The supposed war between science and God has always been sold to the public as a contest between evidence and superstition, with the men in lab coats on one side and the men in pulpits on the other. It is a tidy story, and it is false.
The real dividing line does not run between science and faith at all. It runs between the evidence and a philosophy called materialism, a philosophy that a great many scientists smuggle into the laboratory or classroom before they ever look through the telescope or the microscope.
We do not have to guess that they do this. One of the most decorated evolutionary biologists of the last century admitted it in print, and he was proud enough of the admission to italicize it.
Writing in the New York Review of Books in 1997, Harvard geneticist Richard Lewontin was reviewing a book by Carl Sagan when he paused to explain why he and his colleagues accept certain claims that strike ordinary people as absurd. His answer had nothing to do with data. It had to do with commitment.
We take the side of science in spite of the patent absurdity of some of its constructs … because we have a prior commitment, a commitment to materialism. It is not that the methods and institutions of science somehow compel us to accept a material explanation of the phenomenal world, but, on the contrary, that we are forced by our a priori adherence to material causes to create an apparatus of investigation and a set of concepts that produce material explanations, no matter how counter-intuitive, no matter how mystifying to the uninitiated. Moreover, that materialism is absolute, for we cannot allow a Divine Foot in the door.
Read that passage again slowly, because the phrase that matters is a priori. It means “beforehand,” prior to and independent of the evidence. Lewontin is not saying that decades of careful research drove him reluctantly to conclude that only matter exists. He is saying the opposite, that the commitment to matter comes first and the research is then bent to fit it.
This is not a description of following the evidence wherever it leads. It is a description of deciding the destination and forbidding any road that does not arrive there. A juror who announced before opening statements that he would not permit a guilty verdict “no matter how counter-intuitive” the acquittal would be removed from the courtroom. In much of modern science, that juror writes the textbooks.
Who Guards the Door
If materialism were merely one option competing fairly against others, we would expect scientists to sort themselves out roughly the way the rest of humanity does, some believing, some doubting, most somewhere in between. That is not what we find at the top.
When researchers surveyed members of the National Academy of Sciences, the most exclusive scientific body in the country, belief in a personal God came in around 7 percent. Belief in human immortality was scarcely higher. Meanwhile the general public professes belief in God at rates north of 80 percent. Something happens on the way to the Academy.
The honest question is what that something is. The establishment would have us believe it is enlightenment, that the more one learns of nature the less room remains for its Author. But the sociologist Elaine Ecklund, who has studied religion among scientists more carefully than almost anyone, found that most non-believing scientists arrived at their unbelief before they arrived at their careers. They did not lose God in the lab. They brought their unbelief to the lab, often from childhood, and then chose a profession congenial to it.
The atheism is upstream of the science, not downstream. Fairness compels a further point that strengthens rather than weakens the case. Broader surveys of working scientists, not just the rarefied Academy, show them split closer to the middle, with roughly half professing belief in God or a higher power. A bias does not have to capture every technician to shape a field. It only has to capture the gatekeepers, the journal editors, the grant committees, the hiring panels, and there the door is guarded zealously.
Without Excuse
Scripture anticipated this posture two thousand years before Lewontin gave it a memorable phrase. Paul, writing to the church at Rome, did not describe unbelief primarily as an intellectual shortage. He described it as a suppression.
For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God … Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.
The passage is almost uncomfortably precise for the present argument. The creation testifies. The evidence is, in Paul’s word, “clearly seen.” The problem is not that the signal is faint. The problem is a prior decision not to receive it, dressed up afterward as sophistication.
“Professing themselves to be wise” is as fair a caption as any for a discipline that announces its conclusions before its inquiries.
The Evidence They Have Pledged to Explain Away
Consider what the materialist has committed himself, in advance, to explaining without reference to a Designer. Start with the physical constants of the universe. The strength of gravity, the charge of the electron, the precise energy levels inside a carbon nucleus, these and dozens of other quantities appear to be balanced on a razor’s edge, such that a minuscule change in almost any of them would yield a cosmos incapable of producing stars, planets, chemistry, or life.
This is not a claim invented by preachers. It was pressed most famously by Fred Hoyle, the British astronomer who coined the term “Big Bang” and who was himself no friend of religion. After working out how carbon manages to form in the hearts of stars, Hoyle concluded that the fine tuning was too exact to be an accident, writing that “a common sense interpretation of the facts suggests that a superintellect has monkeyed with physics, as well as with chemistry and biology, and that there are no blind forces worth speaking about in nature.”
Then there is the matter of information. The living cell does not merely display complexity; it runs on code, a genuine four-letter chemical language stored in DNA, transcribed, translated, and error-corrected by molecular machinery of staggering sophistication. Codes, in every other instance known to man, come from minds. This is the evidence that broke the most formidable atheist of the age. Antony Flew spent half a century as the English-speaking world’s leading philosophical champion of unbelief, and then, in his early eighties, he followed the argument out the door he had spent his life guarding.
As reported at the time of his death, Flew concluded that “the findings of more than 50 years of DNA research have provided materials for a new and enormously powerful argument to design.” He then said, “It’s simply not on to think this could occur simply by chance.”
Flew never became a Christian, and honesty requires saying so. But he did something the materialist consensus regards as unthinkable. He let the evidence change his mind.
Uncharted Territory
The materialist will object that science is self-correcting, that its models bend to new data, and that this flexibility is its glory rather than its embarrassment. There is truth in that, and it cuts in an unexpected direction. When the James Webb Space Telescope began returning images of the early universe, it found galaxies that appeared far too massive to have assembled so soon after the Big Bang, objects that, by one astronomer’s candid admission, put cosmologists “in uncharted territory” and might require “something very new about galaxy formation or a modification to cosmology.”
Later analysis softened some of those early alarms, and NASA has since reported that several of the galaxies are less massive than they first seemed. That is science working as advertised, and it deserves credit for the correction. But it also lays bare how much of what is presented to the public as settled fact is in truth a working scaffold, provisional and revisable. The confidence sold on the evening news vastly exceeds the confidence warranted in the journals. A field that revises its account of the cosmos every few years is in a poor position to lecture believers about certainty.
So the honest reckoning turns the accusation around. For a century the charge has been that faith is the closed-minded posture, clinging to conclusions it will not surrender. Yet it is the materialist, by his own testimony, who has ruled a whole class of explanations out of bounds before the inquiry begins.
It is the believer who can say, without embarrassment, “follow the evidence.”
The heavens have been declaring the glory of God since long before there were telescopes to resent it, and the men who have trained the finest instruments ever built upon those heavens have, again and again, found fingerprints they did not expect and were not permitted to name.
The evidence has never been the problem. The door has. And a science brave enough to open it might discover that the thing it has spent a century trying to keep out was holding up the house all along.
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Two Storms, One Harvest
Every food crisis in living memory has been a one-shock event. The 2008 price spike was a commodity bubble. The 2020 shortages were a logistics failure. The 2022 grain scare was a war on one exporter’s ports. Each time, the system bent, adjusted, and recovered, and each time the experts assured us afterward that global markets are simply too big and too diversified to fail.
What nobody in Washington seems eager to discuss is that 2026 is shaping up to be something the modern food system has never actually faced. Two independent shocks, one climatic and one geopolitical, are converging on the same harvest cycle at the same time. Not sequentially. Simultaneously.
Start with the weather. The Pacific Ocean is currently building toward what forecasters now openly call a record event. NOAA’s Climate Prediction Center puts the odds of at least a strong El Niño near 88 percent, with roughly two in three odds it reaches “very strong” status, the tier reserved for perhaps three or four events in the entire satellite era. Every major global model now projects a median peak in Super El Niño territory, and most of them project it exceeding the 2015-16 event, which until now held the modern record. Sea surface anomalies were already brushing the super threshold in mid-July, months before these events normally peak. The atmosphere has already shifted into El Niño mode, and the event is forecast to crest in late fall and early winter.
This is not about “climate change.” It’s about the standard cycles of weather, and the cycle we’re currently in is one that has likely devastated societies in the past. We’re better prepared as a society today, but not all Americans are equally prepared.
Serious households have started doing the quiet math on their own. Grocery bills tell part of the story, and the forecast maps tell the rest, which is why long-term food storage has moved from fringe hobby to mainstream line item in the family budget, with established suppliers like Heaven’s Harvest seeing demand from people who five years ago would have rolled their eyes at the idea. That instinct is not paranoia. It is pattern recognition, and the pattern is worth walking through carefully.
Editor’s Note: Heaven’s Harvest IS a sponsor, but the warnings of this article are real and would be written even if we didn’t have a survival food sponsor. With that said, those who take advantage of what they offer can use promo code “Patriot” for 15% off.
The Fertilizer Clock Is Already Running
While the Pacific warms, the second shock has been unfolding in the Strait of Hormuz. The conflict with Iran turned the world’s most important energy chokepoint into a contested waterway, and the consequences reach far beyond the gas pump. Roughly a third of global fertilizer trade moves through Hormuz, and the disruption sent urea prices up 86 percent year over year by March, with a 53 percent jump in a single month.
The World Bank projects energy prices rising about 24 percent in 2026 and fertilizer about 31 percent. By its own accounting, fertilizer prices ran 35 percent higher in the first five months of this year than the same period last year.
Here is the mechanism the nightly news will not explain. Fertilizer is not a grocery item. It is a time-delayed input. The nitrogen a farmer in Iowa or Punjab could not afford to apply this spring does not show up as a problem this spring. It shows up as a thinner harvest six to twelve months later.
The World Bank’s own food security brief concedes that the effects of reduced applications earlier this season “are likely to become visible only later in harvest outcomes.” Translate that from institutional language into plain English and it means this. The damage is already done, it is already in the ground, and we are simply waiting for it to arrive on the shelf.
Now check the calendar. Six to twelve months from the spring planting season lands us squarely in late 2026 and early 2027. Which is precisely when the strongest El Niño in the instrumental record is forecast to peak, bringing its signature droughts to Southeast Asia, Australia, southern Africa, northern Brazil, and South Asia, the very regions that grow the world’s rice, sugar, and oilseeds.
The World Bank warns openly that a strong El Niño “could disrupt multiple crop belts simultaneously” on top of the conflict-driven input costs. Their baseline projection assumes the Middle East disruptions ease by autumn. What in the last two years of Middle East history suggests that assumption is safe?
The System Has No Slack Left
The comfortable answer is that global markets always adjust. But adjustment requires slack, and the slack is gone. Global cereal production is expected to decline from last year’s records even before El Niño does its work. The UN World Food Programme, hardly a den of right-wing preppers, is calling this the most significant disruption to its supply chains since Covid and the invasion of Ukraine, and its supply chain director put the stakes bluntly.
Today’s supply chain challenges are tomorrow’s hunger crisis.
There is also a political dimension that markets cannot price. When food gets scarce, governments do not behave like economists. They behave like politicians. Export bans, hoarding mandates, and panic buying at the national level turned the modest rice shortfall of 2008 into a global crisis, and analysts are already warning that import-dependent nations are the first dominoes.
The 2015-16 Super El Niño, a far weaker event than what is now forecast, threw tens of millions into food stress across Africa and Asia. This one is projected to be stronger, and it arrives with fertilizer already rationed by price and shipping lanes already contested by missiles.
What Joseph Knew
Scripture does not treat preparation for lean years as faithlessness. It treats it as wisdom delivered in advance to those willing to act on it.
Behold, there come seven years of great plenty throughout all the land of Egypt: And there shall arise after them seven years of famine; and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt.
Joseph did not respond to that warning with a hashtag or a committee. He stored grain during the years of abundance, and when the famine came, Egypt stood while its neighbors begged. The lesson is not that famine is certain. It is that the time to prepare is precisely when preparation still looks optional.
Nobody who filled a pantry in a year of plenty has ever regretted it, and nobody standing in an empty aisle has ever been glad he waited for certainty.
None of this calls for panic, and panic is the enemy of sound judgment anyway. It calls for the same unglamorous prudence our grandparents considered ordinary. Keep some cash margin, know your local growers, and put real food in deep storage while it is cheap and available, because the entire arc of this story is that cheap and available is a closing window.
Families looking for a straightforward place to start can visit Heaven’s Harvest and use promo code Patriot for 15 percent off long-term storable food. The forecasts may yet soften, the strait may yet reopen, and we should pray they do. But hope is a fine thing to hold and a foolish thing to eat.
