Mr. Christian and Mr. Mainstream Talk About Intelligent Design

Years ago, just as the debate over late-term abortions was heating up, they agreed to periodically meet. They laughed back then, after they decided there could only be one spot for their get-togethers: A twenty-four hour diner that had somehow weathered the storms of time and changing culinary fashions to keep its place at the corner of Church and State Streets downtown. Many of their discussions through the years, had been about the clash, or the perceived clashes between, church and state. So the setting had always seemed appropriate.

Mr. Christian and Mr. Mainstream, not their real names, of course, felt that they owed it to each other and maybe to society, to strive to be, if necessary, the last two people in America discussing contentious issues involving religion, government, culture, and society with civility.

Today, Mainstream, noticed that Christian was already sitting at their usual booth, approached it, and slid into the seat opposite his old friend. They had an unspoken custom for these meetings: They never began their dialogues until both had given their orders.

For Mainstream, this was a perfunctory exercise. He always ordered the same thing, whether their meals took place at seven at night or two in the morning. "Bacon and eggs sunny side up," he told Mona, their usual waitress a few moments later.

She never bothered writing his order down on her green pad, but always had it and a pen poised for action when she turned to Christian. He was the more adventurous of the two, often mixing and matching items that weren't listed together on the menu. Sometimes, he even brought in an exotic food find and asked the cook to add a touch of this or a pinch of that to an order. Mona and the gang might have minded, but Christian and Mainstream were regulars...and usually good tippers.

Orders given, Mainstream said, "I suppose you're disappointed with the Intelligent Design ruling from Pennsylvania."

"What makes you think that?" asked Christian.

"Well, I presume you think that there's an Intelligent Designer behind the universe..."

"Sure," Christian interrupted, "but I presume you think similarly."

"I guess I do," Mainstream replied. "I guess that most people do."

"Sure they do," Christian affirmed, "From a logical perspective, it's sort of loopy to think that this whole bloomin' universe, with all its intricacies and elegant structures, simply came into being. It'd be like..."

"Like a battle ship just showing up in the harbor all by itself, I know," Mainstream said. They'd met for so many years, they could sometimes complete one another's sentences. "So, are you upset with the ruling or not?" Mainstream, a journalist by profession, loved to push his friend, who could at times, be unintentially indirect.

"Not really," Christian said. This wasn't what Mainstream had expected to hear. "Look," Christian continued, "the judge only ruled that Intelligent Design couldn't be taught as a scientific theory. But it can be taught in a Comparative Religion class or in a Social Studies class. I can live with that, I think."

"You can?" Mainstream was still incredulous.

"Yeah, for one thing, I've never been that riled up over the whole ID thing. As a Christian, I've got bigger fish to fry. As long as no science teacher can say that evolutionary theory disproves the existence of God, I'm okay."

"What do you want that science teacher to say?"

"Well, I want that teacher to recognize the limits of science."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean science has questions it's capable of answering and those it can't. It might be able to well respond to the when, what, and how questions about the universe, what I call the mechanical questions of life. But it can't tell us who or why all of this stuff, including those eggs you're wolfing down, came into being. Or who made us. Or why."

"And religion can?"

"Well," Christian said with a smile, "I think that some religions can. Pass me the ketchup."

"Here's what I think," Mainstream said, "that old school board in Dover has gotten its wings clipped twice now. First, they all got booted out and now the judge--a conservative Republican Bush appointee, by the way--has thrown out their whole program. Serves 'em right."

"Why do you say that?"

"How can you ask me that question? You're the one who..."

"Oh, calm down! I just wanted to hear what you think."

Mainstream smiled. "I just think that if you believe in a religion of love, you shouldn't go forcing your views down other people's throats."

Christian pulled out a couple of bucks and laid them on the table for a tip. "I think you're right on that. I gotta git. Have a..." He paused.

"Go ahead and say it. Go on. You were going to say, 'Merry Christmas,' weren't you? You're allowed."

Christian shook his friend's hand. "Okay then. Merry Christmas. But it's awfully unfair of you. After all these years, I keep laying my soul bare to you and you've never told me what your religion is. Or even if it is."

"No," Mainstream said with a wink. "I never have. See you soon."