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Arguments from Ignorance
An argument from ignorance happens when we argue that something is not the case because we do not have evidence for it, or argue that something is the case because we do not have evidence against it. Arguments from ignorance are fallacious often enough that the term “argument from ignorance,” or argumentum ad ignorantiam, is often given as the name of an informal fallacy.
That’s not quite right. “Argument from ignorance” is the name of a pattern of argument, or a way of reasoning about things. But there are few–probably not any–patterns of argument that are inherently fallacious. It depends on what the argument is supposed to accomplish and on what we’re reasoning about–not always and only on the way we reason about it. Most of what we call the “informal fallacies” are just argument patterns that have the misfortune to be used fallaciously fairly often. (For more information, see my earlier commentaries on logic and informal fallacies here and here.)
There’s some ignorance out there about arguments from ignorance. Let’s talk about that:
Arguments from ignorance are not all fallacious; some arguments about G-d or the soul that are labeled “arguments from ignorance” are nothing of the sort; and not every argument that relies on ignorance is an argument from ignorance. But it’s still a reasonable question what exactly some of these arguments are, and in particular whether certain of them can be classified as scientific arguments.
They’re Not All Fallacious!
Arguments from ignorance are not necessarily bad:
I have no evidence that there are any elephants in my living room.
Therefore, there are probably no elephants in my living room.
But it’s easy to see how the same pattern of argument can also be used fallaciously:
I have no evidence that there are any spiders in my living room.
Therefore, there are probably no spiders in my living room.
This argument reasons in the same way, and it’s bad because it’s reasoning about something different, something that yields a different answer to the following question:
If the thing were there, would we probably have good evidence for it by now?
That’s an important question, and an affirmative answer to it should usually make for an ok argument from ignorance; a negative answer should usually make for a fallacious one.
Arguments from ignorance, even if they aren’t fallacious, tend to have this disadvantage: If we learn just the right thing in the future, the argument will turn out to have been wrong. That doesn’t, in itself, make an argument from ignorance fallacious; but it does mean that, like nearly everything else, it’s fallible.
Once in a while, an elephant may even turn up in the living room, as Gary Larson illustrates.
And why should we care about arguments from ignorance? Well, we can talk about that too.
Some Interesting Arguments from Ignorance
Here’s an interesting argument from ignorance:
If G-d existed, He would have made His existence obvious.
He hasn’t.
So He probably doesn’t exist.
And this:
If there were WMD in Iraq, we would have found them by now.
We haven’t.
So there probably weren’t any.
And this:
If extraterrestrials existed, I would probably have seen some better evidence for it by now.
I haven’t.
So they probably don’t exist.
Let no one say that all arguments from ignorance are fallacious and useless!
Of course, we can quibble these particular arguments. Would G-d make it obvious? Would the aliens? And not every argument from ignorance, even if its premises do a decent job supporting its conclusion, has true premises. Evidence for the existence of G-d is a real thing, and do you need me to give you the three Google search terms I keep in my head about those WMD? (Ok, we’ll just skip to the third and best one; it’s “NYT five thousand WMD”. Look up the 2014 article, not the 2002 one.)
But what about the really interesting arguments from ignorance–you know, the arguments that G-d or an immaterial soul must exist because we have no idea how else to explain things otherwise?
Yeah, we should talk about that.
About Those Arguments for G-d or the Soul
People talk about arguments from ignorance for the existence of G-d a lot, but I don’t believe I’ve ever even seen one.
I’ve studied plenty of arguments for the existence of G-d–arguments cosmological, teleological, moral, ontological cosmontological, Platonic, empirical, and maybe a few others. Certainly there is no argument from ignorance among the many with which I have some familiarity from Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, Descartes, William James, Allama Iqbal, C. S. Lewis, Richard Swinburne, Alvin Plantinga, Robert Adams, William Lane Craig, and Andrew Loke. These are arguments from things we know, not from ignorance.
Not even William Paley‘s argument was an argument from ignorance. (It was an argument from analogy.)
But here is an interesting argument.
If matter could produce consciousness, we’d have probably figured out how by now.
We have no idea how matter might produce consciousness.
So the mind is probably not the body.
One thing that interests me about this argument is that I think it might actually be pretty good. But only pretty good, and always vulnerable to the possibility that tomorrow will see the crucial discovery that bridges matter and mind.
But what really interests me is that I don’t really care about this argument, and I don’t even know whoever made such an argument. It certainly wasn’t Descartes. Nor was it anyone else I can remember ever looking at who talked about mind and matter. The arguments that the mind is not matter are arguments from knowledge of what mind and matter are.
Of course, everyone thinks that “G-d of the gaps” is the way people argue for G-d before science fills in the gaps, and that the “soul of the gaps” is the traditional way to argue for a non-physical soul. But I don’t know why people think this since I can’t remember ever seeing any such arguments. (Here’s Brandon Rickabaugh’s fine article on how arguments for non-physical souls are not soul-of-the-gaps arguments; a quick skim of page 203 should get the point across.)
Of course, most books are books I have never read; if there’s something out there, there’s a good chance I haven’t read it. I’m not arguing from my ignorance of anyone making these kinds of arguments that no one ever has. My main point is a bit simpler:
The prominence of such arguments is greatly exaggerated.
But what about this one?
Stephen Meyer’s argument, as reported in this blog post:
Premise One: Despite a thorough search, no material causes have been discovered that demonstrate the power to produce large amounts of specified information.
Premise Two: Intelligent causes have demonstrated the power to produce large amounts of specified information.
Conclusion: Intelligent design constitutes the best, most causally adequate, explanation for information in the cell.
(See also this Ricochet post from Henry Racette, and there have been other Ricochet conversations on this matter.)
Ok–it’s an interesting argument. And ok–it relies on ignorance. Premise One there is a huge statement about our ignorance.
But that doesn’t make it an argument from ignorance. Let’s talk about that.
Not Every Argument Relying on Ignorance Is an Argument from Ignorance
Meyer’s argument relies on ignorance, but that does not make it an argument from ignorance. Here’s a similar argument:
There is no known explanation for the mess in the living room other than that the kids did it.
This is the sort of thing the kids normally do.
Therefore, the kids probably made the mess in the living room.
Or this one:
We don’t know of any reason to think Mark’s symptoms are caused by something other than a sinus infection.
Mark’s symptoms correspond to a sinus infection.
So Mark probably has a sinus infection.
And this last one illustrates an important point about ignorance and science: Every argument that draws some conclusion about the efficient causes of some physical phenomenon relies on our ignorance of any other cause.
In this way, scientific reasoning often relies on ignorance. But that doesn’t mean it’s also arguing from ignorance. In the example above, the argument argues from knowledge of Mark’s symptoms, knowledge of sinus infections, and an understanding of the fact that the two fit.
So what’s the ignorance doing in there? Not much; it’s just making sure we don’t know of any good competing explanation.
But Are They Scientific?
I like the Intelligent Design Arguments, but there is at least one reasonable concern with them. One can argue that Meyer’s religious conclusions are not falsifiable and are therefore unscientific.
I like that objection; it draws from Karl Popper’s philosophy of science, and Popper is the man!
The worst I can say about this objection to Meyer is that Popper’s philosophy of science is not the only game in town, and that I think Thomas Kuhn is also awesome. (He may even be right!)
Actually, I’m not even sure I care. I want to know if the premises support the conclusion. I don’t care all that much whether the premises are learned from science or not, whether the conclusion is theological or not, and whether or not the argument can technically be classified as scientific. I just care about the logic.
Published in Religion & Philosophy
I would guess that the same conclusions are being reached because man has a need to believe. I think we’re evolved that way.
The same sorts of evidence, which is to say, weak and subjective philosophical claims, are made because they are, unfortunately, the best that can be offered.
Consider the irreducible complexity arguments. They get propped up and knocked down every generation as science slowly grinds along; there’s always something currently inexplicable just ahead, and there’s always a Behe or Meyers ready to say “there, that’s the thing that science can never explain!”
Until science does, and so we move on to the next thing.
No, I actually don’t. I mean “nothing like the same kind of thing” is absurdly broad. A sensation is unlike a teacup, but they’re both real. Your love of Tolkein is nothing like a teacup, yet you assert that it is real (and I don’t doubt you), even as you assert that a teacup is real. So the two things have at least that in common: each is a thing we believe is real, and they are alike in that respect.
My point was to suggest that, while a teacup and your feelings about Tolkein and Sally’s fear of spiders are each quite different, we are pretty sure that the teacup is a product of physical reality, and there is considerable neurological evidence that Sally’s fear of spiders is as well. Likewise, I think, your feelings about Tolkein, and your other cognitive processes as well.
Is that true of the pain response in, say, a mollusk? And the photophobic response of a unicelled organism? The physiological response in an anesthetized animal caused by stimuli that, in a non-anesthetized animal, we recognize as pain-inducing?
What do you believe is that non-material component?
Indeed?
I had not heard that science had already given a materialistic explanation of purpose (Aristotle, more than 2,000 years ago), consciousness (Augustine, 1,700 years ago; Descartes, 350 years ago), or why there is something rather than nothing (Aristotle again, along with Aquinas, 750 years ago).
My, these things happen so fast it’s hard to keep up!
Is a teacup something other than matter? Is a thing made of matter not the kind of thing it is?
So get to the point, and pray state it clearly and directly: You do, as I suspected, disagree with the first premise of both arguments, don’t you?
If that is the case, then I suspect it leaves us with nothing to talk about when it comes to my evidence. You are welcome to disagree with that first premise, but you are wrong, and I know that premise to be true, whether you know it or not.
You can always, however, give me a plausible argument that matter can produce consciousness. But pray make it a better argument than “Consciousness as we know it in this life is always accompanied by a brain, and therefore there is nothing more to consciousness than brain.” That is a fallacy: X is necessary for Y, and therefore X is the sole cause of Y.
Don’t ask about their pain responses. That’s a different topic. I know nothing of their pain responses, nor even of their pain.
This only do I know: that, if they have pain, then we may conclude that they also have non-physical souls (or minds).
A soul. (However, the term “a mind” would be close enough for our purposes.)
Auggie, it’s possible that the spirit acts through the brain, but doesn’t necessarily have to. There are instances when the brain seems to have no effect on consciousness, or intelligent functioning. A lesser case is the soldier who lost half his brain from surgery after being shot, but recovered to the point that he had no deficits, either cognitively or physically. But this is arguable.
But the real instances are numerous accounts of people who have long since been completely debilitated for years by Alzheimers or some other senile dementia, with no speech, no independent purposeful physical movement, who, when death is imminent, have a brief half minute or minute of vocal, intelligent, lucidity with full, coherent eye movements — which is by medical standards completely impossible, other than that it has been attested to by doctors at the bedside.
It’s guessed that the brain is so destroyed that it no longer gets in the way of the spirit, which indwells the body and would normally act through the brain, and is no longer encumbered by a thoroughly dysfunctional and effectively destroyed brain.
If consciousness, and thought, and purposeful movement, are only the result of material chemical processes or organized neuro-electric impulses, these experiences would not be possible in destroyed, molecularly disorganized, and otherwise non-functioning brains, and they must be independent of the material brain.
Poetry is made up of black marks on flat white pieces of tree pulp. As we learn more of the chemistry of paper-making and the mechanics of the application of ink, we will dispel the obscurantist and unscientific talk that insists there are important things about poetry that exist beyond these physical facts.
Don’t make me quote my homeboy again!
What if we were to memorize it. Would that change things? Not Printed on Paper but Verbal. Voetry?
Nah!
Science can explain the chemistry of each speck of paint in the Mona Lisa, the manufacturing origin of all of the materials, the dates on which the materials and the painting itself were made. Science can tell us the size and weight and provide the physics of properly securing it on the wall. Science can guide choices of optimum lighting, humidity and temperature. Science can give us a pretty good guess as to the proportion of elements and various compounds. The biology of linseed or nut oils used in the first oil paints, the epidemiology of lead poisoning with use of lead oxide for white. And we could explore the botanical explanations why the Lombard poplar was or was not a good choice for the wood panel upon which the painting was made.
The volume of information that could be generated is vast but none of that explains the artist’s intentions or the act of creation itself. DaVinci is not hiding in the chemistry of greenish hues nor in the painting’s ratio of height to width (1.452).
It is an entirely legitimate use of cognition to ask how we know the panel of the painting is wood was from a Lombardy poplar or what is the chemistry of the reddish slopes beneath the curving road instead of Who is she? or What does it mean that the painting is a depiction of real entities yet imaginary at the same time? Why is it so captivating? What did Da Vinci intend for us to see and feel? It is important that we not confuse the ontological nature of these disparate lines of inquiry such that we claim an absence of proof of apples when looking at oranges.
Science admits that it cannot answer the question of why there is something rather than nothing. Science cannot precede existence or cognition.
Science cannot tell us what to feel about the knowledge science provides. A peremptory refusal to accept anything that science does not provide or verify is a bit silly in that science does not really explain why we care about such questions–philosophy is pretty far removed from Darwinian issues of food, status, reproduction etc. [I here boldly speculate that successful advancement of a football downfield against opponents is more reproductively advantageous than being able to summarize the works of Hegel or Kierkegaard at a moments notice.]
While a narrow use of physical science does not bring us to the artist, a broader formal inquiry obviously does. The painting came into being within the historical frame of human existence. In obvious contrast, the universe is a rather larger phenomenon than a painting and its origin precedes human experience and science. There is much we can know about the universe but not all questions and inquiries point to the artist. The fact that the periodic table does not confirm the Book of Genesis could only be the answer to a really stupid question.
The older I get, the more I gravitate towards renewing experience of the questions and away from those who are too easily content with small answers.
HR can speak for himself, I guess, but I’m pretty sure he has not objection to this stuff.
I would say “Ha! Tell that to my wife!” But then–I scored 7 tries on the rugby field for the Rosslyn Eagles in 2001, and I’d probably botch the Hegel summary.
Bravissimo!
This is a detailed statement of and apology of fundamental beliefs about science that precisely matches my own.
I (a) thought there was one of us, (b) am glad to know there are two, and (c) wonder if there are more.
St A: nice haircut. With all the awful things going on in their lives your students are lucky to have you as a point of light.
Now you just need to adjust to those of us in the Ricochet remedial class who aren’t going to be Socratic-methoded into using language with precision, and aren’t interested in having our arguments labeled with the name of some dead (or possibly living) white guy. (:
Eloquently expressed, if perhaps a casually derogatory caricature.
But we are still left with the question: what can science answer, and how do we know?
I’ve always said that religion and science should remain distinct domains, each aimed at answering questions for which the other is unsuited. I’ll stand by that. Where I get my back up is when people in either domain attempt to make pronouncements about the limitations of the other.
I am unwilling to rule out a purely material basis for cognition, awareness, and consciousness. We simply don’t know. I understand the incentive some apologists have for declaring certain classes of problem unsolvable. But we’ve heard that before, and so I’m skeptical when I hear it now. I’ll wait and see.
Wow, you are pretty knowledgeable about old master artist materials. Have you ever painted pictures or studied art materials?
He owns them.
I admire your stand on behalf of just plain folks against those who use labels, not irregardless of the fact that every term you used was a label ;-)
All seriousness aside…
We should all–just plain folks, and hoi polloi–focus our attention on eliminating failures to communicate, by ensuring that whatever labels we choose, that both writer and reader interpret them the same way.
Eliminating failures to communicate and using language with precision are the same thing. ::-))
I like this. I idly read it four or five times, trying to correct it before I got it.
This one I didn’t get.
Glad you enjoyed it. I always hope that one of our corp of Earnest, Sharp-Eyed Editors will earnestly correct this error. Or, will “correct” “not irregardless”, which is even more fun because I get to correct the patrolman for his hair-trigger responsiveness.
I switched to serious. Shouldn’t have used smileys. Was that the problem?
No. [smiley face] Saying I didn’t get it was meant to be a humourous remark.
By the way, I downloaded a common app last night (something I’m normally loathe to do) and it had a dozen or more icons below the top banner. None of which I could decipher or showed any words when I hovered over the icons. I deleted it, largely because it was incomprehensible to me.
I get the feeling that every time I think I have learned to see your subtle humor, you bump up the subtle, and you get me again.
I took a Renaissance art class a long time ago. The prof went into the death rate for assistants to the great masters from the toxicity of the paint prep processes. The chemistry of that art fascinated me. In the Elizabethan era, the use of lead oxide for the hideous white makeup used by the rich and by actors caused horrific skin damage. The color blue was so often used/reserved for depictions of the Virgin Mary because blue gemstones were once ground up and used for the paint—only the best for her.
On my one visit to Florence, I also went outside the city just to try to get a feel for Tuscan colors, the shape of trees and the color of dirt. What was it about that century that saw so much magnificent, novel art?
I should have used a smiley face, too. :)
I manufacture my own oil paints which involves using a lot of white lead and yellow lead pigments, as well as several cadmium colors which are considered somewhat toxic. I try my best not to inhale dry pigment powders and I’m alive today to tell the story!
I actually have a theory on that. Renaissance artists were taught as apprentices to a master artist. The apprentice would do a lot of the grunt work such as preparing canvases and grinding oil paints for the master, and in turn he would teach the student how to paint. With only one or two apprentices in a workshop, they would get extremely well focused and intense teaching from the master. When they became good enough they would even help paint the master’s pictures, which was his main income. So he had to train them well in order to make a living.
In the 18th Century came the proliferation of Art Schools (the earliest I’ve found were in Germany in 1662 and France in 1682) , taught by full-time or part-time teachers, not necessarily guys who made a living from selling their paintings in the competitive marketplace, and the old-style apprenticeship relationship fell by the wayside. In a school the teacher has a few dozen students and he cannot give each one the individual attention that is needed to produce a high quality artist. It takes very close contact and guidance to teach this stuff, a similar thing can be said about teaching musical instruments. Plus the fact that there is no incentive to foster genius artists who can help the master earn more money by helping him paint his pictures.
This I think, is what caused art to go into a decline after the Renaissance and Baroque era.
Can you elaborate on this idea or is there a post buried in the archives that will flesh it out a bit? I’ve rolled this around and I either cannot comprehend the concept or do not understand the meaning. If it is worthy of more than a few words, we could explore the ideas in a new post if you want.
Lawst,
I didn’t remember if I’d written a post specifically about that, so I just skimmed the 580 posts I’ve written over the past few years and discovered that, no, I don’t have one on that topic. I’m sure I mention it in a few posts, but never sat down to focus on it as a theme. Perhaps I’ll do that.
One post of mine that mentions it briefly is the one SA linked in the original post of this thread, my critique of Stephen Meyer’s book.
It’s possible that someday science will be able to answer deep questions about values, motivation, love, compassion, purpose — all the big worthy questions that, in our best moments, occupy our thoughts and drive our actions. When and if science does answer those questions, we’ll be in some sense diminished, because science will answer them with chemistry and physics and ultimately meaningless neurological details. It won’t make us feel better or more meaningful. Fortunately, we’ll almost certainly able to ignore it, as we can ignore the possibility (of which I’m frankly skeptical) that the universe is an absolutely deterministic clockwork mechanism and free will an illusion.
It’s possible science will answer those questions but, until it does and probably even after, we still have to ask them and answer them in a way that matters in our daily living. Religion is all about that, about trying to answer the “why are we here” and “how should we live” questions.
The scientific method is a rigorous and plodding means of answering questions that are easy to frame, specific in their scope, and subject to careful decomposition and analysis. (That probably excludes “climate change,” as it happens.) It isn’t good with big, vague questions, but it’s very good with small precise ones.
When people of faith attempt to apply the scientific method to belief, they risk making belief falsifiable. They really can’t claim science in the defense of faith without at least acknowledging that the science might change, and that whatever support it previously lent faith could become a challenge to faith — at least, if their use of science is fair and honest.
Scientists, for their part, should keep their science objective and measurable, and not try to make claims about domains science is unable to measure.
Hank
Thanks. I’ll digest this.
Continued from the last comment.
I ran out of words. Actually, I didn’t run out of words. Even though I don’t use that many, I always have plenty.
I’ll read this a few times and the referenced post and see where it leads if anywhere.