Persecution and the Art of “Darwinist” Writing
I want to point out to you again Robert Shedinger’s striking review of avowed Darwinist and science writer Philip Ball’s new book. Shedinger observes the numerous self-contradictions in the work — a work by an excellent writer and a very smart man. Ball on one hand renounces intelligent design, in the clearest terms, and on the other, uses design language and design evidence. Writes Ball, “I do want to be clear…that there is no obvious challenge in any of what I have said or say hereafter to the core principles of Darwinism — or perhaps we should say of neo-Darwinism.” In reality, there is a range of “obvious challenges.” What’s going on here?
Political scientist Leo Strauss had a sharp idea that many writers, including some of the very best and very smartest, have used a system of hints as to their true beliefs that has involved deliberate self-contradiction. From the Wikipedia article:
In the late 1930s, Strauss called for the first time for a reconsideration of the “distinction between exoteric (or public) and esoteric (or secret) teaching.” In 1952 he published Persecution and the Art of Writing, arguing that serious writers write esoterically, that is, with multiple or layered meanings, often disguised within irony or paradox, obscure references, even deliberate self-contradiction. Esoteric writing serves several purposes: protecting the philosopher from the retribution of the regime, and protecting the regime from the corrosion of philosophy; it attracts the right kind of reader and repels the wrong kind; and ferreting out the interior message is in itself an exercise of philosophic reasoning.
Taking his bearings from his study of Maimonides and Al-Farabi, and pointing further back to Plato’s discussion of writing as contained in the Phaedrus, Strauss proposed that the classical and medieval art of esoteric writing is the proper medium for philosophic learning: rather than displaying philosophers’ thoughts superficially, classical and medieval philosophical texts guide their readers in thinking and learning independently of imparted knowledge. Thus, Strauss agrees with the Socrates of the Phaedrus, where the Greek indicates that, insofar as writing does not respond when questioned, good writing provokes questions in the reader — questions that orient the reader towards an understanding of problems the author thought about with utmost seriousness.
Basically, the approach, in the face of persecution from the “regime,” is to inform discerning readers of what you really mean without being direct and getting yourself suppressed. The “right kind of reader” will take the hint and absorb the “esoteric” meaning.
From scientists and science writers, it’s far from the first time we’ve seen possible evidence of this kind of thing. Our colleague David Coppedge, for one, has documented many instances that, at least for me, raise the question. Self-contradiction is a staple in more than a little scientific literature that deals with issues of life’s origin, molecular machines, irreducible complexity, and the like. Please note: I’m not saying Philip Ball, or Denis Noble or anyone else in particular, has an esoteric agenda. But the trend in some scientific writing is too noticeable to ignore, and too persistent to deny. And of course, there is a scientific “regime” in the academy and in journalism that doesn’t hesitate to persecute.
Maybe, in the context of intelligent design as it is handled in some mainstream science literature, Strauss was onto something. The foundations of Darwin’s house may be shakier than many realize.
