Philosophy/Science Contrasts

I've written several blogs on the contrasts between science and philosophy. Having been educated in science and having pursued a career in it, I find it to be more understandable than philosophy. My logical scientific mind has often struggled to comprehend the imprecise nature of philosophical reasoning and debate.

Long after retirement, I have drifted away from science's demands for exactness and increasingly into philosophy's realm of fuzziness. I have come to appreciate philosophy and its search for knowledge. I have come to understand that science and philosophy really have very similar goals—as seen by their similar etymological roots. The word science stems from the Latin word scientia, which means “to know.” The word philosophy stems from the Greek word philosophia, which means “love of wisdom.” So they both are about knowledge, learning, logic, understanding, and truth.

I believe that there are, however, several distinct differences between science and philosophy—differences that sometimes can be very significant, especially in the manner in which adherents of each discipline pursue knowledge; in fact, differences that even can create antagonisms between them. A few of these disparities have spoken to me in recent years, as I've come to be more comfortable with the philosophical approach to gaining insight and wisdom. Here are five differences—not a complete list by any means, but the salient ones that I've encountered.

First, while science is precise, philosophy tends to be indistinct and often inexact. While science is quantitative, philosophy is qualitative. Scientists want repeatability and they use procedures that many others can follow, importantly to obtain the same results. A scientific theory does not become widely accepted until many different scientists follow comparable paths and come to the same conclusions. Philosophers, however, often take very different paths, come to different conclusions, and vehemently disagree with each other. They love to engage in seemingly endless disputes.

Second, science deals with “what is,” while philosophy often considers “what ought to be.” Morality often is a central part of philosophy, while science is amoral—though not at all immoral. Science studies Nature, which just is. So being right or wrong in a moral sense is irrelevant.

Third, science is structured such that, step by step, researchers relentlessly close in on a definitive answer. It often is a cooperative effort, as scientific teams work in concert to merge to a solution. Although philosophers also seek solutions, they often work individually and think in very different ways from each other, so they will sometimes come to a conclusion that is viewed as essentially false by fellow philosophers. Hence, the source of endless debates.

Fourth, while science addresses the whole cosmos—thus we have countless scientific disciplines—philosophy is focused on the human mind. To science the human mind is but the tiniest sliver of its domain. This is a primary reason why philosophy tends to be so subjective: it's the human mind studying the human mind. It's bound to be a bit parochial, opinionated, and even prejudiced.

Fifth, while science relentlessly progresses over time—gradually seeking answers and building its knowledge base—philosophy seems to be wrestling with the same questions today that it faced two to three millennia ago. Has philosophy not progressed as much? Do the questions posed by philosophers have no definitive answers? Are the questions so complex and vague that conclusive answers may never come? Are philosophers asking unanswerable questions?

There's a little truth in all these questions, but I suspect there's another possibility why philosophers continue to ponder many of the same questions, century after century. I think that a major factor of philosophy's apparent sluggishness is due to that unique quality it has: its attention to morality. Philosophers—like prophets—often offer messages to the masses that the people do not want to hear. Uncomfortable truths—like scientists’ global-warming message—can be clearly laid out, but people (especially political leaders) often refuse to listen. Thus, while humanity could progress and change for the better, the cost is often regarded as too high to pay. We'd rather bask in our existing laziness, than put hard work into positive and necessary change. 

A philosopher once said that philosophy is “the right way to think about things.” In that statement right there we can see a big contrast between science and philosophy: science doesn't give a hoot if our thinking is the right way or not—its truths are independent of the human mind's rightness of thinking.

Science, Philosophy, and Religion

I have blogged a few times about the differences between science and philosophy. I was educated and trained as a scientist, and have found it a struggle to comprehend the philosopher's way of thinking. Since retiring to the country to follow a simpler life, I no longer professionally practice science, so it's given me an opportunity to turn to philosophy to work at trying to grasp some of its concepts. It ain't been easy! It's like moving to another country as an adult—after your inherent language-learning skills have drastically declined from when you were two years old—and struggling with a very different language in a very different culture. But thanks to several online courses in philosophy, I'm beginning to be a bit conversant with it.

Just as a little background (and to remind myself of the contrast), here are the dictionary definitions of the two disciplines:

• Science: “the intellectual and practical activity encompassing the systematic study of the structure and behavior of the natural world, through observation and experiment” Root meaning: “to know.”
• Philosophy: “the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence.” Root meaning: “love of wisdom.”

So science is an activity, while philosophy is a study. Science is an objective examination of the natural world (which includes humans), while philosophy is a subjective examination of what we humans know or can come to know. While the ancient thinkers believed that we can arrive at truth and knowledge through sheer reasoning, science conducts experiments to develop knowledge. The difference is sort of like the study of the properties of the external world (science) versus the study of the internal world or of our mind's ability to grasp the external world (philosophy).

While today's science is partitioned into many disciplines, philosophy has also grown to be categorized into several branches. One of my online courses defined four subdisciplines in philosophy:

1. Metaphysics—What is there? What's it like?
2. Epistemology—What can we know? How do we know?
3. Value theory—What's good/bad? How can we be good/bad?
4. Logic—Which links it all together. (I quickly become swamped when reading logic. It's yet beyond me.)

When we delve into these four branches, we find ourselves facing moral, aesthetic, and value questions. We get into questions of what we should do, and what is right or wrong.

Science, on the other hand, is amoral (not immoral, as some people would say)—it is by and large unconcerned with the rightness or wrongness of what it studies. Thus, for example, many scientists engaged in the development of the atomic bomb in World War II, with little moral examination. That is not to say that scientists ignored the moral questions. For example, even though he had a hand in initiating the US's atomic bomb program, Einstein later came to regret his role. The point is that science does not include moral evaluations as part of its activities. That's philosophy's business.

I find it interesting how differently many religions approach and interpret these scientific and philosophical questions about the nature of the world and the nature of human knowledge. Religions have a very different perspective. Yes, humans can reason, religions say, but truth comes from the gods, or the one God. Thus, truth (as well as morality and values) is found in scripture or possibly through mystical insight, but not through human reasoning.

This religious perspective is often taken to an extreme by religious fundamentalists, who contend that everything known or worth knowing can be found in scripture. This approach does not really seek understanding through the gradual acquisition of knowledge, but by locating finality (fixed and complete answers) in scripture. This difference is a source of most of the conflict between religion and the disciplines of science and philosophy. This conflict is largely absent, however, with nonfundamentalist religious people—people who may revere scripture, but do not contend that it is the sole repository of knowledge and wisdom.

With every online course I take, my appreciation for both science and philosophy grows. I also gain better understanding of the basis of conflict between how these two cognitive ways of looking at reality clash with religious fundamentalism—and realize that there need not be conflict with all religious belief.

Science Struggles—Part 2

There's a related struggle that is going on—primarily in academia—that illustrates another misunderstanding that the public has about science. It also stems from too many science educators teaching science as a simple sequential series of facts. I believe this is why so many students dislike and even dread the most basic science subject: physics.

I taught physics at the university level for a few years and was taken aback by the fact that many students were very anxious and were fretting over a subject that I loved. I soon realized that the physics text that the college had selected before I arrived was filled with intimidating equations and expected students to memorize those equations and their associated facts, with little emphasis on gaining any insight into their meaning. The second year of teaching I switched to a delightful physics text that stressed the concepts behind the equations, while minimizing their manipulation. I was delighted to see that many students now responded with far more receptivity to this most basic science. Class time now included lively discussions that had not been there before.

Without realizing it at the time, I was introducing a little of the philosophy of physics to my students. I have since become much more aware of the relevance of the philosophy of science—a subject that is even more misunderstood than science itself. Many people—particularly college students—are resistant to including a philosophical perspective to science. After all, isn't science a very tangible and concrete subject, while philosophy is fuzzy and mostly a matter of opinion?

It is a mistake to treat science mostly as a dry, objective study of the nature of things. Unfortunately, many scientists seem to encourage that kind of thinking, but it can lead to the perception that science has nothing to do with emotions, ethics, and moral choices. This may be partly why the public looks upon scientists as self-involved, introspective, and out of touch with the real world—and possibly even contributes to public distrust of science.

There is a lively field of study called the “philosophy of science,” that too many people—including a fair number of scientists—are either unaware of or distrust. But this field asks crucial questions that we all should be asking. It addresses questions that mere facts alone can't. It probes the understanding of science, rather than just its knowledge. It asks how we know these things, and are there some things we can't know? Is our understanding valid? Can our scientific knowledge guide us ethically or not? When we feel that we've improved our knowledge about a subject, how do we know that? How do we evaluate the improvement? What are the limitations of science? How do we discern true science from pseudoscience? These are important philosophical questions to be asking. If scientists were more open to them, it's possible that the disconnect between scientists and the public could be repaired some.

So there are many reasons why science is struggling in the eyes of the public. At a time when scientific discoveries are coming at a speedy pace and technology (the application of science) is rushing onward, this is not the time for poor communication between scientists and citizens; let alone mistrust and misunderstanding. The near future will be bringing many serious challenges to humanity. Those challenges need to be met by a robust science community working with a scientifically literary populace.

René's Response (1/17/17)

There have been countless words strung together in response to René Descartes' cryptic quote; “Cogito ergo sum”. This Latin phrase of his is usually translated as “I think, therefore I am.” For most of us who can't read or speak Latin or who are not steeped in Enlightenment philosophy, Descartes' quip sounds very erudite, but what the hell did he mean? Is its significance of any relevance to the average modern mind?

I confess to feeling rather confused when I ponder René's response. I've read numerous interpretations over the years, but comprehension of “Cogito ergo sum” still pretty much escapes me. Then I recently read an article in the New Yorker magazine that helped me get a much better handle on the meaning of this phrase, in an article by Adam Kirsch, who is on the faculty of Columbia University. What really helped me was to get some background on 17^th century thinking in Europe, to see the context in which Descartes was pondering the weighty quandaries of existence.

As the Enlightenment unfolded, the West was the world's economic, military, and intellectual leader. Western science was flowering and, in the process, was refuting much of Christianity's long-established dogma. As people's minds were being freed to open to new realities, their old truths were having to be abandoned. No, the Earth is not at the center of the universe. No, many of the supernatural explanations you've counted on for ages are now seen to be false. No, the paths of the planets are not determined by the perfection of God's “harmony of the spheres,” but by simple physical laws discovered by Isaac Newton. The list goes on.

In short, much of the old certainty was being cast aside, and it rattled many people. There were so many new facts and verities flooding the Western mind that people felt cast adrift. Where were they now supposed to anchor their convictions? Many of their previous ways of thinking were being trashed. What was reality? What was truth? What was illusion? Is there anything people could count on?

Descartes was a philosopher and many people at the time turned to philosophers—if only because these thinkers had been pondering these same questions for centuries. One of the unique qualities of philosophy is that there are no final answers to the big questions of life. Humans may have found a definitive answer in the 17^th century as to why the planets did their dance, but the same philosophical questions that had puzzled Socrates and his fellow Greek sages 2000 years earlier were still being examined and debated by Enlightenment thinkers; as they are today.

One crucial thing that science did in the Enlightenment period was that, as it led to truths, it helped people understand that our human senses give us but a partial understanding of reality. So what can I believe in? What can I count on? Descartes pondered these questions. He decided to go back to the beginning, to doubt everything, to strip one's existence to the bare bone. After doing so, he wondered if there is anything one can be certain of? Is the world real? Do my senses tell me anything about the actual world? Do I even exist?

His conclusion: the only thing I can believe in is the fact that I'm thinking; that I'm conscious. My mind—being the only thing I can experience—must be real. Without my mind, there's no me. So I am thinking, thus I must exist. He stripped it back to the basics; back to the only thing we can count on and experience: the workings of our mind. With that fundamental reality, I can then conclude that I must be. Then, with that grounding, one could rebuild one's worldview.

Gainsaying Guidance—Part 2

So what is the value of a list of negative instructions? To begin with, it leaves one with room for varying interpretations of a situation, so the guidelines can be adaptable to different situations. The lack of explicitness provides for a flexibility that can change with time and circumstances.

As another way to look at it, at any moment there are a wide variety of actions I could take. Which of these actions would cause me problems in the future and which would be beneficial for me and others? It's often not obvious. If some kind of inner negative guidance helps me avoid doing something stupid, I can dodge a lot of problem behaviors. That's good. Then I can put attention toward the many other (better) alternatives, trusting my daemon to steer me clear of the grief of poor choices. I thus have much more freedom and autonomy.

The numerous (positive) alternative choices can open up a whole new world of possibilities that I might otherwise have never explored. Which are the “right” choices to select? There may be no right choice, but instead a host of good choices, each one resulting in something new and wonderful. With help from my daemon, I've been granted the freedom to pursue any number of creative avenues and avoid dead ends. New worlds open up to me that I could never have imagined—especially if I had been pushed toward just one choice. If I can trust the voice of the daemon to steer me away from stupid choices, I'm free to find alternatives that I might otherwise never have discovered.

Another way to consider this is that the inner daemon can alternatively be considered to be a voice of conscience or prudence. Thus, it can become a voice of moral authority, because it can stop me from doing unethical things. That's exactly how Socrates saw it. As he pondered a certain action, and if the voice was silent, he assumed that the action was moral, was appropriate, or good.

In fact, during his trial before his fellow Athenians, Socrates had several opportunities to acquit himself, but because his daemon remained silent, he did not play it safe, but stuck his neck out, to find it under attack. In the end, he concluded that death was OK, because it is not evil—otherwise his daemon would have advised him to use his considerable persuasive oratorical talents to save himself.

I find inspiration in Socrates' description of how his negative daemon guided him through life. There is no audible inner voice of mine that I have been able to discern, but the concept of some kind of conscience that steers me away from immoral behavior, while leaving me free to choose the many ethical behaviors available, is inspiring. Socrates is a good guide for heading in an ethical direction.

Gainsaying Guidance—Part 1

Socrates has been regarded for some 2500 years as one of the first and foremost Western philosophers. His influence continues to be felt in modern society. He had many lessons about knowledge and reality to teach us. Many of his fellow Athenians flocked to listen to his teachings. Certainly, there were (and still are) detractors who like to point out that some of what he taught was wrong. After all, any philosopher is bound to have other philosophers find fault with their ideas—it's the nature of the profession. And, after all, wasn't Socrates sentenced to death for his teachings? There obviously were some Athenians who had problems with his message.

I don't wish to dive here into the controversy about the validity of Socrates' worthiness or rightness of his teachings. I don't feel qualified to do so, but I do feel that he had some excellent ideas to inspire us moderns. In particular, he had two ideas about his personal life that I have found very useful.

For one, he maintained that, although he had acquired a reputation for having a large amount of knowledge (making him a wise dude in others' eyes), he was keenly aware of how much he didn't know. He was regarded by many of his fellow Athenians as wise, and he repeatedly demonstrated his wisdom, but he never posed as being a sage; he never claimed to be wise. He repeatedly talked about how little he understood, despite having devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge. I find this attitude far more appealing than those who act foolishly, while insisting that they have all the answers. (This was the source of his conflict with many powerful Athenians.) But this post is about Socrates' second idea... maybe I'll pursue this first one another time.

The second idea or practice of Socrates that speaks to me is his description of an inner voice that spoke to him, as he was about to do something. He called this voice his “daemon,” which he saw as sort of an interior moral teacher; he even saw it as a form of divinity. His daemon always warned him what not to do in a given situation. And here's the crucial point: it was a negative voice, delivering sort of a gainsaying guidance to him. His daemon (in modern times the word has interestingly evolved into the word “demon”) never indicated what he should do, it never gave him advice or direction—it just warned him away from certain problematic activities.

Again, this experience places Socrates at odds with most people—who would prefer to have their inner guidance be positive. They'd like to have their interior voice tell them what to do. It's easier. In fact, many people—when they lack that inner positive (or negative) voice—turn to external advice for their proper behavior. That's what the dogma of political, social, and religious institutions is pretty much about. “Do what I tell you to do, and all will be well.”

Socrates is not the sole proponent of negative guidance, however. Other wisdom traditions have offered similar gainsaying guidance. For example, the Ten Commandments are a prime example of negative mandates: “Thou shalt not...,” and the list goes on.

More on Socrates' negative daemon next time...

Philosophy for Kids—Part 2

What is exciting about these experiments in philosophy is that educators have noted definitive benefits that kids derive from philosophical discussions. For example, students' reading and communication skills improve. Their critical thinking skills improve, as they learn to develop reasoning and sound arguments. The value in these kinds of open-ended questions is that—like most all questions in philosophy—they have no right/wrong answers. This is valuable for kids, because it encourages them to break free of the limited mental framework of multiple-choice standardized tests.

When kids become exposed to philosophy in this manner, they begin to change their way of thinking and expressing themselves. They learn what it means to become a little skeptical and begin to question things, without it causing them to feel either cynical or helpless. They develop confidence without hubris. They begin to exercise independent judgment and self-correction, and even develop a respect for diversity and exhibit empathy for others. Are those not advantageous qualities for anyone to acquire?

Consider these two comments from 5^th graders who became exposed to philosophical discussions: “I've started to actually solve arguments and problems with philosophy. And it works better than violence or anything else.” And another 5^th grader who participated in a discussion of the possibility of time travel: “Time is different for us than it is for the universe, because 100 years passes in a flash for the universe, but seems like a long time to us... so time is a bit like a feeling.” Talk about an insightful comment!

Reading these articles about encouraging grade schoolers to explore the true nature of things via philosophical discussions gave me lots of encouragement... on at least two fronts. First, it paints a very optimistic picture of what can happen when kids are introduced to open-ended thinking. I believe this can be a very effective antidote to an atmosphere in our schools that stresses standardized tests, which encourage narrow thinking and a viewpoint that emphasizes right/wrong responses which quickly are forgotten, shortly after the test is over. Valuable skills such as critical thinking, forming valid arguments, exercising discernment, and respecting diversity are too rare in our classrooms—let alone in the wider society.

Second, this news encourages this old hermit to keep plugging away at studying philosophy. If a 10-year-old kid can get into it, I should be able to. It's also nice to have it pointed out that I don't need to master the inscrutable prose and thick thinking of Descartes or Hegel. Yes, they have challenging and probing ideas and questions that tax my brain and it's worth doing so, but it's nice to be reminded that some of the same learning experience can be had by asking an elementary question such as: “Can you be a good person if you've done bad things?”

Philosophy for Kids—Part 1 (1/17/15)

OK, so here goes yet another blog posting on philosophy. I've written several times about my struggles to grasp the philosophical opuses that deep thinkers have created over the centuries. I find their ways of thinking rather foreign to my mind, which was trained in the sciences. I keep plugging at it, however, because I sense that there is significant value in pondering the “fundamental nature of knowledge,” as my dictionary defines philosophy.

I recently read a couple of articles that added a new dimension to the study of philosophy. According to these articles, there are several elementary school teachers in the US and UK who are bringing philosophy to their young students. What!? Are they trying to cram the esoteric teachings of Kant, Wittgenstein, Aristotle, and Nietzsche into the naive noggins of these youngsters? Why that seems to be a worse form of torture than forcing kids to endure those incessant standardized tests!

No, that's not the approach these teachers are taking. They are not trying to get their kids to grasp ancient philosophers' esoteric arguments or ponder obscure subjects such as how many angels could be stuffed on the head of a pin.

What these teachers realize is that philosophy is all about ruminating on the true nature of things—or what our brains take to be truth—and that it's a natural thing for kids to do. Kids are inherently curious. When encouraged to, they have all manner of questions they come up with; questions that probe the very depths of existence. Kids wonder about everything; indeed, these teachers realize that their students are natural philosophers.

The teachers have discovered that, when given the opportunity to do so, kids love to discuss and share their thoughts on open-ended questions. Questions such as: What's the most treasured object in the world? Who should have power? Can you be a good person if you've done bad things? Is the Earth a coincidence? If our deep ancestors could not speak, how did we learn language? Since you can have dreams inside of dreams, how do you know when you're dreaming?

Additionally, kids enjoy kicking around open-ended, fuzzy topics such as environmental ethics, interspecies communication, the existence of free will, the limits of knowledge, and even artificial intelligence.

More on child philosophy next time...

Philosophical Reflections

I have come rather late in life (in my mid 70s) to the study of philosophy. I have written several times in this blog about my struggles with trying to wrap my head around philosophy and its manner of looking at our world and our human place in it. In so many ways philosophy and science (the latter is my academic training and career field) view the world quite differently and thus employ quite different language. Science is empirical—it's concerned with measurement and objective observation. Philosophy is about logic—it's concerned with reasoning and argument. Science is about what is. Philosophy is more about why and what ought (to be).

So having retired long ago from a career of scientific pursuits, I've been free to try to explore philosophy. It ain't been easy for me. It's like learning a new language after reaching adulthood: not only is it new, but one has to unlearn a few ways of perceiving the world, in order to think in unaccustomed manners.

What has helped my mission is several free online courses (MOOCs, Massive Online Open Courses) that are being offered these days... wonderful resources. A recent course that I have begun is offered by FutureLearn, out of the UK. This course, “Introduction to Philosophy,” comes from the University of Edinburgh. Right out of the starting gate, the philosophy professor gave a definition of philosophy that I could relate to: “Philosophy is the activity of working out the right way to think about things.” This interpretation has two aspects to it that appeal to me: (1) philosophy is an activity—not just a process of mental gymnastics and (2) it's about “working out the right way to think about things.” Thus, when philosophically involved, one is both animated and engaged in an ongoing process: figuring things out. The latter aspect suggests that philosophy is not necessarily about solving problems and reaching answers, but about asking open-ended questions.

The lecturer went on to say that there are many disciplines that people may engage in, such as science, law, medicine, etc. Then there are the philosophies of each of these subjects: philosophy of science, philosophy of law, and philosophy of medicine. What's the difference? The disciplines themselves involve people doing things, while their respective philosophies take a step back and ask “why?” Why do we do those things? Are we doing them appropriately and morally? Should we be changing how we do them? What ought we to be doing?

The lecturer likens philosophy to something children naturally do: when they persistently ask “why?” But philosophy is also an adult activity, in that the one who asks questions is also (like the child's parents) seeking answers. So the adult philosophical task becomes, What do we need to do, to find those answers?

The lecturer also spoke to my personal struggles with philosophy, when he acknowledged that philosophy is difficult. Why? Because it challenges our usual way of thinking about and looking at the world. Philosophy demands that we let go of our customary (and comfortable) paradigms and venture into uncertainty. It demands that we admit to our ignorance of the world and dive into the unknown. That's not easy for us to do.

It's a struggle, but I think I'm beginning to get a handle on it. These kinds of questions are important to ask. The answers may not be forthcoming for some time, but the process keeps us evaluating and weighing what we do and why. That's a crucial process, and probably why philosophy is one of the oldest disciplines (excuse me... activities) of our species. Has it not brought us significant moral progress?

Philosophy's Foreignness

I have written a few blogs about the differences between philosophy and science. I chose science as my career path, because my inherent tendencies leaned in that direction. With a science background, however, I have struggled to parse the writings of philosophers, as they are rather foreign to the thinking of a scientist. That is a fascinating fact to me, since both science and philosophy are about knowledge and understanding; you'd think they might be more similar. In fact, a couple of millennia ago they were considered to be the same. Science arose out of the discipline of natural philosophy, but like close family members, after they go their own way, they have had many family squabbles ever since.

By definition, philosophy is, at its etymological root, the “love of wisdom”. Those who immerse themselves in philosophy are constantly examining and evaluating the nature of human ability to know. Philosophers explore the big, general questions that we often cannot answer, given our present state of knowledge.

This inability to currently know what the nature of the universe is, is in direct contrast to science's task: to describe what we do know. Science is practical and systematic. Scientists want to describe precisely what we know about our world. Philosophers often ask the questions about what we don't know. Science is more about today. Philosophy is more about what we might someday come to understand.

I just finished an online course on philosophy, presented by a professor at MIT. What drew me to try this course was its being offered by what many people consider to be the premier technical university in the world. So I hoped to learn better how to understand philosophy from someone teaching in a technical environment... maybe it'd be less foreign to me.

One beneficial result of my struggling through this course of introductory philosophy was finally arriving at the professor's last lecture. With my head spinning from the foreign (to me) way that philosophers express their ideas, he pointed out one of the major functions of philosophy: to be asking and pondering the big questions about knowledge that cannot be answered by what we currently understand. In other words, to ruminate on those questions that science cannot yet answer.

His example was to look back at the ancient Greek philosophers of two millennia ago. One of the central questions for them was, What are things made of? What is the fundamental essence of matter? Some suggested water, some air, some fire. A few prescient individuals (Democritus was one of them) suggested that there existed fundamental building blocks, which they called “atoms”—meaning individual entities that could never be further split. The insight into which of those alternative answers were correct required nearly another 2,000 years for humanity to generate—as science came into its own and was finally able to demonstrate the existence of atoms.

So philosophers today are often raising questions that we cannot answer today. Is there a God? What is knowledge? What does it mean to know? What is consciousness? What is free will? Science—let alone philosophers—cannot yet provide answers... maybe some day. In the meantime philosophers will debate and discuss.

I think that a crucial role that philosophy plays in civilization is to ask these and other unanswerable questions. Moreover, with today's understanding we often don't even know how to properly ask the questions. So maybe it's the job of philosophers to debate the issues, if only to frame good questions. If so, philosophy and science need not lock horns, but recognize that their disciplines are complementary and collaborative.

Philosophy or Science?—Part 2

In ancient Greece—where the foundations of Western knowledge were laid—there was initially just the discipline of philosophy. Science had yet to arise. (You might say that the old Greek philosophers sat around and thought, rather than got off their duffs and went out to run experiments—and you’d not be far off the truth.) 

In the pre-Socratic period (roughly 6^th to 3^rd centuries BCE) the philosophic aim of thinkers was to understand the basic character of the world; what was referred to as “natural philosophy.” Those ancient Greeks later turned their main attention from the natural world toward humans. When Socrates, Aristotle, and Plato came along, they were definitely interested more in ethics and politics. The branch of philosophy that addressed the natural world morphed into what we know as science, splitting from human-centered philosophy. The science-versus-philosophy rift had begun. 

Aristotle and his cohorts felt that anything one needed to know about anything could be discovered through reason alone. The breach between philosophy and science widened in the growing realization by natural philosophers (scientists) that knowledge of the world needed to be verified by physical experiments. Human reasoning and logic alone can sometimes veer away from reality; they need to be kept in check by empirical observation. 

Galileo (17^th century CE) was one of the first true scientists; he advanced the science of mechanics by verifying his ideas through experiment, thereby trashing many of the ancient Greeks’ philosophic ideas about the natural world.

The disagreements between philosophy and science were kept to a minimum by the later rise of a discipline that has come to be called “philosophy of science.” Scientists, of course, cannot be absolutely objective, even if they try to be. They are human, after all, and make assumptions, have beliefs, and form opinions—some of them rather whacky at times. Thus, philosophy of science attempts to keep scientists on track by asking questions like: Can science be expected to lead to certainty and truth? What is the so-called scientific method and what are its limitations? Is a new or updated scientific theory/experiment closer to the truth than the old one? How do we know? How do we tell true science from pseudoscience?

By the middle of the 20^th century, however, science became increasingly specialized and partitioned itself into countless narrow areas of specialization. A person could spend a whole career in one of these restricted fields and become so steeped in its esoteric knowledge that she would be quite unable to converse in any depth with a scientist in what could be presumed to be a closely-related field. For example, a biologist studying the mating characteristics of a butterfly in Panama might not be able to understand a biologist researching a caterpillar-caused disease in oak trees in North America.

Specialization continued to add to fragmentation and compartmentalization of the growing number of scientific disciplines. If different scientists could not communicate very well with each other, what is to be said about those individuals pursuing the study of the philosophy of science in those arcane specialties? What appeared to be happening is that these “scientific” philosophers were neither able to keep up with the increasingly specialized scientists, nor maintain their connections to traditional philosophers. They seem to have been drawn into a kind of no-man's land, where they find themselves separated from both “pure” scientists and “pure” philosophers.

Where is this struggle going? I don't think anyone can predict. It's a 2,000-year-old conundrum that has been wrestled with by countless learned people. It appears to me that the current tussle is just the latest facet of an enduring struggle between philosophers and scientists. The fact that I can relate better to one camp (scientists) than the other, is just a measure of the bias of my education and my personal predilections. I think it's useful to try to understand the other camp, if only to widen one's otherwise narrow perspective. In a fundamental way, we're all philosophers and scientists.

Philosophy or Science?—Part 1

Having been educated in physics, I find myself relating more easily to an article on science than one on philosophy. When I encounter something written on a scientific topic, I find myself drawn to it—even if it's a branch of science that is over my head. At least I can pretty much follow the argument presented by the writer, though I may drop out part way through, because it's not a specialty that interests me (or that I can really comprehend).
 

When I read an article on philosophy, however, I often find myself quickly lost in a forest of philosophical jargon that soon abandons me to the depths of expressions and ideas that seem so foreign, that I get left behind. Things seem so squishy and ungrounded that I get lost among the glut of philosophical trees and completely lose any comprehension of the philosophical forest. I often give up, just after starting.

Now, I know that philosophy has an honored and deserved position in the pantheon of human ideas and has been life’s focus for many astute sages, so it makes sense for me to try to understand it. I also have read that in today's culture, scientists and philosophers sometimes lock horns with each other. Furthermore, I'm aware that during the ancient Greek period, science and philosophy were pretty much one in the same. These seem like conflicting thoughts that make it hard to wrap my head around, so I’m compelled to keep trying.

So what's going on? As someone with a scientific background, must I choose sides and therefore reject the teachings of philosophy, as some of today's leading scientists have done, or do I delve into the struggle and try to get a better understanding of philosophy, so that I might embrace it better than I currently am able to do?

Faced with a quandary such as this, I often turn to the dictionary, in an attempt to clarify my grasp of the central terms that I'm pondering. Here are the definitions of philosophy and science that I found:

·         Philosophy: the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence. Its root: love of wisdom.

·         Science: the intellectual and practical activity encompassing the systematic study of the structure and behavior of the physical and natural world, through observation and experiment. Its root: to know.

This tells me that philosophy might ask questions like: What's going on? What's the nature of things? How do we know that our understanding is valid? How can this knowledge guide us ethically? How do we improve our knowledge and how do we measure that improvement?

In contrast, while I see science asking some of the same questions, science does not necessarily address ethics. Science studies the “how” but not necessarily the “why.” While philosophy is primarily concerned with the human mind and its ability to comprehend reality, science is primarily concerned with the nature of the universe—independent of how the human mind might perceive it. 

More on science and philosophy next time...