On the dangers of reading.

On the dangers of reading.

During most of human evolution, children died regularly.  In some cultures, the risk was so high that children weren’t named until they’d survived their second birthday.

But the advent of modern medicine – vaccines, antibiotics, sterile technique – has dramatically reduced childhood mortality.  Wealthy parents in the U.S. expect their children to survive.  And yet, this expectation can increase anxiety.  Families are smaller; children are less replaceable.  Parents pour so much of themselves into children’s early years that we’d be devastated if something went wrong.

And so modern parents hover.  Rather than letting children roam free, comforted by the thought that out of six kids, surely one will be fine, wealthy parents in the U.S. strive to control the development of their one or two offspring.

In the book On Immunity, Eula Biss describes how difficult it can be to relinquish that control.

CaptureI already practiced some intuitive toxicology before my pregnancy, but I became thoroughly immersed in it after my son was born.  As long as a child takes only breast milk, I discovered, one can enjoy the illusion of a closed system, a body that is not yet in dialogue with the impurities of farm and factory.  Caught up in the romance of the untainted body, I remember feeling agony when my son drank water for the first time.  “Unclean!  Unclean!” my mind screamed.

Because I didn’t breastfeed my child, I glossed over this passage when I first read it.  Even early on, I sometimes used water to dilute the milk that my partner pumped at work – when my kid was thirsty, I needed to offer something.

But I found myself thinking about this passage recently, when our eldest learned to read.  Our family loves books – we’ve probably read to our children for an hour or more each day, and they spend more time flipping through the pages on their own.

When I read to my kids, I reflexively alter texts.  In our version of James Marshall’s Fox on the Job, Fox had a bicycle accident while showing off for “his friends,” not “the girls.”  In Fox is Famous, a character bemoans the challenges of baton twirling by saying “I’m just not good at this yet,” that (unprinted) final word used to convey a growth mindset.

Go_dog_go_hat.jpgAnd our kids would probably be puzzled by Raquel D’Apice’s essay about Go Dog Go because the voices I’ve used while reading led them to assume that the pink poodle was a fashionable male asking a female friend for advice (“Well, maybe he doesn’t have a mirror at home,” I explained when N was curious, “Why does he keep asking that?”).

I could control the stereotypes that my children were fed.

But books are dangerous!  At the beginning of summer, our eldest learned how to read.  A week later, I hid all the Calvin and Hobbes.  She loves these!  So do I.  But four is too young to really understand concepts like “irony” or “anti-hero” – her behavior promptly tanked in mimicry of Calvin.

About a week after that, I hid the Peanuts.  And Garfield (“He shouldn’t kick Odie off the table, right?  Just like you shouldn’t have hit your sibling”).

She loves comics, but the only books we kept out were good, wholesome Mutts by vegan artist Patrick McDonnell.


And I hid others, like James Howe’s Howliday Inn (too scary – she could hardly sleep that night).  We look over the front-page headlines of our local newspaper before deciding whether it can be left on the table.

Like Viet Thanh Nguyen, I’ve felt a little sad to see my child venture off into the intellectual world of books without me.  I still worry what she’s ready for.

For much of human history, the paternal impulse to restrict access to books was blatantly evil.  The medieval Christian church was reticent to use local languages because then poor people could interpret religious precepts for themselves.  And the written word was considered exceptionally dangerous in the U.S.  It was illegal to teach literacy to the people who were being tortured on sweltering plantations.

I’d like to think that my motivation for wanting to sculpt my child’s library is more benign.  More akin, perhaps, to the scientists dismayed when the untrained general public dabble with misleadingly curated excerpts from research journals.

On Immunity documents the efforts that Eula Biss made to learn about vaccination.  She writes that:

vaccinationUnvaccinated children, a 2004 analysis of CDC data reveals, are more likely to be white, to have an older married mother with a college education, and to live in a household with an income of $75,000 or more – like my child.

The mothers I knew began debating whether or not to vaccinate our children against the novel influenza virus long before any vaccine became available to us.

Another mother said that her child had screamed frighteningly all night following her first vaccination and she would not risk another vaccination of any kind.

Although many of these women have received extensive schooling in the humanities, and clearly care deeply for their offspring, they are putting lives at risk, including those of their own children.

It’s possible to remain ignorant even after extensive schooling.

Cattle_herdWhen my son was six months old, at the peak of the H1N1 flu pandemic, another mother told me that she did not believe in herd immunity.  It was only a theory, she said, and one that applied mainly to cows.  That herd immunity was subject to belief had not yet occurred to me, though there is clearly something of the occult in the idea of an invisible cloak of protection cast over the entire population.

In Biss’s social circle, people doubted demonstrable principles.  Herd immunity, like the theory of evolution, is not only correct, it is the mathematical implication of uncontroversial assumptions.  In the case of herd immunity, that viral diseases are communicable and that severe symptoms tend to make a virus more contagious.  In the case of evolution, that the DNA replication process producing gametes has a non-zero error rate, that heritable DNA gives rise to traits, and that individuals with different traits might have different numbers of offspring (perhaps because one critter was eaten as a child, whereas the other survived).

But the people making ignorant decisions in Biss’s social circle certainly don’t think of themselves as ignorant.  After all, they’re trying their best to stay informed.  They aren’t scientists, but they read.  They look up information, ingest it as best they can, and try to make good decisions.

When people read (and spin) articles in scientific journals without putting forth the effort to understand what the data really mean, they create an incentive for scientists to hide their findings.  Sometimes there are caveats to the truth.  For instance, each year’s flu vaccine is often much less effective than other vaccinations.  Some years, the flu vaccine is dramatically ineffective.

I read that report – then went and got my vaccination.

If people are using papers like this as propaganda, though – trying, for whatever reason, to convince people not to get vaccinated (you want an evil conspiracy theory?  Vaccines are cheap, and they prevent deadly, expensive illnesses.  Are wealthy imbeciles recommending you forgo vaccination simply so that you’ll need to pay for more medical care?) – it stifles scientific discourse.

Every scientist knows that vaccines are helpful.  They write papers about the rare failures in order to make vaccines even more helpful.  But nobody wants to provide fodder for the ignoramuses to distort.

Roald Dahl wrote an open letter urging parents to have their children vaccinated.  He describes his own family’s tragedy – before a vaccine was developed, his seven-year-old daughter died of measles.  He thought she was getting better; he was wrong.

Are you feeling all right?” I asked her.

I feel all sleepy,” she said.

In an hour, she was unconscious.  In twelve hours, she was dead.

Incidentally, I dedicated two of my books to Olivia, the first was James and the Giant Peach.  That was when she was still alive.  The second was The BFG, dedicated to her memory after she had died from measles.  You will see her name at the beginning of each of these books.  And I know how happy she would be if only she could know that her death had helped to save a good deal of illness and death among other children.



On conspiracy theories and Santa Claus.

On conspiracy theories and Santa Claus.

Our daughter wants to visit dungeon-master Santa.

This isn’t as scary as it sounds – the local mall Santa happens to be a developer for Dungeons & Dragons.  Unfortunately, our daughter has a bit of trouble with impulse control.  I’ve heard that this is normal for three year olds.

santa-2990434_640“What would you say to other kids about Santa?” we asked her.

“I’d tell them that Santa isn’t real.”

“But, remember, only their parents are supposed to tell them that.”


“Well, you should know that we will always tell you the truth.  If we’re telling you a story, we’ll let you know that it’s a story.  But some other families are different.  They want their kids to believe the dungeon master lives on the North Pole with an army of elves.”


“I … I dunno, dude.  But don’t tell the other kids, okay?”

I’ve written previously about the harm in conspiring against children – belief in one conspiracy theory makes people more likely to believe in another.  People who believe that the government is covering up evidence of UFOs are also more likely to believe that vaccines cause autism, fluoride in the water enables mind control, and the Earth is flat.

And, sadly, we start our citizens early.  The Santa story is a vast conspiracy, a large number of authority figures (grown-ups) collaborating to keep the child in a state of ignorance.  A local philosophy professor told me that he felt the story was valuable as a measure of intellectual development – at first the child believes, but then begins to notice flaws in the story.

“Uh, if it takes two minutes to deliver presents, it would take a thousand years to visit everyone in the United States, or two million Santas on Christmas Eve – but not every house has a chimney!”


I think it would be cynical to lie to children as a developmental metric.  This measurement changes the child (which is not Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, f.y.i.).  The experience of uncovering one conspiracy will train children to search for conspiracies elsewhere.  Perhaps a child is supposed to realize that there’s no Santa at seven years old, that there are no gods at eleven, that the moon landing was faked at thirteen, that JFK is smoking blunts in the Illuminati’s underground lair at seventeen.

After all, the Santa story isn’t the final time we conspire against children.  In my school’s health classes, all sexuality outside of marriage was described as fundamentally bad.  Even if we somehow dodged pregnancy and disease, disrobed physical affection would break our hearts and leave us feeling guilty and ashamed.  Recreational drug use was described in similarly bleak terms (by a teacher who drank coffee every morning).

Students grow up, get laid, drink beer, smoke pot.  Grown-ups were hypocritically hiding the truth.  Sex is fun.  Drugs are fun.

What else were they hiding?

(Have you seen all those children’s books with pictures of happy animals on the farm?)

A lot of the guys in jail believe in conspiracy theories.  Despite a plenitude of dudes with Aryan tattoos, I’ve never heard anybody on a full-tilt ZOG rant, but I’ve been told about Nostradamus, Biblical prophecy, the CIA (to be fair, I’ve spent a fair bit of time talking about MK Ultra, too).

To an extent, I understand why.  The people in jail are being conspired against by judges, informants, and the police.  With lives in thrall to the overt conspiracy of our criminal justice system, covert conspiracy seems probable, too.

And so, in preparation for this essay, I took a few minutes at the beginning of class to say, “There’s an administrator at the local school who thinks the Earth is flat.  Says so to kids.  You guys hear anybody talking about that?”

flatearth“Oh, yeah, there was this dude in A block!  He was talking about it like all the time!”

“Now he’s in seg.”

“It’s like, has he never seen a globe?”

And the guys wondered what that administrator was doing inside a school.

“Cause kids go there to learn, right?”

Kids do need to learn critical thinking.  They should question whether the things they’re taught make sense.  I’ve heard plenty of teachers make erroneous claims, and not just in Indiana’s public schools – some professors at Northwestern and Stanford didn’t know what they were talking about either.  Even so, I think it’s unhelpful to train children by having them uncover the Santa story.  That experience is a step along the way to thinking your sensory experience has primacy over abstract data.

After all, the planet feels flat enough.  It looks flat from most human vantages.  And it would be cheaper to deceive people than to send spacecraft to the moon (a former colleague recently went to the International Space Station for some incredibly expensive molecular biology experiments.  This was a huge undertaking – and she was only 0.1% of the way to the moon).

If you take a kid for his MMR vaccine, and shortly after vaccination he seems to regress into autism, that narrative – which you watched with your own eyes! – is more compelling than a bunch of medical statistics proving there’s no connection.  If you comb the Bible and find lines mirroring current events, that narrative also must seem more compelling than the thought that history is chaotic.  Physicists from Einstein till the present day have been dismayed that quantum mechanics feels so unintuitive.

It’s tricky to find a balance between our own senses and expert opinion.  It’s even harder in a world where numerous authority figures and media outlets have been caught spreading lies.

And so, while I try not to judge others’ parenting decisions, please, take a few minutes to think about the holiday stories you tell.  If you’d like to live in a country where the citizenry can agree on basic facts, lying to your kids might be not be the way to get there.

On autism and vaccines.

Another vaccine in the news.

Let’s get one thing out of the way first, shall we?  Vaccines don’t cause autism.  If you’ve got a kid with a standard operating immune system, you oughta get that sucker vaccinated.  If you yourself have a standard operating immune system, and you’re considering living in a place where certain diseases that you aren’t immune to are prevalent, you oughta get yourself vaccinated.

But, okay, now that we’ve stated that much, there is an essay about vaccines and autism that I’ve been meaning to write.  Prompted, at the moment, by my turn in the queue for Eula Biss’s On Vaccination finally arriving.  Biss writes, with a lack of emphasis that I assume is ironic, though I am of course only a quarter of the way through her book at the time of this writing and so cannot know for certain, “Even so, the evidence reviewed by the committee ‘favors rejection’ of the theory that the MMR vaccine causes autism.”

Sure.  Let’s reject that theory.  There’s no evidence that vaccines cause autism; a scientist might use the word “hypothesis” to describe the idea that one might, but never “theory,” not given the data we have (by way of contrast, evolution is a theory.  Gravity is a theory; the next thing you drop, unless you’re on the space station, is probably gonna fall).  The conjecture that vaccines cause autism is a hypothesis, one that’s been tested and rejected.  Unless we accumulate a lot of new data that’s very dissimilar from the data we have now, rejected is how that hypothesis will stay.

And yet.  I wanted to write an essay about my favorite contemporary model for the cause of autism, and the idea that vaccination (or “mock vaccination,” actually, in which a child undergoes the ritual of vaccination but nothing is injected) might trigger the onset of autism.  This would happen only in children who were more or less guaranteed to have autism, but I can envision a compelling narrative in which the parents of many such children would all be able to point to an incidence of vaccination as the triggering moment.

There are, you may have noticed, many theories about what causes autism.  There’s the hippocampal under-pruning hypothesis; people with autism might have too many neural connections, trigger too many memories when it’s time to make decisions!  And of course there is also the over-pruning hypothesis; yup, the exact opposite idea has been proposed as the cause of autism, too!  It’s been proposed that autism results in underactivation of the fusiform gyrus, which is a part of the brain associated with processing faces and emotions.  And, yes, it’s been proposed that autism results in overactivation of the fusiform gyrus in emotional contexts, as though it’s hard to make eye contact, process emotions, etc., because they are perceived too strongly, not too weakly.  It’s been proposed that the condition is akin to a defensive response to stress, or that it’s linked to a deficit of oxytocin (the “cuddle molecule,” which K is planning to get a tattoo of once she’s done nursing), or that there are insufficient GABA-mediated inhibitory signals.

In short, many proposals, and nobody knows what’s correct.

Honestly, we don’t even how many people have autism.  You could read the CDC report and say, ah, 1 in 68 children have an autism spectrum disorder, but there are clear peculiarities in their numbers.  For instance, the huge increase relative to prior reports.  For instance, massive regional disparities; should we believe that autism is 4-fold more common in New Jersey than Alabama, or is there a difference in diagnostic capabilities?  And, as a point of contention near and dear to my own heart, the possibility that autistic children learn to mask their own condition.  If you asked K, for instance, she’d tell you that I have a mild autism spectrum disorder, but I’ve never been diagnosed.

And there are many proposed cures for autism.  Exogenous oxytocin (would hugs work instead, to promote endogenous oxytocin?); suramin, which reduces stress response (this hasn’t been proposed as a cure for humans, because the compound is toxic, but it seems to ameliorate autism-like symptoms in a mouse model); behavioral therapies …

… and my nomination for the all-time absolute WORST proposed cure, daily injection of massive doses of LSD. (This was first tested in humans, orphaned children, primarily, and was sometimes coupled with electroshock therapy.  But I should point out that our definition of the word “autism” has evolved somewhat in the time since these experiments were performed; if we go by modern usage, I think a more accurate description of these children would be “surly” rather than “autistic.” Still, reason enough to give them daily LSD. For months.)

All of which I’m mentioning so that you know to take everything I say about a possible “link” between autism and the practice of vaccination with a hefty dose of salt.  Clearly, nobody knows what’s up.

So, with all our caveats carefully stipulated, let’s get to it!  My current favorite model for the cause of autism, and how that might also relate to vaccines!

(Do I need to mention, here, that my use of the word model, singular, is somewhat silly since it seems very likely that there are multiple causes, perhaps multiple brain states that all get referred to as “autism” but which have differing neurological mechanisms?  I’m not sure.  I’ll mention it coyly, like this, in a parenthetical aside… that’s a good halfway approach, right?)

The model: maybe certain babies get too stressed out during birth, and that triggers autism (there is a nice summary of this model on the Simons Foundation Autism Research Initiative website).

A fetus’s brain activity is supposed to be suppressed during delivery, a process mediated by K’s favorite molecule. But something might be awry in autism, causing the suppression of brain activity to fail.  Seems there are suspicious clues speckled throughout the literature, like the fact that diazepam (Valium) often excites people with autism instead of calming them.  Indeed, my sister and I took an overnight bus ride through the mountains when I visited her in Ecuador (she was there for a three-year stint in the Peace Corps before medical school), and one of her friends lent us some Valiums.  My sister slept soundly.  I spent twelve hours chittering and jabbing her in the side with my elbow.

And, yeah, birth seems like it’d be incredibly traumatic… definitely seems like a good thing for babies’ brains to be conked.  Why not imagine that someone would be constantly musing “The horror, the horror” if there was any trace of memory about that whole ordeal?  There’s an increased percentage chance of autism after birth complications, though it’s difficult for me to say what types of delivery a baby would consider most stressful (like, would a baby think that a Cesarean delivery was easier?  Dunno, but Cesarean delivery is correlated with higher autism incidence, not lower like you might predict if your only working model were this highly speculative one I’m expounding upon).

In rodent models where pretreatment (either genetic or chemical) of fetuses tends to produce animals with some of the social disorders considered to be hallmarks of autism, it seems you can reduce the chance of producing an autistic-like animal by giving the birthing mothers a drug that stills the mind of the fetus.  Conk the baby chemically, it won’t remember its own birth, it grows into a neurotypical adult.

Within this framework, it seems possible that any episodes involving extreme stress could trigger autism onset in highly-susceptible individuals.  Vaccination, typically involving a shot, is stressful for some children.  So, there you go.  If you want to believe that there is *any* correlation between vaccination and autism beyond a coincidence in timing (i.e. when it’s first possible to diagnose autism and the standard vaccination schedule) this speculative hypothesis is the best I can come up with.  And it suggests that even if you believe there’s a link between autism and vaccination, there’s a strategy you could employ other than refusing vaccination, which endangers your own child and others.  You can simply make vaccination not stressful.

It’s not that hard, actually.  Yes, your kid is getting jabbed with a needle.  And it hurts, a little bit.  Not that much.  About as much as a hard pinch, which is crummy, and makes most kids cry, but easily fixable.  I’d say N has cried on average for about three seconds with each of her vaccinations, then we cuddle her some, she nurses, she’s happy again.  Part of why this works so well is that K stays calm and placid and cheerful throughout (I wish I could say the same about myself, but I have that thing where my blood pressure drops and I feel faint around needles.  K doesn’t; she performed thousands of injections on frogs during her doctorate and that experience washed away her needlephobia for good).  And our pediatrician is great.  And we sing, before, during, and after shots.

In summary… vaccinate your kids, kids.


p.s. Was this all too chipper?  I do want people to be vaccinated against preventable diseases.  But, here, let me throw in a brief passage that I had to cut from an early draft of my novel to show that I understand why people are afraid of doctors; obviously bad things have been done.  Bad enough that any reasonable human would feel distrustful.  It’s just that, as regards contemporary pediatric vaccination, I don’t think the mistrust needs to be acted upon.  But, here you go, a little bit of horror to mitigate the preceding essay’s good cheer.

In early vaccine trials, orphaned children drank the pureed spinal chords of smallpox-infected monkeys.  Doctors put it in their milk.  The initial vaccination attempts failed: the virus was “insufficiently inactivated.”  Some of the children got sick.  Some were crippled for life.

Of course, they were living in an orphanage.  Not the most sanitary of conditions: some number of them were going to get sick anyway.  And for that study, the intent was therapeutic.  The drink might have been a vaccine.  Much more respectful toward what might’ve been the children’s wishes than, say, the hepatitis studies, in which orphans were deliberately infected so that attending doctors could track progression of the disease.  In that study, they were fed a slurry of pooled feces from other already-sick children.  Also in their milk, although for that study the noxious agent was blended into chocolate milk.  Probably seemed like a special treat.

On Cosmos and working through the math.

CosmosK and I have been watching that new Cosmos television show.  The library had the whole set of DVDs, and she and I have both been tired enough that it’s felt nice to zonk out with some television in the evening while N is having her fifth dinner.

K really likes the show.  Things were perhaps stacked in her favor: she is a scientist, she likes Neil deGrasse Tyson, and she teaches Earth & Space Science, which covers a lot of the same topics as the Cosmos show (and is, incidentally, not the field of science either she or I was trained in – E&SS just happens to be what you need to teach if you want to work with people who get signed up for the most introductory level science class in this state.  Elsewhere I think the equivalent course is Integrated Chemistry & Physics or something?).

So, K likes Cosmos.

Whereas I have mostly failed to enjoy the show as much, even though it’s clear that a  lot of people worked very hard on it and it has some very redeeming qualities, too.

So, last night we watched the episode about Faraday’s experiments with electricity and magnetism.  And then this morning I went berserk and had to set N up for some self-directed play while I watched a video deriving the Maxwell equations.  Which is something I used to know, and probably still should, but almost a decade has passed since I last used them.  And when they were flashed up on the screen at the end of the Cosmos episode, I realized that I couldn’t think through the derivation.  That felt sad.  I’ve already been feeling sad about being very unpracticed with my math these days, to the point that shortly before N was born I picked up a book on differential equations and another covering specifically Fourier transforms.  I did not work through very much of either before she was born and have not picked them up since – as it happens, taking care of a baby can be a fair bit of work.

But my reason for feeling uncomfortable about Cosmos isn’t just that it reminds me of my own current ineptitude.

For me, the problem is that the show often seems to be contrasting stories from mythology, often Christian mythology, against stories as elucidated by science.  But all of it is presented without math, and much of it is presented without data of any kind, or even descriptions of the necessary experiments.  I have to admit, the particular episode that made me sad did a better job of that than most – many of Faraday’s experiments were described.  But, still, the Maxwell equations were tossed up at the end with no attempt at an explanation.

And I know that mathematical and scientific literacy is often described as, um, not good in this country.  And television is not a very good medium for conveying math.  I’ve watched some math videos online (Dr. Arthur Mattuck at MIT made some charming ones), and, yes, sometimes you might space out, or maybe want to pause them, or glance at the screen and read an equation wrong and feel confused.  But not everybody can pause broadcast television.  And a lot of mathematics presupposes familiarity with basic concepts that many people haven’t had a chance to feel comfortable with.

But the problem is, in my opinion, that science without math is very akin to mythology.

It becomes an expert telling you what you ought to think because he happens to be blessed with great truths, either because he can do the math or because he has studied his bible or communed with god or read the portents from an eagle overhead.  I am teaching you, and you should believe.  Whereas I think that science should be presented more humbly.

Yes, to my mind, having (once upon a time) worked through the math, science is more real than any religious claims.  But for someone who has not worked through the math, and currently can not work through it, I can see how scientific or religious claims would seem like equal mysteries.  You have to trust an expert.  Maybe you choose an expert in a white coat, maybe you chose one in a black cassock.

So I would much rather see science outreach like Cosmos attempt to guide people through the details – this is how the math works, and these are resources you could consult if this is hard, and these are experiments that you could do to reproduce these findings.  Which is hard, obviously.  I am (was?) pretty good at math, but I don’t have the training to follow serious astrophysics.  I did well with the physics of small things (quantum mechanics) during college and graduate school, but I’ve never studied the physics of big things.  I don’t really know gravity, for instance.  That’s something I’d like to take a few courses in, after I finish the novel I’m working on.  So, sure, there is a lot of complicated math involved.

But I’d like to think there are better ways to convey a respect for people’s lack of exposure to math than trying to convey science without it.  Obviously, it’s tricky.  I’m not trying to argue that the team that made Cosmos didn’t try very hard, or aren’t clever, or anything like that.  I’m just not super happy with the final product, even if I couldn’t necessarily do it better.  Like, okay, the introduction to Christian Rudder’s Dataclysm seem to do a good job of walking cheerily through some basic statistics.  And, sure, there are differences – statistics is an easier branch of mathematics for people to understand visually than some of the math you need for astrophysics, and, more importantly, Dataclysm is a book, which means there’s less worry that someone will get bored and change the channel during a brief math interlude – but I felt as though Rudder conveyed a more respectful attitude about wanting his audience to know where his claims were coming from.

And, right, it’s not as though this problem – trying to convey science sans numbers to non-scientists – is unique to Cosmos.  I feel a lot of similar frustration in reading editorials by scientists or medical doctors regarding the recent upsurge in Americans opting out of vaccines.  Which, again, I should make clear: I am a scientist.  I have been vaccinated against many diseases.  My daughter has received all her recommended vaccines on time.  But my impression is that scientists and medical doctors promoting vaccines do not always show sufficient sympathy.

Like, okay, there was a research paper claiming that vaccines cause autism, which I am not linking here.  There are research papers claiming that vaccines do not cause autism.  Sure, there are more of the latter, but for someone without enough scientific literacy to evaluate the data for themselves, you’re stuck picking someone to trust.  And, honestly, scientists and medical doctors have done some pretty terrible things, often in the guise of vaccines – you could have a pretty unpleasant weekend reading about some of these in Against Their Will: The Secret History of Medical Experimentation on Children in Cold War America.  So there are reasons why someone who was just picking whom to trust would not choose the doctors.

So, it’s not that I think the Earth is only 6000 years old.  Or that I think anyone should believe that.  I just think that, by trying to present science without math, the product is a competing narrative that still relies on faith.  As with vaccines, as with climate change.  And, who knows, maybe I am watching their show with the wrong attitude – maybe they were not hoping that people would watch and say, “oh, the Earth was actually formed 4.5 billion years ago,” maybe they were hoping that people would watch and think, “gee, that’s cool, I should learn how to figure this stuff out myself.”  But that’s not the impression that I got.