Argument: There Is No Design Without a Designer.

Imagine walking along the beach of a deserted island when you come across a transparent container, apparently made of glass. It has a cylindrical body and a long, narrow neck. You instantly recognize it as a bottle, clearly created by human hands—not as a random product of the sea acting upon a piece of silicon.

Why do you make that judgment so quickly? Because your experience tells you that only humans—not the chaotic motion of waves—can produce such a plainly purposeful object. The shape, structure, and material all point to intelligent intervention, even though the object itself is simple.

Now let us leap forward several centuries into the future. Picture someone hiking through a dense forest in what is now Keystone, Pennington County, South Dakota. As this explorer moves through the trees, they stumble upon a granite mountain bearing the unmistakable faces of four former U.S. presidents. They have arrived at what we know today as Mount Rushmore.

Would this person believe that those facial features were carved into the mountain by natural erosion over time? Of course not. While erosion is known to alter landscapes significantly, it cannot sculpt recognizable human faces with that level of precision. The explorer understands, instinctively, that such forms must have been crafted by the hands of a sculptor—by intelligent design.

But let us push the thought experiment further. What are the mathematical odds that erosion could form such features, given millions of years? Would the probability be zero? Not quite. It might be something like one in a million trillion trillion trillion trillion…, continuing into near-infinity—but technically, not zero.

Still, does that infinitesimal probability give us a reason to doubt what is obvious? Do we seriously consider that erosion might have created Mount Rushmore?

Of course not.

Because the evidence of design is so clear, so unmistakable, and so compelling, we naturally and confidently conclude that intelligence—not chance—was behind it.

When Peruvian pilots first flew over the now-famous Nazca Lines[1] in the mid-20th century, their immediate conclusion was that the vast geoglyphs had been created by an ancient civilization. Who made them? How were they constructed? When were they created? These questions remained unanswered at the time—but one thing was certain: they did not believe these shapes were the result of natural forces acting on the desert floor.

Why were they so sure? Because experience had taught them that only intelligence and creativity—human intelligence—could produce such precise and deliberate forms. No one seriously entertained the idea that wind, erosion, or climate alone could have etched massive depictions of animals and geometric patterns across miles of land.

It is the same instinctive conclusion drawn by the hypothetical explorer at Mount Rushmore. Just as no one would attribute those presidential faces to the forces of erosion, no one who sees the Nazca Lines from above would think they were formed by chance.

Once again, the design is obvious, the intent unmistakable, and the evidence of planning and purpose undeniable. The only reasonable explanation is that these figures were the product of intelligence.

William Paley[2], author of Natural Theology (published in 1802), is known for presenting the famous “watchmaker analogy.” In his book, Paley argues that if one were to find an abandoned watch, the intricate arrangement of its parts would naturally lead to the conclusion that the components were intentionally designed and assembled for a specific purpose. In this case, the designer would be a watchmaker.

Paley then draws a parallel between the complexity of a watch and that of biological organs—most notably, the human eye. Just as a watch implies a watchmaker, the eye, with all its delicate structures and precision, implies the existence of a designer. His central point is simple yet powerful: complexity with purpose points to intelligent design.

Of course, the knowledge of astronomy and biology available in Paley’s time was limited—so limited, in fact, that a modern elementary school student knows more about these subjects today than the greatest scholars of his era. Still, even though the how and when of creation were unknown in Paley’s day, the evidence for design was so compelling that it affirmed, rather than weakened, belief in a Creator.

The logic remains just as forceful today:

• If there is a watch, there must be a watchmaker.
• If there is a building, there must be an architect.
• If there is a sculpture, there must be a sculptor.
• And if there is design, there must be a designer.

[1]The Nazca Lines are a series of large-scale designs etched into the earth’s surface, spanning a vast area of the Nazca Desert in the Ica region of Peru. They consist of approximately three hundred geoglyphs—ground drawings in the form of geometric, anthropomorphic, zoomorphic, and phytomorphic figures—ranging in length from fifty to three hundred meters.

These geoglyphs cover an area of about 450 square kilometers. The lines vary in width from fifteen to eighty inches, and their depth never exceeds twelve inches. They were created by removing the top layer of reddish, oxidized pebbles, revealing the lighter-colored soil beneath, which forms the visible designs when viewed from above.

Remarkably, the Nazca Lines have remained almost perfectly preserved over the centuries, largely due to the extremely dry climate of the region, which experiences minimal rainfall.

[2]A British philosopher and theologian who lived from 1743 to 1805.