Monday, 19 September 2022

Science is Red in Tooth and Claw: Biologists vs Physicists vs Biologists

Christopher G. Langton (a former researcher into artificial life) once stated that biology is “infinitely richer in its potential” than physics. Biologist Fransico Verela “disputed the typical physicist who believes that he or she is dealing with fundamental reality”. In turn, physicist Paul Davies said that “biologists are strongly and evangelically reductionistic”…. And these are only three examples among many — and all in a single book.

(i) Introduction
(ii) Christopher G. Langton vs Physics
(iii) Biologist Fracisco Varela vs (Materialist) Physicists
(iv) Physicist Paul Davies vs (Reductionist) Biologists
(v) Lynn Margulis vs Palaeontologists and Fellow Biologists
(vi) Stuart Kauffman and Daniel Hillis on Physics and Biology

The following is a continuation of my previous essay, ‘Scientists at War With Scientists: Insults, Politics, and Darwinism’. That’s the case because it relies on the words of some of the same scientists in the very same book — John Brockman’s The Third Culture: Beyond the Scientific Revolution. It also covers fairly similar themes.

That said, there is one main difference.

In the last essay I focussed on scientists criticising (sometimes insulting) other scientists. In this essay the focus is mainly on the scientists of one discipline criticising (sometimes insulting) other scientific disciplines. Indeed, when it comes to at least some of the quotes featured in the following, it all comes across as being somewhat juvenile and tribal.

Of course it’s perfectly acceptable, correct and somewhat obvious to highlight the differences between biology and physics.

But what about the potshots and point-scoring that occurred between biologists and physicists in Brockman’s The Third Culture — and, indeed, which has occurred in many other places and at many other times?

So let’s begin with Christopher Langton.

Christopher G. Langton vs Physics

Take Christopher G. Langton’s words in the following passage:

“Biology is consequently much harder than physics but also infinitely richer in its potential, not just for understanding life and its history but for understanding the universe and its future. The past belongs to physics, but the future belongs to biology.”

[Langton wasn’t a biologist. He was a computer scientist. However, his main interest was in biology and what he called “artificial life”.]

What does it mean to argue that some scientific discipline is “harder” than another? Did Christopher Langton simply mean that those scientists who didn’t have his own experiences and knowledge would have found it difficult to be experts on what he was an expert on and to state the things he stated?

Sure. But wouldn’t that true (almost) by definition?

And why couldn’t Langton have been modest enough to accept that there are many different scientific ways of “understanding the universe”? Indeed what tortuous — and perhaps egocentric — chains of reasoning must such biologists have indulged in (if they did so at all) in order to come to the conclusion that there’s only one royal road — i.e., biology! — to understanding everything?

In any case, perhaps biology is “harder than physics”. However, it would still need to be spelt out what exactly that means.

For a start, it can be assumed that at least some physicists would argue that physics is much harder than biology. (Say, for argument’s sake, because of its use of mathematics, experiments, the importance of theory, etc.)

So what about biology being “infinitely richer in its potential” than physics?

What on earth does that mean?

Langton told us what that means… Well, at least he told us where we get that infinite richness from (i.e., from biology), but not really how and why that is so.

According to Langton, biology is infinitely richer than physics in terms of “understanding life and its history”. What’s more, biology is infinitely richer when it comes to “understanding the universe and its future” too.

One can guess as to what many physicists would say to all that. (It can be acknowledged that at least some physicists would agree with Langton!)

For example, if fundamental physics underpins biology and chemistry (as has been argued by many physicists since Paul Dirac and was still argued by theoretical physicist Steven Weinberg up until his death in 2021 — see here), then how can biology trump physics? Then again, saying that physics underpins chemistry, and that chemistry underpins (in terms of laws, etc.) biology (in either a loose or strong transitive sense) has none of the connotations which go along with Langton’s rhetorical words. That is, physics can underpin chemistry and biology and yet a physicist can still allow chemistry and biology to be (fully?) autonomous and even to be (to use Langton’s own words) “infinitely richer” than physics! (The American physicist Murray Gell-Mann took this position — if not the latter clause. See my Murray Gell-Mann on Scientific Reductionism’ and ‘Murray Gell-Mann on Complexity’.)

In addition, since physics itself (obviously) underpins physical cosmology, then what about Langton’s words, “understanding the universe and its future”?

Surely this is the domain of a physical cosmology which is steeped in both experimental physics and theoretical physics…

Except that I’m playing Langton’s silly and childish game here!

There’s simply no point in playing physics off against biology in these respects for the obvious reason that both disciplines are doing different things in different ways.

Now we’ll also have Fracisco Varela taking potshots at physicists.

Biologist Fracisco Varela vs (Materialist) Physicists

The Chilean biologist Francisco Varela (1946–2001) stated the following:

“I’d go one step further and dispute the typical physicist who believes that he or she is dealing with fundamental reality. A physicists will say that we’re made of atoms. Such statements, while true, are irrelevant.”

Have many — or even any — physicists really said such things? And even if they have, in what precise contexts have they done so? What’s more, is the fact that we’re made of atoms really “irrelevant”?

Again, it all depends on the precise context.

Perhaps Fransico Verela had in mind the following very-often-quoted and infamous passage from Francis Crick’s 1994 book, The Astonishing Hypothesis: The Scientific Search for the Soul:

“‘You’, your joys and your sorrows, your memories and your ambitions, your sense of personal identity and free will, are in fact no more than the behavior of a vast assembly of nerve cells and their associated molecules.”

Yet even here it can be argued that Francis Crick was being rhetorical simply in order to gain an audience. In other words, it’s fairly easy to argue that Crick was being wilfully provocative. At the same time, he may also have been offering at least some truth.

In any case, Varela then placed his position within a larger philosophical context. He continued:

“We have to abandon the enormous deadweight of the materialism of the Western tradition, and turn to a more planetary way of thinking.”

That last clause almost seems like a non sequitur.

Firstly, what is “planetary thinking”?

Secondly, why does planetary thinking (whatever it is) automatically follow from rejecting materialism?

Indeed, why can’t we have both materialism and planetary thinking at one and the same time?

If by the words “planetary thinking” Varela meant thinking that was in tune with his own political and moral views, then perhaps there’s no immediate reason why materialists can’t also embrace Verela’s politics… Unless, that is, Varela also believed that materialism — by definition! — is tied to a specific kind of politics and a specific and broader (philosophical) world view. However, if one looks at the history of materialism, one can quickly see that it has gone alongside all sorts of different political positions and other philosophical stances.

Ironically, Paul Davies (in the very same book) turned Varela’s physics-is-reductionist-and-biology-isn’t position on its head.

Physicist Paul Davies vs (Reductionist) Biologists

The English physicist, writer and broadcaster Paul Davies (1946-) did so in the following manner:

“I look forward to a time when the biologists stop berating physicists for abandoning reductionism. At the moment, the biologists are strongly and evangelically reductionistic, and any suggestion by physicists that one can deviate from the path of strict reductionism tends to evoke a rap over the knuckles from the biologists.”

It doesn’t help here that most of the users of the word “reductionism” deploy it as a plain and simple term of abuse. (The American biologist E.O. Wilson once wrote that the “very word ‘reductionism [has a] sterile and invasive ring, like a scalpel or catheter”.) This is ironic. That’s primarily because even the physicists who’re philosophically literate (such as Stephen Weinberg and Murray Gell-Mann) have been keen to stress the following:

Even though physics has indeed been built upon reductionism, physicists themselves can, at the very same time, accept the (relative) autonomy of other scientific disciplines, complexity and even certain types of emergence.

[See Steven Weinberg’s book Facing Up: Science and Its Adversaries and Murray Gell-Mann’s The Quark and the Jaguar.]

In any case, Paul Davies argued that it is biologists who’re the true reductionists, not (as Varela stated above) physicists.

And here Davies took a clear potshot at biologists:

“My personal belief is that biologists tend to be uncompromising and reductionistic because they’re still feeling somewhat insecure with their basic dogma, whereas physicists have three hundred years of secure foundation for their subject, so they can afford to be a bit more freewheeling in their speculation about these complex systems.”

If Francisco Verela, Christopher G. Langton and many other biologists (as well as sociologists, philosophers, religious people, journalists, etc.) accuse physicists of being reductionists, and the physicist Paul Davies, in turn, accuses biologists of being reductionists, then perhaps that simply shows us that this hissing ist-word no longer does much work — at least when used by most people.

Lynn Margulis vs Palaeontologists and Fellow Biologists

In my last essay (Scientists at War With Scientists: Insults, Politics, and Darwinism’), the American biologist Lynn Margulis (1938–2011) was quoted mounting a personal attack on Richard Dawkins. (Dawkins returned the favour.) In this instance, however, Margulis merges criticisms of scientists with criticisms of their disciplines.

Firstly, Margulis had strong words to say about the palaeontologists Niles Eldredge and Stephen Jay Gould:

“Eldredge and Gould and their many colleagues tend to codify and incredible ignorance of where the real action is in evolution [].”

This is a little embarrassing and, well, (almost) juvenile. It’s also a clear display of Margulis’s ego.

More broadly, Margulis’s words display the fact that many scientists who choose a particular discipline often believe that it’s extra-special precisely because they’ve chosen it. Of course, they often rationalise why they believe their own discipline is extra-special. And Margulis does so too.

In the following passage, for example, Margulis offers us some very snooty words against those fellow scientists who just don’t happen to be in the same discipline she’s in; and, therefore, who don’t share her own theories and her own interests.

Margulis stated:

“John Maynard Smith, an engineer by training, knows much of his biology secondhand. He seldom deals with live organisms. He computes and he reads. I suspect that it’s very hard for him to have insight into any group of organisms when he does not deal with them directly. Biologists, especially, need direct sensory communication with the live beings they study and about which they write.”

According to Margulis’s reasoning, then, it would be impossible for anyone outside her own discipline to say anything true — or even worthwhile — about “organisms” or “live beings”. After all, few such people will have had “direct sensory communication” with the organisms Margulis had in mind.

So, in this instance, Margulis was convinced that the scientific discipline she just happened to have chosen is “where the real action is”. Yet surely she believed that simply because she’d already immersed herself in her own discipline and interests for her entire career. Thus, Lynn Margulis took her little scientific bubble to be very special and not a bubble at all.

Stuart Kauffman and Daniel Hillis on Physics and Biology

Stuart Kauffman

The American biologist Stuart Kauffman (1939-) claimed that physics is

“concept-driven and theory-driven, biology is essentially experimental and grungy-fact-driven”.

He went on to say that, unlike in physics, in biology the

“standard view is that there are no deep theories of the deep meaning of ad-hoc contraption”.

What’s more, “notions of underlying deep principles are [] just considered foolish”.

The first clause from Kauffman is odd. It would have been more acceptable if he had said that theoretical physics is “[c]oncept-driven and theory-driven”. But he didn’t. He obviously hadn’t heard physicists stress the vital importance experiments, tests, observations, data, etc… Well, of course he must have done! So it’s possible that Kauffmann might have meant that despite the multitude of experiments, tests, observations, etc. found in physics, it is still concept-driven and theory-driven. And there would have been an element of truth to that.

In any case, there’s also an argument that even biology (not what’s now classed as theoretical biology) is girded by — and reliant upon — concepts and theories. It’s just that these underlying theories and concepts aren’t usually acknowledged. Indeed it’s hard for any scientific discipline not to be theory-driven and concept-driven to varying degrees.

What’s more, has any physicist ever claimed that biology too should have “deep theories” and “deep principles”? (Perhaps they have.) Of course physicists have demanded such things from physics. But why did Kauffman basically argue that physicists conflate two different disciplines here? Was it because some physicists have actually done so?

“Danny” Hillis

The inventor and computer scientist Daniel Hillis (1956-) seemed to back up Stuart Kauffman’s position in the following passage:

“The theory is almost the real stuff, and the experiments are just an approximation to test the theory [] The theory is the thing of perfection [] When Eddington went off during a solar eclipse to measure the bending of starlight by the sun and thus to test Einstein’s general-relativity theory, somebody asked Einstein what he would think if Eddington’s measurements to support his theory, and Einstein’s comment was, ‘Then I would have felt sorry for the dear Lord. The theory is correct.”

This is clearly about Einstein’s theoretical physics. Yet even here it’s often been said that the stress on Einstein’s “pure thought” has been exaggerated by many commentators. (Other commentators have expressed the exact opposite view.) So although it can be said that Einstein didn’t partake in experiments himself, he did note and depend upon those previous physicists who did.

So what about biology?

Hillis continued:

“In biology, however, this is reversed. The experimental is on top, and the theory is considered poor stuff.”

That quoted, Hillis, unlike Kauffman earlier, was simply noting the main scientific (as well as philosophical) differences (whether accurately or not) between physics and biology…

But do we really need all the potshots and tribal point-scoring on top of that too?


Friday, 16 September 2022

Scientists at War With Scientists: Insults, Politics, and Darwinism

Lynn Margulis said that Richard Dawkins is “arrogant” and “solipsistic”. Richard Dawkins, in turn, said that Margulis is an “extremely obstinate” person who “doesn’t listen to argument”. These are just two examples among many in one single book. This helps show us that (nearly?) all scientists are emotional creatures (just like us) — often with both fragile and large egos. They also hold strong political and moral views. Arguably, those views sometimes impinge on their science. And that’s precisely why the distinction between science and scientists must be made.

Brian Goodwin, G.C. Williams, Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett and Lynn Margulis.
“Science is politics by other means.”

Sandra Harding, from her book Whose Science? Whose Knowledge?

(i) Introduction
(ii) John Brockman’s The Third Culture
(iii) Scientific Metaphors (Such as “the Selfish Gene”)
(iv) Nature: Gaia vs Hell
(v) Politics and Scientific Metaphors
(vi) Brian Goodwin on Capitalist Science
(vii) Brian Goodwin’s Metaphors?


Trofim Lysenko

Science is science.

And scientists are scientists.

Of course you can’t have science without scientists. Yet, in broad terms, it can still be said that science is an abstraction from the work of all individual scientists.

So it’s wise not to confuse what an individual scientist states— or believes — with science itself.

This basically means that Stephen Hawking isn’t theoretical physics. Michael Mann and James Hansen aren’t climatology. (Richard Lindzen and Freeman Dyson aren’t climatology either.) Richard Dawkins isn’t evolutionary biology or Darwinism. (Stephen Jay Gould isn’t evolutionary biology or Darwinism either.) Anthony Fauci isn’t immunology or medical science. Steven Pinker isn’t evolutionary psychology. Brian Cox and Nigel DeGrasse Tyson aren’t the whole of science.

To state the obvious: scientists are human beings. And, like all human beings, they are emotional creatures who also have strong political and moral views. Not only that: those views sometimes impinge on their science…

And that’s precisely why the distinction between science and scientists must be made.

It’s also worth making a distinction here between the following:

(1) Those scientists who use science (or specific scientific theories) to advance their prior political goals, values and ideologies. 
(2) Those scientists who believe that science
itself is always political (i.e., regardless of the specific goals, values and ideologies of particular scientists).

Of course there can be much overlap between (1) and (2).

Sandra Harding (quoted at the top), for example, believes that science itself is (aways) political. In that, she’s following the footsteps of Soviet agronomist and biologist Trofim Lysenko (1898–1976), who divided science into “bourgeoise science” and “proletarian science”. (Interestingly, Lysenko too had a problem with the Darwinian notion of competition — see later sections.) And Harding herself speaks of “gendered science” and “white male science”.

However, all the scientists featured in this essay (except for Brian Goodwin) wouldn’t say that science itself is always political (although they may say that science can be political). However, it can be argued that some scientists do use their scientific theories to advance their prior political goals and values.

In terms of the following essay itself.

John Brockman’s The Third Culture

Virtually all the quotes in this piece are taken from The Third Culture: Beyond the Scientific Revolution. This book was edited by John Brockman, who also wrote the introductions to all the individual chapters.

John Brockman

Brockman also runs the Edge Foundation website, in which the header reads:

“To arrive at the edge of the world’s knowledge, seek out the most complex and sophisticated minds, put them in a room together, and have them ask each other the questions they are asking themselves.”

Wikipedia also tells us that in The Third Culture “leading scientists and thinkers contribute their thoughts in plain English”.

More relevantly, the interesting thing about Brockman’s The Third Culture is how clear, open and honest the scientists within it are (hence the words “plain English”). It can also be assumed that this clarity and honesty was due to the simple fact that the book’s contents contain the transcripts of various taped interviews with the featured scientists. In other words, this isn’t the kind of stuff you’d read in academic papers or even in popular- science books.

Scientific Metaphors (Such as “the Selfish Gene”)

Of course it may be (or actually is) the case that metaphors are of vital importance in science — and not only to help laypersons understand matters. It must also be acknowledged that scientists get annoyed when others — especially philosophers — pick up on their use of metaphors and other poorly-defined terms. (Such critics have been accused of conceptual conservatism.) One also needs to decipher how aware the scientists discussed are of the metaphorical nature of the words (or phrases) they use. Indeed it also needs to be asked if such scientists take these words (or phrases) to be metaphors at all!

Take Richard Dawkins’ well-known phrase “the selfish gene”.

These words are extremely problematic.

The simple argument in this essay is that genes are neither selfish nor not selfish.

So let’s rewrite a passage from the Dutch philosopher Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677) in which the word “genes” is substituted for Spinoza’s own word “nature”:

I would warn you that I do not attribute to genes either selfishness or cooperativeness. Only in relation to our imagination can genes be called selfish or cooperative.

Of course the phrase “the selfish gene” has been debated to death. And Dawkins has himself stressed its metaphorical nature (see here).

Yet if you take away the phrase’s metaphorical content, readers may wonder what, precisely, is left.

Nature: Gaia vs Hell

G.C. Williams

In John Brockman’s The Third Culture, the Gaia hypothesis is discussed by various scientists. Those scientists include G.C. Williams, Lynn Margulis, Richard Dawkins and Brian Goodwin.

Let’s begin with the American biologist George Christopher Williams (1926–2010).

Lynn Margulis

G.C. Williams puts the boot into fellow biologist Lynn Margulis (1938–2011) in the following manner:

[] I would say that Lynn Margulis is very much afflicted with a kind of ‘God-is-good’ syndrome, in that she wants to look at nature and see something benign and benevolent and ultimately wholesome and worth having [].”

The obvious riposte to that passage is to state that very similar things could have been said about G.C. Williams himself. Indeed Williams actually admitted that! That is, he said that

[Margulis] could say the same about me — that I think ‘God is evil,’ and I look out there at His creations and see nothing but evil”.

Perhaps Margulis would have been right to do so. After all, Williams also talked about nature being (although quoting Tennyson) “red in tooth and claw”.

Yet what if nature is neither “benign and benevolent” nor “red in tooth and claw”? Perhaps Spinoza was right after all.

In any case, G.C. Williams continued on the same theme:

[Margulis] likes to look out there and see cooperation and things being nice to each other. This culminates in this Gaia idea. [] But that’s what she wants to see, and therefore, come what may, that’s what she’s going to see.”

Of course Williams might well have been purely metaphorical and/or rhetorical when he used the words “red in tooth and claw” and even when he talked about “competition”. (Obviously, Tennyson’s poetic phrase is a metaphor.) But so too might Margulis when she said the things she said.

So does all this simply mean that this is only a debate about which metaphors scientists should use and how they should use them? In that case, then, where does the anger and sarcasm come from (i.e., as displayed in The Third Culture)?

Ironically enough (i.e., considering G.C. Williams’s take on Margulis), even James Lovelock’s friend — i.e., Margolis herself — admitted that Lovelock had political (or perhaps moral) motivations when it came to his own Gaia theory.

In detail, Margulis stated the following:

“Lovelock’s position is to let the people believe that Earth is an organism, because if they think it is just a pile of rocks they kick it, ignore it, and mistreat it. If they think Earth is an organism, they’ll tend to treat it with respect. To me, this is a helpful cop-out, not science.”

This basically means that what G.C. Williams accused Margulis of (in the quoted passage a few moments ago), Margulis accused Lovelock of (in the passage directly above).

The passage from Margulis is also odd because it’s basically saying that Lovelock was dishonest and/or insincere. That is, Lovelock didn’t actually (or really) believe that the Earth is an “organism” at all. Instead, he simply wanted “to let the people believe [my italics] that Earth is an organism”.

So why did Lovelock want people to believe that?

He wanted people to believe that Earth is an organism because he believed that if this noble lie (or “lie for Justice”) wasn’t peddled by scientists such as himself, then — most? all? — people would think that the Earth is “just a pile of rocks”. And if people thought that, then “they [would] kick it, ignore it, and mistreat it”.

[This way of looking at things was replicated by the mathematician and sci-fi novelist Rudy Rucker, who’s also a panpsychist. In another book edited by John Brockman, Rucker stated the following: “If the rocks on my property have minds, I feel more respect for them in their natural state. If I feel myself among friends in the universe.”]

So if Lovelock was indeed being dishonest and/insincere when he argued that Earth is an “organism”, then it’s not surprising that Margulis should have continued by saying that Lovelock’s position is a “helpful cop-out, not science”.

Yet even here Margulis is still buying into Lovelock’s noble lie (or “pious fiction”) in that she also argued that it’s “helpful”. That said, even though this noble lie (i.e., about Earth being an organism) just happens to be helpful; then that still doesn’t stop it from also being a “cop-out” that’s “not science”.

This simply raises the question: Did Lovelock believe that the Earth is an organism or not?

Richard Dawkins

Ironically enough, the evolutionary biologist and author Richard Dawkins (Margulis’s scientific and personal foe) seems to be (kinda) in tune with Margulis here. That said, one wonders if Dawkins was being rhetorical (a word he uses against his opponents in Brockman’s book) when he stated that Gaia theorists believe that

“there will be some gas produced by bacteria which is good for the world at large and so the bacteria go to the trouble of producing it, for the good of the world”.

Do Gaia theorists really believe that bacteria have the good of the world in mind when they produce a certain gas?

Again, perhaps it’s just a metaphor.

Indeed the palaeontologist Stephen Jay Gould once argued that Gaia hypothesis itself is “a metaphor, not a mechanism”. That is, the very name and heart of Gaia is metaphorical (i.e., not only the claims and terms used within the theory itself). That said, the ecologist David Abram responded by arguing that Stephen Gould didn’t seem to realise that the word “mechanism” is itself a metaphor — just one which happens to have lost its metaphorical (as it were) ambience. (See David Abram here.)

However, if it’s just a metaphor (as Lynn Margulis herself hinted), then what would be left of the Gaia hypothesis once stripped of its metaphors; and, therefore, its political (or moral) affiliations and ramifications? Would this be a case of unweaving the rainbow that is the Gaia hypothesis?

Daniel Dennett

Despite Margolis’s words of warning about Lovelock’s romantic(?) take on Gaia, it’s ironic that the American philosopher Daniel Dennett (just like G.C. Williams) accused Margulis of (more or less) the same thing she accused Lovelock of.

Dennett stated:

“Some of her recent popular writing disturbs me, because I think she’s trying to take that wonderful idea and harness it as a political idea, stressing cooperation over competition. Yes, the eukaryotic revolution was an instance in which what began as competition evolved into what is fundamentally a cooperative arrangement.”

However, Dennett continued:

[B]ut precisely what it doesn’t show is that cooperation is the norm or that cooperation is always good or that it’s always possible. It’s the rare and wonderful thing that enabled multicellular life to take off. But you can’t read into it any message such as that nature is fundamentally cooperative; it isn’t.”

As some readers will probably guess, the traffic wasn’t all one way on this issue.

Despite that seeming concordance between Margulis and Dawkins (mentioned earlier) on Lovelock’s Gaia, Margolis also attacked Dawkins (also in relation to Gaia) when she stated the following:

“That quote captures the arrogance of Dawkins. [] He prefers to take potshots instead of actually discussing the details of Gaia. When he says that Gaia is ‘dangerous and distressing to scientists who value the truth,’ he’s talking about himself. Gaia is dangerous and distressing to him because, unlike the rest of us, HE values the truth. The inference of his statement simply exposes his solipsism.”

As stated, this is odd when bearing in mind what Margulis herself said about Lovelock.

So does this mean that, firstly, there’s Margulis’s Gaia; and then there’s Lovelock’s Gaia?

That could have meant that Margulis was stating that Dawkins is arrogant and solipsistic only when it came to her own take on Gaia, not Lovelock’s.

In any case, Richard Dawkins returned the favour here:

“I first met Lynn some years ago at a conference in the South of France, and I think we got on rather well together. I have since, when I’ve met her, found her extremely obstinate in argument. I have the feeling that she’s the kind of person who just knows she’s right and doesn’t listen to argument. [] [I]n the case of the theory of the origin of the eukaryotic cell, she was right to be obstinate. She’s turned out, probably, to be right, but that doesn’t mean she’s always right. And I suspect that she isn’t always right.”

Well, that’s the personal stuff out of the way.

What about Margulis’s actual scientific theories? Dawkins continued:

“Some of her recent popular writing disturbs me, because I think she’s trying to take that wonderful idea and harness it as a political idea, stressing cooperation over competition.”

Of course “stressing” competition is just as bad.

Again, it can be argued (à la Spinoza) that neither cooperation nor competition exist in nature — at least not in the sense that these things exist in the world of socialised and intelligent human beings.

Yet if these words and phrases are “only metaphors”, then surely they’re… only metaphors.

And this is where the prior politics of scientists often slips in.

Politics and Scientific Metaphors

The following sums up the problems discussed so far:

(1) There have been scientists (along with political activists on the periphery) who’ve stressed — for political reasons - competition and ignored (or simply played down) cooperation.
(2) And then there have been scientists (along with political activists on the periphery) who’ve stressed — for equally political reasons — cooperation and ignored (or simply played down) competition.

The simple and obvious thing to do here, then, would be to stress both cooperation and competition!

However, one other option (as already mentioned) would be to deny that there is either cooperation or competition in nature.

Of course it may well be the case that scientists — on both sides — will (rather predictably) respond to this last claim by saying that they’ve stressed neither cooperation nor competition. Alternatively, they may say that they’ve stressed both. Yet, when you read much of the literature, this simply hasn’t been the case!

Indeed Brockman’s The Third Culture is just one among many more graphic examples which display that political bias toward either cooperation or toward competition when it comes to discussions of Darwinism and nature generally.

So nature may not be “red in tooth and claw”, but politicised science most certainly is!

All this stuff about competition vs cooperation (which is clearly political) has also been tied to one other frequent part of this debate — the supposed role of capitalism within Darwinism.

Brian Goodwin certainly tied what he called “Darwinism” to capitalism… and also to much else that’s not (strictly speaking) biological.

Brian Goodwin on Capitalist Science

Brian Goodwin

Just as Darwinism has been linked to capitalism via the former’s stress on competition, so Brian Goodwin also links Darwinism to Calvinism (which, of course, has also been linked to capitalism).

The Canadian mathematician and biologist Brian Goodwin (1931–2009) makes the connection in the following passage:

“There’s a focus on competition in Darwinism because of the notions of progress and struggle. Now we get into theology and how it influences Darwinism, through the Calvinist view that people who have the greater accumulation of goods have proved themselves superior in the race of life. That for me is a whole lot of garbage that can be chucked.”

All that came after the following words:

“There’s too much work in our culture, and there’s too much accumulation of goods. The whole capitalist trip is an awful treadmill that’s extremely destructive.”

Brian Goodwin even connects Richard Dawkins’ Darwinism to what he calls “Christian fundamentalism”. But not in the usual way of saying that “Darwinists are as fundamentalist as Christian fundamentalists”. No, Goodwin also connects Dawkins’ bad Darwinism to fundamentalist Christianity in detailed theological ways which (seemingly at least) have nothing directly to do with fundamentalism. This is Goodwin on Dawkins:

“I suddenly realized that this set of four points was transformation of four very familiar principles in Christian fundamentalism, which go like this; (1) Humanity is born in sin; (2) we have a selfish inheritance; (3) humanity is therefore condemned to a life of conflict and perpetual toil; (4) but there is salvation.
“What Richard has done is to make absolutely clear that Darwinism is a kind of transformation of Christian theology. [] I suspect that Richard was at one stage fairly religious, and that he then underwent a kind of conversion. [].”

Technically, isn’t it the case that points (1), (2), (3) and (4) were vital parts of mainstream — i.e., not “fundamentalist” — Christianity for over 1,500 years? (Unless, that is, Goodwin believed that virtually all Christianity was fundamentalist.) Weren’t those precepts built into almost all Christianity?

In any case, instead of capitalism, Darwinism, Calvinism, fundamentalist Christianity, etc., Goodwin offered this alternative:

“Once you get rid of it, you’re into a different set of metaphors, related to creativity, novelty for its own sake, doing what comes naturally.”

This is very vague stuff. And, of course, if one is that way inclined, then being vague (if also poetic) and following one’s emotions are fine. Nonetheless, why isn’t there any “creativity” built into Darwinism — at least of the kind of Darwinism Goodwin pointed his finger at? And was Goodwin keen on literally all examples of “novelty for its own sake”? Did that include the many types of cancer, creative forms of violence and torture, capitalist creativity and novelty, etc? And, finally, Goodwin must have realised that everything that everyone and everything does “comes naturally” because there’s no other way for it to come.

That said and to repeat: Goodwin believed that all this creativity, novelty and doing what comes naturally (whatever those things could possibly mean) are in opposition to

“the image of organisms struggling up peaks in a fitness landscape, doing ‘better than’ — which is a very Calvinistic work ethic”.

Goodwin, on the other hand, sums up his political vision as a “creative dance”.

Brian Goodwin’s Metaphors

Goodwin said that what he was against was only a “set of metaphors”. Indeed he (more or less) admitted that his own alternative was only a set of metaphors too.

Firstly, the metaphors he politically disliked:

“Instead of the metaphors of conflict, competition, selfish genes, climbing peaks in fitness landscapes, what you get is evolution as a dance. It has no goal. As Stephen Jay Gould says, it has no purpose, no progress, no sense of direction.”

And there are similar metaphors (if about a different subject) in the following passage from Brockman’s book. However, this time these metaphors aren’t from Brian Goodwin himself: they’re from the biologist Francisco Varela:

“Deconstruct the militaristic notion that the immune system is about defense and looking out for invaders. Deconstruct the notion that evolution is about optimizing fitness to live in the conditions present in some kind of niche. [] Deconstructing adaptation means deconstructing neo-Darwinism.”

There are certainly problems with using metaphors. And it’s not just a question of using ideologically incorrect (or ideologically correct) metaphors either. Sometimes metaphors themselves (i.e., whatever political content they may contain) are overused or inherently problematic.

For example, I doubt that Goodwin or Verela would have liked the following metaphors from the inventor and computer scientist W. Daniel Hillis (again, from Brockman’s book):

“Would you please take the 10 percent of those random programs that did the best job, save those, kill the rest, and have the ones that sorted the best reproduce by a process of recombination, analogous to sex. Take two programs and produce children by exchanging their subroutines.”

Despite mentioning metaphors, Brian Goodwin did start off with a critical tract about Calvinism, capitalism and competition in which he doesn’t even mention metaphors — or, indeed, use any metaphors.

What’s more, substituting one set of political metaphors for another set of political metaphors seems to defeat the object. Or, at the very least, we’ve clearly moved way beyond biology and evolutionary science here…

Unless, that is, politics and metaphor are inescapable in this area of science. Indeed some “politically-engaged scientists” have argued precisely that.

Brian Goodwin then moved on to advance his more obviously political vision. Or, at the least, Goodwin demanded that “nature and culture” must merge. And that demand can very easily be interpreted as meaning that nature and politics (i.e., the right kind of politics) must merge. (It can be doubted that Goodwin would have put it that clearly and openly.)

In detail, Goodwin stated:

“This is why indigenous cultures are beginning to be recognised for their values — because they were not accumulating good; they were living in harmony. They were expressing their own natures, as cultures. Nature and culture then come together.”

Firstly, this is a very vague use of the term “indigenous cultures”. It’s rarely clear what people mean by those words. In any case, isn’t it a generalisation to put literally all (well) indigenous cultures in the same basket? (Indeed, if Goodwin’s stereotypes had been negative, then they would have been classed as racist.) The literary critic and political activist Edward Said (1935–2003) picked up on this line of thinking when he argued that positive Orientalism (see here) is just as bad as negative Orientalism.

Indeed this Goodwinian romanticisation of non-Western cultures — which parallels its negative (or openly racist) opposite in both historical lineage and style — dates back to Jean-Jacques Rousseau (via people like the cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead — see here). For Rousseau, his positive Orientalism (or his purely positive view of… indigenous cultures) was largely a figment of his own romantic imagination (though his admirers are keen to say that the term “noble savage” was never uttered by Rousseau himself), his dearth of genuine knowledge of any cultures outside Europe (see here), and his hatred of what he saw around him in the West (or simply in France) …

And all that seems very familiar and contemporary.


Friday, 9 September 2022

Carving Nature at Its Joints: Natural Kinds and Essences

The philosopher Roger Scruton argued that “we do not create natural kinds simply by our classifications”. Metaphysicians, then, should “suggest that science look for necessary connections” as one way of “detaching science from our observations”. Why? In order to “attach science to an objective order”.

Why do we accept the statement

(1) “All ravens are black.”

but not

(2) “Non-black things are non-ravens.”?

(1) and (2) are said to be “logically equivalent”. That is, when we “count” all non-black things and all non-ravens, what are we left with? We’re left with black ravens. Thus, we arrive back at (at least in a sense) the statement “All ravens are black”. That’s why they the two statements are said to be logically equivalent. So if something (or anything) is a non-black thing, then it can’t be a raven. And if anything is a non-raven, then (well) it can’t be a raven. Thus, a blue bird isn’t a raven. A banana isn’t a raven. Get it?

This is all part of the ‘Raven paradox’ issue, as expressed in the following way:

“The raven paradox [] is a paradox arising from the question of what constitutes evidence for the truth of a statement. Observing objects that are neither black nor ravens may formally increase the likelihood that all ravens are black even though, intuitively, these observations are unrelated.”

[I personally have a problem with the idea that the statements “All ravens are black” and “Non-black things are non-ravens” are logically equivalent and scientific. They certainly aren’t non-logically equivalent or semantically equivalent. However, these issues must be discussed elsewhere; though there’s been a huge debate on black ravens.]

More relevantly, all this talk about black crows usually occurs — and perhaps must occur — within the context of natural kinds and essences.

The 19th-century English philosopher J.S. Mill (1806- 1873), for example, believed that the world contains (natural) kinds. That is, he believed that we don’t create or “invent” these kinds. They’re actually there in the world and therefore mind-independent.

Prima facie, this talk of mind-independence may seem to go against Mill’s own empiricism (or phenomenalism). So perhaps Mill wouldn’t have used the term “mind-independence” in this context. Perhaps, instead, he’d have used his own much-quoted words: “the permanent possibility of sensation”. That is, if we were to observe a natural kind like a raven, then we’d note properties x, y and z.

So what binds kinds together?

According to Mill, it’s their “common nature”.

Of course ravens and other biological species aren’t the only natural kinds.

Gold and water are also natural kinds. Perhaps it should be said that collections of H₂O molecules, rather than water, is a natural kind. That’s because the word “water” usually refers to secondary properties or to John Locke’s “nominal essences” (which, according to Locke, are based on our “experiences” and on the “common names” we use).

The English philosopher Roger Scruton (1944–2020) argued (in his book Modern Philosophy) that “we do not create the kind water simply by our classifications”. However, can’t it be argued that we only (as it were) get to water (as water) through our classifications? And if we only get to water (at least scientifically and philosophically) through our classifications, then perhaps, in a strong sense, we do actually create that natural kind in that we can only know and observe it (i.e., qua water) through such classifications.

In any case, the words “real essences are the thing(s) that makes a thing a thing” don’t really get us anywhere.

So Scruton explains what a real essence is.

But firstly, let’s take the nominal essence of diamonds.

Scruton argues that laypersons “pick out diamonds by means of their hardness and transparency”. Scientists, on the other hand, have no time for these properties. According to Scruton, hardness and transparency are only “interest-relative”; as well as being mind-dependent and sense-dependent.

According to this story, then, science discovers real essences.

Yet does all that automatically mean that such scientific properties won’t be interest-relative, mind-dependent and sense-dependent?

Not according to many other philosophers — not least those of who deny essences altogether.

So what is the real essence of a diamond?

It is carbon, which, according to Scruton again, is “the very same thing as charcoal”. (See Activated charcoal and “Diamond is composed of the single element carbon.”)

Now how can we flesh out the essence of a diamond?

According to Scruton, we can do so by arguing that the claim that diamonds are essentially carbon “is another instance of an a posteriori necessary truth”. That is, it’s necessary that diamonds are carbon even though we can’t know that a priori. (It’s a scientific discovery.) Alternatively, diamonds are carbon at every possible at which they exist.

The result of this view is that a diamond could lose its “hardness, sheen and transparency — without ceasing to be what it is”. In other words, a diamond wouldn’t lose its essence if it had no (as they’re usually called) contingent properties. However, would a diamond still be “what it is” after losing such properties?

It depends on what the words “what it is” mean.

In addition, if diamonds are nothing more than their essences, then this conclusion must follow by definition.

So could we still have a diamond without its sheen, transparency, hardness, etc. — or would we just have a lump of charcoal?

Certainly, no layperson would recognise it as a diamond.

The raises this question:

Why are the views of all laypersons irrelevant when it comes to establishing what a diamond is?

Moreover, why are sheen, hardness, transparency, etc. irrelevant when it comes to diamonds?

Is a lump of charcoal really a lump of diamond?

More generally, natural kinds became fashionable (roughly in the late 1960s and after Saul Kripke’s work) in analytic philosophy after a long period (at least in some quarters) of criticism of metaphysics (i.e., not only from the logical positivists). More particularly, that criticism included much anti-essentialism. (see ‘Essentialism’ and ‘Non-Essentialism’.)

So what new brand of metaphysics is all this a reference to?

Firstly, such metaphysicians (according to Scruton) “suggest[ed] that science looks for necessary connections”. Does that mean the necessary connections between natural kinds? Does it mean that that the necessary connections between natural kinds are themselves natural kinds? And/or does it mean that there are necessary connections between the (essential) properties which constitute natural kinds?

Moreover, is it really the case that (as Scruton put it) “it is the task of science to discover” these necessary connections?

According to some metaphysicians, the postulation — or actuality — of natural kinds and their essences increased the possibility of objectivity in science. That is, we can have objectivity (only?) if we can discover natural kinds, essences and necessary connections. In addition, this interest in natural kinds and necessary connections helped “detach [science] from our observations and attach it to an objective order”.

So is science (well, physics) really detached from our observations?

It can easily be accepted that observations (or experiences) aren’t everything in science because of the fundamental importance of both theory and mathematics. However, surely observations must account for something. Indeed perhaps observations still account for a hell of a lot!