For much of recorded history, intelligent design was the default. The idea that living beings and the universe were the result of intentional action rather than impersonal forces was the assumed rational position. From Moses to Cicero, Pythagoras to Pascal, men viewed nature as a divinely composed message. Darwin arrived in the 1800s and many believed he dispatched this view of the world with his theory of biological emergence. Yet the rise of intelligent design (ID) in the ’90s renewed interest in the hypothesis that nature could be the result of intelligent agent action. ID scientists and philosophers made their arguments to a listening public, scholars bearing impressive credentials from illustrious institutions. They published papers in peer-reviewed journals, wrote books, and were invited to give talks at universities around the world. They were on television and in magazines. Times were good.
The backlash was swift and brutal. The small group of renegade thinkers were forced to fight uncomfortable battles in unusual battlegrounds: courtrooms and HR departments. Many lost their jobs. Almost all lost their platforms. But the core group of ID scholars remained intact. They stuck together and somehow survived. The movement persists. Arguably, it has continued to grow and flourish.
I count myself among their number as a more recent addition.
Cast Away
Being an ID scientist isn’t easy. Though we’ve weathered backlash, we remain cautious and vulnerable. We are survivors in a lifeboat. We keep afloat by the conviction that implossible scenarios remain poor explanations. The language of intention pervades nature, from DNA’s digital dialect to the mathematical expressions that underpin physics. Nature testifies. We stay busy on the boat, deepening our understanding of the created world. But food is rationed and we remain exposed.
It takes persistence to remain on board. Not everyone is cut out for the life of a maligned academic. It costs. I’ve noticed some traits of those who remain, born of necessity. Those without these traits won’t make it. I’ve also noticed how the boat shapes us and our movement.
Ego Is Insufferable
There is no room for ego on such a boat. As a rule, ID scholars tend to be fairly humble. They don’t push themselves to the forefront or demand recognition. After all, what’s the point of being at the front of a lifeboat?
Many in our ID community have remarkable talents and gifts. Some are natural leaders, guiding the vessel, while others are busy at the oars, doing the difficult work of pushing science forward. Talent doesn’t always translate into position, which can discourage and disappoint. Power without position breeds resentment, as the Devil can attest. ID scholars are remarkable in their ability to resist this impulse. We must — we couldn’t function as a small scholarly community if the gifted demanded to take over. The ship would veer off course.
Sometimes our gifts aren’t properly recognized, but we still continue to use them. We content ourselves with knowing we each play a role, and every role matters. Those who lead, lead with grace. Those who speak defend all of us. Those who write explain and implore. ID benefits. We all matter and none matters more than others.
I’ve seen some come into our community and demand recognition for their gifts. They never last long. Others become bitter at a perceived lack of progress and attempt to wrest the reins of leadership. They criticize and demean. What they can’t do is lead. None of us wants a leader of that sort.
We want the leaders we already have. Men like Steve Meyer, Paul Nelson, William Dembski, and Michael Behe. They don’t demand adherence, they command respect. They lead humbly.
The boat couldn’t uphold the weight of massive ego.
Fellowship Makes Boat-Life Bearable
The ups and downs of academic tides are only bearable because of my brothers and sisters in the boat. Fellowship uplifts. Fellowship restores and encourages. Fellowship keeps us grounded and focused on the voyage ahead.
A friend once called the semi-annual ID conference “summer camp for nerds.” He was right: our get-togethers are like camp in all the best ways. I relish my time among ID scholars because ID SCHOLARS ARE A JOY TO BE AROUND. They’re open to questioning everything. They’re just as open to being questioned themselves. They are well-read and well-rounded. Conversations move between biology, philosophy, engineering, history, and theology, seamlessly. We laugh — at ourselves, at our intellectual adversaries, and at the absurdity of having to fight just to question scientific dogma. Our humor can be dark, but our hearts are light. We bear light.
The fellowship of my friends is worth the hatred of my enemies.
Wa’a Kaulua
I’ve used the metaphor of a lifeboat. Over time our vessel has actually become more like a wa’a kaulua, a voyaging canoe. It is a community on the water, being built up as we voyage. We’ve gathered together a host with diverse skills and experiences. As our community grows, so does our ambition. We chart new courses, and step into the confidence that comes from mastering choppy waters and surviving past storms. Our defensive refuge has become a spearhead.
We need more hands on deck.
There is room to join us. Perhaps your particular skills can help build the floating city we envision. You may have skills in administration or visual art. Maybe you’re a vibe coder or a songwriter. A podcaster, pastor, poet, or producer. We could use your help. I don’t know what your talents are, but I know that unassuming talents often help in unexpected ways. The tent is big and the ocean is wide.
We also need supplies from the mainland.
He who provides the net shares the catch. As Jesus said, “The one who receives a righteous man because he is righteous will receive a righteous man’s reward.” To support our work is to become part of it. Not everyone is a scientist or mathematician. Some are entrepreneurs and executives. We need you. Without resources our movement stalls. We’ll never reach the shores we’re aiming for.
The role of the patron is vital, as it has been since the advent of modern science. The Medici family paved the way for Renaissance Florence. Their profits supported Galileo and da Vinci. The name Medici lives on through that patronage. You may not be a Medici or a Musk. Small, steady support is just as vital. If you believe in the vision, support the work in proportion to your means.
Kevin Kelly introduced the concept of “1,000 True Fans.” The idea was simple: you can succeed in any venture if you can find 1,000 individuals who are excited enough about your work to spend $100 a year on it. That’s it. An artist who receives $100 from 1,000 supporters will have a six-figure salary (modulo expenses), and be able to support himself or herself. Similarly, 1,000 hundred-dollar donations can support a budding researcher.
If you have $100 a year, you can support a budding researcher. Fund the change you want to see in the world.
The more abundant the rations, the less we focus on food.
Reaching Shore
Lastly, we need a safe harbor. A place to establish research labs and schools. Somewhere to dock amid storms. A destination where we can send our most promising scholars without forcing them to take a vow of poverty. Where we can attract and retain talent. Where ID scholars can work and ultimately flourish.
Somewhere we can call home.
Postscript: A friend wrote to suggest that since the number of active ID researchers and scientists has now grown to thousands, a better analogy would be a cruise ship of ID. I don’t disagree. I hope my metaphor doesn’t distract us from the real growth our movement has seen over the past twenty years.
Cross-posted from George D. Montañez on Substack.