The highlights of high-school biology used to be a juicy chapter about sex and an even juicier one about dissecting frogs. Today, kids are facing complexities of molecular genetics, cellular structure, the biosphere and global warming—and the grown-ups still can’t agree about evolution.
We asked a group of highly respected local science teachers, several of them also department chairs, what distinctions (if any) they draw between science and religion, how they handle the hot-button issues and referee impassioned classroom discussions, and how much resistance (or comprehension) they get from their students.
The answers varied wildly.
The Teachers
Note: This is by no means a comparison. Some of these teachers are drumming the basics into freshmen; others are guiding seniors through the nuanced arguments of bioethics. But they’re all experimenting daily, as they teach—and we were curious about their results.
Margaret Bahe chairs the science department at John Burroughs High School in Ladue and is co-teaching a course in bioethics. “We treat ethical, moral questions with a huge founding in science behind them,” she says, rattling off a list that spans human reproduction (with and without technological assistance), genetic engineering, the biology of sexual orientation, surrogate motherhood, biowarfare, animal experimentation, the politics of medical marijuana, euthanasia, cloning and stem-cell research. In her classroom, the theory of evolution provokes no objections whatsoever. “Burroughs has a really strong emphasis on diversity in lots of ways,” Bahe says, “and part of that is looking at acceptance of different points of view. I don’t think we have a clientele that for some luck of the draw—or selection process!—doesn’t ever have creationist views. But I think they are very much in the minority.”
Sam Berendzen teaches biology to sophomores at Francis Howell High School in St. Charles, introducing students to science and scientific reasoning. For many, he says, evolution presents a serious challenge: “They hear at church that you can’t believe in science and religion. Science and religion for centuries went hand in hand, and unfortunately, now some people want to make them opposites. What I try to do is give them the scientific background: This is what science is. Science is a progression: We have a new idea, we pass it around to our peers, and they get chances to knock holes in it, and with all the top minds throwing in comments, things either stand up or they don’t. Students think a theory is something you hear on CSI, speculation at best. My job is to get them to see that a scientific theory is a collection of thousands of observations of nature.”
Preston Larimer heads the science department at Principia Upper School, a private Christian Science school in West County. “We have reversed our science curriculum: We teach a lower-level physics course to freshmen, then chemistry sophomore year and biology junior year,” he says. “Biology has gotten so much more difficult than it once was. This way we can go into things with a little depth. We do talk about cloning, about genetics, about what stem cells are and why they are important in politics.” Evolution isn’t the taboo here; disease is. “We focus on normal biology, and we teach enough human biology for common sense: nutrition, sexual reproduction, human biology on a practical level,” Larimer explains. “We just don’t touch the disease issues. We are looking for healing based in prayer, and not using medicine to change your health.”
Larisa Selimovic-Milosavljevic earned a medical degree in Croatia; she now teaches both basic and AP (Advanced Placement) biology at Roosevelt High School, a public school in South City. “The St. Louis Public Schools have contracted with Kaplan to write curriculum for them,” she says, “and biology’s broken down into 10 big sections. We teach about scientific method, measurements, basic ecology, changing population, human impact, global warming …” Before she opened the section on evolution in October, she took an informal survey. “I need to know where I stand before I go into teaching them more deeply,” she explains. “Some mention God; some say, ‘In science, nothing is certain.’ So that is where we begin. The majority just lack the information, and when you present evidence, you start to get these ‘Aha!’ responses.”
Andrew Shaw chairs the science department at Westminster Christian Academy in West County. This fall, Westminster approved a new course, “Issues of Faith and Science,” to bring the two realms together even more intentionally. But all of Westminster’s science courses “integrate the philosophy of science and the relationship of faith,” Shaw says. “Physics, cosmology, the laws of the universe. The assumption is that the universe is real, knowable, orderly and follows laws—every scientist makes that assumption. And the reason the Christian can make that assumption is because the creation is a reflection of the creator: It is knowable, because He reveals himself, and He is a God of order and consistency.”
Jim Walsh chairs the science department at De Smet Jesuit High School in West County, a private school for boys. They take biology freshman year, a morality course junior year, an advanced elective science course senior year. “As a Catholic and Jesuit school, we’re not just teaching science, even in the science department,” Walsh says. “We’re aware of the whole education of the student. Our science teachers are all dedicated to the Jesuit Catholic way of living life, and the belief that things do come down to a creator, that God is the creator.” That said, he adds, “We want our students to learn to think for themselves. They are very interested in knowing what evolution is, what cloning is, what a stem cell is. They don’t necessarily ask what is right or wrong, but they do want to know why these are issues.”
The Ape in the Classroom
In 1987, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that creationism (the belief that an all-powerful God created all living beings, substantially as they now exist) could be taught in current affairs, philosophy or history classes—but not in science classes. So those uncomfortable with the ruling suggested teaching “intelligent design,” defining it as the “scientific” view that biological processes are so complex, they must be the work of a higher power. In a widely followed case in 2005, a federal judge in Pennsylvania ruled that intelligent design was rooted in religion and it, too, should be barred from science curricula.
States continue to wiggle around the federal ruling: Louisiana law allows educators to pull religious beliefs into topics like evolution, cloning and global warming by introducing supplemental materials. Many states require caveats that evolution is “a theory, not a fact”; some require students to learn about scientific criticisms of evolution. Here in Missouri, legislators recently tried and failed to pass an “academic freedom” bill allowing teachers to introduce nonscientific alternatives to evolution.
The climate in the public schools remains tense.
“Evolution seems to be a real controversy for the kids,” Berendzen says. “They feel like their soul is at stake.” He sticks to science in his Francis Howell classroom, which to him means not including ideas about intelligent design. “It’s more speculative than scientific,” he explains. “Intelligent design does not hold up to the scientific standards; there’s never been any peer review by the scientific community.”
Roosevelt’s Selimovic-Milosavljevic says, “I don’t talk about intelligent design at all, because I draw the line between what is science and what is religion. I don’t talk about creationism either—but I do raise the question, ‘Why do people make evolution such a controversial issue?’ Some students even come in with this thing they get online: ‘Ten Questions to Ask Your Biology Teacher About Evolution.’ I make a little PowerPoint presentation for them, giving scientific evidence to answer questions from that list. And now, there are a few lists of 15.” She laughs softly. “So you see, evolution works!”
De Smet teaches evolution “from its roots in Darwin, and from the scientific perspective that this is a fact that species have evolved over thousands of years,” Walsh says, sounding noticeably more relaxed than the public-school teachers. “The Catholic Church doesn’t preach against evolution; it’s not really a controversial topic for us. Everything is taught here knowing that God is the creator, and that’s not two-sided; it’s not that either God is the creator or there’s evolution. Everything has to start somewhere.
“Creationism as far as the world in seven days, though, that doesn’t come up at all,” he adds. “Intelligent design, that’s a little closer. There is a creator. It’s not a matter of a supreme being pulling all the strings; things aren’t predestined. But there is an intelligent design behind evolution.”
At Principia, far more classroom time is spent on evolution than on creationism—but forced to choose, Larimer says the Christian Science religion probably wouldn’t plump for either. “We believe in God as a creator, but on a spiritual level,” he explains, “so the creationist story doesn’t fit our model. The first chapter of Genesis talks about God creating everything and calling it good. We stop right there. The Adam and Eve story is a nice allegory, but it’s not our definition of true creation.
“If I’m looking for an explanation of the biological world and how species adapted, evolution does a fairly decent job of explaining that, with some holes,” he continues. “But our reality really exists on a spiritual level. Our kids learn pretty quickly to separate that.”
In her Burroughs seminar, Bahe playfully sneaks in a shift of framework, lecturing about evolution from a Darwinian perspective and then saying, “You know, thinking about this, there are some problems here,” and seguing into an intelligent-design perspective. “And then we talk about the differences,” she says, “and whether intelligent design belongs in a science classroom.”
Westminster teaches it all: evolution, creationism and intelligent design. “We think it’s very important that our students understand those kinds of things and how they intersect,” Shaw explains, adding that “evolution is a huge, huge theory, and theories always need modification. Parts seem accurate; other parts are much more speculative. We make sure our students define how the word ‘evolution’ is being used: evolution within a type? Microevolution where natural selection is acting on a certain set of genes? We would make it broader than ‘species’; ‘species’ is narrow and artificial. Scientists don’t even agree what species are.
“Of course we believe that God created the original types, whatever they were,” he concludes, “and if you want to, you could say they have been microevolving ever since. Our real concern is when that broader evolution theory becomes a worldview, becomes atheism, with the assumption that all of what we observe can be explained through evolutionary theory.
“We say biological knowledge is necessary but not sufficient; there is so much more.” Especially, he adds, in human nature: “Our biology is no longer perfect or flawless; it’s been affected by sin. The original creation of Adam and Eve was perfect. The consequences of sin mess up the biology and everything else.”
God in the Laboratory
Beneath the fieriest debates in science education lies a single, cool question: What is the proper relationship between science and religion? Are they different ways of approaching the same truths, different kinds of truth or mutually exclusive worldviews? Do the two subjects belong in separate compartments, or do you need to explain both scientific method and religious values in order to teach today’s scientific controversies? Should you teach the controversies, or just the facts? And is there any such thing as “just the facts” anymore?
In Shaw’s view, “All of science is based upon faith. So the idea that faith is against science is very simplistic.”
But for teachers in public schools, science and religion tangle so quickly and so dangerously, you have to separate them from the start—and avoid any occasion for overlap.
“What becomes really touchy is the religious aspect,” Berendzen says, “and unfortunately there’s not much I can do in class with that, and I wish there were a way that I could. I’ve got a strong faith, and I have no problem with a creator who has set the rules of the game in motion. It’s like a hockey game: If you have never been to one, and you are sitting in the bleachers all by yourself, you start to make up rules. Science interprets the rules that were put in place by a creator, if you will. But I’m trying not to tell the students what I think.”
For Bahe, whose school is private but secular, the separation is crisp and distinct. “If the students ask my religious beliefs, I don’t share them,” she says. “A god, a creator, is based on faith; we can’t create a controlled experiment where we can look at the existence or nonexistence of some deity. We are in a science classroom, and what we talk about are things we can test using the scientific method.”
At Westminster, on the other hand, Shaw is delighted to share his beliefs with his students: “They always like to know what we think as teachers. That’s one of the wonderful things about teaching here—I don’t have to hide anything!”
Shaw gives a PowerPoint presentation using quotes by prominent atheists to generate discussion and help his students better defend their faith. “We go out of our way to incorporate all areas where there is confusion or contention,” he says. “Although ultimately, there is no conflict between science and scripture because they come from the same God. Apparent disagreements are because we as human beings have misunderstood either God’s creation or God’s word.”
At De Smet, the religious tenets might be different, but the stance is the same: Science and religion are interwoven. “There’s not a separation with science at one end and religion at the other,” Walsh emphasizes. “Even though science is explanation, it’s also discovery. There isn’t a science of discovering God in everything around us—that awe and wonderment—but it’s related.”
Principia has a policy of not teaching religion in the classroom, Larimer says, “although nobody would argue with us about having discussions. We definitely answer any kind of question that comes up. We help guide kids through these issues in a balance with our own religion, and we really try to clear up confusion. One goal is to not ever have the kids walk out of the class confused or in turmoil.” The Christian Science church does not dictate strong stands on various issues; much is left to members’ consciences, he adds. “At Principia, we want to create active thinkers, not program them. If you are going to solve your problems prayerfully, you need to be an active thinker.”
At Roosevelt, Selimovic-Milosavljevic is more concerned with the thinking than the praying. When her students reject evolution out of hand, insisting humans couldn’t possibly have any connection to apes, she gently asks why they think that. “They say, ‘Because God created everybody the way they are,’” she quotes ruefully. “And then I try to make them understand that science works on evidence, and that the theory of evolution is not about ‘believing’ in evolution the way they might believe in God.”
Methods of Discovery
At Westminster, Shaw doesn’t tiptoe around controversial issues; he uses them to help students clarify their faith. Borrowing bioethicist Nigel Cameron’s categorization of “the taking, making and faking of life,” he says they cover “abortion and infanticide, which is the taking of life. Cloning and stem cells, the making of life. And we are starting to move into the faking of life, with cybernetics and artificial intelligence and nanotechnologies.
“I don’t mean to imply that all of these technologies are de facto negative,” Shaw adds quickly. “They may be used for good or evil. I think we would take a stand that cloning is not part of God’s plan. However, if people do clone a human being someday, and I kind of suspect they might, that does not mean that person is any less a creation of God than anybody else.” He pauses. “I do think we’ll clone, and it’ll be interesting that we will find that the person who is cloned is every bit as spiritual as anybody else. Imago dei, made in the image of God, from the moment of conception. That is part of the mystery of being human.”
Shaw says his students “really enjoy and appreciate these discussions. The way it is often depicted in the media is that science is a threat to faith. Certainly there are factions within the broader evangelical community that are very antagonistic to science—but we would disagree with them. Our approach is, all truth is God’s truth.” It gets more challenging to guide students, he adds, “the more they come under the almost-deluge of the opposing worldview. It used to be that there was the Christian worldview, and other worldviews were respected. Now there’s an awful lot of people who are much more vociferous about trying to promote a secular worldview. They try to set up this artificial distinction that one is science and the other is not.”
At Francis Howell, the distinction doesn’t strike Berendzen as artificial at all. He sticks firmly to science: “We get into cloning a little bit, and stem cells, and whatever they believe about the inception of life, whatever their moral background is, the big issue for me is the pace of research, so I do spend some time talking about that. We are going so fast, as a society, that we almost circumvent the scientific process.”
He tries to foster student discussion: “We’ll do a round-robin discussion of photosynthesis or another process,” he says, “and I’ll let them have free rein to discuss how this affects their lives.” Er … photosynthesis? “I’ve done this with more controversial things,” he says wryly, “but it tends to break down very quickly and become counterproductive.”
Bahe, in the luxury of her small senior seminar, finds just the opposite: “The question of when life begins, for example, is a really fundamental question that lies at the heart of so many of these issues,” she says. “We force the students to adopt a point of view,” assigning various stances randomly, “and then let them migrate to the table where they feel most comfortable. That’s what I find most rewarding: their ability to look at the arguments from a different point of view and then start to feel comfortable with where they’re sitting.
“As the kids struggle with, say, stem cells,” she continues, “they recognize, ‘Wow, this is really technical, there really is a difference between adult and embryonic and umbilical stem cells. Do these people who are representing me have a clue what the difference is?’” Later in the course, Bahe and her co-teacher, history and philosophy teacher Mark Smith, throw a cocktail party: He dresses like a butler, she as a maid, and they greet the kids with trays of sparkling grapefruit juice in wine glasses and hand them a slip of paper with a role to play: a senator, perhaps, or a fundamentalist Christian minister. “Through their conversations,” she explains, “they have to figure out who each other is.”
Bahe’s only exhortation, after any classroom exercise or discussion, is that outside the classroom, no one even repeat, let alone mock, another student’s opinion. In class, it’s an intellectual free-for-all, and students throw themselves wholeheartedly into the exchange. “Sometimes kids don’t want to leave the classroom,” Bahe says, “or you can hear at lunchtime that the discussion is still going on.”
Push-Back
Bahe gets no push-back from parents. Shaw hears from parents, but says many are simply “surprised to see how faith and science mesh.” Walsh definitely hears from parents—“They will ask, ‘Do you cover this? Do you cover that?’”—but it’s not an attempt at censorship. Quite the opposite: “They want to make sure we do teach about human reproduction and risky behaviors!”
Berendzen gets the occasional objection, more often from a student than a parent. At least once a year, he’ll hear, “I didn’t come from apes!”—and he’ll agree promptly: “Absolutely true. The evidence of evolution is only that humans and apes share a common ancestor.” Then he waits. “They kind of go, ‘Hmmm.’ And then you present the overwhelming genetic, molecular, physiological evidence, and the way we are different, in that our central nervous system grew and expanded faster. They can kind of wrap their heads around that—but some still say, ‘My preacher says this, and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.’”
When Selimovic-Milosavljevic’s students come into class saying, “OK, natural selection, but I still don’t think we were apes,” she knows where to begin. “It seems that this is not only the problem with students,” she adds. “I have some co-workers, actually, who have the same view. I try not to be rude.”
Her second stumbling block comes at the end of the course, when she describes the different kingdoms into which science divides living organisms and tells her students that Homo sapiens is part of the animal kingdom. “Oh no, we’re not,” a few students invariably retort. So she probes to find out why the notion is so repellent. “Animals,” the kids say, “are not smart.”
There Goes Sex
Today’s high-school biology courses have as many tentacles, hot spots and cross-connections as the nervous system itself. But one subject increasingly absent is sexual reproduction—especially the human sort, which has also gotten rather complicated. Its various permutations wind up in bioethics or advanced courses; its basics have been relegated, in many schools, to health classes.
“There is a section in our textbook, but we don’t teach it,” Selimovic-Milosavljevic says. “That is not anymore part of the content of the biology course; it’s been shifted to health or anatomy. I’m in a way sorry, because they are missing quite a bit of information about living organisms, but there is so much to teach in biology, I see why they had to cut certain things.”
At De Smet, “freshman biology will touch upon ‘This is how it happens,’” says Walsh. “But for those who take senior anatomy and physiology [an elective], we can talk about other ways you can have reproduction. This couple wants to have a child in vitro: The sperm and the wife’s eggs are harvested, fertilized, frozen, then implanted into the wife’s uterus, and a baby is formed. The couple is so happy—but now you have these other eggs that have been fertilized and are still frozen. What do you do with those? We tell them the Catholic Church says you should not have in vitro fertilization to begin with, because of this. This is human life you are talking about. But we really try to get these guys to form their own decisions.
“The thing is, things that can be discovered will be,” he adds matter-of-factly. “You can’t stop discovery. You have to teach people to base their decisions on moral and ethical judgments.”
Flaws in the Experiment
In secular schools, both public and private, some teachers welcome the exclusion of religious ideas, while others chafe at the constraint. In religious schools, some teachers draw clear lines between science and faith, while others see the two topics as inextricably connected. Everybody shares one main frustration, though: the lack of time. How do you build enough of a foundation, and how do you acknowledge even a fraction of the complexity that lies beyond those basic facts?
“The sequences are not ideal,” Selimovic-Milosavljevic sighs over the Kaplan-designed curriculum in the St. Louis Public Schools. “We start to teach evolution without students having any prior knowledge of genetics, so you are imposing an entire concept without them understanding how genes and mutations function, and how mutation needs to happen. It’s the chicken and the egg; where do you start?
“The time frame for discussion of stem cells and cloning is really limited, because we have all these Kaplan benchmark tests through the year,” she adds. “I usually have the students research one of the proposed bills and investigate the topic for themselves. But for something like cloning, it would be ideal if we could have a week or two versus maybe two days.”
Walsh says De Smet, as a private school, is mercifully free of such constraints: “We don’t have to get a certain number of chapters covered.” Still, there’s never time to cover all the big issues in depth. “Our goals are that we challenge our students, and they get a very good understanding of what the subject is and whether they want to pursue it further. We teach extended classes once a week, which allows us to do more student-to-student interaction, and that really helps a lot.”
Even Bahe, who has the luxury of a small, team-taught seminar to explore the most complex and nuanced issues in bioethics, has her frustrations: Only 16 seniors can take the course, which is hugely popular. Many more clamor to sign up every time it’s offered.
Nobody ever begged that hard to dissect a frog.
