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Apologetics Press :: Sensible Science

The Design Argument—"Eye” of the Storm
by Bert Thompson, Ph.D.

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The view undoubtedly persists—of evolutionary scientists somehow having “disproved” God and “tossed out” religion. Darwin, we are told, put the last nails in God’s coffin. And, apparently, an impressive succession of scientific and technological innovations has ruled out any possible resurrection of the now-dead Deity. Before Darwin’s arrival and subsequent “success,” those who believed in God always had an “ace” to play when it came to a discussion of how the Universe, and its inhabitants, came to be. In discussions bearing on these matters, the believer always could say, “But look at this beautifully planned, well-designed world. If God did not create it, then how did it get here?” Generally, there was no answer forthcoming from the nonbeliever.

Even today, evolutionists admit that such a scenario was played out many times in the past. Richard Lewontin, writing in the September 1978 issue of Scientific American (the whole issue of which was devoted to evolution), observed that:

Life forms are more than simply multiple and diverse, however. Organisms fit remarkably well into the external world in which they live. They have morphologies, physiologies and behaviors that appear to have been carefully and artfully designed to enable each organism to appropriate the world around it for its own life. It was the marvelous fit of organisms to the environment, much more than the great diversity of forms, that was the chief evidence of a Supreme Designer (239[3]:213, emp. added).

But Darwin and his successors changed all that. “Evolution” became the magical word that could explain anything and everything. It could be used to describe processes man understood, and yet was so delightfully flexible, it could also be used to cover up man’s ignorance of things not yet fully understood. “Evolution did it,” became the hallmark of the intellectually elite. The Universe “just evolved.” The first spark of life on Earth “just evolved.” Humans “just evolved.” Religion, too, “just evolved.” Here at last was the answer to all the unbeliever’s problems. And suddenly, the believer found his ace trumped.


No sooner did the believer say, “If God didn’t make it...” than he heard “evolution did!” The old argument from design made popular by William Paley, who suggested that if there is a watch that evinces purposeful design, then there is a watchmaker) was not correct any longer. “Evolution” had made it obsolete—or so we were led to believe. And there was no shortage of evolutionists willing to crow about their alleged victory. Sir Julian Huxley even went so far as to compare God to the disappearing act performed by the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland when he said, “The supernatural is being swept out of the universe.... God is beginning to resemble not a ruler, but the last fading smile of a cosmic Cheshire cat” (1957, p. 59). To Huxley, and thousands of other evolutionary scientists like him, the “God argument” had been routed. Design no longer was evidence of a designer. There was no “purpose” to the Universe.

Approximately one hundred years later, this very position was firmly entrenched. Robert Jastrow, founder and former director of NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies, observed that “the great evolutionist George Gaylord Simpson expressed a nearly universal opinion among scientists when he wrote that evolution ‘achieves the aspect of purpose without the intervention of a purposer, and has produced a vast plan without the action of a planner’ ” (1981, p. 87). In 1970, the French Nobel laureate, Jacques Monod, penned his classic work, Chance and Necessity, in which he asserted:

The cornerstone of the scientific method is the postulate that nature is objective. In other words, the systematic denial that “true” knowledge can be got at by interpreting phenomena in terms of final causes—that is to say, of “purpose.” ...It is obviously impossible to imagine an experiment which could prove the nonexistence anywhere in nature of a purpose, of a pursued end. But the postulate of objectivity is consubstantial with science.... There is no way to be rid of it, even tentatively or in a limited area, without departing from the domain of science itself (1972, p. 21, emp. in orig.).

And so with one fell swoop of the pen, Monod established what he considered to be practically a law in science—viz., there is no purpose in nature. True enough, he acknowledged, such cannot be proven. “But,” he opined,” trust me. It’s true. Science cannot exist any other way.” And what of the person who actually should see, even if inadvertently, purpose in nature? Pity the fellow, says Monod, for he obviously is not a scientist.

Others, who likewise are considered among the intellectually elite in science, have joined the ranks of Simpson and Monod in their attempts to ignore the obvious design in nature and dispense with God. The late Isaac Asimov, for example, was quite blunt when he said: “Emotionally I am an atheist. I don’t have the evidence to prove that God doesn’t exist, but I so strongly suspect he doesn’t that I don’t want to waste my time” (1982, p. 9).

Joining Asimov in this kind of thinking is Richard Dawkins, lecturer in animal behavior at Oxford University. In 1986 he authored The Blind Watchmaker, which had as its goal establishing once and for all that there is no design in nature attributable to an infinite Designer. According to Dawkins, if there is any design at all, it must be considered as merely “apparent” design attributable to natural selection, not a Creator. As the book’s dust jacket said:

There may be good reasons for belief in God, but the argument from design is not one of them. ...despite all appearances to the contrary, there is no watchmaker in nature beyond the blind forces of physics.... Natural selection, the unconscious, automatic, blind yet essentially nonrandom process that Darwin discovered, and that we now understand to be the explanation for the existence and form of all life, has no purpose in mind. It has no mind and no mind’s eye. It does not plan for the future. It has no vision, no foresight, no sight at all. If it can be said to play the role of watchmaker in nature, it is the blind watchmaker (1986, emp. in orig.).

Dawkins, of course, does not believe there are any good reasons for belief in God. He, like Asimov, Monod, and Simpson, is proud—in a militant fashion—of his atheism. These men have made their point abundantly clear—whatever else one may see in the world, design is not indicative of a designer.

It is not surprising, of course, to see evolutionists go to such extremes. They are aware of the alternative. In fact, one of them, philosopher Paul Ricci, stated the matter quite well in his book, Fundamentals of Critical Thinking, when he observed: “...either a divine being exists or he does not; there are no third possibilities regardless of what the skeptic or agnostic says” (1986, p. 140). If, as Lewontin has observed, “life forms...appear to have been carefully and artfully designed,” and if such design is “the chief evidence of a Supreme Designer,” then evolutionists have no choice but to find some way in which to “explain away” the “apparent” design in nature that clearly implies a Designer.

It is amazing to watch their efforts to ignore the obvious. It is even more amazing to witness their contortions as they attempt to do the impossible. British scientist Alan Hayward observed (and his comments were made after reading some of Dawkins’ statements regarding “non-design” in nature): “The length to which evolutionists will go rather than admit defeat is almost unbelievable” (1978, p. 125). As proof of the accuracy of Dr. Hayward’s statement, I offer the following.

In October 1987, my good friend and colleague, Wayne Jackson, and I debated two evolutionists who were college professors from California—Paul Ricci (a philosopher), and Brian Myres (a biologist). In the midst of that debate, Wayne read to the audience the following quotation from Ricci’s book, Fundamentals of Critical Thinking:

Although it’s true that everything designed has a designer, it doesn’t follow that everything with an order has an “orderer.” “Everything designed has a designer” is an analytically true statement. However, the analogous proposition, “Everything with an order has one who made the order” is synthetic. Notice that there is not even a word for “one who made the order” (“Orderer” is not an English word, of course) [1986, p. 190, parenthetical comment in orig.].

Ricci, on the very next page of his book, continued in this same vein when he wrote:

Many theologians have begun their argument by noticing the obvious design in the parts of the human body and then proceded [sic] to conclude that such magnificent design must have had a designer who could only be God. However, if it is already assumed that the eye has a design, then of course it must have had a designer for one implies the other. But it must first be proved that the eye has a design and not simply an order. The latter is obvious; the former is not at all obvious (p. 191).

It is difficult indeed to believe that a man who is trained in philosophy, and who teaches logic for a living, could make such statements Yet these are representative of the kinds of statements frequently found in the literature as evolutionists attempt to avoid the import of the argument from design. Mr. Ricci has introduced three thoughts that are worthy of investigation, for they are illustrative of the machinations of many modern-day evolutionists.


First, notice that Mr. Ricci admits to what is universally acknowledged as true—design does, in fact, imply a designer. Apparently Mr. Ricci understands all too well that one does not get a poem without a poet, a law without a lawgiver, a painting without a painter, a watch without a watchmaker, or design without a designer. This point he has conceded.

Second, however, notice how Ricci then struggles to evade this obvious conclusion when it comes to the world around him, and even his own body. He cannot, of course, admit to any purposeful design in these systems, for the obvious conclusion then would be that there must have been a designer. And so, he ends up playing a word game (and, as I will show shortly, not very well!) in an effort to avoid the force of the design argument. While he admits that design, by necessity, would imply a designer, his argument is that things like the Universe and/or the human body do not exhibit design. Ricci is not alone, of course, in his efforts to deny design on behalf of evolution. Dawkins, in The Blind Watchmaker, spends 332 pages in a “well-designed” book attempting to establish the fact that the Universe does not exhibit design. In fact, the subtitle on the front cover of Dawkins’ book is Why the Evidence of Evolution Reveals a Universe Without Design. Because Dawkins understands that everything designed has a designer, he simply chooses to declare that the Universe has no design that provides credible evidence of such a designer. [One almost is tempted to suggest that Dawkins’ proclamation of a Universe with no design was uttered by “divine fiat.”]

How, then, does Mr. Ricci explain what normally would be called “design” in nature? Since he cannot admit that design is present, he suggests that those things that appear to exhibit design actually do not; rather, they exhibit “order.” And therein, he insists, lies the difference. But just what is the difference? According to Mr. Ricci, for someone to say “everything with an order has one who made the order” is a “synthetic,” artificial, or forced conclusion not in keeping with the facts. Mr. Ricci even goes so far as to assert that the word “orderer is not an English word, of course.”

If there is anything “synthetic,” artificial, or forced under discussion here, it is Mr. Ricci’s statements, not the statement that “order implies an orderer.” The proof for this is readily apparent. Had he taken the time to look up the word “orderer” in a reputable dictionary (e.g., Webster’s Unabridged), Mr. Ricci would have found the following: “Orderer: one that orders.” Here is an example of how Mr. Ricci plays word games (but not very well). He has made an argument that is completely unfounded in fact. “Orderer” is very much an English word. Liddell and Scott, in their Greek-English Lexicon, list the Greek cognate form as kosmetes, and define the term as “orderer or arranger” (1869, p. 874). One wonders if Mr. Ricci even bothered to look up the word “orderer” in the dictionary before writing his book?

Order may well derive from an “orderer.” Furthermore, Mr. Ricci’s dictionary would have told him that one of the definitions of the word “order” is: “a regular and harmonious arrangement, as in the ‘order’ of nature.” Interestingly, if one were to examine the dictionary definition for “design,” the following would emerge: “an underlying scheme that governs functioning, developing, or unfolding: a pattern.” If “order” is something that is governed by that which is “regular and harmonious” and “design” is something that governs “function, development, or unfolding,” pray tell, wherein is the difference that Mr. Ricci is suggesting? His word game has not served him very well.

Third, Mr. Ricci then expressed dismay at the fact that some (especially theologians) have concluded that design (like that in the human body) must have had a designer. He suggested: “If it is already assumed that the eye has a design, then of course it must have had a designer for one implies the other. But it must first be proved that the eye has a design and not simply an order. The latter is obvious; the former is not at all obvious” (1986, p. 191).

Mr. Ricci has offered creationists a challenge. “Prove,” he says, “that the eye has design, and not simply order,” and that will establish a Designer, since (to use his own words) “one implies the other.” Mr. Ricci is quite prepared to accept order as being evident in the human eye. But he adamantly refuses to acknowledge that there is any design evident in that structure. Why? Because design implies a designer, and Mr. Ricci has already made up his mind, on a priori grounds, that there is no Designer (God).

I gladly accept Mr. Ricci’s challenge. The human eye does, in fact, provide irrefutable evidence of design, and not just “order” (as Mr. Ricci defines it). And it is not just the eye, but every other human structure as well, which demonstrates design that speaks loudly of a grand Designer. Furthermore, that design is not limited to humans, but is evinced in plants, animals, and even the Universe itself. However, in this discussion, I will limit my comments to the specific example chosen by Mr. Ricci—the human eye.


When it comes to “design” or “planning” versus “no design” or “no planning” in nature, the evolutionists meet themselves coming and going. They seem to want it both ways, if their writings are to be accepted at face value. On the one hand, Dawkins (see above) writes an entire book explaining how there is no design or ultimate purpose in nature. On the other hand, the evolutionary editors of the Time-Life Science Library books (hardly a bastion of conservative creationist thought) say just the opposite. In the volume in that series entitled The Body, the following statements can be found: “[T]he bodily mechanism is a masterpiece of precise planning, a delicate and complex apparatus whose various components work as a unit to achieve such diverse feats as scaling a mountaintop, building a bridge or composing a symphony.... As in other basic areas of knowledge, increased understanding of the body’s structure and functions has led to an increased respect for its immense complexity” (see Nourse, 1964, p. 9, emp. added).

So which is it? Dawkins expects us to believe him when he says that the “unconscious, automatic, blind” process of natural selection “has no purpose in mind” and “does not plan.” Yet we are told that the human body “is a masterpiece of precise planning.” If words have meaning, both statements cannot be true. The question obviously arises, “Why would even evolutionists themselves speak of the ‘precise planning’ in the human body?” Perhaps the answer lies, at least in part, in the fact that such planning (design?) is so evident that it simply cannot be ignored. An examination of the eye—just one of the many components of the human body—provides the proof for such a statement.

Charles Darwin, in The Origin of Species, acknowledged that “it is scarcely possible to avoid comparing the eye with a telescope. We know that this instrument has been perfected by the long-continued efforts of the highest human intellects; and we naturally infer that the eye has been formed by a somewhat analogous process” (1956, p. 169). Yet, Darwin went on to state that any belief that the eye was, in fact, the result of intelligent planning was “presumptuous” (p. 169). He expended considerable effort to show how the eye could have “evolved” via natural selection alone.

While Darwin compared the eye to a telescope in his day and time, more recent comparisons are made between the eye and a camera (the principle being the same). In fact, the Time-Life Science Library series volume, The Body, acknowledged: “The eye operates on the same principle as the camera—the only machine directly modeled on a sense organ” (Nourse, p 154, emp. added). It is little wonder that such comparisons should be made. Examine the following table, which shows parts of the human eye in relation to parts of the camera.


Eyelid Lens Cover
Lens Lens
Close-up Close-up
Wide-angle Wide-angle
Telephoto Telephoto
Iris + Pupil Light Meter
Retina Film
Rods Black & white
Cones Color
Brain Processing

In describing exactly how the human eye and man-made camera do, in fact, parallel each other, one writer provided an interesting comparison of the two:

A camera works somewhat like the human eye. The best modern cameras perform wonders. But even they are no more than clumsy copies of the human eye. Both have parts that work more or less in the same way. But the camera is a man-made machine; the eye is a living miracle.

The human eye has an eyelid that opens to let in the light and closes to keep it out. A camera’s eyelid is a shutter. When it clicks open, it lets in the light—and the light brings inside a picture image of the scenery outside. The colored part of the eye is the iris. Actually it is a delicate muscle around a hole called the pupil. When the light is very strong, the iris makes the size of the pupil shrink. This lets in less light. In the dim evening light, the iris relaxes and the pupil grows wider to catch every glimmer.

The camera also has an iris. It is a circle of overlapping metal plates around a hole in the center. These plates shift when you set the camera for sunny or cloudy scenes. The hole in the center shrinks to cope with vivid sunshine and opens wider for dimly lighted scenes.

The eye has a lens, just behind the pupil. It is a small saucer of glassy material with delicate muscles to pull it out thin or push it together and make it thicker. The changing shape of the eye lens brings near objects and distant objects into focus. The camera too has a lens. It is a magnifying glass, that cannot be made thicker or thinner. But fixtures inside the camera can move it back and forth to focus on objects near and far.

Light comes through the pupil of the eye and places its picture image on a special screen inside the eyeball. This screen is the sensitive retina, with a million tiny nerve cells that relay bits of the picture to the brain. They sort out the scenery into patches of color and keep changing the scenes to create a moving picture.

The camera’s retina is a piece of film in a miniature dark room behind the lens (Salt Lake Tribune, 1971).

Yet, the eye is infinitely more complex than any man-made camera. It can handle 1.5 million simultaneous messages, and gathers 80% of all the knowledge absorbed by the brain. The retina covers less than a square inch, and contains 137 million light-sensitive receptor cells, 130 million rods (allowing the eye to see in black and white), and 7 million cones (allowing the eye to see in full color). In an average day, the eye moves about 100,000 times, using muscles that, milligram for milligram, are among the body’s strongest. The body would have to walk 50 miles to exercise the leg muscles an equal amount. The eye is self-cleaning. Lacrimal glands produce secretions (e.g., tears) to flush away dust and other foreign materials. Eyelids act as windshield washers. The blinking process (3-6 times a minute) keeps the sensitive cornea moist and clean. And, tears contain a potent microbe-killer (lysozyme) which guards the eyes against bacterial infection. During times of stress, one eye will “rest” while the other does 90% of the work; then the process is reversed, allowing both eyes equal amounts of rest. The brain receives millions of simultaneous reports from the eyes. When its designated wavelength of light is present, each rod or cone triggers an electrical response to the brain, which then absorbs a composite set of yes-or-no messages from all the rods and cones. It sorts and organizes them, and presents the proper image accordingly. As the book, I Am Joe’s Body (from which the above facts were extracted), noted:

The rods are scattered all over my retina. Let a firefly pass at night and a complex chemistry gets under way. The faint light bleaches rhodopsin, a purplish-red pigment in my rods. The bleaching process generates a tiny wasp of electricity—a few millionths of a volt, far too little to tickle a mosquito. This feeds into my straw-size optic nerve and is transmitted to Joe’s brain at about 300 miles per hour. The brain interprets the signals flooding in and hands down its verdict: a firefly. All of this intricate electrochemical activity has been completed in about .002 second (Ratcliff, 1980, pp. 25-29).

And we are asked to believe that all of these eye functions—each of which bears the unmistakable mark of intelligent design, planning, and purpose—formed through eons of time by processes of natural selection and genetic mutations. Even Darwin admitted that upon first glance that type of idea was difficult to accept. He wrote:

To suppose that the eye with all its inimitable contrivances for adjusting the focus to different distances, for admitting different amounts of light, and for the correction of spherical and chromatic aberration, could have been formed by natural selection, seems, I freely confess, absurd in the highest degree (1956, p. 167).

Yet Darwin firmly believed that this was exactly what did happen, as he went on to make clear in The Origin of Species and subsequent works.

Is it simply our own bias that causes us to state that the eye “bears the unmistakable mark of intelligent design, planning, and purpose”? Quite the contrary. Were the various elements of the eye seen in any man-made machine, they immediately would be recognized for what they are—evidence of intelligent design. But the evolutionist—understanding the obvious implications of the statement that “everything designed has a designer”—has no choice but to ignore such evidence for design and ascribe it to chance processes. Evolutionists and creationists alike fully understand the man-made camera is but a clumsy imitation of the eye. R.E.D. Clark observed over fifty years ago:

The eye is still far superior to the best of modern cameras—it is much more sensitive than the fastest film, sees over a wide angle, presents a moving picture, and has the remarkable property that it remains effective despite enormous changes in the intensity of illumination, adjusting to such changes automatically (1949, p. 150).

Yet when it comes to acknowledging that the eye exhibits design, plan, or purpose, evolutionists have no choice but to refuse to make such an acknowledgment. Evolutionist George Gaylord Simpson, formerly of Harvard University, went to great lengths to avoid any language that might lead to the conclusion that organisms were designed, planned, or purposed. Rather than employ words like “order” or “plan,” Simpson much preferred the word “function.” Some of his colleagues even took exception with that word, seeing in it too much “design.” In his work, The Major Features of Evolution, Simpson penned a footnote clarifying his stance and rebuking his critics.

I use the word “function” quite freely in spite of the fact that some students have criticized this use on the grounds that the word has an undesirable metaphysical or teleological tinge.... This whole book attests that I do not believe functions imply prior purpose.... An eye is for seeing, and this is no accident even though no one or no One planned it in advance (1953, p 181, emp. in orig.).

So there you have it. Simpson admits that the eye is for seeing, and that it is not an “accident,” but no one “planned” it. May it then be stated that a camera is for “seeing” (i.e., taking pictures) but that no one planned it either? On the one hand there is the camera, which everyone admits is much inferior to the eye, yet which obviously has been designed by intelligence. On the other hand there is the eye, which is far more complex than the camera, yet which is supposed to exhibit no design, planning, or purpose. By what kind of incongruous logic do Dr. Simpson and his evolutionistic colleagues expect us to reach such a conclusion?

If one were presented an artificial hand (i.e., a prosthesis), which at best cannot begin to duplicate the intricacy of its fleshly counterpart, the purpose, plan, and design behind it would be recognizable immediately. What, then, may be said regarding the human hand? Can one believe that the clumsy prosthesis had a designer, but the infinitely more complex human hand has no design, plan, or purpose and thus is simply the product of time, chance, and naturally occurring processes?

Even some evolutionists have problems with that type of approach. Sir Arthur Keith, who was one of Great Britain’s most prominent evolutionists, expressed his dissatisfaction when he said:

What are we to say, then, about such a complicated and efficient instrument as the human eye? If it had been made of wood, brass, and glass, it would have been said to have been planned for a purpose, but because it has been “evolved,” is made up of living tissues, and came into existence without a preliminary “blueprint,” it is not purposive. Are not my critics, by the use of a verbal quibble, seeking a sophist’s escape from a real difficulty? Would it not be more honest to say that the finer purposive adaptations we see in plants and animals remain as yet, unexplained? The eye has been evolved; that much is quite certain; the living vital forces which have molded it are probably still at work, but as yet we have not isolated them. I could as easily believe the theory of the Trinity as one which maintains that living, developing protoplasm, by mere throws of chance, brought the human eye into existence (1949, p. 238, emp. added).

While Dr. Keith made it clear that he accepted the evolution of the eye, he likewise made it clear that there was no escaping the obvious—the eye, except for the bias of the evolutionist as he tries to avoid accepting purpose and design, would be acknowledged as having both. And, adds Dr. Keith, “mere throws of chance” hardly represent a good explanation as to how the eye came to be.

Darwin himself even admitted: “If it could be demonstrated that any complex organ existed, which could not possibly have been formed by numerous, successive, slight modifications, my theory would absolutely break down” (1956, p. 170). “But,” said Darwin, “I can find no such case.” His own bias would simply not allow him to see that the eye was, in fact, just one example of many that could be offered. Dr. A. Cressy Morrison, former President of the New York Academy of Sciences, commented:

The lens of our eye varies in density so that all rays are brought into focus. Man finds this unattainable in any homogeneous substances, such as glass. All the marvelous adjustments of lens, rods, cones, nerves, and all else must have occurred simultaneously, for before each of them was complete, sight was impossible. How could one necessary factor know and adjust itself to each of the requirements of the others?... Nature would have had a job developing the science of optics unless somewhere along the line there was a little help from intelligence (1944, pp. 51,52).

Darwin’s theory has, in fact, “broken down.” Evolution cannot account for the eye purely on the basis of successive, slight modifications. Dr. Morrison was correct when he stated, in speaking of the various components of the eye, “before each of them was complete, sight was impossible.” Each part had to be in place and complete before the eye could function in sight. No amount of rhetoric on the part of the evolutionist will change that basic fact. Portions of the eye are what scientists refer to as “irreducibly complex.”


Paul Ricci challenged creationists to prove that the eye has design and not just “order.” This article has accomplished that task. It is obvious to the unbiased mind that there is more than “mere order” involved in the production of the eye, just as there is more than “mere order” involved in the production of a camera, a telescope, or a prosthesis. Certainly, there is order in each of these systems. But it took design to place the order into a workable, intelligible arrangement. Such design is not only apparent, but inescapable. And, a fortiori, design therefore is apparent in that which is infinitely more complex than any of these examples—the eye. Who would argue that a camera, a telescope, or a prosthesis did not exhibit purposeful design? Likewise, who could look at organs such as the eye or the hand—upon which the camera/telescope and prosthesis were modeled—and argue that no design is evident?

Mr. Ricci’s statement that “everything designed has a designer” is every bit as true as he said it was. He called it “analytically true.” Indeed it is. And, since the eye exhibits design, it therefore must have had a designer. That, too, is analytically true. That designer most certainly was not chance, natural selection, and/or evolution, for none of those entities possesses the ability to “design” anything, regardless of the time spans involved. Dr. Morrison was correct when he stated: “Somewhere along the line there was a little help from intelligence.” That intelligence is the Creator.


Asimov, Isaac (1982), “Interview with Isaac Asimov on Science and the Bible,” Paul Kurtz, interviewer, Free Inquiry, Spring, pp. 6-10. [See also: Hallman, Steve (1991), “Christianity and Humanism: A Study in Contrasts,” AFA Journal, p. 11, March.]

Clark, Robert E.D. (1949), The Universe—Plan or Accident? (London: Paternoster).

Darwin, Charles (1956 edition), The Origin of Species (London: J.M. Dent & Sons).

Dawkins, Richard (1986), The Blind Watchmaker (New York: W.W. Norton).

Hayward, Alan (1978), God Is (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson).

Huxley, Julian (1957), Religion Without Revelation (New York: Mentor Books).

Jastrow, Robert (1981), “Evolution: Selection for Perfection,” Science Digest, 89[11]:84-87,115, December.

Keith, Arthur (1949), Evolution and Ethics (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons).

Lewontin, Richard (1978), “Adaptation,” Scientific American, 239[3]:212-218,220,222,225,228,230, September.

Liddell, Henry G. and Robert Scott (1869), A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford, England: Clarendon).

Monod, Jacques (1972), Chance and Necessity (New York: Random House).

Morrison, A. Cressy (1944), Man Does Not Stand Alone (Westwood, New Jersey: Revell).

Nourse, Alan E., ed. (1964), The Body (New York: Time, Inc.).

Ratcliff, J.D. (1980), I Am Joe’s Body (New York: Reader’s Digest Association/Berkley Books).

Ricci, Paul (1986), Fundamentals of Critical Thinking (Lexington, ME: Ginn Press).

Salt Lake Tribune, August 26, 1971.

Simpson, George Gaylord (1953), The Major Features of Evolution (New York: Simon & Schuster).

Originally published in Reason & Revelation, October 1987, 7[10]:39-42.

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