Information of Evolution

By: Jerry Richard Boone

Did mankind evolve from bacteria? Did the Encyclopedia Britannica evolve from Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace? Let's check it out.

The Language of Life

Deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA for short, has been called the language of life. The description is an apt one. DNA's language is composed of basic elements called nucleotides. These nucleotide bases combine into specific codons much the same as letters of the alphabet combine into specific words.

Codons in given sequences join together to form specific amino acids just as words in given sequences join together to form meaningful sentences.

Taking it a step further, the correct type, order, and number of amino acids results in the appropriate protein or gene, much as the correct order of sentences results in an appropriate paragraph. And proteins produce different types of cells which develop into various organs of the body. That is comparable to the correct sequence of paragraphs combining to form a meaningful chapter.

See the parallel? The last step is the right number and types of organs form a living and fully functional life form. In much the same way, the right number and order of chapters form a meaningful book.

Evolutionists believe that over time one life form merges into a completely different type by a series of DNA nucleotide mutations. Mistake after mistake after mistake transformed single-celled organisms into people like you and me. That is the heart and soul of the evolution theory.

Nucleotide bases are the equivalent to letters of the alphabet. Suppose, just suppose, we were to take a literary masterpiece and "mutate" every 500,000th copy or so by changing one letter, or perhaps one punctuation mark somewhere in the book. Would a series of such random errors over time change one comprehensive meaningful piece of literature into another? Let's exam that possibility.

Analogy of Evolution: The Evolution of the Encyclopedia Britannica

The visitor looked around the huge room. As far as the eye could see, he found row after row of scribes busily engaged in copying thick layers of manuscripts. "What are they copying?" he inquired directing the question to the guide.

"Scribes in this room are copying the English version of Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace."

"Boy, that sounds like a lot of copying."

"We estimate it around 2.8 million characters including both letters of the alphabet and punctuation marks," replied the guide.

"Wow! Who translated the book?"

"Translated? What do you mean?"

"Raising his eyebrows a bit, the visitor explained, "I mean who translated War and Peace into English?"

"As far as we know, the first edition was just an accident. Some alphabet letters were floating about in a primordial soup with a bunch of punctuation marks. Then Wham-O. Something zapped it - maybe lightning or radiation or something like that. Whatever-it-was knocked all the letters and punctuation marks into the right order and conveniently packaged the whole work into an appropriate book binder. That's just a theory mind you. But it is the best explanation we can come up with."

Flabbergasted, the visitor responded, "Do you mean to tell me that 2.8 million letters and punctuation marks got together on their own and just accidentally formed an English translation of Tolstoy's War and Peace?"

"Yes, that's our theory," stated the guide nonchalantly. "But don't forget, an electric bolt or radiation probably nailed the letters in place and wrapped a book cover around the whole thing."

After staring at the guide for a few moments, the visitor decided to change the subject. "Where do the books go from here?"

"Ah, glad you asked," exclaimed the guide, leading the visitor into a second somewhat smaller room. Motioning to the men reading books on long rows of tables, the guide said, "These gentlemen are our editors. They read all copies produced by the scribes in the first room. If a mistake is found, the book is pulled and sent on to the next room."

"Considering each copy is composed of 2.8 million characters, they must find a lot of errors."

"No. The scribes are a dedicated bunch of workers. They average only one error in five hundred thousand complete books. Now if you will just follow me, I'll show you what happens next."

The next room was smaller than either of the first two, however, the visitor could still see plenty of people examining numerous copies of War and Peace. "What goes on here?" asked the visitor, watching one of the workers snapping his book shut and casually tossing it into a large garbage can.

"We call this our Natural Selection room. And these folks are our second editors. They read all the copies with misprints. If they decide the copy no longer makes sense, they discard it. Only about one in a thousand mistakes are acceptable and gets by this room."

"Then they forward those copies that are still meaningful to another room."

"That's right," responded the guide, walking the visitor to the fourth room.

"This is our third editor," explained the guide. In this room sat one huge, mean looking scribe. He growled and snarled, hissed and spat, then he devoured most of the books on top of his table. Of those that were left, he tore up a few, set fire to others, threw a couple out the window, and dumped a number into a vat of water.

Inexplicably, he brushed a few of the remaining copies of what we may now call the "acceptable-error-version" of War and Peace off his table, and sat serenely on the table top. A frighten little scribe quickly gathered those copies off the floor and scampered out of the room.

"What kind of editor is that?" asked the visitor, pointing to the now howling creature on the table.

"We call him Random Chance."

"He doesn't review the books. He just eats them, or tears them apart, or burns them, or tosses them out the window, or dumps them in water!" exclaimed the visitor.

"Yes, that's his job," replied the guide in a soothing voice. "He destroys most of the copies which land on his table. But a few get by. What percentage, we don't know. The ones who make it go to a fifth room. Come on, let's follow that scribe."

The fifth room was full of scribes both male and female. One very large male scribe wore a black leather jacket with the initials "D.M." stitched on the back. "Stands for dominate male," said the guide before the visitor could ask.

The dominate male picked up a copy of War and Peace and carried it out of the room. Each of the female scribes picked up a copy and followed the dominate male out of the room. About an equal number of male scribes with "O.M." stitched on the back of their sweaters picked up a copy each. But instead of taking them out of the room, they simply dumped their books into a trash barrel. Over this container was placed a sign which read "Dead End."

The guide informed the visitor "O.M." are initials for "Other Males." Responding to the visitor's questions, the guide answered, "We call these gentlemen our Dead End scribes. Many good-error mutations of War and Peace wind up in the Dead End dumpster, but the majority make it to the next room.

The visitor discovered the dominate male and the female scribes had carried their copies to a sixth room. Here in the sixth room sat a wimpish little scribe with big thick glasses. He actually read the books placed on his table. But practically every one he picked up, he discarded on the floor, saying in a peevish little voice, "I don't like that one." On rare occasions he would say, "That one is okay." And he would pass it on to the next room.

The guide explained, "We call the sixth room scribe, Mr. Discrimination. Only a handful of beneficial-error-mutated copies of War and Peace get by his review."

More surprises were ahead. An enormous pool of water stood directly in front of the single table in the seventh room. The sign beside the water reads: Genetic Pool. Every once in a while, a scribe would come into the room and finding a book on the table, he would unceremoniously push the copy off into the genetic pool.

The visitor looked on in amazement. "Is that all there is to it? Those few positive-error copies of War and Peace that make it past the first six rooms are just pushed off into the drink?"

That's about it," responded the guide without expression. "Although on occasion, one of those copies is taken to another room where the whole process starts over."

"You mean scribes copy the new War and Peace with its "beneficial mistake"; they are reviewed for errors; and one out of five hundred thousand has an additional error. Then, on the average, one out of a thousand of those with additional errors will have a second beneficial mistake. Most of those with a second "good error" are eaten, burned, drown, or otherwise destroyed.

"Of the few two-good-error copies left, some hit end of the line snags, others are shunned because of bias against innovations, and still others are drowned in large gene pools. And I suppose an incremental number of those two-good-error War and Peace copies will make it through all the hazards and wind up in yet another room to be copied by scribes."

"You got it! And the whole thing repeats itself again and again," said the guide slapping his knee with enthusiasm.

The visitor thought aloud, "We have a two-good-error War and Peace followed by a three-good-error War and Peace, then a four-good-error copy, etc, etc. But where do all these accumulated mistakes lead us?"

"To other books!" cried the guide. By adding a letter here, substituting one there, changing one punctuation mark to another, sometimes repeating words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs or deleting them, we create new books. We believe that the thirty-two volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica evolved just that way from a copy of War and Peace. Gradually and incrementally, one book arose from another."

"Oh," said the skeptical visitor. "How many characters - letters and punctuation marks - are in the Encyclopedia Britannica?"

"Around 192 million," stated the guide.

"So you think that a series of mistakes, letter by letter, semicolon by semicolon transformed a unified cohesive body of work, namely War and Peace with its 2.8 million characters into a completely different and much larger unified cohesive body of work - the thirty-two volume Encyclopedia Britannica with its 192 million characters?

"Exactly! Over millions and millions of years of course."

"Of course," said the visitor.

War and Peace did not fall into place by accident, neither did its English translation. To create such a comprehensive masterpiece required intelligence, literary expertise, planning, and purposeful action. An author named Leo Tolstoy wrote that book. Encyclopedia Britannica did not evolve by minute random mistakes from War and Peace or any other work. That thirty-two volume set required intelligence, literary expertise, planning, and purposeful action too. Numerous authors and editors combined and coordinated their talents to create this distinctive series of books.

Now how about that "simple" bacteria? That three million nucleotide base form of life did not fall into place by accident any more than did the 2.8 million character War and Peace. To create such a comprehensive masterpiece required extraordinary intelligence, knowledge of chemistry far greater than our own, plus planning, and purposeful action.

Mankind did not evolve from a bacteria any more than did the Encyclopedia Britannica evolve from War and Peace. Something or Someone with a high degree of intelligence and chemical knowledge designed and constructed the bacteria to be what it is. By the same token, Something or Someone with a high degree of intelligence and chemical knowledge designed and constructed humans to be what they are.

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