It’s sweet. It’s soooo sweet. All the years of hiding, of playing along, of pretending to be one of them, just to get to this point. How many times did I sit there during afternoon tea, throwing darts at the board with Michael Behe’s face on it, laughing at their sick little jokes:
How many Creationists does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Creationists don’t use lightbulbs. They prefer the Dark Ages!!
Hahahahahaha! Hey, that’s a good one. Tell me that one about William Dumbski again…
Sure, I went along. I participated in all those morbidly anti-religious initiation rites professors are forced into but agree not to talk about. I recited all the politically correct cant that is the key to success in academe. At times I was so deep under cover I actually got out of bed in the morning hoping for a chance to hound and ostracize some vaguely religious colleague.
It was clear from the start this wouldn’t be easy. They’re everywhere, you see, and I think we all know who they are. One wrong move, one wrong thought, and they are on you. Boy are they on you. The Darwinian bloodhounds are everywhere, folks, and they will sniff you out unless you daily express the proper level of contempt for creationists and God and other loathsome things.
But I knew I could do it. Father’s words, my studies and my prayers convinced me I should devote my life to destroying Darwinism. My research all along has been devoted to that task. Oh, I couldn’t tell them that. Certainly not. I told them I was working on Cheeger constants of Cayley graphs and eigenvalues of arithmetic Riemann surfaces and all manner of other things no one in their right minds could possibly care about. They bought it, of course, on account of how careful I was. I closed every paragraph of my thesis with, “This work is entirely consistent with Darwinian orthodoxy and in no way supports anything any ID supporter has ever said, may their camels spit on them and their verminous offspring.” How could they not give me a degree?
It’s simple, really, but the best ideas always are. Make a graph whose vertices are all possible genotypes with two vertices connected if they are one mutational step away from each other. That graph is isomorphic to a Cayley graph of a certain matrix group with respect to a standard generating set. (Surely that’s obvious?) Such Cayley graphs attach in a natural way to arithmetic Riemann surfaces, as I explained in obnoxious detial in Chapter Five of my thesis. It is now a consequence of Selberg’s eigenvalue conjecture for such surfaces (which everyone just knows is true) that these graphs have weak expansion properties. That is, they have relatively small Cheeger constants, which implies that they fracture easily. Which in turn implies that evolution by natural selection can not move efficiently through the graph. QED.
Don’t believe me? Think I’ve overlooked something? Want me to spell out the details? Bite me! I’m a mathematician. I have a Ph goddam D! From a real school! Who the hell are you? Did you read Chung’s monograph on Spectral Graph Theory? Or Harper’s treatise on Global Methods for Combinatorial Isoperimetric Problems? Godsil and Royle’s textbook on Algebraic Graph Theory, perhaps? No? Then you are an amatuer. Get back to me after ten years of study, and then you will have earned the right to comprehend my brilliance.
After fooling them in graduate school I landed a job in Kansas. Finally, a state with some horse sense! But even here the Darwinian octopus had insinuated its fetid tentacles, depriving the good and open-minded high school students of the state the right hear to both sides of the story. Even when they provided a forum for polite discussion of both sides of the issue, presided over by some of the most learned and free-thinking right-wingers in the state, still they turned up their noses. Went running to their lapdogs in the odious media, and threatened to haul us into their corrupt and godless courts. Darwinian Devils!
And still I waited. Still I played the game. Went into class everyday and told my captive students that their parents had lied to them, that science had proved their was no God. Threw in some Communist propaganda to really cement my bona fides. Those were bad times let me tell you, but I stuck it out. Are we not called to suffer for our faith? Could I not see the promised land looming just over the horizon, a promised land called “Tenure?”
There were setbacks. How I wept when Brother Gonzalez was denied tenure. Could have been one of the greats. Of course the Earth was placed in the perfect place for scientific exploration, and of course that was a slam dunk argument for God. How had astronomers overlooked that all these years? But he was foolish. He underestimated the thuggery of our opponents. He didn’t know what I know. He lacked the skill and mental discipline to feed the Darwinian monster the one thing it craves most — propaganda — all the while realizing that by giving a little ground up front, you make possible the eventual victory later on. Brilliance and insight alone do not bring victory, my brother, there is also the game. Always the game.
And what of my Seed overlords? Don’t have blog tenure do I? Well, what about them? Let them fire me. Oh yeah, please, please, please throw me into that briar patch. I figure there’ll be a nice little cameo for me in Expelled 2. Just picture it. Me in a suit, waxing philosophical on the horrors I’d seen. Vaguely bemused by the sheer injustice of it all. “All I did was suggest that maybe evolution wasn’t the whole story, and they treated me like an intellectual terrorist! They wouldn’t let me blog for them anymore, just because I had the audacity to dissent one whisker from their party line! Oh why oh why won’t they let me and so many others just think the thoughts we want to think? Woe is me!”
Delicious. Go ahead, oppress me! I dare you!
So get ready for a whole new blog folks. We’re really going to have some fun now….