Humor

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A definition of evolution, for those of us who are not so evolved, is simply change over time. With a derivation here and there it basically attempts to detail the mechanism, without giving the details, of how life gets more complex.

I would like to say that after Mozart, Beethoven, and Da Vinci, some artists prove that some things just don't get...more complex. Imagine, with me, if you will, woman/man (for the evolutionary process would have done away with testosteroni, I'm sure), two thousand years hence in an archeological dig and finding a CD of some contemporary artist. How that would set the scientific community of that time into an evolutionary apoplexic shock. The hemorrhaging would go on for decades.

Explain that weird evolutionary conundrum, if you can, Dawkins.

But I digress, which is counter evolutionary.

I'm not against evolution, per se', because I could, within the next few minutes, change my mind about this article and instead write about the self consciousness of a flea. But instead I will ignore the Big Banging in my head (even though the self consciousness of a flea sounds like an invigorating subject) and use those synapses, which have more akin with chaos than order, and press on.

Ultimately I view God on the subject of origins very practically. Whatever process He chooses to use, whether special creation, or natural selection, or aliens coming from the sky and leaving a little bitty amoeba in a volcano...which at one point, in the past... burped, and out popped...well...whatever. Whichever method is practical to God I will practically agree...that it's a good method. How very pragmatic of me.

But the real issue, when sorting through all the monkey poo, is not the process in and of itself. It's the presupposition that dictates the conclusion someone comes to when mulling the evidence. The best of arguments for God being the originator of origination can be disregarded because of a presupposition.

Such is the case in the atheist jungle. A world where no God is needed or heeded for the foliage blocks out the sun of reason. They're a king there, constantly feeding their hopeful delusion (for since they don't believe in God, then they are hopeful that they are right), waiting for that blessed day of...dying. They swing from rhetorical vine to rhetorical vine, never minding the trees that make the vines possible. They can't deny their presupposition which denies the basis for ALL reality. The Christian God. Ensconced as it is, this mental DNA, the dislodging of which would be a miracle the size of Moses and the Red Sea, does not, however, negate the accusation of Psalm 14:1.

Just a few thousand years after learning to walk upright, they beat their chest with the "yelp" of Wiessmuller, while remaining perfectly coifed like Ron Ely, and yell their accusations from the treetops to the rooftops.

"If God is good, then why is there so much evil? Since there's so much evil, then a good God does not exist."

But whilst they swing and admire their bronze-ness and muscle-ness, and while the credits start to roll...they should look at their vine and ponder the trees.

In this atheist jungle, on what basis does any little Tarzan call anything good or evil? This little king steals what he assumes, brings it back to his atheist jungle, defines his little treetop kingdom and pretends he has good reasons to call anything good or evil.

Well, Jane has left the jungle and left these little Tarzans to play games and call themselves civilized.

Now they don't have to like God.

They don't have to love Him.

They don't have to believe in Him.

They can continue, these uber mensch, these little kings of little jungles, to swing from vine to vine thinking they've evolved to a higher mental prowess, when in reality the only thing that's happened is that they've lost their loin cloth.

Maybe when God stops laughing at them, He'll reveal to them how naked they really are.

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