Column
Biology
Creed
7 min read

Not just red in tooth and claw: biology's big debates

In the second of a series, biologist and priest, Andrew Davison, examines why it’s important to keep up with biology’s big debates.

Andrew works at the intersection of theology, science and philosophy. He is Canon and Regius Professor of Divinity at Christ Church, Oxford.

An osprey, in flight, holds a fish in its claws.
‘Wherever there’s water or air to navigate, the laws of fluid dynamics are bound to throw up wings, and bodies shaped like fish.’
Photo by Mathew Schwartz on Unsplash.

There’s hardly been a livelier time for evolutionary science than today; indeed, passions can run high. It’s not that Darwin’s vision of evolution is fundamentally in doubt: species adapt by natural selection, there’s variation between individuals, and those better adapted for their environment survive more often, passing on their genes to their children. In that, the theory of evolution stands, but many other parts of the evolutionary picture from the second half of the twentieth century are coming under criticism. That includes the following maxims:  

‘the only significant form of inheritance involves genetic code’, 

‘nothing that happens to an organism during its lifetime is passed on to its progeny’,  

‘we agree what we mean by “species”’,  

‘genes pass down the branches of the tree of life, not between them’,  

and ‘evolution is fundamentally all about competition, not cooperation’. 

Among the excellent crop of writers on these themes, Eva Jablonka and Marion Lamb stand out for their elegant prose, and a gift for communicating complex ideas clearly. As they recognise, the standard mid-twentieth century model of evolution might be worth criticising, but it’s also landed all sorts of important basic points. (They list ten.) The shortfall of the earlier, dominant theory was in being too narrow, with each insight too quickly eclipsing others.  

Here are two examples. First, the classic twentieth century picture saw inheritance in terms of DNA and genes, passed on by ‘germline’ cells, such sperm and pollen. That’s all true, but it shouldn’t restrict our wider view of inheritance to that. Today, writers such as Jablonka and Lamb stress that organisms inherit from their parents (or parent) in all sorts of ways.  

A second plank of the twentieth century picture is that evolution involves descent from a common ancestor. Again, that says something vital, even central, accepted by evolutionist old and new. The twentieth century position, however, added a restriction: that’s all that’s important on this score. The newer perspective recognises that while genes are – of course – central, and passed on from parent to child, organisms also swap genes between themselves (between branches of the tree of life, not just along those branches), even between very different species. 

If we’re not careful, what’s written and taught (not least by theologians), even with the best will in the world, will be thirty or even fifty years out of date. 

There’s a lot of excitement around these sorts of claims (and, remember, Jablonka and Lamb make eight more), and that can get quite noisy. Defenders of the older, narrower picture typically say that the newer themes are simply fuss over minor points. Advocates of the newer perspective disagree, saying that the twentieth century picture risks missing some important features of biology, which are now coming into better focus. 

Why such debates matters 

Why might this ferment among biologists matter for a site like this one, and for theologians, and discussions of religious matters? Well, for one thing, as I pointed out in my previous article, nothing quite dissolves the supposed animosity between science and religion (which is, after all, a relatively recent invention) like theologians and religious people getting excited about biology. It’s also important that any humanities scholar, the theologian among them, who’s engaging with science should keep up to date. If we’re not careful, what’s written and taught (not least by theologians), even with the best will in the world, will be thirty or even fifty years out of date. 

But there’s more at stake. As we have seen, the twentieth century picture, for all it brought an admirable clarity to evolutionary thought, was reductionistic. We see that in Jablonka and Lamb’s exhortation to scientists: ‘yes, stress x, but don’t think that means you have to deny y.’ A religious vision tends to be an expansive one. It wants to recognise the reality and value of all sorts of things. Yes, there’s matter, atoms, molecules, and genes, but there’s also organisms, agents, cultures, groups, economies, hopes, loves. They’re all real. We can’t reduce one to the other: not organisms to genes, or agents to economies. A turn from reduction is welcome. 

More than that, almost everything in the emerging twenty-first century view of evolution is fascinating from a theological perspective.  

Take convergence, for instance. It turns out that evolution isn’t just driven by randomness, or by the demands of the surroundings. Also important are various features of physics, or mathematics – the contours of reality – that throw up elegant solutions to evolutionary problems, which are adopted by evolution time and again. Wherever you need to sturdy and space-efficient packing of cells (as in a honey comb, or a a wasp’s nest), the hexagon is ready and waiting.  Wherever there’s water or air to navigate, the laws of fluid dynamics are bound to throw up wings, and bodies shaped like fish, dolphins, and penguins (which are all quite similar in shape).  

How do we know this? Because evolution has converged on wings and that body shape independently, many times, as also on eyes, and everything else that Simon Conway Morris lists in the nine closely printed columns of convergences in the index to his book Life’s Solution. Evolution certainly involves randomness and need, but alongside them is something more like Plato’s forms: timeless realities, there to be discovered and put to work. Among the more theological of these eternal verities, covered in Conway Morris’s book, are perception, intelligence, community, communication, cooperation, altruism, farming, or construction 

 Exceeding a zero-sum game 

Then there’s cooperation. Ever since Darwin’s Origin was published, and, even more, ever since Tennyson wrote about nature ‘red in tooth and claw’, theologians have been embarrassed about the place of cooperation in their vision of the world. Now, however, it turns out, competition isn’t the only force at work in biology or evolution after all. One of the features of reality that evolution discovers and puts to work again and again is cooperation, and ways to exceed a ‘zero-sum’ game. We see that in cooperation within a species, but also in cooperation between species, which is ubiquitous in nature: called mutualism, it’s found everywhere. As a rule, once two species stick around in proximity for the long run, down many generations, their relationship will turn to mutual benefit.  

Ethicists are often wary of the suggestion that we can look at the way things are, and read a moral code there (getting an ‘ought’ from an ‘is’), but it’s an unusual person whose vision of right and wrong isn’t shaped, to some degree, by a sense of what the world is like. Well, it turns out that nature bears witness to the enduring worth of cooperation, and not only to competition.   

In the first of these articles on biology, I pointed out the significance of ethics in thinking about biology, and about evolution in particular. For better or worse, and often for worse, thinking about evolution has been an ethical, social, political story. The evolutionary has been put to work for immoral, ends. It turns out to be wrong twice over to suppose evolution commends only competition. It’s wrong, first of all, because we are rational creatures, who can aspire to an understanding of good and evil that transcends the realm of nature. But also, as we now see, it’s wrong even to suppose the nature is only red in tooth and claw. There’s competition, but there’s also a lot of cooperation.  

 

Suggested further reading 

Archibald, John. 2014. One Plus One Equals One: Symbiosis and the Evolution of Complex Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. An accessible introduction to biological mutualism, with an emphasis on the role of hybrid organisms (one living inside another) in major evolutionary transitions. 

Bronstein, Judith L., ed. 2015. Mutualism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. The new standard treatment of biological mutualism. 

Morris, Simon Conway. 2008. Life’s Solution: Inevitable Humans in a Lonely Universe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. A comprehensive discussion of convergence in evolution. 

Day, Troy, and Russell Bonduriansky. 2018. Extended Heredity: A New Understanding of Inheritance and Evolution. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. An engaging introduction to a broadened picture of inheritance. 

Davison, Andrew. 2020a. Biological Mutualism: A Scientific Survey. Theology and Science 18 (2): 190–210. An accessible survey of some of the science of biological mutualism. 

———. 2020b. Christian Doctrine and Biological Mutualism: Some Explorations in Systematic and Philosophical Theology. Theology and Science 18 (2): 258–78. A foray into some of the significance of mutualism for Christian theology. 

Jablonka, Eva, and Marion Lamb. 2020. Inheritance Systems and the Extended Synthesis. Cambridge University Press. A short discussion of many of the more expansive aspects proposed for contemporary evolutionary thought. 

Jablonka, Eva, Marion J. Lamb, and Anna Zeligowski. 2014. Evolution in Four Dimensions: Genetic, Epigenetic, Behavioral, and Symbolic Variation in the History of Life. Revised edition. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. One of the most substantial discussions of the new perspective. 

Laland, Kevin, Tobias Uller, arc Feldman, Kim Sterelny, Gerd B. Müller, Armin Moczek, Eva Jablonka, et al. 2014. Does Evolutionary Theory Need a Rethink? Nature 514 (7521): 161–64. MA short two-sided piece, asking whether a transformation in evolutionary thinking is under way.  

Essay
Belief
Creed
Holidays/vacations
Mental Health
12 min read

Walking the Camino gave me blisters, good company, and these seven lessons

220 kilometres of questions

Jessica is a Formation Tutor at St Mellitus College, and completing a PhD in Pauline anthropology, 

A pilgrim with a red backpack heads off.
Shirley Roots, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

It was Sunday night, and I was packing my bag. On Monday, I flew to Porto, Portugal, to begin walking a stretch of the Camino de Santiago. I had taken some extended leave from work to mark 10 years of working and wanted to take some time to reflect and hear from God. As I was packing, I was listening to a sermon online. The preacher suddenly said, “You don’t need to walk the Camino de Santiago to hear from God!” Ah. Good point. Nevertheless, it was all booked, so I set off to embark on this pilgrimage.  

The Camino de Santiago is a popular pilgrimage route, with a network of routes all leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, the resting place of the apostle St James. On average, around 200,000 pilgrims complete The Way of St James each year, with 2024 closing in on half a million pilgrims. 

They say the Camino “calls” you, and for whatever reason, people respond by walking hundreds of kilometres. I set out on this pilgrimage with a backpack and some good walking shoes (or so I thought), hoping for some time out, beauty, and time and space to hear from God. What I didn’t anticipate was how the Camino would hold up a mirror to my inner life, revealing patterns and lessons I didn’t know I needed. 

The Camino was many things, but above all, it was a space. Space to be and reflect on the little lessons along the way. Here are the seven things that walking 220km of the Camino de Santiago taught me.  

It is ok for questions to be left unanswered 

There is a general thought on the Camino that most pilgrims come with a question. Something we are mulling over while walking, perhaps hoping for a resolution when the walk culminates in Santiago de Compostela. It is therefore not uncommon for one of the first things people ask you whilst walking to be “What question are you bringing to the Camino?” Which is a bold question from a stranger who doesn’t know my last name. Nevertheless, these kinds of questions are what bond you with others so quickly, as you share stories of what has led you to walk this path. There was a question I was carrying with me. One that was unanswered.  

In the evenings and quieter afternoons, I had space to read. I had a Kindle and was enjoying having multiple books at my disposal. I was re-reading Augustine’s Confessions. In Book 6, he writes about humanity's longing for our questions to be answered; he writes, “for it is better for them to find You (God) and the questions unanswered, than to find the answers without finding You.” I stopped still. There are many things in life for which we don’t have the answer, often related to pain, suffering, or injustice. A friend once reminded me of the story of Job in the Bible. A man who experiences deep pain and suffering. When Job confronts God and asks Him repeated questions about why he let this happen, God doesn’t answer any of his questions; instead, He questions Job. Job is left in awe of God and his character, proclaiming, “Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.”  

There are questions we carry in life, but the words of Augustine and the story of Job reminded me that if we find God, our unanswered questions are safe in the arms of those strong enough to carry them. It was a helpful reminder that not all the questions we have need an answer. There is a possibility of being content with the unknown. 

We are better, together  

I wasn’t going into this walk to make friends. For me, it was a spiritual pilgrimage to hear from God and reflect on my life. I thought I would spend my days in silent contemplative prayer, blissfully gazing upon God’s creation and skipping from town to town. This all changed at the end of day two. About 50 kilometres into my walk, I developed some terrible blisters. My shoes (which fit perfectly before) had started to rub and gave me the worst blisters I have ever had. The Portuguese coast was hot, and I’d gone the wrong way, so I spent around five kilometres walking alone. I arrived at my Albergue that evening broken and in pain.  

After dinner, I was tending to my broken feet when a girl I had zig-zagged with on the walk came to chat. We’ll call her, Evie. I admitted I was finding this all really hard, and Evie shared the same, only her day had been lifted by walking with another pilgrim. She had also begun the day hobbling in pain along the path, but when she got chatting to another pilgrim, she was no longer focusing on her pain, but on the conversation with another.  

 The next morning, I set off, hobbling along the path, and questioned how I would be able to complete the day’s 28 kilometres. When I was behind, I heard someone shout “Jess!”. It was a girl I had shared a bunk with on the first night at the hostel, Jamie. She arrived like an angel the Lord had sent to help me get through today. There was no way I was going to make it on my own. We spent the day walking, talking, and getting coffee, passing the time until all of a sudden, we found ourselves in the next town. I’d done it! We’d done it.  

This taught me that my pain can often draw me inwards, and when our pain is all we see, the journey ahead feels impossible. However, turning outward and sharing with those around us takes our attention away from our own experience and allows us to see the other. Christians say we are all part of the “body of Christ”, as the apostle St Paul described us - called to “bear one another’s burdens”.  As it turned out, walking and journeying with others would be one of the biggest gifts of this Camino. Sharing and travelling with one another’s joy and pain made the way ahead seem so much more hopeful.  

It is important to address things when they are small 

I learned this the hard way—through a blister. Around the 20-kilometre mark on the first day of the walk, I began to feel that tell-tale “hot spot” on my little toe. What I should have done then and there was stop, remove my shoe, and treat it with a blister plaster. But instead, I pushed on for another 15 kilometres, determined to reach the hostel without delay. By the time I arrived, my toe had swollen to three times its usual size, and the damage was done. The situation got so bad that I had to buy new shoes halfway through the Camino, and gained another 10 blisters across both feet for good measure.  

Looking back, it was a minor issue that quickly escalated into a much bigger one because I ignored it. It’s a lesson that extends beyond foot care. Tiny irritations, unhelpful habits, or unresolved tensions can quietly build momentum until they begin to shape us in a negative way. It is an age-old human trait. Another book that accompanied me on this pilgrimage was the Bible. A text I had walked with my whole life.  In the Bible, these unhelpful habits are frequently referred to as “sin”. The building up of things in our life that do not make us fully alive. Walking, I reflected on the little habits I form or the thoughts I allow to take hold begin to form and shape me in ways I might not be aware of until it is too late. As I tended to my broken feet each evening, it was a reminder that it is helpful to pause and address things when they are still small, to pray and bring them before God. It makes for a much more enjoyable journey. 

It is never too late to turn around 

I did this walk alone, with the gracious support of my husband, who sadly couldn’t get the time off work. My husband and I enjoy hiking together, and when we do, he has the role of “map reader.” Without him here, I was now responsible for navigating my route each day and picking the right course. There was one morning when I set off early with no other pilgrims around. On this day, I intended to hug the coast, always keeping the sea on my left, as this walk was much flatter and shorter than an alternative route that took you inland across varying terrain. 

As my day started, I realised I was heading away from the sea and up and out of town. This wasn’t the route I’d planned. I paused to look at my map and realised I was following the wrong one. What do I do? I was 15 minutes in the wrong direction. In that moment, I remembered something my husband had once said on another hike when we went the wrong way: “It is never too late to turn around.” I did just that. Swallowed the loss of 15 minutes the wrong way to get back on course.  

In life, there are times when we think we have gone too far down the wrong path, that we are beyond the point of no return. But in God’s story of grace, it is never too late to turn around. No detour is final. We are always invited to course-correct, to reorient ourselves toward truth, peace, and purpose. Sometimes, the holiest thing we can do is stop, look honestly at where we are, and have the humility to turn back. Even a misstep can become part of the pilgrimage if it eventually leads us back home.  

Rest is not failure. 

I made a rookie mistake in planning this walk: I didn’t plan a rest day. “How hard can walking for 10 days be?” I thought to myself. Turns out, very. My feet were painful. My blisters had blisters. I couldn’t stand without winching in pain. But I wanted to finish. So, I need to rest. One day, I decided to surrender my trainers and take the train. I felt like a failure.  

One of the repeated instructions in the Bible given to God’s people to live well is to “keep the sabbath holy”. To set one day of rest aside each week, as we see God do in creation, and how he commands his people. In our high-paced Western society, taking time off to stop and disconnect can feel counter-cultural. Walter Brueggemann discusses how the sabbath is an act of resistance to our consumer-driven culture. In the constant rat race of Western culture, the Sabbath provides an opportunity to rest and be still amidst the chaos, restoring us to our true humanity.   

Taking this day of rest on the Camino helped me to lean into the rhythms of grace and rest that, as a Christian, I am called to participate in. For me, it was learning that rest here was not failure, but a necessary part of the journey. The most helpful thing I could do was pause, not push on.  

We crave rhythm, ritual and simplicity 

On a multi-day hike, you quickly settle into a rhythm. Wake up. Coffee. Walk. Coffee. Walk. Lunch. Walk. Coca-Cola. Check-in. Shower. Aperol Spritz. Read. Dinner. Pack your bag for tomorrow. Sleep. Repeat. The cadence of the days, though physically demanding, was strangely comforting. There was something profoundly grounding about knowing what came next, and being free from the decision fatigue that so often clutters everyday life. 

I carried only the simple things I needed on my back. Halfway through, I even threw away some of my makeup to save weight, and I didn’t miss it. Life stripped back to the essentials felt freeing. The Camino quietly reoriented me toward simplicity, not as deprivation, but as a kind of clarity. 

In this pared-back way of living, rituals emerged, ordinary acts repeated with intention. I am also aware of what a privilege this was, comparing my life of plenty back home to the simplicity of being on a trail. Simplicity isn’t a choice if it is the only option. Tying my shoes each morning, sipping coffee at sunrise, washing my socks in a hostel sink, these small things became anchors. Rituals have a way of transforming what is ordinary into something sacred. These small daily practices gave my life stability that we all long for. We all have things that are sacred to us–and I think deep down–we all long for what is sacred.  

Throughout Scripture, we see how God brings order out of chaos. The decision fatigue I face each day is a reminder of a great blessing, but also a deep distraction. The Camino reminded me that simplicity and ritual don’t shrink life–they give it shape. 

There is a spiritual longing in all of us  

There was one thing that shocked me most about doing this pilgrimage. The Camino de Santiago is one of the world’s oldest religious pilgrimages, culminating in a mass at the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. But whilst walking the Camino, I did not meet a single Christian. No one had a faith. Everyone I met was walking with those questions, or the adventure and the journey along the way. But no one with a deep faith or hope in God. 

As I walked, I listened to Lamorna Ash’s latest book, Don’t Forget We’re Here Forever: A New Generation’s Search for Religion. In it, she explores a generation’s turn to Christianity as she follows the lives and stories of those within and without faith. The stories of people who the church had hurt, those who carried brokenness and were longing for peace. Listening to this audiobook was often interrupted by the beautiful encounters I had with other pilgrims along the way.  

These conversations reminded me that, while not everyone has a faith, I believe there is a longing for something bigger than us, in all of us. Whether spoken or not, there was a hunger for transcendence, a desire to be part of a story with direction, with purpose. The rhythm and ritual of completing this pilgrimage was a sacred act, something that held deep meaning for everyone walking. The sense of adventure, journey or even telos (Greek for purpose or goal) that we were all walking towards in the end at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, gave our days direction and purpose.  

As I walked the Camino, it was the highlight I didn’t expect. I came into this thinking I would want to be alone. Listening to scripture and praying all day, every day. However, in the end, the best parts were the stories and conversations I had with the people I met along the way.   

So, there it is: the seven things walking the Camino de Santiago taught me. It was, without a doubt, the most physically and emotionally demanding thing I have ever done. And yet, it taught me so much.  

We all carry questions. We all long for meaning. We all crave rhythm, connection, and the sacred in the midst of the ordinary. Although I returned with my mind still pondering questions left unanswered or new things that had come to the surface, I was reminded that life is found in the small steps we take and the people we take them with—echoes of the One who made us for relationship, for purpose, and pilgrimage. 

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