I found the following posted on Greg Mankiw’s blog under the heading “An Epistemological Digression.” The passage comes from Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
After a while he says, "Do you believe in ghosts?"
"No," I say.
"Why not?"
"Because they are un-sci-en-ti-fic."
The way I say this makes John smile. "They contain no matter," I continue, "and have no energy and therefore, according to the laws of science, do not exist except in people’s minds."
The whiskey, the fatigue and the wind in the trees start mixing in my mind. "Of course," I add, "the laws of science contain no matter and have no energy either and therefore do not exist except in people’s minds. It’s best to be completely scientific about the whole thing and refuse to believe in either ghosts or the laws of science. That way you’re safe. That doesn’t leave you very much to believe in, but that’s scientific too."
Science only tells us what exists, right? And only things that have energy exist. According to this somewhat silly argument, law in general can’t really exist except in our imagination, (and I mean ‘imagination’ in a very sophisticated way). And because laws are not real, that means that the scientific conclusion we arrive at using those laws are unsound, and we can’t prove much of anything scientifically. We must have conjectured theory to logically guide our scientific methods. This is where my methods class and my theory class meet. Even in 300, we talk about the importance for content validity in the context of setting up experiments and hypotheses. Really, what can we know except what we expect that we will come to know.
There is no free knowledge. Everything we learn we first must anticipate through theorization. And I’m talking about those things that we understand. Sure we can discover things blindly, but how much do we comprehend them? All epistemology starts with ‘what if?’ What if the earth was round? What would happen? There’s only one way to find out. Well, two ways. Launch a satellite with a camera on it into space to take a picture of the planet, or sail around it. Seeing how King Ferdinand didn’t have the means to take a picture of the earth, he settled for the latter and sent Columbus on the ocean blue. But it started with a theory.
Would alternative possibilities also describe the phenomenon? It seems that we respect and revere those who ask this question more than any other kind of person. Columbus is one example. Another is Benjamin Franklin. He essentially thought that something other than the sin a member of a certain household committed, thus bringing the wrath of God upon that house in the form of a lightning-started fire, could cause the house to be struck by lightning. The outcome is the same, that is a burning house, but the cause could be different. Through this process, Franklin developed the building-saving lightning rod to redirect the lightning’s energy away from the house. The church, it seems, would now have to look for some other deterrent from sin than a lit-up house.
So, what are some alternatives to present posits? And I’m no natural scientist, so I’ll have to stick with social science. What’s so bad about gay marriage? Why is “socialized health care” a bad word? What would a minimum wage increase do? Is complete laissez-faire really going to bring prosperity to everyone, even the poor? Are we actually capable of even knowing these things?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Post-Positivism
Popper takes it a couple steps farther. He pushes positivism to say that we can’t really know what we can prove. We can’t even know what we have proven in the past. All we can know is what is not true. Then, returning to the junior high science classroom, we can’t know that light is requisite for plants to grow, we simply know that the little bean we planted in the paper cup filled with potting soil won’t grow in the dark. What Popper strives for is to try to prove science wrong, and with each unsuccessful attempt to prove something wrong, all we know is that it is more not wrong.
This seems a lot easier to me that to prove something right. The ‘march of science’ then would be so much slower-going. Let’s say we want to prove a soldier is dead on the battle field, and that soldier is nowhere to be found. We cannot say that just because we don’t see him means that he is dead. So let’s look through a pile of dog tags that are collected from dead soldiers. If his own tags are not in there, all we know is that no one put them in the pile. Still do not know whether he is dead. If they are in there, we cannot say that he is dead. All we can prove is the presence of his dog tags. Dead does not mean that someone other than the owner of the tags is in possession of them. So, to falsify the claim of a dead soldier would mean that we would need to have a live soldier. Of course, dead is dead and live is live, and not even Sir Karl Popper can debate that. So maybe my example is not ‘scientific’ enough. But it still addresses the issue of what the posited evidence actually proves.
This seems a lot easier to me that to prove something right. The ‘march of science’ then would be so much slower-going. Let’s say we want to prove a soldier is dead on the battle field, and that soldier is nowhere to be found. We cannot say that just because we don’t see him means that he is dead. So let’s look through a pile of dog tags that are collected from dead soldiers. If his own tags are not in there, all we know is that no one put them in the pile. Still do not know whether he is dead. If they are in there, we cannot say that he is dead. All we can prove is the presence of his dog tags. Dead does not mean that someone other than the owner of the tags is in possession of them. So, to falsify the claim of a dead soldier would mean that we would need to have a live soldier. Of course, dead is dead and live is live, and not even Sir Karl Popper can debate that. So maybe my example is not ‘scientific’ enough. But it still addresses the issue of what the posited evidence actually proves.
Positivism
I distinctly remember the test question in junior high science class that queried “name the steps in the scientific method.” That question is actually quite logical. The scientific process is the process by which we come to acquire knowledge. But when we start putting big words to it to describe the steps, what used to be simply burning ants with a magnifying glass became a laborious, official process. ‘Conjecture’ and ‘hypothesis’ and ‘null hypothesis’ and ‘control group’ not only complicated the matter, but made a whole lot more work. “You mean I have to write all this stuff down before I do anything? That’s lame. Just give me the knife and let me at that dead frog. Why does everything have to be so official?”
Well, I’m finding that out. The scientific method, or positivism, doesn’t tell us anything more about truth or reality than the exact, specific thing we observe for the exact, specific time we observe it and under the exact, specific conditions that exist as we observe. That’s why writing it all down, which is boring and takes all the fun out of it, is important. For each exploration into positivism, we must know what assumptions we are making. We have to know what we are taking for granted, or taking as given. Hence the statement that epistemology really is more fundamental than is ontology. Of course we can know what we know; but can we really know what is? You only know what you can prove.
Well, I’m finding that out. The scientific method, or positivism, doesn’t tell us anything more about truth or reality than the exact, specific thing we observe for the exact, specific time we observe it and under the exact, specific conditions that exist as we observe. That’s why writing it all down, which is boring and takes all the fun out of it, is important. For each exploration into positivism, we must know what assumptions we are making. We have to know what we are taking for granted, or taking as given. Hence the statement that epistemology really is more fundamental than is ontology. Of course we can know what we know; but can we really know what is? You only know what you can prove.
Sui Generis
We see this concept in all kinds of group settings. I work at Enterprise Rent-A-Car. We have a very distinctive culture and there is certainly an underlying message that we send as we adopt this culture to ourselves. There are parts of the business that an employee is not socialized into, but trained on. Things like the computer system and the dress code and the homogenous look of the individual offices are not what Durkheim was going for when he explains how a culture doesn’t change simply because the individuals change. In the example of work, we’re all younger men. We don’t take the job too seriously, despite our wearing shirts and ties as mandated from our corporate headquarters. No matter if I go to a new office or if our branch gets a new manager, the basic perception of the company doesn’t change. I phone other offices often, even out of state, and the way we interact is always the same.
When I hear the cliché that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts, I usually think back to various examples I learned in team-building exercises or priesthood lessons. Images of two candles making more than twice as bright a flame come to mind. Or two wooden boards holding more than twice their individual capacities, or horses pulling more together than they otherwise could separately are other popular object lessons. But in the context of sui generis, the whole is not simply bigger than the sum of its parts, but more important than the individuals. The wanna-be Communism of Stalin, Mao, Castro, and more modernly Kim impose this idea on its participants, which is the very reason it works so much better in our Western, capitalistic firms. Workers in a capitalistic society see their involvement in groups as voluntary. Sure, there are critics of the sincerity of volunteer when they are prostituting their labor for simply the highest wage they can negotiate. But those people also have their unions they can run too to undermine the work that others are doing. Durkheim came at this idea, however, from a descriptive angle. I don’t believe that he was creating an ideal, but rather describing a phenomenon.
When I hear the cliché that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts, I usually think back to various examples I learned in team-building exercises or priesthood lessons. Images of two candles making more than twice as bright a flame come to mind. Or two wooden boards holding more than twice their individual capacities, or horses pulling more together than they otherwise could separately are other popular object lessons. But in the context of sui generis, the whole is not simply bigger than the sum of its parts, but more important than the individuals. The wanna-be Communism of Stalin, Mao, Castro, and more modernly Kim impose this idea on its participants, which is the very reason it works so much better in our Western, capitalistic firms. Workers in a capitalistic society see their involvement in groups as voluntary. Sure, there are critics of the sincerity of volunteer when they are prostituting their labor for simply the highest wage they can negotiate. But those people also have their unions they can run too to undermine the work that others are doing. Durkheim came at this idea, however, from a descriptive angle. I don’t believe that he was creating an ideal, but rather describing a phenomenon.
Durkheim's Suicide
What constitutes a living person? In my junior English class, we discussed an epic tale. I think it was Beowulf. It was one of the oldest stories told. In the centuries-old story, the hero is promised immortality. The teacher made the argument that this hero achieved immortality, by the simple fact that we were still studying his story now hundreds of years later. If a person can be dead, yet alive, then can a person be living, yet commit suicide? I believe that life exists on a sliding scale. Sure, Durkheim was only talking about those whose body ceased to support life. But his sociological discoveries can still be applied to social hermits and misfits and even those who have consecrated their own lives to ends that other people give them. Elder Maxwell spoke often of consecrating our lives to the Lord. Could he be talking about altruistic suicide? As interesting this is to think about, Jesus Christ himself puts it to rest when he tells us that “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” Hence the idea of being born again as an adopted son or daughter of God lays to rest whatever draw-backs we may feel to committing ourselves to the gospel.
During my travels to the Orient (I served my mission in Taiwan), I met a wise old man (he was the high-council representative for my ward) who took it upon himself to mentor me in the ways of good and decency (he told me neat story once. Intriguing, huh?).
Anyway, the story goes that a gardener was famous for miles around for his beautiful flowers. People would come from everywhere to see his flowers. He was something of a hermit, so when people came to see the sprawling gardens; they would wander around by themselves. But they didn’t mind him staying to himself because they loved the flowers so much. He eventually died. People still came by once in a while to see his garden, but after a time of no one tending to them, they became overgrown and ugly. No one came by anymore to see his garden.
A second man wrote beautiful music. He would stay up in his house for hours and days at a time without seeing anyone, but just write and write and write his beautiful music. Like the gardener, his work drew quite the crowd. Kings and noblemen would commission this man to write his beautiful music for special occasions. He was like a superstar. But even superstars are subject to Father Time, and he also died. People still loved to listen to his music, but since they didn’t have any new music, they just listened to the same songs over and over. Eventually, other great musicians came along with their beautiful compositions, and the man who used to be the most famous and popular became just another name in a long list of dead guys.
The third man in the story lived a different kind of life. He really enjoyed gardens and music. He went quite often to see the beautiful flowers and listen to the lyrical music. But he never went without taking someone with him, and that companion of his was always someone who was depressed or troubled. He was always cognizant of the people who needed help in his community. When they were sad, he was also sad along with them. He and his wife also raised a strong family, and taught his children to always look for opportunities to help others. This man did not have very much money, because he was always giving it away to people who didn’t have enough to eat or didn’t have clothing or didn’t have enough to buy gas to put in their car to go to work. Everyone in town knew this man and of his willingness to help out however he was able. He was an inspiring example to whoever met him of charity and kindness. Whoever received from him felt all the more willing to do their own part in helping others.
This man also eventually died. But no one ever forgot about him. Rather than spending all his effort with things, he invested himself in people. The interactions of others have a strengthening and growing impact on the participants. So then, life and death are functions of our relationships and our propensity to integrate ourselves into a group outside ourselves. The first two men, while still alive, suffered from egoistic suicide. Gardens and music do not constitute group integration.
During my travels to the Orient (I served my mission in Taiwan), I met a wise old man (he was the high-council representative for my ward) who took it upon himself to mentor me in the ways of good and decency (he told me neat story once. Intriguing, huh?).
Anyway, the story goes that a gardener was famous for miles around for his beautiful flowers. People would come from everywhere to see his flowers. He was something of a hermit, so when people came to see the sprawling gardens; they would wander around by themselves. But they didn’t mind him staying to himself because they loved the flowers so much. He eventually died. People still came by once in a while to see his garden, but after a time of no one tending to them, they became overgrown and ugly. No one came by anymore to see his garden.
A second man wrote beautiful music. He would stay up in his house for hours and days at a time without seeing anyone, but just write and write and write his beautiful music. Like the gardener, his work drew quite the crowd. Kings and noblemen would commission this man to write his beautiful music for special occasions. He was like a superstar. But even superstars are subject to Father Time, and he also died. People still loved to listen to his music, but since they didn’t have any new music, they just listened to the same songs over and over. Eventually, other great musicians came along with their beautiful compositions, and the man who used to be the most famous and popular became just another name in a long list of dead guys.
The third man in the story lived a different kind of life. He really enjoyed gardens and music. He went quite often to see the beautiful flowers and listen to the lyrical music. But he never went without taking someone with him, and that companion of his was always someone who was depressed or troubled. He was always cognizant of the people who needed help in his community. When they were sad, he was also sad along with them. He and his wife also raised a strong family, and taught his children to always look for opportunities to help others. This man did not have very much money, because he was always giving it away to people who didn’t have enough to eat or didn’t have clothing or didn’t have enough to buy gas to put in their car to go to work. Everyone in town knew this man and of his willingness to help out however he was able. He was an inspiring example to whoever met him of charity and kindness. Whoever received from him felt all the more willing to do their own part in helping others.
This man also eventually died. But no one ever forgot about him. Rather than spending all his effort with things, he invested himself in people. The interactions of others have a strengthening and growing impact on the participants. So then, life and death are functions of our relationships and our propensity to integrate ourselves into a group outside ourselves. The first two men, while still alive, suffered from egoistic suicide. Gardens and music do not constitute group integration.
Holism
I am finding myself agreeing more and more with the importance of socialism. And I am not talking about the political structure, but rather the idea and importance of socialization, but ‘socializationism’ is not a word. (The red squiggly line says so.) From a divine, eternal standpoint, we are social creatures by nature. We will always live with other people. Throughout recorded history (that is to say during the history of the earth and exclude pre-mortal and post-mortal life), we have learned what we know from each other. Everything in our lives is interrelated.
This leads me to think of the real meaning of religion. Religion is what we invent for ourselves, it would seem. And whether or not that invention would include the aspect of spirituality, which mistakenly goes hand-in-hand with religiosity, then becomes a decision for the individual to make. Just because someone is religious does not necessarily denote spirituality. A person is religious by his or her conviction to the religion’s respective totem. Totems in the LDS faith would include males wearing a white shirt to church, going to church and attending other activities, hanging pictures of temples and deity in the house, and even paying tithing, but only when someone is watching. These totems intrinsically are neither good nor bad. But their value is determined by their use. The cross from religious to spiritual comes when the person does not let his left hand know what his right hand is doing, and when he prays in his closet, and when gives alms in secret. For instance, in Sunday school, the teacher asked the class whether or not we had ever read the Book of Mormon. Making a lame joke, I left my arm up and drew attention to it. “Everybody sees my hand is up, right? That means I’ve read the Book of Mormon.” I don’t mean to disrespect the scriptures, and I could go ahead and bear my testimony of them. But the point is the totem of not just the Book of Mormon itself as a publication, but the act of reading it. The group may determine what it holds as totems, but the individual determines, even interprets, the meaning and significance of the established totems.
This leads me to think of the real meaning of religion. Religion is what we invent for ourselves, it would seem. And whether or not that invention would include the aspect of spirituality, which mistakenly goes hand-in-hand with religiosity, then becomes a decision for the individual to make. Just because someone is religious does not necessarily denote spirituality. A person is religious by his or her conviction to the religion’s respective totem. Totems in the LDS faith would include males wearing a white shirt to church, going to church and attending other activities, hanging pictures of temples and deity in the house, and even paying tithing, but only when someone is watching. These totems intrinsically are neither good nor bad. But their value is determined by their use. The cross from religious to spiritual comes when the person does not let his left hand know what his right hand is doing, and when he prays in his closet, and when gives alms in secret. For instance, in Sunday school, the teacher asked the class whether or not we had ever read the Book of Mormon. Making a lame joke, I left my arm up and drew attention to it. “Everybody sees my hand is up, right? That means I’ve read the Book of Mormon.” I don’t mean to disrespect the scriptures, and I could go ahead and bear my testimony of them. But the point is the totem of not just the Book of Mormon itself as a publication, but the act of reading it. The group may determine what it holds as totems, but the individual determines, even interprets, the meaning and significance of the established totems.
Locke
I see Locke as a very responsible philosopher. While being a devout Christian and staunch supporter of a solid political system, he realized the danger in blindly subscribing to either. Trigg explains Locke’s observation of religion, that in its context, ‘men often appear most irrational, and more senseless than beasts themselves.’ What a sad, but true description of how religion can leave men. Locke would agree that reason and choice are essential elements to human being-ness, and even gifts from God. They are what separate us from all other animals. What is interesting, however, is that many other things that make us distinctly human are not objects of us not using this gift of reason. Locke wants tradition to fall under the scruples of reason. If no tradition were unreasonable, then there would be no incentive for us to double-check them; really think and ponder over whether or not they make any sense. Locke explains that God is reasonable, and that he would give neither religion nor tradition contrary to reason. And so, all things are subject to reason, even God.
I wonder what empiricists and agnostics would counter-argue to Locke’s inclusion of reason into religion. Even science requires what religious folk call a ‘leap of faith’ in order to truly subscribe to what the scientific method yields. The difference from faith is that science calls these leaps ‘assumptions.’ And without reasonable assumptions, the validity of the science goes away. Once a religious person makes the spiritual assumption that God exists, the rest of his or her claim to faith can be explained reasonably.
I wonder what empiricists and agnostics would counter-argue to Locke’s inclusion of reason into religion. Even science requires what religious folk call a ‘leap of faith’ in order to truly subscribe to what the scientific method yields. The difference from faith is that science calls these leaps ‘assumptions.’ And without reasonable assumptions, the validity of the science goes away. Once a religious person makes the spiritual assumption that God exists, the rest of his or her claim to faith can be explained reasonably.
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