Prelude

"What for instance in the old model of physics was (and still is) a solid, easy chair appears in the new atom-model as a kind of empty space with atoms and molecules whirling and dancing about inside it. An 'outsider' hearing about this for the first time, will either shake his head in disbelief - or angry protest - over such a new-fangled aberration, since the chair's solidity seems perfectly obvious - or never dare sit on a chair with a quiet mind again."
- Schillebeeckx

Science requires frequently that we accept things on faith. It often says things that are quite ridiculous, as our Belgian Padre points out. Chairs, like walls, rocks, and softball bats, are solid. We handle them tangibly, see them visibly, and trust them to hold up our weight when we sit on them. So, when a scientist explains that they are almost completely composed of empty space, the average person understandably will utter an obliging "Sure. . ." and ignore the scientist until he returns to the realm of sanity.

In the classroom discussions of scientific insights are tedious, but I find them worthwhile as they at least offer hope of practical application. The greatest challenge I face week to week is reminding myself that the things I'm learning might one day result in restoring some person's health. Still, it is not an easy task. I've now obtained a novice's level of understanding of quantum theory, uncertainty, evolution, genetics, blah, blah, blah. Yet, even with my basic level of understanding of such things, it seems that most people outside science who make any attempt at speaking about these delve into fantasy and science fiction even when they don't mean to. I find myself still commonly wearing the layman hat when listening to these ideas, even though I don't have to do so. Even after achieving a slight degree of scientific enlightenment, I find myself looking at people discussing science, and want to interject with an aloof, "What the hell are you talking about?!" Once a layman, always a layman? At least in attitude perhaps.

Thus, I am always apprehensive about putting scientific monologues on this blog. No doubt theology can be equally as esoteric as science, but for whatever reason, I am much more comfortable offending people with boring theology than boring science.

Lately though, I've found that I am thinking in circles theologically. Nothing is really breaking new ground for me, so the few attempts at writing I have made lately seem to merely rehash things I've said previously. I might post them anyway, but once I realize they are redundant I lose all motivation to finish the post. I have conceded that if I am to keep writing, and certainly if I am to keep writing honestly, I am going to have to bore you all with science. It is my sincere desire that this does not careen off into half-baked, quasi-scientific gibberish. I feel that lately I have noticed a few meaningful connections between what I've learned the past few years and life-in-general. I hope to put a few of those into words.

Consider this my intro for the posts that I think I might soon write. Theological science . . . or maybe scientific theology. I can't decide.

Consider yourselves forewarned.