by J. Randal Matheny, editor
Darwinism is dead. Evolution has expired.
Not many will admit it. The cadaver is propped up on a throne, his eyelids taped open to his eyebrows.
The scientists are chatting normally, jocundly, even, and glance his way as if to keep him in the conversation.
This closed conversation only allows certain qualified personnel into the room. The door is locked, and shibboleth must be said to enter.
Most of the journalists are there, since they not only have the exact spelling and pronunciation of the word, but also kiss the feet of the doormen.
University administrators and professors are there, moving seamlessly from their cloisters to the cadaver’s throne room.
Some, not all, scientists are there, those who know enough to know which way the wind blows, meteorologists be they not.
Once in a while someone mentions the objectively verifiable stink in the room, but the naive commenter is threatened with expulsion if he dare hint that death rules the roost.
If King Darwin is rotting on his throne and his subjects play the fool, what other chief doctrines in this kingdom are also naught but the rattle of bones and dust of decay?
Prime Minister Sir Ancient Dating Methods looks to be, well, billions of years old by his fossilized imprint. But the king’s subjects act as if he is as lively as the most zealous scientist who props him up with pompous pronouncements.
Counselor Lost Link continues his frantic search in the corners of the Darwinian kingdom, constantly muttering, “It’s got to be here somewhere!” Occasionally he pops up with a bone in hand. “Aha! Here it is! I knew it! Definitive proof!” A round of applause, hoorays and pats on the back. And when somebody whispers it’s a pig’s foot or monkey’s jaw, all pretend not to hear, while the exasperated counselor heads back to his earthen layers to continue his quest.
Meanwhile, the Minister of Education applies his litmus tests to the learned institutions of the land and extends his seal of approval only to those who genuflect before the official spiel that the King is alive and well.
The High Priest of Amorality works closely with the One Judge of Political Correctness to impose the rule of tolerance upon the populace, which foments dissolution and prohibits Biblespeak.
Though their marriage is troubled, the HPA lets the green-clad High Priestess Gaia exalt the Planet and supports her fully in her stringent calls to minister to the needs of the earth as an act of worship and scale back on prosperous living. They were rewarded for their loyalty to the dead king with a 100-room mansion.
The Deconstructionist Director of Media films the movements of the king’s court and, using CGI graphics, puts flesh on the king and makes him move and speak, so the populace will believe he is still alive. His mission also includes tearing down popular myths that detract from His Royal Deadness through movies that debunk historical accuracy and moral goodness.
The king’s ministers, counselors and footmen have all conspired to perpetuate King Darwin’s myth. Their power, their prestige, their position, all depend on this king.
They cannot admit that King Darwin is dead.
“Why do the nations rage
and the peoples plot in vain?
The kings of the earth set themselves,
and the rulers take counsel together,
against the Lord and against his Anointed, saying,
“Let us burst their bonds apart
and cast away their cords from us.”
Psalm 2:1-3 ESV
Darwinism is dead, but not many will admit it.