Debating and not

Last night I went to a debate Accent put on over the origins of the universe. About 1000 people came, I think. Most of the time debates like this are like football games: no one is going to think less of themselves if their school loses, but you sure will think more of yourself if your school wins. At the beginning, the Christian debater, Dr. Jacoby, asked the audience how many were open to the idea that God could have created the universe. About half raised their hands. I thought he made a good move by establishing that about half the audience were lying to themselves, because then he knew where to go with his presentation. You don't go to a debate to decide, you go because you want to hear your thoughts amplified smartly.

Dr. Jacoby did a good job amplifying my thoughts. Why do people think that evolution and the Bible are at odds with each other? Well, Dr. Jacoby was trained as a historian, so he gave us a very interesting historical answer: apparently the dominant thought was a long-earth theory, and after Darwin published his answer many Christians were in agreement with it, until one of Darwin's proponents aggressively came after people as if it were a choice. Ever since, people have had to choose between God and evolution. After that five minute historical overview, he spent the rest of his time talking about how evolution was unlikely without a God.

The other guy, Dr. Shermer, did a really good job amplifying Alex's thoughts: you can't prove God doesn't exist, but you can keep pushing him back. Why do planets orbit in a plane? God. Until you figure out the math behind it, and then God has to be crammed into the next smallest unsolvable problem. You can claim Christianity and evolution can coexist, but if the mechanism for the origins of life can be explained by repeated observation (that is, science), what does "God" even mean?

Dr. Jacoby framed the debate well by saying (in different words), "How the world came to be is important, but not really." Religion doesn't exist to compete with science; it competes for our souls.

Then they had a question-answer time. I lined up and listened to ridiculously stubborn questioners press their enemy for answers: "But if life can't come from nothing, then where did that first cell come from? Huh? Huh? Where did life come from, then?" And so on.

I had a reasonable question. One other person had a good question, too. There weren't any good questions to ask the athiest; we've had our whole lives acclimating to that mentality. The one guy's question had to do with the theological implications of evolution: doesn't evolution mean that things died, and that in the time of Eden (whatever that means) the world wasn't perfect?

Dr. Jacoby said that sin results in spiritual death, and that physical death isn't that big of a deal. In a way, I can see what he means: just eating breaks down plant life. However, God killing the lamb to cover Adam and Eve's sin wasn't new just because it was killing. It was new because the lamb died. To me, the problem is still unresolved.

My question was similar in spirit. I wrote it down so I wouldn't fumble at the mic, so I can quote exactly: "The Biblical account of creation details six days of God working and one day of his rest, and that's the foundation for the Israelites observing the Sabbath. So whether we interpret the days of creation literally as days or figuratively as eons, the process according to the Bible is finished. But as soon as we accept any level of evolution, species are no longer static. If God used evolution until now he still is today. Are we in Day 6 of creation?"

Dr. Jacoby answered unsatisfactorily by saying that if God doing anything is him creating, then obviously he's still creating. (But I wasn't calling anything God does "creating"; I was talking about species of animals.)

I do want to say that the part I remember most about the entire evening was the girl in front of me. I actually didn't deserve to ask my question. Time was running out and the moderator said there was time left for three more questions. I was the fourth one, and lightly pressed the usher guarding our mic to extend it one, which he said was out of his power. But then the girl in front of me, who I had talked to a little bit ("There haven't even been any girls!" she said when it looked hopeless for us. "Yeah, I think they should just move you to the front," I agreed.), turned around and asked what my question was. I gave her the gist of it, she thought for a second, and then she declared, "Your question is better than mine" and walked away to my faint protest.

And I remember her kindness more than I do the athiest's jabs at Bush or the Christian's facts and dates. Who knew that the best part of the debate for me was the part furthest from debating?