Edge 289—June 12, 2009
(8,250 words)

By Lera Boroditsky

Top scientists predict the future of science
By Amanda Gefter


The Big Accomodationism Debate
Jerry Coyne, Chris Mooney, "Erratic Synapse", Kenneth Miller, Jason Rosenhouse, P.Z. Myers

James O'Donnell, Marc D. Hauser on "The Impending Demise of the University"


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By Lera Boroditsky

For a long time, the idea that language might shape thought was considered at best untestable and more often simply wrong. Research in my labs at Stanford University and at MIT has helped reopen this question. We have collected data around the world: from China, Greece, Chile, Indonesia, Russia, and Aboriginal Australia. What we have learned is that people who speak different languages do indeed think differently and that even flukes of grammar can profoundly affect how we see the world. Language is a uniquely human gift, central to our experience of being human. Appreciating its role in constructing our mental lives brings us one step closer to understanding the very nature of humanity.

LERA BORODITSKY is an assistant professor of psychology, neuroscience, and symbolic systems at Stanford University, who looks at how the languages we speak shape the way we think.

Lera Boroditsky's Edge Bio Page


Dispatches on the Future of Science
Edited By Max Brockman

Humans communicate with one another using a dazzling array of languages, each differing from the next in innumerable ways. Do the languages we speak shape the way we see the world, the way we think, and the way we live our lives? Do people who speak different languages think differently simply because they speak different languages? Does learning new languages change the way you think? Do polyglots think differently when speaking different languages?

These questions touch on nearly all of the major controversies in the study of mind. They have engaged scores of philosophers, anthropologists, linguists, and psychologists, and they have important implications for politics, law, and religion. Yet despite nearly constant attention and debate, very little empirical work was done on these questions until recently. For a long time, the idea that language might shape thought was considered at best untestable and more often simply wrong. Research in my labs at Stanford University and at MIT has helped reopen this question. We have collected data around the world: from China, Greece, Chile, Indonesia, Russia, and Aboriginal Australia. What we have learned is that people who speak different languages do indeed think differently and that even flukes of grammar can profoundly affect how we see the world. Language is a uniquely human gift, central to our experience of being human. Appreciating its role in constructing our mental lives brings us one step closer to understanding the very nature of humanity.

I often start my undergraduate lectures by asking students the following question: which cognitive faculty would you most hate to lose? Most of them pick the sense of sight; a few pick hearing. Once in a while, a wisecracking student might pick her sense of humor or her fashion sense. Almost never do any of them spontaneously say that the faculty they'd most hate to lose is language. Yet if you lose (or are born without) your sight or hearing, you can still have a wonderfully rich social existence. You can have friends, you can get an education, you can hold a job, you can start a family. But what would your life be like if you had never learned a language? Could you still have friends, get an education, hold a job, start a family? Language is so fundamental to our experience, so deeply a part of being human, that it's hard to imagine life without it. But are languages merely tools for expressing our thoughts, or do they actually shape our thoughts?

Most questions of whether and how language shapes thought start with the simple observation that languages differ from one another. And a lot! Let's take a (very) hypothetical example. Suppose you want to say, "Bush read Chomsky's latest book." Let's focus on just the verb, "read." To say this sentence in English, we have to mark the verb for tense; in this case, we have to pronounce it like "red" and not like "reed." In Indonesian you need not (in fact, you can't) alter the verb to mark tense. In Russian you would have to alter the verb to indicate tense and gender. So if it was Laura Bush who did the reading, you'd use a different form of the verb than if it was George. In Russian you'd also have to include in the verb information about completion. If George read only part of the book, you'd use a different form of the verb than if he'd diligently plowed through the whole thing. In Turkish you'd have to include in the verb how you acquired this information: if you had witnessed this unlikely event with your own two eyes, you'd use one verb form, but if you had simply read or heard about it, or inferred it from something Bush said, you'd use a different verb form.

Clearly, languages require different things of their speakers. Does this mean that the speakers think differently about the world? Do English, Indonesian, Russian, and Turkish speakers end up attending to, partitioning, and remembering their experiences differently just because they speak different languages? For some scholars, the answer to these questions has been an obvious yes. Just look at the way people talk, they might say. Certainly, speakers of different languages must attend to and encode strikingly different aspects of the world just so they can use their language properly.

Scholars on the other side of the debate don't find the differences in how people talk convincing. All our linguistic utterances are sparse, encoding only a small part of the information we have available. Just because English speakers don't include the same information in their verbs that Russian and Turkish speakers do doesn't mean that English speakers aren't paying attention to the same things; all it means is that they're not talking about them. It's possible that everyone thinks the same way, notices the same things, but just talks differently.

Believers in cross-linguistic differences counter that everyone does not pay attention to the same things: if everyone did, one might think it would be easy to learn to speak other languages. Unfortunately, learning a new language (especially one not closely related to those you know) is never easy; it seems to require paying attention to a new set of distinctions. Whether it's distinguishing modes of being in Spanish, evidentiality in Turkish, or aspect in Russian, learning to speak these languages requires something more than just learning vocabulary: it requires paying attention to the right things in the world so that you have the correct information to include in what you say.

Such a priori arguments about whether or not language shapes thought have gone in circles for centuries, with some arguing that it's impossible for language to shape thought and others arguing that it's impossible for language not to shape thought. Recently my group and others have figured out ways to empirically test some of the key questions in this ancient debate, with fascinating results. So instead of arguing about what must be true or what can't be true, let's find out what is true.

Follow me to Pormpuraaw, a small Aboriginal community on the western edge of Cape York, in northern Australia. I came here because of the way the locals, the Kuuk Thaayorre, talk about space. Instead of words like "right," "left," "forward," and "back," which, as commonly used in English, define space relative to an observer, the Kuuk Thaayorre, like many other Aboriginal groups, use cardinal-direction terms — north, south, east, and west — to define space.1 This is done at all scales, which means you have to say things like "There's an ant on your southeast leg" or "Move the cup to the north northwest a little bit." One obvious consequence of speaking such a language is that you have to stay oriented at all times, or else you cannot speak properly. The normal greeting in Kuuk Thaayorre is "Where are you going?" and the answer should be something like " Southsoutheast, in the middle distance." If you don't know which way you're facing, you can't even get past "Hello."

The result is a profound difference in navigational ability and spatial knowledge between speakers of languages that rely primarily on absolute reference frames (like Kuuk Thaayorre) and languages that rely on relative reference frames (like English).2 Simply put, speakers of languages like Kuuk Thaayorre are much better than English speakers at staying oriented and keeping track of where they are, even in unfamiliar landscapes or inside unfamiliar buildings. What enables them — in fact, forces them — to do this is their language. Having their attention trained in this way equips them to perform navigational feats once thought beyond human capabilities. Because space is such a fundamental domain of thought, differences in how people think about space don't end there. People rely on their spatial knowledge to build other, more complex, more abstract representations. Representations of such things as time, number, musical pitch, kinship relations, morality, and emotions have been shown to depend on how we think about space. So if the Kuuk Thaayorre think differently about space, do they also think differently about other things, like time? This is what my collaborator Alice Gaby and I came to Pormpuraaw to find out.

To test this idea, we gave people sets of pictures that showed some kind of temporal progression (e.g., pictures of a man aging, or a crocodile growing, or a banana being eaten). Their job was to arrange the shuffled photos on the ground to show the correct temporal order. We tested each person in two separate sittings, each time facing in a different cardinal direction. If you ask English speakers to do this, they'll arrange the cards so that time proceeds from left to right. Hebrew speakers will tend to lay out the cards from right to left, showing that writing direction in a language plays a role.3 So what about folks like the Kuuk Thaayorre, who don't use words like "left" and "right"? What will they do?

The Kuuk Thaayorre did not arrange the cards more often from left to right than from right to left, nor more toward or away from the body. But their arrangements were not random: there was a pattern, just a different one from that of English speakers. Instead of arranging time from left to right, they arranged it from east to west. That is, when they were seated facing south, the cards went left to right. When they faced north, the cards went from right to left. When they faced east, the cards came toward the body and so on. This was true even though we never told any of our subjects which direction they faced. The Kuuk Thaayorre not only knew that already (usually much better than I did), but they also spontaneously used this spatial orientation to construct their representations of time.

People's ideas of time differ across languages in other ways. For example, English speakers tend to talk about time using horizontal spatial metaphors (e.g., "The best is ahead of us," "The worst is behind us"), whereas Mandarin speakers have a vertical metaphor for time (e.g., the next month is the "down month" and the last month is the "up month"). Mandarin speakers talk about time vertically more often than English speakers do, so do Mandarin speakers think about time vertically more often than English speakers do? Imagine this simple experiment. I stand next to you, point to a spot in space directly in front of you, and tell you, "This spot, here, is today. Where would you put yesterday? And where would you put tomorrow?" When English speakers are asked to do this, they nearly always point horizontally. But Mandarin speakers often point vertically, about seven or eight times more often than do English speakers.4

Even basic aspects of time perception can be affected by language. For example, English speakers prefer to talk about duration in terms of length (e.g., "That was a short talk," "The meeting didn't take long"), while Spanish and Greek speakers prefer to talk about time in terms of amount, relying more on words like "much" "big", and "little" rather than "short" and "long" Our research into such basic cognitive abilities as estimating duration shows that speakers of different languages differ in ways predicted by the patterns of metaphors in their language. (For example, when asked to estimate duration, English speakers are more likely to be confused by distance information, estimating that a line of greater length remains on the test screen for a longer period of time, whereas Greek speakers are more likely to be confused by amount, estimating that a container that is fuller remains longer on the screen.)5

An important question at this point is: Are these differences caused by language per se or by some other aspect of culture? Of course, the lives of English, Mandarin, Greek, Spanish, and Kuuk Thaayorre speakers differ in a myriad of ways. How do we know that it is language itself that creates these differences in thought and not some other aspect of their respective cultures?

One way to answer this question is to teach people new ways of talking and see if that changes the way they think. In our lab, we've taught English speakers different ways of talking about time. In one such study, English speakers were taught to use size metaphors (as in Greek) to describe duration (e.g., a movie is larger than a sneeze), or vertical metaphors (as in Mandarin) to describe event order. Once the English speakers had learned to talk about time in these new ways, their cognitive performance began to resemble that of Greek or Mandarin speakers. This suggests that patterns in a language can indeed play a causal role in constructing how we think.6 In practical terms, it means that when you're learning a new language, you're not simply learning a new way of talking, you are also inadvertently learning a new way of thinking. Beyond abstract or complex domains of thought like space and time, languages also meddle in basic aspects of visual perception — our ability to distinguish colors, for example. Different languages divide up the color continuum differently: some make many more distinctions between colors than others, and the boundaries often don't line up across languages.

To test whether differences in color language lead to differences in color perception, we compared Russian and English speakers' ability to discriminate shades of blue. In Russian there is no single word that covers all the colors that English speakers call "blue." Russian makes an obligatory distinction between light blue (goluboy) and dark blue (siniy). Does this distinction mean that siniy blues look more different from goluboy blues to Russian speakers? Indeed, the data say yes. Russian speakers are quicker to distinguish two shades of blue that are called by the different names in Russian (i.e., one being siniy and the other being goluboy) than if the two fall into the same category.

For English speakers, all these shades are still designated by the same word, "blue," and there are no comparable differences in reaction time.

Further, the Russian advantage disappears when subjects are asked to perform a verbal interference task (reciting a string of digits) while making color judgments but not when they're asked to perform an equally difficult spatial interference task (keeping a novel visual pattern in memory). The disappearance of the advantage when performing a verbal task shows that language is normally involved in even surprisingly basic perceptual judgments — and that it is language per se that creates this difference in perception between Russian and English speakers.

When Russian speakers are blocked from their normal access to language by a verbal interference task, the differences between Russian and English speakers disappear.

Even what might be deemed frivolous aspects of language can have far-reaching subconscious effects on how we see the world. Take grammatical gender. In Spanish and other Romance languages, nouns are either masculine or feminine. In many other languages, nouns are divided into many more genders ("gender" in this context meaning class or kind). For example, some Australian Aboriginal languages have up to sixteen genders, including classes of hunting weapons, canines, things that are shiny, or, in the phrase made famous by cognitive linguist George Lakoff, "women, fire, and dangerous things."

What it means for a language to have grammatical gender is that words belonging to different genders get treated differently grammatically and words belonging to the same grammatical gender get treated the same grammatically. Languages can require speakers to change pronouns, adjective and verb endings, possessives, numerals, and so on, depending on the noun's gender. For example, to say something like "my chair was old" in Russian (moy stul bil' stariy), you'd need to make every word in the sentence agree in gender with "chair" (stul), which is masculine in Russian. So you'd use the masculine form of "my," "was," and "old." These are the same forms you'd use in speaking of a biological male, as in "my grandfather was old." If, instead of speaking of a chair, you were speaking of a bed (krovat'), which is feminine in Russian, or about your grandmother, you would use the feminine form of "my," "was," and "old."

Does treating chairs as masculine and beds as feminine in the grammar make Russian speakers think of chairs as being more like men and beds as more like women in some way? It turns out that it does. In one study, we asked German and Spanish speakers to describe objects having opposite gender assignment in those two languages. The descriptions they gave differed in a way predicted by grammatical gender. For example, when asked to describe a "key" — a word that is masculine in German and feminine in Spanish — the German speakers were more likely to use words like "hard," "heavy," "jagged," "metal," "serrated," and "useful," whereas Spanish speakers were more likely to say "golden," "intricate," "little," "lovely," "shiny," and "tiny." To describe a "bridge," which is feminine in German and masculine in Spanish, the German speakers said "beautiful," "elegant," "fragile," "peaceful," "pretty," and "slender," and the Spanish speakers said "big," "dangerous," "long," "strong," "sturdy," and "towering." This was true even though all testing was done in English, a language without grammatical gender. The same pattern of results also emerged in entirely nonlinguistic tasks (e.g., rating similarity between pictures). And we can also show that it is aspects of language per se that shape how people think: teaching English speakers new grammatical gender systems influences mental representations of objects in the same way it does with German and Spanish speakers. Apparently even small flukes of grammar, like the seemingly arbitrary assignment of gender to a noun, can have an effect on people's ideas of concrete objects in the world.7

In fact, you don't even need to go into the lab to see these effects of language; you can see them with your own eyes in an art gallery. Look at some famous examples of personification in art — the ways in which abstract entities such as death, sin, victory, or time are given human form. How does an artist decide whether death, say, or time should be painted as a man or a woman? It turns out that in 85 percent of such personifications, whether a male or female figure is chosen is predicted by the grammatical gender of the word in the artist's native language. So, for example, German painters are more likely to paint death as a man, whereas Russian painters are more likely to paint death as a woman.

The fact that even quirks of grammar, such as grammatical gender, can affect our thinking is profound. Such quirks are pervasive in language; gender, for example, applies to all nouns, which means that it is affecting how people think about anything that can be designated by a noun. That's a lot of stuff!

I have described how languages shape the way we think about space, time, colors, and objects. Other studies have found effects of language on how people construe events, reason about causality, keep track of number, understand material substance, perceive and experience emotion, reason about other people's minds, choose to take risks, and even in the way they choose professions and spouses.8 Taken together, these results show that linguistic processes are pervasive in most fundamental domains of thought, unconsciously shaping us from the nuts and bolts of cognition and perception to our loftiest abstract notions and major life decisions. Language is central to our experience of being human, and the languages we speak profoundly shape the way we think, the way we see the world, the way we live our lives.



1 S. C. Levinson and D. P. Wilkins, eds., Grammars of Space: Explorations in Cognitive Diversity (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006).

2 Levinson, Space in Language and Cognition: Explorations in Cognitive Diversity (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

3 B. Tversky et al., " Cross-Cultural and Developmental Trends in Graphic Productions," Cognitive Psychology 23(1991): 515–7; O. Fuhrman and L. Boroditsky, "Mental Time-Lines Follow Writing Direction: Comparing English and Hebrew Speakers." Proceedings of the 29th Annual Conference of the Cognitive Science Society (2007): 1007–10.

4 L. Boroditsky, "Do English and Mandarin Speakers Think Differently About Time?" Proceedings of the 48th Annual Meeting of the Psychonomic Society (2007): 34.

5 D. Casasanto et al., "How Deep Are Effects of Language on Thought? Time Estimation in Speakers of English, Indonesian Greek, and Spanish," Proceedings of the 26th Annual Conference of the Cognitive Science Society (2004): 575–80.

Ibid., "How Deep Are Effects of Language on Thought? Time Estimation in Speakers of English and Greek" (in review); L. Boroditsky, "Does Language Shape Thought? English and Mandarin Speakers' Conceptions of Time." Cognitive Psychology 43, no. 1(2001): 1–22.

7 L. Boroditsky et al. "Sex, Syntax, and Semantics," in D. Gentner and S. Goldin-Meadow, eds., Language in Mind: Advances in the Study of Language and Cognition (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2003), 61–79.

8 L. Boroditsky, "Linguistic Relativity," in L. Nadel ed., Encyclopedia of Cognitive Science (London: MacMillan, 2003), 917–21; B. W. Pelham et al., "Why Susie Sells Seashells by the Seashore: Implicit Egotism and Major Life Decisions." Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 82, no. 4(2002): 469–86; A. Tversky & D. Kahneman, "The Framing of Decisions and the Psychology of Choice." Science 211(1981): 453–58; P. Pica et al., "Exact and Approximate Arithmetic in an Amazonian Indigene Group." Science 306(2004): 499–503; J. G. de Villiers and P. A. de Villiers, "Linguistic Determinism and False Belief," in P. Mitchell and K. Riggs, eds., Children's Reasoning and the Mind (Hove, UK: Psychology Press, in press); J. A. Lucy and S. Gaskins, "Interaction of Language Type and Referent Type in the Development of Nonverbal Classification Preferences," in Gentner and Goldin-Meadow, 465–92; L. F. Barrett et al., "Language as a Context for Emotion Perception," Trends in Cognitive Sciences 11(2007): 327–32.

June 9, 2009

Top scientists predict the future of science
By Amanda Gefter

FOR PROPHETIC visions of the future, some people turn to horoscopes or fortune tellers. But if you really want to know what the future holds, ask a scientist.

Not just a renowned, seasoned scientist, but a fresh mind, someone who is asking themselves the questions that will define the next generation of scientific thought.

That's precisely what Max Brockman has done in this captivating collection of essays, written by "rising stars in their respective disciplines: those who, in their research, are tackling some of science's toughest questions and raising new ones".

The result is a medley of big ideas on topics ranging from cosmology and climate change, to morality and cognitive enhancement.

The collection is diverse, but one theme resounds: when it comes to the human race, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. We owe our evolutionary success to our unique modes of social behaviour.

Social species

In their essay "Out of our minds", journalist Vanessa Woods and anthropologist Brian Hare suggest that it wasn't intelligence that led to social behaviour, but rather social behaviour that paved the way for the evolution of human intelligence. "Humans got their smarts only because we got friendlier first," they write.

We are a social species, and we have our brains to thank. As Harvard University neuroscientist Jason Mitchell writes: "The most dramatic innovation introduced with the rollout of our species is not the prowess of individual minds, but the ability to harness that power across many individuals."

Language allows us to do this in an unprecedented way – it serves as a vehicle for transferring one's own mental states into another's mind. Lera Boroditsky – a professor of psychology, neuroscience and symbolic systems at Stanford University – has an interesting piece about the ways in which our native language shapes the way we think about such basic categories as space, time and colour.

Mirror, mirror in my brain

We also connect to other minds via mirror neurons – those copycat brain cells that echo other people's actions and emotions from within the confines of our own skulls.

Mirror neurons allow us to learn from one another's experiences and to see the world through foreign eyes – a neurological feat that seems to lie at the basis of so much of what it is to be human.

Through mirror neurons, "our experiences fuse into the joint pool of knowledge that we call culture," writes neuroscientist Christian Keysers of the University of Groningen, the Netherlands. "With the advent of language, books and television, this sharing becomes global, allowing us to exchange experiences across time and space."

Moral evolution?

Mirror neurons are thought to be the seat of empathy, so our brains, you might say, are wired for morality.

But our social brains evolved in small, localised communities, and as the pace of technological innovation accelerates, global communication increasingly becomes a fact of daily life. Will communications technologies lead us to evolve a broader moral sense?

Joshua Greene, a cognitive neuroscientist and philosopher at Harvard, explains why humans are apt to save a child who is dying right in front of their eyes, but not a child who is dying halfway across the world.

"Nature endowed us with tuggable heartstrings, a crucial design feature for creatures whose survival depends on cooperation. But nature couldn't foresee that our survival might someday depend on cooperation across oceans and continents, and so neglected to outfit us with heartstrings that are readily tugged from a distance," he writes.

Forecasting the future

For an example of the power of social behaviour, we need look no further than this book. While each essay is its own gem, together they form a remarkable dialogue about what it is to be human now, and what it will be in the future.

So what is next? The suggestions are as varied as they are intriguing.

According to Laurence Smith, professor of earth and space sciences at University of California, Los Angeles, dramatic rises in temperature due to global warming are set to sweep across the high latitudes, transforming "land that is hardly livable into land that is somewhat livable". As climate change escalates, might we someday find ourselves migrating to the once frozen north?

In his piece The Aliens Among Us, biologist Nathan Wolfe argues that scientists need to catalogue the global diversity of viruses and identify those that are actually beneficial to the organisms they infect.

Doing so, he says, will offer us a better understanding of human health and disease, the biology of our planet, the future of pandemics and the environment – even what real alien life might look like.

Sticky ideas

In a particularly fascinating essay, UCLA psychologist Matthew Lieberman suggests that as we come to better understand the structure and function of our brains, we may also come to understand our most basic beliefs.

Big ideas, he says – the kind that shape human thought for decades, even centuries – "stick" because they match the structure and function of our brains.

As an example, Lieberman looks at Cartesian dualism: the idea that mind and body are two different kinds of things, one material, the other something else. Despite being widely discredited by philosophers and scientists, mind-body dualism is one of those infuriatingly sticky ideas.

Why? Because the brain processes information about bodies in a separate way than it does information about minds, argues Lieberman. That is, our underlying neural plumbing happens to deal with bodies and minds as two different categories of being – leading, perhaps, to a mistaken philosophical assumption that they truly are two different categories of being.

Time to think

My favourite piece was Brain Time by neuroscientist David Eagleman at the Baylor College of Medicine.

Experiments, he says, have shown that our brain's perception of time is remarkably malleable. This raises the deeper and endlessly thorny question of how we can disentangle neuroscience from physics.

Echoing Einstein, who referred to time as "a stubbornly persistent illusion", Eagleman writes: "Our physical theories are mostly built on top of our filters for perceiving the world, and time may be the most stubborn filter of all to budge out of the way."

When thinking about what's next, I can't help but suspect that, as we venture deeper into fundamental physics and deeper into the mysteries of consciousness, it will become increasingly important to distinguish what are features of a real, external reality – assuming such a thing exists at all – from artifacts of the structures and functions of our brains.

Fundamental questions

In asking questions about the inner workings of our brains we inevitably run into questions about the outer workings of the universe. So what's next for cosmology?

According to Stephon Alexander, a physicist at Haverford College, Pennsylvania, it all comes down to this question: what is dark energy, that furtive antigravitational stuff that seems to be accelerating the universe's expansion?

Alexander wonders if the answer lies in our most basic assumptions about how reality works, and in the silent tension that resides between the scientific programmes of reduction and emergence.

Perhaps, he speculates, a new level of relativity – in which both observers and fundamental particles are no longer absolute, invariant features of the world – is needed to understand the dark-energy puzzle.

"A physical consequence would be that matter can create space and space may curve itself into matter," Alexander writes. It's delicious food for thought.

Beyond Edge

Daniel Engber's Edge Question response to "What have you changed your mind about?" begets a five-part series on animal research for Slate [...]

Carolyn Porco's Cassini Imaging Team releases "a series of images and movies, dramatic and stark, revealing the waves on the edges of the Keeler gap in Saturn's A ring to be mile-high giants, towering over the rings surrounding them". [...]

Don Tapscott talks about his Edge Feature, "The Impending Demise of the University", on Huffington Post. 91 comments in 18 hours. [...]

"Accommodation" debate: posts in chronological order (suggested presentation):

Nicholas Kristof's NYT column on Richard Nisbett's "Intelligence and How to Get It" [...]

Alan Alda, Edward O. Wilson at World Science Festival opening [...]

Dennis Overbye at Brian Greene's Cosmic Circus. [...]

Daniel C. Dennett and Richard Dawkins The Genius of Charles Darwin: The Uncut Interviews [...]

Steven Pinker and Richard Dawkins The Genius of Charles Darwin: The Uncut Interviews [...]


In January 2009 Edge presented a special event: "Does The Empirical Nature of Science Contradict the Revelatory Nature Of Faith" a Reality Club conversation on Jerry Coyne's New Republic piece "Seeing and Believing. The never-ending attempt to reconcile science and religion, and why it is doomed to fail'. In the piecem Coyne reviewed two books, Saving Darwin: How to be a Christian and Believe in Evoluion by Karl W. Giberson, and Only A Theory: Evolution and the Battle for America's Soul by Kenneth R. Miller.

Participating in the conversation were Lawrence Krauss, Howard Gardner, Lisa Randall, Patrick Bateson, Daniel Everett, Daniel C. Dennett , Lee Smolin, Emanuel Derman, Karl W. Giberson, Kenneth R. Miller, Sam Harris, Steven Pinker, and Michael Shermer.

The conversation has now shifted to what is now being called "accomodationism". Coyne writes:

The Big Debate continues about whether faith and science are compatible and whether scientists should criticize those religious people who agree with them about matters like evolution. Several people, however, have complained that discussion is spread out among so many places — and people — that it’s confusing to follow, especially now that Jason Rosenhouse, Kenneth Miller, "Erratic synapse" (somebody please tell me who he/she is), and the indefatigable P. Z. Myers have weighed in. I believe that John Brockman is going to post all this stuff on the Edge website, but until then here are the links in chronological (and philosphical) order. I think I’ve gotten them all.

Ken Miller has posted a robust riposte to my critique of accommodation (link below), which is cited in a new post by Mooney; I will respond to both of these in due time. In the meantime, P. Z. has written an equally robust response to Miller, and Jason has weighed in again.

Here are the relevant links:

Jerry Coyne: Does The Empirical Nature of Science Contradict the Revelatory Nature Of Faith

Coyne: Seeing and Believing. The never-ending attempt to reconcile science and religion, and why it is doomed to fail.

Coyne: Truckling to the Faithful: A Spoonful of Jesus Helps Darwin Go Down

Chris Mooney: Atheists for Common Cause With the Religious On Evolution

Coyne: Accommodationism and the nature of our world

Mooney: Civility and the New Atheists

Coyne: Chris Mooney and Barbara Forrest love the faithful more than me

Mooney: Why Evolution is True, But Coyne is Wrong About Religion, Part I: The "Shut Up" Canard

Mooney: Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself

Mooney: Why Evolution is True, But Coyne is Wrong About Religion, Part II: Lessons of Dover Discover

"Erratic synapse" at Daily Kos: On "new atheists" and religious moderates, Mooney is wrong.

Coyne: Did Chris Mooney tell me to shut up?

Jason Rosenhouse: Mooney on Dover

Coyne: Rosenhouse vs. Mooney

Mooney: Why Evolution is True, But Coyne is Wrong About Religion, Part III: Understanding the Limits of Methodological Naturalism

Rosenhouse: Methodological Naturalism

Coyne: More on Mooney and accommodationism (with a note on Rosenhouse)

Mooney: Ken Miller: "Why Jerry Coyne is Wrong"

Kenneth Miller: Thoughts of an "Ardent Theist," or Why Jerry Coyne is Wrong

P. Z. Myers: Theistic evolutionist beats hasty retreat

Rosenhouse: Miller Joins the Party


Psychologist and Biologist, Harvard University: Author, Moral Minds

I found Don Tapscott's piece on education a distortion, at least of what I experienced as a student, and the kinds of experiences I have with students here from the other side, as professor. I certainly don't think of my students as blank vessels, and I don't imagine colleagues of mine having similar conceptions. Rather, I think all good teachers think that their students have heavily loaded vessels, with strong conceptions of how the world works, but often, these views are either wrong or narrow minded.

The art of good teaching is to allow the student to discover alternatives, to see the elegance of a good argument, and to understand how to engage in a conceptual revolution, overturning some of their cherished beliefs. This can happen in large class rooms or in seminars. None of this denies the importance of the digital age, nor does it ignore the fact that students today rely on digital media for learning. But such knowledge will not replace, but rather, compliment what goes on in the university. In fact, many professors are finding new ways to challenge their students in class, even large classes, by taking advantage of new technologies.

For example, in a large core science class that I have taught for many years on human nature, we have used digital clickers to engage students in class with questions as well as demonstrations of data collection. For example, I will often present an experiment in class, have students enter a response, and then immediately , pop up a graph of the class data.

This is fantastic as it not only engages every student in a large class, but shows them how they contribute to data collection and why it is important. It is also possible to use this technology in a different pedagogical mode. I ask the students a question, and they answer. If less than 75% of the class gets it wrong, I ask them to turn to their neighbor and discuss the problem. Virtually without fail, when they give their answer a second time, the scores go way up. Thus, I engage with the students, they engage each other, and a pedagogical circle has been formed. It is magic.

Tapscott's article thus underestimates the ingenuity of good teaching, that from my perspective, continues to thrive in many universities, and is not based on the premise of a blank slate student, waiting for professorial scribbling. Although I realize that many universities are turning to online classes, with virtually no personal engagement with the students, I find this trend sad. There is nothing more riveting than the dynamics of a class, when it is buzzing with discussion, to and from student to professor.

Classicist; Cultural Historian; Provost, Georgetown University; Author, The Ruin of the Roman Empire

"Back in 1997 I presented my views to a group of about 100 University presidents at a dinner hosted by Ameritech in Chicago." (Don Tapscott)

I'm not sure I've heard of many dinners hosted by Ameritech lately. Perhaps I'm missing something, but I suspect that the hundred universities represented that day are still in business, virtually every one of them bigger and stronger than they were in 1997. When Tapscott spoke, Peter Drucker had already spelled the doom of universities, and most recently Mark Taylor did so in the pages of the New York Times. We're still here.I grant you there are days when the busy provost thinks that a little doom would have its points. I've got books to read and books to write and a little quiet time in the rubble might not be all that bad. But we're still here.What strikes me most about Tapscott's essay is how far out of touch it is with current realities. Oh, I give you the NetGen kids pounding their phones to tweet each other and the hyper-multitasking and the creativity that arises in such settings. (I'm tweeting a little myself now, quite content that no one is following at http://www.twitter.com/Eugippius — all my tweets are quotations from Greek or Latin authors that I'm thinking about. Content of a new medium is always an old medium, and that can be quite powerful, bidirectionally.) I freely grant that there are dismal moments to be survived along the educational path. And I know with piercing clarity just how challenging a business model we've chosen for ourselves.But there are three big things about contemporary higher education that I find our wellwishers fail to notice:

1. Extraordinary work done in the most extended and democratized system of higher education in history to reach students of every age and stage with education of remarkably high quality. About 20% of the students in American universities are 18-22 years old, doing a traditional BA. The rest range from part-timers in community colleges to retirees finishing what they started long ago with masters and doctorates in liberal studies, with every variety of professional and technical and vocational education in between. For a system that's dying and doomed, we do more and we do it better than anybody else has ever done it in all of human history.2. Innovation pressed to the margins in leading and not-so-leading universities in reinventing pedagogy and learning for a new generation. My best meeting today was about taking our teaching in statistics to the next level for more students than ever before across the whole undergraduate population. The idea that we teach an increasing proportion of our students to be responsibly thoughtful about quantity and probability is incredibly powerful, in the face of social innumeracy and social acceptance of innumeracy. That's just today's example. Derek Bok's Our Underachieving Colleges is a splendid survey of innovation and possibility, with a long way to go, and a lot in motion.

3. End of the day, these communities we create are places of miracles at the micro level. I spent three and a half hours yesterday and today in conversations with a junior former colleague and two former students, doing what I suppose we should call mentorship, but I just call the ordinary everyday work of a university: talking about their work, their hopes, their ambitions, and working up close and personal on the kind of craft work we do in universities. The ones who can and will seize opportunity — and it's in my experience as much in their character as it is in the opportunity whether they will seize it — those students get the chance to craft their future opportunities and ambitions in tandem with mature scholars and teachers whose learning, imagination, and experience make them the right talking partners for people at the life stages where the intersection of intellectual discipline and thoughtful personal attention can be revolutionary.

Break that, demise that, huff and puff about collapse and the like: fine with me. My bets are on the faculty and the students of the modern university, still the most powerful engine for social and intellectual advancement I know.

"Universities should be places to learn, not to teach." (Tapscott)

Always have been. Still are. Hanging in there.

Jim O'Donnell
Provost, Georgetown University


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