Satan's Gambit

by Conti, Gene;

  “How about the NASCAR engine for Bobby Allison?” I asked.

  “Woo wee, number 12!” shouts Pete, “He’s a hometown hero,” he blurted out, waving his hands in the air. “Man, that engine wasn’t just designed, it was blueprinted!”

  “You guys specifically used words like design and intelligence, among others. I want you and the class to hold those two words hostage in your brains for a while.”

  Jude intervened abruptly. “I know where you are going with this,” he stated in a very condescending and snarky tone.

  Before he could advance his position, I countered Jude firmly. “Well, I’m glad that you are a step ahead of the class. You can present your information at the end.” Letting him know obliquely that he’s not in control of this class—I am.

  Jude sat pouting with his arms crossed.

  “Some of you, as you were entering the class, received some objects. I asked that you keep them concealed, which I would like you to continue to do. But raise your hand if you received something from me.”

  Several hands went up.

  “Good. Without revealing your hidden article, please try to describe what you have to the class. Pete, you can go first.”

  “Yeah, I have a curly spring like thing.”

  “I assume it was designed and machined to a specific gauge and tolerance?”

  “No doubt,” Pete responded affirmatively.

  “What would you make with it?”

  “How the hell, oops … would I know.”

  Matt, who was coming around, looked across at Pete and with a biting remark stated, “That’ll cost you, big guy.”

  Pete, the honest fellow that he was, promptly walked straight to the front, took a dollar from his pocket, and put it in the cussin’ jar.

  Nate had put his hand up. I recognized him.

  “I’ve got some kind of piece of metal, which is twisted and bent at one end.”

  “Again, I assume that it was designed to withstand a certain degree of pressure and torque. Any ideas, Nate?”

  “Beats me,” he conceded as he shrugged both shoulders and put his hands palms up.

  Santi was waving his hand. “Go ahead, Santi.”

  “I’ve got a very especialized creación: a clasp or hook of some sort.”

  “Any clue?” I asked him.

  “No sé,” he admitted, shaking his head.

  “I’ve got some kind of wooden board,” Santi’s cousin Juan claimed. “It’s cut, trimmed, and crafted to handle a certain amount of weight and pressure!?”

  “What’s it for?” I asked of Juan.

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea, or even what I could do with it.”

  Maggie’s had her hand up. “Okay, Maggie, what do you have?”

  “Some kind of rod or little pole,” she described slightly moving her head to the side and raising her eyebrows to indicate she had no clue what it was or was for.

  “Let us recall the Miller experiment. Philip advised us that there was no way, starting with raw elements, from blind chance, to create DNA and enzymes, which are proteins.”

  “Let’s look at Darwin’s own statement: ‘If it could be demonstrated that any complex organ existed, which could not have possibly have been formed by numerous, successive, slight modifications, my theory would absolutely break down.’”

  “He’s saying that each step of evolutionary development must give an organ system like the digestive system, circulatory system, respiratory system, etcetera - a little more of an advantage.”

  Jim, our ecology major, wanted in on the discussion. “Darwin has made a boo-boo,” he stated.

  “How so?” I enquired, directing my gaze at him.

  Jim stood up to address the entire class. “Organ systems can only exist in something that is already alive and already functioning. And we haven’t even discovered how raw elements can form a lousy protein.”

  “Jim, you are magnificent!”

  “I am?” he replied, still standing, his face turning red.

  “You have come to a conclusion that most educated people have never arrived at.”

  “I have?” he asked quizzically.

  “What was the title of his book?”

  “On the Origin of Species by—”

  “Stop!” I commanded him.

  “Repeat the first part of the title again for the class.”

  “On the Origin of Species,” he repeated slowly.

  The entire class was quietly focused on Jim. Jim was seriously reflecting on the title. His expression suddenly changed, and he began to laugh, almost doubled over. The students all looked at one another, wanting to get in on the joke.

  Still chuckling, Jim brought himself upright. “The title itself is bogus!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  BOREL’S LAW

  Darwin never discussed how life itself originated,” Jim explained. “He rambles on about plants and animals, mostly about variations in fancy pigeons, but he never explains how they got from raw elements to even basic life itself, let alone how they reached the species level.”

  He then smacked himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. “I could have had a V-8.”

  The class was in an uproar.

  Jude waved his hand furiously. I acknowledge him.

  “Time is the key. Given enough time, nature will find a way.”

  Matt turned around. “Hey, Jude, wasn’t that a line from one of the Jurassic Park movies?” Several students chuckled.

  I was about to continue when Nate raised his hand. He had a serious expression on his face. Nate, our business and computer science wizard, spoke when something of importance needed to be said. He addressed me, but spoke to the entire class. “Doc, I’ve been surfing around and doing some calculations on my tablet ever since we began this discussion of trying to form a basic protein from raw elements.”

  “What have you discovered, Nate?” I asked, knowing his answer would put the kibosh on Jude’s wild speculations.

  “We all know there are twenty basic amino acids. It takes around three to five hundred amino acids to form even one average protein.” He looked up from his tablet.

  The class knew that Nate was no fool and was a straight shooter. “Go ahead, continue,” I instructed, waving my hand in an affirmative way toward Nate.

  “Darwin talks about the evolution/advancement of organ systems like the lungs, heart, and so on, that you mentioned, Doc.” Nate appeared uneasy, as the entire class was as quiet as a cemetery, watching and listening to him.

  “There can be upwards of four thousand different proteins in just one bacteria cell. And we have just a few more cells than a bacterium,” he said, giving a weak smile, trying to lighten up his presentation as he felt real self-conscious at the moment.

  Jude was watching him like a hawk.

  “If we assume only two hundred amino acids bonding for some imaginary specific tiny protein, the number of possible protein combinations that could form is 10 to the 260th power. That’s a one followed by 260 zeros.”

  Jude rudely interrupted. “Yeah, Nate, but given enough time,” he said loudly enough to cause Nate to jump in his seat and turn to face Jude. “Time is the key factor, and we have 15 billion years of history.” Jude was being so boisterous that some spittle inadvertently landed on Nate.

  “Actually, I did my calculations based on 20 billion years, so I’m giving you an extra 5 billion, Jude,” Nate calmly countered, as he wiped the spit from his shirt.

  Jude was a bundle of emotion and practically screamed, “So what?”

  Nate turned back around and continued, “Well, in 20 billion years, there’s less than 10 to the 20th power of seconds in the entire known universe, and even if a new set of proteins were produced every second for 20 billion years, the chances of finding the one exact protein with the particular combination of 200 amino acids we need, is one chance in 10 to the 140th power—that’s a one followed by 140 zeros.”

  “Nate, could you translate that last p
art into English for us non-statistic types,” I asked.

  “Sure. All statisticians adhere to Borel’s Law, which states that once you reach a statistical probability of 10 to the 50th power, that’s a 10 followed by—”

  “And that means?” I interrupted Nate.

  “No probability of an occurrence happening. Just plain zero, nada, zilch, goose egg.” He quickly and quietly sat down.

  Thirty sets of eyes, including mine, were all focused on Jude who was still standing beside his desk at the back of the room by the window. He was standing straight, arms stiff at his side with his fists clenched. His jaw tightened as the masseter muscles were clamped down rigid. One could have cut the tension in the room with a knife.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  MR. AND MRS. MOUSETRAP

  Jim broke the silence. “Hey, Nate, ole buddy, you made a slight error.”

  Jude who had subsequently seated himself perked up.

  “I have? I double checked all my calculations.”

  “You said you based it on 20 billion years of time?”

  “Correct.” Nate answered with a very puzzled expression.

  “According to Jude and most scientists, the universe is about 13 to 15 billion years old, and according to them, life on earth only began around 3.5 billion years ago. So your results were actually much more generous than they should have been.” Jim smiled and half laughed to Nate, and the class as a whole.

  Nate immediately started punching in numbers on his tablet. “That really should make it 10 to the—”

  “Ten to the who cares which power,” Jim said. “It’s still one big fat zero, man.” He cast a sideways glance at Jude, who was not a happy camper.

  The class, responding to Jim’s antics, stamped their feet and slapped their hands on their desks with laughter—all except Claudia, Maria, and Jude, of course. Nate was still concentrating, intent on re-working his calculations.

  I still needed to cover our ‘mechanical organism’ to really ram home a few more points for my scoreboard. “So let’s give Darwin a temporary dispensation. Assuming there is enough time, how does any organism know which parts to manufacture first, and then assemble it in a coordinated fashion to advance itself to the next evolutionary level, and still keep itself alive to reproduce? I want those of you with the objects I gave you to pass them around and share them with the others. Can someone tell us what the parts make up?”

  After about twenty seconds, Philip answered. “They are parts of a mouse trap.”

  “Are you sure that they are not parts of a bear trap?” I asked.

  “C’mon, Doc, they’re too small,” Philip responded.

  “It was specifically designed for small mice only,” Andy added.

  “Are you telling me, Andy and Philip, that while blind chance is trying to assemble these five parts—remember, it took an entire class with brains to figure out—this mousetrap organism starves to death trying to design and organize itself?”

  They both looked at each other quizzically.

  “I’m baiting you. Pun intended,” I added, smiling.

  “Oh, yeah, why didn’t we think of that?” Andy, our engineer, tilted his head and pressed two fingers against it.

  Jude, not willing to give up on the time deal, comments, “There’s got to be some way, over time, for it to assemble itself.”

  Philip turned to Jude. “A ‘living’ mousetrap organism will starve to death way before it’s able to design, construct, and then in a proper sequential order, collate its parts. The enzyme and coenzyme systems, hormones, feedback programs, and regulatory switch points—all protein based—are myriad.”

  I tried to advocate for Jude a bit. “Jude was not thinking as clearly as he could.”

  “I don’t need anyone to defend me,” Jude responded with rancor.

  Jim piped up again. He’s really humming on all cylinders. “And where is Mrs. Mousetrap? She has to evolve at the same time, same place, and with a perfectly complimentary reproductive system for mating with Mr. Mousetrap.” He curled his fingers and put his hands to his eyes as though looking through binoculars for Mrs. Mousetrap.

  The class is in hysterics. They were starting to get it—somewhat. I was about to bring up that intelligence = design = a designer = creator when Maggie giggled her way in to the fray.

  “And what if Mr. Mousetrap’s thingy evolves too big or Mrs. Mousetrap’s thingy evolves too small or vice versa?” She was giggling to beat the band.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  MENTAL MASTURBATION

  T had, who had been taking all of this in, raised his hand. I desperately hoped he would bring some relevance and stability to the discussion, as I needed Maggie to stop her giggling.

  “Doc, what about mutations? Aren’t they supposed to advance evolution? How do they fit in?”

  I cast my eye surreptitiously toward Jude. He sat upright and was now back in the game.

  Philip commented. “Yeah, Doc, that is a challenge. Some mutations do offer an advantage.”

  “Good … you guys are thinking. Let’s analyze this,” I said, noting that Maggie’s giggling had subsided.

  “The classic mutation is sickle cell anemia,” stated Andy.

  “It’s true that it can confer some protection against malaria,” I confessed to the class.

  Jude felt he has won a round and pumping his fist in the air delivered a loud “Yeah!”

  Ali, who up to now had not contributed much, opened up. To Jude he said, “Listen man, I have sickle cell disease. It is called a disease for a reason, you jerk.”

  “Ali, I … we appreciate you giving us your personal insight on the subject. But could we dispense with the name calling, please.”

  “Sorry Doc, it’s just when a sickle cell crisis hits it’s … it’s unbearably painful. My joints ache, I sweat, become short of breath; I even had to have my spleen removed because the sickle cells plugged up my spleen. Now my immune system is weak, and I get sick more often.”

  “Tell the class why it’s been given the name sickle cell.”

  “My doctor told me our red blood cells carry oxygen and are round, kinda like a donut without the hole. Round red blood cells are normal, but with sickle cell anemia, they are abnormal, shaped like a sickle, and don’t carry oxygen well and can get stuck in blood vessels.”

  “So if I … we all understand what you just said, round is the normal cell and sickle is the abnormal cell, correct?” I ask, emphasizing the words normal and abnormal. “Now, evolution is supposed to be about advancement for the benefit of a species. Ali, according to evolutionary theory you are now more advanced with your abnormal sickle-shaped red blood cells.” I stressed the word abnormal again.

  “Doc, are you nuts? If I’m more advanced with my sickle cell disease, I’ll take the normal, everyday, round ones anytime.”

  I assumed a serious tone. “Okay, no more semantics. This disease offers protection against malaria, but at what cost? The original red blood cell is normal and round. There was a loss of information that made it assume its sickle shape.”

  “Disease denotes something is wrong. Round to sickle shape equates with a loss of information, savvy?!”

  Jude was very quiet, holding his head with both hands looking very distraught.

  “Evolution, by definition, is supposed to equate with an ever upward and onward gain of information, not a loss of information.”

  Juan spoke. “There are wingless flies on windy islands that lost their wings so they don’t blow away. It is an advantage.”

  Santi turned around to his cousin. “Hey, hombre. It’s still a loss of information man.”

  Thad added, “I get it now. Same for the blind cave fish. Loss of sight, which is loss of information.”

  “Curious little finding a few years ago,” I mentioned to the class, “There is a protein called HSP9O which already exists, and controls the gene expression for sight.”

  Jim interjected, “Betcha it’s in the off position for those b
lind cave fish! Coulda had a V-8, man.” He turned around and smacked Thad on his forehead and the class burst out laughing.

  Matt had decided to add his two cents. “One doesn’t build wealth by losing money every day from his bank account.”

  “That’s a real good analogy, Matt, good thinking.”

  Matt’s chest puffed out. “Could I make another observation on this,” he requested.

  “Sure, have at it.”

  “If mutation is supposed to be a driving force for evolution, it’s going backwards.”

  A low hum pulsated around the class. Even I was a bit surprised by Matt’s astute analysis. Jude sat mum.

  Maria put her hand up. “What do you wish to add, Maria?” I asked.

  “Why even bother giving any degree of credibility to this worthless theory that doesn’t hold water?” She asked as she stood to face the entire class. “Given the failed Miller model that Philip has presented, and brainy scientists who can’t even create protein one from scratch raw elements. As far as I’m concerned this has been a useless exercise in mental masturbation!” She abruptly sat down. The room was electric. The class was taken by surprise and left speechless by such words of truth coming from sweet innocent Maria.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  E.T. PHONE HOME

  These kids still have no idea of where the source of truth and the basis of correct thinking originates, I thought. I wanted to move on and start tying the discussion in with some of what Emily and I were discussing the other evening.

  Philip had his hand up.

  “Philip,” I said, giving him a slight wave of my hand indicating for him to proceed.

  “Doc, there is a school of thought among some scientists that agree evolution is incapable of occurring on earth, for many of the same reasons we have been discussing here.” He looked around to see if anyone else in the class was aware of this.

  Wanting him to clarify I said, “Go on.”