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Science, then, has its limits, but when dealing with claims that are testable within the methods of science, such as medical claims, to demand scientific evidence is simply to hold everyone to the same standards as the scientific community holds itself to. To cry scientism in this case shows disregard for the scientific method.

Keith Kloor, blogging on the session  at Collide-a-Scape, included a sobering assessment of the scientist-journalist tensions over global warming from Tom Rosensteil, a panelist and long-time journalist who now heads up Pew’s Project for Excellence in Journalism: If you’re waiting for the press to persuade the public, you’re going to lose. The press doesn’t see that as its job.

scientists have  a great opportunity, and responsibility, to tell their own story more directly, as some are doing occasionally through Dot Earth “ Post Cards” and The Times’ Scientist at Work blog.

Naomi Oreskes, a political scientist at the University of California, San Diego, and co-author of “Merchants of Doubt“: Of Mavericks and Mules Gavin Schmidt of NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies and Realclimate.org: Between Sound Bites and the Scientific Paper: Communicating in the Hinterland Thomas Lessl, a scholar at the University of Georgia focused on the cultural history of science: Reforming Scientific Communication About Anthropogenic Climate Change

I focused on two words in the title of the session — diversity and denial. The diversity of lines of inquiry in climate science has a two-pronged impact. It helps build a robust overall picture of a growing human influence on a complex system. But for many of the most important  pixel points in that picture, there is robust, durable and un-manufactured debate. That debate can then be exploited by naysayers eager to cast doubt on the enterprise, when in fact — as I’ve written here before — it’s simply the (sometimes ugly) way that science progresses.

My denial, I said, lay in my longstanding presumption, like that of many scientists and journalists, that better communication of information will tend to change people’s perceptions, priorities and behavior. This attitude, in my view, crested for climate scientists in the wake of the 2007 report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change.

In his talk, Thomas Lessl said much of this attitude is rooted in what he and some other social science scholars call “scientism,” the idea — rooted in the 19th century — that scientific inquiry is a “distinctive mode of inquiry that promises to bring clarity to all human endeavors.” [5:45 p.m. | Updated Chris Mooney sent an e-mail noting how the discussion below resonates with "Do Scientists Understand the Public," a report he wrote last year for the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and explored here.]

Scientism, though it is good at promoting the recognition that scientific knowledge is the only kind of knowledge, also promotes communication behavior that is bad for the scientific ethos. By this I mean that it turns such communication into combat. By presuming that scientific understanding is the only criterion that matters, scientism inclines public actors to treat resistant audiences as an enemy: If the public doesn’t get the science, shame on the public. If the public rejects a scientific claim, it is either because they don’t get it or because they operate upon some sinister motive.

Scientific knowledge cannot take the place of prudence in public affairs.

Prudence, according to Robert Harriman, “is the mode of reasoning about contingent matters in order to select the best course of action. Contingent events cannot be known with certainty, and actions are intelligible only with regard to some idea of what is good.”

Scientism tends to suppose a one-size-fits-all notion of truth telling. But in the public sphere, people don’t think that way. They bring to the table a variety of truth standards: moral judgment, common-sense judgment, a variety of metaphysical perspectives, and ideological frameworks. The scientists who communicate about climate change may regard these standards as wrong-headed or at best irrelevant, but scientists don’t get to decide this in a democratic debate. When scientists become public actors, they have stepped outside of science, and they are obliged to honor the rules of communication and thought that govern the rest of the world. This might be different, if climate change was just about determining the causes of climate change, but it never is. Getting from the acceptance of ACC to acceptance of the kinds of emissions-reducing policies that are being advocated takes us from one domain of knowing into another.

One might object by saying that the formation of public policy depends upon first establishing the scientific bases of ACC, and that the first question can be considered independently of the second. Of course that is right, but that is an abstract academic distinction that does not hold in public debates. In public debates a different set of norms and assumptions apply: motive is not to be casually set aside as a nonfactor. Just because scientists customarily bracket off scientific topics from their policy implications does not mean that lay people do this—or even that they should be compelled to do so. When scientists talk about one thing, they seem to imply the other. But which is the motive force? Are they advocating for ACC because they subscribe to a political worldview that supports legal curtailments upon free enterprise? Or do they support such a political worldview because they are convinced of ACC? The fact that they speak as scientists may mean to other scientists that they reason from evidence alone. But the public does not necessarily share this assumption. If scientists don’t respect this fact about their audiences, they are bound to get in trouble. [Read the rest.]

Of course, while there are similarities between the positions adopted in the "positivism/scientism versus non-positivism/scientism" and "Western medicine versus alternative medicine" debates, I suppose that one main difference is however that the latter is not just a theoretical debate but involves people's health and lives.

As was mentioned earlier, the general impression is perhaps that while Western medicine, which generally has its roots in Western societies, is scientifically proven, TCM, or alternative medicine, is however not as scientifically proven. The former is thus regarded as the dominant mainstream model of medical treatment while non-Western medical knowledge or treatment is regarded as "alternative medicine".

The process by which the above impression was created was, according to the postcolonial theorists, a highly political one. Essentially, it may be argued that along with their political colonisation of non-European territories in the past, the European/Western colonialists also colonised the minds of those living in those territories. This means that along with colonisation, traditional forms of knowledge, including medical knowledge, and cultures in the colonised terrorities were relegated to a non-dominant, if not inferior, position vis-a-vis Western knowledge and culture. And as postcolonial theorists may argue, the legacy and aftermath of this process is still felt today and efforts should be made to reverse it.

In light of the above, the increased push to have non-Western forms of medical treatment be recognised as an equally valid model of medical treatment besides that of Western medicine may be seen as part of the effort to reverse the dominance of Western knowledge and culture set in place during the colonial period. Of course, this push to reverse Western dominance is especially relevant in recent times, in light of the economic and political rise of non-Western powers such as China and India (interestingly enough, to the best of my knowledge, when talking about "alternative medicine", people are usually referring to traditional Indian or Chinese medical treatments and not really traditional African medical treatment).

Here, it is worthwhile to pause and think for a while: if it is recognised that Western and non-Western medicine are different but equally valid models of medical treatment, would they be complimentary or competing models? Or would they be just different models?

Moving on, so far it would seem that , for at least the foreseeable future, Western medicine will retain its dominant "mainstream" position but who knows what the future may hold?

Ptolemy’s portrayal of Kurzweil is unmistakably positive, but to his credit he includes several critics from both religion and science. From the former, a radio host named Chuck Missler, a born-again Christian who heads the Koinonia Institute (“dedicated to training and equipping the serious Christian to sojourn in today’s world”), proclaims: “We have a scenario laid out that the world is heading for an Armageddon and you and I are going to be the generation that’s alive that is going to see all this unfold.” He seems to be saying that Kurzweil is right about the second coming, but wrong about what it is that is coming. (Of course, Missler’s prognostication is the N+1 failed prophecy that began with Jesus himself, who told his followers (Mark 9:1): “Verily I say unto you, That there be some of them that stand here, which shall not taste of death, till they have seen the kingdom of God come with power.”) Another religiously-based admonition comes from the Stanford University neuroscientist William Huribut, who self-identifies as a “practicing Christian” who believes in immortality, but not in the way Kurzweil envisions it. “Death is conquered spiritually,” he pronounced.

On the science side of the ledger, Neil Gershenfeld, director of the Center for Bits and Atoms at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, sagely notes: “What Ray does consistently is to take a whole bunch of steps that everybody agrees on and take principles for extrapolating that everybody agrees on and show they lead to things that nobody agrees on.” Likewise, the estimable futurist Kevin Kelly, whose 2010 book What Technology Wants paints a much more realistic portrait of what our futures may (or may not) hold

Kelly agrees that Kurzweil’s exponential growth curves are accurate but that the conclusions and especially the inspiration drawn from them are not. “He seems to have no doubts about it and in this sense I think he is a prophetic type figure who is completely sure and nothing can waiver his absolute certainty about this. So I would say he is a modern day prophet…that’s wrong.”

Transcendent Man is clearly meant to be an uplifting film celebrating all the ways science and technology have and are going to enrich our lives.

An especially lachrymose moment is when Kurzweil is rifling through his father’s journals and documents in a storage room dedicated to preserving his memory until the day that all this “data” (including Ray’s own fading memories) can be reconfigured into an A.I. simulacrum so that father and son can be reunited.

Although Kurzweil says he is optimistic and cheery about life, he can’t seem to stop talking about death: “It’s such a profoundly sad, lonely feeling that I really can’t bear it,” he admits. “So I go back to thinking about how I’m not going to die.” One wonders how much of life he is missing by over thinking death, or how burdensome it must surely be to imbibe over 200 supplement tables a day and have your blood tested and cleansed every couple of months, all in an effort to reprogram the body’s biochemistry.

it mixes eminent common sense and frequent good reporting with a cocksure hubris utterly inappropriate to the practice it apotheosizes.

According to Pigliucci, both Freudian psychoanalysis and Marxist theory of history "are too broad, too flexible with regard to observations, to actually tell us anything interesting." (That's right—not one "interesting" thing.) The idea of intelligent design in biology "has made no progress since its last serious articulation by natural theologian William Paley in 1802," and the empirical evidence for evolution is like that for "an open-and-shut murder case."

Pigliucci offers more hero sandwiches spiced with derision and certainty. Media coverage of science is "characterized by allegedly serious journalists who behave like comedians." Commenting on the highly publicized Dover, Pa., court case in which U.S. District Judge John E. Jones III ruled that intelligent-design theory is not science, Pigliucci labels the need for that judgment a "bizarre" consequence of the local school board's "inane" resolution. Noting the complaint of intelligent-design advocate William Buckingham that an approved science textbook didn't give creationism a fair shake, Pigliucci writes, "This is like complaining that a textbook in astronomy is too focused on the Copernican theory of the structure of the solar system and unfairly neglects the possibility that the Flying Spaghetti Monster is really pulling each planet's strings, unseen by the deluded scientists."

Or is it possible that the alternate view unfairly neglected could be more like that of Harvard scientist Owen Gingerich, who contends in God's Universe (Harvard University Press, 2006) that it is partly statistical arguments—the extraordinary unlikelihood eons ago of the physical conditions necessary for self-conscious life—that support his belief in a universe "congenially designed for the existence of intelligent, self-reflective life"?

Even if we agree that capital "I" and "D" intelligent-design of the scriptural sort—what Gingerich himself calls "primitive scriptural literalism"—is not scientifically credible, does that make Gingerich's assertion, "I believe in intelligent design, lowercase i and lowercase d," equivalent to Flying-Spaghetti-Monsterism? Tone matters. And sarcasm is not science.

The problem with polemicists like Pigliucci is that a chasm has opened up between two groups that might loosely be distinguished as "philosophers of science" and "science warriors."

Philosophers of science, often operating under the aegis of Thomas Kuhn, recognize that science is a diverse, social enterprise that has changed over time, developed different methodologies in different subsciences, and often advanced by taking putative pseudoscience seriously, as in debunking cold fusion

The science warriors, by contrast, often write as if our science of the moment is isomorphic with knowledge of an objective world-in-itself—Kant be damned!—and any form of inquiry that doesn't fit the writer's criteria of proper science must be banished as "bunk." Pigliucci, typically, hasn't much sympathy for radical philosophies of science. He calls the work of Paul Feyerabend "lunacy," deems Bruno Latour "a fool," and observes that "the great pronouncements of feminist science have fallen as flat as the similarly empty utterances of supporters of intelligent design."

It doesn't have to be this way. The noble enterprise of submitting nonscientific knowledge claims to critical scrutiny—an activity continuous with both philosophy and science—took off in an admirable way in the late 20th century when Paul Kurtz, of the University at Buffalo, established the Committee for the Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal (Csicop) in May 1976. Csicop soon after launched the marvelous journal Skeptical Inquirer

Although Pigliucci himself publishes in Skeptical Inquirer, his contributions there exhibit his signature smugness. For an antidote to Pigliucci's overweening scientism 'tude, it's refreshing to consult Kurtz's curtain-raising essay, "Science and the Public," in Science Under Siege (Prometheus Books, 2009, edited by Frazier)

Kurtz's commandment might be stated, "Don't mock or ridicule—investigate and explain." He writes: "We attempted to make it clear that we were interested in fair and impartial inquiry, that we were not dogmatic or closed-minded, and that skepticism did not imply a priori rejection of any reasonable claim. Indeed, I insisted that our skepticism was not totalistic or nihilistic about paranormal claims."

Kurtz combines the ethos of both critical investigator and philosopher of science. Describing modern science as a practice in which "hypotheses and theories are based upon rigorous methods of empirical investigation, experimental confirmation, and replication," he notes: "One must be prepared to overthrow an entire theoretical framework—and this has happened often in the history of science ... skeptical doubt is an integral part of the method of science, and scientists should be prepared to question received scientific doctrines and reject them in the light of new evidence."

Pigliucci, alas, allows his animus against the nonscientific to pull him away from sensitive distinctions among various sciences to sloppy arguments one didn't see in such earlier works of science patriotism as Carl Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark (Random House, 1995). Indeed, he probably sets a world record for misuse of the word "fallacy."

To his credit, Pigliucci at times acknowledges the nondogmatic spine of science. He concedes that "science is characterized by a fuzzy borderline with other types of inquiry that may or may not one day become sciences." Science, he admits, "actually refers to a rather heterogeneous family of activities, not to a single and universal method." He rightly warns that some pseudoscience—for example, denial of HIV-AIDS causation—is dangerous and terrible.

But at other points, Pigliucci ferociously attacks opponents like the most unreflective science fanatic

He dismisses Feyerabend's view that "science is a religion" as simply "preposterous," even though he elsewhere admits that "methodological naturalism"—the commitment of all scientists to reject "supernatural" explanations—is itself not an empirically verifiable principle or fact, but rather an almost Kantian precondition of scientific knowledge. An article of faith, some cold-eyed Feyerabend fans might say.

He writes, "ID is not a scientific theory at all because there is no empirical observation that can possibly contradict it. Anything we observe in nature could, in principle, be attributed to an unspecified intelligent designer who works in mysterious ways." But earlier in the book, he correctly argues against Karl Popper that susceptibility to falsification cannot be the sole criterion of science, because science also confirms. It is, in principle, possible that an empirical observation could confirm intelligent design—i.e., that magic moment when the ultimate UFO lands with representatives of the intergalactic society that planted early life here, and we accept their evidence that they did it.

"As long as we do not venture to make hypotheses about who the designer is and why and how she operates," he writes, "there are no empirical constraints on the 'theory' at all. Anything goes, and therefore nothing holds, because a theory that 'explains' everything really explains nothing."

Here, Pigliucci again mixes up what's likely or provable with what's logically possible or rational. The creation stories of traditional religions and scriptures do, in effect, offer hypotheses, or claims, about who the designer is—e.g., see the Bible.

Far from explaining nothing because it explains everything, such an explanation explains a lot by explaining everything. It just doesn't explain it convincingly to a scientist with other evidentiary standards.

A sensible person can side with scientists on what's true, but not with Pigliucci on what's rational and possible. Pigliucci occasionally recognizes that. Late in his book, he concedes that "nonscientific claims may be true and still not qualify as science." But if that's so, and we care about truth, why exalt science to the degree he does? If there's really a heaven, and science can't (yet?) detect it, so much the worse for science.

Pigliucci quotes a line from Aristotle: "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." Science warriors such as Pigliucci, or Michael Ruse in his recent clash with other philosophers in these pages, should reflect on a related modern sense of "entertain." One does not entertain a guest by mocking, deriding, and abusing the guest. Similarly, one does not entertain a thought or approach to knowledge by ridiculing it.

Long live Skeptical Inquirer! But can we deep-six the egomania and unearned arrogance of the science patriots? As Descartes, that immortal hero of scientists and skeptics everywhere, pointed out, true skepticism, like true charity, begins at home.

Carlin Romano, critic at large for The Chronicle Review, teaches philosophy and media theory at the University of Pennsylvania.