To accept theistic evolution
one must reject the book of Genesis, which says, “In the beginning God
created the heavens and the earth.” Many other scriptures deal with the
original creation. For you to believe God used evolution as His method of
creation means rejecting Jesus Christ. Part 2 continues
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“Gaspy,” the Very First Lungfish Imagine we are looking at a pond which has been drying up. The process is quite slow, so the fish, turtles, frogs, and insect larvae which inhabit the pond are unaware of the fact that the water is slowly retreating from the banks. As we know, if such were to occur today (and it often does in times of drought), all that happens is that the fish are trapped; as the available oxygen is depleted, they die. Some struggle in the thickening mud for a time, and then they die. Turtles begin to slowly make their way overland, seeking another pond. Frogs try to hop to another pond before they dehydrate. But fish? How long does it take for a pond to dry out? If it completely dries out, that particular stock of fish dies. But if it is only partially drying out, with a lower water level, how do the fish swimming about in a shallower pond determine they had better begin developing lungs, instead of continuing to happily swim about in their somewhat smaller pond? Does our evolutionist imagine that the seasons were suspended for millions of years? Does he imagine fish had such a lifespan? Does he imagine that a fish, having experienced a few weeks or a few months of a lower water level, somehow “decides” she had better pass on to the eggs she is about to lay an innate desire to begin to develop lungs? But when the rainy season came again, and the pond was filled to the brim and overflowing, why would not the fish continue to be fish, with gills, and survive just as they were, with no need to develop lungs? And until there was a need for lungs, there was no hidden, primal urge within the fish to “develop” them. But the “need” didn’t occur until an hour or so before the fish died from lack of oxygen. So there aren’t any lungfish today, because there was not enough time for the first ignorant gill-equipped, non-lungfish, who had no idea his pond would dry completely out, to develop them. But there are lungfish. Where did they come from? Let’s apply the imaginary scenario of the evolutionist to “Gaspy,” our very first lungfish. After all, there had to be a first one. Evolution would never admit that countless thousands of them were created by God at the same time. Therefore, there had to be a very first “almost” lungfish—a strange-looking, partial lungfish with “primitive” lungs which just barely were able to process the air and supply oxygen to the fish’s body. So here he is—Gaspy—looking around in dismay at all his dead cousins and friends, who have been thrashing about in the muddy bottom of a pond that has been slowly drying out. “Not me!” he says to himself. “I’m not going to suffocate in all this mud—I’ll just drag myself to another pond, and grow legs instead of fins, and lungs instead of gills, and I’ll survive!” He knows, however, that he cannot breathe. He is strangling on mud! His gills are covered with mud, and he hasn’t had time to develop any lungs yet! So he dies. But he can’t die—because he needs to “evolve.” He knows his skin will soon dry out, without being laved with water. He knows he must get to another pond—a larger, deeper one—or he will die. (Please don’t ask how he “knows” all this, for such concepts are embarrassing to evolutionists). Now, in our imaginations, let’s lower ourselves to one inch above the thick, gooey, slimy puddle of mud in the bottom of a drying pond. What do we see? We see a forbidding dry, cracked shore where water used to be. We see dried tree roots and sticks. We see rocks and dust and sand. We see exactly what Gaspy sees—from the height of one inch. From down there, he can’t possibly see over the rim of the drying pond, so he has no idea what is out there, except perhaps the tops of some trees. But he has never seen trees before, so they mean nothing to him. He has got to move! Got to escape this puddle of thick mud, which has already become so thick his gills have long since quit providing him with oxygen, so he is already dead! But he can’t be dead, because he needs to evolve! An idea strikes him! Why not simply wriggle about, allow more and more mud to form about his slimy body, ooze some more slime out from his skin until he forms a ball-shaped cocoon, and estivate right where he is? That way, he won’t have to shed his fins for leg-like appendages. He won’t have to somehow navigate to the nearest deeper pond. He won’t have to drag himself along the ground for miles and miles, making about a foot an hour, breaking his fins, scouring his belly on dirt and rocks, struggling over twigs, branches, and sand. He won’t have to be so horribly sunburnt as to dry out completely. Besides, he couldn’t have gotten even so much as one breath with his non-existent lungs, and his gills became caked with mud and dirt, so they couldn’t provide him any oxygen, and so he died. But he can’t have died, evolution says. Did he begin to secrete a sticky, mucous substance so he would not dry out, and die? But how, if he didn’t know he should? Did he begin to store up body fat, so he could estivate, and live off his own fat for up to several years? Did he begin to practice slowing down his heartbeat, and taking only one breath or two in an hour, getting ready to slow down his metabolism? But how? What was the impetus, the inner compulsion to compel him to do all this, when he had no idea he would have to do it to survive? No, better to “walk” across land, and find a deeper pond, where he can continue to use his gills, like any self-respecting fish. This would be utterly impossible, for he would be dead in only moments, but he starts out, then dies in less than two minutes from lack of oxygen. His gills have become clogged with dirt and sand, and he gasps his last. But he can’t do that, because he must somehow evolve, so his offspring can still be alive today. How far to go? He doesn’t have a clue, for he has not yet developed the sense of smell, so he can tell where the next water is to be found. He doesn’t have any knowledge of the stars when they appear at night, for he has never seen them before. He doesn’t know north from south, or east from west, or higher terrain from lower, for he has been a fish all his life, swimming about in a pond. But he lurches, twitches, lunges—by now his pectoral fins are worn completely off. Most of his scales have been scraped from his body; his tail is hanging in rags, and of course his mud-caked, sand-filled, dirt-clogged gills have long since ceased to function, so he is dead. He doesn’t exist. But he can’t be dead, because he needs to evolve. Gasping for breath with his non-existent lungs, he rests for a moment, having no idea which way to go. Suddenly, he feels a stinging sensation! Fire ants! He has lurched his way onto a fire ant mound, and hundreds of them are stinging him, beginning to eat holes in his bedraggled skin! He tries to lurch away, but the ants can run faster than he can lurch! So he is eaten by ants, and he doesn’t exist. But he must exist, because he has to develop those lungs! Just then, a shadow passes across him. Then another. He looks up from his dirty, sandy track in the baked earth. It is a buzzard! No, several of them. They land, hop toward him; their obscene, naked heads glistening in the hot sun; their cruel beaks and little, yellow eyes poised over his drying, dirt-caked body. They begin to feed. So he dies. He doesn’t survive. Time and time again, he doesn’t survive. Wild dogs attack him. A possum finds him. Foxes eat him. A stork gobbles him up. A pack of hyenas discover him, and quickly eat him. But, notwithstanding all these many times he dies, and does not survive, he survives! (Anything is possible in “evolutionary” thought, just like in a Disney cartoon). Miles from nowhere, he finally gives up in frustration. He sadly turns back toward the muddy bog he left. Days later—having been eaten several times, and having died several times from dehydration—he arrives back at the pond he left, which is now only bone dry, cracked, hard earth. Too late! There is now not enough mud for him to create a slimy mud ball, and estivate inside it until the next rainy season! So he dies. Exit Gaspy—poor critter. He had no idea he needed to develop lungs in only minutes! He had not the faintest idea about how to estivate, and didn’t have the lungs to keep him alive even if he had. He didn’t know north from south; had no idea where to find the nearest water. His gills were clogged, and so, just like all the other fish in the pond, he died. He should have evolved into a snake, and slithered under a rock to find shade. He should have caused his ragged, broken, useless pectoral fins to evolve into wings, and sprout feathers, and take off into the air and perch in the shady branches of a tree. He should have evolved into a lizard! Think about all this for a moment. The very first time a lungfish existed, he had to exist in perfect form; with a set of very functional lungs. The very first time a pond dried out that contained lungfish, they had to know how to form a muddy ball, lie quiescent within it, and estivate until the next rainy season! What is estivation? It means to lie dormant, or torpid, during the summer. It is the opposite of hibernation, which is to lie dormant during the winter, as do bears. The Lungfish—Perfectly Equipped When the dry seasons come to the great river valleys and basins of some of the largest rivers in Africa, such as the Congo Basin or the Zambezi River Valley, lungfishes begin to sense that their ponds are drying out. Repeatedly, as the water level lowers, they squirm into the thickening mud, keeping their heads just above so they can breathe. They begin by plunging headfirst into the ooze, then surfacing. Then they slowly wriggle, squirming ever downward as the surface sinks. By repeatedly thrusting his mouth to the surface for air and squirming with his body, he forms a rounded cavity in the gradually hardening mud. He keeps it barely open at the top so he can breathe. He secretes a slimy mucous which completely covers his body. As the ball of mud dries, he wraps his tail around his head to protect his eyes. The only opening remaining is a small, funnel-like hole to permit him to breathe. How did the lungfish “evolve” the mucous-like secretion? Obviously, the very first time in all history that a lungfish “decided” to encase himself in a rock-hard cocoon of mud, he had to secrete the slimy mucous in order to protect his body. There would be no second chance. How did he “evolve” the instinct to wrap his slimy tail around his head, to protect his eyes from drying out? The very first time any lungfish “decided” to form a mud cocoon, he had to protect his eyes! Though he breathes, he is not like most other air-breathing mammals. If he is uncovered from his parchment-like dried ball of mud, and his body exposed to the air, he will die in only a few hours. How does he survive? During his long wait—incredibly, for up to seven long years—he lives off his own body fat. He slows his metabolism down to almost nothing; his heartbeat is only three beats each minute, and he requires a breath only once in several hours! Today, depending on the location and the weather (dry or rainy season), there are countless numbers of lungfish, waiting for water to begin trickling down their tiny breathing hole. When the rains come, and the cracked, dry lake bed begins to fill, the lungfish feels the water on his head. He begins to squirm immediately. As the water softens the blowhole, he is able to wriggle more and more out of his cocoon. Since he is now much smaller than he was at the beginning of his estivation (as long ago as seven years in some cases), he is soon able to wriggle free from his self-imprisonment, and begin swimming in the pond. Soon, other life forms appear. Insect larvae, waiting in the hard mud, and frog eggs and fish eggs, carried on the muddy feet of wading birds, begin to hatch. Flying insects lay their eggs, and hatch more larvae. Happily, the lungfish begins to feed on his regular diet of tiny plant and insect life again! And all this evolved? Any thinking person should know better! You can apply logic to any creature that exists—from mosquitos to great blue whales, from hummingbirds to honeybees. Study what they do and how they survive. Ask yourself about the very first creature, far, far back in time. How did they gradually evolve their incredible, complex methods of survival? Let’s look at another fascinating example. Stingless Bees Science tells us there are more than one million different species of life forms—mammals, birds, fish, and insects. This is not counting bacteria and viruses. About 80 percent of all life on our planet is represented by insects. Of these, about one-third are beetles, and about one-seventh are ants, bees, and wasps. A study into any one of these myriad creatures is a fascinating journey into the awesome intricacies of creation; a glimpse into the powerful, vast, and limitless intelligence of our Creator God. Consider the stingless black bees of the Amazonian rain forest: They usually nest in the hollow of a tree. Like “mud dauber” wasps, they find a source of mud, busily gather it up, and fly to their nesting site. Finally, they completely seal the nest, or hive, until there is only a cylindrical tube, several inches long, as an entry. How did they first “know” they should do this? What happened to the very first stingless black bee colony that did not fashion a narrow, protective entry to their hive? Obviously, they were found by a bear, or sloth, and eaten, so none survived. But they did survive. So the very first stingless black bee colony had to survive in the same fashion they have always survived! While black bees are stingless, they do have powerful mandibles with which they can bite. Their “flight tunnel” is the only way they can get into or out of the nest once it is completed. They insure it is only one bee’s width, so only one bee can enter at a time. Now comes the amazing part! They secrete a sticky substance, a viscous, tar-like goo, that will trap any insect seeking to crawl into their flight tunnel. How do the bees themselves avoid being entrapped in their own tar? They fly out of the tunnel, and they fly into it. It is several inches in length, one bee in width. Yet, they fly straight into the tunnel, making a perfect bull’s-eye every time! All this was millennia before anyone thought about landing an airplane on a rolling carrier deck! Their eyes (actually, hundreds of little eyes contained in two orbs, giving them incredible vision) instantly adjust from the light of the forest to the stygian blackness of the inside of the tunnel and the nest! In order to leave the nest, they must become airborne before they enter the exit, or they would become stuck fast. As additional protection, just where the tube widens, they amass a large contingent of “guard bees” to repel any invader with powerful bites. The stingless black bee has an incredible method of survival and
reproduction. If they did not have such a survival method, then they would be
fair game for a huge variety of crawling and flying insects; for snakes and
rodents, birds and bears, possums and sloths. Therefore, they had to do what
they do the very first time they did it! |
Written by: Garner Ted Armstrong