Massimo Pigliucci

Philosophy as a way of life (PWL) and modern psychotherapy (of whatever variety) have essentially the same goal: to cure the illnesses of the mind. Consider this well-known bit from Epicurus: A philosopher's words are empty if they do not heal the suffering of mankind. For just as medicine is useless if it does not remove sickness from the body, so philosophy is useless if it does not remove suffering from the soul. (Fragment 221, Saint-Andre, 2011) Or this one from the Stoic Epictetus: Gentlemen, a philosopher's school is a doctor's office. You shouldn't leave after having had a pleasant time, but a painful one, because you arrive unhealthy, one with a dislocated shoulder, another with a tumor, another with an... Read More.

The nature vs nurture debate is as old as recorded history. Apparently, during the uprising against Qin rule in 209 BCE, Chen Sheng—the leader of the uprising—asked the rhetorical question as a call to war: “Are kings, generals, and ministers merely born into their kind?” Modern approaches to developmental biology reveal the question to be somewhat misguided, and yet the debate continues. This essay argues that it is time to let go of an artificially dichotomous approach to the bases of phenotypic variation and accept the following conclusions of decades of research: (1) Measures of so-called heritability are not particularly informative, especially in humans; (2) Genes and environments interplay in complex and non-linear ways that simply do not allow the two components to be meaningfully disentangled; (3) Despite our best efforts, there is little we can say about gene-environment interactions in humans, except that genes do have pervasive effects and that such effects are sometimes radically modulated by the environment. Anything beyond that is likely to be ideologically driven and unsubstantiated by the available evidence.

All too often in contemporary discourse, we hear about science overstepping its proper limits—about its brazenness, arrogance, and intellectual imperialism. The problem, critics say, is scientism: the privileging of science over all other ways of knowing. Science, they warn, cannot do or explain everything, no matter what some enthusiasts believe. In Science Unlimited?, noted philosophers of science Maarten Boudry and Massimo Pigliucci gather a diverse group of scientists, science communicators, and philosophers of science to explore the limits of science and this alleged threat of scientism. In this wide-ranging collection, contributors ask whether the term scientism in fact (or in belief) captures an interesting and important intellectual stance, and whether it is something that should alarm us. Is scientism a well-developed position about the superiority of science over all other modes of human inquiry? Or is it more a form of excessive confidence, an uncritical attitude of glowing admiration? What, if any, are its dangers? Are fears that science will marginalize the humanities and eradicate the human subject—that it will explain away emotion, free will, consciousness, and the mystery of existence—justified? Does science need to be reined in before it drives out all other disciplines and ways of knowing? Both rigorous and balanced, Science Unlimited? interrogates our use of a term that is now all but ubiquitous in a wide variety of contexts and debates. Bringing together scientists and philosophers, both friends and foes of scientism, it is a conversation long overdue.

Few metaphors in biology are more enduring than the idea of Adaptive Landscapes, originally proposed by Sewall Wright (1932) as a way to visually present to an audience of typically non- mathematically savvy biologists his ideas about the relative role of natural selection and genetic drift in the course of evolution. The metaphor, how- ever, was born troubled, not the least reason for which is the fact that Wright presented different diagrams in his original paper that simply can- not refer to the same concept and are therefore hard to reconcile with each other (Pigliucci 2008). For instance, in some usages, the landscape’s non- fitness axes represent combinations of individual genotypes (which cannot sensibly be aligned on a linear axis, and accordingly were drawn by Wright as polyhedrons of increasing dimensionality). In other usages, however, the points on the diagram represent allele or genotypic frequencies, and so are actually populations, not individuals (and these can indeed be coherently represented along continuous axes).

It has been suggested that Gene Roddenberry, the creator of the original Star Trek series (TOS), more or less consciously built the equivalent of a philosophical argument in favor of Stoic philosophy by centering his story lines on the interacting and exquisitely complementary characters of Mr. Spock, Captain Kirk, and Doctor McCoy. Spock in particular was apparently purposefully meant by Roddenberry to represent Stoicism as he understood it. Modern practitioners of Stoicism, however, tend to see Spock as a “stoic” (lower-s) in the vernacular sense of the term: going through life constantly sporting a stiff upper lip and suppressing his emotions. I argue in this chapter that, on the contrary, the evolution of Spock from the young officer serving on the Enterprise NCC-1701 to ambassador to the Romulans in the last movie based on TOS can be understood as the story of someone entering the path to sagehood in the Stoic sense. And yes, Stoicism definitely is about far more than stiff lips and the suppression of emotions.

I submit that philosophy makes progress, but it does so in a way that is distinct from the sense in which the word applies to science, and is more akin to what happens in allied fields such as mathematics and logic. I develop a model of philosophy as “evoking” (to use L. Smolin's term) a series of peaks in conceptually defined but empirically constrained, landscapes, or what N. Rescher calls “aporetic clusters.” I also discuss empirical evidence for the existence of such clusters, following a statistical survey of philosophers’ views about their own field, carried out by D. Bourget and D.J. Chalmers.

In public philosophy, the question is how best to engage people with the fascinating yet complex mix of science and philosophy that underpins discussions of the good life. Reasoning about the good life implies adopting – consciously or not – a philosophy of life. For instance, the authors briefly compare three paths to the good life: Christianity (a religion), Stoicism (a philosophy), and Buddhism (which has both religious and philosophical strands). They discuss some of the issues that come up when they engage in public philosophy about the good life by way of an in‐depth look at a particular example. Lastly, the authors explore a number of approaches to philosophical public discourse on these themes, based on their experiences as a public philosopher as well as on the published literature.

In Hang The DJ, Amy and Frank meet via an online dating system that promises that if you stick with it, it will continue gathering information until it finds your soul mate, or “ultimate compatible other,” trumpeting a 99.8% success rate. In this chapter we explore the broad issue of digital relationships from the point of view of two particular philosophies of life: Stoicism and existentialism. The episode raises a multiplicity of philosophical issues concerning the choices we make about romantic love. For example, does finding a perfect match really boil down to a formula? And if we could find such a formula, would that be a good way to find love? These two philosophical approaches help us to answer the question as to whether we should be relegating the task of finding a mate to computer algorithms.

This chapter sets aside the question of whether a Singularity will occur, to focus on the closely related issue of MU, specifically as presented by one of its most articulate proponents, David Chalmers. The fundamental premise of Chalmers' arguments about MU is some strong version of the Computational Theory of Mind (CTM). The chapter proceeds in the following fashion: first, it recalls Chalmers' main arguments; second, it argues that the ideas of MU and CTM do not take seriously enough the fact that consciousness is a biological phenomenon, as pointed out in different contexts by both John Searle and Jerry Fodor, among others; third, it stipulates for the sake of argument that MU is somehow possible, and show that it would, at best, amount to a sort of mind cloning, but most certainly not to a preservation of anyone's consciousness in a medium different from one's own brain.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Why Gaia?Massimo Pigliucci (bio)The Gaia Hypothesis: Science on a Pagan Planet, Michael Ruse, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013. 272 pages.“The Gaia Hypothesis: Science on a Pagan Planet tells a story that comes out of the 1960s, a story that reflects all of the beliefs and enthusiasms and tensions of that decade.” So begins Michael Ruse’s fascinating, if at times puzzling, exploration of James Lovelock’s famous idea that our planet is, in a serious scientific sense, a living organism with a tendency of taking care of (her)self. But why tell this particular story, especially considering that Gaia hardly makes an appearance in today’s scientific or philosophical publications, and doesn’t even seem quite that popular with the lay public as it used to be? Because, as Ruse tells us near the end of the book, at the onset of chapter seven: “the paradox that set us on our path [is] why the scientific community reacted so negatively to the Gaia hypothesis, whereas the public reaction was so positive.”As it turns out, there is a good answer to that conundrum, one that Ruse himself lays out clearly in the last chapter of the book, and which makes the reader wonder why this should count a paradox at all. But we will get there in due time. First, the basics: the so-called Gaia hypothesis is the brainchild of iconoclastic inventor-turned-independent-scientist James Lovelock, who later got significant help in elaborating (and promoting) his ideas from another iconoclast, biologist Lynn Margulis. By the time you get to the end of Ruse’s engaging book, however, you won’t have gained a particularly good understanding of what the hypothesis actually consists. But that’s not Ruse’s fault, it is Lovelock’s (and Margulis’). At times it sounds like the entirely uncontroversial claim that the Earth’s [End Page 117] biosphere is a somewhat homeostatic system—i.e., a biophysical system that is resistant to major changes, at the least within a certain range (the planet’s atmosphere, after all, did change dramatically early on, increasing its oxygen content as a result of the evolution of photosynthetic organisms—the anaerobic life forms that had up to that point been dominant did not appreciate the novelty). At other times the claim is downright preposterous: the Earth literally is a living organism (according to Lovelock) (Chapter 7),1 a finding that allegedly puts in question the whole Darwinian view of biological evolution (according to Margulis) (Chapter 7), a position that can only be characterized as nonsense on stilts. At yet other moments, Gaia is presented as just a metaphor to help us wrap our minds around the complexities (and homeostatic properties) of the world’s ecosystems (Chapter 8). It is this never-ending oscillation between the trivial and the bizarre that has led the majority of scientists to write off Gaia, to the chagrin of Lovelock, Margulis, and a large number of New Age tree huggers from the 1960s.Indeed, the scientific reaction to Gaia was swift and ranging from the condescending to the unforgiving. Evolutionary biologist John Maynard Smith—never one to mince words—called it “an evil religion” (Chapter 2). Another evolutionary biologist, Stephen Jay Gould (whose own disagreements with Maynard Smith became legendary) said that “Gaia strikes me as a metaphor, not a mechanism” (Chapter 2). Ecologist Robert May, who eventually became president of the Royal Society, called Lovelock “a holy fool” (Chapter 2). The highly respected theoretical biologist W.D. Hamilton said that in order for the hypothesis to work, it would require “treaties between Neptune and Zeus, a Gaian Interpol, conventions about bills of lading for chemical transport by air and water, and so on” (Chapter 7). Finally, Richard Dawkins accused Lovelock of committing the fallacy of “the BBC theorem,” assuming (or wishfully thinking) that the world is a harmonious place, just like in naive BBC nature documentaries (Chapter 2).You get the gist: pretty much from the beginning, and with very few exceptions, the scientific establishment rejected Gaia on the grounds that it is not a scientific hypothesis at all, and that its main tenets actually go against pretty...