Experiment on the Word
Posted by Tyler on May 3rd, 2006
Some months ago, I was involved in an exchange of editorials and letters to the editor in the Salt Lake Tribune. At issue was the rationality of believing in Mormonism, or, more generally, accepting any kind of religion. One author wrote that no discriminating person could accept such silly precepts as those espoused by the Mormon Church. Drawing an analogy from C.S. Lewis, I returned that belief is not only rational but necessary and universal. Another letter-writer responded that no, my analysis was not correct, faith and rationality exist only in separate spheres—never the twain shall meet.
This last author apparently believes in a qualitative distinction between those things we can prove and those things we believe. There seems little question, to him, that those who accept any religious tenets do so by suspending rationality because no logical process could bring us to believe in God, Prophets, angels, and the like.
I take issue with his view. In Mormonism, at least, faith is not irrational. In fact, my analysis tells me my beliefs are, in many ways, rationally justified and that adopting other views would be intellectually dishonest.
Perhaps I can begin my explanation by examining my understanding of the way in which our culture believes we gain rational knowledge—the scientific method. Then, I will compare the scientific method with the manner by which, in my experience, believers gain religious knowledge. Finally, perhaps I can draw some meaningful comparisons between and conclusions from these two schools of thought.
The scientific method, so far as I can tell, is a method of arriving at our best guess. Most introductory science text books will tell you that almost nothing in science is certain, though some theories have been confirmed so many times by experience as to be nearly beyond question. Science, then, does not seek truth or certainty; instead, it strives to secure an understanding of the way the world works, an understanding that will closely enough approximate reality enough of the time so as to allow us to predict the outcome of certain events and act wisely in accordance with that knowledge. In medicine, for instance, research allows us to learn about the mechanisms of disease; that knowledge, in turn, allows us to minimize sickness, improve life, and delay death.
The scientific method demands that scientists meet strict requirements before they may proclaim their theories as correct. As most fourth-graders learn, science begins with observation. A scientist sees some distinct pattern of sparrow migration, or perhaps the unusual growth of bacteria in a culture tube, or the way in which those with asthma respond to a certain kind of air pollutant. Based on his observations, the scientist develops a hypothesis. The hypothesis forms the crux of scientific inquiry. In some cases, a scientist already has such good information his hypothesis may be, for all intents, already a fact which merely needs formal investigation. In other instances, the hypothesis is little more than a hunch. There is, after all, something of faith in the scientific method, as well. Something beyond purely rational and empirical knowledge drives a scientist who pursues a theory in which no one else believes. In fact, those scientists who heed this call are those we most celebrate: once experiments confirm their hunches, we revere them as visionaries and heroes.
Still, if their knowledge is never vindicated, we are as likely to see them as delusional as to believe them visionary. In fact, there is little difference between a mad scientist and a Nobel Prize winner except that the former never found experiments that would back up his claims. In any case, once a scientist forms a hypothesis he begins to test its validity with a battery of experiments. Here, the key becomes the elimination of variables. To prove the theory he wishes to advance, a scientist must assure the only variable in his experiments is the one he studies. By doing so, he can reasonably assume the changes in outcome he observes arise because of the change in the variable he studies. Such knowledge is the beginning of the understanding of a cause-and-effect relationship—the raison d’etre of science.
Even if he succeeds in eliminating variables, however, the scientist’s work is not finished. Next, he must share his work with his colleagues. It is assumed that he will have taken painstaking notes so that others in his scientific community may reproduce the experiment down to its finest details. Any results the scientist may have observed are suspect—until confirmed by others scientists. In fact, the certainty which is accorded a theory is directly proportional to the number of times the theory has been proved by someone other than the original discoverer. The originator of any idea, after all, may have secondary motives. For his own name’s sake, he may propagate his theory though the evidence is not quite convincing. In extreme cases, he may even doctor the evidence hoping all the while his name will show up in the special topics section of some yet-unpublished science textbook—the more elementary and general the better (even fourth-graders learn about Pasteur, but you have to wait till college organic chemistry to find out about Mr. Markovnikov).
Repetition, then, lends to a theory a special kind of integrity. When many people, most of them with no ulterior motives, concur that the evidence indicates some outcome X, we are all more confident in believing that X is, after all, the case. Consequently, the scientific method is one long process where each concurring experiment further proves all that preceded it. As time draws on, those theories suggested centuries ago, and which have never been disproved, take on the aura of fact. Meanwhile, those suggested contemporarily are suspect and will not be accepted until many experiments and years of experience likewise prove them the case.
The process is rigorous. In fact, that rigor constitutes much of the reason we trust the scientific method. In A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Mark Twain mocks the denizens of the Middle Ages precisely because they exhibit an appalling lack of scrutiny. Twain makes it plain that they do not submit their notions to anything even approaching the scientific method. In fact, the idea of questioning never enters their minds. Instead, they accept at face value whatever purported facts anyone presents them. This entangles the characters in a number of embarrassingly irrational situations, such as when many of them—especially the leading Damsel, Sandy—become absolutely convinced that a herd of swine is actually a royal family. Consequently, we get to laugh as the humans pamper and flatter the snorting and smelly pigs. In Twain’s mind it is obvious what happens when we do not submit our ideas to harsh scrutiny.
Twain’s analogy provides an intriguing setting for the question we faced at the beginning: are religious folks merely pampering swine? If religious questions, by their very nature, lie beyond the pale of rational examination, then is it possible that believing people are as deluded as the citizens of King Arthur’s realm? Indeed, some would argue that not only is that a possibility but that the weight of evidence suggests that it is the harsh reality.
Again, because I am Mormon, the bulk of my experience with those who consider belief irrational pertains specifically to those who question the Mormon worldview. Some of these, of course, question our—and the rest of the Christian world’s—belief in God. These people may, for instance, look at the evil that obtains in the world and then ask, quite sincerely, and, perhaps, with anguish: if an all-powerful and all-loving God existed, how could he allow such suffering as we see in the world? Forget maladies such as cancer, these people insist, look at the true atrocities such as rape, incest, and genocide: how can you stare such cruelty in the face and then believe in God?
Some, however, accept God and only question Mormon theology. These critics may, for instance, accept the God of the Bible but reject Joseph Smith as a Prophet. I remember, for example, an article entitled “It’s Over, It’s Over, It’s Over.†The author was apparently quite enthused because when the Joseph Smith Papyri were discovered in Chicago Egyptologists concluded that Joseph Smith’s translation was rubbish. Just as some conclude a belief in God is irrational, this author decided that acceptance of Joseph Smith as a prophet is so irrational that the debate
concerning him must be, well, over.
But is it? If we approach the religious question from a rational standpoint, is their any supporting evidence? Is it possible to believe rationally? Or is the very idea oxymoronic? If the answer to this last question is yes, we are confronted with a troubling dichotomy since each of us will then have to choose to approach the world either with faith or with reason. Luckily, however, I do not believe such an either/or choice is necessary or wise. Indeed, it seems we can only find truth if we employ both faith and reason: as with grace and works, either without the other is dead.
This is at least true according to Mormon theology. Both Doctrine and Covenants and The Book of Mormon, for instance, make it clear that we are to analyze religion analytically. Perhaps the most obvious example of such counsel is found in Doctrine and Covenants 88:118, where the Lord instructs members of the Church to “seek learning by study and by faith.†Similarly, in Doctrine and Covenants 8:2, the Lord confirms that revelation will also come to the “mind.†Indeed, a quick check of the index to the Doctrine and Covenants makes it clear the Lord is intent on members of the Church using their minds to study, ponder, and receive revelation.
To me, however, the most striking example of the need for reason in matters of faith comes in Alma’s speech to the impoverished Zoramites. I am struck that the last half of the chapter is framed within the context of a single analogy: that of an experiment. Alma advocates a spiritual derivative of the scientific method. Furthermore, Alma outlines in very specific terms how anyone can carry out his experiment: just as a careful scientist details his apparatuses, procedures, reactants, and conclusions so that other scientists can reproduce his work and confirm his results, Alma invites each reader to reproduce the faith experiment—Alma wants each person to experience the results for himself.
Accordingly, Alma instructs us to “give place, that [the word] may be planted in [our] heart[s].†After planting the word, we are to nurture it. Having done so, we are to observe its growth. If the seed grows, argues Alma, we will know it is good—a bad seed would have no life. At this point, Alma acknowledges that our knowledge is still imperfect; nevertheless, just as a scientist must continue to labor even though he cannot know with certainty to validity of his claim, we are to continue to nurture the seed, our faith bolstered by the knowledge that the word has begun to swell and sprout.
Tellingly, Alma recognizes that inasmuch as we gain knowledge concerning the word, faith is no longer necessary with respect to that subject. To quote Alma, our faith becomes “dormant.†As our knowledge base grows, we require less and less faith until “the perfect day.â€
It strikes me quite strongly that Alma uses an example that so carefully parallels the scientific method. His analogy seems carefully calculated to convince a skeptical generation, a people who demand evidence, explanation, and personal conviction to believe—Alma provides an avenue for obtaining each of these. Unlike the magicians in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Alma invites scrutiny. What’s more, “Moroni’s promise†is likewise an invitation to come and know for ourselves the truth of the claims that Joseph and his followers make.
Some will argue this is all a game of semantics. Yes, they say, Alma and Moroni talk about evidence and experiments, but everyone knows that religious questions, by their very nature, cannot be settled on rational grounds. On the one hand, this is true. But, to the extent that it is correct, we must remember that scientific questions cannot be settled on purely rational grounds either. After all, as already mentioned, it is the scientist who pursues a theory in the face of contrary evidence—because he has faith in his explanation—who we eventually tend to venerate.
On the other hand, though, many religious people have subjected their beliefs
to some significant amount of rational scrutiny. The fact that many of these people cling to their beliefs, despite what others consider convincing contrary evidence, indicates we ought to learn what motivates rational believers.
When someone poses an important question, one that affects society in some significant way, we must arrive at some conclusion concerning the query. Often, especially if we subscribe to the scientific method, we will settle such a question by having many people carry out the same experiment. Then, we decide an answer based on the findings of all of the parties involved. We are prone to believe that such answers come easily and unanimously to the scientific community, as if every experiment carried out by every scientist yields the same conclusions. Such, however, is rarely if ever the case. Instead, researchers often break into warring factions who argue for one theory or another, with little or no consensus. Even when one theory accumulates so much supporting evidence as to seem unquestionable, there are still theoretical gadflies who insist that the world’s understanding is misguided. Even in scientific matters, then, “accepted†theories are more often a matter of majority—or of who controls the press—than they are questions of truth and fact.
In religious matters, however, there is even more disagreement. Where most scientists agree on at least some set of fundamentals, religionists cannot come to agreement on even the most basic theological principles. Some believe, for instance, that God is a Single Being, some that He is a Holy Trinity, some that He permeates space, or some that He does not exist at all. Even when we agree on one set of tenets concerning the nature of God, we still must grapple with the question of his personality and character—not to mention His dealing with Prophets and man. All of this can leave our heads spinning—it is easy in the face of such swirling ideas to wonder if we can really “know†anything concerning religion. If any religious tenet were knowable, wouldn’t the religious community have agreed upon it long ago, rather like physicists agree the Earth rotates around the sun? The discord over even the most basic religious ideas is, in fact, probably what leads many skeptics to conclude that no religious question can be answered rationally.
Despite the discord, however, rational methods do come to bear on religious questions. As already mentioned, Alma makes rationality’s role clear when he discusses the experiment we ought to conduct to determine religion’s validity. Alma thereby indicates an important rational facet of religion: it is incumbent on us, unless life presents us with overwhelming evidence to the contrary—or, perhaps, even when it does do so—to believe our own experience. If I pray and receive an answer, that answer forms part of the evidence I must weigh when I consider religious questions. Although others may present evidence that contradicts the conclusions I draw based on my experience, yet I cannot abandon my experience. Indeed, through a lifetime of belief, as my experience builds and I encounter more and more personal evidence of the validity of my convictions, I ought to require more and more contradictory evidence before I begin to question the truth of what I believe. This is not to say that believers should not reconsider their beliefs, of that religious experience constitutes an impenetrable wall through which neither evidence nor logic can pass. I also do not mean to suggest we should not alter our beliefs as we learn and grow. Rather, religious experience should be considered alongside other cognitive factors when we determine what we are to believe.
Contrary to this, some seem to think religious experience is, by its very nature, ephemeral, transient, and flawed. This line of arguing proposes that any tactile evidence automatically trumps spiritual evidence. Such reasoning, however, is actually quite illogical. Just as I would tend to believe the results of an experiment I conduct more than the results of an experiment conducted at some far away university by researchers whom I have never met and reported by a journal about which I know little, I can rationally believe those things in which I have faith despite contradictory archaeological, anthropological, linguistic, or historical evidence. Quite contrary to prevailing thought, it is personal religious experience that trumps other forms, not the other way around.
Religious questions, then, lie only partly outside the pale of rational inquiry. And, to perhaps a lesser extent, scientific questions do, too. In the end, we cannot gain any knowledge by purely rational means. In fact, most knowledge we accept because we have faith in other people. When we buy medicine at the store, for instance, it is not because we have personally carried out experiments that prove the medicine works. Instead, it is because we have a type of faith in the researchers and the pharmaceutical system that brought the drug to the counter. As Joseph Smith pointed out, almost all action requires faith is some principle that has not, strictly speaking, been personally proven to the person acting. Faith, then, is a vital component of nearly all useful knowledge. Further, religious understanding is not based on faith alone, but also on personal experience. Only the two together—faith and reason, belief and study—can bring us closer to the truth.
Very well stated. Ever read Rational Theology? I imagine you might like it.
Comment # 1 left by Eric on May 3rd, 2006
This is a very thorough analysis, and I think most of what you wrote is spot on. But let me point out one gap in your logic.
You correctly stated that science involves observation followed by hypothosis as the starting point of the scientific process. And we know that it’s possible to observe one thing and then come up with more than one hypothesis to explain the observation. When this happens, I believe a good scientist has a duty to favor the more logical hypothosis–that is–the one that has basis in previous scientific knowledge and observation. Only when the more logical hypothisis fails under the scientific method should a second, less logical hypothosis be pursued.
Let me give an example of one place you fail to do this. I tend to agree with your point about favoring your own observation and personal experience. However, you then jump to how your personal experience includes prayers and answers to prayers. Let’s apply the scientific process to that.
Observation: You prayed about a religious topic and received an answer.
You don’t say specifically, but since I used to be Mormon I will assume that by an answer you are referring to a “burning in your busom”. In other words, a euphoric or upbeat feeling, or otherwise soothing and pleasant feeling.
Your hypothosis: The pleasant feeling you had after praying is the Holy Ghost witnessing the truth of whatever you prayed about.
The more logical hypothosis: The pleasant feeling you had after praying was the result of natural processes. The combination of hope and determination when you prayed resulted in a physical sensation that reinforced your supernatural beliefs.
Have you ever cried at the movies? Hollywood knows how to apply the right combination of music and drama to elicit that response. This response is similar to the religious experience many people (myself included) have had when praying.
It sounds as though these types of experiences are what you are using as a foundation for your belief in God and Mormonism. While I don’t want to detract from whatever validity you would like to put on your personal experience (it is YOUR experience after all) I can’t agree that your claim that the scientific method has been followed properly is true in that case.
Comment # 2 left by human11 on May 3rd, 2006
human11,
If I understand your comment correctly you are citing Occam’s razor.
Warm Feelings =
Simple explanation - Biologically common chemical response to an emotional stimulus
Overly complex - There’s a great big daddy in the sky who makes me feel all warm and fuzzy by sending a spirit down etc….
Is that a fair restatement?
Comment # 3 left by Ryan on May 3rd, 2006
Eric, I have not read that. I will have to check it out.
Human11, you ask some very valid questions in your analysis of my arguments. I appreciate your thoughtful reading of, and respectful response to, my post.
Let me respond in two ways:
First, I agree that members of the Mormon Church sometimes mistake emotional euphoria for the promptings of the Spirit. There are those who think crying is synonymous with a confirmation of truth. I do not agree with this analysis.
Still, I like an example Elder Packer once gave: feeling the promtings of the spirit is like tasting salt. That is, it would be impossible for me to exlain to someone who had never tasted salt what salt tastes like–it’s just…salty. The only way to understand the taste of salt is to taste something salty. Similarly, the only way to understand the difference between emotional euphoria and the promptings of the Spirit is by feeling the promptings of the Spirit. Honestly, I have not experienced these many times; the few times I have, however, the feelings have been qualitatively (not just quantitatively) different than normal emotional euphoria.
Interestingly enough, the time I felt the Spirit most strongly also falls outside the parameters you describe as typical of Mormon spiritual experience. When I was fourteen, I visited the sacred grove and prayed and prayed for confirmation of the truth of Joseph Smith’s story. I was, in a sense, setting myself up for emotional euphoria–strangely, however, nothing came. Oh, I felt peace, but no burning, no confirmation.
Some months later, I was preparing a home-teaching lesson after church. That day was not particularly spiritual and nothing remarkable had happened to me in the hours or days prior. As I read in Joseph Smith’s history, however, I came to the words: “I saw a pillar of light, exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me, when the light rested upon me, I saw two personages whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air…” As I read these words, something came over me–something strong, gentle, persuasive, luminous, and unique. I had never felt anything akin to that feeling and I don’t know if I have felt anything quite like it since. In that moment, however, my psyche changed–before, I did not know, after, I did.
As I mentioned, however, this occurred many months after my praying for an answer. It strains my credulity, then, to believe that this experience came as a result of my need or desire for confirmation. Instead, as one poet has observed, “it came into my heart, unasked, unforced, unearned.”
I hope these comments help.
Comment # 4 left by tyler on May 3rd, 2006
Ryan,
I’m not well-versed in philosophy, but from what I understand of Occam’s razor it seems to be a useful step in advancing science, but should not be seen as an absolute rule. Given two possibilities, it seems the simpler one is more likely, but not necessarily correct simply by virtue of being simpler.
While Occam’s razor would seem to apply to my argument, I was thinking more in terms of scientific plausibility. In this case, the simpler explanation has a scientific basis while you would be hard-pressed to find a scientific explanation for the more complex possibility.
Tyler,
I didn’t mean to imply (and I don’t think I did) that crying is the same thing as what you termed a “prompting of the Spirit.” I recognize the difference. I simply meant that I believe the natural processes that elicit either of those responses are similar.
I appreciate your response and clarification between emotional euphoria and promptings of the Spirit. I am sure that those two sensations are substantially different to you, and like I said in my first reply, I wouldn’t dream of trying to deny you those personal experiences. But I think you’ll agree that proving a difference between those two things scientifically would be a stretch. And in the absence of any physical proof of the Holy Ghost, the explanation based in natural causes is the one most scientists would prefer.
To sum up, I don’t want to take away from your faith, or your belief. I respect that. I just think that using the scientific method to lend credibility to your spiritual experiences would not be widely recognized as good science.
Comment # 5 left by human11 on May 3rd, 2006
Wonderful post, Tyler. It resonates with me on several levels. Elder Packer’s “salt” analogy which you mentioned in a comment, probably explains why some people will only accept naturalistic explanations. (Hint to administrator: it would really help discussion if this site would number the comments!)
I was raised Mormon, and I definitely felt that we were encouraged to use our minds as well as our hearts in obtaining and understanding religious truth. As a teenager I had many friends who were actively engaged in a quest for “truth†through the study and discussion of various philosophies that were popular at the time. I had enough knowledge of the scriptures and doctrines of the Church to conclude that if there were a God, the LDS church was the only one that made logical sense. Eventually I became convinced that all religion was indeed irrational, and that God did not exist.
However, I couldn’t deny that I admired the “good†fruits of those who believed and practiced the LDS religion; among my family and friends I had excellent examples of LDS people who were compassionate men and women of integrity. I began to wonder if I was embracing atheism partly out of a desire to be thought courageous and intellectually enlightened by some of my peers whose good opinion I desired. I began to re-examine Alma 32 as a way of finding out it God did indeed exist.
I was put off at first, however, by Alma’s words in verse 27, which say that the person performing the experiment must “desire to believe.” Wouldn’t the fact that the person already desired to believe mean that the outcome was bound to be biased in favor of the desire?
What I came to understand was that in requiring us to show that “desire to believe†the Lord was respecting our agency. As God, he could easily present our senses with evidences of his existence which would satisfy scientists, and convince rationalists of the truth of the plan of salvation. It is precisely the absence of that overwhelming evidence which allows us to freely choose to follow him. Out of love, out of a desire to become more like him, out of an attraction to light, out of a vague sense of “rightnessâ€â€”our exact motivations will differ greatly according to our individual experiences, but I think they often involve a feeling of affinity which propels us to action.
Once I realized that having a “desire to believe†was much like setting up the proper conditions for performing a scientific experiment (ask the right question, use the correct tools for measuring the results, etc.), I could attempt to begin Alma’s experiment in my own life. It wasn’t easy, and the results took time, but I have come to know that the fruit of the tree springing up unto everlasting life is indeed most precious.
Comment # 6 left by RoAnn on May 3rd, 2006
Here’s a weak attempt to describe salt- or how I try to distinguish a spiritual experience from emotion, enthusiasm or sentiment.
A simple example of the difference could be illustrated by a person attending a church meeting and singing the hymn, A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief. The person might begin to think about the Prophet Joseph Smith seated in a jail cell while John Taylor sang this hymn. He or she might feel a welling of emotion, maybe sadness for the loss of his life, distress for how lonely for his family he must have been, etc. Or he might feel gratitude for all Joseph Smith did for the church, or admiration for the way he bore his tragic circumstances. Any of these emotions might bring tears to the eyes. Or the singer might not be thinking of Joseph at all, but might feel motivated to be more aware of the needy, or moved to a desire to have more charity in their actions. During the final verse where the Savior steps into view, he or she might feel an emotional response of love and appreciation for His example or for the atonement.
But it is also possible that while thinking of Joseph Smith, or while thinking of Jesus Christ, the singer might feel an overwhelming witness and a strong confirmation like the one Tyler describes, a revelation- that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, or that Jesus Christ is real and that he is the Savior of the world and our Redeemer. This witness from the Holy Ghost, while difficult or even impossible to describe, is unmistakable. It is not an emotion generated from one’s own thoughts. It is not a sentimental reaction to a heart-tugging story. It comes from outside oneself and is unlike any other experience. It cannot be summoned at will. It can’t be made to happen by thinking of anything in particular. It comes when God sends it.
Comment # 7 left by C Jones on May 3rd, 2006
Again, very nice post Tyler.
As for seeking to find (or I would say force) a difference in “emotional feeling” or “revelation from God”, it’s an illogical approach. Why is that just because the “feeling” or biological “reaction” to something like hearing the national anthem at a baseball game is the same “feeling” or biological “reaction” as when God speaks to you, ipso facto must mean there is no God, or that it’s “just” emotion and a biological reaction instead of anything more substantive? It’s just a dubious idea, at best!
Let me illustrate: My wife and I manage apartments. We get a lot of people knocking on our door. One tenant in particular complains or has something to say to us virtually every day; so he knocks on our door every day. But, just because I hear a knock at the door, does NOT mean that particular tenant is on the other side causing the knock! It’s absurd to think so. Sure, there may be a good possibility, but dubious to bet on it.
Similarly, those who dismiss the “burning in the bossom” as just another “emotional reaction” or “biologocial function” (because this is what happens during the National Anthem) and that it therefore must be caused by their own thoughts or reaction to something earthly are adhearing to a dubious thought process.
Comment # 8 left by Wade on May 3rd, 2006
As for faith, Joseph said it best: “We have now clearly set forth how it is, and how it was, that God became an object of faith for rational beings; and also, upon what foundation the testimony was based which excited the inquiry and diligent search of the ancient saints to seek after and obtain a knowledge of the glory of God; and we have seen that it was human testimony, and human testimony only, that excited this inquiry, in the first instance, in their own minds.” (Lectures on Faith, Lecture Second:56, bold mine)
And later: “Is the knowledge of the existence of God a matter of mere tradition, founded upon human testimony alone, until persons receive a manifestation of God to themselves? It is.” (Lecture Second–last paragraph, bold mine)
That’s good stuff!
Comment # 9 left by Wade on May 3rd, 2006
Everyone, thank you for your comments. Human11, in particular, has propmpted meaningful discussion. Please know, Human11, that I recognize you have not called into question the personal validity of my experiences. As I understand your comments, you are instead questioning the validity the results of my “experiment” would have in the larger scientific community.
As to that, I quite agree. As I mention in the post, when I originally wrote this essay I was responding to an author in the SL Tribune. Unlike you, he was quite disrespectful of religious folk. He seemed to think that religious experience per se was illogical, even irrational. I do not believe that kind of broad sweping criticism is warranted.
Indeed, the difficulty with religious experience is not its personal validity but it reproducibility. As Wade has pointed out, it is only through “a manifestation of God to [myself]” that I can come to know god exists. Some, like RoAnn, will not be convinced until that manifestation comes and that is, I think, appropriate.
As much as anything, I hope my post also causes us to think about the excessive faith we have in science. We all do things every day–from fastening a seat belt to taking an antidepressant–that literally entrust our lives to science. And, yet, science is not nearly as unanimous or reliable as we hope. Fifty year ago, for instance, you could find ads proclaiming: “more doctors smoke camels than any other brand.” Not that doctors had per se proved that smoking was benficial, but the tacit approval of doctors (as some of the more visible representatives of science) is still startling. Science wants us to think it is immutable and infallible, but it most certainly is not.
That is part of the reason I lean on religious experience–no matter te evidence I gain in the future, nothing can change the personal validity of the experience I mention. That is not to say in any way my religious understanding will not evolve–it has done so in a million ways over the last ten years. Nevertheless, the bedrock is stable and will not shift, even if the other intellectual (tectonic) plates surrounding it move against or away from each other.
Just out of curiosity, Human11, you mention you are a former Mormon–how did you subsequently learn the Church is not true?
Please know I ask, as you have, in a Spirit of respect and with a hope of understanding.
Comment # 10 left by tyler on May 4th, 2006
In a previous setting, Tyler wrote about an experience referred to in one of the comments above. I provided the following, which seems to fit better here, almost, than it did before. I offer it as it was written.
Dad said:
The “foreword” and “afterword” to this blog post shed interesting light on the process of “knowing.”
The “foreword” occurred in the Sacred Grove, in upstate New York, as part of a family visit. We spent more time than we had planned. My now medical student son seemed intent on wandering, sometimes with the family and sometimes not. Preoccupied, he left reluctantly and later explained the “knowing” he sought could not be found. A few months after returning home, while preparing a home teaching lesson, the “knowing” came forcefully, poignantly, and undeniably.
The “afterward” happened in the hometeaching setting as the Sacred Grove wanderer taught the Joseph Smith story to a wonderful “only-member-in-her-family” convert sister. The “knowing” moved all three of us powerfully and to a feeling beyond description. We could no more deny the reality of the jointly experienced “knowing” than we could have asserted a pounding rain storm would leave us dry.
A few observations:
1. Our “knowing” comes at times as we hope, but often later after the exercise of faith.
2. “Knowing” is a process, with milestones.
3. The act of “knowing” may be more important than the possession of “knowledge.”
4. “Knowing” is real.
5. Shared “knowing” is, at times, as powerful, possibly more powerful, than individual “knowing.”
6. We experience “knowing” for our own benefit, and to strengthen others.
P.S. I, too, know.
Comment # 11 left by beeshnkj on May 4th, 2006