volution undertakes to account for every part of every living organism, by progressive modifications caused by resident forces. Hence it is not an exaggeration to say that every organ and member of every living creature supplies us with an objection to Organic Evolution. Our difficulty, therefore, is not for lack of illustrations, but rather which to select from the number available. Several out of the many at our disposal will suffice to show how completely the theory breaks down, when we leave the realm of vague generalities and bring it to the test of concrete facts.
Before applying this test we should perhaps state that, according to the Darwinian theory, every organ was evolved from what was originally a very slight variation (due to accident or other cause unknown), which variation, because it proved useful to its possessor, was transmitted to its offspring; and it is supposed that the departure continued through many generations until at last it became an organ—such as an eye, an ear, a wing, with a distinct and valuable function. Thus "Natural Selection" attempts to account for the preservation of certain variations from the original stock, but not for their production. The main point of the doctrine is that only such accidental variations are preserved as are advantageous to their possessor. We cannot state the theory more definitely because its authors themselves are utterly unable to suggest how Natural Selection worked in any concrete case as, for example, in evolving the wings of fowls and insects. Mr. Darwin says: "Our ignorance of the laws of variation is profound. Not in one case out of a hundred can we pretend to assign any reason why this or that part has varied."
Thus we are left, as Prof. Fairhurst says, "in almost total darkness as to the cause of the most important factor in Organic Evolution."
The evolutionist leaves us to think out for ourselves how the limitless number of diversities of organs, members, instincts, etc., in all the millions of living species, came into being. We see in all of them specific organs upon which their existence or welfare depends. Natural Selection tells us that, at a time far back in the past, their ancestors had none of those organs, not even those that are vital. But it does not, nor does it attempt to, trace the development of a single organ, or tell us what the intermediate creatures were like, or how they lived during the long stretches of years during which those vital organs were being evolved. The question is: How did many generations of species live without organs whose functions are vital? That is a hard question even for an evolutionist.
Here then we are in a position to state an objection to which, so far as we are aware, no reply has ever been made. It is this: Inasmuch as the evolution of an organ, such as the wing of a fowl, would require many centuries of time, and many generations from parent to offspring to bring it to a useful stage of development, how is it possible to account for its preservation during the long period when it was an undeveloped and useless appendage? Natural Selection purports to account for the preservation only of such variations as are useful to the possessor in "the struggle for existence." The facts of nature force that limitation upon the theory, inasmuch as the existing organs and members are such as are of some use or advantage. The theory cannot admit of the perpetuation of useless organs and structural features, for such do not exist.
But, upon looking closely at the matter, we perceive that every organ —such as an arm, an eye, an ear—however advantageous when fully developed, must have been preceded (if the theory be true) by an exceedingly long period during which it would have been not merely useless, but often a positive dis -advantage. It follows that Natural Selection, by its own necessary limitations, cannot account for the development of any organ which must needs pass through a period of non-usefulness. Hence the theory breaks down completely.
The Wings Of Fowls
Consider, for example, the wing of a fowl (an illustration used most effectively by Prof. Luther T. Townsend, and quoted in Dr. Leander S. Keyser’s Contending for the Faith). Here is a very highly organized structure, certainly most important to its possessor. It is a wonder of design, and the very perfection of workmanship in every detail, down to the tiniest feature of the smallest feather. Whether we regard the design, or the construction, or the material, we see perfection in each and all. But we find on the back of every bird not one wing, but two, practically identical in every feature. Moreover, they are symmetrically placed, and in the most advantageous position for the purpose for which, upon the theory of Creation, we should say they were intended. But, according to Evolution, those wings must have been developed each quite independently of the other, from what was at first an accidental hump or protuberance on the back of a featherless reptile. They must, moreover, have been perpetuated, with steadily progressive development, keeping pace with one another, through the progeny of countless generations, during all of which time, these unnatural excrescences would be, not an advantage, but decidedly an encumbrance to their possessors. But this could not go on under the "law" of Natural Selection; for that "law" tolerates only the fostering of useful variations. Hence Natural Selection would quickly destroy such variations.
But conversely the wings of the fowl destroy Natural Selection. Evolution cannot account for wings, either by Natural Selection or by any other supposed method of working. Many able evolutionists have admitted this (Herbert Spencer among them); yet they cling to Evolution, notwithstanding the impossibility of proposing a method by which it could work. Is it because they cannot bear the alternative of recognizing Creation and the Creator?
The Bat And The Mole
We would cite in this connection the instructive case of the bat, quoting from Prof. Th. Graebner: "The bat," says he, "is another highly specialized animal.
In many respects it resembles the mole; but its hands are enormously expanded, and the exceedingly long fingers are connected by a soft membrane, making a most serviceable wing. Is it not extremely likely, assuming the development theory to be true, that the mole and the bat sprang from a common ancestor? And was not that ancestor probably a wingless mammal? How then came the bat to acquire his wings? Did he attempt to spring into the air to seize a passing insect, reaching out his fore-paws to catch it? And did those paws gradually become enlarged until, after some generations, they became real wings? If so, what happened in the meantime to those connecting links whose wings were but partly developed? A bat with wings only half grown would be a helpless creature, and would surely perish. There is no middle ground. If the ancestor of the bat was a terrestrial creature, with limbs fitted for walking, then it must have given birth to a full-fledged bat, fitted for flying. There could have been no middle stage; for such a creature would have been helpless and must have perished.
All this applies with equal force to the diversified and often highly complex structure of plants. As the organs of the various plants are now constituted they serve most admirably their respective purposes. Given a slight change, an undevelopment, and the individual would perish. But such undeveloped stages must necessarily have occurred in the history of every life-form on earth, if a change through slow adaptations is to be accepted as an hypothesis to account for their present form. To our mind this matter of rudimentary structures presents an insuperable obstacle to acceptance of the evolutionary hypothesis, even on scientific grounds.
We have thus far considered only the subject of wings, seeking to imagine how those wonderful organs, so vital to their possessors, could have been evolved. But manifestly whatever organ or member, external or internal, of whatever creature we might select, it would be equally impossible to trace any line of development for it, whether by Natural Selection or any other method of Evolution that has been proposed. It is obvious that humps, excrescences and other abnormalities, are blemishes; and the more they might be developed, short of acquiring a new function (as sight, hearing, flying) they would be a great disadvantage to their possessors. Such abnormalities, moreover, do not tend to reappear in offspring. On the contrary they tend to disappear. A whole race of men have practiced the rite of circumcision for nearly four thousand years, and at the same time have refrained from outside marriages; yet never was a child born already circumcised.
If, however, the perpetuation of such abnormalities were indeed the law of nature, then there would be no recognizable species.
All individuals would be undergoing changes, both internal and external. In such case we should see humps, protuberances and the like, on various parts of different creatures, in various stages of progress towards whatever chance, or "resident forces," might ultimately determine—legs, arms, wings, horns, tails, trunks, tusks, or some other and novel sort of organs or members, of the nature whereof we could form no idea in advance of their complete development. That is what we would see if Evolution were true. If then we see nothing of the sort, it is because Evolution is a delusion:
It is appropriate also to ask, when, under the supposed process of Evolution, would a developing organ or member reach completion? How would the "resident forces" know when to stop its progress? Could it ever be said, in any case, that an organ was finished? Would not progressive changes be always taking place in every part of every organism? Certainly, if the world of living creatures were indeed left to the blind control of unintelligent "resident forces," it would be a world of more vagaries, monstrosities and abnormalities, than was ever pictured by a delirious brain, or by the disordered imagination of an opium eater.
The Water Spider
Let us now consider the case of the water spider, and ask ourselves if there be any conceivable way in which its peculiar organs, instincts, and manner of life, could have been derived, by Evolution, from others of the spider family.
Like other spiders the water spider is an air-breathing animal, yet, unlike other spiders, it fives under water. How did it evolve the extraordinary changes in its organism, and in its habits of life, whereby it acquired first, its set purpose to live under water; and second, its special organs and instincts whereby it is enabled to give effect to that strange purpose, and to live, thrive, and rear its young in such an unnatural environment?
Of course, if the water spider was always a water spider, and was, by its Creator, endowed with just the organs and instincts that are suited to the manner of life appointed to it, the matter is very simple and intelligible. But we are inquiring how the water spider and its ways could have come about through Evolution. Surely those who press that theory upon their fellow-mortals, and who ask them to cast aside the belief in Creation and the Creator—with all that that involves— should at least be required to tell us how Evolution worked, or could have worked in such a case. Was ever such a thing heard of, as that we should be asked to believe, on the ground of "reason" and "Science," in a thing so preposterously unreasonable that the imagination can conceive of no possible way in which it could be accomplished?
Upon examining the water spider, and acquainting ourselves with its ways, we find that its body is covered with hairs in such a way that it does not become wet when in contact with water. In order to live under water, and rear its young there, it must construct a water-proof cell, capable of containing enough air for breathing purposes; it must have means for renewing the supply of air from time to time; and it must have the instincts to guide it in the performance of these necessary operations. And we may confidently add that the very first water spider must have been fully equipped for the purposes indicated. It spins under the water an egg-shaped envelope, open underneath for entrance and egress. This envelope, which is water-proof, is securely attached to some object so that it will remain submerged. Having constructed its house, the little creature next proceeds to fill it with air. For this necessary operation its hind legs are covered with hair and are so constructed that they can take hold of a large bubble of air, and carry it down into the water, and to the opening of its house.
There the air is released, and it rises to the top of the envelope, expelling the corresponding quantity of water. This operation is repeated until the cell is sufficiently filled with air. The eggs are then laid in the upper part of this house and are surrounded by a cocoon.
It is manifest that this extraordinary manner of life, and the highly specialized organs, which are vital to it, could not possibly be the outcome of a long and slow process of development. Before the life of a water spider could even begin, it must be equipped with, first, the means for secreting a water-proof material; second, means for spinning that material into a water-tight cell; third, protective hairs to keep it from becoming wet; fourth, the peculiar apparatus for filling its house with air; fifth, the several instincts which prompt the doing of these remarkable things.
That there is no trace of the evolution of the water spider (or of any other creature) is reason enough why the theory should be rejected. But we confidently submit that the facts briefly set forth above, and the conclusions which necessarily follow from them, constitute proof positive that Evolution is not only an impossibility, but an absurdity.
Spiders In General
The subject of the origin of instincts will be further considered under our next heading. But while we have before us the subject of spiders, the following from Orton’s Zoology will be of interest:
Spiders are provided at the posterior end with two or three pairs of appendages called spinnerets, which are homologous with legs. The office of the spinnerets is to reel out the silk from the silk-glands, the tip being perforated by a myriad of little tubes, through which the silk escapes in excessively fine threads.
An ordinary thread, just visible to the naked eye, is the union of a thousand or more of these delicate streams of silk. These primary threads are drawn out and united by the hind legs.
Here we find a marvelous coordination of special organs:
- the silk-glands, capable of secreting a fluid which has the
remarkable property of hardening upon exposure to the
air;
- spinnerets, having each more than a thousand perforations of
microscopic size, without which the silk-glands would be
worse than useless;
- hind legs, having the wonderful function of forming the
thousands of invisible filaments into a thread, without
which function both glands and spinnerets would be a serious
detriment to their possessor.
It is simply impossible that these three organs should have developed gradually, and independently of each other, to the stage of perfection, in advance of which stage they could not cooperate in the slightest degree to the one end for which they all exist.
Let it be noted that, if the spinnerets had but one aperture, or a dozen, or even a hundred, the liquid material would not have the required area of exposure to the air to effect that instant solidification which is absolutely essential to the success of the entire operation. It required at least a thousand apertures to produce the desired result. Who knew, or could have known, the need of such a number of orifices? or could have formed them in a tube the size of a spider’s leg? And in what imaginable way could several legs, intended for locomotion, be evolved into organs so radically different in function? It is not too much to say that those thousands of orifices are just so many witnesses that Evolution is a huge delusion, which has made foolish the wisdom of the wise, and has exposed to deserved ridicule the gullibility of the brightest minds.
Organs And Instincts: The Bee-Hive
The difficulty of tracing a line of development along which any known organism could have come into being, or any of its special members or parts could have originated, is immensely increased when we take into consideration a highly specialized creature, such as the honey-bee, which is also endowed with unique instincts requiring for their exercise a corresponding unique structural organization. In such case the theory has to account, not only for the evolution of an exceedingly complicated mechanism, but also for the simultaneous development of equally complicated instincts, dependent upon that very mechanism, and impossible of being obeyed without it. And it has further to account for the preservation of both mechanism and instincts through the long era of inutility. And—to add one impossibility to another—we have here a case in which, not the life of the individual only but that of the entire community depends upon the exercise of those instincts and the functioning of that mechanism. Where and what were the honey-bees during the centuries of time which Natural Selection would require for the evolution of those instincts and their necessary mechanism? Evolution attempts not to give an answer.
But the difficulties in this case have not yet been fully stated; for in the swarm of bees we find three distinct classes—queens, workers and drones. Each of these classes is absolutely necessary to the life of the swarm, and each has structural peculiarities and instincts radically different from the other two. The workers, which are undeveloped females, constitute the largest and most important class. Their organic structure is highly specialized to fit them for the many and various operations they have to perform; and their instincts are correspondingly complex. How and from what could such a marvelously specialized creature have been evolved?
The evolutionist can give no answer that is worthy of a moment’s notice. But the wonder of this largest and most important class of the bee-community is that, both in organization and in instinct, they are diverse from both their parents; for they are the offspring of queens and drones. It is vital to the theory of Evolution that the characteristics of parents should pass to their off-spring. But here is a highly organized creature which has an organic structure and a complex set of instincts possessed by neither of its parents! Whence then comes the honey-bee? It does not transmit its wonderful characters to its offspring, for it has none. And if a worker-bee should lay an egg (as occasionally happens) the offspring is invariably a drone. Clearly then, the worker bees are not the product of Evolution; and their existence and renewal from generation to generation, from parents unlike themselves, is a standing contradiction to Evolution.
The Beaver
Prof. Fairhurst, in his able work already quoted, (Organic Evolution Considered) calls attention to the remarkable example of instinct manifested by the beaver. We quote:
It lives in communities and constructs dams, sometimes as long as three hundred yards, stretching across shallow streams of water. These dams are built of sticks of wood, generally about three feet long and six or seven inches in diameter, which the animal cuts with its teeth. The sticks are put in the water and are held in position by means of mud, stones and moss, which are placed upon them. The dams are ten or twelve feet thick at the base; and when the streams are wide the dams are made to curve upstream against the current, thus producing a structure better able to resist the force of the stream. The amount of labor necessary to construct a large dam is enormous. Moreover, it requires an incredible number of logs of wood, and great skill in engineering.
Near the dams the beavers build their houses. Each house is about seven feet in diameter in the interior, and three feet high in the center. The walls are of great thickness. Each lodge is large enough to accommodate five or six beavers
The outside is plastered with mud and carefully smoothed; and the mud is renewed each year in order to keep the house in good repair. All the houses of the colony are surrounded by a ditch which contains water; and each lodge is connected by a passageway with the ditch.
As a supply of food for the winter, the beavers store up a large number of logs under the water, the bark of which they consume.
Thus we find in this case an organized community, working for the common good, both in constructing the dam and the ditch, and also in storing up food; and then making special preparation for living in small groups by constructing their lodges and connecting them with the ditch.
Here we see highly developed instincts which look to the future good of the organism. The building of the dam, the digging of the ditch, the storing of the food, are all done to meet future emergencies. It is evident that the construction of the dam could not have been evolved gradually, for a dam must be of sufficient extent to be useful ere Natural Selection could act.
Are we to presume that beavers experimented for countless generations, thereby building up the instinct which leads them to construct the dam? If so, upon what ground can we explain the preservation of the incipient instinct until sufficiently developed to be of practical use? In what way could they have known in advance that a dam would serve their good? Shall we assume that their instinct led them, in the first instance, to construct a dam, they not having had any experience whereby an instinct of that kind could be evolved?
If the instinct existed without having been developed by experience, then we cannot account for it by Evolution" [And we may interrupt our quotation to say that the instinct must have existed in advance of the building of the first dam, else obviously it would never have been built.] If evolved, then we must assume that the first dam made was of sufficient use to give its makers an advantage in the struggle for existence, and that the instinct which led to its construction was transmitted to their offspring.
Manifestly then, in accounting for the evolution of this instinct, we of necessity begin with an instinct that is already useful; and thus we assume the existence of that for which we are trying to account. We are obliged to assume that, in a single generation, a beaver or colony of beavers was produced, which had a new instinct, sufficiently developed to enable them to build a useful dam; and that, in consequence of this, they themselves were the better preserved; and that the instinct was transmitted to the offspring. If all this could have happened in a single generation, it is evident that no question need be raised as to the possibility of future evolution.
Besides this, the construction of a ditch for water around the several lodges required a different instinct, serving another purpose. Its evolution involves similar difficulties.
The examples considered above are not exceptional; for we could never exhaust the strange instincts of insects alone, of the origin of which it is impossible to account upon the theory of Evolution.
The question of the development of instincts, along with that of special organs, required for those peculiar instincts, and in their turn utterly useless without the latter, is a question which the evolutionist is unable to face.
Mr. Darwin himself says there exist "cases of instincts almost identically the same in animals so remote in the scale of nature, that we cannot account for their similarity by inheritance from a common progenitor, and consequently must believe that they were independently acquired through Natural Selection" (Origin of Species, p. 226).
But Mr. Darwin himself realized that, to believe a thing so utterly unreasonable, and so contrary to all known facts and experience, would require credulity of a most uncommon sort; for he said: "Many instincts are so wonderful that their development will probably appear to the reader a difficulty sufficient to overcome my whole theory."
True enough. For in this we can thoroughly agree with Mr. Darwin. But inasmuch as Mr. Darwin was evidently himself aware of the incredibility of his theory, we wonder how he could expect others to accept it. What the whole extraordinary situation demonstrates most conclusively is, that there is no mind so capable of believing the incredible; as that which is pleased to call itself "the scientific mind," and that there is no person in the world so irrational as the "rationalist."
