Metaphors Bewitch You

Do these statements sound familiar to you?

·       “An atom is like a little solar system, where the nucleus is the sun, and the electrons are the planets.”

·       “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field.”

·       “Working memory is a conveyor belt.”

During the last few years, as I spent time listening to Great Courses, learning about disparate disciplines like writing, philosophy, physics, history and theology, I have been struck with one recurring method used by the many teachers I’ve heard, and it occurred to me that every teacher I could remember used that same method.  What is the method?  Comparison as explanation.  Simile, metaphor, models: all of these are ways to explain one concept in terms of another, and they all depend on the ability to compare something you already know to something you want to learn more about.

When you’re learning something new, you’re standing on what you can think of as an island of existing knowledge, and you want to cross over to some new island of knowledge.  To get from one island to another you can walk over a bridge of metaphor.  That is, you can base your understanding of the new, by comparing it to something you already know. 

This is not simply an effective teaching technique, it’s also both something our minds seem programmed to do and a method we apply to our own lives without even thinking about it.  Often, when we learn about something for the first time, especially if the new topic is complex, we can get a basic understanding by comparing one thing to another.  For example, the first statement above compares atoms to planets.  By the time we start learning about atoms in school, we have typically been exposed to the solar system in previous science classes.  The comparison, then, makes sense.  It gives us a mental picture on which we can scribble mental notes.  This is very, very helpful.

But as we drive over the bridge of simile, we need to be careful that it does not collapse and drop us to our doom.  Why would that happen?  Well, the comparison can only be as good as the underlying structure of the known thing is similar to the underlying structure of the new thing.  If the two things are not extremely similar, we might make a generalizing assumption which gets us in trouble.  For example, two primates are very similar, whereas a primate and a jellyfish are not.  So, while you might deduce some similarities between a jellyfish and an ape, based on them both turning food into energy, for example, you probably don’t want to generalize a similarity when it comes to how they will react to a mirror introduced into their environment.

And, in the case of the atomic structure being like a solar system, you might picture electrons being solid objects, similar to planets.  This would be carrying the analogy, perhaps, too far – depending on the degree of detail you need.  Electrons, as explained by current quantum theory anyway, don’t “really” travel in circles (or some other relatively “flat” closed-loop paths) but sometimes it helps to think of them that way, especially when first learning about them.  Once you get to a point, as an engineer or physicist, to require a deeper understanding of subatomic structure, however, you need to know quantum theory, and that is not much like a solar system at all.

The trouble with using these comparisons, you see, is noticing when you have fallen off the bridge.  If the bridge were a real thing, instead of a metaphor, it would be obvious.  You’d be falling, or submerged in water, or smashed to a pulp.  But, as this bridge is metaphorical, it can be more like a wrong turn, which seems to be making progress towards your goal, but which is really taking you somewhere you didn’t intend to go.

Many years ago, for example, scientists thought that light was a wave.  This caused them to posit a material through which the wave traveled.  They called it “ether.”  Why did they think ether existed?  Well, the waves they knew about all had some substance through which the wave transmitted itself.  Waves in the ocean have, at their basis, water.  Without the water, there is no wave, so clearly light – because it was a wave – must have some “stuff” in which to carry itself. 

Of course, ultimately, scientists proved this was nottrue.  They had been using the metaphor of a fluid wave, and it had led them down an incorrect path.  Light might have some properties of “physical” waves, but not the requirement to have a transmitting material.

None of the above is meant to discourage anyone from using comparisons!  Far from it!  As I said before, our minds seem to look for similarities, and those similarities help us learn.  My point today is about being aware of the metaphors you are using, so that if you need a more thorough understanding of something, you can use more than the model. 

Of course, even when you do, you’re probably going to just encounter another model – those scientists who care about electrons need to understand mathematical probability – because true understanding of many topics might just be beyond what you need, or what we can accomplish.  But if an additional metaphor helps you comprehend the thing more completely, then, by all means, use it!  Just be aware, it’s still just a model.

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[I have been wanting to write about this topic for well over a year, but I’ve been avoiding it because I feel it’s very expansive, which makes it hard to cover properly in a blog, which I feel is a medium typically more conducive to taking a concise approach.  So, what changed my mind?  Well, I recently bought another Great Course, and as I looked at the list of lectures, it appears I will be hearing 30 minutes on this very topic.  I decided that I want to get my thoughts captured before being exposed to those of the professor.  I will be happy to revisit the whole idea later.  Meanwhile, I remain abashed proud of the silly pun in the title.  So I like Star Wars; so sue me. ]

Memory Part 1: Echoic and Iconic

Today, I’m just going to jot down a few things I’ve begun to learn as I’ve heard the first few lectures in a new Great Course.  The course is on Memory (Memory and the Human Lifespan), which is a subject I find fascinating.  This fascination stems from my ongoing study of the subject of knowledge.  I think most of us would agree that memory is intimately involved in knowledge – how can you claim to “know” something if you can’t also claim to “remember” it, in some sense.  Yet, memory can be so amazingly flawed, even in people with “normal" memory.

Anyway, here are a few tidbits:

“Memory” is not one single thing.  It is a set of processes which go on in our brains, which allow past experiences to affect our current or future behavior.  And though many of us think of there being just “short-term” memory and “long-term” memory, it’s more complicated than that.  In fact, there are two easily recognized kinds of memory which are even “shorter-term” than what we call “short-term” memory.  They are both types of sensory memory.

Echoic Memory – This is something I never thought about, but it’s clearly something which exists.  “Echoic” comes from “echo” and as you might guess, it relates to auditory memory, or the memory of what our ears have heard.  But it’s not long-term, such as remembering the song you heard at a concert.  Echoic memory stores, for a very short time, the information which your auditory system took in while you were concentrating on something else.  As Dr. Steve Joordens explains, we often have the experience that someone begins talking to us when we are focused on something else, and our immediate reaction is to say “What?” Often, the person then begins to repeat the question, but before they can, we realize that we actually did hear what they said.  But, in fact, we did not “consciously” hear it when the speaker first spoke.  Instead, the information was stored, for a brief time, in our Echoic Memory, which “plays it back” for us.  I expect many of you recognize this same effect. 

For me, personally, it seems related to another behavior I have.  I’ll be sitting in my living room, next to my wife, but paying attention to my computer (probably a game.)  I will then say something and Sherry will say “I just said that.”  I don’t remember, at all, hearing her.  But I believe her.  And now I know how it could happen.  The words she said went into my Echoic memory, but they stayed there, unattended to, for too long.  Yet, they somehow reached a sub-conscious part of my mind.  I can't be sure that this is truly a function of Echoic Memory -- this specific topic did not come up in the lessons I have heard -- but it seems to fit.

Iconic Memory – Like Echoic Memory, which is related to the sense of hearing, Iconic Memory is related to the sense of sight.  This type of memory is even shorter-term than Echoic.  The easiest way to realize that you have this type of memory is to think of watching a light source in a dark place.  Personally, I think about watching sparklers on the fourth of July – imagine it, if you can.  A kid waves a sparkler in the darkness, and you seem to see a streamer of light following behind the sparkler.  The same thing can happen with any other light source while it’s moving.  We know, physically, that the light source is in only one position at any moment, but we “see” a residual image of the light as it moves.  That is a function of Iconic Memory. 

It turns out Iconic Memory is also in constant use when we are living normal lives.  The perception we have of one seamless view from our eyes is really built from the combination of hundreds of little pieces of Iconic Memory.  Our eyes, we learn, are very rarely holding themselves in one position for very long at all.  They are making tiny little movements, capturing the scene in front of us, helping us build a more complete scene.  

 It’s fascinating.

I've also heard about Episodic Memory, and was just listening to two lectures on Working Memory.  More on those another time.  Additionally, the course is teaching techniques for "Improving" memory, though really it's more about understanding how memory works, so you can to put the right kinds of effort into getting things to be more easily retrieved from your memory.

I bet I will listen to this course more than once.  But I am also pretty certain to write more about what I have learned before the course is over, because, as it turns out, writing about what I've learned helps make it more likely that I can retrieve it in the future.  Which is, after all, one thing I really want!

Oh, and one other thing about this course: it describes some of the seminal experiments which were used in the study of memory, and so far most of them have been very easy to understand and would be quite easily duplicated, in one were so inclined.

Fascinating, I tell you.

The Ship of Theseus - Identity or Are You Still You?

Last time, I said I would be writing about some basic lessons I've learned as I've studied Knowledge.  Today's topic is from basic philosophy is the illustration of The Ship of Theseus. 

Let's begin.

Once upon a time, there was a legendary figure named Theseus who captained a ship.  But really, it doesn't have to be Theseus.  Shoot, it doesn't even have to be a ship, but because this is the canonical way to address this  philosophical question, let's just go with it, OK?  OK.

Theseus has a Ship. Theseus sets out on a Legendary Journey.  It lasts years and years.

Suppose Theseus decides to replace one of the planks which make up the hull of the ship.  He has the old plank taken off, and the new plank replaces it.

Got the picture?  One plank off, one plank on.

After replacing the plank, is Theseus still on The Ship of Theseus?  I'm pretty sure most of us would say he is.  It's the "same ship."  Replacing that one plank does not change the identity of the ship.

OK, then: Over time, Theseus replaces more planks.  And the mast.  And the sails.  Eventually, every piece of the ship has been replaced.  There are no pieces of the ship which were part of the original Ship of Theseus, but Theseus and his crew are still sailing around on a ship.

It looks like the ship which Theseus initially boarded.  It is designed the same.  It has been continuously used as his vessel. 

Is it still the Ship of Theseus?  Certainly it is a ship and it is owned by Theseus, but is it The Ship of Theseus?  Is it the same ship which left port when Theseus started the voyage on his Ship?  When the ship left, its "Identity" was The Ship of Theseus.  How about now, when all its constituent pieces have been replaced?

Now let's go one step further:  When Theseus had each piece of his ship replaced, his trusty first mate had the original pieces sent back home.  The people at home, wanting to honor Theseus, put the pieces back together, each piece in its original spot.  When Theseus returns home, there is a ship awaiting him, built of those pieces.  Is that ship The Ship of Theseus?

This question is part of the literature of Philosophy.  It demonstrates how hard it can be to define some basic concepts.  The Ship of Theseus is often used to demonstrate that "Identity" is not as simple a concept as people think it is -- that "Identity" as most people use the word is far less constant than it is treated.

If you believe that there is something which, at the beginning, could be called The Ship of Theseus, I'd like you to notice that the key word in the phrase is "The."  "The" indicates an identification.  Theseus might have had many ships, but "The" Ship of Theseus denotes the one on which he left for his voyage.  So, if you think there is such a thing as "The" ship on which he left, if you think that entity had a unique Identity, then was there a point at which the ship ceased having that Identity?  At what point did the change happen?  And why would you pick that particular point?

On the other hand, if you think it remained The Ship of Theseus throughout all its changes, then what was the Ship which was built using all the original parts?  If "Identity" is unique, there cannot be two things identified as "The Ship of Theseus."  And if "Identity" is not unique, then what does "Identity" really mean?

This question may seem esoteric and contrived.  So let's bring up the point you will have already anticipated:  Have you always been you?  We know that cells in the body die and are replaced by other cells.  You are your own Ship.

But in contrast to the Ship of Theseus, as your constituent parts were replaced, you changed -- physically.  You grew.  You don't even have the same shape you did when you were younger.  So, are you still you?  Is there any sense in which your "Identity" changed?  Or are you the same you?

"Oh, but I am alive.  I have a soul.  That is what is uniquely 'Me,'" you might say.  Ah, the soul: that's a different philosophical and theological question on its own.  But even if we grant that a person's Identity might be attached to such a thing, what about soulless things -- at the very least, what about inanimate objects?  Do they have Identity?

The very concept of "Identity" is ingrained in most of us.  And yet the discussion of the Ship of Theseus shows us that it's not that simple.

Philosophy is a means by which we can examine some of these ingrained concepts.  And when we examine them, we find out that things are not as simple as we often try to make them. 

In order to start my series of essays, I want to have a few of these basic questions and concepts in place.  But I am by no means the originator of them.  Here's an ancient philosopher who looked at these questions long before I did.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.”

― Heraclitus

 
So, that's the start.  What's next?  I'll let you know, after I write it.  

Essays and Philosophy - the Foreword

For years now, I've had a long series of essays forming in my mind.  At various points in this blog, they've slipped out, or colored my other topics.  When trying to think of an overarching theme for this series, I've toyed with several ideas.  One of these ideas would be the title of the collected essays if anyone were ever to care to collect them -- or if I were ever industrious enough to write them.  Anyway, some of these ideas are:

• INTS - It's Not That Simple   (or)
• You're Wrong - But We All Are  (or)
• You Don't Really Know That
• Don't Be So Sure

(Now wouldn't it be amazing if someone comes out with a book with one of those titles?  It'll be on the New York Times Bestseller List for six months, the author will be a guest on Ellen and The View.  Or at least on Fresh Air with Terry Gross.  I'll kick myself for not writing the book first.  Especially because I'd miss talking about my ideas with Terry Gross.  Wouldn't that be amazing?  But I digress.)

Perhaps its clear, perhaps it's not, but I am fascinated by the uncertainty -- the incompleteness -- of human knowledge.  And in my fascination, I am frequently dismayed by how strongly others act on their beliefs that their personal knowledge is certain.

Well, anyway, because I have this particular attraction, I have been attracted to Philosophy.  If you have read any of my "Knowledge Series" you have probably guessed as much.  If you have followed along as I have described the Great Courses I've read, you would have noticed the same thing.

"So what?" you say.  Well, see, if I'm ever going to write this series of essays, I am going to have to write some introductory essays.  "Why?" you ask.  Glad you asked.

There are some concepts in Philosophy which were very powerful in getting me thinking about the whole topic of knowledge in the first place, so I will want to refer to them in my essays.  While most people who have studied some Philosophy will know about these concepts, I would guess most people who read this blog won't. 

So, today, I am going to start writing blog posts about some of those concepts.  And they will become the "foreword" for the series I really want to write.  If you read my blog for movie reviews, or discussions about games, or even just to see Favorite Foto Friday photos, you are welcome to skip what follows.  But I hope some of you will stick around to read some of what I find fascinating.

Next time: The Ship of Theseus

Laws of Nature - "Is" vs "Must Be" and Counterfactuals

I am revisiting the Great Course on the Philosophy of Science.  It is so long, and packed with so much to learn and consider, I could not hear it just once.  Dr. Kasser explains the facets of this topic quite well, so most of what I am saying below comes from his lectures, but I also need to react a bit.

I recently heard the pair of lectures which deal most specifically with the idea of Laws of Nature (or scientific laws.)  I'm not sure I can do this topic justice without laying a lot of groundwork, but I am going to write a bit, because I want to get some thoughts down while the lessons are still pretty fresh in my head.
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Preface:  The Philosophy of Science, like the philosophy of pretty much anything, asks questions which challenge us to examine our base assumptions about the subject.  This is part of what I enjoy about philosophy. 

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Let's suppose there are Laws of Nature.  Most of us have learned about them as we took science courses in junior high and high school.  When I am talking about Laws of Nature, think of things like Newton's Laws of Motion, or the laws of thermodynamics or something.  I'll use a specific example below, and by the end, we'll abstract things a bit.

One of the big topics in Philosophy of Science is how much science should claim.  One group of scientists, and philosophers about science, promote the idea that science should describe what does happen, and only that.   These are the Empiricists, and the thrust of their argument is that, in order to avoid metaphysical claims, science needs to make claims only about things which have been observed.

In this viewpoint, then, a Law of Nature, or a Scientific Law, only describes the way things ARE.  The Law contains a set of statements which describe how one interprets all observation into a coherent description of how the observed phenomena fit together.  This version of Laws tells you how to predict future observations based on patterns or relationships.  (It's very reliant on induction, which has its own logical issues, but that's something outside the scope of this post.)  A Law might even claim that there will never be a counter-example to the law.  "All copper conducts electricity" is an example of such a law, used extensively in the course, and in the Empiricist view it describes every piece of copper ever seen, plus every piece of copper we will ever see. 

However, most of us want to give science more power than that.   Most of us want science, and in particular scientific laws, to not only claim what the observations are and will be, but also to claim that they MUST BE what they are.  We want the Law to also say that, for example, every piece of copper MUST be conductive.  The supporters of this view are Necessitarians.  Their statement of the law above would be "Being made of copper necessitates conducting electricity."

In the former view people create laws.  In the latter view, the laws are out there for us to find, and we discover them.

The point about the differences in these approaches is subtle. I grant you that.  But the empiricist view does not deal well with what are called "counterfactuals."  A counterfactual is a statement which conflicts with known facts, but makes a prediction.  To use the example from the lesson, imagine you have a pen.  You could say "If this pen were made of copper, it would conduct electricity."  The known fact is that the pen is NOT made of copper.  But a claim is being made about a world in which the pen were.  Does that make logical sense based on each view of laws?

I think it's clear that the Necessitarian version of the law logically leads to the truth of "If this pen were made of copper, it would conduct electricity." Why?  Because "copper-ness" embues conductivity.  It's right there in the definition of the law.

The empiricist view, though, is not so clear.  Empiricist laws describe how things work in this world. Not in a world where things are different. Counterfactuals deal with a world which does not exist.  That's metaphysics, and not something empiricists think science should address.

Why do counterfactuals matter?  Because, when we examine many of the Laws we were taught in school, they are counterfactual.  The premises of the Laws never happen in reality.

For example, Newton's Laws of Motion tell us how bodies would react in the absence of any other forces.  But such a world does not exist.  All bodies we have ever seen have more than one force acting on them (in the Newtonian sense.)  This means that Newton's Laws never, ever have an observed instance.  Never.  The laws are, in their nature, counterfactual.   And yet we can use those laws to correctly predict motion (within certain limits; outside those limits we need Relativity or Quantum theory.)   

Personally, I believe that Laws are out there to be found.  I'm a necessitarian, I guess. When trying to discover those laws, the intellectual difficulty stems from only having observations from which to work.  From there, if we want to get to counterfactual laws, we have to apply imagination and reason.  Reason can only carry us so far, and once we're into imagination, we're definitely into the "meta" realm.

This is already long, so I will deal with related questions another time:  If the Premise is never True, what good is the Law?  If a Law is False, was it ever a Law?

Statistics about Christianity and their relation to Science and Evolution

Gathered these facts in 2013.  Never posted.  Not sure why, but as they are still valid (for the time they were gathered -- unlikely to have changed since 2013)  and pertinent to a discussion I was having, I'll post now.

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There are 2.2 billion Christians in the world.  [Sources: Washington Post, Pew Forum]

Of those, 1.2 billion are Catholic. [Sources: Catholic Culture, Pew Forum]

Pope John Paul II reaffirmed the Catholic stance that the theory (or theories) of evolution are not in conflict with scriptural truth (see Message to the Ponfical Academy if Sciences: On Evolution) and in fact, the centuries-old recognition that "We know that the truth cannot contradict the truth. (Leo XIII, Providentissimus Deus)"

Here are two important things for people involved in the "Church vs. Science" false debate to take from the above:

Christians -- you are not the minority.  Many Christians speak, act, and even stand in pulpits and preach as if they were somehow the minority.  While it is true that there are more non-Christians in the world than there are Christians, of people professing a religion, you are the largest group.

People who claim "Christians are opposed to science and particularly the Theory of Evolution": The numbers above demonstrate that a majority of Christians in the world profess a type of Christianity which supports the Theory of Evolution, and has done so for decades.  And that's only the Catholics.  There are plenty of Christian denominations which are not Catholic, but which also acknowledge that "truth cannot contradict the truth" and that, to the best knowledge humans have today, Evolution is scientific truth.

While researching this, I came across an essay by Doug Linder: The Vatican's View of Evolution: The Story of Two Popes, which I found very interesting.  It selected some of the key quotes from two Popes, which show the progression of acceptance of evolution in that branch of Christianity.

Theology, Reason and Science - Some History

In my previous Knowledge Series post, I discussed how Faith -- holding something to be True without the need to prove it -- is the basis for Reason.  Most of my discussion at that time was about how science uses Reason, together with Faith in a few things, to make Truth claims.  So, last time, the primary focus was on Science as a path to Truth.

This time, I want to discuss Religion and its relationship to Reason, and briefly to Science.  To do so, I need to get into a little history and introduce the idea of Theology.


In what we think of as Western culture, the search for Knowledge and Truth go back to the beginning of recorded thought. What we now think of as religions certainly had, as one of their functions, the delivery of Knowledge -- the explanation of how and why things happened and a description of what things Really were.  However, until the rise of what we now call Philosophy, Reason -- by our current definition --  was not required to support the Truth being described by those belief systems.

Around the time of Socrates (born in 469 BC) it is clear, however, that the Greek world had given rise to the idea of a "philosophy" -- a "love of knowledge" or "love of truth" -- and that philosophy in its nascent form said that Reason had to be applied in order to arrive at Truth.  This method of seeking Truth is probably the key inheritance we have received from Socrates and those who followed him.

Of course, at the time, the idea of "science" did not exist yet.  It would not exist for more than 2000 years, in fact.  What we might have thought of as "science" was more correctly called "natural philosophy" because it dealt with trying to find truths about the natural world.  Socrates, apparently, tried his hand at this sort of philosophy early in his life, failed at it, and moved on to a different branch.  Still, there were people at the time trying to apply reason to the study of the natural world, and then there were people like Socrates who were applying reason to less substantial things - truth, love, honor -- that sort of human endeavor.

OK, the first part of the history lesson is almost over.  I apologize that this is a very abbreviated and necessarily simplified history, but I need to tie it to the next part.  Because the next part deals with Christianity.

By the time Christianity came into existence, this approach of applying Reason to reach Truth was pretty well entrenched in the learned culture of the West.  I am not saying it wasn't at all in existence before Socrates, but certainly Socrates and his followers had tremendous influence by the time the first Christian churches were founded.

This meant that a reliance on Reason to support Truth statements was already inherent in the culture in which Christianity spread.  Thus was born, as part of the Christian belief system, Theology.

Theology, you see, is not simply a list of the things people of a particular Christian denomination hold to be true.  That, unfortunately, is how the word is quite commonly misused these days.  No, Theology is something quite different.

Theology is the application of reason to explain truth, given the faith statements which form the basis of Christianity, together with the theological material which has come before.

Compare this to today's view of science, modified to include my last post's view of faith statements:

Science is the application of reason to explain truth, given the faith statements which form the basis of science, together with the established science which has come before.

Undoubtedly you can see the parallels there.  Of course they are there.  Clearly, I was leading to this point.  Why was I doing this?

Long before the first professional scientist lived, there were professional theologians.  The early church was built by them.  The most famous and influential Christian who ever lived (perhaps excluding the Apostle Paul; let's not argue that point now) was Augustine of Hippo.  He deserves his own post or two, but for now I will merely talk about him as he relates to Theology.

Augustine was born to a Christian mother and a pagan mother, and for a very long time he rejected Christianity.  But he was determined that Reason would guide his path to the Truth.  Once he became a Christian, he applied his Reason very thoroughly.  Augustine laid down many of the theological doctrines which exist in Christianity today, by applying Reason to all manner of issues.

One key teaching of Augustine is that there were two "Books" of Truth.  The Book of Scripture, and the Book of Nature.  Both books, he said, demonstrated the Truth of God's Creation.  And, very importantly, whenever a conflict appeared to exist between the two, it was because people were not applying Reason properly.  In order to reconcile the two, we needed to examine, and find the flaw in, how we were reading the books.

This was obvious to him, by the way, even without considering what we'd call "science."  Augustine recognized the apparent contradictions in the stories of the scripture, and reasoned that there would be Truths explained when we understood them properly.  But when natural philosophy -- remember, the forerunner of science -- proved something to be true, Augustine was not opposed to the idea that the reading of Scripture would have to change to accommodate it.

And Augustine was not alone.  Almost 900 years later, Thomas Aquinas carried very similar beliefs about reason (as did many along the way, but Aquinas is historically and theologically very influential.)

This, friends, is the heritage of the Christian faith.  However, along the way, Theology got lost -- at least among many Christians.  Once the Reformation happened, many new branches of Christianity were so opposed to what became known as the Catholic church that they seemed willing to dismiss the centuries of reasoned thought which had grown up with the Church, in order to separate themselves from the abuses of that Church.

This was not "the fault" of the Reformation.  The Reformation and the Protestant movement did push a large segment of Christianity towards an idea that they could just read Scripture for themselves and be brought to an understanding of the Truth thereby.  While that may be true for the key teachings of the Gospel (again, let's not argue that point now) it most certainly is not true for the relationship between Augustine's Book of Scripture and Book of Nature.

Throwing out the theological baby with the corrupt bathwater allowed for the growth of denominations which do not take advantage of the benefit of theology.  They do not build on the foundation of Reason applied to Scripture which was meticulously built over time.

This leads to some interesting, and frustrating things. For example, something that might come as a surprise to many Christians and non-Christians alike:

A majority of Christians in the world belong to denominations which profess that the theory of evolution is consistent with Christian teachings.

Don't believe me?

There are 2.2 billion Christians in the world.  [Sources: Washington Post, Pew Forum]

Of those, 1.2 billion are Catholic. [Sources: Catholic Culture, Pew Forum]

Pope John Paul II reaffirmed the Catholic stance that the theory (or theories) of evolution are not in conflict with scriptural truth (see Message to the Ponfical Academy if Sciences: On Evolution).  In fact, he also supports the centuries-old recognition that "We know that the truth cannot contradict the truth. (Leo XIII, Providentissimus Deus)"   (Sound like Augustine to you?  It should.)

It must be said: while Catholics alone are a majority of Christians, there are other large Christian denominations which are not Catholic, but which also acknowledge that "truth cannot contradict the truth."  These people individually (and I am one) and these denominations corporately, agree that Evolution is scientific truth, to the best knowledge humans have today.

To me, one of the sad parts about the way Christians are perceived in the world today, and particularly in the modern American culture, is due to the fact that a very vocal minority of Christians has turned away from the historical underpinnings of applying reason to religion: they have tuned away from Theology.  Certainly, they apply reason to their arguments; they are Western, after all.  But they start with a set of base assumptions which was discarded by Christianity in the distant past -- the literal interpretation of scripture for one; the weighting of scripture above nature for another -- and then apply their reason from those assumptions.

In conclusion, let me say this.  It took me a long time to learn the facts which went into this post.  It seems as if it has taken me almost as long to write these few down. Of necessity, I have had to summarize large sections of very important information.  I have probably forgotten some details.  If I took another four months to revise this, it would get longer and more accurate, but at this point I think it has the key points I wanted to make.

Hopefully those of you who are currently inclined away from Christianity (and perhaps religion in general) because of its supposed opposition to Reason and Science will give it a bit more benefit of the doubt as the Knowledge Series continues.  Hopefully those of you who are Christians will recognize how tightly the two sources for Truth -- Theology and Science -- are actually connected, as well.

And hopefully, it won't take me quite so long to formulate my next post, so that the Knowledge Series can continue.

Faith - the Starting Point for Reason

Have I already gotten your blood boiling?  Does my title already get a certain subset of you thinking I have done some sort of “bait and switch” – writing in my first two mini-essays about knowledge and reason, then all of a sudden switching to some sort of religious discussion?

I have not.  Do you trust me enough to read a little longer?  I will start to explain. 

Recall that in my last post in this series, I said this:

“To my way of thinking, there are three other justifications for claiming Truth for a fact, outside of Reason.  Those three justifications are Experience, Faith and Authority.”

That statement can be construed correctly to mean that I think all fact-based Truth claims rely on one or more of four things:  Reason, Experience, Faith and Authority.

We examined Authority last time, and I briefly touched on Experience.  But I really need to get to Faith.  But I want you to understand that my definition of Faith is both very specific and very broad at the same time.  It is specific in that it is simple.  It is broad in that it does not merely apply to what people would call religious faith.  When we talk about faith, people often get caught up in thoughts and discussions surrounding religion.  This makes sense, given the use of the term faith in common usage.  But when it comes to Knowledge and Fact-based Truth, what does Faith really mean?

Here’s the definition I propose:  

Faith is that step in reason which allows us to assume the truth of something which cannot be proven.

Notice here that I am defining “faith” in the context of reason – of logic.  Later, perhaps I will tie it to the context of religious faith, but for now, I need to narrow in on the meaning related to reason.  Let’s take a look at what the definition does and does not say.  

A very important aspect of this definition is the final phrase: “cannot be proven.”  Notice, it does not say “is not proven.”  A close analogy for this definition is to the idea of a postulate in mathematical proofs.  

For those of you who never liked proofs in math classes, I apologize, but there was a very important point taught in your first few lessons:  in order to make a mathematical proof, you first had to start with some things which you simply assumed were true.  A very nice list of the postulates of normal geometry can be found here, but let me extract one as an example.

Unique Line Assumption: Through any two points, there is exactly one line.

That "assumption" is a postulate. If you assume this and the related postulates  then a large number of other things can be proven.  But, very importantly for my analogy to faith, the key here is that you never try to prove that this assumption is true.  You assume it.

Faith is somewhat like that.  In the definition, and in the analogy, there are statements of Truth which are simply accepted, upon which you base reasoned arguments and “proofs” but which are never proven.

The key difference between what my definition of Faith says, though, and what mathematical postulates represent is that my definition of Faith says the truth of the Faith statement cannot be proven.  Postulates, on the other hand, are not quite the same – a postulate is a True statement which does not require proof.   

The point I am making here is that, much like in math, Knowledge itself has statements which, at their core, are not Reasoned – they are assumed.  And it is my contention that Faith is exactly that thing which is required to assume that Truth because some statements simply cannot be proven.

This is hard for people to accept, though.  Our modern minds, particularly our scientific minds, want to believe that everything can be proven.  In particular, people want to believe that everything can be explained.  

It is my belief, though, that this is not completely accurate.  And, it is my assertion, based on my belief, that we all would be better off recognizing and appreciating the idea that Faith is required for Reason, and hence for Knowledge.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you might say. “How can this be?  Doesn’t modern scientific rationality operate based on the idea that all things can be proven?  Where is ‘faith’ in that?”

Let’s discuss.

At the core of it, science is based on reason.  A hypothesis is developed – or at least a claim is made – and then tested based on the application of reason.  But what components are used in this process of reason?  Existing mental models of the way the world works (scientific theories), and data derived from observation - Facts.

But: How do scientists know that the data they are collecting are actually True?  Everywhere?  No matter what?

The answer is, ultimately, they do not.  Truth of Data implies a Very Large Thing: that this same data would result by doing the same observation in all equivalent situations.  Since it is absolutely impossible to conduct the observation in every equivalent situation, they make the assumption that, the theories or laws which govern the outcome of this experiment, and the ones which confirm it, will apply throughout the universe, or everywhere on Earth, or whatever the generalized environment.  If the theory surrounding the explanation of the data is sound, then equivalent situations would always produce equivalent data.

But the assumption that things work the same way everywhere is, in fact, a statement of Faith, by my definition.  You cannot be everywhere and you cannot gather data in all equivalent situations, so to assume Truth based on limited information is, in fact, an act of Faith.  

Please understand.  I think this is a perfectly reasonable thing to do.  [I’d argue that you could not function in the world if you could not assume this, so it is the most natural assumption humans can make.]  Assuming a consistent set of physical laws throughout reality makes sense.  But ultimately, we cannot prove it.  We must assume it.

And, in fact, much new science comes about when something we assumed to be True in all situations turns out to be False in some specific situation – when data we collect leads us to believe we were wrong.  We assume that there is some natural law we have not described yet which is based on a new situation, or a new factor, which we had not adequately considered.

But we never assume that this new data is somehow different just for this one situation.  We assume it represents a difference for all of reality.

That is one of the few “faith statements” which form the basis of most scientific thought.  [And, amazingly, it actually has broken down, to some extent. But that’s a topic for another time – quantum theory is very, very strange.]

There are actually a few core Faith statements which we use in reason, and in scientific reason in particular.  The one above -- maybe we'd call it the Ordered Universe Postulate, or the Universal Laws Postulate -- is one which makes sense to us, so we barely consider it.  And I am not pointing it out in order to challenge it.  I believe it.  Just as I believe that an Objective Reality exists (another Faith postulate.)  My point in this post is to set this particular definition of what Faith means in the context of Reason.

Do you believe me yet?  Do you believe that there are things which are impossible to prove, but which serve as the basis for our Reason?  Just as in logic or math we have to start from somewhere and build logically on top of those starting points.  In all discussions and in all reason, we have to start somewhere.  When we start from the lowest level, we are using Faith.  Your Faith statements might seem completely reasonable to you.  They might, in fact, feel so certain that they seem to be unquestionably True.  The point is, they are not unquestionable – they are un-proveable.

In future posts, I'll come back to this definition, because of course, there are other definitions of Faith.  But there are also implications to how this definition of Faith affects the interrelationship between Science and Religion.