Darwin's Doubt: The Explosive Origin of Animal Life and the Case for Intelligent Design

by Stephen C. Meyer

As science advanced in the late nineteenth century, it increasingly excluded appeals to divine action or divine ideas as a way of explaining phenomena in the natural world. This practice came to be codified in a principle known as methodological naturalism. According to this principle, scientists should accept as a working assumption that all features of the natural world can be explained by material causes without recourse to purposive intelligence, mind, or conscious agency.

He thought a skillful cosmic architect could work through secondary natural causes every bit as effectively as through direct acts of agency. The marginalia in his copy of On the Origin of Species suggest that he had this same attitude concerning biological evolution. “What is the great difference,” he wrote, “between supposing that God makes variable species or that he makes laws by which species vary?”

As Agassiz explained, Darwin’s theory “rests partly upon the assumption that, in the succession of ages, just those transition types have dropped out from the geological record which would have proved the Darwinian conclusions had these types been preserved.”53 To Agassiz, it sounded like a just-so story, one that explains away the absence of evidence rather than genuinely explaining the evidence we have.

So there was little doubt about the significance of the discoveries that Chen came to report that day. What was soon in doubt, however, was Chen’s scientific orthodoxy. In his presentation, he highlighted the apparent contradiction between the Chinese fossil evidence and Darwinian orthodoxy. As a result, one professor in the audience asked Chen, almost as if in warning, if he wasn’t nervous about expressing his doubts about Darwinism so freely—especially given China’s reputation for suppressing dissenting opinion. I remember Chen’s wry smile as he answered. “In China,” he said, “we can criticize Darwin, but not the government. In America, you can criticize the government, but not Darwin.”

It is likely that the fossils referred to [as] Vernanimalcula were interpreted as bilaterians because this was . . . the explicit quarry of its authors. If you know from the beginning not only what you are looking for, but what you are going to find, you will find it, whether or not it exists. As Richard Feynman (1974) famously remarked: “The first principle is that you must not fool yourself—and you are the easiest person to fool.” . . . Once you have fooled yourself you will fool other scientists.52

Starting in the 1970s, many biologists began questioning its [neo-Darwinism’s] adequacy in explaining evolution. Genetics might be adequate for explaining microevolution, but microevolutionary changes in gene frequency were not seen as able to turn a reptile into a mammal or to convert a fish into an amphibian. Microevolution looks at adaptations that concern the survival of the fittest, not the arrival of the fittest. As Goodwin (1995) points out, “the origin of species—Darwin’s problem—remains unsolved.”

Neo-Darwinism seeks to explain the origin of novel body plans by starting with simpler body plans and gradually assembling animals with more complex body plans via the gradual accumulation of small successive material variations. Thus, neo-Darwinism employs a “bottom-up” mode of causation. With a bottom-up approach, small-scale diversification should eventually produce large-scale morphological disparity—differences in body plan. The “bottom-up” metaphor thus describes a kind of self-assembly in which the gradual production of the material parts eventually generates the organization of the whole. This suggests in turn that the parts stand causally prior to the organization of the whole. As I have argued, however, this approach encounters both paleontological and biological difficulties: the fossil record leaves no evidence of such a process and the morphological innovation and transformations that it requires are, in any case, biologically implausible.

“Top-down” causation begins with a basic architecture, blueprint, or plan and then proceeds to assemble parts in accord with it. The blueprint stands causally prior to the assembly and arrangement of the parts. But where could such a blueprint come from? One possibility involves a mental mode of causation. Intelligent agents often conceive of plans prior to their material instantiation—that is, the preconceived design of a blueprint often precedes the assembly of parts in accord with it.

In 1997, in an article in the New York Review of Books, Harvard geneticist Richard Lewontin made explicit a similar commitment to a strictly materialistic explanation—whatever the evidence might seem to indicate. As he explained in a now often quoted passage: We take the side of science in spite of the patent absurdity of some of its constructs, in spite of its failure to fulfill many of its extravagant promises of health and life, in spite of the tolerance of the scientific community for unsubstantiated just-so stories, because we have a prior commitment, a commitment to materialism. It is not that the methods and institutions of science somehow compel us to accept a material explanation of the phenomenal world, but, on the contrary, that we are forced by our a priori adherence to material causes to create an apparatus of investigation and a set of concepts that produce material explanations, no matter how counter-intuitive, no matter how mystifying to the uninitiated. Moreover, that materialism is absolute, for we cannot allow a Divine Foot in the door.12

unlike strict Darwinian materialism and the New Atheism built atop it, the theory of intelligent design affirms the reality of a designer—a mind or personal intelligence behind life. This case for design restores to Western thought the possibility that human life in particular may have a purpose or significance beyond temporary material utility. It suggests the possibility that life may have been designed by an intelligent person, indeed, one that many would identify as God.

Just as importantly, perhaps, the case for design supports us in our existential confrontation with the void and the seeming meaninglessness of physical existence—the sense of survival for survival’s sake that follows inexorably from the materialist worldview. Richard Dawkins and other New Atheists may find it untroubling, even amusing and certainly profitable, to muse over the prospect of a universe without purpose. But for the vast majority of thoughtful people, that idea is tinged with terror. Modern life suspends many of us, so we feel, high over a chasm of despair. It provokes feelings of dizzying anxiety—in a word, vertigo. The evidence of a purposeful design behind life, on the other hand, offers the prospect of significance, wholeness, and hope.