One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

The president's recent announcement at the National Institutes of Health of a multibillion dollar government investment to insulate us against the eventual bird flu pandemic highlights an interesting paradox for his presidency. How does an opponent of evolutionary theory (assuming, somewhat implausibly, that W has ever thought about the issue beyond its political dimensions) ignore the implications of such a rapidly adaptive pestilence? If Bigfoot doesn't exist, how do I keep him from raiding my garden?

Skeptics of evolutionary theory often attack the notion of the large shifts necessary for a species' progression from one stage to the next. For instance, advocates for intelligent design state that "evolutionary theory claims that random mutations can build very complicated biological structures over time. Yet, mutations are almost always harmful to the organism." But, according to the CDC, that's basically how the most harmful viruses become dangerous. (Viruses are typically not considered to be organisms.) Influenza viruses can change in two different ways: antigenic drift and antigenic shift. The leisurely pace of the former allows public health wizards to produce an effective vaccine ahead of each winter's contagion. The latter, which is much less common, is defined as an abrupt, major change in the influenza virus, resulting in a new virulent strain that can infect a much broader variety of humans. Pandemics sometimes occur in the wake of an antigenic shift because most people have little or no protection against the new virus, and it romps unimpeded through the public respiratory system.

Intelligent design theory is on its best footing when it attacks the ability of science to explain the origins of life on earth or of the universe itself. Of course, we are a young species, with only a few thousand years of technological advancement and a few hundred billion hours of egghead methodology yet devoted to these immense mysteries. Take my musings with a grain of NaCl, because I'm neither biologist nor theologian. And I'll readily admit that when I peer into the depths of night and try to comprehend the edges of eternity I often take refuge in the divine. Sure, theories produced via the scientific method sometimes become obsolete (perhaps this is proof enough that evolution works!). But when I get my flu shot or use a telephone or start my car, I'm thankful that I stand on the shoulders of giants wearing pocket protectors.