There is a mountain. It rises up out of the desert floor, imposingly. Troops are massed on one side, their foe on the other. The army advances, but to engage the enemy they must traverse the heights or march around.

They march around.

Scribes note this.

The war is long over and the banners of both kingdoms have vanished, even out of memory. As nature would have it, so too has the mountain. Time and sandstorms have eroded and battered it into oblivion and all that remains of it is the hurried writing of an nameless scribe. On a parchment. Buried in the sand.

Millennia pass and a well meaning archaeologist happens upon the parchment; he does not happen upon the mountain. Other artifacts found nearby do not mention the mountain, though some mention a mountain several miles away. The archaeologist concludes the scribe placed the battle at this remaining mountain.

An excavation, however, will show no evidence of battle. Not a chariot. Not a spear. Not a bone. This is of course because no battle happened here — it happened at the other mountain. But the other mountain is gone and so the archaeologist must deduce the scribe recorded a fiction.

* * *

We observe from a fixed point. We assume — albeit safely — that everything around us has progressed to its current point linearly but we cannot account for those things which are hidden from investigation; we cannot account for a mountain that only one voice calling in the desert testifies to. How arrogant our belief that we have dominion and command of the what has come to pass.

Recently at City of God, in an article about how political sides are chosen, the author cited this article by John Haidt, explaining where our moral imperatives (things like justice, respect, loyalty) could possibly come from, via the evolutionary mechanism. Though I think this (evolution) can be a quite shaky platform to build any sort of epistemic or moral system on (and though it can often be an intellectual cop-out), the article was rather interesting. One statement just jumped out at me:

“..to explain why we don’t like to see suffering and often care for people who are not our children”

It is interesting that, globally and throughout history, people have extended care to others, unwarranted and undeserved.

An interesting explanation can be found in I and Thou, by Martin Buber. In this masterwork he outlines what the relation between humans should be, but what it (sadly) often is. He uses three short words to accomplish this objective: I, You, It.

How we should relate to each other, is seen in the I-You relation (this is also how we are to relate to God). It is, in the simplest terms, the purity of the relation of Being. No adjectives, no categories, no goals or agendas or conquests. However, what we are most used to is the I-It modality, in which we experience everything in objectified, codified terms.

What does this have to do with care? Well, I think the obligation so many of us feel at times, happens when the “I” in me sees the “I” in you. That is, when spirit speaks to spirit and we realize that something foundational is shared; that we extend into each other, somehow. We are often too self-involved to really tune in to this groaning within us, but it is this, our shared Being (the fact that we Are, that we are Human, and that we are grounded existentially in God), that compels even the most wicked to, at times, become capable of great acts of care.

In my previous post I was chewing over whether trying to convince someone to subscribe to your world view is a worthwhile exercise. Often, when trying to, one might make an appeal to authority. The problem is that, it seems every view has had reams of scholarship written defending it. So for any given view, no matter how salient, eloquent, or passionate it might be, there is no doubt somewhere in the world another work of comparable excellence supporting the diametric view.

So the question is: if one considers all works on a topic and assigns each one a value corresponding to its position (for example, materialism:1, idealism:-1), would the sum total be null? That is, does considering the entire scholarship of the philosophical tradition result no view being more acceptable than another?

That makes “appealing to authority” utterly useless. “Ok, you’ve cited a very well respected work. Here’s an equally respected work to the contrary.”

There is a counter-argument to every argument. This is not to say I think debate or discussion is useless, but I think the appeal to “scholarship” can be. Digging through the archives it seems gives us a valueless result when all sides are considered.

Blogging has introduced me in a new way to disagreement. You write something, you publish it, people argue, you fire back, ad infinitum (or so it seems, sometimes). It’s a great exercise. It’s refining. And, if conducted with some level of maturity, it is mutually beneficial.

But how often do people come to agree? How often is convincing someone even possible? It’s one thing if people share the same view beforehand, and need to iron out some semantical issues. But how often is person A able to convince person B, thus changing person B’s world view (I am of course talking about matters of philosophy, theology, ideology, etc)?

It seems that no matter how compelling an argument is or how salient the reasoning, there is seldom a winning over.

Consider the entire history of philosophy. Alfred North Whitehead said that philosophy is a “a series of footnotes to Plato” — I’d substitute Aristotle. It is between Plato and Aristotle that we see a symbol of the ongoing philosophical disagreement. Since then (and likely centuries prior) the dialectic has had full momentum, in some form or another. Between realism and idealism. Mysticism and naturalism. Republicans and democrats.

Think about it: every major work of philosophy has had an equally compelling counterpart claiming contrary points. In the 2000+ years of western philosophical tradition, we have not established a single solitary point that everyone can agree on. There is no commonly accepted epistemology. There is no real philosophy of mind or definition of human nature. There has never been more disagreement of the reality of God than in present day.

As other fields focus and approach some degree reliability and conclusion, it seems that in this one field, everything is spiraling outward in a tangle of threads that will never be woven together.

If convincing is so seldom possible, does that make the discussions ultimately moot?

The past several years, there’s been an increasingly common trend in video and film — the hand-cam. You know what I’m talking about; the camera is hand-held, and so shakes ever so slightly and unpredictably, offering a raw, “documentary” feel to the piece. I think most people assume it’s simply an aesthetic choice, and a faddish one. I think there’s something much more existential going on.

For me, the hand-cam serves as an interesting example of how our species is responding to life with technology. There are two points I would like to explore.

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Man is outward. Woman, inward. Man’s ambition is to extend himself and by doing so, prove that he is in fact a man. Woman need not prove anything, but rather desires that she might feel, herself, a woman. Men revere force and resilience and lastingness. Women, depth and permanence of a different kind — where men erect monuments, women would rather a field where upon life is the monument. Where a man’s complexities are rather exposed, a woman’s are buried and seldom encountered with full disclosure — and both would be glad to keep it that way.

Where man is a tower, woman is a canyon, the limits of each identical to each other, save the distance of polarity. Where there is fit, there must too be contrast and opposition, thought not necessarily strife — there must be difference where there is found complement.

For what thrill is a plain when it is on heights and in depths the human finds their vigor?

When the two at last concede — to share the horizon — there is no seam to be found. They continue on toward their limits, and it is by a mystery done together. By this same mystery the fit will not, by the end, have been lost. Both will have fused into one continuity of form, where, as the man extends the woman deepens, and where the woman deepens, she allows the man to extend again.

It is in each other they see the distance, complement, and furtherance that only gender can effect.

Should we be passive and see the hills and valleys washed away for tundra? I treasure the uneven terrain; humanity finds its colour in the slopes.

So what are we left with? Just to be clear, I’ll restate the major points I’ve tried to establish thus far (sorry if my syntax is not technically right):

[A-1] Humans create knowledge – knowledge is all the mind can work with
[A-2] Use of the senses results in a certain kind of knowledge – particulate knowledge (that is, knowledge from our experience and interaction with particles)
[A-3] Particulate knowledge cannot contain information that the senses cannot capture
[A-4] Our senses do not inform us about everything that exists
[A-5] Humans are able to think apart from particulate knowledge
[A] Particulate knowledge is incomplete

[B1] Humans can only ask questions about what they can think about – that is, they can only ask certain questions
[B2] If we can only ask certain questions, we can only gather certain answers
[B3] As we can only assemble certain questions and answers, we then form certain expectations, inferences, and directives with regards to what can be discovered
[B] Our expectations, inferences, and directives are incomplete

[C1]Any system that advocates the the exclusivity of [A] and [B] is necessarily incomplete as to what knowledge it can form
[C2] Modern-day science claims to to be the path to objective truth
[C3] Modern-day science posits [A] and [B]
[C4] Modern-day science cannot satisfy its claim, that being [C3]
[C] Modern-day science is logically fallacious

* * *

Science, though invaluable to human progress and as a method to answer some “whys,” cannot answer every “why.”

Here is a very delicate point, but in closing, one that I would like to leave you with:

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The great irony of the scientific method

What I’m about to suggest might seem, to some, absolutely outlandish, but I think if you follow the reasoning, you’ll see that there is some merit – that science is inherently self-defeating – inherently unscientific.

For something to be considered a scientifically valid hypothesis, if must meet a few requirements. The hypothesis must be testable and those tests must be repeatable. The results must be observable. The hypothesis must be falsifiable.

Now here is the irony:

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Let’s throw around some ideas about truth, and what actually makes one “valid.” A skeptical person asks, “Well, what good is it? So what if there is truth outside the reach of the scientific method? No one will agree on it! It’s a waste of time.”

This kind of response reveals an ever present presumption which underpins the hard scientific impetus, and it is one I’ve not yet heard discussed. It is this:

“Truth is only valuable if every one has the potential to agree with it. No one’s demanding that you do agree, but if there is no evidence, if there are no meaningful experiments, you don’t even give dissenters the possibility of being convinced, and you’ll just wind up in a relativistic hubbub.”

This can be nothing else but a presumption, and it lies at the heart of the scientific process. That is, the value or quality of a truth is tied to the potential for every human to embrace it, or, whether it is a candidate for universal agreement. This then means that a truth, even if only subscribed to by one person is inconsequential, regardless of whether it is truth or not. The ultimate distillation of that is that truth is in and of itself, irrelevant.

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A brief aside to talk with our friend David

I’ve just been reading a passage from David Hume’s A treatise of Human Nature*, about how we can come to some level of certainty in our investigations. It makes some good points (which I agree with and have thus far in my investigation, not disagreed with), and at other points falls catastrophically on its face. Let’s go!

[Edit: I have removed the first argument I made about this passage from Hume as I possibly have misunderstood a term he uses – demonstrable sciences – and applied to it meaning which he did not. I have thus replaced the older argument with what I feel to be a much stronger one. Thank you Dan for pointing out my error – I would hate to have continued on in it!]

We are permitted to substitute words for other words which would still manage to convey the initial concept accurately. “Concepts” afford us that luxury. We will apply such a substitution here, in order to make the argument more obvious to the reader:

Hume says these two things in the passage:

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