It is possible to approach The Sacred Depths of Nature (written by cell biologist Ursula Goodenough) in at least two ways. The first is to read it as a popularizing of the essentials of evolutionary biology with some nifty reflective bits at the end of each chapter relating the author's thoughts on whatever given subject she has just tackled. There is certainly nothing wrong with this, and it certainly seems to lend itself to this sort of reading. It can also be read as a kind of epic prose poem, transforming our modern scientific understanding into a kind of secular mythology which might serve, in its objectivity and universal character (there is no tribalism in Goodenough's elegant myth) as the foundation for a new "planetary ethos." A mythology for all people, which also, as Goodenough wryly notes, has the privilege of being true. This second reading is the more unconventional of the two. It is also the more rewarding of the two. And it is also the sense in which the author meant her "Epic of Evolution" to be read, primarily.



I would argue for a third approach, however: it is perhaps best to read this as very beautiful science writing which doubles as universal myth. As appealing as I find the idea of a scientifically-informed epic poem, this is not it: however much Goodenough fancies herself a storyteller, she is first and foremost a scientist, right down to the marrow. This shines through in her writing. Her focused explanations of things like protein construction, natural selection, and the origin of life are without equal.



Mythical overtones do pervade this work (I'm sure quite intentionally). We start "in the beginning" with the big bang, make our way to the formation of solar systems, then to the formation of the Earth. Once these are established, we come to the rise of life from non-life, how life works, and how organisms work. From there, we get evolution, emotions, meaning, awareness, sex, sexuality, the implications of multicellularity and death, and speciation, all grouped into their own respective chapters which explain how these work and then reflect on these explanations. Her reflections, far from being mere commentary, manage to introduce ideas to the reader which might seem completely novel to them (the chapter on multicellularity and death is almost guaranteed to change your perspective on life if you give it time to stew in your thoughts).



Given the reflective nature of this work, I think it is best read slowly, a chapter or two a day. This is actually harder than it sounds: the writing is wonderful and the book is short enough that you could easily blow through it in an evening. You'll get more out of this book if you stop to reflect the rest of the day on what you read in the last one or two chapters, instead of gulping the whole thing down at once. This is like fine wine, meant to be tasted and savored. Go read a Dan Brown novel if you want to over-indulge without ruining the reading experience for yourself.



One thing about this book puzzles me: while Goodenough is insanely respectful of religious beliefs and is constantly quoting from religious texts (primarily the Judeo-Christian scriptures), she is positively atheistic in her approach to life. And yet she is constantly associating her approach to life with religion. She calls her approach "religious naturalism." This is mere wordplay: there is nothing even remotely religious about this book, or Goodenough herself, unless you consider her wide-eyed approach to existence "religious." When you devalue the term that much, you'd also have to label Richard Dawkins a "religious" man (it is interesting to note, however, that Dawkins considers himself a "deeply religious non-believer," and that is actually the title of, I believe, the first chapter of his work The God Delusion). Call it mystical or spiritual if you like (although I personally hate, hate, HATE the word "spiritual" with a passion). It is not religious, however. She doesn't engage any Big Questions beyond merely listing a few ("where is there something instead of nothing?"; "Where did the laws of physics come from?"; yadda yadda) and saying that her approach toward these is to "articulate a covenant with Mystery" (which seems to only amount to a very pretty way of saying: 'I have no idea, and I'm content with that.') She only approaches the purely naturalistic in this work, and always from a purely naturalistic standpoint. Given this, why does she quote from religious works almost exclusively? Who is she trying to fool? Her fellow scientists have written enough interesting things about all of these subjects to fill multiple volumes. Surely she could have at least quoted from Darwin's great work at least once. The absence of 'There is grandeur in this view of life' or his famous tangled bank passage are incomprehensible. The religious quotations don't even really get at what she is talking about, most of the time. This one aspect keeps it from being perfect to me. Come out of the closet, Ursula: there is no shame in being an out-and-proud atheist!



Nevertheless, this is a very minor qualm. I recommend this book very strongly. Read it (slowly), reflect on it, and let it improve your life. And then read it again after it grows distant in your memory. I have a feeling I will be re-reading this book many, many times.