I have forgotten the beginning of the quote
that has to do with the complexities of Medieval thought,
except that it ends:
". . . except a lynx, which is said to be able, in the thickest darkness,
to see things that exist nowhere".
I am not sure how it happened, but somehow,
in the face of what human reason can discover,
and what it cannot accept, many religions have taken refuge in blind faith.
You know the routine: "I cannot rationally demonstrate it,
but I believe in god, and angels, and life after death, and miracles,
and creationism, and a hundred other things that, even in the thickest darkness, exist nowhere." The essence of rational thought, and scientific thought, is not faith, but doubt.
If someone says the moon is made of green cheese,
reason asks what might falsify that claim.
That is to say, let doubt test the thesis.
There is a method to that madness, because what is left
after every reasonable doubt has done its work
is a pretty sturdy claim to something.
Truth, to science, is not an absolute claim to anything.
It is a confidence that something is stout enough to be assumed.
The doubting never stops, of course, because who wants to deny
that we might have been wrong, or that something better
is beginning to emerge? Scientific truth is always just the best we know,
until something even better becomes clear.
We get there, not by believing, but by doubting.
There are claims that are so goofy that not even a good,
sturdy doubt seems to get at them.
If you claim that you have an invisible, non-material,
little green leprechaun sitting on your shoulder
who whispers amusing comments to you, keeping you in good humor,
I, at least, cannot think of a good way to disprove it.
But it doesn't matter whether you believe it or not.
Nothing is changed. OK! You smile a lot, amused
at what is going on around you! A leprechaun!
So much of what people claim to believe by pure faith
is something like a leprechaun. You can't prove it,
and neither can it be disproved. It sits on their shoulders
in the thickest darkness, invisible even to a lynx.
Oddly, it is the relative certainties of science that provide
the most enduring comfort to the mind, because ideas
that have been subjected to our most insightful doubts emerge tested.
We can fairly depend on the survivors of the gauntlet of doubt.
Evolution is a sturdy theory, sturdy enough to be called "a fact",
not because it is absolute truth, but because it has withstood 150 years
of the most intense scrutiny. Doubt has done its best.
Confidence is not gained by blind faith. Blind faith is afraid of doubt.
Blind faith has to be blind to intelligent scrutiny.
Blind faith is simply a passionate affirmation:
"Leave me alone! I believe it! I want to believe it!"
Compare that with what remains after you have asked yourself
whether something could possibly be true;
after you have exercised every reasonable doubt.
It is what remains when doubt has done its best
that provides reasonable peace of mind.
that has to do with the complexities of Medieval thought,
except that it ends:
". . . except a lynx, which is said to be able, in the thickest darkness,
to see things that exist nowhere".
I am not sure how it happened, but somehow,
in the face of what human reason can discover,
and what it cannot accept, many religions have taken refuge in blind faith.
You know the routine: "I cannot rationally demonstrate it,
but I believe in god, and angels, and life after death, and miracles,
and creationism, and a hundred other things that, even in the thickest darkness, exist nowhere." The essence of rational thought, and scientific thought, is not faith, but doubt.
If someone says the moon is made of green cheese,
reason asks what might falsify that claim.
That is to say, let doubt test the thesis.
There is a method to that madness, because what is left
after every reasonable doubt has done its work
is a pretty sturdy claim to something.
Truth, to science, is not an absolute claim to anything.
It is a confidence that something is stout enough to be assumed.
The doubting never stops, of course, because who wants to deny
that we might have been wrong, or that something better
is beginning to emerge? Scientific truth is always just the best we know,
until something even better becomes clear.
We get there, not by believing, but by doubting.
There are claims that are so goofy that not even a good,
sturdy doubt seems to get at them.
If you claim that you have an invisible, non-material,
little green leprechaun sitting on your shoulder
who whispers amusing comments to you, keeping you in good humor,
I, at least, cannot think of a good way to disprove it.
But it doesn't matter whether you believe it or not.
Nothing is changed. OK! You smile a lot, amused
at what is going on around you! A leprechaun!
So much of what people claim to believe by pure faith
is something like a leprechaun. You can't prove it,
and neither can it be disproved. It sits on their shoulders
in the thickest darkness, invisible even to a lynx.
Oddly, it is the relative certainties of science that provide
the most enduring comfort to the mind, because ideas
that have been subjected to our most insightful doubts emerge tested.
We can fairly depend on the survivors of the gauntlet of doubt.
Evolution is a sturdy theory, sturdy enough to be called "a fact",
not because it is absolute truth, but because it has withstood 150 years
of the most intense scrutiny. Doubt has done its best.
Confidence is not gained by blind faith. Blind faith is afraid of doubt.
Blind faith has to be blind to intelligent scrutiny.
Blind faith is simply a passionate affirmation:
"Leave me alone! I believe it! I want to believe it!"
Compare that with what remains after you have asked yourself
whether something could possibly be true;
after you have exercised every reasonable doubt.
It is what remains when doubt has done its best
that provides reasonable peace of mind.
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