And what do I know of truth?
Edited from a free-writing excercise in the midst of insomnia.
And what do I know of truth? I only know how slippery it is, which means I may be onto something. Finding truth is a fool’s game, because anybody who really understands truth knows that they are completely unqualified to pronounce it. Yet not everything is liquid. There do seem to be fundamental truths, realities, call them what you will. Our perception is malleable, to be sure, but not infinitely malleable, and similarly grounded are our values. Perhaps it’s biology, or maybe it’s the tenuous presence of external reality, the same reality that we can only surmise without ever really experiencing. I might try to illuminate the things I think I’ve learned, if only I could find the words.
August 2nd, 2005 at 9:12 am
Truth: a slippery subject indeed. But, perhaps we can approach the question from a different, more practical angle. What if, instead, we asked what makes our beliefs true, or at least valuable to us? You could answer that our beliefs have value depending on whether or not they are true. But this answer gets us nowhere as it frames the answer in such a way that merely begs the question: ‘How, then, do we know our beliefs are true? What, then, is truth?’ So, let’s not run in circles.
There are those who look at the world and questions of truth as one big puzzle, which, with enough time and energy can eventually be solved. Science is a clear-cut example of this mentality. Scientists and metaphysicians believe that there is an edifice of knowledge that can be pieced together one brick of knowledge at a time. They also believe in a static reality that exists beneath our veiled perception.
On the other hand there are those who look at the world, at reality and truth, as a fluid, ever-changing experience that cannot be completely solved through investigation. Such people–perhaps we can call them ‘poets’–embrace the fluidity of nature, of experience. As such they are more concerned with how to mold themselves in such a way that better jibes with what goes on around them. Granted, this molding is an ongoing process—it has no final resting place. Such people are constantly trying to re-describe themselves. They are simultaneously caterpillar and butterfly: constantly consuming all that surrounds them in order to perpetuate their constant transformation. I’m not quite sure what you mean when you say “the same reality that we can only surmise without ever really experiencing.†To compartmentalize external reality and individual experience seems to be an exercise in futility.
I’ll end with a quote from William James: “The most ancient parts of truth . . . also once were plastic. They also were called true for human reasons. They also mediated between still earlier truths and what in those days were novel observations. Purely objective truth, truth in whose establishment the function of giving human satisfaction in marrying previous parts of experience with newer parts played no role whatsoever, is nowhere to be found. The reasons why we call things true is the reason why they are true, for “to be true” means only to perform this marriage-function. (Pragmatism, pg.37)
A final note: I don’t like to segregate the poet and the scientist. I only did this to for the sake of clarity. The scientist is indeed a kind of poet, though perhaps a bit misguided.
Bored at a mind-numbing (in the bad way) internship,
August 2nd, 2005 at 10:20 am
In calling the scientist “a bit misguided” what I really mean is that he is stubborn.