Avoiding scientific serfdom: The future of philosophy at the university

(a response to Dr. Rollin’s seminar in honor of James Forrester,

University of Wyoming, October 28^th, 2005)

Jeffrey A. Lockwood

Professor of Natural Sciences & Humanities

Dr. Rollin has eloquently recounted how research scientists and veterinarians were blindsided by their lack of knowledge concerning ethical theory and application. Without a grounding in philosophy, these otherwise bright and capable individuals were intellectually hamstrung (if Dr. Rollin will forgive the allusion to a brutal animal practice). In practical terms, the scientists were unable to provide a cogent defense of their practices. While deft in terms of research, they were moral klutzes on the sociopolitical stage. But the veterinary school faculty were not only inept in terms of defending themselves and their research and teaching methods, but – as Dr. Rollin so clearly demonstrated – their philosophical shortcomings translated into unethical treatment of other sentient beings.

The story that we’ve been told this afternoon might best be taken as a fable, a tale from which we are to derive a lesson. For it seems that scientific research and education continue to develop without an evident philosophical context, and the intellectual and moral price that we are likely to pay in the future may be as great – perhaps even greater – than that described in the field of veterinary science and medicine. Allow me to rather briefly propose two such areas in which science is at grave risk for its willing ignorance of philosophy.

Two weeks ago on our campus, a well-known creationist challenged the academic community to a debate. And to our great, good fortune the defender of evolution was not a scientist but a philosopher of science – Dr. Franz-Peter Griesmaier. I say that we were fortunate based on my having witnessed such debates in the past and seen my scientific colleagues flounder. For in these duels, most scientists come armed with a single bullet – the theory of evolution with its attendant evidence. While the creationists are loaded for bear, with arguments pertaining – albeit often incoherently – to science, theology, and philosophy. They try to confuse the audience with pseudoscience and win the debate with uncontested theological and philosophical claims. And it often works. So, the scientists in the audience, had they honestly reflected on their own knowledge, would have breathed a sigh of relief that Dr. Griesmaier was on the stage. For he was able to provide a far more compelling case than most of us could have mustered.

Not only was he fluent in the science of evolution – the elements of theory and the supporting evidence, but he provided a cogent analysis of the philosophy of science. Without talking down to the audience, Dr. Griesmaier explained the nature of theories, the role of evidence, and the process of confirmation. Most scientists, I am afraid, would have struggled with these essential concepts and proposed, if anything, some simplistic textbook version of the scientific method based on a naive version of Popperian falsifiability. Dr. Griesmaier grasped the limits of science – and the limits of faith. And without being at all disparaging, he was able to undermine the bad philosophy being advanced by his opponent.

Moreover, Dr. Griesmaier was able to draw upon the historical context of both science and religion. Upon pointing out the role that theologians have ascribed to Logos, he went on to respectfully but pointedly use reason – a vital tool of the Christian tradition – to dissect the shortcomings of the creationist position. Moreover, he was able to brilliantly counter the claim that without belief in God there can be no morality, for Dr. Griesmaier knew the foundations of ethics.

The scientists who I’ve seen engage in such debates mistake the evolution-creationism conflict as being a disagreement about evidence. They know their side of the argument but have only the vaguest sense of the deeper issues. What such debates seem to demonstrate is that while creationists are philosophically incoherent, few scientists know what ontological commitments they’ve made, what metaphysical implications and consequences, what epistemological advantages and constraints necessarily emerge, and whether and how an ethical system can be developed within this context.

Let’s now turn our attention to a second case in which science has become a marginalized player in a vitally important issue – the environment. I could demonstrate the critical role of philosophy using any number of cases including endangered species, deforestation, invasive species, water resources, or climate change. But having recently attended the Board meeting of the university’s Institute & School of Environment and Natural Resources, I’ll focus on a topic close to home with global implications: coalbed methane.

If there was one lesson to be taken from discussions of the major players in this field, from conservation leaders to mining CEOs, it was that science is an absolutely necessary but wholly insufficient basis for deciding our actions in the world. Science can reveal how much gas might be produced, how much water could follow as a result, whether various treatments would make the water useful for irrigation, and how wildlife might respond to the whole process. This is valuable information, but if scientists are ignorant of the ethical context in which these questions are asked, they risk a great deal. If they believe that they are engaged in value-free science, that the questions they are paid to answer are morally neutral, that the numbers they provide are without ethical ramifications, they risk becoming intellectual serfs, producing a crop of data for their political lords and masters. The critical questions being asked are not about trillions of cubic feet of methane or millions of acre-feet of water but about how we ought to distribute the benefits and harms of the coalbed methane industry. Environmental justice is at the core – how should we deal with contaminated water, who should pay for environmental damage, how should we provide compensation for losses of air quality and wildlife? And on the other side of the equation: who should reap the economic benefits of this natural resource, how should we fairly distribute the energy, and what are our obligations to future generations?

This semester, I am lending a hand in a course on the Philosophy of Ecology being taught by my colleague in the Botany Department, Bill Reiners. And based on the readings and discussions in that graduate-level course, I can say with conviction (and, I believe that Bill would concur): Very few ecologists know the philosophy of their science. And, I believe, that the same can be said of scientists in virtually every other field at this institution and probably every other campus in the United States. The reason is simple – undergraduate and graduate curricula in the sciences are essentially devoid of philosophy and what philosophy is covered in the texts is often wrong. And so, what is the future of philosophy at the university? The answer is, at least in part, a function of the degree to which we recognize that a scientist who does not know philosophy is at best either a well-paid parrot of an unreflective tradition or an impotent puppet of those who fund research – and at worst a dangerous and misguided practitioner of enormously powerful methods. Perhaps I am being too harsh, but the stakes are high – and our society and students deserve better (no less than the animals at the CSU Vet School).

Our graduates deserve to know the rich and complex philosophical fabric of science; they deserve to understand the concepts and terms necessary to engage those who see science as being a religion or a tool of exploitation; and they deserve the ability to place what they do in the fullness of the human search for beauty, truth, and right. For awhile more, perhaps, we can produce graduates who do not know the limits, potentials, or foundations of science. We can manufacture technically competent individuals with marketable skills, who are unable to put their work in the context of human knowledge, faith, and wisdom. And we can offer the lame excuse that we didn’t teach them because nobody taught us. But at some point the culpability of willful ignorance makes it impossible for us to ethically perpetuate the education of technically capable and philosophically inept scientists. At some point, we will all pay the price.