Lamarck & Darwin Compared

 

The important distinction that must be made between Jean-Baptiste Lamarck's position and Charles Darwin's is that the former believed that animals acquired characteristics. In other words, organisms or animals can change while alive. Darwin, on the other hand, stressed the inheritance of characteristics, not their acquisition during the existence of animals.

Nonetheless, surely an animal has to acquire a characteristic before it can be passed onto - or be inherited by - future generations. Yes, that's true – though only over time. That is, individuals don't acquire characteristics over life-times. Though over time species may acquire characteristics. Those characteristics, though, will be too small to be noticed by one generation and will certainly not be noticeable over the lifetime of an individual animal.

Is this true of all species? What about the microscopic ones which have very short lifespans? Is is literally impossible for one such species to acquire a characteristic during its own lifetime?

The Lamarkian position is that “the constant craning of a giraffe to reach leaves high in a tree would alter its sperm or egg that its offspring would be born with longer necks” (114). This seems like a ridiculous idea – though only in retrospect! That is, only in the retrospect provided by knowledge of Darwin's theories. Nonetheless, the argument is still that repeated behaviours or habits of animals has a literal affect on sperms or eggs. Thus if the sperm or eggs are affected by this behaviour, then they will automatically produce offspring that will be different in some small or even large way.

Darwin's position, on the other hand, is that there is no direct relation between animal behaviour and changes in that animal's sperm or eggs. What actually is argued about behaviour X (say reaching the higher leaves) is that it's more likely to survive and thus pass on its genes because of behaviour X. The eggs or sperm aren't changed due to behaviour. Though the behaviour leads to a situation in which that animal, and animals like it, are more likely to survive. Thus giraffes with longer necks are more likely to survive. And, because of that, those giraffes which have longer necks are more likely to pass on the long-necked gene than those giraffes with shorter necks. Thus, over time, short-necked giraffes die out because less of them survive. And the less of them that survive (due to having short necks) means that they can't pass on their genes. Short-necked genes aren't passed on; though long-necked genes are.

Thus behaviour doesn't affect genes. What does affect genes, in fact, is entirely random. Though if a random change in the structure of genes produces giraffes with long necks, and long necks are more likely to secure survival, then the genes for long necks are more likely to be passed on simply because giraffes with longer necks are more likely to survive than giraffes with shorter necks.

Kurt Gödel's Theorems & Physics

It's often asked whether or not Kurt Gödel's theorems can be applied outside mathematics. John Horgan certainly applies them to the theories of physics. Or, more accurately, he writes that

 

“Kurt Gödel's incompleteness theorem denies us the possibility of constructing a complete, consistent mathematical description of reality” (6).

Clearly there's a jump here from Gödel's mathematical incompleteness theorems to physical reality. Or, more accurately, from Gödel's theorems to a “consistent mathematical description of reality”. Is that jump justified?

Well, for a start, physics is utterly dependent on mathematics. Thus if all descriptions of reality in physics involve mathematics, and mathematics is subject to Gödel's theorems, then that must pass over to the descriptions of reality which are offered by physicists. In other words, if a mathematical system must be incomplete (or not entirely provable), then that description of reality must be incomplete (or not entirely provable). The two must fall and rise together.

More meat is put on this idea of whether or not Gödel's theorems are applicable to theories about reality when John Horgan says that the “British physicist John Barrow argued that Gödel's incompleteness theorem undermines the very notion of a complete theory of nature” (69). We move again from mathematical systems to the incompleteness of a “complete theory of nature”. It can be said here that Barrow is simply transferring the incompleteness of mathematics to the incompleteness of a “complete theory of nature”. Again, does the former necessarily pass over to the latter?

In more detail: Godel established that "any moderately complex system of axioms inevitably raises questions that cannot be answered by the axioms". Then Horgan moves onto to say that the “implication is that any theory will always have loose ends”.

Many scientists accept this application of Godel's theorems to physics, including Moravec, Roger Penrose and Freeman Dyson. The latter says:

“Since we know the laws of physics are mathematical, and we know that mathematics is an inconsistent system, it's sort of plausible that physics will also be inconsistent.” (254)

Thus what we have here is a logical argument:

i) Physics is mathematical.

ii) Mathematics is an inconsistent system.

iii) Therefore physics must be an inconsistent system (or simply incomplete).

The only problem here is seeing the entirety of mathematics as a single system (which itself incorporates systems). Perhaps it is.
 

Putnam on the Virtues & Vices of Ordinary Language

Perhaps it follows from Hilary Putnam's critique of obsessive formalism (in philosophy) that he would also have championed the use of ordinary language, if not of the ‘ordinary language' school and its actual doctrines. Putnam himself says:

“One is that philosophy can and should for the most part be done in ordinary language, about which I agree with Austin enormously. The other is that it’s about ordinary language, which I don’t agree with. I think there’s a tendency not to separate the two.” (233)

The idea that philosophy should be done in ordinary language (at least when that's possible) isn't in itself a commitment to ‘ordinary language philosophy’; or a commitment that philosophy should only study ordinary language (or ordinary language concerns/issues).

This also follows from Putnam’s suspicion of the formalising tendencies in philosophy; as well as the strong attention to the efficacy - and indeed glorification - of mathematical logic.

Of course the ordinary language philosophers were indeed primarily concerned with the minutia of ordinary language. That was certainly the case with J.L. Austin; though not someone like Peter Strawson (e.g., with his ‘descriptive metaphysics’).

This commitment to ordinary language isn't just a question of making one’s prose-style clear and understandable to the layperson. It's also a question of the idea that if you don't (or can't) use ordinary prose to say what you want to say in ordinary language, then that should make you suspect the legitimacy of what you're saying. If you use language in a way that's radically at odds with ordinary language, then you commit “a plain violation of ordinary language” and “that’s at least a bad sign” (234).It's a sign that something has gone wrong with your philosophy somewhere along the line.

Putnam gives some examples of these ‘violations’ that not only use language that's at odds with ordinary language, but also say things which are themselves philosophically suspect. For example:

“The fact that we never speak of 'directly perceiving' and 'not directly perceiving' in everyday language in the way that traditional epistemologists do was a sign that something was really quite wrong with the traditional philosophy of perception, something already noticed in the eighteenth century by Thomas Reid, by the way. Reid sounds very Austinian when he fulminates against the strange ways philosophers talk about perception. I think that’s a corrective one should apply to one’s own thought.” (234)

The problem with this position is that it may not (or will not) allow philosophers any leeway to say anything new because that would be bound to go against the dictates of everyday language. Would we say the same kind of thing to poets when they use a strange (or any kind of) metaphor – that they too are going against everyday language? I hope not. In addition, the very fact that philosophy is an academic disciple (that is, a specialism) surely means that it's bound to say novel things in novel ways. Indeed Rorty, for example, says that it is almost the duty of philosophers to say strange things in strange ways. This is parallel to the situation with metaphors, he argues. That is, if metaphors were indeed literally translatable into everyday language, then they would simply loose their point.

Can we really have such a radical position on philosophical discourse as the one Putnam suggests? Perhaps Putnam is really against plain philosophical pretentiousness rather than radical philosophical prose itself. Of course many philosophers try to show off with mathematical logic, schematisations, gratuitous use of logical symbols/variables and the rest. This, however, isn't a point about philosophical prose: it's about philosophical pretentiousness. And pretentiousness, of course, is a failing we can find not just in philosophy but in all other academic disciplines. Indeed we can find it in all walks of life. (Including from the pretentiously self-conscious practitioner of being ‘down-to-earth’.)

I’m not even sure about Putnam’s examples. Is it really the case that the phrase “directly perceiving” is suspect from an everyday language point of view? It makes sense even if it's philosophically suspect. It would even make sense to the layperson.

These examples (given by Putnam) aren't like some of the stuff you can read in the academic journals of contemporary analytic philosophy (especially if written by postgraduate philosophy students!). So although I agree with Putnam to some extent, I think he goes a little too far. In addition, he should make a distinction between plain pretentiousness and the unavoidable fact that a disciple like philosophy is bound, at times, to be written in a prose-style that will make the layperson’s head buzz. You can’t do anything about that; at least in certain areas of philosophy.

Putnam seems to agree that we can't become the Khmer Rouge of philosophers. He says:

“But on the other hand, if another philosopher uses an expression in an extraordinary way or violates its ordinary use, I would never immediately conclude that he or she is talking nonsense. Then the idea of ordinary language become a kind of straightjacket – we know what ordinary language is, we know when it’s violated and we know that when it’s violated nonsense results – I don’t accept any one of those three statements.” (234)

Just as we may say that philosophers shouldn't be too hasty or keen to say that a layperson’s utterances are ‘meaningless’: perhaps the layperson himself shouldn't be too keen (or hasty) to call the writings of philosophers ‘meaningless’ or ‘violations of everyday language’. In that sense, perhaps philosophy is like poetry in that if the poet is to say something truly knew, he may have to say it in a novel way. The same may be true of the philosopher. Indeed some laypersons think that other laypersons are abusing language simply because they don’t understand their new ideas or the way that they're expressed. Perhaps it's really because they don't like what it is that's being expressed and thus cynically claim that it's the way they say it that's the problem.

So these issues don't only arise in philosophy or even only in other academic disciplines.

For example, many people say that ‘newage-ers’ speak nonsense – perhaps they do. Other say that animal rights activists don't even make sense – perhaps they don’t. What about what is said (in everyday language) about ‘super-strings’ or ‘quantum indeterminacy’? Surely that's ‘nonsense’ to the layperson if he can't even be bothered giving the physicist the benefit of the doubt.

In any case, do “we know what ordinary language is” (234)? Do we know “when it’s violated” if we don’t really know what it is in the first place (at least not formally)? Have we got the skills and the right to say when it's violated and that when it is ‘nonsense results’? Should we even be in the business, as philosophers or laypersons of putting “a kind of straightjacket” on our language? If we do, then perhaps all sorts of negative things would result: such as the sterility of thought, a lack of innovation, and, basically, the death of the imagination. Perhaps ordinary things can only be said in ordinary language and extraordinary things can only be said in extraordinary language. After all, language itself has never been static and much of what we said in the past is nonsense by present standards; just as what we say today would have been nonsense to our ancestors. Indeed much of what we say today will be deemed nonsense by future generations.

Quick Thoughts on the Identity of Indiscernibles

The law of the Identity of Indiscernibles is said to be the converse of Leibniz’s law. This is the Indentity of Indiscernibles:

If a and b have all their properties in common, then they are one and the same thing.

In symbols:

(x) (y) (F) ((F) x ≡ F (y) ⊃. x = y)

The basic question is:

Imagine two steel balls which have all their properties in common. Could they still be two?

Intuitively, most people (I think) would say 'yes'. It doesn't seem inconceivable prior to modal philosophising.

For a start, wouldn’t the balls still be spatially or temporally separate? If that is the case, then surely they wouldn't have all their properties in common. (That's if you accept spatial and temporal properties, which many philosophers do.)

Now we go deeper into this thought experiment.

One could say (I suppose) that if the balls were suddenly frozen in space, then their positions would be different. Hence they'd have different spatial properties. However, what if the balls will never be frozen in space and never have been frozen in space? (Is that a hypothetical scenario about a hypothetical scenario?)

As they are now, and in five minutes, etc., the balls are constantly on the move relative to one another. Thus they have all their spatial (as well as temporal) properties in common. And because they're both in an empty world, there can be no relational properties (care-of other objects, conditions, events, etc.). Any relational properties a has relative to b, b has relative to a. Thus they have all their properties in common.

This, then, appears to break Leibniz’s law in that the balls are indiscernible; though not identical!

Leibniz’s Law & Intensional Contexts

What is Leibniz’s law? This:

If a is the same as b, then everything true of a is also true of b.

Or in symbols: (x) (y) (F) (x = y ⊃. F (x) ≡ F (y))

There's at least one way in which it can be taken to be false. Take Roger Scruton’s example:

“Suppose John is thinking tenderly of Mary, and Mary is the person who, unknown to John, ate his beloved cat. Is John thinking tenderly of the person who ate his cat?” 

This is primarily a question of John’s beliefs about Mary (de dicto): not about Mary herself (de re). It's indeed the case the cat-eater is the same person as the person thought tenderly of by John. However, John doesn't know that Mary ate his cat. This is a fact about John; not a fact about Mary. (Can there be psychological facts?)... Unless what is thought by other people about Mary also constitute facts about Mary. In that case, there would be a multitude of facts about Mary that she and others (as individuals) couldn't know about Mary (which isn't in itself implausible).

Does this story break Leibniz’s law? No.

What we would require to save the day is a theory of contexts: 'intensional' contexts. Do we need such intensional (or belief contexts) at all? Quine said no – at least not in science, logic and perhaps in philosophy too. That is, what John is thinking of doesn't belong to this particular extension (or reference) – that is, to Mary. Thus it plays no part in science or logic. (Though it would, perhaps, play a part in the psychological descriptions of John.) Then again, it could also be said that Mary (as a single person or human being) couldn't really play a part in science or logic either.