“My gut recoils from this profligate vision of the workings of the world, and my head follows where my gut points.”
Above is the second sentence of Professor Peter Atkins’ introduction to his 2018 book, Conjuring the Universe. Atkins is a prominent scientist with an impressive career. A dozen published books, countless academic papers, and a handful of chemistry textbooks that thousands of schools have used to teach their students all things chemistry. And he is also a staunch atheist. What exactly was he referring to in his introduction? Yes, G-d.
The "profligate" vision that makes him recoil is a vision that underpins the belief systems of billions of human beings; namely, that the physical world is but a small albeit pervasive part of a reality far more profound and not at all physical in its essence. According to some, this reality includes but ultimately transcends scientific explanations, which are forever and ever relegated to the world of observed and observable phenomena (on page 14 Atkins tells us that hypotheses are "simply a guess about the underlying reason for the observed behavior").
Professor Atkins does not share the view. As he says throughout a debate with renowned theologian William Lane Craig, this extra-scientific reality is a "fantasy," a product of "intellectual laziness," and "science is all we need to understand the world."
To be sure, adherence to a worldview doesn’t make it true—truth is not democratic. The fact that a vast majority of the world's population subscribes to various forms of religious credence offers few if any clues as to the veracity of the credence. But in the following paragraphs I don’t want to defend any particular philosophical or theological claim. Rather, I want to challenge Professor Atkins’ absolutist scientific vision on 2 fronts. First, I will survey two fundamental glitches of a purely scientific approach and understanding of reality: the problem of induction and the faithful assumption of philosophical naturalism. There are others as well, but these two are particularly relevant to this discussion. It is my claim that science, when searching alone, is blind. Second, I will comment on Atkins’ recurrent yet misleading use of "nothing" as a potential object of scientific study. With the example of "nothing," I will try to make something out of philosophy (pun intended), which need not trump science but rather complement it and, more importantly, venture into a real world of its own, a world non-scientific (not unscientific).
Let’s start with a snake in a yard.
The Problem of Induction
"I saw a snake in my yard, therefore all yards have snakes."
This is an example of an inductive argument. In this context, it’s worth keeping in mind that we use inductive arguments to make a conclusion or prediction about an unobserved event, and we base our conclusion on our observation/s.
My observation: I saw a snake in my yard.
My conclusion: all yards, past and future, home at least one snake.
But here’s the catch: my inductive argument will never make me certain that there’s a snake in every yard because one observation of a yard without snakes will be enough to shatter my theory. What guarantees that someone will never observe a snake in a yard? Not much, besides an a priori (non-scientific) belief in the validity of my inductive argument. It cannot be ruled out on empirical grounds that a new, contradictory observation will arise and thus change whatever current conclusion. Therefore, we can never utter with sheer certainty any observation-based claim.
This recognition dates back to the Pyrrhonean school in ancient Greece [1], but it was David Hume who articulated it most comprehensively. Hume argued that our reasoning follows a cause-effect pattern, and that the foundation of this pattern is experience. I put water on a hot stove, and the water boils in 15 minutes. I live within a causal chain, and I thus observe that a cool stove and cool water precede a hot stove and boiling water. My experience leads me to recognize the cause (rising temperature) of the effect (boiling water). But since our experience is limited by our senses and to a precise spatiotemporal circumstance, any conclusions about a future, unobserved experience that follow from a limited set of past and/or present experiences will not be certain [2]. For example, I may claim with reasonable confidence that all water boils at X degrees Celsius. But what about water on Mars or Europa? But there’s more.
In addition to the inevitable uncertainty of induction, Hume told us that inductive arguments rest on a circular logical ground. For example, my conclusion that every yard has at least one snake assumes that every yard has uniform characteristics, among which is the presence of at least one snake. However, the only way for me to justify the assumption that every yard is uniform is to use my argument (there is one snake in my yard, and therefore there is at least one snake in every yard). But that doesn’t make much sense, because my justification of my assumption is the assumption itself [3]. For all we know, it could be that yards are not all uniform.
The Problem of Induction for Scientific Absolutism
Although the example of the snakes is trivial, it is not too far from how the scientific enterprise goes about discovering empirical truths. All science relies heavily on making inductive inferences from a limited set of observed data. But since the data observed can never be total—no person or group of people can observe everything that there is to observe about a specific phenomenon—we can never formulate certain, unalterable conclusions. In other words, any given scientific truth is always subject to revision and is never an eternal truth.
One could object to the above as follows: to say that scientific truths are never eternal, and that that is somehow a problem, is to assume that (1) there are such things as eternal truths and that (2) not knowing said eternal truths is an issue; but these assumptions may not be true. I will forgo a discussion of (2) and comment briefly on (1). As I see it, the statement that there are eternal truths—and that they fall outside of science’s grasp—is valid. Consider 1 + 1 = 2 or any mathematical statement. Are mathematical truths constantly subject to empirical revision? Consider also statements such as “consciousness is that which is aware of itself” and Descartes’ cogito, ergo sum. Are this and similar statements ever uncertain? That is, could they be otherwise? In the former example, mathematical truths are always certain because they are independent of observation. One word plus another word will always make two words, regardless of anyone’s observations or interpretations. In the latter example, statements such as "consciousness is that which is aware of itself" and "we cannot negate our existence while negating it" can only be known if they are true. In other words, I know that the latter statement is true because there is no way to utter that statement without it being necessarily true. This and other metaphysical statements are true by virtue of being known. It follows that this statement will never be falsified by observations and is therefore an eternal truth because to observe it is always to apprehend its truth.
Mathematical and metaphysical truths are different from scientific truths. They are indubitable, necessary, and eternal. Scientific truths may be highly probable and reliable but forever uncertain nonetheless. We can never rule out the possibility of an observation that will contradict what is now considered a solidly established scientific theory. This unpredictability might make a scientist rejoice, for it is the constant pursuit of empirical truth that makes science awesome and dynamic. But how can a framework that never yields certainty serve as the bedrock for, say, moral guidance?
The Assumption of Philosophical Naturalism
In light of the above, we may question any position that elevates science with no regard for "non-science." Professor Atkins’ assertion that everything can be explained through the scientific method (and that what can’t is a futile figment of childish fantasies) is just that: an assertion. It is a claim based on neither experiments nor empirical observations. As much as Professor Atkins would recoil at hearing this, it’s a philosophical claim.
Some have termed the position philosophical naturalism. The tenets of the position are two. First, the universe is a closed system (infinite or finite?) with no interfering entity or force outside or beyond it. As such, there is no G-d or extraphysical phenomena to worry about. The second assumption that follows maintains that all phenomena can be explained as physical processes through physical processes [4].
Philosophical naturalism is not an empirical claim. There is no observation that can prove its validity. As Professor Michael Ruse wrote: "If you want a concession, I’ve always said that [philosophical] naturalism is an act of faith" [5]. And yet, Professor Atkins and many other prominent scientists seem to insist that science can explain everything, and if it hasn't yet, it’s just a matter of time before it will. According to them, this fact rules out woo-woo philosophy completely, let alone the possibility of a supernatural Creator. But what about consciousness, emotions, historical claims, math, art, beauty, morality, metaphysical certainties, and all that jazz?
I submit that if we are to part from unreasonable faith, avoiding the evidence-free assumption that science can explain everything might be a good place to start.
Nothing Beyond Science
Atkins’ second book chapter is telling: "Much Ado about Nothing: How laws might emerge from nothing." We can immediately sniff a logical leakage, for how can the laws of nature emerge from nothing? How can 0 + 0 = 1? But let’s probe further. Early in the book, Atkins goes to great length to specify what exactly "nothing" means. He starts with a "simple nothing," what he calls "not much." We can "quite safely think of [this simple] nothing as being empty space," as "miles and miles of uniform, empty space and of years and years of time stretching from the distant past and into the unfathomable future" (18). This is a bleak image for sure; what Professor Atkins calls a “prairie-like image of flat spatial and temporal barrenness.” But this is not yet what Professor Atkins wants to deconstruct. After all, even empty space and time are something. Recognizing this fact, he walks us through a user-friendly lecture on time’s uniformity and Emmy Noether’s (1882–1935) symmetry theorem, finally arriving at the deeper nothing he will tackle in the rest of the book. This capital Nothing is really nothing. As Atkins puts it, "This Nothing has no space and no time. This Nothing really is absolutely nothing. A void devoid of space and time. Utter emptiness. Emptiness beyond emptiness" (28). So far so good. Except for one thing…
Later in the book, Professor Atkins tries to explain how the laws of physics plausibly "emerged from Nothing." In a nutshell, "Nothing rolled over into something" and something inherited some of the properties of Nothing. One such property is the Universe’s "angular momentum," the rotational trajectory of any or all celestial bodies. This angular momentum exists for individual celestial entities, but not for the whole universe; that is, "when the total angular momentum of the visible universe is assessed, it turns out that the result is zero" (37). This is, Atkins continues, "what you should expect when Nothing rolled over into apparently something." Leaving the implications for physics aside, we can follow Professor Atkins and conclude that there may exist a coherent scientific explanation for how the universe came from Nothing, and that any supernatural, theological, or Iron Age attempt to make sense of the origin of the world can be safely discarded, forever.
Although the above sounds plausible and logical, Professor Atkins seems to conflate his absolute Nothing with the conventional nothing. For one, the properties we observe are observed in the physical world, and there is no reason to take a further step and claim that they are also the properties of nothing because they are observed in the physical world. Moreover, to say that Nothing has properties is already to assume that it’s something which can have properties. But the only things that have properties are things that exist not merely conceptually but factually. Nothing does not.
Nothing Ado About Science
If talks about nothing make your head spin, welcome to the team. These are precisely the kinds of discussions that make non-philosophers recoil at the prospect of spending a lifetime worrying about such trivial nonsense. And I hear you, but I would ask you to make an effort and see through this apparent word haze. It’s true that writing about nothing makes for a dizzyingly unpleasant and boring read. But I chose this example because I think it illustrates lucidly one of the differences between science and philosophy. Call it an epistemological delineation of the scientific and philosophical territories, if you will. Two points on this delineation.
First, the scope of empirical observations, measurements, and predictions is limited. As much as Professor Atkins (and Lawrence Krauss and many others) would have us believe, scientific measurements and observations cannot yield any meaningful insights when Nothing is the object of examination. What can the microscope reveal if we close its lid? To put it another way: absolute non-being is not tractable through physical means because it is not physical, and science can only see what’s physically visible through physical instruments.
Second, this limitation of science and the existence of truths that lie beyond the scientific eye suggest that the scientific method is not the only method of investigation at our disposal. There are ideas, concepts, truths and phenomena (in the broadest sense) that can only be accessed through means other than empirical observation. Worlds lie beyond science’s frontiers—worlds of logic and deduction and morality and mathematics and more. These worlds intersect often, as evidenced, for one, by science’s loyal reliance on mathematics. But they are distinct realms of knowledge nonetheless, and claiming that they are not or that any one of them (besides the empirical world) is wasteful and trivial seems to ignore or even deny the wonderful collection of truths to which all of us have access.
One could object to the claim that "absolute non-being is not tractable through physical means" by raising the hypothesis of the multi-verse or any theoretical model that doesn’t involve a Creation ex-nihilo. If our observable universe is but one of an infinite collection of universes, there need not be an identifiable beginning beyond which Nothing must exist. If that is so, absolute non-being is not in the celestial picture and can be thus dismissed as a mere intellectual toy. This universe is observable, and all the others might be too. What would follow is that science could, at least in principle, explain the workings of all observable universes and everything in them. But this objection would fall short in at least two respects. First, the Big-Bang theory of the universe—with a beginning of time and space—is the most well-established of all the extant theoretical physical models. The multi-verse hypothesis and other competing models have not accrued significant evidential support and are far from being established theoretical models. Of course, new evidence might spring out of nothing in the future. But until it does, a model of the universe which presupposes a beginning of spacetime (presumably out of nothing) holds the baton. Second, even if absolute non-being is not part of the celestial picture, there may be other things that the scientific method cannot fully explain. Consciousness, thoughts, moral truths, emotions and dreams come to mind (and math!). Some of these are highly debated topics, and one could maintain that these features of the universe are all explainable scientifically. Still, acting as though one side already won seems a little premature and, dare I say, faithful.
Despite all this, Professor Atkins does not see philosophy charitably. In his debate with Craig, he remarked, quite honestly, that "philosophy is a waste of time," and that "philosophy has absolutely nothing to say about the nature of the world" (1:39:45). As a dead discipline replete with folklore whose "eruditions might have worked 1000 years ago," philosophy is dead—it should die.
To be fair, "philosophy" for Atkins is synonymous with everything religious. Claims of creatio ex nihilo and a divine hand are, after all, claims about the origin of the universe—that with which physicists deal intimately. But the question he was asked in that debate had to do with "philosophy as a way to understand the world." It seems that Atkins maintains that all of philosophy is wasteful and no more than a bunch of futile intellectual games that do little besides standing in the way of intellectual progress. Science is the real deal, because science can explain everything and that is all we need:
Although it is not in the remit of science, the question of how many angels can dance on a pin head is eliminated if it can be shown in some manner or other that angels don’t exist, or at least through some physiological or anatomical defect are incapable of dancing. So the elimination of a question can be a legitimate way to provide an answer. (6, my italics)
This position is not new. In Language, Truth and Logic (1935), A. J. Ayer undertook a project of “demolishing metaphysics” to “overthrow speculative philosophy.” As he commented on the problem of induction:
Thus it appears that there is no possible way of solving the problem of induction, as it is ordinarily conceived. And this means that it is a fictitious problem, since all genuine problems are at least theoretically capable of being solved: and the credit of natural science is not impaired by the fact that some philosophers continue to be puzzled by it. (12-13)
The question may be eliminated by and for Ayer and Atkins and all scientists, whose instruments and observations have a limited explanatory scope. But if the question is eliminated (for science and analytic philosophy), does it mean that the question is meaningless, useless, fictitious or even pernicious? I think not. Consider this scenario as an analogy:
A good friend of mine is working on a mathematical puzzle in which one has to connect all existing points (13 in this case) with as few lines as possible. One afternoon, I bump into him in our university’s common room. He’s completely immersed in his thinking. Since we’re good friends, I decide to walk up to him and strike up a conversation. I ask him if he’s made any progress, and he starts telling me about his different trials and errors. After he’s done, I ask him a few more questions: “Why are you working on it in the first place? You know this problem reminds me of how complex and intricate our identities are? The math is interesting, but have you ever thought about this problem philosophically?” After my last question, he thinks for a few moments, and then replies: “These questions lie beyond math. But you can show that Personality 1 – Personality 2 = 0. That eliminates the question of identity altogether. Same with questions of meaning. The answer to the questions is that the questions don’t make mathematical sense and are therefore nonsensical. Oh, and on that point about philosophy, it’s much better to ignore philosophy and to disguise mathematical equations as ‘philosophical’ statements. That way we can actually get something done. Yours are all meaningless questions after all, but in my world they make sense. So, that's that.”
Would you say my friend is being fair, or even intellectually honest? Take the analogy as you will, but my general point remains: the multiplicity of sources of knowledge at our disposal requires that we consider the question of interest from multiple viewpoints and, upon determining the nature of the question, proceed with the appropriate method/s of investigation.
Professor Atkins might object to the particular point about nothing and to the general point about scientific and non-scientific questions by hinting at his cogent explanation of how “nothing rolled over into something and our incipient universe became equipped with space and time” (28). Nothing is observable because its inherent properties are observable, and therefore it falls to science to speak and make sense of it. But as I’ve argued above, this objection is misplaced because the two “nothings” in question are of a different kind. Properties are only attributes of things that exist. The kind of nothing that science would need to observe in order to show that its explanatory method encompasses everything is the hardly conceivable absolute nothing. But “To observe Nothing“ implies that the absence of anything observable is observable; and that is not the case.
I’ve walked over 3000 words to unpack my central claim: to herald the banner of science righteously, as if it were the only banner worth serving, will leave the world blind.
To be clear, science is infinitely valuable. I could not be typing these words on my laptop let alone get a covid-19 vaccine if scientists were not committed to advancing humanity’s understanding of the physical world and improving the quality of everyone’s lives. Science works wonders, and I am grateful to benefit from its discoveries every day. But, as with everything, a blind predilection can quickly turn into neglect of what is not considered. Then you might ask, neglect of what? Perhaps, neglect of vital matters of morality on which science is silent. Of questions of beauty and values and meaning. Of mathematical and logical truths, and metaphysical necessity. And of the plethora of non-scientific questions that are impervious to empirical inferences, and that since childhood we incessantly ponder.
Throughout the essay I’ve tried to show that philosophy is a legitimate discipline and that some of the most profound and relevant questions we ask are philosophical questions and should hence be approached as such. The universe is sublime, and more sublime is our capacity for understanding it and its portals to truths. I propose that we herald this recognition instead: we will only know so little if we fixate on one and only one method of knowing. To see beyond science—diversifying our favored intellectual pursuits will aid our fantastical journey as living, conscious beings. It would be a shame to close our eyes when light still shines.
Notes
[1] Annas, J. and Barnes, J. (1994). Sextus Empiricus: Outlines of Scepticism. New York: Cambridge University Press, p. 123.
[2] Hume, D. (2002). Of scepticism with regard to reason. In: Epistemology: Huemer, M, ed, Contemporary Readings. Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 298-310. Originally published in Hume, D. (1902) Sceptical doubts concerning the operations of understanding. In: Selby-Bigge, L. A., ed, An enquiry concerning human understanding. In: Enquiries concerning human understanding and concerning the principles of morals, 2nd edition. Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 298-310.
[3] That is, unless I take the validity of my inductive argument as an axiom, maybe on a grain of faith.
[4] It’s important to note that this differs from saying that what is explained scientifically cannot involve any G-d or supernatural activity (methodological naturalism). Scientific explanations can only concern physical, observable processes and can therefore come about successfully without positing any supernatural interference with worldly matters. As Laplace famously told an amused Napoleon, "Je n’avais pas besoin de cette hypothèse-là" (I had no need of that [G-d] hypothesis). However, the godless success of science is a separate issue from the assumed godlessness of the universe and all that is.
[5] In Stewart, R. B. (2007). Intelligent Design: William A. Dembski & Michael Ruse in Dialogue. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, p. 37.
Comments