On the problem of the problem of evil and Darwin


In yet another essay reprising his argument that theists can be good Darwinians (a position I concur with, incidentally), Michael Ruse makes the following comment, based on a book by Karl Giberson and Francis Collins, The Language of Science and Faith: Straight Answers to Genuine Questions:

Where I do want to defend Giberson and Collins is over the problem of evil. Let me say that I am not sure that the problem of evil — how could a loving, all powerful God allow evil — can be solved. I am with the chap in the Brothers Karamazov who said that even if everything is good in the end, the cost is not worth it. My salvation, Mother Teresa’s salvation, is not worth the agony of Anne Frank and her sister in Bergen-Belsen. It just isn’t. But I am not sure that biology, Darwinian evolutionary biology, exacerbates it.

Nor am I, but for more general reasons than Ruse gives. The Problem of Evil, as it is usually referred to, is very widely debated and has been since Epicurus (see this excellent article at the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy by Michael Tooley). There are all kinds of positions taken, from incompatibilist arguments against the existence of God, through to arguments that this state of affairs is a tradeoff for a greater good that is the best possible outcome. How theists resolve this is to me beside the point; that they must is not. Evil exists, so if you believe in a “tri-omni” deity (omniscient, omnipotent, omnibenevolent), you had better find a reconciliation. I happen to think, as a matter of logic, there is none.

But now consider whether or not Darwinian evolution is incompatible with that kind of theism (there are many others that are not vulnerable to the PoE, in which gods are not one of the tri-omni kind), any more than anything else. For example, if we accept that the universe is not deterministic, and has some irreducible randomness in it, as modern physics appears to claim, then why is Darwinian evolution any more problematic than physics? If we accept the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, is God any more able to know the world than we are? And so forth. All of modern science presents a challenge to tri-omni deities. Hence, weather, subatomic physics, and even logic itself present limitations upon the tri-omni deity. Darwin is at best a local sideshow exemplifying this on the crust of one planet of the universe – essentially Darwinian evolution is almost none of the problem for theism, as it applies to a domain less than 1 part in 1.3 to the power of 41 of the universe, by my calculations.

Moreover, consider this: when you are dealing with exclusive infinities, a single counterinstance is sufficient to make the claim false. If God is all-something and therefore the existence of a single thing is contrary to God’s being that property, then that is enough to show God is not like that. The suffering of one single organism with a neural system gives you the problem. “Nature red in tooth and claw” is just banging on the point. Even if the biosphere were largely harmonious as the older natural theologies insisted, it would not matter. God is not Good if a single worm is in pain, no matter how good the tradeoff. It doesn’t matter if mutations are random when the appearance of quantum foam and the decay of radioactive isotopes is. Complain to Bohr and Rutherford, not Darwin.

So, you theists, stop worrying about Darwin and start worrying about physics, ecology and physiology. Darwin is just piling on. You have bigger fish to fry.

Pattern cladism and the myth of theory dependence of observation


A new paper has been published in the History and Philosophy of the Life Sciences, entitled “Pattern Cladism, Homology, and Theory-Neutrality” by Christopher Pearson. Either the journal has done something horrible to the text, or the author doesn’t know the difference between Willi Hennig and William Hennig, or between Gareth Nelson and Garrett Nelson.

But this is not the worst aspect of the paper. It states “save for a few notable exceptions in John Beatty (1982), David Hull (1988), and N.R. Scott-Ram (1990), pattern cladism has avoided philosophical scrutiny”. This leaves me aghast. Apart from anything else (the extensive debates of a philosophical nature during the 80s and 90s in journals like Cladistics and Systematic Biology and its predecessors), there is the work of the late lamented Ron Brady, who debated pattern cladism as a philosopher (1979, 1982, 1985). Pearson mentions Brady later in the paper, but not his defence of pattern cladism in general.

The three philosophers (well, two philosophers and one philosophically minded systematist) who Pearson mentions all opposed pattern cladism (PattC), which is the point I wish to draw out here. There has been a strong mythologising of the “debate” over pattern cladism over the years, begun by its opponents (especially Steve Farris, and Mark Ridley), accusing it of being “anti-evolutionary” or “anti-Darwinian” or even “creationist”. At some point in the late 80s, editors got sick of the topic, and it no longer was discussed. Now, if you submit a paper on the matter (and I have been part of a collective that has tried), you are told either that the issue was resolved in the 80s, or that it represents an outmoded metaphysics. But debates, especially philosophical debates, are not resolved because editors tire of them, nor are the issues any less (or for that matter, more) important because nobody talks about it any more. Perhaps Brady is no longer cited because he was pro-PattC.

Pearson has actually focused on an interesting issue: theory-neutrality. I’ll get back to that in a minute. First, let me make a few points. Pattern cladism is, in the mythology that Ridley others set in play, essentialistic and antievolutionary. This is rather odd, given that one of the leading lights of the movement, Colin Patterson, wrote a book on evolution which is (in its second edition) still one of the best introductions to the topic I know. But the mythology is strong, and few scientists think much past that propaganda. What pattern cladism actually was, although like any movement of ideas the originators are sometimes less than clear on the matter, was the claim that before one can work through the history of taxa, one first has to make a relationship scheme that can test that history. In short, classification and historical reconstruction are distinct activities.

The alternative form of phylogenetic systematics (the correct term for “cladistics”) in effect conceded this point by denying that we did classification at all. Phylogenetics was only, and always, historical reconstruction, a view espoused to philosophers by Elliot Sober’s Reconstructing the Past. I call this process cladism, a term also used by Marc Ereshefsky. I won’t argue this here as I have often done so before. Before I proceed, I should note that I am neither pro-PattC nor anti-PattC. However, I do think that PattC arguments have a philosophical bite that has never been successfully dealt with either by the process cladists nor by philosophers; that is, the indefinitely large number of reasonable histories that a single cladogram supports. If reconstructing history is based on our cladograms, then the one to very many mapping of cladograms to histories means that at best any history is only something that is likely on the basis of prior assumptions and models. Of course, that is fine, so long as that is what we understand that we are doing here. It rarely is.

But let’s examine the question of theory-neutrality. This is an interesting problem. Clearly Hennig thought that some theory was essential to systematics. And those who in systematics played the theory-free or objectivity card most often were the numerical taxonomists (NumTax), the so-called pheneticists. So pattern cladism, which seeks to be both phylogenetic in some sense, and theory-free, appears to be in conflict with both styles of systematics; but this is only the case if you question-beggingly define phylogenetic systematics as process cladism, and theory-free classification as phenetics.

So, can systematics be theory-free? Another way to ask that question is to ask if systematics can be objective. Most now agree that the older style of systematics, as practised under the rubric of “Linnean systematics”, was often arbitrary and subjective, leading to splitting and lumping based on the predilections of the systematist. But that isn’t really the issue now. Instead, it has to do with arcane issues in the philosophy of science itself.

Pearson recounts the usual story against essentialism, in the “species-as-individuals” account that is now the consensus in philosophy of biology (almost). He notes that this is not a necessary conclusion, however. Still, the argument here is that if one is a pattern cladist, one is essentialist, and if evolution mandates the view that taxa are individuals, then pattern cladism is false.

Pearson says “Patterns in nature will be recognized as patterns only if the observer is armed with the relevant theory to recognize them as patterns.” This claim, which is crucial to the theory-ladenness hypothesis (I can’t call it a truism, nor can I think of it as a theory in its own right) is faintly absurd, ranging through to completely overblown. Did nobody observe before we had theories? Or do we all have theories, in which case why does theory-ladenness have any special purchase in science (it’s like saying that when we throw an object we calculate the differential equations needed to find the optimal trajectory)?

Theory-ladenness only means anything when the very act of observing is itself theoretically charged, such as identifying the meaning of particle tracks in cloud chambers (the classical example). However, if there is any act of observation we are able to make in the absence of any theory (apart from the adaptiveness of our evolved sensory capacities), it is in the observation of most macro-organisms. There are theories that explain how we do that, yes. They were worked out as we developed physiological and psychological accounts of the mechanisms of our senses. But before we learned or developed those theories, we did not need theory to observe. There is a logical or category error here akin to the use-mention distinction in philosophy of language: a “use-account” distinction. That there is a theory of how telescopes work (the theory of optics) does not mean that I need to know that theory to use the telescope. Indeed, as Hacking argued, I can iteratively refine my confidence in the fact that telescopes work by testing it initially with things I can inspect with the naked eye, so that I am sure of what it does even if I do not know why. Presumably there is an account of how it is that we identify taxa through observation (in the normal conditions that we evolved to do so). But until that account is formulated and tested, nobody knew it, and did not depend upon it to be able to identify taxa.

[Parenthetically: in my opinion, that account is a complex of the properties of neural nets as classifier systems, along with cultural and economic interests in getting the classifications right. Basically, if you are an animal and you hunt for food and evade predators and dangers, then you will tend to evolve sensory systems that correctly classify. Some call this evolvedness “theory”; I think that it beggars the meaning of the term “theory” to call biological adaptedness theoretical.]

Why did the PattC proponents and the numerical taxonomists think that we needed to be theory-free in order to classify objectively? This has a history that relates to the course of positivistic thinking in the first half of the twentieth century. Basically, when in the philosophy of science the post-positivists asserted the primacy of theory in science to the exclusion of observation sentences and sensory data “clips”, they insisted that to observe relied upon prior theory. PattC and NumTax arose at a time when this was the brave new idea in philosophy.

Now there was an ambiguity in that claim. It is one thing to assert that logically, if one is to justify an act of observation, one must have an account of observing because the act of observing is constituted by some prior capacities that need explaining. Nobody, I think, objects to this. Animal A observes its world, and we need to explain why; that account relies upon a theory T. But does the animal employ T in observing? Almost all animals do not, and yet they manage quite satisfactorily to evade predators, find food, and in some cases, learn quite sophisticated facts about their world.

Scientists are theoretical animals par excellence, but one may reasonably doubt that they employ theory in every act they make as a scientist. But for the theory-dependence claim to work, this is exactly what must be true. Not just that there is a theory of how observation is being done, but that the scientist must necessarily employ a theory (whether or not it is the right one) in observing. Taxonomy, more than most disciplines, rests on the observation of traits of things, but seeing a spider’s pedipalp (the mobile sensory appendages on its head) is untheoretical, even if identifying these appendages as pedipalps, or at least naming them thus, is not. Pearson uses a similar point: the abdominal spinneret on spiders, which David Hull famously (among systematists) used as a reductio of theory-free observation in the context of PattC. But there is a theory-free way to identify a spinneret: look to where the silk comes out on the lower abdomen. A five year old could do it, unless you think identifying an abdomen or silk needs prior theory.


Pedipalps in a Striped lynx spider, from Wikipedia. Do you really need a theory to see them? Could you identify these in another spider without theory?

Returning to Pearson’s argument, let us ask why systematists insisted upon theory-free observation; it is the solution to a long standing goal in systematics: to have a natural classification that is logically prior to theory, and which is also not subjective. For a long time, systematics was driven not so much by theory as by authority. My colleague Malte Ebach and I call this, somewhat unfairly to German-speaking science, the German Authority Syndrome. Sociologically, for a long time it was the case that if an Authority had worked on a group, nobody else could work on that group while the Authority was alive. This was especially true in German traditions, where authority is widely respected, but it exists even now in most systematics across cultures. This meant that the personal preferences of individuals who held senior positions could become established for wildly contingent reasons, such as the psychological dispositions or the individual to lump or split, or because of professional exigencies like unifying or splitting departments or funding.

Everybody thought this was a mistake, but nobody knew how to avoid it. As theory took hold as the arbiter of cognition in mid-twentieth century philosophy of science (particularly Kuhn’s view of paradigms constraining normal science), it became fashionable among philosophically inclined scientists to assert that theory drove observation, and this was therefore a way to avoid German Authority Syndrome. And the obvious theory that could unify all observation and determine what was and what wasn’t good taxonomy in biology was obviously evolution, and particularly theories of phylogeny (biological diversity and its development over time).

Pattern cladism objected to this. Again it depends on ambiguities in terms. By “the theory of evolution” do we mean the theory that all things have evolved by branching descent, or instead the hypothesis of the evolution of this group of organisms? This was not always kept clear and distinct in the debates of the 70s and 80s. PattCists held that we cannot, logically, presume a given mode of evolution or a given history in order to classify if we then expect that we can use phylogenetic classifications to test our hypotheses of relatedness. So, they asserted that some theory-free observation, particularly of homologs, was possible, to kick-start the process. Have observation sentences from the positivists been revived?

I suspect they never died, really, but the reality is much more complex than simple nomological deductive accounts of explanation and inference in science indicate. There is what I call a domain-relativity in play. That is, sure, theory is sometimes used in observation, but in a classificatory activity like systematics, the theory you use had better not be question-beggingly the theory you are trying to test or support with your classification. That is, you can use theories from outside the domain under investigation. If you were a Bayesian, this would set up some of the priors you use in testing the present hypothesis. An example might be using the ways a subgroup of spiders spin webs to set up their relations, in the context of wider views about how spiders in general spin webs. You do not come to the issue or domain ignorant of spiders, or, if you do, you might not be doing systematics. Nobody addresses any issue knowing nothing to begin with. But a lot of our knowledge is not theory-driven in any reasonable sense. I do not avoid large rapidly moving objects because I have a theory of cars, for example. I don’t even have a theory of large moving objects. I have learned that large moving things hurt me when they hit me, from experience (one broken leg and a crushed foot later…).

Observations can be theory-free for the domain investigated, even if they are theory-driven (that is, the theory is employed by the observer) by extra-domain theories. Moreover, the domain and its theory are in temporal relations. What one knows at one time tests what one previously knew, and what one knows now will test theories in that domain in the future that may, if successful, end up revising observations (“you were mistaken to think this was a spinneret; we know now it is a different structure not homologous to spinnerets”). Science is an iterative refining of observations and inference. Hennig, borrowing a term from stemmatics (the science of manuscripts) called “reciprocal illumination”, made the same point.

I have used Pearson’s paper as a jumping off point, and not given it the treatment it deserves, but I wish to end this post on a comment he makes almost en passant. He writes:

Indeed, as Scott-Ram (1990) argues at length, the very idea of a natural hierarchy by which pattern cladists seek to categorize the living world is problematic in the absence of evolutionary theory. For Scott-Ram, either the pattern cladists must recognize the role of evolutionary theory for a cladistic taxonomy or accept a Platonic view of the natural world. A Platonic view is, of course, unsupportable for the biologist, thus evolutionary theory should be recognized.

We need to challenge this major premise, that a natural hierarchy is inexplicable in non-evolutionary terms. Historically, nothing could be further from the truth. The natural hierarchy preceded evolutionary theory, and was, indeed, the main motivation for Darwin to develop it. If history has any weight in this, then a natural hierarchy is exactly as the pattern cladists think: it is prior to, and tests hypotheses of, common descent. I do not know what a “Platonic view of the world” might be – many claims have been made that evaporate on closer inspection – but when people have been scientific Platonists they tend to think things that have little to do with the progress over time of physical objects, rather than trying to make an account of the physical world in terms of ideas or forms. It is a phantasm rarely encountered. And to assert that pattern cladism is this mythological chimera is poisoning the well in a major way.

I think that systematists should be local pattern cladists, even when they are global evolutionary theorists. Just like Patterson was.

Darwin Day: Enough already


I love studying about Darwin and his life and times. I have read enormous amounts, and taught Darwinian history. I’m teaching it again this semester. But enough already. Can we talk about modern biology now?

I get a strong impression ( and that’s all this is, as I can’t find empirical studies that support me, or that count against me here) that talking about Darwin reaches a plateau of interest fairly early on for the average sod, and that continuing to talk about him leads people to, possibly correctly, think that this is a cult of personality rather than something about the history and nature of science.

Compare this with the incredibly effective work of David Attenborough, who drops Darwin in where Darwin is needed to make sense of the material, but for whom the material – the living things he is fascinated by and imparts fascination of – is always paramount. We’ve had over fifty years of this apotheosising of Darwin, since the centenary. It has become tiresome.

At the time Darwin did his work we had the development of geography, ecology, systematics, comparative anatomy, early biochemistry, germ theory, epidemiology, modern medicine, physiology, pathology, cytology, geology and paleontology. All this happened more or less without reference to Darwin, and when he was employed in these fields later, often enough he was not all that useful. Now, I do not wish to imply that evolution is not a core concept in biology, as it clearly is, but it isn’t all that matters in biology, and if we wish to have an engaged and informed populace, it might be time to start talking about someone else.

Why Darwin is important is precisely not because he is a litmus test of rationality or modernity. It is because of the research program that he began. Note: not that he finished, but began. And he is wrong or incomplete about a great many things (I am not referring to heredity or genetics, either). We want folk to know modern science and act on it, not to stand on the Side of the Reasonable where that is defined as accepting Darwin as your epistemic saviour. We want informed decision making. But when scientists and pro-science promoters make it all about one guy and his ideas, however important, we have lost the plot a bit.

There. That should upset a few people.

Later: Richard Carter has more to add.

Arseholes! Systematics, phylogenetics and HPS


There’s been some developments this day.

First of all a defunct blog on history and philosophy of science has revived with a new skin and as a group blog: AmericanScience: A Team Blog. I keep wanting to say “F&*k yeah!” It used to be the Forum for the History of Science in America. Some nice pieces there already (but horrible horrible font choices: I say this as a quandam graphic artist and compositor, okay?)

Second we have, courtesy of Softpedia (which turns out to be a useful science news feed) some developments in systematics and phylogeny. Or perhaps I should say, some phylogeny FAIL.

The first one is that – as the headline screams – ‘Mosaic of Life’ May Replace ‘Tree of Life’ – why? because it turns out genes cross taxonomic boundaries. Which we knew already. Gene trees are not species trees, and it is a category error to think that they should be the same. In fact, in order to identify lateral transfer of genes, we already need to have a species tree, or (to be consistent with my prior arguments) a relationship statement of taxa, which turn out to be something you can represent as a tree. This is on a par with the awful New Scientist article from a while back.

The second one is that a cricket Species Found Unchanged After 100 Million Years – except that the species are not the same, only the whole group, which is only the same if you ignore changes at the species level. The genus has remained the “same” for values of the “same” that include species evolution. And “genus” is an artificial construct at any rate, defined largely by traits that do not change much. Hence, the title of the press release should have read: “Things which do not change much by definition haven’t changed much, if you squint”.

Finally Bjørn Østman at Pleiotropy points out problems with a recent reassignment of Acoels (arsehole lackers) from a basal node on the evolutionary tree to a within-deuterosome node. The problem? Deuterosomes have arseholes, so this guy, which everybody wanted to be a kind of surrogate for the common ancestor of all bilaterans, is in fact a vastly reduced version of us. But…

They used microRNAs as their character set. They ignored, in other words, morphology and development, the traditional criteria for inferring relationships, in favour of a single test criterion. And this is because RNA is a “magic molecule”.

But there’s even a problem with Bjørn’s objection: why should we think that the morphology and development of these guys should be placed at the base anyway? The answer is simple: it makes evolutionary sense. No-arseholes come before arseholes, right? Well now this is an interesting question. How do we know that? Are we using hypotheses as evidence here? Why can’t a group be greatly reduced, evolutionarily? Even Darwin noted this among his barnacles. The presumption of what Hennig called transformation series is not supported by direct evidence, and so wanting these guys to fall anywhere in an evolutionary tree is fraught, although not, I think, beyond overcoming. It’s just that we had better be testing things as closely to the evidence as we can, and not rely on “what everybody knows”, or as J. B. S. Haldane called it, Aunt Jobisca’s Theorem.

<end of rant>

What is systematics and what is taxonomy?


Over the past few years there have been increasing numbers of calls for governments to properly fund systematics and taxonomy (and a number of largely molecular-focused biologists insisting they can do the requisite tasks with magic molecule detectors, so don’t fund old-school, fund new-fangled-tech). But I think that there is considerable confusion about what systematics and taxonomy are.

Now the usual way a philosopher resolves such questions, apart from interrogating their intuitions relying upon what they learned in grade school, is to go find a textbook or some other authoritative source and quote that. If it is someone they already know, all the better, like Mayr or Dawkins. This is problematic, so I thought I’d do a slightly better job at reviewing what people think. And then I will of course give my own view.

Continue reading What is systematics and what is taxonomy?

Modus Darwin and the *real* modus darvinii


Elliot Sober has published a claim (Sober 1999, Sober 2008: §4.1, 265ff) that Darwin used, and we should too, a particular syllogism: similarity, ergo common ancestry.

This cannot be right, for several reasons: logical, historical and inferential. First the logical, as this is rather vapid, and can be guarded against (although Sober does not so guard) relatively simply: it cannot be that similarity in itself is evidence of common ancestry, or every dice would have a common ancestor, and every rock that resembles Abraham Lincoln’s profile would too. Now the way to guard this might be to assert that yes, they do have common ancestors, in the general sense they have common etiologies. All dice resemble each other because there is a chain of cultural descent that links back to some “dice taxon” in the past somewhere in Asia. The rocks have a shared etiology in the physiognomy of Abraham Lincoln. But that is not quite the claim Sober is proposing. For this would involve the cognitive and cultural dispositions of ourselves as classifiers, and common ancestry in no way relies upon us, although our recognition of it of course does. Can we infer from similarity that the two objects that are similar (to us) have a shared causal history? The Lincoln case suggests not. One rock might be formed by a lava flow, while another might be half a world away and formed from the erosion of sandstone. Without limitations on the kind of similarity, it implies nothing at all about the objects (and perhaps quite a lot about the observers engaging in pareidola).

The historical objection is that Sober, and most other modern commentators, read Darwin wrongly. Darwin used not similarity, but affinity, as evidence for common ancestry, and technically, he inferred common ancestry from “group subordinate to group” taxonomy; that is to say, he explained this taxonomic arrangement with common ancestry, rather than defended the claim of common ancestry that way. Had he wanted to use similarity, there was a perfectly good term, before Owen’s invention of the notion of homology: analogy, as can be found in the discussions in the Quinarian literature. Darwin wrote, in chapter XIII of the first edition of the Origin:

… all organic beings are found to resemble each other in descending degrees, so that they can be classed in groups under groups. This classification is evidently not arbitrary like the grouping of the stars in constellations. [411]

Thus, the grand fact in natural history of the subordination of group under group, which, from its familiarity, does not always sufficiently strike us, is in my judgment fully explained. [413]

And he goes on to note

Naturalists try to arrange the species, genera, and families in each class, on what is called the Natural System. But what is meant by this system? Some authors look at it merely as a scheme for arranging together those living objects which are most alike, and for separating those which are most unlike; or as an artificial means for enunciating, as briefly as possible, general propositions,—that is, by one sentence to give the characters common, for instance, to all mammals, by another those common to all carnivora, by another those common to the dog-genus, and then by adding a single sentence, a full description is given of each kind of dog. The ingenuity and utility of this system are indisputable. But many naturalists think that something more is meant by the Natural System; they believe that it reveals the plan of the Creator; but unless it be specified whether order in time or space, or what else is meant by the plan of the Creator, it seems to me that nothing is thus added to our knowledge. Such expressions as that famous one of Linnæus, and which we often meet with in a more or less concealed form, that the characters do not make the genus, but that the genus gives the characters, seem to imply that something more is included in our classification, than mere resemblance. I believe that something more is included; and that propinquity of descent,—the only known cause of the similarity of organic beings,—is the bond, hidden as it is by various degrees of modification, which is partially revealed to us by our classifications. [413f, emphasis added]

Darwin goes on to discuss how external resemblances are not evidence for propinquity (nearness, or kinship). He discusses how similarity is mere “adaptive or analogical characters” and that it is “a general rule, that the less any part of the organisation is concerned with special habits, the more important it becomes for classification”. Darwin knew well about convergence. “We must not, therefore, in classifying, trust to resemblances in parts of the organisation”, he concludes. That we need an ensemble of characters, and that they are not necessarily about similarity, is clear from this passage:

The importance, for classification, of trifling characters, mainly depends on their being correlated with several other characters of more or less importance. The value indeed of an aggregate of characters is very evident in natural history. Hence, as has often been remarked, a species may depart from its allies in several characters, both of high physiological importance and of almost universal prevalence, and yet leave us in no doubt where it should be ranked. Hence, also, it has been found, that a classification founded on any single character, however important that may be, has always failed; for no part of the organisation is universally constant. The importance of an aggregate of characters, even when none are important, alone explains, I think, that saying of Linnæus, that the characters do not give the genus, but the genus gives the characters; for this saying seems founded on an appreciation of many trifling points of resemblance, too slight to be defined. [417]

And he then discusses affinities by saying “Our classifications are often plainly influenced by chains of affinities” [419]. Affinities, not analogies (and as we argued, “affinity” means roughly shared sets of homologies). He summarizes by noting that

All the foregoing rules and aids and difficulties in classification are explained, if I do not greatly deceive myself, on the view that the natural system is founded on descent with modification; that the characters which naturalists consider as showing true affinity between any two or more species, are those which have been inherited from a common parent, and, in so far, all true classification is genealogical; that community of descent is the hidden bond which naturalists have been unconsciously seeking, and not some unknown plan of creation, or the enunciation of general propositions, and the mere putting together and separating objects more or less alike. [420, emphasis added]

It is plain that Darwin held that what was evidence for common ancestry was shared sets of homological relations independently of adaptive characters, which can converge. Affinities are evidence, not analogies, and Darwin knew this well.

This brings us to the inferential objection. Sober fails to deal with convergent evolution as a cause of similarity, and yet this is so well known to systematists as to be hardly worth discussing. Because he adopts what is basically a statistical notion of classification, Sober thinks, we suppose, that homoplasy, that is to say, convergence, is eliminated somehow by technique or methodological algorithms. However, every systematist strives to eliminate homoplasy before analyzing data, just as Darwin said. There is no magic method for doing this: what looks homological may turn out, upon comparison of many taxa, to be homoplasious or indeterminate, and vice versa. But despite our limitations here, we can do this successfully in most cases – if we could not, then we could not do natural classification at all.

In neither place where Sober advances modus Darwin, does he defend against this obvious objection. In conflating similarity with affinity, we are confused about what counts as evidence for a given scenario of common ancestry. Although we have suggested that there is no fixed or privileged direction of inference in a field, it does appear that if you begin with uncertainty, then recognition of naive classification based on homological relations is going to constrain and set up the explanandum for the hypothetical account to explain. The hypothesis, a historical narrative, is not evidence for itself.

Darwin is often used as a mythological figure upon whom the preferred philosophies of the writer may be painted. In that respect he is like the Bible, except that he is a lot clearer as to his intent. The actual inferential process Darwin used – the real modus darvinii[i] – is more like this: affinity, explained by common ancestry. Since affinities are groups of homological relations we might use a term of Hennig’s and say that synapomorphies give the pattern that the historical process explains. The two are not identical.

Note

i. I am indebted to Reed Cartwright for helping me with the Latin here.

References

Sober, Elliott. 1999. Modus Darwin. Biology and Philosophy 14 (2):253-278.

Sober, Elliott. 2008. Evidence and evolution: the logic behind the science. Cambridge, UK; New York: Cambridge University Press.

Guest post for comment: sex and evolution


The following (below the fold) has been sent to me by Tam Hunt for comment by our readers. Constructive comment, that is. Tam’s own blog is here.

Continue reading Guest post for comment: sex and evolution

Intelligent designoids are unsure about me


Normally I wouldn’t link to these guys, but I’m having a kind of odd week with the ID crowd. On the one hand the ever reliable Casey Luskin has declared I am condescending for suggesting we teach science free of religious overtones to young children (but Kelly Smith is more condescending). And on the other, Michael Behe says my species book is great! I’m so conflicted.

I suspect Behe thinks that because I am critical of the standard or received essentialist story I am undercutting evolutionary thinking. I am not, of course, but maybe he just thinks it’s a damned good read.

The false analogy between species and art


Biological topics are used widely in philosophy to illustrate arcane and recondite philosophical topics,and one of the most widely used, and most abused, are species as examples of natural kinds. Kangaroos, swans, tigers, lions, cats, and of course humans are all brought in to assist our intuitions. As Umberto Eco wrote once,

The history of research into the philosophy of language is full of men (who are rational and mortal animals), bachelors (who are unmarried adult males), and tigers (though it is not clear whether we should define them as feline animals or big cats with a yellow coat and black stripes). [1999: 9]

Why this is, is obvious. We need to understand abstract concepts of science and philosophy in terms that we are easily disposed to appreciate. Humans are classifiers of their world and the things they most easily classify are other (large, moving) living things. It’s our Umwelt. But this leads to all kinds of problems. There is a thing known as folk taxonomy, in which the default cultural assumptions of a society are imposed upon the living world. One of the basic tasks of a science is to overcome the folk taxonomy and find out, or classify the world, so that the local biases and simple misunderstandings of the tribe are eliminated and the classifications denote actual things.

Still, philosophers use species as natural kind terms, when every biologist knows this fails in most if not all cases. It might not even be malign: if what you are doing is discussing the meaning of words, then English (or German, etc.) words that denote kinds of animals and plants can stand in for natural kind terms, so long as nobody is thereby misled into thinking that because there is a word, there is out there in the world a kind that answers directly to it. I wish I could say this was a truism all philosophers understood.

Actual species are messy items in the world. Philosophers of biology (that subset of philosophers who attend closely to the uses and ideas of biological sciences rather than resting content with “what everybody knows” about biology) argue at length about essentialism, in which species and other kind terms in biology are supposed to share properties that are uniquely theirs, versus individualism, a somewhat complex suite of ideas that rest upon the assumption that species and other groups in biology are historical objects that have their properties contingently. Philosophers of language try to resurrect essentialism, or treat species as the very exemplar of a natural kind, but generally this fails. The lessons are, slowly, being learned.

But there is a higher level error that can be made, and it has just been made by Christy Mag Uidhir and P.D. Magnus in a paper forthcoming in Metaphilosophy. The paper is titled “Art Concept Pluralism”, and is an argument that the very concept of art is pluralistic. An analogy is drawn, not with a species, but with the concept of species itself, a subject about which I have a few ideas of my own. Now Magnus himself drew attention to a mistake he made by a cursory reading of the literature. He “used” a “concept” of species that he called “the phenetic concept”, and says:

The PHENETIC SPECIES concept (also called morphological or typological) divides species based on organisms’ exhibited characteristics.

This is wrong. It is, indeed, as wrong as a wrong thing can be wrong. I won’t go into the details, but it is not all, or even most, of Mag Uidhir and Magnus’ doing. Types and morphology are distinct, and phenetic means something else, although not quite what Magnus says in the blog entry. He writes

… biologists and philosophers of biology use the word [phenetic] more narrowly to distinguish a specific movement: people who self-identified as employing a phenetic approach and who distinguished species just by doing statistical analyses of observable features

Umm, no. “Phenetic” means the use of multivariate character components in an analysis using clustering algorithms. Not just any statistical analysis will do, and a few characters would not make an analysis phenetic. More widely, a phenetic approach treats not species, but “Operational Taxonomic Units” which are rank-free objects right up to and including entire phyla, or down to single individuals. There is no “phenetic species concept”; that’s the entire point. And phenetic is not something one defines in relation to other approaches such as “pattern cladist” or “biological … ecological … and evolutionary approaches”, either. It is a well defined and coherent approach. If none of those other approaches existed, it would remain well defined.

I’m being picky, I know. The distinction between “character-based” and “process-based” that he makes has some purchase, although I would suggest that it is the distinction between empirical and theoretical classifications. But despite his honesty and self-correction, there is an interesting, and crucial, point in their paper that he has not corrected.

First, let me note that he is using a folk taxonomy of scientific concepts. Scientists do use concepts and words in ways that are relatively reflexive, but that doesn’t mean we should take them at their word. Like any subject of investigation, they are as likely to employ culturally biased and sociologically determined meanings as anyone else. They are a tribe. As philosophers we have to look at them closely and determine if they are clear on their ideas or not. The essentialist story I have so often railed against is just such a social construction. But that is not Magnus’ problem, that is mine.

However, he invents a concept and then crucially uses it in the argument. Here is the way he does so with Mag Uidhir. ART (concepts are capitalised) is like SPECIES, and what is true of SPECIES may be, mutatis mutandis, true of ART. We know species concepts are pluralistic, and so too may concepts of art be. Multiple concepts of SPECIES are used by biologists profitably, so we can presume this for ART. While one might dispute untrammelled pluralism works in biology, either to delimn the natural world or to aid communication, thus far an argument has been made. Then this:

Some of the concepts involve an arbitrary fineness of grain. Using the PHENETIC SPECIES concept, biologists may make species larger or smaller depending on the refinement of their observations and their need to distinguish populations from subpopulations. The PHYLOGENETIC SPECIES concept is similarly plastic. For a monist who thinks that there is a single correct partition of species, this open parameter in a SPECIES concept is a terrible embarrassment. Provided specific biological projects sufficiently constrain the scope of a SPECIES concept, the pluralist may simply accept this result.

What he seems to be saying is that we can enlarge or reduce the scope of a species kind term arbitrarily. But the arbitrariness in phenetics is the threshold at which we include or not organisms in the OTU. It depends, rather centrally, on what we know about the organisms. For bacterial species, we may use a 70%, or a 95% or even a 99% threshold of clustering and similarity. We cannot just arbitrarily say that we will pick one of these in order to redescribe or reclassify bacteria. You do that based on what works at identifying relevant strains or ecotypes and so forth. In fact bacteriologists use a “polyphasic” approach, utilising multiple lines of evidence (genetic, molecular, phenotypic, ecological, cf. Colwell 1970 and Vandamme, et al. 1996). What is arbitrary is what the natural world makes work, not the choices of the taxonomists. Iterative refinement of the thresholds depends on what nature does.

But is there an “open parameter” here anyway? Well not if you think that we can identify species in the absence of prior theoretical commitments, as I do. In other words, we may have no rank for species, as Ereshefsky (1999, 2000) argued, but that hardly licenses the view that species is entirely arbitrary, to be identified as it suits the taxonomist. We named species in the 16th century, before any definitions or theory existed, that we still think are species. That needs explanation. My answer is that we observe species, often. Species are phenomena.

The same point can be made for the so-called “phylogenetic species concept” cluster of ideas. If there are unique traits that all and only members of a species have, which we have identified, then perhaps the PSC will enable us to identify species. But most species have structure well below the species level, such as haplotype groups. We do not identify them as species (although taxonomic inflation is a serious problem in conservation, mostly to do with the over-reliance upon molecular genetic criteria). But pretty well any specialist in, say, fishes or beetles or even eucalypts will be able to say where the species are, nearly all the time.

How does this affect the argument given? ART is a human concept, based upon what humans do and think. SPECIES is not. If there are many kinds of SPECIES, it may be because the world is complex. I have previously argued that the modality of a species is an evolved property, like a trait. Such properties are historically contingent. One cannot be an unrestrained pluralist. Can one be unrestrained about ART? I cannot say. It seems to me that what counts as art has more to do with social structures, economics and functional roles than it does any shared meaning, but that is perhaps my cynicism in play. In any case, the parallel with SPECIES is fraught with problems.

Continue reading The false analogy between species and art

Does teleology hang on in Venice?


Here’s an interesting paper, which I haven’t had time to digest, but which I thought I’d better mention before it enters the fog my brain contains these days…

It’s by David Depew, one of my favourite philosophical writers on evolution (in no small part because he takes a historical approach to the topic):

Is Evolutionary Biology Infected With Invalid Teleological Reasoning? A Review Of Not By Design: Retiring Darwin’s Watchmaker By John O. Reiss, University Of California Press, 2009, in Philosophy and Theory in Biology

It’s open access right now.

Depew argues against Reiss’ claim that teleological thinking infects evolutionary biology. As I tend to agree with that contention, I have to do some considered reflection after I mark all the exams and assignments. Soon. Sometime.

For now let me say this: there is nothing wrong with using teleological language; but only when the subject is a teleological system. I can talk about the purpose of something when a purposive system has intended it, but natural selection is not purposive; it only appears to be to observers (who are). Natural selection is simply a process of thus and so a kind of mechanical causation (retentive, etc.). To assert that it is a property of the things being selected that they are “for” something, rather than a property of the investigator’s conceptual scheme, is what I call the ontological fallacy, basically to project the properties of ideas and words onto the world. Maynard Smith used to say to students “Is this [discussion] about words or the world? If it is about words, I will go, but if it is about the world, I will stay”.

Elliot Sober famously wrote of a distinction between “selection of” and “selection for”, to cover the known issue of hitchhiking (pleitropy) in the selection of genes and traits:

“Selection of” pertains to the effects of a selection process, whereas “selection for” describes its causes. To say that there is selection for a given property means that having that property causes success in survival and reproduction. But to say that a given sort of object was selected is merely to say that the result of the selection process was to increase the representation of that kind of object. … I offer the following slogan to summarize this logical point: “selection of” does not imply “selection for”. … “Selection for” is the causal concept par excellence. Selection for properties causes differences in survival and reproductive success … [The Nature of Selection (1984), p. 100.]

I quote these because I have been debating Douglas Theobald in email about whether the selection-for distinction is even necessary; it looks like Reiss also thinks it is not. I am going to have to read his book. For my money (before I get back to examining) here is the way it should be conceived.

There is no objective, real, observer-independent distinction between selection of and for. Selection occurs through causal differences, and every causal difference makes a difference. If there is a physical difference that is a trait of the organism, and it ends up spreading through the population, then it is selected. What the causal story is, can only be discerned, if at all, post hoc. Any actual causal difference may play some role, and probably does, in the selection process. Physical differences make a causal difference, and we cannot ignore them.

For example, consider Gould and Lewontin’s famous attack on the “Spandrels of San Marco“. They argue that the spandrels (pendentives, actually, but that’s verbalistic pedantry) in the spaces between the columns and the dome, which show pictures of the Gospel writers, are not there to show those pictures, but are post hoc decoration. It would be a mistake to think they are the purpose of those spaces. Here’s the image in their paper:

spandrel.jpg

Taken from here.

It’s a compelling point. Or it was, until I went there, and saw this:

san marco.jpg

From here.

The entire church is there solely to display decoration. It is as obvious a display of wealth and power as it is possible to imagine. The dome, the columns, and yes, the pendentives, are all there to display these gold mosaics. What level of description you choose to give of the cathedral determines the purposiveness of the structure and its parts. Gould and Lewontin might be accused of inappropriate atomisation of the church.

Now I am not saying that some features of an organismic type are not more causally important than others. Obviously some must be. Instead I am saying that we cannot ever characterise what is, and what is not, important unless we have complete information, which we almost never do (the Grants’ study of Darwin’s finches, and the long-term study of the Soay sheep may count as sufficient evidence to make claims at least at the observable phenotypic level). And yet that caveat is almost never taken seriously. We talk unconstrainedly about “selection for” this or that, as if we had some basis for our claims apart from intuition. The reason why I object to selection for talk is that it usually if not always turns out to be talk about us and our dispositions rather than those of the organisms under study. And as the size of the potential data set increases, our intuitions are less reliable. Even with the use of statistical analyses of molecular data, we have limited warrant for our inferences if we do not already know (or intuit) what “the players” are in each selective sweep. That something has been the effect of a selective sweep is relatively (!) easy to identify. That it is the trait selected for is not. We use it out of all proportion to our knowledge.

I am something of a panadaptationist, in this sense: I think that all traits at all times are subjected to some degree of selection, and almost all traits are maintained at a high level of fitness. Noise, in the form of drift, neutrality and so on, all apply, also, to all traits at all times. At best we can say that the rates of change of a trait or gene in a population are predominantly noisy or selective at a given time. We cannot, though, say with any real warrant that some particular trait is selected for, unless we have done a major study after the event and during.

The reason this is uppermost in my mind right now, apart from my debate with Doug, is that I think this is where whatever philosophical purchase the recent Fodor and Piatelli-Palmerini book lies. Like their “Darwinian” opponents, FAPP, as I call them, consider that for a selective explanation to work you must identify the traits selected for (although I think they do real harm to that distinction in the book); only, they think you have to do this ahead of time for the explanation to be scientific. Because selection is not that sort of a theory (unlike, say, a physics theory), it is not, they argue, a scientific theory; the special pleading is obvious. But their confusion lies in thinking that we have to have a prior idea of what gets selected and what is causally significant; I think selection is a schematic explanation that is filled out in each case.

Lose the of/for distinction, and we can say well enough that there is selection and that the spread of an allele or trait in a population is selected (or noisy). Anything more is about us and our way of describing, selecting for investigation, and understanding. Now, having made that blunt claim, I must appeal to the philosopher who wrote, “there’s the bit where you say it, and the bit where you take it back”.* Of course we will continue to say that this or that trait is the main, or even the sole, cause of a selective sweep. We almost cannot help it. And it is probably harmless in most cases. This is not about what scientists do, but about what philosophical implications one can draw from it. Philosophers like to privilege aspects of organisms and ideas as being somehow “the” point; in this lies the inherent teleology. Fine, but if we then conclude that selection, which is an entirely post hoc process, gives us intentionality, meaning, and purpose, well then I agree with Reiss and not, say, Millikan or Sober. In selection, stuff happens, and afterwards we admire the results.

There’s a lot more to say about this, but I really must finish my marking before the Dean has a go at me…

This is me in Venice, to prove I am not merely conducting a thought experiment about San Marco, which is behind me on the left:

Venice 006.jpg

Photo by Jenny Webster.

* J. L. Austin in Sense and Sensibilia, page 2.