To be is to be contingent: nothing of which it can be said that "it is" can be alone and independent. But being is a member of paticca-samuppada as arising which contains ignorance. Being is only invertible by ignorance.

Destruction of ignorance destroys the illusion of being. When ignorance is no more, than consciousness no longer can attribute being (pahoti) at all. But that is not all for when consciousness is predicated of one who has no ignorance than it is no more indicatable (as it was indicated in M Sutta 22)

Nanamoli Thera
Showing posts with label Behe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Behe. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 11, 2024

Why do evolutionary biologists think Michael Behe's work on irreducible complexity has been discredited?

 

GET ON THE INTERNET AND READ SOME of the criticisms of Michael Behe's work, and you'll think he is a crank, a fraud and a knave. His work, we are told, has been "thoroughly discredited," "completely demolished" and "utterly destroyed." Critics reluctantly concede that his discussions of biochemistry (Behe's field of expertise) are unobjectionable. But when it comes to his definition and use of irreducible complexity, critics regard him as misguided and safely to be ignored. Critics contend that the biological community has carefully considered Behe's work, found it deeply flawed and therefore rejected it. But in fact the biological community is still coming to terms with Behe's work. Behe has focused attention on a major conceptual problem in evolutionary biology. The problem was noted before, but not in so stark a form.

Behe's challenge has been so unsettling that many in the biological community find it easier to pretend his work has been discredited than actually to engage it. The biology department at one well-regarded evangelical Christian institution is a surprising case in point. Its biology faculty, by last report, remain adamantly opposed to Behe and intelligent design but at the same time have explicitly refused even to read his work lest they dignify it with their time and attention. And so a convenient fiction has emerged in which biologists continually reassure each other that Behe has been refuted but either fail to provide an actual refutation or attack a caricature of Behe's case against Darwinian evolution. Yet to a dispassionate outsider, it's clear that something significant is afoot. If the worst humiliation is not to be taken seriously, then Behe is being taken all too seriously.

Indeed, Behe has attracted a band of vocal and passionate critics who engage him at length. The controversy centers on a book that Behe published in 1996, Darwin's Black Box. This widely influential book opened a great many ideas, central among them the concept of irreducible complexity. As Behe defines it, an integrated multipart functional system is irreducibly complex if removing any of its parts destroys the system's function. Critics have interpreted Behe's use of this concept in one of two ways, neither of which does justice to Behe's project. Thus critics see Behe as making either a purely logical or a purely empirical point. The logical point is this: Certain structures are provably inaccessible to a Darwinian mechanism. They have property P (i.e., irreducible complexity). But certain biological structures also have property P, so they, too, must be inaccessible to a Darwinian mechanism. The empirical point is this: Certain biological structures are awfully complicated. There is not even a suggestion in the literature concerning how the Darwinian mechanism might construct them. So chances are that something beyond natural selection was responsible for their creation.

So stated, these are fundamentally different points and involve very different questions. If Behe seeks to make a purely logical point, then his model needs to be rigorous and mathematical after the fashion of Noam Chomsky's demonstration that, for example, finite state automata are incapable of generating certain languages. If he wishes to make a purely empirical point, then he wastes his time bringing in the notion of irreducible complexity when what he really means is simply that the evolutionary pathways of certain biological objects have yet to be adequately explained. According to critics, the conflation of these two different theses, the logical and the empirical, works rhetorically, but for a bad reason: it suggests in virtue of the sonority of the words irreducible complexity that something rigorous or well-defined is at issue when what is really at issue, provided Behe has abjured the logical point, is what has always been at issue between Darwinists and their critics-the idea that life is simply too complicated to result from a blind, undirected, hit-or-miss, trial-and-error Darwinian process.

According to Darwinists, neither the logical point nor the empirical point nor a conflation of the two poses any challenge to their theory. Let's consider these options in turn. As for the logical point, irreducible complexity clearly cannot close off all logically possible avenues of Darwinian evolution. What irreducible complexity says is that all parts of a system are indispensable in the sense that if you remove a part and don't alter the other parts, you cannot recover the original function of the system. But that leaves the possibility of removing parts and modifying others to recover the original function. Also it leaves the possibility of removing parts and isolating subsystems that serve some other function (a function that could conceivably be subject to selection pressure). Irreducible complexity, treated as a logical restriction, therefore leaves some loopholes for the Darwinian mechanism. (Critics sometimes portray Behe as denying this point, but in fact Behe never denied such logically possible loopholes.)

As for the empirical point, it seems merely to commit the standard fallacy of arguing from ignorance. So what if certain biological systems are incredibly complicated and we haven't figured out how they originated? That doesn't mean the Darwinian mechanism or some other material mechanism didn't do it. It may just mean that we haven't figured out how those mechanisms did it quite yet. And as for conflating the logical and empirical points, that's the most disreputable option of all, for it makes Behe and fellow design theorists guilty of equivocation, of using irreducible complexity to make a logical or empirical point as expedience dictates.

But this is too easy. In fact, Behe's project is more subtle than any of these criticisms suggests. Behe's project is properly conceived as making three key points: a logical, an empirical and an explanatory point. What's more, he conflates none of them. The logical point is this: Certain artificial structures are provably inaccessible to a direct Darwinian pathway because they have property P (i.e., irreducible complexity). But certain biological structures also have property P, so they, too, must be inaccessible to a direct Darwinian pathway. This formulation looks similar to the previous logical point, but it differs in one crucial respect. In the previous formulation, inaccessibility was with respect to the Darwinian mechanism in toto and therefore with respect to all Darwinian pathways whatsoever, both direct and indirect. Here, the restriction is only on direct Darwinian pathways.

A direct Darwinian pathway is one in which a system evolves by natural selection, incrementally enhancing a given function. As the system evolves, the function does not. Thus we might imagine that in the evolution of the heart, its function from the start was to pump blood. In that case a direct Darwinian pathway might account for it. On the other hand, we might imagine that in the evolution of the heart its function was initially to make loud thumping sounds to ward off predators and that only later did it take on the function of pumping blood. In that case an indirect Darwinian pathway would be needed to account for it. Here the pathway is indirect because not only does the system evolve but so does the system's function. Now, as a logical point, Behe was only concerned with direct Darwinian pathways. This becomes immediately evident from reading Darwin's Black Box since in his definition of irreducible complexity, the function of the system in question always stays put.

Does Behe's definition of irreducible complexity render certain structures provably inaccessible to direct Darwinian pathways? As laid out in Darwin's Black Box, Behe's definition actually needed a little fine-tuning. The problem is that Behe didn't address systems that could retain their function by removing parts and then modifying the other parts that remained. (Behe considered only removal, not modification.) But there's a quick fix here, which I describe in chapter five of No Free Lunch, and that is simply to strengthen the concept of irreducible complexity to include a minimal complexity condition. Essentially this condition says that the system cannot be simplified and still retain the level of function needed for selective advantage. With this proviso, irreducible complexity logically rules out direct Darwinian pathways. Note that many of the irreducibly complex systems Behe considers (notably the bacterial flagellum) satisfy this proviso.

In ruling out direct Darwinian pathways to irreducibly complex systems, Behe isn't saying it's logically impossible for the Darwinian mechanism to attain such systems. It's logically possible for just about anything to attain any other thing via a vastly improbable or fortuitous event. For instance, it's logically possible that with my very limited chess ability I might defeat the reigning world champion, Vladimir Kramnik, in ten straight games. But if I do so, it will be despite my limited chess ability and not because of it. Likewise, if the Darwinian mechanism is the means by which a direct Darwinian pathway leads to an irreducibly complex biochemical system, then it is despite the intrinsic properties or capacities of that mechanism. Thus, in saying that irreducibly complex biochemical systems are provably inaccessible to direct Darwinian pathways, design proponents are saying that the Darwinian mechanism has no intrinsic capacity for generating such systems except as vastly improbable or fortuitous events. Accordingly, to attribute irreducible complexity to a direct Darwinian pathway is like attributing Mount Rushmore to wind and erosion. There's a sheer possibility that wind and erosion could sculpt Mount Rushmore, but not a realistic one.

With direct Darwinian pathways ruled out, that leaves indirect Darwinian pathways. Here Behe's point is no longer logical but empirical. The fact is that for irreducibly complex biochemical systems, no indirect Darwinian pathways are known. At best, biologists have been able to isolate subsystems of such systems that perform other functions. But any reasonably complicated machine always includes subsystems that perform functions distinct from the original machine. So the mere occurrence or identification of subsystems that could perform some function on their own is no evidence for an indirect Darwinian pathway leading to the system. What's needed is a seamless Darwinian account that's both detailed and testable of how subsystems undergoing coevolution could gradually transform into an irreducibly complex system. No such accounts are available or forthcoming. Indeed, if such accounts were available, critics would merely need to cite them, and intelligent design would be finished.

Critics of Behe are at this point quick to throw the argument-from-ignorance objection his way, but this criticism can't be justified. A common way to formulate this criticism is to say, "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence." But as with so many overused expressions, this one requires nuancing. Certainly this dictum appropriately characterizes many everyday circumstances. Imagine, for instance, someone feverishly hunting about the house for a missing set of car keys, searching under every object, casing the house, bringing in reinforcements and then, the next morning, when all hope is gone, finding them on top of the car outside. In this case the absence of evidence prior to finding the car keys was not evidence of absence. Yet with the car keys there was independent evidence of their existence in the first place.

But what if we weren't sure that there even were any car keys? The situation in evolutionary biology is even more extreme than that. One might not be sure our hypothetical set of car keys exist, but at least one has the reassurance that car keys exist generally. Indirect Darwinian pathways are more like the supposed leprechauns that Johnny is certain are hiding in his room. Imagine this child were so ardent and convincing that he set all of Scotland Yard, indeed some of the best minds of the age, onto the task of searching meticulously, tirelessly, decade after decade, for these supposed leprechauns, for any solid evidence at all of their prior habitation of the bedroom. And then imagine that in all those decades, the detectives, driven by gold fever for the leprechaun's treasure, let's say, never flagged in searching out and postulating new ways of catching a glimpse of a leprechaun, a leprechaun hair, a leprechaun fingerprint, any solid clue at all. After these many decades, with not a single solid clue to show for all that work, what should one say to the aging parents of the now aging boy if these parents decided there were no leprechauns in the boy's room? Would it be logical to shake your finger at the parents and tell them, "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Step aside and let the experts get back to work." That would be absurd. And yet that, essentially, is what evolutionary biologists are telling us concerning that utterly fruitless search for credible indirect Darwinian pathways to account for irreducible complexity.

If after repeated attempts you don't find what you expect to find after looking in all the right places and if you never had any evidence that the thing you were looking for existed in the first place, then you have reason to think that the thing you are looking for doesn't exist at all. That's precisely Behe's point about indirect Darwinian pathways. (See his chapter in Darwin's Black Box titled "Publish or Perish.") It's not just that we don't know of such a pathway for, say, the bacterial flagellum (the irreducibly complex biochemical machine that has become the mascot of the intelligent design movement). It's that we don't know of such pathways for any such systems. The absence here is pervasive and systemic. That's why critics of Darwinism like Franklin Harold and James Shapiro (neither of which is an intelligent design supporter) argue that positing as-yet-undiscovered indirect Darwinian pathways for such systems constitute "wishful speculations."

Behe's logical point is that irreducible complexity renders biological structures provably inaccessible to direct Darwinian pathways. Behe's empirical point is that the failure of evolutionary biology to discover indirect Darwinian pathways leading to irreducibly complex biological structures is pervasive and systemic, and that such a failure is reason to doubt that indirect Darwinian pathways are the answer to irreducible complexity. The logical and empirical points together constitute a devastating indictment of the Darwinian mechanism, which has routinely been touted as capable of solving all problems of biological complexity once an initial life form is on the scene. Even so, the logical and empirical points together don't answer how one gets from the failure of Darwinism to account for irreducibly complex systems to the legitimacy of employing design to account for them.

This is where the third main point of Behe's project-Behe's explanatory point-comes in. Scientific explanations come in many forms and guises, but the one thing they cannot afford to be without is causal adequacy. A scientific explanation needs to invoke causal powers sufficient to explain the effect in question. Otherwise, the effect is unexplained. The effect in question for Behe is the irreducible complexity of certain biochem ical machines. How did such systems come about? Not by a direct Darwinian pathway, for irreducible complexity rules that out on logical grounds. And apparently not by indirect Darwinian pathways either, for the absence of scientific evidence here is complete. (Critics who claim otherwise are bluffing.) What's more, appealing to unknown material mechanisms is even more tenuous.

Thus, when it comes to irreducibly complex biochemical systems, there's no evidence that material mechanisms are causally adequate to bring them about. But what about intelligence? It is well known that intelligence produces irreducibly complex systems. (For example, humans regularly produce machines that exhibit irreducible complexity.) Intelligence is thus known to be causally adequate to bring about irreducible complexity. Behe's explanatory point, therefore, is that on the basis of causal adequacy, intelligent design is a better scientific explanation than Darwinism for the irreducible complexity of biochemical systems.

Behe's logical and empirical points are mainly negative: they focus on limitations of the Darwinian mechanism. Behe's explanatory point, by contrast, is positive: it provides positive grounds for thinking that irreducibly complex biochemical systems are in fact designed. One question about these points is now likely to remain. Behe uses the logical point to rule out direct Darwinian pathways and the empirical point to rule out indirect Darwinian pathways to irreducible complexity. But the absence of empirical evidence for direct Darwinian pathways leading to irreducible complexity is as complete as for indirect Darwinian pathways. It might seem, then, that the logical point is superfluous inasmuch as the empirical point dispenses with both types of Darwinian pathways. But in fact the logical point helps tighten the noose around Darwinism in a way that the empirical point can't.

If you look at the best confirmed examples of Darwinian evolution in the literature (from Darwin to the present), what you find is natural selection steadily improving a given feature that is performing a given function in a given way. Indeed, the very notion of "improvement" (which plays such an important role in Darwin's Origin of Species) typically connotes that a given thing is getting better in a given respect. Improvement in this sense corresponds to a direct Darwinian pathway. By contrast, an indirect Darwinian pathway (where one function gives way to another function and thus can no longer improve because it no longer exists), though often inferred by evolutionary biologists from fossil or molecular data, tends to be much more difficult to establish rigorously.

The reason is not hard to see: By definition natural selection selects for preexisting function. It cannot select for future function. Once a novel function is realized, the Darwinian mechanism can select for it as well. But making this transition is the hard part. How does one evolve from a system exhibiting a preexisting selectable function to a new system exhibiting a novel selectable function? Natural selection is no help here, and all the weight is on random variation to come up with the right and needed modifications during the crucial transition time when functions are changing (or, as Darwin put it in his Origin of Species, "unless profitable variations do occur, natural selection can do nothing"). The actual evidence that random variation can produce the successive modifications needed to evolve irreducible complexity is nil.

Behe's logical point about irreducible complexity ruling out direct Darwinian pathways therefore rules out the form of Darwinian evolution that is best confirmed. What's more, it rules out the only form of Darwinian evolution that is open to logical analysis. Indirect Darwinian pathways, by contrast, are so open-ended that no logical analysis is capable of constraining them. (Almost invariably they are left unspecified, thus rendering them neither falsifiable nor testable.) Behe's logical point therefore takes logic as far as it can in constraining the Darwinian mechanism and leaves empirical considerations to rule out what remains. And since logical inferences are inherently stronger than empirical inferences, Behe has made his critique of the Darwinian mechanism as strong and tight as possible. It's not just that certain biological systems are so complex that we can't imagine how they evolved by Darwinian pathways. Rather, we can show conclusively that they could not have evolved by direct Darwinian pathways and that indirect Darwinian pathways, which have always been on much less stable ground, are utterly without empirical support.

To sum up, Behe is significant in the debate between intelligent design and Darwinism because he has taught us how to evaluate the relative merits of each. He has done this by giving us the concept of irreducible complexity and by showing us how to employ it. By carefully analyzing and disentangling the logical, the empirical and the explanatory implications of irreducible complexity for the Darwinian mechanism, Behe has demonstrated that intelligent design is at the very least a viable contender in any attempt to explain the irreducible complexity of biochemical systems. What's more, he has shown how to bridge the scientific theory of design with our commonsense intuitions about design. In media reports on intelligent design, one often hears the following sound bite: "Life is too com plicated to have arisen by natural forces, so it must have been designed." This sound bite captures many people's intuitions about intelligent design, but it is too simplistic for scientific purposes. Behe has shown us how to interpret this claim, substituting the rigorously defined phrase irreducibly complex for the vague and undefined phrase too complicated, and he has shown us how to reason our way properly from the inadequacy of undirected natural forces to design.

THE DESIGN REVOLUTION

ANSWERING THE TOUGHEST QUESTIONS ABOUT INTELLIGENT DESIGN

William A. Dembski

Tuesday, September 26, 2023

Michael Behe: how I came to disagree with most contemporary scientists

 But first a necessary digression to explain how I came to disagree with most contemporary scientists on this pivotal subject. Imagine my surprise a while back when I opened an academic journal called Biology & Philosophy and spotted this sentence: “To see the point quite palpably, note that Stalin, or Osama bin Laden, or Michael Behe, or your favorite villain is also . . .”7 The man who included me in that rogues gallery was Alexander Rosenberg, R. Taylor Cole Professor of Philosophy at Duke University—a fellow I’ve never met. His article had precious little to do with me. The line was an offhand remark in the course of arguing that the well-known philosopher Daniel Dennett—a founding member of the New Atheists—was something of a wimp, because in his books he didn’t clearly spell out the utter nihilism that Rosenberg saw as a consequence of Darwin’s theory.

It was a silly remark but, unfortunately, it does accurately reflect the hostility felt by a large chunk of academia toward those of us who publicly argue the case for purpose in nature. (Notice that the overt insult was passed along by the reviewers of the article and the journal editor.) We might see ourselves as just trying to puzzle out those existential questions that kept us awake at night as kids. But folks such as Rosenberg seem to envision peasants with torches and pitchforks marching on their faculty offices. We might just be wondering what the evidence of nature really shows. But “since nihilism is true,”8 too many academics think there’s nothing to think about; therefore contrary views must be dishonest. So before we begin the book I want to try to head off such charges of bad faith. To show that I come by my views honestly, let me very briefly recount the history of my own thinking.

I was born into a large Roman Catholic family and, like all of my brothers and sisters, attended Catholic grade school and high school. Unlike some Christian denominations, the Catholic Church never had much of a problem with evolution. I remember being taught about it in seventh grade by Sister David Marie. The important point, she stressed, is that God created the universe, life, and humanity. How he did that, whether quickly or slowly, employing natural law or not, was up to him, not us, and our best evidence these days shows that evolution is correct. That view was perfectly fine with me. In fact, although I wasn’t aware of it then, it had been the predominant understanding in Catholic circles for a long time. For example, the 1909 Catholic Encyclopedia has a lengthy scholarly article on evolution that makes a number of crucial distinctions, including a distinction “between the [basic] theory of evolution and Darwinism.”9 Plain “evolution” was no big theological deal. But framing it as necessarily nihilistic, as Alexander Rosenberg and many others do, was tantamount to denying Christianity. Even as a boy I had plenty of reasons to believe in God that had nothing to do with evolution.

When I went off to Drexel Institute of Technology (now Drexel University), I decided to major in chemistry, specifically because I wanted to know how the world worked; I wanted to know what made things tick. Since everything is made of chemicals, then chemistry seemed to be the obvious choice. During my college years I had a summer “co-op” job in a biochemistry lab at the Department of Agriculture research facilities near Philadelphia, where I became fascinated with the chemistry of life. Senior year at Drexel I took a course on evolutionary biochemistry to learn how it all came together.

During graduate studies in biochemistry at the University of Pennsylvania and postdoctoral work at the National Institutes of Health, I had no qualms about standard evolutionary theory and would occasionally (and smugly) tease friends who did. I remember one day at the NIH chewing over the Big Questions with a fellow Catholic postdoc, Joanne (her brother was a priest), who was in the same lab I was. Talk turned to the origin of life. Although she and I were both happy to think life started by natural laws, we kept bumping up against problems. I pointed out that to get the first cell, you’d first need a membrane. “And proteins,” she added. “And metabolism,” said I. “And a genetic code,” said she. After a short time we both looked wide-eyed at each other and simultaneously shouted, “Naaaahh!” Then we laughed and went back to work, as if it didn’t really matter to our views. I suppose we both thought that, even if we didn’t know how undirected nature could begin life, somebody must know. That’s the impressive power of groupthink.

After three years at my first job as an assistant professor at Queens College in New York City, my new wife, Celeste, our firstborn daughter, Grace, and I moved to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where a new job awaited at Lehigh University. Several very busy years later I paused to read a book that startled me and changed my view of evolution. Evolution: A Theory in Crisis by Michael Denton, a geneticist and medical doctor then teaching in Australia, offered no solution to the riddle of life, but pointed out numerous serious problems for Darwin’s theory at the molecular level that I had never even heard about—even though I was a biochemistry professor whose goal in entering science was to understand how the world worked! At that point, when I thought back, I realized I had never heard any of my teachers critique Darwin’s theory in all of my science studies.

I got mad. Over the following months I spent much time in the science library trying to find papers or books that explained in real detail how random mutation and selection could produce the exceedingly intricate systems routinely studied by biochemistry. I came up completely empty. Although many publications would pay homage to Darwin and a few would spin “Just So” evolutionary tales, none spelled out how his mechanism accounted for complex functional systems. Vague stories had kept me satisfied in the past, but no longer. Now I wanted real answers.

At that point I concluded that I had been led to believe in Darwin’s theory not because of strong evidence for it. Rather, it was for sociological reasons—that simply was the way educated people were expected to think these days. My professors hadn’t been intentionally misleading—that was the framework in which they thought about life too. But from then on I resolved to decide for myself what the evidence showed.

When one starts to treat Darwinism as a hypothesis about the biochemical level of life rather than as an assumption, it takes about ten minutes to conclude it’s radically inadequate. It takes perhaps another ten minutes to realize that the molecular foundation of life was designed, and for effectively the same reason that Anaxagoras, Galen, and Paley reached the same conclusion for visible levels of biology (although, because of progress in science and philosophy, the argument is now necessarily much more detailed and nuanced than their versions): the signature of intelligent activity is the arrangement of disparate parts to fulfill some purpose. The molecular parts of the cell are elegantly arranged to fulfill many subsidiary purposes that must blend together in service of the large overall purpose of forming life. As we’ll see in this book, no unintelligent, undirected process—neither Darwin’s mechanism nor any other—can account for that.

With the aid of the then newfangled internet, over the years I met other academics who had had experiences roughly similar to mine, who had been perfectly willing to accept Darwinian evolution, but at some point realized with shock that the larger theory was an intellectual facade. Like me, most had religious convictions, which freed them from the crippling assumption that—no matter what the evidence showed—unintelligent forces simply must be responsible for the elegance of life. Some of us banded together under the auspices of the Seattle-based think tank Discovery Institute, the better to defend and advance the topic of intelligent design (ID), to which we had become dedicated.

In conversations with them I discovered that, as a biochemist, I had ideas to contribute that the others did not. At the urging of Phillip Johnson, then a professor of law at the University of California–Berkeley, I set about writing a book that in 1996 became Darwin’s Black Box: The Biochemical Challenge to Evolution. Except for answering extravagant Darwinian claims or attacks on ID,10 I thought I was done with writing at that point. But the rapid progress of science in the subsequent decade allowed further arguments to be made. In 2007 those became The Edge of Evolution: The Search for the Limits of Darwinism, which, as the title suggests, tried to locate the point in life where what can be explained solely by unintelligent forces is reached. (One common confusion of critics is to think that ID argues everything is planned. That’s not the case. Chance is an important, if superficial, feature of biology.) Again I thought I was done, but even greater unanticipated progress in biology over the past ten years has spurred me to write this book.

Where We’re Headed

The firm conclusion I’ve drawn over the past decades is this: despite occasional questions and bumps along the road, the greater the progress of science, the more deeply into life design can be seen to extend. In Darwin’s own day, the mid-nineteenth century, scientists wondered whether there was sufficient variety in nature’s creatures to fuel his theory. After DNA and proteins were discovered in the late twentieth century, a pressing question was whether Darwin’s mechanism—natural selection acting on random mutation—could account for even the biochemical level of life and the sophisticated molecular machinery unexpectedly discovered there.

As science rapidly advanced in the early twenty-first century, large studies showed only surprisingly minor changes in genes under severe selective pressure. And as we’ll see in this book, now several decades into the twenty-first century, ever more sophisticated studies demonstrate that, ironically, random mutation and natural selection are in fact fiercely devolutionary. It turns out that mutation easily breaks or degrades genes, which, counterintuitively, can sometimes help an organism to survive, so the damaged genes are hastily spread by natural selection. Strangely, in the space of a century and a half Darwinism has gone from the chief candidate for the explanation of life to a known threat to life’s long-term integrity.

Here’s how we’ll proceed. The two chapters of Part I introduce major problems facing any theory attempting to account for life. In Chapter 1 I’ll emphasize a philosophical difficulty—the question of how we know what we claim to know. The second chapter of Part I throws down the gauntlet. It describes biological systems of astonishing elegance and complexity that demand explanation; many of them were discovered as recently as the new millennium. Part II examines a number of ideas that have been offered as answers, from Darwin’s own theory to the most recent non-Darwinian accounts of evolution such as neutral theory and natural genetic engineering. We’ll see why, although they may account for some features of life, they all are severely limited in scope.

Part III (Chapters 6 through 9) compiles pertinent evidence from numerous studies on a wide range of species by many insightful investigators. These studies have only become available in the past few decades due to rapid advances in laboratory techniques that closely examine the molecular level of life. The studies indicate that not only is the Darwinian mechanism devolutionary; it is also self-limiting—that is, it actively prevents evolutionary changes at the biological classification level of family and above. After Part IV (described below), the Appendix reexamines criticisms by top scientists and others of my earlier arguments for intelligent design from the clarifying perspective of more than twenty years later.

The failure of Darwin’s mechanism as an explanation for the evolution of all but the lowest levels of biological classification reopens the primordial question of what does account for the elegance and complexity of life. My answer appears mainly in Part IV (the final chapter). There I defend the reality of mind—a necessary foundation of science itself—and argue that, for its own sake, science must explicitly acknowledge mind’s existence. Once the reality of mind is affirmed, the explanation for life follows easily. In brief, although chance surely affects superficial aspects of biology, the newest evidence confirms that life is the intended work of a mind and that that work extends much more deeply into life than could previously be seen.

From introduction to Darwin Devolves

By Michael J. Behe