THE EMERGENCE OF FREEDOM:The Sciences and the Human Spirit after Darwin

James A. Barham

Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION:What to Do When “Our Best Science” is Not Good Enough

Draft of July, 2017Revised April, 2019

When we come to be instructed by Philosophers, we must bring the old light of common sense along with us, and by it judge of the new light which the Philosopher communicates to us.

---Thomas Reid, Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, 1785(2002; p. 27)

This book mounts a defense of freedom and the human spirit against eight claims often taken to

follow from the modern scientific worldview, which if left unchallenged would undermine the

commonsense view of human beings as rational, morally responsible agents. It does so not just

by means of a critique of these claims, but also via a series of positive counterproposals for an

alternative worldview based on a traditional substance ontology and a scientifically rehabilitated

notion of emergence.1 The linchpin of this alternative worldview will be a non-reductive account

of living systems as essentially possessing inherent and objective goal states. This is the reason

why the ideas in this book are said to occupy a conceptual space “after Darwin”---that is, after

1 I prefer the term “traditional” to refer to the general metaphysical framework expounded in Greek, Arabic, and medieval Latin texts, rather than labels such as “Aristotelian,” “neo-Aristotelian,” or “neo-Thomist” (when used in the context of the present day), in order to avoid giving the impression that I am speaking as a partisan of some particular school. I will be advancing a broadly traditional substance ontology, suitably interpreted to accord with our present knowledge, not because I am a follower of Aristotle or Aquinas, but because I think it is correct.

the general recognition of the explanatory limitations of the theory of natural selection and the

need for a new theoretical structure to put in its place.

This Bioteleological Realism (BTR) thesis will be the subject matter primarily of Chapter

5. The first three substantive chapters will pave the way for it by exploring the upstream

conditions that are necessary in order to make scientific sense of BTR. The last four substantive

chapters will explore various downstream implications of BTR for a proper view of the human

spirit in relation to the rest of nature.2 A conclusion will briefly draw the various topics together.

In the remainder of this introductory chapter, I will unpack these ideas to give the reader

a better sense of what to expect.

Freedom

Dr. Johnson was half-right when he said, “Sir, . . .we know our will is free, and there’s an end

on’t.”3

We do know our will is free. We all experience our freedom to choose directly, dwelling

intimately deep within ourselves, like a second breath or heartbeat. We know it exists because

we feel it; we know it by acquaintance.

There at least two rather different ways in which we have direct acquaintance with this

freedom to choose.

The first is usually called the “freedom to do otherwise.” Whatever course of action we

take, we know full well that other courses of action were open to us which we might have taken

instead. For instance, take the skipping of a stone across a pond. Looking ahead, I experience my 2 By “upstream” and “downstream,” I am speaking loosely of the sequential position in relation to the first living systems within the overall scheme of cosmic evolution of, on the one hand, the Big Bang and the formation of the stars, the chemical elements, and so forth (upstream), and, on the other hand, the appearance of multicellular animals with brains and, finally, human beings (downstream). For further discussion, see the section of this Introduction entitled “Emergence,” below.3 Boswell, 2008; p. 303 (October 10, 1769; original emphasis).

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ability to pick up the right sort of stone and throw it in the right sort of way as completely real---

as wholly possible and attainable and present to me---in just the same way as I experience the

reality of the stone itself lying in the palm of my hand. Retrospectively, I know that what I did

was up to me, that I could perfectly well have acted differently. Instead of skipping the stone, I

might just as well have hurled it into the woods, or else dropped it to the ground.

Another way in which we directly experience our freedom requires a bit more thought,

but only a bit. Upon reflection, we can see that freedom is a conceptual requirement of

rationality---and we are rational animals. That is, freedom is a fundamental precondition of all

that we do and think and say qua rational, which is practically everything that we do and think

and say. Since that is the case, and since rational animals exist---since I am one and you are

another---then freedom must exist, as well.

To see all of this, consider the following: If my utterance, “the square on the hypotenuse

of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides,” is nothing more than

the result of neurons firing in my brain, then there is absolutely nothing to distinguish that (true)

statement from a similar (false) statement about equilateral or scalene triangles. If all that

happens is due to mere causes, then there is no standard, no criterion, no norm for what is right

and what is wrong. If there are no reasons distinguishable from causes, then in all cases---the

right, the equilateral, and the scalene triangles alike---the utterance in question is just the causal

result of so many synapses’ firing and neurotransmitters’ squirting. In other words, while the

firing of neurons may perhaps cause an utterance, such a physical cause can never provide

evidence for the truth of the proposition expressed by an utterance understood purely as a

causally determined result. Without evaluative standards (criteria, norms), there is no truth or

error. And without truth and error, there is no rationality.

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Of course, one can always deny that normativity of any description, including rational

thought, has any objective existence apart from human beings (or perhaps some other animals).

In some sense, it is we who bring norms into existence. Let us say that is so. It still raises the

question If we ourselves are a part of nature, how do such norms acquire any purchase on us?

If it is true that we are capable of directly experiencing freedom in these two different

ways, then why did I say that Dr. Johnson was only “half-right? Because in going on to add,

“and there’s an end on’t,” he meant to close off further discussion, whereas the discussion had

really only just begun. The fact---the experientially given datum---of our freedom is only the first

step on a long road. It is a road which I will be following in this book. For, the real problem of

freedom is not whether freedom exists, but rather how it can exist, given everything else we

know about the world.

Spirit

I take the word “spirit” to encompass two rather different aspects of reality (or possibly three,

depending on certain metaphysical issues to be discussed below which I do not want to prejudge

yet). First, of course, is the sheer fact of our consciousness (or phenomenal experience, or

subjectivity, or interiority). There are many ways to describe what is meant by “consciousness,”

but for present purposes I shall content myself to pointing out that it is what is extinguished

temporarily by a general anesthetic. Many scientifically minded philosophers have cast doubt on

the very existence of this entity; however, I will not pause to engage with them in this book, but

will take its existence for granted.4 After all, there is nothing we are more familiar with---

acquainted with with greater certainty---than consciousness. If not identical to our very self, it is

4 For some detailed defenses of the reality of consciousness, see Chalmers, 1996; Nagel, 1986; Searle, 1992; Siewert, 1998.

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its constant and most intimate companion. Moreover, it is the precondition of all of our

knowledge of anything whatsoever, as the anesthetic case makes vivid. Behaviorists, cognitive

psychologists, Wittgensteinians, and others may cavil, but just imagine what would be entailed

by truly denying consciousness. For one thing, it would mean that there would be no difference

between our internal, conscious states (which by hypothesis would not exist) and our overt,

external behavior. Where would that have left Shakespeare? Where would it leave most

marriages? The denial of consciousness is the queen of all self-refuting philosophical paradoxes.

Now, this consciousness is a feature of reality that we presumably share to some degree

with at least the higher animals.5 In choosing the word “spirit” over the word “mind,” I wish

precisely to distinguish the human form of consciousness from other animal forms of

consciousness, whatever they may be. I take it that human consciousness is shaped in nearly all

its aspects by another feature of human nature, namely rationality. Therefore, spirit in the sense I

am using the word has a lot in common with Aristotle’s nous. However, I want to retain many

forms of affect and motivation which are often excluded by a too-restrictive notion of rationality.

Again, we presumably share much of the affective and motivational side of consciousness with

the lower animals, but they seem to possess it in a less-developed---or, at any rate, different---

form. To repeat: Every aspect of the human spirit is molded and otherwise conditioned by the

fact of human rationality. All in all, the English word “spirit,” in keeping with the German word

“Geist,”6 seems to be the best, or at any rate the least-misleading, choice.

5 I will discuss this and related issues in somewhat more detail below in this Introduction, in the section entitled “The Other Hard Problem.”6 See, for example, Scheler (1961; pp. 36--37), where the emphasis is on spirit’s (that is, Geist’s) freedom, and its capacity to grasp the constituents an objectively existing “world” independent from material conditioning.

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One of the chief ways in which rationality molds spirit is of course through language.7 It

is principally language that allows us to throw off the cognitive chains which presumably bind

the minds of the other animals to the here, the now, and the actual. Though all animals---perhaps

all living things---have something like a faculty of memory, in that their present behavior is

shaped by their past experience, only human beings can learn of the distant past, speculate about

the far future, and entertain complicated counterfactual scenarios. This remarkable ability is the

perhaps the chief hallmark of the human spirit.

I have said there are (at least) two different features of spirit; let me now begin to try to

describe the other one. Take the case of a mother’s lifelong grief for a child that died in infancy.

We know that if a chimpanzee baby dies, its mother may carry the corpse about with her for a

time, exhibiting unmistakable signs of depressed affect. But after a few days, she will

unceremoniously discard the body, seeming to forget all about her lost child.8 A human mother,

in contrast, may mourn for a lifetime.9 Now, this pain that the human mother feels even 50 or 60

years on is a direct, subjective feeling, presumably not unlike the one the chimpanzee mother felt

originally. We are assuming that it is language which maintains (for better or for worse) the

present quality of the past event to the human mother and to her alone. That is, the human

mother’s ability to grieve for 60 years appears to be a latent capacity of the human spirit which is

mediated or actualized by language. But language does more than merely allow past events to

remain vividly present to human beings. It also molds how the human perception of events is

shaped by various social structures and ideas, which in turn provide a framework for the growth

and maturation of the human spirit. In our example, part (but only a part) of the mother’s pain is 7 This seems the most neutral or least tendentious way of putting the point. It may, of course, turn out, that our faculty of reason is more or less identical to our language faculty. This and other aspects of the problem of rationality will be examined in Chapter 7, below.8 Goodall, 1971; pp. 219--221.9 A vivid example is portrayed in the novel, Journal d’un curé de campagne (Diary of a Country Priest) (Bernanos, 1936), as well as in the stunning film version (Bresson, 1951).

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mediated by the fact that she is “mother”---that is, her spirit takes on the characteristics of this

social category---living under various specific circumstances. This social dimension to human

existence is also constitutive of spirit in a way that is distinct from subjective experience as such.

To paraphrase Durkheim, social facts are things unto themselves; they have their own sort of

reality. But this reality is very closely linked to spirit: each is partially constitutive of the other.

By the term “spirit,” then, I mean to refer to both of these realities.

Spirit, then, is constituted by both our primary subjective experience and all those

phenomena which are both dependent upon spirit for their existence and at the same time

partially and reciprocally constitutive of spirit itself, such as social institutions (universities,

nations), social conventions (rules of the road, banknotes), and the like.

Finally, in addition to the social realm, which is clearly constructed by spirit in some

sense and would not exist at all if spirit did not exist, there is also the domain of abstract objects

that seem to require spirit in one sense, but seem to exist independently of spirit, in another. I am

thinking above all of mathematical objects, but also of such things as universals, propositions,

truths, and similar phenomena. Gottlob Frege described these as the “third realm” and Karl

Popper as “World 3”---the domain of abstract objects which we seem to discover rather than

invent.10 Whether this third realm really exists in a way that is independent of spirit, or whether

its existence depends upon spirit, is a large question, which I will take up in Chapter 7. At any

rate, if the third realm is taken to exist autonomously, then at least our access to it clearly passes

through spirit, as opposed to the five senses. So, however one regards its ontological status, it is

somehow deeply implicated in spirit.

I hope that it is now clear what I have in mind by the term “spirit,” and thus what I mean

to defend by critiquing those tendencies of contemporary scientific---or allegedly scientific---

10 Frege, 1997; Popper, 1972.

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thought which undermine spirit’s claim to robust existence. It is sometimes helpful to have labels

to refer succinctly to complex positions. The attitude toward spirit outlined above might be

called subjective realism.11 Admittedly, the phrase will sound like an oxymoron to many. After

all, isn’t subjectivity precisely that which does not possess objective reality? But I take it that this

criticism presupposes a dialectical situation in which the main effort is focused on refuting the

skeptic and “proving” the existence of the external world, other minds, or what have you. That

project is not mine.

For my part, I begin from the commonsense assumption that both I and the external world

exist, and I am dependent for my existence on it---indeed, I am contained within it as a part is

contained within a whole---whereas the external world in no wise depends for its existence on

me.12 Thus, setting aside general epistemological skepticism, and beginning from the point of

view of common sense, I am justified both in taking the domain of subjectivity or spirit as

phenomenologically given and in viewing this domain of reality as on an ontological par with all

other existing phenomena, such as material objects.

That ought to count as a form of realism about spirit if anything does. But realism is a

notoriously ambiguous concept. Minimally, it is just the proposition that the world exists more

or less as it appears to us (at least in certain respects), but does so independently of us. That is,

the world as it is in itself may be similar to the world as it appears to us, but it is not

11 The name suggests itself as the converse of objective idealism, with which it indeed has certain affinities---both positions claim the objective reality of spirit---but with which it ought not to be confused. Objective idealism subordinates non-mental reality to mental reality (Geist). Subjective realism, as I conceive of it, attempts to understand how it is possible for Geist or spirit to have developed out of non-mental reality, since it is clear (at least from the point of view of naturalism, which I will discuss below) that there was a time when non-mental reality existed but spirit did not yet exist. It should also be noted that subjective realism, in my sense, has affinities with Howell’s (2013) “subjective physicalism.” However, as will become apparent in Chapter 3, my view of physics itself is not “physicalist” in Howell’s sense. Therefore, it seems more appropriate to give my position a different name.12 The issue of the proper starting point and methodology for a project such as this will be explored further in the next section.

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fundamentally dependent upon us and our perceptions either for that similarity or for its very

existence. From this it follows that the world may transcend our perceptions of it in various

ways. No matter how much we may learn about the world, there is always the possibility that

there is more to reality than we are (yet) capable of perceiving. In a phrase, realism simply

means that reality “outruns” (or “transcends”) the appearances.

All of this is standard fare and more or less agreed-upon, at least among philosophers

who would account themselves “metaphysical realists” in the widest sense. The difficulty arises

when we try to specify the precise metaphysical status of certain problematic cases. To avoid

confusion in a particular case, it is vital to specify precisely what is being posited as real, against

what contrast class of other real and unreal entities. I have said that I take “spirit,” though the

quintessentially subjective realm of being, to be objectively real. I have also said that spirit as I

conceive it here consists not just in subjective experience in the traditional psychological sense

of consciousness---or, as I shall mostly say, spirit qua embodied, or “embodied spirit”---but also

in social and abstract entities that are clearly in some sense ontologically dependent upon

embodied spirit. This raises fundamental metaphysical issues about types or degrees of existence,

about so-called “levels” of reality, about dependence and relationality more generally, and much

else. To a large extent, the substance of this book will consist in an attempt to spell out these and

similar ideas in some detail.

Above all, I shall take some care in the pages below to distinguish insofar as possible

between the contribution of spirit and the contribution of non-mental causes, forces, or laws of

nature (in whatever form these notions may ultimately assume) towards the being of whatever

phenomenon is under examination on a particular occasion. For reality does not require causal

independence. A child may depend on its parents for its existence without being any the less real

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in its own right. Exactly what the relations of dependence are among physical objects, on the one

hand, and between physical objects and spirit, on the other, is something that we must attempt to

ascertain on a case-by-case-basis.

Common Sense, the Sciences, and Scientism

Our appointed task, then, is to investigate how the human spirit, with its signal capacity for

freedom of choice, can be understood as fitting in coherently with everything else that we take

ourselves to know about the universe. This is no easy task, and to have any hope of success, we

must choose a proper point of departure and accompanying methodology.

Up until now, I have spoken mostly of our direct experience or acquaintance with a range

of phenomena---evidence available to us merely by virtue of being the sort of rational animals

that we are. Let us agree to call this body of knowledge we all possess “common sense.” Now,

the question is: Am I really entitled, in light of more highly developed bodies of knowledge and

sophisticated methodological approaches, to take common sense as my point of departure in this

way? I believe I am, if for no other reason than that the more sophisticated approaches---which

boil down to the natural sciences and the various philosophical schools of thought---are

themselves inevitably derived from common sense. However, sophisticated one becomes as a

scientist or a philosopher, one still spends the vast majority of one’s time dealing with the world

in terms of common sense. But beyond that, the highly derived and sophisticated bodies of

knowledge and methodologies as such all ultimately rest on a foundation of common sense. Even

something so simple as making an observation or taking a physical measurement---say, reading a

dial---in the course of conducting a scientific experiment relies on common sense, not on the

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body of scientific knowledge of which the observation and the experiment are designed

ultimately to form a part.

Still, while these points are undeniable and certainly worth keeping in mind, they are not

decisive. A scientist or philosopher may smile at the claim that common sense alone is an

adequate starting point for the sort of endeavor I am undertaking here, which after all consists in

justifying the objective reality of the deliverances of common sense. Am I then claiming that

common sense is self-evident or otherwise self-justifying? If that is all I were saying, I would

hardly need so much space to say it in!

No, my appointed task of reconciling the commonsense picture of the world with the

findings of the empirical sciences cannot be accomplished by remaining at the level of common

sense. To accomplish my task I will in fact be taking both the natural sciences and certain

achievements of the philosophical tradition into account. But why both? Wouldn’t it make more

sense to plump for one or the other?

I believe there are very good reasons for taking an intermediate position which begins from

the point of view of common sense and then carefully proceeds by means of a judicious

application of ideas from both traditional philosophy and the natural sciences. The reason is

simple: Both of the two extreme positions (science-only and philosophy-only) are highly

unlikely to lead to fruitful results with respect to my appointed task. For example, the two

contemporary books with which my project has perhaps the most in common both fall victim to

one or the other of these extremes. Tyler Burge’s The Origins of Objectivity (2010), although

exemplary in many respects, steers too close to the shoals of uncritical acceptance of empirical

science. As a result, it makes some highly dubious claims about the supposedly representational

nature of perception and the accordingly lowly phylogenetic origins of objective knowledge, all

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on the basis of work in comparative cognitive psychology that, while inoffensive in itself, can be

misleading in a philosophical context if taken at face value. In contrast, P.M.S. Hacker’s

magnificent trilogy on human nature (2007, 2013, 2018) steers too close to the whirlpool of the

analysis of ordinary language. Hacker ends up being sucked under the waves of idealism (or,

rather, Wittgensteinian quietism) by his relative indifference to empirical science, despite the

obviously embodied nature of all human thinking. Clearly, a middle way between Burge and

Hacker is sorely needed, if one can be found.

If I were to follow the science-only strategy and simply stipulate that I shall take the natural

sciences as my point of departure and rigorously following a scientific methodology herein, then

my task would become hopeless from the start. If science has already told us all there is to tell

about freedom and spirit, then my task will be finished before it has properly begun, and my

book will be very short. For, many if not most scientists---and a good many philosopher who

describe themselves as “naturalists” and take the findings of the natural sciences as their point of

departure---believe it has already been demonstrated beyond a reasonable doubt that freedom is

an “illusion” and spirit is, if not quite an illusion, then at best an “epiphenomenon” that makes no

causal contribution to the way things go in this world.13

Let me hasten to add, to be clear---and it cannot be stressed often enough---that these very

strong and counterintuitive claims (which, together with a science-only methodology, we may

refer to as “scientism”) constitute a philosophical theory; they are not observable, reproducible

results of any one of the natural sciences themselves.

13 See, e.g., Atkins, 2011; Dennett, 1992; Rosenberg, 2011; Weinberg, 1993; Wilson, 1998. More sophisticated than these popular works---and for that very reason more threatening in the long run---is the relatively new form of reductionism known as “ontic structural realism” (OSR), which---at least in its “strong” (eliminative) version---ejects all objects from its ontology in favor of pure relations. (See, e.g., French, 2014; Ladyman & Ross, 2007.) That is, OSR posits a metaphysics of relations without relata! (For a critique, see Psillos, 2001; especially, pp. S22--S23.) This currently influential school of thought will be examined briefly in Chapter 3, below.

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Why would anyone subscribe to such a seemingly crazy doctrine as scientism? It is true, of

course, that the achievements of the natural sciences over the past several centuries, and

especially during the century just past, have been extraordinarily impressive. It is also true that

there are well-known cases of our commonsense view of particular aspects of the world (the

flatness of the earth, the existence of witches, etc.) being revised or eliminated with the advance

of the sciences. Moreover, the natural sciences, unlike many other areas of human endeavor

(notably philosophy!), appear to make real progress with the passage of time. So, one can see the

attraction of scientism for those who pride themselves on having a “tough-minded” mental

disposition, in William James’s self-congratulatory phrase.14 But the fact remains that scientism

is not a fundamentally serious position.15 As a more modest and altogether more trustworthy

guide in matters of intellectual virtue, Charles Sanders Peirce, once advised:

Let us not pretend to doubt in philosophy what we do not doubt in our hearts.16

Moreover, to do otherwise is inevitably to fall into “performative contradiction,” which

occurs whenever one’s everyday actions are at odds with one’s considered philosophical

opinions. For example, a distinguished professor once spent an hour trying to convince me that

conscious experience is an “illusion” (whatever that means), and that he and I were both mere

automata. Unfortunately, I lacked the wit to ask him whether he went to the dentist when he had

a toothache, but I think I know the answer, for as Leonato so rightly observes in Much Ado

About Nothing:17

For there was never yet philosopherThat could endure the toothache patiently,

14 James, 2000.15 On the need for ontological seriousness, see Martin & Heil, 1999.16 Peirce, 1992; p. 29.17 Act V, Scene 1.

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But it is not only the fact that the scientist and the self-described “naturalistic” philosopher

inhabit the same world as the rest of us, and fall into performative contradiction when they

pretend to doubt in philosophy what they do not doubt in their hearts. It is also the fact that the

natural sciences themselves are one of the finest achievements of the human spirit in the full

exercise of its freedom and rationality. Of all the innumerable and incredibly diverse offspring of

the human spirit, science is one of the most awe-inspiring and admirable---and scientism one of

the most ungrateful!

What of the past “defeats” of common sense by the sciences? This is a large topic, but in a

nutshell, common sense still has the last word. It is up to the sciences to persuade common sense

of the necessity of revisions to its spontaneous way of conceiving of the world. The arguments in

favor of the roundness of the earth (the way a ship disappears bit by bit over the horizon, the

circular shape of the earth’s shadow cast on the moon during a lunar eclipse, etc.) were already

well known to the educated in Antiquity, and were not a discovery of the Scientific Revolution

(though admittedly Galileo deployed them in a newly effective way in the Dialogo). Indeed,

around 200 B.C. Eratosthenes came up with an estimate for the circumference of the earth that

was within ten percent or so of the actual value. So, the benightedness of common sense in the

standard examples is something of a myth. It depends on whether we are discussing the beliefs of

the masses or those of the intellectual elites. Moreover, to the extent that common sense,

including elite opinion, was indeed mistaken in such cases, it simply evolved in interaction with

the natural sciences. Today, with photographs of the earth taken from the moon indelibly

imprinted on the public’s consciousness, even the man in the street regards the roundness of the

earth as sheerest common sense.

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It must also be stressed that over vast domains of reality, common sense simply has no

opinion. It has not been shaped by nature to perceive the goings-on at micro- and macroscales,

for example, and must rely upon the sciences to inform it of these matters. In other words,

common sense is relative to scale. However, at those length scales for which nature has equipped

us to interact cognitively, common sense remains the arbiter in this sense: If the sciences cannot

persuade commonsense reasoners that X (say, that free will is a myth) is the case, then

skepticism toward the claim that X is the case remains justified.

There are two ways, then, in which common sense itself may undergo a process of learning

through interaction with the natural sciences: (1) within common sense’s own level of the cosmic

hierarchy (the case of the roundness of the earth); and (2) beyond it, at micro- (atoms) and

macro-length scales (galaxies), which transcend the limitations of common sense. That is to say,

in sense (2) science is an extension of common sense by means of cognitive prostheses,18 so to

speak, into new and unsuspected domains of reality, while in sense (1) science also occasions a

certain amount of feedback onto common sense itself. Let us call this native cognitive faculty of

ours that is capable of growing and learning in these two ways, corrigible common sense. This

general epistemological stance, then---as well as the form of metaphysical realism it corresponds

to---may be conveniently termed corrigible commonsense realism (CCR).19 CCR, then, is a

conception of human cognition as indeed situated---to be sure, our faculty of knowing can never

provide us with a “view from nowhere.” However, our overall knowledge of the world is

corrigible and improvable through a historical process of learning, thanks in no small measure to

18 These “prostheses” are partly perceptual (microscopes, telescopes, etc.), partly intellectual (theoretical models, mathematical formalisms), and partly social (systematic practices, critical habits, etc.). Together, they constitute the substance of the social institution we call “science,” and provide access to length scales or “levels” of reality to which common sense alone has no access.19 I eschew the more-sophisticated-sounding “critical” here on account of the unwanted Kantian overtones. The homely “corrigible” conveys my meaning quite well enough.

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the natural sciences with their ability to probe very small and very large length scales. At the

limit, on the CCR view, human knowing aspires to the condition of a “view from everywhere.”20

I have spoken several times of “length scales” and “levels” of reality. Obviously, this usage

remains to be elucidated, a task which will be undertaken primarily in Chapter 3, below.

However, in order to avoid serious misunderstanding, allow me to say a word here about what I

have in mind. There is a commonplace way of speaking within philosophy of science and

naturalized philosophy circles, which partitions reality into the so-called “manifest” and

“scientific” images.21 An older version of the same idea is Sir Arthur Eddington’s famous

discussion of the “two tables”: his writing table as it appears to his native senses (solid to the

touch) and as it is described by physics (consisting mostly of empty space).22

Now, in one way this is precisely what I have in mind in contrasting the level of reality

accessible to our native common sense with those levels of reality to which we have gained

access with the aid of the various cognitive prostheses that collectively we call science. The

problem arises when Eddington insists that the table consisting of mostly empty space is the real

table, and the other one an illusion. Similarly, when contemporary philosophers speak of the

scientific image as superseding the manifest image, I part company with them. My point---for

which I shall argue at length in Chapter 3----is just that the claim that one table, or one “image”

of the world, is more real than the other is groundless. Both entities are equally real. They are

simply the objects reported to us by our understanding on the basis of our interaction with

different domains---specifically, different length scales, or “levels”---of reality.

20 This notion of a “view from everywhere” will be discussed in a number of places in this book especially in Chapter 6.21 The locus classicus for this terminology is Sellars, 1965; p. 6.22 Eddington, 1928; p. xi.

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With this clarification, then, it should be clear that CCR is a version of so-called “direct

realism”---the idea that the objects in the external world really are in themselves much as we

perceive them to be---with the proviso that the reality accessible to commons sense is not the

whole of reality. This realistic levels view of reality corresponds to a version of “scientific

realism,” as well. As discussed briefly in footnote , above, we may theorize the natural sciences

as providing various sensory and cognitive prostheses to our commonsense intellects, which

allow us to probe domains of reality at length scales which would otherwise be cognitively

inaccessible to us. Note that this view of the relation between mind and world is to be sharply

contrasted with any Kantian-style distinction between permanently unbridgeable “phenomenal”

and “noumenal” realms. On the realistic levels view, what is “phenomenal” becomes relative to

one’s technology! Before, for example, “atoms” might have seemed like transcendental

constructs, existing, if at all, in a noumenal realm forever closed to us. But today, scientists

assemble working nanoscale “cars”---and companies write their logos---out of individual atoms,

which can be visualized via the scanning electron microscope. In short, atoms have been brought

out of the noumenal and into the phenomenal realm. In this way, the domain of the noumena

shrinks as time goes by, and is reduced to the “not-yet-phenomenalized.”

In summary, common sense, the levels ontology, and the prosthetic view of the natural

sciences all cohere with one another to form a species of realism that is complex, nuanced, and

highly ramified. This “corrigible commonsense realism” is intended to embrace all of these

elements, and will comprise the overall methodological-ontological principle guiding my work

on this project.

There is one other point that it is crucial to keep in mind when thinking about the

phenomenon of scientism. In a certain sense, it does not give the creative power of the natural

17

sciences nearly enough credit, taking as it does the scientific landscape of our own day as the

scientific worldview that will remain definitive and fixed for all time. For this, the history of

science provides no justification whatsoever. There is simply no reason to believe we are at, or

even anywhere near, “the end of science.” On the contrary, the very fact that freedom and spirit

exist as a part of reality and yet entirely elude the reach of the contemporary sciences is excellent

evidence that a very great deal remains to be learned about the world, and that most likely of a

profound and revolutionary character. Thus, scientism is too pessimistic in its attitude toward the

future of science, and far too optimistic in its attitude toward the science of the present day.

With respect to the human being, the natural sciences follow a Procrustean method of

whittling down the given phenomena to fit the framework of current theory. Since only physics

and chemistry fit the Procrustean bed of contemporary science, freedom and spirit get lopped off.

This method of abstraction has served the sciences well over the course of their brief history, and

is irreproachable so long as it is remembered that certain phenomena have not been explained,

but merely set aside and ignored for the time being. Or, to vary the figure, one might say that the

mistake of scientism is that it attempts to shoehorn the human spirit into a science several sizes

too small for it.

In order even to begin to get a glimpse of how freedom and spirit might be integrated into a

single, coherent world picture, the natural sciences will almost certainly have to undergo a

profound transformation in their own conceptual and perhaps methodological structure. While it

is never given to us to foresee the future in any detail, fortunately, there are some fairly radical

proposals already on the table which seem promising in terms of the general shape or outline that

an integrated and coherent scientific account of a sort of proto-freedom inherent in biological

18

agency might take (i.e., the “Bioteleological Realism” program mentioned above).23 Out of this

entirely reconceived---hence, “post-Darwinian”---account of life itself, then, the full-blown

freedom of the human spirit could be understand as having developed. Some of these proposals

on the frontiers of biology and condensed-matter physics will be described in detail, both in

Chapter 5 and elsewhere in the pages below.

Finally, if this were all there was to the phenomenon of scientism, it would be of mostly

academic interest, and thus harmless enough. However, because the reach of the ideas to which

we are giving the collective label “scientism” has come to extend far beyond the confines of the

academy, and is now spreading far and wide among the general population, the danger of

practical mischief flowing from theoretical error is becoming a reality. Perhaps the chief harm

lies in the fact that the image of the human being promulgated by scientism has many potential

baleful consequences for the future of humanity. How is that? Chiefly due to the fact that the

self-image a human being has of himself is partly constitutive of what he is or can become. In

short, the traditional worldview I intend to support here has always provided a higher image of

himself for man to look up to---an ideal image of what he could and ought to be, which acted as

a spur to his aspiration and a check on the powerful influence of his lower, merely animal nature.

In contrast, the image of man embodied in scientism is an image of man-the-animal shorn of all

his higher, distinctively human characteristics: freedom, reason, and spirit. Scientism provides a

base image of himself for man to live down to---which by and large he is only too happy to do.

And yet, civilization is founded upon the harnessing of the animal in man by spirit.

Think of the allegory of the chariot in Plato’s Phaedrus.24 Scientism basically tells man there

is no charioteer and no harness. It tells him these guides and restraints are outmoded myths, and

23 I take my project to be consistent with the sort of scientific research into the phenomena of teleology called for recently by Thomas Nagel (2012).24 Phaedrus 246a--257b; see, also, Republic 434d--441e.

19

there is no reason why his animal nature (in Plato’s terms, the two horses, eros [the erotic

impulse] and thumos [high spirits]) should not run wild and free, in blithe disregard of the orders

that seemed to issue from the in-fact non-existent charioteer (logos [reason]). Needless to say,

this is a sure prescription for the chariot’s ending up in the ditch. And that threat to humanity’s

future is compounded by the fact that the “liberation” of the horses has been carried out in the

name of science. Thus, the already-great inherent appeal of scientism’s message---there is

nothing objectively right or wrong, so do whatever feels good!---is conjoined to the enormous

social prestige enjoyed by the natural sciences today. All of which makes for a most seductive

but highly dangerous social experiment, rapidly being ramped up now to a global scale.

Philosophical Responses to Scientism

I have not yet said anything about the other option briefly mentioned above: the philosophy-only

approach to spirit as an (at least implicit) critique of scientism. 25 To take this approach is to

suppose that philosophy can “go it alone,” because the domain of freedom and spirit is so

completely separate from the domain of physical nature that only the distinctively philosophical

methods of introspection and analysis can obtain any purchase on the phenomena in question. On

this view, the empirical sciences are simply irrelevant to achieving a clearer understanding of

freedom and spirit. There are many different ways of pursuing the philosophy-only approach, but

they all boil down to one of two basic strategies: transcendence or quietism.

Transcendence supposes that the human spirit, or some part of it, does not dwell wholly in

the empirical world present to our senses, but in some other, disjoint realm of being. In some

versions of transcendence---say, Berkeley’s subjective idealism---it is relatively easy to see what

this claim amounts to, even if it hard to give credence to it. In other versions, mostly descended

25 For example, see Hacker, 2007, 2013, 2018; McDowell, 1994; Strawson, 1984.

20

from the Platonic tradition, it is more difficult to understand precisely what is meant. What,

exactly, is the mode of being of Descartes’s thinking substance? Of the forms and other

abstracta? Where do these entities reside? We know, of course, they are not present in physical

space, but what other mode of existence is there? And how are souls, forms, and the rest related

to the empirical universe? All of this is very obscure.26

In contrast to transcendence, quietism contents itself with the thought that science is

irrelevant to the understanding of spirit, without feeling any need to put forward a positive

account of spirit in contrast to the story told by the sciences (or, rather, by the proponents of

scientism). Quietists feel that it is enough that the barrier between spirit and the empirical realm

exists. The very existence of the barrier provides them with a subject matter all their own. Why

rock the boat by making hard-to-justify ontological claims that seem merely to ape the natural

sciences, but which in being applied to spirit represent a “category mistake”? This type of

philosopher is apt to take refuge in either common sense (Moore ) or language itself

(Wittgenstein), feeling that these are more than adequate fields to till for one lifetime (which is

true). Interestingly, even some of the tough-minded, “scientific” philosophers of the Vienna

Circle (e.g., Schlick) were not unsympathetic to the quietist view.27

There are a couple of other approaches that do not fit comfortably into either of the above

categories, which I will be availing myself of in this work, as the occasion demands. The first of

these is phenomenology and the immense tradition of Continental philosophy which has grown

out of the work of Husserl and Heidegger. Like most English-speaking philosophers, I find

Heidegger and the later French and German traditions deriving from him as tending toward

26 Which, however, is not to say that my own, quasi-Aristotelian approach to these matters will be crystalline in its clarity. The ontological status of Frege’s third realm is certainly one of the most difficult philosophical problems there is.27 To be sure, their rejection of anything that smacked of metaphysics led other logical positivists to take a harder, more scientistic line. For a contemporary exponent of the empiricist form of quietism, see van Fraassen, 2002.

21

obscurantism. At any rate, I do not see that tradition as relevant to my project. The case of

Husserl is different, insofar as the “bracketing” of the question of the ontological status of spirit

is a position---as it were, midway between transcendence and quietism---that seems to leave

open a later “return to realism.” That is not, of course, the path that Husserl himself ended up

taking, but some of his colleagues and students did.28 I shall be drawing to some extent on the

work of this so-called “realist phenomenology” tradition in the later chapters of this work.29

The other philosophical tradition I will mainly be drawing on is the “traditional” philosophy

of the mainly Aristotelian tradition that I have already alluded to. Several recent works

consciously following in that tradition have attempted critiques of scientism in robustly

metaphysical (not just methological or epistemological) terms, without any doctrinal

commitment to Aristotelianism as a school.30 Generally speaking, these works defend basic

ontological concepts rejected by scientism, such as substances, essences, form, natural necessity,

and they do so for the most part by borrowing from the grand, pre-Cartesian tradition of

metaphysics that extended from Plato and Aristotle, to Plotinus and Avicenna, to the great

medieval scholastics, notably Aquinas and Suárez. Several other notable works with similar aims

have appeared which have focused more directly on the natural sciences themselves.31 Then there

is the recent renaissance of explicitly neo-Aristotelian (or Aristotelian-Scholastic or neo-

28 See, e.g., Reinach, 2012; Scheler, 1961.29 The mixed introspective cum empirical approach I am taking has still older roots, of course, especially in the Austrian realist (Brentano, 1995) and French “spiritualiste” (Maine de Biran, 2016) traditions. However, I cannot take the time to trace these intellectual filiations here.30 See, e.g., Hartmann, 2012; Johansson, 2004; E.J. Lowe, 1998.31 Čapek, 1961; Denbigh, 1975; Leclerc, 1986.

22

Thomist) thought.32 I will be following in their footsteps of all of these authors, without

committing myself as a disciple of any of them.

So, since these implicit and explicit critiques of scientism are already well established within

the discipline, why am I rejecting the philosophy-only approach? To the ears of those who do

pursue these strategies, my own strategy of triangulating among common sense, natural science,

and philosophy is all too likely to appear as a reversion to the point of view of scientism.

First of all, whatever the merits of transcendence, it seems clear that no version of

dualism or idealism is open to me insofar as my project consists in attempting to reconcile our

commonsense view of spirit with the well-founded findings of the various sciences. Second, my

sensibility is robustly realist, not in the Platonist, but in the quasi-Aristotelian sense which I

limned above under the label of “subjective realism.” Obviously, so far I have done no more than

make some distinctions and state some assumptions. I have done very little as of yet by way of

providing arguments in support of the framework I am trying to put into place. But, however I

might fare in discussion with a contemporary defender of, say, substance dualism, in my

judgment there is no way in which that doctrine could be used successfully as a bulwark against

scientism. The substance dualist believes that the natural sciences are irrelevant to the

comprehension of spirit because spirit transcends the physical universe. How could such a view

ever aid us in anything like a reconciliation between common sense and science? How could it

ever persuade the proponent of scientism of the need for science to transform itself, given the

dualist’s fundamental commitment precisely to the irrelevance of science to spirit?

32 Braine, 1992; Connell, 1988; Jaworski, 2016; Oderberg, 2008; Ross, 2008; Wallace, 1996. Beyond these works by more-or-less committed Thomists, there is now an enormous literature on the metaphysics of properties, dispositions, forces, laws of nature, and similar notions that is entirely secular in outlook, while nevertheless taking unabashed inspiration from Aristotle and traditional philosophy more generally. I will be making use of some of this literature, as well, in the pages below.

23

As for quietism, most recent attempts to counter scientism from this direction have

stressed its self-refuting character---if rational claims are wholly determined by non-rational

factors of biology and society, then what reason do we have for accepting the claims advanced

by scientism itself? All of this is assuredly correct. But unfortunately, it is not enough.

Quietism is defined by its rejection of the demand for a positive alternative account of the

place of spirit, freedom, and reason in nature. This is unfortunate in two respects. First, it is an

abdication of the primary task of philosophy to seek understanding. If both spirit and physical

nature exist, as they assuredly do, then it is precisely among the tasks of philosophy to attempt to

explain how that is possible---how the two domains are related. In short, quietism accepts the

analytic task, but refuses the all-important synthetic task of philosophy.

I make no apology for undertaking this effort of synthesis. Obviously, synthesis runs

many grave risks, particularly that of superficiality. Each chapter of this book could easily be a

book in itself. However, I believe that the success of scientism is partly due to philosophy’s

abdication of its traditional and properly synthetic role. Something in man craves a global

understanding of his place in the overall scheme of things, and if the sciences by their very

nature cannot satisfy this need (since their success largely depends precisely upon their limited

focus)---and if humanistic philosophy will not do so---then the pseudo-scientific philosophy of

scientism will be happy to step into the breach. If a great many people feel excited by the tableau

painted for them by scientism, I think it is largely because it supplies this unmet need. I infer that

to be truly effective, any antidote to scientism must provide an alternative synthetic view of

man’s place in nature. In this book, I shall attempt to provide such a view.

In short, scientism simply cannot be held at bay with the kind of defensive walls erected

by transcendent and quietist approaches. For, it is not enough to criticize a widely held view, no

24

matter how just the criticism may be. If an established view is to be overthrown, it can only be to

some other, better-founded, positive account. Sooner or later, critics of scientism must grapple

with the less secure empirical details at the forefront of research across a wide variety of fields---

as opposed to merely rehearsing the widely accepted scientific tropes---in order to descry a

viable path forward. By inclination and training, philosophers are averse to getting their hands

dirty in this way. But there is no other effective method of opposing scientism. The alternative is

to stand by helplessly and watch as one after another hole is punched in the defensive perimeter

by advances in the natural sciences. We have seen enough by now to be able to say with some

assurance that no wall can protect spirit from destruction by the sciences (as interpreted by the

proponents of scientism). In this case, a good offense is not just the best defense, it is the only

defense.

For all these reasons, I intend to make heavy use of the findings of contemporary science

itself in order to challenge scientism. If this sounds paradoxical, it is because we unconsciously

assume that science is monolithic and that the present-day consensus on any subject (“our best

science”) is likely to be the final word on that subject, or near enough for philosophical purposes.

But both of these assumptions are baseless. Close acquaintance with the scientific literature on

those subjects of greatest philosophical interest---molecular and evolutionary biology,

neuroscience, and so forth---will reveal a wide spectrum of quite divergent opinion on even basic

issues such as the fundamental nature of life and how the brain works. Similarly, even a cursory

acquaintance with the history of science will provide us with precious little reason for believing

that we happen to be living near the end of science. There is not only much obvious room for

advance in our scientific understanding of the world, there is also every reason to expect the

natural sciences to continue to progress in the future as they have done in the past.

25

Still, to defuse the charge that I myself have unwittingly fallen into the trap of scientism,

more must be said. Let me begin this section with a brief discussion of what is meant by the term

“naturalism.”

Naturalism

The word “naturalism” is, of course, a philosophical term of art, not a part of common sense or

everyday speech. Even so, it still suffers from a serious ambiguity which is too often neglected.

This is important in the present context, because in one sense my project is clearly “naturalistic,”

while in the other sense it clearly is not. Accordingly, I need to show that the confusion lies in an

equivocation in the terminology itself, not in my conception of my project.

On the one hand, “naturalism” means a philosophical system---whether in its

epistemological-methodological dimension or in its metaphysical-ontological dimension, or

both---which confines itself to “nature” conceived of as a closed system. What do I mean by a

“closed system”? Simply one which is sealed off from causal influences originating from outside

the system. This is usually interpreted to mean that naturalism in this sense excludes, or at least

sets aside, the possibility of a “supernatural” realm of being that wholly transcends and exists

independently of the physical universe.

What does this mean in practical terms for my project? It means that where I touch on

issues that have traditionally involved discussion of Christian (or Jewish, Hellenic, or Muslim)

forms of theism, I shall systematically prescind here from that aspect of the problem. This will

occur mainly in two contexts.

First, I will set aside the issues of the creation of being ex nihilo and of the conservation

of being. Regarding the creation of being ex nihilo, this means I will simply take it for granted

26

that the physical universe exists, tabling for another occasion all discussion of the contingency of

the universe and the laws of nature, the existence of a necessary being transcending the universe,

and similar issues. Regarding the conservation of being, this means I will accept the law of the

conservation of energy (and the first law of thermodynamics) at face value: to say that the total

quantity of mass/energy is conserved over time is just to say that the universe enjoys existential

inertia---what exists goes on existing of its own accord, as it were, whatever transformations it

may undergo. There is no need for it to be sustained in existence from moment to moment by an

outside agency.

The second context in which my prescinding from theological issues will come into play

has to do with causation. I will also take it for granted that so-called “secondary causes” (as

opposed to God, conceived of as the “primary cause” of all that occurs) exist and are efficacious

or productive by virtue of their own inherent capacities or powers. Pace Hume, this seems to me

to be a datum of our experience like any other.33 Moreover, to suppose that the order manifest in

the operation of things comes about for no reason at all is infinitely harder to believe than that

there is necessity inherent in nature (precisely how that is, of course, remains to be spelled out).

Very simply, Humean skepticism about causation does not comport with the other naturalistic

assumptions we have already made, as it implies that the order we observe is miraculous in

nature. If we exclude the possibility of miracles, then we have little choice but to take the causal

order of the universe as somehow inherent in nature itself.34

33 I, at any rate, have great difficulty in imagining the baseball’s hitting the window without the window’s shattering---and precisely for the reason that the baseball, by virtue of its hardness and force, caused the window, by virtue of its fragility, to shatter. General skepticism about the external world aside, I feel that I know all this to be the case, and I do not see how my knowledge of the causal powers and liabilities of the baseball and the window, respectively, is any less secure than my knowledge of their shape, their color, or their sheer existence.34 It is interesting that this response to inductive skepticism on the basis of an inference to natural necessity from rejection of chance as an explanation of regularity---which is moreover formally quite similar to contemporary “no miracles” arguments---was already made by Avicenna in al-Shifā’, “al-Burhan” (The Cure, “Book of Demonstration”), I.9 (Avicenna, 2007; p. 149):

27

What about causation? In the medieval period, there were three positions that theistic

philosophers took with respect to this problem. First was “occasionalism,” which is reasonably

well known. It is the doctrine that every state of the universe provides “occasions” for God’s

direct action in bringing about the subsequent state or set of occasions; creatures themselves

make nothing happen, cause nothing, bring about nothing. This was the position of the early

Mutakallimūn and of al-Ghazālī,35 as well as of Malebranche and some other followers of

Descartes.36

By far the majority of thinkers during the medieval period, however, were

“concurrentists,” meaning that on each occasion both God and the creature cooperated in

producing the subsequent occasion.37 This became the orthodox position within Christendom of

Aquinas, Suárez, and nearly everyone in between.

Nearly---but not quite---everyone. The position occupying the other pole diametrically

opposed to occasionalism has been dubbed by modern scholars as “mere conservationism,”

meaning that while God conserves the universe in being from moment to moment, he does not

directly causally influence the course of nature. In other words, secondary causes are

autonomous and genuinely efficacious or productive, much as the modern sciences suppose them

to be, and as I am assuming them to be here. The main proponent of mere conservationism was

Now one might ask: “This is not something whose cause is known, so how are we certain that the scammony cannot be sound of nature, and yet not purge bile?” I say: Since it is verified that purging bile so happens to belong to scammony, and that becomes evident by way of much repetition, one knows that it is not by chance, for chance is not always or for the most part. Then one knows that this is something scammony necessarily brings about by nature . . .

35 See Fakhry, 1958.36 See Nadler, 2011.37 The best single discussion of this topic, ranging in spite of its title far beyond Suárez, is Freddoso, 2002; see, also, Freddoso, 1991.

28

the early fourteenth-century Dominican theologian Durandus of St. Pourçain.38 For example, in

the third redaction of his Sentences commentary (c. 1325), he wrote:39

And thus the secondary cause would not exist if the First Cause did not immediately coexist with it. But the secondary cause’s acting is not an immediate effect of the First Cause. And, therefore, it is not necessary that God should immediately cooperate in such an action. All that is necessary is that He should act mediately by conserving the nature and power of the secondary cause.

I mention this detail of medieval intellectual history mainly to make the following point.

While Durandus was subjected to severe criticism for his innovations by some of his fellow

Dominican theologians, and as a result rewrote his Sentences commentary twice, it does not

seem that mere conservationism was an important element in their complaints against him, which

focused rather on theological and sacramental issues than on metaphysics. Admittedly, the

conclusions reached by two special commissions appointed by the Dominican Order to

investigate his writings were harsh. An official syllabus of errors was published in 1314, and

again in 1317. Nevertheless, all of this controversy appears to have done little to hinder

Durandus’s ecclesiastical career. In 1313, Pope Clement V summoned him from Paris to give

lectures in theology to the papal Curia newly installed in Avignon.40 After Clement’s death, he

continued serving there for a number of years under Pope John XXII, as well.

In sum, I would ask critics to my “right,” as it were, to accord me the same indulgence

that two popes accorded to Durandus---for our positions on causation are essentially the same.

38 The secondary literature on Durandus is sparse in general, and studies focused on his doctrine of causation in particular are very few indeed. The sources that do discuss his mere conservationism do so mostly in passing. See the two articles by Freddoso cited in the previous footnote, as well as Schmaltz, 2008 (especially, pp. 19--24), and Schmaltz, 2011 (especially, pp. 32--35).39 Durandus of St. Pourçain, In sententias theologicas Petri Lombardi, bk. 2, dist. 1, q. 5: "Does God act immediately in every action of a creature?," translated by Alfred J. Freddoso (https://www3.nd.edu/~afreddos/translat/duran215.htm). Note that the version of this question translated by Freddoso is from the third redaction of Durandus’s Sentences commentary, dating from , The question appears on both Lists of Errors as book II, distinction 1, question 4, “that God does not act immediately in the action of every creature”; see Koch, 1973; p. 57 (Article 17 of the 1314 List of Errors) and p. 83 (Article 50 of the 1317 List of Errors).40 Iribarren, 2005, passim; Elizabeth Lowe, 2003, passim.

29

To insist that autonomous secondary causes are tantamount to scientism is literally to be more

Catholic than the popes.

When I say that I am “prescinding” from issues touching on the existence of a necessary,

transcendent source of being and order, I mean it sincerely. This is not a coy way of inserting a

dogmatic atheism into my account of nature. My “methodological naturalism,” if you will, is a

conscious choice. I make the choice for a variety of reasons, but primarily because I believe my

project can be carried through successfully without recourse to theological discussion. And why

take on that extra baggage, in the context of the present project, if it is not necessary? My text is

aimed, after all, at persuading those sympathetic to scientism that there is a better way. I can only

make my job harder by bringing difficult theological discussions into such a project.

At any rate, my present aim is different, namely, to convince my natural allies that my

project is not just a variation on the scientistic theme. Let us, then, pass on to the second

fundamental meaning of the ambiguous term “naturalism,” which is where my real defense

against this charge lies.

I have in mind the sense in which naturalism has come to stand for the claim that nature

is utterly devoid of any objectively existing value, or meaning, or purpose, or intentionality, or

agency---in short, of normative phenomena of any sort whatsoever.41 The idea of naturalism in

this sense is precisely the idea behind scientism: science is our best or only way of acquiring

knowledge; science knows nothing of normativity; therefore, normativity does not “really” exist,

at least not in any objective sense of “exist.” Obviously, I must reject naturalism in this sense,

root and branch, on pain of self-contradiction.

41 “Normative” is sometimes used in a restricted sense referring only to the domain of human morality. I am using the word here in a much wider, unrestricted sense, in which it functions as a sort of umbrella term encompassing evaluative phenomena of all the types mentioned in the text.

30

And I do reject it. When I speak of my project as “reconciling spirit with the natural

sciences,” I am thinking above all of the need to find a place within nature for normativity. This

is the very essence of my project, its entire raison d’être. Of course, the project may fail. It may

even turn out to be impossible---a fever dream, a will-o’-the-wisp. Be that as it may, one thing is

certain. In terms of my conscious and professed aims, I am not guilty of naturalism in this second

sense. Therefore, I am not guilty of scientism, either, for the same reason.

To summarize, then:

On the one hand, the term “naturalism” refers to any system of thought which brackets

the ultimate existential question of why anything exists at all, treating the observable universe as

a closed system. My project is naturalistic in this sense. On the other hand, the term also refers to

the claim that the absence of normative concepts from “our best science” underwrites an

inference to the absence of normative phenomena in nature itself (where human beings are

always conceived of as a part of nature). It is the main business of this book to refute this claim.

Now, the worried critic may well say at this point: “This is all very well, as far as it goes.

The distinction between the two forms of naturalism is undoubtedly clear. And if your project

could be carried out successfully, then it would indeed constitute a reformation of naturalism in

the second sense. There is no confusion on that point. But so what? What reason have you given

us so far to think that your project is even remotely possible?”

The answer to this question is the book itself. However, I would like to conclude this

Introduction by making some brief comments on two essential points in connection with that

answer. This answer---and we are talking here about nothing less than the refutation of scientism

and the vindication of our commonsense understanding the human being as a free, morally

responsible agent---turns on two difficult concepts, which I will be at pains to explore in much

31

greater detail in the pages below. However, it may prove helpful later on if I introduce them,

however briefly, to the reader at this point: they are the notion of emergence and the notion of

normativity (which I like to think of as “the other hard problem”).

Emergence

First, then, a few words on emergence. Over the past few decades, the term has become

ubiquitous in the natural sciences, for the simple reason that scientists find it useful, indeed

indispensable. Philosophers, by and large, remain suspicious of it, and understandably so. After

all, emergence is a poorly defined concept, and philosophers hate ambiguity. What is worse, the

crux of the concept---which most of those who deploy the term would probably agree on---is that

a given entity B depends in some way on another entity A for its existence---and yet B is, in

some sense, at the same time independent of A, as well. So, not only is “emergence” vague, it’s

an oxymoron!

I will not enter into details here, but I do want to dispel a confusion and present some

evidence that emergence is an objectively existing empirical phenomenon.

First, the term is too often used in a highly restrictive sense in which there is only one

instance of emergence in nature: the emergence of consciousness from the brain. If that is all the

word means, then---given how little there is to say about consciousness as a natural

phenomenon---the prospects for either scientific or philosophical progress are dim indeed. But in

fact most scientists do not use the word in this sense at all. Most of them use it in a much

broader, unrestricted sense, to refer to any dynamically stable or semi-stable system (a “whole”)

that arises out of an ensemble of interacting sub-systems (“parts”). Practically everything we see

32

around us that forms a naturally stable system of this type (as opposed to the artificial

contrivances of man) is at least a candidate for analysis in terms of the concept of emergence.

It is also important to keep in mind the fact that philosophers often refer to “synchronic”

emergence, that is, the analysis of a system in terms of the causes powers emanating downward

from the whole to its parts, or upward from the parts to the whole, at an instant of time.

Scientists, on the other hand, tend to also think in terms of “diachronic” emergence, that is, the

history of the stages by means of which a complex whole has come into existence. We will have

to try to keep these two senses of the term straight to the best of our ability in the pages below.

What evidence is there that such emergent “wholes” really exist?

First, you are such a whole. You know perfectly well from your own experience that your

spirit is both dependent upon your body, but also independent from it, however paradoxical that

may sound. The biological function of brains, from an evolutionary perspective, is to organize

the movement through space of a massive number of independent cells. The wholeness is the

whole point of the exercise.

Also, consider this.

If we agree to accept the standard hot Big Bang account of the history of the universe as

correct, then we must also accept the following pair of remarkable facts:42

42 The Big Bang scenario rests on strong, but not of course incontrovertible, theoretical foundations. Other scenarios (oscillating universe, multiverse) are consistent with the evidence. But the Big Bang as such is not my main interest here, the evolutionary---or better, “developmental”---account of the history of the universe is. And the cosmic expansion, stellar nucleosynthesis, and biological evolution all rest on more secure empirical foundations than the Big Bang. Indeed, there is an a priori aspect to the last two: the simpler is metaphysically prior to the more complex, in that the more complex depends upon the simpler for its existence, but not the other way around. Moreover, a closely related insight---that the universe must preexist man, since man depends upon the universe and not vice versa---is very old indeed. It may already be found expressed in such early writings as the Hebrew Bible (God creates man on the sixth day: Genesis 1:26--31) and Plato’s Timaeus (the Demiurge creates human beings last: 69bff). Therefore, when I advert to the “Big Bang” scenario, I am employing a convenient shorthand expression for this metaphysically necessary historical-developmental account of nature, whatever its precise details may turn out to be.

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1. Once there was a time when the universe consisted of nothing but the quark soup (free quarks---the elementary constituents of protons, now always found in the bound state).

2. Today, some 14 billion years later, the universe consists of many different kinds of things, most of which (e.g., atoms, molecules, chemical compounds, stars, planets, living things) are composites built up out of parts that were produced at earlier stages of cosmic evolution, and a few of which (at least some kinds of animals, including human beings) are endowed with subjective experience.

I say these are “remarkable” facts because their plain implication---that emergence is

real---is often denied by naturalistically inclined philosophers. Perhaps I should have said their

denial is the remarkable fact. For what is the alternative to emergence in getting a conceptual

grip on (1) and (2) above? The alternative is to suppose that everything that now exists is not

“really real,” but only an illusion or epiphenomenon, while the quark soup remains the only

“really real” reality. Believe it if you can.

Since there is every reason to believe that emergence is real, the fact that we have trouble

understanding it says exactly nothing against it. It is up to us to understand the world; it is not up

to the world to present itself to us in terms that we can easily understand .

Finally, I would like to end by saying a few words about normativity, another

phenomenon (and corresponding concept) that will loom large in the pages below.

The Other Hard Problem

Most readers will be familiar with the phrase, “the hard problem of consciousness.” Coined by

David Chalmers,43 it of course refers to our apparently total incapacity (whether speaking in the

mode of common sense, or of the natural sciences, or of philosophy) to say anything at all

sensible about how consciousness (or subjectivity, or phenomenal experience, or interiority, or

whatever you wish to call it) can exist within the physical world. Or, better---taking into account

43 Chalmers, 2010.

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cosmic “evolution,” as just discussed---it is the problem of how non-living and non-conscious

entities have given birth to living and conscious ones.

I speak here advisedly of “consciousness” and its synonyms, and not of “spirit,” because

if the higher animals are conscious---that is, if they experience qualia, feelings, emotions, and

the like (and who nowadays would deny it?)---then the hard problem applies to the other animals

as well as to man. One of the main aspects of this whole problem area is that we simply have no

idea how far down in nature consciousness extends. We have no principled way of dividing

highly encephalized animals (mammals) from animals with more modest brains (worms, insects)

or even animals with no brains at all, as such (sponges, jellyfish). All we have to go by here are

behavioral criteria, and there is no obvious critical threshold (except for human beings) anywhere

up or down the phylogenetic spectrum. Rather, there is a tolerably smooth and gradual decline of

behavioral sophistication---or, rather, looked at more properly from the diachronic point of view,

a smooth and gradual increase of behavioral sophistication. And if we are willing to ascribe some

inchoate form of proto-consciousness to animals with small brains or with no brains at all, then it

is not clear why we should deny it to plants or even to single cells, which are also capable of far

more complex behavior than we ordinarily suppose (see Chapters 5 and 6, below). But then,

what about inanimate objects? Is there such as thing as “what it is like to be an electron”?

But now we seem to have crossed over a line from principled if bold speculation into

entirely undisciplined fantasizing. The problem is that we cannot get a firm grip on

consciousness as it relates to the physical world even in our own case. Therefore, we are in no

position to say with any sort of assurance how far down the scala naturae it may extend.

I do not want to be misunderstood. I am not for one moment denying that subjectivity is

the mode of existence within which the human spirit dwells. I am merely pointing out two

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things: first, that spirit is neither identical to nor coextensive with consciousness, but rather is

that form of consciousness which comes into existence through the medium of language, culture,

and history. I take it as a matter of direct empirical observation that (at least) the higher animals

are conscious, but lack spirit. When I interact with my dog, Marty, I am not in the slightest doubt

that there is “somebody there,” with whom I interact. But by the same token, when I am reading

a book, or watching TV, or conversing with my wife, and Marty lies curled up at my feet, I am

also not in the slightest doubt that I by my nature exist within a world to which Marty by his

nature is denied access. It is all going right over his head. Spirit is that human world which

surrounds Marty just as electromagnetic radiation surrounds us, but of which he remains entirely

ignorant.

The second point I wished to make in this connection was simply that we lack any proper

theoretical framework for analyzing consciousness beyond what is behaviorally given. That is

why the hard problem is so very hard: we have no idea where to look for even a hint of a

promising way forward. It is so hard, in fact, that I propose to table it here, for the simple reason

that I have nothing original to say about it. However, I wish it to be clearly understood that in

doing so, I do not mean to minimize or denigrate in any way the importance of consciousness or

the fundamental role it plays in the realm of spirit.

Instead, what I propose to focus on in this book is another very difficult problem, which I

have come to think of as “the other hard problem.” But while admittedly also very hard, I am

convinced that this other problem, which is likewise of fundamental importance for our

understanding of spirit, is a bit less hard than the hard problem of consciousness. How so? I

believe that in the case of the other hard problem, there are already some hints of a promising

way forward, which may lead to an increased, integrative understanding of the place of spirit in

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nature. Even if I am correct, it will not lead to a complete understanding, of course, because the

hard problem of consciousness will remain untouched. But in this area, where any prospect of an

advance in our understanding would be welcome, any promising path toward such an advance is

surely worth exploring.

What do I mean by this? What, exactly, is the “other hard problem”? And what are these

hints of a way forward that I just alluded to? Elucidation of these matters will mostly have to

wait until Chapter 5, the linchpin chapter of the book. For now, let me just say the following.

By the phrase “the other hard problem,” I have in mind the constellation of tightly

connected phenomena (and related concepts) that go by the names of “value,” “purpose,”

“meaning,” “agency,” and so forth. As mentioned above, I propose to use the word “normativity”

as an umbrella term with which to refer to this complex of phenomena as a whole.

The idea that the named phenomena are individual aspects of a single complex entity

called “normativity” would be controversial enough even within the context of human agency

and morality. My proposal---which baldly stated is that more-primitive but nevertheless

recognizably similar forms of these phenomena, out of which human agency has grown, are

constitutive of life itself---is far more contentious. I am not aware of anyone else taking quite so

strong a stand on “teleological realism” as it relates to biology as I shall be doing in this book. As

they say, extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. However, I cannot hope even to

begin that necessary task of painstaking argumentation in the last pages of this Introduction. (As

I have said several times, I hope to provide the required justification in the pages below,

especially in Chapter 5.) What I would like to do here instead is make a few distinctions, with a

view once again to at least making my meaning clear. For the moment, that will have to do.

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Why ought we to concern ourselves with the other hard problem of “normativity” (value,

purpose, meaning, agency, etc.) in the first place? The reason is threefold:

1. The phenomenon is obviously important in its own right. Human consciousness itself

would be of little interest were it not for the normative structure of nearly all of our

subjective experience.

2. It seems possible to abstract the normative phenomena away from consciousness

(subjectivity) without conceptual loss. Even among us human beings, there is obviously

much that goes on, both in our bodies and even in our minds, that is normatively

structured, but of which we are not consciously aware. The further down the scale of

nature we descend, the more ascriptions of consciousness feel unprincipled. Not so with

ascriptions of normativity, which, as we shall see, are perfectly fitting to the very lowest

forms of life (single cells).

3. Unlike the hard problem of consciousness, the other hard problem of normativity

promises to be more tractable as a scientific problem.

In short, I focus in this book on the other hard problem, not just because it is easier than

the traditional hard problem of consciousness (though that is certainly one of its attractions), but

because it is important in its own right, and promises a way forward---a way toward real insight

into the place of spirit in nature.

Plan of the Book

The book is divided into eight main chapters, besides this Introduction and the Conclusion. In

each of these chapters, I take up a specific, well-known challenge posed by scientism to freedom

and spirit, and attempt, not just to refute it, but to sketch a theoretical structure based on the

38

concepts of traditional philosophy, the valid findings of contemporary science, the notion of

emergence, and much else, to put in its place.

In the very broadest of strokes, then, the eight theses of scientism I will be examining,

together with my alternative proposals, are as follows:

1. The past and the future are just as real as the present. (Eternalism)Change is real, but time is a human construct. The “now” is relative to the nature of the substance under consideration. (Chapter 2)

2. Only the most primitive physical constituents of the world are really real. (Universal Reductionism; Eliminativism)Ordinary objects are just as real as the objects posited by the natural sciences. Emergence leads to the creation of dynamically stable entities, which are similar to traditional substances. (Chapter 3)

3. All future events are determined in all respects by past events. (Physical or “Hard” Determinism)Determinism is false, even for the inorganic realm. There is an inherent “give” or “play” in all natural processes. Against this backdrop, the notion of agent causation makes good sense, but must be spelled out in greater detail (in Chapters 5--7). (Chapter 4)

4. The structure and behavior of lower organisms is ultimately determined exclusively by the operation of genes. (Genetic Reductionism)The living state of matter is a sui generis kind of physical system. Normative (or “proto-normative”) concepts are clearly rationally ascribable to all living thing. Thus, all living things are agents, and possess a sort of primitive volition, hence freedom. One possible explanation for this may lie in the nature of the cell as a condensed-matter system. (Chapter 5)

5. The behavior of animals with brains is ultimately determined exclusively by the operation of synapses and neurotransmitters. (Neuro-Reductionism)In animals, pan-biological proto-agency gives rise to sentience, and a stronger form of agency, that is nevertheless shy of that found in man. Brains are not computers, but specially adapted, bio-normative, complex, nonequilibrium, dynamical systems. (Chapter 6)

6. Human reasoning is ultimately determined exclusively by a combination of biological and social factors. (Subjectivism; Relativism)Fully human freedom of the will is mediated by rationality, which is mediated by language. (Chapter 7)

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7. What is good for human beings is ultimately a matter of pleasure and pain, and what is right is ultimately a matter of the maximization of pleasure for the greatest number. (Hedonism; Utilitarianism)The human kind of freedom is not only rational, but moral. For human beings, freedom that is not morally ordered is no freedom at all. Human nature, like all natures, is possessed of an essence, and thus may form the foundation for a system of morality based on the notions of virtue, duty, and flourishing in the traditional fashion. (Chapter 8)

8. The best political arrangement to secure the most pleasure for the greatest number is centralized control by scientifically trained elites who enforce material equality and liberation from outdated moral restraints. (Libertinism; Statism) Man is a political animal. The best kind of polity depends both on his essential nature and on his historical-cultural context. Face-to-face societies may be organized like families, but immense societies of strangers cannot be organized this way. Spontaneous order should be allowed, and centralized control avoided, wherever possible. But our moral nature ought not to be entirely sacrificed to this principle. The principle of ordered liberty rejects “liberation” from traditional morality grounded in universal human nature as a formula for individual unhappiness and eventually societal collapse. (Chapter 9)

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