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Gonzalez and Richards Chapter Fourteen

Assumptions and implications are not the same thing.

Posted Monday, October 24, 2005 by Gerald Vreeland

I’ve always thought the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence was misguided.  There seem to be a couple of scenarios.  We all recall when Voyager was infused with the Rolling Stones’ “Can’t Get No Satisfaction.”  That seems to present a face of Western culture best not replicated anywhere, much less out there.  It could have any of several effects: any superior life-forms might deduce that we are not worth the bother to contact or they might think we are ripe for extinction – or run a sub-space turnpike through our star system (Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy).

I like the “not worth the bother” scenario best, because if they could contact us, either by radio or in person, they would be superior to us and either exterminate us (Independence Day), harvest us for food (V, War of the Worlds) or collect us for pets (Mission to Mars).  I don’t want to depend upon luck (War of the Worlds) and hope that they’re all going to get bacterial flu and die.  I also don’t want to have to hope that there’s a way to give their superior technology a virus (Independence Day) and overcome them militarily.  And I really don’t want to show up on the table with an apple in my mouth . . . it just seems that there are better and less silent ways to go out into that long dark night.  So what are we doing calling attention to ourselves?!  

 

Of course, I’m pretty cynical when it comes to SETI projects anyway: I really don’t think there’s anything at all out there and so the whole endeavor is fraught with problems epistemological and economic.  This last concerns me greatly: I don’t like wasting tax dollars looking for something that probably couldn’t exist in any case.  I would rather put the money into real space exploration – where we use our various forms of data acquisition (e.g., telescopes, radio telescopes, arrays, UV, infra red and such) look around to make real discoveries and then put people out there to look around and confirm or deny our long distance observations. 

 

And while I’m harping on this trombone, let’s talk about the fallacy of non-falsification.  In the current issue of Astronomy magazine (November!), there is a discussion of the cosmic shooting gallery that is planetary studies.  But the discussion begins as follows:

 

            At Los Alamos National Laboratory in the summer of 1950, Enrico Fermi, Edward

            Teller, Herbert York, and Emil Konopinski talked – as physicists are wont to do – about

            flying saucers and aliens.  In the middle of lunch, out of nowhere, Fermi suddenly asked,

            “Where is everybody?”

            Fermi’s colleagues knew just what he was talking about, and his question has evolved

            into what’s known as “Fermi’s paradox.”  Intelligent beings could have spread across the

            Milky Way on short time scales compared to the galaxy’s lifetime, yet there’s no sign of

            them.  So, where are they?  (Steve Nadis, “Do We Live In A Cosmic Shooting Gallery,”

            Astronomy: 33:11 [November 2005], p. 34)

 

What’s wrong with this picture?  The author, following these physicists, is assuming that civilizations existed without proof.  Secondly, “yet there’s no sign of them,” if it means anything, means that there is no empirically testable evidence of their existence.  Hence, and once again, we have the fallacy of non-falsification.  They’re not there; but you cannot prove that they never were – without turning over literally every rock in the universe – well, galaxy in this case.  “Where is everybody?” presupposes somebody.  Hence, the conclusion will simply prove its presuppositions . . . in a rather short circuit argument. 

 

And so we have the development of the Drake equation (N = R* x FP x NE x Fl x Fi x Fc x L), which will be discussed later.  Although we have already discussed the uselessness of the equation, Liz Kruesi, in the same issue (p. 37) hints at its irrelevance.  She says, “Astronomers know the rate of star formation is close to 10 per year, but beyond that, our understanding of each value decreases.  We are evidence that N must equal at least 1.”  G & R will most likely prove that N is exactly 1.  Despite the fact that F subs l, i, and c, presuppose evolutionary theory which has hardly been proven, my guess is that this is a tacit admission as to the uselessness of the equation.  I seriously question that “Astronomers know the rate of star formation is close to 10 per year” in the first place; but even if that were the case, as G & R will indicate, the value of the proportion is halved at the outset because half of the solar systems seem to be binary in nature and would produce orbits and other conditions prohibitive of either complex or technological life. 

 

Be that as it may, your tax dollars are going to find ET out there.  Oh, and if you want to be called a bunch of names, just question the “Intelligence” of the Terrestrials that want to waste your money on such a quest.  Remember, they are the (self-proclaimed, pseudo-) elite and have been since the turn of the 20th century.  Epithets have always been substituted for rational argumentation when the academics think they are addressing lower life forms.  I move we hold them accountable and return the favor. . . . 

 

In any case, the answer the author in Astronomy is going to come up with is that everybody got annihilated by gravity, radiation and space junk.  So, if we presuppose they exist, we can conclude that the reason they are gone is that, unlike our lucky selves, they got blasted by asteroids, and incinerated in novae and cosmic blasts.  Of course, it rarely graces their gourds that we may be alone . . . and may always have been. . . .  

 

Chapter Fourteen is entitled: “SETI and the Unraveling of the Copernican Principle.”  We are initially informed that ET suspicions are not new: Lucretius (98-55 B.C.) tells us in De Rerum Natura, that “nothing in the universe is the only one of its kind . . . there must be countless worlds and inhabitants thereof” (quoted p. 275, italics G & R).   Wow!  We have centuries of do to undo!  One of the things that never ceases to amaze me about our authors is that, despite the publication date (2004), the editors of pop-level magazines like Astronomy still feel compelled to address the issues addressed in this book.  It is too bad that they have chosen far-fetched speculative (pseudo-) “naturalistic” theories as over against reasonable science that can well accommodate order and intricacy. 

 

G & R begin their discussion by noting that, with the discovery of other planets as solid orbs, speculation now had a place to land.  They then rehearse all the abortive attempts to place life on the neighbors.  “Nevertheless, the hope of extraterrestrial life continues to live on in the popular and scientific imagination.  Once established, the idea made an easy leap from our Solar System to other suns with other inhabited planets” (p. 275).  Referring to the introduction to The Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the authors note that the vastness of space “encourages speculation” (p. 275). 

 

All this speculation gave creative license to the genre of Science Fiction.  Perhaps H. G. Wells started it; but, it would have “taken off” in any case.  We are naturally curious and one way we give vent to that curiosity is to look up and try to go there.  Unfortunately, curiosity comes with its attendant pathologies: because we want to reify our imagination, we claim that we have really seen flying saucers and aliens.  This is true to the degree that even “[i]n mainstream scientific circles, belief in extraterrestrial life has become so prevalent that astronomer and science historian Steven Dick has described it as the dominant myth of our age, symbolizing what he calls the new ‘biophysical cosmology’” (p. 276). 

 

In a section entitled “Paradox Lost,” the authors tangle with what I alluded to above as rehearsed in Astronomy magazine.  G & R, unlike the writer in Astronomy, citing sources, rehearse Fermi’s questions this way: “If there are extraterrestrials, where they?”  Let us rehash:

 

            His argument – not really a paradox unless you assume that ETIs must exist – is simple. 

            If there were numerous other intelligent civilizations like our own in the Milky Way,

            some of them would surely have had a head start on us.  They would eventually run out

            of room or encounter local hazards or simply grow curious, which would encourage

            migration.  Within a few million years – a mere blink of the eye on galactic timescales –

            they would have colonized the rest of the galaxy or, as some later argued, sent self-

            replicating robots.  They would target habitable systems, and either colonize other

            habitable planets, terraform nearly habitable planets, or mine asteroids.  While our galaxy

            may be twelve billion years old, there’s no trace of such colonization, either now or in the

            past.  The reasonable conclusion: They’re not here because they don’t exist (pp. 277-8). 

 

One of the tacit implications of Fermi’s question is that there is no hard and fast evidence of ETIs.  We simply cannot believe (principle of mediocrity) that we are alone in the universe.  As Calvin says to Hobbes: “The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it has never tried to contact us” (quoted, p. 278).  As the popular bumper sticker goes: “Beam me up Scotty, there is no intelligent life down here.”  The authors inform us that the place where the modern incarnation of the Copernican Principle is most at home is in the field known as astrobiology.  I’m certain that there are a lot of the clerics of scientism that believe that my own profession is somewhat misguided; but, astrobiology may yet prove to be even more asinine.  Of course, they all demand that we take them seriously while they denigrate us . . . so it goes. . . . 

 

The Drake equation had something of a genesis: he used to transmit “radio signals into space in the hope that an alien civilization might happen to intercept them” (p. 278).  In 1961 he proposed a “simple way to calculate the number of advanced civilizations in the Milky Way galaxy able to communicate with radio signals” (p. 279).  Our authors are a bit more honest than some, and indicate that the equation has gone through some metamorphosis throughout the years, but they indicate the following:

 

N = No X Fp X ne X fl X fi X fc X fL  

 

Here’s the breakdown:

 

 No= the total number of stars in the galaxy

 

fp= the fraction of stars with planetary systems

 

ne= the number of habitable planets in each system (sub-e is “earth-like”)

 

fl= the fraction of those planets where life emerges from inorganic matter or organic precursors. 

 

fi= the fraction of those planets where intelligent beings evolve

 

fc= the fraction of those planets where intelligent beings develop sophisticated communication

            technology

 

fL = the fraction of the average planetary lifetime wherein there is an advanced civilization

 

In my opinion, there is not a single variable (between 0 and 1) that can be known; however our authors tell us: “. . . many of the variables are unknowns.  So the numbers we plug in depend profoundly on the assumptions we bring to the problem” (p. 279). 

 

On a continuum, most of us find ourselves somewhere between technological life on every planet and earth as a solo act in the universe.  Some do not want to discount the possibility of some kind of biological life elsewhere – whether it is at the microbial level or something we consider more advanced.  Be that as it may, the Drake Equation does a couple of things correctly:

 

            It restricts the search to carbon-based life and requires that a habitable planet maintain

            liquid water on its surface, which, as we’ve argued, are eminently reasonable

            propositions rather than mere failures of the imagination (p. 281). 

 

This sends visions of the Horta from the old Star Trek series through my mind.  That one was a silicon based life form, as I recall.  Be that as it may, the Drake Equation also limits itself to habitable systems in this Galaxy.  Extrapolations to other galaxies would require a solution to another somewhat less ascertainable variable: the number of habitable galaxies in (whatever region of) the universe.  We should be reminded that the equation is over 40 years old and we still have not found ETIs.  Yet, SETI religionists still feel free to postulate ridiculously large numbers for the possibilities of civilizations out there. 

 

But the Drake Equation in its “simplicity” is really a smokescreen for incredible complexity.  Because:

 

            . .  every factor is really the product of another, hidden equation.  For example, ne, the

            average number of habitable planets per system, depends on many factors, ranging from

            the metallicity of a host star to planetary size and Solar System configuration.  And as we

            discover more about habitability requirements, the values of the equation draw closer and

            closer to zero (p. 281). 

 

And now for the quote of the day: “As SETI supporter Bernard Oliver once said, the Drake Equation, despite its mathematical facade, is ‘a way of compressing a large amount of ignorance into a small space’” (quoted, p. 281, emphasis mine). 

 

So, based upon very favorable applications of the Copernican Principle and Drake Equation, guys like Carl Sagan guess that there could be as many as a million advanced civilizations in our galaxy.  People just don’t seem to get it: speculations based upon speculations tempt the house-of-cards phenomenon.  It is just too easy to find defeasors for the arguments.  Whether or not they want to admit it, every exo-planetary system we find that is uninhabitable due to radiation, debris, erratic orbits, binary system gravitation, or wrong placement of the gas giants visa vis the terrestrial planets is one more piece of evidence to the contrary of finding habitable planets.

 

Let’s detail:

 

First, in respect of stars, we need to remember that we have to have a main-sequence G-type star like our Sun that produces most of its energy in the visible light spectrum.  At this juncture in science that represents about 4 percent.  If you buy into the paradigm: “One to 2 percent are short-lived, massive blue giants that aren’t around long enough for complex and technological life” [to evolve] (p. 282).  They have to have lots of metal for things like metallic cores and iron coursing through the veins of Rotweilers and humans.  But at least 50% of the stars born into our galaxy are binary, and these would likely be uninhabitable due to the problems mentioned in the previous paragraph. 

 

Second, we might discuss earth-like planets.  Really, until the 1990s there was nothing but speculation for data in regard to this matter.  But with the discovery of exo-planets the discussion of fp is once again beyond the conjectural.  Trimble used what she called common sense and computer models in an attempt to demonstrate that there were 1010 stars that could harbor habitable, terrestrial planets – over the last 5 billion years or so. . . .  We’ve had less luck, but better, more realistic luck by actually looking.  Sour grapes! Our solar system doesn’t seem to be typical at all.  A lot of sun-like stars do not seem to have habitable planets revolving about them.  Methodological inadequacies aside, the environment does not seem to be that within which terra-planets will be found.  Some of them do not have gas giants; others have them at the wrong size and in the wrong place.  Perhaps 30% might have gas giants; perhaps 4 % seem to have gas giants as massive as Jupiter. 

 

In the previous chapters (1-8), we have examined the authors’ contention that the likelihood of habitable planets being out there is extremely low. 

 

            Since theorists had assumed that our Solar System is typical, they believed that most

            planetary systems would have about nine planets, with one in the habitable zone.  It’s

            starting to look as if this confidence was premature.  Like the others, this one factor is

            really the product of another, larger equation, hidden within it.  With the discovery of

            every new extrasolar planetary system, it becomes clearer that they can assume a variety

            of configurations.  No law of physics or celestial mechanics requires that all smallish

            terrestrial planets orbit relatively near their star, with all gas giants perched farther out, all

            in fairly circular orbits.  . . . No law of physics requires that a well-placed asteroid belt

            always remain after the other planets have formed, or that the one terrestrial planet in the

            Circumstellar Habitable Zone must have a large moon to stabilize its axis.  The law of

            gravity, which controls the orbits of bodies around a star, allows an enormous degree of

            freedom in the natures, shapes, and sizes of orbits (pp. 283-4). 

 

No, this is not a naive statement: because of weight vs. velocity in orbit, it is not a foregone conclusion that “heavier stuff sinks to the bottom” – at least not at a rate that is going to affect the discussion.  In a discussion that sounds hauntingly like that in the current Astronomy, the authors go on to say:

 

             . . . the importance of the Moon for stabilizing Earth’s tilt, that gamma ray bursts are

            extra-galactic, highly luminous events, which would sterilize any nearby life if one were

            to occur in the Milky Way, and that there are hazardous giant black holes in the nuclei of

            nearly all nearby massive galaxies.  . . . the destruction of dust disks around young stars

            in the Orion Nebula, which implies that many stars will not be accompanied by outer

            planets (p. 284). 

 

Third we might examine theoretical baggage entailed in the origin of life.  It is possible that we might have a perfectly happy earth-like planet out there somewhere with water and air and such that never had any life on it – I’d like to inherit it.  The symbol, fl, indicates the fraction of planets that have any life at all.  Well . . . given the prevailing assumptions, the authors assume the position of their adversaries in such a manner as to derail their whole argument.  And so they consider:

 

            . . . the guiding influence of the Copernican Principle on theorists who do ponder these

            questions.  Concerning the origin and evolution of life, the Copernican Principle takes on

            a split personality, its explanations refracting into the twin modes of chance and

            necessity.  For some, this principle implies that the origin of life is inevitable, given the

            right conditions.  For others, life is an astronomically improbably fluke.  Its bipolar

            personality thus exposed, we now see that the Copernican Principle is about something 

            more basic than the prevalence of life in the universe (p. 284). 

 

The authors note that early cellular biologists thought of microscopic life as homogeneous.  We have been disabused of our previous naivety and have discovered what some refer to as irreducible complexity, irreducibly complex machines, or “the mesmerizing complexity of cells” (p. 285).  When the chaff is blown away, some very sane minds seem to think that there could be simple life in many locales throughout the universe.  But many feel that even the possibility of life, given its specified complexity, is infinitesimally small.  Statistics, Schmatistics!  Some of the theoreticians have postulated that nature may have “self-organizing” laws that enable life to begin anywhere given the right chemical antecedents.  Divide and conquer:

 

            Because of this fundamental disagreement, there’s not even a biased consensus on the

            chances of life springing up even on an ideally habitable planet.  One side seems to

            assume that any habitable planet will be inhabited.  For them, the fraction of habitable

            planets with life is close to one.  The other side is willing to tolerate a universe full of

            habitable planets, with few or only one actually inhabited.  For them, the fraction is close

            to 0.  The one thing both sides seem to agree on is that life shows no signs of purpose or

            design (p. 285). 

 

And here is the rub: incredible complexity and meticulous order are, on one side of the fence, to be explained by a mind-numbing brain-cramp otherwise known as a statistical anomaly.  They are, on the other side, to be explained by the special pleading of theoretical gerrymandering best referred to as the inevitable necessity of the formation of life.  Any way you lose, you lose. . . . 

 

Fourth (if there aren’t a hundred other equations we should need to insert here) and despite its relative absence here, some planet, somewhere, intelligent life must appear.  This is represented by the symbol fi, but should probably be modified by the notion that technological life is a subset of intelligent life.  Somehow, it has to get to the point where it can communicate and develop rather sophisticated communication equipment – capable of interstellar communication!  At this, as well as at every level, Darwinian presuppositions must prevail: “Darwin argued that random variation (chance) combined with natural selection (necessity or law) would mimic the activities of an intelligent designer and explain the appearance of design in biology” (p. 286).  But it cuts both ways: which is it, or which of the two elements should have priority?  On one side of the equation, intelligent life should appear inevitably and necessarily – but according to what laws?  On the other side, intelligent life is “a fluke – a one-off win at the cosmic slot machine” (p. 286). 

 

It may not be even as simple – or paradoxical! – as that.  Steven J Gould (Harvard Paleontologist) indicated that “life’s evolution, despite the connotation of the word, is not an ever-increasing, progressive rise in complexity but a meandering and directionless path marked by myriad “contingencies” and mishaps, such as mass extinctions” (p. 286).  If we rewound the tape of Earth’s history to the beginning and attempted to start over, “. . . life would take on completely different forms from those it took on during the first go-round.  Darwin’s central message, Gould contended, is not one of progress, in which we are the crowning achievement of either creation by divine fiat or a progressive evolutionary process, but purposelessness.  In short, according to Gould, the Darwinian revolution bears the same basic message as the Copernican Principle: ‘We’re not special’” (p. 286).  Sometimes I have to ask myself if Gould was that last honest voice from Harvard.  He passed away several months ago.  Contrast this with the Second Law of Thermodynamics violating Morris as summarized by G & R:

 

            . . . various laws and constraints dramatically narrow the role of chance events in

            evolution.  He points to the many examples of “convergent evolution,” such as placental

            and marsupial mammals, in which similar structural forms appear in creatures that are not

            closely related.  This suggests that some general strictures for life’s evolution have been

            built into nature, so that the chance of intelligent beings emerging is “probably very

            high,” even if it takes a variety of different pathways.  To Conway Morris, this suggests

            that, in a sense, life may have been built into the cosmos from the beginning, and the

            history of life may exhibit a larger purpose (pp. 286-7). 

 

First, with respect to his placental and marsupial mammals, I am reminded that Michael Denton has an entire chapter of his book dedicated to the notion that homology does neither equals nor proves evolution (Evolution: A Theory in Conflict, pp. 142-156).  Secondly, I am reminded that, without any Darwinian notions, Stephan Wolfram, generating data from computer simulated variations, indicates that diversity may be inherent within the life system itself (A New Kind of Science). 

 

Reacting to the last part of the quote, “the history of life may exhibit a larger purpose,” the authors say, “. . . teleological overtones are quite out of keeping with the Copernican Principle.  . . . because most believe that the existence of extraterrestrial life would confirm the Copernican Principle (p. 287).  However, the tendency is rather to go with law rather than randomness: “the benefits of the idea that life has been built into the cosmos lead most astrobiologists to prefer necessity to chance in the origin and evolution of life” (p. 287).  If we use the present sample, the only one we’ve got, us and now, we might deduce that life has been around for quite a bit; but, intelligent life – rare as it might be! – has only been around lately.  So, how does the Copernican Principle work?  Some would say that it doesn’t. 

 

            . . . many astronomers see the Copernican Principle as suggesting that life, including

            intelligent life, is common.  Many biologists, in contrast, see life, including intelligent

            life, as a fluke.  Yet they don’t believe that this contradicts the Copernican Principle but

            rather confirms it.  How can the Copernican Principle produce contrary predictions and

            still be scientifically useful? (p. 287)

 

It probably cannot and should be abandoned; however, science changes its mind about as often as it changes its socks . . . and for about the same reasons. . . . 

 

The final two variable of the Drake Equation are then examined.  You will recall that fcand fL are the fraction of developed intelligent life that garners some advanced radio communication technology and the life expectancy of such an advanced civilization respectively.  Of course, we can only speculate, based on the only sample we know about, us, as to the possible numbers to ascribe to these variables.  Most researchers feel that complex life will inevitably move toward communicative technology.  However, there are some other factors that figure into it: economic, cultural, philosophical and theological conditions must pertain; but there should also be a long-lasting stable, warm climate – or some way to recreate it technologically.  Because all the conditions for advanced communicative technology have only been recently made available together, we might guess that the numbers would be rather low.  What the authors call “The Doomsday Argument” (p. 288) might also explain a few things.  Because advanced civilizations cannot be expected to last very long, only a few hundred years [?], it seems that windows for overlap – that is when two societies from different places in the galaxy might have the same abilities – and can communicate might be rather short and rare.  Again, this is theory turned in on itself.  Another problem?  When we look away, we are tempted to think of it as now out there.  Light takes time to get here as do radio waves.  Extinctions of societies would have to coincide in such a way that and extinct society’s beacon reaches a society that still exists – before it ceased to exist.  It is the same problem with the narrowness window; it just adds a bit of drama to the problem.  When we get their signal – or they ours! – because of the pessimistic assumptions of the Doomsday Argument, likely they would have already slipped into that long black night. 

 

The authors then employ their razor, habitability and measurability, to demonstrate the limitations on where such advanced technology and duration of civilization might occur.  As far as we can ascertain, it could only happen in a place that can explore its own world and look away at other worlds.  It can only happen in a world that is relatively transparent to view and thus inspire curiosity to go further.  Because they would be in smooth sailing in the Galactic Habitable Zone, they could even be relatively close to us, if they existed; but then that gets back to Fermi’s question, if so, “where are they?” 

 

Well, it wouldn’t appear that there is much hope of finding ETIs in the neighborhood due to the timing and environment.  So, we should probably go out into land of gamma-ray bursts and muck about in the neighboring galaxies.  Because there are so many galaxies, over the space of a dozen billion light years, some, like probability theorist Aczel, ‘. . . argue that no matter how small the chances, we can be certain that, somewhere else in the universe, there must be intelligent life” (p. 289).  This certainly ups the ante for those who would deny the existence of life out there somewhere, because there is a whole lot more “out there” to look at.  Again, falsifiablity being the problem, we would have to turn over every rock in the universe to prove anywhere near conclusively that there are no civilizations out there and never have been. 

 

Of course, Aczel makes the same mistakes that SETI folks do with the local rabble: he assumes that one galaxy is as good as another.  He doesn’t take into consideration the other things that we have looked at in previous articles: “. . . [s]ize, age, type and metallicity all conspire to drastically reduce the number of galaxies capable of harboring not only life but even terrestrial planets (p. 289).  Up to this point, our own galaxy is in the top two percent for luminosity – which converts to being metal-rich, a factor necessary for our kind of complex life.  Again, the authors bring up the problem that I mentioned with the local lot: we are seeing things as they were, according to the paradigm, billions of years ago; how are they now?  We see them as metal poor and we cannot speculate that they would develop further. 

 

            The truth is, at the moment we just don’t know.  But regardless of whether we are

            literally unique on a cosmic scale, it should begin to dawn on us that, at least in our

            neighborhood, we might be exceedingly rare.  Too much discussion of this issue,

            however, could distract us from a more fundamental point.  For, whether or not it

            succeeds, SETI, for many, is about something more basic than finding alien races (p.

            290, emphasis mine). 

 

Actually, the problem is in the form of a surrogate religion:

 

            Complicated and often contradictory, SETI is hard to analyze.  It’s difficult to miss the

            semi-religious overtones of its search for higher, albeit natural, intelligence in the

            heavens, and its desire for a transforming, revelatory message.  The fascinating 1997

            movie Contact, based on Carl Sagan’s fictional novel about SETI, typifies this spirit.  In

            the movie’s climax, the protagonist and SETI researcher, Ellie Arroway . . . is transported

            to a distant galaxy to communicate directly with an alien representative.  She asks him

            about the purpose of such an interplanetary community, into which humanity has just

            been inducted.  He tells her: “In all our searching, the only thing that makes the

            emptiness bearable is each other” (p. 290). 

 

Well at least we’ve finally cut to the chase.  I have long said that there was something religious about the tenacity with which science clings to her faulty presuppositions and arguments.  I have called them the clerics of scientism in my more tart moments.  The religiosity of the guild is hardly unnoticed by others as well. . . .  Be all that as it may, because we are empty inside we must go looking for other intelligent beings out there.  That seems to be avoiding the issue to a cosmic degree.  It seems that there are easier and less tax-dollar consuming ways in which to fill the void.  However, what would I know?  I’ve not had that void for over 4 decades now. . . .  Meanwhile, back at the movies:

 

            Later, after this lone encounter, a congressional panel grills Arroway about her

            experience.  Exasperated by their skepticism, she finally describes her discovery as “a

            vision that tells us how tiny and insignificant and rare and precious we are.”  In one

            breath, she sums up the paradoxical charm of SETI.  On the one hand, its advocates are

            following the implications of the Copernican Principle to its bitter end.  On the other,

            they are embarked upon a quasi-religious quest for those who have lost faith in the

            traditional object of religious belief (p. 291). 

 

In my case, it is pretty difficult not to side with the skeptics.  The lead character’s exasperation is from a patronizing spirit: If we cannot persuade people with our experiences then we patronize them with the superiority of our idealism.  If we followed the Principle to its extremes, we might deduce that we are tiny and insignificant.  We would be wrong; but we might arrive at such a conclusion.  However, whence comes the pseudo-religious “rare and precious”?  The authors should have the knockout punch:

 

            She gets them, perhaps, from the god-like and highly advanced alien being who takes the

            form of her late, loving father.  One need not be hyperimaginative here to see this father-

            like alien as a proxy for a deceased divine father as well, the Father declared dead by

            nineteenth-century science and philosophy.  Every civilization in human history has

            demanded its god or gods.  The SETI enthusiasts apparently are little different (p. 291). 

 

Well, it might have gone the other way: in John Carpenter’s Star Man, the superior alien being assumes the shape of the woman’s deceased husband.  In either case, it was someone that had filled a vacuum in her life and someone she loved and respected.  Be that as it may, many SETI people have a markedly anti-religious bent – in fact, they are so passionate about being anti-religious that any evenhanded person would say that they are devoutly religious about their irreligiosity.  We are told of everyone from Lucretius to Soviet researchers that use their religious quest for ETIs to hold out the hope that there is no God.  If they find ET, so the reasoning goes, they will prove our insignificance and hence prove that God either doesn’t exist or is irrelevant to any meaningful discussion.  History has proven that to be something of a reach:

 

            Our insignificance no more follows from a universe abundant with life than our

            individual significance hinges on a scarcely populated planet.  The same is true if

            intelligent life is extremely rare.  A universe teeming with life could just as well be

            purposefully designed and individually valued, as could a universe in which life is rare

            (p. 291). 

 

It is at this point, the authors note the quote that I offered in a previous article from C. S. Lewis. 

 

            If we discover other bodies, they must be habitable or uninhabitable: and the odd thing is

            that both these hypotheses are used as grounds for rejecting Christianity.  If the universe

            is teeming with life, this, we are told, reduces to absurdity the Christian claim – or what is

            thought to be the Christian claim – that man is unique, and the Christian doctrine that to

            this one planet God came down and was incarnate for us men and our salvation.  If, on

            the other hand, the earth is really unique, then that proves that life is only an accidental

            by-product in the universe, and so again disproves our religion.  Really, we are hard to

            please.  (C. S. Lewis, “Dogma and the Universe.” in The Grand Miracle and Other

            Essays             on Theology and Ethics from ‘God in the Dock,’ W. Hooper, ed. [New York:

            Ballantine Books, 1990], 14; quoted by G & R p. 412, n. 47.)

 

It can be said that the search for ETI is an interesting pursuit; however, I do not think that it should be approached with its existing, conflicting presuppositions.  Neither do I think that it should be pursued with such religious fervor.  It just makes a mockery of the whole discipline that will one day come back to haunt it.  The authors are right, the only thing that SETI people agree on is that “this false dilemma simply presupposes that nature has no design or purpose” (p. 291). 

 

The authors conclude this chapter with a discussion of contingency and necessity.  It may be summed up this way:

 

            Most scientists see an event as “necessary” if it is determined by the laws of physics.  In

            either the philosophical or the scientific setting, an event can be contingent because it is

            the result of chance or because it is the result of a free choice.  Contingency is the arena

            of both freedom and accident (p. 292). 

 

We are told that it is customary for the naturalist to collapse all contingencies into the category of chance.  But to do that is to purposefully neglect other possibilities.  In doing this, the Copernican Principle may be simplified, wrongly so, but simplified to the restriction of our assessments to “a material universe that, by definition, was not designed” (p. 292).  But to do so, is to purposefully and intentionally deny the admission of a whole body of evidence to the contrary.  There are, in fact, three arenas of discussion: chance, design and necessity.  The authors demonstrate that they know what questions to direct at their purpose and design denying opponents:

 

            But what if the cosmos has been designed?  What if our place in it and its suitability for

            us as sophisticated observers suggest a purpose?  If science involves thinking hard and

            open-mindedly about the empirical evidence before us, is it really scientific to ignore this

            evidence because it doesn’t fit into some philosophical box?  And if we choose not to

            ignore the evidence, then how do we consider it?  To put it differently, if the universe did

            exist for a purpose, how could we tell? (p. 292) 

 

To answer some of these questions, the next chapter (15) is dedicated: “A Universe Designed for Discovery.”  The first heading launches the ship: “Discerning Design” (p. 293). 

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