Your Meditation Guide Blog

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by Massimo Pigliucci

I am in St. Louis these days, where the University of Missouri has organized a three-day, 19-speaker conference on “consilience,” or the unity of knowledge, in the somewhat idiosyncratic interpretation of E.O. Wilson in his popular 1998 book. Indeed, the proceedings started with a keynote by Wilson himself, as sharp and as sprite as ever. The danger with this sort of conference is that they either become a predictable and somewhat uncritical celebration of a central figure or idea (in this case, Wilson), or that they evolve into a hodgepodge of loosely (if at all) related talks with only a vague central theme. Nevertheless, I accepted to be a speaker here because I thought the conference was a good idea and because my fellow speakers are likely to provide interesting food for thought on a broad array of issues. So, let’s get started.

Wilson’s keynote covered a lot of known material, from the evolution of eusociality (it’s rare, and yet has huge consequences for the species that crosses the threshold from partial to eu-sociality) to the basic steps of the evolution of humans (bipedalism, larger brains, etc.). His overarching theme, however, was that there are three fundamental questions that neither religion nor philosophy can answer, and that science has begun to tackle: Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going? Somehow Wilson thinks this is equivalent to asking about the meaning of life, though I submit that’s a bit of an unjustified leap (surely what meaning we construct or attribute to our life can be informed by those broad questions, but the meaning of human life being local and personal, those questions hardly take center stage and are more likely simply interesting background).

The crux of Wilson’s talk was that human eusociality appeared as a result of group selection, and that individual and group selection are constantly in unstable tension, which explains why it is in the nature of humanity to always struggle between what he called (borrowing from David Sloan Wilson, no relation) “sinful” (i.e., selfish) and “virtuous” (i.e., cooperative) drives. Wilson also added a provocative note — on which he did no elaborate — about a paper he co-authored with two mathematicians (published in November 2010 in Nature) where he shows that the concept of inclusive fitness (and hence of kin selection) is mathematically incoherent. Which pretty much would demolish, if true, an established explanation for the evolution of altruism and leave the field entirely to a newly resurrected group selection.

I cannot comment on the kin selection issue (anyone?), and I am generally sympathetic to the idea of multi-level selection. But Wilson provided no evidence or particular reason to accept the idea that group selection played a crucial role in the evolution of human eusociality. Furthermore, it seems obvious to me that to label some behaviors as good or bad (virtuous or sinful) on the basis of which selection mechanism (allegedly) evolved them is a flagrant violation of the ought/is divide (which, I know, is not impermeable according to people like Quine, but I am a Humean on this...).

Besides, even if we take Wilson’s highly speculative scenario at face value, we are immediately confronted by the problem — of which Wilson himself seemed aware — that group selected “virtue” only applies to members of the in-group, thus generating a variety of nasty inter-group behaviors, including xenophobia and, of course, war. And here, I think, is where biology reaches a dead end, providing no answer to some of the broadest human problems, which are, somewhat ironically, handed back to the humanities (including philosophy, political science, literature, history, and possibly even religion!). A colossal failure of consilience? (Incidentally, Wilson left the conference immediately after his talk. I understand about his age, but I thought that was a bit rude, considering that the whole event is supposed to be a commentary on his work. Oh well, I guess he won’t see my critical analysis of his take on consilience.)

The second talk of the first day was by John Hawks, on behavioral implications of ancient genomes. Lots of interesting stuff here on the comparative genomics of humans, Neanderthals, other hominids and the broad array of contemporary primates. I do not have much to say about this talk, however, because — although packed with fascinating suggestions about Neanderthals in particular — it seemed to me to have little to do with the theme of consilience (see the second danger mentioned above for this kind of conference). Indeed, the speaker must have been aware of it, since his only reference to the humanities was a half-joking remark to the effect that fiction writers need to drop their stereotype of Neandys as dumb beasts, because of all the evidence of their smarts. Given that the total number of novels featuring Neanderthals is pretty minuscule, I doubt this will have much of an impact on English Lit classes...

Next we have Dan McAdams, with a talk entitled “From actor to agent to author: human evolution and the development of personality.” His starting point is that human nature is an evolved psychological design, with personality psychologists being interested in the variations on the basic design. Of course there are a lot of hidden assumptions here (is there such a thing as human nature? Is it the result of genetic evolution, culture, or both?).

To make sense of variation in human personality McAdams invokes three nested layers of understanding (from the inner to the outermost): the individual as a social actor (you know, as in “All the world’s a stage...” and so forth), the individual as motivated agent (i.e., engaged in goal-oriented social behaviors), and the individual as an autobiographical author (we weave “personal myths” about our lives). Social acting is connected to the Big Five personality traits, and begins very early on. Motivated agency appears in children 7-9 years old. Autobiographical authorship begins in someone’s 20’s and 30’s.

The talk struck me as very interesting, but again with precious little to do with consilience. While the author did mention the word evolution a few times, these were both speculative and largely irrelevant to the main points: McAdams gave a good talk about the psychology of personhood, but evolutionary biology provided only a distant background condition. And, I would add, this is precisely the way it should be.

Ellen Dissanayake talked about “markmaking” as a human behavior. The author focused on early non-representational marks on rocks, which apparently constitute more than 99% of known Pleistocene rock “art,” thus making the famous cave paintings of animals look like anomalies.

Dissanayake considers a number of possible proximate explanations for rock marks, including accidental byproduct of other activities, utilitarian and/or communicative functions (record keeping, didactic, territory marking, etc.), and doodling for pleasure. She is not happy with any of these on the ground that they do not apply universally. But one could reasonably ask why one expects a universal explanation for such a wide variety of human artifacts.

The author then suggests a connection between Paleolithic rock art and modern aboriginal tribes’ body painting, on the basis of the similarity of (some of) the patterns. The commonality would be “ritual use” (a somewhat fuzzy category of human behavior, it must be said). This strikes me as fanciful to say the least, and Dissanayake herself quipped that a “nice” feature of this suggestion is that it is virtually impossible to test, so that she can’t be proven wrong. Okay, then!

What about the ultimate causes of rock art? Possibilities include sexual selection, display of prestige within the group, provision of “cognitive order” (induced by the geometries of the marks), reduction of stress, group selection for social order and group unification. Needless to say, there is absolutely no way to discriminate empirically among any of these.

Toward the end of her talk, Dissanayake  suggested that humans may have had a behavioral disposition to what she calls “artify” that actually preceded symbolic art. Artification would be an evolved behavioral predisposition to make ordinary reality extraordinary or special. Fascinating, but why would we have this artification tendency? And how do we know this to be the case? As usual with evolutionary psychology: it’s easy to make stories up, it’s exceedingly hard to test them scientifically.

We then moved to Herbert Gintis, and the evolution of morality. Gintis began with a cartoon model of the so-called Standard Social Sciences Model and the blank slate approach to human culture, which he (rightly) dismissed. He then — a bit simplistically — mentioned that “the” model in philosophy is the Hobbesian model of war of all against all, moving to Dawkins’ idea of morality as the result of a culture that rebels against selfish genes, and finally arriving at the economists’ assumption that selfish (“rational self interest”) behavior is at the basis of all human transactions.

Instead of all of the above, the author prefers a gene-culture co-evolution approach, along the lines of the now classical studies by Feldman, Cavalli-Sforza and others. Human morality, then, is seen as the product of a dynamic process in the course of which humans transform culture, and culture makes new behaviors fitness-enhancing.

Gintis suggests that morality emerged as a contribution to social harmony and efficiency once hominids had destroyed the basis of the standard primate dominance hierarchy. The latter was undermined, allegedly, by the invention of weapons, by which weaker individuals could kill the alpha male from a distance, or even in his sleep. This is certainly quite speculative, but it does agree with a generally emerging view of basic morality being the result of evolution of highly integrated social behavior in small primate groups. The problem, as usual (and as readily acknowledged by the author) is that it is hard to test the proposition according to which, for instance, leadership by persuasion replaced leadership by brute force.

Gintis understands that persuasion was certainly not enough, and that early morality had to be based on evolved pro-social sentiments. That is, there had to be a strong emotional component to the process. He maintains that these elements explain both the evolution of language (persuasion) and of moral sentiments. Presumably, the combination of the two gave us morality as we understand it today.

I am generally sympathetic to gene-culture co-evolution models, which certainly beat the crap out of simplistic evolutionary psychological hypotheses or of equally vacuous “memetics.” However, it seems to me that this can explain the very beginnings of human traits like language and morality. Pretty soon the speed of cultural change has far outpaced that of genetic evolution. This doesn’t mean that our genetic makeup is not important (as a background condition to all we do), but it seems to imply that we need a second-order theory of cultural evolution per se, and so far I haven’t seen much of a serious candidate for this.

The interesting evidence put forth by Gintis concerns honesty and game theory. As is well known, the only straightforward biological explanations of “altruism” are kin selection (favoring individuals with whom you share a substantial chunk of your genes) and reciprocal altruism (tit-for-tat). Notoriously, neither of these behaviors actually brings about genuine altruism, because it always comes down to your own (genetic, long-term) self-interest. But Gintis’ evidence shows that when people play one-round (i.e., not iterated) games involving fairness and honesty — even when played anonymously — a significant portion of subjects behave honestly (though that percentage goes down if the cost of the honest behavior increases sufficiently). The idea is that, just like Aristotle would have said (though Gintis didn’t mention him), people behave morally for the simple reason that they think (and feel) it is the right thing to do.

Next to last for the day, we had Robert Frank on “The Darwin Economy: competition and the common good.” (And he was the only speaker without slides! He thinks that’s more engaging, I think it’s so much easier to lose concentration and track of what’s going on. But that’s another conversation.) According to Frank, economists eventually will recognize Darwin, not Adam Smith, as the founder of their discipline. Smith was much less of a true believer in the virtues of the free marketplace than modern libertarians and many economists consider him to have been. Frank agrees that markets fail frequently, but he thinks that is for reasons different from those maintained by Smith. He also, apparently, doesn’t buy much into the tenets of behavioral economics.

The reason the invisible hand doesn’t work, according to Frank, is because of Darwin’s central insight that there is a tension between individual and group interests. An example is the fact that, historically, NHL (hockey) players never wore helmets, even though they all thought helmets were a good idea. The problem is that without a helmet the player sees better, thus gaining an edge on the others. So if even one player took the helmet off, pretty much all the others would follow, in a hockey version of the tragedy of the commons. Helmets were finally instituted because of a league-wide rule that was voted on near unanimously by the players themselves. This, incidentally, makes a perfect anti-libertarian argument... (Which was made by John Stuart Mill in the 19th century.)

The talk went on for quite a while with example after example of absurdities caused by market-enabled runaway competition among people who end up damaging society as well as their own long-term flourishing.

Though Frank makes very good points, it seems to me that there may be a couple of fallacies at work here. First of all, once again we see the desire for a totalizing explanation, even though it is perfectly reasonable to think that Adam Smith, the behavioral economists, and Darwin all have gotten pieces of the puzzle right. Second, these aren’t even independent explanations, since the human behavior repertoire evolved (in part) by Darwinian mechanisms, and markets are the result of cultural evolution that is affected in turn by the range of human behaviors.

Dulcis in fundo (so to speak), it was my turn. I will publish a separate essay on my talk, so I’ll give just the gist here. It is a criticism of Wilson-style consilience (in the sense of “unity of knowledge”), which I think is a reductionist approach and has actually little to do with consilience in the original (and still most widely used in philosophy) meaning of the term, elaborated by William Whewell and referring to a type of induction known as inference to the best explanation. My basic theses are that: i) “Knowledge” is a heterogeneous category that does not admit of Wilson-type consilience; ii) Applying the type of knowledge emerging from the natural sciences to (some) other domains is a category mistake and ought to be avoided; and iii) Wilson-type consilience is actually a scientistic and anti-intellectual enterprise.

I gave a few examples of where Wilson goes wrong with his consilience (i.e., let’s reduce humanities to biology) program. For instance, Wilson is fond of what he calls “epigenetic rules” which he defines as “the regularities of sensory perception and mental development that animate and channel the acquisition of culture.” I don’t know that any biologist has ever measured any such entities, which are just as vague as another of Wilson’s favorite, memes. On the latter, I’ll let my colleague Jerry Coyne comment: “[Memetics is] completely tautological, unable to explain why a meme spreads except by asserting, post facto, that it had qualities enabling it to spread.” Well said, Jerry.

Wilson is also fond of the Enlightenment and of its 20th century philosophical offspring, logical positivism. He hopes that positivism will be back, especially once neurobiology tells us more about how human beings reason. The latter is an obvious non sequitur, on which I think I don’t need to comment further. As for logical positivism, Wilson — who is openly dismissive of philosophy — apparently has never read Putnam or Quine, or a host of other critics of positivism. Incidentally, the demise of logical positivism is a good example of how philosophy makes progress: people find faults in certain views or arguments, and when these can no longer be patched or repaired they are abandoned and the field moves on.

In the end, I found evolutionary biologist Allen Orr’s critique of the 1998 Wilson book on consilience to be right on target. Among other things Orr says: “The real reason Wilson favors his consilient scenario isn’t because he finds it more plausible but because he finds it more attractive. For as he admits near the start of his book, consilience isn’t science, it is a philosophy, a metaphysical view that he obviously finds both beautiful and deeply satisfying. The irony, of course, is that Wilson’s own science of evolution gives every reason for questioning this metaphysic, every reason, that is, for doubting whether our brains — jury-rigged and riddled with blindspots — are the stuff from which certain knowledge and seamless consilience can be obtained.” Yup.

In this special live episode recorded at the 2012 Northeast Conference on Science and Skepticism, Massimo and Julia discuss the "simulation argument" -- the case that it's roughly 20% likely that we live in a computer simulation -- and the surprising implications that argument has for religion.

Their guest is philosopher David Kyle Johnson, who is professor of philosophy at King's College and author of the blog "Plato on Pop" for Psychology Today, and who hosts his own podcast at philosophyandpopculture.com.

Elaborating on an article he recently published in the journal Philo, Johnson lays out the simulation argument and his own insight into how it might solve the age-old Problem of Evil (i.e., "How is it possible that an all-powerful, all-knowing, and good God could allow evil to occur in the world?"). As usual, Massimo and Julia have plenty of questions and comments!

i2.ytimg.com

by Massimo Pigliucci

I don’t know what’s the matter with physicists these days. It used to be that they were an intellectually sophisticated bunch, with the likes of Einstein and Bohr doing not only brilliant scientific research, but also interested, respectful of, and conversant in other branches of knowledge, particularly philosophy. These days it is much more likely to encounter physicists like Steven Weinberg or Stephen Hawking, who merrily go about dismissing philosophy for the wrong reasons, and quite obviously out of a combination of profound ignorance and hubris (the two often go together, as I’m sure Plato would happily point out). The latest such bore is Lawrence Krauss, of Arizona State University.

I have been ignoring Krauss’ nonsense about philosophy for a while, even though it had occasionally appeared on my Twitter or G+ radars. But the other day my friend Michael De Dora pointed me to this interview Krauss just did with The Atlantic, and now I feel obliged to comment, for the little good that it may do. And before I continue, kudos to Ross Andersen, who conducted the interview, for pressing Krauss on several of his non sequiturs. Let’s take a look, shall we?

Krauss is proud (if a bit coy) of the fact that Richard Dawkins referred to his latest book, entitled “A Universe from Nothing: Why There is Something Rather Than Nothing,” as comparable to Darwin’s “Origin of Species,” on the grounds that it upends the “last trump card of the theologian.” Well, leave it to Dawkins to engage in that sort of silly hyperbolic rhetoric. (Dawkins still appears to be convinced that religion will be defeated by rationality alone. Were that the case, David Hume would have sufficed.) The fact is, Krauss’s book is aimed at a general audience, popularizing other people’s (as well as his own) work, and is not the kind of revelation of novel scientific findings that Darwin put out in his opus, and that makes all the difference.

Krauss’s volume was much praised when it got out in January, but more recently has been slammed by David Albert in the New York Times:

“The particular, eternally persisting, elementary physical stuff of the world, according to the standard presentations of relativistic quantum field theories, consists (unsurprisingly) of relativistic quantum fields... they have nothing whatsoever to say on the subject of where those fields came from, or of why the world should have consisted of the particular kinds of fields it does, or of why it should have consisted of fields at all, or of why there should have been a world in the first place. Period. Case closed. End of story.”

That’s harsh, and Krauss understandably doesn’t like what Albert wrote. Still, I wonder if Krauss is justified in referring to Albert as a “moronic philosopher,” considering that the latter is not only a highly respected philosopher of physics at Columbia University, but also holds a PhD in theoretical physics. I didn’t think Rockefeller University (where Albert got his degree) gave out PhD’s to morons, but I could be wrong.

Nonetheless, let’s get to the core of Krauss’ attack on philosophy. He says: “Every time there's a leap in physics, it encroaches on these areas that philosophers have carefully sequestered away to themselves, and so then you have this natural resentment on the part of philosophers.” This clearly shows two things: first, that Krauss does not understand what the business of philosophy is (it is not to advance science, as I explain here); second, that Krauss doesn’t mind playing armchair psychologist, despite the dearth of evidence for his pop psychological “explanation.” Okay, others can play the same game too, so I’m going to put forth the hypothesis that the reason physicists such as Weinberg, Hawking and Krauss keep bashing philosophy is because they suffer from an intellectual version of the Oedipus Complex (you know, philosophy was the mother of science and all that... you can work out the details of the inherent sexual frustrations from there).

Here is another gem from this brilliant (as a physicist) moron: “Philosophy is a field that, unfortunately, reminds me of that old Woody Allen joke, ‘those that can’t do, teach, and those that can’t teach, teach gym.' And the worst part of philosophy is the philosophy of science; the only people, as far as I can tell, that read work by philosophers of science are other philosophers of science. It has no impact on physics what so ever. ... they have every right to feel threatened, because science progresses and philosophy doesn’t.”

Okay, to begin with, it is fair to point out that the only people who read works in theoretical physics are theoretical physicists, so by Krauss’ own reasoning both fields are largely irrelevant to everybody else (they aren’t, of course). Second, once again, the business of philosophy (of science, in particular) is not to solve scientific problems — we’ve got science for that (Julia and I explain what philosophers of science do here). To see how absurd Krauss’ complaint is just think of what it would sound like if he had said that historians of science haven’t solved a single puzzle in theoretical physics. That’s because historians do history, not science. When was the last time a theoretical physicist solved a problem in history, pray?

And then of course there is the old time favorite theme of philosophy not making progress. I have debunked that one too, but the crucial point is that progress in philosophy is not and should not be measured by the standards of science, just like the word “progress” has to be interpreted in any field according to that field’s issues and methods, not according to science’s issues and methods. (And incidentally, how’s progress on that string theory thingy going, Lawrence? It has been 25 years and counting, and still no empirical evidence...)

Andersen, at this point in the interview, must have been a bit fed up with Krauss’ ego, so he pointed out that actually philosophers have contributed to a number of science or science-related fields, and mentions computer science and its intimate connection with logic. He even names Bertrand Russell as a pivotal figure in this context. Ah, says Krauss, but really, logic is a branch of mathematics (it’s actually the other way around), so philosophy can’t get credit. And at any rate, Russell was a mathematician (actually, he was largely a logician with an interest in the philosophy of math). Krauss also claims that Wittgenstein was “very mathematical,” as if it is somehow surprising to find a philosopher who is conversant in logic and math. Nonetheless, Witty's major contributions are in the philosophy of language.

Andersen isn’t moved and insists: “certainly philosophers like John Rawls have been immensely influential in fields like political science and public policy. Do you view those as legitimate achievements?” And here Krauss is forced to reveal his anti-intellectualism, and even — if you allow me gentle reader — his intellectual dishonesty: “Well, yeah, I mean, look I was being provocative, as I tend to do every now and then in order to get people's attention.” Oh really? This from someone who later on in the same interview claims that “if you’re writing for the public, the one thing you can’t do is overstate your claim, because people are going to believe you.” Indeed people are going to believe you, Prof. Krauss, and that’s a shame, at least when you talk about philosophy.

Krauss also has a naively optimistic view of the business of science, as it turns out. For instance, he claims that “the difference [between scientists and philosophers] is that scientists are really happy when they get it wrong, because it means that there’s more to learn.” Seriously? I’ve practiced science for more than two decades, and I’ve never seen anyone happy to be shown wrong, or who didn’t react as defensively (or even offensively) as possible to any claim that he might be wrong. Indeed, as physicist Max Plank famously put it, “Science progresses funeral by funeral,” because often the old generation has to retire and die before new ideas really take hold. Lawrence, scientists are just human beings, and like all human beings they are interested in mundane things like sex, fame and money (and yes, the pursuit of knowledge). Science is a wonderful and wonderfully successful activity (despite the more than occasional blunder), but there is no reason to try to make its practitioners look like some sort of intellectual saints that they certainly are not (witness also the alarming increase in science fraud, for instance).

Finally, on the issue of whether Albert the “moronic” philosopher has a point in criticizing Krauss’ book, Andersen points out: “it sounds like you’re arguing that ‘nothing’ is really a quantum vacuum, and that a quantum vacuum is unstable in such a way as to make the production of matter and space inevitable. But a quantum vacuum has properties. For one, it is subject to the equations of quantum field theory. Why should we think of it as nothing?” Maybe it was just me, but at this point in my mind’s eye I saw Krauss engaging in a more and more frantic exercise of handwaving, retracting and qualifying: “I don’t think I argued that physics has definitively shown how something could come from nothing [so why the book’s title?]; physics has shown how plausible physical mechanisms might cause this to happen. ... I don’t really give a damn about what ‘nothing’ means to philosophers; I care about the ‘nothing’ of reality. And if the ‘nothing’ of reality is full of stuff [a nothing full of stuff? Fascinating], then I’ll go with that.”

But, insists Andersen, “when I read the title of your book, I read it as ‘questions about origins are over.’” To which Krauss responds: “Well, if that hook gets you into the book that’s great. But in all seriousness, I never make that claim. ... If I’d just titled the book ‘A Marvelous Universe,’ not as many people would have been attracted to it.”

In all seriousness, Prof. Krauss, you ought (moral) to take your own advice and be honest with your readers. Claim what you wish to claim, not what you think is going to sell more copies of your book, essentially playing a bait and switch with your readers, and then bitterly complain when “moronic” philosophers dare to point that out.

Lee Smolin, in his “The Trouble with Physics” laments the loss of a generation for theoretical physics, the first one since the late 19th century to pass without a major theoretical breakthrough that has been empirically verified. Smolin blames this sorry state of affairs on a variety of factors, including the sociology of a discipline where funding and hiring priorities are set by a small number of intellectually inbred practitioners. Ironically, one of Smolin’s culprit is the dearth of interest in and appreciation of philosophy among contemporary physicists. This quote is from Smolin’s book:

“I fully agree with you about the significance and educational value of methodology as well as history and philosophy of science. So many people today — and even professional scientists — seem to me like someone who has seen thousands of trees but has never seen a forest. A knowledge of the historical and philosophical background gives that kind of independence from prejudices of his generation from which most scientists are suffering. This independence created by philosophical insight is — in my opinion — the mark of distinction between a mere artisan or specialist and a real seeker after truth.” (Albert Einstein)

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Postscript: As people have pointed out, Krauss has issued an apology of sorts, apparently forced by Dan Dennett. He still seems not to have learned much though. He confuses theology with philosophy (in part), keeps hammering at a single reviewer who apparently really annoyed him (in the New York Times), and more importantly just doesn't get the idea that philosophy of science is NOT in the business of answering scientific questions (we've got, ahem, science for that!). It aims, instead, at understanding how science works. Really, is that so difficult to understand, Prof. Krauss?

wikis.lib.ncsu.edu

by Ian Pollock

Introduction

This post is the first in a series on nuclear fission power, intended to provide the background knowledge to understand what is at stake in all major aspects of the nuclear power debate — science and engineering, safety and health, economy and environment.

Energy policy may turn out to be by far the most important issue of our time. Given this, it is crucial that policy-makers and an informed public understand the relative costs and benefits of all the power generation methods that are on the table. Unfortunately, discourse about nuclear power in particular is plagued by wild misinformation. This discourse is heavily politicized, thanks in part to the cold war, and is riddled with fallacies arising from ignorance of the relevant science, heavily influenced by fear. This series of posts is meant to try, in some small way, to correct that.

I make no bones about the fact that I am pro-nuclear. One of the aims of this series of posts is to argue that, after taking into consideration the risks and drawbacks of nuclear fission energy, we would still be crazy not to expand its use substantially. That argument will have to wait for the final post in the series.

However, there is a more important purpose to these posts, which even critics of nuclear power generation should be willing to embrace. Namely, to move toward a saner discussion of nuclear power. To be clear, no policy decision is one-sided; there are reasonable objections to expanding nuclear generation. However, they are discussed less than they should be, partly because discourse is often derailed by a lot of very silly ideas (or worse, unstated assumptions!) from pop-culture floating around in the public imagination — to take one example, the widespread idea that a standard nuclear plant could blow up in a nuclear explosion, complete with a mushroom cloud. I want to help clear these myths out of the way once and for all.

If, dear reader, we still disagree at the end of this series, then I want our disagreement to at least be substantive!

This first post will give an extremely brief outline of basic nuclear physics concepts and jargon. Future posts will expand on specific aspects of this outline when they become relevant to the discussion.

Before starting, I wish to disclaim that although I work in the engineering profession, I am not a nuclear engineer, so my opinions on this subject should be taken as those of an informed layperson.

The nucleus

Atoms are usefully pictured as consisting of a small, dense, central nucleus, surrounded by a comparatively large cloud of very tiny, fast-moving electrons. Broadly speaking, the perceived size of an atom is determined by how much area the electron cloud covers. In comparison to the atom’s overall size, the size of the nucleus is typically extremely tiny — about 1/100,000th of the atom’s overall dimension.

The nucleus itself is composed of both protons, which carry positive charge, and neutrons, which carry no charge. The electrons orbiting the nucleus are negatively charged. Protons and neutrons have nearly the same mass, which is about 1,800 times more than the mass of an electron.

Electrical charge is clearly not the whole story in explaining the structure of atoms. For one thing, since electrons are electrically attracted to the protons in the nucleus, one would expect that they should quickly spiral down into the nucleus and stick to the protons. The fact that they do not do so finds its ultimate explanation in quantum mechanics.

Likewise, one would expect the protons in the nucleus to repel each other so violently that the nucleus would fly apart. Since it does not do so, there must be another force acting on the nucleons (protons and neutrons). This force is called the strong nuclear force. It is both extremely strong and extremely short-range, attracting both protons and neutrons to themselves and to each other; it is the balance of the electrical forces and strong nuclear forces in a nucleus that determines whether it is stable or not.

Because neutron numbers are more or less irrelevant in chemistry, the chemical elements are named based on the number of protons they contain, regardless of the number of neutrons. For example, Uranium (symbol U) has 92 protons (and therefore, 92 electrons). For the purposes of chemistry alone, it does not matter how many neutrons Uranium has, for its chemical properties will be virtually identical. However, for nuclear physics, the number of neutrons becomes very important.

Accordingly, nuclear physics identifies a particular atom not only by its chemical name but also by its atomic mass number, which is simply the count of all nucleons in that atom. For example, the most common type of Uranium has 238 nucleons (92 protons + 146 neutrons). But there are other types of Uranium that have the same number of protons; therefore the same chemical properties, but different numbers of neutrons. These varieties are referred to as isotopes of Uranium. Standard nuclear jargon is to identify an isotope with the chemical name followed by the mass number; hence the most common isotope of Uranium is called “Uranium-238” or “U-238.”

Nuclear physicists find it convenient to chart all the possible combinations of protons and neutrons in the Chart of the Nuclides, which is a very simple plot of the number of protons versus the number of neutrons showing which species are stable or unstable, along with their other properties (“nuclide” refers to any unique combination of protons and neutrons).

The neutron-to-proton ratio is a key piece of information. For lighter nuclei, n/p?1 provides stability, but as one approaches heavier nuclides, stability can only be achieved with a ratio of n/p?1.5. Observe the subtly downward-curving “line of stability” on the chart of the nuclides. A moment’s perusal of this chart will also show you that if I were to pick, at random, a certain number of protons and a certain number of neutrons, the nuclide resulting from their combination would almost certainly be unstable. This will become important.

Binding energy, fusion, fission, decay

A stable nucleus has tightly-bound nucleons that are difficult to separate from each other. Nuclei may be usefully characterized by their binding energy, which represents the amount of energy it would require to dissociate the nucleus into its constituent protons and neutrons. High binding energy means “tightly bound.”

If you were to dissociate a nucleus into its protons and neutrons, you would discover an interesting fact. Namely, that if you were to weigh all the protons and neutrons in isolation and add up their weights, they would be slightly heavier than the fully assembled nucleus — the whole weighs less than the sum of its parts. This difference in mass is called the mass defect. There is a familiar relation between the mass defect (difference in weight disassembled vs. assembled) and the binding energy (energy required to disassemble). If we symbolize the mass defect as ?m, and binding energy as ?E, and use the symbol c for the speed of light (~300,000 km/second), then we find that ?E=?mc². Mass is also a form of energy, as that famous equation shows, and the mass defect is just another way of writing the binding energy.

As a general rule, both light elements (like Helium) and heavy elements (like Uranium) have low binding energy and relatively unstable nuclei, while elements of medium weight (like Iron) have high binding energy and therefore very stable nuclei. This is suggestive of two ways of getting energy out of nuclear interactions: creating medium-weight elements by fusing light elements together (nuclear fusion — a worthy subject for another occasion), and creating medium-weight elements by smashing heavy elements apart (nuclear fission). It turns out that the ideal way to smash a heavy nucleus is to bombard it with neutrons. However, not all heavy nuclei break apart easily this way, and crucially, not all release neutrons when they do. Neutron release is important because it permits the chain reaction, allowing the process to sustain itself indefinitely, or even accelerate. Those fissionable nuclides which can sustain a chain reaction are called fissile. Currently, the two most important fissile nuclides are Uranium-235 and Plutonium-239. Controlled fission (steady chain reaction) is the key to nuclear power, while uncontrolled fission (exponentially accelerating chain reaction) is the key to the nuclear bomb.

Even when left to their own devices, however, radioactive nuclides do not merely sit placidly. Because they are unstable, they will tend to undergo radioactive decay — which essentially means ejecting particles from the nucleus — and the more unstable they are, the more readily they will do this. If I have a sample of Plutonium-239 that weighs 1 kg now, I can predict that half of it will have radioactively decayed in about 24,000 years, and half of that in another 24,000 years, and so on. Hence, we say that Pu-239 has a half-life of 24,000 years. Half-lives vary wildly depending on the stability of the nuclide. For example, Uranium-238 has a half-life of about 4.5 billion years — the age of the earth — while Helium-5 has a half-life of only 10^-21 seconds, roughly the time it takes to transition from never having heard of an Ikea product, to desperately needing it.

The relative absence of radioactive materials in the world around us is due, not to non-radioactive material being “more natural” than radioactive material, but rather to survivorship. Radioactive materials have decayed into non-radioactive ones — our (mostly) non-radioactive world is what’s left after everything else has decayed.

The next post will look at decays more closely, especially with regard to their health effects.

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Recommended sources:

- Hyperphysics section on nuclear physics.

- Richard Muller’s fantastic lectures “Physics for Future Presidents,” available on YouTube: Radioactivity 1, Radioactivity 2, Nukes 1, Nukes 2 & Review.

- David Bodansky, “Nuclear Energy: Principles, Practices and Prospects.” 2004, Springer.

[Rationally Speaking is pleased to publish a guest commentary by Prof. Michael Ruse. Ruse is Lucyle T. Werkmeister Professor at Florida State University and Director of History and Philosophy of Science Program at Bristol University. His most recent book is The Philosophy of Human Evolution, Cambridge University Press.]

by Michael Ruse

I understand that a contributor to the New Republic has deemed Alex Rosenberg’s The Atheist’s Guide to Reality: Enjoying Life without Illusions, the worst book of 2011. This reaction is understandable. There is an irritating jauntiness about the work, coming across as something altogether too satisfied for its own good. Rather as though the work had been penned by an overly bright but somewhat ignorant fifteen-year old. Sweeping statements are made that too readily invite instant critical response, for instance about the fact that natural selection cares only about reproductive success and not the truth, in which case why should we care about a word that Rosenberg has written? In the same mode, matters of fact are claimed that are simply not true.  For instance it is said that, other than a late addition to the sixth edition of the Origin, Darwin never mentions God in that work. In fact, there are lots of references to the Creator in the Origin, and while one might query how many of these hint that Darwin himself endorsed His existence, one reference at least in all of the editions suggests just that:

Authors of the highest eminence seem to be fully satisfied with the view that each species has been independently created. To my mind it accords better with what we know of the laws impressed on matter by the Creator, that the production and extinction of the past and present inhabitants of the world should have been due to secondary causes, like those determining the birth and death of the individual.

I should say that, certainly in the early years, this fits in with what we know from other sources (the letters especially) on Darwin’s beliefs.

Having said all of this, I think the totally negative judgment on Rosenberg’s book is altogether too harsh. Clearly the New Republic contributor has not read Alvin Plantinga’s Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science Religion, and Naturalism, also published in 2011. In fact, the works of Rosenberg and Plantinga share some features, namely a kind of absolutism about their own views and disdain for the views of others. But at least Rosenberg is on the side of the angels in trying to take science seriously — some would say, altogether too seriously — whereas Plantinga takes every opportunity to opt for superstition and ignorance and bad argument. Being an enthusiast for Intelligent Design Theory is the least of his sins.

The trouble is that Rosenberg has been seduced into thinking that he can write a popular book, a trade book. Now some academics are very good at this. One thinks at once of Richard Dawkins and Stephen Jay Gould. Others are less gifted, their attempts at trade books veering between the leaden and the louche. I regret to say, because I could use the money, that Michael Ruse’s attempts at this genre fall into the unsuccessful category. The same can be said of Rosenberg’s The Atheist’s Guide to Reality. A cocky self-satisfaction is simply not a recipe for good writing for the popular domain. The public needs to be spoken to, not spoken down to.

All of this seems a preamble to saying that I think the book is not completely without merit. I certainly don’t want to praise it to the heavens, but I would not go the other way either. It is, as the curate said to the bishop when asked about his breakfast egg: “Good in parts.” This seems like faint praise and perhaps it is, but I do want to say that I think parts are good and some parts are very good indeed. Although the material on morality is presented in a way (I think needlessly) intended to shock and disturb — there isn’t any morality and you cannot condemn Hitler and that sort of stuff — in fact Rosenberg brings Darwinian evolutionary biology to bear on morality in a fruitful and enlightening way. He shows that you don’t need the will of God and those sorts of factors to get the proper norms of conduct and that, on the other side, the struggle for existence doesn’t lead straight to the kind of crude Social Darwinism embraced today very regrettably by the Republican Party of the United States of America. Moreover, I am even more glad to say that Rosenberg shows we don’t need any guff about group selection and other faux teleological mechanisms to get decent behavior and thoughts about it. Good, old-fashioned natural selection, working for the benefit of the individual, can do the job.

Rosenberg has a good eye for bad arguments (by others!) and has an enviable ability to skewer the inadequate and inept. He spots that a major (I would say, the major) problem for the theist, especially the Christian, when faced with Darwinian evolutionary biology is the essential randomness, the non-guidedness, of the latter. For the Christian, humans have to exist. But me no buts; we are not a contingent option. We may not be the exclusive focus of God’s care, but we are an essential focus of such care. However, Darwinism seems not to deliver. Mutations are random, in the sense of not appearing to order or need, and selection favors success not necessarily big brains and bipedalism. These may be nice things to have, but they are not the predetermined goal of the evolutionary process. In the memorable words of the late Jack Sepkoski, one of his era’s leading paleontologists: “I see intelligence as just one of a variety of adaptations among tetrapods for survival. Running fast in a herd while being as dumb as shit, I think, is a very good adaptation for survival.”

I am pretty sure that most of the solutions offered out there in the literature don’t work.  Physicist-theologian Robert J. Russell thinks God puts in direction from down at the unobservable quantum level. This, it seems to me, is simply a tarted-up version of theistic evolution that Darwin himself found so unacceptable in the thinking of his American friend Asa Gray. Non-believer Richard Dawkins thinks that arms races, competition between evolving lines, will eventually lead to beings with massive on-board computers. But even if arms races work, and not everyone thinks that they do, I don’t see that humans will necessarily evolve. Believer Simon Conway Morris (incidentally following non-believer Stephen Jay Gould) thinks that ecological niches exist objectively, that there is such a niche for culture, and that even if we had not found our way into it, some organism at some point would have done so. But apart from anything else, there is good reason to think that organisms create niches as much as they find them. So I am not sure that that solution works either. I myself am inclined to think that multiverses might do the trick. Given enough attempts, like the monkeys and Shakespeare, humans would come into being eventually. But I am not here pushing my own view — for which, incidentally, among believers and non-believers I have found absolutely no takers. I am simply congratulating Rosenberg for taking a lot more seriously a problem that too many think they can easily gloss over.

So, why then am I not more positively charged up about Rosenberg’s book? It is perhaps not surprising, as one who thinks of himself as much a historian of science as a philosophy of science, that my complaint starts with history. In this book, Rosenberg expresses contempt for history to a degree that (outside the American automobile business, and look at the state of that) I don’t think I have ever encountered elsewhere. (This is not something new. I remember Rosenberg saying something similar about thirty years ago.) “History is helpless to teach us much about the present.” Continuing: “When it comes to understanding the future, history is bunk.” I won’t comment on the irony of this coming from an ardent evolutionist, but simply suggest that his attitude leads him badly astray. Even as he opens by suggesting that science leads to non-belief, using the atheistic members of the US National Academy of Sciences as evidence, we can see that there is something wrong. Without knowing their histories, how can we be sure that science led to non-belief rather than non-believers turning to scientific inquiry early and fiercely and succeeded? What one can say is that the autobiographies of nineteenth-century non-believers almost always stress that they came to non-belief on theological and philosophical grounds and then embraced things like evolution. In Darwin’s own case, his non-belief came primarily from his detestation of the idea that non-believers like his father and brother were, purely on the grounds of their non-belief, destined to eternal damnation.

But let me dig a bit more. Rosenberg thinks that science basically wipes out the claims of religion, either showing them false or explicable purely in scientific terms. He proudly proclaims himself committed to “scientism”: “the conviction that the methods of science are the only reliable ways to secure knowledge of anything; that science’s description of the world is correct in its fundamentals; and that when “complete,” what science tells us will not be surprisingly different from what it tells us today.” In large part I agree with Rosenberg. Obviously you cannot hold to Noah’s Flood and at the same time to modern paleontology, let alone to plate tectonics.  As obviously, a literal Adam and Eve are entirely negated by modern paleoanthropology. They did not and could not have existed. I am not that keen on burning bushes or partings of water either. I hope also that my agreement with Rosenberg about morality shows that I think that we don’t need a lot of God talk to get ethical thinking and behavior. And that Darwinian evolutionary biology shows that the call for foundations is mistaken and unnecessary.

What about some of the basic issues for theism, for instance the very existence of anything at all (what Heidegger calls the fundamental problem of metaphysics) or at the other end of the scale the meaning of existence? Like other theists, the Christian has answers to these and related questions. Existence itself (that is, the universe and everything within, including us humans) is the product of a good creative God. Meaning is also related to God, and for humans in particular life here on earth is in some sense a time or trial or testing, preparing the way for the possibility of eternal bliss with the Creator, whatever that might mean.

As it happens, I am no more accepting of these answers than is Rosenberg. I would describe myself as an agnostic or skeptic rather than an atheist, but essentially I am pretty atheistic about the Christian answers. If there is more to life than meets the eye, as it were, I very much doubt it is something within my present comprehension. The question however is whether science as such negates these answers that the theist would give, and perhaps even more fundamentally whether science makes the very asking of these questions in some sense otiose or inappropriate.  This I think is Rosenberg’s position and here I part company with him. In line with Charles Darwin, I reject theism on theism’s grounds rather than because of science.

As I see it, Rosenberg simply says that modern science has no place for these sorts of questions, or if it does it answers them adequately — along the lines that the Big Bang speaks to origins — and that is that. In the old days, before the Scientific Revolution four hundred years ago, the Aristotelian science of the day may well have allowed such questions, but now we have moved on from an incorrect science to a more correct science, end of story. And it is here that I would say that the refusal to look at history leads to misunderstandings. If we look at the Scientific Revolution and ask exactly what it meant, we find it was not so much a simple matter of moving from falsity to truth — although I do accept that the new science has many virtues that the old science did not have — but rather a change of metaphors. The old science saw the world in an organic mode — things were living in a sense — and that is why, for instance, it was appropriate to ask about final causes and meanings. The new science sees the world in a machine mode — the mechanistic philosophy — and that, among other things, is why it is inappropriate to ask about final causes and meanings and so forth.

Notice however what using metaphors entails. As Thomas Kuhn taught us — and remember how he identified his paradigms with metaphors in some wise — metaphors are powerful tools for focusing on nature and giving us ways of understanding it. But they come at a cost, namely that they are limited and do not (and do not pretend to) answer all questions. To use a metaphor to talk about metaphors, metaphors are like the blinkers you put on race horses to make them focus on the track and not be distracted by the spectators. So, for instance, if I describe my love as a rose, I am presumably talking about her freshness and beauty — perhaps I am joking about her being a bit prickly — but I am not talking about her religious affiliation or her mathematical abilities. I am not saying she is not religious or cannot do mathematics, I am just not talking about those sorts of things.

Look now at the basic metaphor of modern science, the machine metaphor. It is very powerful, but there are some things it simply doesn’t speak to. Origins is one such issue and meaning is another. You take your materials as given and build your machine; you set it in motion and that is that. You might complain that machines do have meaning: an automobile is for travel. But as historians of the Scientific Revolution have stressed, very quickly the metaphor of a machine was truncated to simply the sense of something working according to law, nothing further. The world goes through the motions, as it were. Of course the early workers in the new mode did think there were meanings — meanings given by God. But very quickly they dropped these from their science as of no value qua science. In the words of one of the great historians of the Revolution (Eduard Jan Dijksterhuis), God became “a retired engineer.”

So here I do part company with Rosenberg. I think his insensitivity to history blinds him to the fact that science does not ask certain questions and so it is no surprise that it does not give answers — at least, not answers of a form that the theist finds adequate. As I have said, I am not at all sure that the theist’s own answers are correct, but they are not shown incorrect or inappropriate by modern science. Science is limited in scope and since, even if in the future you get rid of the metaphors of today’s science, you will have to find other metaphors to replace them, I would argue that science by its very nature is destined forever to be limited. History shows that!

I have tried to make these comments constructive. Obviously in a major way I find Rosenberg’s book intensely irritating. But I want to go beyond that because in some respects — and this applies to other parts of the book I have not really touched — I think his ideas and arguments are insightful and often correct. And where I differ from him, I find his positions stimulate me to provide alternatives that I think are better. So perhaps in the end, like the unfortunate curate, I find myself with an egg that is not entirely wholesome, but probably the good parts outweigh the bad parts.

We all love the stunning beauty of the great Buddhist temples and shrines that stir the heart spiritually. However, I have found just as much spiritual inspiration in the forests and mountains as any ancient holy site. Perhaps that's because since I was a small boy, here in the mountains of Colorado, I have spent countless hours communing with the whispering pines and listening to the profound babbling of the meandering streams. Stood with rapture and awe atop the highest mountain-tops, as well as meditated in fields of wildflowers whose perfumes were every bit as relaxing as temple incense.

All of these wonders and shines in nature sooth even the most anxious mind into a state of pure relaxation and total awareness. For who can't stand in mindful wonder when gazing upon a misty, shrouded peak, or a dazzling stream? Is it any wonder than that many of the Buddhist holy shrines are built atop mountains and deep within forests? The Buddha was a nature lover himself.

The cities were too chaotic for a mind seeking rest, and so Buddha gave himself to nature. Fasting, he meditated under a sturdy tree, pondering the meaning of life. At night the twinkling stars would keep watch and give him encouragement toward realizing the world-changing revelations that his deep meditation would bring us. It was in nature that he came to the profound conclusion of Buddhism--balance. He found that fasting, or starving himself did not take away his suffering. But, he also knew his former princely life of gluttony wasn't satisfying either. For him, it was only on a balanced, middle-path that mental freedom could be found. He saw in nature that one plant or animal can not exist or survive without other plants and animals. This harmony and balance of a middle path between extremes would come to settle his mind to where the Dharma would pour from his newly balanced mind.

It is our calling as Buddhists today to return to Mother Nature, meditate within and work to protect it for future generations. If you have trouble feeling mindful, aware or present when meditating, try doing it out in nature. Only, don't close your eyes...leave them wide open but otherwise meditate as usual and I bet you that you will have an easier time centering into that present moment in nature than almost anywhere else. If you live in a city with no real nature to go into then try a public park, a backyard or a bike path where there are often benches. You can just sit there quietly and look ahead at the nature--the life unfolding right in front of you and sync it with your deep breathing. It will empty you of stress and rejuvenate your body better than a pot of coffee. And, to those passing by on the path they just see you sitting with your eyes open, smiling perhaps and enjoying the park/bike path/open space. They won't have any idea that you are deeply meditating. For this reason, it's a nice way to meditate in public without drawing unwanted attention.

PHOTO: I took this picture of the gurgling stream above Miller Falls near Tracy City, Tennessee in 2011.

by Michael De Dora

* The Economist discusses Rachel Maddow’s new book on the relationship between the growth of executive power and war.

* Jonathan Turley, a law professor at George Washington University, writes on the alarming increase in public schools firing teachers over “perfectly lawful behavior during off-hours.”

* Why do Americans reject euthanasia? That’s the latest question posed by the New York Times in the newspaper’s Room for Debate section.

* Christian groups are opposing anti-bullying legislation in several states because they believe the laws restrict religious freedom and/or promote homosexuality, marriage equality, and transgenderism.

* In an effort to better explain a range of complex philosophical ideas to the general public, Genís Carreras has created a series of posters featuring a combination of basic colors, simple shapes, and concise definitions of different philosophies. You can see the posters here, and purchase copies here.

* A new study in the journal Psychological Science suggests that the human tendency to cheat is a natural impulse, and that given some time for reflection, humans are less likely to cheat.

* Referencing John Stuart Mill’s harm principle, Tauriq Moosa argues in a new article on Big Think that a society is hypocritical if it grants some individual rights, but not others. Take a look.

* Scientists have published research in the journal Nature that links a rare genetic mutation to a heightened risk of autism.

* Can science determine which foods taste best together?

www.stanford.edu

by Massimo Pigliucci

I have been preparing for a conference on Consilience that will be held at the University of Missouri-St. Louis on April 26-28, while at the same time — and for entirely independent reasons — I have been reading and discussing with some graduate students a book by James Ladyman and Don Ross, Everything Must Go: Metaphysics Naturalized.

The conference will be a discussion of E.O. Wilson’s idea of consilience as the unity of knowledge, and Wilson will be opening the proceedings. Looking at the fields of interest and the names of most of the other speakers, I suspect I will be the token skeptic there. Wilson has (mis-) appropriated the word consilience — which was coined by philosopher William Whewell in the 19th century to indicate a particular type of inductive reasoning (known also as inference to the best explanation, or “abduction”) — to advance his own notions of reduction of the humanities to science, and particularly to biology. I think Wilson was way off the mark on this, and I’ll explain why at the conference (I will post my presentation for download soon over at my professional site). Meanwhile, look at this devastating review of the original book by evolutionary biologist Allen Orr.

Ladyman and Ross’s book is a highly technical take down of much of what goes on in the field of metaphysics these days, where the authors start from the (very reasonable, I think) point that any respectable metaphysics ought to take seriously the latest news from physics (a position apparently shared by only a minority of metaphysicians). The book goes on to propose a particular version of a philosophy of science position known as structural realism, according to which scientific theories neither track objective reality in a straightforward sense (the so-called realist position), nor do they simply provide us with theoretical conceptions that “work” but whose closeness to truth cannot be assessed (the so-called anti-realist position). Rather, structural realism posits that when scientists abandon one theory for another one (say, Newtonian mechanics in favor of General Relativity) what is retained in the new theory from the old one is a set of mathematical relationships (describing the underlying “structure” of reality).

I don’t want to get into the details of this particular debate in philosophy of science — which is very interesting but also gets highly technical pretty quickly — but rather point out the similarity between Ladyman and Ross’s attitude and that of Wilson, as well as that of other people whom I more than occasionally criticize here (the list includes, naturally, Jerry Coyne, Sam Harris, and Alex Rosenberg, all for slightly different but related reasons). That similarity consists in a type of stance (as philosophers say) that I am going to dub “fundamentalist reductionism.” Let me elaborate. [Full disclosure: James Ladyman is a contributor to a book I have been editing for Chicago Press, on the philosophy of pseudoscience, and I have repeatedly used his excellent textbook on philosophy of science for my classes.]

One of the crucial arguments Ladyman and Ross advance in defense of their version of structural realism is that, at bottom, modern physics tells us that there are no things, just structures (or, to be more precise, that structures are ontologically prior to what we call things). They interpret modern quantum mechanics — particularly because of concepts like quantum entanglement — as telling us that individual objects, including you and me, planets, galaxies and so on, do not reflect the fundamental structure of the universe. Indeed, that when we get to the foundations of it all, not even sub-atomic particles are real in the sense of which most people understand that word. The foundation of life, the universe and everything is made of structures that describe phenomena (even causality goes out of the window, ultimately). At some point Ladyman and Ross admit that their position is compatible with some version of mathematical Platonism, though they stop shy of a full endorsement of that view. (I’m actually somewhat sympathetic to mathematical Platonism, but that’s another story.)

Let us assume for the sake of argument that the latest 21st century physics really is best interpreted the way Ladyman and Ross do interpret it: at the bottom of the fabric of reality there are structures that can be described mathematically, and that these structures are somehow prior to the things that we normally count as constituting the universe. It does not seem to follow from this that the existence of individual objects is thereby an “illusion” (and hence, that any type of metaphysics that talks about the properties of individual objects is nonsense). To reach that conclusion one must take the additional step of assuming a form of greedy reductionism, where the lowest level is the only one that matters, everything above it being somehow illusory or misleading. That position is what I take to be an instance of fundamentalist reductionism. (Other partial examples include Harris’ and Coyne’s claim that consciousness is an illusion; Rosenberg’s repeated assertions that pretty much everything is an illusion; and Wilson’s more modest claim that biology is sufficient for an account of all things human — though one would really want to ask Wilson why he stopped at biology: shouldn’t quantum mechanics suffice?)

Now, Ladyman and Ross are more sophisticated thinkers than most of the bunch I have been criticizing, and they do realize that their position faces an obvious problem: if all is (mathematical) structure, then how do we explain the existence of “apparently” individual objects like you and me, planets and galaxies? They say that any good fundamental physics, as well as any good naturalistic metaphysics, has to somehow “recover” micro-, meso- and macro-cosmic realities from whatever nano-cosmic level it takes off from. One of the best known of these attempts at “recovery” is the claim that quantum mechanical effects rarely bubble up to higher levels of complexity because of the collapse of the wave function (which, Ladyman and Ross point out, is a probabilistic-mathematical construct, not a physical “thing”). Okay, but I think it is fair to expect a bit more than quasi-magical words in order to bridge not just QM and classical physics, but also physics with biology, and eventually biology with the social sciences (the latter two being Wilson’s projects, of course).

More to the point, I don’t think it makes much sense to claim that higher level objects do not “really” exist just because their lower level nature is different. Imagine a biologist who said that ecosystems don’t “really” exist because living organisms are actually made up of cells. Yes, they are, but there are emergent properties (*) and interactions that make it impossible to understand ecosystems as a function of cell structure, and any serious ecologist better acknowledge that and get down to work. Similarly, above-fundamental levels objects are not illusions or a metaphysical afterthought, they are just as much part of reality as the mathematical structures inherent in string theory or loop quantum gravity.

Lee Smolin (whose The Trouble with Physics is an excellent critical take on string theory and the state of contemporary physics) is approvingly cited by Ladyman and Ross as saying “The universe is made of processes, not things.” But that is a categorial mistake. The universe is most definitely made of both processes and things, and the task of physics (and metaphysics) isn’t to tell us to forget about things because the processes may be ontologically prior. It is to tell us what it means for processes to have that function, and how do we get the very real things that these processes produce and connect to each other. How do we get, for instance, individual beings, planets and galaxies out of an underlying non-local mathematical structure? Accordingly, a comprehensive metaphysics and philosophy of science cannot be achieved simply by taking what physicists tell us about the fine structure of reality and be happy with some vague handwaving to the effect that the rest of it can be “recovered.” Objects and individuals are here to stay, regardless of whether they are the product of smaller objects or of mathematical relationships.

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* I am agnostic about whether emergent properties are such epistemically or ontologically. That is, I do not know — nobody does, really — whether emergent behaviors are such in the sense that they could in principle be derived from complete knowledge of fundamental states or whether there really are properties that come into being only under certain conditions of complexity. The point is, emergent properties, even in the weak epistemic form, exist, and serious science and metaphysics simply cannot brush them aside.

media1.gameinformer.com

by David Kyle Johnson

[This post belongs to a four-part series that Rationally Speaking is running with one of our podcast guests, Prof. David Kyle Johnson of the Department of Philosophy at King’s College in Wilkes-Barre, PA. Kyle's philosophical specializations include logic, metaphysics, epistemology and philosophy of religion. His publications include “God, Fatalism, and Temporal Ontology” (Religious Studies) and “Natural Evil and the Simulation Hypothesis” (Philo). He also teaches and has published extensively on the interaction between philosophy and popular culture, including a textbook (Introducing Philosophy Through Pop Culture) and two edited volumes in the Wiley/Blackwell series (on Christopher Nolan’s Inception and NBC’s Heroes). He maintains the blog Plato on Pop with William Irwin for Psychology Today, and hosts a podcast.] [go to part I, part II, or part III]


So, finally, we come to it. Why are many theists committed to believing we live in a computer simulation? Because, even if we grant them knowledge of God’s existence, the only way to make sense of why our universe has natural evil as an inevitable consequence of the very laws that govern it, without violating God’s moral integrity, is to assume that someone else designed our universe — and the most likely alternate designer is a computer programmer.

To see why, let us return to the Caleb example. I know that Caleb cannot commit a morally heinous action, despite the fact that the evidence seems to suggest that he did. But there are two kinds of evidence that suggest that he committed a morally heinous act. One is the evidence that the cold blooded murder of the infant was carried out by Caleb; the other is the evidence that suggests that the cold blooded murder of an infant is morally heinous. Given that I know that it is impossible for Caleb to commit a morally heinous action, I must maintain that one of these pieces of evidence is faulty. Either someone else committed the crime, or the cold blooded murder of an infant is not actually a morally heinous action (i.e., it is not the kind of action that it is impossible for Caleb to commit). In deciding which piece of evidence to reject, I should clearly reject the one that is least intuitive. Thus, what we should conclude — in fact, what I am sure you had already concluded — is that someone else committed the crime. No matter how good the evidence is that Caleb committed the crime, it could never trump the reasons I have for thinking that the cold blooded killing of an infant is morally heinous.

But the theist who has been granted their claimed evidence and knowledge is in a similar situation in regard to natural evil and God’s existence. The theist has been granted knowledge that God exists, and is tri-omni; thus the theist knows that God is not capable of performing a morally heinous act. Yet, as the problem of natural evil shows, the evidence suggests that he did. Natural disasters are evil, yet they seem to have been woven into the very fabric of our universe by God’s design. However, there are two kinds of evidence here: the evidence that natural disasters are evil (and thus whoever wove them into the very fabric of our universe is not wholly good) and the evidence that God is the designer of our universe. Which piece of evidence do we have less reason to think is accurate; which notion should we reject? The answer is clear: we should reject the notion that God is the designer of our universe. Just like with Caleb, we shouldn’t conclude that the crime in question wasn’t really evil. We should conclude that someone else did it.

Why do we have more reason to reject the notion that a tri-omni God designed our universe than we do to reject the notion that natural disasters are evil? The belief that natural disasters are evil is about as ubiquitous as beliefs can get. That they are evil is why we used to think they were caused by demons. This is why we work tirelessly to prevent them and mitigate the damage they do — tornado detection, tsunami warnings, earthquake proof buildings, cures for diseases — the list goes on. Hell, just making a joke about a natural disaster can make you lose your job as the Aflac duck. If we can agree on one thing as a species, it is that natural disasters are evil! On the flip side, however, we have no reason at all to think that God is the designer of our universe. Even if we have reason to believe our universe is designed, and we know God exists, we have no reason to believe that it was God specifically that designed our universe. Even the best design arguments only point to “a designer.” In fact, the problem of natural evil gives us a specific reason to conclude that it wasn’t God.

But if I have granted the theist knowledge of God’s existence, what is the most likely scenario in which God exists but didn’t design our universe? I suppose it’s possible that, even if God exists, our physical universe still sprang from nothing — but that won’t help us solve the problem of natural evil, for it denies premise (3), another theistic conviction: that God designed the physical universe. So how could God have created the physical universe but be divorced from all moral culpability for the laws that govern ours? Simple: by our universe being a computer simulation — a simulation created by a moral agent within the physical universe (or another simulation within that universe). I’m sure we could think up some other scenarios (Descartes comes to mind), but given what I pointed out in my first blog entry, the computer simulation is the most likely one.

Notice that this solves, perfectly, the logical problem of natural evil; it is a story in which (1), (3) and (4) are all true together. God exists; he designed the physical universe; and natural disasters are a result of the laws that govern our universe. Yet since God didn’t design our (simulated) universe he can’t be morally blamed for that and can still be tri-omni. Of course, one might wonder why God would allow a computer programmer to get away with creating a universe such as ours, but since even some atheists have admitted that God could allow moral agents to perform morally heinous actions, this doesn’t present much of an obstacle. So, the theist can defend their theistic belief from the logical problem of natural evil, but the solution comes at the cost of embracing that we live in a computer simulation.

One might liken this is to granting Michael Behe his intelligent design arguments. We all know that they don’t work, but even if they did they would not provide good reason for thinking God exists. Since there are numerous flaws in our (and other species’) design, we can’t be the handiwork of a perfect being. A creative, but imperfect, alien is a much more likely explanation. Likewise, even if I grant the theist God’s existence, since there is natural evil embedded into the very fabric of our universe, it can’t be the handiwork of a perfect being. A computer programmer is a much more likely explanation.

Of course, the simulation hypothesis is not something the theist is going to want to be tethered to — and that is part of my point. The logical problem of natural evil has been ignored for a long time because of a general, unwarranted, assumption that Plantinga solved it. He did not. Theists need to return their attention to the logical problem of natural evil. Otherwise, they better start arguing that believing we live in a computer simulation isn’t crazy.

t.qkme.me

by David Kyle Johnson

[This post belongs to a four-part series that Rationally Speaking is running with one of our podcast guests, Prof. David Kyle Johnson of the Department of Philosophy at King’s College in Wilkes-Barre, PA. Kyle's philosophical specializations include logic, metaphysics, epistemology and philosophy of religion. His publications include “God, Fatalism, and Temporal Ontology” (Religious Studies) and “Natural Evil and the Simulation Hypothesis” (Philo). He also teaches and has published extensively on the interaction between philosophy and popular culture, including a textbook (Introducing Philosophy Through Pop Culture) and two edited volumes in the Wiley/Blackwell series (on Christopher Nolan’s Inception and NBC’s Heroes). He maintains the blog Plato on Pop with William Irwin for Psychology Today, and hosts a podcast.] [go to part I or part II]


In my first entry I defined the simulation hypothesis and showed why it is more likely than many think. In my next entry I showed how the logical problem of natural evil is often misunderstood and how it should be understood. I will now show that theists have failed to solve this problem.

As I argued in my last entry, the logical problem of natural evil, as it presents itself to the modern academic theist, is a seeming logical incompatibility between these three propositions:

(1) God (an omnipotent, omniscient, omni-benevolent being) exists.
(3) God is the creator and designer of the physical universe, including the laws that govern it.
(4) Natural disasters, and the evil they cause, are a direct byproduct of the laws that govern our universe.
[for prop (2), see previous post]

One could be like Pat Robertson and deny premise (4), and instead make claims such as the Haitian earthquake was a result of the Haitians making a pact with the devil. But for sensible minded theists, trying to keep in step with scientific knowledge, such solutions simply won’t do. Denying (4) is not really an option. But for the theist, denying (1) or (3) is not an option either — hence the problem.

Theists have tried other solutions. Some have suggested that the physical laws are outside of God’s control: there was no other kind of universe God could have created. But, by definition, everything that is logically possible is within God’s power and, by definition, the physical laws restrict only what is physically possible — not what is logically possible. Besides, the logical possibility of a world without laws that necessitate natural disasters is built right into most theists’ doctrinal system via the doctrine of heaven. Although not all theists believe in heaven, none think it is logically impossible.

Others, like Richard Swinburne, have argued that — all things considered — natural evil isn’t really bad. It provides, for example, opportunities for compassion, generosity and courage that we wouldn’t otherwise have, and that is why God authors them. Few theists, however, are satisfied with such answers. Surely there are other logically possible, less evil, ways for God to provide opportunities for generosity, compassion and courage. And, although compassion, generosity, and courage are nice things, they unquestionably don’t outweigh the evil that natural disasters produce. Certainly, no member of Doctor’s Without Borders has ever been thankful the disaster to which they are responding occurred; no matter how courageous and compassionate they are, they would rather the disaster never had happened. If we found that natural disasters were actually the work of a Bond type super villain with a natural disaster causing mega-laser, and he thought he was doing us all a favor by providing us with opportunities for compassion and courage, we would lock him away in an insane asylum — we would not think he had a good point.

Others have attempted something called skeptical theism. Skeptical theism was developed as a way out of the evidential problem of evil. Skeptical theists argue that just because we can’t see a reason for God to allow evil, that is not enough to think that there is no such reason. God may have motives beyond our ken. Consequently, seemingly unjustified evil can’t count as evidence against God’s existence, they argue. The literature on skeptical theism is vast, but there are two basic problems with it. First, even if God may have reasons beyond our ken for authoring natural evil, the existence of natural evil still reduces the probability of God’s existence — no matter how you plug the probabilities into Bayes’ theorem, that is the result. (I have a paper that demonstrates exactly this currently under review at Sophia.) Further, if I am unable to objectively determine that the 2004 Indian tsunami was an objectively bad event, because there may have been a reason to allow it, then all my objective moral judgments are subject to doubt. I can’t claim to know that the holocaust was an objectively bad thing if I am forced to seriously consider the possibility of “greater goods” that it might have brought about that are beyond my ability to detect. More importantly, however, applying this solution to the logical problem of natural evil I have raised amounts to suggesting that God may know of a solution — a reason that (1), (3) and (4), are logically compatible — that is beyond our ken. If that were allowed as a move, no argument about logical incompatibility could ever get off the ground. Every reductio-ad-absurdum objection would be rendered a moot point.

Not many theists endorse any of these solutions, but that doesn’t keep them from believing. Why? Because, they insist, they already have reason to believe in God — reason enough that trumps the threat that the logical problem of natural evil poses to his existence. What kind of evidence? Sometimes they cite theistic arguments like the cosmological or teleological argument. Most often they will, like Plantinga, appeal to a mystical experience — the sensus divinitatis which supposedly reveals God’s existence to the believer directly. In Warranted Christian Belief, Plantinga claims that if knowledge of God’s existence has been revealed to him in such a way — nay, even if he merely believes that it has been so revealed — no evidence could ever justifiably challenge his theistic belief.

There are numerous problems here. The arguments for God’s existence are fraught with logical fallacies, and even if successful could only point to an amorphous “first cause” or “designer” — not the Christian tri-omni (all good, powerful and knowing) God. And Plantinga seems to have things exactly backwards in thinking that personal experience can trump evidence. Every basic critical thinking textbook will tell you the exact opposite: personal experience, even derived from our five senses, should not be trusted when the evidence shows it is mistaken. Our senses are notoriously unreliable and lead us astray all the time; I may have thought I saw a ghost, but if all the evidence points to the non-existence of ghosts, I should conclude that I was mistaken. And if I can’t trust my five senses in the face of counter evidence, how much more should I doubt something as vague and subjective (and only assumed to exist) like the sensus divinitatis?

If, however, we set all that aside and grant theists the knowledge of God’s existence they claim by whatever means they claim, they can get around the problem of natural evil I have proposed. For example, let’s grant Plantinga that the sensus divinitatis bestows upon him knowledge of God’s existence and tri-omni-properties. That would allow Plantinga to retain justified belief in God even though he can’t solve the logical problem of natural evil. To see why, consider an analogy.

Suppose my neighbor Caleb has been accused of the cold blooded murder of an infant, and the evidence against him is completely convincing. However, through a psychic connection that I know guarantees knowledge in this case, I have looked into Caleb’s mind and seen that he is perfectly sane and that he is literally incapable of committing a morally heinous action. Consequently, I need not explain away the evidence against him to justify my belief that he is innocent; since I already know he can’t commit a morally heinous action, I know there must be an explanation for why it seems that he did despite the fact that he did not. Likewise, if I already have enough evidence to know that God exists, I need not provide an explanation for the evidence against his existence to justify my belief that he does; I know there is an explanation, even if I can’t come up with one. Thus, if theists truly do have the evidence and knowledge they profess to have regarding God’s existence, theistic belief can still be rational even though theists have not provided a satisfactory theodicy for natural evil.

As we shall see, however, this solution comes at a price — the knowledge granted to theists commits them to something they will want to avoid. In my next entry I will fulfill my promise and show why such theists must believe that we live in a computer simulation.