SUMMING UP
CHAPTER 1 BEGAN WITH TWO QUOTATIONS about speculation in science—one from Newton and one from Einstein. Newton, in his “official” methodology, tells scientists never to speculate.
Einstein tells them that only “daring speculation,” not the “accumulation of facts,” can “lead us further.” What is Einstein telling scientists to do, and Newton telling them not to do? That is, what exactly is a speculation? And which, if either, of these two scientific geniuses is right about the activity of speculating? If it is a legitimate activity, is it subject to any constraints, or can one's imagination run wild? Can scientific speculations be evaluated as speculations, or is evaluation confined only to theories that have been tested? Are there speculations not only about the objects studied by science but also about methodologies to be used in the study, and if so, how are such speculations to be evaluated? These are some of the questions for which this book has offered answers.My first concern was to define speculation in a way that could help to provide these answers. I proposed that speculation, in the “truth-relevant” sense, be construed as introducing assumptions, under what I called “theorizing” conditions, without knowing that there is evidence for those assumptions. The question then becomes: What concept of evidence should be used? Two probabilistic concepts, Bayesian (B-evidence) and my own (A-evidence), were introduced. My concept—there are, in fact, different objective and subjective versions of it—employs the idea of the probability of an explanatory connection between evidence and hypothesis. The Bayesian (increase-in-probability) concept does not, even if the latter is changed to require that evidence increase the probability of the hypothesis to more than one-half. The explanatory idea, I claimed, enables us to see why certain assumptions can be regarded as made very probable by certain facts (e.g., facts about what the authorities believe), even though the assumptions are, and ought to be, regarded as speculations—that is, ones lacking evidence.
With an explanatory concept of evidence, I argued, we obtain a more plausible account of speculation than with Bayesian ones, unless the latter are changed to incorporate an explanatory idea. With an explanatory account, using potential, ES-, or explanatory B-evidence, we can understand why Thomas Young's early nineteenth-century wave theory of light, Lord Kelvin's late nineteenth-century molecular theory of the luminiferous ether, contemporary string theory, and even Isaac Newton's theory of gravity (I argue) are all justifiably classified as speculations. Whether that is to praise them or damn them, or neither, is a separate question. How should that issue be addressed?My approach to speculation in science is pragmatic. It rejects rigid views that say “never do it,” or “do it with abandon, but test,” or “do it with abandon, and don't worry about testing.” Whether to do it, when, and how depend on the context of inquiry. It depends on: (i) what you know, or at least think you know; (ii) what you are trying to explain, unify, calculate, predict, and so forth; and (iii) how you are proposing to do so. If you are Newton employing his three laws of motion plus theorems, attempting to explain the motions of the planets and their moons by establishing the force(s) producing these motions and the governing law(s), then speculation is not what you want to do. (Newton did it anyway, or so I claim.) If you are Maxwell attempting to see whether a mechanical explanation of known gas laws is even possible in terms of molecules in motion subject to forces, then do it by making assumptions about the motions of the molecules and forces acting on them, even if you have no evidence that molecules exist. Don't worry about testing, since (in 1860) you can't do it anyway. Your job is to theoretically develop such a theory, not to test it.
Similarly, how to evaluate a speculation is to a considerable extent pragmatic and context dependent. A speculation can be evaluated in an epistemic way, a non-epistemic way, or both.
And within these categories there are different perspectives that can be taken—that of the speculator and that of the evaluator—which may be quite different. We can ask whether, given Newton's epistemic situation, he was epistemically justified in believing that the celestial phenomena he cites constitute evidence that the law of gravity holds. We can also ask this question from a perspective that is based on our own epistemic situation. (In chapter Ç, I do the former, arguing that he was not so justified, or only partially so; given his epistemic situation, the law was indeed a speculation.) We can also evaluate Newton's speculation— the law he introduced—fr om various non-epistemic perspectives—for example, in terms of its unifying power, its simplicity, or its influence. We evaluators choose the perspective of interest. It is not dictated by “nature” or by the speculation itself. Nor is it particularly useful to combine all perspectives and give an overall grade to the speculation.To take his rightful place among the scientific immortals, Newton never needed that!
Armed with the conception of speculation I propose, and with a pragmatic attitude toward speculating, I examined some very general claims made by scientists and philosophers about the role of simplicity in science, about whether scientific statements can be tested individually or only “holistically,” and about whether a “'lheory of Everything” exists and why it would be good to have one. Despite the pronouncements made by supporters of these claims, the claims themselves are all speculations. They lack sufficient evidence to be believed. The question then becomes: Even though they are speculations, are they good ones? Is there any reason, whether evidential or non-evidential, to offer in favor of making them? Do they have to be made to do and understand science?
Both Newton and Einstein claimed that nature is simple, and therefore, that simplicity is an epistemic virtue. The simplicity of a theory, law, or explanation is a guide to its truth.
Contrary to what these and many other scientists and philosophers have urged, the simplicity claims in question are speculations. But as speculations, do they have any support in their favor? I examined attempts to provide such support by means of inductive arguments from the success of simple theories, claims about simplicity built into prior and posterior probabilities in Bayes' theorem, claims about simplicity as an epistemic strategy, and others. None of them is successful. Simply put, simplicity is not an epistemic virtue. Despite Newton's claims to the contrary, simplicity is not doing any epistemic work for him in his argument for the law of gravity. It cannot do so, nor is it needed to do so. Simplicity, I argue, is a non-epistemic pragmatic virtue.Theories that make fewer assumptions, postulate fewer different types of entities, and have simpler equations than other more complex theories are easier to use for explanation, prediction, calculation, and communication. Most important, as I illustrated with Maxwell's 1860 kinetic theory, they are excellent starting points for developing ideas that, although more complex, are likely to be more reflective of reality. The simplicity of Maxwell's early kinetic theory is not a sign of its truth, nor did Maxwell take it to be. He explicitly regarded the theory as a speculation, and he introduced simple assumptions in order to enable him to develop them more easily and see whether a mechanical theory of gases was even possible.
The debate between “holists,” such as William Whewell, and “particularists,” such as J. S. Mill, contains various speculations about what counts as evidence for a scientific theory and about how one is supposed to evaluate a theory. These speculations, which I claim are unwarranted, are made by both holists and particularists, even if the latter are somewhat less vulnerable than the former. In the mid-nineteenth century, Whewell said that evidence for the wave theory of light—evidence from phenomena such as diffraction and interference—was conclusive.
Whewell's claim about such evidence was based on the idea that if your theory explains and predicts a variety of observed phenomena (“consilience”) and if, as new phenomena are discovered, this continues without the introduction of arbitrary ad hoc hypotheses (“coherence”), then these phenomena constitute evidence for the entire theory, rather than for any particular part of the theory. This is because explanation and prediction of phenomena require all the assumptions of the theory, not isolated ones. Mill, the particularist, disagrees fundamentally. The nineteenth-century wave theory is based on the assumption that an ether exists in which the waves occur. But, he says, no one has yet discovered it experimentally. The most that has been established by experiments on diffraction, interference, and other optical phenomena is that if the ether exists, then light is a wave motion. Mill's more general point is that to provide evidence for a theory—evidence sufficient to believe the theory—you need to provide evidence for each assumption in the theory. For this purpose, it is not sufficient to show that the theory is “consilient” and “coherent.” (You need to “find the ether.”) Who is right?Whewell's idea is that for observational results O to constitute evidence for a theory H consisting of a set of assumptions, O must be derivable from H. Since such derivations usually require all the assumptions in H, it is the set H as a whole, rather than individual hypotheses in H, that is supported by the observed phenomena in O. Mill is saying that this is not enough for evidential support. Each assumption in H must be supported by some or all of the phenomena in O. Whewell's underlying evidential claim here—that in science, evidence involves only a deductive explanatory-predictive relationship—is a speculation. Worse, it is one subject to numerous counterexamples. The concept of evidence I have proposed (A-evidence, in its various forms) contains the idea that evidence involves some type of explanatory relationship between evidence and hypothesis.
But it is not necessarily deductive; it requires the high probability of an explanatory connection between the hypothesis and the evidence; and it allows, but does not require, that it is probable that the hypothesis correctly explain the evidence, while allowing that the reverse may be the case as well, or that something probably explains both. With this concept of evidence, we obtain268 | SPECULATION: WITHIN AND ABOUT SCIENCE a type of particularism and reject Whewellian holism. Is this enough to reject holism? No, because the holist can reply that scientific claims, including evidential ones, can be defended only holistically. This is yet another speculative assumption that I argue is without merit.
A major problem I find with the holism-particularism debate is that its focus is entirely epistemic. Even as a purely epistemic debate, its main focus, in the case of both Mill and Whewell, is on one evaluative question: Is there evidence sufficient to believe the theory? (For Mill, there is only if there is such evidence for each assumption. For Whewell, there is only if consilience and coherence have been satisfied.) To be sure, both writers allow the additional epistemic question: Is there information that makes it reasonable to treat the theory as a possibility worth considering? But these questions seem to exhaust their epistemic repertoire.
The alternative I propose is more pragmatic. It rejects the idea of focusing exclusively on epistemic evaluations. There are non-epistemic ones that, depending on the context, can be quite important. And even within the epistemic evaluations, the labels “proved” or “unproved” are often insufficient to describe the epistemic status of a theory. In actual practice, as demonstrated by examples from Maxwell's evaluation of kinetic theory and Baden Powell's evaluation of the wave and particle theories of light, theories are often in a state in which neither of these labels applies. They are in a state somewhere in between “proved” and “unproved.” And even if one of these two labels can be used to describe some of the assumptions of a theory, there may be others, including the theory as a whole, that cannot be so described. What evaluative categories to use depends both on the status
of the theory and the context of evaluation. If you are writing a brief history of nineteenth-century physics, “unproved” may be the best term to use for wave and particle theories of light in 1833, and for Maxwell's kinetic theory in 1875. If you are writing a more extensive history, or if you are Powell in 1833 or Maxwell in 1875, a more informative fine-grained evaluation is called for.
Even if not all the assumptions of a theory have been “proved,” one can still use the theory, and scientists frequently do, to explain, predict, calculate, and so on, while admitting that perhaps some but not all the assumptions used to generate the explanations, predictions, calculations, and the like have been proved or established, or are better defended than others, or even have no support at all. The same can be said about the explanations, etc. generated from those assumptions.
The final speculation I consider is that there is a “Theory of Everything” (TOE) to be found and that it would be good for scientists to try to find it. Such a theory would explain everything by appeal to a set of fundamental entities (ones that have no constituent parts) and a set of fundamental laws (ones that cannot be explained by anything further). The claim or assumption that there is such a theory has been made by various scientists and philosophers, including some contemporary string theorists, seventeenth-century mechanical philosophers, Thomas Nagel in defense of a panpsychism, and David Chalmers in his “construction of the world.” The claim or assumption is a speculation in my sense, since the supporters of this idea do not know that there is evidence to support the general idea, nor do they have evidence for any specific theory they propose as a TOE. Indeed, in the case
270 | SPECULATION: WITHIN AND ABOUT SCIENCE of Nagel's panpsychic theory and Chalmers' “construction of the world,” there isn't even a specific theory being proposed. Nevertheless, supporters of the general idea do present epi- stemic and non-epistemic reasons for believing that a TOE exists and that its existence must be assumed to make science possible. I considered historical, presupposition, unification, and a priori and empirical “strategy” arguments for the existence of a TOE. None of them rises to the level of evidence (potential, ES- or explanatory B-) sufficient to believe that a TOE exists. Nor do they even provide reasons sufficient to take the idea seriously.
I also discussed the related normative idea of TOE supporters that it would be good for science if a TOE did exist, since then the world would be completely intelligible. There are two ideas of “complete intelligibility.” One invokes an assumption of a “rational order” for everything in the universe, whether or not scientists can know what it is. The other contains the idea that the world is completely intelligible to us (or to scientists). I argue that it is this second sense that is of most interest to scientists. I also argue that with respect to this kind of intelligibility, what needs to be defended is an idea illustrated in the work of both Newton and Maxwell, which I call “Newtonian intelligibility.” An explanation can provide complete intelligibility for some group of phenomena without providing it for all phenomena. And whether it does so for the phenomena in question is most usefully judged by reference to contextually dependent standards of completeness, not to some idealized, unrelativized one. Such a judgment takes into account the scientist's task: what he was trying to explain, how, and how well he has succeeded. In such a case in determining whether, or to what extent, the
scientist's explanation provides “complete intelligibility,” we ask whether or to what extent his task was completed successfully.
Newton clearly believed that he had completed his task successfully. From the motions of celestial bodies, using his three laws of motion, he thought he provided sufficient evidence for a universal force law that explains celestial and terrestrial motion. He admitted that although he produced such evidence for the law, he could not explain why it holds. Yet, he said, what he accomplished was enough to complete his particular task in the Principia. Yes, there are future tasks to be completed, depending on the questions being asked and evidence that is, or will become, available. New evidence may suggest how the new task is to be accomplished, or indeed new evidence (not available to Newton) may show that the original task is based on faulty assumptions. We can understand Newton's claims of successful completion in terms of subjective evidence. If we employ an objective concept of evidence, such as veridical or ES-evidence, we have to conclude that Newton's task was not complete. The evidence he supplied for the law was neither veridical (since the law is false) nor ES-evidence (since it wasn't sufficient).
Even if we employ one of the objective concepts of evidence and regard Newton's task as incomplete, and hence the “intelligibility” he provided for the phenomena he was attempting to explain, as incomplete or worse, the main point remains: neither Newton's task nor intelligibility, if any is produced, needs to be regarded as complete or completed only when he or others have constructed and provided objective evidence for a TOE. Completeness does not have to be judged, if at all, on the basis of how close a theory comes to being able to correctly answer all questions that have been or might be raised, and doing so by appeal to fundamental “atoms” and laws. For “Newtonian intelligibility,” completeness can and should be judged on a task-by-task basis without the completion of all tasks, and without necessarily completing the task in question by appeal to a TOE. Satis est.