Science

During the COVID-19 lockdown last year, I lived with some messy people. I’d moved into a house that I shared with a wonderful couple of brothers. They were almost everything you could ask for in a set of housemates. Friendly, funny, respectful of your privacy . . . genuinely great people in almost every respect.

The field of science was flourishing, and amid its youngest and brightest, one student in particular consistently topped physics and chemistry courses, took its academic prizes and was courted with offers of scholarships by prestigious universities. His trajectory was toward the heights of the scientific world.

While few people can remember the details of their first hit, everyone can identify with the rush of satisfaction, the tingling delight that starts on the tip of your tongue and then courses through your entire body.

The first time he saw a living human brain, neurosurgeon Sanjay Gupta says it became “a powerful and life-changing experience."

There’s a 1995 clip from The David Letterman Show where Letterman is interviewing Bill Gates. Gates excitedly explains how the internet will change the future. Letterman is sceptical. He mentions a baseball game that had recently been broadcast live on the internet. “Does radio ring any bells?” he quips sarcastically, to laughter from his audience.

Genetic testing is a new frontier in preventive medicine. But beyond this border, there lies a minefield of trial and error.

Even if half of us refer to creativity as a rare trait that only the other half has, in reality, creativity is much like a muscle: the more we use it, the more creative we become.

I got acquainted with Ariel Roth as a writer, but I also got to meet him as a human being. I discovered neither fanaticism nor nervousness, neither doubt nor ideological speech in Roth, an octogenarian who still looks in detail at each new subject appearing on the agenda of the debate between evolution and creation. He maintains an unflagging desire for honesty and...

Our planet may be fittingly compared to the 1994 film, Speed: A bomb is planted on a bus and rigged to explode when the bus slows to less than 80 kilometres per hour. The bus barrels through Los Angeles, hitting obstacles and endangering the lives of passengers and pedestrians until a solution is found.

The red horizons are shattered. But much more subtle dangers loom for the present and the future. In most Christian countries, theology has declared a truce with evolutionary atheology and has devised a foolish and deadly compromise that is neither atheism nor true Christianity.

All COVID-19 statistics lead to the same conclusion: the young ones, our children, are at the lowest risk of getting ill or dying from the virus. That’s comforting. But the pandemic does pose a certain danger to them.

The increased frequency with which doctors are encountering antibiotic-resistant bacteria is worrying. And it could affect an already precarious medical field—cancer treatment.

Out of the endless series of events we experience, some we remember, and others we do not. Some often come to mind and we relish recounting them, while others we wouldn’t reveal for anything in the world.

If science were a religion, how violent would it be compared with Christianity?

When the founders of the Loma Linda University Medical Center in California laid the foundation, their purpose was somewhat paradoxical. Christians to the bone, and Adventists on top of that, they echoed the words attributed to the great reformer Martin Luther: “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”