“No matter how numerous they may be, mutations do not produce
any kind of evolution…There is no law against day dreaming,
but science must not indulge in it.” 1
Even if mutations could deliver new information to the genome (which doesn’t happen), this doesn’t explain the original source of a cell’s genetic information. Mutations typically corrupt DNA, degrading the genome, rendering it incapable of contributing to the “evolution” of different life kinds.
Can a series of chance mutations account for
differences between colorful macaws and regal peacocks?
It never happened! It never will happen!
When Darwin first floated his chance hypothesis, he was as ignorant of DNA as he was of a flash drive storing digital information for a computer. Already out on a limb with his tree of life, he may have felt compelled to offer an explanation as just how incremental transitions occurred. He latched on to a dubious “solution:” why couldn’t physical change, activated by the use or disuse of a body part, be passed along to a descendant?
Differentiating between somatic and germ cells, he trotted out gemmules as the mechanism that would preserve and pass along acquired physical traits. The nonexistent gemmule is defined as “a hypothetical particle of heredity postulated to be the mediating factor in the production of new cells in the theory of pangenesis.” 2 Bit-by-bit, gradual changes supposedly accumulated en route to an entirely new and different organism. The innovative naturalist seized upon the towering neck of the giraffe, as prime evidence of the process.
Fairy tale logic manufactured the fiction that when persistent droughts dried the fields of grass grazed by giraffe ancestors, survival hinged on stretching their necks toward the sky to nibble tree leaves. Theoretically, the animal’s bone and muscle structure preserved those neck stretches and passed each miniscule change to the next generation, courtesy of gemmules. Over time, such modest adaptations supposedly evolved the African plains long-necked giraffe.
Gemmules existed only in Darwin’s mind. Never observed in nature, the far-fetched myth made no sense. It would be early into the twentieth century before reality intruded and the world would learn that gemmules were not the magic elixir providing natural selection something to select.
As to the neck of an 18-foot-tall giraffe with a heart 2 ½ feet long, mutations contribute nothing more to explain its origin than do make-believe gemmules. The heart strong enough to pump blood up a giraffe’s neck to the brain is also powerful enough “to burst the blood vessels of its brain” when it reaches down for a drink of water. But when the giraffe bends down, “a protective mechanism” kicks in causing “valves in the arteries in its neck” to begin to close. 3
Did Darwin wonder why other animals, such as zebras, wouldn’t also evolve longer necks? Or why a human muscle builder couldn’t pass along bulging, exercise-built muscles to his children? Either he hadn’t heard or simply ignored the insightful news from Mendel’s garden, released in 1865.
The eloquence filtering through the stentorian tones of Darwin’s persuasive English vocabulary proved susceptible to superstition, tradition and personal bias prior to access to modern technology. Theories of origin came cluttered with the same medieval hot air that floated spontaneous generation fallacy.
Oblivious to genes and DNA, evolutionists went looking in the wrong direction for theory confirmation, relying on spin the bottle luck and mega years of evolutionary gestation. Evidence confirming a continuous chain, linking simple-to-complex life forms in fossil fields, lay in discontinuous disarray.
The world might have been spared at least some specious speculations had genetics and molecular biology arrived as nineteenth-century sciences.
This is an excerpt from a chapter of the 2016 Edition
of “Three Days Before the Sun”, now available
from leading online retailers.