10/11/2013 So-Called Objective Reality

by Kyle VanderWerf

     In last week's meeting, Nathan Turowsky presented a controversial idea, which was mostly rejected by the other members of the club. Namely, he proposed that non-scientific epistemologies have some validity. He described the belief system of the Shingō village in Japan, which states of the story in which Jesus travels to Japan after the events of the New Testament and lives there until his death at 106 years old: “The more [the story] was repeated, the truer it became, until the people of the village, frankly, believed it.” Nathan argued that this wasn't any less true or valid than a system of knowledge derived from science.

     This week, I'm going to follow up on that discussion by presenting a more formal defense of this idea. First, I will briefly review last week's discussion and the philosophy of Wittgenstein, the latter of which I led a discussion on just over a year ago, to set the groundwork. Then I'll use this groundwork to show that religion and science can happily coexist, while simultaneously proposing a theory of a role that stories and authorities play in societies. I'll show that a lot of the perceived tension between science and religion arises when people misconstrue the former as being tied to an often ridiculous and over-applied concept called “objective reality.” I also aim to show that the Shingō epistemology does not actually necessarily conflict with our own, and in fact all of us make use of that epistemology on a daily basis.

Problems with Plantinga

by Benny Mattis

The Two-Way Street

In his book Where the Conflict Really Lies, Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga argues that any actual conflicts between science and religion are merely superficial, justifying his claim with the following reasoning:

1. Scientific theories that are inconsistent with Christian belief “do not constitute or provide a defeater for the Christian beliefs with which they conflict” (xiii).
2. If (1), then (3).
3. Thus, the conflict (if any) between Christian belief and the theories in question is superficial.

Plantinga rationalizes the first premise of this valid argument compellingly in the section of his book entitled “Superficial Conflict,” but seems to think that (2) does not require justification; in fact, the premise is not explicitly stated anywhere in the relevant section of the text, despite its importance in his main argument.

Some might find the verity of (2) self-evident, but this is not the case. Consider, as a counterexample, the case where Christian belief constitutes or provides a defeater for the scientific theories in question. In this case, (3) would seem to be false, though (1) would still be true. The conditional in (2), therefore, does not seem to hold. Without rationales for deriving (3) from (1), Plantinga’s assertion of the superficiality of the conflict (if any) between science and religion remains insufficiently justified.

This is not to say that Plantinga provides no argument against the existence of deep science/religion conflict. Premise (1) presupposes that the theories in question are indeed proper science, but Plantinga notes this may not be the case (163). He suggests that the theories in question do not really constitute claims about the actual world, but rather claims about how things seem from a certain perspective (182), in which case there would only be an apparent conflict (that would be appropriately called “superficial,” but also merely “alleged”). These solutions, however, require Plantinga to deny his given premise that they are, in fact, real conflicts between science and theistic belief.

Alvin Plantinga's Adequatio Intellectus Ad Intellectus

In the section entitled "Deep Concord" of his book Where the Conflict Really Lies, Alvin Plantinga counts Hume's problem of induction (that is, the apparent lack of logical justification for inductive inferences about the future based on the past) as not a problem for inductive reasoning, but rather an example of the adequatio intellectus ad rem, or curious fit between human understanding and reality, of whose existence theism is presumably a better explanation than naturalism. "Its success is one more example of the fit between our cognitive faculties and the world," Plantinga claims (295), implying that "the world is in such a way that inductive reasoning is successful" (296). His logic appears to be as follows:

1) "The world is in such a way that inductive reasoning is successful."

2) If (1), then (3).

3) So, there is a "fit between [inductive reasoning] and the world."

This argument is valid; in fact, it may even be sound. However, it is also trivial; in speaking of induction's "success" in general, Plantinga appears to be begging Hume's question of whether, in fact, "there is a fit between [inductive reasoning] and the world." The only apparent rationale for (1) is itself based on inductive reasoning, as follows:

1a) There have been instances where inductive reasoning was successful.

1b) If (1a), then (1c).

1c) There is a "fit between [inductive reasoning] and the world."

Premise (1b), an inductive inference from past instances to the state of the world at all times, is only justified given (3). The conclusion of Plantinga's argument is necessary to justify his premises; he is begging Hume's question. Plantinga here merely shows a fit between intellect (induction) and intellect, rather than between intellect and reality.

Plantinga's Mission: Impossible

In Where the Conflict Really Lies, Plantinga suggests that, even if each instance of content in a mental belief has a neurophysiological (or "NP") property equivalent to it "in the broadly logical sense," it is still rational to speak of specific consequences of hypothetical scenarios wherein "belief B had the same NP properties but different content" (337-338). He appears to justify this by analogy:

1) There are instances where "Philosophers regularly and quite properly use counterpossibles in arguing for their views" (338).

2) If (1), then (3).

3) Therefore, Plantinga's use of a counterpossible in his response is rational.

This argument is valid, and Plantinga justifies (1) with the example of the dualist-materialist debate; either dualism or materialism is necessarily false, but debaters on both sides rationally discuss what would happen if their opponents were correct (despite thinking that such situations are counterpossible) (339). The verity of premise (2), however, is dependent on whether Plantinga's use of a counterpossible is relevantly similar to such examples, and, in fact, it is not.

Given dualism, it would be a direct contradiction to speak of what happens given materialism, and hence irrational. Debating with materialists, however, the dualist must argue as if dualism were not given--to do otherwise would be begging the question. Likewise, given that content is equivalent to a neurophysiological property, it is as rational to say "the same content but different NP properties" as it is to say "the same content but not the same content," from which anything follows. However, the materialist does not have to argue as if this equivalence were not given, because it is not what is up for debate; what is up for debate in Plantinga's discussion is the probability of certain states of affairs given materialism, naturalism, and evolution.

Plantinga attempts to clarify his point by succinctly asserting that "clearly...it is in virtue of its neurophysiological properties that [a belief] B causes [an action] A...It isn't by virtue of having that particular content." However, given that content is logically equivalent to its actual correlative NP properties, then once again, Plantinga's rationale for (1) is an outright contradiction.

The Indication of Belief

Premise (1) of Plantinga's Evolutionary Argument Against Naturalism (EAAN) depends heavily on his assertion that, as he writes in Science and Religion, "indication is not belief...and accurate indication need not be accompanied by true belief. As long as the indication is accurate, the belief content can be anything whatsoever" (70). Plantinga defends these claims with examples, including one involving a frog that reflexively flicks its tongue out to catch a nearby insect:

1) Accurate indication is necessary for the frog's survival (69).

2) True belief is not necessary for the frog's survival (69).

3) So, "indication is not belief...and accurate indication need not be accompanied by true belief." (70).

The first clause of (3) seems to follow from (1) and (2), but it does not follow from that fact that accurate indication could be accompanied by false beliefs, or that the naturalist has any reason to think that beliefs in general on naturalism are not truth-aimed.

Premise (3) is also vague. Plantinga's claim that "indication is not belief" can mean one of two things:

B1) All indication is such that it is not belief.

B2) Not all indication is such that it is belief.

(B2) follows from (1) and (2); (B1) does not. The principle of charity thus demands us to assume that Plantinga was referring to (B2). Now consider the proposition that belief is actually a type of indicator:

B3) Some indication is belief, and all belief is indication.

This proposition is perfectly compatible with (B2), the conclusion of Plantinga's thought experiment with the frog. However, if beliefs (and the other cognitive faculties in question) are a type of indicator, and indicators in general tend to be accurate given evolution, then the reliability of our cognitive faculties, given that we have cognitive faculties, is highly probable given naturalism, materialism, and evolution. This does, in fact, seem like a quite sensible way of looking at beliefs--it appears, then, that the naturalist really ought to believe in the reliability of their cognitive faculties, even given their unguided origins.

Work Cited

Plantinga, Alvin. Where the Conflict Really Lies. Oxford: Oxford University Press,

2011. Print.

Dawkins and Plantinga on Design

by Benny Mattis

 In The God Delusion, Richard Dawkins argues that the "argument from improbability" (a type of argument that infers metaphysical truths from the existence of high levels of complexity in the world, usually enlisted in the defense of theism and named the "Argument from Design" or the "Design Argument"), "properly deployed, comes close to proving that God does not exist" (137). "It is indeed a very strong and, I suspect, unanswerable argument," Dawkins claims, "But in precisely the opposite direction from the theist's intention" (137). Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga, on the other hand, shows in Where the Conflict Really Lies that the Design Argument is actually not very strong, due to the weakness of its premises, yet still considers it ultimately a case of "concord" between religion and science (264). Dawkins succeeds in showing that the argument from improbability best functions as support for atheism, but Plantinga succeeds in showing that the argument is not very strong in the first place.

Undercutting Theism

Before addressing the strength or weakness of the argument from improbability, it would be constructive to present the most common historical instance of it (as the Argument from Design for theism), and whether it actually supports theism or atheism (in the latter case as Dawkins' "Ultimate Boeing 747 Gambit"). As for the former question, Dawkins lays out his interpretation of the argument with characteristic scorn:

Creationist 'logic' is always the same. Some natural phenomenon is too statistically improbable, too complex, too beautiful, too awe-inspiring to have come about by chance. Design is the only alternative to chance that the [Creationist] authors can imagine. Therefore a designer must have done it. (146)

This interpretation of Dawkins' might be put more formally as such:

1) There exists a being x such that x is too complex to have come about by chance.

2) For any x such that x is too complex to have come about by chance, there exists an explanation y such that (y explains how the level of complexity in x obtained in this world) and (y posits the existence of a designer for x).

3) So, there exists an explanation y such that y posits the existence of a designer for x.

Dawkins takes issue with (2); indeed, given (1), (2) directly contradicts Dawkins' belief that designers in general are not explanatory of complexity:

(NE) For any being x, there does not exist any explanation d such that (d posits a designer of x) and (d explains how the level of complexity in x obtained in this world).

This is because, as Dawkins states, design "raises an even bigger problem than it solves: who designed the designer?" (147). "Design doesn't explain organized complexity," Plantinga says in summarizing Dawkins' point; "It presupposes it, because the designer would have to be as complex as what it creates" (26). An explanation that presupposes what it explains is not explanatory at all; hence, Dawkins' assertion that design hypotheses are not explanatory of high levels of complexity.

Despite his apparent understanding of Dawkins' undercutting defeater for design hypotheses, however, Plantinga challenges Dawkins' logic with an anecdote involving a science fiction scenario:

Suppose we land on an alien planet...and discover some machine-like objects that look and work just like a 1941 Allis Chalmers tractor; our leader says 'there must be intelligent beings on this planet--look at those tractors.' A sophomore philosophy student on the expedition objects: 'Hey, hold on a minute! You have explained nothing at all! Any intelligent life that designed those tractors would have to be at least as complex as they are!' No doubt we'd tell him a little learning is a dangerous thing and advise him to take the next rocket ship home and enroll in another philosophy course or two. (27)

Plantinga here appears to be likening the Design Argument's proponent's reasoning with that of the space expedition's team leader, and Professor Dawkins' reasoning with that of an exceedingly foolish undergraduate. To make this analogy more complete, we need only consider the space expedition's resident theologian, who, upon seeing the tractors, confidently proclaimed that they constituted evidence for God and, indeed, "concord" between space travel and theistic religion.

"The point is we aren't trying to give an ultimate explanation of organized complexity," explains Plantinga, "and we aren't trying to explain organized complexity in general; we are only trying to explain one particular manifestation of it...it is perfectly proper to explain one manifestation of organized complexity in terms of another" (28). Indeed, the expedition leader could so properly explain the occurrence of those tractors as such by appealing to a designer, but Dawkins also allows that the occurrence of particular complex biological machines we see on earth might be discovered to be best explained by a designer. "It may even be a superhuman designer," imagines Dawkins, "but, if so, it will most certainly not be a designer who just popped into existence, or who always existed" (186). Such an unexplained being would in some sense explain the occurrence of the complex tractor, or a complex biological machine, but not the occurrence of their particular levels of complexity as such (because to posit their existence would require presupposing even greater levels of complexity, begging the question), and this is "the problem that any theory of life must solve" (145). We are not trying to explain tractors as such in the way the expedition leader did, or complexity "in general" as Plantinga suggests, but rather the level of complexity as such instantiated in the tractor, i.e., why a particular observed level of complexity has obtained in this world.

In another attempt to prevent Dawkins' undercutting defeat of the Design Argument for theism, Plantinga suggests that God is not, in fact, complex. Disputing Dawkins' argument in The God Delusion, Plantinga digs up Dawkins' definition of complexity from The Blind Watchmaker: "Something is complex if it has parts that are 'arranged in a way that is unlikely to have arisen by chance alone.' Here he's clearly thinking of material objects" (29). Plantinga then lays out a clear logical demonstration of God's simplicity:

1) "Immaterial objects, e.g. numbers, don't have parts."

2) "God is...an immaterial spiritual being."

3) "Hence God has no parts at all."

4) If something has no parts, then it is not complex, according to Dawkins' definition of complexity.

5) So, God is not complex, according to Dawkins' definition of complexity. (27)

This argument is simple enough, but any logician will immediately notice the vagueness of (1); while it is evident that some immaterial objects don't have parts, Plantinga presumably intends to claim that all immaterial objects don't have parts, which is certainly not sufficiently justified by the single example of numbers (unless, of course, all immaterial objects are numbers, but this option would be less than helpful to Plantinga).

Setting aside the question of whether an immaterial entity could have parts, it is worth pointing out that Dawkins clearly does not intend for his definition of complexity (presumably based in biology) in The Blind Watchmaker to be applied in The God Delusion as well; indeed, Dawkins even refers to theologian Keith Ward's statement that "It is quite coherent...to suppose that God, while internally indivisible, is internally complex," indicating a broader concept of complexity than in his preceding writings on biology (179). "God may not have a brain made of neurones," insists Dawkins, "or a CPU made of silicon, but if he has the powers attributed to him he must have something far more elaborately and non-randomly constructed than the largest brain or the largest computer we know" (184). Even if God is an immaterial substance (as God presumably is a concrete person, and not an abstract entity such as a number), as a designer capable of intending the entire actual world he would have to be (in some way) more complex than the actual world itself, since his own intention would be as complex as the world is insofar as it is designed (i.e., insofar as God intends it). Even an immaterial God, claims Dawkins, would not be a legitimate explanation for the levels of complexity we observe in the world; in this Dawkins brings an undercutting defeater to theistic belief based on the Argument from Design for theism.

Rebutting Theism

It seems that a designer capable of intending every designed aspect of the world would have to be at least as complex as the world is insofar it is designed; this is why positing the existence of such a designer is not explanatory of the high level of complexity in the universe. Dawkins, however, does not stop with this mere undercutting defeat, but rather continues on to say that "The argument from improbability, properly deployed, comes close to proving that God does not exist" (137). This proper deployment, intended as a rebutting defeater for theism, is what Dawkins refers to as the Ultimate Boeing 747 Gambit.

Dawkins credits Fred Hoyle with positing a Boeing 747 as the archetypal example of organized complexity (138). According to Dawkins' reasoning, any possible designer of a being as complex as a 747 (let's call the 747-like object B_n, where B_n+1 is more complex than B_n, which is more complex than B_n-1, and so forth) would have to be more complex than the object itself (that is, it would correspond with B_n+x, where x is some number greater than zero). If God existed, then presumably, God would be the designer of all of the other designers in the universe; thus, he would quite properly be called the ultimate designer, or the Ultimate Boeing 747, as Dawkins suggests (138). However, the logical end of the Design Argument, unaided by the possibility of unguided evolution, "presents an infinite regress from which [God] cannot help us escape" (136).

Dawkins has shown the incoherence in premise (2) of his Design Argument (i.e., the failure of intentional explanations to explain complexity as such), but it can still work if we replace it with

2') For any x such that x is too complex to have come about by chance, there exists an explanation y such that (y explains how x occurs in this world) and (y posits the existence of a designer for x).

This crucial update to the Design Argument might be summed up essentially in a single premise, where B_n+1 is more complex than B_n, which is more complex than B_n-1, and so forth:

DA) If there is a complex being B_n, then there is a being B_n+1 that designed B_n.

The infinite regress only needs a 747 to be put in motion:

B1) There is a complex being B_n (for example, a Boeing 747)

B2) There is a being B_n+1 that designed B_n (Modus Ponens DA, B1)

B3) There is a being B_n+2 that designed B_n+1 (MP DA, B2)

B4) There is a being B_n+3 that designed B_n+2 (MP DA, B3)

...

BU) There is a being B_U that designed B_U-1 (MP DA, B(U-1))

Where BU is an 'ultimate' designer, i.e. the Ultimate Boeing 747. Of course, given (DA) as it is, U will be a limit towards infinity, rather than a determinate quantity P. This can be shown easily enough via reductio ad absurdum:

A1) Suppose there is a complex being B_P such that B_P is the ultimate designer.

A2) There is a being B_P+1 that designed B_P (MP DA, A1)

A3) If (A2), then B_P is not the ultimate designer.

A3) So, A1 is false, and there is a complex being B_P+1 such that B_P+1 is the ultimate designer.

The existence of an ultimate designer B_U is preserved from (A1) to (A3), but U continuously increases greater than any finite quantity assigned to it. Since U is a limit towards infinity, and B_U would be the ultimate designer, it follows from the necessity of greater complexity in designers (and the significance of our subscripts stated above) that B_U's complexity is a limit towards infinity, and thus that an ultimate designer would be infinitely complex. This is why, as Dawkins claims with his Ultimate Boeing 747 Gambit, "There almost certainly is no God" (137).

Given the reasoning behind the Design Argument, the existence of God would be infinitely unlikely, as God would be infinitely complex. However, without the possibility of ultimate designers (which demand explanation) arising from primeval simplicity (which does not demand explanation), it also remains utterly mysterious and itself apparently vastly improbable. This is where evolution comes in: the theory of evolution reveals how high levels of complexity could arise in such a universe, because it replaces (2') with

2'') For any x such that x is too complex to have come about by chance, there exists an explanation y such that (y posits a designer for x) or (y posits the evolution of x through evolution by natural selection, explaining its level of complexity).

and replaces (DA) with

DA') If there is a complex being B_n, then there is a being B_n+1 that designed B_n, or B_n evolved out of primeval simplicity.

(DA') does not lend itself to a necessary infinite regress, but allows for an ultimate designer B_U, as long as it evolved out of primeval simplicity. The God of theism would not have evolved out of primeval simplicity, so this still means that any ultimate designer would not be the God of theism. Thus, evolution on atheism provides an explanation for high levels of complexity in the universe, whereas no such explanation can be given on theism regardless of its compatibility with science; all else being equal, the argument from improbability suggests that evolution constitutes evidence for atheism. Dawkins succeeds in showing that the reasoning behind the Design Argument best serves atheism, rather than theism.

Deflecting Dawkins

The argument from improbability against theism, in the form of Dawkins' Ultimate Boeing 747 Gambit, suggests that theism is almost certainly false. Its premises, however, are weak, and Plantinga demonstrates this in his critique of Dawkins as well as his critique of theistic applications of the argument. The premises of his Gambit can be formulated as such:

1) There exists a being x such that x is too complex to have come about by chance.

2'') For any x such that x is too complex to have come about by chance, there exists an explanation y such that (y posits a designer for x) or (y posits the evolution of x through evolution by natural selection, explaining its level of complexity).

3) If (1) and (2''), then God's existence is infinitely improbable.

4) So, God's existence is infinitely improbable.

Dawkins claims that his Ultimate Boeing 747 Gambit "does not depend on subjective judgment" (136), but this belief of Dawkins', as Plantinga demonstrates, is manifestly false.

Premise (2) and its derivatives (2', 2'', DA, and DA') are where the subjectivity really lies. Dawkins never justifies the notion that there simply must be an explanation for the occurrence of a given level of complexity; he simply assumes that it "is one thing on which we can all agree" (145). He vaguely motions elsewhere that "sometimes the language of information theory is used" in justifying the principle that complexity must have an explanation, but seems to take the principle as self-evident throughout his argument (138). Unfortunately, Dawkins' justification for (2'') is at best inter-subjective, and inter-subjective in a consensus that does not include a certain prominent Christian philosopher.

"Explanations come to an end," Plantinga writes, and "for theism they come to an end in God" (28). So, even given that "mind would be an outstanding example of organized complexity" (27), according to theism there is no explanation for the existence of a mind (28), and so there is no explanation for why that level of complexity obtained in the world. Plantinga points out that "the materialist...doesn't have an explanation for the existence of elementary particles" (28). Dawkins predicts this rebuttal to (2) by suggesting that "Some kind of multiverse theory could in principle do for physics the same explanatory work as Darwinism does for biology" (188). Realizing the unconvincing nature of this response, Dawkins adds that "the anthropic principle entitles us to postulate far more luck than our limited human intuition is comfortable with" (188). Until such a multiverse theory is explicated, however, Dawkins' justification for the expectation of explanation of complexity remains a mere 'reason of the gaps.'

Plantinga also brings up the common notion that "It is not so much as possible that there is no such person as God...[Dawkins] owes us an argument...that there is no necessary being with the attributes of God" (30). Presumably, Plantinga is not suggesting that Dawkins seriously consider whether God necessarily exists, when the question of God's existence is what is up for debate in the first place; the most charitable interpretation of Plantinga here would take this comment as an objection to (2''). Plantinga might be suggesting that theism actually offers another way out of the infinite regress mentioned above, because it actually posits

(2''') For any x such that x is too complex to have come about by chance, there exists an explanation y such that (y posits a designer for x) or (y posits the evolution of x through evolution by natural selection) or (y posits that x exists necessarily).

Some instances of complexity, and thus some high levels of complexity as such, might not be contingent on designers or evolution; indeed, they might be necessary occurrences or brute fact.

Plantinga succeeds in undermining Dawkins' rationales for (2) and its derivatives, showing them ultimately to be based on little more than personal opinion. Since Dawkins "can't get excited about personal opinions" (136), perhaps he should not get too excited about his argument from the improbability of complexity (the "Ultimate Boeing 747 Gambit"), either.

Conclusion

The argument from improbability, historically presented as the theistic Argument from Design, has been used throughout the ages to convince skeptics of the existence of God. Richard Dawkins claimed that it is a strong argument, but rather a strong argument against theism as the Ultimate Boeing 747 Gambit; Dawkins succeeded in demonstrating his latter point, but Christian philosopher of religion Alvin Plantinga showed that the argument from improbability is not strong in the objective sense that Dawkins intended. A commitment to impartiality turns the Design Argument against theism, but also reveals it as ultimately based in subjective intuition.

Sources

Dawkins, Richard. The God Delusion. Great Britain: Bantam, 2006. Print.

Plantinga, Alvin. Where the Conflict Really Lies. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Print.

Some Thoughts on Prometheus

by Benny Mattis

[SPOILER ALERT]

I saw Ridley Scott's amazing Prometheus today, and it was as thrilling as I expected.  There was, however, an unexpected theme--that of faith and its relationship with science.

Scott made sure we saw that the heroine, Dr. Elizabeth Shaw, had faith.  She was one of the very few people on the expedition who weren't completely cynical in the beginning, and held an attachment to her cross necklace despite scorn from the android David and patronizing disbelief from her boyfriend Charlie.  But was this a message specifically endorsing Christianity?  Has Ridley Scott started taking cues from Focus on the Family?  I don't think so.  The faith that Dr. Shaw acted on in the movie had nothing to do with Jesus in particular, but was placed in the mission she was on.  I think her cross necklace was just a reminder that there is a faith shared by naturalists and supernaturalists alike--faith, that is, in the interpretability of reality.

Science itself is not justified by mere science.  As shown in the movie, it can lead to disastrous consequences, and there is no guarantee that answers will be obtained.  In fact, inductive reasoning--the cornerstone of a naturalistic worldview--would lead one to doubt the efficacy of any kind of scientific investigation.  Take DNA, for example:  Up until the structure of DNA was first discovered (presumably by Crick and Watson), nobody had ever before succeeded in doing such a thing.  Every discovery, every new invention of humanity, is a violation of the inductive premise that what has never happened in the past will continue not to happen in the future.  To put in so much work towards something that may not even be possible to achieve requires great faith in one's own ability to discover the truth.

Even more important than one's own ability to discover the truth is the discoverability of truth itself.  This is where science and religion share the faith that is missing from Nietzsche and others who say that "There is simply no true world."  "Not all perspectives are equally valid," say the scientists.  "We strive for objective truth."  And what is the religious call to compassion and love for all but a call to view things from God's eyes, being fully aware of the suffering of others around the world?  In a way, the scientist and theist (I know they aren't mutually exclusive categories) are both just trying to submit their own perspectives to a God's-eye view of the world.  The theist thinks that this perspective has been instantiated in at least one existing mind already; the atheistic scientist, on the other hand, in a way believes in God without believing that God exists.  It's the faith shared by these people--the belief without evidence in the potentiality of an obtainable "true" perspective--that separates Dr. Shaw from David the android, who doesn't understand why she keeps seeking answers in the face of unimaginable horror.

However, it was also faith which led the decrepit Peter Weyland to awaken the evil aliens in hopes that they would grant him eternal life.  Weyland, a perfect foil to young female Shaw, exemplified the dark side of faith.  He was not engaged in an analysis of evidence, but a flight from it--the whole mission is a result of his inability to accept death, and he ignores Shaw's warnings about the violent intentions of their newfound extraterrestrial Engineers.  Like the religious fanatic who 'wouldn't want to live in a world where [holy book X] was not true,' Weyland's insatiable lust for eternal life leads him to bring about the destruction of his ship and almost of the entire human species.  Living in what Jean-Paul Sartre called "Bad Faith," Weyland is continually in a state of lying to himself.

But where does Prometheus come into all of this?  Prometheus was the Titan who tried to bring fire from the gods to the humans, putting them on equal ground.  Is Dr. Shaw Prometheus in this story, saving Homo sapiens from its very creators and forever seeking forbidden truths with the faith she has in humanity's potential?  Or is Weyland the typical Prometheus, who tries to get fire from the gods but ends up being brutally punished by them (and rightly so)?  Maybe the two of them are supposed to be representative of Prometheus as a noble hero and Prometheus as an arrogant fool--two possible spins on the original story.  In any case, I thought the movie was worth a watch.