Seek learning, even by study and also by faith… D&C 109:7

In 2022, Svante Pääbo was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for work that reshaped our understanding of what it means to be human. Through decades of meticulous research, Pääbo and his team succeeded in sequencing the genome of Neanderthals—an extinct hominin species (members of the human evolutionary family more closely related to us than chimpanzees).

Neanderthals lived in Eurasia for hundreds of thousands of years and disappeared only about 40,000 years ago—or about 1,600 generations in the past. Their skeletons show they were not Homo sapiens, but a closely related species: shorter, more muscular, and with distinct skull morphology.

Their large brow ridges, wide nasal passages, and robust frames were likely adaptations for conserving heat in glacial climates. Their cranial capacity was slightly larger than ours, but differed in internal structure—especially in regions believed to regulate planning, social behavior, and vocal expression.
And yet, they buried their dead, shaped tools, used fire, and interbred with early Homo sapiens. They were not human in the scriptural sense, but neither were they beasts. They were, in the words of Pääbo, our closest evolutionary relatives.

Genetically, modern humans and Neanderthals are strikingly similar. Their genomes are about 99.7% identical, a level of resemblance that reflects our shared ancestry and the fact that our lineages appear to have split about 500,000 to 700,000 years ago. But the few differences that do exist especially those that became fixed in modern humans—might have mattered profoundly.

For example, scientists have identified only 96 protein changes that are present in all living humans and absent in Neanderthals, suggesting that they arose after the two lineages split and became universal in Homo sapiens. These substitutions, though few, may have subtly influenced skeletal development, immune responses, and brain function.

Even more striking are the changes found in regulatory DNA—regions that control when, where, and how genes are expressed. Many of these differences occur in sequences active during brain development, especially in the neocortex, a region associated with reasoning, language, and self-awareness. Functional studies have shown that the human versions of these sequences tend to increase gene activity or shift the timing of development compared to their Neanderthal counterparts. These genetic tweaks may have refined neural wiring, prolonged brain growth, or reshaped the skull—changes that could help explain why we developed symbolic language, cumulative culture, and abstract thought to a degree that surpasses anything in the Neanderthal archaeological record.

And yet, from a genetic standpoint, the distinction between our two species is remarkably small. With fewer than a hundred protein-coding changes separating us, one could, in theory, convert the cells of one species into the other with only modest genetic editing. A recent milestone in genetic engineering illustrates the point. In 2024, scientists at Colossal Biosciences unveiled three wolf pups that had been genetically altered to express selected traits reminiscent of the extinct dire wolf. This Ice Age predator diverged from modern gray wolves over 5 million years ago.

Using ancient DNA extracted from fossils, Colossal identified key genetic differences between dire wolves and gray wolves. They then introduced a set of 20 targeted edits—focused on coat color, jaw structure, and other phenotypic traits—into the genome of gray wolf cells. These modified cells were used to generate embryos implanted into canine ova and carried to term by surrogate mothers. In late 2024 and early 2025, three pups were born: Romulus (depicted), Remus, and Khaleesi—the first living creatures most similar to dire wolves in over 400 generations. With broader skulls, deeper jaws, more muscular frames, and unique vocalizations, they matched the anatomy and behavior inferred from paleontological records.

That such a feat was possible across millions of years and deep evolutionary divergence underscores the extraordinary potential of modern biology. If dire wolf traits can be reintroduced into living animals despite such ancient separation, then the recreation of Neanderthal cellular features—whose genetic distance from us is comparatively slight—is not only imaginable, but technically far more feasible.

Aside from the ethical questions raised by such technology, the underlying concepts may feel deeply disconcerting to many Christians. What are we to make of beings so similar to us who lived and died, seemingly long before Adam and Eve? Were Neanderthals spiritual children of Heavenly Parents?
And what of the dinosaurs—creatures that ruled the Earth and vanished millions of years before the first humans, apparently before death was introduced into the world by the Fall?
Or the Big Bang, and the ever-expanding universe it set in motion?

At first glance, such questions may seem to challenge—or even erode—the foundations of religious belief. For some, the temptation is to retreat: to dismiss or distrust what cannot be reconciled with a literal reading of scripture. That reflex has precedent. In the 17th century, Galileo Galilei was confined to house arrest by Church authorities for teaching that the Earth orbits the Sun. His opponents cited Joshua 10:12, where the prophet commands: Sun, stand thou still, taking it as proof that the Sun moves around a stationary Earth. But the conflict was not between faith and reason—it was between observable evidence and an over-literal reading of scripture.

Galileo himself believed deeply in both science and revelation. He famously wrote that the Bible teaches us how to go to heaven, not how the heavens go.

God has not revealed all things. The scriptures themselves promise that in that day when the Lord shall come, he shall reveal all things… things of the earth, by which it was made (D&C 101:32–34). If we feel some truths remain hidden, we are to trust in God’s timing.

That waiting, however, should not mean silence. Latter-day Saints believe in continuing revelation—not only through prophets, but through all those who are willing to study, reason, and explore God’s creations. Most truths about the earth—its age, its biology, and its deep past—have come not through prophetic vision, but through faithful inquiry by philosophers and scientists alike.

This is not surprising. God rewards the prepared mind, and such topics are complex—requiring years of study to approach with clarity.
This does not mean that every theory is correct, or that science should replace faith. But it does mean that faith need not be fragile or defensive. We need not fear questions, nor reject answers simply because scripture is silent or obscure on the subject.

Our task, then, is to learn to relish mystery—
for mystery is not contradiction.
It is the threshold of revelation.