin story of evolutionary science, and it also contains the traditional account of Adam and Eve.

In the wasteland of origins, virtue can arise. If we make space for one another, with tolerance, humility, and patience, I wonder if new sorts of beauty might arise. Some are convinced evolution is a myth. Others are convinced that Adam and Eve are a myth. One person’s fact might be another’s fiction, but they both can enter the same narrative, at a crossroads of many questions. Meeting grounds like this are rare, and they have value.

• ■ How do we understand the human condition in an age of edited genomes and a rapidly changing human experience?

• ■ What is the meaning of our distant past, and how does it shape who we are in this moment? As ancient genomes are sequenced, what are the hidden histories we will find?

• ■ What is a good dominion over the environment, and how might we have corrupted nature? Is there a moral meaning to scientific questions like climate change?

• ■ What is a good dominion with each other? What is the corruption? How do we live together, through differences, without abusing power?

• ■ Will we remember our shared history of polygenesis in science and in theology? How do we truthfully receive this inheritance?

• ■ How do we think about justice in a world with inheritance? We inherit different starting points, and the generations before us were not perfect. What could justice be in the reality of our conflicted world?

These questions are important to all of us, no matter what we believe about evolution or Adam and Eve. They are difficult questions and resist simple answers. These are questions of society, best understood when we engage them together. This is the societal value of common narratives. They are meeting grounds from which to engage larger questions together.

The novel My Ishmael meets us in this common narrative.15 A man answers an ad in a newspaper, “Teacher seeks pupil. Must have an earnest desire to save the world. Apply in person.” Answering the ad, the man finds himself in a room with a live gorilla, Ishmael. He is the Teacher. The gorilla is sentient, communicating telepathically with the pupil of Abel and Cain, the Leavers and the Takers. The benevolent Leavers of Abel were hunters and gathers in the ancient past, who leave what they do not need for others. The malicious Takers of Cain are totalitarian agriculturalists, who took all the land for themselves, whether they needed it or not. The gorilla infers that the story of Adam and Eve was written by the Leavers to explain the Takers’ evil civilization. If the myth were written by the Takers, the gorilla reasons, Adam would not have fallen. The Takers, however, misunderstood the myth. They lionize Adam as the hero, thereby enacting his villainy into the world. We are the Takers.

Deeper the story goes, exploring our complex anxieties about civilization, progress, and our effect on the world around us. Into this story all of us enter, whatever we think about Adam and Eve and evolution. Some might understand this, possibly, as a real history. Others enjoy a mere myth, spun by a fictional gorilla, speaking to larger questions. This is the beauty of common stories. They are meeting grounds, even if we disagree on which parts of the narrative are fact or fiction.

THE STORIED QUESTION

This is a conversation among scholars, but it is also a conversation in the Church and in society. Origins is not merely a technical topic of academic curiosity alone. It, instead, brings us to one of the grand questions: What does it mean to be human?

A recent science fiction series, Altered Carbon, envisions immortality in a fallen world. Technology stolen from angels severs the soul; the wealthy live forever by jumping from body to body. These fallen immortals rule over the rest of humanity in a truly evil system, the sort of evil that death prevents. Hundreds of bodies later, are they even human? Is death a gift or a curse in a fallen world?

Quellcrist warns us, “Death was the ultimate safeguard against the darkest angels of our nature. Now the monsters among us will own everything, consume everything, control everything.” Hundreds of bodies later, are they even human?

Then there is Battlestar Galactica, a futuristic exploration of our past. Commander Adama foreshadows adam of the adamah. The odyssey ends in a providential fall from heaven, into the speculative narrative of this book. Origins is timeless, a living part of our inheritance, continually inviting us into the questions of the human condition.

A distinctive feature of the human condition is to be lost in contemplation of what it means to be human. This contemplation motivates all great art, literature, and philosophy. As far as we know, neither chimpanzees nor gorillas are in contemplation of “what it means to be chimpanzee” or “what it means to be gorilla.” This feature of humans is . . . very peculiar.16

Awareness of ancestry might be unique to humans too. Killer whales and elephants form maternal multigenerational communities, in which grandmothers recognize their grandchildren. The connection between grandfathers and grandchildren, however, might be uniquely human. My two-year-old son spent Thanksgiving with my father months before he died last year. My son may one day share photos of their time together with his children, my grandchildren. We are aware of the long chain of ancestry that gives rise to us, a chain that might continue on long after us. This is what it means to be human . . . but only just in part.

The grandness of the question unsettles simple answers. Origins, nonetheless, brings us here. Let us wonder together who Adam and Eve could have been. What might it mean to be human?