The Scientist as Rebel

by Freeman J. Dyson

  If our present universe is a simulation created by intelligent aliens interested in exploring the consequences of alternative laws of physics, then we should expect the laws of physics that we observe to be chosen in such a way as to make our universe as interesting as possible. We should expect to find our universe allowing structures and processes of maximum diversity. The immense richness of ecological environments on our own planet gives support to Rees’s proposal. So does the diversity of planets, stars, galaxies, and other more exotic inhabitants of the celestial zoo. We observe our universe to be not only friendly to life, but friendly to the maximum diversity of life. As the biologist J. B. S. Haldane once remarked, the Creator appears to have an inordinate fondness for beetles. Future beings with superior intelligence may be fond of beetles too.1

  Now comes the big surprise. The proposal of Rees, imagining our universe to be a simulation in the minds of intelligent aliens, is very similar to the proposal of Stapledon, imagining our universe to be an artifact of the Star Maker. The two proposals were addressed to different philosophical problems, the problem of evil for Stapledon and the problem of fine-tuning for Rees. They arose out of different cultures, the culture of moral philosophy for Stapledon and the culture of scientific cosmology for Rees. Yet, coming from different cultures and different concerns, Stapledon and Rees converged upon the same solution. This is not the first time that a writer of science fiction has leapt ahead to a new vision of reality that only became a part of the discourse of respectable scientists half a century later. Stapledon’s Star Maker is like Jules Verne’s Captain Nemo and H. G. Wells’s Doctor Moreau, fictional characters who have become more real as the years go by.

  Another fictional character who has become more real as the years go by is Sirius, the superintelligent dog who is the hero of Stapledon’s next major novel after Star Maker. Stapledon published Sirius in 1944. It is another story presenting a philosophical problem in dramatic form. The philosophical problem addressed by Sirius is the moral status of animals. Since animals evidently have feelings and emotions similar to ours, why do they not have legal rights and moral standing similar to ours? In the half-century since Sirius was written, campaigns for animal rights and animal liberation have gained strength in many countries. As we have learned more about the rich social and emotional lives of animals living in the wild, our denial of rights to animals living in captivity becomes harder to justify. And the rapid progress of genetic engineering will make the emergence of superintelligent dogs and cats a real possibility in the century now beginning. Stapledon’s story gives us warning of the tragic consequences that may follow from a blurring of the boundaries of species.

  I hope that Pat McCarthy will edit a new edition of Sirius as a companion to his edition of Star Maker. In my opinion, Sirius is the finest of all Stapledon’s works. It received less attention than it deserved when it was published, because the majority of readers in 1944 were preoccupied with more urgent matters. In style it is less didactic and more personal than Star Maker. The drama of Sirius is played out against a vivid background, the sheepdog country of North Wales which Stapledon knew and loved. The characters are real human beings and dogs rather than disembodied spirits. The tragedy is the predicament of a lonely creature who understands both the world of dogs and the world of humans but belongs to neither.

  But I must not praise Sirius too highly. That would be unfair to Star Maker. Star Maker may be, like the universe we happen to live in, a flawed masterpiece, but it is still a masterpiece. It is a classic work of imaginative literature, speaking to our modern age. It should be on the list of Great Books that anyone claiming to be educated should read. It is worthy to be compared, as McCarthy compares it in the introduction following this preface, with The Divine Comedy of Dante.

  1. I am not sure whether the statement that the Creator has an inordinate fondness for beetles originated with Haldane or with Darwin. Pat McCarthy, the editor of this new edition of Star Maker, informs me that The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations attributes the statement to Haldane. It is still possible that Haldane cribbed it from Darwin.

  29

  RELIGION FROM THE OUTSIDE

  BREAKING THE SPELL of religion is a game that many people can play. The best player of this game that I ever knew was Professor G. H. Hardy, a world-famous mathematician who happened to be a passionate atheist. There are two kinds of atheists, ordinary atheists who do not believe in God and passionate atheists who consider God to be their personal enemy. When I was a junior fellow at Trinity College, Cambridge, Hardy was my mentor. As a junior fellow I enjoyed the privilege of dining at the high table with the old and famous. During my tenure, Professor Simpson, one of the old and famous fellows, died. Simpson had a strong sentimental attachment to the college and was a religious believer. He left instructions that he should be cremated and his ashes should be scattered on the bowling green in the fellows’ garden where he loved to walk and meditate. A few days after he died, a solemn funeral service was held for him in the college chapel. His many years of faithful service to the college and his exemplary role as a Christian scholar and teacher were duly celebrated.

  In the evening of the same day I took my place at the high table. One of the neighboring places at the table was empty. Professor Hardy, contrary to his usual habit, was late for dinner. After we had all sat down and the Latin grace had been said, Hardy strolled into the dining hall, ostentatiously scraping his shoes on the wooden floor and complaining in a loud voice for everyone to hear, “What is this awful stuff they have put on the grass in the fellows’ garden? I can’t get it off my shoes.” Hardy, of course, knew very well what the stuff was. He had always disliked religion in general and Simpson’s piety in particular, and he was taking his opportunity for a little revenge.

  Paul Erdös was another world-famous mathematician who was a passionate atheist. Erdös always referred to God as SF, short for Supreme Fascist. Erdös had for many years successfully outwitted the dictators of Italy, Germany, and Hungary, moving from country to country to escape from their clutches. He called his God SF because he imagined God to be a fascist dictator like Mussolini, powerful and brutal but rather slow-witted. Erdös was able to outwit SF by moving frequently from one place to another and never allowing his activities to fall into a predictable pattern. SF, like the other dictators, was too stupid to understand Erdös’s mathematics. Hardy and Erdös were both lovable characters, contributing more than their fair share to the human comedy. Both of them were gifted clowns as well as great mathematicians.

  And now comes Daniel Dennett to take his turn at breaking the spell. Dennett is a philosopher. In Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon1 he is confronting the philosophical questions arising from religion in the modern world. Why does religion exist? Why does it have such a powerful grip on people in many different cultures? Are the practical effects of religion preponderantly good or preponderantly evil? Is religion useful as a basis for public morality? What can we do to counter the spread of religious movements that we consider dangerous? Can the tools and methods of science help us to understand religion as a natural phenomenon? Dennett remarks at the beginning that he will proceed

  not by answering the big questions that motivate the whole enterprise but by asking them, as carefully as I can, and pointing out what we already know about how to answer them, and showing why we need to answer them.

  I am a philosopher, not a biologist or an anthropologist or a sociologist or historian or theologian. We philosophers are better at asking questions than at answering them.…

  Dennett practices what he preaches. He does not answer the questions, but takes four hundred pages to ask them. The book proceeds at a leisurely pace, with an easy conversational style and many digressions. It is divided into three sections, the first concerned with the nature of scientific inquiry, the second concerned with the history and evolution of religion, the third concerned with religion as it exists today. In the first section, Dennett defines scientif
ic inquiry in a narrow way, restricting it to the collection of evidence that is reproducible and testable. He makes a sharp distinction between science on the one hand and the humanistic disciplines of history and theology on the other. He does not accept as scientific the great mass of evidence contained in historical narratives and personal experiences. Since it cannot be reproduced under controlled conditions, it does not belong to science. He quotes with approval and high praise several passages from The Varieties of Religious Experience, the classic description of religion from the point of view of a psychologist, published by William James in 1902. He describes James’s book as “a treasure trove of insights and arguments, too often overlooked in recent times.” But he does not accept James’s insights and arguments as scientific.

  James is examining religion from the inside, like a doctor trying to see the world through the eyes of his patients. James was trained as a medical doctor before he became a professor of psychology. He studied the personal experiences of saints and mystics as evidence of something real existing in a spiritual world beyond the boundaries of space and time. Dennett honors James as an explorer of the human condition, but not as an explorer of a spiritual world. For Dennett, the visions of saints and mystics are worthless as evidence, since they are neither repeatable nor testable. Dennett is examining religion from the outside, following the rules of science. For him, the visions of saints and mystics are only a phenomenon to be explained, like falling in love or hating people of a different skin color, mental conditions that may or may not be considered pathological.

  The second section of the book is the longest and contains the core of Dennett’s argument. He describes the various stages of the long historical evolution of religion, beginning with primitive tribal myths and rituals, and ending with the market-driven evangelical mega-churches of modern America. Looking at these evolutionary processes from the outside, he speculates about ways in which they might be understood scientifically. He explains them tentatively as products of a Darwinian competition between belief systems, in which only the fittest belief systems survive. The fitness of a belief system is defined by its ability to make new converts and retain their loyalty. It has little to do with the biological fitness of its human carriers, and it has nothing to do with the truth or falsehood of the beliefs. Dennett emphasizes the fact that his explanation of the evolution of religion is testable with the methods of science. It could be tested by quantitative measurements of the transmissibility and durability of various belief systems. These measurements would provide an objective scientific test, to find out whether the surviving religions are really fitter than those that became extinct.

  Dennett puts forward other hypotheses concerning the evolution of religion. He observes that belief, which means accepting certain doctrines as true, is different from belief in belief, which means believing belief in the same doctrines to be desirable. He finds evidence that large numbers of people who identify themselves as religious believers do not in fact believe the doctrines of their religions but only believe in belief as a desirable goal. The phenomenon of “belief in belief” makes religion attractive to many people who would otherwise be hard to convert. To belong to a religion, you do not have to believe. You only have to want to believe, or perhaps you only have to pretend to believe. Belief is difficult, but belief in belief is easy. Belief in belief is one of the important phenomena that give a religion increased transmissibility and consequently increased fitness. Dennett puts forward this connection between belief in belief and fitness as a hypothesis to be tested, not as a scientifically established fact. He regrets that little of the relevant research has yet been done. The title Breaking the Spell expresses his hope that when the scientific analysis of religion has been completed, the power of religion to overawe human reason will be broken.

  Dennett has an easy time poking fun at the modern evangelical mega-churches which pay more attention to the size of their congregations than to the quality of their religious life. The leaders of these churches are selling their versions of religion in a competitive market, and those that have the best marketing skills prevail. The market favors practical convenience rather than serious commitment to a pure and holy life. Looking at religion from the outside, Dennett sees clearly how the leaders of religious organizations are corrupted by power and money. He quotes Alan Wolfe, one of the sociologists who study American religious organizations and practices:

  Evangelicalism’s popularity is due as much to its populistic and democratic urges—its determination to find out exactly what believers want and to offer it to them—as it is to certainties of the faith.… The term “sanctuary” is shunned by one church because of its “strong religious connotations,” and more attention is paid to providing plenty of free parking and babysitting than to the proper interpretation of passages of Scripture.

  Like Hardy and Erdös, Dennett plays the game of breaking the spell by making religion look silly. Many of my scientist friends and colleagues have similar prejudices. One famous scientist for whom I have a deep respect said to me, “Religion is a childhood disease from which we have recovered.” There is nothing wrong with such prejudices, provided that they are openly admitted. Dennett’s account of the evolution of religion is on the whole fair and well balanced.

  The third and last section of Dennett’s book describes his view of religion in the modern world. In a long chapter entitled “Morality and Religion,” he blames religion for many of the worst evils of our century. He blames not only the minority of murderous fanatics whose religion impels them to acts of terrorism but also the majority of peaceful and moderate believers who do not publicly condemn the actions of the fanatics. This is a serious problem, whether one is dealing with Irish Catholic fanatics in Belfast or with Muslim fanatics in Britain and Spain. He quotes with approval the famous remark of the physicist Stephen Weinberg: “Good people will do good things, and bad people will do bad things. But for good people to do bad things—that takes religion.” Weinberg’s statement is true as far as it goes, but it is not the whole truth. To make it the whole truth, we must add an additional clause: “And for bad people to do good things—that takes religion.” The main point of Christianity is that it is a religion for sinners. Jesus made that very clear. When the Pharisees asked his disciples, “Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners?” he said, “I come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.” Only a small fraction of sinners repent and do good things, but only a small fraction of good people are led by their religion to do bad things.

  I see no way to draw up a balance sheet, to weigh the good done by religion against the evil and decide which is greater by some impartial process. My own prejudice, looking at religion from the inside, leads me to conclude that the good vastly outweighs the evil. In many places in the United States, with widening gaps between rich and poor, churches and synagogues are almost the only institutions that bind people together into communities. In church or in synagogue, people from different walks of life work together in youth groups or adult education groups, making music or teaching children, collecting money for charitable causes, and taking care of one another when sickness or disaster strikes. Without religion, the life of the country would be greatly impoverished. I know nothing at first hand about Islam, but by all accounts the mosques in Islamic countries, and to some extent in America too, play a similar role in holding communities together and taking care of widows and orphans.

  Dennett, looking at religion from the outside, comes to the opposite conclusion. He sees the extreme religious sects that are breeding grounds for gangs of young terrorists and murderers, with the mass of ordinary believers giving them moral support by failing to turn them in to the police. He sees religion as an attractive nuisance in the legal sense, meaning a structure that attracts children and young people and exposes them to dangerous ideas and criminal temptations, like an unfenced swimming pool or an unlocked gun room. My view of religion and Dennett’s are equally true and equally prejudic
ed. I see religion as a precious and ancient part of our human heritage. Dennett sees it as a load of superfluous mental baggage which we should be glad to discard.

  After Dennett’s harsh depiction of the moral evils associated with religion, his last chapter, “Now What Do We Do?,” is bland and conciliatory. “So, in the end,” he says, “my central policy recommendation is that we gently, firmly educate the people of the world, so that they can make truly informed choices about their lives.” This recommendation sounds harmless enough. Why can we not all agree with it? Unfortunately, it conceals fundamental disagreements. To give the recommendation a concrete meaning, the meaning of the little word “we” must be specified. Who are the “we” who are to educate the people of the world? At stake is the political control of religious education, the most contentious of all the issues that religion poses to modern societies. “We” might be the parents of the children to be educated, or a local school board, or a national ministry of education, or a legally established ecclesiastical authority, or an international group of philosophers sharing Dennett’s views. Of all these possibilities, the last is the least likely to be implemented. Dennett’s recommendation leaves the practical problems of regulating religious education unsolved. Until we can agree about the meaning of “we,” the recommendation to “gently, firmly educate the people of the world” will only cause further dissension between religious believers and well-meaning philosophers.

  The control of education is the arena in which political fights between religious believers and civil authorities become most bitter. In the United States these fights are made peculiarly intractable by the legal doctrine of separation of church and state, which forbids public schools to provide religious instruction. Parents with fundamentalist beliefs have a legitimate grievance, being compelled to pay for public schools which they see as destroying the religious faith of their children. This feeling of grievance was avoided in England through the wisdom of Thomas Huxley, a close friend of Charles Darwin and a leading proponent of Darwin’s theory of evolution. When public education was instituted in England in 1870, eleven years after Darwin’s theory was published, Huxley was appointed to the royal commission which decided what to teach in the public schools.