This work is a remarkable step into the ambiguous territory between science and religion. It is a must for any who find that the seeming-incompatibility of science's material, causal world view and religion's affirmation of life is a paradox that begs for resolution. I have had the pleasure of taking courses with Langdon Gilkey and find that this book captures a facet of his thinking wonderfully. The scholarship is of the highest caliber, and the clarity deserves a wide audience.

The irony of this review's title is that Reinhold Niebuhr (1895-1971) would not have claimed the title of theologian. He was a preacher and Christian apologist who sought to demonstrate the superiority of the Christian approach to history over common secular approaches. These latter included both Marxism and liberalism, the first as it took shape in the Soviet Union and the latter as it influenced Niebuhr's colleagues in pulpits and seminaries. Langdon Gilkey, late of the University of Chicago Divinity School, begins with a personal memoir that illustrates the impact of Niebuhr on Gilkey's generation. Full of pacifist sentiment in the wake of the horrors of World War I, Gilkey and his peers found it increasingly difficult to reconcile a thoroughgoing pacifism with the obvious excesses of the Nazi regime. With the beginning of World War II in 1939, the issue could no longer be ignored. About this time, Gilkey heard Niebuhr preach. He was mesmerized and heartened. Niebuhr's analysis of the dilemmas of the self in history, taking seriously the reality of sin and eschewing an otherworldly approach to eschatology, had a lasting effect on Gilkey. Simply put, Niebuhr taught that the proper arena of concern for Christians is living in history in such a way that the amount of justice and love in the world is maximized. Niebuhr criticized what he considered the undue optimism of liberals, particularly in the Social Gospel movement, who believed in the myth of progress. Against this, Niebuhr asserted the reality of sin, or the universal human tendency for even our best efforts to be corrupted by self-interest, or pride. Because of this focus on history as the locus of Niebuhr's theology, Gilkey limits himself to the study of only a few books. Notable are the Gifford Lectures, compiled in The Nature and Destiny of Man (two volumes) and a later work, Faith and History. Gilkey mines these with thoroughness.

Niebuhr's style tended to be free-wheeling, topical, and often polemical. Gilkey occasionally illustrates a yearning for a more disciplined theological method in Niebuhr, symbolized by his frequent appeal to another of his theological mentors, Paul Tillich. Though often helpful, this is sometimes distracting. While Niebuhr would have agreed with Tillich on many points, his approach was much further removed from the academy. Still, Gilkey does this in moderation and does not attempt to recast Niebuhr in the mold of Tillich.

In the final, reflective, chapter, Gilkey notes that Niebuhr did not address (and could not have addressed) two issues that now loom large on the theological horizon. One is the stewardship of nature. The other is the relation between religions. Gilkey finds no help in Niebuhr for the first. He gives Niebuhr credit for advancing Christian-Jewish friendship, which was a major thrust of his age, especially after the Holocaust. Given his otherwise firm grasp of Niebuhr's thought, it seems odd that Gilkey does not note the obvious: Niebuhr would have said that the Christian commitment to love and justice extends to stewardship of the earth because we humans are ourselves part of nature. To care for nature is to care for ourselves and, in some small way, to help overcome the effects of sin. As for the pluralism of religions, Niebuhr would likely view current relationships between Christians, Israel, and the Islamic states in a larger context than simple faith commitments. Niebuhr would have been interested in the ways that the central myths of each faith have been co-opted for political ends. This, of course, is illustrated by an American president who appeals to Christian symbols in order to make war on an Islamic country, a reversal of the behavior of Osama bin Laden. This is why those of us who have long appreciated Niebuhr found ourselves in March, 2003, saying, "Reinhold Niebuhr, where are you now that we need you?" Still, Gilkey helps us recover a sense of Niebuhr's ongoing relevance.

Niebuhr defined religion as the human response to revelation. As the years pass, and events do more and more to prove him right, it begins to feel that, in certain ways, Niebuhr's thought itself approaches the heights of revelation. Not that he was divine. But God spoke through him in powerful ways. Langdon Gilkey does him justice, and then some.

Creationism on Trial is but one of the many books by the highly acclaimed and superarticulate theologian Langdon Gilkey. In this book, Gilkey recounts his participation in the Arkansas "balanced treatment" case. The first part of the book reads almost like a novel as Gilkey playfully and skillfully tells his story of how the ACLU contacted him, and how he eventually came to be one of the major witnesses for the plaintiff in the 1982 McLean vs. The Arkansas Board of Education trial that struck down the 1981 action of the Arkansas legislature, Act 590. Act 590 required science educators to teach biological and physical origins from two different perspectives: From a purely scientific point of view and from a recent creationist point of view. Gilkey states that upon reading the act, he was immediately sure that this act required the teaching of religion in the science classroom, and he then spent his time preparing to articulate why this was the case. The next portions of the book recount his deposition, testimony and cross-examination during the trial, and impressions of the other witnesses for the plaintiff.

The portions of the book that cover Gilkey's deposition and testimony tend to read like a textbook on philosophical theology. Gilkey almost certainly relied on the court transcripts and one must salute his desire for accuracy. Abbreviation and summaries of some of this admittedly complex material would have made the book more readable, as would have interludes that revealed what was rolling around in his highly productive mind.

Of particular interest were Gilkey's impressions of the other witnesses in the Little Rock trial. His description of Michael Ruse and Francisco Ayala were particularly entertaining and lively. However, a major disappointment of this portion was that Gilkey did not see the creationist witnesses and compare them to the witnesses for the ACLU. Gilkey states that he did not stay for their testimony and therefore he was not able to comment on them, which is certainly fair and just. However, his perspective and comparison of the two groups of witnesses would have been worth their weight in gold.

Gilkey's description of the Little Rock trial also provides an interesting perspective relative to the other participants. For example, Michael Ruse's description of the trial in "But Is It Science?" provides a stark contrast to Gilkey's account, since Ruse sees himself as having narrowly escaped defeat during his testimony, while Gilkey sees Ruse as almost playing with the defense attorneys. Another interesting contrast can be found between Gilkey's work and the account in "The Creator in the Courtroom," written by Gilkey's counterpart, Norman Geisler. Geisler was the religion expert retained by the defense, who argued that Act 590 did not establish religion in the science classroom, but was somewhat embarrassed on the stand by his answer to questions about the nature and existence of UFOs. Geisler views Act 590 as being flawed legislation, but not fatally so. Geisler also saw genuine problems in the plaintiff's case, but he certainly did not convince judge Overton, whom Geisler argues, and not without some cause, was biased for the plaintiff. Nevertheless, amongst these other accounts Gilkey's description of the trial stands as one of the most elegantly written and beautifully crafted books on the McLean trial.

Having said all this and in light of the fact that I genuinely enjoyed the book I must offer one concern. Gilkey is a theologian in the liberal tradition and he tends to present a "two-house" view of the relationship between the sciences and religion. Religion, according to Gilkey, attempts of address ultimate questions, whereas science is interested in proximate origins. Therefore, these two fields of study occupy different domains of human inquiry and thought that should not impose on each other. While this view has much to commend it, and while Gilkey's explanation of it was nothing short of both perspicuous and cogent, I find this view a bit unsatisfactory. If, as a Christian, Gilkey believes that God made Himself known to people in a variety of ways, then this means that God has affected the physical world. If Jesus really turned water into wine, we should be able to verify that the liquid in the jugs is really wine and not just water. If God really became man, then we should be able to scientifically verify that the person lame from birth can now walk without help, or the person who could not see from birth can now see. The two-domain view really fails here, since it does not recognize that Christians believe that God has and in many ways continues to affect the physical world. Therefore, while science and religion do live in different houses, they do tend to visit each other from time to time, and they might even make statements about each other that can be challenged on the other's turf.

Despite this reservation, Gilkey remains a brilliant scholar who has written a wonderful and highly readable book.