Literal creation?

A blog post by Peter Leithart got me thinking once more about creationism. Responding to a book entitled Darwin's Pious Idea, Leithart asks why some things can be taken literally while others can't:

"What makes the notion of “creation by speech” an un-literal interpretation and the notion of creation “in six days” literal? How does Cunningham know which is which? Perhaps evolutionary biology decides for him. Again, we have to guess, because he doesn’t say."

It's a funny question, because I honestly never thought "creation by speech" was literal. When God spoke the universe into being, did it make a sound? Clearly there's something more to speech than the literal action of speaking. What does "literal" mean, anyway?

To me Leithart's worry is a little strange, and indicative of a sort of interpretive panic on the part of evangelicals. Always the same question arises: if we can't take the creation story literally, then how can we take any historical account from the Bible, in particular the Resurrection, literally?

If I recall Luther's famous quote correctly, he insisted on both "Scripture and plain reason." I think plain reason tells us that when God spoke the universe into existence, it didn't literally make a sound. Before anything existed, there was no sound. Plain reason also tells us that plants can't live without the sun. And yet, plants come into being a day before the sun. Plain reason, finally, tells us that the narrator of Genesis does not intend the audience to think he was an eye witness to the event, nor that he personally knows any eye witnesses. The gospels, by contrast, read somewhat differently.

And modern scientific reasoning, while not so plain, really has reached a rather strong consensus on the age of the earth. I confess that it bugs me when Christians bring up "Darwinism" when the discussion seems to be about much more than Darwin. There's no point in discussing the evolution of life if you haven't come to grips with what modern geology and physics have told us about the age of the earth. It's clearly not "Darwinism" versus creationism. It's a much broader skepticism of modern science, based solely on the stubborn insistence that we read the Bible "literally."

A new challenge to materialism?

Two reviews of a new book by Thomas Nagel, entitled Mind and Cosmos, caused me to revisit one of the fundamental questions about the philosophy of science: can everything be "reduced" to matter? Though I haven't read the book myself, I take it the reason Nagel's book is so provocative is that he is both an atheist and a skeptic of the standard materialist worldview that makes atheism most plausible. Arguing for teleology in a world without God seems to be reaching for the impossible, which is why one critic says Nagel is "Awaiting a New Darwin" to fill in the gaps. This critic concludes, in what I find to be a rather even-handed statement:

"The question, then, is not whether teleology is formally compatible with the practice of science. The question is whether the practice of science leads to taking teleology seriously. Nagel may find this question unfair. He is, he says, engaging in a “philosophical task,” not the “internal pursuit of science.” But it seems clear that he is doing more than this. He’s emphasizing purported “empirical reasons” for finding neo-Darwinism “almost certainly false” and he’s suggesting the existence of new scientific laws. These represent moves, however halting, into science proper. But science, finally, isn’t about defining the space of all formally possible explanations of nature. It’s about inference to the most likely hypothesis. And on these grounds there’s simply no comparison between neo-Darwinism (for which there is overwhelming evidence) and natural teleology (for which there is none). While one might complain that it’s unfair to stack up the empirical successes of neo-Darwinism with those of a new theory, this, again, gets the history wrong. Teleology is the traditional view; neo-Darwinism is the new kid on the block."

Alvin Plantinga, not surprisingly, is in favor of the teleology proposed by Nagel but is waiting on Nagel to convert to theism:

"Nagel’s rejection of theism does not seem to be fundamentally philosophical. My guess is this antipathy to theism is rather widely shared. Theism severely limits human autonomy. According to theism, we human beings are also at best very junior partners in the world of mind. ... This discomfort with theism is to some extent understandable, even to a theist. Still, if Nagel followed his own methodological prescriptions and requirements for sound philosophy, if he followed his own arguments wherever they lead, if he ignored his emotional antipathy to belief in God, then (or so I think) he would wind up a theist. But wherever he winds up, he has already performed an important service with his withering critical examination of some of the most common and oppressive dogmas of our age."

I find both critics make good points, but both also make the same predictable move of getting down to what it's really all about, which amazingly enough is a restatement of one popular dogma or another. In the first case we get a restatement of modern scientific orthodoxy: science proceeds by testing hypotheses empirically, ruling out those that don't work, and accepting those that continue to be verified by experiments. In the second place we get a call to conversion: if we're looking for something to make sense out of this universe, we ought to find it in God.

Why are we at such an impasse when it comes to questions of reductionism, materialism, and teleology? One side goes on about "what science can do," while the other side insists there's more than just science. I suspect Nagel has found the place where it all converges into a tangled mess: the mind. It is here, more than anywhere else, where modern scientific materialism will inevitably clash with other worldviews.

Modern science seems to owe much of its existence to a philosophy move toward mind/matter dualism. Cartesian dualism is more than just a metaphysical statement about the mind and the body; it's a methodological decision, placing a priori questions in a different realm than empirical ones. Such a move allows empiricists to proceed with an unquestioning confidence in their enterprise. We know, a priori, that the world behaves according to logical rules. All that remains for us to conquer the world is to perform enough experiments until we discover all its secrets.

This story plays out pretty well until this relentless application of the scientific method starts to tear down the source of its boldness: the mind. If the mind is itself mere matter, subject to the same rules as anything else, and in particular the rules of evolution by natural selection, then no longer does the scientific method possess an eternal mandate from the realm of a priori truths. The method itself is an experiment, one in which we have confidence because it just seems to work (for now). But now we are trapped in a vicious circle (this is the famous problem of induction).

I understand the need to face this problem, and I find it intolerable the way some try to shrug it off for merely the sake of keeping science free from metaphysical questions. Indeed, the very notion that science (or what we now call "science" in the modern age) can be separated from any other discipline is in some ways a throwback to the worldview which most scientists now reject. Empirical questions are only independent from other questions if there really are two (or more) separate spheres of existence--for instance, mind and matter.

What I don't understand is teleology. The idea of "intrinsic bias" seems to already be present in the very notion of physical laws. In physics we posit many "intrisic biases," such as the tendency of particles in a closed system to settle in low entropy states, for matter to follow the influence of gravitational and electromagnetic fields, etc.

When we start talking about more complex things like the evolution of living organisms, it seems to me there is a double temptation. On the one hand, we marvel at the complexity and precision which present themselves in even the most basic organisms, and we are tempted to say it can't be the product of "merely random" changes, thereby rejecting Darwinian biology. On the other hand, we are tempted to interpret Darwinian biology as saying the array of organisms we see now is completely arbitrary. I would say this latter interpretation is highly misleading. The organisms which now exist have one extremely important feature in common: they survived the process of natural selection. It would not be entirely unfair to say that nature is "biased" toward producing, in certain environments, the kinds of creatures we do in fact see.

Naturally, I look at these issues from my own perspective, which is shaped by my study of dynamical systems from a mathematical point of view. From a mathematical perspective, the essence of a well-behaved dynamical system is that it tends toward some sort of "nice" behavior in the long run, even though it is governed not by a guiding hand but by a law which is applied mindlessly at each instant in time. Calculations demonstrate the intrinsic relationship between this law mindlessly applied on the long run behavior which is bound to result. On the one hand, this cannot be called "teleology." On the other hand, it cannot be called "chance." Indeed, it is a form of determinism unaided by any sort of mind.

On the other hand, how can we be so convinced that the universe evolves according to such laws? Without the guidance of a priori and immutable truths, why put our faith in the use of scientific laws to explain the world?

The reason theism seems an unattractive option to so many modern intellectuals is that they believe they understand it. By the same token, the reason so many theists make it so unattractive is that they, too, believe they understand it. There seems to be some sort of paralysis of the human mind, such that whenever theologians say something to show God higher, we interpret it as placing man lower. For instance, Plantinga says, "According to theism, we human beings are also at best very junior partners in the world of mind." I find my natural response is, wrongly, to assume this means that the amazing achievements and liberty of the human mind are not so grand after all, because we are really all little ants in God's ant farm. What a grotesque image, I say, as I search for philosophical reasons to reject it. I am not the sort who would find comfort in being an ant in an ant farm, as safe as that would be.

When I come to my senses, I realize theism should not be interpreted this way. God, I say, is not an explanation of anything. Explanations allow us to understand and manipulate the world. Belief in God does precisely the opposite: it affirms the unknowable and uncontrollable.

As such, I confess I don't find theism much help in explaining why the universe obeys certain laws, or whether or not Darwinism is true. It seems to me that teleology, in the sense of studying God's purposes for the world, cannot so much be a matter of study as a matter of patience. We honestly have no idea--certainly not a priori--where we are headed, but I am convinced we are headed somewhere.

Suppose that, unlike Descartes sitting in an armchair pondering a priori truths, we are more like children eating what is presented to us by a nurturing mother. At first we have absolutely no proof that such food is good for us, or that it is even edible. We merely have an instinct to eat, and we have no one else to trust. The proof comes later, when we are all grown up precisely because we trusted in something to begin with. Later we may find there are better things to eat by comparing to what we have already eaten.

As far as I can see, this is the true story of scientific discovery. We start with many things taken for granted. There is no way to even begin an inquiry into anything of scientific importance without being fed by someone else more experienced and learned. Once we are all grown up, we become more and more free and independent, capable of adding to the wealth of human knowledge by using what is known to face the unknown.

And it seems this is the story of all knowledge and even of living things. It is the story of evolution. I see very well why natural selection can seem like a cruel process with no discernible purpose. On the other hand, it is very much the story of growth, the story of inheritance being passed down and tested while new possibilities emerge from these trials. My intuition says that many of these philosophical arguments may just come down to how we interpret this story.

In this story there is no division between empirical and metaphysical. Mind is itself an inheritance, not an a priori metaphysical postulate. Perhaps there is something, higher and more wonderful and mysterious than mind, which permeates the universe, but I am rather sure we do not have that. What we do have is the opportunity to understand as much as we can, knowing there is never an end to what we can know.

The reason we accept materialism as a framework for modern science seems to be that it is a simple idea with far-reaching explanatory power. By assuming all things can be broken down into small, physical pieces with observably properties, we have been able to revolutionize the world. I think one can be forgiven if he sounds a bit overly excited about this. It truly is astounding how much has been accomplished by modern science. Modern science is itself the product of evolution, having been "selected" because of its unprecedented ability to yield new discoveries. If in the future we see changes emerge, so much the better. But in any case, I see the "reduction" to matter as a way to transmit a body of scientific knowledge in an effective way. It is the function of materialism as a philosophical inheritance that interests me, more than its final intrinsic truth.

All of this debate over materialism is part of that process of evolution, and I suppose the strongest challenges will survive. There probably will always be weaknesses in the materialist account of things, but I believe it futile to search for a replacement in immutable, a priori truths. (Ironically, it was perhaps just these immutable truths that gave us materialism in the first place, with all of its simplicity and orderliness.) All we can do is search for what is on the boundary of our current knowledge, and hope for growth.

Conservatives and immigration: a glimmer of hope?

Since Obama won the recent presidential election, much of the commentary has been on how much the outcome was influenced by changes in demographics. Such is the opinion, for example, of Jose Antonio Vargas, the one-man crusade for immigration reform in America. For example, there's this from his facebook page:

According to exit polls, and the role of the Latino vote (and other immigrant groups and our allies), it looks like Mitt Romney may be 'self-deporting" himself from this presidential election. 

What will the GOP do?

Apparently there is an answer to this question already in the works:

Two prominent conservatives -- radio host Sean Hannity and columnist Charles Krauthammer -- advocate an immigration bill that would include both tighter border security and a path to citizenship for illegal immigrants who are already here -- i.e., something close to Obama's position.

Note that ths consitutes a genuine change of thought on the conservative side. As a libertarian, I would say this solution is not enough--open the borders, I say!--but it represents one way in which democracy can force change among politicians. It's a good thing that Americans may after all become more liberal on this issue.

Conservative opposition to freer immigration laws frustrates me on multiple levels. First, there's the economic argument. The myth that illegal immigrants are a net drain on our entitlement system is far too often perpetuated on the right. In reality, many illegal immigrants actually pay taxes each year. The economic reality of immigration is that it happens precisely for the reasons economists expect--people are guided by market forces to seek opportunities where they can find them. Thus when there are jobs that need to be filled, people come to fill them. Limits on immigration are, economically speaking, one of the worst anti-free market measures we can take.

Second, there's the national sovereignty argument. This is very old and perhaps very natural. For some reason we humans like to claim land for ourselves, even when we just arrived on said land quite recently. Such is the history of America. It's worth reminding ourselves that--yes, here it comes, prepare yourself for eyes rolling--we are nation of immigrants. It should be well embedded in our culture by now that new-comers are normal, that being American does not mean looking or thinking or acting a particular way. All we ought to ask is that people be peaceful. The fear that our "culture" will be fundamentally changed is shown to be quite silly when one remembers how easy it is to share the spirit of basic human decency: "don't harm me and I won't harm you." This is a libertarian ideal, yes, but it also happens to conform with the distinctly American traditions of liberty, a pioneering spirit, and the idea that ours is a land of opportunity. I have trouble understanding why more conservatives don't go for this.

Most of all, however, I simply cannot understand why so many conservatives are able to argue passionately against abortion as a violation of basic human rights, all the while using essentially "pro-choice" arguments (applied to a different political entity, of course) against immigration. What are the arguments in favor of tolerating abortion? Well, the fetus is not like other human beings: she doesn't look like us, she doesn't have the same attachments to our world of culture and language, and she is in many cases not wanted. Keeping her alive could cost enormous amounts of resources, not to mention the many other emotional and social reasons why her existence could be a terrible burden. Thus, abortion is sometimes the only logical option.

Now substitute "fetus" with "immigrant" and "abortion" with "deportation" and see what happens. It's pretty amazing, isn't it? I am not impressed by the objection that abortion is killing while deporation is not. Deportation, though it is not the worst form of violence possible, is still violence (except in Mitt Romney's imaginary world in which immigrants will happily pick up and leave because we ask). It can be extremely damaging to families, particularly to children who grow up knowing nothing but this country and then are asked to leave. If you think that is consistent with freedom, I beg you to think it over again.

So, particularly if the Republicans are going to keep the pro-life position on abortion as part of their platform (and yes, I am one of those who think they should), I submit they should also adopt a more liberal immigration policy. This does not mean we stop caring about who crosses our borders. On the contrary, it means we can improve our border security by focusing on the people who are actually criminals, such as those people who, you know, kill people.

A happy libertarian meditation on elections

So America has just re-elected President Obama. Congratulations to him, and to all who supported him. For many Republicans, I'm sure this is a bitter pill to swallow, since they were so convinced the whole time that Obama is one of the main reasons for everything that is wrong with America right now. For us libertarians, it's not really that big a deal: we knew all along we probably weren't going to get a candidate we liked!

However, it's not all bleak. A lot of people today are very happy, because they view Obama as a very good man and an inspiration for the future. And I think they are right: Obama is a good man. So is Romney, for that matter. I think it's overly cynical to view all politicians as bad people. I'm guessing that both candidates for president really want to serve their country well, that they're both good to their families, and that they both can be nice people to be around if you get to know them.

It isn't because I think all politicians are bad people that I am against big government. It's because I think that big government has a way of causing good people to do bad things. Many people seem to have trouble accepting that evil can result from intellectual mistakes and/or systemic problems, but it can. I do not think that it was out of hatred for truth or justice that George W. Bush dragged us into two never-ending wars, or that Barack Obama started a secret "kill list" outside the bounds of the rule of law. On the contrary, these men believe in their country, and they will do "everything it takes" to defend it.

That "everything it takes" part can be really scary. Even, and perhaps especially, in the hands of good people.

Indeed, sometimes libertarianism comes across as a political philosophy which celebrates poor traits in humanity, such as greed and selfishness. On the contrary, I don't celebrate these things at all; I just don't have the same irrational fear of them that others do. In fact our great mistake as a society is to celebrate our own optimism and idealism.

Why fear greed and selfishness? They will forever be unpopular. On the other hand, idealistic politicians with a heart of gold and a vision for the country--they really frighten me. Why? Because people actually put their hopes in them!

A common objection I hear is that libertarians are as utopian as socialists. Socialists believe that we should try to organize society in such a way that all of her efforts are directed toward the common good by means of a democratic state. Clearly utopian--no state worked or ever will work like that. On the other hand, the libertarian view of the state is that it ought simply to enforce the basic rules of justice, not play favorites, and not intervene in the lives of citizens when no injustice has been committed. And that, unfortunately, has never happened either!

But the two kinds of utopianism are not equivalent in spirit. While socialism rests on a belief in a kind of society that has never existed, libertarianism merely rests on the hope for a government that has, unfortunately, never existed. Indeed, all libertarianism demands is that government help, rather than hinder, those natural forces which in fact make society work. Its demands may be too much for any real government, but they are not too much for society. What actually makes society work is not the politicians we elect, but the fact that each of us as individuals respect the life and property of other individuals.

It is an absurd mischaracterization of libertarianism to say that libertarians are against working together for the common good. Au contraire ! The amazing thing about this global civilization we live in is that we already do work together for the common good, whether we appreciate that fact or not. The system of global capitalism that is in place is mostly not our doing. It is rather the unforeseen result of billions of decisions along history's long and complicated path.

And I think that civilization is remarkably resilient. I am hardly a fan of the belief that progress is inevitable. What feels like progress often isn't, and often the path that actually leads to progress is not ideal. But freedom is ultimately difficult to destroy. It arises from the moral traditions we have inherited, and whether we realize it or not we will mostly continue to persist on those traditions: respect for human life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Democracy often blinds us to these simple truths. We place our hopes in the amazing gift of being able to choose our government--and it is an amazing gift--while forgetting that government does not make us free or prosperous. And you know what, that's okay. You may have voted for all the wrong reasons, but the free world will not collapse because of it.

So I remain content, not because I think government as it exists is acceptable or that I think everything is just going to be alright without any effort on anyone's part. Rather, I remain content because I know that no political election, no matter the outcome, can ever take away from humanity that which it really needs to fight for justice, truth, and peace.

Things could get bleak in the short run. I don't know. I fear the results of Obama's executive power grab, and now that he has a second term it could get worse. I fear what the Republicans will do, given that they may be even more angry after this election than before. Yes, there are lots of worries.

But in the long run, freedom is not really in the hands of these elites, elected or not. And that is why I remain a happy libertarian...

...who will cheerfully continue to blast America's current political policies, mostly because it's just so darn fun!

Why I think Obama and Romney are essentially the same

There are many reasons why libertarians disapprove equally of Romney and Obama. One could note policies on the war on terror, drone strikes, the NDAA and related national security policies, Guantanamo Bay, etc. Or one could even point to the fundamental similarities in their economic philosophy, which always requires the government to "steer the ship," and which always focuses on the middle class in an obvious attempt to strike a populist chord with America's voting population.

But I wanted to provide a very pithy evaluation of these two candidates, in anticipation of the upcoming Election Day in the US, in order to explain why a Romney presidency will most likely have a very similar effect on American society as an Obama presidency.

Both candidates share this fundamental trait on common: they really want to be good politicians. Each promises to bring but one ingredient to the White House: competence. This "competence" is expressed in all sorts of ways: the ability to run a business, pass laws, or finally "put aside politics" and do "what's best for the country." This latter phrase is never actually explained: it is a way of merely summarizing current prejudices among political elites, whose position in society renders them incapable of philosophical self-criticism.

This desire to appear above all competent to "run the country" is, sadly, a manifestation of how most Americans view politics. Modern people seem to view the government, not as a source of justice, but rather as a source of progress. Thus elections have become about which candidate has the best "vision" for the country, rather than about which candidate would be most true to the principles of our Constitution. We want our president to not simply govern, but rather "run the country."

I am hardly optimistic about the potential results of this trend.

Dualisms we live by, part 2: public and private

The dualism between public and private seems to take full force in political discussions. There are those decisions which are completely up to me and those decisions which are up to "all of us," for which one might have various conceptions. I find dualistic thinking in this area extremely damaging, for two reasons. First of all, it forces us to divide people into two kinds: those who want more freedom for the individual in his private sphere, and those who want more unity and collective action in the public sphere. You can nuance this as much as you want--maybe on some issues we need more individual freedom, on others we need more collective action, etc. But I say no matter how much you nuance it, it's still wrong. I'll explain way momentarily.

The second reason why this dualism is extremely damaging is that it gets glued to the left-right dualism. In modern political discussions, it seems that "left" means "fights for the public" while "right" means "fights for the individual." Of course one can immediately point to so many counterexamples that I will refrain from listing them. But if you're thinking in terms of right and left in the first place, that's already a setback to rational discussion.

Reality is far more complex than the public/private dualism can ever explain. What is my "private" sphere? Is it the sphere in which I can behave without obligations? Where exactly is that sphere? I find I have obligations wherever I go. From birth I have had certain obligations to my family, then to my friends, my school, my church, and other institutions which helped shape me. And, of course, I have always had certain obligations to government. A life without obligations is most likely a life lived on a deserted island, and even though, one finds that nature itself has a way of obliging us.

Conversely, what is the "public" sphere? Is it the sphere in which all of us cooperate together? Which sphere is that? Through the market, I am able to cooperate with people I have never met, whose language I cannot even speak, and whose values are probably not my own. In other words, through a series of individual actions not obviously connected with one another the human race has learned to work collectively to create fantastic innovations in both technology and culture. Yet we don't consciously work together to do it. By contrast, when I am forced to pay taxes, am I really working with others? Since I have already listed some of the many institutions to which I have obligations, need I repeat how many different "public" spheres I already indwell?

The devastating affect of this dualism is that we have trouble imagining any more than a few ways in which people actually cooperate. Political unity, in particular, does not always mean effective cooperation, and effective cooperation does not always require political unity. If anything, I suspect an excess of unity and conformity is a hindrance to effective cooperation, and we should always do our best to warn against it.

Dualisms we live by part 1: right and left

Since moving to France, I haven't had very much time for blogging, which is a shame, because it was always a mental exercise I really enjoyed. A friend here asked me why I would spend so much time on it, particularly on political posts which may or may not convince anyone. I think I've said it elsewhere on this blog, but I think it's more of a condition than it is a commitment. I just can't help but write down my thoughts somewhere sometimes. It might as well be in a place where other people can see, right?

I decided to start a series of short posts so that I won't get overworked trying to write them down. Rather than write one long post explaining a problem I see with society, it might help to get straight to those pertinent examples which are particularly fascinating and irritating.

One of the things I do here to try to improve my French is listen to podcasts. Pretty nerdy stuff mostly, like podcasts I find on France Culture. This morning I was listening to a discussion about "la droite" i.e. "the right" in French and more generally Western politics. The whole discussion is spent trying to figure out what "the right" means. Which leads me to the first dualism we live by, or rather try to live by but can't.

Right and left. Droite et gauche. These are very useful for journalists who need to quickly derive a story about who is up against whom. The right/left spectrum is a neat way to divide every controversy in two. The most immediate problem is that no complex issue has just two sides to it. A more fundamental problem is that when people are fixated on the fight between the two perceived "major parties" of political thought, they completely neglect thinking about the more radical changes that need to be made in society. Political discussion becomes more a question of which party is more to blame for the problems of the past decade or so, rather than trying to develop a coherent strategy for moving forward. Tug of war, rather than higher ideals, dictates our political movements.

Thus, when intellectuals get together to discuss the right or the left, they have to spend the whole time nuancing their way out of talking about the right or the left. After all, both sides "evolve" over time, or maybe it's simply "a question of definitions." All of which really means: these two categories are useless, unless you really need an efficient way to win political points. And, after all, I suppose efficiency is the larger part of what makes us act the way we do.