The creation of confusion

There's just no stopping Sarah Palin. A Democratic presidential campaign that seemed almost impregnable three weeks ago looks newly unsettled as John McCain's glamorous, moose-hunting running mate mops up women and conservative voters from Nevada to New Jersey. Attacks from America's liberal elite have rolled in thick and fast. "She's going to have her hands on the nuclear code," wailed Obamaphile actor Matt Damon, as he condemned Palin's closed mentality. "I need to know if she thinks dinosaurs were here 4,000 years ago."

It's easy to mock the new breed of Hollywood activists, but Damon makes an important point. Palin has studiously refused to say whether she believes in the theory of evolution. Pressed on the subject during her 2006 campaign for the governorship of Alaska, she suggested that creationist doctrine should be taught in schools alongside Darwin's natural selection model. "Teach both," she urged. "Healthy debate is so important. You know, don't be afraid of information."

To label as "information" the murky doctrine of creationism (now repackaged as "intelligent design") is ludicrous. The intelligent design movement represents a desperate attempt to accommodate within American schools the religious fundamentalism that is undiminished—even resurgent—in many parts of the country. Clearly, the Christian creation story should be taught in religious education classes, alongside those of the other major faiths. But there is an overwhelming scientific consensus that the Garden of Eden fable should be given no more credence than the Hindu belief that the world rests on the back of an elephant.

One of the most formidable obstacles in the battle against climate change has been the concerted effort, notably by oil industry lobby groups, to propound the myth that experts have yet to agree on the fundamental principles of global warming. That a similar campaign is making headway on the subject of evolution, 150 years after the publication of Darwin's On the Origin of Species, simply beggars belief. None would favour the suppression of debate in schools. But for a supposedly secular education system to give an artificial impression of high-level disagreement where none exists, at the behest of a fundamentalist religious minority, is inexcusable. To compromise scientific integrity in this way would set a dangerous precedent.

Until recently, few on this side of the Atlantic have been swayed by the arguments for including intelligent design in science lessons. But last week saw a dark moment in the history of the Royal Society—the world's oldest scientific body—with the claim by its education director that "simply banging on about evolution and natural selection" is a waste of time, and that creationism should be explored in British schools. Critics gleefully seized upon the fact that Professor Michael Reiss is an ordained Church of England minister, with Nobel laureates virtually queuing up to condemn his "inappropriate" appointment.

But the question of Reiss's own faith is irrelevant. He is clearly well aware of the fatuity of the intelligent design dogma, and wants time to be taken to explain to children why it has no scientific basis. Similarly, it seems unlikely that Palin, the daughter of a natural science teacher who grew up poring over her father's collection of fossils, has turned her back on Darwinian thought. Yet both are among a growing number of academic and political leaders who find it convenient to make concessions to the intelligent design lobby, adding momentum to an actively antiscientific movement that is coming perilously close to respectability. The right to a dissenting opinion lies at the heart of our society. But future generations will not thank us for undermining scientific theories that have been proven beyond all reasonable doubt.