In Sputnik’s Orbit
A few thoughts to tide you over…
Watch the following in its entirety before reading further.
In debates over belief, people often assert “I know what I know, and you can’t tell me I don’t”.
But do you? I–personally–have heard this odd sort of skepticism used to defend gnostic faith in phenomena as diverse as God, ghosts, UFOs, groundwater pollution, and Chupacabra. Don’t get me wrong, I am not asserting that any of these beliefs were wrong—but they were unfounded, at least on the grounds given.
Given what we now know about the functioning of the brain, it is clear that all experience is an illusion, or more accurately, a simulacrum, a shadow of meaning woven together from what the brain thinks is important. The video illustrates this in a fun way (concentrate on counting passes and you may miss the gorilla) but it’s much deeper than that. Right now, part of what you think you see is faked by your brain to cover the rather large blind spots in your field of view. A good portion of the peripheral vision you actually DO see is never consciously accessible, but IS available to help you avoid stumbling in the dark. Based on these revelations, can you really be sure of anything you observe?
The answer, flatly, is “no”, but returning to our theme of contradictory views, what are we to make of this new understanding? Some will assert that, since we cannot trust our observations, we cannot trust science to reveal the truth, since it is ultimately based on observation. But we have no other source of information except for observation. If you believe in God, you do so because you read of him in scripture, because you were told of him, because you intuit his existence, or because he speaks to you or makes himself known to you. These are all observations. All start with electrochemical potentiations within the brain, all are subject to comprehensible bias and distortion.
Given that the brain is clearly hardwired to find patterns and look for boogiemen, what are we to make of perceptions of ghosts or icons burned into toast or the cloud I recently saw, clearly “flipping the bird” at the one area of town that has gotten rain all summer long? And given our fear and our foibles, how are we to evaluate our experience of God or other intangibles against the claims of others?
Ultimately, the answer can only be careful observation. Call it science, call it prayer, or call it existential metaphysics. “Knowledge” not tested against the measuring stick of reality is sure to be mistaken, and prophets claiming knowledge “beyond measuring” are invariably false.
The theological implication, of course, is that belief in the truth should neither require nor admit of faith, and this runs in stark contrast to what many people have been taught. Still, we should not be bothered by this. God understands. He made us this way.
This is a wonderful illustration or how different groups can see common wisdom in radically different views.
This euphonious aphorism was recently used in a TED lecture and immortalized by Symphony of Science and YouTube. Usually atributed to Gandhi (the Mahatma) , it actually goes back at least to Saint Isidore of Seville (c. 560 – 636 in FPA Book of Quotations (1952) by Franklin Pierce Adams).
To rationalists, it is a fundamental truism, reminding us that our existence is precious and fleeting and made wonderful by rational inquiry and understanding. But to Isodore, who was perhaps the last of the ancient Christian philosophers, it was an equally fundamental truism meaning the exact opposite, that mortal life is an affliction, rendered endurable by piety and study of the scripture in preparation for eternity.
Both are right, even though both cannot be right, and handhi and Mohammed, who actually said very similar things, were just Johnny come lately.
Incidentally, the attribution to Ghandi is probably due more than anything to popular awareness (Isodore is not well known), illustrating yet another truth—opinion does not grow more correct with popularity.
We all know the ancient Chinese curse, but in fact, every age is an “interesting time” and always filled with challenges, hopes and fears. We wouldn’t have it any other way, because life is a ballet of risk and reward. Let us not fear what is or may become, but think and do and understand, and take a hand in shaping times to come.
How many of us can recall the one event in our lives that started us down the path we now follow?
My professional life has always revolved around looking at the world analytically, and seeing what others do not. Whether this ability is acquired or innate i cannot say, but I do know when it first became a part of who I am.
In the late ‘60s, I was an Air Force brat, living on Ellsworth Air Force Base near Rapid City, South Dakota. At Ellsworth, the past and the future sat in uneasy company. Shiny new B52s practiced for Armageddon while cattle and buffalo searched out a living among the tumbleweeds and arrowheads. Overhead, astronauts carried human ingenuity to another world.
Our family traveled all over the region, from the geysers of Yellowstone to the craggy gray foothills of the badlands. And in this desolate, dusty landscape, some of my earliest memories are of visits to the Exxon station with its free maps, its tell bottles of grape Nehi, and the courteous attendant with his denim suspenders and dangling oily rag.
Today, it is hard to imagine the import that the gas station had in that time and place. Paved roads were scarce. The idea of a car running 100,000 miles before the first tune-up was science fiction. A family that drove off into the wilds and then broke down might literally never be found.
So as I sat in my mother’s lap in the front seat of our green ’65 Mustang, or on the folded-down armrests of our Big Black Lincoln, I would watch through dust-caked windows as the attendant started the gas pumping and lifted the hood to poke and prod and inspect all the magical gizmos that kept the engine going. Then he would slam the hood with a shudder, and pick up a squeegee.
This was the part that fascinated me. The Squeegee was easy enough to understand, but the way he used it caught my attention. It was always the same procedure, and even when the young assistant was there to help, he did it the same way:
1. First he would scrub one side or the other.
2. Then with a practiced hand, he would wipe off the soapy water and, at the end of each stroke, lift the tool and use his rag to wipe JUST THE TOP of the squeegee.
3. Then he would scrub on the other side of the windscreen, but when he started wiping this side, he would wipe the ENTIRE LENGTH of the squeegee.
Well of course, the reason for this is obvious if you’ve ever cleaned a windshield. But it wasn’t to me at the age of 3 or 4. I had to reason it out. And once I did, I suddenly had possession of something far more important than a mundane car care tip. I had reasoned something out that obviously those around me took for granted. It may seem cute or even silly now, but to a toddler, that was real power, and it started me down my path.