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		© James Bejon Print-friendly version
		Life presents us with many questions. Some are trivial. Others are decidedly non-trivial: "What is life all about?", "How should we best live it?", and so on. However, it is hard to see how we can answer such questions in anything but a subjective manner ("To me, life is about such-and-such a thing") unless we can first explain how we came to occupy our current position in the universe—we being homo sapiens.
		Two very different explanations are commonly proffered. The first tells us that we are the creation of a transcendent Creator. The second tells us that we were formed over the course of billions of years by the chance-plus-law combination that is evolutionary theory. Suppose, then, I want to find out which of these explanations is the most plausible. How am I to do such a thing? Given that my primary interest is in seeing how life's history unfolded, one would think that the fossil record was as good a place to look as any.
		Over the years, however, as I have read what other people have written about the fossil record, I have identified two main problems with their writings. (My own writings, of course, are beyond reproach). First, their presuppositions have not been examined critically enough. Second, the many different issues involved in interpreting life's fossil record—philosophical, paleontological, biological, and so on—have rarely been connected. That is, where the findings of one disciples have borne out the findings of another, the threads have not normally been drawn together. Third, the big picture of the fossil record has quickly been lost amongst more detailed considerations. That is, questions like "When I consider the record of the rocks, does it look like life has gradually evolved from a common ancestor?" have soon turned into questions like "Are the anatomical features of the tiktaalik genuinely transitional?" and "Where does the OH-62 fossil fit into the hominid lineage?" and, as a result, the reader has lost sight of the bigger picture.
		My aim in this essay, therefore, is to consider things at a distance—to consider the various assumptions evolutionists make when interpreting the fossil record, the general pattern of the fossil record as a whole, the plausibility of evolutionism's rivals, and what we can learn from all this.
		...an overview...
		The central claim of this essay is simple: that life's fossil record doesn't look the way it should given the truth of evolutionary theory. However, in light of the above, I feel I need to present my claim in the context of a much wider argument contending:
			a] that there is no necessary conflict between the study of science and the study of theology; b] that when it comes to investigating the issue of "life's origins"—the issue of how life's various species arrived at their present state—the theologian's presuppositions enjoy an openness and consistency absent from those of the scientist; c] that life's fossil data at best fails to support and at worst disconfirms evolutionary theory. In other words, judging by the fossil record, it doesn't look as if evolutionary processes played much of a part in life's origins; d] that naturalism has great difficulties in accounting for life's specifically improbable information-content—which is another reason to affirm c]; e] that "the design hypothesis" explains the pattern of the fossil record far more naturally and adequately than does evolutionary theory, and is by no means gratuitous; and f] that, if the design hypothesis is true (and if the designer in question is the God of the Christian faith—which for the purposes of this essay, I will take as a given), then this fact should radically change our lives.
		Nothing too contentious, then. So, with this overview in mind, I'll begin. First, though, some introductory remarks.
		...introductory remarks...
		Most people have an opinion on the evolutionism-creationism debate, and most people hold to that opinion fairly strongly. Few, however, have given the issue serious consideration—no doubt because they feel no great need to do so. After all, the overwhelming majority of the world's scientists regard evolutionary theory as a proven fact. Why, then, would anyone want to think otherwise? And why would they imagine they were being even remotely rational in doing so?
		The answer is because, as we will see, evolutionary theory seems to derive the bulk of its support, not from evidence of life's various species having evolved into one another, but from the presupposition that everything in the universe can be explained in naturalistic terms—which presupposition may in fact be false yet is never challenged from within the scientific community. If, therefore, the theologian can show that there is no good reason to accept—and, better still, good reason not to accept—evolutionary theory's presuppositions, then it may be that rejecting evolutionary theory itself is not such an irrational move to make. For as Intelligent Design advocate Phil Johnson points out,

			"'Science' has [acquired] two distinct definitions in our culture. On the one hand, [it] refers to a method of investigation involving things like careful measurements, repeatable experiments, and...a skeptical, open-minded attitude that insists that all claims be carefully tested. [On the other hand], science has become identified with a philosophy known as...naturalism. This philosophy insists that nature is all there is...[from which] it follows that nature had to do its own creating, and that [its] means of creation must not have included any role for God. [However, despite the fact that this philosophy may be false], students are not supposed to approach [it] with open-minded skepticism." (Phillip Johnson, "The Church of Darwin", Wall Street Journal, 16th August 1999)

		My hope, however, is that you the reader will approach evolutionary theory's philosophical underpinning with a healthy degree of skepticism. I am aware, of course, that exuding skepticism towards evolutionary theory is viewed as fairly undignified behaviour intellectually speaking (and can result in one's being branded as fanatical or positive medieval or some less flattering descriptor). But it is at least possible that evolutionary theory is false: and if this is so, then discovering the truth about life's origins—discovering who we are and how we got here—is a thrilling prospect.
		...science & theology...
		Many people regard the Christian faith as inherently "anti-scientific". And in one sense, they are right to do so. For the Christian does not acquire her knowledge of God's person via scientific means. But of course it doesn't therefore follow that the Christian is opposed to science, despite what we are often told via the media. It therefore seems fitting to begin this essay by discussing the interaction between science and theology more fully. In particular, I will seek to show that whilst, in practice, scientists and theologians do often come to different conclusions about the nature of the world around them, there is nothing inherently "anti-scientific" about the Christian worldview.
		...the christian view...
		On the Christian view, God is life's ultimate reality: the reason why anything exists and continues to exist as opposed to nothing at all. God is the creator, governor and sustainer of our, or rather his, universe.
		Now, at first blush it may seem odd to talk of God as the "governor and sustainer" of the universe. For most people regard the universe as something that takes care of itself—that ticks along on its own steam, according to "natural" laws. However, natural laws, whilst lying firmly within the domain of science in terms of the way we study them, are not themselves explained by science. For natural laws as commonly conceived are really just descriptions of the way the world behaves. And simply describing the way the world behaves does nothing to explain why it behaves that way.
		Take, for instance, the law of gravity. The law of gravity describes what happens to things left unsupported in mid-air—e.g. an apple that has just lost contact with its branch. However, this does nothing to explain why that apple falls to the floor as opposed to, say, floating off into the atmosphere or disappearing into thin air. One can talk of course of things like the force exerted by the earth's gravitational field. But this only gives rise to further questions. For what exactly is this mysterious "force" that the earth exerts—that pulls towards its centre objects thousands of miles away? And why does the earth exert it? And why gravity in particular: that is, why does the earth attract things as opposed to, say, repelling them or making them vanish? And what then of the strong force and the weak force and the like?
		It is far from clear that science can provide answers to such questions (and others like them). On the whole, it takes such fundamental properties of matter to be "brute facts": things that are the way they are "because they just are"—things that have no further explanations as to their nature and being.
		Theology, on the other hand, tends to view natural laws as regularities in the way God treats the things he has made—as God's normal means of governing his creation. Of course, this doesn't mean natural laws are God's only means of governing his creation. For whilst, on the whole, God may value and work through nature's regularities, there may also be times when God wants to do things that are out-of-the-ordinary—things that can't be achieved by means of natural law and will therefore attract our attention (e.g. his raising Christ from the dead). It does, however, mean there is nothing "anti-scientific" about miracles per se. For natural laws simply describe what happens to something under normal conditions (e.g. a body of water heated to 80 degrees celsius under standard atmospheric conditions, or a piece of paper dropped on planet earth in the absence of supporting objects). But of course if God chooses to govern his creation in an unusual way, then normal conditions no longer apply since an abnormal force is at work in the universe.
		Cast in these terms, then, a miracle undermines the field of science no more than does a table preventing a piece of paper from falling to the floor. Admittedly, God's supernatural acts cannot be tested and repeated in the same way as can his natural acts. But then science doesn't always restrict itself to the repeatable, as we will see. (And in any case, why think God's supernatural acts would be testable and repeatable? After all, miracles are by definition out-of-the-ordinary and are the product, not of natural law, but of a person's freely-made decisions).
		On the Christian view, then, there is no necessary conflict between science and theology. For claims about what the natural world consists of and how it works do nothing per se to undermine theology's basic premise: that God is its ultimate creator and governor. Indeed, on the Christian view, the study of science is simply one of many ways of appreciating the wonder of God's workmanship. Similarly, claims about who God is and what he does do nothing per se to undermine the claim that matter has standard properties and ways of behaving. Indeed, Christian theology has always affirmed that, since the universe is the product of a rational God, we can expect it to work rationally—to work in a way which is amenable to scientific study.
		...the conflict...
		But if this is so—if there is no necessary conflict between science and theology—then why, one might wonder, do scientists and theologians disagree so frequently? Why are there so many websites and articles and the like devoted to demonstrating how misguided creationism is, how pigheaded evolutionists tend to be, and how much better the world would be if one side would simply submit to the other's view? Why can't scientists and theologians leave each other to get on with their own endeavours never the twain to meet?
		The answer is two-fold. First, whilst there is no necessary conflict between science and theology, there is clearly a potential conflict. For at the end of the day both endeavours make claims about the nature and history of an external reality. Suppose, for instance, a theologian claims, on the basis of biblical revelation, that God created the universe in six 24-hour periods. Such a person is hardly making a scientifically neutral claim, for if true her claim implies that the majority of science's most commonly-used dating techniques are woefully inaccurate (at least in everything but the short term). Thus, there is the potential for theological claims to contradict scientific ones.
		Second, scientists often make theological claims—claims that go well beyond the bounds of what science can plausibly be thought to establish. Take, for instance, George Gaylord Simpson's claim that

			"Man is the result of a purposeless and natural process that did not have him in mind." (Simpson, The Meaning of Evolution, Revised Ed., Yale University Press, 1967, p344-45)

		Or Stephen Jay Gould's claim that

			"No intervening spirit watches lovingly over the affairs of nature." (Gould, "In Praise of Charles Darwin", Harper & Row, San Francisco, 1983, p6-7)

		How can science, by studying natural laws and substances, determine that God isn't their ultimate author, or that God isn't using natural laws to bring about his purposes? It can't. For such claims are not scientific but theological; hence the conflict.
		...but so what?...
		It is tempting of course to hear a theologian disagreeing with something like evolutionary theory and think, "So what?". After all, theologians are not experts in matters of science. Nor do they seem to have any problem with the vast majority of what scientists do (e.g. their studying of gravity and disease and combustion and the like). Nor would anyone take them particularly seriously if they did. Why, then, should we take seriously a theologian's problems with evolutionary theory?
		There are a number of reasons.
		First, when I talk about "theologians" in this essay, I am not just referring to anyone who has a dog-collar together with an opinion on life's origins. Rather, I am referring to "theistic scientists"—people who have studied and engaged with the relevant scientific issues yet who, given their theistic worldview, are open to the possibility of explaining the world around them in non-naturalistic terms as and when there is theological warrant for doing so.
		Thus, the theologian will not be given to explaining something like why she keeps losing her socks by recourse to the work of God, for: a] there are plenty of plausible naturalistic ways of accounting for a pair of missing socks, and b] it is difficult to see why God would be interested in interfering with people's socks. Explaining something like the alleged disappearance of the body of Jesus of Nazareth, on the other hand, is a very different proposition for: a] there are arguably no plausible naturalistic explanations for the disciples' reporting of the empty tomb (at least not that also account for their willingness to die for the sake of their story and their collective experiences of the risen Christ), and b] it is quite plausible, given the religio-historic context of Jesus' life, that God would want to vindicate Jesus' claims and complete his redemptive work by raising him from the dead.
		Second, "historical science" (the branch of science that attempts to deduce the most likely course of history based on present-day evidence) is very different from "operation science" (the branch of science that has blessed us with the automobile, the X-ray machine, and more importantly, some might say, the toaster) because history, by its very nature, is unrepeatable. Consequently, the conclusions of the historical sciences are far less testable and hence far less conclusive than those of their operational counterparts. Which means disputing something like the theory of evolution is a very different proposition to disputing something like the theory of gravity. As Jerry Coyne and others say,

			"In science's pecking order, evolutionary biology lurks somewhere near the bottom...a historical science, laden with history's inevitable imponderables. We evolutionary biologists cannot generate a Cretaceous Park to observe exactly what killed the dinosaurs; and, unlike "harder" scientists, we usually cannot resolve issues with a simple experiment, such as adding tube A to tube B and noting the color of the mixture." (Coyne, Reviewing "A Natural History of Rape", MIT Press, 2000, p272)
			"Paleontology [i.e. the study of fossils] is a historical science, a science based on circumstantial evidence, after the fact. We can never reach hard and fast conclusions in our study of ancient plants and animals." (John Horner, "Dinosaur Lives", Harper Collins, 1st Ed., 1997, p19)

		And of course the less conclusive a body of evidence, the more work presuppositions do. Given, then, the extent to which historical science relies on presuppositions, together with the fact that, at the end of the day, presuppositions are largely a matter of personal opinion, it doesn't seem unreasonable for a theologian to contest the conclusions of historical scientists—to claim that a different presuppositional basis may make more sense of the evidence. Of course, this claim might turn out to be false. However, to advance it is not in principle an unreasonable thing to do. Indeed, it stimulates precisely the kind of competition that science is said to thrive on.
		Third, the particular presupposition science adopts—the assumption that naturalism is true—is, when it comes to the question of life's origins, both unjustified and unhelpful.
		Of course, this last claim is not one which the majority of the world's philosophers of science have embraced with open arms, so I should probably make some attempt to defend it.
		I'll begin by showing that science does indeed presuppose naturalism—that it does make the kind of presuppositions I allege it does.
		...clearing the ground...
		Most people see the enterprise of science as a fairly cold and impartial enterprise—a field of enquiry that will follow the evidence wherever it leads. However, this is far from the case. As Gould says,

			"No myth deserves a more emphatic death than the idea that science is an inherently impartial and objective enterprise." (Gould, Science in the Twentieth Century, 1978, p344)

		But why does Gould allege that science is not impartial? The answer is because science stipulates that, if a statement is to qualify as "scientific", then it cannot make reference to immaterial causes (which, unless you are a committed materialist, you are unlikely to view as impartial). As Niles Eldredge says,

			"If there is one rule, one criterion that makes an idea scientific, it is that it must invoke naturalistic explanations for phenomena...It's simply a matter of definition—of what is science, and what is not." (Eldredge, "The Monkey Business", Washington Square Press, 1982, p82)

		Thus, the hypothesis that God created life's various species is classed as unscientific since it is not naturalistic. Interestingly, however, this means "the God hypothesis" is unscientific,, not because there is evidence against it (or a lack of evidence for it), but because science is defined in such a way as to exclude it. As Michael Ruse says:

	"Even if scientific creationism were totally successful in making its case,...it would [still] not yield a scientific explanation of origins." (Ruse, "Darwinism Defended", Reading, Mass: Addison-Wesley, 1982, p322)

Why?

	"[Because] creationists believe that the world started miraculously [and] miracles lie outside of science, which by definition deals only with the natural, the repeatable, that which is governed by law." (Ibid)

If, therefore, someone comes to believe that creationism is the best explanation for life's origins, then the fact that the scientific community rejects this position need not concern them a great deal. For the fact that scientists reject creationism says very little about things like how plausibly creationism explains the fossil record and whether it is justifiable to posit a non-scientific explanation for life's origins in the first place. All it says is that creationism is not naturalistic, which will probably not be news to most creationists.
...definitions, definitions...
Still, why should we accept Ruse's definition? Admittedly, most scientists do in fact accept it. However, it seems flawed for a number of reasons.
First, people have been trying for centuries (with little apparent success) to solve science's "demarcation problem"—to establish a way of distinguishing scientific endeavours from non-scientific ones. What, then, is Ruse's solution to this problem? To sidestep it altogether, it seems, and instead appeal to a "definition"! However, needless to say, this isn't a very helpful course of action to take. For the demarcation debate—the debate over what does and doesn't class as a scientific endeavour—clearly can't be solved by appealing to a mere "definition". After all, the debate is not a semantic one: that is, it is not a debate over what people tend to mean when they use the word "science". Rather, it is a debate about the kinds of things that can reasonably be inferred on the basis of the scientific method. And Ruse does nothing to show that his definition of science stems from such considerations.
Second, Ruse's proposed definition of science raises a number of thorny issues for scientists, for:
	a] the term "natural" is not an easy one to define—at least not in a way that excludes things like God and the soul yet still includes all the things scientists do actually study (e.g. consciousness, the nature of space and time, string theory, dark matter, etc); b] restricting science to "that which deals with the repeatable" doesn't just make creationism unscientific; it also makes much of modern-day cosmology unscientific. For as Andrei Linde says: "[Part of the job of a cosmologist is] to extract useful and reliable information from [a] unique experiment carried out about 10,000,000,000 years ago" (Linde, "The inflationary universe", Reports on Progress in Physics, Vol 47, 1987, p27), and it is difficult to see how such endeavours can be described as dealing with "the repeatable"; and c] as we have seen, the claim that things like laws actually "govern" things (much less all natural events) as opposed to merely describing them is by no means an uncontroversial one. To make something's being subject to natural laws a condition of its being scientific therefore seems somewhat premature. For suppose it turns out that there is good reason to think that laws do not govern particular events. Or suppose, less radically, it turns out that the behaviour of elementary particles is completely indeterminate or that radio-active decay is causeless. Must we conclude that the study of all such things is unscientific?
Perhaps, in response, a defender of Ruse's definition of science might want to appeal to its fruit—which, when it comes to science's operational aspects, is undoubtedly impressive. When it comes to the historical sciences, however, it is hard to see what it can mean "to be fruitful" without reconstructing history as it actually happened; and Ruse has done nothing to show that adopting methodological naturalism—that assuming that everything in the universe can be explained in terms of purely naturalistic causes—helps us in achieving this end. In any case, fruitfulness (whatever it might amount to in practice) is not in fact most people's motivation for defining science the way they do. For as Richard Lewontin explains, the definition comes first:

	"We [scientists] take the side of science [that is, we adopt "scientific naturalism"] in spite of the patent absurdity of some of its constructs, in spite of its failure to fulfill many of its extravagant promises of health and life, [and] in spite of the tolerance of the scientific community for unsubstantiated just-so stories. [Why?] Because we have a prior commitment, a commitment to materialism....We are forced...to produce material explanations, no matter how counter-intuitive [and] no matter how mystifying to the uninitiated. [And our adherence to] materialism is absolute." (Lewontin, "Billions and Billions of Demons", New York Review of Books, Jan 1997, p28)

Third, investigating the issue of life's origins "scientifically" has a rather closed and hence undesirable feel about it. For doing so can only result in one possible conclusion: that life's species arose via evolutionary means. As Dawkins and others say,

	"Even if there were no actual evidence in favour of the Darwinian theory...we would still be justified in preferring it over rival theories [such as creationism]." (Dawkins, "The Blind Watchmaker", New York: Norton, 1986, p287)
	"We believe [evolutionism] because the only alternative is special creation, and that is unthinkable." (Sir Arthur Keith, Quoted by Criswell (1972), "Did Man Just Happen?", Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, p73)

Douglas Futuyma explains the reasoning behind such conclusions as follows:

	"Creation and evolution, between them, exhaust the possible explanations for the origin of living things. Organisms either appeared on earth fully developed or they did not. If they did not, they must have developed from pre-existing species from some process of modifications. If they did,...they must have been created by some omnipotent [or at least other-worldly] intelligence." (Futuyma, "Science on Trial: Both Religious", 1983, p169)

And of course from here it is only a small step to the conclusion that evolutionism, or something very similar to it, is the best—indeed the only—scientific theory on offer, for creationism is by definition unscientific. As Johnson says,

	"For scientific materialists, the materialism comes first; the science comes thereafter. We might therefore more accurately term [such people] "materialists employing science". And if materialism is true, then some materialistic theory of evolution has to be true simply as a matter of logical deduction, regardless of the evidence." (Johnson, "The Unraveling of Scientific Materialism", First Things, Nov 1997, p22-25)

...however...
However, if the scientist's aim in investigating life's origins is to discover the truth, then adopting methodological naturalism seems a fairly unhelpful way of going about it. For at the end of the day, it may be that naturalism is false. And if naturalism is false, then adopting methodological naturalism is unlikely to be a very helpful thing to do.
In other words, it may be that, despite science's assumptions to the contrary, naturalistic processes simply aren't capable of generating complex life. After all, science has never proven the claim that "Material causes are the only causes in operation in this universe" (call this claim "N"). Nor in fact can science prove such a thing. For just as no amount of searching the contents of a room can prove that nothing exists apart from that room, so no amount of studying material causes and effects can prove that material causes are the only types of causes that exist. Indeed, N is precisely the sort of claim that science precludes itself from making. For N is logically equivalent to the claim that God does not exist (or that, if he does, existing is about all he has ever done) and is therefore in effect a claim about the supernatural. Moreover, N seems quite likely to be false. For if the existence of matter itself has a cause—if there is an explanation for the fact that matter exists—then N is clearly false, since whatever caused matter to exist clearly cannot be material.
Summing things up, then, when scientists investigate life's origins, they necessarily exclude non-naturalistic explanations, which seems: i] unjustified, ii] inconsistent, and iii] unacceptably restrictive. Thus, the theologian who claims that evolutionary theory may be false is not claiming that she has uncovered some piece of evidence that no-one else is aware of, or that the world's scientific community is incompetent or anti-Christian or involved in some worldwide conspiracy. All she is claiming is that the scientific method may not be the best means of discovering the truth about life's origins—that what divides creationists and evolutionists may have more to do with metaphysics than with evidence.
...a short aside...
"Metaphysics" sounds like very sophisticated stuff. In essence, however, someone's "metaphysics" is just the set of assumptions they makes about the kinds of things they are willing to entertain the existence of (e.g. matter, dark matter, God, moral values, ghosts, souls, propositions, etc). Thus, everyone has some kind of metaphysics. As David Bohm says,

	"Everybody has...metaphysics, even if he thinks he hasn't got any. Indeed, the practical "hard-headed" individual who "only goes by what he sees" generally has a very dangerous kind of metaphysics, i.e. the kind of which he is unaware...Such metaphysics is dangerous because, in it, assumptions and inferences are...mistaken for directly observed facts...
	"One of the best ways of a person becoming aware of his own tacit metaphysical assumptions is to be confronted by several other kinds. His first reaction is often [one] of violent disturbance, as views that are very dear are questioned or thrown to the ground. Nevertheless, if he will "stay with it",...he will discover that this disturbance is very beneficial. For now he becomes aware of the assumptive character of a great many previously unquestioned features of his own thinking." (Bohm, "Towards a Theoretical Biology", Ed. Waddington, Chicago: Aldine Publishing Co, 1968, p41)

Suppose, for instance, my metaphysics accommodates the existence of ghosts and the like; and suppose I read a report of someone who claims to have seen a ghost. How do I decide whether their story is true—whether someone was in genuine contact with a supernatural entity? One answer is by investigating the specifics of the story—by seeing whether, say, the witness in question has a history of mental illness, whether the non-supernatural aspects of her story seem plausible, whether anyone else saw anything similar, and so on.
Suppose, however, my metaphysics doesn't accommodate the existence of ghosts. How in this case do I decide whether a sighting of a ghost is genuine or not? The answer is that I don't, since there is no real decision to make. Ghost don't exist: thus sightings of them must be either delusions or fabrications. The specifics of the story—the reliability of the witness, the plausibility of her story, the corroborating evidence, etc—are neither here nor there. No matter how authentic it all sounds, it will not affect my ultimate conclusion.
...end of aside...
What, then, does all this have to do with the issue of life's origins? It teaches us a simple lesson: that if you want to discover the truth about a given matter, then the best bet is to make your metaphysics as accommodating as possible—to adopt a metaphysics that doesn't commit you to any given conclusion until you have examined the specific evidence for and against it.
When it comes to the issue of life's origins, then, rather than adopting methodological naturalism, it seems far more helpful (if, that is, your aim is to discover the truth) to adopt a broader metaphysics—to assume that any given phenomenon could have either a material or an immaterial explanation and then to judge each case, not on the basis of pre-determined metaphysical commitments, but on its own merits. Which is more or less what the theologian tries to do. As Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga says,

	"The theist [in my terms, "theologian"] knows that God created the heavens and the earth and all that they contain; she knows, therefore, that in one way or another God has created all the vast diversity of contemporary plant and animal life. But of course she isn't thereby committed to any particular way in which God did this. He could have done it by broadly evolutionary means [although the contention of this essay is that it doesn't look as if he did]; but on the other hand he could have done it in some totally different way...
	"A Christian therefore has a certain freedom denied her naturalist counterpart: she can follow the evidence where it leads. If it seems to suggest that God did something special in creating human beings (in such a way that they are not genealogically related to the rest of creation) or reptiles or whatever, then there is nothing to prevent her from believing that God did just that." (Plantinga, "Methodological Naturalism?", Access Research Network, Origins & Design Archives, 1997, 18:1)

In other words, when seeking to explain a given body of evidence, the theologian has a far greater range of explanatory resources available to her than does the naturalist. For at the end of the day, the theologian can appeal to all the resources the naturalist can and more. Of course, this doesn't justify her appealing to supernatural explanations gratuitously or out of desperation. All other things being equal, the theologian should prefer naturalistic explanations to supernatural ones and should try to find them. But of course having a preference for naturalistic explanations needn't mean rejecting any and all supernatural explanations out of hand. For if an event has no known naturalistic explanation, and seems on reflection to be the wrong kind of event to have a naturalistic explanation, and strikes us as precisely the kind of event that God would be interested in bringing about, then it would surely be wrong-headed to insist on explaining it in terms of naturalism.
...a further consideration...
There are therefore serious problems entailed in using the scientific method to investigate life's origins. However, we have not yet considered the biggest of them: that doing so is ultimately self-defeating. For as we have seen, the conclusion that man is the product of naturalistic evolution follows inevitably from the scientific method; yet this very conclusion seems to saw off the branch on which it is sitting—to shoots itself in the foot. As Charles Darwin said,

	"With me, the horrid doubt always arises [as to] whether the convictions of man's mind [including of course the conviction that evolutionism is true], which has been developed from the mind of the lower animals, are of any value or at all trustworthy. Would any one trust in the convictions of a monkey's mind, if there are any convictions in such a mind?" ("The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin", London, Ed. Francis Darwin, Albermarle St, Vol 1, 1981, p315-316)

In other words, if man is merely a souped-up monkey, and if it is irrational to have any confidence in the convictions of a monkey's mind, then how can it be rational to have any confidence in the convictions of our own minds?—in particular the conviction that man is indeed merely a souped-up monkey?
Christian philosopher and theologian C S Lewis expands Darwin's concern as follows:

	"If the solar system was brought about by an accidental collision, then the appearance of organic life on this planet was also an accident, [as was] the whole evolution of man...If so, then all our present thoughts are mere accidents—the accidental by-product of the movement of atoms, [which] holds for the thoughts of the materialists and astronomers as well as for anyone else's.
	"But if their thoughts—i.e. of materialism and astronomy—are merely accident[s], why should we believe them to be true? I see no reason for believing that one accident should be able to give me a correct account of all the other accidents." (Lewis, "The Business of Heaven", Fount Paperbacks, 1984, p97)

Lewis seems right. If our cognitive faculties arose "by accident"—if they weren't constructed with any specific purpose in mind—then it is hard to see how we can justify our having any confidence in their reliability.
Suppose, for instance, I need a new car. I go to my local dealers' and choose one. The garage has a good reputation, so I assume the car is in good order—I assume it will work reliably. But suppose I now find out (courtesy of the wonder that is Google) that a number of accidents occurred during this car's construction (where I am defining an accident as an event the car's manufacturer didn't intend to happen). With this knowledge, surely it would be irrational for me to maintain my belief that the car is a reliable one: and surely the more accidents I found out about, the more irrational I would be to maintain this belief. It seems, then, that to assume that our cognitive faculties—a set of faculties cobbled together entirely by accidental processes (for evolution has no "intentions" as such)—are reliable is highly irrational.
However, perhaps Lewis's argument is too quick. For according to evolutionary theory, our cognitive faculties are the product, not of a series of accidents, but of a process known as "natural selection": which, very briefly put, selects things that work by eliminating things that don't work, thus furnishing evolution with an ongoing quality-control mechanism. (The reason natural selection occurs is as follows. If an organism in a given species possesses a trait that helps it to survive and reproduce—e.g. the ability to outrun its fellow organisms—then given enough time, probability dictates that this trait will dominate the species' population, since by virtue of the fact that it is advantageous to reproduction, it will be passed on to more organisms than will the average trait). Perhaps, then, the evolutionist can object to Lewis's argument by claiming that, if her cognitive faculties weren't reliable, she'd never have ended up with them in the first place; natural selection would have eliminated them.
What can be said in response? To see, we will need to consider the notion of beliefs and their defeaters.
...an aside: defeaters...
Life as thinking agents requires us to consider all sorts of different propositions—to weigh-up what to believe and what not to believe on an ongoing basis. Some propositions just seem to pop into our minds; we naturally come to believe them as we go about everyday life: propositions like "It's raining", "Such-and-such a person looks quite happy", "It's hot at the moment", etc. Other propositions require reflection; we come to believe them as we ponder over our experiences of life: propositions like "Last night's football match was one of the worst I've seen", "My parents have been kind to me over the years", etc. Other propositions involve a combination of the two.
...being rational...
Being rational—that property every man assumes he exemplifies in maximal degrees—is about adopting rational attitudes to life's many propositions. It is about believing propositions which it is rational to believe, disbelieving propositions it is rational to disbelieve, and withholding one's belief from propositions it is rational to withhold one's belief from. But how is this done? How does one decide which propositions it is rational to believe and which propositions it is rational to disbelieve? The answer is by thinking about how our various beliefs interact with each other—how each proposition we believe interacts with the other propositions we believe.
...propositional interaction...
A proposition can interact with other propositions in a number of different ways. It can support them, be supported by them, defeat some of them (i.e. make it irrational for us to continue to affirm certain propositions), be defeated by them, or bear no obvious relation to them; and it can do all these things with differing degrees of strength.
Suppose, for instance, I believe the proposition "I'm already five minutes late for an important meeting at work". And suppose I also believe the proposition "It's going to take me another five minutes to get to work". My believing these two propositions makes it rational for me to believe other propositions like "I'm not going to get to my meeting on time", "My boss probably isn't going to be best pleased with me", and so on. But now suppose I receive a text message from my secretary telling me my meeting has been put back 30 minutes. I now have a proposition in my "noetic structure" (the set of beliefs I hold at that particular time) that acts as a defeater for the proposition "My boss isn't going to be best pleased with me" or at least lessens the strength with which I affirm this proposition. But now suppose my train breaks down. I now have a defeater of my defeater. But now suppose...well, you get the picture.
What we learn from this scenario, then, is that a sound noetic structure therefore has to continually adapt to new input. Some beliefs will be foundational to that structure (e.g. the belief that the external world is real, or that I have free will, or that God loves me). It will therefore take a great deal to defeat such beliefs. Others will be less foundational (e.g. the belief that my money is well-invested, or that my career is heading in the right direction, or that things at my church are going well) and will therefore be more easily defeated.
...back to lewis's argument...
How, then, does this help us in understanding Lewis's argument? The answer is that it enables us to cast Lewis's argument in more formal terms—in terms of beliefs and their defeaters. And thus cast, Lewis's argument runs something like this:
	(1) If evolutionary theory is true, then our cognitive faculties weren't constructed according to any particular "intention" or design-plan. (2) If our cognitive faculties weren't constructed according to any particular intention or design-plan, then we have no reason to suppose they are reliable—we have no reason to suppose the beliefs they produce are true. (3) Given (2), we have no good reason to suppose our beliefs about evolutionary theory are true. (4) Thus, anyone who believes the proposition that "Man is the product of naturalistic evolution" has a defeater for the belief that man is the product of naturalistic evolution, meaning such a belief cannot form part of a rational noetic structure. It is quite literally self-defeating.
How, then, does the objection we considered earlier relate to Lewis's argument? The answer is that it denies premise (2). In simple terms, the objection runs as follows.
Unreliable cognitive faculties are "maladaptive"—they diminish an organism's chances of surviving and reproducing. However, our cognitive faculties—the cognitive faculties of homo sapiens—are the product of natural selection. Hence they cannot be unreliable, for if they were, natural selection would never have allowed them to dominate our species. Or to put it another way: our cognitive faculties have been constructed, not "accidentally", but with the specific intention of working in such a way as to help us to survive and reproduce. And their working in such a way as to help us to survive and reproduce entails their working reliably.
How successful is this objection, then? According to Plantinga, it is decidedly unsuccessful. The full details of the argument behind his claim are beyond the scope of this essay. However, we will take the time to outline the main issues.
...plantinga's argument...
The basic intuition behind Plantinga's argument is as follows:

	"Naturalists are...always or almost always materialists: they think human beings are material objects, with no immaterial or spiritual soul, or self. We just are our bodies, or perhaps some part of our bodies, such as our nervous systems, or brains...So...let's think about beliefs from a materialist perspective.
	"According to materialists, beliefs, along with the rest of mental life, are caused or determined by neuro-physiology—[i.e. by what goes on in the brain and nervous system]. Neuro-physiology, furthermore, also causes behaviour. According to the usual story, electrical signals proceed via afferent nerves from the sense organs to the brain; there some processing goes on; then electrical impulses go via efferent nerves from the brain to other organs including muscles; in response to these signals, certain muscles contract, thus causing movement and behaviour.
	"Now, what evolution tells us (supposing it tells us the truth) is that our behaviour (perhaps more exactly the behaviour of our ancestors) is adaptive. [That is], since the members of our species have survived and reproduced, the behaviour of our ancestors was conducive, in their environment, to survival and reproduction. Therefore, the neuro-physiology that caused that behaviour was also adaptive...What evolution tells us, therefore, is that our kind of neuro-physiology promotes or causes adaptive behaviour, the kind of behaviour that issues in survival and reproduction.
	"Now, this same neuro-physiology, according to the materialist, also causes belief. But while...natural selection rewards adaptive behaviour...and penalizes maladaptive behaviour—[i.e. behaviour that reduces an organism's odds of reproducing]—it doesn't, as such, care a fig about true belief." (Plantinga, "Evolution vs Naturalism", Christianity Today International: Books & Culture, Jul/Aug 08, Vol 14, No 4, p37)

Thus, given the truth of naturalism and evolutionism, it seems as likely that we are wandering around in a kind of dream-world—that our thoughts and beliefs completely unrelated to the world around us—as it is that we correctly perceive ourselves and the world around us.
Now, at first blush Plantinga's argument sounds a strange one. For it seems so natural to assume that our cognitive faculties are reliable—that the majority of the beliefs they produce are true (beliefs like "There is a tree in front of me", "We're going uphill at the moment", etc). Moreover, one would think it obvious that having false beliefs would prove "maladaptive"—that having false beliefs would reduce an organism's chances of surviving and reproducing. However, this is not necessarily true. For as Patricia Churchland and others say,

	"Boiled down to essentials, a nervous system enables the organism to succeed in [terms of behaviours like] feeding, fleeing, fighting and reproducing. The principal chore of nervous systems is to get the body parts where they should be in order that the organism may survive...Truth, whatever that is, definitely takes the hindmost." (Churchland, "Epistemology in the Age of Neuroscience", Journal of Philosophy, Vol 84, Oct 87, p548-49)
	"Darwinism teaches that our minds serve evolutionary fitness, not truth." (Gray, New Scientist, Vol 175, Issue 2360, 2002, p46)

...various considerations...
But are Churchland et al right? Can natural selection ("NS" for short) really be so indifferent to the truth of organisms' beliefs? If so, then Plantinga's argument seems persuasive. For unless having false beliefs is maladaptive, the fact that an organism has been selected gives us no reason to assume that its cognitive faculties are reliable. The key question, then, is this: why think that NS is indifferent to truth?
To answer, the first thing we need to consider is the nature of beliefs.
Given naturalism, then, what kind of thing is a belief? About all it seems one can say is that a belief is a kind of long-term structure or event in the nervous system; (after all, given naturalism, what else can it be?). Let us suppose, then, for the sake of definiteness, that a belief is a kind of neural structure—a structured group of neurons connected together in a certain way.
The next thing we need to consider is what kind of causal powers a belief possesses—how beliefs influence behaviour. For it is easy enough to see how, by virtue of its various connections with other neurons and muscles and sense organs and the like (its "NP-properties" for short), a belief can influence behaviour. But how, if it all, is a belief's content involved in this process? Plantinga frames the question as follows:

	"If [a] belief is really a belief, then [it won't just have NP-properties]; it will also have another sort of property: it will have content; it will be the belief that P, for some proposition P (perhaps the proposition "Naturalism is all the rage these days"). And now the question is this: does a belief—a neural structure—cause behaviour by virtue of its content [or just by virtue of its NP-properties]?" (Plantinga, "Naturalism vs Evolution: A Religion/Science Conflict?", infidels.org, 2007)

The question can perhaps be better understood by means of the following illustration. Suppose I am sitting at my desk reading a copy of Descartes' Meditations; and suppose I am becoming increasingly annoyed by a fly that seems bent on orbiting my head at ever increasing speeds. In a moment of rage I take my copy of Descartes' Meditations in hand and swat the offending creature (perhaps rejoicing in my God-given authority over it as I do so). Now: why do I have a dead fly on my desk? Had I swatted the fly with a single sheet of paper, it would presumably still be alive. Hence there must be some property of Descartes' Meditations that has caused the fly to die. But which property? Its colour? Its mass? Its hardness? Its information content? Some of these properties are clearly relevant, whilst others are clearly not. The question we are asking of a belief, then, is similar. Which of its properties are responsible for its causing behaviour? Its NP-properties or its content properties?
...the options...
There are two obvious possibilities: either a belief's content affects behaviour or it doesn't. (This much at least seems fairly uncontroversial). I will call the possibility that a belief's content is part of the causal chain leading to an organism's behaviour "C". The possibility that it isn't—that a belief's content is irrelevant to its holders' behaviour—I will then call "-C".
...behaviour & its causes...
First, let's consider -C.
On -C, what does the fact that a given neural structure produces adaptive behaviour tell us about about the truth of the beliefs it produces? The answer is very little: or more precisely, nothing. If a neural structure produces adaptive behaviour and true beliefs: fine. If it produces adaptive behaviour and false beliefs: fine again. Natural selection doesn't care either way, as long as the behaviour the given neural structure produces is adaptive. It will work to shape behaviour, but this won't serve to promote any one type of belief as opposed to any other—let alone true beliefs over false ones.
Given -C, then, NS is impotent. It can neither eliminate those neural structures that produce false beliefs nor select those that produce true beliefs. Consequently, the fact that a neural structure produces adaptive behaviour gives us no more reason to suppose the belief it produces to be true than false. Epistemically speaking, then, the probability of any particular belief's being true is in the region of 0.5. Suppose, then, I have 1,000 independent beliefs in my noetic structure. What is the probability that my cognitive faculties are reliable—that, say, 750 of the beliefs I hold are true? The answer is low—very low indeed. It is the equivalent of tossing a coin 1,000 times and getting 750 heads.
To sum up, then, if R is the reliability of an organism's cognitive faculties, N is naturalism, and E is evolutionism, then P(R\|N&E&-C) is very low.
...content as a cause...
What about P(R\|N&E&C) though? Given C, is it any more justifiable to think that an organism's being selected ensures the reliability of its CFs? It is hard to say; but at first blush it seems not. For all C ensures is that behaviours are caused by content as opposed to NP-properties. But this gives us no reason to think that false content will be connected to maladaptive behaviour as opposed to adaptive behaviour. For we still have no guarantee that a belief's content will be accurately represented in an organism's actions—that an organism's deciding to do Q will result in its doing Q in the real world. Hence C seems no more helpful than -C in terms of giving us a reason to think that R is the case.
However, let us take things more slowly. Let us do what we did in the case of -C. Let us consider the following question: Are false beliefs, by virtue of the fact that their content is false, likely to lead to maladaptive behaviour? Are false beliefs likely to supervene on neural structures the possessors of which NS will penalise?
It seems not. For suppose C is the case, and consider our current cognitive situation. Can we now conceive of false beliefs that are adaptively neutral—that have no obvious reproductive disadvantages? Yes indeed. As Plantinga points out,

	"Religious belief is nearly universal across the world, [and] even among naturalists it is widely thought to be adaptive [the belief, for instance, that the use of contraception is morally untenable seems obviously adaptive]; yet naturalists think [religious] beliefs are mostly false. Clearly enough, [then], false belief can produce adaptive behaviour.
	"[Consider another example]. Perhaps a primitive tribe thinks that everything is really alive, or is a witch; and perhaps all or nearly all of their beliefs are of the form "This witch is F" or "That witch is G"—e.g. "This witch is good to eat", or "That witch is likely to eat me if I give it a chance". If they ascribe the right properties to the right "witches", their beliefs could be adaptive while nonetheless (assuming that in fact there aren't any witches) false...[Hence] for every true adaptive belief, it seems we can easily think of a false belief that leads to the same adaptive behaviour." (Ibid)

Minimally, then, it seems N&E&C will happily allow organisms to accumulate layers and systems of beliefs which, whilst being false, do nothing to make behaviour maladaptive. And such layers and systems of beliefs are not at all dissimilar to the worldviews maintained by theists and pantheists and naturalists and so on.
At the very least, then, the belief that we are the product of naturalistic evolution—the belief that N&E—seems to defeat any reason we might have for thinking that N&E is in fact true.
...going deeper...
However, the skepticism engendered by the belief that N&E does not stop here. Indeed, we have only scratched its surface. For in the above thought-experiments, we began by assuming that our cognitive faculties were reliable—that our non-religious-and-non-witch-related beliefs about the outside world were mostly true. Hence we needed to introduce whole layers of beliefs into the picture in order to demonstrate that having false beliefs needn't result in maladaptive behaviour.
But of course when conducting such thought-experiments, we cannot legitimately begin by assuming such a thing—by assuming that the CFs of the subjects of those thought-experiments are reliable. For the whole point of Plantinga's argument is that when we just consider N&E—when we consider N&E aside from all the things we happen to think are true of our own particular environment—it seems unlikely that N&E would have furnished us with reliable cognitive faculties. Hence to counter Plantinga's argument via a thought-experiment that presupposes R is hopelessly invalid. For all the experiment then shows is that if we assume that R pertains, then we have good reason to think that R pertains—which is to beg the question in excelsis.
It is of course perfectly legitimate to assume that, in the context in which we are discussing Plantinga's argument, our faculties are working reliably. Indeed, we have no other option but to do so. However, we cannot legitimately assume that the CFs of the subjects of our thought-experiments are reliable, for this is precisely the issue in question. Nor can we admit evidence offered in defense of R that comes from our actual experience of the actual world. For if R does not pertain, then such "evidence" is not worth a dime. It is like trying to determine whether a witness in a court of law can be trusted by asking her whether she is lying.
To see this more clearly, consider the following experiment. I picture myself standing in the middle of a forest and I assume that my CFs are for the most part reliable. I now introduce a false belief into the picture. I consider whether, were I to perceive an approaching tiger as a friendly pussy-cat, my behaviour would be likely to be maladaptive. I conclude that, yes, it would. What have I shown? Very little. For is it really true that my mistaking the tiger for a pussy-cat would be likely to result in maladaptive behaviour?
Not in and of itself, no. Not if I possessed other beliefs or "indicators" (i.e. neural structures that subconsciously generate behaviours in response to certain sensory inputs—e.g. the structures that cause me to blink, breathe, regulate my metabolism, and so on) that caused adaptive messages to be sent to my muscles—messages that caused my muscles to contract in such a way as to avoid the approaching tiger. Suppose, for instance, I believed that pussy-cats were lethal predators, or that I was involved in an ongoing game of hide-and-seek with them. Or suppose my CFs were wired up in such a way that my deciding to stay put caused me to flee. Or suppose my indicators caused me to flee. Or suppose whenever a tiger appeared to my senses, I formed the belief that the moon had turned to cheese; and suppose my noetic structure also contained the belief that whenever the moon turned to cheese, I should start running. In all the above cases, my belief that an approaching tiger was a pussy-cat would cause no problems adaptively speaking: that is to say, it would be of no concern to NS.
But wouldn't, one might wonder, it be an incredible co-incidence for me to have come to possess such beliefs and indicators—beliefs and indicators that caused my muscles to contract in such a way as to cause me to avoid an approaching tiger? Not at all. In fact, I would have inherited these belief and indicators precisely because they had proven adaptive in situations where my ancestors were approached by tigers. Of course, if my CFs were reliable, then one could argue that my noetic structure probably wouldn't contain beliefs like "The moon has turned to cheese". But, again, if my thought-experiment has to presuppose R in order to show that R is likely to pertain, then it is not a very helpful one.
Perhaps, however, you still have your doubts. Perhaps you are happy to grant that, yes, it is perfectly possibly for beliefs to arise which, whilst false, are not maladaptive. But perhaps you still think it far more likely that nature would evolve CFs that led to adaptive behaviour 'for the right reasons' as opposed to 'by chance' and thus made false beliefs maladaptive—CFs that perceived the outside world correctly and thus caused me to avoid tigers for the simple reason that they caused me to believe that there was in fact a tiger approaching me. But of course this claim is precisely the issue in question: that is, it is just the claim that P(R\|N&E) is high. And we have already seen, on the basis of probabilistic considerations, that this claim is false. For at the end of the day, NS will take whatever works. If CFs arise that cause adaptive behaviour, then NS will select them, whether the beliefs they entail are true or not. In this sense, NS is the ultimate opportunist. It will take whatever it can get its hands on.
The only thing the above thought-experiment seems to show, therefore, is that ceteris paribus NS is unlikely to allow a reliable set of CFs to deteriorate—that once an organism has acquired a reliable set of CFs, then all other things being equal, they are likely to stay that way. But of course this isn't what we want to know at this point. What we want to know is whether, given N&E, it is likely that my CFs are in fact reliable—whether there is anything about N&E that would predispose it to engineering reliable as opposed to unreliable CFs.
To consider this issue properly, then, it will be helpful if we can distance ourselves from our current cognitive situation, thus preventing us from smuggling in any improper assumptions. For it is hopelessly circular to assume that our beliefs about the outside world are true and then to try to work out whether our CFs are actually reliable. What we need to do is to consider an organism's evolution from an outsider's perspective—to consider the likely effects of N&E on some hypothetical organism. We need to think about what follows merely as a result of N&E without assuming that our observations of the world around us—the observations of homo sapiens—are true.
Of course, this is not an easy thing to do. However, a good way of getting started is by considering some simple non-thinking organism and asking ourselves whether N&E would be likely to furnish it with reliable CFs (assuming that N&E does in fact furnish it with CFs of some kind).
...a better experiment...
Suppose, then, a_n is the n-th evolutionary generation of a given line of descent: suppose it is an early form of bacteria or something of that sort—something that has no beliefs or sense organs to speak of. Would N&E be likely to furnish such an organism with reliable CFs? It is hard to see why. For suppose a_n+1 (a_n's offspring) evolves, say, a light-sensitive spot together with some CFs; and suppose neither of these structures are very reliable. When it is dark, the light-spot tells a_n that it is dark, and when a_n gets told that it is dark, a_n forms the belief that P (where P is any old false belief—say, the belief that the moon is made of cheese, or that running towards one's predators is a good way of surviving), and when a_n believes that P, it also forms the belief that it should do Q, where Q is adaptive.
Given this scenario, a_n+1 will be selected. Granted, a_n+1 has not hit upon the ideal way of interacting with its environment. But this is of no concern to NS. In that a_n+1 tends to do Q, it behaves adaptively, which is all NS cares about.
Suppose a_n+2 then continues in a_n+1's footsteps; and suppose a_n+3 does likewise. What are the chances that a_n+1000 will have reliable CFs—that its beliefs will be mostly true? It is hard to say. For once an organism's cognitive life has got off to a bad start (which seems just as likely as its getting off to a good start), it is hard to see how or why NS would put things right. For if one's noetic structure consists of mostly false beliefs, then acquiring further false beliefs may well prove maladaptive (whilst acquiring true beliefs may prove adaptive). To see this, suppose an organism m believes that running towards its predators gives it the best chances of survival. In this case, the belief that one of its predators is on the horizon (call this belief b) will, if true, do m more harm than good. If, however, b is false—if there isn't in fact a predator on the horizon—then b will cause m no problems at all. The same thing follows if an organism begins its cognitive life with another fundamental false belief: say, "If P implies Q, and P, then not Q".
Alternatively, rather than considering some primitive organism, we can consider some alien life-form (call it "A") that has evolved on some distant planet somewhere and ask ourselves the same question: Is it likely that N&E would have furnished A with reliable CFs? The answer, it seems, is no. For what do we know about this life-form? All we can legitimately assume is that its ancestors behaved adaptively. But as we have already seen, this tells us nothing about whether these organisms' beliefs would have been true. Given, then, that N&E is unlikely to have furnished our hypothetical alien life-form with reliable CFs, it is unlikely to have in fact furnished us with reliable CFs. And any argument aimed at demonstrating that we homo sapiens are in a privileged position compared to A will inevitably have to presuppose R, so will ipso facto be invalid.
...a stock take...
Even granted C, then—that is, even granted that the contents of an organism's beliefs are causally connected with its behaviour—there is still no reason to suppose that R is the case. For C gives us no reason to think that beliefs and behaviours are hooked up realistically—that an organism's believing that P and then deciding to do Q corresponds to P's being the case and the organism's doing Q in the real world. As a result, there is nothing to prevent an organism's perception of the real world (which of course will include its perception of its actual behaviour) being like that of a sleepwalker. Beliefs can be hooked up to behaviours in a completely surreal fashion, and NS will never be any the wiser. Provided the various properties of the organism's beliefs generate the right responses to sensory inputs—responses that aren't maladaptive—NS will not mind one bit. The organism can wander around in its dreamworld for as long as it likes, all the while convinced it is correctly perceiving and interacting with the outside world when in fact it is doing nothing of the sort. Plantinga explains this point as follows:

	"Suppose m has a certain belief B. B has NP-properties that cause him (it) to [behave in a particular way]. B also has NP-properties on which its content supervenes. B causes the behaviour it does by virtue of that content: if it hadn't had that content, it would not have caused that behaviour [which is all that C actually entails]. But the content needn't be true; and indeed there is no reason to think it would be true. If it is false content that gets associated by the causal laws with those NP-properties, then false content will cause the adaptive behaviour; and there is no more reason to think the causal laws will associate true content with those properties, than false content. Hence the probability of maladaptive behaviour, given false content, will be no greater than the probability of adaptive behaviour." (Ibid)

In other words, to justify R, the believer in N&E can't make do with any old causal link between beliefs and behaviours. She needs a very specific kind of link. She needs false beliefs to be connected to maladaptive behaviours and true beliefs to be connected to adaptive behaviours. The problem, however, is that there is no reason to think that NS would be interested in configuring CFs in this way. For it has nothing to gain by doing so. Hence we must assume that the probability of a given false belief's being connected to adaptive as opposed to maladaptive behaviour is in the region of 0.5.
Thus, whether C or -C pertains, there seems little reason to think that an organism's having false beliefs would lead to its behaving maladaptively. In which case neither P(R\|N&E&C) nor P(R\|N&E&-C) are in very good shape.
...furthermore...
However, the full strength of Plantinga's argument can perhaps be seen by appreciating how slim a set of premises it can run on. For suppose we concede that having false beliefs does tend to produce maladaptive behaviour. Does it now follow that P(R\|N&E) is high? It seems not. For what exactly does it mean to say that false beliefs are maladaptive? Presumably it means that, all other things being equal, the higher an organism's proportion of true beliefs, the more likely it will be to survive and reproduce—that ceteris paribus CF70s (a set of cognitive faculties 70% of the produced beliefs of which are true) are more likely to cause maladaptive behaviour than are, say, CF75s.
However, thus construed, the claim that false beliefs are maladaptive ("FM" for short) doesn't seem to do much to help the believer in N&E to justify R. That is, it doesn't justify her belief that the beliefs of homo sapiens are not in fact mostly false.
Why? For one thing, because at best all that can be gleaned from FM is that our CFs are more reliable than those of our ancestors, and that given an infinite amount of time N&E will churn out a reliable set of CFs. But what follows from this? Very little. For we have no way of knowing where we are on N&E's pathway to constructing reliable CFs. Maybe we have descended from CF10-apes and ourselves possess CF15s. Maybe in billions of years time, our descendants will evolve CF75s and, from this standpoint, will realise how hopelessly deluded the majority of our beliefs actually were. Maybe they will regard us as having similar cognitive faculties to those of, say, cows or sheep. Or maybe the truth of the matter is that we possess CF15s and caws and sheep don't in fact exist. At the end of the day, all that follows from FM is that whichever organism we descended from had less reliable CFs than we do. But not much else of interest seems to result.
An objector could perhaps argue that if FM is the case—if having false beliefs tends to cause maladaptive behaviour—then NS would prevent the evolution of anything less reliable than CF50s. But it is far from obvious that this is true. For having, say, a one in ten chance of forming correct beliefs about the outside world may well prove better (in NS terms) than, say, having no sense organs or indicators or beliefs at all—than having to act for all intents and purposes at random. Moreover, as we will see shortly, it is perfectly conceivable for NS to allow CFs to deteriorate (just as it allowed dodos to lose their ability to fly). Hence the existence of, say, CF20s seems perfectly compatible with FM.
Given FM, then, there is very little reason to think that anything like CF75s have evolved—much less that we homo sapiens are their proud owners. Belief in R would be justifiable only if a structure's being adaptive guaranteed: a] its evolution, and b] its being inherited by every living organism. However, both these claims are patently false. Take, for instance, L75s (legs capable of propelling their owners along at 75mph). L75s would doubtless have better adapted our ancestors to life on the Serengeti plains. However, neither we nor any of our cousins seem to have inherited such adaptations. Granted, L75s might have proven helpful in NS terms (as might the ability to fly, breathe fire, or raise the dead). But acquiring L75s is not a condition of our having evolved, meaning we cannot assume that such adaptations have in fact evolved.
...further problems...
However, there are further problems in arguing from FM to R. For it is one thing to assume that, all other things being equal, false beliefs will prove maladaptive. But all other things may not in fact be equal.
Suppose, for instance, a_n has reliable sense organs and CFs (where, as before, a_n is the n-th evolutionary generation on a particular line of descent). Now suppose a_n+1 comes along. Fortunately, a_n+1 has acquired a mutation making it a stronger and fitter organism than the rest of its species. Unfortunately, however, this mutation has a side-effect: that its carriers have less reliable CFs. a_n+1's deteriorated CFs will therefore ex concessionis be disadvantageous in NS terms. However, suppose this doesn't matter since its greater strength and fitness compensates for this disadvantage. Given this scenario, a_n+1's behaviour will be adaptive; thus, a_n+1 will be selected.
Admittedly, this scenario may sound somewhat contrived at first blush. But it is not actually all that implausible. Indeed, "compensatory mutations" are well-known phenomena, and many scientists think that evolution regularly removes structures which, in the majority of situations, would have proven highly adaptive (e.g. eyes, limbs, wings, etc). As Megan Porter and Keith Crandall say,

	"Recently, researchers have begun to identify the prevalence of trait simplification, loss, and reversal across all levels of biological organization." (Porter and Crandall, "Lost along the way: the significance of evolution in reverse", Trends in Ecology and Evolution, Vol 18, No 10, Oct 2003, p541)

such "reverse evolution" being possible partly as a result of species' environments changing and partly as a result of things other than NS affecting their evolution. As Steven Pinker states:

	"Natural selection is not the only cause of evolutionary change. Organisms also change...[as a result] of statistical accidents in who lives and who dies, environmental catastrophes that wipe out whole families of creatures, and the unavoidable by-products of changes that are the products of natural selection." (Pinker, "How the Mind Works", [1997], Penguin: London, 1998, p36)
	"[Hence, whilst] the mind is an adaptation designed by natural selection,...[this] does not mean everything we think, feel, and do is biologically adaptive." (Ibid, p23)

Indeed, given the amount of extinctions that proliferate the tree of life, it seems quite plausible to think that, as time has gone on, life has been getting less well-adapted to its environment (paradoxical though the concept may sound)—that today's species are less well-adapted to their environment than were, say, the early post-Cambrian species to theirs. As Grasse says,

	"[Evolution's] period of great fecundity is over; present evolution appears...a weakened process, declining or near its end. Aren't we witnessing the remains of an immense phenomenon close to extinction? Aren't the small variations which are being recorded everywhere the tail end—the last oscillations of the evolutionary movement? Aren't our plants [and] our animals lacking some mechanisms which were present in the early flora and fauna?" (Grasse, "Evolution of Living Organisms: Evidence for a New Theory of Transformation", [1973], Academic Press: New York, 1977, p71)

It certainly seems like it. For as Julian Huxley said almost 60 years ago (in a statement that is difficult to reconcile with Darwinian theory):

	"Evolution is...a series of blind alleys—[pathways that fail to make any ultimate progress]. Some are extremely short...Others are longer...But all in the long run have terminated blindly." (Huxley, "Evolution: The Modern Synthesis", Harper: New York & London, 1942, p571)

Of course, Huxely's and Grasse's claims are (like those of Porter & Crandall) based on empirical findings. I am not therefore suggesting that they give us any reason to think that life's CFs have in fact become less well-adapted to their environment. For this would be to make the same mistake as was made by the thought-experiments we considered earlier. The point of referencing such research, however, is to show that concepts like reverse evolution and adaptive deterioration cannot be all that implausible, for many scientists believe they actually take place in the world around us.
It may well be, then, that whilst it is true that unreliable CFs are maladaptive, evolution has nevertheless allowed life's CFs to deteriorate over time. Or maybe evolution has only allowed our lineage's faculties to deteriorate in this way. It is tempting to reject this possibility on the grounds that we seem the most advanced of evolution's creations. But of course the validity of this judgment presupposes the reliability of our CFs, so is ipso facto illegitimate. For if in reality we possess CF15s, then our believing that we are more cognitively advanced than our evolutionary cousins counts is like the madman's believing that he is more intelligent than his doctors on the basis that they have failed to realise that he is Napoleon.
Let us therefore resume the thread of the previous thought-experiment.
As you will recall, a_n+1 has supplanted a_n: its CFs were less reliable than a_n's but its superior strength carried the day. Suppose, then, a_n+2 continues what a_n+1 has begun. That is, suppose a_n+2's physical prowess is greater still than a_n+1's but its CFs are again less reliable. Suppose a_n+3 then follows suit. Or alternatively, for the sake of plausibility, suppose a_n+3's NS advantage has some other cause. Suppose a_n+3 evolves adaptive desires (e.g. a strong desire to feed and reproduce) or adaptive indicators. Or suppose a_n+3 has no obvious selective selling point at all. Suppose it just happens to live in an environment where unreliable CFs are adaptive—e.g. being alive at a time when crusaders are executing believers in N&E (N&E being a true belief as far as a naturalist is concerned).
Suppose this trend continues for a while. Or suppose, for the sake of argument, it doesn't. Suppose a_n+4 improves on a_n+3's CFs, and a_n+5 does likewise, but then a_n+9 comes along and undoes all the good work in CF terms.
Now, suppose we are a_n+1000. What are the odds of our having a reliable set of CFs?
It is hard to say. It all depends what kinds of mutations affected our particular line of descent, what kinds of environments our ancestors encountered, and how much NS values CFs in comparison to other traits (e.g. vision, strength, etc)—all of which factors are fairly inscrutable.
...summing up these 'further problems'...
Even granted, then, that false beliefs tend to produce maladaptive behaviour, we still don't seem to have much reason to think that R is the case. For all said and done, FM guarantees neither that reliable CFs ever evolved nor that, if they did, they remained in existence.
...in conclusion...
Thus, whether C or -C pertains, we seem to have little reason to think that P(R) is high or anything like it. For P(R\|N&E&C) looks to be fairly low and P(R\|N&E&-C) looks to be lower still; and -C is in fact the majority view amongst evolutionary psychologists. As William Robinson and others explain,

	"It would seem that, on a naturalistic view,...neuro-physiological properties must be sufficient to cause any behaviour that might commonsensically be attributed to a belief. If so, [then] there would seem to be no causal work left for the content property to do—i.e. the content of beliefs would be causally irrelevant to behaviour." (Robinson, "Evolution and Epiphenominalism", Iowa State University, May 06)
	"Orthodox biologists believe that behaviour, however complex, is governed entirely by biochemistry and that the attendant sensations—fear, pain, wonder, love, [beliefs]—are just shadows cast by that biochemistry." (Time Magazine, Dec 92)

Plantinga therefore concludes his argument as follows:

	"If evolutionary naturalism is true, then the probability that our cognitive faculties are reliable is...very low. And that means that one who accepts evolutionary naturalism has a defeater for the belief that her cognitive faculties are reliable: a reason for giving up that belief, for rejecting it, for no longer holding it...
	"No doubt she can't help believing that [her CFs are reliable]; no doubt she will in fact continue to believe [that this is so]; but that belief will be irrational. And if she has a defeater for the reliability of her cognitive faculties, she also has a defeater for any belief she takes to be produced by those faculties—which of course is all of her beliefs...She is therefore enmeshed in a deep and bottomless skepticism.
	"One of her beliefs, however, is her belief in evolutionary naturalism itself; so...she also has a defeater for that belief. Evolutionary naturalism, therefore—the belief in the combination of naturalism and evolution—is self-refuting, self-destructive, shoots itself in the foot. For all this argument shows, it may be true; but it is irrational to hold it." (Plantinga, "Evolution vs Naturalism", Christianity Today International: Books & Culture, Jul/Aug 08, Vol 14, No 4, p37)
	"Can the defeater the naturalist has for R be in turn defeated?...It can't...[For] it could be defeated only by something—an argument, for example, that involves some other belief (perhaps as [its] premise). But any such belief will be subject to the very same defeater as R is. So this defeater can't be defeated." (Plantinga, "Naturalism Defeated", Calvin College, 1994, p9-10)
	"[To see this], note some analogies with clear cases. [Suppose] I hear about a certain substance XXX—a substance the ingestion of which is widely reputed to destroy the reliability of one's belief-forming faculties; nevertheless I find it difficult to estimate the probability that ingestion of XXX really does destroy cognitive reliability, and regard that probability as either high or inscrutable. Now suppose I come to think you have ingested XXX. Then I have a defeater for anything I believe just on your say-so; I won't (or shouldn't) believe anything you tell me unless I have independent evidence for it. [But suppose] I come to think that I myself have also ingested XXX—at an unduly high-spirited party, perhaps—then I will have a defeater for R in my own case. [And it will be a defeater that cannot itself be defeated]." (Plantinga, "Naturalism vs Evolution: A Religion/Science Conflict?", infidels.org, 2007)

Consider also another of Plantinga's examples. Suppose I am in a widget-making factory and see a batch of red widgets being produced. Suppose, however, a reliable source, or at least a source I deem to be reliable, tells me that the owner of the factory sometimes uses special lights to make the widgets appear a different colour to their actual colour. I will then come to believe that the odds of my perceptual faculties yielding trustworthy beliefs about the color of the widgets in question is inscrutable. That is, I will a reason to doubt the reliability of my cognitive faculties for as long as I am in the factory.
Similarly, then, the naturalist—or at any rate the one who realises that P(R\|N&E) is low or even just inscrutable—has a defeater for the proposition that her cognitive faculties are reliable. That is, she has a reason to reject R along with everything she has come to believe on the assumption of R—which is everything she believes. Moreover, it is a defeater that cannot itself be defeated.
Note, then, that Plantinga is not just claiming that we can't be sure that our CFs are reliable (which of course is true, though trivially so). He is claiming that when the believer in N&E carefully reflects on the way in which N&E has constructed her CFs, she acquires a reason to doubt their reliability.
Cast in step-by-step fashion, then, Plantinga's argument runs as follows:
	(1) When we consider the concept of N&E, R seems unlikely to pertain. For unless we have reason to think that false beliefs, by virtue of the fact that their content is false, lead to maladaptive behaviour, then P(R\|N&E) is low. (2) If we have reason to be skeptical of R, then we have reason to be skeptical of everything we believe—including of course N&E. (3) Thus, the belief that N&E is true is incapable of forming part of a sound noetic structure. For in affirming N&E, we acquire a defeater for N&E—a reason to think that our belief in N&E is misguided. Hence in order to affirm E, we need to disavow N. (4) Furthermore, once we see the force of (1-3), we cannot rationally affirm any posthumous arguments: that is, arguments aimed at reassuring us that R in fact pertains. For in order to affirm the premises and formal structure of such arguments, we would first need to presuppose R, which we cannot rationally do since our noetic structure already contains a defeater for R. Or to put it another way: to argue for R on the basis of various things we think are true of the world around us without first refuting (1-3) is effectively to build on Plantinga's existing argument—to add further premises and conclusions to those given in (1-3). However, appending (1-3) with further premises like: (4') homo sapiens are fairly adept at communicating with each other, or (4'') My causal interaction with the world seems pretty successful on the whole, is of no use. For unless (1-3) can be refuted, it serves as a defeater of all such (4)s.
...so what?...
So, then, how problematic for evolutionary theory is Plantinga's argument? The answer is that it is hugely problematic. For if a theory is self-defeating, then no amount of empirical evidence will rescue it. Hence, further scientific research can be of no help in this matter. Either N&E's methodological-cum-philosophical problems must be dealt with or belief in it must be abandoned as inherently irrational.
...time for a breather...
We have now covered a fair amount of ground in this essay, so it is probably a good idea to take a breather—to take stock of our situation. What have we seen so far, then? The answer is as follows:
	a] that whilst science is often defined in such a way as to exclude creationism from its ranks, such definitions seem unjustified and, when consistently applied, render many things that scientists do in fact study "unscientific"; b] that the scientific method is too restrictive a tool with which to investigate life's origins, for unless naturalism is true—which science cannot prove—there is no guarantee that its conclusions will reflect history as it actually happened; and c] that science's presuppositions lead inescapably to N&E, which is a self-defeating position. Thus, naturalistic evolutionism cannot be rationally affirmed, no matter how compelling its various evidences seem.
What does this mean in practice, then? It means the theologian's presuppositions provide a far better starting-point from which to investigate the issue of life's origins than do those of the scientist. For the theologians' presuppositions:
	i] can accommodate either a natural or a supernatural explanation of life's origins. All the theologian is committed to by virtue of being a theologian is the belief that God is life's ultimate author. Whether it looks like God chose to use naturalistic or supernaturalistic means to create life is, in principle at least, an open question, and ii] are internally consistent. For if we are the product of a good and loving God—a God who is interesting in our knowing the truth about him and his creation—then it seems perfectly reasonable to think that God would have endowed us with CFs that are basically reliable.
Of course, the theist's beliefs are by no means fool-proof. The theist can be mistaken about her beliefs, just as anyone can be mistaken about any of their beliefs. However, that is not the point here. The point is that there is a difference between the theist's belief in R and the naturalist's belief in R. For the naturalist's belief in N&E, once properly analysed, furnishes her with a defeater for R and therefore a defeater for N&E as well. The theist's belief in God, however, does not furnish her with any such defeaters.
This therefore concludes our discussion of points a] and b] as set out in the essay's initial outline. And whilst the discussion has been a lengthy one, it has been necessary. For unless we enter into the evolutionism-creationism debate fully aware of the presuppositions made by each side, we will be unable to evaluate the relevant evidence. We will not be able to distinguish what people are assuming from what they are demonstrating, nor why people are making their particular assumptions. And this is the key to understanding the controversy.
...what next?...
With these things in mind, then, let us move on to consider what, after all, is the main focus of this essay: the fossil record.
...the fossils...
Plants and animals change over time; they adapt to their surroundings. This much is fairly uncontroversial. What is controversial, however, is the claim that such adaptation can turn (and has in fact turned) a single living cell into the bewildering diversity of plants and animals in the world around us today—that it is justifiable to extrapolate such change backwards over billions of years, and that when we do so we arrive at a single living cell. The evolutionist therefore has a heavy burden of proof to shoulder, meaning evidence is a must. Which is precisely where the fossil record comes in.
The fossil record has unique potential. It has the potential to reveal life's history as it actually happened—to show us evolution in action. However, when Darwin examined the fossil record, what he saw was far from evolutionary. As he wrote in "The Origin of Species",

	"Whole groups of species suddenly appear in [rock] formations." (Darwin, "On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection", Charles Darwin, Ed. Joseph Carroll, Broadview Press, 2003, p283)
	"Innumerable transitional forms [i.e. creatures linking different species to each other] must have existed. [So] why do we not find them embedded in countless numbers in the crust of the earth?...Why is not every geological formation and every stratum [i.e. every band of rock layers] full of such intermediate links? Geology assuredly does not reveal [them], which is perhaps the most obvious and serious objection which can be urged against my theory." (Darwin, "The Origin of Species", J M Dent & Sons Ltd, London, 1971, p243, 292-293)