The first thing a man, let's say Mr. Smith, finds in the Theory of Evolution are principles. Yet according to the Theory of Evolution, principles are things Mr. Smith must never find in himself. Mr. Smith must look up his specialized nose in a book of comparative anatomy to find the "Principle of Superiority." But he must never look down it at the Holy Bible and find it in himself. Mr. Smith must learn all about opposable thumbs to find the "Principle of Efficiency." But he must never stop twiddling them and find it in himself. Mr. Smith must compare his own forehead to a Neanderthal's to find the "Principle of Selection." But he must never compare his least favorite classmate's forehead to a beluga whale's and find it in himself. And it is right here that the Theory of Evolution and maybe even Mr. Smith both seem to forget something. And what they forget is the first thing found in man's theory of anything—nay, even man's thought of anything--from God, to religion, to public education, to government, to hopscotch and hadron colliders--is man. And his principles. For the very good reason that principles (like man) are first things, not last.
But what seems also quite overlooked, is that Mr. Smith's and Evolution's principles are not merely first and universal, but universally the same principles. Here is one good example out of thousands: The primary principle of Nature according to the Theory of Evolution is: If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again! (or, its corollary, Never give up!). Which also happens to be the primary principle of schoolmarms and Boy Scouts.
Which simply means Nature (Mr. Smith's cosmic Mother), who birthed herself by a blind and random accident from nothing, was also accidentally born with a rigid and clear worldview. Born, as it were, not with a silver spoon in her mouth, but with the silver-haired schoolmarm's wooden ruler in her mouth. Which means, and this is my main point, despite the most nihilistic Evolutionist's dream of a cosmos without principles, of schools without schoolmarms, of an existence where Mr. Smith is born with nothing in his mouth and dies with nothing in his heart; the reality is the Theory of Evolution was itself born with a rigid morality, or more accurately, is a rigid morality. And like all moral things, is found, not at the end of the process, like an epiphenomenon, but rather fixed, by definition and inescapably, in the heart of man--at the beginning--as the primary principle of life.
A verbose historical figure remains, through his own words, alive even when he is dead. But as one reads through John Calvin's own words, one becomes gradually unsure if John Calvin was ever alive even when he was alive. One gets the strange sensation when reading, for example, his explanation of the decretum horribile, that while damning a large chunk of the world to Hell may have been difficult for John Calvin's God, it was rather easy for John Calvin. To read him very long is to find a man who perpetually seemed not so much a stranger in his homeland or at home in a strange land, which are both perfectly Christian discoveries, but rather that saddest of all men: a stranger in a strange land; which is a man who isn’t at home even in himself.
John Calvin’s view of Christianity is like a rather poetic robot’s view of Christianity, or Mr. Spock's view of Christianity. It is a view of Christianity by someone who never fully grasped it, not because he never knew what it meant to be a Christian, but because he never knew what it meant to be a human.
Evolutionary Tenets (or “How to Survive”):
These tenets may or may not be a great way to make a giraffe, but they are a great way to make a monster.
Religious Tenets (or “How to Live”):
These may or may not be a great way to make a giraffe, but they're the only way to make a savior.