Selfish genes and the meaning of life

Using selfish genes to ponder the meaning of life, and what the alternatives might be

Some time ago, I wrote about the meaning of life, and stated that while there doesn't seem to actually be one, that's the way I would prefer it: that any imposed meaning would detract from the wonder of the universe, and that the freedom to decide our own fate is the best of all possible alternatives.

However, that article missed out two fairly important points. First, what does science have to say about a possible meaning to life; and second, from whose point of view are we actually considering there to be a meaning? This post addresses both points.

All the major religions have some concept of a meaning to life, whether it be for our own personal enlightenment or the glorification of some ineffable higher being. These sufficed for a time, but as scientific understanding progressed humans began to ask the ultimate question in earnest: what are we here for? What is it all about? Attempting to answer such questions has driven many branches of science, in order to try and understand the world and our place in it - from a geological explanation of why the land on Earth is as it is, the physics of how the Earth, moon and sun came into being, to attempts to understand the origins of the universe itself.

However, these merely explain the backdrop, and it is to biology that we must turn to understand the origin or purpose of humanity. While explaining meaning and purpose can be considered rather lofty goals, I think that they are actually addressed quite satisfyingly by the explanation of how our species became to be, because in understanding how it happened, we get the answers to why it happened. The primary reason as to why we are here must be evolution: the process of adaptation, survival and selection that led to the emergence of our species over tens of millions of years. This provides a fairly succinct answer of why we are here: because our ancestors were here, and they were good at it.

But to find 'meaning' in this, we need to dig deeper. The mechanics of the process are well understood, but that is not quite the same as the reason it happens - that is, what ultimately drives evolution? Perhaps the best explanation of this is to consider it not from the point of view of species or organisms, but to take the gene's-eye-view of evolution: a perspective which was popularised in the 70s by Richard Dawkins's book The Selfish Gene, and draws on the work of many evolutionary biologists such as W.D. Hamilton and Robert Trivers. The basic idea is that genes are the fundamental unit of selection, and that good genes are ones which confer some advantage to their host, and so are more likely to be passed on to future generations.  This means there is no guiding hand on evolution, nor any sort of 'good-of-the-species' consideration - the only mechanism required is that genes are passed down through the generations, and the gradual development of their host organisms is a consequence. Complex life was never part of a 'plan'; but once the first primitive replicators, whatever form they may have taken, were forced to compete for resources against their neighbours, the race was on to survive.

This is quite important when considering a scientific answer to the meaning of life. The reason that humans, or any other animal, lives, is in order to propagate the genes it carries. If a species is not good at this, it will die out, while genes conferring improved survival are retained, leading to the vast array of incredibly complex survival machines we see today. To the extent that any organism can be seen to have a purpose, it is to reproduce and pass on its genetic material - anything that happens afterwards is largely irrelevant to its genetic legacy, and the diverse and bizarre behaviour of birds, bees, plants, and mammals can be explained by taking this gene-centric, rather than individual-centric, view of life.

But can it really be that the purpose of life is merely to pass it on? Doesn't this seem both self-serving and pointless? In a way, yes, but it is the only answer that makes sense. Genes are passed on simply because they are good replicators, and the evolution of complex life is nothing more than the best way of replicating genetic material. As Dawkins makes plain in his books, this is not because genes are conscious entities with a will to survive, but simply that they are sets of instructions which will be copied, and the best at being copied will be copied more. There is no need for any thought or intelligence in this, merely the mechanism for replication and a criteria (survival) by which fitness is defined; our own success, intelligence, creativity and technological accomplishments are just examples of successful strategies that genes have found to survive, much as claws, echolocation and venom are successful gene transportation mechanisms in other organisms.

Thus the meaning of life can be seen not even as a desire for our own reproduction, but rather as the propagation of genetic material, which is as invisible to us as we transport machines are to the genes themselves. The 'meaning' of all of this is that good genes will be passed on, and our 'purpose' is to facilitate this transfer. We no longer need to ascribe some divine or spiritual intent, or speculate endlessly about what it's all for, because science has provided the most succinct and plausible answer: we are here because it is convenient for genes.

At first glance this may appear somewhat bleak, but as I said before, the absence of any particular meaning is not a problem. If our lives are merely a by-product of low-level replicators, that should not matter: passing on genetic material may be what we are 'for', but it is not all that we can do. We are here, and we can do great things, and whether or not this benefits our genes does not have to matter to us, now that we have evolved the intelligence to comprehend it. Indeed, rather than being slaves to genetic determinism, we can actively work against our genes' best interest, via contraception, care for the weak and sick, life-preserving technologies and genetic engineering. The 'meaning' of our existence is the survival of genes but we have already shown that we can move so much beyond this, and decide our own future. Indeed, it is quite empowering to think of it this way: we have pulled ourselves up from amongst the animal kingdom and into the stars, even though it was never meant to be our purpose. That we have achieved so much without divine intervention or controlling factors is impressive, as I said before; that we did it even though our 'meaning' or 'reason for existing' are nothing to do with it is even better.

Even so, I can imagine some people being uncomfortable with this reductionist view of human existence. Assuming evolution is true (it is), does that mean we have to take the gene's-eye-view of life? Why does that mean we don't have another meaning assigned to our lives, and replication of genes was merely the mechanism by which it was implemented (implausible but worth considering). Does the selfish gene model have to be the only way to think of our purpose, or can there be others?

These questions are worth exploring, because they beg the question of who's point of view the 'meaning of life' is to be evaluated from. There has to be some perspective from which meaning is defined, otherwise it makes no sense as a concept. The universe does not care about us any more than it cares about the collision of rocks in space - and even then, that would be ascribing thought and intention to some abstract entity, even if it is 'the universe' as a whole. So the question of the meaning of life, if not yet answered satisfactorily, must address this: from who's point of view are we asking?

First, consider our own point of view. It is a valid question to ask, from our vantage point as intelligent beings, what our purpose is for being here (so not the scientific reason as above, but what it means to us). However, I would argue that trying to decide our own meaning of life for our own purposes, and having no a priori imposed meaning, are exactly the same, and is basically the situation I described before. So, the question of a meaning of life at this level is resolved in that it doesn't make sense to think that there can be one: we are free.

On the other hand, what other point of view could there be? As I mentioned at the beginning, one historically prevalent concept is that it is from the perspective of a supernatural being that this question must be considered. For example: the meaning of life is to be good, devout, pious, and subservient, from the point of view of God. That would make sense logically, since it is God, not humans, who decide the meaning, and so humans do have a meaning for their lives (even if it isn't a very nice one to think about). Or, to take another example: the meaning of life is to live humbly and compassionately, in order to be re-incarnated in a better situation in a future life from the point of view of whatever karma or divinity makes the decision. The problem with all of these ideas is that they invoke supernatural entities to be the source of meaning and judges of our actions - for this to be the meaning of life, they would need to actually exist. Obviously, no evidence exists for God or any other super-human intelligence, but that is not the point here: my point is that if anyone wants to advance any alternative candidate for the meaning of life, other than the make-it-up-for-ourselves model that I have outlined, based on the indifference of the underlying selfish genes, they must choose a point of view from which this meaning is defined, and provide evidence that it is real.

Image: Jeff Johnson, Hybrid Medical Animation, taken from linked site

So we are left with scientific explanations of the world, which as I said have made considerable progress in understanding why everything is here. To date, the most compelling and convincing explanation of why humans exist is the gene-centric model of evolution: root through all the scientific discoveries which tell us how the universe, this planet, or our species came into being, and this is the theory which goes furthest to tell us why we are here, and what the purpose of our continued existence really is. Given all the possible alternatives, all the variety of ways that meaning could have been assigned, I'm very glad we have one that gives us the option to choose for ourselves; and that we can choose to overrule our genetic programming and to do what we think is right. The selfish gene may be the meaning of life, but what we do with it is up to us.

I Prefer Reality (Part 2)

Further joy at religious versions of reality being untrue

A month or two ago, I wrote about why I am so very glad that the versions of reality described by various religions are almost certainly untrue. I spoke about the tyrannical vision of life that Christianity, for example, teaches, and how I am glad to live in a world where this is almost definitely not the case.

But for all the suffering that humans might endure, on the larger scale of the universe, this is not really of much significance. What are the lives and deaths of a few score billion people, in the vast cold depths of the universe? But most religions not only have a position on what humans can and should do, the meaning of their lives, and the path to their ultimate destiny: they also have quite specific ideas about how the universe as a whole works. In a way, I think it would be an even greater shame if these were actually true, since not only would humanity by living under the yoke of an all seeing slave driver / condemned to karma-driven reincarnation / punished infinitely for finite crimes (and so on), but the universe itself would not be the wondrous thing we perceive it to be.

Take, for example, the Christian creation myth. That the planet was created in about a week, and populated immediately with all flora, fauna, and mankind in pretty much their current forms almost immediately, has a superficial appeal. As creation myths go, it isn't so bad, and implies a touch of artistry on the part of the God who created it all (after all, it took a whole six days' work). But on further consideration, I find this to be so, so, dull. The whole thing, as a working system, arrived in one go? What about the coalescing of a cosmic dust cloud, the ages of fiery volcanism, the majestic drift and shuddering collision of continents, the cycles of ice and fire, that made up the natural history of the Earth, as science tells it? That is what we stand to lose, if the Christian creation myth is true, and I would see that as a big let-down. Four billion years of geological chaos is so much more entertaining than a few days of divine construction.

And it's not just the Earth's marvellous history that we'd lose: remember, that particular creation myth - and all the others, for that matter - generally speak about the creation of the whole universe. The big bang, re-ionisation, hyper-inflation, the collision of multidimensional membranes, the birth and death of stars... all these wonders of science would turn out to be an illusion, placed into the cosmos such that they just happen to look as though they tell a rich and awe-inspiring history, for some reason. That may be an over-literal interpretation of these myths, but even so - if the universe did evolve as we suppose it did, but either under the direction of, or set in motion by, some God, a pantheon of gods born of chaos, supernatural force, divine congress, or whatever, that would still remove a lot of the fun from trying to figure it out, and the wonder at how it all came to be.

by Zen Pencils

The question of our own origins is another matter in which the scientific truth far outweighs any religious claim in terms of wonder and inspiration. The evolutionary origin of humanity is something which still drags on as a point of contention amongst the more literalistic religious believers, as countless debates and school-board hearings sadly demonstrate. One of the prime motivations, it seems, behind those who would deny our descent from ape ancestors, is the unwillingness to associate humans with being mere animals, a disgust of what it says about our un-divine natures. I see it exactly the other way around: evolution by natural selection is a far more empowering way to have come into being than to be merely placed, fully formed, in a garden one sunny Saturday morning. If we are to believe we were created pure and perfect, then presumably we must be nothing other than a disappointment, ever declining and sinning and failing to achieve our god-given potential - certainly not a very inspiring view of life (that sadly seems prevalent in a lot of religious thinking). The alternative, that we started as apes eking a living by whatever means from a merciless environment, and gradually developed into the thinking, feeling, rational beings we are, able to achieve great feats of engineering and exploration, to extend our own lives to many times their natural length and live in comfort undreamed of by any other creature: that is surely the more pleasing interpretation of our existence, and one which I am very happy to find is much more likely to be true.

Lest it seem like I'm going after Christianity in particular (though as I said before, that's just because it's the one I know most about), I'll emphasise the point that it doesn't really matter which mythical view of reality one considers: none of them match the real physical universe for sheer awesomeness. No religious sect ever dreamed up anything as majestic as spirals of stars, hundreds of quadrillions of miles wide, spinning towards each other over uncountable billions of years, to eventually collide and pass though each other. No creation myth is as impressive as an exploding star, spewing heavy elements formed in the fires of nuclear fusion out into space, to gradually coalesce into balls of rock and gas capable of sustaining life. No fantastical account of human beginnings is as empowering and satisfying as a billion year struggle from single celled life, through countless different forms, pitted against all the relentless forces of nature and the jaws of predators, and against all the odds, to survive, to produce beings capable not just of rising themselves out of the dust but to actively transcend our own biology, and to be capable of comprehending the whole dizzying journey.

That's why I get somewhat annoyed at religious believers who ignore such majesty; who insist that as wondrous as it is, it was produced by one God for one purpose; or to deny it even happened: because what they are missing is amazing. Similarly, for any semi-spiritual, New-Age philosophy that insists there's 'something' out there, that there are are things 'beyond science' or facts we are 'not meant to know'... well yes, of course there's something out there: there's a whole universe of supermassive black holes and unimaginably small strings, of nebulae bigger than a thousand suns and wasps smaller than a pinhead. And isn't this enough - just this? Why invoke ghosts and spirits and gods and demons, when we have the mystery of consciousness, the ingenuity of evolution, and the search for life elsewhere to occupy us? It seems that any alternative fantasies that people invoke serve only to detract from the real nature of reality, and are a poor substitute for the wonders that are really there to be found.

That's why I'm happy with the real, physical universe we have, and why I see it not as some barren, bleak, godless void, but a playground of rich wonders of which we could never have imagined. And why, as we begin to comprehend how the whole thing works, I am immensely glad that it is not a six-thousand year old project of an omnipotent tyrant, a result of a snake eating itself, or produced by a melody over dark water: but thirteen billion years of chaos and confusion and matter and exploding stars and dinosaurs and pulsars and drifting continents and giant sloths and hot Jupiters and the Casimir effect and common descent and redshift and quantum entanglement and emergent consciousness. This is much more fun.

My life has no meaning - and that's just fine

The absence of a meaning of life is what sets us free

The meaning of life is something which has bothered humanity for as long as we've been around to be bothered. Generations of philosophers, theologians, artists and poets have debated, with little progress either way, what the point of it all is; with answers ranging from it all being part of a divine plan, to a quest for enlightenment or a journey of self discovery.

However, as we come to understand more about the physical world, our relatively minor role in it, and our origins, it is becoming apparent that there probably is none.  As the product of a few billion years of disinterested evolution, clinging to an unremarkable ball of damp rock revolving though a cold and uncaring universe, the conclusion that there is no actual meaning or significance to our existence is scientifically the most likely explanation.

This is dealt with in various ways - from outright nihilism to the focus on experience and absurdity of existentialism, to the more optimistic outlook of humanism; and in a lot of the more progressive outlooks with which I am most familiar, this is not much of a problem.  However, far from being something we have to come to terms with - some affront to our existence which we must learn to bear - I see this as the best situation in which we could find ourselves.

Consider for a moment that at some point, from some divine revalation, deep philosophical insight or profound scientific discovery, we had found the actual meaning of life, and understood our true reason for existing.  I really, really don't like the thought of this.  Why?

Because it would mean we have a purpose.

Think of what that would entail: we would know what it is we are supposed to do. Yes, we may rid ourselves of all that existential angst, the endless pondering over the point of it all, but at what cost? It doesn't matter what this meaning actually is, to know that there is one would be a terribe, crushing blow to our sense of identity, as well as a threat to the delicately balanced social structure we have built. We'd know exactly what we were here for, what it is that some undefined being/process had intended for us, and that if we did not fulfil said task, we were failing in our mission as human beings. Irrespecitive of what we, as intelligent creatures, think we ought to be doing, we would have irrevocable knowledge that this does, or does not, fit in with the plan.

That, I think, would certainly take a lot of the pleasure out of life; and it's not simply for the joy of the chase, the pleasure we take in pondering these deep questions - rather that when we are free to do as we think best, we know that we are doing things our own way, for our own reasons, for better or worse. The way I see it, making the most of our brief existence, and striving to improve ourselves and our environment, is an essential part of what it means to have a fulfilling life, and I would hate to find out that this is somehow contrary to some pre-determined intention (conversely, I'd also be disappointed to know that that is the plan, again because then we are reduced merely to following instructions, not living for ourselves). Life would basically be reduced to a case of "that's what it's all about then - better get on with it".

The need to be free of any particular plan is all the more apparent when considering some of the alternatives to the absence of a meaning.  The Christian tradition, for example, posits that our meaning is for the glory of God, that we are his creations and are here pretty much for his amusement and adoration - I've written about how I'm not too happy with this vision of reality before, but my point here is that if indeed there is such a meaning, it would surely be a horrific thing to know. It would mean that all our efforts are pretty much for nothing, other than as a service to some incomprehensible and ineffable being. The Judeo-Christian tradition is perhaps a rather easy target in this regard, but the same applies to less dictatorial religious viewpoints, which stress personal enlightenment, relvalation and one-ness - such as Buddhism, Zen or Hinduism: if that really is the meaning, then our efforts must presumably be focused on it, and any other endeavours (such as art, science, exploration, love) are ultimately a waste of time.

This brings me to my central objection to any externally imposed meaning of life: that without it, we have done rather a lot of awesome stuff. The past few thousand years have seen us advance astronomically (literally) from our humble hunter-gatherer origins, being capable of sublime works of art and continually going beyond our current capabilities, reaching for the stars, and gaining a greater understanding of ourselves. Certainly, some of this has been tied into mistaken ideas of what it's all about (religious architecture and music can't be ignored), or directly as a desire to find out (after all, "why?" is the primary scientific question) - but I'm sure that a lot of our achievements come directly from this sense of freedom, this ability to choose our goals for ourselves, that comes of not having any set direction.

My point is that we need not burden ourselves with searching for a meaning of life, nor should we be compelled to assign "bettering ourselves", "pursuit of knowledge", "helping our fellow human" or other noble goals as our 'purpose' in lieu of a definitive answer - there simply is no meaning. We must embrace this, since instead we get to decide our own fate, to do what we think is right purely because it is us that it affects: to be the architects of our own future and be judges of ourselves, as a species, on our own merits for our own sake. I'd say we've done pretty well at that so far.

A sparkling conversation

I just got back from 'Richard Dawkins and Susan Blackmore In Conversation', a British Humanist Association event, held just over the road in the University where I work (in association with the university's atheist society).  It was, not surprisingly, amazing. The conversation was fascinating, covering a diverse range of topics from memes (of course) to the nature of religious belief. There was some very interesting discussion of Zahavi's handicap principle, group/kin selection and the mechanics of gene replication - so I'm very glad that I've recently been ploughing through The Selfish Gene, in that I managed to understand more of what was going on. There was also some very interesting debate about consciousness, which I'm aware has been the focus of a lot of Blackmore's recent work (she gave a talk at Bristol on the subject a year or so ago, which is still pretty much all I know on this); aside from the difficulty of defining what consciousness actually is, they considered whether consciousness is necessary for the kind of intelligent things we get to, and if we are indeed actually conscious (note to self: read her books).

I loved the format of the event - after a concise introduction from BHA chief Andrew Copson (we all giggled when he said "hashtag": still not sure why), basically the two of them had a nice friendly chat about their work and stuff in general, rambling from topic to thrilling topic; followed by a more interactive session where the audience joined in with some very interesting questions.

These questions eventually got around to the subject of free will - as they tend to do in such situations as this - specifically with the question of whether they believed they had free will. This was one of the (many) highlights of the evening, as it's something I've recently become pretty interested in (both through debates with religious people who claim that we do possess it, and that it is proof of God's existence; and that I'm currently reading Pinker's Blank Slate, which contains some very though-provoking perspectives). On this subject Dawkins responded with his customary Hitchens quote - "I have no choice!"; but Blackmore's answer was quite unexpected, a position I was not previously aware of... though relating superficially to some things I'd previously been pondering.

Her opinion on the matter, briefly, is that she does not have free will; but unlike many other scientists/philosophers (to whom she has asked the question) she does not feel the need to live as if she did. Rather, she accepts that things are not the consequences of her conscious exercising of free will, but the result of this person that she is doing the things that it will do - and whatever happens, happens. Though this seems a little strange at first, I can see how it can be a liberating perspective: that she is able to look upon herself with a more detatched perspective, and take a step back from the immediate first-person experience to consier how this self of hers is reacting. In stressful situations, for example, she describes how it becomes a matter of intellectual curiosity to sit back and watch how she will cope.

It's interesting how this also allows more compassion and sympathy to be felt for others: since they are no longer to be viewed as purely free and autonomous consciousnesses acting in accordance with their independently existing will, but as beings influenced by their genes, their environment, and their experiences, it is easier to understand their motivations and recognise the humanity in them (again, as Pinker would say, the fact that people are influenced by genes, and whether or not they are in any sense free, makes no difference in terms of blame or intent - but does allow us to understand them better). This does not detract from what it means to be human, the value of freedom, or the necessity in making sensible decisions - we can still do the things we do, and we can still have valid reasons for doing them, it just means that there isn't necessarily that spontaneous "me" in constant control. Like I said, this is a fascinating perspective, not one I'd thought about much before, and certainly something I hope to elaborate on in future.

So with that and the general discussion about genes and memes, a mention of temes/thremes (the third, machine-based replicators, which it was good to hear of after having been present in yet another lecture in which she was developing the idea), the potential of Dawkins and Blackmore using their memetic knowledge in designing a new religion, and on how best to counter religion's resilience to critical thought, the evening definitely contained a lot to think about. I'll leave it there for now, lest I ramble incoherently on, and fail to an even greater degree not to brag about how lucky I am to have attended; but hopefully I'll return to many of the issues raised when I've thought a bit more about it all.

In Defence of Prejudice?

In which I express concern and outrage at Sam Harris's defence of profiling

On checking my twitter feed the other night, I was more than a little disturbed to see a few disparaging references to Sam Harris - a leading figure of the modern Atheist movement, described as one of the 'four horsemen'. On following a link to his website I soon understood why - and am rather shocked and appalled that such a thing has come to pass. Essentially, Sam Harris has written an article in defence of airport security profiling, specifically, targeting people who fit the typical description of a Muslim terrorist. I suggest you go read it.

The main theme of the article is that the current security theatre pervading airports in the US is absurd and pointless, not only subjecting ordinary people to significant inconvenience and stress, but likely being ineffective in actually preventing terrorism.  Well, I can't say I disagree with that, and it certainly seems the actions of the Transportation Security Administration are becoming increasingly ridiculous. However, where Harris goes with this is deeply troubling, in that he advocates profiling based on appearance and ethnicity, and focusing attention on those who 'look like terrorists'.

Harris's argument has one big false premise: that it is obvious who the suspects are. As PZ Myers points out in his response to this, many terrorists, such as Oklahoma bomber Timothy McVeigh and British "shoe bomber" Richard Reid, are not even slightly middle-eastern. It seems rather incongruous, and historically inaccurate, to see modern terrorism solely through the lens of the events of 9/11, and to conflate the categories of "terrorist" with "Islamic extremist". Indeed, given the rather small number of terrorist acts actually perpetrated by militant Islamic fundamentalists in the past few decades, it seems that the threat of this kind of terrorism has been blown out of all proprtion by the media and a goverment only too eager to impose draconian laws - as Adam Curtis's excellent 'Power of Nightmares' documentary describes. The discrepancy between the real and imagined threats - and the political power this can confer - is a fascinating issue underlying much of recent history; but for the time being, it suffices to say that Muslim-initiated terrorism is neither as pervasive nor as exclusive as we are often led to assume. To say the least, this weakens the argument that a typical terrorist looks like what we think a Muslim looks like, whatever that may be.

To be fair to Harris, he is not making veiled references to what a terrorist supposedly looks like, to insinuate it's a Muslim issue without naming names: he comes right out and says it openly. But he does not stop there: not only, he says, should we preferentially profile Muslims, but those that look even slightly like they might be one. Profiling moves from any demographic and statistical  justification it may have had, to snap judgements based solely on appearance - because apparently when it comes to trained fighters attempting to pass off as innocent citizens, "TSA screeners can know this at a glance". Disappointingly, he even invokes the spectre of political correctess, as if not preying on a group of people due to their enthicity and appearance were symptoms of over-zealous adherence to a code of feigned diplomacy, rules imposed to stop us telling it like it is.

This kind of built-in prejudice is far too close for comfort to that most heinous of crimes, "driving while black" - the parallels with the treatment of young black men over the last century, from the casual stereotyping to the lazy justification, are all too obvious. But I won't dwell on that, partly because using the insert-blacks-here gambit is a somewhat patronising way of making the point, but mainly because I can't believe that Harris had not thought of it before writing this piece - and presumably deemed it a worthwhile policy to support regardless.

What I will mention is that research has shown that terrorists are disproportionately likely, compared to their peers, of coming from engineering backgrounds. Whatever the reason may be (maybe engineers are easier to recruit, or aspiring terrorists see it as a valuable skill to obtain) is beside the point: but wouldn't it therefore be more sensible to profile passengers on this basis? Should suspicion fall on a large swathe of the population, simply because they possess a skill which is associated with a vanishingly small group of terrorists?  No, clearly not, that would be grossly unfair - and the same should apply for any other such criertion.

One of Harris's main points - where again, there is a grain of truth - is that in casting the net so wide as to include everyone (in what he disingenuously calls a "tyranny of fairness"), we sample too sparsely and risk missing the real criminals. But in making this point he describes the case of a young girl being taken to have her sandles examined, while he inadvertently smuggles a bag full of ammunition: and isn't this exactly the problem? He, as a fine upstanding example of the average white male, would be unlikely to fall within the arbitrary definition of what a terrorist looks like, and could get away with carrying dangerous weaponry onto a flight. Doesn't this hint that the kind of profiling he advocates is doomed to fail?

As PZ goes on to say, this approach also misses a fundamental point about how terrorists will try to mount an attack: they will go for whichever method is least expected. The moment we decide what a terrorist should look like, we virtually guarantee that none will; telling them who is not under suspicion is essentially telling them where to hide the bombs. Why, after years of battling enemies who are allegedly hidden amongst Americans, in sleeper cells, home grown terror factions, or otherwise able to evade detection, would it be sensible to assume a terrorist would look the part?

There are a few other things that Sam Harris says, aside from this main point, that I take exception to, and need addressing. He has the audactity to say that, far from being affronted by such blatant prejudice, the minority groups automatically labelled as potential walking detonations should be glad of this.  Yes, with their insistence to dress as they do or show their darkened faces in public, they should be happy to be suspected - it's for their own good! - because after all, the do look a big dodgy.  His insistence that he would not mind, if the roles were reversed, drips condescention, and it is tempting to imagine that he has never been on the receiving end of this kind of open discrimination. His Ben Stiller quip falls rather short of the mark: having a passing resenblence to a one-off criminal is not the same as having your whole ethnic group, even your very identity, tarred with the same badly applied brush. Furthermore, I find his 'Bollywood villain' comment to be somewhat inappropriate in this setting: so he's Indian and looks a bit shifty? And doesn't look concerned at the elderly couple being subjected to various prodding and probing? Get 'im! No matter that this is a completely different ethnic group from the ones he tries to argue are chief suspects - he doesn't fit in the innocent, white, harmless category, and is offhandedly cast as the bad guy.

I agree that there needs to be a degree of common sense applied to security. The ban on carrying liquids, or requests to remove clothing bearing even a picture of a gun, are over-eager attempts to look as though something - anything - is being done. There might perhaps be an argument that certain groups - toddlers, the infirm, young families - are "obviously" not about to commit acts of mass murder; but given the known cases of seemingly innoccent people being tools of horrendous killing (perhaps against their will), it is hard to see how this could be applied without being an obvious security flaw.

Security agencies may well be paranoid and making a lot of ineffectual fuss in desperation, and I certainly do not want to live in a world ruled by fear and suspicion, but history shows what can happen if we are not prepared. However, this does by no means justify a policy based upon discriminating against minority groups merely due to past associations or prejudices. Whichever way is chosen to protect airports - and society in general - we should never settle for a method which is indistinguishable from systematic, institutional racism.

I Prefer Reality (Part 1)

Why I am overjoyed that the religious version of reality is not true

In arguments between atheists and believers, there are often two main themes to be debated. One is whether the claims made by religion are true or not: such as the existence of God, the afterlife, the creation of the world. This is debated with facts and evidence, and the application of science.  The other is whether religion is a good thing or not: whether it is a valuable moral guide or leads to great harm. This relies on anecdote and experience, and is concerned with issues such as women's rights, marriage equality, and religiously motivated warfare. But in this post, I want to look at it from a somewhat different perspective.

Often, when debating the first of the two ideas - that of the literal truth of religion - it is emphasised that no matter how much one wants something to be true, it makes no difference to the actual reality; and the number of people who believe in something is irrelevant to its existence.

This sometimes appears to tacitly acknowledge the beauty of the myths which we must reluctantly dispel; that no matter how grand and comforting a divine vision might be, we must point to evidence and reason and sadly disappoint. However, while this is certainly a sensible and tactful way to address the issue, I completely disagree with the sentiment. That is, I am truly, joyously glad that religion is not true.

Now, clearly this makes as little difference to the actual facts as the apologetics of the most devout believer; and it is always important to keep one's personal preference out of scientific arguments about real world claims.  But I want to make the point that instead of finding the version of reality espoused by religion to be an inspiration and a guide to wholesome living, mistaken though it appears to be, I see it as a horrible, dystopian, nihilistic outlook, and am so happy that the past few centuries of scientific endeavour have shown it to be almost definitely untrue.

In the following, I will focus on the Christian version of reality - mainly because that is what I am most familiar with, but also because it is the most prevalent in western popular culture; though hopefully the points I make will be applicable to other faiths too. Also, I should emphasise that this is all just my opinion, and an explanation of why I reject such beliefs - not necessarily a judgement on those who hold them.



First of all, in almost all religions, there exists a strict hierarchical structure. There are people, at various levels, and above them there is a god, or gods. This is most clearly seen in the Catholic church, with its layers of priests, cardinals, bishops, and ultimately the pope; but this division is more fundamental than any one church, and even in the most liberal and egalitarian sect of the Abrahamic religions, there is still the idea of humans at one level, and God up above.

I would strongly object to a world that worked this way. It means that no matter what we do, how much we achieve, there is still a superior being with whom we can never hope to compete. According to Christian thought, God has powers that we can never possess nor understand, and we must therefore deal with being forever inferior. This rather dampens our sense of achievement and self-worth, since no matter what we achieve, what wonders we discover, we are forever playing catch-up, groping in the dark at things beyond our ability under the gaze of the all-knowing creator.

This attack on our pride as a species is bad enough, though arguably having to face our limitations due to more tangible constraints is little better. But worse is the fact that God is not only our superior, but our supreme ruler, and will always be: he is the ultimate unelected monarch. Moreover, religions tend to emphasise strict obedience and unquestioning devotion, bowing down to every whim of this supreme being: thus God, not merely a ruler or overseer, is a dictator. This is no mere Earthly dictator with chemical weapons or hired killers: this one can know everything you do, everything you think, and has absolute power.

If our every action is meant to glorify him, to do his work, and give thanks for everything which we receive, this is no benign relationship with a superior - it is slavery.  Indeed, in much Christian imagery there is the view that we are slaves to the lord, here to do his good work. The idea that all of us live our lives under the rule of a judgemental and vengeful master (no matter how benevolent and loving he is sometimes claimed to be) is truly horrifying.

In this sad state of affairs is a great sense of powerlessness. I find the idea that we must live our lives as slaves to an all-powerful ruler abhorrent, but if this really is true, what could we even do? We are threatened with eternal torture if we do not obey; there is no way we can actually rebel, or reject God, if he has the means and willingness to punish dissenters. We are even fed the story of an angel who attempts to rise up against God and his dominion of the heavens: it does not end well. In even the most brutal and oppressive political regime, there is always the possibility of a revolution, of fighting back; that perhaps one day we, or our descendants, may be free.  In the picture of reality painted by Christianity, there is no such escape, no possibility of hope. It is terrifying to even consider this as a candidate for the real explanation of the world.

One could argue, however, that brutal as this may seem, it is only a temporary state, before being infinitely rewarded in a following life (assuming we are appropriately sycophantic). After all, this is only a preliminary testing stage, to sort out the good from the bad and allocate us our appropriate afterlife. Why worry about the apparent inequality of this brief life when we will ascend to our rightful place at its conclusion?

This too I find to be abhorrent, for a number of reasons.

First, the shocking mismatch between punishment and crime. How can it possibly be fair to win eternal reward or damnation, from a mere seventy or so years of good or bad behaviour? Compared to eternity, that is nothing. Life is messy and complicated, morality is a tricky business, and the rules we are given are ambiguous at best and nonsensical and conflicting at worst. Yet this is how we are to prove ourselves?

Second, surely the whole period of testing is pointless anyway. If God is all knowing, he would know which of us are good and which of us are bad, without needing to run the test. On the one hand, if he has a plan, and we are all destined to play our part, then what's the point? On the other, if we are indeed free to choose our fate, for what purpose, other than to prove the abilities of what God himself created? Either alternative casts us as worthless toys, existing only amuse their creator, as we plunge inevitably and ignorantly toward our final sorting. I refuse to believe our lives are merely spent as God's playthings, as pawns in some great sick game.

Furthermore, suppose that we do have free will and our fate is not sealed from the beginning; if we know what the rewards and punishments are, and how to obtain or avoid them (as the holy texts supposedly reveal), then this is really not a good test of our character or worthiness: it is merely a test of how well we can play the game. That people do good deeds in order to get into heaven does not show they are good people, it shows they are motivated by reward and acting accordingly (that doesn't mean they are selfish or bad people either, just that their actions in this setup are not a good indicator of any inherent moral quality).  The examples of financiers maximising their short term gain irrespective of consequences, or hospitals striving to meet targets rather than cure patients, illustrate how reward driven systems can fail to produce their intended goals. Of course, in this scenario, such concerns become irrelevant, and the motivations for Earthly choices make little difference, since the end - of getting into heaven - is fulfilled; and once the savage play has ended we all 'live' happily ever after... but this is exactly why it is all so horrible. It means life is inconsequential, a brief examination, a preparation for things to come. To me that seems such a terrible waste. Any philosophy which demeans the amazing lives we lead and the fabulous things we do is evil as far as I am concerned.

The knowledge that this was indeed the meaning - that all the world is merely a stage upon which we must audition, and nothing more - would really detract from the joy of being human and the magic of reality (I should make it clear that we do not know this: but religions take great pains to insist that we do).  There is no future for which it is worth striving, no incentive to better ourselves, since all we need to do is abide by the rules and claim our reward when we die. To actually be told the meaning of life... and find that it is to perform for our heavenly spectator, is surely the greatest tragedy that could befall humanity. We will all inevitably die, but if to die is our purpose, then I would say we have scarcely lived. Our desires, our passions, our loves and losses, our mighty achievements and great follies, would all be for nothing.

And so, if that is truly the nature of reality - we born, we are tested, we are judged, and we cannot escape - then it's a reality I detest. If this is all a game for God's amusement, then I don't want to play; if there's any way I can escape this vision of despair, I will; and given the opportunity to doubt and reject it, I will take it wholeheartedly. So as our increasing exploration shows that this ancient and twisted vision is less and less likely, I think you will understand why I smile on our good fortune.