I'm one step away from being an atheist

Readers of this blog know that I believe in God, and am, obviously, a theist. And most know that I also believe that God's existence can be rationally justified -- as I have attempted to demonstrate on this blog -- even if not everyone finds such justification to be overwhelmingly persuasive. I, thus, believe that my belief in God is rationally grounded.

So how, then, can it be the case that I am "one step away from being an atheist"? Is this an exaggeration? Well kind of, but...not exactly. Let me explain.

My daughter Norah is currently sixteen months old. She's the light of my life, and that which puts everything in perspective. She gives my life more meaning and joy than I ever thought was possible. My first twenty-four years of existence without her pales in comparison to the life that I now enjoy with her and my wife. The love that protrudes from my heart to her being is transcendent and unparalleled. She is my life.

And, unfortunately, as a normal parent, I constantly hear stories of the tragedies that befall parents with children. Heck, my wife works as a neonatal intensive care nurse, and comes home with horrific stories of infants dying and suffering every week, it seems. When I hear of these stories I am always grieved, and I immediately wonder what I would do in those situations. I mean, seriously, what would I do if something happened to my daughter?

Well, many things would happen, and none of them good, I can tell you that. But one action that I genuinely think would be a strong possibility is that I would abandon all belief in a God. To lose the most precious thing I have ever laid eyes on, and have completely given my heart to, would destroy me, and it would annihilate any belief in a God that has even an ounce of love. If something happened to my daughter I would curse God forever, and lose any heart that any such maximally loving being existed at all. That's it, I would be an atheist at heart.

However, there's an inconsistency here that many attentive readers may have picked up on. As I just said, and as anyone would acknowledge, these events happen constantly every day -- children are dying needlessly every minute. How, then, can I sit here and say that one child's potential death would be a sufficient condition for my non-belief, and yet this potential is being realized in thousands of other families every day? That is, how can I consistently say that one turn of events is enough to convert me to atheism, when these very events are ubiquitous in the world we inhabit, and yet nevertheless continue to believe in God?

I think that the answer here is to be found in emotion. No matter how rationally justified and reasonably held our beliefs are, they are still, most likely, predicated on emotion, more than reason. In fact, this is already something that psychologists have inferred. So, even though I believe that the existence of God is rationally justified, it is the case that a flood of emotions so significant and so powerful can overthrow this belief. And it's important to note that this is the case with anyone -- emotion can easily overthrow anyone's reasonably held beliefs, especially if one does not realize that this is occurring. What this also means is that my reasons for believing in God are not purely rational either. They are most likely rooted in just as much emotion as they are reason. In fact, it means that most of our reasonably held beliefs are probably predicated more in emotion than in reason.

So, even though I do in fact have rational justifications for why a "good" God would allow suffering and evil, when this suffering and evil lands on my front door, my emotion is enough to supersede such justification. This isn't always a good thing, but it's the condition of human nature and thought nonetheless. However, though it might not always be a good thing -- when considered from a purely rational perspective -- this sway of emotion is a form of justification in itself, and by that I mean that if one's child unfortunately dies, they are indeed warranted in entailing atheism from this event. I mean, how can they not be warranted? Because they should know William Lane Craig's logical arguments against the problem of suffering? Come on. If God made us, then he made us with a rational faculty that is just as sensitive to emotion as it is to reason -- in fact, it may be even more sensitive to emotion. Therefore, I don't see how God can be upset that an individual infers atheism from tragic and sorrowful circumstances, since God's the one who arranged our cognitive faculties to be swayed in this way to begin with! But, I digress.

To come back to me personally, I'm not even sure if what I've said is correct. That is, I don't know for sure that if the aforementioned circumstances obtained, that I would abandon theism on emotional grounds. I say this because I used to think the same regarding my father. Three years ago my father was killed crossing the street in a residential area by an idiot going fifteen over the speed limit. I always thought that if something like this happened, then, it would drive me away from God. But, here's the thing, it actually brought me closer to God. Contrary to my thoughts, the pendulum swung the other way. So maybe I'm not as close to atheism as I thought. Who knows?

What I think is important here is that we need to be aware of how powerful our emotions are, and how fragile our "rationally justified" believes are. We tend to think that we're straight-shooting logicians, unaffected by the throws of emotion and sentiment, but chances are we're always a few emotional steps away from whatever belief we most oppose.

A review of Sean Carroll's The Big Picture: Part II

We are continuing our survey of physicist Sean Carroll's book The Big Picture (Part I here) by moving on to his second section of the book entitled Understanding.

This part of the book is where Carroll puts forward his epistemology, which he calls "poetic naturalism." He does a great job of articulating his case, and is very thorough and covers many topics while not sacrificing depth. In fact, there were many times where I thought to myself "but what about X?" and, sure enough, that would be the very next topic Carroll addressed. Also, Carroll's first chapter in this section is a great primer on Bayesian Reasoning for laymen -- he explains it beautifully with simple and common-sense examples.

Contrary to what many might think, I actually agreed with Carroll on many aspects of his epistemology -- he does make some correct predications. But obviously I do not agree with it all, since it is, after all, a form of naturalism.

That being said, let us dive into the material and see what Carroll has to say.

Bayesian reasoning
Bayesian reasoning, based on Bayes' Theorem, is foundational to abductive reasoning. It gives you, in principle, a very logical and matter-of- fact way of forming beliefs and updating them in light of new observations and information. It is a way of making inferences to the best explanation -- the very type of inferences science is interested in.

I have no qualms about Bayesian reasoning itself, only about when it can, and cannot, be applied. Bayesian reasoning is useful for (and really is) abductive reasoning, however, it is irrelevant to deductive reasoning. For if a deductive argument is sound, then the truth of the conclusion is guaranteed, whereas nothing guarantees an inference predicated on abductive reasoning. On the contrary, abductive reasoning deals with probabilities, and this should make sense since Bayes' Theorem is itself a theorem dealing in probability.

Why is it important to contrast Bayesian inference with deduction here? Well, because Carroll seems to pay little attention to deduction and focuses mainly on abduction (for reasons we'll survey below). This isn't a problem in itself, but it becomes one when one realizes that many arguments that attempt to demonstrate the falsity of naturalism are deductive in nature.

In any event, Carroll also claims the following:

Each of us comes equipped with a rich variety of beliefs, for or against all sorts of proportions. Bayes teaches us (1) never to assign perfect certainty to any such belief; (2) always be prepared to update our credences when new evidence comes along; and (3) how exactly such evidence alters the credences we assign. It's a road map for coming closer and closer to the truth. (p. 82-83)

On first glance this seems like a great point, and I would, in most cases agree. Bayesian reasoning is indeed a fantastic "road map for coming closer and closer to truth." However, contrary to Carroll's claims here, there are beliefs that are (to borrow a phrase from the presuppositionalist camp) preconditions of intelligibility. That is to say, there are beliefs and propositions that are necessary conditions for any sort of intelligible epistemology, and because of this it follows that such beliefs must be certain and cannot be "updated" or revised pending any new evidence (again, see below). One such proposition is the law of noncontradiction. This is a belief that we can be absolutely certain about, especially since any denial of it, even in principle, requires that it be true.

Poetic naturalism
I briefly expounded PN in the last post, yet there wasn't much space devoted to it. That's because the current section is where Carroll largely unpacks this epistemology.

[O]ur best approach to describing the universe is not a single, unified story but an interconnected series of models appropriate at different levels. Each model has a domain in which it is applicable, and the ideas that appear as essential parts of each story have every right to be thought of as "real." Our task is to assemble an interlocking set of descriptions, based on some fundamental ideas, that fit together to form a stable planet of belief. (p. 4) 

This brings us to the "poetic" part of poetic naturalism. While there is one world, there are many ways of talking about it. We refer to those ways as "models" or "theories" or "stories"; it doesn't matter. (p. 94) 

[S]omething is "real" if it plays an essential role in some particular story of reality that, as far as we can tell, provides an accurate description of the world within its domain of applicability. (p. 111)

 Again, on first glance there isn't much to quibble with here. It is true that certain models and theories regarding parts of reality, with their respective vocabularies, only need to be utilized in their respective domains of inquiry. Talking about free will and volition on the macroscopic scale of human experience utilizes a different model, and different vocabulary, than the models utilized when inquiring into the nature of atoms, electrons, and other subatomic particles.

However, the pertinent questions that need to be posed regarding this epistemology are the following: (1) Carroll places a lot of weight on models being "useful," and this utility being the litmus test for labeling something as "real," but what determines whether a specific model is useful, and why is utility important for our epistemology in the first place? Also, why should the fact that it is useful to describe reality using different models at different levels dictate what the actual nature of reality is, in principle?  (2) Are there other ways of talking about or modeling the world, besides PN?

Note that Carroll attempts to answer (almost) all of these questions. So, it's not as if he hasn't thought this through, and he probably wouldn't at all be fazed by any of them. However, that doesn't mean that his answers are convincing.

(1) is a question, or set of questions, that Carroll attempts to answer:

The question, however, is whether a particular way of talking about the world is useful. And usefulness is always relative to some purpose [...] "useful" means "providing an accurate model of some aspect of reality." (p. 143)

It is important that our models are accurate representations of some aspect of reality, however, this is not the traditional meaning of usefulness. Something is not useful if it accurately reflects a part of reality, rather something is useful if it can serve a practical purpose. Now, it is true that models that accurately reflect reality tend to be more useful than models that do not, but this doesn't mean that the latter is defined in terms of the former. This might seem like a minor quibble, but one problem with Carroll's PN is that throughout the section he constantly equivocates between both of these definitions. Sometimes "useful" is used as "serving a practical purpose" and other times it's used as "provides an accurate model of a part of reality."

What's the problem though (as if equivocation is not bad enough)? The problem is that the two definitions utilized by Carroll are sometimes mutually exclusive -- that is, there are times when a "model" or "story" can be useful even though it fails to accurately reflect reality. Carroll actually demonstrates such with his own example: he highlights the phenomena of transgender individuals -- people whose gender identity is different than the gender they were assigned at birth. Carroll says that if someone born male identifies as a female, then if this identification is "useful and meaningful" (p. 142) then why not identify them as a female? The problem here is that no matter how "useful" it is to identify someone as a female, this doesn't entail the fact that they are, in reality, a female.

Carroll doesn't see this as problem since he believes that classifications like male, female, and even human, are "human inventions." (p. 142) He claims these categorizations are not illusions because they are useful and meaningful in the contexts that we apply them. But again, something being useful does not necessitate that it accurately reflects an aspect of reality, and therefore it is possible that something be useful, yet be illusory.

And even worse for Carroll, the claim that a classification like "human" is a human invention is actually self-defeating. For to say that something is a cognitive construct of the human mind, one needs a nature of  "humanity" to objectively obtain. That is to say, for one to assert that something is a human invention necessitates that "human" be an objective referent, and not just a construct. So the proposition that the concept human is a human invention literally contradicts itself.

While Carroll doesn't comment on question (2) directly, he does make the following comment:

Poetic naturalism is at least consistent with its own standards: it tries to provide the most useful way of talking about the world we have. (p. 112)

Carroll is correct that PN is prima facie consistent with itself, but what about when we delve a bit deeper and consider the implications of question (2)? That is, is PN the only, or even the most useful, model, or story, of reality?  Well, surely it's not the only model of reality: there are a multitude of different ontologies. Ok. So then how do we determine which model is most useful? Well again, it depends on how Carroll is using the word useful.

If by "useful" Carroll means "serves a practical purpose," then it's not clear that PN is the most useful way of talking about the world. Moreover, how, on PN, do we even determine the most useful, or practical, way of talking about reality? It seems that we would need some idea regarding the fundamental nature of reality to be able to say model X is more useful than model Y. But then, is this "idea" about the fundamental nature of reality itself merely another "story" or "way of talking about the world" on some narrow domain? If so, then we're right back to the problem at hand wherein we need to determine how we know that this "model" or idea is "useful." What this means is that you can't have an ontology founded on nothing but "stories" and "ways of talking about the world." At some point you need a concrete ontology that describes how nature objectively operates, and this entails that you can't have an ontology that is purely "poetic", as Carroll uses the term here.

Moreover, if by "useful" Carroll instead means "providing an accurate model of some aspect of reality," then we run into the same problems. For, again, in order to know that a model is an accurate model of reality, we need to know something objective about the behavior and nature of reality that is not just another "way of talking about it" -- otherwise we go round and round in a circle again.

Emergence
Carroll then promulgates an emergentist ontology to make sense of different models of the world at different levels:

One pivotal word enables [the] reconciliation between all the different stories: emergence [...] A property of a system is "emergent" if it is not part of a detailed "fundamental" description of the system, but it becomes useful or even inevitable when we look at the system more broadly. (p. 94)

I do agree with Carroll that there are "emergent" phenomena. There are many such examples one could give of such phenomena, and Carroll gives a good explication using his own examples. But how does emergentism help PN? Carroll explains:

[E]mergence is about different theories speaking different languages, but offering compatible descriptions of the same underlying phenomena in their respective domain of applicability. (p. 100)

So emergence is a way to continue talking about the world at different levels, wherein the higher levels usually "emerge" from the lower levels.  This is all well and good, and so far I have no bone to pick with Carroll here, in principle. Where I might begin to disagree is if Carroll, later on in the book, tries to explain away something like consciousness as merely a "model" or "way of talking about" human experience that only applies at higher levels. (I haven't read the whole book yet, so if he does argue this then we can cross that bridge when we get there. )

Rationalism vs. empiricism
Since Carroll's epistemology is heavy on science and Bayesian reasoning, it should come as no surprise that he advocates a form of empiricism. That is, he believes that we can only know things about reality by looking at it and observing it. He contrasts this with rationalism wherein it is believed that knowledge comes intuitively without any need for empirical observation.

Carroll surveys the case usually given in justification of rationalism wherein the proponents appeal to the domains of mathematics and logic. Carroll argues against such an appeal by claiming that in both math and logic we simply derive consequences from differing axioms. This is, in a sense, correct, at least for math. For example, Euclidean consequences follow from Euclidean axioms, and non-Euclidean consequences follow from non-Euclidean axioms. But we need to actually look at the world to be able to determine whether it can be described by Euclidean or non-Euclidean geometry. No problem there.

However, there are those, like myself, who claim that there are axioms and necessary truths that must hold in any possible world at all. One example of this, as was already mentioned above, is the law of noncontradiction. This is not an axiom that might only hold in certain worlds, but might possibly fail to hold in others -- as in the case of Euclidean geometry. Rather, it is a necessary feature of having any kind of a reality at all. There is no axiom of non-contradiction and axiom of non-noncontradiction; there is only the former.

There are other propositions that are also claimed to be axiomatic and necessary -- e.g. law of identity, PSR, principle of causality etc. -- but I need not defend them presently. The point is that there are indeed things that we can know a priori, that is, without having to actually look at the world to justify them.

Carroll considers this point (briefly), and claims the following:

If we were thinking deductively, like a mathematician or logician, we would say that no collection of particular facts suffices to derive a general principle, since the very next fact might contradict the principle. (p. 135)

This seems to be quite absurd. For according to Carroll's reasoning, for instance, we cannot say the law of identity is an immutable principle, because we might one day come across something which is not identical to itself. This seems silly, and it should, because we already know intuitively that identity is a precondition of intelligibility of any thing that will ever exist. And so it goes with all other necessary truths. Now, there may not be many necessary truths with which we can know a priori, but there are a few, and they are a very crucial aspect of one's metaphysic.

All of this is important because it goes against Carroll's PN, as well as his form of empiricism. For if there are propositions that are necessary truths, then these truths aren't merely "models", "stories", or "ways of talking about reality." Rather, they are immutable principles that hold throughout any domain and any level, and cannot be shoved aside by the thought that one day we could discover them false. This is like saying that one day we might find someone who is successfully married and a bachelor.

Part III

A review of Sean Carroll's The Big Picture: Part I

Physicist Sean Carroll's new book The Big Picture: On the Origins of Life, Meaning, and the Universe Itself was released this past Tuesday (yay!). I, as well as many others, have been greatly anticipating the release of this book ever since Carroll announced it himself, and it's a pleasure to finally have it in my possession, and to be reviewing it.

I pretty much figured, before the book was released, that I would take up the task of writing a review. I felt this way because Carroll is an extremely articulate and modest philosophical naturalist and has been securing more of a secular following as of late--especially since he debated William Lane Craig, and, in my opinion, won--and I was very curious as to how he would make a cumulative case for a coherent naturalist metaphysic. And after beginning to read the book I do in fact feel that there are many things to comment on, as I had hoped. Though I obviously disagree with Carroll on many of his positions, Carroll's humble and unboastful attitude coupled with his articulate writing make this a great read.

So, on with the review, then. Carroll's book is split into six sections: Cosmos, Understanding, Essence, Complexity, Thinking, and Caring. I am, so far, planning to write a review on each section individually, though it might be the case that I don't have many comments to make on a particular section, and thus I might not review all of them. This Part I review will focus on the section labeled Cosmos.

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 Carroll begins the book by asking some important questions about the fundamental nature of reality, and stressing the importance of thinking about ontology. It is among this discussion of ontology that he begins advocating for philosophical naturalism. But Carroll's naturalism does not merely claim that all that exists is the natural world exhibiting patterns. Rather, Carroll introduces what he calls poetic naturalism. The "poetic" aspect of poetic naturalism (PN) is constituted by how we talk about, model, and interpret reality. Carroll describes this view:

[O]ur best approach to describing the universe is not a single, unified story but an interconnected series of models appropriate at different levels. Each model has a domain in which it is applicable, and the ideas that appear as essential parts of each story have every right to be thought of as "real." Our task is to assemble an interlocking set of descriptions, based on some fundamental ideas, that fit together to form a stable planet of belief. (p. 4)

This explication of poetic naturalism is very similar to two theories I've surveyed in the past, namely Model-Dependent Realism, as promulgated by Hawking, and Embodied realism, as promulgated by Lakoff. The key aspects of this philosophy are that we, as humans, talk about and describe different aspects or "levels" of the world using different models and different vocabularies, and that, as long as these models are consistent and coherent, they can overlap and reconcile with one another.

Unfortunately, Carroll doesn't delve too deep into this philosophy in the first section. Rather, he spends more space expounding this perspective in his second section Understanding--which should make sense since the "poetic" aspect of this philosophy is mostly epistemic. Therefore, I will save my comments on poetic naturalism until the next installment of the review.

Causality
One way that Carroll attempts to demonstrate the "layered" models of reality we conceptualize, as predicated by PN, is with Aristotle's notions of natures and causes. For Aristotle famously promulgated the principle of causality, which stated that something can only be "moved" if it was caused to do so by something else in motion. (Of course, by "motion" Aristotle really meant change, and by change he really meant something which is being reduced from potency to act.) But Carroll claims that the conservation of momentum has relegated such notions to mere useful macroscopic descriptions and constructions:

[T]he whole structure of Aristotle's argument for an unmoved mover rests on his idea that motions require causes. Once we know about conservation of momentum, that idea loses its steam. [...] What matters is that the new physics of Galileo and his friends implied an entirely new ontology, a deep shift in how we thought about the nature of reality. "Causes" didn't have the central role that they once did. The universe doesn't need a push; it can just keep going. [...] Of course, even today, we talk about causes and effects all the time. But if you open the contemporary equivalent of Aristotle's Physics--a textbook on quantum field theory, for example--words like that are nowhere to be found. We, still, with good reason, talk about causes in everyday speech, but they're no longer part of our best fundamental ontology. (p. 28-29)

I have a couple comments at this point. First, the conservation of momentum--which is embedded in Newton's law of inertia--doesn't, at all, call Aristotle's idea of motion into question. For, again, Aristotle said that when something changed, this required something responsible for that change. But uniform inertial motion is seen, as explicated by physicists, as a state in itself, and not a change per se. That is, the state of motion of an object is its velocity, and thus an object with a uniform state of motion is an object that is moving at a constant velocity--as long as it is not being acted upon by an unbalanced force--and thus is not changing, according to physics. Therefore, the conservation of momentum does not at all run counter to Aristotle's metaphysical principle, in fact, it is completely irrelevant to the principle.

Second, it is simply not true that talk of causality, at least efficient causality, is absent from contemporary scientific textbooks. In fact, it's ironic that Carroll specifically mentions quantum field theory textbooks since in An Introduction to Quantum Field Theory the authors write the following: The necessity of having a multiparticle theory also arises in a less obvious way, from considerations of causality[...] In a relativistic theory, this conclusion would signal a violation of causality. (p. 14)

These points may seem peripheral, but I believe they are important for a couple of reasons. First, the unmoved mover argument of Aristotle, if valid, would defeat a naturalist ontology, which Carroll holds. Yet, Carroll quickly dismisses Aristotle's unmoved mover argument, in light of the supposed irrelevance of concepts of causality, yet he does so fallaciously. Again, this isn't that big a deal since Carroll's thesis is not predicated on discussing Aristotle's proofs for God. Nevertheless, his fallaciously swift dismissal of the efficacy of causality is still a strike against his case.

Second, Carroll is trying to score a point for poetic naturalism by claiming that the language of causality is only a folk theory constructed from interactions at the macroscopic level, and isn't part of our "fundamental ontology" and has no utility in the domain of physics. Yet the fact that this has been demonstrated to be false with the quote above (one of many) already begins to poke holes in Carroll's form of naturalism. That is, we see that a concept like causality is not simply a model that only applies in one limited domain. Rather, it in itself should be part of one's fundamental ontology.

Carroll also makes much of the fact that causality is nowhere to be found in the laws of physics, and claims that such concepts are "emergent":

We look at the world around us and describe it in terms of causes and effects, reasons why, purposes and goals. None of those concepts exists as part of the fundamental furniture of reality at its deepest. They emerge as we zoom out from the microscopic level to the level of the everyday. (p. 54)

This is not correct, though. While it is true that causality is not palpable in the mathematical equations of physics and quantum physics--though we shouldn't expect it to be, since causality is not quantitative--this does not mean that causality is not operative and efficacious as it pertains to "reality at its deepest." I maintain that causality is ubiquitous at every turn, in the microscopic and macroscopic levels of reality.

To see this, consider the famous experiment conducted by physicist Hendrick Casimir in 1948. Casimir placed two metal plates one ten-thousandth of a centimeter apart in a quantum vacuum. As one might logically theorize, these plates would stay put, since the space is empty and thus there are no forces to affect the plates. But they didn't stay put, rather they were driven towards each other! And the first question that should come to one's mind is "Well, what was the cause of this effect?" It turns out that the cause is that there is an imbalance between the quantum fluctuations in between and outside the plates, and this imbalance yields a pressure imbalance, which pushes the plates together.

The point here is that, contra Carroll, causality is no less efficacious in a quantum vacuum than in our familiar everyday lives, and causality does simply emerge as we "zoom out" from the microscopic to the macroscopic.

Reasons Why
Carroll also spends a good amount of the first section discussing our constant search for "reasons why" things happen or why facts obtain. He agrees that the search for explanations is extremely rational and makes sense in our everyday lives. Where Carroll draws the line is when one makes this search for explanation a metaphysical principle (e.g. the Principle of Sufficient Reason) that pronounces that everything must admit of explanation, or a "reason why." This is, no doubt, a very modest and logical position to take. Carroll is not committing one way or another to whether all things and facts admit of explanation. He humbly claims that they might or might not, and leaves the door open to the possibility of brute facts.

However, as one who does in fact believe that all things and facts must necessarily and logically admit of explanation, I do not agree with Carroll here. And I find that his arguments against the PSR to be rather weak. Carroll claims that "[o]ur standards for promoting a commonsensical observation to a 'metaphysical principle' should be very high indeed. "(p. 41) Now, I would agree here, but Carroll really doesn't survey any concrete arguments actually given (besides Leibniz's Principle of the Best) that would attempt to demonstrate why the PSR should be taken as a metaphysical principle. He merely says the following:

[F]or every fact we notice about the universe: as soon as we apprehend it, we think there must be a reason behind it. This isn't an argument that the Principle of Sufficient Reason is logically incontrovertible; it only implies that we often act as if something like it were true. If we're honest, it's an empirical, evidence-based argument, not an a priori one. (p. 42)

I agree with Carroll that this argument he has articulated is not a priori, and is not logically incontrovertible. The problem is that no (logical) person attempting to establish the PSR as a metaphysical principle would use this argument, especially since it's just an inductive argument which cannot form an immutable principle at all.

The type of arguments that are given in favor of the PSR (and that are a priori) consider the nature of epistemic chains of explanation themselves. And they argue that explanation forms an instrumental and transitive chain, so that if even one member of a chain is unexplained (i.e. is a brute fact) then the chain as a whole loses efficacy. (Indeed, I have argued that very thing here, though I don't expect Carroll to have read my own specific post.) The point is that Carroll has not done the appropriate philosophical leg-work to dismiss the PSR as casually as he has done. And again this is important because the PSR puts a wrench in the works of his poetic naturalism, and also calls into question many other pronouncements he makes in the book, as we'll see in subsequent reviews.

The arrow of time
More importantly, in Carroll's eyes, the denial of the immutability of causality and explanation, as well as the displacement  of their existence as a mere human convention of utility, is ultimately illuminated by the increase in entropy and the arrow of time:

"Memories" and "causes" aren't pieces of our fundamental ontology describing our world that we discover through careful research. They are concepts that we invent in order to provide useful descriptions of the macroscopic world. The arrow of time plays a crucial role in how those contexts relate to the underlying time-symmetric laws of physics. (p. 66)

Carroll's point is that we only utilize concepts like causality and explanation because events progress from past to future, due to the arrow of time. This is to say that such concepts are contingent upon the direction of time, which is itself a contingent fact of the universe and could have been otherwise. But the laws of physics, on the other hand, do not have an arrow of time imprinted into them, and thus, as Carroll claims, concepts like causality and explanation are not carving reality at its joints, but are only concepts that humans constructed in order to make sense of the world as we interpret it. For had the arrow of time been in the opposite direction, things would be very different, as would our concepts and models.

Now, while it is true that if the arrow of time were pointing in the reverse direction, from future to past, events in the world would unfold in a completely counterintuitive and foreign manner, this would still not remove the necessity for concepts like causality and explanation. For explanation and causality are always present wherever things exist and behave, and wherever events and processes occur. And even in a universe where the arrow of time were reversed, you would still have things which exist and events which transpire; and as long as you have that, you have causes and effects, as well as explanations.

So I maintain that Carroll has not demonstrated how humans "invent" these concepts, and again,  this is important, because Carroll's poetic naturalism in founded on the idea that these concepts are human constructs and models, invented through our interaction with the world on the macroscopic level due to utility. However, if these concepts are not cognitive constructs but are immutable principles embedded in the fabric of reality, then Carroll's form of naturalism loses ground.

Part II

Consciousness and emergence

Let me preface this post by articulating the fact that I don't view my following comments as a rigorous philosophical treatise on the topics of consciousness or emergentism. Rather, this post is more in the form of a random collection of my thoughts, which may or may not be right, on said topics.

Consciousness continues to present problems for any physicalist or materialist philosophy of mind. Theories like eliminative materialism, functionalism, and identity theory seem, by some, to fall short of accounting for the peculiarities of consciousness such as intentionality, qualia, and the "illusion" of free will. Some of these problems and difficulties have caused a preemptive adherence of materialists to another philosophy of mind: that of emergentism.

Emergentism, as a philosophy of mind, holds that properties, patterns, or realities of consciousness are novel qualities that emerge from the interaction and configuration of their constituents. These qualities are called "novel" because they do not exist--either in the same degree or even in the same kind--at the substrate level of their aggregate parts. An example of this emergence is given by the quality of solidity. That is, the table I'm currently typing at is solid and firm, yet this quality is not found, and least not at all in the same sense, in the particles and atoms that make up this table. In fact, it is said, the atoms are mostly empty space, and "solid" is one of the last adjectives we would use to describe them. Thus, the solidity of the table would seem to emerge upon the configuration of the constituents.

How does this help physicalism/materialism? Well materialists famously have trouble accounting for how compositions of particles, atoms, and neurons which are not intentional and conscious can produce qualities antithetical to those very parts. However, we see cases all around us, evident in the table example, of component parts generating emergent properties that the parts did not themselves possess. So, it is said, it might very well be the same with regards to the brain and consciousness. For if a set of aggregate parts X1 can produce an emergent quality Q in light of the fact that each element in X1 does not possess Q then it is at least in theory possible that consciousness and the qualities therein can emerge from mere particles and neurons.

Now while I admit the possibility of emergentism as a philosophy of mind, I don't at all find it to be persuasive, nor do I believe anyone has come close to demonstrating its validity. Let me articulate my reasons for the former. First, we've only discovered two reasons that a quality might emerge from certain constituents: 1) emergence from mere structure, or 2) proto-emergence. In 1) a quality is generated strictly from the arrangement or structural relation of its constituents. An example of structural emergence is a box that has the property of "containment". The pieces that makes up the box do not harbor this property, but when these pieces are arranged a certain way, we see the emergence of the ability to contain--and it is the structural relation that grounds this emergence. In 2) the qualities of the component parts produce the same quality, but to a higher degree, in the emergent property. An example of this proto-emergence is a magnetic field emerging from charged iron atoms. This is proto-emergence, and not structural emergence, since each iron atom is itself a little bit magnetic, and thus all of these magnetic iron atoms together generate a magnetic field.

So, why is the distinction above important? Well, it seems that if the qualities of consciousness are emergent then they would need to be either structurally emergent, or proto-emergent. But, and here's where the problem arises, we know that consciousness cannot be the result of proto-emergence, since particles, atoms, and neurons are not themselves conscious, or intentional, and do not exhibit qualia, and no amalgam of non-conscious constituents can generate a conscious property through proto-emergence. Thus, proto-emergence is not a possibility for the materialist. But what about structural emergence? This seems to be a dead end as well. For while there are many mysteries yet to be uncovered about the brain, it's structural physical arrangement and components are quite well known. Neurologists know all about the mechanics of neurons, axons, dendrites, synapses, and the like--the building blocks of the brain. And yet, there is nothing about the arrangement, structure, and pathways between these components that would yield the properties of consciousness.

Again, I don't want to stretch this too far as if what I've said is a knock-down argument against emergentism--it's not. But what we've surveyed so far does paint emergentism in an unfavorable light, and puts a burden on the one who wants to claim that the ontology of emergence can adequately account for the most pervasive human experience--consciousness. I'll end on a note from philosopher James Madden:

[T]here is absolutely nothing about the chemical processes occurring within neurons with which we are remotely acquainted that in any way explains the fact of consciousness. Of course ignorance of an explanation does not entail that there is no such explanation, but we should ask ourselves how likely such an explanation is given our general understanding of the world. The probability, as far as we can tell, seems to be exceedingly low.

Is John Loftus still relevant?

The first book I read that aggressively argued against Christianity and theism, and made a subsequent case for atheism, was John Loftus' Why I Became an Atheist. To this day I still believe that it's a great book, and should be read by any believer (and non-believer) who actually wants to confront the opposition and survey the case for atheism. It is this book, along with Loftus' patented Outsider Test for Faith contained therein, that elevated Loftus to the forefront of the New Atheist movement. And while Loftus was never considered one of the "Four Horsemen of the apocalypse," he was nevertheless one of the most famous up and coming skeptics just a few years ago. At the height of his relevance he was printing  atheist anthologies left and right, debating the likes of Dinesh D'Souza, and enjoying a major following on his blog Debunking Christianity.

But these days are long gone, and for some reason Loftus seems, at least to me, to have faded away from being relevant. While he's still writing and editing many books and anthologies, they don't seem to be garnering much interest or mention--at least not as much as his first books. And while he's still debating, his debates, likewise, have failed to gather much interest from those involved in religion debates. Even more, his blog has taken a nose dive, and seems to have lost whatever prominence it used to have.

What are the reasons for Loftus' fall from grace? Well it seems that there might be a couple reasons. First, Loftus' seems to have overdone the whole anthology/book thing. That is to say, he's printing too many books. You see, it was actually quite interesting when Loftus first came out with The Christian Delusion and The End of Christianity--anthologies arguing against Christianity from a myriad of perspectives. Yet his continued push in this vein, with subsequent anthologies and books, appears to have been too much of a "good" thing. In other words, this constant inflow of books seems to have actually reduced the value that each book has. Heck, Loftus already has another anthology set for release later this year, and is already writing another book about the end of philosophy of religion. And I think I speak for a lot of skeptics and believers when I say: who cares?

Secondly, Loftus is not much of a speaker, and this has no doubt affected his publicity as a "freethinker". I remember watching him in his D'Souza debate, and wondering how someone who was so articulate in print could be so incoherent in person. This train-wreck reached its culmination when Loftus debated David Wood last year, for the second time (see here). This was probably the worst I've ever seen him perform. He was inarticulate, bumbling, his arguments were poor (even coming from him), and his presentation was simply terrible overall. Performances like these seem to be a huge contributing factor in explaining Loftus' descent into irrelevance. (I mean, just think of the publicity Loftus would have received if, on the contrary, he displayed a performance like that of physicist Sean Carroll. )

Thirdly, Loftus' blog, his primary medium, has become a wasteland relegated to dense, unsubstantiated, arrogant, and unreasonable dialogue saturated with ridicule--both from him and many of his commenters. This is why you rarely see theists or Christians comment there, because the blog is not conducive to fruitful dialogue. Moreover, Loftus' current posts tend to be low on substance, and continually regurgitate the same notions over and over.

Moreover, as of late Loftus has been fond of unjustly and consistently attacking fellow atheists like Jeff Lowder and Keith Parsons, on various topics, ad nauseum--going so far as calling Parsons ignorant and arrogant (see here) , and calling Lowder stupid, and a hypocrite. The problem is not that Loftus disagrees with them, for he is surely entitled to his own opinion. Rather, the problem is with how Loftus goes about engaging in dialogue with his interlocutors. He's arrogant, uncharitable, obstinate, and downright petulant--in fact he even banned his own friend and frequent poster Harry McCall over a minor dispute regarding the scholarship of Bart Ehrman. Furthermore, when this type of unreasonable behavior is brought to Loftus' attention, he fails to take heed and only digs himself further in his hole of close-mindedness and conceit. Just survey these recent comments by Loftus in a post of his:

I think Coyne's comments [on some atheist's disdain of the New Atheism] also explain why some small-minded atheists don't like me as well. This is something that has only recently dawned on me, since I have not thought of myself as having much fame or being that important. These misinformed and jealous atheists "perceive" me to have achieved a certain amount of fame they can only dream of having. So they attack. This should encourage me, or something.

How can one expect to have a fruitful dialogue with Loftus when this kind of misplaced vanity is rattling around in his head? You can't. 

Now, couple all this with the fact that Loftus has repeatedly made claims to be hanging it up, as it were, though he always changes his mind and returns. In 2012 he said that, "[i]t’s time to move on[…]I see no reason to waste large chunks of my time on this delusion anymore," and yet a couple of months later he was back blogging and writing full-time. And recently he has commented in a similar vein. It seems that Loftus' continued and constant hiatuses might have contributed to many being indifferent to what he subsequently has to say--at least I know I've felt this way. 

In light of all these factors it seems to me that Loftus has faded away from relevancy in the secular community. Most theists don't see the need to address him any longer, and many secularists don't seem to bother much with what's going on in his little world. Maybe it's time for Loftus to actually follow through with his own instincts, and hang up his hat. 

What I believe (and don't)

A recent conversation around the blogosphere has left me pondering whether or not my readers actually know my viewpoints regarding much of Christian theology. After all, the name of the blog is The Christian Agnostic, isn't it, and how many of my readers actually know where I stand on key issues of Christian theology? I'm not sure, to be honest. So, then, what exactly are my Christian leanings? That is, what do I really believe regarding the tenets of Christian theology? In light of such questions I have decided to compile a list that briefly surveys said beliefs, and it is this list that follows:

• The Bible: I don't believe the Bible is perfect, inerrant or infallible. I believe it is a book written by wholly human authors that contains the same imperfections that permeate humanity. However, I agree with the writer of 2 Timothy when he says scripture is, "useful for teaching, reproof, correction, and for instruction righteousness." It is, to me, a medium that does in fact aid us in growing more intimate with God, despite its shortcomings.
• Biblical Criticism: I generally believe what the consensus of scholars and historians have inferred about the documents that make up the Bible, as well as what they have concluded about the Israelite culture. For example, I believe the Israelites came from Canaan  (and not from Egypt), that the book of Isaiah is composed of multiple authors, that the book of Daniel was written years after the events it "predicts" etc. 
• Genesis: I don't take the opening chapters of Genesis as history--the rest of Genesis is most likely an etiology. I don't believe in Adam and Eve or the story that describes their supposed fall. This, to me, is just another creation myth--albeit the most sophisticated of the ancient Near East--most likely promulgated in contrast to the opposing pagan creation myths of the time. However, I do believe that it communicates an important point: we are fallen creatures who have removed God from the pedestal.
• Jesus: I don't believe Jesus was God, and it seems pretty clear to me that some of the earliest sources that attest to Jesus--Paul, Mark, and Matthew--have little idea of such a concept. I agree with the majority of scholars that Jesus was most likely a self-proclaimed eschatological prophet who sincerely believed that the end of the world was coming in his follower's lifetime. That being said, none of this turns me away from Jesus. I do believe his words should be heeded--as long as they're interpreted in light of his radical eschatology--despite his mistakes. And I do, especially, believe that Jesus is the best moral prophet to grace mankind, and that he gave us the best example of what a life devoted to God looks like--again, as long as we interpret his life in terms of his extreme apocalyptic worldview. Jesus is, to me, still the best gateway we have to the mind of God, and takes us as close as we can be to the face of God himself. 
• Trinity/Incarnation: Since I don't believe that Jesus was God in the flesh, then I obviously don't believe in the incarnation, or the trinity. Both of these concepts, as I hinted to earlier, seem to not have been promulgated by the earliest Christians. There are only verses here and there, mostly from the later New Testament writings, that even seem to hint at such things. (In fact I believe that if we were to read the Bible from a fresh perspective, with no previous assumptions from outside sources--e.g. the Nicene Creed--we wouldn't close the Bible thinking that there was anything like a trinitarian ontology promulgated.) 
• Atonement: I don't believe Jesus atoned for anyone's sins, and while the Christus Victor theory of atonement appeals to me, it only does so in a metaphorical sense. And I certainly do not hold to the Penal Substitution theory, which seems to make a mockery of any God worthy of worship. 
• Jesus' resurrection: I believe, or at most hope, that Jesus resurrected from the dead. However, I don't believe that the evidential arguments for his resurrection are without their flaws. And I certainly don't believe that said arguments are overwhelmingly irresistible or undeniable. A reasonable person can very much be skeptical about such things, and, if they don't believe in God, then their skepticism is even more warranted.
• Heaven/Hell: I definitely believe in an afterlife--for both logical and emotional reasons. But I don't think anybody knows what the nature of such a life will be. Heaven and Hell, to me, are in the same camp as the opening of Genesis: they are myths that we have constructed to make sense of what we deeply take to be true. In any event, if God does exist, and if he is infinitely loving, and if heaven and hell do indeed exist as well, then I can't help but be a universalist. Moreover, on these conditions, I believe that hell is only temporary, and, in some sense, simply a mental anguish created from enmity towards all that is good and just (i.e. God himself).

Sean Carroll and teleology

I’m quite excited for physicist Sean Carroll’s new book The Big Picture. It seems like a serious and erudite case for a comprehensive naturalistic worldview. In fact, I’m quite fond of Carroll, I find him to be one of the most articulate, intriguing, and respectable popular naturalists today. If more dialogue between theism and atheism took place with the demeanor that Carroll carries himself with, I truly believe that some progress would be made in these discussions. Carroll is one whom all theists should listen to, even if they disagree with him.

In any event, I was perusing his blog Preposterous Universe the other day and came across his post on “dysteleological physicalism.” Carroll’s defense of this ontology is, first, predicated on the idea that it is the job of physics to tell us what exists—you’ll remember Carroll echoing this sentiment in his debate with Craig wherein he claimed that our metaphysics must follow our physics—and thus everything that exists is physical; second, Carroll’s position rests on the notion that things that exist have no objective purpose or goal, and therefore have no teleology.

It’s no secret, among the common readers of this blog, that I disagree with both of these sub-ontologies that make up Carroll’s brand of physicalism. I think that the ontology of the universe is obviously not all that physics tells us, and I believe that teleology is intrinsic to the universe in the form of final causality. It is the latter belief that I plan to survey presently.

Carroll begins commenting on teleology with a very pertinent question, and continues from there:

If the world is made of things, why do they act the way they do? A plausible answer to this question, elaborated by Aristotle and part of many people’s intuitive picture of how things work, is that these things want to be a certain way. they [sic] have a goal, or at least a natural state of being. Water wants to run downhill; fire wants to rise to the sky. Humans exist to be rational, or caring, or to glorify God; marriages are meant to be between a man and a woman.

This teleological, goal-driven, view of the world is reasonable on its face, but unsupported by science.

The question of why things act the way they do should be near the forefront of one’s ontology. While physics can say that X behaves in such a way, it doesn’t (and cannot) answer the question of why it behaves that way in the first place. And so, to Aristotle, the notion of final causality was one concept that aided in answering this question. He claimed that we see certain effects uniformly follow from certain causes, under certain conditions, because the cause was aimed at producing said effect. (Note that while some of Aristotle’s examples that he utilized were physically wrong, this doesn’t negate the ontology of the concepts.)

However, Carroll remarks that this teleology is not supported by science, not just in the sense that science makes no use of teleology, but in the sense that science has actually “undermined” it. He goes on to say the following: At a basic level, all any object ever does is obey rules — the laws of physics. Thus, for Carroll, the “reason” that an object is in state Y can be fully explained by the fact that the object was previously in state X, and, by the laws of physics, state Y is a succession of state X. No purpose, no goal, just physics.

I maintain that this is false, and that Carroll has only side-stepped the issue by committing a category mistake. Nobody questions that because of the laws of physics we can explain how state Y was obtained from state X. That’s all well and good. The question is why state Y always succeeds state X. Why are certain effects generated from certain causes? Why is there causal regularity at all? Carroll’s attempt to run to the laws of physics for help doesn’t work here, for the laws of physics only redescribe the behavior of matter, and the behavior of matter is what we’re looking for explanation for in the first place!

(As a side note, this is a problem I see committed in education all the time, especially in math and science. A student asks why a certain property or rule holds—like, for instance, why acceleration is the derivative of velocity—and instead of answering the question the teacher just says, “because when we take the derivative of velocity, we arrive at acceleration.” But this obviously is not an answer to the “why” question. The teacher who does this is merely redescribing the property, instead of illuminating why the property is even efficacious in the first place. )

So Carroll’s trust in the laws of physics to relinquish teleology is misplaced. But it’s even worse than this: it’s false. For as I’ve argued before, the laws of physics supervene on causally regulated matter. That is to say, the laws of physics are contingent on uniformly behaving matter, and thus cannot possibly be that which explains why it behaves that way. So, what can explain this behavior? Well, if causal regularity exists in nature—if A’s regularly produce B’s, under certain conditions—then this can only be because A has an inherent dispositional tendency to bring about B. For instance, an acorn yields an oak tree, not because the laws of physics say it will, but because the acorn has an intrinsic disposition in it as a substance that is directed towards the generation of an oak tree. Recall that if this were not the case—that is, if substances did not have these dispositions—then one effect would not follow more frequently from any substance.

This concept of a substance harboring a tendency (sometimes called a “power”) to generate a specific effect is what is known among Aristotelians as final causality. And yet many philosophers, with no Aristotelian axe to grind, have returned to this ontology under the name of Dispositionalism. Again, this ontology is seen as a necessary condition for causal regularity, and is not at all ad hoc. (Notice as well that final causality is not an attempt to replace the laws of physics, rather it is only an explanation given at a deeper metaphysical level that explains why matter can even behave regularly so as to even be describable by physical laws.)

Therefore, it seems that Carroll’s dysteleological physicalism—at least the dysteleological part—is false. Carroll’s appeal to laws of physics can only be valid if there is causal regularity, and causal regularity is valid if and only if substances have final causality—that is, a goal or end that each substance is disposed towards generating—which is teleological. Carroll’s statement that “all any object ever does is obey rules” can only be true if teleology is inherent in matter. Thus, Carroll’s position actually supervenes on a teleological ontology and therefore cannot in any true sense be dysteleological.