Journalist Virginia Heffernan Admits She’s a Creationist and Drives Evolutionists Crazy
In the midst of the George Zimmerman “not guilty” verdict, rioting, beatings, threats of violence, calls for “checking your white privilege,” and demands that we “give money to the Dream Defenders, to the Urban League, to the Southern Poverty Law Center … because racism is a natural disaster just like hurricanes and bombings and shootings are,” there’s a story going around about journalist Virginia Heffernan who admits she’s a creationist.
The liberal disdain for Virginia Heffernan is thicker than quick-drying cement. Here’s just one example, written by Laura Helmuth at Slate:
“This is all just to say that I am trying to sympathize, I really am, with Virginia Heffernan. Heffernan is a writer for Yahoo News, formerly of the New York Times and formerly-formerly a TV critic for Slate. Last week she published an essay in which she revealed that she is a creationist. I’m not exaggerating. The essay is titled ‘Why I’m a Creationist,’ and she wrote: ‘Also, at heart, I am a creationist. There, I said it.’”
The article drips with disdain but does not offer a single verifiable scientific fact supporting how nothing became something.
Evolutionists can ridicule all they want (it’s all they have left), but they can’t prove that inorganic matter evolved into organic matter that evolved into the complex life forms we are and see around us. Evolutionists can’t get from atoms to people. It’s even worse for them since they can’t account for the original matter or the organized information necessary to organize the matter.
To believe in evolution is to believe in magic — literally. At least stage and street magicians start with a deck of cards, a coin, or a rabbit. Magicians can’t really make something appear out of thin air. But that’s exactly what evolutionists claim for evolution. When I say exactly, I mean exactly. Here’s an example found in the prestigious Scientific American:
“It is virtually impossible to imagine how a cell’s machines, which are mostly protein-based catalysts called enzymes, could have formed spontaneously as life first arose from nonliving matter around 3.7 billion years ago.”
It’s impossible to imagine because it’s impossible, but that’s what evolutionists believe. One of the first scientific truths a biology student learns is that spontaneous generation is not science, and yet in order to be an evolutionist, you must believe in it even though it’s contrary to logic, experience, and experimentation.
Did you notice that the authors describe cells as “machines”? When has a machine ever spontaneously come into existence? Never! “But there was this time 3.7 billion years ago. . . .”
Helmuth writes, “Whatever levels of analysis you care to use, from molecular to planetary, they all mutually reinforce the discovery that all living things evolve through a process of natural selection. Absolutely nothing in the 154 years since Origin was published has undermined the theory.” “Absolutely nothing”? Do I detect a hint of desperation and fear?
OK, Laura, like you, I started with the molecular. Using observation (no one was around 3.7 billion years ago and no one has seen nothing become something) and experimentation (no one has been able to produce life in the lab), demonstrate to us how evolution took place. Don’t theorize. Don’t assert. Don’t propagandize. Show us. You can’t and neither can Richard Dawkins or any other evolutionist living or dead.
As a child I fell in love with technology, but I have to admit I never fell in love with science. I kept hoping that messing around with Macs and Atari and eventually the Internet would nudge me closer to caring about the periodic table, Louis Pasteur and the double-blind studies that now seem to stand for science. As it was, I only cared about the double-blind studies that told me what I wanted to hear—that potatoes are good for you or that people of my height are generally happy—and I liked the phrase “double-blind” when it was on my side because it meant “true” and “take that.”
I assume that other people love science and technology, since the fields are often lumped together, but I rarely meet people like that. Technology people are trippy; our minds are blown by the romance of telecom. At the same time, the people I know who consider themselves scientists by nature seem to be super-skeptical types who can be counted on to denigrate religion, fear climate change and think most people—most Americans—are dopey sheep who believe in angels and know nothing about all the gross carbon they trail, like “Pig-Pen.”
I like most people. I don’t fear environmental apocalypse. And I don’t hate religion. Those scientists no doubt see me as a dopey sheep who believes in angels and is carbon-ignorant. I have to say that they may be right.
In the hazy Instagram picture I have in my mind of the mechanisms that animate my ingenious smartphone—a picture that slips in and out of focus, and one I constantly revise—it might as well be angels. At the same time, I have read and heard brilliantly serpentine arguments for and against fracking, not to mention for and against cities and coal and paper (it sidelines carbon and decomposes! it is toxic industrial waste!), and I still don’t know right from wrong when it comes to carbon. All I know is one side of these debates seems maybe slightly more bloodthirsty and opportunistic than the other—but now I can’t remember which one.
Also, at heart, I am a creationist. There, I said it. At least you, dear readers, won’t now storm out of a restaurant like the last person I admitted that to. In New York City saying you’re a creationist is like confessing you think Ahmadinejad has a couple of good points. Maybe I’m the only creationist I know.
This is how I came to it. Like many people, I heard no end of Bible stories as a kid, but in the 1970s in New England they always came with the caveat that they were metaphors. So I read the metaphors of Genesis and Exodus and was amused and bugged and uplifted and moved by them. And then I guess I wanted to know the truth of how the world began, so I was handed the Big Bang. That wasn’t a metaphor, but it wasn’t fact either. It was something called a hypothesis. And it was only a sentence. I was amused and moved, but considerably less amused and moved by the character-free Big Bang story (“something exploded”) than by the twisted and picturesque misadventures of Eve and Adam and Cain and Abel and Abraham.
Later I read Thomas Malthus’ “Essay on the Principle of Population” and “The Origin of Species” by Charles Darwin, as well as probably a dozen books about evolution and atheism, from Stephen Jay Gould to Sam Harris.
The Darwin, with good reason, stuck with me. Though it’s sometimes poetic, “The Origin of Species” has an enchantingly arid English tone to it; this somber tone was part of a deliberate effort to mark it as science and not science fiction—the “Star Trek” of its time. The book also alights on a tautology that, like all tautologies, is gloriously unimpeachable: Whatever survives survives.
But I still wasn’t sure why a book that never directly touches on human evolution, much less the idea of God, was seen as having unseated the story of creation. In short, “The Origin of Species” is not its own creation story. And while the fact that it stints on metaphor—so as to avoid being like H.G. Wells—neither is it bedrock fact. It’s another hypothesis.
Cut to now. I still read and read and listen and listen. And I have never found a more compelling story of our origins than the ones that involve God. The evolutionary psychologists with their just-so stories for everything (“You use a portable Kindle charger because mothers in the primordial forest gathered ginseng”) have become more contradictory than Leviticus. Did you all see that ev-psych now says it’s women who are naturally not monogamous, in spite of the same folks telling us for decades that women are desperate to secure resources for their kids so they frantically sustain wedlock with a rich silverback who will keep them in cashmere?
Sigh. When a social science, made up entirely of observations and hypotheses, tells us first that men are polygamous and women homebodies, and then that men are monogamous and women gallivanters—and, what’s more builds far-fetched protocols of dating and courtship and marriage and divorce around these notions—maybe it’s time to retire the whole approach.
All the while, the first books of the Bible are still hanging around. I guess I don’t “believe” that the world was created in a few days, but what do I know? Seems as plausible (to me) as theoretical astrophysics, and it’s certainly a livelier tale. As “Life of Pi” author Yann Martel once put it, summarizing his page-turner novel: “1) Life is a story. 2) You can choose your story. 3) A story with God is the better story.”