Philosophy’s PR problem — II

postmodernism[for a brief explanation of this ongoing series, as well as a full table of contents, go here]

Why is this happening?

We now need to explore the reasons for this bizarre internecine wars between the two disciplines if we wish to move on to more fertile pursuits. As it happens, there are, I think, a number of potentially good explanations for the sorry state of affairs of which the above was a sample. Moreover, these explanations immediately suggest actionable items that both scientists and philosophers should seriously consider.

There are three recurring themes in the science-philosophy quarrels when seen from the point of view of the scientists involved, themes that we have encountered when examining Weinberg, Krauss and Harris’ writings. The three themes are:

(i) A degree of ignorance of philosophy, and even often of the history of science.

(ii) Fear of epistemic relativism, which is seen as undermining the special status of science.

(iii) A (justifiable) reaction to (some) prominent philosophers’ questionable writings about science.

Let’s begin with (i). While clearly an appreciation of the history and philosophy of science is not a requirement to obtain a PhD in the natural sciences (whether it should be is a different issue to be set aside for another day, but see for instance, Casadevall 2015), it is not difficult to find scientists who are conversant in those allied disciplines. The degree to which this is true varies with discipline, time, and even cultural setting. For instance, physicists have historically been more sensitive than other scientists to philosophical issues, but in recent decades the explosive growth of the philosophy of biology has prompted a number of biologists to initiate fruitful collaborations with philosophers to address issues such as species concepts (Lawton 1999; Pigliucci 2003), whether there are laws in ecology (Wilkins 2009), and others.

However, physicist Lee Smolin (2007), in his The Trouble with Physics laments what he calls the loss of a generation for theoretical physics, the first one since the late 19th century to pass without a major theoretical breakthrough that has been empirically verified. Smolin blames this problematic state of affairs on a variety of factors, including the complex sociology of a discipline where funding and hiring priorities are set by a small number of intellectually inbred practitioners. Interestingly, one of Smolin’s suggested culprits for what he sees as the failures of contemporary fundamental physics is the dearth of interest in and appreciation of philosophy among physicists themselves. This quote, for instance, is by Einstein, cited in Smolin’s book:

“I fully agree with you about the significance and educational value of methodology as well as history and philosophy of science. So many people today — and even professional scientists — seem to me like someone who has seen thousands of trees but has never seen a forest. A knowledge of the historical and philosophical background gives that kind of independence from prejudices of his generation from which most scientists are suffering. This independence created by philosophical insight is — in my opinion — the mark of distinction between a mere artisan or specialist and a real seeker after truth.” (Albert Einstein)

This is certainly the proper territory of historical and sociological analysis, but there is enough prima facie evidence in the literature to suggest that a number of prominent scientists simply do not know what they are talking about when it comes to philosophy (and particularly philosophy of science). I am not sure how this could be remedied (other than through the unlikely imposition of mandatory courses in history and philosophy of science for budding scientists), but at the very least one could strongly suggest to our esteemed colleagues that they follow Wittgenstein’s famous advice (given, originally, in quite a different context): Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.

Moving on to point (ii) above, it concerns the so-called “science wars” of the 1990s and early 21st century, Sokal affair and all included. There is no need to rehash the details of the arguments and counter-arguments here, as even books that purport to be fair and balanced (Labinger and Collins 2001) end up containing a sizable amount of what can only be characterized as sniping and counter-sniping. But — at the cost of some simplification — it may be useful to summarize the extreme positions as well as what should instead be agreed to by all sensible parties, in the hope of providing a reference baseline that can be used to argue in favor of a mutually agreeable cease fire.

On the one hand, the extreme postmodernist position (or, at least, the caricature of postmodernism that is lampooned by scientists like Sokal, Weinberg et al.) is the idea that science is largely or almost exclusively a social construction. Arguably the most infamous summary of this view is from Harry Collins (1981): “The natural world has a small or non-existent role in the construction of scientific knowledge.” When one actually checks the original paper, however, it is not entirely clear whether Collins himself endorses this view or whether he simply mentions that some scholars embrace a fully relativistic take on science (in the endnote to that quote Collins seems to think that sociologist of science David Bloor and some of his colleagues do). Be that as it may, that position — whether explicitly held by anyone, implied or hinted at — is nonsense on stilts. The natural world very much plays a large (though certainly not completely determining) role in the construction of scientific knowledge.

On the other hand, the extreme scientific realist position is supposed to be that sociological and psychological factors have next to nothing to do with the actual practice of science, the latter being an activity essentially independent of culture. As Weinberg (2001) put it: “Even though a scientific theory is in a sense a social consensus, it is unlike any other sort of consensus in that it is culture-free and permanent.” But, again, read in context this strong statement by Weinberg is qualified by his acknowledgment that there are indeed components of scientific theories (which he calls “soft”) that are not, in fact, permanent, and moreover there are both psychological and sociological factors at play during the shaping of scientific theories. That said, no scientist should seriously hold to the idea that science is a purely data-driven enterprise relentlessly moving toward eternal objective truths, so that we can safely relegate that view also to the heap of fashionable nonsense.

What then? It seems obvious — but apparently needs to be stated explicitly — that a serious account of how science actually works will take on board the mounting scholarship in three distinct yet related fields: history, philosophy and sociology of science. To simplify quite a bit: history of science is in the business of reconstructing the actual historical paths taken by various scientific disciplines, their empirical discoveries, and their theoretical outputs; the aim of philosophy of science is to examine the logic and epistemic aspects of scientific practice, indicating both why it works (when it does) and why it may occasionally fail; and sociology of science is interested in the analysis of the social structure internal to the scientific community itself, to see how it shapes the way scientists think, how they determine their priorities and why entire fields move in certain directions that may be underdetermined by epistemic factors. Scientists are, of course, free to simply ignore the history, philosophy and sociology of their own discipline, as they can get along with their work just fine without them. But they are not free — on penalty of being charged with anti-intellectualism — to dismiss those very same areas of scholarship on specious ground, such as that they undermine the authority of science, or that they do not contribute to scientific progress.

Lastly, (iii) above is the area where, unfortunately, scientists do in fact have good reasons to complain. It is certainly the case that, from time to time, professional philosophers — indeed, highly visible luminaries of the field — engage in questionable and somewhat badly informed writing about science, ending up not helping the image of their own discipline. Two recent examples will suffice to make the point: Jerry Fodor and Thomas Nagel.

Fodor is best known as a philosopher of mind, and is indeed someone who has engaged very fruitfully during his long career with cognitive scientists. One of my favorite gems from his extensive collection of publications is the little booklet entitled The Mind Doesn’t Work That Way (2000), his critical response to Steven Pinker’s (1997) presentation of the computational theory of mind in How The Mind Works. However, more recently Fodor (2010) co-authored a book with cognitive scientist Massimo Piattelli-Palmarini, provocatively entitled What Darwin Got Wrong, and therein the trouble began (Pigliucci 2010; see also — among many others — reviews by: Block and Kitcher 2010; Coyne 2010; Godfrey-Smith 2010; Lewontin, 2010; Richards 2010).

My own take on their effort is that Fodor and Palmarini made a mess of what could have been an important contribution, largely by misusing philosophical distinctions and misinterpreting the literature on natural selection. They are correct in two of their assessments: it is the case that mainstream evolutionary biology has become complacent with the nearly 70-year-old Modern Synthesis, which reconciled the original theory of natural selection with Mendelian and population genetics; and it is true that the field may need to extend the conceptual arsenal of current evolutionary theory (Pigliucci and Müller 2010). But in claiming that there are fundamental flaws in an edifice that has withstood a century and a half of critical examination, they went horribly wrong.

Their argument against “Darwinism” boils down to a two-pronged attack. First, they assert that biologists’ emphasis on ecological, or exogenous, factors is misplaced because endogenous genetic and developmental constraints play a crucial part in generating organic forms. Second, they argue that natural selection cannot be an evolutionary mechanism because evolution is a historical process, and history is “just one damned thing after another” with no overarching logic.

The first claim is simply a distortion of the literature. The relative importance of natural selection and internal constraints has always been weighed by biologists: molecular and developmental biologists tend to focus on internal mechanisms; ecologists and evolutionary biologists prefer to address external ones. But even Darwin accepted the importance of both: in The Origin of Species, his “laws of variation” acknowledge that variation is constrained, and his “correlation of growth” implies that organismal traits are interdependent.

Fodor and Palmarini misappropriated the critique of adaptationism (the idea that natural selection is sufficient to explain every complex biological trait) that Stephen Jay Gould and Richard Lewontin presented in their famous “spandrels” paper of 1979. Gould and Lewontin warned about the dangers of invoking natural selection without considering alternatives. But Fodor and Palmarini grossly overstate that case, concluding that natural selection has little or no role in the generation of biological complexity, contrary to much accumulated evidence.

In their second line of attack, the authors maintain that biological phenomena are a matter of historical contingency. They argue that generalizations are impossible because of the interplay of too many local conditions, such as ecology, genetics and chance. In their narrow view of what counts as science, only law-like processes allow for the testability of scientific hypotheses. Thus, they claim, an explanation of adaptations that is based on natural selection is defensible in only two cases — if there is intelligent design, or if there are laws of biology analogous to those of physics, both of which they (rightly) reject. Fodor and Palmarini ignore the entire field of evolutionary ecology, countless examples of convergent evolution of similar structures in different lineages that show the historical predictability of evolutionary processes, and the literature on experimental evolution, in which similar conditions consistently yield similar outcomes. There clearly is a logic to evolution, albeit not a Newtonian one.

Evolutionary biology is a mix of chance and necessity, as French biologist Jacques Monod famously put it, in which endogenous and exogenous factors are in constant interplay. It is a fertile area for rigorous philosophical analysis. But Fodor and Palmarini passed a good chance to contribute to an important discussion at the interface between philosophy and science, ending up instead by offering a sterile and wrongheaded criticism. This is unfortunately the very sort of thing that evolutionary biologists can legitimately complain about and lay at the feet of philosophy — and they have, vociferously.

The second example concerns Thomas Nagel, another philosopher of mind, perhaps most famous for the highly influential and beautifully written “What is it like to be a bat?” (1974), in which he argues that science is simply not in the business of accounting for first person phenomenal experiences (“qualia”). But even Nagel couldn’t resist the anti-Darwinian temptation, as is evident from his Mind and Cosmos (2012). Unlike Fodor’s relatively narrowly focused attack on the biological theory of evolution per se, Nagel’s broadside is against what he characterizes as the “materialist neo-Darwinian conception of nature,” as the subtitle of the book clearly advertises. The problem is that it is hard to see who, exactly, holds to such conception, or what, precisely, this conception consists of. Nagel, for one, doesn’t say much about it, frankly admitting that a great deal of what he is reacting to can be found in popular (i.e., non-technical) accounts of science or the philosophy of science. (Again, plenty of detailed reviews available, including: Dupré 2012; Leiter and Weisberg 2012; Carroll 2013; Godfrey-Smith 2013; Orr 2013.)

Nagel appears to aim at two targets: the sort of theoretical reductionism advocated by physicists like Steven Weinberg, and the kind of Darwin-inspired naturalism defended by Dan Dennett. But Weinberg’s reductionism has precisely nothing to do with Darwinism, “neo-” or not, and it is arguable that Dennett (1996) — who does think of “Darwinism” as a “universal acid” corroding some of our most cherished beliefs about reality — would agree with Nagel’s characterization of his own position.

Concerning the first target, it is noteworthy that — as Leiter and Weisberg (2012) point out in their review of Nagel’s book — most philosophers do in fact reject the kind of crude theoretical reductionism that Nagel is so worked up about. (That said, perhaps it is the case that many scientists hold to that sort of reductionism, and/or that it is beginning to permeate popular perceptions of science. But these are claims that one would think need to be heavily substantiated before one launches into their debunking.)

Nagel’s second attack, against naturalism, is more interesting, but also seriously flawed. His two basic objections to what he calls “neo-Darwinian” naturalism are that: (a) it is counter-intuitive to common sense; and (b) there are examples of objective truths that cannot be explained by the theory of evolution. The only sensible reaction to (a) is a resounding “so what?” Much of science (and philosophy) runs counter to commonsense, but that has never provided a particularly good reason to reject it. (b) is more intriguing, but Nagel’s defense of it is ineffective. His two examples of objective truths that escape the explanatory power of neo-Darwinism are moral and mathematical truths. I actually agree, but it is not clear what this will purchase. To begin with, there are several accounts of ethics that are not based on the idea that moral truths are objective in any strong, mind-independent sense of the term (Campbell 2011). I, for one, think that ethics is a type of reasoning about the human condition, not a set of universal truths. One begins with a number of assumptions (about values, about facts concerning human nature) and derives their logical consequences, with things getting interesting whenever different assumptions (about values, for instance) inevitably come into conflict with each other. Of course, much more can be said about meta-ethics and ethical realism, but I have to refer the reader to the several excellent reviews of Nagel’s book listed above.

Nagel’s point about mathematical truths is interesting, as a number of mathematicians and philosophers of mathematics do lean toward a naturalistic version of mathematical Platonism (but see my rejection of it for the purposes of this book in the Introduction), and there are serious arguments in its favor (Brown 2008; Linnebo 2011). But the claim that natural selection cannot possibly explain how we can “grasp” mathematical truths is rather simplistic. Not only is natural selection not the only explanatory principle in evolutionary biology. It, for instance, likely cannot explain the variety of human languages either, without this implying that the existence of complex and multiple idioms somehow is a blow to evolutionary theory, to naturalism or whatever. It is also easy to imagine alternative explanations for our mathematical capacities, such as that a rudimentary ability to entertain abstract objects and engage in arithmetics was indeed of value to our ancestors, but that it is cultural evolution that is primarily responsible for having built on those flimsy basis to the point of allowing (some, very few of) us to, say, solve Fermat’s Last Theorem.

The point is that, when Nagel builds a very tentative edifice, from which he then launches into bold claims such as “in addition to physical law of the familiar kind, there are other laws of nature that are ‘biased toward the marvelous,’” one could see why scientists (and other philosophers) begin to roll their eyes and walk away from the whole darn thing in frustration.

All of the above said, however, it would be too facile to point to such examples as somehow representative of an entire discipline and on that basis automatically dismiss the intellectual value of said discipline. After all, in the first half of this chapter I singled out individual scientists and criticized them directly, without thereby implying in the least that science at large is therefore a thoughtless exercise, nor that scientists as a group hold to the same debatable attitudes characteristic of the likes of Weinberg, Krauss, & co. The problem of course is that all the authors mentioned so far — on both sides of the isle — are also known by, and write for, the general public. They are therefore in the unique position of doing damage to public perception of each other’s disciplines. So, let us simply admit that some scientists can write questionable things about philosophy just as some philosophers can return the favor in the case of science. But also that this does not license declarations of the death or uselessness of either discipline, and that the intellectually respectful thing to do is to seriously engage one’s colleagues across the isle, or — lacking any interest in doing so — simply keep one’s keyboard in check, once in a while.

Overcoming Philosophy’s PR problem: The next generation

What can be done in order to help philosophy out with its PR problem, other than attempting to educate some prominent physicists and perhaps gently nudge toward retirement those senior philosophers who suddenly begin to write about the evils of “Darwinism”? As it turns out, quite a bit has been done already by a number of colleagues, although the main focus so far has been on improving the field’s reputation with the public, not as much with other academics. I will briefly mention three such ventures because they are precisely the sort of thing that has helped science with its own similar issues in the past, and because they have the potential to make philosophy once again the respected profession that it was at the time in which all of Europe was enthralled by the dispute between Hume and Rousseau (Zaretsky 2009). Well, closer to that level than it is now, anyway.

The first development of note can actually be pinpointed to a specific date: on May 16, 2010 the New York Times, arguably the most prestigious newspaper on the planet, started a blog series devoted to philosophy, called The Stone. The series is curated by Simon Critchley, who is Chair of Philosophy at the New School for Social Research in New York. At the moment of this writing The Stone is still going strong, with dozens upon dozens of posts by a number of young and established philosophers, each generating vibrant discussions among New York Times readers and more widely in the blogo- and twitter-spheres. As it can be expected, the quality of the essays published in this sort of venue varies, but — snobbish sneering and misplaced nitpicking by some elderly colleagues notwithstanding — The Stone is an unqualified good for the profession, as it brings serious and relevant philosophy to the masses, and the masses are clearly responding positively.

Secondly, a number of publishers have began to offer series of books generally referred to as “pop culture and philosophy”: OpenCourt, Wiley, and the University Press of Kentucky are good examples. It used to be that if you were a layperson interested in philosophy you could do little more than read yet another “history of Western philosophy.” Now you can approach the field by enjoying titles such as The Big Bang Theory and Philosophy (referring to the television show, not the cosmological theory), The Daily Show and Philosophy (featuring the comedian Jon Stewart, seen as a modern day Socrates), and The Philosophy of Sherlock Holmes, among many, many others.

The last new development of the past several years in public understanding of philosophy that I wish to briefly mention is the phenomenon of philosophy clubs. They go under a variety of names, including Socrates Café, Café Philosophique, etc. In New York City alone, where I live, there are a number of successful groups of this type, a couple of which count over 2000 members, having been in existence for close to a decade. And they are by far not isolated cases, as New York is not an exceptional location (from that perspective anyway). Similar efforts have been thriving in many other American and European cities, and I don’t doubt the same is true in yet other parts of the world. There just seems to be a hunger for philosophy, and not just the “what is the meaning of life?” variety: there are cafes devoted to continental philosophy, to individual philosophers (Nietzsche is ever popular), even to reading and discussing specific philosophical tomes (often Kant’s). It is absolutely puzzling that Universities, and particularly their continuing education programs, haven’t figure out how to tap into these constituencies. Very likely they are not even aware of the existence and success of such groups.

As in the case of The Stone and of the “philosophy and…” book series, far too often I hear professional philosophers dismissing philosophy clubs, or looking down on those who spend time contributing to it. Let me be clear: not only is such an attitude snobbish and unjustified, it is self-defeating. Every academic field needs to remind the public of why it exists, why funding it is a good thing for society, and why students should bother taking courses in it. This is a fortiori true for an endeavor like philosophy, too often misunderstood by colleagues from other fields, and constantly in need of justifying its own existence both internally and externally to the academy. But as I said, the good news is, things are changing, because the snobs retire and the new generation sees involvement with the public as necessary, fruitful and, quite frankly, fun. But fun doing what, exactly? What is philosophy, really? To that question we turn next.


Block, N. and Kitcher, P. (2010) Misunderstanding Darwin. Boston Review, March/April.

Brown, J.R. (2008) Philosophy of Mathematics: A Contemporary Introduction to the World of Proofs and Pictures. Routledge.

Campbell, R. (2011) Moral epistemology. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, (accessed on 11 October 2012).

Carroll, S. (2013) Mind and Cosmos. Preposterous Universe, 22 August.

Casadevall, A. (2015) Put the “Ph” Back in PhD. Johns Hopkins Public Health, Summer 2015.

Collins, H. (1981) Stages in the Empirical Programme of Relativism. Social Studies of Science 11:3-10.

Coyne, J. (2010) The improbability pump. The Nation, 22 April.

Dennett, D. (1996) Darwin’s Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life. Simon & Schuster.

Dupré, J. (2012) Mind and Cosmos. Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews, 29 October.

Fodor, J. (2000) The Mind Doesn’t Work That Way. MIT Press.

Fodor, J. and Piattelli-Palmarini, M. (2010) What Darwin Got Wrong. Farrar, Strauss & Giroux.

Godfrey-Smith, P. (2010) It got eaten. London Review of Books, 8 July.

Godfrey-Smith, P. (2013) Not sufficiently reassuring. London Review of Books, 24 January.

Gould, S.J. and Lewontin, R.C. (1979) The spandrels of San Marco and the Panglossian paradigm: a critique of the adaptationist program. Proceedings of the Royal Society of London, B205:581-598.

Labinger, J.A. and Collins, H. (eds.) (2001) The One Culture?: A Conversation about Science. University Of Chicago Press.

Lawton, J.H. (1999) Are There General Laws in Ecology? Oikos 84:177-192.

Leiter, B. and Weisberg, M. (2012) Do You Only Have a Brain? On Thomas Nagel. The Nation, 3 October.

Lewontin, R.C. (2010) Not so natural selection. The New York Review of Books, 27 May.

Linnebo, Ø. (2011) Platonism in the philosophy of mathematics. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (accessed on 11 October 2012).

Nagel, T. (1974) What is it like to be a bat? The Philosophical Review 83:435-450.

Nagel, T. (2012) Mind and Cosmos. Oxford University Press.

Orr, H.A. (2013) Awaiting a new Darwin. The New York Review of Books, 7 February.

Pigliucci, M. (2003) Species as family resemblance concepts the (dis-)solution of the species problem? BioEssays 25:596–602.

Pigliucci, M. (2010) A misguided attack on evolution. Nature 464:353-354.

Pigliucci and Müller (eds.) (2010) Evolution – the Extended Synthesis. MIT Press.

Pinker, S. (1997) How the Mind Works. W.W. Norton & Co.

Richards, R.J. (2010) Darwin tried and true. American Scientist May-June.

Smolin, L. (2007) The Trouble With Physics: The Rise of String Theory, The Fall of a Science, and What Comes Next. Mariner Books.

Weinberg, S. (2001) Physics and history, In: Labinger, J.A. and Collins, H. (eds.) The One Culture?: A Conversation about Science, Chapter 9. University Of Chicago Press.

Wilkins, J. (2009) Species: The history of the idea. University of California Press.

Zaretsky, R. (2009) The Philosophers’ Quarrel: Rousseau, Hume, and the Limits of Human Understanding. Yale University Press.


167 thoughts on “Philosophy’s PR problem — II

  1. Sorry brodix, spellchecker strikes again.

    Normally we will assume that members of a population will have very similar niches – if not for most purposes the same niche. Since it is dependent on phenotype, it will vary among individuals even within a population – if ever so slightly.


  2. Michael,

    The phenotype would be the effect on the organism of its interaction with the ecosystem. Yes, the organism affects the ecosystem as well, but if the organism is no more, individually, or more broadly and other species move into that ecosystem, the changes wrought previously will then have to be adapted to, as well as adapting to subsequent species.

    So, no, there would be no empty phenotypes, just environmental alterations.

    “A niche is that combination of phenotype and environment where an individual has positive fitness.”

    I would say the niche is the interaction of phenotype and environment and if that environment is occupied by a particular organism, creating that niche, it precludes another organism establishing a niche there. So while the niche is individualized to the specific individual, quantitively the environment can only support a limited number of niches. So that if particular organism were to die, that would allow other organisms the space to establish their own niches. Sort of like remodeling an old house, by its new occupants.

    This then goes to the issue of biological pressures continuing to try to add more niches to the environment and taxing its carrying capacity, occasionally causing system wide break downs.


  3. 4/17/2016 10:10 AM
    My program FINCHES shows a kind of punctuated equilibrium.

    In it speciation occurs via e a correlation developing stochastically between the neutral marker ‘color’ and the fitness determinate ‘beak length’. This is relatively unlikely so it can take a long time for a fluctuation in the correlation large enough for mate selection to latch onto to appear.

    If I plot color-beak length correlation vs. time step it bounces around a low value for a long ‘time’ and then suddenly takes off to 1. This is the speciation event after which long beaked and short beaked ‘birds’ no longer interbreed to produce unfit intermediates.

    So while I guess disruption is the dominate mechanism behind punctuated equilibrium statistics could play a role too. In some cases it might not be that a useless (Or worse than useless) characteristic indicates fitness because its costly to maintain, but it’s just accidentally get correlated with fitness.


  4. Niches are population-level concepts, not individual ones. So that fact that individuals DIE is entirely irrelevant to the discussion at hand.

    That seems to be the opposite of what Michael said. Mostly natural selection acts on individuals. That said one dying won’t effect a niche very much (open up a smidgen of room for his/her kids). Lots of a species dying (e.g., we kill ’em all) would seem to make for an ‘open niche’ and a completive species would likely ‘take advantage’ (to use awlful ‘intentional stance’ lingo).


  5. One individual, no. Lot’s with same or similar phenotype, yes.

    If you kill all the ‘cows’ the sheep will take over; the grass will still be there whether you call it a ‘niche’ or not.

    Can this be one of those confusions where the technical meaning conflicts with the common? A place for philosophers to clarify?


  6. I don’t get the concept of a niche defined by an individual. I would think a niche is defined by a populations that make the living in a similar way. An individual lives in a niche. It’s life or death is a minor perturbation.

    Undoubtedly, many or most niche are created by interaction between species, ,e.g., bees, butterflies, humming birds and flowers. At least in popular parlance one would say these species occupy the same niche though obviously there are differences. Some flowers being, perhaps, better adapted to birds than bees.



    Contemporary definitions for ecological niche
    the role that an animal or plant species plays in the environment, the status of an organism within its environment which affects its survival

    That definition seems to include both individual and groups.

    It seems to me to reduce the concept to little more than ‘adapted to its environment’.

    Leaving us with no word for an underused resource.



    Once a niche is left vacant, other organisms can fill that position. For example, the niche that was left vacant by the extinction of the tarpan has been filled by other animals (in particular a small horse breed, the konik). Also, when plants and animals are introduced into a new environment, they have the potential to occupy or invade the niche or niches of native organisms, often outcompeting the indigenous species. Introduction of non-indigenous species to non-native habitats by humans often results in biological pollution by the exotic or invasive species.

    -Wikipedia seems reasonable to me.

    The mathematical representation of a species’ fundamental niche in ecological space, and its subsequent projection back into geographic space, is the domain of niche modelling.[26].

    My program has only the crudest geography (food density). It models two niches as food sources: one ‘worms’ for which a short beak is optimal and the other ‘seeds’ for which a long beak is best. Despite a huge combinatorial advantage of the additive beak length genes in favor of intermediate, the population quickly splits into long and short varieties.

    Sorry, Massimo. I better cut this off!


  9. Hey, Massimo, maybe part of the problem is science journalists, or in some cases, general journalists, getting science — and related philosophical issues as well — plain wrong. Or even worse, their magazine masters doing it deliberately.

    In a sign of just how far National Geographic has fallen, it writes in the April issue about science “redefining life and death,” including John Edward-type talk about “crossing over” and the possibility of death being “reversible.” No, really:

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Arthur,

    “Leaving us with no word for an underused resource.”

    The term “slack” comes to mind.


    While I didn’t pay to download the articles, the abstract seems to mostly be further developing the basic concept.

    Not to be too skeptical, but could this be an example of the language police getting a bit too rigorous?

    Occasionally I make the argument in physics discussions that the term “dimension” really is just descriptive of other properties, like coordinate mapping of space, or the narrative sequencing of time and it doesn’t really contain some underlaying platonic essence, but its safe to say the professionals in those fields could care less for my opinion either. They just tell me I don’t understand the math, or its more complicated than that.

    So when you point me to professional research papers, simply to explain the concept of niche and why there can be no unfilled niches, I start to suspect it has gained some ontological significance beyond its epistemic usefulness, such that “unfilled niche” would be an oxymoron, as it would imply the term is merely descriptive of the relationships within an ecosystem, rather than an essential property of the individuals occupying and thus providing the basis of the relationships within the ecosystem.

    Sometimes when we study the trees and try to draw all meaning from the details, we miss the basic fact of the forest.


  11. brodix,

    “While I didn’t pay to download the articles, the abstract seems to mostly be further developing the basic concept. Not to be too skeptical, but could this be an example of the language police getting a bit too rigorous?”

    So you have arrived at confirming your own position by just reading the abstract? And no, it has nothing to do with language police, it has to do with serious work by professionals, which requires more than reading an abstract to actually appreciate.


Comments are closed.