Gonzalez and Richards Chapter Fifteen
Assumptions and implications are not the same thing.
Posted
Friday, November 18, 2005
by
Gerald Vreeland
Chapter 15 of the book is entitled: “A Universe Designed for Discovery.†What it deals with primarily are the rules of engagement for ascertaining design and purpose. For people like me, raised in a family of atheistic existentialists, it is enough that mind-numbing, intricacy and irreducible complexity team up with incredibly fine-tuned rules of order – such things being impossible anywhere else! – for me to arrive at Intelligent Design. For those predisposed to discount the Divine (usually because He won’t just arbitrarily jump into their intellectual box), it does not seem to be enough. And so, a case must be made.
Beginning with a discussion on Kubrick’s 2001 and what it would mean should we find a radio transmission production, giant domino (monolith), the dimensions of which are precisely the squares of the first three prime numbers, the authors then go on to suggest it unusual that the origin of the thing is never queried. The conclusion is drawn ipso facto that this is the first proof that there is extra-terrestrial life. There are no self-conscious moments wherein it is questioned as to whether or not this might just be some unusual rock formation. “No one complains that since they can’t falsify the belief that the object is designed, they can’t infer that it was†(p. 294). Great statement, that! It is one that science theoreticians would do well to remember. Unless an experiment can be designed in which tests for falsity are confirmed or denied, inference cannot be made logically as to the truth or falsity of the hypothesis.
From this and another thought experiment (words on paper, for instance), the authors show us that we simply presuppose design without establishing proof for it. For example: Stonehenge was built and the design appeared to be complex – astronomical events, as so forth. “But even without this knowledge of its purpose, virtually everyone, to put it philosophically, ‘infers design’ when they see it†(p. 294). Such reasoning is used everywhere:
Archaeologists commonly use design reasoning, sifting run-or-the-mill stones from
ancient tools, arrowheads, and other artifacts. Design plays an important role in a
number of other specialized sciences, such as forensics, fraud detection, cryptography . . .
and notably, SETI. Individuals are sentenced to life in prison or execution on the basis of
a scientific judgment that a death was the result of criminal design rather than mere
accident. And everyone assumes that, at least in principle, SETI researchers will be able
to sift out intelligent extraterrestrial radio signals from background radio noise (p. 294).
Two further notations before we proceed: First, it used to be a matter of course for a Cambridge Student to read the design argument in Paley’s Natural Theology. This is no longer the case – although his premise was never adequately answered. Secondly, establishment clerics of scientism have decided – apart from evidence and against scientific observation, statistical inference and formal logic! – that Darwin’s naturalistic approach ruled out the necessity of a theistic explanation for all that is.
If one bases one’s judgments on the evidence we have discussed in this book, however, it
should come as no surprise that we think that conclusion was premature. With that
evidence clearly before us, we are finally situated to consider the broader question: What
is the best explanation for the origin and features of the universe we have described? We
have argued at length that the correlation between habitability and measurability
contradicts the Copernican Principle. But we think it also challenges the assumption that
the findings of natural science inevitably confirm naturalism (p. 295).
Things can be ascertained . . . usually to the embarrassment of the establishment. Oddly, liberal pundits, politicians and professors never have to apologize for their presumptions. For instance, when Jocelyn Bell discovered extraterrestrial radio emissions, the patterns were “suggesting that they had an intelligent origin†(p. 295). They were called LGMs (Little Green Men) somewhat euphemistically. Upon later inspection, a greater discovery was made: “. . . the signals had come from spinning neutron stars, the remains of supernovae, which they named pulsars†(p. 295). Hence the theoretician’s whimsy became substantial science. The signals had exactly nothing to do with ETIs. Whether SETI projects or SciFi, it matters not, everybody trusts their instincts: order and intricacy are indicative of intelligent design. The discovery of pulsars proves that things are not so neat and tidy as they would wish – and for this they should be thankful because the “neat and tidy†sword is of a double edge.
We’re surely right to believe that Egypt’s pyramids did not evolve from sand dunes. And
you’re right to think that the black scribbles on this page convey the ideas of human
authors. But Kepler was wrong when he thought inhabitants had made the Moon’s
craters. Percival Lowell was wrong to think Martians had constructed canals. UFO
enthusiasts are surely wrong to think that some alien race is responsible for the well-
known Face-on-Mars, and children are probably wrong to think that clouds really are
designed to look like Disney characters. Still, most of the time, in most situations, when
our faculties are working properly, we infer design reliably. But we want to avoid “false
positives,†for although we humans are adept and inveterate pattern detectors, we’re also
pattern imposers. So how do we separate the chaff from the wheat? (p. 296)
The suggestion is then made that when we are attempting to be reliable observers and can accurately check and potentially falsify our observations, we are guided by reasoning toward three types of causal explanations: chance, necessity and/or design. Because there can be multiple approaches to the examination of the effect, we cannot at the outset determine that something is designed. For instance, Bell thought that her orderly, repetitive signal was evidence that it was from an intelligent source. However and upon further inspection, it was demonstrated that there was some natural-law explanation: “Given that a neutron star has certain physical characteristics, and that it is spinning at a certain rate, it will emit a repetitive, pulsing signal, like a lighthouse with a rotating lamp†(p. 296). Granted, we got rid of ET; but we didn’t get a Creator back either. . . .
Alright, how then would we separate chance from design? Just because the box falls to the floor and there are Scrabble letters all over the house, means precisely nothing about what they look like in the aftermath of landing and scattering. Arranging them into words, like “Clean up this mess!†might indicate design, I suppose. But, the effect (letters all over the place) caused by the occurrence/event (fall from the table – or thrown by a two-year-old), is what we call random or chance.
A common mistake is to assume that the argument for design is merely a matter of
calculating probabilities or complexities. The more improbable or complex an event is,
many suppose, the less likely that it is the product of chance and the more likely it is the
result of intelligent design. For astronomically low probabilities, this might work. But
the fact that an event is merely improbable or that a structure is complex gives little
justification for inferring design. After all, improbable events – at least when viewed in
isolation – happen all the time by chance. The world is a big place. It has vast
“probabilistic resources†at its disposal. Lots of stuff happens (p. 297).
Now this says nothing about chaos theory, and I do not think the authors mean to discount it; but, as you and I see the world around us, some things appear to be the result of chance. Probability theory is simply our way of crunching vast arrays of data into manageable units. Remember, statistics are rarely a reflection of reality – they are a reflection of many reflections on reality. Be all that as it may, the authors conclude that complexity and rarity in the university do not automatically result in a universe wrought by Intelligent Design. For example: Brownlee and Ward can argue in Rare Earth “that complex life is rare in the universe, without concluding that the universe was designed†(p. 297).
The rarity of habitable conditions and complex life itself weighs against the idea that such
life flows inevitably from the laws of physics and chemistry. But that rarity alone might
suggest chance or design (p. 297).
Complexity – often inversely proportion to probability – can also be evasive. Just because a pile of freshly raked (and complexly articulated) leaves is blown across the yard, says nothing about how it might again regain that shape. It would be tricky to get a group of engineers to re-articulate them. . . . The first pile is still complexity without design . . . er, except the pile – the wind blowing it across the yard might be satanic; but that is entirely another discussion. Similarly, releasing a chimp into an office with a typewriter is not likely to produce anything of substance – mess, yes; substance, no. Leaves or random letters leave no doubt as to complexity; but prove exactly nothing in respect to design. So, if complexity and low probability are indicative of design, how do we arrive securely at design? First, something must be improbable. Second, we should remain unaware of any natural process that generates that effect. Third, we should probably calculate the odds of such an effect happening merely by chance. But still, how do you tell the difference?
What seems to be required is what mathematician and philosopher Dembski calls a specification (a “suitable patternâ€) along with low probability. This is called “specified complexity†(p. 298). Take for instance Mt.Rushmore – before they carve Bill Clinton’s face into it:
Why do we recognize that [the faces] were carved into the side of the mountain by
skillful sculptors but do not think the rubble of rocks below them was intentionally
assembled? Both are compatible with the laws of physics, but neither is determined by
them. Both the faces and the pile of rocks are complex. But only the faces tightly
conform to a pattern that we recognize as meaningful – namely, the likenesses of four
American presidents. In fact, even if you didn’t know what these presidents looked like,
you would still recognize that the object was a sculpture and not the product of wind and
erosion. It is apparent that some intelligent agent (or agents) chose this particular rock
shape from the myriad possibilities available (p. 298).
. . . and that some agents of lesser intelligence paid for it, I suppose. . . . Be that as it may, the pattern has to be sufficiently tight. For instance, I noticed on my way to work this morning (11/15/05 – notice that I always work on payday!) that there is a head-sized rock in my neighbor’s fence that looks like a face I once saw in a medical textbook – no, it wasn’t alive there either. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious that that was merely a play from the texture and lighting. That’s what happens when we see sheep cavorting in the clouds as kids. But there are at least three tests: there must be something of duration, the notion of design must hold up under closer scrutiny, and the form must be independently verifiable – you have to see the face too. We’re all something of phenomenologists when it comes to things appearing “facely†to us (yes, they really talk that way) – there has to be a shared/combined experience. I’ve often wondered (at the level of genus, now), why it is we all know the difference between a cat and a dog. With precious few exceptions, we don’t make many mistakes at it either. We can be fooled (odd breed, bad lighting); but why are we not fooled more often? And why didn’t this work with the face on Mars? This was the subject of discussion noted in the captions of the pictures on p. 299 – and the somewhat ridiculous subject matter of the movie “Mission to Mars,†the resolution to which was that we were seeded by aliens – as Francis Crick and the ancient Greeks theorized. Things didn’t hold up under scrutiny: as the spacecraft passed closer and took larger pictures of higher resolution the notion of “faceness†vanished into the imprecision and light tricks of the previous picture. There are no indications of intelligent design in the face on Mars as there are with Mt.Rushmore. “It lacks the requisite specificity†(p. 299).
The next test has to do with the independence of the object in question from the environment in which it finds itself. The counter illustration is that of John Nash’s descent into paranoia wherein he saw patterns of Soviet code in everything he was reading. The point is that the pattern will not be everywhere apparent. Dembski is noted as giving the following illustration:
If an archer draws a small target on a wall, stands back twenty yards, and puts five arrows
into the bull’s-eye, we will infer that he is skillful – that is, that the event exhibits
masterful design. The bull’s-eye is the pattern, and it is relevantly independent of the
firing of the arrows [“Zen and the Art of Archery,†notwithstanding]. Moreover, the
target isn’t huge. If it were, the pattern match would not be tight enough, since it would
be too easy for the archer to hit the bull’s-eye. On the other hand, if the archer shoots one
shot at a large, blank wall, and then paints the target around the arrow, the pattern will
match. No matter how tight the match, however, it’s just a fabrication, since the pattern
isn’t independent of the event. Therefore we could not determine whether the archer is
skillful (pp. 299-300).
A secondary argument in respect of the validity in testing for design is in regard to value. That is, as Ratzsch has noted: “historically, arguments for the design of certain natural structures have ‘almost always involved value,’ to which we attach meaning, and which is habitually associated with mind and intentions†(p. 300). Just like my thing with cats and dogs, “Such value is difficult to define, but we usually know it when we see it (p. 300). Although culturally intoned, the authors note that art and music, a functioning machine, and so on have some kind of intrinsic value that cacophony and scrap metal do not.
Similarly, a living organism, with its interlocking complexity and myriad functions, has
an intrinsic value that inanimate objects lack, just as a fine-tuned habitable universe has
an intrinsic value that an uninhabitable one would lack. So when we infer design, we
often make a qualitative judgment that has a positive and negative aspect. We judge that
chance and blind natural law are unlikely or incapable of producing certain events or
objects, and we discern certain features, such as value, that we tend to associate with
intelligent agents (p. 300).
In other words: it is a crapshoot of cosmic proportions, or it was designed. But the intricacy, order and intrinsics of the event, very nearly preclude blind luck. Or stated from another angle: it looks the way it does and we like the way it looks, in part, because we are here to appreciate it (Jerry’s somewhat odd and artsy variation of the Anthropic Principle).
There is a problem, however: because we are locked in the design itself, how can we extricate ourselves from the situation and attempt to become more objective observers of design, should it prove to exist? The rules of engagement (natural laws) provide an environment within which life is permissible. However, something more is required. “Whether we realize it or not, in evaluating the apparent fine-tuning of the universe, we are distinguishing between logical and natural “necessity†(p. 301). When scientists talk about what will happen, given a certain set of laws, they are talking about natural necessity. For instance, there is nothing necessary about gravity in the logical sense. For instance, it is not constant across celestial bodies (it has different properties). It is not the same as the proposition: “All bachelors are unmarried.â€
When we say the laws of physics appear fine-tuned, what we’re saying is that in contrast
to the many other possible universes in its “universe neighborhood,†ours has just the
laws that make it habitable. We’re contrasting the laws in the actual universe with other,
similar (albeit hypothetical) universes with slightly different laws, as well as with the
endless sea of chaotic and disorderly universes that might have existed (pp. 301-2).
This quote is at the level of a thought experiment. I do not believe, unlike the editors of “Astronomy†magazine, that other universes will ever be proven to exist. Probably in the universes created in the minds of the theoreticians, according to some rules of geometry, math and physics or other, round-squares could be proven to exist. . . . If we cannot receive data from alternate universes, their existence, to us, is unverifiable. It cannot be proven that they don’t exist; neither can it be proven that they do exist. The benefit of the doubt is of no value in this case. However, we can certainly have fruitful imaginations – and hence the thought experiment by our authors.
We’re also recognizing an important distinction between habitable and uninhabitable
universes . . . . The actual, habitable universe stands out against the many similar but
uninhabitable possible ones. The more we learn, the more we realize that if we were just
to pick a universe’s properties at random, we would almost never stumble across a
habitable one. To use Dembski’s terms, our universe and our place and time within it
appear specified to make possible that most complex of empirical phenomena –
technological civilization (p. 302).
When we proceed with the thought experiment (contrasting our happy situation with closely possible universes – those with slightly different rules, gravity, strong force, etc.), we find that “This comparison leads to the strong impression that the range of inhospitable universes [would] vastly exceeds the range of hospitable ones in this neighborhood†(p. 303, modality mine). And although there is no more probability in the existence of our universe than in other ones, all things being equal, it is the fact that ours is suitable for complex, technological life. “It’s the presence of a telling pattern, a pattern we have some reason to associate with intelligent agency†(p. 303).
And related to value:
When considering universes, everyone recognizes, unless they’re trying to avoid a
conclusion they find distasteful, that a habitable universe containing intelligent observers
has an intrinsic value that an uninhabitable one lacks. Living beings have some value,
however difficult to describe, that inanimate objects don’t have. That value redounds to a
universe that allows for the existence of complex life. Theorists tacitly admit that they
share this judgment when they try to explain away the fact that our universe appears fine-
tuned for the existence of complex life (p. 303).
The alternate universe thing is interesting to esoterics like myself; but we are all American Pragmatists at heart, no? What we really need is to find independent variables in the real universe. It simply will not do, however, merely to speculate on the relationship between life and habitability. Well, that’s a none starter:
No one should be surprised to find living beings restricted to environments compatible
with their existence, to recall the Weak Anthropic Principle. The situation might be the
result of design, but this pattern alone provides inadequate evidence for that conclusion
(p. 304).
But, and more independently, it would seem that there is no necessary correlation between a place to live and a natural science laboratory. “. . . there’s no obvious reason to suppose that habitable environments would also be the ones most conducive to diverse types of scientific discovery. Being habitable and being measurable are distinct properties†(p. 304). If the book has a weak sister argument, this might be it: in my opinion the authors have been trying to show a correlation between measurability and habitability that is more causal in nature. Yes, “We could compile separate lists of the properties that contribute to habitability and those that contribute to measurability†(p. 304) and “We could analyze one without ever making reference to the other†(p. 304). But we may find out that it is untrue that “There is no logically necessary connection between the two†(p. 304). Hopefully, I’m not collapsing the distinction between causal necessity and logical necessity here – or they are not; but it would seem to me that if (formal) reason for causal necessity can be given, then a formalization of it as logical necessity has greater likelihood of surviving counterarguments. And it seems to me that an environment like ours (clear skies, less space junk, less chance of getting nuked by cosmic radiation, etc.), is at once going to be more habitable and more conducive to discovery.
Their point is well taken in some of the particulars however. On page 305, they go into a discussion including that of the cosmic microwave background radiation wherein they conclude that knowledge of it was irrelevant to needs of ancient man.
. . . having perfect solar eclipses or stable polar ice deposits or tree rings, or being able to
view the stars or determine their temperature and composition . . . That is, knowledge
derived from such phenomena provided no survival advantage to our ancestors (p. 305).
Well, there is no advantage unless you are fleeing the advancing Ice Age, I suppose. . . . I should also think that knowing where the stars were when the Nile flooded was more than just good show-and-tell information for HieroglyphicSchool and an interesting coincidence if you were studying for the priesthood of Ra. . . . But their point is well taken. It has only been a couple of years now that I’ve known about the background radiation, and I cannot say that it has much altered my lifestyle . . . other than that the phrase slips into more conversations than it used to. . . .
Another counterintuitive point is made by our authors, however: since intergalactic space would be better for astronomers (no gravitational abominations, no excess “glare†from galactic cores, no space junk and dust to get in the way), one might think that it would be better to live out there. However, you really have to be in a place where there is a proliferation of chemicals that neatly form into Schnauzers and stuff. And so if you are an astronomer:
. . . we’re surprised to discover that these conditions correlate in the actual universe. This
discovery calls for an explanation beyond an appeal to blind chance or necessity. It’s at
least a striking coincidence. As Agatha Christie’s detective heroine, Miss Marple, wisely
observes, “A coincidence is always worth noticing. You can always discard it later if it is
just a coincidence.†That is, if it’s just due to chance. But the correlation between
habitability and measurability seems to be the result of more than mere chance (p. 305,
emphasis theirs).
And so, what is the “peculiar and telling pattern� (p. 305). Where are the fingerprints that leave the trace of Intelligent Design? How can we extricate ourselves from the conundrum: cosmic crapshoot or Careful Creator. One way is formal, logical and inferential: the atheistic, existentialist, Darwinians offer no tidy explanations for anything. In fact, under scrutiny all their arguments evaporate as illogical, statistically irresponsible, violations of the law of physics (2nd law of thermodynamics) and biology (life can only come from life/no spontaneous generation). So, how do proponents of Intelligent Design explain the correlation between habitability and measurability? “Design provides just such a tidy explanation here. . . . If the physical universe were designed so that any observers would find themselves in an environment conducive to many diverse scientific discoveries, then the correlation would be just what they would have expected†(p. 305). The authors are quick to point out that this argument is confirmatory rather than conclusive proof. It does, however, go a long way for people like me, and provides a convenient counter argument to the “winners of the celestial lottery†crowd. . . .
To put it another way, if we assume that the universe is designed at least in part to allow
intelligent observers to make discoveries, the correlation between life and discovery we
observe is what we would expect. In contrast, if the cosmos exists by chance and if
intelligent observers like human beings are simply a rare and purposeless dross in that
indifferent cosmos, we would not expect this. It would be an inexplicable fluke.
Whatever the exact probabilities, clearly the correlation is much more likely given design
than given chance (pp. 305-6).
A universe wherein complex observers might reside coupled with the conditions for observing are suspiciously conspiratorial. As the authors indicate, it would be like winning the cosmic lottery against odds greater than the number of quarks in the universe – twice in a row! Without really becoming deists, we might say that:
. . . the pattern we detect has apparently been transmitted through natural laws and initial
conditions. . . . The design, so far as we can tell, is embedded or encoded in the laws and
initial conditions themselves. In this case, the artifact of intelligence is the cosmos itself.
Although this differs from our usual way of detecting design within the world, there’s no
reason in principle that we cannot detect design transmitted by laws (p. 306).
We know that habitable environments are incredibly rare in the universe. We also know of at least one habitable environment that is well appointed for knowing observers. We know, finally, that these two things are somewhat independent and so things are best explained if we assume that they are arranged that way by some outside source. This is not really changed in net effect even it comes about by a preset arrangement of natural laws and initial conditions.
The authors move on from a firm suspicion of design to the notion of purpose within what I consider to be rather obvious evidence of design. The discussion is prefaced with the notion that purpose is often less clear than design. For instance, museums will display artifacts that clearly have been designed but the purpose for their design remains a matter of conjecture or is opaque altogether. We are told that, “detecting a purpose usually enhances our confidence that something is designed†(p. 307). One illustration the authors give us is an extended anecdote from the old Star Trek series wherein Captain Kirk outwits (you knew he would) his Gorn opponent in the Metrons’ “Arena.†I’ll not go into as much detail as G & R do; but the point is well made: clearly the environment was designed by the Metrons in such a way as to facilitate the success of the more resourceful mind. In addition, Kirk impressed the Metrons by not finishing off his opponent after he had been incapacitated. Resourcefulness and giving quarter are symbolic of advanced civilizations – a couple of things apparently completely lacking in culturally frozen, Medieval Islamofascism, for instance . . . but I digress. Back to the Metrons, we see that the ready abundance of the raw materials for the weapon Kirk uses is evidence of the intended design by the keepers of the “Arena.â€
The second illustrations is from a naive climber ascending a peak in Hawaii only to find that generations of astronomers and engineers have arrived before him. Without a second thought he realizes that these are telescopes and the reason they are there as over against being down in the nearest large city is as transparent as the atmosphere. With this the authors conclude:
. . . our environment has many rare and disparate elements crucial for making scientific
discoveries and observations. Those same elements make our environment hospitable to
the existence of observers. The rare places with observers are the best overall places for
observing. If an otherwise ignorant climber can recognize the purpose in putting
telescopes on high mountains, we should be able to see purpose in this striking
correlation. Like the telescopes atop Mauna Kea, this isn’t just an independent pattern.
It’s a meaningful one (p. 309).
I began to think that contemporary incarnations of Darwinian evolutionary theory were stupid when I took Paleo-Anthropology at the U. I aced the course, so don’t just immediately discount my intellect. Be that as it may, it just seemed that far too many things were taken for granted. Much more recently (nearly 30 years more recently), I have seen that stupidity is not only pandemic but longitudinal. I may have mentioned before about the recent Astronomy article wherein the author said that the environment must be conducive to life forms evolving. Not actually: the life forms that are present may have to have a measure of adaptability to their environment; but, that says precisely nothing about evolving. Such a notion of evolution presupposes more cataclysmic changes in the environment than have ever been demonstrated by the other sciences at anything other than the local level. But then, these are the same people that collapse the distinction between mutation – which usually weakens the organism’s adaptability in other areas – and evolution. It is much easier to prove devolution than some odd incrementally ascending taxonomy. And having lost every logical argument, the atheistic, existential, Marxist, Darwinians (yes, that goes as a package deal in the universities) have to resort to epithets and strong arm tactics. In answering the question as to why so few people have noticed purpose and design, G & R say the following: “One reason, perhaps is that most of those acquainted with the relevant evidence have been discouraged from considering design, or of speaking publicly about it†(p. 309). Because the issue is finally political, and it could mean taking away the power base from the Marxists, it is easy to see why some junior faculty are discouraged from talking about it. If they want to attain tenure, forget truth, they need to tow the party line. If they want to rise up through the food chain, forget the evidence, forget truth, they will need to tow the party line. If they want anything of collegiality, forget truth, they will have to be mainstreamed. The institution exists to self-perpetuate, and the university is no different. When people present material contrary to the mainstream, it makes the mainstream look bad and that hurts the organization, or, in this case the organism – a very badly diseased organism. To be fair, a lot of the information is relatively recent and huge organizations change course about as fast as obsolescent battleships.
Be all that as it may, the authors give space to independent discussions by Michael Denton and Hans Blumenberg. What these authors see (the first a biologist and the latter a historian of science), is that the watery environment and the transparent environment are at once a luxurious home and a suitable laboratory. At the risk of being tedious, I would like also to give space to Denton, since he is one of my favorite authors:
What is so striking is that our cosmos appears to be not just supremely fit for our being
and for our biological adaptations, but also for our understanding. Our water planetary
home, with its oxygen-containing environment, the abundance of trees and hence wood
and hence fire, is wonderfully fit to assist us in the task of opening nature’s door.
Moreover, being on the surface of a planet rather than in its interior or in the ocean gives
us the privilege to gaze farther into the night to distant galaxies and gain knowledge of
the overall structure of the cosmos. Were we positioned in the center of a galaxy, we
would never look on the beauty of a spiral galaxy nor would we have any idea of the
structure of our universe. We might never have seen a supernova or understood the
mysterious connection between the stars and our own existence (quoted in G & R pp.
309-10).
Denton is not really saying anything other than what we have maintained all along: if you can flourish here and have time to look around, it is (a) a whole lot better than environments wherein you have to fight for every breath and meal and (b) a whole lot better for the advancement of the species. From the realm of physics, Barrow comes to the same conclusion merely from an evaluation of our three-dimensional environment. Science historian, Jaki, has indicated that the moon contributes not only to habitability (tides, non-synchronous rotation), but to discovery as well. And Mendillo and Hart have come to the same conclusion merely from thinking about everything you can learn from solar eclipses. Because their theorem is more indicative than serious, I’ll just list the points:
Theorem An exactly total solar eclipse is a unique phenomenon in the Solar System.
Lemma There are observers on Earth to witness the remarkable event of an exactly total
solar eclipse.
Conclusion A planet/moon system will have exactly total solar eclipses only if there is
someone there to observe them. As only Earth meets this requirement, there is no
extraterrestrial life in the Solar System.
Corollary In a system composed of none planets and 32 moons, for only Earth with its
single moon to have exactly total solar eclipses is too remarkable an occurrence to be due
entirely to chance.
Therefore, there is a God.
In my opinion, there are a few too many things left out of this monstrous syllogism to be taken seriously. But the point remains: there are a few too many coincidences here to be merely ignored and “A coincidence is always worth noticing. You can always discard it later if it is just a coincidence†(Miss Marple, quoted p. 305). If this “syllogism†is just one of dozens that might be constructed concerning various topics that make our situation here on earth unique, then it serves the purpose of shifting the burden of proof to those who would say that it is just a cosmic crapshoot.
And so, in conclusion, “We live in a universe with laws and initial conditions finely tuned for the existence of complex life. Although narrowly constrained, they do not inevitably give rise to such life. They are necessary but not nearly sufficient for it†(p. 311). It would appear that such loci – to our present knowledge! – are extremely rare. In this environment, some have historically believed that it was a rational universe conducive to discovery. Rather than blindly groping in the dark for data, the pursuit of scientific truth becomes a quest that has meaning – that seeks knowledge about the universe, how and why it came to be and our purpose in it.
There is a purposeful value in this. Because of it, and only because of it, can our
aspirations for scientific knowledge and discovery be satisfied. Careful investigation,
study, and observation of the natural world ultimately succeed. With enough persistence,
the natural world discloses itself to us in ways that we do not, and sometimes cannot,
anticipate. Once perceived, the thought creeps up quietly but insistently: The universe,
whatever else it is, is designed for discovery. What better mandate could there be for the
scientific pursuit of truth? Scientific discovery enjoys a sort of cosmic prestige, but a
prestige apparent only to those open to the possibility that the cosmos exists for a purpose
(p. 311).
When I was a boy, I remember my dad getting in an argument with a union democrat that was very angry about the government spending money on the Apollo program. Because I was always interested in exploration – an innately curious boy (the university tried desparately to kill my curiosity; but, thankfully, 10 years of private graduate school have revived it to some extent. . . ), I could not understand what all the fuss was about. My dad told me: “It is an adventure in pure science.†I agree, we do not know what we might find out there; but, unlike my agnostic father, for me, it is an adventure, not only in pure science, but also in the multiplex pursuit of data, truth, design, purpose and meaning. As with the scientist/philosopher first to die on “The Red Planet,†I will never know when I turn over a rock whether or not I might find the finger print of God. When I do, I shall continue to have strong suspicions about design and purpose – simply because I am now here in a universe transparent to such suspicions.
Guillermo Gonzalez and Jay W. Richards, The Privileged Planet: How our Place in the Cosmos is Designed for Discovery (Washington, DC: Regnery, 2004).
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