Tao of Gabe: On Teaching Intelligent Design

Tao of Gabe

Gabe the Conscientious Beaver here to propose a weeklong curriculum in which Intelligent Design would be taught as a critique to evolution. Here we go:

In the beginning, Gabe taught the class. And Gabe said, ‘let yous guys learn that evolution is just a theory– a scientifically derived, testable theory that has withstood the test of time– but a theory nonetheless. Intelligent design is also a theory– albeit in the colloquial sense meaning idea or wild guess– but still a theory.’ And the frantic scribbling of the children’s writing notes let Gabe know that it was a good lesson

On the second day, Gabe discusses how evolution cannot be proven and how it requires as much ‘faith’ as creation. Gabe remarks how nothing outside of a closed system can be ‘proven’ and that, at best, sufficient sound evidence could be provided pointing to the desired conclusion of evolution, but none of this would be proof. Gabe then mentions how scientific theories are formed inductively and tested deductively: an equivalent to religious faith which is taught by others and tested via signs only the tester can interpret. Gabe saw that the children weren’t listening, but writing love notes. And Gabe saw they were mediocre (the love notes, not the children).

And Gabe taught the children about irreducible complexity and how certain things are unfathomable to have formed accidentally through natural selection, mutation, and adaptation. He shows the class his eye and asks them to imagine how any portions of it could be useful without the entirety. The class points out that rods, cones, or pupils could help a creature survive independent of other structures by perceiving light, color, and/or distance. And Gabe asks about the retina, but the class has no idea. And Gabe saw, with his complex eyes, that this was good.

The next day, Gabe explains how Evolution doesn’t account for specified evolution. What made a bombardier beetle evolve to shoot boiling-hot liquid out of its rectum? It must have been an intelligent, boiling-hot liquid connoisseur designer. And Gabe thought this, too, was good.

On the fifth day, Gabe explains the process of Intelligent Design. Five minutes later, he takes questions. He points out how Evolution could be divided into microevolution and macroevolution. Intelligent Design can also be divided into two parts: microevolution and everything-was-put-here-by-God. Gabe thinks that this is just great!

And Gabe teaches alternative theories of Intelligent Design including the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Scientology, and Halfwit Composition. He reckons that this too, is pretty damn good.

And on the seventh day, Gabe gave them recess, and the children laughed and played, completely forgetting everything they had learned. And Gabe saw that they were too young to understand. And Gabe thought that this was for the best.

I was designed to love you, but it’s evolving into hatred,
Gabe D. Beaver

“Remember Kids: Lady Hope says that Darwin recanted on his death bed… yeah, well, so did Jesus.”

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Why I’m no longer an advice-columnist

someone once asked me for advice on the best way to take care of a paper cut.
you know what i said?

amputation.

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Why I don’t require Word Verification

Moofruot and I have a lot in common. Probably more than either of us realizes, quite frankly.

When I was growing up (in the middle of nowhere), we had a gate that we would close and lock every night. Now, our closest neighbors were a good hectare away and I would wake up every time a car drove down the road, so it’s not as if we were in any great danger, but my parents forced my brother and me to close and lock the gate every night.

It was one of the most frustrating things in my life. I remember arguing with them time and time again that there was nothing to fear, but they never budged. They almost fainted when I started coming home late and would forget to lock the front door behind me.

The problem was in the disjunction between my belief that fear was worse than whatever was outside and their belief that any price they had to pay to prevent burglaries or robberies.

When we got our dog Mostazo (lit. Mustard), they would argue that we had to lock the door to keep him inside for the night. I told them that it was futile because he dug holes all around the perimeter and could leave whenever he wanted. My parents wouldn’t hear it, nor did I try debating that I thought it was mean to keep him locked up in our boring property when there were other dogs nearby he could play with.

*suspiro*

In all my years living in 813 Nogales, Happy Chappy, New Mexico, our house was burglarized twice. Both times they took slightly less than $500 worth of electronics and both times were before there was law enforcement in our town (seriously).
Both times were also part of a larger spree in the neighborhood. Both times were within the same month span.

This means that in the 15 years we’ve been in a town of 15,000 in New Mexico, we have only encountered one group of people who would seek to do us harm.

I saw this as a good sign and argued that if we acted on our fear, it would be worse than losing.

There are people out there who probably disagree with this, but then I’m arguing over how I wish to live my life. If you’d prefer to be safe and nervous than in danger and fearless, it’s up to you. The ideal would be safe and fearless, and there are some who would probably argue that locking the door gives you a sense of safety that you wouldn’t have if you didn’t lock the door.

but that’s just it!

If you fail to lock your door, you might feel nervous all day– as if you lost your safety– whereas I would just shrug and go about my business. I’m not attached to my possessions. Indeed, sometimes I feel like I have too many.

If you think I’m lying, ask my cousins who have gotten several game systems, a digital voice recorder, rechargeable batteries, and a digital camera from me over the years.
Or my friend Alethea who I gave a computer to in high school (which, again, made my parents quite angry).

And now, living in Sydney, people get angry at me for leaving my belongings unattended in groups of people for a half-hour at a time. But I argue that if I lose the damn things, it’s my own fault anyway. Furthermore, it’s not as bad as it seems. Possessions are weights.

But I’m not as naïve as I seem. There’s a psychological trick to doing that. There’s a certain size of group that governs itself in isolation. If I leave my bag unattended next to an individual, he might take it, if I leave it in a crowded mall, it might disappear, but in a cafeteria where everyone thinks everyone else is watching?

It’s as safe as if I’d locked the gate.

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