Unintelligent Design

         After dinner, Sir Frank Inkwell and Professor Roger Stubbs wandered out into the Fellows’ Garden to have a stroll, a cigar and a natter. The two distinguished scientists were old friends and had no secrets from each other except in personal matters, of course, which scientists rarely talk about. In which, of course, they are no different from other men.
         “Any feelings about intelligent design?” said Sir Frank, gazing up at the night sky. “You know - this new orthodoxy from America. This effort to deduce a creator from the clever design of the universe. Think there’s any truth in it?”
         “Well,” said the Professor, tapping some cigar ash into a flower bed and looking up at the lights of a plane passing high overhead,” it’s a bit premature to tell you this, and you mustn’t tell a soul, but although we know it’s untestable, we have actually been trying some tests on the idea in the lab.”
         “Testing the untestable, eh, Roger? So that’s where the grant money goes! And how did you do this?”
         “We established some basic guidelines for intelligence. We programmed these guidelines into a computer. We then ran some of the basic patterns of the universe against these guidelines and rated them on an intelligence scale.”
         “You mean, you asked the computer to trace intelligence in the universe?”
         “No. We did better than that. We asked it to detect grades of intelligence. We asked it to determine just HOW intelligent the design of the universe was.”
         “I see. And  . . “
         “We kept finding evidence of low grades of intelligence.”
         “Meaning?”
         “That the evidence points to unintelligent design. That if there is a  creator, he is rather stupid. There are so many examples of things that could have been better designed. The computer is absolutely appalled by the clumsiness of the tectonic plates, for instance. Crashing one continent into another to create a third, for instance, is not his idea of nifty design. And he’s very sniffy about the fragility of the atmosphere.”
         “You seem to be on rather too familiar terms with your computer, if you ask me,” said Sir Frank.
         “But along with all the evidence of unintelligent design, we get evidence of flashes of extreme intelligence, which the computer is full of admiration for. He is very impressed by the workings of bacteria, for instance. Great design, he thinks.”
         “So what does that suggest? An intelligent designer? Or an unintelligent one? Can’t be both.”
         ”Why not?” said Roger. “I have plenty of students who are remarkably intelligent and still do stupid things and have stupid ideas.”
         “Yes, but students don’t get invited to design the universe.”
         “I’m not so sure about that,” said Roger.
Sir Frank looked sideways at his friend. Hard to tell in the dusk, but he didn’t seem to be joking.
         “Just for fun,” Roger continued, “we asked the computer to come up with a theory to explain the mix of intelligence and idiocy, and after a while the computer came up with an answer which suggested that the mixture corresponded to a stage of the learning process.”
         “Meaning?”
         “That the solar system might well be a student project done by an intelligent but inexperienced design creator, as an exercise. Maybe even as part of an exam.”
         “Well,” said Sir Frank,” even if that were true, we shouldn’t get too alarmed. It’s nice to be designed by a promising student.”
         “Ah,” said Roger,” but you know what happens to student projects! Once they are finished, they are abandoned. The student moves on. The project gathers dust. It is no longer maintained. It is allowed to run down gradually . . .”
         “Good Lord,” said Sir Frank. “You mean. . . “
         “Our oil is running out,” said Roger. “Global warming increasing. Population getting out of control. Meanwhile, the designer himself has moved on to bigger and better things.”
         “You believe this?” said Sir Frank. “You think Earth is part of a discarded project?”
         “Why not?” said Roger. “It fits all the known facts.”
         “But our fate can still be in our own hands! We can take action to counteract the running down of the project!”
Roger Stubb looked out over the town, throbbing with electric light, and up at the sky, where two or three big new planes had appeared.
         “I rather doubt it, Frank. I rather doubt it.”

Feb 2nd 2005