Beshrew my heart but I pity the man. Final reflections on From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds by Simon Conway Morris

I've reviewed a few books over the years here at Quintessence of Dust, but From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution by Simon Conway Morris was the first book I blogged through that I was genuinely excited about reading. I bought it sight unseen, new and in hardcover, from a publisher of dubious reputation, because I was beguiled by the author and the title and what I mistakenly believed that title to mean. I have already written that I regretted paying money for the book once I read the first couple of chapters and realized I'd been had. From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds isn't about myths, nor is it about interesting controversies, and its ideas/claims are mostly recycled from previous works by the author. In retrospect, the book didn't merit the attention I gave it, and it doesn't merit yours.

David Strathairn and Sophie Marceau as Theseus and Hippolyta in A Midsummer Night's Dream (1999)

But that doesn't mean I regret the exercise as a whole. Writing my way through the book helped me clarify some of my own thoughts and ideas. So this post is as much about me and my ideas as it is about the book.

Reviewing From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds by Simon Conway Morris: Full series

Full series on From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution by Simon Conway Morris.

Introduction and overview

Chapter 1: The Myth of No Limits — Part 1 — Part 2

Chapter 2: The Myth of Randomness

Chapter 3: The Myth of Mass Extinctions

Chapter 4: The Myth of Missing Links

Chapter 5: The Myth of Animal Minds — Part 1 — Part 2

Chapter 6: The Myth of Extraterrestrials

Final comments and reflections

Do not infest your mind with beating on the strangeness of this business. Chapter 6 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

ALONSO: This is as strange a maze as e’er men trod,
And there is in this business more than nature
Was ever conduct of. Some oracle
Must rectify our knowledge.

—The Tempest, Act 5, Scene 1 

That's one of two epigraphs at the beginning of Chapter 6 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution, "The Myth of Extraterrestrials," by Simon Conway Morris. It seemed odd to me when I started reading the book, but it makes some sense now that I've made it to the end. Conway Morris wants (or needs) there to be more to this business than nature "was ever conduct of." This final chapter makes that clear, and by that I mean that it makes the author's desire/need clear. It is, sadly, a fitting end to the book.

Recall that Life's Solution, the author's 2003 book that made convergence a household word, is subtitled Inevitable Humans in a Lonely Universe. The notion that our species (or something very much like it) is "inevitable" is (in my view) a reasonable conjecture once one is faced with the pervasiveness of evolutionary convergence. I enjoyed that book when I read it all those years ago, and became convinced that evolution was not merely blundering around finding the weird and wonderful—it was algorithmically churning toward design, and then toward better design. I was then in a Christian world where it seemed that "adaptationism" was a Bad Thing embraced by extremists and (oh god) atheists, but here was a rock-star Christian paleontologist who was all in on adaptation. I loved that rebel vibe, then and now. But then, and also now, I was baffled by his apparent desire to be alone. Not alone in his office, but alone in the universe.

A gruesome autopsy of Chapter 5 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

Before I explain the rot at the heart of this chapter (Chapter 5 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution, "The Myth of Animal Minds," by Simon Conway Morris), I'd like to show you my workspace as I sullenly trudge toward the end of this task.

That's my fun little Chromebook 2-in-1, and the barely-visible tartan mouse pad is from my dad. You'll see my toolkit of sticky notes and a stack of (some of) my books on consciousness and human cognition. Conway Morris' book is open to the pages (155-157, in a section called "An unbridgeable gulf?") that stopped me in my tracks.

The author doth protest too much, methinks. The disastrous Chapter 5 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

It's one of the most famous misquoted lines in the English language, spoken by Lady Gertrude (Hamlet's mom) during the intense scene featuring a play ("The Mousetrap" aka The Murder of Gonzago) within a play, intended by Hamlet to be "the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King." The character in "The Mousetrap" has delivered some sappy lines about commitment and widowhood, designed to flush out the King and Gertrude. But you know all that. The frequently-mangled line is "The lady protests too much, methinks." It's a great line and it works out to something like "she's overdoing it" spoken by a person who is literally the subject being portrayed. When we say "the lady doth protest too much" we usually mean "they're overacting so much that now it seems even they don't believe what they're saying."

That's how Chapter 5 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution, "The Myth of Animal Minds," felt to me. Simon Conway Morris is hellbent on digging a conceptual moat around human cognition, desperate to isolate it from non-human cognition so that it can receive metaphysical shipments from on high. If that sounds harsh, it is—and it is exactly what the chapter is about.

Missing links are a myth, but whose? Chapter 4 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

There are some truly vexing and annoying myths of evolution. They are almost exclusively recited and embellished by religious propagandists, some of whom actually know what they're doing. Rarely but notably, there are myths that are gleefully repeated by creationists while being amplified by scientists who should know better. The clearest example of this is the mythology and nonsense surrounding "junk DNA."

Missing links are not an example of this.

The phrase "missing link" is so dated and so scientifically laughable that it could only be seriously discussed in a book about myths that circulate among laypeople who watch YouTube videos about Sasquatch, refuse vaccines to own the libs, and go to church. What is it doing in a book by Simon Conway Morris, a book that claims to address "areas of received wisdom that are long overdue for careful reexamination"? It's the subject of the fourth chapter of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution, "The Myth of Missing Links."

The Mórrígan. A myth.

This question summarizes one source of my deep disappointment in this book, a work that has lowered my opinion of its author. I have no right to blame my disappointment on the author, and I know that my feelings betray an expectation on my part that the professor has no obligation to even consider. That expectation: that Christian scientists acknowledge and consider resisting the mountains of lies that their fellow believers dump into the world.

Mass extinction as acceleration: Chapter 3 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

If you read about natural history, even just popular accounts, you know about the epic mass extinctions visited on the living world throughout life's tenure on Earth. Words like 'devastating' and 'catastrophic' barely capture their scale—the most thorough purge is called The Great Dying and extinguished at least 95% of the species on the planet. And this isn't just animals dying. It's whole lineages dying. As our host writes, these things are "extremely nasty and most definitely to be avoided."

It's tempting to picture these epochs as the erasure of worlds, with new worlds taking their place. Lots of death means lots of vacant niches means lots of opportunity, for animal lineages to expand and diversify, and for humans to weave gripping tales of fortune and fate. Or even myths. If, like me, you read this book to learn about myths of evolution, you had to slog through two chapters of chaos and blather to get to something that finally resembles one.

The third myth in From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution by Simon Conway Morris, the subject of Chapter 3, is "The Myth of Mass Extinctions." The chapter is long and detailed, clogged with taxonomic jargon in places, sparkling with typical mischief in others. (Page 76: "Not for a moment am I suggesting that the early Triassic is a preferred destination for the time traveler. Your tour group would be greeted by shocking scenes, but the cognoscenti would see which way the wind was blowing.") By now we know we have to ask: what exactly is the myth? Conway Morris isn't questioning the occurrence of mass extinctions, nor does he doubt their apocalyptic power. He's attacking a somewhat specific view of their effects on the biosphere.

Confusion and convergence, but no "myth of randomness." Chapter 2 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

The concept of randomness is caught up in evolution, in two broad ways. The first and most famous aspect is the oft-misunderstood randomness of mutation. The second aspect is the role of chance in the trajectory of evolution. It is this question—is evolution predictable, or is it a random "drunkard's walk"—that Conway Morris tackles in the second chapter of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution. The chapter is called "The Myth of Randomness."

The chapter is a chaotic mess and ends without a clear argument, much less a convincing one. Conway Morris wants to tip the scales away from "randomness" and toward "cyclicity." From the second paragraph of the chapter (page 43):

Although through geological time increasing degrees of biological complexity and integration are undeniably the case, superimposed on this is an intriguing cyclicity: plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. It transpires that evolutionary history is very far from random.

Rincon Mountain Wilderness

Like he did in Chapter 1, Conway Morris takes a profoundly interesting, long-standing question in science, a question that currently inspires brilliant writing and experimentation by evolutionary biologists, and paints one of the possibilities as a "myth." Like he did in Chapter 1, he erects a strawperson. Unlike in Chapter 1, the strawperson is not a laughable nonexistent entity but instead a fuzzy caricature of a major factor in evolutionary history—the combination of chance and contingency. Fortunately, unlike in Chapter 1, Conway Morris provides a poorly integrated amalgam that few laypeople will understand. Thus, even those inclined to cheer the immolation of the strawperson will find little more than stuff like this (p. 56): "The clear implication is that beneath these entirely plausible factors there are deeper organizational principles at work and of which we know very little at present." That sentence is typical of the chapter, which reaches its nadir at an invocation of "particle physics or the periodic table" as evidence that physicists embrace the notion of "a deeper order of the world" while biologists struggle to do the same. In his ardor to preach on these "deeper" things, Conway Morris obscures the grandness of the question and at times distorts what working scientists know and do. It was on finishing this chapter, a few weeks ago, that I regretted buying and reading the book.

Superheroes and limits: more on Chapter 1 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

Warning: this post includes spoilers for Black Widow, Avengers: Endgame, and Spider-Man: No Way Home. Seems a small price to pay to understand the biophysical limits of the biosphere, but it's your call.

So, are you sure you want that superpower? Have you noticed that superheroes usually have difficult lives and crushing responsibilities? And have you noticed that even the most potent superheroes and their coveted superpowers come up against explicit limitations?

I haven't yet seen Avengers: Endgame (I know! I'll get to it!) but I know this: Black Widow ends with Natasha riding away to the events that end with her sacrifice, events portrayed in Avengers: Endgame. She has some cool superpowers but she ultimately contributed most to the world's salvation by dying.

For me, the hardest MCU movie to watch was Spider-Man: No Way Home. Peter Parker has superhuman strength and dexterity, and arthropod-like agility et cetera, but couldn't protect the person he loved the most. At the end of the movie he arranges to have himself erased from the memory of his dearest friends. I wept through it, not merely because it's sad but because this impossible burden falls on a teenager. The proverb now forever associated with Spider-Man is "with great power comes great responsibility," and this credo angers me every time I hear it. I don't hear the acknowledgement that no kid should ever have to carry that. And certainly not alone.

Superhero stories are never about life without limitations. Indeed the opposite. They are about what happens inside a world/universe that has different boundaries than our own. It's not the boundaries that matter, whether you're a superhero like Natasha, or a "normal" person like me, or a metaphorical agent like evolution.

Superheroes and the (nonexistent) Myth of No Limits: Chapter 1 of From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds

Which superpower would you choose and why?

This seems a somewhat common "get to know you" question. Sometimes you're forced to choose between two (invisibility or teleportation?), perhaps to reveal particular features of your psyche. My choice is teleportation — I want to see my kids and grandkids but I want to live in Edinburgh. My frustration with such limitations is real, and contemplating teleportation doesn't help.

My fanboy heart has always belonged to the Rebel Alliance, but I do love the X-Men and the MCU and I count Black Widow and Black Panther among my favorite films (and soundtracks). All of the main characters are superheroes and all claim some kind of superpower. Most of these superpowers arise from usually-nefarious use/misuse of technology by humans: directed genetic enhancement, carelessness with radiation, crafting or mining of superpowered materials, unsupervised development of military hardware, stuff like that. The X-Men have superpowers that are great fun but also outlandish (even for the genre), and all are said to have arisen via mutation.

I would love to be able to teleport. And yet I never considered the possibility that I could do it, via genetic manipulation or vibranium or a fancy suit made by a rogue military contractor. I've never met an adult who wonders whether the right mutations (an extra chromosome, according to canon) could give them the glorious superpowers enjoyed by Mystique or Wolverine. Such a person would have to be ignorant, or mad, or seven.

Reviewing From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds by Simon Conway Morris: introduction and overview

It was the subtitle of this book (From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution by Simon Conway Morris) that reeled me in, combined with my inability to resist reading the thoughts of Conway Morris on what that subtitle advertises: "Six Myths of Evolution." I'm about halfway through the book, and through three of the six myths. It was my intention to start writing about the book when I'd finished it, but now I think it will be more fun to write about it chapter by chapter. Each chapter can stand mostly alone, which helps. But the main reason to do it stepwise is this: although the book is aiming at some larger goal, the fact that this goal is unrelated (so far) to anything resembling a myth means that it will be interesting and/or instructive to see how it plays out.

The first place one might look for the author's intention in discussing "myths" would be the Introduction. Hahaha nope. It's three pages of a bizarre conversation with someone named Mortimer*, in Venice. Mortimer does most of the talking, as one might expect from a sock puppet. Three pages of indulgence about "going off the rails" (but you see, that's good), a fond reference to Teilhard ("a much neglected figure"), a classless swipe at "our materialist chums" (they "never wanted to know what the universe was really like"), and the expected wink at the divine: "...to fool ourselves that the mental world of a chimpanzee is just a dilute version of our minds, or rather a Mind."

Yeah yeah yeah but what are these myths? Mortimer comes close to defining what he means by a myth: "...not fairy tales but areas of received wisdom that are long overdue for careful reexamination."

And that's our first clue — blink and you miss it — that this is not a book about myths of evolution.

Thoughts on complicity before reading Complicit by Max Bazerman

I have been thinking regularly about complicity for the last several years. It became a central ethical theme of mine in 2016 and it has occupied my thoughts and ideas since. And yet, it recently occurred to me that I seem to be using it as a folk remedy, a kind of folk science in which I use the concept in my thought and sometimes in my conversations as a kind of prop without careful definition of what I mean when I say it. So I decided to work on that, and came home from last month's Tucson Festival of Books with a stack of treasures that includes Complicit by Max Bazerman.

I haven't started it yet (I'm currently slogging through the Six Myths of Evolution mess by Simon Conway Morris). And this means I have an opportunity to do a little experiment. In the spirit of pre- and post-instruction assessments in education, I thought I'd write about what I think now about complicity. Then after I've read the book, I'll write about what I've learned and what has changed.

First, why 2016? It's not that the concept was new to me then. It's that a particular kind of evil was erupting, coincident with my own reflection as a secular humanist (aka atheist) on my many years as a Christian. It was the year of the public emergence of the hate-based cult of Donald Trump, a cult that relies almost entirely on conservative Christianity. Then, as now, I pointed out that Trump is not the cause of the sickness of the right — he's a symptom. The causes include nationalism, racism, ignorance, dishonesty, and fear-based hate. All of those things have deep roots in American conservative Christianity. And for more than 25 years, I had been a part of American conservative Christianity, which I'll call evangelicalism.

The Day Without Yesterday by John Farrell: How did Lemaitre do it?

My first post on John Farrell's The Day Without Yesterday identified two themes the book raises for me: the intellectual milieu into which modern cosmology came to be, and the reasons why Georges Lemaître was able to "lead Einstein and the rest of his generation into a new, truly dynamic model of the universe." (p. 53) The second post looked at the intellectual environment and ended like this:

Some of the greatest minds in human history were overtly resistant to a new model of the universe, a model that was (at least in retrospect) clear from math and physics known at the time. If it could happen to them, it could happen to anyone, and of course it has happened constantly through intellectual history. I think we owe it to Lemaître to reflect on how it will happen again. It has to. Data doesn't wait for minds to be ready.

And yet somehow Lemaître's mind was ready. How? Why?

This question is really interesting to me, and John sets it up brilliantly throughout the book before asking it explicitly in the penultimate chapter (pp. 186-7):

... Lemaître's insights were in fact key in almost all the important milestones of early modern cosmology... He was the first to see how the Einstein and de Sitter models were but two limited cases of a larger body of expanding universe models; he was the first to see that such models had to evolve from a super-dense state; and perhaps most importantly—from the very beginning—he was the first to tie the predictions of relativity about cosmology to actual astronomical observations. How did he do it?

I wrote previously that Lemaître is a scientific hero. It's not enough to point to his scientific accomplishments, which are historic by any account. I think his greatness is magnified by the fact that he stood apart, clear-eyed, amongst a cadre of brilliant minds who were somehow unable to see what he could see. I don't think you can read The Day Without Yesterday without feeling admiration and even awe toward the priest-scientist.

The Day Without Yesterday by John Farrell: "conservatism and hesitation"

In my first post on John Farrell's The Day Without Yesterday, I identified two themes the book raises for me: the intellectual milieu into which modern cosmology came to be, and the reasons why Georges Lemaître was able to "lead Einstein and the rest of his generation into a new, truly dynamic model of the universe." (p. 53) Let's look at that milieu.

The first chapter of the book describes the first time Lemaître and Einstein met in person. Lemaître had published a paper suggesting that the universe was dynamic, indeed that it could be expanding. On meeting Lemaître, Einstein brushed the priest off, even referring to the idea as "abominable." Wow.

Now, John suggests that Einstein was not being a jerk but was instead expressing his personal distaste (revulsion even) to the very notion that the universe was expanding. And this matters because:

The modern world's comprehension of the universe is one of the most fascinating subjects in the history of science. But the history of modern cosmology is one of constant doubt, second-guessing, obstinacy, missed opportunities, distraction, and outright denial. (p. 13, emphasis mine)

To me, that list starts like a normal recitation of human imperfection, hardly remarkable to anyone who has worked in science. Until the end. Obstinacy is bad enough (if fully human) but outright denial? That sounds a bit more serious. And it is.

The Day Without Yesterday by John Farrell: introductory comments

Let's start with full disclosure. John Farrell is a good friend, and we met here at Quintessence of Dust more than 15 years ago. John was one of the first people to read and comment on (and link to) the blog. We share many passions: science, faith/science interactions, writing, the Boston Red Sox, Shakespeare, and Harvard Square. John plays pickup hockey (that's something we don't have in common) and more than once has reminded me (in pubs in Harvard Square) that we are both lucky to have all our hair.

And yet it was not until the last few months that I bought and read his (so far) masterpiece, The Day Without Yesterday. I don't know why it took so long. Surely one reason is that I've only in the last year and a half been reading more books—I've worked as an editor for more than a decade and that means many hours of intensive reading with attendant reading fatigue. But I think another reason—and this is embarrassing to admit—is that I thought I knew the story. Father of the Big Bang, Catholic priest, yeah okay I got it.

I was wrong. And if you think you know the story without reading this book, then you're probably wrong too. The tale is inspiring and exciting, frequently frustrating, and ultimately awe-inspiring, not because of the Big Bang itself (ooooh aaaah) but because the long-overlooked main character, Georges Lemaître, is a hero of science. As I read John's book, I came to think that "Father of the Big Bang" (cutesy double entendre notwithstanding) partially obscures this man's stature as a scientist.

Signature in the Cell: Chapters 9 and 10

"He..strikes at randome at a man of straw."
– Richard Saunders, A Balm to heal Religious Wounds, 1652. Quoted in the Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd Edition

"An imaginary adversary, or an invented adverse argument, adduced in order to be triumphantly confuted."
– Second definition entered for "man of straw" in the Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd Edition

Chapter 9 is called "Ends and Odds." Chapter 10 is "Beyond the Reach of Chance." Between them, they advance a straw man so idiotic that I wonder whether Meyer will be able to reclaim any significant intellectual integrity in the chapters that follow. I've already noted that this is not a book of science or of serious scholarship. Now it seems that it doesn't even merit the distinction of popular science or pop philosophy. These two chapters have purely propagandistic aims, and they do serious damage to the book's credibility and to the author's reputation. Meyer has shown his cards.

Signature in the Cell: Chapter 8

It's been a month and a half since my last post in this series, and recently a friend asked me why I stopped. I can think of two reasons: first, I spent the month of March teaching a graduate course for the first time; second, I'm worried about how this is going to go. I'm worried because I can see that the book is poor scholarship – Meyer is either underinformed or overcommitted to his cause – and I can see that my critique will be considered within a religious milieu that hinders straightforward criticism and analysis. Ergo, I think this might not be very pretty. It would be a lot more fun to blog about any of 15 different papers from the last two issues of Nature.

But we need to finish, partly because I'll be on a panel of critics at an event with Stephen Meyer himself in Los Angeles next month. (Not just critics: "a powerful group of credentialed critics." More later.)

Chapter 8 is called "Chance Elimination and Pattern Recognition." It deals first with the notion of chance and then with subjects that are at the very heart of design thought – the dual consideration of improbable events and the genesis of phenomena that exhibit "patterns." The chapter is pretty good, but seems to contain seeds of significant future confusion.

Behe and probability: one more try

Almost two years ago, I reviewed Michael Behe's latest book, The Edge of Evolution, here on the blog. I was unimpressed, to say the least, and remain of the opinion that Behe should not be considered a serious scientific thinker given his failure in that ludicrous book.

Since then, my posts have been referenced occasionally in the blogosphere, typically by people trying to explain Behe's surprisingly crude mishandling of probability in the context of genetics. One particular point has been singled out as a mistake on my part, and some ID defenders want that mistake to rescue Behe's argument. Let me describe the so-called mistake, then explain why I'm right.

Signature in the Cell: Chapter 7

The chapter is called "Of Clues to Causes" and it's about scientific explanation. That's an interesting and important topic, one that opponents of evolutionary theory rarely understand. Meyer's summary is predictably fluffy but not inaccurate. Those seeking an introduction to philosophical questions pertaining to scientific explanation should look elsewhere, since Meyer says little in the 22-page chapter. His main points:

1. There are indeed legitimately scientific means of understanding and seeking explanation for past events.
2. These approaches validate ID as a "possible scientific explanation for the origin of biological information."

I don't disagree with either assertion. But neither is particularly helpful to ID in its quest for explanatory relevance. (Well, the main quest of the ID movement is to undermine naturalism by any means necessary, but its scientific challenge is to demonstrate that it can provide useful explanation.)

Signature in the Cell: Chapter 6

The chapter is called "The Origin of Science and the Possibility of Design." It's short, unimportant and uninteresting. Its purposes, along with Chapter 7, are twofold: 1) to counter the claim that ID theory is "not science" and 2) to establish that "historical science" (that which deals with the past) is not all that different from "operations science" (as defined by Charles Thaxton and others), specifically because the theorizing of "historical science" can be considered testable.