Here’s how science works: Scientists have different, contradictory ideas about why stars shine, or how traits are passed from one generation to the next. After lots of observations and experiments, they figure out which idea is right. They converge on the truth, embodied by quantum mechanics, evolution by natural selection, the genetic code.
So I used to believe. But lately I’ve begun to suspect that certain big questions might not have a single, definitive answer. They might have lots of possible answers, an idea I once considered oxymoronic. This position is called theoretical pluralism.
Take, for example, the mind-body problem, which addresses how matter generates mind, and especially conscious states. When I first started writing about it decades ago, Francis Crick and other theorists were proposing many different solutions to the mind-body problem. I assumed that if one of them was right, the others had to be wrong. They couldn’t all be right.
But as I argue in my book Mind-Body Problems, there may be many and maybe even an infinite number of solutions to the mind-body problem, including ones still unconceived. You may prefer an information-based theory, a strange-loop model, or a quantum hypothesis, but your choice is subjective — a matter of taste, not truth.
Physics provides another example. For a century, physicists and philosophers have been arguing about how to explain or “interpret” quantum mechanics. There are many possible interpretations, including the Copenhagen interpretation, espoused by Niels Bohr; the many-worlds hypothesis, invented by Hugh Everett; and the pilot-wave model, conceived by Louis de Broglie and refined by David Bohm.
The problem is, physicists cannot determine, experimentally, which interpretation is right, if any. So maybe there isn’t a single, true interpretation. Maybe there are and always will be many possible ways of looking at the quantum realm, each of which has its pros and cons.
One advocate of this view, called theoretical pluralism, was 19th-century physicist Ludwig Boltzmann. He argued that science doesn’t give us truth, it gives us “representations,” or “models,” each of which is necessarily limited. Hence we can never be sure that any given model is true. This stance strikes me as a sensible plea for open-mindedness, which can prevent us from being trapped by our certainty.
Now, pluralism shouldn’t apply when scientists have established truth beyond a reasonable doubt. Given all the evidence that we evolved from microbes that emerged on Earth more than 3 billion years ago, for example, you really shouldn’t be a young-earth creationist. But that still leaves lots of cases in which pluralism is appropriate.
In many situations, we should think like engineers, who are natural pluralists. Faced with a problem like building a new bridge, electric car, or smart phone, engineers don’t ask, What is the definitive, ultimate, true solution to this problem? That sort of thinking would be counter-productive. The engineer’s job is to find a solution that works.
A solution can work in lots of ways. It can give us power over nature, or over ourselves. It can help us make sense of data and predict the outcome of experiments. On a more personal level, an answer can console us, give us meaning, help us make sense of our lives.
I suspect that, just as our arguments about the mind-body problem and the meaning of quantum mechanics will never be resolved, neither will our debates over God, free will, and the origin, destiny, and purpose of the cosmos. These conundrums are strands within the big, knotty meta-mystery of our existence. We should be grateful that this meta-mystery does not have a single, objectively true solution, because that means we can keep inventing new solutions, which help us see the world anew, forever.
John Horgan directs the Center for Science Writings at Stevens. This column is adapted from one originally published on his Scientific American blog, “Cross-check.”
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