It is a well-known fact that Charles Darwin, the author of that famous, and at the same time infamous, book entitled On the Origin of Species, used to be all over the religious map during his lifetime (1809-1882). Darwin’s personal beliefs remain ambiguous. I think what expresses his ambiguity best is what he wrote in a letter to J.D. Hooker (1861): “My theology is a simple muddle; I cannot look at the universe as the result of blind chance, yet I can see no evidence of beneficent design, or indeed of design of any kind, in the details.”

Did Darwin ever become an atheist? Again, the evidence is rather ambivalent. Even if he did become an atheist, such may have happened after he developed his theory, but not necessarily because of his theory; in his own words, it was the devastating loss of his ten-year-old daughter Annie that made him an agnostic. However, being an agnostic or even an atheist would not really affect the validity of his evolutionary theory.

Where Did Darwin Go Astray?

 
It is not my intention in this article to analyze Darwin’s shortcomings in either biology or theology, but I do think there is a strong flaw in his philosophy, which may have been the ultimate cause that steered him in the wrong direction in terms of both his biology and his theology.

My starting point is one of the statements he makes in his autobiography. When he expresses his doubts about the claims theism makes, he says that the theory of natural selection makes him wonder whether “the mind of man, which has, as I fully believe, been developed from a mind as low as that possessed by the lowest animal, [can] be trusted when it draws such grand conclusions.” And again in a letter to W. Graham in 1881, “Would anyone trust in the convictions of a monkey’s mind, if there are any convictions in such a mind?”

I would say Darwin does make a great point here: If the human mind is the mere product of natural selection, we cannot trust any of the conclusions it draws. Curiously enough, though, Darwin applies this insight only to any theological conclusions one might make but not to his own biological conclusions. He doesn’t seem to realize that when he discards theistic claims, he should also discard his own evolutionary claims, because he strongly believes that both are the mere product of natural selection.

It seems very obvious to me that even Darwin’s own theory of natural selection has run into trouble here, by cutting off our reason for reasoning, because once I take natural selection to be the only power shaping me and my mind—in the same way it shapes my DNA—I would have reason to doubt what my rational capacities are really worth. And evolutionary theory happens to be fully dependent on these very capacities—which fact gives it a rather shaky basis.

Somehow, as far as I know, Darwin never fully realized how serious this complication is.  I call that Darwin’s “blind spot.” Darwin was not able, or perhaps not willing, to think outside the Darwinian box, so he missed out on the vast meta-physical territory located outside his physical box. Does this mean that his theory is in serious trouble? It is not, if we take his theory for what it is worth, but it is, if we stretch its scope beyond what it is supposed to cover. Let me explain.

Is Darwinism in trouble?

 
What Darwin did—and what made his evolutionary theory so revolutionary—is that he approached all aspects of life as natural phenomena, which are to be explained by natural causes and physical laws, embodied in objectively testable theories. He was right: If science does not go to its limits, it would be a failure. Thus, modern biology was born. I consider this a great part of Darwin’s legacy, but again, it may not be the end of the story.

Darwin’s theory would be in real trouble, though, if we lose sight of the fact that all scientific theories only achieve local successes that cannot claim any universal validity.  Yet, Darwin gave his biological claims much more power than they actually had; he tried to give them universal validity. He claimed that his biological theory explained not only biological phenomena, but also all other phenomena outside the biological realm—such as sociology, psychology, and even religion. Darwin himself may not have explicitly done so, but his “disciple,” the philosopher Herbert Spencer, definitely did.

I think it’s needless to say that, in all such cases, the boundaries of the underlying theory are being grossly overstepped. Whenever this happens, we end up with an “ism,” an ideology similar to atomism, physicism, evolutionism, materialism, scientism, and so on. All “isms” tend to go overboard; they love to simplify the vast complexity of reality into a simple model; they replace reality with one of its specific maps.

Darwin Himself Is “More” Than a Product of Evolution

 
When he came up with the theory of natural selection, Darwin somehow didn’t realize that he was “more” than one of the products of natural selection. The philosopher Peter Kreeft, for instance, places this philosophical truth in the right context when he says that a projector must be “more” than the images it projects in the same way as a copy machine must be “more” than the copies it makes—or put in more general terms, the knowing subject must be “more” than the known object.

In a similar vein, when Darwin discovered the law of natural selection, he must have been “more” than the theory he discovered. If he were not, he would run into a serious problem of circularity. Even if the theory of natural selection in itself is not the product of natural selection, it still is a product of the human mind (Darwin’s, to be precise).

So I think we should come to an important conclusion: Even when they study the human brain as an object of science, scientists also need the human mind as the subject of science—for without the human mind, with its intellect and rationality, there would be no science at all. One would need a mind before one can study the brain! We have definitely entered meta-physical territory here—unfortunately located on Darwin’s “blind spot.”

Darwin could have cleared the confusion he had created for himself if he could just acknowledge that the human mind is not a product of natural selection. The human brain (including its intelligence) may be a product of natural selection, but that doesn’t mean the human mind (including its intellect) is too. As a matter of fact, the theory of natural selection must assume the human mind, but it can neither create it nor explain it. The brain cannot study itself; we do need a mind to study the brain. So the mind must have another origin than the brain. I would even go further and claim that the mind must be something made in God’s image, a take-off of the Creator’s mind.

Whereas it was Darwin’s conclusion that we cannot trust anything we know about God, I would rather argue the opposite—that we cannot trust anything we know at all if there were no God.
 
 
(Image credit: The Guardian)

Modern biology makes us believe that we descended from the animal world and that we are nothing more than glorified animals. However, even if we did descend from the animal world, that doesn’t mean all our characteristics were transferred to us through genes and umbilical cords. For example, our anatomy and physiology did come from there, but what about our rationality and morality? In this article, I will focus on morality alone and argue that what sets us apart from the animal world is exactly the fact that we are rational and moral beings who can make rational and moral decisions. Take rationality or morality away from us, and we are indistinguishable from animals.

Is there Morality in the Animal World?

 
Morality is about what we owe others, our duties, and what others owe us, our rights. Morality is unconditional. Most other rules and laws tell us what we should do in order to reach a certain goal—they are conditional, means-to-other-ends. For instance, if you want to learn, you must do this; if you want to recover from a cold, you must do that, and so on. Moral laws and rules, on the other hand, are based on absolute, universal, non-negotiable moral values, so they are un-conditional ends in themselves. Morality tells us what ought to be done—no matter what, whether we like it or not, whether we feel it or not, or whether others enforce it or not.

Animals, however, live in a world of “what is,” not of “what ought to be.” They can just follow whatever pops up in their brains. The relationship between predator and prey, for instance, has nothing to do with morality. If predators really had to act morally, their lives would be pretty tough. Animals never do awful things out of meanness or cruelty, for the simple reason that they have no morality—and thus no cruelty or meanness. But humans definitely do have the capacity of performing real atrocities.

On the other hand, if animals do seem to do awful things, it’s only because we as human beings consider their actions “awful” according to our own standards of morality. Yet, we will never arrange court sessions for grizzly bears that maul hikers, because they are not morally responsible for their actions.

Where Does Morality Come From?

 
Once we accept this, we might wonder where our morality comes from, if not from the animal world. Is it still something anchored in our genes? Some biologists think that evolutionary biology can explain how humanity acquired its morality. The moral value of paternal care for children, for instance, must be a product of natural selection, for fathers who don’t feel an “instinctive” responsibility towards their underage children would reduce their offspring’s reproductive success. In this line of thought, moral values would just be inborn, a product of evolution.

What is wrong with such a viewpoint? My fundamental question to these biologists is as follows: Why would we need an articulated moral rule to reinforce what “by nature” we would or would not desire to do anyway? Reality tells us that far too many people are willing to break a moral rule when they can get away with it. As a matter of fact, moral laws tell us to do what our genes do not make us do “by nature.” The offenders of moral laws—the killers and the promiscuous—would actually reproduce much better than their victims. Since moral laws are not means to other ends, they have no survival value, and therefore cannot be promoted by natural selection.

Well, if biology cannot explain morality, perhaps it can steer our morality. Consider, for instance, the abortion debate. The moral value of human life has often been based on biological criteria, such as the extent of cerebral activity. The “moral argument” goes along these lines: The more cerebral activity there is, the more value a human life has, and therefore, the more protection it deserves.

The problem with this viewpoint is that we try to base absolute moral values on relative biological characteristics. Let me quote an example Abraham Lincoln used. Honest Abe asked people why they think enslaving others isn’t morally wrong. Is it because of their darker skin color? If so, he said, you might be next when someone with a lighter skin color would show up to enslave you. Is it because of a lower intelligence? If so, you might be next when someone more intelligent than you wants to enslave you, etc. Lincoln’s point is clear: Moral values cannot be counted or measured like numeric values can be. They are unquantifiable; they do not depend on non-moral properties and cannot be defined in non-moral terms.

There is another reason why biology cannot help us when it comes to morality. Moral values make for universal, absolute, objective, and binding prescriptions. They are ends-in-themselves—and never means-to-other-ends. As I said earlier, there’s nothing “useful” about them. If anyone ever wonders why a certain act (say, saving a human life) is “good” in this moral sense, we have no explanation to offer and cannot refer to other ends; all we can say is “It’s self-evident.” The “moral eye” sees values in life, just like the “physical eye” sees colors in nature. Like mathematical laws, moral laws are intrinsically right, even when we do not see yet that they are. C.S. Lewis put it well: “The human mind has no more power of inventing a new value than of imagining a new primary color.”

Don’t Moral Values Change, Though?

 
The answer is, "No, it’s not the moral values that change but rather our moral evaluations, that is, the way we discern moral values." A few centuries ago, for instance, slavery was not evaluated as morally wrong, but nowadays it is by most people. Did our moral values change? No, they did not; but our evaluations certainly did. Only a few people in the past were able to discern the objective and universal value of personal freedom and human dignity (versus slavery), whereas most of their contemporaries were blind toward this value.

So where do our morals and moral values come from then? The answer is quite straightforward: They are not products of evolution but gifts of creation. They are “evident” because they are “God-given.” Human rights are not man-made entitlements but God-given rights that we cannot invent and manipulate at will. The only authority that can obligate you or me is Someone infinitely superior to me.

Without God, we would have no right to claim any rights. Even an atheist such as the French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre realized this when he said: If atheism is true, there can be no absolute or objective standard of right and wrong, for there is no eternal heaven that would make values objective and universal. If rights really came from men, and not God, men could take them away anytime—and they certainly have tried many times.

To say it another way, there has got to be an eternal heaven for our moral values so as to make them objective and universal. No wonder the Ten Commandments were etched in stone, but certainly not in our genes.
 
 
(Image credit: Wallpapers Wiki)

However, this belief came under attack when scientists—still called “natural philosophers” at the time—began searching for physical and material explanations, for eternal physical laws that regulate falling bodies and the motion of planets.  It is at this point in the discussion that Charles Darwin comes into the picture. He replaced teleological explanations with physical explanations in terms of what he called natural selection. According to some, Darwin rephrased teleology from an “a priori drive” to an “a posteriori result.” Was this the end of teleology? Darwin may have thought it was, but let’s find out.

Biology Has a Teleological Dimension

 
What makes biology so inherently teleological? Biological features can be understood in terms of effects—that is, in terms of survival problems that need to be effectively solved. In other words, they serve a function; the green color of a caterpillar has a function, namely, to deceive potential predators; such is their end or goal—or in more neutral, biological terms, such is their function. One could also say that camouflage is “for” deceiving, just like a knife is “for” cutting. So in biology, it remains very common to ask what a feature is “for.” Just like pumps are for pumping (that’s their desired effect), so eye patterns on butterfly wings are “for” protection (that’s the advantageous effect it has on fending enemies off). This is a function of eye patterns, but certainly not a purpose or intention of butterflies.

Prior to any talk of evolutionary theory, William Paley (1743-1805) had argued that something as beautifully designed as the universe must have had a Designer, just like a watch does. In the footsteps of Paley, Darwin also saw a beautiful design in nature, but unlike Paley, he viewed nature as something designed by the trial-and-error test of natural selection during a process of evolutionary change. No matter what, in either case, the results must be design-like (in the sense of well-adapted), because if they were not, they simply would not work in solving problems. If the eye lens, for example, did not function like a physical lens, one would not see very well. There is teleology again.

Apparently, biological features can have and do have effects that are advantageous (or detrimental) to various degrees. But how that is possible in itself is an altogether different story—actually a meta-physical story.

The Metaphysics of Teleology

 
Somehow our universe has been designed in such a way that specific designs do work, whether it is for better or for worse. It is only due to this metaphysical notion of design and teleology that we can talk about biological designs; all biological designs are “design-based” designs. It is one of the most perplexing things about our universe that it allows for any kind of design to work the way it works.

Did Darwin ignore this part of the story? Or did he really discard teleology? Some keep stressing that he replaced teleology with the causality of natural selection. One of them was George Bernard Shaw who once said that Charles Darwin threw Paley’s “watch” into the ocean. Well, Shaw was wrong. If Darwin did throw something away, it was Paley’s “watchmaker,” but certainly not his famous “watch.” Darwin never threw away the design concept—it was actually essential to his theory.

The artifact analogy of design is as basic to Darwinism as it is to Paley’s natural theology. Since the heart is designed like a pump, it is a successful design “for” circulating blood. After Darwin, the heart still existed “for” circulation; the cause of its existence may have been different, but its teleology was not. However, Darwin ignored, or at least bypassed, the following question: How come that certain biological designs “work,” and are “successful” and “effective” in reaching their “goal”? What is it that makes them “goal-directed”? What carries them through the filter of natural selection?

It’s here that teleology keeps coming back. There is teleology in the biological world because the animate world is design-like—as much so as there is teleology in the technical world of designers because that world is design-like as well. Natural selection may explain that a fine working design has a better chance of being reproduced, but ultimately it cannot explain why such a design is working so well.

And that’s where teleology is needed—even in Darwinism. In that sense, Darwin did not change teleology from an “a priori drive” into an “a posteriori result.” Teleology is not a biological outcome a posteriori but a metaphysical given a priori. Natural selection does not create teleology, but its working is based on teleology.

Where Does Teleology Come From?

 
The answer may seem mystifying at first sight: Teleology must have been built into nature—as some kind of all-pervasive architecture. It may be so all-pervasive, though, that it easily escapes attention. Natural selection on its own cannot do the “job” unless it works within a framework of purpose and design. Without this “cosmic design,” there couldn’t even be any natural selection. Natural selection can only select those specific designs that are in accordance with the cosmic design (by the way, designers, engineers, and architects must do the same thing).

As it turns out, science does not operate in a vacuum, but it works within a philosophical framework of pre-existing assumptions—and one of them is teleology (some call it cosmic teleology, in distinction from the older idea that biological designs are the product of predetermined goals).  Darwin may have thought he could reduce teleology to causality, but his causality mechanism of natural selection can only work on condition that there is teleology in nature. There is “something” in successful biological designs that carries them through the filter of natural selection. To put it briefly, organisms are not teleological because they have survived; on the contrary, their survival is mainly due to the fact that they are teleological. Creation is “loaded” with cosmic design, just like a dice that constantly throws a six must be loaded.

Let me come to a conclusion. The inescapable idea behind all of this is that our universe is ultimately an “intelligent project,” created by an Intelligent Designer. The assumption of a Creator would explain that the universe exists and is what it is; and the assumption of a cosmic design would explain why the universe is this way. In that sense, even Darwinism needs some Divine Help—whether its fans like it or not. There is no way Darwinism could survive without teleology.
 
 
(Image credit: AJ MacDonald)