An Anti-Materialist Warrior on Physicalism

 

This essay tackles Rupert Sheldrake’s many criticisms of what he calls “materialism”. Indeed, he’s at war with materialism, and mentions it in almost every paragraph he writes. Sheldrake takes materialism to be a dangerous and malign worldview that should be replaced with an alternative benign worldview — his own. In this essay, it’s also shown that Sheldrake has a penchant for straw men and straw positions. This shouldn’t be a surprise if you place it in the context that Sheldrake believes that adopting his own worldview will “make[] a huge difference”. Indeed, his worldview will “affect[] the way we relate to other people and to the world”. It will “shape[] our experience of ourselves” too.

Note that I’ll be using the word “physicalism” in the following. I do so partly because the biologist, writer and parapsychology researcher Rupert Sheldrake himself states the following:

“Physicalism means much the same as materialism, but rather than asserting that all reality is material, it asserts that it is physical, explicable in terms of physics, and therefore including energy and fields as well as matter. In practice, this is what materialists believe to.”

In my discussions with anti-materialists, spiritual idealists, religious people, etc., a few — very few — of them have acknowledged that there are differences between physicalism and materialism. However, they claim that such differences don’t make a difference. That simply means that both physicalism and materialism, despite their differences, aren’t spiritual idealism, panpsychism, neo-vitalism, etc., and that neither posit non-material spirits and souls.

Sheldrake falls into this position too.

There is a big difference between old-style materialism and contemporary physicalism. Many pre-20th century and even 20th century materialist philosophers didn’t pay much attention to physics. Physicalists obviously do. In addition, it’s bizarre that Sheldrake plays down the fact that physicalists accept the reality and importance of “energy and fields” (i.e., not only “matter”) because in many discussions I’ve had with anti-materialists, they claim that “materialists” aren’t even aware of fields and energy, and that such people are still stuck in the 19th century. Anti-materialists, spiritual idealists, etc., on the other hand, are very keen on energy and fields. The problem here is that they see energy and fields in many ways that go against the actual physics. In fact, the metaphors which Sheldrake champions (“science can’t escape metaphors”) rule the roost when spiritual idealists, etc. discuss energy and fields. What’s more, Sheldrake’s morphic resonance hypothesis is itself deemed to be a “field theory”.

Sheldrake’s Worldview

The bottom line is that Sheldrake doesn’t just have a philosophical problem with physicalism: he believes it is morally and politically dangerous too. In his own words, it negatively impacts on “the way we relate to other people and to the world and shapes our experience of ourselves”. In addition, Sheldrake states that physicalists believe that we aren’t “capable of making choices” or “living among other beings with sensations, experiences and desires”.

Sheldrake carries on with his theme of adopting a philosophical position because it makes a “huge difference”. He writes:

“It makes a big difference if you think of yourself as a zombie-like mechanism in an unconscious mechanical world, or as a truly conscious being capable of making choices, living among other beings with sensations, experiences and desires.”

What a stark and crude binary Sheldrake has just set up.

Not even the most extreme physicalist — or an eliminative materialist— thinks of himself as a zombie-like mechanism, and he doesn’t adopt anti-physicalism in his private life either, as Sheldrake alleges occasionally. Sheldrake may well believe this is the logical conclusion of physicalism without even bothering to argue why that’s the case. The thing is, it’s not the logical conclusion of physicalism that we’re all zombie-like creatures, let alone that all physicalists must think of themselves in these terms.

Of course, the word “zombie” isn’t defined by Sheldrake, and perhaps there’s no reason why he should do so in a popular book for the layperson. In any case, we all more or less know what a zombie is… or do we? Not really. There’s a big difference between a philosophical zombie and a Hollywood zombie, a distinction that Sheldrake ignores for rhetorical effect.

Finally, rather than attacking physicalism, Sheldrake tells his readers about what he’s offering the world as an alternative. He’s “[l]iberating minds from confinement in heads”. And such a liberation is “like being released from prison”.

Is Sheldrake a Panpsychist?

In one place, Sheldrake defends panpsychism simply as a means to attack what he calls “materialism”. Yet it’s not at all clear that he was a panpsychist at this point. Take this example:

“The question ‘Is Matter Unconscious’ is not just an abstract, intellectual question. It makes a huge difference. It affects the way we relate to other people and to the world and shapes our experience of ourselves.”

Perhaps, then, Sheldrake places matters as to how “we relate to other people and to the world”, etc. before truth or theoretical consistency. The panpsychist Philip Goff certainly does. Take Goff’s own very Sheldrake-like account of matters. In Mind Chat (2021), he said:

“If we see trees and rivers as conscious, it changes the way we legislate and act politically. Panpsychism could inspire a movement where environmental protection becomes a moral imperative, not just a pragmatic choice.”

[Goff’s book Galileo’s Error is similar to Sheldrake’s The Science Delusion, which was published some seven years before. The prose is similar, and at points the ideas are identical.]

To repeat. To Sheldrake and most panpsychists it “makes a huge difference” (i.e., beyond philosophy and truth) if you accept panpsychism. That is correct. Panpsychism is essentially a worldview that incorporates politics, morality, religion, social relations… everything.

Similarly, at least according to Sheldrake (as well as Goff), if one accepts materialism, then that makes a huge difference too. The difference here is that many materialists may not realise that their embrace of materialism makes a huge difference to everything. In fact, many materialists (according to people like Sheldrake, Bernardo Kastrup, etc.) don’t even realise that they’re materialists!

Sheldrake on Materialism

Sheldrake states what he takes to be the (i.e., the singular definite article) materialist position:

“If materialism is true, all bodies, including yours and mine, are essentially unconscious.”

Then Sheldrake assumes that every physicalist is an epiphenomenalist:

“Your subjective experiences emerge from your brain as epiphenomena, or they are merely an aspect of the physical activity of your brain, but they cannot have any effects. Your thoughts, desires and decisions cannot interfere with regular physical causality.”

Not all physicalists are epiphenomenalists. Of course, Sheldrake may argue that physicalists must be epiphenomenalists if they follow the logic of their own position, even if they don’t realise this. The problem is that Sheldrake doesn’t argue this case. In fact, he rarely argues his case at all.

Subjective experiences can “emerge” from the brain and still not be epiphenomena. Sheldrake doesn’t even care to mention this possibility. Perhaps, again, this is because he assumes that such a stance is logically incoherent. Sheldrake does mention one possibility: that subjective experiences may be aspects of the physical activity of the brain. Yet Sheldrake takes this possibility to be an example of epiphenomenalism too. That’s because he concludes that such subjective experiences “cannot have any effects”. Why can’t they? If they’re aspects of the physical activity of the brain, then it seems that they can have effects.

A clue to Sheldrake’s position can be found in his use of a single word: “merely” (as in “merely an aspect of the physical activity of the brain”). Why merely? This seems to work against both monism and panpsychism. That because according to these positions, matter has two aspects. Therefore, the brain has two aspects. The point here being that the brain having aspects which are subjective experiences doesn’t rule out the latter having effects. In fact, the opposite is the case.

Sheldrake adds to his conflation of physicalism with epiphenomenalism when he states that according to the former,

“[y]our thoughts, desires and decisions cannot interfere with regular physical causality”.

Not only is this a conflation of physicalism with epiphenomenalism, Sheldrake is smuggling in determinism too. The thing is, regardless of determinism, your thoughts, desires and decisions can interfere with regular physical causality if they’re taken to be aspects of the physical activity of your brain.

Sheldrake then continues his conflation in the form of his ‘Questions for materialists’. His first question goes as follows:

“Do you believe that your own consciousness is merely an aspect or epiphenomenon of the activity of your brain?”

Then comes yet another conflation:

“If consciousness does nothing, why has it evolved as an evolutionary adaptation?”

It may seem to some readers that Sheldrake is offering two alternatives when he uses the word “or”. That is, either you’re an epiphenomenalist or you believe that consciousness is an aspect of the activity of your brain. As stated, consciousness could be an aspect of the brain and not be an epiphenomenon. So Sheldrake’s epiphenomenalist conclusion that “consciousness does nothing” needn’t follow at all.

Sheldrake’s last question about consciousness — when seen in evolutionary terms — simply assumes that it “does nothing”. (How can it be an “evolutionary adaptation”?) Not all physicalists do believe that consciousness does nothing. What’s more, many believe that it is an evolutionary adaptation.

Yet again, there are problems with these physicalist alternatives. Sure! But Sheldrake simply ignores the alternatives entirely and sticks to his straw targets. Moreover, conceding that there are problems for physicalism isn’t really to concede that much. That’s because for every problem that physicalism has, spiritual idealism, panpsychism, etc. have — rhetorically - two or more problems. And when it comes to Sheldrake’s own philosophical worldview, it’s full to the brim with problems.

Again, all these physicalist alternatives to Sheldrake’s neat conflation of physicalism and epiphenomenalism may well be problematic. However, it would help if he had the decency to so much as mention them. So perhaps Sheldrake knows that turning his straw men into steel men would negatively impact on his philosophical worldview.

Did Thomas Kuhn Reject Mob Psychology in Science?

 

Many people know that the philosopher of science Thomas Kuhn was often accused of encouraging “mob psychology” in science. (This accusation dates back to the words of Imre Lakatos.) Kuhn was said to have rejected objectivity and rationality in science too. In this essay, it’s shown that the philosopher of science Ian Hacking defended Kuhn from these accusations. However, he might have been guilty of going too far in the opposite direction.

Kuhn on Incommensurability

According to the philosopher and historian of science Ian Hacking, Thomas Kuhn believed that “[y]ou don’t have two theories in mind and compare them point by point — they are too different for that”. So if they’re too different to compare, then what happens? Perhaps what happens is what has already happened. A scientist has already placed his bet on one of the rival theories. But why did he do so in the first place? Kuhn believed that he “gradually convert[ed], and that shows itself by moving into a new language community”. Then such a scientist “begin[s] to speak the language like a native”, yet no “choice has occurred”.

The way all the above is put makes it seem as if the process is almost purely sociological in nature. So it’s not that two theories are compared point by point. A scientist moves into a new language community, and only then does he choose a theory. And the theory he chooses is expressed in the language of the new community. Other rival theories are expressed in the languages of other communities. It may not even be the case that a scientist chooses the language community, let alone which scientific theory to adopt or endorse.

Again, this process seems entirely sociological (as well as psychological) in nature.

What begins as a sociological process becomes a historical process in retrospect. And that’s another lesson from Kuhn. Hacking put it bluntly:

“The discourse of the philosophy of science has been transformed since the time Kuhn wrote. No longer shall we, as Nietzsche put it, show our respect for science by dehistoricizing it.”

Hacking provides the example of Larry Lauden, who “draws his conclusion ‘from the existing historical evidence’”.

Note that the first quote states that “philosophy of science has been transformed since the time Kuhn wrote”. It doesn’t say that the philosophy of science was transformed by what Kuhn wrote… at least he wasn’t the only man in the team. According to Hacking, “When his book The Structure of Scientific Revolutions came out in 1962, similar themes were being expressed by a number of voices.” Indeed, in 1962 and just before, “a new discipline, the history of science, was forming itself”. Moreover, “[y]oung Kuhn, training as a physicist, was attracted to history just at the moment when many other people were looking that way”.

The point about scientific rationality is that it’s linked, or can be linked, to the subject of incommensurability. Hacker supplies some basic historical details about this term’s use:

“The new philosophical use of the word ‘incommensurable’ is the product of conversations between Paul Feryerabend and Thomas Kuhn on Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue around 1960.”

So what does the word “incommensurable” mean?

“It has an exact sense in Greek mathematics. It means ‘no common measure’. [ ] Not all lengths are commensurable.”

More relevantly:

“Philosophers have nothing so precise in mind when they use the metaphor of incommensurability. They are thinking of comparing scientific theories, but of course there could be no *exact* measure for that purpose.”

The word “incommensurable” certainly sounds forceful. Moreover, that word has led to many philosophical and political consequences. Yet, in Greek mathematics the term was precise. Not so in philosophy. Hacking says the word is a “metaphor”. Yes, it’s a metaphor that’s done a hell of a lot of good or bad work.

When used to describe scientific theories, Hacking concedes that “there could be no exact measure for that purpose”. From how Hacking phrases it both here and elsewhere, this isn’t a monumental fact about scientific theories. Instead, it’s rather mundane. Think about it, both in the abstract and in concreto, what form would such a measure take? Even if there were such a measure, would it apply to all aspects of all theories when measured one-to-one or one-to-many?

Precisely because the philosophical word “incommensurable” is both a metaphor and imprecise, it’s no surprise that the (possible) anecdote that Kuhn used the word in 21 different ways (in his well-known book) did the rounds so often. (See here.)

So we can respect science and scientists and still place them within their historical contexts.

Was Kuhn Against Scientific Rationality?

Many commentators took Kuhn to have questioned scientific rationality. Some commentators even believed that was his main aim. Perhaps relevantly, they questioned why he used the strong word “revolution” (as in “scientific revolution”).

According to Hacking, Kuhn was “taken aback by the way in which his work (and that of others) produced a crisis of rationality”. Of course, even if Kuhn was taken aback, that doesn’t mean that his work didn’t produce a crisis of rationality. Perhaps he simply didn’t think through the consequences of his own theories, and how they may be interpreted.

The following description of what Kuhn believed is an attempt to show that he didn’t reject rationality:

“He subsequently wrote that he never intended to deny the customary virtues of scientific theories. Theories should be accurate, that is, by and large fit existing data. They should be both internally consistent and consistent with other accepted theories. They should be broad in scope and rich in consequences. They should be simple in structure, organising facts in an intelligible way. They should be fruitful, disclosing new events, new techniques, new relationships.”

That paragraph almost reads like something you’d come across in an introductory book on the philosophy of science. In fact, at first sight, the words “consistent with other accepted theories” seem to go against Kuhn’s known views.

All the above now needs to be placed in the context that Kuhn believed that “his five values and others of the same sort are never sufficient to be decisive among competing theories” too. So what, in addition to Kuhn’s five values, would make a theory win out?

The biologist and parapsychology researcher Rupert Sheldrake, who mentions and quotes Kuhn a few times, makes much of the fact that “scientists are people”. Yet science itself isn’t a person. Perhaps we can see science as being made up of people. However, even if we take science as a combination of people, that collective is still not a single person.

Hacking also says that “scientific societies are societies”. One would assume, then, that if sociology is the study of society, then it must study scientific societies too. Does that mean it should study science itself? Does that question tie into the earlier one about science being made up of people?

Conclusion

Kuhn is known for using the case of Aristotle to get his point across. According to Hacker’s Kuhn, the latter tells us that

“Aristotle’s physics relies on ideas of motion that are dissociated from ours, and one can understand him only by recognising the network of his words”.

This passage isn’t that clear, especially the use of the words “dissociated from ours”. However, the words “the network of his words” can be tied to the earlier use of “language community”. In basic terms, Aristotle belonged to his own language community, not ours. Kuhn had much more to say about stepping into Aristotle’s world in order to understand him. (Historians often say something very similar about historical characters, ideas and events.) Thus, Hacker concluded:

“Kuhn is one of many historians to teach the need to rethink the words of our predecessors in their own way, not ours.”

Writing in 2026, it seems remarkable that any philosopher, scientist or political activist could ever have thought otherwise. That said, present-day presentism has never been so rife. Of course, rethinking Aristotle or anyone else doesn’t mean that we should accept his own way. Indeed, we should neither accept nor reject it (at least not judgementally or even morally). Instead, we can, or should, learn from it. Kuhn himself learned that the words and theories of scientists are historically and contextually bound. Yet even if that is acknowledged, some philosophers of science believe that the matters of truth and correctness are still relevant, and even important. As earlier, just as science being carried out by flesh-and-blood scientists doesn’t make science itself suspect, so the words and theories of scientists being historically, sociologically and contextually bound doesn’t automatically make such words and theories suspect or false. It is up to philosophers of science, scientists (less so) and others to sort the wheat from the chaff.