Evidence is a strange word. It sounds rather steadfast and absolute but in fact, it is quite flimsy and transparent at times.
I have disputed, quite clearly in a previous post, the flaws in their, so called, evidence, the short comings and gross inaccuracies of carbon dating, and I shot holes in their belief in Darwin, siting the yellow school bus, but now I wish to dig up Old Darwin and put a couple rounds into his cooling corpse.
And it begins with sunrise.
Magnificent colors splashed across a blue canvas, we find ourselves siting on the porch with a cup of coffee staring off into the East, or in a hushed museum scrutinizing the brush stroke of a master painter. How much time do we waste looking at art, beholding the beauty that makes us gasp and pause when we should be head down and rushing off to work? Those artists that move like possessed men creating works of wonder?
Darwinically speaking, shouldn't have those traits been bred out of us a millennium ago? Those harder workers would have been more successful, and more success would mean a better, albeit boring, species. We should be robots by now yet those pesky emotions that have no intrinsic value persist.
Are women looking for good providers, as Darwin would promote, or are they looking for the Bad Boy?
Why, Darwin, do we appreciate the abstractness of beauty? Stare up into starry skies and build monuments of imagination?
Why does color influence us? It should only excite us if we could taste it, eat it, do something with it but there is nothing more useless than the spectacular atmospheric phenomena of gold and pink clouds at the break of day and yet we snap countless pictures of it.
Science can explain why sunrises happen, but they can't explain why we love them so, or why their color marvels us. Why is there a part of our brain that hasn't shriveled up and crumbled away in evolution?
My answer is simple.
God is beauty.
And if you can't see the beauty of God in everything, then maybe you are the final Darwin perfection of man.