Your Meditation Guide Blog

* Ben Radford on a psychic predictably and shamelessly trying to take advantage of the recent solution of the Jaycee Dugard abduction case.

I happened upon the music of Matisyahu by chance when he first hit the scene and immediately fell in love with his style. It's fresh, original, hip and very catchy. His style is an exceptional hybrid of reggae, rap, beat-box, hip-hop and rock. There is something there to his music, however, besides amazing talent and a unique sound, which I quickly figured out--He has a deep passion for the music, which stems in large part from a deep well of spiritual energy.

Matis is a Hasidic Jew who mixes positive, uplifting messages about Jewish and other spirituality into his songs. The spiritual messages he infuses into his music are very universal so that despite not being Jewish or even monotheistic I really connect with it on a profound level. One such song is from Matisyahu's new album, "Light" and it's titled, "One Day." Anyway, below the video box I've typed out some of the lyrics that I like most from this song about peace, love and non-violence. If the video is disabled click here for the link to the video:

Scientists are often assumed to be obsessed by definitions. After all, if you cannot precisely define a concept, say what a planet is, or what a biological species is, you literally don’t know what you are talking about, and how can you then possibly do science using that very same concept? And yet, the practice of science is very different, and to a surprising extent does not seem to depend on definitions of its objects of study.

Take the recent brouhaha concerning whether Pluto should be considered a planet or a different kind of celestial object (a captured asteroid perhaps, or a “planetoid,” whatever that may be). My colleague Neil deGrasse Tyson is a strong advocate of the Pluto-is-not-a-planet school, for which he has been chastised even by Jon Stewart. That idea won the day, and now the solar system only sports eight planets. But as I’ve argued in a Skeptical Inquirer column, the question is academic in the strictest sense of the word: it does not matter in the least to astronomy or planetology whether one officially designates Pluto as a planet or as a lesser entity. The interesting scientific fact is that Pluto has several distinctive characteristics from the other eight planets (most notably the shape and angle of its orbit around the Sun), characteristics that require an explanation that is different from the one found to be satisfactory in the case of the “other” planets.

The issue is even more complex, and the technical discussions more acrimonious, in the case of biological species. Biologists and philosophers of science have been debating it for decades, and the resultant literature is voluminous, intricate, and largely inconclusive. (A few years ago I suggested that this is because “species” is a particular kind of concept identified by philosopher of language Ludwig Wittgenstein, and known usually as “family resemblance” or “cluster” concept: it does not admit of a simple definition in terms of a small set of necessary and sufficient conditions. Rather, it is fuzzy, made of a number of conceptual strands that intersect in a complex fashion.) As in the case of planets, however, this lack of an agreed upon definition has not stopped biologists from studying species, their characteristics, and even their modes of origin (i.e., speciation processes). How is this possible?

It turns out that there are two very different ways of thinking about “definitions,” ways that were beginning to be parsed by Socrates and Plato back in ancient Greece. Many of the early Socratic dialogues (those that more likely represent Socrates’ actual thinking, as opposed to using the figure of Socrates as a mouthpiece for the more mature Platonic philosophy) have at their core a discussion aiming at defining a particular term. So, for instance, Euthyphro is about the definition of piety, Meno is about courage, Protagoras about goodness, and Republic 1 about justice. In all of them, Socrates and his companions pretty soon find themselves engaged in a heated discussion along the lines of “what is X?” which they take to be central to making progress in whatever endeavor they happen to be pursuing.

A naive reading of these dialogues has brought some people to talk about the so-called “Socratic fallacy,” the idea that one cannot say anything about X unless one can precisely define X. This is obviously not true. Not only, as I mentioned before, can biologists happily proceed with studying species even though they don’t agree on a definition of species, but in every day life as well we talk about all sorts of things (skyscrapers, baldness, porn) even though we would be hard pressed to give an exact definition of those same things (what’s the minimum height of a building that qualifies it being a skyscraper? When is it exactly that a man turns from having sparse hair to being bald? And of course there is the famous quip by American Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart that he could not precisely define pornography, but he knew it when he saw it).

Besides, Socrates was too smart to fall into that sort of trap. Indeed, the way he went about examining concepts clearly shows that he did not commit the “Socratic fallacy.” The philosopher was famous for his method of “elenchus,” that is showing that someone’s understanding of an idea was mistaken based on the production of counter-examples that did not fit that person’s original explanation of the idea. For instance, in Euthyphro, the character that gives name to the dialogue at first claims that piety is to do whatever the gods wish. But Socrates quickly forces him to admit that that can’t be right, because in that case piety would simply be an arbitrary construct backed up only by (supernatural) force, not grounded in any inherent goodness. There must be something else to it, which Euthyphro is obviously missing. Socrates could not use the method of elenchus if he really thought that one cannot begin to talk about X unless one has a precise definition of X: in that case, how could one even think of a counterexample? A counterexample to what?

What Socrates is after, then, is not a precise a priori definition of a given concept, but rather a theory of the extent and applicability of that concept. This isn’t something that can be arrived at by simply consulting a dictionary, but it requires thoughtful philosophical investigation. The very same thing is true of modern science: not only is the absence of a precise definition no embarrassment to scientists, it is that very search for a theory of X (planets, species) that defines what science actually is. That search is also where scientists and philosophers talk to each other across the divide between the two cultures: whenever a philosopher identifies a problem with the way a scientist deploys a particular concept, the philosopher has uncovered a legitimate area for further conceptual (i.e., philosophical) and/or empirical (i.e., scientific) inquiry. For the scientist to shrug off the suggestion and dismiss it as “just semantic” is then a naive mistake, one made out of sheer intellectual snobbism, and therefore unbecoming to a true intellectual.

Concerning what Buddhism thinks toward the universe the Buddha has said, “It is so large that it has no exterior, and so small that it has no interior.” “It means that at the Tathagata level, in terms of largeness, you can’t see the edge of the universe, and in terms of smallness, you can’t see the smallest microscopic particle of matter."

James: Whenever this perspective comes into focus it always humbles and reassures me that the bigger picture of reality is unfolding as it should. How could it not be unfolding at it should for we don't have much control over anything let alone our fate in the unfathomable totally of the Universe. We have learned a lot as a species but we still probably don't even know a tenth of what the Universe is about and we will most likely never know. Perhaps that's the way it is meant to be because how can something so immense and ever changing ever be pinned down and completely understand by a mind, which we know is flawed to begin with? Catching up to the consciousness of this vast experiment is in my view a glimpse into the state of parinirvana, which in totality is impossible to grasp until, (it seems to this humbled mind) until one no longer longs to grasp at all. Perhaps we'll "know" it when our desire to know is exhausted.

How lucky to have been born on this pale blue dot of dust hurtling through the vast expanse of a living Universe at all? How even luckier is it then to have been born as a human with the ability to understand that we're living on a pale, isolated blue dot of dust hurtling through the vast expanse of a living, breathing Universe!! And that on this pale blue dot once walked a man called Buddha who changed this dot forever. Whole civilizations of ants live and die generation after generation with no knowledge whatsoever that they live on such a miracle of a rock floating and spinning around a bright, giant, star of nuclear reactivity.

We can try to act like we are in control with our super smart, fast computers but in the totality of it all those are just blimps on a inconceivably massive time line. We're along for the ride so while pursuing science and looking beyond our current limitations is something we should always pursue we need to remember the less flashy parts of the puzzle. Black holes, red dwarfs, spiral galaxies and massive, multi-colored planets are enthralling and awe inspiring to be sure but so is the most delicate, humblest blade of grass that we often pass as we rush our way across this pale blue dot. Some of the most amazing moments in existence don't take place in a lab, aren't seen through the lens of a telescope or measured with the most high-tech satellite. As my master Thich Nhat Hanh says:

“I like to walk alone on country paths, rice plants and wild grasses on both sides, putting each foot down on the earth in mindfulness, knowing that I walk on the wondrous earth. In such moments, existence is a miraculous and mysterious reality. People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child--our own two eyes. All is a miracle...

James: I am content to just be apart of it all and to share a few spins around the sun with you all on this miracle rock called, Earth. That makes me smile.

* Book suggestion: Kant, A Very Short Introduction

I recommend listening to each video for a few minutes to relax and center yourself before reading each corresponding haiku below it. Trust me, it's worth it. Also, try turning up the volume for a more realistic experience:

A few days ago a local skeptic group here in Brooklyn organized a roundtable discussion on the concept of the paranormal. We thought this was going to be a chat about what people mean by that term, how one goes about investigating alleged cases of paranormal happenings, and so on. We were in for a surprise. Turns out that a couple of real believers in the ghosts and the afterlife showed up, a somewhat rare opportunity to sit down with “the other side” and have a probing conversation to find out about what brings people to believe weird things.

“The psychic told me things nobody could have known” was one of the first refrains of the evening. To which of course I immediately asked for examples of these allegedly unknowable things that the psychic somehow managed to know. The person in question explained that the psychic had described her grandfather’s character in fairly precise ways, though she couldn’t recall an example of any specific character attribute that was so unusual about her grandfather. Moreover, it turns out that she had never actually known her grandfather, and that her conviction that the psychic got it right was based on her comparing notes taken at the time with a conversation she had a year later with her sister, who had known their grandfather (presumably, as a child). Hmm, not exactly the sort of thing that would clinch a court case.

It got worse. The husband of this nice woman (himself a very nice man), said he absolutely knew that a dear friend of theirs who had died was still around, making his presence felt. Naturally, I asked for an example of such an extraordinary happening. “Well, one day I felt like a flick behind my ear, and I just knew it was him.” That’s it? No, there was more. His wife one day had been given a penny and had felt a strange sensation in receiving it. Upon turning it over, she discovered that the penny was made in the same year of their friend’s birth. How else would you explain such an extraordinary coincidence?

At that point I trotted out the standard skeptical arguments. I don’t know exactly what happened in those cases, because I was not there and it is not possible to investigate the matter thoroughly enough after all this time. Still, I suggested, you are making an extraordinary claim based on very scant evidence, and I can easily think of very ordinary explanations for what you just told me (e.g., I told them about the technique of “cold reading” by psychics, and another attendee talked about the confirmation bias of remembering hits and forgetting misses — to no avail).

“But you can’t prove it isn’t so.” Right, I cannot, I replied, but you cannot prove that there are no unicorns in the universe either, and yet you probably don’t believe in unicorns, or even seriously entertain the possibility of their existence. In other words, one has to provide positive evidence when making a claim for the existence of a phenomenon; relying on the fact that it can’t be disproved is setting the bar so low that pretty much anything would be able to jump over it.

At this point our paranormalist friends tried yet another common tactic: “But Benjamin Franklin spent the last years of his life trying to get in touch with the dead, and he was a really smart man, so...” I don’t know enough about Benjamin’s biography to actually comment on how he spent his last few years, though there certainly is evidence that he believed in an afterlife (then again, so do most people). But of course the broader point can be defused by simple counterexamples: the astronomer Johannes Kepler was a really smart guy, and yet he believed in astrology. Isaac Newton is considered one of the greatest scientists of all time, and yet he spent more time on alchemic experiments than on physics. And so on and so forth.

We could turn this discussion into a serious debate about epistemology and standards of evidence, but this isn’t what it is all about. We live in a country where a large number of people still don’t believe President Obama is a citizen, despite his birth certificate having been broadcasted all over the airwaves and the internet. On the other side of the political spectrum, plenty of liberals still believe that Bush and Cheney purposely caused 9/11 so that they could start their war on Iraq (as if they actually needed an excuse).

No, the problem is that people want to feel special. Being among the few who “get” that the government is conspiring against the nation, or that the 2008 election was a scam, makes some people feel better about the fact that they really have little or no control over such large events as wars and elections (and indeed, even, largely, over their own lives). At a more personal level, it was clear to me that our paranormalist friends really missed their dead friend, and naturally wanted to believe that he was still around, no matter how flimsy the evidence. I understand, I feel that way about my grandparents too, and it is painful every time I dream of them (which is often) and am reminded that I will never see them again.

But what is the problem with people lowering their critical threshold that much in order to accept comfortable beliefs? I think there is a problem, which is why I started a second blog self-explanatorily entitled “Gullibility is Bad for You.” At a societal level, we see the damage to our political discourse and social fabric that has been done by both the “birthers” and the 9/11 “truthers.” At a personal level, people waste money, time and emotional energy in pursuit of a chimera, and are easily taken advantage of by unscrupulous (or even well meaning but self-deluded) “medium” and “psychics.”

Still, it is really hard to tell someone that his beloved friend, or mother, or wife is gone, forever. That the only thing that remains is the memories, and even those will only last as long as the people who’ve met the person in question. It’s the perennial red pill vs. blue pill philosophical conundrum that Morpheus puts to Neo in “The Matrix.” For my part, I have decided a long time ago to take the red pill. But it is bitter.

* A philosopher's take on why atheists do care about religion.

I finally got around to reading Carl Sagan’s The Variety of Scientific Experience, a volume edited by his wife, Ann Druyan, and based on a series of Gifford Lectures on Natural Theology that Carl delivered in 1985 at the University of Glasgow. The title of the book is a direct reference, and gentle challenge, to William James’s somewhat frustrating The Variety of Religious Experience (also based on a series of lectures, those presented at the University of Edinburgh in 1901). Although James’ text is a classic in psychology and philosophy, James drew a rather simplistic distinction between what he called “healthy minds” and “sick souls,” both analyzed in terms of empowering religious experiences. Not to mention, of course, that he sarcastically suggested to his audience of scientists that their atheism was perhaps a result of a malfunction of their liver.

At any rate, Sagan’s essays are about the relationship between science and religion from a point of view very different from that of James. At the same time, it is so refreshing to read the words of a positive atheist, which do not in the least resemble the angry and inflated rhetoric of a Christopher Hitchens or Richard Dawkins. On the contrary, Sagan’s tone is always measured and humble, and yet he delivers (metaphorically) mortal blow after mortal blow to the religious in his audience.

The science in the book is unavoidably a bit dated (though Druyan added notes here and there to update a few of the statements of fact). Then again, these essays are not about science per se, but about the meaning of science in our lives, and its conflict with the religious mind set. There are many precious passages that deserve thoughtful consideration, but one in particular struck me early on in the book (chapter 1). Sagan is talking about the sheer vastness of space: about a hundred billion stars just in our own galaxy, the Milky Way, which is one of more than 400 billion galaxies in the universe. That universe measures 46.5 billion light years across, and contains something of the order of 10 to the 80 atoms. Oh, and most of it is either empty or filled with dark stuff that is not part of galaxies, stars or planets.

After contemplating all this for a moment, Sagan says: “And this vast number of worlds, the enormous scale of the universe, in my view has been taken into account, even superficially, in virtually no religion, and especially no Western religions.” That seems exactly right, and something that is hardly discussed even in debates between atheists and theists: human religions are completely oblivious to the enormity of space. There is much talk about “intelligent design” and “anthropic principles” and other fanciful notions concocted to convince us that there is scientific evidence that this whole shebang was put in place by someone just so that we would eventually appear (and what a beautiful result he got for all his efforts!).

But Sagan’s observation makes it very clear that these people have no idea in what sort of place we really live. As Douglas Adams famously put it in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: “Space is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the drug store, but that's just peanuts to space.” Indeed. What sort of intelligent engineer would create a contraption (the universe) that takes upwards of 13 billion years to generate Homo sapiens, all the while wasting 99.999999999999+ percent of the space in the universe? Or maybe, suggests Sagan, this vast amount of space and time hasn’t been wasted, and God has created many other worlds with people. But in that case, did Jesus come and die on the cross in every single one of them? Are there separate Hells and Heavens for different species of ET? The theological implications are staggering, and yet completely unaddressed.

Ah, the religious will say, but who are we to question God’s plan? He (or she, or it, as Sagan repeatedly writes) notoriously works in mysterious ways. But that is the ultimate cop out. It is simply a fancy, and frankly insulting, way to say “I haven’t the foggiest idea.” People have a right to believe whatever inane story they like to believe (as long as they do not try to impose it on others), but many religious people since Thomas Aquinas actually want to argue that their beliefs are also rational, that there is no contradiction between the book of nature and those of scripture. If so, then they need to answer Sagan’s question about why it is that the so-called holy books don’t tell us anything at all about how the universe really is.

Sagan imagines how God could have dictated his books to the ancient prophets in a way that would have certainly made an impact on us moderns. He could have said (I’m quoting Sagan directly here): “Don’t forget, Mars is a rusty place with volcanoes. ... You’ll understand this later. Trust me. ... How about, ‘Thou shalt not travel faster than light?’ ... Or ‘There are no privileged frames of reference.’ Or how about some equations? Maxwell’s laws in Egyptian hieroglyphics or ancient Chinese characters or ancient Hebrew.” Now that would be impressive, and even Dawkins would have to scratch his head at it. But no, instead we find trivial stories about local tribes, a seemingly endless series of “begats,” and a description of the world as small, young, and rather flat.

Sagan’s challenge is virtually ignored by theologians the world over. And for good reason: it is impossible to answer coherently while retaining the core of most religious traditions. The various gods people worship are simply far too small for the universe we actually inhabit, which is no surprise once we accept the rather obvious truth that it is us who made the gods in our image, not the other way around. We miss you, Carl.

* The Feds will seize creationist Kent Hovind's "dinosaur park" to help pay for the hundreds of thousands of dollars he owes the Government. Hovind claimed that God doesn't pay taxes, the courts disagreed.