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Saturday, 2 December 2023

Ancient arachnids=a modern day headache for Darwinists?

 Fossil Friday: The Mess of Arachnid Phylogeny, and Why I’ve Become More Skeptical of Common Descent


This Fossil Friday features the primitive spider Chimerarachne yingi from mid-Cretaceous Burmese amber (about 100 million years old). Its discovery and description by Wang et al. (2018) and Huang et al. (2018) was a major scientific sensation and celebrated as an alleged confirmation of evolutionary predictions (University of Kansas 2018). I will use this opportunity to discuss some problems of arachnid phylogeny and their implications for the assumed support of the common descent hypothesis. Anybody who has watched my lectures online or read my previous articles should know that I always emphasize that my main critique of Darwinian evolution concerns the unguided process, not the age of the Earth or common descent, which I have explicitly affirmed as the most elegant explanation of the total body of evidence. However, I have recently come to realize that the assumed evidence for common descent becomes much less convincing the closer you look into the details. I even discovered that I have to give up one of my very favorite arguments for common descent. Since this case is cumulative and somewhat complicated, please bear with me if this article gets a bit lengthy. However, I promise you will learn something important from it, even if you should be an evolutionist and skeptical of my anti-Darwinian conclusions

What Is an Arachnid?

Arachnids are a group of land-living arthropods that many lay people find disgusting rather than interesting, even though the stunning capabilities of orb-weaving spiders certainly are fascinating. Together with the marine sea spiders (Pycnogonida or Pantopoda), marine horseshoe crabs (Xiphosura), and extinct sea scorpions (Eurypterida), the terrestrial Arachnida belong to an ancient group of arthropods called Chelicerata because of their shared chelate mouth parts that resemble a pair of scissors (Weygoldt & Paulus 1979, Shultz 1990, 2007, Dunlop 1997, 2010, Dunlop & Selden 1998, Selden & Dunlop 1998, Dunlop & Arango 2004, Paulus 2004, Lamsdell 2012, 2016, Legg et al. 2013, Dunlop et al. 2014, Lamsdell et al. 2015, Giribet 2018, Bicknell et al 2019, Giribet & Edgecombe 2019, Howard et al. 2019, 2020). Arachnids include more than 110,500 described living and fossil species that are classified in several quite different orders such as scorpions (Sorpiones), mites (Acariformes and Parasitiformes incl. Opilioacarida), pseudoscorpions (Pseudoscorpiones), harvestmen (Opiliones), micro-whip scorpions (Palpigradi), sun spiders or camel spiders (Solifugae or Solpugida), hooded tickspiders (Ricinulei), whip scorpions (Thelyphonida: Uropygi and Schizomida), whip spiders (Amblypygi), and true spiders (Araneae), as well as the four extinct Paleozoic orders Haptopoda, Phalangiotarbida, Trigonotarbida, and Uraraneida.

The phylogenetic relationships and evolutionary history of arachnids has been a highly contentious issue for many decades, and is a prime example of the failure of evolutionary biology to find a congruent pattern of nested similarities. The latter is often postulated as major evidence in favor of evolution by popularizers of Darwinism such as Richard Dawkins, who has even claimed that the reconstructed patterns of relationship from different sources of evidence are all perfectly matching (Luskin 2023). We will see that nothing could be further from the truth and that this alleged major evidence for common descent does not stand up to scrutiny.

Arachnid Monophyly and Terrestrialisation

The first and most basic problem of arachnid phylogeny is the question of whether arachnids are monophyletic at all, and if an adaptation to terrestrial life originated only once or multiple times independently within arachnids. In spite of a few early dissenters (e.g., Kraus 1976, van der Hammen 1986, 1989, Selden & Jeram 1989, Selden & Dunlop 1998), the prevailing textbook wisdom has been for decades that terrestrial arachnids constitute a monophyletic group, based on a single terrestrialization of their common ancestor (e.g., Weygoldt & Paulus 1979, Shultz 1990, 2007, Weygoldt 1998, 1999, Regier & Shultz 1998, Paulus 2004, Scholtz & Kamenz 2006, Dunlop 2010, Regier et al. 2010, Legg et al. 2013, Garwood & Dunlop 2014, Selden et al. 2015, Garwood et al. 2017, Giribet 2018, Huang et al. 2018, Wang et al. 2018, Howard et al. 2019, 2020, Lozano-Fernandez et al. 2019, 2020). Meanwhile, horseshoe crabs (Xiphosura) and the extinct eurypterids retained a marine way of life and fully developed compound eyes (Miether & Dunlop 2016, Schoenemann et al. 2019) as outgroups to Arachnida.

Ballesteros & Sharma (2019) commented that 

the dominant hypothesis has been that horseshoe crabs represent the sister lineage to the terrestrial chelicerates, the highly diverse Arachnida (Snodgrass 1938; Weygoldt and Paulus 1979; Shultz 1990, 2007). In this scenario, extinct marine chelicerate groups like Eurypterida (sea scorpions) and Chasmataspidida are inferred to constitute a grade subtending Arachnida (Dunlop and Webster 1999). Implicit in this hypothesis of a monophyletic Arachnida is the notion of a single transition to the terrestrial environment by the common ancestor of arachnids. This hypothesis is supported in part by the morphological correspondence between the respiratory organs of horseshoe crabs (the book gills) and the counterparts of some arachnid groups such as spiders and scorpions (the book lungs, which resemble internalized gills; Scholtz and Kamenz, 2006; Kamenz et al., 2008).

Molecular clock dating has suggested a Cambrian-Ordovician terrestrialization event for arachnids [Lozano-Fernandez et al. 2020], some 60 Ma before their first fossils in the Silurian” (Lamsdell et al. 2020). Such a mismatch of molecular clock datings and the actual fossil record is a well-known and ubiquitous problem in paleobiology and evolutionary biology. It is yet another piece of evidence that is unexpected under Darwinism and arguably counts as good evidence against common descent. After all, if common descent holds, different lines of evidence should converge to one true history of life.

The above-mentioned standard view of monophyletic arachnids has been questioned by more recent phylogenomic studies (see Schwager et al. 2015). Sharma et al. (2014) therefore commented that

the monophyly of Arachnida, the terrestrial chelicerates, is generally accepted, but has garnered little support from molecular data” (also see this webpage of Sharma on chelicerate phylogenomics). Similarly, Ballesteros et al. (2022) admitted that “although conflicting hypotheses prevail in morphological and molecular data sets alike, the monophyly of Arachnida is nearly universally accepted, despite historical lack of support in molecular data sets.

But the problem lies not just in conflicting molecular data, but even in the morphological adaptations to a terrestrial life, which often show a high degree of convergence. In their study of water-to-land transitions in arthropods, Dunlop et al. (2013) casually remarked that it “may seem trivial, but for the major terrestrial lineages of arthropods, there are surprisingly few unambiguous examples of anatomical terrestrial adaptations defining monophyletic groups.” Sorry, but this is certainly not trivial at all, but rather represents the polar opposite of what a Darwinian theory would predict to find.

Some experts considered an assumed marine life of Paleozoic scorpions as primitive state (Kjellesvig-Waering 1986, Selden & Jeram 1989, Selden & Dunlop 1998, Dunlop & Webster 1999), which arguably could support a sister group relationship of scorpions and all other arachnids and/or suggest an independent terrestrialisation from other arachnids (Dunlop 1997, Dunlop & Selden 1998, Paulus 2004, Lamsdell et al. 2015, Lamsdell 2016, Selden et al. 2015, Aria & Caron 2019 SI, Bicknell et al. 2019 SI). However such a marine lifestyle of early scorpions turned out to be highly contentious and mainly based on the depositional environment, while morphological evidence (especially from the book lungs) rather suggests a terrestrial adaptation (Scholtz & Kamenz 2006, Dunlop et al. 2008, 2013, 2014, Kamenz et al. 2008, Kamenz 2009, Kühl et al. 2012, Waddington et al. 2015, Howard et al. 2019). Dunlop et al. (2013, 2014) therefore found that “the trend seems to be shifting towards interpreting all fossil scorpions as potentially terrestrial animals” or “the trend is now to see most, if not all, fossil scorpions as terrestrial.”

Much Too Generous in My Assessment

Incidentally, a few years ago I wrote an article for Evolution News (Bechly 2020), in which I harshly critiqued the description of the alleged earliest scorpion Parioscorpio venator from the Lower Silurian of Wisconsin and the evolutionary speculations about arachnid terrestrialization that were boldly built upon this fossil discovery by Wendruff et al. (2020) and readily adopted by the pop science media (e.g. Neethling 2021). Just a year later a new study by Anderson et al. (2021) showed that I was even much too generous in my assessment, because these authors debunked any scorpion affinity of Parioscorpio and placed this fossil in an uncertain but much more basal position among the so-called great appendage arthropods. All the evolutionary speculations turned out to be junk science exactly as I had said. But, at that time my view was of course ignored as nothing but creationist bovine excrement. God forbid that intelligent design proponents might be correct with their critique of evolutionary speculations and are even making successful predictions.

Anyway, some experts had previously argued for a closer relationship of sea scorpions (Eurypterida) and true scorpions (e.g., Grasshoff 1978, Kjellesvig-Waering 1986, Smith 1990, Starobogatov 1990, Braddy et al. 1999, Dunlop & Webster 1999, Dunlop & Braddy 2001; also see discussion in Dunlop 1997), which would of course also question arachnid monophyly and a single terrestrialization. However, their views have been criticized by Shultz (1990) as based mainly on overall similarity instead of specific similarities (synapomorphies). Today a closer relationship of sea scorpions and scorpions is mostly obsolete and has few if any supporters.

Other experts made cladistic or phylogenomic analyses and recovered scorpions in a subordinated position within Arachnids. The majority of these studies suggested a sister group relationship of scorpions and Pedipalpi+Araneae within a clade Arachnopulmonata (Regier et al. 2010, Sharma et al. 2014, Giribet 2018, Starrett et al. 2016, Ballesteros et al. 2019, Ballesteros & Sharma 2019, Giribet & Edgecombe 2019, Howard et al. 2019, Lozano-Fernandez et al. 2019, 2020, Noah et al. 2020, Anderson et al. 2021), which share the same type of book lungs. However, other scientists disagreed and instead suggested scorpions as sister group of pseudoscorpions (Pepato et al. 2010, Dunlop et al. 2014, Garwood & Dunlop 2014, Garwood et al. 2016, 2017, Huang et al. 2018, Wang et al. 2018, Howard et al. 2020, Ontano et al. 2021, Ballesteros et al. 2022, Dunlop 2022), or as sister group of pseudoscorpions and camel spiders (Shultz 1989, 1990, Selden & Dunlop 1998, Wheeler & Hayashi 1998, Pollitt et al. 2004), or as sister group of harvestmen (Shultz 2007, Dunlop 2010, Legg et al. 2013, Wolfe 2017 SI, Ban et al. 2022), all of which lack book lungs. Some of the studies that proposed a clade of scorpions and pseudoscorpions still placed this clade within Arachnopulmonata, which would imply that pseudoscorpions secondarily lost any trace of the defining book lungs, in spite of retaining a terrestrial way of life, which hardly makes any sense.

The recent discovery of air-breathing structures in an exceptionally preserved 340-million-year-old sea scorpion (Lamsdell et al. 2020), as well as the discovery “that respiratory organs of a new fossil eurypterid resemble arachnid book lungs, [are] supporting the hypothesis that eurypterids — and perhaps arachnid ancestors — were amphibious” (Dunlop 2020). Since the latter author recognized that “modern phylogenetic analyses do not support the hypothesis that eurypterids are specifically the closest relatives of scorpions,” the new finding could also call into question the status of book lungs as a putative synapomorphy of Arachnopulmonata (scorpions, whip scorpions, whip spiders, and spiders) that was suggested by Sharma et al (2014) and has been increasingly supported by modern studies (see Dunlop 2022).

Lamsdell et al. (2020) readily admitted that a considerable number of independent (convergent) losses and gains of complex characters would be implied either way, if Arachnida is monophyletic or polyphyletic (Lamsdell et al. 2020: fig. 3). They commented that

eurypterids were experimenting with modes of terrestrial respiration and were in the process of terrestrializing rather than returning to aquatic environments. This in turn suggests that horseshoe crabs evolved from fully aquatic ancestors. Assuming a single terrestrialization event for Arachnida therefore necessitates that non-pulmonate arachnids lost their book lungs (Figure 3B), with tracheae evolving multiple times among non-pulmonates, as indicated by their occurrence on different body segments in different groups [26]. Alternatively, arachnids may have invaded land multiple times [42]; however, this scenario still necessitates that non-pulmonates lost their respiratory lamellae and independently developed tracheae.

If you find this sounds confusing and wishy-washy, lacking any scientific rigor, you are certainly not alone. This is the typical “anything goes” just-so storytelling that dominates modern evolutionary biology and makes it such a frustrating discipline.

But It Gets Even Weirder

Van der Hammen (1986, 1989) recovered the aquatic horseshoe crabs and scorpions as sister group of harvestmen deeply nested within terrestrial arachnids. This fringe view was largely forgotten until recently, when Sharma et al. (2014, 2021), Ballesteros et al. (2019), and Ballesteros & Sharma (2019) recovered horseshoe crabs within Arachnida as sister group to the small order Ricinulei (also see Ontano et al. 2021). This was supported by a more comprehensive study by Ballesteros et al. (2022), which even suggested the “resurrection” of a marine clade Merostomata (Xiphosura, Synziphosurina, Chasmataspidida, and Eurypterida) in this subordinate position, contrary to the conventional modern view of these fossil groups as basal marine grade in the stem group of Arachnida (e.g., Cotton & Braddy 2004, Lamsdell et al. 2015, Lamsdell 2016, Selden et al. 2015). This would not just imply a non-monophyly of Arachnida and a multiple independent terrestrialization, but would also imply a convergence of the very similar breathing organs (book lungs) and the convergent reduction of the compound eyes, which appeared to be congruent with assumed aquatic Paleozoic scorpions with compound eyes (Selden & Jeram 1989, Selden & Dunlop 1998, Miether & Dunlop 2016, Schoenemann et al. 2019). The authors therefore concluded that: 

Combined analyses recovered the clade Merostomata (the marine orders Xiphosura, Eurypterida, and Chasmataspidida), but merostomates appeared nested within Arachnida. Our results suggest that morphological convergence resulting from adaptations to life in terrestrial habitats has driven the historical perception of arachnid monophyly, paralleling the history of numerous other invertebrate terrestrial groups.

This study was by no means the work of a fringe group of maverick cranks, but included some of the most distinguished experts of arthropod phylogenetics as co-authors, such as Gonzalo Giribet, Mark Harvey, Prashant Sharma, and Ward Wheeler. Another recent cladistic analysis of mitochondrial genomes by Ban et al. (2022) came to a similar result, with horseshoe crabs subordinated within arachnids as sister group of camel spiders, while a supermatrix analysis of Noah et al. (2020) placed horseshoe crabs as sister group of a clade Scorpiones+Pedipalpi+Araneae. However, the latter authors differed from all others in suggesting that “the ancestor of Xiphosura and the extinct Eurypterida (sea scorpions, of which many later forms lived in brackish or freshwater) returned to the sea after the initial chelicerate invasion of land.” Obviously, nothing is forbidden in evolutionary fantasy land as long as the fundamental paradigm of common descent with unguided modification is not questioned.

Let this really sink in: According to the most recent and most comprehensive studies, the previous decades of phylogenetic trees, evolutionary scenarios, and reconstructed ancestors (ground plans) would all be utterly incorrect. Alternatively, if the most modern studies are wrong (as for example implied by the recent cladistic study of fossil evidence by Anderson et al. 2021, as well as phylogenomic studies of Lozano-Fernandez et al. 2019, 2020 and Shingate et al. 2020), then even the most advanced methodologies and most comprehensive data sets would lead to incorrect evolutionary hypotheses. Either way, you cannot ignore that evolutionary biology is a state of disarray. Something is clearly and profoundly off the mark and conflicting with any expectations from Darwinian theory. I can only urge my colleagues to stop closing their eyes, only because of world view blinders, and recognize the obvious need for a paradigm change, because we have just scratched the surface of the problems. There is more — much more.

The Enigma of Arachnid Interordinal Relationships

Also, the phylogenetic reconstructions of the interrelationships of the different arachnid orders are a total mess as different studies (e.g., Weygoldt & Paulus 1979, van der Hammen 1986, 1989, Schultz 1989, 1990, 2007, Smith 1990, Selden & Dunlop 1998, Weygoldt 1998, 1999, Wheeler & Hayashi 1998, Dunlop & Webster 1999, Giribet et al. 2002, Harvey 2002, Paulus 2004, Pollitt et al. 2004, Dunlop 2010, 2022, Pepato et al. 2010, Regier et al. 2010, Legg et al. 2013, Dunlop et al. 2014, Garwood & Dunlop 2014, Sharma et al. 2014, 2021, Lamsdell et al. 2015, Schwager et al. 2015, Selden et al. 2015, Garwood et al. 2016, 2017, Lamsdell 2016, Starrett et al. 2016, Wolfe 2017, Giribet 2018, Huang et al. 2018, Wang et al. 2018, Aria & Caron 2019, Ballesteros & Sharma 2019, Ballesteros et al. 2019, 2022, Bicknell et al 2019, Giribet & Edgecombe 2019, Howard et al. 2019, 2020, Lozano-Fernandez et al. 2019, 2020, Noah et al. 2020, Anderson et al. 2021, Ontano et al. 2021, 2022, Ban et al. 2022) produced very different trees with hardly any agreement on specific groupings (see Wheeler & Hayashi 1998, Giribet 2018 and Sharma). There is no wonderful consensus on a single tree of life, and people like Richard Dawkins are either utterly clueless or deliberately lying when they claim otherwise.

Actually, none of the suggested phylogenies can plausibly accommodate the very incongruent distribution of highly complex similarities in the circulatory system described by Göpel & Wirkner (2015: fig. 12) for horseshoe crabs and some arachnids. It is not just that morphological versus molecular data produce conflicting trees, or that different phylogenetic methods produce different trees, but even cladistic studies of traditional anatomy produced totally different trees (e.g., Weygoldt & Paulus 1979 vs Shultz 1990) that could not be resolved to this day. A strict consensus tree (think of a kind of lowest common denominator) of all the published phylogenies of arachnids would indeed result in an unresolved polytomy or lawn instead of a branching tree (Sharma et al. 2021: fig. 1). This is literally a collapse of phylogenetic theory and its predictions from common descent with modification.



Therefore, Sharma et al. (2014) admitted: “Attempts to resolve the internal phylogeny of chelicerates have achieved little consensus, due to marked discord in both morphological and molecular hypotheses of chelicerate phylogeny.” Sharma et al. (2021) commented that “the basal phylogeny of Chelicerata is one of the opaquest parts of the animal Tree of Life, defying resolution despite application of thousands of loci and millions of sites” and called this a “gordian knot in metazoan phylogeny.” Strikingly, Kuntner (2022) did not even bother to mention this crucial issue in his list of seven grand challenges in arachnid science, which is quite telling about the deplorable state of denial in evolutionary biology.

The uncertainty of the interordinal relationships of arachnids also holds for the putative closest relative (sister group) of spiders, which greatly influences all evolutionary speculations. Some earlier studies based on classical comparative morphology favoured whip spiders as closest relatives of spiders among living arachnids (Weygoldt & Paulus 1979, van der Hammen 1986, 1989, Wheeler & Hayashi 1998, Alberti & Michalik 2004, Paulus 2004), while a few outlier studies even suggested whip scorpions as sister group of spiders (Giribet et al. 2002, Pepato et al. 2010, Lamsdell et al. 2015 SI, Bicknell et al. 2019 SI). The majority of studies supported a clade (Pedipalpi) of whip scorpions plus whip spiders as sister group of spiders (Shultz 1989, 1990, 1999, 2007, Smith 1990, Selden et al. 1991, 2015, Selden & Dunlop 1998, Giribet et al. 2002, Pollitt et al. 2004, Dunlop 2010, 2022, Regier et al. 2010, Legg et al. 2013, Dunlop et al. 2014, Garwood & Dunlop 2014, Sharma et al. 2014, 2021, Garwood et al. 2016, 2017, Lamsdell 2016 SI, Starrett et al. 2016, Wheeler et al. 2016, Giribet 2018, Huang et al. 2018, Wang et al. 2018, Aria & Caron 2019 SI, Ballesteros & Sharma 2019, Ballesteros et al. 2019, 2022, Giribet & Edgecombe 2019, Howard et al. 2019, 2020, Lozano-Fernandez et al. 2019, 2020, Noah et al. 2020, Ontano et al. 2021, Ban et al. 2022). Of course, the phylogenetic framework makes a big difference for the ground plan reconstruction of spiders. We will come back to this point when we discuss the alleged confirmation of a predicted tail filament (flagellum) in primitive spiders.

The Origin of Spider Silk and Spinnerets

Another much-discussed problem for the evolution of spiders is the origin of spider silk and the spinnerets that are unique to spiders and a genuine engineering marvel (Vollrath & Selden 2007, Hilbrant 2008, Brunetta & Craig 2010, Mariano-Martins et al. 2020; also see Wikipedia).

The oldest uncontroversial spiders with preserved spinnerets belong to the genus Arthrolycosa of Carboniferous and Permian age (Selden & Penney 2010, Selden et al. 2014), while all supposed Devonian spiders were later shown to be based on misidentifications (Selden 2021).

Shear et al. (1989) had described a 380-million-year-old assumed isolated spider spinneret from the Devonian of New York, but this was shown by Selden et al. (2008) to be a spigot of Attercopus that was described as a spider by Selden et al (1991) from the same locality, but later assigned by Selden et al. (2008) to a separate Paleozoic order Uraraneida, only including the genera Attercopus and Permarachne. A homology of the silk spigots of Uraraneida and the spinnerets of spiders was suggested by Selden et al. (2008) and supported by several subsequent studies such as Legg et al. (2013), Garwood & Dunlop (2014), and Dunlop (2022). It was because of these silk glands, that Attercopus was long accepted to be the oldest and most primitive spider (Vollrath & Selden 2007), which is still often repeated in popular sciences articles (e.g., Gray 2018). Wunderlich (2015) even included Uraraneida as a suborder in the spider order Araneae, but today Uraraneida is usually considered to be the fossil sister group of spiders, even more closely related to them than are the living whip scorpions and whip spiders.

Even though Uraraneida did indeed possess silk glands, these were definitely not arranged on spinnerets (Selden et al. 2008, Selden 2021), so that the postulated homology may be questionable. But it gets worse: uraraneids also did not possess any leg-like appendages at the place where spinnerets would be, even though spider spinnerets are segmented and believed to be modified leg appendages homologous to horseshoe crab gills (Damen et al. 2002, Selden et al. 2008, Wang et al. 2018) or walking legs (Hilbrant 2008, Pechmann & Prpic 2009, Shoemaker et al. 2017). The structure from which spinnerets are thought to have evolved is totally lacking in stem spiders that clearly should possess them as precursor organs. This is definitely not at all what Charles Darwin would have predicted.

Wang et al. (2018) recognized this problem and commented: 

A previous study discussed a paradox in that spider spinnerets are modified opisthosomal appendages, probably representing the original telopod. Outgroup comparison implies that retaining these limbs should be plesiomorphic, but spider relatives such as uraraneids lack opisthosomal appendages. The authors postulated that there may be a genetic mechanism in spiders that reactivated the development of (lost) appendages, allowing the evolution of movable spinnerets that facilitate a more precise manipulation of silk strands. 

I discussed the problem of such assumed genetic reactivation in a recent article on insect metamorphosis (Bechly 2023b). Spider spinnerets represent yet another case, where the evo-devo and genomic evidence are ambiguous and do not converge to one true evolutionary scenario and homology hypothesis, as should be expected if common descent is true.

Another problem is that Chimerarachne from mid-Cretaceous Burmese amber, which represents the supposed primitive sister group of all spiders, does not show the predicted ancestral pattern of spinnerets. Wang (2018) admitted: 

Based on the anatomy of mesotheles, we would have expected a spider ancestor to have had four pairs of spinnerets, all positioned in the middle of the underside of the abdomen. Chimerarachne only has two pairs of well-developed spinnerets, towards the back of the abdomen, with another pair apparently in the process of formation.

More failed predictions. See any pattern yet?

The uncertainty of spinneret evolution also extends to the origin of orb weaving in spiders, as was shown in a study by Bond et al. (2014), who rejected the “prevailing paradigm for orb web evolution” (also see Penney & Ortuño 2006). The whole of evolutionary biology turns out to be a house of cards — wild speculations built upon further speculations with very weak and highly ambiguous circumstantial evidence. To sell any of these evolutionary speculations as scientifically established facts, and every rewriting of previous textbook wisdom as normal scientific progress, is nothing but a great deception of a gullible public, that is mostly ignorant of the true mess behind such bold scientific claims. The truth is that the emperor has no clothes.

Like many other transitions in the history of life, the origin of spider silk and spinnerets involves a de novo origin and/or re-engineering of these complex structures, which certainly required numerous codependent mutations. This implies a significant waiting time problem to accommodate the required genetic changes in the geologically available short window of time. I have discussed this fatal problem for neo-Darwinism in several previous articles.

Tailed Spiders — A Successful Prediction of Common Descent?

When asked why, in spite of my critique of neo-Darwinism and my endorsement of intelligent design, I still subscribe to common descent, I have often answered as follows: the hallmark of a good theory are very specific predictions that are unique to this theory and successfully confirmed by later discovery of empirical evidence. The hypothesis of common descent arguably allows for the prediction of very precise anatomical details of hypothetical transitional forms, that would not be predicted by the hypothesis of common design without the constraint of shared ancestry. Such predictions have been made in the published technical literature and have indeed been confirmed by later discovered fossils of such transitional forms with precisely the predicted anatomy, which was unknown to occur either in living or fossil representatives at the time of the prediction. This even happened in my own paleoentomological work on the origin of the secondary male genital apparatus in damselflies and dragonflies. However, since this personal example is quite esoteric and requires some elaborate explanation, I have usually referred instead to the much simpler example of tailed spiders (e.g., Bechly 2021, Bechly 2023a).

This virtually convincing story goes like this: Living and fossil spiders have paired spinnerets but no median tail filament (flagellum) on their hind body. Based on the reconstructed phylogenetic relationship and the character distribution of a tail filament in living and fossil arachnids, scientists predicted the existence of primitive spiders with a tail filament and spinnerets, even though no animals with such a combination of characters were known at the time of the prediction. Then, years later primitive fossil spiders with precisely the predicted combination of spinnerets and a median tail filament were discovered in 100-million-year-old Burmese amber.

Indeed, in 2018 the sensational fossil discovery was described from mid-Cretaceous Burmese amber (Wang et al. 2018 and Huang et al. 2018; also see Wang 2018 and University of Kansas 2018). It was named Chimerarachne yingi, which shares with spiders the presence of spinnerets and of male pedipalps modified into sperm-transfer organs, but shares with uropygids and extinct uraraneids the presence of a tail filament (flagelliform telson). Apart from the latter trait, Chimerarachne could just be considered as a spider (Selden 2021). Consequently, Wunderlich (2019, 2022) had included Chimerarchne as distinct suborder Chimerarachnida within Araneida (accepted by Selden 2021 and Dunlop 2022) and described a second genus and species Parachimerarachne longiflagellum from Burmese amber. However, among the original describers there was considerable disagreement about the correct placement of the fossils, with Wang et al. (2018) including Chimerarachne among true spiders as earliest branch of the order Araneae, while Huang et al. (2018) considered it as a member of the extinct order Uraraneida (more closely related to Attercopus and Permarachne than to modern spiders). So, if Chimerarachne is a spider or not “all depends which palaeontologist you ask” (Economist 2018).

Anyway, a careful look at the actual evidence suggests that the above-mentioned successful prediction may not be as good as it sounds. To see why, let us first check if there really existed any precise prediction in the first place. Wang et al. (2018) wrote that “C. yingi preserves only part of the predicted ground pattern for spiders” but gave no reference where such a specific prediction was ever made. The press release from the University of Kansas (2018) claimed that the discovery confirmed a prediction made by Selden et al. (2008), when they described the Paleozoic order Uraraneida. However, such a specific prediction is nowhere found in this paper, but only a general statement that “the multisegmented flagellum may be a plesiomorphy of Pantetrapulmonata (13) that has been retained in Uropygi” and that:

The external mold of the London specimen of Palaeothele shows an anal tubercle, and to ascertain whether this continued into a flagellum (which could place Palaeothele as an intermediate between Araneae and the order), an X-ray computed tomography (CT) scan was performed on the specimen by M.D.S. (Fig. 3D). This showed without doubt that there is no flagellum, and therefore Palaeothele remains the earliest and only described fossil mesothele spider to date.

The authors even admitted that “It is possible that the flagellum was uniquely derived and not homologous with that of the pedipalp orders.” In other words: they “predicted” that whatever would be found would fit the evolutionary narrative. Not exactly a specific prediction at all. 

So Much for That Myth

Anyway, even if the prediction was not explicitly made, was it maybe implicitly made, thus necessarily implied by the evidence? This would be the case if the most parsimonious interpretation of the evidence, based on the distribution of similarities and the reconstructed phylogenetic relationships, would place the existence of a tail filament in the ground plan of spiders. Let’s look if this is the case.

We first have to study the distribution of the crucial character of the flagellum in the assumed monophylum Tetrapulmonata, which includes whip scorpions, whip spiders, spiders, and their fossil relatives (see the tree of Tetrapulmonata in Wikipedia for a good visualization of the incongruent distribution of a tail filament in the closer spider relationship).

The only arachnids with a tail filament or flagellum are the living micro-whip scorpions (Palpigradi) and whip scorpions (Thelyphonida), as well as the extinct Uraraneida. They are neither most closely related to each other nor are they forming a basal grade of primitive arachnids. All other arachnids lack a tail filament, including whip spiders (Amblypygi) and true spiders (Araneae). Therefore, a tail filament cannot be reasonably attributed to the ground plan of arachnids, and indisputably has an incongruent distribution that suggest multiple independent gains and/or losses of the character.

So, where did the tail filament come from? The still marine horseshoe crabs, extinct chasmataspidids (and a few isolated horseshoe-crab-like families like Bunodidae and Pseudoniscidae, see Lamsdell 2012 and Selden et al. 2015), as well as Paleozoic sea scorpions (eurypterids), have a segmented hind body (metasoma) ending in a spine or sting. This terminal unsegmented element of the hind body is called telson (Snodgrass 1938; also see Lauterbach 1980) and has been universally homologized with the multisegmented tail filament, in spite of lacking any complex or specific similarity. Among terrestrial arachnids a fully developed segmented hind body with a terminal sting is only found in true scorpions (in whip scorpions the metasoma is reduced to only three short segments), but while early morphological studies recovered scorpions as the most basal branch of arachnids (Weygoldt & Paulus 1979), most modern studies of morphological and genetic data resolved scorpions in various deeply subordinated positions within arachnids (Wheeler & Hayashi 1998, Shultz 2007, Garwood & Dunlop 2014, Giribet et al. 2002, Regier et al. 2010, Sharma et al. 2014). This arguably suggests that a segmented hind body was independently reduced and the telson independently transformed into a tail filament multiple times within arachnids, so that no clear prediction can be made for the ground plan of spiders within the evolutionary paradigm. Indeed, a multiple convergent origin of a flagellum is also implied by the discovery of a Devonian sea spider with a multisegmented, flagelliform telson (Poschmann & Dunlop 2006), which belongs to marine pantopods and thus lies clearly outside of arachnids and their close relationship.

Even the oldest whip spiders from the Carboniferous lack any tail filament (Garwood et al. 2017, Dunlop 2018), and such a flagellum is also absent in the assumed fossil sister group Haptopoda of whip scorpions and whip spiders (Garwood & Dunlop 2014), which again suggests that the flagellum of whip scorpions is an autapomorphic convergence.

The fact that not just Haptopoda, but also other Paleozoic arachnid orders such as Phalangiotarbida and Trigonotarbida, which are considered as closely related to Uraraneida+Araneae and/or Pedipalpi within Tetrapulmonata, but lack any flagellum as well as any spinnerets (see Garwood & Dunlop 2014, Garwood et al. 2017, Huang et al. 2018, Wang et al. 2018, Dunlop 2022; also see Howard et al. 2019: fig. 1), further complicates the picture and even more strongly suggests a convergence.

As I have already mentioned, a tail filament has been documented for the uraraneid genera Attercopus and Permarachne by Selden et al. (2008). It is worth mentioning that “a flagellar structure was described in Permarachne (11), but because such a structure was previously unknown in spiders, yet all other morphological features suggested that Permarachne was a mesothele, the structure was interpreted as an elongate, multiarticled spinneret” (Selden et al. 2008). This revealing admission shows how much the interpretation of fossil anatomy is based on evolutionary bias and preconceived ideas. Ancient anatomy is often more hypothesis than data. But anyway, for our present purposes we can definitely code uraraneids as possessing a flagellum.

Garwood et al. (2016) described the genus Idmonarachne from the Late Carboniferous of Montceau-les-Mines in France, which is superficially similar to Uraraneida and shares their lack of spinnerets, but was proposed to be closer related to true spiders with whom it shares the lack of a flagellum as well as a similar leg segmentation and forward directed cheliceres (also see Pappas 2016). Nevertheless, other studies disagreed and recovered Idmonarachne as more distantly related to spiders than Uraraneida (Huang et al. 2018, Ballesteros et al. 2022), also because it shares divided opistosomal tergites with the extinct arachnid order Trigonotarbida (Wang et al. 2018). The incongruent pattern of similarities again and again disagrees with Darwinian expectations.

From the same Late Carboniferous locality in France the oldest known spider was described as Palaeothele montceauensis, which has no spinnerets preserved and clearly lacked a tail filament as well (Selden 1996, Selden et al. 2008).

This summer a 310–315-million-year-old fossil spider was described from the Carboniferous Piesberg locality in Germany by my colleague Jason Dunlop (2023). He is one of the leading experts on arachnid evolution, with whom I collaborated on fossil arachnids until my career-killing “coming out” as an ID proponent (Delclòs et al. 2008, Dunlop & Bechly 2015, Dunlop et al. 2015a). The fossil was named Arthrolycosa wolterbeeki and represents the oldest known true spider from Germany (see Funnell 2023). It has spinnerets but also lacks a tail filament, just like modern spiders.

For the sake of argument we will accept the current majority consensus view of the phylogeny of Tetrapulmonata. If we combine this phylogeny with the above described character distribution we arrive at the following picture: The tail filament has a highly incongruent distribution even within Tetrapulmonata. One sister group (Pedipalpi) includes a subclade (whip scorpions) with and one subclade (whip spiders) without a flagellum, while the other sister group would likewise include one subclade (Uraraneida) with and one subclade (Araneae) without flagellum. Haptopoda, the fossil sister group of Pedipalpi also lacks a flagellum. Idmonarachne, which is either the sister group of Uraraneida+Aranaeae or less likely the sister group of spiders also lacks a flagellum. Finally, all the earliest fossil spiders lack a flagellum. Given the otherwise homoplastic pattern of the occurrence of a tail filament, the hypothesis of a flagellum in the ground plan of Araneae would not be more parsimonious than a convergent origin of the flagellum in Thelyphonida and Uraraneida. Only after discovery of Chimerarachne, and if we follow its placement closer to Araneae than to Uraraneida (contra Huang et al. 2018), could we use parsimony to interpret the flagellum as plesiomorphy in the ground plan of Araneae. However, this interpretation would be a postdiction (retrodiction), not a prediction, let alone a successful prediction.

Given the above mentioned phylogenetic relationships and pattern of character distribution, and using the principle of parsimony (basically Ockham’s razor) to minimize the number of evolutionary steps (gains and losses) to optimally explain the character distribution on the given tree, we can now conclude that even within the evolutionary paradigm and applying the phylogenetic reasoning of mainstream cladistic methodology, a tail filament could not have been predicted for the ground plan of spiders. It is not just that the prediction was never made explicitly in practice, but it is not even implied by the data. No clear prediction would even have been possible based on these incongruent data, so that it would have been an unsupported and unreasonable prediction.

Consequently, we are faced with two major problems with the above-mentioned prediction:

There is a clear temporal paradox, because all the earliest true spiders as well as all modern spiders are lacking a tail filament, while only a single taxon of mid-Cretaceous Burmese amber spider featured such a tail. This represents a very poor stratigraphic fit, which implies a remarkably long ghost lineage between Permian Uraraneida and Cretaceous Chimerarachnida. The term stratigraphic fit refers to the agreement (or lack thereof) between the stratigraphic orders of appearance of certain taxa and features with the predicted phylogenetic order of appearance (see below).
The fact that neither the earliest true spiders nor some of the closest fossil relatives of spiders do possess a tail filament, makes the whole prediction of a tail filament in the ground plan of spiders highly questionable and actually refutes such a hypothesis as unparsimonious.
Maybe the tailed spider Chimerarachne from Burmese amber rather represents a highly derived reversal or convergence, than a preserved primitive state. In short: The alleged successful prediction turns out to be a mirage and a fluke, similar to the case of Tiktaalik (McLatchie 2012), where a confirmed prediction was later revealed to have been successful for the wrong reasons. I have to admit I fell for this erroneous example of tailed spiders, because I did not look deeply enough into the details to recognize the charade.

For this reason, I will no longer use this example without an explicit disclaimer that the case for common descent is not really strengthened by it at all. Of course, there may be other more solid examples of successful predictions from common descent, but they all have to be carefully evaluated and checked to determine if they are really supported by the evidence and do not represent other retrodictions parading as successful predictions. Also, the rare positive examples have to be weighed against the numerous failed examples, where such predictions have been decisively refuted by new fossil evidence, which is commonly indicated by media reports titled “New Fossil Discovery Rewrites the Story of [Fill in the Blank] Evolution.” Sounds familiar? Of course it does, as we regularly report about the latest rewritings at Evolution News. Given a plethora of failed predictions, a few successes are hardly surprising or noteworthy. As a German saying goes, “Even a blind squirrel can find a nut once in a while.”

Poor Stratigraphic Fit

Selden (1990) suggested that “a cladogram reflecting evolutionary events should concur with a complete fossil record in the sequence of events”. What he meant by this is the common sense view that stratigraphic order of appearance should more or less correspond to the phylogenetic order of branching in the reconstructed trees. This is called stratigraphic fit or stratigraphic congruence, and is a well-recognized concept in paleobiology (Norell & Novacek 1992, Clyde & Fisher 1997). However, stratigraphic fit is often poor, contrary to the expectation of Darwinian evolution. Unsurprisingly, this is also the case with fossil arachnids. Therefore, Shultz (1994) discussed this poor fit and simply dismissed “stratigraphic tests of phylogeny as unworkable, as they rest upon the questionable assumption that the origin of extant lineages and the origin of their diagnostic characters are coupled”. What a convenient (and unscientific) way to get rid of conflicting evidence that could refute your hypothesis! Moreover, Shultz was simply wrong, as demonstrated by botanist Armen Takhtajan’s principle of the heterobathmy of characters, which was popularized by Willi Hennig, the founder of modern phylogenetics. This principle of heterobathmy simply means that the full set of derived characters of a living group originated successively in its stem lineage, so that the only requirement is that early stem group representatives at least have to possess a single of the diagnostic characters to be identifiable as member of the group.

Therefore, in most taxonomic groups stratigraphic fit is still commonly used, and when fit is good it is of course cherished as strong support for the evolutionary hypothesis and thus common descent. However, if cases of good stratigraphic fit (Benton & Hitchin 1997) count as evidence in favor of common descent, then the many cases of poor stratigraphic fit must be counted as valid conflicting evidence, instead of being ignored or explained away with convenient ad hoc hypotheses like ghost lineages.

Misidentified Fossils

Since the seminal work of Pocock (1911), fossil arachnids from Late Carboniferous of England were believed to be the oldest araneomorph spiders and even had been classified in a distinct spider family Archaeometidae. A few years ago, these fossils were re-examined with micro-CT and turned out to be incorrectly identified, so that they had to be reinterpreted as harvestmen (Selden et al. 2016). For more than a century of modern arachnology the consensus view about the early origin of spiders was way off the mark. What else might be way off?

Well, another curious footnote is the fact that the presumed giant Carboniferous spider Megarachne, which was described by an Argentinian paleontologist (Hünicken 1980) and famously featured in the BBC documentary Walking with Monsters (2005), turned out to be nothing but the misidentified remains of a sea scorpion (Selden et al. 2005, Switek 2010). The same happened again with another supposed giant spider from the Cretaceous of China, which was described as Mongolarachne chaoyangensis by Cheng et al. (2019), but shortly after revealed with fluorescence microscopy to be a forgery that used a fossil crayfish as core (Selden et al. 2019, also see Starr 2019 and University of Kansas 2019). Embarrassing errors like these are rampant in paleontology, which would be unthinkable in hard sciences like physics. Of course, this is not by itself evidence against common descent, but rather a reminder to take any bold claims of paleontological support for common descent, such as “indisputable transitional fossils,” with a considerable grain of salt.

The Enigma of Spider Webs in Amber

Last but not least, here is another enigma, which has really bugged me as professional amber expert for a long time: In Cretaceous and Tertiary amber you can regularly find well-preserved spider webs of crisscrossed and tightly spanned threads (Saint Martin et al. 2014), sometimes even with glue droplets (Zschokke 2003, 2004, Peñalver et al. 2006, Brasier et al. 2009). Thus, it is not just plane orb-weaved webs attached to a flat inner amber surface (Schlaube), but complex 3D-networks of silk threads preserved within the amber matrix. How could such delicate structures have been preserved in sticky tree resin? Imagine you were to pore honey over such a spider web. It would of course immediately get crumbled and torn. The same applies to the dense hairs of bees and other hairy insects that are preserved upright and fluffy in amber. Nobody has ever documented experimentally how this could happen, even with the lowest viscosity tree resin known to science. Maybe some non-uniformitarian and non-actualistic processes were at work, which yet have to be identified. To be clear: I am not suggesting any miraculous stuff going on, but just want to highlight how much we simply do not know even about simple phenomena in the past. 

Follow the Evidence

This should make scientists a bit humbler when they boldly propose alleged solutions to the bigger enigmas in the history of life, which will always remain highly speculative unless someone invents a time machine. We were not there to watch what happened and simply don’t know, so that every reconstruction of past events is a hypothetical inference to the best explanation based on circumstantial evidence and a lot of theoretical guesswork based on shaky assumptions. To claim that we more or less know the evolutionary history of life on Earth is a great untruth told to a gullible lay audience. We have no clue or at least no certain knowledge about almost anything in life’s history. This does not necessarily mean that “God diddit,” but it also means that nothing has been refuted and we should not a priori exclude alternative explanations like intelligent agency. Keeping an open mind is a wise approach that is unfortunately very much ignored by modern science. True skeptics should question everything, and not just everything apart from Darwinism and materialism. I wholeheartedly endorse the credo to follow the evidence wherever it leads.

For this reason, I currently and provisionally still think that the total evidence of all lines of data favors common descent as the most parsimonious and most elegant explanation. However, I definitely remain open (and now more sympathetic) to alternatives like progressive creation combined with other explanations for the pattern of biological similarities such as Winston Ewert’s dependency graph hypothesis (Ewert 2018, 2023, Miller 2018, 2023, Reeves 2022; also see this website), which is based on an analogy to objected oriented programming, or my own suggestion of a maximization of information content as a design principle based on pattern cladistic arguments (Bechly & Meyer 2017). Incidentally, my main quibble with Ewert’s interesting approach was that it does not allow for similarly precise successful predictions as the common descent hypothesis. Looks like I have to reconsider my stance. And if even more conflicting evidence should ultimately lead me away from the paradigm of common descent, then so be it. In any case, the accumulating anomalies, incongruences, conflicting data, and other problems certainly suggest that something very different has driven the history on life on Earth than the unguided process imagined by Charles Darwin and his modern followers.


Papyrus :the Watchtower society's commentary.

 Papyrus


A large aquatic plant belonging to the sedge family. It has a tapering three-sided stem, or stock, that grows in shallow water to a height of 2 to 6 m (6.5 to 20 ft) and terminates in a bush, or plume, of fine grasslike panicles. The papyrus plant was used in the manufacture of various items, including a writing material.

Papyrus (Cyperus papyrus) thrives in shallow, stagnant waters or marshes and along the banks of slow-moving rivers, such as the lower Nile, where it once flourished but is now nearly extinct. Bildad asked Job: “Will a papyrus plant grow tall without a swampy place?”​—Job 8:11; Isa 35:7.

The plant’s stems are buoyant, and to prevent the death of the infant Moses, his mother placed him in “an ark of papyrus” coated with bitumen and pitch and set him adrift on the Nile River. (Ex 2:3) Large vessels for traveling long distances were also made from papyrus. (Isa 18:2) These may have been made of bundles of papyrus stems lashed together. They had narrow ends, but the beams were broad enough to support standing passengers. In 1970, Thor Heyerdahl and a group of associates traveled across thousands of miles of the Atlantic in such a craft.

Use as Writing Material. When the Egyptians prepared papyrus for writing material, they followed a rather simple process. In gathering the stems, they prized the thick pithy part that grew under the surface of the water because it yielded the broadest and whitest raw material. The outer rinds were peeled off, and the remaining pithy cores were cut into convenient lengths of 40 to 45 cm (16 to 18 in.). Next, the cellular pith was sliced into broad, but very thin, strips. The strips were then laid out vertically on a smooth surface and allowed to overlap slightly. Another layer of papyrus strips was placed horizontally over the vertical ones. Mallets were used to beat the layers until they were bonded into a unified sheet. Then after being dried in the sun, the sheets were trimmed to the desired size. Finally, they were smoothed and polished with pumice, shells, or ivory. This process produced a fairly durable, supple, near-white writing material that was available in many sizes and degrees of quality. The side having the horizontal strips was usually chosen for writing, although at times the reverse side was used to finish a writing. The joints of the strips served to guide the writer’s hand as he wrote with a reed pen and a writing fluid made from gum, soot, and water.

These papyrus sheets could be pasted along the edges and joined to make a scroll, normally consisting of about 20 sheets. Or they might be folded into leaves to form the booklike codex that became popular among the early Christians. The average scroll measured some 4 to 6 m (14 to 20 ft) in length, though one has been preserved that is 40.5 m (133 ft) long. The Greek word biʹblos originally applied to the soft pith of the papyrus plant but was later used with reference to a book. (Mt 1:1; Mr 12:26) The diminutive bi·bliʹon has the plural bi·bliʹa, literally meaning “little books,” and from this the word “Bible” is derived. (2Ti 4:13, Int) A Phoenician city was called Byblos after it became an important center for the papyrus industry.

Papyrus rolls were used widely until the beginning of the second century C.E., when they began to be superseded by the papyrus codex. Later, in the fourth century, the popularity of papyrus waned, and it was replaced extensively by a more durable writing material called vellum.

Papyrus had one major disadvantage as a writing material in that it was not very durable. It deteriorated in a damp environment and, when stored under arid conditions, became very brittle. Until the 18th century C.E., the assumption was that all ancient papyrus manuscripts had perished. However, in the late 19th century, a number of valuable Biblical papyri were brought to light. Discoveries have been made chiefly in Egypt and the region around the Dead Sea, places that afford the ideal dry climate so necessary for the preservation of papyri. Some of the Scriptural papyri found at these locations date back as far as the second or first century B.C.E.

Many of these papyrus manuscript discoveries are designated by the term “papyrus” or “papyri,” such as the Nash Papyrus of the first or second century B.C.E., the Papyrus Rylands 457 (second century B.C.E.), and the Chester Beatty Papyrus No. 1 (of the third century C.E.).

Be grateful for your ear's flawless design.

 The Sense of Hearing Is a Masterpiece of Engineering


The ear is responsible for two of our most fundamental senses — hearing and equilibrium — the receptors for which are all found inside the inner ear. For an incredible animation of how hearing works, I recommend this YouTube video.

Here, I will describe the anatomy of the ear and the biological basis of the sense of hearing. The information below can be found in any good anatomy and physiology textbook. You can also find a good discussion of this subject in Chapter 11 of Your Designed Body, by Steve Laufmann and Howard Glicksman.

It might be helpful to refer to the illustration of the ear below as you read the description that follows.


The Outer Ear

The outer ear is comprised of the auricle and ear canal. The auricle is composed of skin-covered cartilage. In dogs (who have movable ears), the auricle can serve as a funnel for sound waves. In humans, on the other hand, its absence would not negatively affect our hearing.

Skin containing ceruminous glands lines the ear canal (also called the external auditory meatus). The ear canal is a tube-like structure that extends from the outer ear to the middle ear. It is responsible for directing sound waves into the ear, which then travel through the ear canal and arrive at the eardrum (tympanic membrane) in the middle ear. The eardrum vibrates in response to these sound waves, and these vibrations are transmitted to the middle ear bones.

The Middle Ear

The middle ear is a cavity in the temporal bone that is filled with air. The tympanic membrane (popularly called the eardrum) is a thin, flexible membrane that separates the outer ear from the middle ear, and is stretched across the end of the ear canal. When sound waves enter the ear canal, they strike the eardrum, causing it to vibrate. Behind the eardrum, there are three small bones known as the ossicles — namely, the malleus (hammer), incus (anvil), and stapes (stirrup). The ossicles form a chain and are connected to each other. When the eardrum vibrates in response to waves, it causes the malleus to move, which, in turn, moves the incus and stapes. This mechanical linkage helps amplify the vibrations and transmits them from the eardrum to the inner ear.

The middle ear is also connected to the nasopharynx (back of the throat) through a tube called the eustachian tube. This tube helps to equalize air pressure on both sides of the eardrum. This is essential to maintain equilibrium of air pressure between the middle ear and external atmospheric pressure, to allow the eardrum to properly vibrate.

The Inner Ear

The inner ear is also a cavity within the temporal bone, and is also called the bony labyrinth. It is lined with a membrane called the membranous labyrinth. Between the bone and membrane is a fluid called perilymph, and within the membranous structures of the inner ear is a fluid called endolymph. Three of these structures (the utricle, saccule, and semicircular canals) are concerned with equilibrium. The other (the cochlea) relates to hearing.

The cochlea’s appearance is like the shell of a snail. The inside of the cochlea is partitioned into three canals, filled with fluid. The uppermost canal is called the scala vestibuli, and it is filled with perilymph (a fluid similar to cerebrospinal fluid). Like the scala vestibuli, it is also filled with perilymph. Sound vibrations travel through the cochlea and arrive at the scala tympani. The middle canal is called the scala media (otherwise known as the cochlear duct), and it is separated from the scala vestibuli by Reissner’s membrane, and from the scala tympani by the basilar membrane. The scala media contains endolymph and is where the sensory cells of the cochlea (known as hair cells) are located. These hair cells are of course not in fact hair, but, rather, are specialized microvilli that are responsible for converting sound vibrations into electrical signals that can be interpreted by the brain. Situated above the hair cells is the tectorial membrane which, as we shall see, is crucial for hearing.

The Sense of Hearing

The process of hearing begins with the production of sound waves, which are pressure fluctuations that are propagated through air. These waves are funneled into the ear canal by the pinna (the external part of the ear). The ear canal carries the sound waves to the eardrum (tympanic membrane), which causes it to vibrate. These vibrations are then transmitted to the malleus, incus, and stapes, which amplify the vibrations. The stapes is connected to the oval window, a membrane-covered opening to the inner ear. Vibration of the stapes bone against the oval window creates pressure waves in the fluid-filled cochlea. As the pressure waves pass through the fluid in the cochlea, they cause vibration of the basilar membrane. This results in the bending of hair cells against the tectorial membrane, which in turn triggers the release of neurotransmitters that convert mechanical vibrations into electrical signals. These electrical signals are transmitted to the brain by the auditory nerve, where they are interpreted as sound by the auditory areas in the temporal lobes of the cerebral cortex.

The auditory nerve fibers carrying information from one ear partially cross to the opposite side at a structure in the brainstem, known as the trapezoid body. This means that signals from both ears are sent to both sides of the brain. This plays an important role in sound localization and spatial processing, allowing the brain to compare the timing and intensity of signals from both ears, helping us to determine the direction of a source of sound. Impulses arriving from each inner ear are counted and compared by the auditory areas, to determine the direction of a sound. If there are more impulses coming from the right cochlea than from the left one, the brain projects the sound to the right, and vice versa.

The neurons of the auditory cortex are organized in a manner similar to a piano keyboard — being arranged from low to high pitch. The brain is also able to detect volume, rhythm, and tempo, as well as timbre, which is a quality of tone (a guitar playing a middle C and a piano playing the same note at the same volume will sound different due to the unique timbre of each instrument).

Masterpiece of Engineering

The anatomy of hearing described above is of course the system found in humans and other terrestrial mammals. Many other organisms have less advanced hearing systems. For example, fish lack external ears and have structures called otoliths that detect vibrations and changes in water pressure. Reptiles, birds, and amphibians also often lack an external ear and have a single middle ear bone instead of the three found in mammals. And most invertebrates (such as crustaceans and mollusks) lack ears and a sense of hearing altogether. Typically, claims that the sense of hearing evolved by natural selection focus on these as intermediate stages. The incus, malleus, and stapes are thought to have arisen from three reptilian bones associated with the jaw — the quadrate bone, articular bone, and columella respectively.

However, the vertebrate sense of hearing involves several fundamental anatomical features that are common to all vertebrate hearing systems and cannot be removed without severely compromising (or completely eliminating) the ability to hear. For example, the cochlea (which contains the hair cells) is a critical component for transducing sound vibrations into electrical signals that the brain can interpret. Indeed, the leading cause of hearing loss is damage to the hair cells. Furthermore, the auditory nerve, which carries electrical signals from the hair cells in the cochlea to the brain, is crucial for transmitting auditory information to the central nervous system. In injuries or infections (such as meningitis) where the auditory nerve is damaged, the result can be a complete and permanent loss of hearing in that ear. The eardrum (tympanic membrane), which vibrates in response to sound waves, transmitting these vibrations to the middle ear ossicles, is also an essential aspect of the sense of hearing. If the eardrum is damaged or perforated, the consequence can be deafness. A minimum of one middle ear ossicle appears to be essential for hearing as well. Another crucial feature of the auditory system is the oval window, the membrane-covered opening between the middle and inner ear, located at the base of the stapes bone. Vibrations transmitted by the ossicles are transferred to the fluid within the cochlea through the oval window.

Thus, several different structural components are necessary for the vertebrate sense of hearing. It strains credulity to suppose that an unguided process of random variation sifted by natural selection could assemble such a delicately arranged system. It instead points to a cause with foresight.

Friday, 1 December 2023

The design filter tells us when the dice are loaded?

 Defending Douglas Axe on the Rarity of Protein Folds


In 2000 and 2004, writing in the Journal of Molecular Biology, current Discovery Institute Senior Fellow Douglas Axe published seminal papers on the rarity of protein folds. Axe studied the beta-lactamase enzyme in E. coli and found that the likelihood of a chance sequence of 153 amino acids generating the stable, functional fold needed for the larger domain in that enzyme was as low as 1 in 1077. Axe conducted this research while a post-doc at the at the Centre for Protein Engineering (CPE) in Cambridge. In his book Unbelievable: How Biology Confirms Our Intuition that Life Was Designed, Axe explains that there are serious consequences for his research. 

His critics have not failed to notice that — including theologian Rope Kojonen, whom we’ll return to shortly. In a series here, we have been responding to Kojonen’s conception of design in nature. The following examination and defense of Axe serves as a direct, empirical test of Kojonen’s design hypothesis.

A Confrontation with Alan Fersht

In a suspenseful passage from his book, Dr. Axe describes what happened to him when his post-doc advisor, Alan Fersht, confronted him about his affinities for intelligent design:

I was the first person in the lab one morning in February of 2002. Alan usually made his rounds through the labs later in the day when work was in full swing, but on this morning he dropped in early to have a word with me. He seemed tense. He approached me as if there were a pressing matter he needed to discuss, yet he seemed unable to initiate the discussion. 

After mentioning that he had just listened to a BBC radio program discussing intelligent design, Alan put a few questions to me, somewhat awkwardly.

“You know this William Dembski fellow, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you know about his intelligent design theory.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, then, who is the designer?”

A Sign of Trouble

Axe goes on to note that “Alan’s questioning didn’t seem to lead anywhere on that February morning.” But his advisor interrogating him about his personal religious beliefs was definitely a sign of trouble, and also exposed the confusion and innate bias that many people have about intelligent design. Axe continues to discuss what was really going behind the scenes:

Years later, an article in New Scientist magazine about Biologic Institute (titled “The God Lab”) revealed that one of my fellow scientists at the CPE had been pressing Alan to dismiss me because of my connection to ID. The article says Alan refused to do so, quoting him as saying, “I have always been fairly easy-going about people working in the lab. I said I was not going to throw him out. What he was doing was asking legitimate questions about how a protein folded.” According to the article, I left the CPE after “Axe and Fersht were in dispute with each other over the implications of work going on in Fersht’s lab.”

The truth is that Alan did, in the end, give in to the internal whistle-blower who wanted me removed, though I certainly accept his account of having resisted this for some time. When he did finally act, I interpreted the awkwardness of his action as an indication of his reluctance. There was no heart-to-heart conversation or even a word spoken face-to-face. When everyone gathered in the customary way to bid me farewell, Alan was conspicuously absent. All I received was an e-mail from Alan’s assistant on the eleventh of March 2002, succinctly stating that the CPE was “very short of [lab] bench space” and declaring Alan’s solution: “Please vacate as soon as possible and by the end of March latest.”

Scientific Objections to Axe’s Research 

So, Axe’s research on protein sequence rarity seems to have gotten him expelled from the Centre for Protein Engineering in Cambridge. But this was only to be the first incident where people didn’t like his results. Quite a few critics have raised scientific objections to Axe’s research over the years. In our recent paper “On the Relationship between Design and Evolution,” reviewing Rope Kojonen’s book The Compatibility of Evolution and Design, we and our co-authors (Stephen Dilley and Emily Reeves) assess what those critics have said and why they got things wrong. As readers of this series will know, we critique Kojonen’s thoughtful attempt to harmonize mainstream evolutionary theory with his particular version of design. Here’s the relevant section from our paper:

Several studies demonstrate that, for many proteins, functional sequences occupy an exceedingly small proportion of physically possible amino acid sequences. For example, Axe (2000, 2004)’s work on the larger beta-lactamase protein domain indicates that only 1 in 1077 sequences are functional — astonishingly rare indeed. Such rarity presents prima facie evidence that many proteins are very difficult to evolve by a blind evolutionary process of random mutation and natural selection.

Of course, a common rejoinder to this data is to claim that ‘protein rarity’ is only true for select proteins; many others are not so rare. That is, many proteins might have sequences with functions that are more common in sequence space and are thereby easier to evolve. As Kojonen (2021, p. 119) puts it, “others argue that functional proteins are much more common”. He specifically cites Tian and Best (2017) as a rebuttal to Axe (2004) on this point. Similarly, Venema (2018) objects to Axe (2004)’s research because he believes “functional proteins are not rare within sequence space”. Importantly, Kojonen is correct that some proteins are easier to evolve than others, and this point is pressed by some scientists17 — but nonetheless, a very large proportion of proteins seems beyond the reach of mutation and selection.

Indeed, Tian and Best (2017) present much data that actually support Axe’s general thesis for protein rarity. They reported that the functional probabilities for ten protein domains range from 1 in 1024 to 1 in 10126. Yet even if we grant generous assumptions towards evolution, additional research indicates that only three of the ten domains studied by Tian and Best could have possibly emerged through an undirected evolutionary search of sequence space. Specifically, Chatterjee et al. (2014) calculated that there are at most 1038 trials available over the entire history of life on Earth to evolve a new protein. Therefore, if a protein domain has a probability of less than 10−38, then it is unlikely to emerge via a process of random mutation and natural selection. Seven of the ten domains studied by Tian and Best (2017) had probabilities below 10−38. Thus, even though Kojonen (2021, p. 119) cites Tian and Best (2017) to argue that the “specificity required for achieving a functional amino acid sequence” may be less for some proteins, their research provides strong empirical evidence that many proteins have functional sequences that are so rare as to be beyond the reach of standard evolutionary mechanisms.

Kojonen (2021, p. 119) also cites Taylor et al. (2001) to counter (or mitigate) Axe’s results on protein rarity. Taylor et al. (2001) reported that the probability of evolving a chorismate mutase enzyme is 1 in 1023, which Kojonen (2021) takes to suggest that functional protein sequences can be “more common than in the case of the protein studied by Axe”. Yet the fact that chorismate mutase represents less rare sequences is unsurprising given that its function requires a simpler fold than typical enzymes such as beta-lactamase studied by Axe (2004).18 Could chorismate mutase evolve? If it could, this still does not demonstrate the feasibility of Kojonen’s thesis: the possibility that some simpler proteins could evolve does not mean that all (or even most) more complex proteins could evolve. But for [Kojonen’s model] to succeed, evolutionary mechanisms must be up to the task in all cases, not just some.

The possibility of evolving relatively simpler proteins, however, raises another objection. Hunt (2007) asks: If a simple protein could evolve in the first place, might it also evolve further into a more complex protein? More specifically, if one assumes that a comparatively simple protein such as chorismate mutase could evolve, why could it not also evolve into a more elaborate protein, including one with a functional sequence that is as rare as those studied by Axe?19

Writing here recently, Brian Miller used an easy-to-grasp analogy to illustrate why a simple protein could not evolve into a more complex protein of even modest rarity. See, “Proteins Are Rare and Isolated — And Thus, Cannot Evolve.”

Responding to Dennis Venema

One of Axe’s critics, Dennis Venema, discusses intrinsically disordered proteins. We respond:

For example, Venema (2018) cites intrinsically disordered proteins (IDPs), noting they “do not need to be stably folded in order to function” and therefore represent a type of protein with sequences that are less tightly constrained and are presumably therefore easier to evolve. Yet IDPs fulfill fundamentally different types of roles (e.g., binding to multiple protein surfaces) compared to the proteins with well-defined structures that Axe (2004) studied (e.g., crucial enzymes involved in catalyzing specific reactions). Axe (2018) also responds by noting that Venema (2018) understates the complexity of IDPs. Axe (2018) points out that IDPs are not entirely unfolded, and “a better term” would be to call them “conditionally folded proteins”. Axe (2018) further notes that a major review paper on IDPs cited by Venema (2018) shows that IDPs are capable of folding — they can undergo “coupled folding and binding”; there is a “mechanism by which disordered interaction motifs associate with and fold upon binding to their targets” (Wright and Dyson 2015). That paper further notes that IDPs often do not perform their functions properly after experiencing mutations, suggesting they have sequences that are specifically tailored to their functions: “mutations in [IDPs] or changes in their cellular abundance are associated with disease” (Wright and Dyson 2015). In light of the complexity of IDPs, Axe (2018) concludes:

“If Venema (2018) pictures these conditional folders as being easy evolutionary onramps for mutation and selection to make unconditionally folded proteins, he’s badly mistaken. Both kinds of proteins are at work in cells in a highly orchestrated way, both requiring just the right amino-acid sequences to perform their component functions, each of which serves the high-level function of the whole organism. (Axe 2018)”

Venema (2018) also argues that functional proteins are easy to evolve. He cites Neme et al. (2017), a team that genetically engineered E. coli to produce a ∼500 nucleotide RNA (150 of which are random) that encode a 62 amino-acid protein (50 of which are random). The investigators reported that 25% of the randomized sequences enhance the cell’s growth rate. Unfortunately, they misinterpreted their results — a fact pointed out by Weisman and Eddy (2017), who raised “reservations about the correctness of the conclusion of Neme et al. that 25% of their random sequences have beneficial effects”. Here is why they held those reservations: the investigators in Neme et al. (2017) did not compare the growth of cells containing inserted genetic code with normal bacteria but rather with cells that carry a “zero vector” — a stretch of DNA that generates a fixed 350 nucleotide RNA (the randomized 150 nucleotides are excluded from this RNA). Weisman and Eddy (2017) explain how the zero vector “is neither empty nor innocuous”, since it produces a “a 38 amino-acid open reading frame at high levels” of expression. Yet since this “zero vector” and its transcripts provide no benefit to the bacterium, its high expression wastes cellular resources, which, as Weisman and Eddy (2017) note, “is detrimental to the E. coli host”. The reason the randomized peptide sometimes provided a relative benefit to the E. coli bacteria is because, in some cases (25%), it was probably interfering with production of the “zero vector” transcript and/or protein, thus sparing the E. coli host from wasting resources. As Weisman and Eddy (2017) put it, it is “easy to imagine a highly expressed random RNA or protein sequence gumming up the works somehow, by aggregation or otherwise interfering with some cellular component”. Axe (2018) responds to Neme et al. (2017) this way:

“Any junk that slows the process of making more junk by gumming up the works a bit would provide a selective benefit. Such sequences are “good” only in this highly artificial context, much as shoving a stick into an electric fan is “good” if you need to stop the blades in a hurry.”

In other words, at the molecular level, this random protein was not performing some complex new function but rather was probably interfering with its own RNA transcription and/or translation — a “devolutionary” hypothesis consistent with Michael Behe’s thesis that evolutionarily advantageous features often destroy or diminish function at the molecular level (Behe 2019). In any case, what Neme et al. (2017) showed is that a quarter of the randomized sequences were capable of inhibiting E. coli from expressing this “zero vector”, but they provided no demonstrated benefit to unmodified normal bacteria.

Finally, Venema (2018) cites Cai et al. (2008) to argue for the de novo origin of a yeast protein, BSC4, purportedly showing that “new genes that code for novel, functional proteins can pop into existence from sequences that did not previously encode a protein”. However, the paper provides no calculations about the rarity of the protein’s sequence nor its ability to evolve by mutation and selection. Rather, the evidence for this claim is entirely inferred, indirect, and based primarily upon the limited taxonomic range of the gene, which led the authors to infer it was newly evolved. Axe (2018) offers an alternative interpretation:

“The observable facts are what they are: brewers’ yeast has a gene that isn’t found intact in similar yeast species and appears to play a back-up role of some kind. The question is how to interpret these facts. And this is where Venema and I take different approaches. … Other interpretations of the facts surrounding BSC4 present themselves, one being that similar yeast species used to carry a similar gene which has now been lost. The fact that the version of this gene in brewers’ yeast is interrupted by a stop codon that reduces full-length expression to about 9 percent of what it would otherwise be seems to fit better with a gene on its way out than a gene on its way in.”

A Counterexample to Axe’s Research 

In our paper, we elaborate on the enzyme chorismite mutase which was cited by Kojonen as a counterexample to Axe’s research. We first explain that the functional complexity of chorismite mutase really is not comparable to the beta-lactamase enzyme studied by Axe: 

The function of chorismate mutase is to catalyze the conversion of chorismate to prephenate through amino acid side chains in its active site, thereby restricting chorismate’s conformational degrees of freedom. Essentially, it is merely providing a chamber or cavity that holds a particular molecule captive, thereby limiting that molecule’s ability to change. In contrast, beta-lactamase requires the precise positioning and orientation of amino acid side chains from separate domains that contribute to hydrolyzing the peptide bond of the characteristic four-membered beta-lactam ring. This function requires a more complex fold compared to chorismate mutase. Axe (2004) specifically compares beta-lactamase to chorismate mutase and notes that the beta-lactamase fold “is made more complex by its larger size, and by the number of structural components (loops, helices, and strands) and the degree to which formation of these components is intrinsically coupled to the formation of tertiary structure (as is generally the case for strands and loops, but not for helices)”.

We then elaborate on why Kojonen’s attempts to invoke special “fine-tuning” to allow the evolution of proteins like chorismite mutase could actually cause problems for the evolvability of other proteins. “No Free Lunch” theorems suggest that it’s very difficult to imagine a fine-tuning scenario that would globally assist in the evolution of all types of proteins. That is because biasing to allow the evolvability of one type of protein would likely make it more difficult to evolve other types of proteins:

Kojonen tries to overcome this problem by arguing that the physical properties of proteins are “finely-tuned” to bias the clustering of functional sequences such that a very narrow path could extend to complex proteins with rare functional sequences. The biasing would result in the prevalence of functional sequences along a path to a new protein being much higher than in other regions of sequence space. But such biasing could not possibly assist the evolution of most proteins. Biasing in the distribution of functional sequences in sequence space due to physical laws is arguably subject to the same constraints as the biasing in play in the algorithms employed by evolutionary search programs. Consequently, protein evolution falls under “No Free Lunch” theorems that state that no algorithm will in general find targets (e.g., novel proteins) any faster than a random search. An algorithm might assist in finding one target (e.g., specific protein), but it would just as likely hinder finding another (Miller 2017; Footnote 12). Thus, although Kojonen acknowledges that proteins are sometimes too rare to have directly emerged from a random search, he fails to appreciate the extent to which rarity necessitates isolation and why this must often pose a barrier to further protein evolution. Different proteins have completely different compositions of amino acids, physical properties, conformational dynamics, and functions. Any biasing that might assist in the evolution of one protein would almost certainly oppose the evolution of another. In other words, the probability of a continuous path leading to some proteins would be even less likely than if the distribution of functional sequences were random.

We consider this to be one of the most comprehensive collections of responses to Axe’s critics published to date and we hope our paper is useful in that regard.

The Bigger Picture

Stepping back, it may be helpful to say brief a word about how our defense of Axe fits into the overall argument in our Religions article. A key feature of Kojonen’s model is his claim that, in order for evolution to successfully produce biological complexity, it must rely on “fine-tuned” preconditions (and smooth fitness landscapes). These preconditions (and landscapes) are part of the “design” aspect of Kojonen’s model: in his view, God designed the laws of nature, which gave rise to fine-tuned preconditions and landscapes that in turn allow evolution to succeed.

If, as Kojonen claims, there really are fine-tuned preconditions and smooth fitness landscapes, then they should be empirically detectable. One can analyze, for example, whether functional protein folds can evolve into different functional protein folds by means of natural processes such as the mutation-selection mechanism. Douglas Axe’s work — along with the work of other scientists — shows that this is implausible. Proteins cannot evolve in this way. Kojonen’s empirical claim is false. Thus, his specific claims about design are false. The universe does not have the fine-tuned preconditions and smooth landscapes that his model says arose from the activity of a Designer. 

Thus, our main point is not to criticize evolution per se. Yet because of the way Kojonen frames the issue, it turns out that the same evidence that poses problems for his understanding of design also raises problems for mainstream evolutionary theory. In a sense, two birds fall with one stone.

Thursday, 30 November 2023

Vestigial science?

 

Human Vestigial Organs: Some Contradictions in Darwinian Thinking

Wolf Ekkehard Lonnig


In my recent article on vestigial organs in man I discuss two key points: First, one of the most egregious contradictions within the present theory of evolution, and second, the recently “discovered” non-existence of a rudimentary organ that has been hailed over the last 140 in most embryology textbooks and papers as a proof of the origin of humans from lower vertebrates.

Let’s take those here in reverse order. Start with the second point: The definition of vestigial (in the original evolutionary sense) is: “Of a body part or organ: remaining in a form that is small or imperfectly developed and not able to function.” Or according to Darwin and Haeckel, a vestigial organ is a rudimentary structure that, “although morphologically present, nevertheless does not exist physiologically, in that it does not carry out any corresponding functions” (Haeckel 1866, p. 268, similarly Darwin 1872, p. 131). (For all references, see my paper.)

An Outstanding Illustration

Among these organs, the pronephros was, at least until recently, taken as an outstanding illustration for the assertion that man is “a veritable walking museum of antiquities” (Horatio Hackett Newman 1925). Contemporary Darwinians such as Donald R. Prothero (2020) heartily agree.

What is the pronephros?

Mammalian kidneys develop in three successive stages, generating three distinct excretory structures known as the pronephros, the mesonephros, and the metanephros (Fig. 1.2). The pronephros and mesonephros are vestigial structures in mammals and degenerate before birth; the metanephros is the definitive mammalian kidney. (Scott et al. 2019)

However, directly after these sentences, we read that the early stages of kidney development are required for further developmental processes (pp. 3-4):

The early stages of kidney development are required for the development of the adrenal glands and gonads that also form within the urogenital ridge. Furthermore, many of the signaling pathways and genes that play important roles in the metanephric kidney appear to play parallel roles during the development of the pronephros and mesonephros.

Nevertheless, Scott et al. assert again (in their explanation for their Fig. 1.2):

The pronephros and mesonephros are vestigial structures in mice and humans and are regressed by the time the metanephros is well developed.

Meanwhile, we read in Wikipedia (2023) about the pronephros:

The organ is active in adult forms of some primitive fish, like lampreys or hagfish. It is present at the embryo of more advanced fish and at the larval stage of amphibians where it plays an essential role in osmoregulation. In human beings, it is rudimentary, appears at the end of the third week (day 20) and is replaced by the mesonephros after 3.5 weeks.

Nevertheless, the article continuous:

Despite this transient appearance in mammals, the pronephros is essential for the development of the adult kidneys. The duct of the mesonephros forms the Wolffian duct and ureter of the adult kidney. The embryonic kidney and its derivatives also produce the inductive signals that trigger formation of the adult kidney.

Here are several marked contradictions. The human pronephros is “vestigial,” “rudimentary,” yet “essential”? One wonders if the pronephros and mesonephros are really vestigial structures at all — in the sense of “an atavistic formation which, like a ruin, would only be of interest as a monument.” Or rather, do they in fact have important functions?

Larsen’s Human Embryology (6th Edition 2021, p. 369) states:

During embryonic development, three sets of nephric systems develop in craniocaudal succession from the intermediate mesoderm. These are called pronephros, mesonephros, and metanephros (or definitive kidneys). Formation of the pronephric kidney (i.e., pronephros) lays the foundation for induction of the metanephros. Hence, formation of a pronephros is really the start of a developmental cascade leading to the formation of the definitive kidney.

Thus, by having vital roles as inducers, the pronephros and mesonephros are crucial to the developmental cascade that leads to the formation of the permanent kidneys. They are definitely not “useless rudiments of once-functional systems.” It seems they are unquestionably not vestigial or atavistic formations, comparable to ruins in mammalian ontogeny.

In Today’s News

But wait. There is this “breaking news” on kidney development: The pronephros does not even exist in mammals: “A recent detailed analysis of human embryos concluded there is in fact no pronephric kidney even present in humans, or any mammal, and they are present and functional only in animals that have an aquatic life phase” (Peter D. Vize 2023, p. 23).

So much for this vestigial organ in man.

As to the first point, one of the most egregious contradictions within the modern theory of evolution, I would like to encourage the reader to check the following point: The evolutionary molecular biologist and Nobel laureate François Jacob emphasized that:

In the genetic program … is written the result of all past reproductions, the collection of successes, since all traces of failures have disappeared. The genetic message, the program of the present-day organism, therefore resembles a text without an author, that a proof-reader has been correcting for more than two billion years, continually improving, refining and completing it, gradually eliminating all imperfections.

Now, can Darwinians really have both — omnipotent natural selection eliminating all imperfections and, at the same time, human beings full of superfluous rudimentary organs constituting “a veritable walking museum of antiquities”?

Let the reader decide. 



Blood Money?

 

Teleology is verboten?

 

The design inference is science's security officer?

 Mendel’s Peas and More: Inferring Data Falsification in Science


Editor’s note: We are delighted to welcome the new and greatly expanded second edition of the design inference, by William Dembski and Winston Ewert. The following is excerpted from Chapter 2, “A Sampler of Design Inferences.”

Drawing design inferences is not an obscure or rare occurrence — it happens daily. We distinguish between a neatly folded pile of clothes and a random heap, between accidental physical contact and a deliberate nudge, between doodling and a work of art. Furthermore, we make important decisions based on this distinction. This chapter examines a variety of areas where we apply the design inference. In each case, what triggers a design inference is a specified event of small probability. 

The eminent statistician Ronald Aylmer Fisher uncovered a classic case of data falsification when he analyzed Gregor Mendel’s data on peas. Fisher inferred that “Mendel’s data were fudged,” as one statistics text puts it, because the data matched Mendel’s theory too closely. Interestingly, the coincidence that elicited this charge of data falsification was a specified event whose probability was roughly 4 in 100,000, or 1 in 25,000. By everyday standards, this probability will seem small enough, but it is huge compared to many of the probabilities we will be encountering. In any case, Fisher saw this probability as small enough to draw a design inference, concluding that Mendel’s experiment was compromised and charging Mendel’s gardening assistant with deception. 

Slutsky — Fast and Furious

For a more recent example of data falsification in science, consider the case of UCSD heart researcher Robert A. Slutsky. Slutsky was publishing fast and furiously. At his peak, he was publishing one new paper every ten days. Intent on increasing the number of publications in his curriculum vitae, he decided to lift a two-by-two table of summary statistics from one of his articles and insert it — unchanged — into another article. Data falsification was clearly implicated because of the vast improbability that data from two separate experiments should produce the same summary table of statistics. When forced to face a review board, Slutsky resigned his academic position rather than try to explain how this coincidence could have occurred without any fault on his part. The incriminating two-by-two table that appeared in both articles consisted of four blocks each containing a three-digit number. Given therefore a total of twelve digits in these blocks, the odds would have been roughly 1 in a trillion (= 1012) that this same table might have appeared by chance twice in his research. 

Why did Slutsky resign rather than defend a 1 in 1012 improbability? Why not simply attribute the coincidence to chance? There were three reasons. First, at the review board Slutsky would have had to produce the experimental protocols for the two experiments that supposedly gave rise to the identical two-by-two tables. If he was guilty of data falsification, these protocols would have incriminated him. Second, even if the protocols were lost, the sheer improbability of producing so unlikely a match between the two papers would have been enough to impugn the researcher’s honesty. Once a specification is in place (the two-by-two table in one paper here specifying the table in the other) and the probabilities become too small, the burden of proof, at least within the scientific community, shifts to the experimenter suspected of data falsification. In lay terms, Slutsky was self-plagiarizing. And third, Slutsky knew that this case of fraud was merely the tip of the iceberg. He had been committing other acts of research fraud right along, and these were now destined all to come into the open. 

Moving from Medicine to Physics

Now consider the case of Jan Hendrik Schön, which parallels the Slutsky case almost point for point. On May 23, 2002, the New York Times reported on the work of “J. Hendrik Schön, 31, a Bell Labs physicist in Murray Hill, NJ, who has produced an extraordinary body of work in the last two and a half years, including seven articles each in Science and Nature, two of the most prestigious journals.” Despite this track record, his career was on the line. The New York Times reported further that Schön published “graphs that were nearly identical even though they appeared in different scientific papers and represented data from different devices. In some graphs, even the tiny squiggles that should arise from purely random fluctuations matched exactly.” (The identical graphs that did in Schön parallel the identical two-by-two tables that did in Slutsky.) Bell Labs therefore appointed an independent panel to determine whether Schön was guilty of “improperly manipulating data in research papers published in prestigious scientific journals.” The hammer fell in September 2002 when the panel concluded that Schön had indeed falsified his data, whereupon Bell Labs fired him.17 

Exactly how a design inference was drawn in the Schön case is illuminating. In determining whether Schön’s numbers were made up fraudulently, the panel noted, if only tacitly, that the first published graph provided a pattern independently identified of the second and thus constituted the type of pattern that, in the presence of improbability, could negate chance to underwrite design (i.e., the pattern was a specification). And indeed, the match between the two graphs in Schön’s articles was highly improbable assuming the graphs arose from random processes (which is how they would have had to arise if, as Schön claimed, they resulted from independent experiments). As with the matching two-by-two tables in the Slutsky example, the match between the two graphs of supposedly random fluctuations would have been too improbable to occur by chance. With specification and improbability both evident, a design inference followed. 

But, as noted earlier, a design inference, by itself, does not implicate any particular intelligence. So how do we know that Schön was guilty? A design inference shows that Schön’s data were cooked. It cannot, without further evidence, show that Schön was the chef. To do that required a more detailed causal analysis — an analysis performed by Bell Labs’ independent panel. From that analysis, the panel concluded that Schön was indeed guilty of data falsification. Not only was he the first author on the problematic articles, but he alone among his co-authors had access to the experimental devices that produced the disturbingly coincident outcomes. Moreover, it was Schön’s responsibility to keep the experimental protocols for these research papers. Yet the protocols mysteriously vanished when the panel requested them for review. The circumstantial evidence connected with this case not only underwrote a design inference but established Schön as the designer responsible.

And from Physics to Parapsychology

As a final example of where data falsification becomes an issue facing science, consider efforts to debunk parapsychology. Parapsychological experiments attempt to show that parapsychological phenomena are real by producing a specified event of small probability. Persuaded that they’ve produced such an event, parapsychological researchers then explain it in terms of a quasi-design-like theoretical construct called psi (i.e., a non-chance factor or faculty supposedly responsible for such events). 

For instance, shuffle some cards and then have a human subject guess their order. Subjects rarely, if ever, guess the correct order with 100 percent accuracy. But to the degree that a subject guesses correctly, the improbability of this coincidence (which will then constitute a specified event of small probability) is regarded as evidence for psi. In attributing such coincidences to psi, the parapsychologist will draw a design inference. The debunker’s task, conversely, will then be to block the parapsychologist’s design inference. In practice, this will mean one of two things: either showing that sloppy experimental method was used that somehow signaled to the subject the order of the cards and thereby enabled the subject, perhaps inadvertently, to overcome chance; or else showing that the experimenter acted fraudulently, whether by making up the data or by otherwise massaging the data to provide evidence for psi. Note that the debunker is as much engaged in drawing a design inference as the parapsychologist — it’s just that one implicates the parapsychologist in fraud, the other implicates psi.

Keeping Science Honest

The takeaway is that science needs the design inference to keep itself honest. In the years since the first edition of this book was published, reports of fraud in science have continued to accumulate. The publish-or-perish mentality that incentivizes inflating the number of one’s publications regardless of quality has only gotten worse. That mentality moves easily from a haste-makes-waste sloppiness to self-serving fudginess to full-orbed fraudulence. Data falsification and other forms of scientific fraud, such as plagiarism, are far too common in science. What keeps scientific fraud in check is our ability to detect it, and it’s the design inference that does the detecting. 

We’ve now seen that the design inference makes design readily detectable in everyday life. Moreover, we’ve just seen that its ability to make design detectable in the data of science is central to keeping scientists honest. The grand ambition of this book is to show that the design inference makes design part of the very fabric of science. 

There are no good guys VI: Black September.