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 discovered that the very fabric of our universe operates on exact values that are so finely tuned, even the slightest deviation would render life impossible. For example, the gravitational constant—if altered by just one part in 10⁶⁰—would prevent stars like our sun from forming. The cosmological constant, which governs the universe’s expansion, must be accurate to one part in 10¹²⁰; any difference, and galaxies would never form. Even the ratio of electrons to protons is precisely 1:1, fine-tuned to within one part in 10³⁷. These numbers are beyond human engineering. To grasp the improbability, imagine flipping a coin and getting heads ten quadrillion times in a row—that still wouldn’t match the level of precision we find in just one of these cosmic values.

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This degree of balance has led many scientists, even those not religious, to admit the universe seems deliberately arranged. Nobel-winning physicist Paul Dirac acknowledged that “God is a mathematician of a very high order.” The structure of reality seems written not with chaos, but with careful calculation and intent.

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Yet, the case for a designer doesn’t stop with the stars. If we turn inward and examine the living cell, we encounter a different but equally stunning realm of order and intelligence. At the heart of every cell is DNA—a molecular storage system using a four-letter alphabet (A, T, C, G) that contains the instructions for building and maintaining life. The amount of coded information in just one human cell would fill over a thousand books, each 500 pages long. But DNA isn’t merely complex chemistry—it’s a coded language. And in every human experience, whenever we encounter information encoded with purpose—be it in books, signs, or software—we rightly conclude it came from a mind. Bill Gates the co-founder of Microsoft even recognizes the extremely complex information embedded in DNA comparing it to software, saying:

 

“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 coding found in the cell points not merely to chance, but to design—suggesting that the same intelligence behind the fine tuning of the universe is also behind life itself.

 

Furthermore what is just as remarkable is what we find in microbiology, such as the bacterial flagellum: a microscopic motor with a rotor, stator, drive shaft, and propeller that spins up to 100,000 RPM and can stop, start, and reverse direction on command. This is not only engineering—it is functional engineering on a level we cannot yet replicate. Nature is not randomly assembling parts; it is displaying mechanisms that clearly bear the hallmark of intelligent design.

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To help illustrate the point, imagine walking along a beach and discovering a smartphone half-buried in the sand. Now imagine someone suggesting that this device simply formed over time—its metal, glass, plastic, battery, circuits, touchscreen, and camera all just happened to come together through the natural movement of wind, waves, and erosion.

 

Not only that, but somehow the precise coding that runs the phone—its operating system, apps, and user interface—also wrote itself, without any intelligent input.

 

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.