The Sydney Chalmers -- Issue 2 2024

THESYDNEYCHALMERS SYDNEY

Journal of the School of History and Philosophy of Science

MANAGING EDITORS

Rebecca C. Mann

Gemma Lucy Smart

Anne Vervoort

REVIEW TEAM

Angelica Breviario

Pola Cohen

Nicholas John Dean

Stefan Gawronski

Tsung Jen Hung

Rebecca C. Mann

Katya van Noort

Rasmus Pedersen

Jules Rankin

Gemma Lucy Smart

Anne Vervoort

Wendy Xin

COVER ART

The Cat Reimagined 2019 - Amelia Scott

DESIGN

Anne Vervoort based on the original 2019 design by Joseph Matthews

The Sydney Chalmers is the undergraduate journal of the School of History and Philosophy of Science at the University of Sydney. It is a publication of The Incommensurables: the History and Philosophy of Science club at the University of Sydney.

Funding for The Sydney Chalmers comes from the School of History and Philosophy of Science, and The USU.

Special thanks to Evelleen Richards and Rachel Ankeny.

© 2024 School of History and Philosophy of Science, University of Sydney. Apart from any fair dealing permitted according to the provisions of the Copyright Act, reproduction by any process or any parts of any work may not be undertaken without written permission from the individual author and the School of History and Philosophy of Science, University of Sydney. Enquiries should be addressed to the editors. The statements or opinions expressed in the articles in The Sydney Chalmers are those of the authors and not necessarily those of the School of History and Philosophy of Science, University of Sydney.

THE SYDNEY CHALMERS

Journal of the School of History and Philosophy of Science

University of Sydney

2024 ISSUE 2

Contents

The Incommensurables

From the President

Jules Rankin

HPS Undergraduate Award Recipients

2023

Women of HPS:

An Interview with Evelleen Richards and Rachel Ankeny

Undergraduate Showcase

Industry Influence on Health and Nutrition Research: Biased Evidence, Public Confusion and Knowledge Gaps

Moa Rahmn

Marxism and the Future of Science: Dialectical Materialism as a Practical Philosophy and Critique of Science

Jacob Byron Hall

A Critical Examination of Weisberg’s Framework of Scientific Models

Mijin Kim

A Comparison of Kepler and Newton’s Theories of Light and Colour

Natasha van der Kolff & Sara Tamim

The Creation of Female Sexual Dysfunction: Sex Bias and Pharmaceutically Owned

Kathleen Rachel

From the President

Welcome to the second edition of The Sydney Chalmers.

I am so proud that we have been able to continue this valuable project and, by extension, see The Incommensurables continue to mature as a society. This journal is not only an avenue to celebrate and encourage undergraduate work, but it is also a symbol of the ways in which as a club we try and challenge boundaries, be they disciplinary boundaries or boundaries between undergraduates, postgraduates and academic staff. Part of the hope of this publication is that it provides undergraduates a taste of what the process and production of scholarly academic work is like and inspire those who didn’t take part that it’s possible for them to do it too.

I want to extend my deep thanks and admiration to our tireless team of Editors; Rebecca Mann, Anne Vervoort and Gemma Lucy Smart without which this book would not be in your hands. Particular thanks goes to Gemma who has been with The Incommensurables from the beginning and who’s insight and guidance to me personally has been invaluable.

I want to also extend my thanks and congratulations to our undergraduate contributors who withstood the long review process along with the long list of postgraduate reviewers who generously took the time and energy to carefully review the submissions.

Thanks also to Evelleen Richards and Rachel Ankeny who agreed to be featured and provide further insight and inspiration for the next generation of HPS scholars.

The funding that has made possible the publication and printing of this edition came from the USU Clubs discretionary funding along with the School of History and Philosophy of Science.

Happy reading,

Jules Rankin

HPS Undergraduate Award Recipients 2023

University Medal for Outstanding Academic Performance in Honours

Zain El-Roubaei

Eloise

Watts

John Dennis Kinkead Prize for an Excellent Honours Thesis that has Something to do with ‘Scientific Method’

Samantha Baker

Women of HPS:

Professor Evelleen Richards has a long-term history of involvement with HPS. Her connection with the University of Sydney goes back a long way. However, Richards was only formally involved with the University since about 2000, when she became an Honorary Professor in the then Unit of History and Philosophy of Science. Paul Griffiths, the Head of the Unit at the time, invited Richards and she came in on that basis.

Professor Rachel Ankeny came to the Unit for HPS in the year 2000. She came in as a Senior Lecturer, eventually taking over from Paul Griffiths.

An Interview with Evelleen Richards & Rachel Ankeny

PhD candidates Gemma Lucy Smart and Rebecca C. Mann had the pleasure of spending some time with Professor Evelleen Richards and Professor Rachel Ankeny. Both distinguished in the field of History and Philosophy of Science (HPS), Richards and Ankeny also both have a long history with the School of History and Philosophy of Science at the University of Sydney.

Here we share some of their recollections of their time at HPS at the University, as well as their reflections on the discipline of HPS, and advice for students.

Joining the Unit for History and Philosophy of Science

Joining the Unit for History and Philosophy of Science was not a decision taken lightly. The Unit was a small, somewhat quirky part of the Science Faculty, built on the hard work of individual academics who were passionate about having an interdisciplinary approach to the deeper questions in Science.

Ankeny shared with us some reflections about her early experiences of joining the University:

“…when I came, it was an extremely small Unit. It was one lecturer, namely me, along with an administrative assistant who’d been there quite a long time called Gale. It also had a number of long-term

tutors who were essential to the ongoing functioning of the [School], or the Unit as it was called then… they had managed through part-time teaching to keep the unit going, with only one continuing person.

“…the groundwork had been laid well by Alan Chalmers, who in many ways…was the person who made the Unit for HPS what it was. Alan is a philosopher, but probably best known for his textbook ‘What is this Thing Called Science?’ Back in the day, this was quite a useful textbook for approachability, explaining the philosophy of science in very simple terms. Most people who went through HPS in any way, even if just for a course, would have used that as their textbook for the intro-level philosophy of science class.

“When Alan was director of the Unit for a number of years, he had set up a fantastic arrangement, which I actually think was both a useful and valid one… the introductory units in History and Philosophy of Science counted cross. The unit of History and Philosophy of Science, like the school is today, sat in the Faculty of Science; science students could take the units and it counted as their arts credits…and arts students could take the units and count them as their science credits. This, as you can imagine, meant there were large numbers of students in those intro classes…For anyone trying to make something like this function on this very small scale, that was invaluable to the arrangement and to the finances. [It] provided a really solid basis [for the Unit].

“My first job, in many ways, was to reinvigorate the budget to be able to hire people…. We still had a fair number of postgrads, and we had quite a vibrant seminar series, where a lot of people who had done HPS would come back for that, and so it felt still like a community—there were a lot of people in it even though there weren’t continuing roles.

“We also had a number of affiliates, Evelleen Richards was one of those,

who were around, who served on committees, and gave guest lectures for our honours courses. We had a fair number of honours students, as well.

“So that was how it kept going despite the fact that, effectively, it was a department of one, me plus an administrative assistant.”

Reflections on the Unit for History and Philosophy of Science

Support from the Science Faculty has always been crucial for the success of the School of HPS, and it was in those early days that HPS received such support. Ankeny describes the relationship between the University and HPS as collaborative and important for the growth of the School over time:

“Our Dean at the time…was a psychologist and she was very keen, as were people in psychology, to get more offerings into psychology on a regular basis. So, at that point in time, we brokered a deal to have, effectively, a required unit in the undergraduate curriculum around history and a little bit of philosophy of psychology. That allowed me to

hire Hans Pols for that position, and that was 2001/2002.

“All of these sorts of things were super important to be able to build up relationships in the University but also to expand the [Unit]. Then, the next year, 2003 as I remember it, we were able to make the argument that we needed a full-time person in the scientific revolution area and we did an international…recruitment. Ofer Gal was selected and he moved over in 2004. So, we had, by 2004 then tripled to a department of three. That was a really significant difference. It really allowed quite a step change in terms of things like a lot of research, because each of those people was research-active and brought in grants, bringing in students interested in the specific topics at a higher level, which allowed the development of third-year courses and second-year courses...As did my own research which was primarily in the history and philosophy of biological biomedical sciences. It also allowed a lot more HDRs and a lot more honours.”

The Unit for HPS was small at this time, even compared to other University HPS departments. Richards’ experience at the University of New South Wales, which had a thriving and comparatively large

HPS Department in the early 2000s shaped her view of the Unit:

“…I would notice about the school at Sydney, is that it’s a smallish [Unit] because although it is protected and sits within the Science faculty, the numbers of students who choose to do it have always been on the smallish side. Whereas, when I first started teaching in HPS at the University of New South Wales, there were more than 1,000 students enrolled in the first-year course.

“…So that’s always been a bit different from University of Sydney where the emphasis was always more on the philosophy side. And I think although Ian Langham was a historian when he was the head of school, I think that comes more from Alan [Chalmers]’s influence perhaps.”

The Importance of Individuals

For Richards, her time with the Unit coincided with the establishment of the Australasian Association for the History, Philosophy and Social Studies of Science (AAHPSSS).

AAHPSSS continues to be an integral part of the HPS community in Australia: “[Dr] Louise [Crossley] and I were responsible for the first-ever

session on women in science at an AAHPSSS conference in Australia. I also, as a very young tutor, attended the first-ever meeting of AAHPSSS which was held at the University of New South Wales in 1967.

“Louise Crossley…was as far as I know the first acting head of what was then a little tiny unit, which was at that stage in the arts faculty. Louise had graduated from Cambridge University with a Master’s in History and Philosophy of Science. She subsequently went on to do her PhD in Australia. She was, for several years, the head of the department until Ian [Langham] took over. This would have been about 1967/68 when I first met Louise. Louise subsequently took up a lectureship at the University of Wollongong, which I had also done just a few years prior to that. I became friends with Louise and we got to know one another rather well. After Ian took over, I also got to know Ian fairly well. Ian worked in the History of Anthropology and I did some cooperative work and writing with him in the early days as well.

in the works for a few years while my children were small. So, my recollections of that period are rather hazy, you might say.

“Louise and I then, as I said, ran a session on women in science. We were involved in setting up one of the earliest women’s studies courses in Australia at Wollongong. The first one was at the University of Sydney. That happened in about 1973, I think. We followed a couple of years later with the one at the University of Wollongong and that had a pretty strong construction of women’s biology component to it, which Louise and I contributed strongly to.”

Louise was one of many individuals who were critical to the success of HPS in Australia, and also for the success of HPS at the University of Sydney. They achieved this by combining high-quality research contributions with a passion for the discipline and its students. Richards commented on the work of Professor Hans Pols, who is still part of the School:

“I should point out as it is relevant to the women’s history of HPS, I gave birth to triplet daughters in 1978, which put a bit of a spanner

“… Hans Pols, I know fairly well…I am an admirer of Hans’ work and I think particularly important is

the fact that Hans has brought the Indonesian dimension to HPS, which is very significant and important, and perhaps not as acknowledged as it should be, as an important part of the world we live, so he’s made great contributions there.”

Ankeny reiterates the importance of Faculty support, as well as affiliates of the Unit who were an integral part of the life of HPS at the University:

“It really depended on the deans seeing the value at the point of HPS, to grow it. So, I was super lucky during the period that I started and went on, that it was somebody who did psychology and so really did understand that crossover between science and the more humanities things. The other thing that was important that I talked about a little bit were our affiliates, such as Values, Ethics, and the Law in Medicine (VELIM) – now Sydney Health Ethics, but particularly the people in other departments. Stephen Gaukroger, for example, was extremely important in philosophy for [building] wider university relationships, for a lot of the kind of oversight or other things that were difficult to do when you only have a director who’s a senior lecturer. So, I

would say Stephen, in particular, was extremely important.”

The Discipline of History and Philosophy of Science

The interdisciplinary nature of HPS, and the location of the Unit for HPS in the Faculty of Science is one of the key features of its success in the University. Ankeny reiterated this:

“…it was Alan’s brilliant move to move the unit into the faculty of science. Which, in fact, accounts for its success.”

We asked Richards and Ankeny about the importance of HPS as a freestanding discipline. Here are some of their thoughts. First, Richards:

“It’s not a discipline. It is the ultimate interdisciplinary subject, HPS, which is one of the great attractions of HPS for me. Inevitably you must engage with a number of dimensions and you can go off in all sorts of directions from HPS.

“But at the same time, I think unless it is recognised as a particular multi-area, multi-discipline study or understanding and interpretation, then it just becomes lost and absorbed

into the other disciplines, those like philosophy, which have always been omnipotent and powerful in the HPS world, and it loses, for me, it’s significance and importance of the other aspects; the non-philosophical aspects then become overlooked and aren’t developed as much. They aren’t given the opportunity to go further than they might have otherwise if it had been understood and dealt with as a separate multi-disciplinary area.”

Ankeny agrees:

“I think it’s important to have a free-standing discipline because…in many parts of the world it is a freestanding discipline and continuing to recognise that is important—it’s interdisciplinary yet it really is its own thing, in the sense of having a unique body of literature, a unique approach to kind of methods, which includes knowing the methods of each of the disciplines that make it up and that includes sociology of science, although not in the name, and STS. It’s very important to be able to understand those methods but also develop a rich and deep understanding of the sciences. Being in the sciences allows for that, it allows for collaborations, it allows for a grounding in the sciences, that is really critical to the approach that

the discipline takes.”

Reflecting on the value of HPS to society, Richards argued that HPS is important not only for society but also for scientists themselves:

“I think that it’s very significant and important that people have a better comprehension of how science works and how science is made than they normally do. Today we have a situation where people are extremely critical of science. We have a great deal of scepticism and online momentum towards opposing issues like climate change and denigrating the scientific work and the scientists associated with it and so on.

“So, I think that the understanding that there always is and has been a social-cultural component to science and the making of knowledge is a very important and significant thing for people to understand. There is no absolute certainty attached to these ideas however, they are made as hard and fast as they can be at that particular point in time within that particular society, that particular culture, and that historical moment.

“And I think if that understanding was made wider than it is, the world

would be a better place for it. Less would be expected of science, so you don’t get the kind of ‘gotcha moments’ where scientists are proven to be not as precise or as correct maybe as they are generally understood to be. This perhaps works even more so in medicine, which wants to call itself a science or understand itself largely as a science but, of course, a lot of the knowledge in medicine is something that is even more culturally and socially inflicted than other kinds of scientific knowledge and understanding. I think that’s an even more significant and important role for HPS.

“In the world today it’s important to understand that ideas do change. As I said, nothing’s necessarily hard and fast, but on the other hand, it’s the best we’ve got. It’s not just important for the general population to understand…about science and its construction and so on, but the scientists too, to be better acquainted with this interpretation and understanding. I think they could then bring more to their particular field were they to grasp that approach and understanding of their field and be better scientists for it. So, I think HPS has a lot to offer scientists and science students.”

Advice for Students

Finally, given their years of experience in the field, we thought we would take the opportunity to ask Ankeny and Richards for any advice they had for students of HPS.

Ankeny:

“I think it’s extremely important when you’re an undergraduate to range as widely as you can across the different sciences. Even if you’re not going to be a philosopher of physics, it’s still incredibly important to know about the debates in that field, if your plan, for example, is to do honours or graduate work; and vice versa if you’re in the physical sciences you really should take things in the history of biology or the history of medicine or whatever else. I think, particularly at an undergraduate stage, there’s no good reason to limit yourself to just history, just philosophy, ignore social studies, nor is there any good reason to limit yourself to just one of the sciences—in fact, you can’t.

“I think it’s really important for those years to be wide-ranging if you can, and if what you want to do is to go out and do either honours or a PhD it’s really important to keep up

with those broader sets of debates, particularly because the field is growing incredibly quickly.”

Richards is hopeful that the academic landscape is changing for the better in terms of equity and diversity:

“When I was thinking about the importance of women doing the work and being in the field, there has been more work being done on women in science, however, there has not been too much work done on Australian women scientists and perhaps this is a good field to explore. There have been some prominent ones and even more recently. It has always been something I have been very much concerned with and I think understanding the gendered and racial dimensions of science and knowledge is crucial to looking at the ways in which science is used to justify and rationalise various ideological approaches to issues in the world.

“I would hope that women going into HPS today have experienced less of the kinds of blocks and problems that were experienced in my particular generation. I would

hope there is more understanding, that there are more opportunities, that there is more enabling so that younger women can do the things they should be doing and are doing in HPS today. I think that would be an excellent thing.”

Finally, Ankeny reminds us all to think critically about what lies at the core of HPS:

“The second point is to be a bit reflexive both about science and its methodology, and about the methodologies you use in HPS. I think too often people just do it and don’t think necessarily about the why and the limitations of the methods that are used. HPS presumes an integration of these methods, which doesn’t necessarily go on in a lot of places, and the benefit of having this unit that does, in some sense, all of the fields including social studies of science in various forms, is that you can expose yourself to all those fields. It’s not just a philosophy department or curriculum nor is it dominated by history or social studies. I think that’s an opportunity that really needs to be taken up.”

Many thanks to both Professor Evelleen Richards and Professor Rachel Ankeny for their time and generosity. Full transcripts of each interview are available on request.

Industry Influence on Health and Nutrition Research:

Biased Evidence, Public Confusion and Knowledge Gaps

Moa Rahmn

public health ~ food and beverage industry ~ funding source ~ transparency ~ research integrity

Industry funding covers approximately 70% of global research funding (Bisson, 2020). From a health and nutrition perspective, these studies form the bulk of available evidence for public health guidelines (Fabbri et al., 2017) and decide which claims are allowed to be displayed on food labels. However, evidence suggests that the source of funding influences the published results to the sponsor’s benefit, which has flow-on effects on public health (Lesser et al., 2007; Fabbri et al., 2017). Industry research funding has surpassed government funding in recent decades, propelled by legislations such as the Bayh-Dole Act of 1980 that allowed researchers to patent and make a profit from their breakthroughs causing an economic incentive for businesses to partner with academic institutions (Bero, 2019; Petersen, 2012). This has created a dependency of academics on industry partnerships to progress their careers as many universities reward their staff both for high publication loads and

for winning the largest research grants, which is difficult to achieve without utilising the largest available funding source (Petersen, 2012).

Further exacerbating this dependence is that some public funding schemes have shifted their focus towards research that has commercial potential due to the ease of demonstrating to the governing body that the research has a positive community impact (Andalo, 2011). The compounding decrease in funding opportunities for projects with limited commercial potential forces a growing number of academics to turn to private contracts or consultancy work when their funding applications fail, reinforcing a cycle of dependence (Andalo, 2011; Petersen, 2012). This dependence gives industry a lot of power in the research space with grave effects on academic freedom, including research agendas, result interpretation and publication (Bero, 2019; Lesser et al., 2007).

This essay will show that food industry-funded research has negative health effects because it forms biased evidence, is used to confuse the public and legislative authorities and leaves knowledge gaps that obscure the big picture, all of which are necessary to address current health issues. With a focus on developed countries with food affluence, this essay highlights today’s dependence on industry funding and how this gives companies the power to exert influence. It will then describe the tactics used to influence published studies, discuss how results are used by industry to push their agenda and highlight the impacts on health guidelines and individual decision-making.

Influencing publications

The food industry has significant industry power over reported results. Food industry-funded research projects are four to eight times more likely to have an outcome in favour of the sponsor’s interests (Lesser et al., 2007; Bes-Rastrollo et al., 2013). For example, a meta-analysis of health effects from common beverages found that all industryfunded interventional studies failed to conclude a single negative health outcome, while 37% of non-industryfunded studies linked the beverage to

decreased health outcomes (Lesser et al., 2007). Similarly, industrysponsored systematic reviews of sugar-sweetened drinks were five times more likely than non-industrysponsored reviews to find the evidence inconclusive than to find a connection to weight gain or obesity (Bes-Rastrollo et al., 2013). The study focus was also found to be different depending on sponsorship. Industry-funded studies mainly focused on single nutrients, such as saturated fat or iron, whereas independent studies mainly focused on dietary composition (67%) that included whole foods or food groups (Fabbri et al., 2017).

This bias in industry-sponsored studies is arguably due to two main tactics. Firstly, sponsorship contracts often include publication agreements that allow the sponsor to prevent publication or amend journal submissions (Kasenda et al., 2016). The Coca-Cola Company not only includes clauses that prevent researchers from publishing before company approval of the final report, but they also include clauses allowing them to discontinue a study without reason while retaining all data (Steele et al., 2019). This creates numerous opportunities to suppress unfavourable results or exert pressure

on research to modify the content of submitted papers. This results in a higher proportion of favourable publications that do not accurately reflect the truth.

While Coca-Cola was willing to negotiate contracts (Steele et al., 2019), this requires researchers to be both skilled and knowledgeable with regard to these negotiations. Early career researchers are particularly vulnerable. Early career researchers want to advance their careers and they lack the experience and confidence to withstand pressure from experienced corporation representatives. Additionally, only 36% of US institutions require institutional review of sponsorship contracts and the same proportion of institutions refuse to review contracts (Mello et al., 2018). This is a missed opportunity to give researchers support that could have a large impact on the power of industry over their sponsored studies. Industry is likely aware of this considering many companies also fund university functions, programs, and scholarships. These initiatives have been reported to create an atmosphere of silence regarding any criticism of their company products (Petersen, 2012). The result is a far-reaching record of industry preventing publication (Petersen,

2012; Bero, 2019). This is highly concerning considering a large body of information is withheld from the public, preventing them from making informed decisions about their health.

The second and potentially more impactful industry tactic is actively influencing research agendas and design. Industry has been shown to selectively sponsor projects that can be of commercial value to them, where such projects receive 65-95% of total industry funding (Fabbri et al., 2018b). This impacts the research scopes and research questions that get funded. As Alen Williams, a former professor in animal science told The Chronicle “As a professor, you are forced to do the research you can get the dollars for. It’s not the research you’d like to do or see the need for” (Petersen, 2012). Petersen (2012) reported that Intervet has funded a multitude of studies investigating a growth-promoting drug in cattle, focusing on growth rates, cattle size and value, and meat tenderness. No funding was provided to investigate any long-term impacts on cattle or consumer health despite similar drugs being banned in other countries due to potentially harmful effects on humans. This selectivity allowed enough evidence for legal approval of the drug, while the lack of

studies into health conveniently can be used to argue no safety concerns have been found.

A similar trend was found in obesity research, where the level of processing was only included in one-third of industry-funded studies despite plenty of evidence pointing to this as a factor for weight gain (Fabbri et al., 2017). Food processing is valueadding, allowing food companies to make more money compared to raw produce (Nestle, 2013). As such, researching the link between obesity and food processing has no benefit to the companies, despite it being in the best interest of the public. Therefore, the public assumption that nutrition research is generally being carried out to address knowledge gaps in pressing public health issues does not appear to hold if industry sponsors are involved.

Creating doubt

While these tactics may be problematic on their own, it is not until we understand how they are used that the significance becomes clear. A recent study found industryfunded studies to be used to distract from unfavourable research, affect regulations and policy to benefit sales and support their legal positions (Fabbri et al., 2018b). This has been

going on for over half a century. A well-known example is the tobacco industry after WWII when emerging evidence linked smoking to diseases such as lung cancer and heart disease, described in detail by Oreskes and Conway (2012) in the book Merchants of Doubt. The tobacco industry then spent hundreds of millions of dollars on studies of other causes of these diseases, such as genetics, air pollution, and radiation. These studies were then used in extensive advertising campaigns to make the public and legislative bodies question if these diseases were caused by smoking or any of these other causes. It was very successful, profits remained high, and no regulations were put in place on tobacco products. Additionally, they produced expert witnesses in numerous lawsuits claiming the evidence is inconclusive and therefore insufficient to determine smoking as the cause of the plaintiff’s disease. The industry also funded studies into smoking and disease, but the results of these studies were buried since they confirmed causality. The withholding of these results greatly contributed to a conviction against the industry for defrauding the public in a 2006 lawsuit.

The tobacco story may be the most famous one due to the criminal

conviction, but the food industry was and still is utilising the same techniques. A relatively recent study confirmed that the sugar industry funded studies focusing on connecting fat to coronary heart disease (CHD) as a response to emerging evidence linking sucrose to CHD (Kearns et al., 2016). Methods included a poll to determine which public beliefs needed to be targeted with new research, leading to funding of studies on different fats and scrutiny of negative sugar studies to find any weaknesses that could be publicly critiqued (Kearns et al., 2016). This was occurring at the same time as the tobacco story but was only publicly revealed during the last decade. A more recent example is the Coca-Cola Company providing 48.1% of its disclosed research funding to projects in Energy Balance Research, arguing that obesity is caused by a lack of activity (energy output) rather than nutrition (energy input) (Fabbri et al., 2018a; Walters, 2015). They have also funded studies into the integrity of sugar-sweetened beverage studies and found that independent studies tend to overreach in their interpretation of results (Fabbri, 2018a). The evidence suggests that the food industry, similar to the tobacco industry, is using tactics to distract from the harms of sugar by shifting the focus onto other health

threats or by looking for weaknesses in independent studies that can be used in counterattacks.

The developments in technology have given people access to more information and allowed more people to easily voice their concerns and reach. Industry now faces critique from more directions than just scientific studies, and it has responded with an aggressive defence. In 1980, the McDonald’s Corporation set the precedent for this aggressive handling of critics when they sued persons from a small activist group for defamation for handing out leaflets with damaging accusations (Nestle, 2013). These lawsuits were followed by many others, but this aggressive handling of critics is also carried out secretly in the media through public relations firms. For example, Marion Nestle, a nutritionist and critic of food industry practices, was labelled a food fascist and socialist for opposing unethical industry marketing practices by the Centre for Consumer Freedom (CCF, 2010). The CCF is a non-profit run by Berman & Co. Berman & Co. receives funding from companies such as Monsanto but uses non-profit organisations as a strategy not to have to disclose its sponsors (Corley, 2016).

Not disclosing funding is a common

trend in the food industry, not only for public relations but also for research projects. In a study investigating ten food companies, only two companies, Coca-Cola and Mars, provided enough detail to identify linked research papers (Fabbri et al., 2018). However, Coca-Cola has been criticised for being selective with what funding it discloses. As much as 45% of studies acknowledging funding from Coca-Cola have not been listed by Coca-Cola as recipients (Serôdio et al., 2018). Other food and beverage companies also sponsor scientific research, but as much as 80% of companies do not provide enough information to link the funding to the resulting published studies. Failure to disclose conflicts of interest has been a known issue for decades, and many journals have introduced a requirement to disclose such funding. However, this is not being effectively enforced and countless articles get published without declaring their vested sponsors (Ruff, 2015). These companies likely do not want us to know which research projects they are involved in because their methods to create confusion are much more effective if the public cannot question the integrity of the studies used in their marketing campaigns and lobby activities. The attacks against critics

cannot be accused of being biased if they are presented by a seemingly independent non-profit organisation. It is particularly worrying within the food industry since food is a requirement for life. One cannot avoid eating as one can avoid smoking.

Obscuring the big picture

The focus of industry-funded research on single nutrients, called reduction nutrition, has more recently emerged as a cause for concern. The reduction approach stems from the early 1900s when the two main dietary health concerns were nutrient deficiencies and undernutrition (Tapsell et al., 2016). Half a century later the main health concern had shifted to chronic diseases associated with an overconsumption of food, causing dietary recommendations to decrease the intake of certain foods (Nestle, 2013). Industries affected realised quickly that by highlighting beneficial macro and micronutrients in their food they could influence dietary guidelines in their favour (Nestle, 2013). For example, the meat industry used micronutrient research, in combination with close political relationships and fierce lobbying activities, to increase the maximum daily meat recommendations from 6 oz/day in the 1977 Dietary Goals to 9

oz/day in the 2000 Dietary Guidelines (Nestle, 2013).

The biggest concern with reductionist nutrition is that it is contextdependent. For example, diets high in saturated fat have been shown to increase the risk of cardiovascular disease (CVD) by 9-25% compared to diets high in unsaturated fats or whole grain carbohydrates, but not compared to diets high in refined carbohydrates (Li et al., 2015). If this is not communicated or understood by someone with CVD, they could easily replace saturated fats with refined carbs in their diet, resulting in no health benefits. Additionally, there are synergistic and antagonistic interactions between nutrients and the complexity is not well captured in randomised controlled trials focused on limited nutrients (Jacobs, 2011). The recommendation by the American Heart Association to limit egg intake was based on single nutrient studies of the association between cholesterol and heart disease (Krauss et al., 2000). This has later been changed based on new evidence that eggs have a limited impact on heart disease, potentially due to other nutrients in eggs or the overall diet (Li et al., 2015).

It is evident that single-nutrient research is not sufficient for accurate

and dependable dietary guidelines. They need the context of dietary patterns (Li et al., 2015), which can be affected by many other societal factors. What people eat depends on geographic, cultural, socioeconomic and other contexts which should be considered when developing dietary recommendations. The industry focus on single nutrients shifts the body of evidence available for systematic reviews, which often forms the basis for guidelines (Fabbri et al., 2017). The reviews can be conducted with the highest integrity and diligence but can only inform impactful guidelines if there is a sufficient spread of publications to draw from.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the influence of industry funding on research in the field of health and nutrition has farreaching and detrimental effects on public health. As this essay has highlighted, the reliance on industry funding for research, the biased outcomes of industry-sponsored studies and the tactics employed by these industries to shape research agendas and design have created a distorted landscape of scientific evidence. Industry-funded research is often used to confuse the public and legislative authorities, leading to

a lack of informed decision-making on matters of health. Furthermore, the failure to disclose conflicts of interest and the focus on reductionist nutrition have obscured the big picture, preventing the development of accurate and dependable dietary guidelines. Steps must be taken to mitigate the undue influence of industry funding on research to ensure that public health guidelines and policies are based on unbiased and rigorous scientific evidence.

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Bes-Rastrollo, M, Schulze, MB, Ruiz-Canela, M, & Martinez-Gonzalez, MA 2013, ‘Financial conflicts of interest and reporting bias regarding the association between sugar-sweetened beverages and weight gain: a systematic review of systematic reviews’, PLoS Medicine, vol. 10, no. 12, p. e1001578; dicsussion e1001578–

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Corley, M 2016, Infamous for keeping clients secret, Berman admits to advising Monsanto on GMOs, Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, viewed 20 September 2023, https:// www.citizensforethics.org/reports-investigations/crew-investigations/infamous-keepingclients-secret-berman-admits-advising-monsanto-gmos/

Fabbri, A, Chartres, N, Scrinis, G, & Bero, LA 2017, ‘Study sponsorship and the nutrition research agenda: analysis of randomized controlled trials included in systematic reviews of nutrition interventions to address obesity’, Public Health Nutrition, vol. 20, no. 7, pp. 1306–1313

Fabbri, A, Holland, TJ, & Bero, LA 2018a, ‘Food industry sponsorship of academic research: investigating commercial bias in the research agenda’, Public Health Nutrition, vol. 21, no. 18, pp. 3422–3430

Fabbri, A, Lai, A, Grundy, Q, & Bero, LA 2018b, ‘The Influence of Industry Sponsorship on the Research Agenda: A Scoping Review’, American Journal of Public Health (1971), vol. 108, no. 11, pp. e9–e16

Jacobs, DR, Tapsell, LC, & Temple, NJ 2011, ‘Food Synergy: The Key to Balancing the Nutrition Research Effort’, Public Health Reviews, vol. 33, no. 2, pp. 507–529

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Marxism and the Future of Science:

Dialectical Materialism as a Practical Philosophy and Critique of Science

Jacob Byron Hall

Marxism ~ philosophy ~ dialectics ~ contextual empiricism ~ science

Marxist philosophy has been shown throughout history to be a powerful and flexible schema for many forms of scientific inquiry. Also known as dialectical materialism, this philosophy of science is based on a critical, practical materialism that locates scientific work within social activity, economy and practical life while emphasising the utility of a contextualised empirical enquiry. Although often muted within the contemporary discourse, the Marxist philosophy of science has been exemplified in a variety of impactful scientific projects and provides a strong critique of science where existing critical philosophies have fallen short. This essay argues that dialectical materialism provides a fruitful methodology for scientific practice and a critical approach to science that surpasses the major shortcomings of traditional scientific empiricism and constructivist approaches alike. To demonstrate this argument, this essay first briefly outlines the basic principles of dialectical materialism as

a philosophy of science. Secondly, this essay demonstrates the Marxist critique of reductive empiricism by providing practical examples of dialectical materialist principles in contemporary science. Finally, this essay compares the Kuhnian foundations of the critical philosophy of constructivism with dialectical materialism.

The principles of dialectical materialism in science

At its foundation, Marxist philosophy emphasises the dialectical nature of reality. As such, scientific enquiry guided by dialectical materialism often differs significantly from traditional empiricism in the kinds of matters it investigates, the observations it makes and the theoretical structures it generates. An important practical premise of this approach to science is the understanding that thought and the creation of ideas are “directly interwoven with the material activity” of society (Marx, 2022. p. 6). This premise arises from the dialectical

notion of the unity of object and subject, and that thought itself is a particular mode of expression of reality. As a result, a dialectical materialist science emphasises the fundamental connections between the social ordering of science, the particular forms of industry, life and production in society and the content of the knowledge produced through scientific research. Additionally, the dialectical materialist perspective tends against reductionism. While traditional empiricism has mapped reality as a collection of discrete, interacting, immutable categories of matter and phenomena, the dialectical perspective understands that these categories themselves are historically contingent. Furthermore, this perspective recognises much scientific fact-making to be the production of snapshot, one-sided descriptions of reality, “a collection of dead facts” (ibid), that cannot capture the motions, transformations and negations that characterise reality. In contrast, a dialectical materialist science emphasises both the transformative processes that give rise to matter and phenomena, and the interconnected, interdependent nature of matter and phenomena.

As J.D Bernal (1937) asserts, this perspective on reality alerts the

dialectical scientist to the ways in which their research, theories and ideas are reflective of and enmeshed in broader society. This allows dialectical science to actively reflect on the ideas, social structures and resources at hand in any given research process, rather than to imagine that such things have little bearing on the content of scientific knowledge. This approach naturally engenders the critique of existing theoretical schemas and concepts in science while encouraging the development of new ones. Ultimately, a dialectical materialist science retains the empirical methods of science so far developed, while emphasising the contextual, contingent and inevitably one-sided nature of facts, theories and modes of research (ibid) in what may be referred to as a contextualised empiricism.

Beyond providing a description of reality and a critique of existing modes of scientific inquiry, dialectical materialism also views science as playing a special and often revolutionary role in social development. The transformative potential of science is made clear throughout the body of early Marxist scholarship, as the impacts of scientific development in its dialectical relationship with production are central. In Dialectics of Nature, Engels traces the development

of various branches of science— from astronomy to mechanics, botany to physics etc—which are presented with goals and materials presented by broader social, agricultural or industrial conditions. These conditions are portrayed as both general, such as the agriculturalist drive to understand seasons through astronomy, and highly specific, such as the sophisticated instruments developed for industry that facilitated the birth of experimental science (Engels, 1934). Engels also explores the dialectical relationships between modes of thought, forms of economic organisation and scientific achievement. In his famous critique of Darwin’s theory of natural selection, Engels remarks on the “bitter satire” that Darwin unintentionally created when he observed the natural world and saw the precepts of capitalist political economy, including competition and the struggle for limited resources, as the “normal state of the animal kingdom” (ibid, p. 35). The tendency for natural sciences to draw from and validate the social and political structures of their given societies is a recurring theme throughout this critical body of literature.

Interestingly, Engels’s reflections also draw from evolutionary theory to includeananalysisof thetransformation of the material world alongside the

development of cognitive structures, then later, science. He remarks on the parallel development of the faculty of speech in humankind with the rapid expansion of human cognitive capacity. Similarly, Engels suggests that the “specialisation of the hand… implies the tool”, which in turn brings to bear the multiplication of human influence on the natural world. This biosocial and technological map of physical transformation contains the central kernel of dialectical materialism—that social, cognitive and biological forms, the state of nature, and scientific development are all essentially entwined, co-developing at all stages of their history. Lastly, this account also asserts that the development of science has so transformed the world that the impacts of human works could only be negated through the world’s complete destruction (ibid, p. 14,15). Marx similarly writes extensively on the transformative impact of science and technology on production throughout the development of capitalism. In Marx’s view, “the application of… science to production” has cyclically upended widespread social formations throughout capitalist history, primarily by revolutionising modes of production (Marx, 1939. p. 624).

Furthermore, Marx identifies that in the capitalist system, the development

of science and technology is pressed into the service of production, to the point where the “analysis… of mechanical and chemical laws”, and the invention of new, transformative technologies becomes a business unto itself. Importantly, while Marx’s account shows the transformative potential of science and technology, he also reaffirms its origin within the material conditions of society, such that are set by existing and historical modes of cognitive and economic production (ibid, p. 623).

As a revolutionary project, dialectical materialism combines the aboveoutlined notions; that reality itself exists within dialectical structures; that this structure can be apprehended with a contextualised empiricism, comprised of social and historical understanding, applied with scientific principles, and; that the self-conscious application of a dialectical materialist science contains the radical potential to transform social reality, reinforce or challenge existing cognitive structures and fundamentally reshape the development of scientific knowledge. Some critical questions remain, however: What can the revolutionary ideas of Marxist philosophy offer contemporary science? Can a Marxist philosophy of science overcome the intractable problems of empiricist

and constructivist philosophies of science? The remainder of this essay explores these questions, arguing that Marxist philosophy does indeed hold significant promise for contemporary scientific practice, and provides a viable theory of knowledge without the shortcomings of traditional empiricism or constructivism.

Dialectical materialism in contemporary science - an expansionist, contextualised empiricism

In addition to offering a critique of traditional empiricist science, dialectical materialism has also been an operant philosophy in a significant volume of modern science. Throughout the 20th Century, dialectical materialism found particular purchase in the field of biology and gave rise to some crucial challenges to the traditionally conceived boundaries of scientific knowledge. In 1924, Soviet biologist Aleksandr Oparin applied the principles of dialectical materialism to hypothesise on the origins of life on Earth. Throughout his work, Oparin explicitly drew on Engels’s writings on the natural sciences as a foundation for his theoretical approach. In particular, Oparin applied the dialectical principle of the transformation of quantitative change

into qualitative change which led him to the hypothesis that inanimate matter and its chemical exchanges in the aqueous environments of primordial Earth could form the basic building blocks of life (Grant & Woods, 2003. p. 23 - 24). This principle emphasised to Oparin that no special, intangible ‘life’ ingredient was necessary for groupings of chemicals to obtain capacities thought to be exclusive to living matter, such as replication and metabolism. Furthermore, Oparin developed this theory within in a Soviet social context in which dialectical materialism was not only present, but also widely considered to contain important precepts for scientific research. It is thus reasonable to suggest that this social context encouraged him in the first place to approach the origins of life as a legitimate scientific problem. In contrast, the scientific community of the Western world largely considered the origins of life to be the subject of philosophical conjecture and not scientific research, all but ignoring Oparin’s and similar theories for decades after their publication (ibid. p. 24 - 26).

Oparin’s hypothesis was also independently presented by British biologist John Haldane in 1929, who himself was a well-known Marxist

philosopher and activist. Despite the gravity of the question of the origins of life, Oparin and Haldane’s hypotheses were not experimentally investigated until the Miller-Urey experiment, which attempted to recreate a microcosm of the primordial Earth environment to show how basic organic matter could arise from inorganic matter (Grant & Woods, 2003. p. 25 - 39). In this historical case, the Marxist principle of the transformation of quantitative change to qualitative change enabled Oparin to formulate a novel approach to a fundamental question, and one that was previously unavailable to science (ibid, p. 26). Furthermore, these examples also vindicate the Marxist critique of empiricist science by demonstrating how social and historical context plays a conditioning role in where the boundaries of science are drawn. As such, the dialectical materialist approach can be a fruitful schema for pushing past the boundaries of scientific knowledge, opening wide new realms of scientific research on fundamental questions of reality.

Biologist Richard Lewontin has also employed the approach of dialectical materialism in his scientific work. In his text, Triple Helix: Gene, Organism and Environment Lewontin

polemically argues against what he sees as the tendency towards analytical reductivism that is prevalent in the field of biology. This tendency, Lewontin asserts, is owed in part to the influential Cartesian metaphor of the machinic nature of the natural world (Lewontin, 2000. p. 71). Lewontin recounts how this machine metaphor dominates many different topics of research in the field of biology—from the translation of DNA into proteins, to the development of biological features, to the evolution of traits in a population. As he asserts, this mechanistic approach to biological research leads scientists to search for direct, causal relationships between systems that can be effectively isolated and understood in enough precision from which to generate facts of biology. However, Lewontin argues that this tendency to produce simple explanations of the complex systems under biological research—this reductive empiricism—has been the cause of numerous scientific disputes within the discipline. Lewontin offers several major reasons for these disputes; that there is no consensus on how organisms should be analytically broken down into their ‘machine’ parts; there is a vast plurality of forces simultaneously at work in any organism; cause and effect are not always separable, and; life-processes

cannot be essentialised on the basis of induction or their heretofore characteristics (ibid, p. 75 - 76).

Lewontin’s argument emphasises how the real functioning of organisms consistently defies the reductionist methodologies typical of biological research, and he suggests some dialectical principles for research to avoid confounding reductionism and resolve some of the disputes in the discipline. Firstly, the research of objects, like genes, must include an understanding of their relations with other objects and phenomena of the body. Secondly, the spatial arrangements of molecules must be understood in conjunction with their chemical makeup. Thirdly, the external arrangement of objects, like cells, should be integrated into explanations of organism development (Lewontin, 2000. p. 114 - 117). In each of these cases, Lewontin’s recommendations for a more fruitful kind of biological research disrupt the reductionist tendency to observe discrete objects in their own essence and form. Instead, he suggests a more dialectical approach that emphasises the relational characteristics of phenomena in addition to their observed chemical or physical characteristics. Furthermore, Lewontin rejects the possibility of identifying universally valid ‘parts-in-

the-whole’ of any organism’s biology. This is a reflection of the principle of object/subject unity, as the selection of an object for study, like an organ, is predicated on the cognitive process of object conception, which in itself is conditioned by the subject’s—that is, the scientist’s—social and historical context. Ultimately, Lewontin’s suggestions for a more dialectical approach to biology are aimed towards addressing the deep contentions within the discipline and may help to produce more expansive and fruitful research.

The application of dialectical materialism in science clearly carries the potential to avoid the conceptual shortcomings of empiricist reductionism, which have been the cause of significant controversies in the field of biology. By troubling the foundational methods of science, such as the conception of definite objects of study, or the search for decisive causal relations between phenomena, dialectical materialism engenders a contextualised empiricism in the investigation of reality. The above examples of contemporary dialectical materialist science show how Marxist philosophy can bring about new avenues of empirical investigation beyond the limitations of reductionism.

Critiquing the critique - Marxism and Constructivism

While the Marxist philosophy of science has been impactful in the practical work and achievements of significant scientific inquiry, it also provides a fruitful critique of some of the leading critical philosophies of science in the 20th Century. One such contemporary critical philosophy is constructivism. This philosophy shares some features in common with the Marxist philosophy of science, including its emphasis on the essentially social character of scientific work and its focus on history and the transformation of science in society. However, the Marxist philosophy of science diverges from constructivism in a number of important ways, presenting a theory of knowledge more closely aligned with science as a material practice embedded in broader social structures and material conditions.

Firstly, the foundations of the constructivist philosophy are widely credited to Thomas Kuhn and his seminal 1962 text The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. This text takes a sociological and historical approach to the construction of scientific knowledge, with a particular emphasis on the dominant ideas,

or paradigms, that characterise the worldview of scientific disciplines. Importantly, Kuhn’s work also emphasises how scientific interpretations of the world undergo periods of normalcy and revolution, such that previous scientific worldviews may be replaced by emerging, revolutionary worldviews. As a result, scientific worldviews from before and after such revolutions may be considered entirely incommensurable (Kuhn, 2012. p. 111 - 135). Kuhn’s theory of scientific revolution depicts the activity of science as an inherently social one, emphasising the role of science education, the perceptual experiences of individual scientists, and their work within socially formulated disciplines in science. Kuhn’s model of scientific transformation also shows an idealist orientation, most prominently embodied by his use of the “gestalt switch” metaphor (ibid, p. 122). In such gestalt switch situations, transformations in scientific practice are primarily motivated by ideas— by experiences or insights that cause sudden, irreversible shifts in an individual scientist’s worldview, which in turn comes to transform their practical scientific activities and subsequently, those of the scientists around them.

It is Kuhn’s emphasis on ideas as

transformative forces that clashes most prominently with the theory of scientific transformation posited by dialectical materialism. This idealist analysis tends not to focus on the material, economic drivers of scientific transformation, rather emphasising the motive force of scientific achievements, ideas and worldviews. Importantly, Kuhn acknowledges that “external social, economic and intellectual conditions” have some role to play in scientific development. However, Kuhn also notes that such considerations have rarely been at the centre of his analysis (ibid, preface p. x). Drawing heavily from Kuhn’s work, constructivist critiques similarly tend not to focus on the broader structures of production and social organisation in analysing the historical development of science.

Importantly, dialectical materialism is not the direct inverse of Kuhn’s constructivism and does not overly focus on the role of production while ignoring the role of ideas in the history of scientific development. On the contrary, Marxist philosophy sees ideas as the direct reflection of historically specific social and economic formations. In any given society, the dominant “ruling ideas” are those that reinforce existing social

formations of society and are useful for the preservation of the dominant modes of production and material life at any given historical moment (Marx, 1932. p. 19). As Uranovsky notes, these ruling ideas often find their expression within the observations of science, recounting the examples of “genetics and race theory” deployed in fascist Germany as a means of reinforcing its particular capitalist social structure (Uranovsky, 2011. p. 171). In a less extreme example, recall Engels’s critique of Darwin’s observations of the animal kingdom as a close reflection of the dominant social structure of British society in his time (Engels, 1934. p. 15). Ultimately, the dialectical materialist perspective asserts the interpenetration of ideas, production, scientific practice and material life to provide a rich, historical and social account of the development of science. In contrast, Kuhn’s emphasis on ideas has contributed to a constructivist philosophy that often lacks a critical perspective on the underlying but ubiquitous material factors at play in shaping the form and content of science. As such, dialectical materialism as a philosophy of science provides a more complete and practical view of science, not as an independent activity, but as a social process embedded within the social

and productive structures of society. Dialectical materialism carries significant implications for the practical activity of science and has shown to be a fruitful and productive schema for scientific practice. At the same time, dialectical materialism provides a coherent and focused critique of scientific methodology and the social structure of science that surpasses the dominant critiques of science in contemporary discourse. This can be clearly demonstrated by the incisive criticisms developed by Marx and Engels, and in the degree to which they themselves and later Marxist theorists have paid attention to the development of science, and taken seriously its claims throughout history. Most importantly, however, the Marxist philosophy of science selfconsciously forwards the possibility of mobilising science to transform society. As a result, this philosophy embraces a radical relativism with profound intellectual responsibility, asserting that; the objects of scientific activity are never ahistorical or taken for granted, but rationally and empirically conceived of through their historical relations with other objects and phenomena, including human social reality; a contextualised empiricism contains the potential to develop valid

and useful ideas about reality, and; that the activity of science can be vastly enhanced by embracing its continuity with historical and economic studies and indeed with all human practical activity. To summarise the ethos of dialectical materialism as a philosophy

References

of science, we turn to Marx:

“The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways; the point is to change it.”

Bernal, JD 1937, Dialectical Materialism and Modern Science, Science and Society, Volume 2.

Engels, F 1934, Dialectics of Nature, Translated by C Dutt, Moscow: Progress Publishers.

Kuhn, TS 2012, The structure of scientific revolutions, University of Chicago Press.

Lewontin, RC 2000, The Triple Helix: Gene, organism, and environment, Harvard University Press.

Marx, K 1939 [1857-61], Grundrisse: Foundations of the critique of political economy, Translated by M Nicolaus, Penguin UK.

Marx, K 1932, A Critique of The German Ideology, Translated by T. Delaney & B Schwartz, Progress Publishers.

Marx, K & Engels, F 1969, Theses on Feuerbach, 1888.

Uranovsky, YM 2011 [1935], Marxism and Natural Science, In Marxism and Modern Thought, Taylor & Francis Group, London.

Grant, T & Woods, A 2003, How Life Arose, In Reason in Revolt: Dialectical Philosophy and Modern Science, Vol 2, Algora Publishing, New York. Available from: ProQuest Ebook Central.

A Critical Examination of Weisberg’s Framework of Scientific Models

Mijin Kim

models ~fictions ~ Weisberg ~

In this paper, I will look at Weisberg’s framework of scientific models, and discuss possible problems with his account. I will first outline Weisberg’s framework and present his philosophical view of models: models are interpreted abstract structures. I will then look at an alternative view, models-as-fictions by Godfrey-Smith, that regards models as imaginary concrete systems. In the next section, I will evaluate a scientific model developed by Watson and Lovelock, Daisyworld, which is a mathematical abstract structure according to Weisberg’s account, but which I think is an imaginary model with mathematical descriptions, consistent with the fictions view. In the last section, I will point out that the idea of imaginary is in fact implicit in Weisberg’s categorisation of idealised exemplars, although his framework does not accommodate such a fictional nature of model-building.

Weisberg’s framework of scientific models

Weisberg (2013) claims that models

Godfrey-Smith

are interpreted structures. There are three distinctive types of structures: concrete, mathematical, and computational.

Concrete models are physical structures that represent the real-world systems that we want to understand — the “target systems”. A hydraulic scale model, such as the San Francisco Bay model, is an example. The Bay model has a physical structure, namely a tub and pumps, that are used to represent the San Francisco Bay. However, concrete models need not be confined to constructed structures. Structures that already exist in nature can be concrete. For example, model organisms such as Escherichia coli are concrete models because they are physical objects that can represent populations of some target organisms.

Mathematical models are abstract structures with mathematics as the key component of the model; the Lotka-Volterra model, for example. The model describes a relationship between predator and prey populations

using a set of differential equations. In contrast, computational models are abstract structures with the procedure as the key component of the model. Schelling’s model of segregation is an example. The model uses a set of algorithms to describe how individual preferences for similarity lead to collective segregation.

I should note that Weisberg is not arguing that mathematical models and computational models are ontologically distinct. Weisberg accepts that computational models are a subset of mathematical models. What distinguishes computational models from mathematical models is their distinct explanatory capacities. The Schelling model is considered a computational model because it is the transition procedure, not the final segregated state, that explains the phenomenon.

This is, however, not the only way of thinking about the models. While most philosophers agree that actual physical models are concrete structures, they differ on whether the mathematical (or computational) models are abstract

systems that “would be concrete if they were real” (Godfrey-Smith, 2006, p. 735). Here imaginary systems are hypothetical models that are deliberately fictional. In this view, a mathematical model is an imaginary system, or a collection of imaginary systems, described mathematically.

One of the main advantages of this account is that it reflects the actual practice of model-building. Godfrey-Smith argues that “[m] odellers often take themselves to be describing imaginary biological populations, imaginary neural networks, or imaginary economies” (2006, p. 735). It is important to note here that Godfrey-Smith is not arguing that all mathematical models are imaginary systems, as there are model systems specified by purely mathematical structures that do not involve imagining, but his viewpoint here can make sense of the discussion of imaginary objects.

Limitations of Weisberg’s account: Daisyworld

Godfrey-Smith’s models-asfictions

For Godfrey-Smith (2006), models are imagined concrete systems: imaginary

Let us now discuss problems with Weisberg’s account. One problem is that there seems to be a clear case of an imaginary model with mathematical descriptions, distinct from a purely mathematical abstraction, and

Weisberg’s framework has no way to mark out the distinction between the two. Let us look at the case.

Daisyworld is a model developed by Watson and Lovelock in the early 1980s (Watson & Lovelock, 1983), which illustrates a concept of selfregulation in the ecosystem: how two different types of daisies create a cycle that regulates the temperature of the planet. Here is a quick sketch of the model. Daisyworld is a planet with only two organisms: black and white daisies. Black daisies grow in a colder temperature and white daisies grow in a warmer temperature. Initially, the planet is cold. So, black daisies grow and become a dominant species. Because black daisies absorb more energy, the planet starts to warm up. As the temperature increases, white daises start to grow and become the dominant species. Now, because white daisies reflect more energy, the planet starts to cool back down. This cycle continues until the temperature of the planet reaches an equilibrium.

Daisyworld seems to be an example of a mathematical model because it is very similar to the LotkaVolterra model. They both describe a relationship between different entities of the model system by using a set of mathematical equations.

One may argue that Daisyworld is a computational model by drawing on the similarities between Daisyworld and Schelling’s model. I will not worry about such a claim here. What matters is that, whether it is a mathematical, computational or a hybrid of the two, Daisyworld would be considered an abstract structure in Weisberg’s picture.

But a key feature of Daisyworld is its explicit mention of imaginary objects. This contrasts with the purely mathematical systems that do not make such reference. As GodfreySmith points out, the “talk of imagined concrete things seems to be important in the actual practice of much modelbuilding” (2006, p. 736). This is true of Daisyworld. Watson and Lovelock note that “the [target] system is too complex and too little known for us to model it adequately. To investigate the properties [...] we chose to develop a model of an imaginary planet having a very simple biosphere. It consisted of just two species of daisy of different colours” (1983, p. 284). We also can note that Watson and Lovelock are using mathematical equations as a means to describe the imaginary planet: “[b]y simplifying our biosphere enormously we can describe it in terms of a few equations borrowed directly from population ecology theory” (Watson

& Lovelock, 1983, p. 284). This shows us that Daisyworld is defined in terms of mathematical descriptions of the imaginary object and that it is better described as an imaginary system with mathematical descriptions than as a mathematical abstraction, which is a similar argument that can be made for the Lotka-Volterra model.

Weisberg may argue that such imaginary characteristics of model-building do not represent a distinct category of modelling: the fact that a particular mathematical model contains imaginary objects does not grant it a separate status. But then it is not obvious what to make of a mathematical object with non-mathematical properties. Suppose that Daisyworld is a mathematical abstraction, an entity that by definition can neither be located in space and time nor have causal relations with physical objects. Above, Watson and Lovelock said that Daisyworld is supposed to be “a model of an imaginary planet having a very simple biosphere”. But how could the mathematical abstraction have concrete properties of the biosphere, such as the albedo (an ability to reflect sunlight), as well as mathematical properties such as a set of equations or axioms? The point is that the idea of the abstract entity with concrete properties is puzzling because the

words abstract and concrete are exclusive alternatives.

Categorisation of Idealised Exemplars

There is a deeper issue with Weisberg’s framework; the idea of imaginary is implicit in Weisberg’s categorisation of idealised exemplars, although his framework does not accommodate such a fictional nature of modelbuilding. To see this, let us return to Weisberg’s categorisation of model structures.

We have seen two types of concrete models: structures that are literally constructed (the Bay model), and structures that already exist in nature (the Escherichia coli). There is one more type that has not been mentioned: structures that are described but never built. Weisberg (2013) argues that idealised exemplars, such as a schematic model of a eukaryotic cell, are concrete models. This is because, Weisberg says, an actual physical model could be built based on the verbal or diagrammatic descriptions of the model, even though the cell model is abstract and idealised relative to any real cell. In other words, according to Weisberg, the idealised exemplars are abstract entities that would be concrete if they were real.

We should pay attention to the use of the word abstract. Weisberg claims that the cell model is both abstract, because it does not pick out any particular cell in the real world, and idealised, because it makes a deliberate simplification. This can be misleading because it is different from how he uses the word to describe mathematical— or computational—models. As mentioned in the earlier section, he is not using the word abstract in the usual philosophical sense. In philosophy, abstract entities are things like numbers, functions, and sets. A key feature of abstract entities is that they do not have a spatio-temporal location or a causal influence. That is, abstract entities can neither be located in space and time nor have causal relations with physical objects.

On the other hand, imaginary entities are non-actual entities that are deliberately fictional. They would be located in space and time as well as have causal relations with physical objects if they were real. In this sense, a better word for describing the standard cell model—which does not resemble any real cell, but would be concrete if it was real, as intended by Weisberg— would be imaginary. This is problematic for Weisberg because it shows that the idea of imaginary is implicit in his categorisation of idealised exemplars,

although his framework does not accommodate such a fictional nature of model-building.

Once we make this modification that the idealised exemplars are imagined concrete systems, however, it raises a further problem. Weisberg now needs to explain the differences between imaginary cell models and other kinds of imaginary entities, such as an imaginary planet or imaginary population, and why only imaginary cell models are regarded as concrete systems. In contrast, the fictions view does not face this problem, as they would all be considered as imagined concrete systems. It seems there is no obvious answer. The fact that the cell model is represented on the physical paper cannot be it, because as Weisberg points out, in principle “all three types of models can be verbal, mathematical, diagrammatic” (2013, p. 17).

Conclusion

In this paper, I raised two sets of problems with Weisberg’s framework of scientific models. First, using the example of Daisyworld, I showed that there is a clear case of an imaginary model with mathematical descriptions, distinct from a purely mathematical abstraction, and that Weisberg’s

framework has no way to mark out the distinction between the two. I pointed out that if such imaginary characteristics of model-building do not represent a distinct category of modelling, then Weisberg’s framework needs to make sense of abstract objects with concrete properties. Second, I argued that his categorisation of idealised exemplars

References

is in fact, based on the idea of the imaginary, although his framework does not accommodate such a fictional nature of model-building. Finally, I pointed out that Weisberg’s framework needs to explain what makes idealised exemplars different from other kinds of imaginary entities such that only they are regarded as concrete systems.

Godfrey-Smith, P 2006, The strategy of model-based science, Biology and philosophy, 21, pp.725-740.

Godfrey-Smith, P 2009, Models and fictions in science, Philosophical studies, 143, pp.101116.

Watson, AJ & Lovelock, JE 1983, Biological homeostasis of the global environment: the parable of Daisyworld, Tellus B: Chemical and Physical Meteorology, 35(4), pp.284-289.

Weisberg, M 2013, Simulation and Similarity: Using Models to Understand the World, Oxford University Press.

A Comparison of Kepler and Newton’s Theories of Light and Colour

Natasha van der Kolff & Sara Tamim

Kepler ~ Newton ~ light ~ colour ~ physics

During the scientific revolution, there was a noticeable shift in both the perspectives towards the natural sciences and the methodologies employed to formulate scientific theories, which is evident from the literary works of different natural philosophers of that time. This essay will look at these differences in the theories of light and colour by Johannes Kepler in his book Optics, written in 1604, around the start of the scientific revolution, and Sir Isaac Newton in his book Opticks, written in 1704, a century later and towards the end of the period. It will look at the parts of the theory that were in agreement as well as those that were different, with a focus on the origination of colour in coloured light. It will then discuss why and how these differences came about and how Newton’s theory of light and colour is indebted to the work of Kepler. By comparing the work of Kepler and Newton, the changes towards the approach to scientific theories between the early period and late period of the scientific revolution can be seen.

Foundations of the Two Theories

Theories on optics broadly started during Ancient Greece with philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle with theories of vision.

Ancient Greek theories of vision were based on the interaction of the eye with objects in the environment and led to the development of the laws of reflection and refraction (Lindberg, 1976). Islamic science further developed theories of light by studying the behaviour of light as it passed through different mediums (ibid). It postulated that rays of light travel in straight lines are reflected by objects. This was further developed during the medieval European period where philosophers expanded upon theories of light around how colour is created through the modification of white light (ibid). Across all these periods, theories of light and colour were intertwined with religious beliefs, particularly associating light with the divine. The association between light and the divine in optical theory started with the ancient Greek belief that light

was a manifestation of divine reason and later progressed to a symbol of God’s presence in the world (ibid).

Kepler (2000 [1604]) starts with some of the same basic assumptions on optics held by previous philosophers such as the ancient Greeks, and directly refers to this in his work Optics in Chapter 1: On the Nature of Light. He takes basic fundamental assumptions around the geometry of light, held by Aristotelian science and Euclidean geometry such as the άvάкλασις (reflection), which he uses to establish his classes of refraction and reflection of rays (Kepler, 2000, p.17). He goes on to link his concepts with the Greek optical words such as άνακλάσθαι (reflection of light off of a surface, such as a mirror or lens) and the Roman Virgilian words repercussus (reflection of light) and infractus (refraction of light) which refer to the nature of light (Kepler, 2000, p. 18). Kepler uses these concepts to tie the motion and shape of light to God before proceeding on with his propositions on the nature of light (Kepler, 2000, p. 18 - 20).

The fundamental assumption that light moves in a straight line is one of the core Greek axioms that is most obviously reflected in Kepler’s propositions; 1: “To light there belongs an outflowing or projection from its origin

towards a distant place” and 4: “The lines of these projections are straight, and are called ‘rays’” (Kepler, 2000, p. 20). The assumption that rays of light move on the same plane is implied within his geometrical calculations throughout the chapter, as well as that rays of light always move in 2 dimensions which makes them move in the same plane. This idea has been derived from the Euclidean geometry mentioned prior in Chapter 1: On the Nature of Light.

Further developing the Greek ideas, Kepler makes the distinction between the reflection and refraction of rays. Reflection is discussed specifically in propositions 18 and 19 (Kepler, 2000, p. 26 - 27):

Proposition 18

Light that has fallen upon a surface is made to rebound in the direction opposite to that whence it approached.

Proposition 19

Rebounding occurs at equal angles, and the rebound of that which strikes obliquely is to the other side.

Kepler offers a geometrical explanation of the angles of reflection of light, being that the angle of approach is equal to the angle of departure of light on a surface (Kepler, 2000, p. 26 - 27). Light

approaching the surface CF at angle

BDF will reflect at an equal angle in the departing direction ADC so that the ray of light has travelled from B to D to A, as shown in Figure 1 (ibid).

Figure 1: Reflection

Kepler then differentiates refraction from reflection in the following two propositions (Kepler, 2000, p.27-34):

Proposition 20

Light that has approached the surface of a denser medium obliquely, is refracted towards the perpendicular to the surface.

Proposition 21

Both the reflected [repercussus] and refracted rays are straight after the place where they are affected.

Refraction, for Kepler, is now defined as the change in the angular motion of the ray when it moves between different bodies of different densities (Kepler, 2000, p. 27 - 34). This is in opposition to reflection where the movement of the light ray is still

contained within the body of the first medium through which it travelled.

Kepler provides a geometrical explanation for the change in angle stipulated in proposition 20, where in Figure 2, light travelling from A to B will refract towards the perpendicular IF when coming in contact with the surface of a denser medium HC, to change the angle and continue to move towards G from B (Kepler, 2000, p. 27 - 28).

Figure 2: Refraction

Newton holds the same basic assumptions on the motion of light as Kepler. The shape of the motion, that light travels in straight lines, is assumed in Newton’s work Opticks (1704). Newton takes Kepler’s ideas of reflection and refraction and works with these as the types of changes in angular motion that light can take. The axiom that their motion on the same plane is also made in Newton, this time explicitly. These ideas

can be seen in Book 1, Part 1 under the first axiom (Kepler, 2000, p. 5):

The angles of reflection, and refraction, lie in one and the same plane with the angle of incidence.

From this, we can see that Newton and Kepler hold the same fundamental assumptions of the way in which light rays can move in straight lines, as well as through reflection and refraction. This movement is also on the same plane. The ways in which light changes in both reflection and refraction are the same for both Kepler and Newton. Newton’s axiom 2 in Book 1, Part 1 (ibid):

The angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence.

is equivalent to Kepler’s geometrical explanation in his propositions 18 and 19 in Chapter 1: On the Nature of Light in his work.

Newton’s explanations of refraction from a less dense to a more dense medium is in axiom 4 of the same section (Newton, 1704, p. 5):

Refraction out of the rarer medium into the denser, is made towards the perpendicular, that is, so that the angle of refraction be less than the angle of incidence.

is also equivalent to Kepler’s propositions 20 and 21. From their works, it can be seen that the angle of light is shifted towards

the perpendicular when coming into contact with a denser body or medium. Hence, the basic properties and motions of light regarding shape (lines), changes in movement (reflection and refraction, and the ways in which this occurs) and their movement along the same plane are common to both Kepler and Newton’s works. Both Kepler and Newton also assume that light travels as a ray and is not a particle as they understand light to not contain matter.

There is overlap in the foundations on which Kepler and Newton built their theories of light, namely on the properties of the motion of light: reflection and refraction. Both Kepler and Newton also use geometry in their analysis and explanation of the behaviour and properties of light, taking a more quantitative approach to their theories of light than their predecessors. Whilst Kepler perpetuates the position of his predecessors with an association of light with the divine, Newton ends this relationship and does not directly associate explanations of light with the divine.

Some Differences in the Theories

Whilst Newton agrees with Kepler on many of the fundamental aspects of their light theories, there are some things that he disagrees with, both explicitly and

implicitly. Explicitly, Newton disagrees with Kepler’s theory on the speed of light. Implicitly, he disagrees with Kepler’s idea that heat is a property of light by not mentioning it in his theory, as well as light’s ability to bleach colours.

For Kepler, light moves instantaneously. This can be seen in proposition 5 (Kepler, 2000, p. 21):

The motion of light is not in time, but in a moment.

Kepler takes this proposition from Aristotelian science, assuming that it is correct, with the justification that light has no matter and therefore no weight, and as such, cannot be resisted by the medium through which it travels, meaning “the swiftness of light is infinite” (ibid).

In contrast, Newton proposes that light travels not instantaneously, but in time. This can be seen in Book 2, Part 3 in proposition 11 (Newton, 1704, p. 252):

Light is propagated from luminous bodies in time, and spends about seven or eight minutes of an hour in passing from the sun to the earth.

Whilst Kepler and Newton’s theory differs on the speed of light, this does not affect the other aspects of their theories of light as their other properties of light are not dependent on the speed of travel.

Newton does not agree with a few other aspects of Kepler’s theory, which can be seen through the omission of some of Kepler’s ideas within Newton’s work. This includes heat as a property of light and the ability of light to bleach the colours of material bodies. These properties of light are discussed in propositions 32-38 in Chapter 1 of Kepler’s Optics (Kepler, 2000, p. 39 - 42):

Proposition 32

Heat is a property of light.

Proposition 33

The heat of light is immaterial.

Proposition 34

The action of light for producing heat is directed toward matter.

Proposition 35

Heat in matter is aroused in time.

Proposition 36

Light destroys and burns things.

Proposition 37

Light bleaches the colours of things in time.

Proposition 38

Light ignites black things more easily than white things.

The justifications for these propositions are tied to explanations of the divine. Heat is a property of light because heavenly bodies have light, light is the offspring of

the soul and importantly because “life is dependent on heat, and light has been ordained to nurture that life” (Kepler, 2000, p.39). Heat is immaterial because it is the companion of immaterial light. Heat, unlike light, is directed towards matter and its relationship with matter is a physical action, not a reciprocal action like light. Propositions 36 to 38 are explained by the assumption that light wants everything else to become light as it is the most divine state (Kepler, 2000, p. 41 - 42). Light acts faster on darker objects by bleaching or igniting them because they are less divine than white or light-coloured objects. Heat directs more of its action towards these less divine objects first because it is more unlike heat and light, than a more divine, lighter-coloured object and “opposite is acted upon by opposite” according to proposition 34 (Kepler, 2000, p. 41).

Sunlight, for Kepler and Newton, possess very different properties. Kepler discusses the shape of sunlight and the way it falls through gaps producing circles in both instances. The circular shape of light for Kepler, is representative of the Holy Trinity as the circle is “the most excellent figure of all” (Kepler, 2000, p. 19). The use of the circle allows Kepler to explain the equality of the motions of light rays, which then allows for all light to be considered as part of one whole. For Newton, sunlight possesses many other

qualities, such as the inclusion of all the primary colours of light and the sun’s “whiteness” being due to the correct mixing of all of the primary colours.

The differences shown above between Kepler’s and Newton’s work stem from their approach to explanation, which is largely due to the changing approach to scientific theories in the period between their works. In Kepler’s work, during the early period of the scientific revolution, explanations were still related to the divine and as a result, Kepler makes assumptions in his theories such as the idea that light has no matter and therefore no weight. For Newton, scientific explanation delves deeper and he tries to explain the underlying reason for observed phenomena, including the idea that light had weight and took time to travel through space. Additionally, while Kepler uses an explanation of the divine to explain why sunlight is white, Newton proposes that sunlight’s whiteness comes from the mixing of all colours of light. This change towards a deeper explanation of observed phenomena is consistent with the changes towards explanations of scientific theories between the early and later periods of the scientific revolution.

The Big Disagreement: Where

Colour Comes From

The biggest point of difference between Kepler’s and Newton’s theory is where colour and coloured light originate from. Kepler provides justifications for his propositions discussing colour while Newton’s theory of colour comes from experimental observation. Their different approaches to understanding their theory of light and colour led to the development of drastically different theories on the origination of colour and coloured light.

Kepler’s discussion on the origination of colour starts with propositions 15 and 16, where he specifies that colours are defined as a potentiality that exists in material bodies (Kepler, 2000, p. 24 - 25):

Proposition 15

Color is light in potentiality, light entombed in a pellucid material, if it now be considered apart from vision. Different degrees in the arrangement of matter, by reason of rarity and density, or of pellucidity and darkness, and likewise, different degrees of the spark of light, which is condensed into matter, bring about the distinctions of colors.

For Kepler, light is white and its colour comes from pellucid bodies that intrinsically contain colour potential. Colour potentiality within bodies can act on both light that reflects on its surface and light that refracts through it. Kepler furthers his theory on the colouring of light later on from proposition 24 (Kepler, 2000, p. 36 - 37):

Proposition 24

Light reflected from the surface of a body, insofar as it is body, is not colored.

Proposition 25

Light passing through a colored medium is more and more colored, and that which penetrates the medium more deeply leaves with more ruddiness.

Proposition 26

The rays of light neither mutually color each other, nor mutually illuminate each other, nor mutually impede each other in any way.

Proposition 16

Light passing through colored bodies is affected everywhere, both at the surface and in the solid, to the extent that it is colored.

These three propositions reinforce Kepler’s idea that light is white in its natural state until acted upon by a coloured body and the intensity of colour of a light comes from its penetration deeper into a material body. Importantly here, he also stipulates that different rays of light do not interfere with each other. These propositions form the main point of difference between Newton’s theory of colour that followed later.

In contrast, Newton’s theory of light is

that the different colours come from within the light itself. Light contains the primary colours and the colours observed are either one of these or any combination of these in different ratios which then form all the observable colours. He also provides further analysis of the colours, showing that different colours have different degrees of refrangibility and that the light of the sun as well as white light contains all the primary colours. These ideas are introduced right at the start of Opticks, where in Book 1, Part 1, he starts discussing colour theory immediately (Newton, 1704, p. 16 - 52):

Proposition I, Theorem I

Lights which differ in colour, differ also in degrees of refrangibility.

Proposition II, Theorem II

The light of the sun consists of rays differently refrangible.

Newton introduces here the idea that colour is an intrinsic property of light rather than it being given the property as in Kepler’s theory—that the different coloured lights each have different degrees of refrangibility and thus different physical properties. He also specifies that light from the sun consists of an array of different coloured lights coming together to give it its whiteness (Newton, 1704, p. 21 - 53).

Newton follows these propositions by experimentally separating the different coloured rays from heterogeneous light (Newton, 1704, p. 54 - 62). In Part 2 of Book 1, Newton goes on to discuss the characteristics of coloured light (Newton, 1704, p. 106 - 109):

Proposition II, Theorem II

All homogeneal light has its proper colour answering to its degree of refrangibility, and that colour cannot be changed by reflections or refractions.

Newton then experimentally determines the angles of refrangibility of different coloured lights in the immediately following section under Proposition III, Problem I (Newton, 1704, p. 109 - 115). From this, he can determine the primary colours of light, those found in the rainbow: by splitting white light, Newton can create different colour combinations by mixing these in different ratios. This leads directly on to the following propositions which cover the idea of mixing different coloured lights to produce different secondary colours, an idea which is in opposition to Kepler’s idea that different rays of light cannot act upon each other. From the same section, Book 1 Part 2, the following propositions occur (Newton, 1704, p. 115 - 117):

Proposition IV, Theorem III

Colours may be produced by composition which

shall be like to the colours of homogeneal light as to the appearance of colour, but not as to the immutability of colour and constitution of lights. And those colours by how much they are more compounded by so much are they less full and intense, and by too much composition they may be diluted and weakened till they cease, and the mixture becomes white or grey. There may be also colours produced by composition, which are not fully like any of the colours of homogeneal light.

Newton then goes on to provide examples of how colour can mix; he explains that homogeneal red can be combined with homogeneal yellow to produce an orange light in the explanation of the same proposition above (ibid). From the next point, proposition V, theorem IV, it can be seen that white and greys between pure white and black are made up of combinations of colours and that the white light from the sun is composed of all the primary colours mixed together in a particular ratio (Newton, 1704, p. 117 - 134).

From this, we can see that Kepler and Newton approached the development of their theories of light differently and this led to the many differences in their theories, the biggest and most obvious one being on the origination of colour in coloured light. While many of their basic underlying assumptions were the same, finding their origins in ancient Greek

and Roman geometry and light theory, there were many points of difference in their theories. These differences were based on their approach to scientific explanation and use of propositions; Kepler merely states or assumes many of his propositions and explains their properties by relating these to the divine, while Newton takes a more experimental and evidence-based approach to the development of his propositions. This resulted in such differences relating to the speed of light, some of the properties of light such as heat or its ability to bleach colours, and importantly the origin of colour in coloured light being an intrinsic property given to light in Kepler’s theory and it being part of light itself in Newton’s theory.

Kepler and Newton’s Approaches to Developing Their Theories and What Newton Owes to Kepler

Both Kepler and Newton’s theory of light were written in accordance with the scientific practices of their period. Kepler’s work, written one hundred years prior to Newton’s, has many fundamental differences in the way the theory was approached and how explanations of phenomena were written. Both were a product of their time and this is reflected in both their books Optics and Opticks.

Kepler’s work Optics, written in 1604 at

the start of the period now known as the scientific revolution, is based very much on explaining phenomena in relation to God’s will and his mathematization of the universe but is not based on experimentally tested observation. Throughout Optics, Kepler uses explanations of the divine as explanations of phenomena, such as light-forming circles or orbs, as the circle and sphere are divine symbols and expressions of the Holy Trinity. When Kepler is not using divine reasoning as justification for the behaviour of light, he uses geometrical explanations, such as his explanations regarding angles of reflection and refraction when approaching surfaces or mediums of different densities. The way he has set his argument is that of explaining divine creation and his mathematical explanations are based on geometrical explanation rather than experimental and mathematical analysis.

Newton having published his work Opticks in 1704 towards the end of the scientific revolution, uses a very different approach to writing his scientific theory on light. In Opticks, Newton does not integrate explanations of the divine into his explanation of phenomena but rather seeks to understand the phenomena first rather than diving straight into the explanation like Kepler. His approach, seeking experimental observation, is a reflection of the new approaches of

the natural sciences towards the end of the scientific revolution as well as the tendency to exclude the integration of scientific theories with God. Whilst Newton does mention God, it is only at the end of his book and he does not use it to inform his theory on light and colour in any way. Newton also includes many mathematical-based observations throughout the books in Opticks, such as the angles of refrangibility of different coloured lights, with whole parts of books dedicated entirely to such experimental observations.

Whilst Newton took a different approach than Kepler when developing his theory, there were many aspects of Kepler’s theory he took to be true, used, and built upon, for his own theory of light and colour. The fundamental assumptions outlined in Newton that Kepler took from ancient Greek science such as the movement of light in straight lines are included. Kepler’s use of the word “ray” which he defined in his book, as well as the terms “reflection” and “refraction” are used freely and widely in Newton. The importance of mathematics is also evident in both of their works and while Kepler was working with more idealised geometry, Newton also used some of the same ideas of geometry to understand his own theories albeit in a more experimental way that was more

in line with the notions of science at the end of the scientific revolution.

Conclusion

The differences and similarities between Johannes Kepler’s and Sir Isaac Newton’s theories of light and colour in their work Optics and Opticks are reflected in their work. How the works were written shows the different and changing attitudes within natural philosophy regarding the approaches to developing theories of their respective periods at the start and end of the scientific revolution. Many fundamental aspects of their theories were the same, including the basic properties of light such as the movement of rays in straight lines as well as the concepts of reflection and refraction, with some of these ideas taken from ancient Aristotelian science and Euclidean geometry. And while some of these concepts were taken from the far past, Kepler was the first to term the word “ray” and differentiate

References

reflection and refraction from each other. However, the differences in the way the texts were written stemmed from the different attitudes of their respective times. This includes Kepler’s inclusion of divine explanation of light’s shape such as the circle being representative of the Holy Trinity and its whiteness a symbol of the divine, whilst Newton almost entirely excludes God in his text and completely excludes it from explanations in his theory. Newton’s new ideas such as light having speed in opposition to Kepler’s infinite swiftness, as well as colour being a property of light itself, comes from the new attitudes towards the use and integration of experimental observation towards the end of the scientific revolution. Whilst Newton developed and changed parts of Kepler’s theory of light, there is much that he owed to Kepler’s work including the development and distinction of the terms ray, reflection, and refraction.

Kepler, J 2000 [1604], Optics, Translated by W. Donahue, Santa Fe, New Mexico, Green Lion Press.

Lindberg, DC 1976, Theories of Vision from Al-Kindi to Kepler, University of Chicago Press, 1976

Newton, I 1704, Opticks Or, A Treatise of the Reflections, Refractions, Inflections and Colours of Light, London.

The Creation of Female Sexual Dysfunction:

Sex Bias and Pharmaceutically Owned

Kathleen Rachel

disease creation ~ disease normativism and naturalism ~ Psychiatric disorders ~ scientific bias ~ sexual dysfunction

In the late 19th century, the psychoanalytic literature of Sigmund Freud on female sexuality was widely discussed among gynecological, psychiatric, and psychoanalytic literature due to the vast development of psychiatry, sexology, and criminology. Freud’s works were frigid in the elaboration of gender norms and femininity, and it was claimed to be ‘misogynistic’ in the present day. It was, however, piqued the creation of the modern Female Sexual Dysfunction (FSD) after several interpretations (Angel 2010, p. 2). The nuance of American psychiatry evolved into a strictly professionalised field of science, which led to the medicalisation of abnormalities, known as psychopathology. The interpretation beyond Freud’s work led to a discussion in which ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ of desire in women is now part of psychopathology.

The DSM-V stated ‘Sexual dysfunctions are a heterogeneous group of disorders and

typically characterized by a disturbance (or more) in one’s ability to respond sexually or to experience sexual pleasure’ (American Psychiatric Association 2013, p. 423). Not long after the establishment of FSD, the disorder drew critiques naming it exclusively ‘Pharmaceutically Owned’. The ‘dysfunction’ is believed to be less prevalent than they claimed it to be. Furthermore, the disorder has contributed to the overmedicalisation of women’s sexuality (Moynihan 2003, p. 46). I argue that the term ‘dysfunction’ in this context is highly misleading as it creates a sense of abnormality (Moynihan 2003, p. 46). In other words, perhaps female sexual dysfunction is not a disorder that demands treatment in the first place. The question then goes, how did psychiatry end with a sexual dysfunction? Is it highly related to one’s mental state? Throughout the history of the creation of FSD, the possibility of sex bias and relationship bias within the pharmaceutical

industries contributed to the creation of FSD.

Normativism and Naturalism

Two perspectives are dominant as the foundation in establishing a condition as a form of disease. To begin with, normativism is one of the justifications for establishing disease Normativism underlies the value within a community. If a condition is disvalued, the condition is accounted as a disease (Stegenga 2021, p. 18).

An issue with normativism altitude is the risk of identifying whatever abnormality in society may be a form of disease. It is unlikely to pin down the threshold of normality. It means that one condition is based on a specific circumstance, it may not be universally applied. An issue in underlining a disease’s normativism altitude would be universally inapplicable.

Naturalism is a view of how a condition can be defined as a disease because of a distinction from the normal functionality of humans. If a condition significantly affects the functioning ability of humans, the condition is then counted as a disease (Stegenga 2021, p. 18). I argue that psychiatric disorders are more complex than either a strong naturalist or strong normativism view suggests.

Psychiatric disorders lie on the line between both what is considered normal and abnormal (normativism) and physiology evaluation (naturalism). Moreover, psychiatric diagnoses need a distinctive pathological assessment, that is somehow related to morality and political values (Hamilton 2010, p. 324).

Comparing both natures, FSD’s standpoint is in between normality and naturalism defences. However, both accounts are problematic in their specific ways. If FSD is considered a disease due to the values from the 19th century, sex bias likely played a part in the creation of FSD. The Victorian Era held a male threshold for female sexuality. To start, people of the time held religious beliefs that sex is a wife’s privilege and the husband’s responsibility, creating an implausible perspective that female sexuality is supplementary to male sexuality. There was an urgency to mould female sexuality to the desires of men as controlled by men (Groneman 2000, Sussman 1976 in Kleinplatz 2018, p. 32 - 33). Sexual desire only existed in male conversations, it inevitably created a gap in emic perspectives. Nevertheless, male physicians would continue to label female sexual desire as a disease because it is a ‘male quality’ (Degler 1974, p. 1468).

It is such hypocrisy when women in the Victorian Era are not supposed to show their sexual desire, however, in present days the incapability to show desire is considered as a dysfunction. The question still goes, ‘Is there any effort to look for the female’s threshold of sexual desire?’. Freud’s analysis of femininity in the 1930s attempted to distinguish both female and male sexuality. Based on his well-known writing, ‘The Oedipus Complex’, Freud described the psychological mechanism that brought the inability of women to block sexual desire in women. A common understanding is that a shift of the female erotogenic zone from the clitoris to the vagina is the foundation of female sexuality (Hogan 1991, p. 288). However, a highly misunderstood perspective of Freud’s writing can be seen through the creation of female sexual dysfunction. Freud never implied it was pathological if the clitoral-vaginal shift did not happen to a woman (Kleinplatz 2018, p. 34).

The other way around, if FSD can be explained by a naturalist account, somehow it indicates that there is an existing statistical norm of female sexual desire, and any indicator lower than the norm, the condition must be medicated. To the extent to the present day, there is not yet a clear

idea of what level of female sexual desire to be considered normal. This way, the making of FSD as a disorder is still ambiguous. If FSD is truly a dysfunction, the next step would be establishing the validity of the disorder by identifying the normal levels of female sexual desire, and not using the male’s threshold to justify the creation of the disorder. One may argue ‘The mechanism and characteristics of mental disorders are not static and continuous pattern of sexual dysfunction cases in women should be enough to establish a primary disease’. The recognition of patterns (what is usually done in classifying disorders) is not helpful when the process is corrupted. The Journal of American Medical Association mentioned the prevalence of sexual dysfunction, which reached up to 43% of women (Moynihan 2010, p. 44). The study was initially about HIV/AIDS with inclusion of sexual difficulties questions, and it became problematic when the question was not based on the inclusion criteria of FSD, which consists of a ‘distressed’ state (Moynihan 2010, p. 44 - 47). In this sense, the establishment of FSD is not purely naturalistic.

Why Psychiatric Diagnosis?

As I have argued, Female Sexual

Dysfunction is claimed to be ‘pharmaceutically owned’. One may question, ‘If the disorder explains there’s supposedly a bodily dysfunction, why is it categorized as a psychiatric disorder?’. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) is a prominent psychiatric nosology and has been used by many psychiatrists all over the world. Understanding the significant role of the DSM, criticism has been pointed out that the committee of the DSM has a relationship with the pharmaceutical industry. A study was held and exposed more than half of the committee was tied to pharmaceutical industries (Cosgrove et al 2006 in Moynihan 2010, p. 19). In this sense, psychiatrists should be aware of who and for what the disorder is created. In the DSM-V, female sexual dysfunction is given the term ‘female sexual interest/arousal disorder’ (American Psychiatric Association 2013, p. 433 - 434). Even though the diagnostic features of the disorder mentioned that desire discrepancy is not sufficient (American Psychiatric Association 2013, p. 433 - 434), there are no psychosocial guidelines that can be the threshold of taking the complaint into a disorder. The indicator of ‘causing distress’ is intriguing to question ‘is it enough to make it a

psychiatric disorder?’. The fear of establishing FSD without proper validation and additional assessment is labelling a normal occurrence in life as abnormal, hence implying a feeling of distress that causes the diagnosis in the first place.

No Free Lunch: Pharmaceutical Industries and Psychiatrists

The inherent vulnerability of psychiatric nosology creates the opportunity for different kinds of bias. This paper, however, will only discuss the prominent relationship bias with the pharmaceutical industries. The pharmaceutical industry has a large influence on the medical sector to the point it there is a blurred line between collaborations and biases. Moynihan (2010, p. 93) described the ‘no free lunch’ rule that highlighted how support from the pharmaceutical industries may lead to how doctors practice medicine. The case of Viagra may be the best evidence for the claim in this section. Viagra was launched in late 1998 to treat sexual dysfunction in men. It was then the company started to provide leisure activities and sponsor events to please doctors. It is then uncovered that the company boosted the idea of marketing Viagra for female sexual dysfunction through those unconventional yet common

marketing strategies (Moynihan p.9398).

A form of marketing was through the pharmaceuticalsponsored educational strategy. Pharmaceutical industries would and had arranged classes and conferences in terms of the emergence of diseases (before the launch and government approval of the drugs). In the case of FSD, an online education program has been established to cover the mechanism of female sexual dysfunction for doctors to learn. To validate the program, the peer review system was utilised. It is not surprising that the person in charge of reviewing the course had a professional relationship with pharmaceutical industries (Moynihan 2010, p. 107). It is not that pharmaceuticalsponsored events are always for marketing purposes, however, it does create the potential vulnerability of epistemological breaches in the creation of knowledge nor disorders.

Finally, a huge concern in the creation of disease is the source of creating knowledge itself: the funding. Kelly et al. (2006, p 1653) found significant indications of published psychiatric studies to have favourable outcomes from the source of funding - that is the pharmaceutical industries. We

can dispute the idea of favourable outcomes in psychiatric research projects, yet the issue is that pharmaceutical industries do offer large-scale funding. As frustrating as it is, research funding is both pivotal and the core of creating knowledge. Those fundings managed to uncover outstanding and practical research projects yet a threat to rigorous studies. Until psychiatry and the pharmaceutical industries establish a clear line of professional relationships, the establishment of disorders should

Conclusion

The existence of female sexual dysfunction is tangible in the classification of psychiatric disorders. It is, however, important to note that the history of FSD shows that justifications for creating the disorder are neither strong naturalist nor normativist. Started from the Victorian Era which held a taboo view of female sexuality, sex bias in establishing male thresholds in the medicalisation of female sexuality, to the misunderstanding of Freud’s work to pathologise a disturbance. I do not dismiss the disorder as entirely a myth, but argue that it is important to highlight the reasons and influences in the creation of disease. In the creation of FSD, pharmaceutical industries are

seen to have a direct influence. As a result, it is complicated to distinguish one behaviour as a difficulty or pathological, especially the ones that are difficult to synthesize in both cause and effects. I emphasise that

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About the Authors

Moa Rahmn is a Swedish-born environmental science student who is deeply passionate about sustainability and the preservation of our planet. Moa’s academic journey has fuelled their interest in greenhouse gas mitigation, particularly within the agriculture sector. Moa is fascinated by the potential for innovative solutions to address environmental challenges. Outside of their studies, Moa finds joy in exploring nature with their two beloved dogs and embarking on underwater adventures through scuba diving. Through their dedication to learning and commitment to environmental stewardship, Moa strives to contribute positively to our world’s future while fostering a deeper connection to the natural world.

Jacob Byron Hall is an honours student in the School of History and Philosophy of Science at the University of Sydney. He has a long-standing interest in Marxist philosophy and the historical materialist approach to science and technology, particularly in the intersection of science and the political economy of global capitalist societies. Jacob’s current research project involves one of the latest technologies to dominate the public discourse, Artificial Intelligence, and its role in the transformation of labour structures throughout the contemporary capitalist world.

Mijin Kim is a third-year student majoring in History and Philosophy of Science and Mathematics. Mijin is interested in philosophy of science in general, as well as metaphysics, ethics, and pure mathematics.

Natasha van der Kolff graduated from USYD with a Bachelor of Commerce and Bachelor of Science, majoring in Business Information Systems and History and Philosophy of Science. Leveraging her critical thinking skills from her undergraduate studies, Natasha swiftly progressed in her career at the Australian Securities Exchange (ASX). As the Product Manager for listed Energy & Commodities financial derivatives, Natasha manages products that help the energy industry manage risk, and develops new products that support Australia’s decarbonisation efforts and renewable energy transition.

Sara Tamim graduated from USYD with a Bachelor of Liberal Arts and Science, majoring in Music and History and Philosophy of Science. Sara’s passion for music drives her mission to advocate for diverse representation of artists in the music industry. She has worked at Universal Music Australia and worked with prominent artists including Ruel, Idris Elba, Troye Sivan and more. Sara’s expertise in artist management, focusing on artists, songwriters, producers, content creators, and creative services, earned her a nomination for Breakthrough Artist Manager of the Year by the Association of Artist Managers (AAM) Australia in 2023.

Kathleen Rachel is a psychology student majoring in macro-psychology studies. She is currently focusing on independent writing and collaborative research projects around cultural mental health, mental health literacy, and mental helpseeking behavior in Indonesia. Kathleen’s specialization in mental health literacy led to some prominent writing, especially in establishing the Indonesian mental health model. Understanding that the world works in such different ways, Kathleen learned the history and philosophy of science at the University of Sydney. She believes that science should be the bridge from society to absolute humanity, and that what we all do now is for the greater good.

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