A Leap of Faith in Reverse: Dissecting the “Evidence of Design”

This post is part of our ongoing series examining Mark Clark’s book, The Problem of God, one section at a time. Each post critically analyzes Clark’s claims through the lens of reason, evidence, and The God Question’s core philosophy: we don’t begin with belief—we begin with curiosity. This installment responds to the “Evidence of Design” and “Biology” sections of Chapter 2 (pp. 56–57).

Mark Clark shifts his focus now to a classic apologetic argument: the design of the universe. He claims that an “anti-randomness” within biology and astronomy points to a cosmic designer. His language is familiar: the universe shows “intentional precision and balance,” and to reject this as chance or luck requires “a leap and measure of faith” that Clark says he “can’t justify.”

But isn’t that just a reversal of burden? Rather than asking whether there’s solid, testable evidence for a divine designer, Clark assumes design and asks readers to justify rejecting it. It’s an argument from incredulity, cloaked in awe.

Let’s break down his central assertions in these two sections:


1. “The Evidence of Design” — Precision, Balance, and a Hidden Designer

Clark tells us there is “a strange and mysterious design” to the cosmos that “points strongly to a designer.” But he provides no actual scientific data—just poetic phrasing. The argument leans heavily on what feels designed, not what proves design.

This is the classic “fine-tuning” claim: that the universe’s physical constants are so precise that life could not exist otherwise. But Clark fails to mention how much this argument rests on (a) speculative cosmology, (b) a lack of imagination about alternative life-forms or universes, and (c) a deep misunderstanding of probability.

To say that life exists therefore it must have been designed is to confuse post hoc reasoning with explanation. It’s like marveling that your birthdate matches your birth certificate, and assuming divine planning is the only possible cause.


2. “Biology” — DNA, Amoebas, and Francis Collins

Clark then pivots to biology, quoting Francis Collins, a scientist who happens to be a Christian. He calls DNA “coherent and information-filled code” and declares that an amoeba contains “enough structured and meaningful data to fill thirty encyclopedias!”

This is rhetorical sleight of hand. The comparison to encyclopedias is a metaphor, not a scientific measurement. DNA contains biochemical sequences shaped by evolution—not messages sent from a cosmic author. Calling it a “language” may work poetically, but it doesn’t mean DNA was composed by a mind. We also “observe the presence of structured, coherent communication” in computer viruses—does that imply divine authorship too?

Clark’s core claim is this: if something looks designed, it must be. But this is the same argument William Paley made with the watch in the sand—and it suffers the same flaw. Nature has had billions of years to evolve complexity without foresight or intention.


What Clark Doesn’t Say

Clark never addresses the evolutionary mechanisms that explain complexity without requiring a designer. He doesn’t mention natural selection, cumulative adaptation, or the fossil record. Instead, he focuses on selective amazement, pointing to complexity and declaring: This couldn’t have just happened.

But it could—and we have mountains of evidence showing how.


Today’s Takeaway

Clark suggests that rejecting a divine designer requires faith. But in reality, the only thing that requires faith here is assuming design without evidence. Awe is not evidence. Metaphors are not science. And invoking a designer when we don’t yet understand something is a long-abandoned move in serious scientific inquiry.

We don’t need a telescope or a microscope to see the flaw in this logic. Just a bit of curiosity—and the willingness to follow the evidence wherever it leads.


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Author: Richard L. Fricks

Writer. Observer. Builder. I write from a life shaped by attention, simplicity, and living without a script—through reflective essays, long-form inquiry, and fiction rooted in ordinary lives. I live in rural Alabama, where writing, walking, and building small, intentional spaces are part of the same practice.

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