The Dogma of Modern Objectivity

The Dogma of Modern Objectivity

Our supposedly enlightened society prides itself on objectivity and rational thought. We champion our science as open-minded, eagerly welcoming divergent thinking. We firmly believe our views are grounded in irrefutable evidence, our ideas thoroughly validated by experience, and our scientific understanding the product of a steady, cumulative process of discovery. Yet, we must pause and ask a critical question: is this deeply held conviction merely another dogma of our current era? We find ourselves living within a cultural tradition that insists on rejecting all preconceived values, viewing them as biases inherited from an imperfect past. However, this very act of rejection, in its constant dismissal of what came before, paradoxically creates a new bias, a new tradition of dismissal, which in turn must itself be rejected. This unending cycle, this constant tearing down of established thought without building lasting alternatives, risks leading us towards a never-ending tide of nihilism, leaving us adrift in meaninglessness.

Western society has indeed been profoundly grounded in the tradition of the scientific method. This rigorous approach typically follows five fundamental steps: we define a problem, formulate a hypothesis as a potential solution, rigorously test that hypothesis through experimentation, determine if the results support our initial conclusion, assess if the original problem has been resolved, and then reevaluate the problem itself in light of the new data obtained. Throughout this meticulous process, we firmly believe that we are operating with pure objectivity. And undeniably, this commitment to the scientific method has led to many truly wonderful and profoundly positive results. We have achieved feats unimaginable to our ancestors: we have landed humankind on the moon, meticulously dissected the atom to unlock its secrets, and rapidly advanced the information era, transforming global communication. Yet, with all these monumental achievements, with all our objective data and technological prowess, we have never truly solved the enduring riddle of human happiness. This fundamental aspect of our existence often remains untouched by our scientific advancements.

Walled in by what has become the dogma of a postmodern society, we are perpetually looking for a new answer, desperately searching in places no one has ever looked before. There's a pervasive sense that, perhaps, a singular creative spark or a revolutionary insight lies just around the corner, and if only we could just "reinvent the wheel" in some entirely novel way, we might finally discover it. This constant striving for radical newness can be exhausting and unproductive. Perhaps, then, it is truly time to shift our perspective, to actively seek out and adopt a profoundly different direction for understanding the world.

In ancient times, before our modern paradigms took hold, the world was often profoundly understood and represented as a mandala – a sacred geometric figure representing the cosmos and the self. This holistic view provided a comprehensive framework for existence. We can observe similar principles in the conceptual elements of the Five Rings, a framework found in various spiritual and martial traditions. These elements – Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, and the Void – do not merely represent physical substances; rather, they correspond to distinct and powerful ways of seeing the world, modes of thought, and approaches to reality. It is by understanding and integrating these perspectives that we can, perhaps, escape the limiting prison of the singular paradigm that surrounds us today.

• Earth: A series of thought. This aligns with the Incarnation of Fate, where all actions are predetermined. Starting from the beginning and following through to the end, it is the body of the book of strategy. Here we see the outline of all that is to follow. Within this foundational element, we can discern principles embodied by four archetypal professions: The farmer who surveys the circle of life; the merchant who values commerce; the artisan who builds; and the warrior, whose nature is twofold – the path of the sword, and the path of the pen.

• Water: Parallel thought, the spirit. This is the element of science. This can be likened to the Incarnation of Time, ever adapting to the changing needs of the moment, flowing through existence. It is perhaps the most powerful of the elements, and yet it is limited in force. It is forever tied to the paradigm of what is known, and what is believed. As such it is subject to all the forces that surround it.

• Fire: Creative thought, divergent thought, not limited to context. This is the book of fighting. This element can represent the Incarnation of War, which brings both destruction and the catalyst for new creation. To master it requires research, daily practice. Through discipline one becomes free from the self. What is big is easy to perceive, what is small is difficult to perceive.

• Wind: Schizoid thought. Going round and round without going anywhere. This is the realm of tradition, akin to the Incarnation of Death, where cycles of life and demise dictate patterns. This constant cycling, while grounding, can also lead to stagnation if not balanced. How can one know themselves, if they do not know others? To see the future, one must see the past.

• Void: Intuition, the sudden jump to a conclusion. No beginning or end. This is the way of nature, much like the Incarnation of God, representing the ultimate, boundless reality. If what seems correct is not the way of nature, then it departs from the way. Know the spirit and the foundation.

A Comedy of Errors

Time is a bankrupt and a thief; does it not come stealing on by night and day? It is a riddle as old as the desert sands. And so it was that fateful day, on the distant shores of Ephesus, an old man found himself, his final days now hastened by death's decree.

“Merchant of Syracuse,” the Duke said, drawing near. “Plead no more. It is our law that no man from our rival city set foot upon these shores, lest he forfeit all his goods and pay tribute of a thousand marks. By law, therefore, thou art condemned to die.”

“Yet this is my comfort,” the old man replied. “For when your words are done, my sorrows end likewise with the evening sun.”

The guards gathered round, as the Duke sat astride his steed. “This is most curious indeed. Say, in brief, what cause brought thee to this distant land. Why would you risk your property, your life, and all the world that you see? What purpose led thee to Ephesus?”

The old man looked up at the Duke. “A heavier task you could not impose, and yet I will tell you of my grief, the heavy burden that I bear. For I was not always as you see now. Like all men, a younger man once was I, and a beautiful wife did I wed. We were happy together, and and yet, as a merchant, so often did I travel that she desired we should be together. So I sent for her to join me in Alexandria. It was not long after that she gave birth to sons, a set of twins, so alike that none could tell them apart. That same night, at the selfsame inn, another woman died in childbirth, yet she too gave birth to twin boys. So we took them as our own, to watch over as servants for our sons. My wife, proud, wished to return home, and so together, we set sail for Syracuse.”

“As we made our way, past the distant Straits, like Odysseus, the Gods then played their trick upon us. For upon the deep, a mighty tempest swirled with the rage of Poseidon, tearing our ship asunder in its mighty wrath. In my arms, I held two of the boys; my wife held the others. That was the last I saw of them. Cast into the sea, I held onto the boys for what seemed an eternity, until, by good fortune, we were rescued by a passing ship.”

As the years passed, my son set sail for Delphi, where the oracle foretold his brother was still alive. So, with his servant, he wandered the many shores, to find his long-lost twin, that he might at last be whole. That was many a year ago, and I have not heard of him since. And so I boarded a ship, in search of them, until I landed upon these distant shores.

Moved by his story, the Duke answered. “I take pity upon you, and yet the law is the law. It cannot be forsaken. Nevertheless, I will favor you as I can. I grant you this day; find what friends you can, and if you can pay your ransom, then I will set you free. So beg or borrow what you can. Do this and live; if not, then on tomorrow’s eve, thou art doomed to die.”

“Hopeless though it seem, I will pray that the Gods thus deliver me.” Bowing his head in humility, the old man followed the guards to the distant cell by the sea.

Putting the book down, Sherlock Holmes took his pipe and slowly filled it. “Now Dr. Watson,” he said, “You have asked me many times about the art of deduction, on how it is that I arrive at a given conclusion. Well, I have given this much thought, and I have found inspiration from the immortal bard. The comedic writings of Shakespeare, where he delights his audience with the absurdity of confusion and contradiction.”

“It is of much interest to me,” the doctor replied. “When I hear you give your reasons, the thing appears so ridiculously simple that I could easily do it myself. And yet, at each successive instance of your reasoning, I am baffled until you explain. And yet my eyes are as good as yours.”

“Quite so,” Holmes answered, lighting his pipe. “You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps that lead up to this room.”

“Frequently.” “How often?” “Hundreds of times.” “How many are there?” “How many? I don't know.”

“Quite so, there are 17,” Sherlock stated. “You have seen and yet you have not observed. This brings me back to The Comedy of Errors. As the audience, in the first scene, you have observed. You know the secret riddle in which our characters are plunged. It is they who only see, and so find themselves in an absurd mystery, in which everything they know is false.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Watson acknowledged. “I am familiar with the play. If I recall, that same day Antipholus and his servant – who was he? Roger Daltry? No, Dromio, I believe, was his name – they arrive at Ephesus. And there they meet Adriana, the wife of his brother, and yet she does not know him.”

“To me she speaks,” Sherlock chuckled. “'What was I married to her in a dream? Or sleep I now, and think I hear this? What error drives my eyes and ears amiss? Until I know this uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.' And so they are dragged off to dinner.”

“In the meanwhile,” Watson continued, “across town the brother has a chain commissioned from the local goldsmith. For this he is charged a thousand marks, which his servant must retrieve. It seems most curious that both brothers are of the same name.”

“It is elementary, my dear Watson,” Sherlock replied, finishing his pipe. “They were separated at birth. Since they looked the same, both mother and father called them by the eldest name. This brings me to the task at hand. How is it that we know that something is true?”

“Through science!” Watson exclaimed, quite pleased with himself.

Sherlock began to rummage through his drawer for his hidden stash. “Which science is that? The one of Euclidean astronomy, where the Earth is at the center of the universe, or that of Copernicus where the Earth orbits the sun?”

Watson pondered the question. “Are they not one and the same? It is puzzling that this is so, and yet the two reach such contrary conclusions. They cannot both be true.”

“Very good,” Sherlock affirmed, having found his stash. “Then what does this tell us about science?”

“That science aims to find truth, but it is not truth in and of itself?” “Indeed, the purpose of science is to find justified true belief. This is what, in the words of Aristotle, we would determine to be knowledge. In this process, we develop a theory, and then we seek to determine if it is true.”

“But how do we determine that truth?” Watson pressed.

“We determine if it is a better explanation for the facts.” Sherlock filled his pipe once again. “To this end, we must satisfy five basic criteria.”

“The first is test-ability. If our theory or hypothesis is true, then in a given set of circumstances, we would expect specific results. This is what we call experimentation. Of course, we must be careful not to give an ad hoc explanation to align our theory with the results. If our theory cannot produce the predicted results, then our theory is in error.

The second is that our hypothesis is useful. It must lead to correct predictions, or it is of no value.

The third criterion is the scope of the theory. It must lead to the most correct predictions in the greatest number of circumstances.

Our fourth criterion is simplicity, or as stated in Occam's Razor, it is futile to do with more things that which can be done with less.

Our final criterion is conservatism. Our theory should not contradict that which is already known.”

“I see,” Watson agreed. “Which brings us back to our story. If I recall, there is a mix-up, and Dromio retrieves the thousand marks, and then gives it to the wrong brother. So when the jeweler seeks payment, Antipholus has not the funds, and so he is thrown in jail where he meets his long-lost father.”

“Then we discover the hidden truth,” Sherlock answered, puffing on his pipe. “It is the inherent problem of knowledge: Gettier’s dilemma. Dromio gave Antipholus the thousand marks. In a sense, there was justified true belief, and yet it was not knowledge. Because despite all his best intentions, and the money actually being present, he gave the thousand marks to the wrong brother. Thus, we have a situation where the belief was true and justified, but its truth was accidentally arrived at. Hence, we have truth, and not knowledge, at the same time.”

“That is most puzzling indeed,” Watson mused, “one that has plagued humanity throughout time. Then how should we truly determine truth?”

Sherlock set down his pipe. “In the story, the father recognizes his son, yet his son knows him not. As the father recounts his tale, he mentions the name of his wife, Emilia. It turns out she now serves as a nun in the abbey, which stands on the site of the old temple of Diana in Ephesus. This very city, as the Apostle Paul noted, was known for its deceivers and witchcraft. Upon hearing Emilia's name, the full truth is revealed: she is summoned, and the family is reunited. Together, they recount their complete story to the Duke, who then, in understanding, forgives the old man his debt. The family is united, and they live happily ever after. This brings us to the moral of our story: the virtue ethics of Linda Zagzebski.”

Knowledge is a justified true belief that gets to the truth rather than the falsehood, because of the intellectually virtuous motives and behavior of the believer.

Ten Lessons From History

1) We do not learn from history, and tragic consequences ensue.

2) Science, technology, a global economy, and the digital age do not make us immune to history's cycles.

3) Freedom is not a universal value; it only flourishes in special times and places.

4) Power is a universal value

5) The Middle East is the graveyard of empire

6) Empires are destined to rise and fall in history's eternal cycle.

7) Religion and spirituality are history's most profound influences.

8) Empires rise and fall by the decisions of people. Leaders shape history through their choices, and for powerful nations, these consequences are profound.

9) Great leaders emerge in times of crisis.

10) America has a unique historical role. It can guide humanity into the future, but only if it truly learns from history's lessons.

Freedom is Slavery

One of the principal goals of modern society has been the expansion of freedom. The underlying issue has been a fundamental disagreement over freedom's true meaning. In response, Western society has largely adopted two basic stances. The first was championed by John Stuart Mill in his discourse on liberty. In this view, freedom exists in the absence of coercion. He famously argued that the rights of the individual extend only to the point where they infringe upon the rights of another. The second was that of Jean-Jacques Rousseau in his Social Contract. He held that freedom was the right of self-determination. While these ideas may seem mutually compatible, in practice they are often antithetical views, where the opposing concept is perceived as tyranny.

Mill was an advocate of British empiricism and free trade. He believed, as did Adam Smith, that the greatest freedom would be found in spontaneous order. He argued that, guided by the invisible hand of market forces, prices would be regulated by the random interaction of self-interest. It was an economy that, in this view, valued production through what might be considered vice. In this new world, there was no need for tradition, or nobility, or even God to guide human affairs. The merchant would rise, as a new middle class, that would guide humanity into the future. And this was the ideal of the modern man.

Rousseau would have none of it. He was of the firm opinion that when humans left the trees, that was generally a bad idea. He asserted that nothing mankind had accomplished with its science and technology was of any value whatsoever. Primitive life, he believed, was superior to modern man in every aspect.

In response, Voltaire famously retorted:

"I have received your new book against the human race and thank you for it. Never was such a cleverness used in the design of making us all stupid. One longs, in reading your book, to walk on all fours. But as I have lost that habit for more than sixty years, I feel unhappily the impossibility of resuming it. Nor can I embark in search of the savages of Canada, because the maladies to which I am condemned render a European surgeon necessary to me; because war is going on in those regions; and because the example of our actions has made the savages nearly as bad as ourselves."

To Rousseau, the first evil was ownership. That possession had led to humanity's loss of innocence. In a natural state, equality was the proper condition of society. With ownership came a sense of dependency between the master and the servant. This led to a growing alienation, because the love of self was replaced with the concept of social status. This led to our sense of consumerism, and the need to maintain our image within society. To this he famously said:

"Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains."

The solution he devised was the social contract. He argued that humanity must enter into a self-ruling community based on equality, where we would work together to serve the collective, and not merely individual interest. This leads us to an underlying question of freedom.

Can a wealthy drug addict be free?

J.S. Mill would answer yes. They can afford the habit. They only hurt themselves. They are not being coerced into bondage; they have chosen this lifestyle of their own accord.

Rousseau would answer no. The true self, for him, is identified by what is best for the community. By taking drugs, they are diminishing their role in society, surrendering their freedom to self-interest and vice. So, by taking corrective action, we are setting them free.

Thus, we have our contradiction: a freedom of individual action versus the freedom of society as a whole. This has led to all sorts of problems within our popular political debate.

The Great Learning

What the great learning teaches, is to illustrate illustrious virtue; to renovate the people; and to rest in the highest excellence.


The point where to rest being known, the object of pursuit is then determined; and, that being determined, a calm unperturbedness may be attained to. To that calmness there will succeed a tranquil repose. In that repose there may be careful deliberation, and that deliberation will be followed by the attainment of the desired end.


Things have their root and their branches. Affairs have their end and their beginning. To know what is first and what is last will lead near to what is taught in the Great Learning.


The ancients who wished to illustrate illustrious virtue throughout the kingdom, first ordered well their own states. Wishing to order well their states, they first regulated their families. Wishing to regulate their families, they first cultivated their persons. Wishing to cultivate their persons, they first rectified their hearts. Wishing to rectify their hearts, they first sought to be sincere in their thoughts. Wishing to be sincere in their thoughts, they first extended to the utmost their knowledge. Such extension of knowledge lay in the investigation of things.


Things being investigated, knowledge became complete. Their knowledge being complete, their thoughts were sincere. Their thoughts being sincere, their hearts were then rectified. Their hearts being rectified, their persons were cultivated. Their persons being cultivated, their families were regulated. Their families being regulated, their states were rightly governed. Their states being rightly governed, the whole kingdom was made tranquil and happy.


From the Son of Heaven down to the mass of the people, all must consider the cultivation of the person the root of everything besides.
It cannot be, when the root is neglected, that what should spring from it will be well ordered. It never has been the case that what was of great importance has been slightly cared for, and, at the same time, that what was of slight importance has been greatly cared for.
Confucius Written ca. 500 B.C.E

While never achieving great worldly success in his lifetime, Confucius is remembered as one of humanity's most profound teachers.

In his teachings, primarily recorded and elaborated upon by his disciples in texts such as The Great Learning, he points to the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. A truly good ruler, for instance, requires an ordered state, which in turn depends on a well-regulated family, then on an ordered self, a rectified heart, sincerity of thought, and the extension of knowledge derived from the investigation of things. One element seamlessly leads to another. When all these layers are in harmony, the entire kingdom flourishes and is successful.

When asked to explain in a single word how one should live, Confucius answered: "Reciprocity." This basic principle of Confucian ethics, often summarized as the Golden Rule, states: "Do not do to others what you would not want them to do to you."

The core teachings of Confucius, as further developed and interpreted by later influential thinkers like Mencius and Xunzi, can also be generally summarized through these five essential virtues:

• Ren: Benevolence, encompassing charity and humanity.

• Yi: Honesty and uprightness.

• Zhi: Knowledge and wisdom.

• Xin: Faithfulness and integrity.

• Li: Correct behavior, propriety, good manners, politeness, ceremony, and worship.

The Search for Truth

Humanity's enduring quest for truth has shaped philosophical inquiry across civilizations, revealing both profound insights and persistent paradoxes. This analysis will trace the intellectual journey through diverse perspectives – from ancient wisdom to modern critical thought – to illuminate how philosophers have grappled with defining, attaining, and understanding the nature of truth.

Both Socrates and Confucius, despite their distinct cultural contexts, converged on a foundational principle: that the sincere pursuit of truth must begin with an acknowledgment of one's own ignorance. For Socrates, this 'intellectual humility' was the cornerstone of the Socratic method, challenging unexamined beliefs and leading to a deeper, albeit often aporetic, understanding. Confucius, in The Great Learning, similarly stressed the "investigation of things" as the initial step in personal cultivation, believing that true wisdom—derived from confronting what one does not yet know—was essential for rectified thoughts, a sincere heart, and ultimately, a well-ordered society.

It was David Hume who would ultimately articulate a profound paradox concerning our empirical knowledge. While we derive our understanding of the world through experience and employ inductive reasoning (inferring general rules from specific observations), Hume argued there is no rational, non-circular justification for assuming that past uniformities will persist into the future. Our belief in cause and effect, for instance, is based on habit, not logical necessity, thus undermining the possibility of absolute certainty in any knowledge derived solely from experience.

Faced with Hume's radical skepticism, the question arose: can any foundation for knowledge survive? To deny the very existence of truth would render all inquiry meaningless. Therefore, to proceed with any coherent understanding, one might, by necessity, posit that truth must exist. This imperative echoed the foundational quest of René Descartes, who, through his method of systematic doubt, sought an indubitable truth. He famously arrived at "Cogito, ergo sum" ("I think, therefore I am") – a self-evident truth that became the secure bedrock for reconstructing knowledge, immune to the skepticism that challenged empirical claims.

Immanuel Kant, in his Critique of Pure Reason, offered a profound reconciliation between rationalism and empiricism, and a direct response to Hume. He argued that while experience provides the content of knowledge, the mind possesses innate structures, or "categories of understanding," that shape our experience. Thus, we possess "synthetic a priori" knowledge – truths that are both informative and known independently of experience, such as the impossibility of infinitely extended parallel lines ever meeting. This provided the necessary certainty that Hume's empiricism lacked, securing the foundations of science and mathematics. However, this triumph came at a significant cost, earning Kant the moniker "the great destroyer." He asserted that we can never know "things-in-themselves" (the "noumena") directly, but only their appearances as structured by our minds (the "phenomena"). While we can affirm the existence of an external reality and its adherence to natural laws, our knowledge is ultimately limited to our perception of this reality, not its ultimate, unconditioned truth. This confined human reason to the realm of experience, effectively "destroying" the possibility of traditional metaphysics.

In essence, the philosophical journey from ancient self-awareness to Kantian critical philosophy reveals a persistent human yearning for truth, yet it also highlights the profound and perhaps inherent limitations of human knowledge. While Socrates and Confucius initiated the quest by recognizing ignorance, Hume exposed the fragility of empirical certainty. Descartes sought an undeniable foundation, but it was Kant who offered a sophisticated, albeit bittersweet, resolution: securing knowledge of the world as it appears to us, but forever sealing off direct access to ultimate reality. This enduring tension—between the undeniable impulse to understand and the philosophical boundaries of that understanding—continues to define the human condition's relationship with truth.

Flotsam And Jetsam

It's been a long time since I wrote for my blog. This past year, of course, has been a busy one. I embarked last year on a new adventure, a new profession, and it has treated me well. For the first time in my working life, I have financial security, and despite the hours, I genuinely enjoy driving. I see much of the country, and it gets a little smaller every day. I imagine in 20 years, it will be like the back of my hand.

 One of the benefits of driving, naturally, is that I spend a lot of time studying. I listen to audiobooks en route, and I spend my days with the greatest minds of all time. This immersion has given me a fresh perspective on how to approach my intellectual journey.

Meanwhile, I've continued to write, pen and paper filling my quiet moments. I've never been adept at editing, preferring a free flow of thought. In this regard, the blog has always worked well. Perhaps, one day, I will publish; for now, this serves as a daily exercise. My new plan, at least, is to write a little every day. I have a new computer and Microsoft Word, and that's where I'll start.

I don't know if anyone will ever read my blog. I've never been good at social networking. I don't care to advertise, and I don't really need to. I'm not doing this for a living. I write to focus my thoughts, to know what I believe, what I actually stand for.

This is a quality so often lost in popular society. We float around in the flotsam of daily headlines, and we never truly know ourselves. That self-knowledge is just a whisper in the darkness, always present, yet somehow lost in the shuffle.

So with this in mind, I have returned to my blog, in the hope that, perhaps, I might find myself. And maybe in the course of my journey, others will join me, and take comfort that there is another, out there, wandering, too, for the smallest glimpse of truth.