by Lee Strobel
“What does that mean?”
“The first generation of stars were made of hydrogen and helium from the big bang. They only lasted a relatively short time. The second generation created heavy elements like carbon, oxygen, silicon, iron, and other things we need. The third generation is made up of stars that have enough material to create rocky planets like Earth and carbon-based life forms.”
Strauss paused, but I could tell he wasn’t done yet. “There are so many parameters that have to be just right for our planet to support life,” he said. “The distance from the sun, the rotation rate, the amount of water, the tilt, the right size so gravity lets gases like methane escape but allows oxygen to stay.
“You need a moon like ours—it’s very rare to have just one large moon—in order to stabilize Earth’s tilt. As counterintuitive as it sounds, you even need to have tectonic activity, which experts said could be ‘the central requirement for life on a planet.’9 Plate tectonics drives biodiversity, helps avoid a water world without continents, and helps generate the magnetic field. Also, it’s nice to have a huge planet like Jupiter nearby to act like a vacuum cleaner by attracting potentially devastating comets and meteors away from you.”
“Periodically, newspapers tout the discovery of what astronomers call an ‘Earth-like planet,’” I said.
“Yes, but generally all they mean is that it has a similar size as Earth or that it might be positioned to allow surface water. But there’s so much more to Earth than those two factors.”
“How many conditions have to be met to create an Earth-like planet?” I asked.
“Hugh Ross sets the number at 322,” he replied.10 “So if you run probability calculations, you find that there’s a 10-304 chance you’re going to find another planet that’s truly like Earth.”
“Still, there are lots of potential candidates out there,” I pointed out. “One estimate is there could be more than a billion trillion planets.”
“Granted,” he said. “So let’s factor that number into our probability equation. That still means the odds of having any higher life–supporting planet would be one in a million trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion.”
He let that astonishing number sink in. “In science,” he said, “we have a phrase for probabilities like that.”
“Really? What is it?”
There came a grin. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
The Multiverse Option
Some scientists, recognizing the obvious design of the universe, have manufactured bizarre explanations for how this uncanny precision could have occurred in a purely naturalistic way.
For instance, John Barrow and Frank Tipler, in their book The Anthropic Cosmological Principle, said the universe is clearly designed, which requires intelligence, and intelligence is only possessed by humans. So they hypothesize that humans will continue to evolve until someday they become like gods—at which point they reach back in time and create the universe themselves!11
“These are two bright scientists, and it’s the best they can come up with,” Strauss said, shaking his head. “Needless to say, it hasn’t gained any traction.”
Neither has the idea that our universe is actually a Matrix-like simulation being run on a massive computer by some superprogrammer. After all, that still raises the problem of how his universe came into existence.
Then there’s the idea—mentioned by Michael Shermer in my interview—that black holes lead to the creation of baby universes, which then create more universes through black holes, and so on for eternity. But that leaves open the question of where the first black hole–producing universe came from. Scoffed one scholar, “The physics underlying the idea is speculative, to say the least.”12
Another hypothesis that quickly evaporated is that the fine-tuning is the result of random happenstance. The odds of that, scientists say, are functionally equivalent to impossible. “The precision is so utterly fantastic, so mathematically breathtaking, that it’s just plain silly to think it could have been an accident,” William Lane Craig said.13
As physicist Robin Collins told me, “If I bet you a thousand dollars that I could flip a coin and get heads fifty times in a row, and then I proceeded to do it, you wouldn’t accept that. You’d know that the odds against that are so improbable—about one chance in a million billion—that it’s extraordinarily unlikely to happen. The fact that I was able to do it against such monumental odds would be strong evidence to you that the game had been rigged. And the same is true for the fine-tuning of the universe—before you’d conclude that random chance was responsible, you’d conclude that there is strong evidence that the universe was rigged. That is, designed.”14
So what are the most likely explanations for the fine-tuning? Science philosopher Tim Maudlin, author of The Metaphysics within Physics, published by Oxford University Press in 2007, said there are just two plausible alternatives to the universe’s apparent design: “It seems that the only reactions are either to embrace a multiverse or a designer.”15
“Let’s talk about the multiverse option,” I said to Strauss. “Stephen Hawking talks about M-theory, which would allow for a near infinite number of other universes. If the dials of physics were twirled at random in all of those, sooner or later one universe is going to hit the jackpot and get the right conditions for life.”
“First of all,” Strauss said, “we don’t know if M-theory is correct. It’s based on string theory, which is an esoteric concept for which all the equations haven’t even been worked out yet. The theory may be untestable and nonfalsifiable, and there’s no observational evidence for it, so is it really science?”
Strauss noted that when Hawking proposed the M-theory, science writer John Horgan wrote in Scientific American, “M-theory, theorists now realize, comes in an almost infinite number of versions . . . Of course, a theory that predicts everything really doesn’t predict anything.”16
Strauss continued, “Physicists have come up with various ideas for how multiverses could be birthed, but again, there’s no observational or experimental evidence for it. In fact, there is likely no way for us to discover something that’s beyond our universe. And even if there were multiple universes, the Borde-Guth-Vilenkin theorem says they all must go back to one beginning point, so now we return to the question of who or what created the universe in the first place.”
His conclusion? “If you want to believe in one of the multiverse theories, you basically need blind faith.”17
Similar comments came from John Polkinghorne, former professor of mathematical physics at Cambridge: “The many-universes account is sometimes presented as if it were purely scientific, but in fact a sufficient portfolio of different universes could only be generated by speculative processes that go well beyond what sober science can honestly endorse.”18
Oxford philosopher Richard Swinburne was blunt: “To postulate a trillion trillion other universes, rather than one God, in order to explain the orderliness of our universe, seems the height of irrationality.”19
The God Option
Oxford-educated physicist John Leslie, author of the influential book Universes, believes that if ours is the only universe—and, again, there’s no scientific evidence that any others exist—then the fine-tuning is “genuine evidence . . . that God is real.”20
“I agree,” said Strauss. “Let’s go back to what I know for a fact as a scientist. I know there’s one universe that appears to have a beginning, which is incredibly calibrated in a way that defies naturalistic explanations, and there’s a highly improbable planet whose unlikely conditions allow us to exist. To me, all of that begs for a divine explanation.”
I raised my hand. “Hold on,” I said. “Maybe our universe isn’t so finely tuned. For instance, why would a creator waste so much space if he wanted to create a habitat for humankind? The universe is unimaginably
huge, but it’s largely a wasteland that’s inhospitable to life.”
“Actually, the universe is the smallest it could possibly be and still have life,” Strauss replied.
That statement took me aback. “I’d like to hear you explain that one,” I said.
“If you start with the big bang and your goal is to make a solar system like ours, you have to go through two previous generations of stars. The first generation left behind some of the elements of the periodic table, but lacked the right amounts of carbon, oxygen, and nitrogen to make rocky planets and complex life. Then the second generation of stars formed from the debris of the first generation. When these burned out, they made more heavy elements and scattered them throughout the universe. Our sun coalesced from that debris.
“Now here’s my point: this third generation of stars is the first possibility for a solar system like ours to exist. So if you start with the big bang, it takes nine billion years to create a solar system like ours—which is approximately when our solar system formed, 4.5 billion years ago. So if you’re God and your purpose is to create Earth suitable for people, and you use these processes, it would take about 13.5 billion years. And during that time, what is the universe doing?”
“Expanding.”
“Right, it’s getting bigger and bigger. So even though it’s incredibly large, this is the youngest, and therefore the smallest, that the universe can be if you want to create one planet that’s hospitable for life.”
“Okay, now I get it,” I replied. “But here’s a question that skeptics frequently ask: If this God made the universe, then who made him?”
“Nobody,” came the quick reply. “The kalam argument doesn’t say, ‘Whatever exists has a cause.’ It says, ‘Whatever begins to exist has a cause.’ By definition, God never began to exist; he has always existed. He is a necessary, self-existent, eternal being. That’s part of the definition of God. Why assume a triangle has three sides? Because that’s part of what it means to be a triangle. The real question is: Does the evidence point toward the existence of such a divine being? I believe it does—and not just the evidence of cosmology and physics.”
I recalled the words of William Lane Craig in interviews I conducted with him. “This is not special pleading in the case of God,” he said.21 “Atheists themselves used to be very comfortable in maintaining that the universe is eternal and uncaused. The problem is that they can no longer hold that position because of modern evidence that the universe started with the big bang. So they can’t legitimately object when I make the same claim about God—he is eternal and he is uncaused.”22
The Soul of the Artist
I asked Strauss, “If God is the most likely explanation for our universe and planet, then what can we logically deduce about him from the scientific evidence?”
“Several things. First,” he said, grabbing a finger as he went through each point, “he must be transcendent, because he exists apart from his creation. Second, he must be immaterial or spirit, since he existed before the physical world. Third, he must be timeless or eternal, since he existed before physical time was created. Fourth, he must be powerful, given the immense energy of the big bang. Fifth, he must be smart, given the fact that the big bang was not some chaotic event but was masterfully finely tuned. Sixth, he must be personal, because a decision had to be made to create. Seventh, he must be creative—I mean, just look at the wonders of the universe. And eighth, he must be caring, because he so purposefully crafted a habitat for us.”
“But as Shermer asked, why not a committee of gods? Why just one?”
“The scientific and philosophical principle called Occam’s razor says that we shouldn’t multiply causes beyond what’s necessary to account for all of the phenomena,” he said.
“Still, how do we know this creator is the God of Christianity?” I asked.
“All the qualities we’ve elicited from the evidence are consistent with the God of the Bible,” he replied. “If there’s just one creator, then that rules out polytheism. Since he’s outside of creation, this rules out pantheism. The universe is not cyclical, which violates the tenets of Eastern religions. And the big bang contradicts ancient religious assumptions that the universe is static.”
Hugh Ross, who earned his doctorate at the University of Toronto, has pointed to several ways in which the ancient writings in the Bible reflect the findings of contemporary cosmology.
“It is worth noting,” Ross said, “that Scripture speaks about the transcendent beginning of physical reality, including time itself (Genesis 1:1; John 1:3; Colossians 1:15–17; Hebrews 11:3); about continual cosmic expansion, or ‘stretching out’ (Job 9:8; Psalm 104:2; Isaiah 40:22; 45:12; Jeremiah 10:12); about unchanging physical laws (Jeremiah 33:25), one of which is the pervasive law of decay (Ecclesiastes 1:3–11; Romans 8:20–22). These descriptions fly in the face of ancient, enduring, and prevailing assumptions about an eternal, static universe—until the twentieth century.”23
The rumble of a passing truck interrupted my conversation with Strauss. He stood and asked, “Do you want some water?” He went into the kitchen, filled two glasses, and returned to offer me one. I looked at my watch; because of an appointment that Strauss needed to keep, we were running short on time.
But the purpose of my visit had been fulfilled. Thinking over the case that Strauss had built, the existence of a miracle-working creator—who matches the description of the God of the Bible—had been established beyond a reasonable doubt.
Strauss sat back down and glanced briefly out the window, turning philosophical in our last moments together.
“You know,” he said, taking a sip of water, “I’m friends with an artist who says he can look at a piece of art and see the soul of the artist. I can’t do that, but I’m a scientist. I can look deeply into the universe and the subatomic world and see the soul of the Artist. For instance, I see evidence of his transcendence. So what does that tell me? It tells me that for him, intervening in the world he made is simple. Miracles are trivial. They’re easy to do.
“Then I look at the bizarre world of quantum mechanics. Lee, it’s so different from anything you or I can imagine. Virtual particles pop in and out of existence; apparently, one particle can be two places at the same time. To me, that’s a reflection of Isaiah 55, which says that God’s ways are different from our ways. His thoughts are greater than our thoughts.24
“The artist looks at a painting and says, ‘These brushstrokes tell me about the mood of the painter.’ As a physicist, I know that virtual particles inside of protons have a mass that’s finely tuned so that I can exist. That tells me something about the mood of the Creator—he’s both ingenious and caring. Why else would he cause all of creation to accrue to our benefit?
“Frankly, I look at a painting and say, ‘Huh, that’s nice.’ To me, it’s just color on canvas. I can’t see the deeper realities that an artist can. But I’m privileged to be a scientist. I can see the nuances and subtleties and intricacies of nature in a way that others can’t. And invariably, they point me toward one conclusion: the God hypothesis has no competitors.”
CHAPTER 11
The Miracle of the Resurrection
An Interview with Detective J. Warner Wallace
Even for a decorated cold-case homicide investigator, this was a formidable challenge. J. Warner Wallace had used his considerable detective skills to solve murders that were decades old, but he had never tackled a case that stretched back for two millennia.
What’s more, this time he wasn’t merely attempting to identify the perpetrator of a long-ago crime; instead, he was trying to determine whether the victim was truly deceased—and whether he defied all naturalistic explanations by rising from the dead three days later.
Quite an assignment for someone who was at the time a hyper-skeptical atheist.
Wallace is the son of a cop and the father of a cop. His dad fought crime in Torrance, California, a residential and high-tech enclave south of Los Angeles. Initially, Wa
llace resisted the temptation to follow in his father’s footsteps. He started out with a career in the arts, earning a degree in design and a master’s degree in architecture, but before long the lure of the badge proved too strong.
After doing training through the Los Angeles Sheriff ’s Department, Wallace joined the force in Torrance, working on the SWAT team and the gang detail and investigating robbery and homicide cases. Later he became a founding member of the department’s cold-case homicide unit, assigned to crack murders that nobody else had been able to solve.
His success brought accolades and opportunities. Soon he was being featured on NBC’s Dateline and news outlets seeking expertise on what it takes to arrest killers who thought they had gotten away with murder.
Through the years, Wallace’s street-honed skepticism served him well. “As a cop, if you believe everything people tell you, then you’d never arrest anyone,” he said. For him, facts need to be solid; witnesses have to be credible; evidence must be persuasive; corroboration is always crucial; and alibis have to be dismantled. In short, he was the kind of skeptic even Michael Shermer could admire.
Wallace’s skepticism as an adolescent cemented him into atheism. His parents divorced when he was young. His father, at his mother’s insistence, would drop him off at the Catholic church on Sundays, where he would attend a Latin mass by himself.
“I didn’t understand a word, but it didn’t matter,” he said. “I didn’t believe any of it. Plus, I didn’t have any Christian role models who could explain why they accepted this stuff.”
It wasn’t until Wallace was thirty-five that he subjected the gospels to months of painstaking analysis through various investigative techniques, including what detectives call “forensic statement analysis.” This skill involves critically analyzing a person’s account of events—including word choice and structure—to determine whether he is being truthful or deceptive.1 Eventually, Wallace became convinced that Christianity is true beyond a reasonable doubt.