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A message to the New Creation….
The courtroom is called to order. The defendant is not the discipline of science, for true science—free of agenda—is the relentless pursuit of truth wherever the evidence leads. The defendant here is the institutionalized, curated narrative of Darwinian evolution, presented to the public as a complete and unquestionable explanation for the origin and diversity of life. It claims finality, admits no rival, and is treated as a closed case. But in this court, claims are nothing without proof. The purpose of this trial is not to argue against observable adaptation or variation—these are real, measurable processes—but to test the sweeping claim that all life arose through unguided, incremental changes over vast periods of time, without design, purpose, or intelligence. The charge is that this claim is not supported by the full weight of evidence, and that it survives not by scientific openness, but by narrative control, selective funding, and suppression of inconvenient data.
If life truly ascended from simplicity to complexity one small step at a time, we should be able to walk its staircase without encountering missing flights. The biological record should be populated by countless stable intermediate forms—organisms permanently frozen at two, three, five, ten cells—representing viable evolutionary plateaus. Instead, what we find is something entirely different: a biosphere dominated by solitary cells and then sudden leaps to fully integrated multicellular organisms with tissue specialization, coordinated development, and division of labor. The only partial exceptions—colonial algae like Tetrabaena socialis or Gonium pectorale—are rare specialists within narrow lineages. They are studied precisely because they are unusual, not because they are ubiquitous. If gradualism were the rule, these intermediate stages should be common across the tree of life. Their rarity testifies to a leap, not a ladder.
The fossil record only intensifies the problem. The Cambrian event is not a gentle incline toward complexity—it is a cliff. In a geologically brief window, dozens of major animal body plans appear fully formed, with no clear chain of transitional ancestors. This is openly acknowledged in professional literature but softened for public consumption. Paleobiologists record that stasis dominates the record and that change occurs in abrupt bursts, which is the very premise of “punctuated equilibrium.” This model exists not because it was predicted, but because it was needed to explain away the absence of gradual transitions. The rocks speak in pulses, not slopes.
Fossilization itself confirms the pattern. Fossils—especially those preserving soft tissues—do not form under everyday conditions. They require rapid burial in mineral-rich sediment, protecting remains from decay and disturbance. The most detailed fossil beds worldwide, from the Burgess Shale to the Chengjiang formation, are catastrophic mass burials, not slow accumulations. These deposits are snapshots of sudden events, capturing creatures mid-swim, mid-hunt, mid-life. If the story were slow and continuous, we should see far more overlapping sequences of subtle change in the same layers. Instead, we see sudden entombment, sudden preservation, sudden appearance.
Beneath the visible form lies the genome, and here the difficulties for step-by-step assembly grow sharper. Gene regulatory networks—the control circuitry for development—are deeply integrated. Minor unguided changes in the wrong place can unravel viability entirely. This is why evolutionary development (“evo-devo”) studies focus on modifying existing regulatory patterns rather than inventing new machinery. Even then, such modifications are tightly constrained. Epistasis—the interaction between mutations—further shapes the limits: the effect of any given mutation depends on the broader genetic background. Adaptation plays out on rugged fitness landscapes where only certain paths are accessible; other theoretically possible routes are blocked by fitness valleys that natural selection cannot cross.
Novelty at the genetic level is likewise not the smooth, inevitable process it is made out to be. Orphan genes—genes with no detectable ancestry—exist across life. Some can be explained as artifacts of incomplete databases; others appear to be truly unique. While de novo gene birth from noncoding DNA has been documented, integrating such a gene into functional networks is no trivial feat. It is neither routine nor guaranteed, making the confident public narrative of endless genetic creativity far less secure than it sounds.
The evolutionary tree of life, often depicted as a tidy branching oak, becomes tangled when horizontal gene transfer is considered. In microbes, genes move sideways between unrelated lineages; in some eukaryotes, this too is real and significant. Which genes are chosen for analysis, and how their histories are modeled, can dramatically alter the shape of the inferred tree. Compounding this, molecular clocks—used to date divergences—do not tick uniformly. Variations in rates across species and through time require “relaxed clock” models and extensive calibration, and shifting assumptions can move divergence dates by millions of years. The timelines presented with such confidence in popular science are often far less fixed in professional circles.
Even the “major transitions” in evolution—such as the origin of eukaryotes or the rise of multicellularity—remain in debate. New data from Asgard archaea have spawned competing models for eukaryotic origins, with no consensus in sight. Multicellularity has arisen multiple times independently in different lineages, but the precise pathways and constraints remain contentious. The human story mirrors these patterns of discontinuity: archaeology reveals long plateaus of cultural and technological stasis followed by abrupt bursts—symbolic art, writing, monumental architecture, advanced mathematics, and musical mastery appearing in compressed timeframes. Between hunter-gatherer survival and Beethoven’s symphonies, between crude stone wheels and the precision of Michelangelo’s brush, between tribal leadership and Einstein’s equations, there is no smooth incline—only cliffs topped with the fully formed structures of genius.
In an ideal scientific culture, anomalies would be embraced as opportunities to refine or replace theories. In reality, funding, careers, and publication opportunities are often tied to reinforcing the dominant framework. Unpopular lines of inquiry struggle for grants. Negative results vanish into the file drawer. Peer review can act as an ideological filter. The public sees a polished, confident narrative while specialists quietly debate contradictions and limits behind the scenes. This is not an open, fearless pursuit of truth; it is a managed story. The motive is not merely intellectual—it is philosophical. The Darwinian model undergirds a worldview in which the universe has no intrinsic design, and questioning it threatens that philosophical foundation.
Now we turn to the geological record, the physical stage on which this history unfolded. If the slow, gradual story were correct, the earth’s crust should be a continuous record of calm processes. Instead, it is scarred with evidence of sudden violence. Fossils are rapidly buried across vast regions; massive sedimentary layers stretch for hundreds of miles; marine fossils are found thousands of feet above sea level; mountain strata are folded as though still soft; megaflood features dot the continents. These are not the relics of gentle ages—they are the residue of catastrophe. The Genesis flood narrative uses the Hebrew term mabbul—a word unique to Noah’s flood—describing “the fountains of the great deep bursting open” and “the floodgates of heaven” releasing their waters. This is language of tectonic upheaval and atmospheric collapse, consistent with the rapid deposition, folding, and burial we see preserved in stone.
When considered together, the geological and fossil evidence overturn the slow narrative. The vertical order of fossils can be explained by ecological zonation and hydrodynamic sorting during a global flood, not by millions of years of gradual change. The Cambrian “explosion” becomes a record of catastrophic burial, not of sudden, unexplained mutation rates. The missing staircase in life’s history is no longer an embarrassment—it is exactly what we would expect if life was created in fully functional forms and later buried in a single world-shaping event.
And then there is the quiet witness of human population growth. Begin with the eight survivors described in Genesis. Assign them a net population growth rate of less than half a percent per year—about 0.415 to 0.462 percent after accounting for disease, disasters, and mortality—and let time run for 4,500 years. The result, by simple compounding, is today’s global population. At 0.415 percent, eight people become roughly one billion in 4,500 years. At 0.462 percent, they become about eight billion. This is not optimistic math; it is conservative, and it works even with severe setbacks along the way. The claim that post-flood humanity could not have reached modern numbers collapses under the weight of basic arithmetic.
The biblical account, read in its original Hebrew, matches the pattern perfectly. The text distinguishes between bara, the divine act of creating from nothing, and asah, the act of fashioning from what already exists. It repeats the phrase le-minayhem—according to their kinds—as a structural marker, defining the bounds of variation rather than leaving the field open for transmutation. Life is presented as arriving in fully functional bursts, each bounded in scope but able to diversify within its category. Man receives the n’shamah chayyim, the breath of life, as an act of direct infusion, not as the last rung on a blind climb from lesser forms.
The public is told a continuous ascent; the evidence shows sudden leaps. The public is shown a tidy tree; the data reveal tangled branches and shifting roots. The public is given precise timelines; the models behind them are flexible and contested. The public is told novelty is routine; the mechanisms are incomplete and debated. The public is assured science is fearless; the system is shaped by incentives that keep certain truths locked out. The earth’s geology, life’s biology, humanity’s culture, and the simple math of population growth all testify to the same reality: sudden appearance, stability, and boundaries—hallmarks of deliberate creation, not blind drift.
In this court, conviction requires proof beyond a reasonable doubt. The evolutionary narrative, as presented to the public, leaves holes wide enough to drive a continent through. The reasonable verdict is not to discard science, but to discard the illusion that this one theory has explained all there is to explain. The better model, the one that actually fits the pulses, constraints, boundaries, and rapid unveilings we observe, is the one the Creator Himself revealed: intentional origin, accelerated unfolding, and enduring stability. The staircase of life was not climbed by accident—it was built in place, and the flood sealed it in history.
