On the Origin of Heavenly Bodies

On the Origin of Heavenly Bodies

The main thesis of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species is that species evolve from other species. They arise from natural variations found within a given species that are selected for or against. They do not arise spontaneously and independently, or by dint of divine or extraterrestrial intervention. One species derives from another species, going back indefinitely (but finitely). The process is mindless and purposeless, a matter of natural law and physical mechanisms (mutation and natural selection). The intermediate forms may be missing, but they once existed; the transition was gradual not abrupt, and certainly not magical. The existence of a range of animal species is thus scientifically intelligible not inexplicable. But Darwin does not apply this perspective to the existence of heavenly bodies—planets, moons, stars, meteors, galaxies, galaxy clusters. Asked what their origin is, Darwin ventures no answer, no doubt because not much was known about it in those days. Yet the questions are remarkably similar: what is the origin of these enigmatic entities, these astronomical natural kinds, these celestial species? Do they arise spontaneously and independent of each other, by divine action or alien super-scientist, or do they derive from earlier entities of the same basic type by intelligible means? The answer, as we now know, is that they arise in the latter way: moons arise (or can arise) from planets, planets arise out of free-floating debris from stars and other objects, stars arise from condensed dust clouds, galaxies arise from stars, galaxy clusters arise from galaxies. The mechanism is the law of gravity, condensing bits of matter into other bits of matter, sometimes producing extremely hot and dense objects. These things are dependent for their existence on other similar things and develop from them over time; they were not created separately. For example, the earth was caused to exist by antecedent chunks of matter swirling around in space, not by God ab initio. No intelligence went into its creation, as no intelligence went into the creation of animal species. It would therefore be possible to write a book about heavenly bodies just like Darwin’s book about animal species; indeed, a single book could naturally cover both topics. The questions and answers are much the same (though clearly not identical). The book could be called On the Origin of Natural Kinds, and it could include animals and plants, stars and planets, rocks and minerals, chemical elements and geological formations. It would be a book of cosmic history, its main thesis being that stuff comes from other stuff of the same basic kind by explicable natural processes. The universe obeys a law of homogeneous gestation—like from like, going back in time to some primordial event (the big bang, the origin of all life). We might even say that Darwin discovered this mode of explanation, applicable to a wide variety of natural objects, though he didn’t himself extend it beyond the biological sphere. He worked out the Special Theory of Generativity, applying it to the specific case of life forms; but he didn’t propose a General Theory of Generativity, applying it to the universe as a whole. But he could have, he could have. He could have offered a theory of all species (kinds, sorts): animal, celestial, geological, chemical, physical, even mental—every existing natural kind. Each of these would no doubt introduce different mechanisms of progression (e.g., nuclear fusion), but the general form of the theory would be common to multiple areas. Then he would truly be a towering figure in the history of science—he would have explained the lot.

Or would he? For surely there are some existing entities that are not explicable in the manner suggested—those that are created by intelligent minds. These include works of art, items of technology, buildings, and social systems. In each of these areas there is an indispensable role for intentional creation by intelligent agents—artists, scientists, architects, political theorists. In these cases, it would be quite wrong to postulate mindless creation—we can all see that such entities are brought into being with the aid of an intelligent mind. Here we all believe in “Intelligent Design” and “Creationism”. We all think that the Mona Lisa was created by a certain mind at a certain time—not by mere physical laws (as if the paint just happened to come together in these ways). But this is not necessarily so—the means of gestation might not be so obvious. Imagine a planet on which all manner of artifacts abound but their creators have all disappeared for some reason (a pandemic, say). You might observe these objects and wonder how they came to be (you just beamed down to the planet’s surface). Some of the more rigidly Darwinian members of the landing party might insist that it must be by some sort of non-intelligent process, because no one has ever seen the putative creators; but of course, this is simply because they have all disappeared since they did their creative work. Here the Darwinian style of explanation would be completely mistaken—some watches are made by watchmakers! The correct theory (enunciated by a spindly character named Spock) is precisely that the erstwhile creators have been wiped off the face of the planet without leaving a trace: that is the only logical explanation, given the similarity to our own artifacts. A book called On the Origin of Works of Art contending that all such works result from mere physical laws, with no intelligent creator in sight, would not meet with much acceptance. In point of fact, Darwin’s own title is somewhat misleading, since some species are the result of Intelligent Design—e.g., those dog breeds we see around us all the time. Species differences can and do arise by virtue of choice and forethought; in fact, a whole planet could be so populated. It is just that most species do not actually arise in this way on planet earth. There is nothing necessary or a priori about any of this. It’s just empirical science. Darwin’s theory could have been wrong, but actually it isn’t.

Minds present an interesting case. What is their origin? The answer is that minds also come from other minds, as things actually are, though not comprehensively so. For there is such a thing as learning. Animal minds, like animal bodies, result from mutation and natural selection—the minds that survive are the minds that serve the genes best. The human mind derives from the ape mind, going back to the first minds on Earth; it isn’t as if each species has a mind that exists without reliance on prior minds. The basic structure of the human mind derives from the structure of earlier minds, modified in the usual ways. A book called On the Origin of Mindswould be very similar to Darwin’s book: later minds descend from earlier minds; they don’t arise spontaneously and independent of other minds. With this exception: minds can be changed in the course of an individual life by the process we call learning. Not all knowledge arises by genetically copying ancestors’ minds; some of it arises by intentional action, e.g., by the scientific method. But it is equally true that not all aspects of the body derive from earlier bodies, since a given species might have characteristics not found in any earlier species—such as geographical location or freedom from certain diseases. Species don’t always stay in the same place as their progenitors, or always suffer from the same diseases. Not everything about a species reflects its origin in the species it came from; some comes from the currently obtaining environment—like learning. In any case, none of this requires any relaxation of the basic principle that minds (and species) owe their origin to other minds (species) and not to creative acts by supposed deities or super-scientists. Intelligence is not created by intelligence in the style of Creationism, but by the same processes that produce bodies.[1]

The steady state theory of the universe gave way to the dynamic big-bang theory. The immutable species theory gave way to the dynamic evolutionary theory. The universe started life as a cloud of dust and developed into a differentiated assembly of natural kinds of celestial object in the fullness of time; the former seems an unpromising foundation for the latter, but gravitational attraction is a powerful force. Life on earth started as a sea of uniform bacteria and developed into a differentiated assembly of animal species in the fullness of time; the former seems like an unpromising foundation for the latter, but natural selection is a powerful force. The history of planets is written into their structure. The history of species is written into their structure. At no point do we need to introduce a form of guiding intelligence to explain these transitions and end-points. The analogies between the two areas are clear and instructive. Astronomy did what biology had already done: replace one historical world-view with another. It is curious that these links are not explicitly drawn: Darwinian biology is a special case of evolutionary cosmology, viewed broadly. Gradual evolution from one thing to another, not sudden creation from nothing—lawfully related causal sequence, not non-natural fixity. Natural history, not supernatural non-history. Darwin in effect anticipated modern cosmology, but didn’t draw the connection. No discredit in that, but historically interesting. He also said nothing about the destiny of species—what their future will be as opposed to their past. But we can easily fill that gap (with due allowance made for the uncertainties of the future): the future will resemble the past, though it will not go on forever. Species will keep arising from other species by the mechanisms that have operated hitherto (God will not suddenly pop into the picture, smiling and winking). Extinctions will continue to happen. We can anticipate that more species will result from intelligent intervention (or stupid intervention), as we seek to improve the human condition—e.g., meaty-tasting plant life. Who knows what will happen with AI. Stars will continue to be minted, then fizzle out and die. Entropy will have its way with the universe. The Sun will eventually grow cold. Life and the physical universe are everchanging things not static givens. That is one of the great lessons of Darwin’s great book: nature is not a timeless immutable; things come and go (dinosaurs, stars). The physical universe is more like life than we thought, more changeable, less carved in stone; and life is more like the physical universe than we thought, more mechanical, less anthropic. Their origin stories have much the same plot.[2]

[1] That is not to say that we know how this is done (we don’t). I find it a rather chastening thought that my mind owes its existence to the minds of countless ancestor minds, some none too brilliant. My mind genes carry the trace of mind genes stretching back to our aquatic days.

[2] A problem that particularly exercised Darwin is what might be called the “dispersal problem”: if species derive from an ancestor species, how come they are often found at a considerable distance from their origins? The answer, he suggested, is that forces of nature carry organisms far and wide—the wind, tides, birds. A similar problem arises in cosmology: if packets of matter come from other packets of matter, why are they so widely dispersed? Shouldn’t the packets be closer together? The answer is that forces of nature drive them apart, notably the explosive force of the big bang—hence cosmic expansion. The universe is a natural wanderer, as are animals. Things are born from other things, then they wander, then they die—that’s the basic story.