Zen and the Art of Science: A Tribute to Robert Pirsig

Author Robert Pirsig, widely acclaimed for his bestselling books, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (1974) and Lila (1991), passed away in his home on April 24, 2017. A well-rounded intellectual equally at home in the sciences and the humanities, Pirsig made the case that scientific inquiry, art, and religious experience were all particular forms of knowledge arising out of a broader form of knowledge about the Good or what Pirsig called “Quality.” Yet, although Pirsig’s books were bestsellers, contemporary debates about science and religion are oddly neglectful of Pirsig’s work. So what did Pirsig claim about the common roots of human knowledge, and how do his arguments provide a basis for reconciling science and religion?

Pirsig gradually developed his philosophy as response to a crisis in the foundations of scientific knowledge, a crisis he first encountered while he was pursuing studies in biochemistry. The popular consensus at the time was that scientific methods promised objectivity and certainty in human knowledge. One developed hypotheses, conducted observations and experiments, and came to a conclusion based on objective data. That was how scientific knowledge accumulated.

However, Pirsig noted that, contrary to his own expectations, the number of hypotheses could easily grow faster than experiments could test them. One could not just come up with hypotheses – one had to make good hypotheses, ones that could eliminate the need for endless and unnecessary observations and testing. Good hypotheses required mental inspiration and intuition, components that were mysterious and unpredictable.  The greatest scientists were precisely like the greatest artists, capable of making immense creative leaps before the process of testing even began.  Without those creative leaps, science would remain on a never-ending treadmill of hypothesis development – this was the “infinity of hypotheses” problem.  And yet, the notion that science depended on intuition and artistic leaps ran counter to the established view that the scientific method required nothing more than reason and the observation and recording of an objective reality.

Consider Einstein. One of history’s greatest scientists, Einstein hardly ever conducted actual experiments. Rather, he frequently engaged in “thought experiments,” imagining what it would be like to chase a beam of light, what it would feel like to be in a falling elevator, and what a clock would look like if the streetcar he was riding raced away from the clock at the speed of light.

One of the most fruitful sources of hypotheses in science is mathematics, a discipline which consists of the creation of symbolic models of quantitative relationships. And yet, the nature of mathematical discovery is so mysterious that mathematicians themselves have compared their insights to mysticism. The great French mathematician Henri Poincare believed that the human mind worked subliminally on problems, and his work habit was to spend no more than two hours at a time working on mathematics. Poincare believed that his subconscious would continue working on problems while he conducted other activities, and indeed, many of his great discoveries occurred precisely when he was away from his desk. John von Neumann, one of the best mathematicians of the twentieth century, also believed in the subliminal mind. He would sometimes go to sleep with a mathematical problem on his mind and wake up in the middle of the night with a solution. The Indian mathematical genius Srinivasa Ramanujan was a Hindu mystic who believed that solutions were revealed to him in dreams by the goddess Namagiri.

Intuition and inspiration were human solutions to the infinity-of-hypotheses problem. But Pirsig noted there was a related problem that had to be solved — the infinity of facts.  Science depended on observation, but the issue of which facts to observe was neither obvious nor purely objective.  Scientists had to make value judgments as to which facts were worth close observation and which facts could be safely overlooked, at least for the moment.  This process often depended heavily on an imprecise sense or feeling, and sometimes mere accident brought certain facts to scientists’ attention. What values guided the search for facts? Pirsig cited Poincare’s work The Foundations of Science. According to Poincare, general facts were more important than particular facts, because one could explain more by focusing on the general than the specific. Desire for simplicity was next – by beginning with simple facts, one could begin the process of accumulating knowledge about nature without getting bogged down in complexity at the outset. Finally, interesting facts that provided new findings were more important than facts that were unimportant or trivial. The point was not to gather as many facts as possible but to condense as much experience as possible into a small volume of interesting findings.

Research on the human brain supports the idea that the ability to value is essential to the discernment of facts.  Professor of Neuroscience Antonio Damasio, in his book Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason, and the Human Brain, describes several cases of human beings who lost the part of their brain responsible for emotions, either because of an accident or a brain tumor.  These persons, some of whom were previously known as shrewd and smart businessmen, experienced a serious decline in their competency after damage took place to the emotional center of their brains.  They lost their capacity to make good decisions, to get along with other people, to manage their time, or to plan for the future.  In every other respect, these persons retained their cognitive abilities — their IQs remained above normal and their personality tests resulted in normal scores.  The only thing missing was their capacity to have emotions.  Yet this made a huge difference.  Damasio writes of one subject, “Elliot”:

Consider the beginning of his day: He needed prompting to get started in the morning and prepare to go to work.  Once at work he was unable to manage his time properly; he could not be trusted with a schedule.  When the job called for interrupting an activity and turning to another, he might persist nonetheless, seemingly losing sight of his main goal.  Or he might interrupt the activity he had engaged, to turn to something he found more captivating at that particular moment.  Imagine a task involving reading and classifying documents of a given client.  Elliot would read and fully understand the significance of the material, and he certainly knew how to sort out the documents according to the similarity or disparity of their content.  The problem was that he was likely, all of a sudden, to turn from the sorting task he had initiated to reading one of those papers, carefully and intelligently, and to spend an entire day doing so.  Or he might spend a whole afternoon deliberating on which principle of categorization should be applied: Should it be date, size of document, pertinence to the case, or another?   The flow of work was stopped. (p. 36)

Why did the loss of emotion, which might be expected to improve decision-making by making these persons coldly objective, result in poor decision-making instead?  According to Damasio, without emotions, these persons were unable to value, and without value, decision-making in the face of infinite facts became hopelessly capricious or paralyzed, even with normal or above-normal IQs.  Damasio noted, “the cold-bloodedness of Elliot’s reasoning prevented him from assigning different values to different options, and made his decision-making landscape hopelessly flat.” (p. 51) Damasio discusses several other similar case studies.

So how would it affect scientific progress if all scientists were like the subjects Damasio studied, free of emotion, and therefore, hypothetically capable of perfect objectivity?  Well it seems likely that science would advance very slowly, at best, or perhaps not at all.  After all, the same tools for effective decision-making in everyday life are needed for the scientific enterprise as well. A value-free scientist would not only be unable to sustain the social interaction that science requires, he or she would be unable to develop a research plan, manage his or her time, or stick to a research plan.

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Where Pirsig’s philosophy becomes particularly controversial and difficult to understand is in his approach to the truth. The dominant view of truth today is known as the “correspondence” theory of truth – that is, any human statement that is true must correspond precisely to something objectively real. In this view, the laws of physics and chemistry are real because they correspond to actual events that can be observed and demonstrated. Pirsig argues on the contrary that in order to understand reality, human beings must invent symbolic and conceptual models, that there is a large creative component to these models (it is not just a matter of pure correspondence to reality), and that multiple such models can explain the same reality even if they are based on wholly different principles. Math, logic, and even the laws of physics are not “out there” waiting to be discovered – they exist in the mind, which doesn’t mean that these things are bad or wrong or unreal.

There are several reasons why our symbolic and conceptual models don’t correspond literally to reality, according to Pirsig. First, there is always going to be a gap between reality and the concepts we use to describe reality, because reality is continuous and flowing, while concepts are discrete and static. The creation of concepts necessarily calls for cutting reality into pieces, but there is no one right way to divide reality, and something is always lost when this is done. In fact, Pirsig noted, our very notions of subjectivity and objectivity, the former allegedly representing personal whims and the latter representing truth, rested upon an artificial division of reality into subjects and objects; in fact, there were other ways of dividing reality that could be just as legitimate or useful. In addition, concepts are necessarily static – they can’t be always changing or we would not be able to make sense of them. Reality, however, is always changing. Finally, describing reality is not always a matter of using direct and literal language but may require analogy and imaginative figures of speech.

Because of these difficulties in expressing reality directly, a variety of symbolic and conceptual models, based on widely varying principles, are not only possible but necessary – necessary for science as well as other forms of knowledge. Pirsig points to the example of the crisis that occurred in mathematics in the nineteenth century. For many centuries, it was widely believed that geometry, as developed by the ancient Greek mathematician Euclid, was the most exact of all of the sciences.  Based on a small number of axioms from which one could deduce multiple propositions, Euclidean geometry represented a nearly perfect system of logic.  However, while most of Euclid’s axioms were seemingly indisputable, mathematicians had long experienced great difficulty in satisfactorily demonstrating the truth of one of the chief axioms on which Euclidean geometry was based. This slight uncertainty led to an even greater crisis of uncertainty when mathematicians discovered that they could reverse or negate this axiom and create alternative systems of geometry that were every bit as logical and valid as Euclidean geometry.  The science of geometry was gradually replaced by the study of multiple geometries. Pirsig cited Poincare, who pointed out that the principles of geometry were not eternal truths but definitions and that the test of a system of geometry was not whether it was true but how useful it was.

So how do we judge the usefulness or goodness of our symbolic and conceptual models? Traditionally, we have been told that pure objectivity is the only solution to the chaos of relativism, in which nothing is absolutely true. But Pirsig pointed out that this hasn’t really been how science has worked. Rather, models are constructed according to the often competing values of simplicity and generalizability, as well as accuracy. Theories aren’t just about matching concepts to facts; scientists are guided by a sense of the Good (Quality) to encapsulate as much of the most important knowledge as possible into a small package. But because there is no one right way to do this, rather than converging to one true symbolic and conceptual model, science has instead developed a multiplicity of models. This has not been a problem for science, because if a particular model is useful for addressing a particular problem, that is considered good enough.

The crisis in the foundations of mathematics created by the discovery of non-Euclidean geometries and other factors (such as the paradoxes inherent in set theory) has never really been resolved. Mathematics is no longer the source of absolute and certain truth, and in fact, it never really was. That doesn’t mean that mathematics isn’t useful – it certainly is enormously useful and helps us make true statements about the world. It’s just that there’s no single perfect and true system of mathematics. (On the crisis in the foundations of mathematics, see the papers here and here.) Mathematical axioms, once believed to be certain truths and the foundation of all proofs, are now considered definitions, assumptions, or hypotheses. And a substantial number of mathematicians now declare outright that mathematical objects are imaginary, that particular mathematical formulas may be used to model real events and relationships, but that mathematics itself has no existence outside the human mind. (See The Mathematical Experience by Philip J. Davis and Reuben Hersh.)

Even some basic rules of logic accepted for thousands of years have come under challenge in the past hundred years, not because they are absolutely wrong, but because they are inadequate in many cases, and a different set of rules is needed. The Law of the Excluded Middle states that any proposition must be either true or false (“P” or “not P” in symbolic logic). But ever since mathematicians discovered propositions which are possibly true but not provable, a third category of “possible/unknown” has been added. Other systems of logic have been invented that use the idea of multiple degrees of truth, or even an infinite continuum of truth, from absolutely false to absolutely true.

The notion that we need multiple symbolic and conceptual models to understand reality remains controversial to many. It smacks of relativism, they argue, in which every person’s opinion is as valid as another person’s. But historically, the use of multiple perspectives hasn’t resulted in the abandonment of intellectual standards among mathematicians and scientists. One still needs many years of education and an advanced degree to obtain a job as a mathematician or scientist, and there is a clear hierarchy among practitioners, with the very best mathematicians and scientists working at the most prestigious universities and winning the highest awards. That is because there are still standards for what is good mathematics and science, and scholars are rewarded for solving problems and advancing knowledge. The fact that no one has agreed on what is the One True system of mathematics or logic isn’t relevant. In fact, physicist Stephen Hawking has argued:

[O]ur brains interpret the input from our sensory organs by making a model of the world. When such a model is successful at explaining events, we tend to attribute to it, and to the elements and concepts that constitute it, the quality of reality or absolute truth. But there may be different ways in which one could model the same physical situation, with each employing different fundamental elements and concepts. If two such physical theories or models accurately predict the same events, one cannot be said to be more real than the other; rather we are free to use whichever model is more convenient (The Grand Design, p. 7).

Among the most controversial and mind-bending claims Pirsig makes is that the very laws of nature themselves exist only in the human mind. “Laws of nature are human inventions, like ghosts,” he writes. Pirsig even remarks that it makes no sense to think of the law of gravity existing before the universe, that it only came into existence when Isaac Newton thought of it. It’s an outrageous claim, but if one looks closely at what the laws of nature actually are, it’s not so crazy an argument as it first appears.

For all of the advances that science has made over the centuries, there remains a sharp division of views among philosophers and scientists on one very important issue: are the laws of nature actual causal powers responsible for the origins and continuance of the universe or are the laws of nature summary descriptions of causal patterns in nature? The distinction is an important one. In the former view, the laws of physics are pre-existing or eternal and possess god-like powers to create and shape the universe; in the latter view, the laws have no independent existence – we are simply finding causal patterns and regularities in nature that allow us to predict and we call these patterns “laws.”

One powerful argument in favor of the latter view is that most of the so-called “laws of nature,” contrary to the popular view, actually have exceptions – and sometimes the exceptions are large. That is because the laws are simplified models of real phenomena. The laws were cobbled together by scientists in order to strike a careful balance between the values of scope, predictive accuracy, and simplicity. Michael Scriven, a mathematician and philosopher at Claremont Graduate University, has noted that as a result of this balance of values, physical laws are actually approximations that apply only within a certain range. This point has also been made more recently by Ronald Giere, a professor of philosophy at the University of Minnesota, in Science Without Laws and Nancy Cartwright of the University of California at San Diego in How the Laws of Physics Lie.

Newton’s law of universal gravitation, for example, is not really universal. It becomes increasingly inaccurate under conditions of high gravity and very high velocities, and at the atomic level, gravity is completely swamped by other forces. Whether one uses Newton’s law depends on the specific conditions and the level of accuracy one requires. Newton’s laws of motion also have exceptions, depending on the force, distance, and speed. Kepler’s laws of planetary motion are an approximation based on the simplifying assumption of a planetary system consisting of one planet. The ideal gas law is an approximation which becomes inaccurate under conditions of low temperature and/or high pressure. The law of multiple proportions works for simple molecular compounds, but often fails for complex molecular compounds. Biologists have discovered so many exceptions to Mendel’s laws of genetics that some believe that Mendel’s laws should not even be considered laws.

So if we think of laws of nature as being pre-existing, eternal commandments, with god-like powers to shape the universe, how do we account for these exceptions to the laws? The standard response by scientists is that their laws are simplified depictions of the real laws. But if that is the case, why not state the “real” laws? Because by the time we wrote down the real laws, accounting for every possible exception, we would have an extremely lengthy and detailed description of causation that would not recognizably be a law. The whole point of the laws of nature was to develop tools by which one could predict a large number of phenomena (scope), maintain a good-enough correspondence to reality (accuracy), and make it possible to calculate predictions without spending an inordinate amount of time and effort (simplicity). That is why although Einstein’s conception of gravity and his “field equations” have supplanted Newton’s law of gravitation, physicists still use Newton’s “law” in most cases because it is simpler and easier to use; they only resort to Einstein’s complex equations when they have to! The laws of nature are human tools for understanding, not mathematical gods that shape the universe. The actual practice of science confirms Pirsig’s point that the symbolic and conceptual models that we create to understand reality have to be judged by how good they are – simple correspondence to reality is insufficient and in many cases is not even possible anyway.

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Ultimately, Pirsig concluded, the scientific enterprise is not that different from the pursuit of other forms of knowledge – it is based on a search for the Good. Occasionally, you see this acknowledged explicitly, when mathematicians discuss the beauty of certain mathematical proofs or results, as defined by their originality, simplicity, ability to solve many problems at once, or their surprising nature. Scientists also sometimes write about the importance of elegance in their theories, defined as the ability to explain as much as possible, as clearly as possible, and as simply as possible. Depending on the field of study, the standards of judgment may be different, the tools may be different, and the scope of inquiry is different. But all forms of human knowledge — art, rhetoric, science, reason, and religion — originate in, and are dependent upon, a response to the Good or Quality. The difference between science and religion is that scientific models are more narrowly restricted to understanding how to predict and manipulate natural phenomena, whereas religious models address larger questions of meaning and value.

Pirsig did not ignore or suppress the failures of religious knowledge with regard to factual claims about nature and history. The traditional myths of creation and the stories of various prophets were contrary to what we know now about physics, biology, paleontology, and history. In addition, Pirsig was by no means a conventional theist — he apparently did not believe that God was a personal being who possessed the attributes of omniscience and omnipotence, controlling or potentially controlling everything in the universe.

However, Pirsig did believe that God was synonymous with the Good, or “Quality,” and was the source of all things.  In fact, Pirsig wrote that his concept of Quality was similar to the “Tao” (the “Way” or the “Path”) in the Chinese religion of Taoism. As such, Quality was the source of being and the center of existence. It was also an active, dynamic power, capable of bringing about higher and higher levels of being. The evolution of the universe, from simple physical forms, to complex chemical compounds, to biological organisms, to societies was Dynamic Quality in action. The most recent stage of evolution – Intellectual Quality – refers to the symbolic models that human beings create to understand the universe. They exist in the mind, but are a part of reality all the same – they represent a continuation of the growth of Quality.

What many religions were missing, in Pirsig’s view, was not objectivity, but dynamism: an ability to correct old errors and achieve new insights. The advantage of science was its willingness and ability to change. According to Pirsig,

If scientists had simply said Copernicus was right and Ptolemy was wrong without any willingness to further investigate the subject, then science would have simply become another minor religious creed. But scientific truth has always contained an overwhelming difference from theological truth: it is provisional. Science always contains an eraser, a mechanism whereby new Dynamic insight could wipe out old static patterns without destroying science itself. Thus science, unlike orthodox theology, has been capable of continuous, evolutionary growth. (Lila, p. 222)

The notion that religion and orthodoxy go together is widespread among believers and secularists. But there is no necessary connection between the two. All religions originate in social processes of story-telling, dialogue, and selective borrowing from other cultures. In fact, many religions begin as dangerous heresies before they become firmly established — orthodoxies come later. The problem with most contemporary understandings of religion is that one’s adherence to religion is often measured by one’s commitment to orthodoxy and membership in religious institutions rather than an honest quest for what is really good.  A person who insists on the literal truth of the Bible and goes to church more than once a week is perceived as being highly religious, whereas a person not connected with a church but who nevertheless seeks religious knowledge wherever he or she can find it is considered less committed or even secular.  This prejudice has led many young people to identify as “spiritual, not religious,” but religious knowledge is not inherently about unwavering loyalty to an institution or a text. Pirsig believed that mysticism was a necessary component of religious knowledge and a means of disrupting orthodoxies and recovering the dynamic aspect of religious insight.

There is no denying that the most prominent disputes between science and religion in the last several centuries regarding the physical workings of the universe have resulted in a clear triumph for scientific knowledge over religious knowledge.  But the solution to false religious beliefs is not to discard religious knowledge — religious knowledge still offers profound insights beyond the scope of science. That is why it is necessary to recover the dynamic nature of religious knowledge through mysticism, correction of old beliefs, and reform. As Pirsig argued, “Good is a noun.” Not because Good is a thing or an object, but because Good  is the center and foundation of all reality and all forms of knowledge, whether we are consciously aware of it or not.

What Does Science Explain? Part 5 – The Ghostly Forms of Physics

The sciences do not try to explain, they hardly even try to interpret, they mainly make models. By a model is meant a mathematical construct which, with the addition of certain verbal interpretations, describes observed phenomena. The justification of such a mathematical construct is solely and precisely that it is expected to work — that is, correctly to describe phenomena from a reasonably wide area. Furthermore, it must satisfy certain esthetic criteria — that is, in relation to how much it describes, it must be rather simple. — John von Neumann (“Method in the Physical Sciences,” in The Unity of Knowledge, 1955)

Now we come to the final part of our series of posts, “What Does Science Explain?” (If you have not already, you can peruse parts 1, 2, 3, and 4 here). As I mentioned in my previous posts, the rise of modern science was accompanied by a change in humanity’s view of metaphysics, that is, our theory of existence. Medieval metaphysics, largely influenced by ancient philosophers, saw human beings as the center or summit of creation; furthermore, medieval metaphysics proposed a sophisticated, multifaceted view of causation. Modern scientists, however, rejected much of medieval metaphysics as subjective and saw reality as consisting mainly of objects impacting or influencing each other in mathematical patterns.  (See The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Science by E.A. Burtt.)

I have already critically examined certain aspects of the metaphysics of modern science in parts 3 and 4. For part 5, I wish to look more closely at the role of Forms in causation — what Aristotle called “formal causation.” This theory of causation was strongly influenced by Aristotle’s predecessor Plato and his Theory of Forms. What is Plato’s “Theory of Forms”? In brief, Plato argued that the world we see around us — including all people, trees, and animals, stars, planets and other objects — is not the true reality. The world and the things in it are imperfect and perishable realizations of perfect forms that are eternal, and that continually give birth to the things we see. That is, forms are the eternal blueprints of perfection which the material world imperfectly represents. True philosophers do not focus on the material world as it is, but on the forms that material things imperfectly reflect. In order to judge a sculpture, painting, or natural setting, a person must have an inner sense of beauty. In order to evaluate the health of a particular human body, a doctor must have an idea of what a perfectly healthy human form is. In order to evaluate a government’s system of justice, a citizen must have an idea about what perfect justice would look like. In order to critically judge leaders, citizens must have a notion of the virtues that such a leader should have, such as wisdom, honesty, and courage.  Ultimately, according to Plato, a wise human being must learn and know the perfect forms behind the imperfect things we see: we must know the Form of Beauty, the Form of Justice, the Form of Wisdom, and the ultimate form, the Form of Goodness, from which all other forms flow.

Unsurprisingly, many intelligent people in the modern world regard Plato’s Theory of Forms as dubious or even outrageous. Modern science teaches us that sure knowledge can only be obtained by observation and testing of real things, but Plato tells us that our senses are deceptive, that the true reality is hidden behind what we sense. How can we possibly confirm that the forms are real? Even Plato’s student Aristotle had problems with the Theory of Forms and argued that while the forms were real, they did not really exist until they were manifested in material things.

However, there is one important sense in which modern science retained the notion of formal causation, and that is in mathematics. In other words, most scientists have rejected Plato’s Theory of Forms in all aspects except for Plato’s view of mathematics. “Mathematical Platonism,” as it is called, is the idea that mathematical forms are objectively real and are part of the intrinsic order of the universe. However, there are also sharp disagreements on this subject, with some mathematicians and scientists arguing that mathematical forms are actually creations of the human imagination.

The chief difference between Plato and modern scientists on the study of mathematics is this: According to Plato, the objects of geometry — perfect squares, perfect circles, perfect planes — existed nowhere in the material world; we only see imperfect realizations. But the truly wise studied the perfect, eternal forms of geometry rather than their imperfect realizations. Therefore, while astronomical observations indicated that planetary bodies orbited in imperfect circles, with some irregularities and errors, Plato argued that philosophers must study the perfect forms instead of the actual orbits! (The Republic, XXVI, 524D-530C) Modern science, on the other hand, is committed to observation and study of real orbits as well as the study of perfect mathematical forms.

Is it tenable to hold the belief that Plato and Aristotle’s view of eternal forms is mostly subjective nonsense, but they were absolutely right about mathematical forms being real? I argue that this selective borrowing of the ancient Greeks doesn’t quite work, that some of the questions and difficulties with proving the reality of Platonic forms also afflicts mathematical forms.

The main argument for mathematical Platonism is that mathematics is absolutely necessary for science: mathematics is the basis for the most important and valuable physical laws (which are usually in the form of equations), and everyone who accepts science must agree that the laws of nature or the laws of physics exist. However, the counterargument to this claim is that while mathematics is necessary for human beings to conduct science and understand reality, that does not mean that mathematical objects or even the laws of nature exist objectively, that is, outside of human minds.

I have discussed some of the mysterious qualities of the “laws of nature” in previous posts (here and here). It is worth pointing out that there remains a serious debate among philosophers as to whether the laws of nature are (a) descriptions of causal regularities which help us to predict or (b) causal forces in themselves. This is an important distinction that most people, including scientists, don’t notice, although the theoretical consequences are enormous. Physicist Kip Thorne writes that laws “force the Universe to behave the way it does.” But if laws have that kind of power, they must be ubiquitous (exist everywhere), eternal (exist prior to the universe), and have enormous powers although they have no detectable energy or mass — in other words, the laws of nature constitute some kind of supernatural spirit. On the other hand, if laws are summary descriptions of causation, these difficulties can be avoided — but then the issue arises: do the laws of nature or of physics really exist objectively, outside of human minds, or are they simply human-constructed statements about patterns of causation? There are good reasons to believe the latter is true.

The first thing that needs to be said is that nearly all these so-called laws of nature are actually approximations of what really happens in nature, approximations that work only under certain restrictive conditions. Both of these considerations must be taken into account, because even the approximations fall apart outside of certain pre-specified conditions. Newton’s law of universal gravitation, for example, is not really universal. It becomes increasingly inaccurate under conditions of high gravity and very high velocities, and at the atomic level, gravity is completely swamped by other forces. Whether one uses Newton’s law depends on the specific conditions and the level of accuracy one requires. Kepler’s laws of planetary motion are an approximation based on the simplifying assumption of a planetary system consisting of one planet. The ideal gas law is an approximation which becomes inaccurate under conditions of low temperature and/or high pressure. The law of multiple proportions works for simple molecular compounds, but often fails for complex molecular compounds. Biologists have discovered so many exceptions to Mendel’s laws of genetics that some believe that Mendel’s laws should not even be considered laws.

The fact of the matter is that even with the best laws that science has come up with, we still can’t predict the motions of more than two interacting astronomical bodies without making unrealistic simplifying assumptions. Michael Scriven, a mathematician and philosopher at Claremont Graduate University, has concluded that the laws of nature or physics are actually cobbled together by scientists based on multiple criteria:

Briefly we may say that typical physical laws express a relationship between quantities or a property of systems which is the simplest useful approximation to the true physical behavior and which appears to be theoretically tractable. “Simplest” is vague in many cases, but clear for the extreme cases which provide its only use. “Useful” is a function of accuracy and range and purpose. (Michael Scriven, “The Key Property of Physical Laws — Inaccuracy,” in Current Issues in the Philosophy of Science, ed. Herbert Feigl)

The response to this argument is that it doesn’t disprove the objective existence of physical laws — it simply means that the laws that scientists come up with are approximations to real, objectively existing underlying laws. But if that is the case, why don’t scientists simply state what the true laws are? Because the “laws” would actually end up being extremely long and complex statements of causation, with so many conditions and exceptions that they would not really be considered laws.

An additional counterargument to mathematical Platonism is that while mathematics is necessary for science, it is not necessary for the universe. This is another important distinction that many people overlook. Understanding how things work often requires mathematics, but that doesn’t mean the things in themselves require mathematics. The study of geometry has given us pi and the Pythagorean theorem, but a child does not need to know these things in order to draw a circle or a right triangle. Circles and right triangles can exist without anyone, including the universe, knowing the value of pi or the Pythagorean theorem. Calculus was invented in order to understand change and acceleration; but an asteroid, a bird, or a cheetah is perfectly capable of changing direction or accelerating without needing to know calculus.

Even among mathematicians and scientists, there is a significant minority who have argued that mathematical objects are actually creations of the human imagination, that math may be used to model aspects of reality, but it does not necessarily do so. Mathematicians Philip J. Davis and Reuben Hersh argue that mathematics is the study of “true facts about imaginary objects.” Derek Abbot, a professor of engineering, writes that engineers tend to reject mathematical Platonism: “the engineer is well acquainted with the art of approximation. An engineer is trained to be aware of the frailty of each model and its limits when it breaks down. . . . An engineer . . . has no difficulty in seeing that there is no such a thing as a perfect circle anywhere in the physical universe, and thus pi is merely a useful mental construct.” (“The Reasonable Ineffectiveness of Mathematics“) Einstein himself, making a distinction between mathematical objects used as models and pure mathematics, wrote that “As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality.” Hartry Field, a philosopher at New York University, has argued that mathematics is a useful fiction that may not even be necessary for science. Field goes to show that it is possible to reconstruct Newton’s theory of gravity without using mathematics. (There is more discussion on this subject here and here.)

So what can we conclude about the existence of forms? I have to admit that although I’m skeptical, I have no sure conclusions. It seems unlikely that forms exist outside the mind . . . but I can’t prove they don’t exist either. Forms do seem to be necessary for human reasoning — no thinking human can do without them. And forms seem to be rooted in reality: perfect circles, perfect squares, and perfect human forms can be thought of as imaginative projections of things we see, unlike Sherlock Holmes or fire-breathing dragons or flying spaghetti monsters, which are more creatively fictitious. Perhaps one could reconcile these opposing views on forms by positing that the human mind and imagination is part of the universe itself, and that the universe is becoming increasingly consciously aware.

Another way to think about this issue was offered by Robert Pirsig in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. According to Pirsig, Plato made a mistake by positing Goodness as a form. Even considered as the highest form, Goodness (or “Quality,” in Pirsig’s terminology) can’t really be thought of as a static thing floating around in space or some otherworldly realm. Forms are conceptual creations of humans who are responding to Goodness (Quality). Goodness itself is not a form, because it is not an unchanging thing — it is not static or even definable. It is “reality itself, ever changing, ultimately unknowable in any kind of fixed, rigid way.” (p. 342) Once we let go of the idea that Goodness or Quality is a form, we can realize that not only is Goodness part of reality, it is reality.

As conceptual creations, ideal forms are found in both science and religion. So why, then, does there seem to be such a sharp split between science and religion as modes of knowledge? I think it comes down to this: science creates ideal forms in order to model and predict physical phenomena, while religion creates ideal forms in order to provide guidance on how we should live.

Scientists like to see how things work — they study the parts in order to understand how the wholes work. To increase their understanding, scientists may break down certain parts into smaller parts, and those parts into even smaller parts, until they come to the most fundamental, indivisible parts. Mathematics has been extremely useful in modeling and understanding these parts of nature, so scientists create and appreciate mathematical forms.

Religion, on the other hand, tends to focus on larger wholes. The imaginative element of religion envisions perfect states of being, whether it be the Garden of Eden or the Kingdom of Heaven, as well as perfect (or near perfect) humans who serve as prophets or guides to a better life. Religion is less concerned with how things work than with how things ought to work, how things ought to be. So religion will tend to focus on subjects not covered by science, including the nature and meaning of beauty, love, and justice. There will always be debates about the appropriateness of particular forms in particular circumstances, but the use of forms in both science and religion is essential to understanding the universe and our place in it.

What Does Science Explain? Part 2 – The Metaphysics of Modern Science

In my previous post, I discussed the nature of metaphysics, a theory of being and existence, in the medieval world. The metaphysics of the medieval period was strongly influenced by the ancient Greeks, particularly Aristotle, who posited four causes or explanations for why things were. In addition, Aristotle argued that existence could be understood as the result of a transition from “potentiality” to “actuality.” With the rise of modern science, argued Edwin Arthur Burtt in The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Science, the medieval conception of existence changed. Although some of this change was beneficial, argued Burtt, there was also a loss.

The first major change that modern science brought about was the strict separation of human beings, along with human senses and desires, from the “real” universe of impersonal objects joining, separating, and colliding with each other. Rather than seeing human beings as the center or summit of creation, as the medievals did, modern scientists removed the privileged position of human beings and promoted the goal of “objectivity” in their studies, arguing that we needed to dismiss all subjective human sensations and look at objects as they were in themselves. Kepler, Galileo, and Newton made a sharp distinction between the “primary qualities” of objects and “secondary qualities,” arguing that only primary qualities were truly real, and therefore worth studying. What were the “primary qualities?”: quantity/mathematics, motion, shape, and solidity. These qualities existed within objects and were independent of human perception and sensation. The “secondary qualities” were color, taste, smell, and sound; these were subjective because they were derived from human sensations, and therefore did not provide objective facts that could advance knowledge.

The second major change that modern science brought to metaphysics was a dismissal of the medieval world’s rich and multifaceted concept of causation in favor of a focus on “efficient causation” (the impact of one object or event on another). The concept of “final causation,” that is, goal-oriented development, was neglected. In addition, the concept of “formal causation,” that is, the emergence of things out of universal forms, was reduced to mathematics; only mathematical forms expressed in the “laws of nature,” were truly real, according to the new scientific worldview. Thus, all causation was reduced to mathematical “laws of nature” directing the motion and interaction of objects.

The consequences of this new worldview were tremendous in terms of altering humanity’s conception of reality and what it meant to explain reality. According to Burtt, “From now on, it is a settled assumption for modern thought in practically every field, that to explain anything is to reduce it to its elementary parts, whose relations, where temporal in character, are conceived in terms of efficient causality solely.” (Metaphysics of Modern Science, p. 134) And although the early giants of science — Kepler, Galileo, and Newton — believed in God, their conception of God was significantly different from the medieval view. Rather than seeing God as the Supreme Good, the goal or end which continually brought all things from potentiality to actuality, they saw God in terms of the “First Efficient Cause” only. That is, God brought the laws of nature into existence, and then the universe operated like a clock or machine, which might then only occasionally need rewinding or maintenance. But once this conception of God became widespread, it was not long before people questioned whether God was necessary at all to explain the universe.

Inarguably, there were great advantages to the metaphysical views of early scientists. By focusing on mathematical models and efficient causes, while pruning away many of the non-calculable qualities of natural phenomena, scientists were able to develop excellent predictive models. Descartes gave up the study of “final causes” and focused his energies on mathematics because he felt no one could discern God’s purposes, a view adopted widely by subsequent scientists. Both Galileo and Newton put great emphasis on the importance of observation and experimentation in the study of nature, which in many cases put an end to abstract philosophical speculations on natural phenomena that gave no definite conclusions. And Newton gave precise meanings to previously vague terms like “force” and “mass,” meanings that allowed measurement and calculation.

The mistake that these early scientists made, however, was to elevate a method into a metaphysics, by proclaiming that what they studied was the only true reality, with all else existing solely in the human mind. According to Burtt,

[T]he great Newton’s authority was squarely behind that view of the cosmos which saw in man a puny, irrelevant spectator . . . of the vast mathematical system whose regular motions according to mechanical principles constituted the world of nature. . . . The world that people had thought themselves living in — a world rich with colour and sound, redolent with fragrance, filled with gladness, love and beauty, speaking everywhere of purposive harmony and creative ideals — was crowded now into minute corners in the brains of scattered organic beings. The really important world outside was a world hard, cold, colourless, silent, and dead; a world of quantity, a world of mathematically computable motions in mechanical regularity.  (pp. 238-9)

Even at the time this new scientific metaphysics was being developed, it was critiqued on various grounds by philosophers such as Leibniz, Hume, and Berkeley. These philosophers’ critiques had little long-term impact, probably because scientists offered working predictive models and philosophers did not. But today, even as science is promising an eventual “theory of everything,” the limitations of the metaphysics of modern science is causing even some scientists to rethink the whole issue of causation and the role of human sensations in developing knowledge. The necessity for rethinking the modern scientific view of metaphysics will be the subject of my next post.

What Does Science Explain? Part 1 – What is Causation?

In previous posts, I have argued that science has been excellent at creating predictive models of natural phenomena. From the origins of the universe, to the evolution of life, to chemical reactions, and the building of technological devices, scientists have learned to predict causal sequences and manipulate these causal sequences for the benefit (or occasionally, detriment) of humankind. These models have been stupendous achievements of civilization, and religious texts and institutions simply cannot compete in terms of offering predictive models.

There remains the issue, however, of whether the predictive models of science really explain all that there is to explain. While many are inclined to believe that the models of science explain everything, or at least everything that one needs to know, there are actually some serious disputes even among scientists about what causation is, what a valid explanation is, whether predictive models need to be realistic, and how real are some of the entities scientists study, such as the “laws of nature” and the mathematics that are often part of those laws.

The fundamental issues of causation, explanation, and reality are discussed in detail in a book published in 1954 entitled: The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Science by Edwin Arthur Burtt. According to Burtt, the birth and growth of modern science came with the development of a new metaphysics, that is, the study of being and existence. Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo, and Newton all played a role in creating this new metaphysics, and it shapes how we view the world to this day.

In order to understand Burtt’s thesis, we need to back up a bit and briefly discuss the state of metaphysics before modern science — that is, medieval metaphysics. The medieval view of the world in the West was based largely on Christianity and the ancient Greek philosophers such as Aristotle, who wrote treatises on both physics and metaphysics.

Aristotle wrote that there were four types of answers to the question “why?” These answers were described by Aristotle as the “four causes,” though it has been argued that the correct translation of the Greek word that Aristotle used is “explanation” rather than “cause.” These are:

(1) Material cause

(2) Formal cause

(3) Efficient (or moving) cause

(4) Final cause

“Material cause” refers to changes that take place as a result of the material that something is made of. If a substance melts at a particular temperature, one can argue that it is the material nature of that substance that causes it to melt at that temperature. (The problem with this kind of explanation is that it is not very deep — one can then ask why a material behaves as it does.)

“Formal cause” refers to the changes that take place in matter because of the form that an object is destined to have. According to Aristotle, all objects share the same matter — it is the arrangement of matter into their proper forms that causes matter to become a rock, a tree, a bird, or a human being. Objects and living things eventually disintegrate and perish, but the forms are eternal, and they shape matter into new objects and living things that replace the old. The idea of formal causation is rooted in Plato’s theory of forms, though Aristotle modified Plato’s theory in a number of ways.

“Efficient cause” refers to the change that takes place when one object impacts another; one object or event is the cause, the other is the effect. A stick hitting a ball, a saw cutting wood, and hydrogen atoms interacting with oxygen atoms to create water are all examples of efficient causes.

“Final cause” refers to the goal, end, or purpose of a thing — the Greek word for goal is “telos.” An acorn grows into an oak tree because that is the goal or telos of an acorn. Likewise, a fertilized human ovum becomes a human being. In nature, birds fly, rain nourishes plants, and the moon orbits the earth, because nature has intended certain ends for certain things. The concept of a “final cause” is intimately related to the “formal cause,” in the sense that the forms tend to provide the ends that matter pursues.

Related to these four causes or explanations is Aristotle’s notion of potentiality and actuality. Before things come into existence, one can say that there is potential; when these things come into existence they are actualized. Hydrogen atoms and oxygen atoms have the potential to become water if they are joined in the right way, but until they are so joined, there is only potential water, not actual water. A block of marble has the potential to become a statue, but it is not actually a statue until a sculptor completes his or her work. A human being is potentially wise if he or she pursues knowledge, but until that pursuit of knowledge is carried out, there is only potentiality and not actuality. The forms and telos of nature are primarily responsible for the transformation of potentiality into actuality.

Two other aspects of the medieval view of metaphysics are worth noting. First, for the medievals, human beings were the center of the universe, the highest end of nature. Stars, planets, trees, animals, chemicals, were lower forms of being than humans and existed for the benefit of humans. Second, God was not merely the first cause of the universe — God was the Supreme Good, the goal or telos to which all creation was drawn in pursuit of its final goals and perfection. According to Burtt,

When medieval philosophers thought of what we call the temporal process it was this continuous transformation of potentiality into actuality that they had in mind. . . . God was the One who eternally exists, and ever draws into movement by his perfect beauty all that is potentially the bearer of a higher existence. He is the divine harmony of all goods, conceived as now realized in ideal activity, eternally present, himself unmoved, yet the mover of all change. (Burtt, The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Science, pp. 94-5)

The rise of modern science, according to Burtt, led to a radical change in humanity’s metaphysical views. A great deal of this change was beneficial, in the sense that it led to predictive models that successfully answered certain questions about natural processes that were previously mysterious. However, as Burtt noted, the new metaphysics of science was also a straitjacket that constricted humanity’s pursuit of knowledge. Some human senses were unjustifiably dismissed as unreliable or deceptive and some types of causation were swept away unnecessarily. How modern science created a new metaphysics that changed humanity’s conception of reality will be discussed in part two.

The Use of Fiction and Falsehood in Science

Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson has some interesting and provocative things to say about religion in a recent interview. I tend to agree with Tyson that religions have a number of odd or even absurd beliefs that are contrary to science and reason. One statement by Tyson, however, struck me as inaccurate. According to Tyson, “[T]here are religions and belief systems, and objective truths. And if we’re going to govern a country, we need to base that governance on objective truths — not your personal belief system.” (The Daily Beast)

I have a great deal of respect for Tyson as a scientist, and Tyson clearly knows more about physics than I do. But I think his understanding of what scientific knowledge provides is naïve and unsupported by history and present day practice. The fact of the matter is that scientists also have belief systems, “mental models” of how the world works. These mental models are often excellent at making predictions, and may also be good for explanation. But the mental models of science may not be “objectively true” in representing reality.

The best mental models in science satisfy several criteria: they reliably predict natural phenomena; they cover a wide range of such phenomena (i.e., they cover much more than a handful of special cases); and they are relatively simple. Now it is not easy to create a mental model that satisfies these criteria, especially because there are tradeoffs between the different criteria. As a result, even the best scientists struggle for many years to create adequate models. But as descriptions of reality, the models, or components of the models, may be fictional or even false. Moreover, although we think that the models we have today are true, every good scientist knows that in the future our current models may be completely overturned by new models based on entirely new conceptions. Yet in many cases, scientists often respect or retain the older models because they are useful, even if the models’ match to reality is false!

Consider the differences between Isaac Newton’s conception of gravity and Albert Einstein’s conception of gravity. According to Newton, gravity is a force that attracts objects to each other. If you throw a ball on earth, the path of the ball eventually curves downward because of the gravitational attraction of the earth. In Newton’s view, planets orbit the sun because the force of gravity pulls planetary bodies away from the straight line paths that they would normally follow as a result of inertia: hence, planets move in circular orbits. But according to Einstein, gravity is not a force — gravity seems like it’s a force, but it’s actually a “fictitious force.” In Einstein’s view, objects seem to attract each other because mass warps or curves spacetime, and objects tend to follow the paths made by curved spacetime. Newton and Einstein agree that inertia causes objects in motion to continue in straight lines unless they are acted on by a force; but in Einstein’s view, planets orbit the sun because they are actually already travelling straight paths, only in curved spacetime! (Yes this makes sense — if you travel in a jet, your straightest possible path between two cities is actually curved, because the earth is round.)

Scientists agree that Einstein’s view of gravity is correct (for now). But they also continue to use Newtonian models all the time. Why? Because Newtonian models are much simpler than Einstein’s and scientists don’t want to work harder than they have to! Using Newtonian conceptions of gravity as a real force, scientists can still track the paths of objects and send satellites into orbit; Newton’s equations work perfectly fine as predictive models in most cases. It is only in extraordinary cases of very high gravity or very high speeds that scientists must abandon Newtonian models and use Einstein’s to get more accurate predictions. Otherwise scientists much prefer to assume gravity is a real force and use Newtonian models. Other fictitious forces that scientists calculate using Newton’s models are the Coriolis force and centrifugal force.

Even in cases where you might expect scientists to use Einstein’s conception of curved spacetime, there is not a consistent practice. Sometimes scientists assume that spacetime is curved, sometimes they assume spacetime is flat. According to theoretical physicist Kip Thorne, “It is extremely useful, in relativity research, to have both paradigms at one’s fingertips. Some problems are solved most easily and quickly using the curved spacetime paradigm; others, using flat spacetime. Black hole problems . . . are most amenable to curved spacetime techniques; gravitational-wave problems . . . are most amenable to flat spacetime techniques.” (Black Holes and Time Warps). Whatever method provides the best results is what matters, not so much whether spacetime is really curved or not.

The question of the reality of mental models in science is particularly acute with regard to mathematical models. For many years, mathematicians have been debating whether or not the objects of mathematics are real, and they have yet to arrive at a consensus. So, if an equation accurately predicts how natural phenomena behave, is it because the equation exists “out there” someplace? Or is it because the equation is just a really good mental model? Einstein himself argued that “As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality.” By this, Einstein meant that it was possible to create perfectly certain mathematical models in the human mind; but that the matching of these models’ predictions to natural phenomenon required repeated observation and testing, and one could never be completely sure that one’s model was the final answer and therefore that it really objectively existed.

And even if mathematical models work perfectly in predicting the behavior of natural phenomena, there remains the question of whether the different components of the model really match to something in reality. As noted above, Newton’s model of gravity does a pretty good job of predicting motion — but the part of the model that describes gravity as a force is simply wrong. In mathematics, the set of numbers known as “imaginary numbers” are used by engineers for calculating electric current; they are used by 3D modelers; and they are used by physicists in quantum mechanics, among other applications. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that imaginary numbers exist or correspond to some real quantity — they are just useful components of an equation.

A great many scientists are quite upfront about the fact that their models may not be an accurate reflection of reality. In their view, the purpose of science is to predict the behavior of natural phenomena, and as long as science gets better and better at this, it is less important if models are proved to be a mismatch to reality. Brian Koberlein, an astrophysicist at the Rochester Institute of Technology, writes that scientific theories should be judged by the quality and quantity of their predictions, and that theories capable of making predictions can’t be proved wrong, only replaced by theories that are better at predicting. For example, he notes that the caloric theory of heat, which posited the existence of an invisible fluid within materials, was quite successful in predicting the behavior of heat in objects, and still is at present. Today, we don’t believe such a fluid exists, but we didn’t discard the theory until we came up with a new theory that could predict better. The caloric theory of heat wasn’t “proven wrong,” just replaced with something better. Koberlein also points to Newton’s conception of gravity, which is still used today because it is simpler than Einstein’s and “good enough” at predicting in most cases. Koberlein concludes that for these reasons, Einstein will “never” be wrong — we just may find a theory better at predicting.

Stephen Hawking has discussed the problem of truly knowing reality, and notes that it perfectly possible to have different theories with entirely different conceptual frameworks that work equally well at predicting the same phenomena. In a fanciful example, Hawking notes that goldfish living in a curved bowl will see straight-line movement outside the bowl as being curved, but despite this it would still be possible for goldfish to develop good predictive theories. He notes that likewise, human beings may also have a distorted picture of reality, but we are still capable of building good predictive models. Hawking calls his philosophy “model-dependent realism”:

According to model-dependent realism, it is pointless to ask whether a model is real, only whether it agrees with observation. If there are two models that both agree with observation, like the goldfish’s model and ours, then one cannot say that one is more real than the other. One can use whichever model is more convenient in the situation under consideration. (The Grand Design, p. 46)

So if science consists of belief systems/mental models, which may contain fictions or falsehoods, how exactly does science differ from religion?

Well for one thing, science far excels religion in providing good predictive models. If you want to know how the universe began, how life evolved on earth, how to launch a satellite into orbit, or how to build a computer, religious texts offer virtually nothing that can help you with these tasks. Neil deGrasse Tyson is absolutely correct about the failure of religion in this respect.  Traditional stories of the earth’s creations, as found in the Bible’s book of Genesis, were useful first attempts to understand our origins, but they have been long-eclipsed by contemporary scientific models, and there is no use denying this.

What religion does offer, and science does not, is a transcendent picture of how we ought to live our lives and an interpretation of life’s meaning according to this transcendent picture. The behavior of natural phenomena can be predicted to some extent by science, but human beings are free-willed. We can decide to love others or love ourselves above others. We can seek peace, or murder in the pursuit of power and profit. Whatever we decide to do, science can assist us in our actions, but it can’t provide guidance on what we ought to do. Religion provides that vision, and if these visions are imaginative, so are many aspects of scientific models. Einstein himself, while insisting that science was the pursuit of objective knowledge, also saw a role for religion in providing a transcendent vision:

[T]he scientific method can teach us nothing else beyond how facts are related to, and conditioned by, each other.The aspiration toward such objective knowledge belongs to the highest of which man is capabIe, and you will certainly not suspect me of wishing to belittle the achievements and the heroic efforts of man in this sphere. Yet it is equally clear that knowledge of what is does not open the door directly to what should be. . . . Objective knowledge provides us with powerful instruments for the achievements of certain ends, but the ultimate goal itself and the longing to reach it must come from another source. . . .

To make clear these fundamental ends and valuations, and to set them fast in the emotional life of the individual, seems to me precisely the most important function which religion has to perform in the social life of man.

Now fundamentalists and atheists might both agree that rejecting the truth of sacred scripture with regard to the big bang and evolution tends to undermine the transcendent visions of religion. But the fact of the matter is that scientists never reject a mental model simply because parts of the model may be fictional or false; if the model provides useful guidance, it is still a valid part of human knowledge.

Does the Flying Spaghetti Monster Exist?

In a previous post, Belief and Evidence, I addressed the argument made by many atheists that those who believe in God have the burden of proof. In this view, evidence must accompany belief, and belief in anything for which there is insufficient evidence is irrational. One popular example cited by proponents of this view is the satirical creation known as the “Flying Spaghetti Monster.” Proposed as a response to the demands by creationists for equal time in the classroom with evolutionary theory, the Flying Spaghetti Monster has been cited as an example of an absurd entity which no one has the right to believe in unless one has actual evidence. According to famous atheist Richard Dawkins, disbelievers are not required to submit evidence against the existence of either God or the Flying Spaghetti Monster, it is believers that have the burden of proof.

The problem with this philosophy is that it would seem to apply equally well to many physicists’ theories of the “multiverse,” and in fact many scientists have criticized multiverse theories on the grounds that there is no way to observe or test for other universes. The most extreme multiverse theories propose that every mathematically possible universe, each with its own slight variation on physical laws and constants, exists somewhere. Multiverse theory has even led to bizarre speculations about hypothetical entities such as “Boltzmann brains.” According to some scientists, it is statistically more likely for the random fluctuations of matter to create a free-floating brain than it is for billions of years of universal evolution to lead to brains in human bodies. (You may have heard of the claim that a million monkeys typing on a million typewriters will eventually produce the works of Shakespeare — the principle is similar.) This means that reincarnation could be possible or that we are actually Boltzmann brains that were randomly generated by matter and that we merely have the illusion that we have bodies and an actual past. According to physicist Leonard Susskind, “It is part of a much bigger set of questions about how to think about probabilities in an infinite universe in which everything that can occur, does occur, infinitely many times.”

If you think it is odd that respected scientists are actually discussing the possibility of floating brains spontaneously forming, well this is just one of the strange predictions that current multiverse theories tend to create. When one proposes the existence of an infinite number of possible universes based on an infinite variety of laws and constants, then anything is possible in some universe somewhere.

So is there a universe somewhere in which the laws of matter and energy are fine-tuned to support the existence of Flying Spaghetti Monsters? This would seem to be the logical outcome of the most extreme multiverse theories. I have hesitated to bring this argument up until now, because I am not a theoretical physicist and I do not understand the mathematics behind multiverse theory. However, I recently came across an article by Marcelo Gleiser, a physicist at Dartmouth College, who sarcastically asks “Do Fairies Live in the Multiverse? Discussing multiverse theories, Gleiser writes:

This brings me to the possible existence of fairies in the multiverse. The multiverse, a popular concept in modern theoretical physics, is an extension of the usual idea of the universe to encompass many possible variations. Under this view, our universe, the sum total of what’s within our “cosmic horizon” of 46 billion light years, would be one among many others. In many theories, different universes could have radically different properties, for example, electrons and protons with different masses and charges, or no electrons at all.

As in Jorge Luis Borges’ Library of Babel, which collected all possible books, the multiverse represents all that could be real if we tweaked the alphabet of nature, combining it in as many combinations as possible.

If by fairies we mean little, fabulous entities capable of flight and of magical deeds that defy what we consider reasonable in this world, then, yes, by all means, there could be fairies somewhere in the multiverse.

So, here we have a respected physicist arguing that the logical implication of existing multiverse theories, in which every possibility exists somewhere, is that fairies may well exist. Of course, Gleiser is not actually arguing that fairies exist — he is pointing out what happens when certain scientific theories propose infinite possibilities without actually being testable.

But if multiverse theories are correct, maybe the Flying Spaghetti Monster does exist out there somewhere.

Scientific Evidence for the Reality of Mysticism

What exactly is mysticism? One of the problems with defining and evaluating mysticism is that mystical experiences seem to be inherently personal and unobservable to outsiders. Certainly, one can observe a person meditate and then record what that person says about his or her experience while meditating, but what is real about that experience? Persons undergoing such experiences often describe a feeling of oneness with the universe, love for all creation, and communion with the divine. But anyone can dream or daydream or imagine. It would be one thing if mystics came up with great ideas during their meditative states — a cure for a disease, a viable plan for peace between warring states, or a better political system. But this generally does not happen. Mystical experiences remain personal.

Recently, however, brain scan technologies, along with knowledge of the different functional areas of the human brain, have allowed scientists for the first time to actually observe what is going on in the brains of people who are undergoing mystical experiences. And the findings are remarkable.

Studies of persons engaged in prayer or meditation indicate that the frontal lobes of participants’ brains, responsible for concentration, light up during meditation– an unsurprising conclusion. However, at the same time, the parietal lobes of the same brains go dark — these sections of the brain are responsible for an individual’s sense of self, and help a person orient him or herself to the world. So when a person claims that they experience a oneness with the universe, that appears to be exactly what is going on — the person’s sense of self is actually put to sleep. And when the sense of self disappears, so does egocentrism. Researchers have found that people who regularly engage in meditation literally reshape their brains, becoming both more attentive and compassionate. The particular religion they belong to did not matter — Buddhist, Christian, Sikh — all seemed to experience the same changes in the brain.

Research on psychedelic drugs has found evidence that psychedelics act as potent enablers of mystical experience. Psilocybin, the active chemical in “magic mushrooms,” and mescaline, from the cactus known as peyote, are psychedelics that have been used for thousands of years in Native American religious ceremonies. LSD was synthesized in 1938 from a fungus, ergot, that may have played a role as a hallucinogen in ancient Greek religions. What these chemicals have in common is that they all seem to have effects on the brain similar to what may be experienced during deep meditation: they dissolve the sense of self and enable extraordinary visions that appear to give people a radically new perspective on their lives. One research subject described her experience on psilocybin as follows: “I know that I had a merging with what I call oneness. . . . There was a time that I was being gently pulled into it, and I saw it as light. . . . It isn’t even describable. It’s not just light; it’s love.” In fact, two-thirds of study participants who received psilocybin ranked their psychedelic experience as being among the top five most spiritually significant experiences of their lives, comparable to the birth of a child or the death of a parent.

Psilocybin has even been used to treat addiction — the mystical experience seems to reboot the brain, allowing people to break old, ingrained habits. A study of fifteen smokers who had failed multiple treatments for addiction found that after therapy sessions with psilocybin, 80 percent were able to quit cigarettes for at least 6 months, an unprecedented success rate. Smokers who seemed to have a more complete mystical experience had the greatest success quitting. According to one subject, “smoking seemed irrelevant, so I stopped.” Cancer patients who underwent treatment with psilocybin had a reduction in anxiety and distress.

Brain scans of those undergoing mystical experiences under psychedelics indicate reduced activity in the part of the brain known as the “default-mode network.” This high-level part of the brain acts as something of a corporate executive for the brain. It inhibits lower-level brain functions such as emotion and memory and also creates a sense of self, enabling persons to distinguish themselves from other people and from the rest of the world. When psychedelics suppress the default-mode network, the lower brain regions are unleashed, leading to visions that may be bizarre but, in many cases, insightful. And the sense of self disappears, as one feels a merging with the rest of the world.

It’s important not to overstate the findings of these scientific studies, by citing spiritual experiences as justification for theism. These studies do not prove that God exists or that there is a supernatural dimension. The visions that people experience while under psychedelics are often chaotic and meaningless. But this sort of radical free association does seem to help people attain new perspectives and enhance their openness to new ideas. And the feeling of oneness with the universe, the dissolution of the self, is not just an unconfirmed claim — it really does seem to be supported by brain scan studies. So the mystical experience is not superstitious pre-scientific thinking, but a valid mode of thought, one which many of us, including myself, have dismissed without even trying.