In particular, Mill thought it vital for people to have the right to express their opinions whether the authorities agree with it or not, since it’s by the free exchange of ideas that truths can most easily be distinguished from falsehoods. He wrote: “If any opinion be compelled to silence, that opinion may, for aught we can certainly know, be true.” Cyberman society, and thus “logical” society, is sometimes shown to be closed to new ideas and so immune to change. “The Cybermen won’t advance. You’ll just stop. You’ll stay like this forever,” cries David Tennant’s Doctor in “The Age of Steel.” Mill’s Cybermen, on the other hand, would prize new ideas and would constantly seek to change and improve their own society.
Some “logical” races in Doctor Who aren’t even able to form their own opinions, just because they’re too alike. “We think the same. We are uniform,” explains a Cyberman in “The Age of Steel.” In “Destiny of the Daleks” (1979), Tom Baker’s Doctor finds that two Movellan robots can’t even play rock-paper-scissors, since logic leads them to always make the same choice. The Cybermen see it as only logical to wipe out our individuality too through a process of conversion. Since “The Tenth Planet,” they’ve been promising “you will become like us.” Mill, however, believed that reason requires us to foster individuality, on the grounds that it’s the most effective way of allowing people to reach their potential. Far from wanting uniformity, he criticized China for having too much of it, complaining that “its progress has become stationary by making its people all alike, all governing their thoughts and conduct by the same maxims and rules.” Mill’s Cybermen wouldn’t suppress individuality; they’d revel in it. Far from insisting that we be like them, they’d be delighted by our strangeness and eager to share ideas and viewpoints with us.
The Cybermen Won’t Advance. You’ll Just Stop.
David Hume (1711-1776)35 had yet another take on the life of reason. Hume believed that reason doesn’t tell us to do anything at all. Reason may tell us how the world is, but only the emotions can suggest action. Upon observing a murder site, we might be able to use our faculty of reason to explain how and why a murder was committed, but no amount of reasoning based on the observed evidence can demonstrate that it’d be better to catch the murderer than encourage them to kill. Such judgments depend on having an emotional preference for one state of affairs over another—in this case, a preference for people not being murdered.
If David Hume Had Designed the Cybermen
If David Hume had designed the Cybermen to be perfectly reasonable but emotionless, they’d do nothing at all. They’d have no impetus, since they’d care about nothing. Mondas would simply drift past the Earth in “The Tenth Planet.” Human scientists would no doubt eagerly attempt to contact this newly discovered form of alien life, but the Cybermen wouldn’t even wave back at our telescopes. When the new Cybermen are brought to John Lumic, he’d bark orders at them only to be ignored by creatures who, lacking emotions, care no more about what he wants than about whether they live or die. Cybermen built to be reasonable but lacking emotion would be a race indistinguishable from statues, fit only to serve as shop mannequins.
Of course, it’d be open to Hume, like Hobbes and Mill, to build his Cybermen as entirely reasonable but also to give them emotions. There’s nothing unreasonable about doing so according to Hume’s model, since reason alone doesn’t tell us not to do anything—at most it helps us to work out how we can do whatever it is we want to do. These Cybermen would desire whatever they’d been programmed to desire and no desire they pursued would be unreasonable. Conquering the universe, spreading happiness and prosperity to all, or holding endless dress-like-the-Doctor contests with other Cybermen, they could follow any goals at all without ever being illogical.
Knowing Hume, he probably would’ve made them desire to be a race of historians, scouring the past to learn what makes a society function best, changing their ways accordingly (see Hume’s The History of England). He would’ve given them a desire to combat superstition and religion by providing reasoned arguments for members of other species (see Hume’s The Natural History of Religion and Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion). He would’ve also given them a love of art and a keen interest in artistic criticism (see Hume’s Of the Standard of Taste). None of these goals would be reasonable or unreasonable, logical or illogical by Hume’s standard. They’re simply goals for which Hume had an emotional liking—a liking he would pass on to his Cybermen.
This Is the Age of Steel
So where does that leave us? How would a logical, reasonable species act? In other words, what would a Cyberman do if Cybermen were really as logical as they claim? Would the logical society of the Cybermen be an orderly dictatorship, caring nothing for the well-being of outsiders but avoiding warfare except when survival is at stake? Or would it be a benevolent society of individualistic scholars who seek only to enjoy intellectual pleasures and to spread happiness throughout the universe? Or would they be a race of creatures who never act, who float by on their doomed planet without the slightest interest in the Earth or in their own survival? Or would their society have a different form altogether?
If you work it out for sure, place your answer in a time capsule and leave it in trust for the Brotherhood of Logicians. In a few hundred years we’re going to break into the Tomb of the Cybermen on Telos and we need to know what to expect when we do.
9
Ain’t We All the Same? Underneath, Ain’t We All Kin?
BONNIE GREEN and CHRIS WILLMOTT
What are species and how do we identify them? These may seem simple questions given that we distinguish between species of plants and animals every day. Dogs (Canis familiaris), for example, seem as distinct from horses (Equus caballus) as broccoli, a cultivar of the species Brassica oleracea, is from carrots (Daucus carota). The identification of individual organisms as members of these species also seems quite straightforward. It’d be hard to mistake a dog for a horse, much less a horse for a carrot!
The differences between species are all the more striking when dogs, horses, carrots and broccoli are contrasted with Homo sapiens , our own species. When making distinctions between organisms that are human and those that aren’t, we do so intuitively and instinctively and without needing to think about the criteria we use to make those distinctions. However, in the philosophy of biology, these criteria are up for grabs. Philosophers continue to debate three issues which make up the ‘species problem’:1. What are species?
2. How can members of a species be reliably identified?
3. Do species really exist in nature, or are they merely imposed on nature by our own sytem of classification?
In spite of their differences dogs, horses, carrots, broccoli, and humans all share a common origin on the planet Earth. In this way, they’re all unlike the extraterrestrial species found in Doctor Who, particularly Daleks; the ‘salt-shaker’ beings that have terrorized the Doctor (and the audience) since their first appearance on UK television in 1963.
As mutated organisms living in polycarbide travel machines, Daleks seem to be the antithesis of everything human. Ruthless, logical, and emotionless the Daleks are driven by a single goal: the extermination of inferior species and total domination of the Universe at any cost. They look and behave very differently to humans, have a different history and origin, and appear biologically incompatible with Homo sapiens in almost every way. However, in their quest to become the dominant species, the Daleks have made several attempts to integrate the best of other species, including humans, into their own. These experiments produced hybrid organisms, notably human-Daleks and Dalek-humans in “The Evil of the Daleks” (1967) and “Daleks in Manhattan” (2007), and drew attention to the three aspects of the species problem noted above.
What Are Species?
Taking the liberty of assuming that you, the reader, are a member of the species Homo sapiens, what is it that makes you human? Do you possess some intrinsic quality that’s both universal among humans and uniq
ue to our species? Or, is it your place in a line of human ancestors, which goes back through your parents, grand-parents, and beyond, and forms a part of a diverse population of Homo sapiens? Or, is it because you share both physical and developmental similarities and an evolutionary heritage with the other humans around you?
Each of these approaches provides a different account of what makes a species a species. These questions capture three prominent views of species within the philosophy of biology: seeing them as natural kinds, individuals, or as sets. The popularity of each of these positions has waxed and waned over time, often as the biological sciences have changed and developed. Lately, it’s the view of species as natural kinds that has become the most difficult to maintain. However, as we shall see, in Doctor Who this view has yet to become extinct, and has indeed been recently resurrected in a new, modern form.
But first, what does it mean to say that species are ‘natural kinds’? In philosophy we distinguish between particulars and kinds, where kinds are groups of particulars that share some set of intrinsic properties that make them what they are. In the philosophy of biology, the particulars are usually biological organisms, and the kinds are often taken to be species. A common way of thinking about species is as natural kinds, where ‘natural’ tells us that a kind corresponds to a real grouping that is independent of human classification.
An example of a natural kind is ‘mountains’. There are numerous particular mountains (both on Earth and on other planets throughout the solar system) that are assumed to be intrinsically similar in some—perhaps—unobservable way, and to exist independently of human beings. Following John Locke in An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, natural kinds can be contrasted with so called nominal kinds. Nominal kinds are conventional: they are categories picked out by human concepts, whose particulars share no intrinsic, underlying similarity. Human artifacts, like tools or machines, are examples of nominal kinds.
So, are species natural kinds? Common sense suggests that they are (this is also the traditional answer within the philosophy of biology). That humans and Doctor Who’s Daleks form distinct and identifiable groups irrespective of our knowledge of them seems obvious. But, does each group share some intrinsic property? And, if they do, what is this quality that makes these apparently distinct species different from one another, and in such a way that the distinction is preserved over time and space? One answer appeals to the essence of species. That is to say that each species has an intrinsic ‘nature’ possessed by each and every member, and only them, which is unchanging regardless of where the species or its particulars are found geographically and historically. Historically this type of kind essentialism—which, in this context, is called ‘species essentialism’—has been extremely pervasive within both philosophy and biology. It’s derived from an Aristotelian view of natural kinds, in which the nature of a species was God-given and immutable, and responsible for all the traits that a species displays. This essentialist view of species is very often our intuitive understanding, particularly when it comes to our own ‘human nature’. Thus, it isn’t surprising to find it in Doctor Who as well.
Finding the Human Factor
In the seven-part story “The Evil of the Daleks,” first broadcast in the UK in 1967, the Daleks entertained us with precisely this essentialist position on species. In this episode the Daleks believed so strongly in the reality and importance of human nature as an essence, that they designed an experiment to identify all the components of the ‘human factor’. An admirable goal perhaps, but—unlike the many philosophers and biologists who’ve tried to clarify the basis of our common essence—the Daleks don’t do this for the good of mankind. As always, the Daleks are looking out for themselves and, when he’s first coerced into helping them with their experiments, the Doctor assumes that they wish to isolate, extract and add the human factor to their own Dalek nature. This would allow them to absorb all the qualities that make humans able to triumph over the Daleks, the ‘superior beings’. Unfortunately he’s wrong, and the Daleks real plan is far more sinister. Their intention is to use the isolated human factor to identify the essence of their own species—the ‘Dalek factor’. This they plan to spread throughout humanity, turning all humans into Dalek-humans who’ll obey their every command.
The Daleks could’ve chosen any human being for their experiment, however they select Jamie, the Doctor’s slightly gullible Scottish companion. Unwittingly, Jamie is put through a behavioral test: a trial which involves rescuing the daughter of a Victorian scientist, whose house the Daleks have adopted as their base and laboratory. As the episode opens we learn that the beautiful young Victoria has been captured by the Daleks. She’s being held by them, though apparently unharmed. Jamie, who along with the Doctor has been transported back in time to the Daleks’ strong-hold, is mesmerized by a resemblance of Victoria and so is easily tricked into becoming her savior. Unbeknownst to Jamie, the Doctor and the Daleks are monitoring and recording every thought and feeling that he experiences as he faces the obstacles placed between him and Victoria. In this story it’s these thoughts and feelings that form the human factor—the essence of humanity. This essence is depicted as a combination of qualitative behavioral, emotional and moral characteristics. These include “courage, pity, chivalry, friendship,” and “compassion,” alongside an instinct for self-preservation. Together they’re presented as both, intrinsic to, and unique and universal within, the human species.
With the help of the Doctor, the Daleks succeed in encapsulating the human factor into small postitronic devices that they implant into three of their own species. These three Daleks—which the Doctor names Alpha, Beta, and Omega—are instantly transformed. They develop human characteristics as a result of taking on the essence of our species. However, the Daleks get a good deal more than they bargained for, as Alpha, Beta, and Omega begin to display another human trait—one that’s typical of the “young children” that the Doctor claims they are.
The humanized Daleks begin to ask ‘Why?’ Like many human parents, the other Daleks are—at first—simply irritated by the constant questioning. However, the consequences quickly get far more serious, and this questioning becomes the basis for the Daleks’ downfall. The human-Daleks rebel against the dalek-Daleks and a civil war destroys them all. Hoist by their own petard, the Daleks discover that being human is far from simple.
The Death of Essentialism ... and Its Resurrection
Just as the Daleks were thought to have been wiped out in the Time War (a fact revealed in 2005 by the Ninth Doctor, played by Christopher Eccleston), many philosophers of biology thought that essentialist views of species had also been consigned to the dustbin of history. In 1859 Charles Darwin published his theory of evolution in the seminal work On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection. These ideas undermined the belief that species were defined by fixed properties or essences that didn’t, and could-n’t, change over time. By the 1930s, evolutionary theory dominated biology. It emphasized both diversity and adaptation as the source of species differentiation and survival, as well as a common origin for all species.
Since then some philosophers have come to view species as individuals or sets rather than as essences, because of the lack of biological evidence for any necessary and sufficient species properties. However, in the final decades of the twentieth century, a new type of essentialism appeared. Enter ‘genetic essentialism’, which—on the back of developments in molecular biology and genetics—told us that “DNA defines who we are” and positioned the human genome as “the ultimate explanation of human being.”36
Sadly neither DNA nor the genome could ultimately live up to its billing as the essence of species. Today both philosophers and biologists accept that there’s vastly more variation between and within species, more gene flow, and more genetic mutation and recombination, than was originally thought possible. Fortunately for both the creators and fans of Doctor Who, however, the series deals in fiction rather than scientific fact.
The new series of Doctor Who, which began in 2005, resurrected both the Daleks and their experiments with the human factor, though this time located the essence of the human species in our genes.
That the Daleks are master genetic engineers is something of a cliché in the world of Doctor Who ... well, since the 1980s at least. The Daleks’ advanced skills in this area were dramatically displayed in the episode “Resurrection of the Daleks” (1984) when they cloned humans and altered them to become Dalek agents. Genetic essentialism—the view of species essence as located in the genes—first appeared in “Dalek” (2005), the sixth episode of the new series. In this adventure the “last” Dalek in the Universe absorbs Rose Tyler’s DNA in order to reactivate itself and escape from the confines of Henry van Statten’s alien museum. As Rose’s human DNA starts to take hold in the Dalek it begins to feel and act very strangely. The Dalek exclaims, “You have given me life. What else have you given me? I am contaminated!”
The Doctor tells the Dalek that it’s becoming somewhat human as a result of taking in the genetic material. It reacts violently, and replies, “I shall not be like you. Order my destruction.” Reluctantly the Doctor and Rose comply. Inexperienced as she was at the time, Rose is distressed by the death of the creature. Just as in the “Evil of the Daleks,” this Dalek had also bitten off more than it could chew when it absorbed the essence of humanity.
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