Human Knowledge of Ice, Still Frozen
Many modern scientists who have jettisoned belief in a divine Creator like to pretend that “science” has it all figured out. We are told that modern scientific methods are able to tell us how the Universe spontaneously popped out of nothing and what happened 10-43 seconds after the initial Big Bang. Furthermore, we are informed that modern science adequately and eloquently has documented the transition of a single-celled life form into the complex organism known as man. In addition, we are told that there is no need for a belief in God, because humans have figured out everything important or are on their way to solving the last of the Universe’s unsolved mysteries.
Anyone familiar with true science knows, however, that such grandiose claims ring as hollow as a drum. Not only have atheistic, evolutionary scientists failed to offer reasonable ideas concerning the origin of the Universe and biological life, but human knowledge of some of the most basic structures remains extremely limited, to say the least.
Take ice formation, for instance. Humans have been interacting with ice and snow for thousands of years. Yet, for all the time humans have been studying the stuff, we know precious little about its formation. Science writer Margaret Wertheim admitted: “In an age when we have discovered the origin of the universe and observed the warping of space and time, it is shocking to hear that scientists do not understand something as seemingly paltry as the format of ice crystals. But that is indeed the case” (2006, p. 177). While Weytheim is wrong about science discovering the origin of the Universe (people for millennia have known the true origin of the Cosmos to be God), she is right that human ignorance glares at us through the simple structure of an ice crystal.
How can humans claim to know so much, and claim to be at the pinnacle of all knowledge, intellect, and wisdom, and yet not be able to explain how something as seemingly simple as ice forms? As God told the prophet Jeremiah, “If you have run with the footmen, and they have wearied you, then how can you contend with horses?” (12:5).
When Job questioned God’s care, God condescended to speak with the suffering patriarch. Yet God’s answers were nothing Job expected to hear. God did not begin by offering a reasoned defense of why He was allowing Satan to torment Job. Instead, God asked Job questions that exhibited Job’s ignorance and pathetic frailty. He asked Job where Job was when God “laid the foundations of the earth” (38:4). God further queried if Job could bind the constellations together, or control rain and weather (38: 31-35). In the middle of God’s inquisition, He asked Job: “From whose womb comes the ice? And the frost of heaven, who gives it birth? The waters harden like stone, and the surface of the deep is frozen” (38:29-30). God was asking Job if he understood ice and its formation. Job’s answer to God’s interrogation shows his honest heart. He said to God: “Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know” (42:3).
Would to God that our modern, “enlightened” generation of thinkers would recognize that, just as Job, we still cannot explain even some of the most “paltry” physical reactions as the formation of ice crystals. That being the case, the only correct inference from such is to conclude that the Intelligence that created ice and initiated the laws of its formation is vastly superior in every way to human intelligence. Margaret Wertheim is an evolutionist, but she was forced to concede: “Though they melt on your tongue, each tiny crystal of ice encapsulates a universe whose basic rules we have barely begun to discern.” All rules and laws demand the presence of a lawgiver, and the humble snowflake manifests the fact that our Universe’s Lawgiver has thoughts that are supremely higher than human thoughts, and ways that are higher than man’s ways (Isaiah 55:9).
Wertheim, Margaret (2006), What We Believe But Cannot Prove: Today’s Leading Thinkers on Science in the Age of Certainty, ed. John Brockman (New York: Harper).