Being
proved wrong happens to me every day...
Marcus
Aurelius has a lot to say about how important it is, that, when your
ideas are proved wrong, one must graciously accept this new
knowledge, and change one's mind to suit the new revealed truth.
That seems like a very good attitude. We are not perfect, therefore
our ideas and opinions are not perfect.
Therefore,
while I can trust my senses to reveal the truth, I am still
capable of being misled. This whole problem is quite central to the
differences between the different philosophical schools of your
epoch, Cicero. I've read M. Aurelius' book, I've read a few books by
Plato, a little bit of Epictetus, Seneca and Epicurus, but it is
Lucretius, the Roman poet who wrote the following that I think
explains the situation rather well.
From:
On the nature of the Universe – Book IV, 470 - 480
“Now here's
another thing: if someone thinks
that nothing
is known, he does not even know
whether that
can be known, since he declares
that he knows
nothing. Therefore I will spare
to argue a
case against a man like this
who has put
his head where his feet ought to be.
And yet, if I
were to grant that he does know, then
I ask him
this: since you could see no truth
in anything
before, how do you know
what it is to
know, and what again not to know?
What gave you
the idea of true and false,
what proves to
you that there's a difference,
that the
doubtful and the certain are not the same?
You will find
that it is from the senses
in the first
place that the concept of truth has come,
and that the
senses cannot be refuted.
For some
standard must be found of greater credit
able of itself
to refute false things with true...”
Or,
to put it more succinctly: Accordingly, whatever at any time has
seemed to the senses to be true is true. (Bk IV, 499).
I
know that you liked Lucretius, Cicero, you considered him a genius
and you praised his book to your friend Atticus (though I cannot find
the exact letter just now). I think that I share your opinion of
him, and while some of his theories have long been debunked, the
earnest passion with which he applied himself to the search for truth
is admirable, particularly in regards to the Epicurean atomic theory.
I
think that it is also possible that the nature of truth can change.
What we believe to be right and wrong is often a product of societal
norms, and these, as we know, are often derived from traditions whose
truth is lost and warped by the passage of time. Scientific theory
seems to claim that truth is eternal, it is only our imperfect
understanding that changes, and that might be true as well. However,
I think that I am conflating two separate issues, that being moral
truth and scientific truth, and that if I were to start now to
explore the weird ways that one influences the other, I should have
to put this letter down and return to my books for a long time.
Therefore,
keep an open mind. You might be right, I might be right. I think
that it's possible that even if our ideas oppose each other, that we
might both be right.
We
might both be wrong.
This
is the nature of the Gods, and of people, in my opinion.
Two
thousand years on, the debate is far from over.
Thanks
Cicero, it's a great book.
With
gratitude and respect.
Morgan.
PS.
Regarding the Evolution vs Intelligent Design debate, (a modern
manifestation of the same discussion your book describes): I don't
understand why an intelligent God couldn't have invented evolution.
I mean, why not? We're doing the same thing with evolutionary
algorithms in computing. It's easier than making every calculation
yourself. Just set it up and watch it go. This way, The Gods remains
beyond the reach of scientific enquiry, (which is the
traditional realm of the Gods) and scientific inquiry gets to go
about its very important business of accurately describing all
observable phenomena. The Gods will happily continue to move out
beyond the realm of our understanding, which is ever expanding
into an infinite universe.
I
don't see why the debate between science and divinity must be an
either/or problem.
And
for the record, Inanna is who I pray to. My personal favourite
divinity. Half-sister of Gilgamesh. The Sumerian Goddess of Light,
Love, Civilisation and a lot of other things. I have stood at the
crossroads and made midnight pacts with the North Wind. I have waded
out into the dark water at the stroke of New Years Eve and bound
myself with promises to the Southern Ocean, and the Moon. I have
bent my knee before a Eucalyptus tree that was at least four
centuries old, and that tree spoke to me.
I
was also raised Catholic, and have sat and prayed and sang in many
churches, and yet amidst all that gold and reverence and community
and tradition, I have felt nothing of the divine presence.
Or,
if the Gods are not real, (at least not real like the earth and the
ocean and my skin), they are the highest idea I have for myself.
They represent the best ideals and aspirations of my life. When I am
deep in my mantra of depression, reciting the litany of my failures
as proof of my own worthlessness, it is Inanna who comes to me in a
golden form, a warmth over my shoulder whispering the truth of my
virtues, gently asking me to consider that instead, I might be better
than my worst ideas about myself.
Divinity
is a personal experience.
Or
at least, that's my opinion.
Thank
you Cicero, you're a good friend.
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