I have always considered The Selfish Gene and The Extended Phenotype as belonging together (both by Richard Dawkins). If you have read the former, which takes some resolve, then reading the latter will bring your efforts into full fruition.
The Selfish Gene puts forth the gene’s-eye view of evolution: What happens when we focus primarily on genotypes, giving phenotypes (bodies) a secondary role? It is not that this treatment is to the exclusion of others, but only an adjustment of our usual outlook. (For an example of why this is illuminating, turn to the splurge-weed thought experiment on page 258 in the paperback which begins with the question, “Why did cells gang together; why the lumbering robots?”)
The next stage is to consider the environment as a kind of phenotype, and this what The Extended Phenotype covers. After all, drawing the boundary at an organism’s skin seems rather arbitrary, doesn’t it? Whenever a beaver builds a dam, it is also true that the genes of the beaver are building the dam. Because the dam has flooded the local area with water, the beaver’s genes have caused extended phenotypic effects upon the environment and other organisms, and ultimately upon the genes of other organisms. Isn’t that an interesting thought!
Again, this view is not being advocated to the exclusion of others, but rather as the flip side of the coin. Dawkins compares it to a Necker Cube, in which our perception alternates between either seeing it from above or seeing it from below:
From The Extended Phenotype,
To return to the analogy of the Necker Cube, the mental flip that I want to encourage can be characterized as follows. We look at life and begin by seeing a collection of interacting individual organisms. We know that they contain smaller units, and we know that they are, in turn, parts of larger composite units, but we fix our gaze on the whole organisms. Then suddenly the image flips. The individual bodies are still there; they have not moved, but they seem to have gone transparent. We see through them to the replicating fragments of DNA within, and we see the wider world as an arena in which these genetic fragments play out their tournaments of manipulative skill. Genes manipulate the world and shape it to assist their replication. It happens that they have ‘chosen’ to do so largely by moulding matter into large multicellular chunks which we call organisms, but this might not have been so. Fundamentally, what is going on is that replicating molecules ensure their survival by means of phenotypic effects on the world. It is only incidentally true that those phenotypic effects happen to be packaged up into units called individual organisms.
The above serves as my response to Karen Armstrong’s recent article, in which she re-articulates the tried-and-true misunderstanding behind the term selfish gene, showing a lack of comprehension or interest in what she imagines to be arguing against. The term selfish gene refers to the metaphor of genes acting as if they were selfish, not the human characteristic of selfishness. (See Butterflies and Wheels for more.)
At the heart of Karen Armstrong’s perspective lies the implicit assumption that a scientific worldview is one of dull mechanism, that without religion the universe is somehow dreary in itself, that we should not be resigned to this mere reality before us. But the world presented in The Selfish Gene and The Extended Phenotype, briefly sketched above, is endlessly fascinating; it is enrapturing; it is beautiful. She writes,
In the past, the voices that say “there is something more” have always been right.
Yes, there is something more, and you’ve missed it, Karen Armstrong.
Just about everything Karen Armstrong has ever written is wrong and much of it is completely, totally wrong. It is best to start by taking any opposite view to one she holds. Small minds think small.
I used to have a soft spot for Karen Armstrong, after being moved by one of her autobiographical books. But now I find myself increasingly irritated by her mystical mumbo jumbo.
What’s so annoying about writers of her ilk is that they make a pretence of being involved in rational criticism at the same time as showing obvious disdain for rational enquiry itself. Rational thinking? That’s so jejune.
It the conflation of epistemology and aesthetics. Somehow if someone insists on epistemology to make truth-claims one apparently completely loses aesthetics.
Yes, that’s a good way to put it. It’s the old, “Oh, you are the science-y type; well I prefer…” Lacking a scientific understanding, they posit that—by virtue of their lack!—they therefore have some higher or more spiritual understanding of things. In many cases it appears to be a form of compensation.
It always reminds me of the people who are totally and irredeemably irresponsible, selfish, and ultimately self-destructive, yet claim that it’s all okay because they’re “artistic” — and how many otherwise well-meaning people allow them to perpetuate that excuse. The sheer number of non-self-destructive artists should attest to the fact that there’s no “artistic-self-destructo” gene.
“I write this not to defend the latter claim, but to defend the worthiness of non-scientific enterprises. I like novels. I like TV. I like art. I like baseball. I think there is truth to be found in such endeavors, and I think any brush that sweeps away the enterprise of religion as a “way of knowing” must also sweep away art and a host of other human activities. I’ve tossed out the comparison before, and have yet to get any useful reply to it.”
– Josh Rosenau, 2009.
Yeah… Conflation of epistemics and aesthetics seems to be a root fallacy in many of these cases.
Apples and oranges? Apples and ferret legging, more like.
Zach, I happen to agree with that quote in a narrow sense, and even with Karen Armstrong’s article in a narrow sense.
I do find it somewhat unfortunate that “the contemplative side of faith,” as Armstrong puts it, is overlooked. There is a therapeutic effect of contemplation, though it can be wholly divorced from mystical or metaphysical notions. It’s like an old-fashioned psychology before psychology was invented.
Thus contemplation is not ultimately about “other ways of knowing” but about, say, optimizing a neural network. It may even be that all neural networks which include a self-symbol run into double-binds and other problems. If one day we build a machine which is conscious (for some definition of the term), it may prove useful to teach it a little Zen Buddhism.
Right, but this quote was in the context of treating or crediting religion the status of epistemic methodology, particularly concerning faith claims about factual, worldly events.
Of course there is value in contemplation and all of the beautiful things, and these are worthwhile pursuits. Yes, many aspects are therapeutic, and I think that we should steal that trick, as Harris says of transformative experiences.
Have you read Sense and Goodness? Carrier’s background is Zen.
This is one of the big points of confusion. That is, Rosenau taking New Atheist critiques of the epistemic merit of religion as implying denial of all pursuits taken independently of evidential concerns, but the point is that is not what is being proposed.
At least that’s my understanding.
Of course it’s possible to learn things in the course of practising religion, reading literature, etc. But Rosenau muddies the water by talking about “religious truth” and “literary truth”, as if those are different types of truth which are not accessible to science. These are just vague platitudes which use the word “truth” in an ill-defined and misleading way. What does “truth” mean apart from “true facts”? In my experience Rosenau never explains.
I see no reason to accept that there are facts about the world that can be discovered by religion or literature but are in principle out of the reach of science. And if Rosenau could be made to speak clearly I suspect he would agree with me on that. But he and Armstrong prefer airy-fairy handwaving to clear speaking.
A great example of the merger of rationality and aesthetics is Douglas Hofstadter. I’m not quite finished with I am a Strange Loop because I don’t want it to end. It is a tour de force of analytical and emotional intelligence.
(Though the first half is mostly the “lite” version of Godel, Escher, Bach; hopefully nobody will think they are excused from reading GEB.)