The Most Probable Answer

When we look at the universe, not just its stunning beauty but the extraordinary precision that holds it all together, one question naturally arises: could this all truly be the result of chance? Or is God not just possible—but the most rational explanation for everything we observe?

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Scientists have observed that the universe operates according to physical constants that fall within remarkably narrow ranges—ranges that allow stars, galaxies, chemistry, and ultimately life to exist. Even small slight changes in some of these values would result in a universe incapable of forming complex structures. For example, if the strength of gravity were even slightly different, stars like our Sun would not form or remain stable. The cosmological constant, which governs the expansion of the universe, is observed to be extraordinarily small compared to theoretical expectations—often expressed as a difference on the order of one part in 10¹²⁰. Were it even modestly larger or smaller, galaxies would never have formed.

 

While scientists continue to debate why these values exist as they do, the degree of apparent precision is striking. These figures are not presented as exact probabilities, but as estimates used to illustrate how sensitive the universe appears to be to its fundamental constants—well beyond anything human engineering could achieve. To grasp the scale involved, some compare it to extreme improbabilities, such as flipping a coin and getting heads trillions upon trillions of times in a row—yet even that analogy struggles to capture the level of fine balance observed in just one of these cosmic values.

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This degree of balance has led many scientists—even those who are not religious—to acknowledge that the universe appears deliberately ordered. Nobel Prize–winning physicist Paul Dirac once remarked that “God is a mathematician of a very high order.” The structure of reality, from the largest scales to the smallest, seems governed not by chaos, but by precise calculation and coherence.

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This same sense of order is found when we look inward at life itself. At the heart of every cell is DNA—a molecular information storage system built from a four-letter chemical alphabet (A, T, C, and G). These letters are arranged in highly specific sequences that function like instructions, telling the cell how to build proteins, repair damage, and carry out the countless processes required for life. If the DNA from a single human cell were stretched into a straight line, it would measure roughly two meters in length. Taken together, the DNA from all the cells in the human body would be long enough to wrap around the Earth many times over.

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Beyond its physical length, the information encoded in DNA is equally astonishing. The instructions contained within just one human cell have often been compared to thousands of books filled with detailed, organized, and purposeful information. These comparisons help illustrate not only the immense scale of DNA, but also the sophistication of the biological code that underlies life itself.

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DNA, then, is not merely complex chemistry—it functions as a coded system. In everyday human experience, whenever we encounter information arranged with purpose—whether in books, signs, or computer software—we naturally recognize it as the product of a mind. This analogy has been noted even by leaders in technology. Bill Gates, co-founder of Microsoft, once observed:

 

“DNA is like a computer program but far, far more advanced than any software ever created.”
― Bill Gates, The Road Ahead​

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This profound complexity and purposeful organization within the cell leads many to see more than chance at work. It suggests that the same intelligence responsible for the fine-tuning of the universe may also underlie life itself.

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What we find in microbiology is equally remarkable. Take the bacterial flagellum, for example—a microscopic structure that functions like a motor, complete with components comparable to a rotor, stator, drive shaft, and propeller. It can spin at astonishing speeds, start and stop, and even reverse direction in response to signals.

 

While scientists study its natural mechanisms, the level of coordination and efficiency it displays is striking and far exceeds anything we are currently able to engineer at that scale. Rather than appearing as a random assembly of parts, it operates as a fully integrated system.

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To illustrate the point, imagine walking alone along a quiet beach and noticing something unusual half-buried in the sand. You brush it off and realize it’s a smartphone—its screen intact, its circuits functional, and its components precisely arranged. Now imagine someone suggesting that this device formed on its own: that over time, wind and waves shaped raw materials into metal and glass, erosion assembled microchips and wiring, and chance alone brought together a battery, touchscreen, camera, and sensors into a fully working system.

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The suggestion strains reason. We instinctively recognize that such a device could not arise from undirected processes alone, no matter how much time is allowed. Its structure, function, and purpose all point to intentional design.

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Even more unlikely is the claim that the precise software running the phone—its operating system, applications, and user interface—could also emerge without any guiding intelligence. In everyday experience, we understand that systems marked by complexity, purpose, and information consistently point to design rather than accident or by mere chance.

 

It doesn't take a prestigious scientist, physicist, mathematician or an astrophysicist to recognize such an idea would be immediately dismissed as absurd.​ Why?

 

Because we understand the immense coordination, precision, and intelligence required to create a device like that. It takes raw materials like rare earth metals, silica for glass, lithium for batteries, and specialized polymers for the casing. Those materials must be mined, refined, processed, and manufactured with cutting-edge technology. Engineers must design the internal architecture—processors, memory, and circuits—down to the microscopic level. Software developers must then write millions of lines of code in specific languages to operate the hardware, interface with users, and enable seamless function. Teams of designers, planners, and testers work together to ensure that every function performs as intended.

 

A smartphone is not the product of chance—it’s the product of intentional, intelligent design at every level for a purpose.

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Now consider this: your body is made of roughly over 30 trillion cells, each functioning like a miniature city with power plants (mitochondria), recycling systems (lysosomes), information hubs (nucleus), and factories (ribosomes) that assemble proteins using coded instructions from your DNA. The information stored in just one cell far exceeds anything ever put into a smartphone, and the coordinated function of your entire body involves systems of staggering complexity.

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However, some argue that given enough time—billions of years—this complexity could arise by chance. But time is not a magical solution. It’s not a creative force; it doesn’t build—it only allows for processes to occur within limits. And even then, time comes with serious constraints. The molecules that would supposedly assemble into life are fragile and reactive. Left alone, they degrade, fall apart, or react in ways that prevent assembly into anything useful. Imagine trying to guess the combination of a safe with trillions of possible codes, but you only have a few minutes before your time runs out—and then someone else gets a turn, and so on. The odds are astronomically against anyone ever cracking the code, especially if each failed attempt resets the process. That’s what it's like expecting unguided natural processes to create life from non-life. If you leave raw materials lying around for a billion years, they don’t organize—they decay. For even a single protein to form, the correct amino acids must bond in the right order, under the right conditions, and remain stable long enough to serve a purpose. The longer you wait, the more likely those components are to break down or be destroyed, not come together meaningfully. So time, rather than being an ally to chance, often becomes an enemy of complexity.

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To say that such life—especially human life—arose from blind, unguided processes is not only scientifically implausible; it’s philosophically irrational. If the presence of a smartphone demands a designer, how much more does the existence of DNA, consciousness, and the fine-tuned laws of physics?

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This is where a striking truth becomes clear: it often takes more faith to believe in atheism than in a Creator. To accept that everything—the finely tuned universe, the complex code in DNA, the existence of logic, and moral values—came from nothing, for no reason, through undirected processes, stretches the limits of reason.

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Atheism can require a kind of blind faith: that chaos produced order, randomness created purpose, and lifeless matter gave rise to life.

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Ironically, belief in a Creator makes more sense—it fits with what we see in the world and how we experience reality. Faith in God isn’t a blind leap into the unknown. It’s a step into the light—supported by both logic and evidence.

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Yet many including myself, are told that belief in God is just blind faith. But if faith is trusting in what the evidence shows, then belief in God is not blind at all—it’s grounded in reason. In contrast, rejecting all signs of design and chalking everything up to pure chance requires a far greater leap of faith.

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Again, as I have said before. Many believe that science and spirituality are at odds, but I’ve come to see that they actually complement each other deeply. They are like two sides of the same coin—one side is science, which explores the mechanics of how the universe works, and the other is faith or spirituality, which seeks to understand why it exists and what it means. You cannot have a one-sided coin; both are necessary to grasp the full reality. Science reveals astonishing precision, order, and complexity in the universe—but these qualities beg deeper questions about purpose, origin, and design. That’s where spirituality steps in, not to cancel science, but to complete it. Together, they point toward the same truth: a finely-tuned, meaningful universe that didn't happen by accident. In this sense, God is the coin itself—the foundation that holds both inquiry and meaning together.

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Ultimately, this isn’t just a scientific question—it’s a personal one. If the precision of the cosmos and the intricate design of life point toward a Creator, then we’re not here by accident. Life has meaning. Purpose. And according to the Bible, the God who designed it all didn’t remain distant—He stepped into His own creation through Jesus, offering not only answers, but hope.

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So, is God possible? Given the overwhelming fingerprints of design in both the vast universe and the microscopic world within us, perhaps the better question is: How could He not be? Ironically, those who argue against God’s existence often appeal to probability, claiming life simply emerged by chance. But if we truly follow the logic of probability, the odds overwhelmingly lean in favor of design, not randomness. The probability that life, consciousness, and the fine-tuned laws of physics all emerged unguided is vastly smaller than the probability that they were created with purpose. So if their reasoning is based on what’s most probable, then intellectually, they would have to concede that a Designer is not just possible—it’s far more probable.

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In quiet honesty, I had to face the evidence and reason beyond my own assumptions—and I came to the deeply humbling conclusion: there is indeed a God, a Designer behind the vastness of the universe and the intricate beauty woven within it.