I’ve been reading in some curious corners of history lately: controversies in medieval and early modern Christianity and their implications for the modern world. One thing I’ve noticed in several places, even in works by thoughtful and considered writers, is their looseness with the truth. By this I don’t mean that they’re historically sloppy, glib, or generally prevaricating; rather, their conceptualization of “truth” needs to be tightened up.
Take, for example, the ideas of “Christian truth” or “scientific truth.” They’re not the same thing. They’re great illustrations of the fact that faith and knowledge are two different realms, that their adherents speak, in effect, two different languages, even though some words appear in both. (“Son” means male child in English, “are” in Spanish, “his” or “hers” (depending on the nature of the object) in French, or “the end” in Turkish). So, even when we hear two English speakers use the word “truth,” we have to figure out what they mean. If we just assume that a person of faith and a person of science mean the same thing, we’re headed for semantic confusion. And, in the case of this word and these two cultures/languages, we’re headed for a pretty important divergence in understanding epistemology and history.
Historians, of course, are acutely aware that meanings change over time and I caution my students that “democracy” in the 17C resonated quite differently in the 20C. “Liberalism,” “enthusiasm,” and “physician” are just a sampling of such terms.
“Truth” on the other hand, seems such a fundamental concept that it might be seen as constant; but it’s not. (Nor, for that matter, is “fact” a concept whose ordinary meaning today arose only in the 19C.)
“Scientific” truth carries two essential, if implicit, conditions. First, what we all know as scientific progress and second, what we all know of scientific method. The first says that science is tentative, that it’s statement and findings are “true” insofar as we have figured things out (to the best of our ability) so far. Newton may have cracked the laws of motion, and optics, and calculus, but he believed in phlogiston and the ether. Darwin figured out evolution by variation and descent, but he had no idea about genes or DNA. Einstein proposed theories of relativity, but couldn’t quite wrap his head around quantum mechanics. These are not criticisms, but merely reflections of the nature—the inherently incremental nature of scientific discovery. What is stated is the best we know so far.
The second constraint is that science only accepts as truth that which is demonstrated and which is replicable. Ideas and intuition are great, but they’re not true until experimentally demonstrated in the real world. Thus, we come to “metaphysics” which (as the word says) is ‘beyond’ physics. That is, pretty much by definition, it can’t be proven by science and so, it can’t be “true” in the same way gravity seems to be. In our modern world, this consigns that which is outside science to a diminished limbo, unavailable for truth and classified as merely “belief.” However, if we don’t postulate science as the essential standard, then the line between physics and metaphysics can be seen as a limitation on science; confining it to those areas which are demonstrable.
We moderns are, for the most part, so deeply imbued with this outlook that even raising such questions looks like nonsense. There are two reasons, epistemological and historical why such a dismissal is problematic. The epistemological frame asks how and why we are sure that science is the definition of truth. Pretty much by definition, science cannot address, much less resolve metaphysical questions. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Who is “god”? How many gigawatts of power does God have at hand? (for that matter, does God have hands?). If you start from science, all this is excluded (i.e., the entire class of religious claims are, per se, not true). If you start elsewhere—in metaphysics or faith—the questions are different. Such a stance allows for—indeed, demands—the creation of a space beyond science beyond “knowledge” (which, after all is just a descriptor of scientific output). It is limitless, non-rational and non-sensical (i.e., outside our senses). In addition, the very divergence of religious views and interpretations (whether Christian or otherwise) seems to undermine each of their claims to truthfulness on their own terms. Science says everything is (sooner or later) provable or disprovable; faith says: no; your “facts” and your “methods” are just projections (see Plato’s Cave); they are fine as far as they go, and even if they have gone far and seemingly squeezed God into a corner, behind genetics and quarks and dark matter, they have only made a minute dent in the infinite. In other words, at root, science is just another term for disbelief in the truth of faith. Moreover, the same applies to the divergent claims of religious truth made by other beleivers.
The historical basis for doubting the power of science finds roots in the politics of church and state in medieval and early modern Europe (1100-1800); a politics which was absorbing and distracting and pushed such issues to the side. The nominal certainty of scientific method, especially as it emerged in 17C England, provided a much-needed respite from the sectarian strife of the Reformation. Its promise of mastery of nature and (implicitly) power and riches (much of which have furnished our world today) was seductive as compared with deferred grace. Its momentum and (apparent, but questionable) links to technologies, the “industrial revolution” and capitalism have become inextricable parts of modernity and how most moderns think.
I’m a pretty modern guy. I guess I would take the mantle of “skeptical agnostic” when it comes to God. I don’t think “atheism” is quite right; after all, how can science say definitively there’s nothing beyond (see Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem); it’s certainly not “provable.” Besides, there are billions of people who claim a worldview based on faith and if I’m any sort of tolerant/diverse/democrat, I have to allow for them in the world and not claim an exclusivity on my scientific approach to “truth.” The successes of modern science have bred an unhealthy smugness.
One final note, which combines both history and epistemology, is the observation/suspicion that there is a strong correlation between faith/belief/trust in science on the one hand, and wealth and power on the other. Satisfaction and comfort in this world makes it easy to downplay the glories of the next. On the flip side, earthly lives that are, in Hobbes’ words: “nasty, brutish, and short,” may be more tolerable and sensible if there is something to look forward to. There are, as soldiers say, “no atheists in foxholes.” Faith has little presence among intellectual and commercial elites. I’d be curious to see a global study of the correlation of religious faith and socio-economic status.
Take, for example, the ideas of “Christian truth” or “scientific truth.” They’re not the same thing. They’re great illustrations of the fact that faith and knowledge are two different realms, that their adherents speak, in effect, two different languages, even though some words appear in both. (“Son” means male child in English, “are” in Spanish, “his” or “hers” (depending on the nature of the object) in French, or “the end” in Turkish). So, even when we hear two English speakers use the word “truth,” we have to figure out what they mean. If we just assume that a person of faith and a person of science mean the same thing, we’re headed for semantic confusion. And, in the case of this word and these two cultures/languages, we’re headed for a pretty important divergence in understanding epistemology and history.
Historians, of course, are acutely aware that meanings change over time and I caution my students that “democracy” in the 17C resonated quite differently in the 20C. “Liberalism,” “enthusiasm,” and “physician” are just a sampling of such terms.
“Truth” on the other hand, seems such a fundamental concept that it might be seen as constant; but it’s not. (Nor, for that matter, is “fact” a concept whose ordinary meaning today arose only in the 19C.)
“Scientific” truth carries two essential, if implicit, conditions. First, what we all know as scientific progress and second, what we all know of scientific method. The first says that science is tentative, that it’s statement and findings are “true” insofar as we have figured things out (to the best of our ability) so far. Newton may have cracked the laws of motion, and optics, and calculus, but he believed in phlogiston and the ether. Darwin figured out evolution by variation and descent, but he had no idea about genes or DNA. Einstein proposed theories of relativity, but couldn’t quite wrap his head around quantum mechanics. These are not criticisms, but merely reflections of the nature—the inherently incremental nature of scientific discovery. What is stated is the best we know so far.
The second constraint is that science only accepts as truth that which is demonstrated and which is replicable. Ideas and intuition are great, but they’re not true until experimentally demonstrated in the real world. Thus, we come to “metaphysics” which (as the word says) is ‘beyond’ physics. That is, pretty much by definition, it can’t be proven by science and so, it can’t be “true” in the same way gravity seems to be. In our modern world, this consigns that which is outside science to a diminished limbo, unavailable for truth and classified as merely “belief.” However, if we don’t postulate science as the essential standard, then the line between physics and metaphysics can be seen as a limitation on science; confining it to those areas which are demonstrable.
We moderns are, for the most part, so deeply imbued with this outlook that even raising such questions looks like nonsense. There are two reasons, epistemological and historical why such a dismissal is problematic. The epistemological frame asks how and why we are sure that science is the definition of truth. Pretty much by definition, science cannot address, much less resolve metaphysical questions. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Who is “god”? How many gigawatts of power does God have at hand? (for that matter, does God have hands?). If you start from science, all this is excluded (i.e., the entire class of religious claims are, per se, not true). If you start elsewhere—in metaphysics or faith—the questions are different. Such a stance allows for—indeed, demands—the creation of a space beyond science beyond “knowledge” (which, after all is just a descriptor of scientific output). It is limitless, non-rational and non-sensical (i.e., outside our senses). In addition, the very divergence of religious views and interpretations (whether Christian or otherwise) seems to undermine each of their claims to truthfulness on their own terms. Science says everything is (sooner or later) provable or disprovable; faith says: no; your “facts” and your “methods” are just projections (see Plato’s Cave); they are fine as far as they go, and even if they have gone far and seemingly squeezed God into a corner, behind genetics and quarks and dark matter, they have only made a minute dent in the infinite. In other words, at root, science is just another term for disbelief in the truth of faith. Moreover, the same applies to the divergent claims of religious truth made by other beleivers.
The historical basis for doubting the power of science finds roots in the politics of church and state in medieval and early modern Europe (1100-1800); a politics which was absorbing and distracting and pushed such issues to the side. The nominal certainty of scientific method, especially as it emerged in 17C England, provided a much-needed respite from the sectarian strife of the Reformation. Its promise of mastery of nature and (implicitly) power and riches (much of which have furnished our world today) was seductive as compared with deferred grace. Its momentum and (apparent, but questionable) links to technologies, the “industrial revolution” and capitalism have become inextricable parts of modernity and how most moderns think.
I’m a pretty modern guy. I guess I would take the mantle of “skeptical agnostic” when it comes to God. I don’t think “atheism” is quite right; after all, how can science say definitively there’s nothing beyond (see Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem); it’s certainly not “provable.” Besides, there are billions of people who claim a worldview based on faith and if I’m any sort of tolerant/diverse/democrat, I have to allow for them in the world and not claim an exclusivity on my scientific approach to “truth.” The successes of modern science have bred an unhealthy smugness.
One final note, which combines both history and epistemology, is the observation/suspicion that there is a strong correlation between faith/belief/trust in science on the one hand, and wealth and power on the other. Satisfaction and comfort in this world makes it easy to downplay the glories of the next. On the flip side, earthly lives that are, in Hobbes’ words: “nasty, brutish, and short,” may be more tolerable and sensible if there is something to look forward to. There are, as soldiers say, “no atheists in foxholes.” Faith has little presence among intellectual and commercial elites. I’d be curious to see a global study of the correlation of religious faith and socio-economic status.
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