Uncommon Descent Serving The Intelligent Design Community

A better kind of beauty, or: Why some people mistakenly reject Intelligent Design as unaesthetic

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This post is intended as a follow-up on the post, Children of a better god? by idnet.com.au.

I would like to suggest that the real reason why some people (including many Christians) dislike Intelligent Design is an aesthetic one. Their notion of beauty is overly influenced by mathematics: they define beauty as a delicate and interesting balance between variety (or plenitude) and simplicity (or economy). This kind of thinking goes back to Leibniz and beyond. Both qualities are needed: a very simple world containing just one object would be simple but intolerably boring, while a world lacking simple laws would appear messy and mathematically inelegant. It follows that according to this account of beauty, a beautiful world should contain many different kinds of things, governed by just a few underlying laws or principles. The variety of elements in the periodic table is a good example: it is aesthetically pleasing, because they can all be explained in terms of just a few underlying principles: the laws of physics and chemistry, whose underlying mathematical simplicity is evident in their regularity, symmetry and order. Many people would like to think that living things possess the same kind of beauty: an ideal balance between variety and underlying simplicity. Because the underlying laws are mathematically simple in this model of beauty, these people reason that the act of generating things that possess the attribute of beauty should be a simple one. Neo-Darwinism appeals to them as a scientific theory, because it purports to account for the variety of living things we see today, on the basis of a few simple underlying principles (natural selection acting on variation arising stochastically, without any foresight of long-term goals).

But living things aren’t like the periodic table. The phenomenon that characterizes them is not order but complexity – and complexity of a particular kind, at that. The beauty you see in a living cell is more like the beauty of a story than the beauty of crystals, which are highly ordered but still not very interesting, even when you contemplate them in all their variety. Stories have a much richer kind of beauty: they have parts (e.g. a beginning, a middle and an end; or the chapters in a novel), and these parts have to be ordered in a sequence specified by the author. The idea of writing a mathematical program that can generate a meaningful story from a “word bank” is comically absurd. Even a master programmer could not do that, unless he/she “cheated” and pre-specified the story (or a data bank of stories) in the program itself. But that wouldn’t save any effort, would it? And one cannot even imagine a simple procedure for writing a story. Stories are inherently complex; so the notion that they could be generated by a single, simple act makes no sense. The same goes for living things. They cannot be produced by a single, simple act. And just as one story cannot be changed step-by-step into another while still remaining a coherent story, so too, it is impossible for one type of living thing to change into another as a result of a step-by-step process, while remaining a viable organism.

Stories are not like mathematical formulas; and yet, undoubtedly they are still beautiful. They require a lot of work to produce. They are not simple, regular or symmetrical; they have to be specified in considerable detail. Who are we to deny God the privilege of producing life in this way, if He so wishes? The universe is governed by His conception of beauty, not ours, and if it contained nothing but mathematically elegant forms, it would be a boring, sterile place indeed. Crystals are pretty; but life is much richer and more interesting than any crystal. Life cannot be generated with the aid of a few simple rules. It needs to be planned and designed very carefully, in a very “hands-on” fashion. In order to facilitate this, God needs a universe which is ontologically “open” to manipulation by Him whenever He sees fit, rather than a closed, autonomous universe.

The beauty found in living things, then, cannot be defined as a balance between plenitude and economy, as Leibniz thought. It is a different kind of beauty, like that of a story. That is why life needs to be intelligently designed.

Comments
idnet.com.au Thank you for asking about my book, but I'm still getting advice on how (and by whom) it should be published. If anyone has ideas, I'm open to them.vjtorley
December 30, 2010
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markf I agree with you that ID theorists should attempt to uncover the whole story of life, and I hope they do a much better job in the future than they have to date. However, before we can tell the story of life (an historical epic) we first need to understand how the cell works. Now that's quite a story in itself - and it's the more fundamental one.vjtorley
December 30, 2010
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Neil Rickert Since you're a real mathematician, I'm sure you wouldn't find neo-Darwinism appealing, precisely because of its total lack of mathematical rigor. However, the average person in the street imagines that it is an elegant theory that can be expressed rigorously in terms of a few well-defined principles, because it's been sold to the public that way. That's why the "chattering classes" do find neo-Darwinism appealing.vjtorley
December 30, 2010
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It seems to me that evolutionary biologists do provide a story about life - a rather complex and messy one with lots of bits missing - but a story. While there is no ID story - that's one of its problems. It does not say a single thing about the story of how life developed.markf
December 30, 2010
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This seems likes a rather roundabout way of tackling the subject of beauty. We would agree that cell biology suggests a story that is, in a special sense, “aesthetically” pleasing. This is due to the ongoing revelation of the perfect organization and functionality of the cell, which resists the ugliness of chaos and appeals to reason and its desire for order. But this special notion of “beauty” is almost purely negative—“beauty” as that which resists undifferentiated matter; beauty as form. It is an intellectual notion of beauty and not beauty itself, drawing an analogy between the pleasure provided by beautiful things to the pleasure provided by contemplating the orderly composition of the cell. If some of us are a little wary of ID, it is precisely because of this Platonizing tendency. We do not necessarily agree that the intellectual beauty of the cell “story” (which is metaphorical) is of greater or even equal value to the sensuous beauty of nature itself. Nor are we willing to concede that Natural Selection has the explanatory power to account for the overwhelming beauty of nature. The Bible tells us that God looked at what he had made and saw that it was “very good.” The word “good” in this sense simply means that it was highly desirable, or pleasing. Creation is pleasing in two very different ways: it is beautiful as a physical thing and pleasing to look at—aesthetically pleasing—but it is also pleasing to the mind, being astonishingly well-made, or functionally optimal, as we discover by looking under the hood of the cell. Nothing is gained for the glory of God, it seems to us, by discounting the difference between these two kinds of goodness; by attempting, for example, to describe the purely intellectual pleasure provided by the functionality of the cell as an “aesthetic” value as if the real aesthetic values that exist in nature were somehow not worthy of God. The sensuous beauty of nature declares the glory of God just as plainly as its formal properties. True, Natural Selection cannot account for the pleasing stories now being told by microbiologists about the complex functionality of the cell—but neither can it account for the overwhelming beauty of nature. Darwin’s notion of sexual selection was wishful thinking. The results of the studies are equivocal. It seems that males—but not females—exhibit some selection preferences based on certain physical characteristics, but no one has been able to show that these weak preferences lead to an increase in beauty, or that the resulting beauty confers any kind of survival advantage. Let the indelible glory of the red cardinal perched in a snowy forsythia bush stand as a proof against the wishful thinking of the Darwinists and the fantastic notion that nature has any power to select beautiful things from chaos. And sexual selection, even if it were verifiable, would apply to living things only. It cannot account for the beauty of the sky, the stars, the ocean, snow, icicles in wintry mountain streams. The materialists like to laugh at claims about the goodness of nature’s beauty. Laughter is their only weapon, since this goodness cannot be explained by any natural process. Some of them try to pretend that nature is not beautiful at all; that its beauty is nothing more than a construct, or that we perceive nature to be beautiful because this perception leads to happiness and confers a survival advantage. The foolishness of these arguments is shown by comparing human art with nature. When art is imitative, it can never approach the threshold of creative greatness seen in the beauty of nature itself. This can be shown by taking a painting of any natural scene into nature and comparing them in the light of day. When art is “transgressive,” it simply demonstrates that the spitefulness and egotism of men is less gratifying than the beauty of nature, which is freely and graciously given. We are living through a dark, skeptical phase of our history, not unlike what is depicted in Chapter 11 of Hume’s “Inquiry,” where nature is devalued and the grandeur of its beauty becomes veiled to the understanding by the zeitgeist. The spirit of the times is not the spirit of life however, which overturns all human notions of value through their own vanity. Just as the aesthetic narrowness of Rationalism led to its own demise, giving way to Romantisicm and a renewed awe at nature’s beauty, so there is hope that the narrowness of nihilism and its resistance to natural beauty will lead to a thaw in the intellectual climate and allow us literally to come to our senses.allanius
December 30, 2010
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I don't think you are going to get anywhere with this VJ. For one thing, the whole "story" motif is becoming very popular at the "popular" level, and once the educated class realizes that they will drop it like a hot potato.tragic mishap
December 30, 2010
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As a mathematician, I suppose it could be said that I am "overly influenced by mathematics." However, I never did find neo-Darwinism to be mathematically appealing. And I can't recall any of my mathematical colleagues ever indicating that they found it mathematically appealing. If that was a typo, and you really meant "appalling" then that might be closer to how mathematicians see neo-Darwinism. In short, I think you misspoke (or mis-wrote). I think you were really commenting on mechanistic thinking, rather than mathematical thinking. Mathematical thinking is not particularly mechanistic.
The beauty found in living things, then, cannot be defined as a balance between plenitude and economy, as Leibniz thought. It is a different kind of beauty, like that of a story. That is why life needs to be intelligently designed.
And that is where I see you as jumping to a conclusion. I think it is fair to say that life is a different kind of beauty than what one might see in mechanism. And that is why one should doubt that life is mechanistic. However, you appear to be making a huge leap from "is not mechanistic" to "is intelligently designed." And I cannot find a basis for such a leap.Neil Rickert
December 30, 2010
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Dr. Torley, the theme of your post reminds me of this wonderful little book I read a few years back: A Meaningful World: How the Arts and Sciences Reveal the Genius of Nature by Benjamin Wiker and Jonathan Witt http://www.thinkingchristian.net/C228303755/E20060821202417/index.html excerpt: Their first variation comes from an unusual source for this topic: human genius as embodied by William Shakespeare. Richard Dawkins, in The Blind Watchmaker, had claimed to show that a computer program analogous to evolution could, after a few generations of trial and error, produce a line from Shakespeare's Hamlet: "Methinks it is like a weasel." Wiker and Witt pause briefly to point out how far that program really is from the reality of what evolution is supposed to be; it is for one thing intelligently guided, and for another thing, very dependent on a host of pre-built structures in which it is processed. But for them that is low-hanging fruit, easy to point out and then move on. They focus instead on what "Methinks it is like a weasel" really means. In isolation, in fact, it means almost nothing. Who said it? Why? What does the "it" refer to? What does it reveal about the characters? How does it advance the plot? In the context of the entire play, and of Elizabethan culture, this brief line takes on significance of surprising depth. The whole is required to give meaning to the part.bornagain77
December 30, 2010
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vjt I am glad you posted a new thread for your comment. If you didn't do it, I was going to. When are you writing your book?idnet.com.au
December 30, 2010
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