Radical Skeptic

As I write this I'm listening to the Radiohead song Creep. It is an archetypal (I wish archetypical was a word) song about the loser in the shadows admiring someone out in the light. That person appears angelic, perfect and inapproachable. The sentiment is probably universally understood by all but those with ironclad self images. Unalloyed admiration is rarely a feeling a person feels for an equal. We tend to admire people prettier than ourselves, smarter than ourselves, wittier than ourselves, better than ourselves. Or at least people that give the appearance of being so.

"You float like a feather

In a beautiful world

I wish I was special

You're so fuckin' special"

Many of the profiles you see on this site and others present an idealized almost mythologized version of the people they represent. If the text portions of these profiles were turned into images they would portray the subject in the foreground with lighting from above as if the rays of God's divine light were shining upon them so brightly that their halos would barely be visible. One would think that such self aggrandizement would cause resentment but the best examples are effortless and artless and instead invoke gratitude. They make you want to bathe in that holy aura even while being afraid that it might burn. Resentment is caused by overt and clumsy manipulation. If you are going to attempt to control me do the the courtesy of not allowing me to feel it when you tie the strings around my limbs. It is the difference between being seduced and being sneered at.

"But I'm a creep,

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here"

The comparison between one's self and the author of the either type of profile evokes a feeling of inferiority.  One type is designed to weed out the losers while the other has as its purpose providing a meaningful narrative about the author. Unfortunately neither type is capable of truthfulness. Despite the best of intentions language is ambiguous and no two people would define most words in precisely the same way. The vainglorious can't help but overplay their hands while the glorious deceive unwittingly.

Nearly every aspect of a profile can be false. Pictures lie. Words Lie. The truth is that you do not know where you stand with someone until you literally stand next to them. The proof is in the pudding. Smell their scent, meet their eyes, watch them sip their coffee and even then you don't know them. How do they treat the wait staff or beggars? Do they grovel in front of "social superiors" or their bosses? Do they chase down people who cut them off on the freeway? Do they have an oily laugh or cruel eyes?

"I don't care if it hurts,

I wanna have control

I want a perfect body

I want a perfect soul"

All healthy people, people who are not significantly mentally ill, realize that improving oneself is important. But life circumstances play a deciding roll in the expression of talent. A persons body and mind and achievements are hugely determined by chance. This doesn't simply mean that a rich person was born rich or a poor person was born poor. A person could be born with the type of personality that would do best if put into challenging circumstances. Put this person in the ghetto and they will end up running the world. Take that same person and make them a Kennedy at birth and they could end up driving a dirty black van that children disappear into on their walks home from school. A Bush an coast to the top office in the country with the right luck. C students can run the world.

Besides anyone you meet could be on their way up, or on their way down. As any broker will tell you: "Past performance is no guarantee of future results." A person's current accomplishments do not tell you which way they are headed. All that really matters is that one treats perfection as the a person walking ahead of them that they will never catch, but that they must make the attempt every day of their lives. Even though it hurts to constantly be made aware of your imperfections. We will all die with things left undone. Many of us are here because we don't wish to labor in absurdity alone. Of course a positive attitude is an asset, but the successful are not the only ones with positive attitude. There are plenty of joyful failures. They just aren't aware that we are putting that judgment on them.

"I want you to notice

when I'm not around

You're so fuckin' special

I wish I was special"

Try to come up with an original idea. See how well that works out for you. Ideas evolve out of a milieu.  Anaximander a Pre-Socratic, developed a theory of evolution that was amazingly accurate for someone who came 2200 years before the voyage of the Beagle. Another Greek, Democritus, explored atomic theory.  There is evidence that Archimedes was working on a primitive form of calculus and in the end Newton and Leibniz developed it simultaneously. Do you really think that the logo idea you just came up with or your latest screenplay is original or innovative. Oh please. Things are useful to you or they are not. They are beautiful to you or they are not. The originality of said things really shouldn't matter.

Things will only get worse from here. Think that most ideas throughout history went unrecorded and thus were forgotten.  It is easy to to be deceived about new ideas when almost every premodern  thought simply evaporated.  Those days are quickly fading. More and more information is being recorded and analysed every day. Our ability to store our ideas is nearly complete. Say it, it can be recorded, write it, it can be sent out into the cloud. Think it? Think it and you control an artificial limb; one more step towards listening to the brain. Think it and a fMRI can now begin to begin to wheedle out what is happening up there in your nut. In the near future, think it and it will be known.

So hold onto the illusion of originality. Clutch closely to your breast the false icon of novelty, because soon it will slip away. But don't feel bad. We all want to be special.

Creativity is real.

"But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh

She's running out again

She's running out

She run run run run...

run... run..."

Who is she, the woman in the profile? Someone I haven't met. I'm just watching from the shadow. The shadow isn't serial killer or stalker shade, it is that which is not luminous. I'm not being self deprecatory. Who is more demeaned? The audience, or the dancer? I'm getting what I need and that is virtually meeting someone. She isn't the only one, I'm developing a string of small but poignant crushes. Each time I find another angel I fall in love again. Their words could all be false. The pictures could be lies, but the feelings they create within me are real. There is a place for beautiful untruths. How much more fulfilling to fall in love (just a little) with a profile than it is to be disappointed in actual people. Or to disappoint them in turn. Indulging in fantasy romance isn't my purpose, but since many of messages have to be sent off into the void like the Voyager spacecraft I will construct reality so that I can enjoy myself regardless of the out come.

I respond to pretty lies with truth of my own. Verities that they may not believe. Truth that they may see differently if faced with the reality of me and thus transform into lies; the dark alchemy of textual analysis; Gold into lead. It is all perspective.  Gold, lead, flesh the elements that constitute them are all the ashes of dead stars anyway.

I read a profile and look at the pictures. I look for a narrative that moves me. I'm not responding to the profile because I think that we will make a good match. I'm responding because the profile made me do it. Each profile is like a nude model. I appreciate it and what it evokes in me and then I try to make something from myself and those feelings, and then I put it in a bottle. Some I should just print out, and then burn them. But when you don't get a response, the fact that you have been rejected becomes part of the narrative. The story ends with her turning and walking away. There is beauty in that.  Instead of Paris, we will always have teh internetz.  Of all the consciousnesses in all the world, you had to walk into mine.

"Whatever makes you happy

Whatever you want

You're so fuckin' special

I wish I was special"

In the end, it can be a beautiful experience. I imagine that even if the recipient doesn't enjoy the message, they can at least appreciate the sentiment. It is even possible that they enjoy the message and appreciated the sentiment but not what my words reveal about me. The truth didn't appeal, or the illusion wasn't beguiling enough. It is possible that we were a perfect match, but my words or their interpretation betrayed us. The point is to enjoy the dance and if you are dancing alone, close your eyes and indulge yourself in the most beautiful world you can create. The darkness that appears when your eyes are closed is inviting. You can paint anything you want on that darkness.

"But I'm a creep,

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here

I don't belong here..."

I'm not one for wallowing. If you get that impression then you have missed my point. I want to enjoy the whole experience and because and because that experience includes rejection I have to face the negative and subvert it to my needs. The light is fine for angels and other celestial creatures but that doesn't mean it is pleasant or forgiving. Dating can be like going on interviews and sometimes it seems to devolve into interrogations, lots of bright light in your face. A profile is a resume. Interviews and resumes are two of my very least favorite things. So I have to reinterpret those experiences.

When I go to a bar it is because I want to have a drink, listen to music and hopefully flirt with a woman. Sometimes I go with friends but If I'm alone when the mood strikes me I will go alone. But being that lone guy on the prowl makes you a creep. I'm a weirdo because despite the fact that we are none of us original we are also all unusual. We are all weirdos. Some of us do a better job of conforming, but frequently I find that conforming isn't my thing.  I escape into ideas, not away from them. I'm constantly lost in thought.

Everyone claims to be intelligent, and maybe they are, but there is a difference between intelligence and thoughtfulness. There is a difference between being sensitive and being considerate. Is an essay about oneself an action that reveals the person behind the words? Or is it all impenetrable abstract art, just another devious way to hide in plain sight?

So occasionally instead of going out, I sit languidly at my desk and browse through profiles until I find one that charms and me makes me want to fall in love. I read the pretty lies, and think and feel and respond. In responding, I fall in love with that which is inside me and was awoken by the other. Well, maybe love is too strong a word. Lets say I crush on the hologram her profile projects in the smoke of my fancies.

There has been a death in the family. He was the grandson of one of my Aunt's, right about my own age. I didn't know him, but it is hitting me hard for both known and unknown reasons. One is empathy for my Aunt and my Uncle. They are sweet old people in mid Missouri. Their house feels like a Grandparent's house should. It is a little out of town in the corn fields with a big lawn and a little dog. It just doesn't seem right that they should be burying their children's children. Another reason I'm balling is that every death in the family reminds me of every other family death. Today the deaths of my Uncle and My Grandpa came flooding back. It is as if I have only one storage compartment in my heart for grief caused by death. Maybe empathy is the only reason I am feeling grief. But this isn't about me. I'm a peripheral figure at best. I don't really need consolation. It is my Aunt and Uncle who do. I'm only crying because I care about them and I'm resonating with their pain and hearing in their voices echoes of loss from my own past. I'm sad with and for them. That and there is another family member that I will never get to know. He was a father and husband and grandson. My family is diminished by one. Goodbye Ryan. I wish I knew you. So if you know Aunt Shirley and Uncle Bunky give them your condolences. I can give you their phone number and address. But if you aren't family maybe just take a moment to think about your own dead. Then take a longer parcel of time to think about the living that you might be neglecting, friends and family alike.

(To the Theme of Private Dancer by Tina Turner)

Suckers come into my places.
Though my cancer cure is lame.
'Marks' come from all the races.
But they are all the same.
Being gullible is human.
Nobody can know it all.
So I cheat them of their money.
'Cept the ones on the ball.

(Chorus)
My diet can cure cancer.
So give me your money.
Then do what I tell you to do.
I have got your answer.
I'm your only hope honey,
If you want to live drink my brew.

I want to make a billion dollars.
If clients live it's alright with me.
Living clients and their stories are
great advertising, plus it's free.
The 'marks' have hope on their faces
Full of trust, it's such a shame
I make up new health crazes
When some folks die, I'm to blame

(Chorus)
My diet can cure cancer.
So give me your money.
Then do what I tell you to do.
I have got your answer.
I find it real funny.
that you pay me to defraud you.

(Chorus)
My diet can't cure cancer.
It's a waste of money.
But you will won't admit it will you?
Like a light brigade lancer.
You gonna die sonny.
You didn't read the Cochrane Reviews.

(Interlude)
A Douche bag for dollars.
The American Congress is full of credulous dudes.
Let me loosen up your N.C.C.A.M.
Tell me do you want a coffee enema again?

(Chorus)
My diet can cure cancer.
So give me your money.
Then do what I tell you to do.
I have got your answer.
I'm your only hope honey,
If you want to live drink my brew.

I'm curious about Huffington Post's dedication to factual reporting. I noticed that your wellness editor is Dr. Patricia Fitzgerald and that all of her qualifications appear to be dubious. Lets take them one by one:

Acupuncturist: This is a highly dubious modality that can only claim to have highly controversial results. As a qualification for health related issues it is a negative mark on her record.

Certified Clinical Nutritionist: While there is nothing wrong with being an nutritionist per se, there isn't anything particularly impressive about being one either. It seems to be a similar label to "therapist." Academically it just doesn't mean much of anything. Nutritionists are also notorious as a group for pushing dubious health claims. See Acupuncturist above.

Homeopath: Homeopathy has no scientific justification for it's existence. If you understand what homeopathy is I shouldn't have to explain why,but because homeopaths have muddied the waters by not even being consistent with what they label homeopathy. Homeopathy is supposed to work by diluting a mixture to the point where there is statistically almost zero chance that there is any active ingredient in the dose. The inconsistency is that some companies market products with a significant amount of active ingredient in them (which makes the product non homeopathic). For instance zicam contains a non homeopathic solution that includes significant amounts of zinc and yet is labeled homeopathic.

Master’s Degree in Traditional Chinese Medicine and a Doctorate in Homeopathic Medicine: What does this even mean? Homeopathy is not proven to work, and "Chinese Medicine" is a hodge podge of things that probably have some effect and things that have been shown to have no effect (other than placebo). At this point in reading her qualifications I start to despair. Does your organization not care about reality?

Medical Director of the Santa Monica Wellness Center: Fine.

author of the best-selling, award-winning The Detox Solution: This is where I start to feel truly disgusted. There does not appear to be any scientific support for "detox" products or "cleansing" the body of toxins. This final damning "qualification" leaves me with a feeling of disgust. Your wellness editor is a charlatan. Her list of qualification reads like an anti science rap sheet. What right can a publication that bashes the republicans for their lack of attention to the facts have to push this bunk?

Was she an ironic appointment? Is her appointment a kind of bizarre performance art? What is the goal of your organization? Why are you people hurting America?

"It's not so much that it's bad, as it's hurting America ... Stop, stop, stop, stop hurting America." --Jon Stewart, to "Crossfire" hosts Tucker Carlson and Paul Begala

Science is not a replacement for religion. Science is not perfect. Science is simply our finest tool for creating our best approximation of reality. Science isn't about capital T truth it is primarily a way to avoid making fallacious statements that are easily shown to be false. Why do we need science? We need it because the human brain is designed to be fooled in a multiplicity of ways. Human memory is faulty. Human perception is subject so numerous types of illusions. We are easily deceived and actively deceive ourselves. Numerous biases plague our reasoning abilities. Humans are innately bad at statistics. The list of reasons that we need science to discipline our senses is daunting. It is amazing that we have managed to come up with any over arching view of the cosmos at all.

The ugly truth that many ruggedly individual American people can not face is that experts matter. In the days of our ancient ancestors a single human brain might have been able to encompass all of human knowledge, but that time is long past. People who study a single subject all their lives can not hope to master or even lightly touch upon all the scholarly work in their field anymore. In this world of minute specialization the time of the gentleman scholar, educated enough to responsibly question the scientific consensus, are gone

Individual scientists can be cranks or crazy or simply wrong, but the days when the educated layperson could truly understand the state of the scientific consensus in a specialized field is gone. Jim Carey is not in any way qualified to question or critique infectious disease doctors as a group. He is allowed to have his opinions, but your posting of those opinions as if they matter in any way is pathetic.

So please. Stop, stop hurting America. Stop hurting the public's appreciation for facts and science. Foster some regard for truth, Or you might as well be fox news.

What is the power of prayer? When I ask this question I'm not presupposing that any of the supernatural claims made by people who pray are true. I'm not asking if prayer can move a certain deity or if prayer heals the sick. I'm asking what power can a prayer have for an atheist or agnostic?

It is a silly question on the face of it. I can admit that. The word 'prayer' like the words 'good' and 'evil' are steeped in ancient superstition and mysticism. All three words are so overloaded with ancient and primal meaning that they are not fit for fine semantic precision. They are poetic words, deep and complex like dark chocolate. They are words that I enjoy tasting on my tongue. These potent words, like eldritch spells instantly transform the sentences they are placed in with a flash of light or darkness and a lasting resonance of meaning. This means that we will continue to use these words even though there are no adequate definitions for either (good or evil).

Prayer is obviously a troublesome word for those of my persuasion. In general atheists avoid using it and substitute in its place the equally ideologically troublesome word wish. The most stoic, thorough and pedantic among my tribe avoid the use of both words. I have found lately that I wish to use the word prayer again. I want to pray. The question is who would I pray to and what is the purpose? The answer is that I wish to pray to me.

A reader could be forgiven at this point (assuming that I have any readers) for considering me to have gone round the bend. Unfortunately I cannot claim to be completely sane but I will defend myself by saying that I do not think that I am a kind of supernatural creature that can grant myself wishes. Neither do I consider myself to be worthy of worship, so please put your mind at ease. What I wish to do is to consciously address myself, respectfully and with awe. The awe isn't because I'm great and powerful, it is because the human mind is amazing and the concept of consciousness is mysterious. Consciousness, like good and evil, is inadequately defined.

I address myself all day long. Frequently the content of those internal messages are negative. I berate myself for making a mistake at work. I beat myself up for forgetting a name or a word. There is no end to it all. It isn't strange to talk to oneself. Everyone does it and most of us talk to ourselves in such a manner that if it was possible our inner self (whatever that is) would have stopped listening long ago. I want to do something different. I want to speak my intentions to myself. The phrase 'Speak my intentions to myself' besides sounding a bit self involved in an Allen Ginsbergian sort of way is a striking phrase. It has some amount of power. But I don't want to just 'speak' to myself for two reasons. One is that I need a way to mentally change the state of the tone of the dialog with myself from the pedestrian and casually insulting (as much of my internal dialog is) to respectful and even reverential which is what each of us deserves. We deserve to e treated with dignity and respect due to humans and the mystery of consciousness and intelligence deserves awe. Reason number two is that when speaking to myself I do not hear answers. I do not hear a voice in my head speaking back to me. I have realizations. These realizations are not reliable or are they always timely. When having dialog with oneself one might have to wait weeks for an answer, or only moments. My inner 'voice' that answers me in images and memory is much like the Christian god. My inner self sends me realizations much as their god supposedly sends them revelations. While gods traffic in miracles, consciousness has truck with thoughts and actions.

So I will pray to myself with as much awe and reverence as I can muster. If we can use the words good and evil, why not also throw in the words prayer and divine. Each of us is mysterious, powerful and amazing. Each of us is in a purely secular way divine.

Atheism is a negation. It shouldn't be necessary to define one's position as an atheist. As many new atheist writers have written we do not need a special name for those of us who do not believe in fairies. However frequently when I tell an atheist that atheism is a void, that it is negative space, they take it as an insult. I believe that it is because many atheists have fought hard for their non-belief.

I shouldn't be surprised when an atheist bristles at the idea above. They may have lost friends during their deconversion. They may have lost family. They may even still be mourning the faith they left behind. Many of the most energetic atheists were in fact rabid believers. They were people who suffered and struggled to face the 'cold austere beauty of the universe.' They were naked and screaming and defiant after leaving the womb of the church. Naked and frequently alone they look for fellowship in this country so hostile to their kind. In this state if they hear me seem to mock their pain they get angry, and they should.

Atheism is an absence, but it is a useful and a productive one. And this is what my statement above fails to encompass and explain.

Picture yourself as a hypothetical believer in a metaphorical cathedral. The cathedral represents your worldview up until this moment. All around you are soaring walls decorated with intricate works of stained glass. Because one can always take refuge in God's grace it is hushed in the house of God. The silence itself magnifies the words, phrases and whole anecdotes that leap into your mind as your eyes run across symbols of the faith; the cross, the alter and myriad statues. Your eyes begin to interpret the brightly painted glass of a window. It shows a story from your bible classes. But as you lean forward to examine the swirls of color in one large plate you see things moving behind the glass. At first you ignore the phantom movement of objects obscured by the glass but eventually it can not be ignored. For a moment shock holds you in place. A horrible sinking feeling fills you. There are thing outside the Church. There is a world outside that is neither encompassed nor explained by the Church walls. But to explore that world you will have to leave the house of God.

The angry atheists are the ones who had to kick out a beautiful, beloved and meaningful stained glass window in order to see reality. They are angry that they were fooled for so long, and they feel betrayed by those they admired and trusted. In a sense they were forced to exchange a something for a nothing. They lost a cosmology and gained an empty space that was useful for looking out at the world as it is. A sublime and comforting crystal tapestry had blocked their view of the universe and they tore it down. The beautiful cathedral window was a work of comforting fiction. The newly free are proud and defiant and they love their useful emptiness.

As an agnostic I feel there is one more comforting fiction to relinquish and that is the illusion of certainty. The believer opens his mind and becomes an atheist who then loosens his fist and becomes an agnostic. I don't mean to be insulting. I don't think agnosticism is the more 'reasonable' point of view if by reasonable you mean a compromise between faith and science. When I say more reasonable that is exactly what I mean; more in line with reason. Agnosticism is a state of doubt about all truth claims. I believe that its usefulness lies in its admonishment to keep ones mind always open to better explanations. It is the doorstop that keeps ones mind from slamming shut as it is wont to do.

However in the end even agnosticism’s gifts are paltry when compared to the imaginary splendor of a belief system. While the stories of a religion may be false, the comfort of community is very real. In the end we must look beyond negation and even an open mind if we want to be happy social animals. What we need is community. We need free thinking companions or at least believers who cherrish and respect us, doubt and all.

As it has been said, it is best to begin at the beginning, proceed through the middle and stop at the end. So where did my own skepticism begin, how has it been nurtured and where to I stand today? Let me explain.

I was raised by a woman who just happened to be my mother. It didn't have to be that way. Tarzan after all was not. But I digress and a digression this soon in a post is not a good sign. Let me start again, and more skeptically. I was raised by a woman who I do believe to be my mother. She was a non practicing christian. I would like to think she was non practicing because she perfected her christianity when she was a girl, but since she is currently a supporter of the death penalty, a rather uncharitable point of view, I don't think that is the case. My mother however was intelligent and humorous and a above all irreverent. It is in that irreverence that I believe my skepticism was born.

In the historical mystery by Umberto Eco titled 'The name of the rose' the plot centers around a killer monk that fears the subversive power of laughter. In my case I do believe that my ability to laugh at the truly ridiculous despite societies expectation that I worship it saved me from a life filled with superstition. While my propensity for critical thinking is important and I'm sure that came from my mother as well, my sense of humor is what allows me to truly enjoy the strange and wonderful world of adult make believe, without becoming enthralled by it. All the worlds a stage, and much of it shows stand up and slapstick comedy.

And so I was trained at an early age to be amused by improbable things; In other words, to give religion it's due. But while humor protected me from the need to fool myself it did not answer any questions. All the questions a child generally has, I had. Luckily I had a mother that didn't mind saying 'I don't know.' And she knew where the library was. I was raised in an environment that encouraged both inquiry and the acquisition of knowledge. At 5 I knew many more specifics about individual dinosaurs than I do now, and rather than thinking me a geek or an egghead my mother was proud. I was rewarded for knowing things.

So, with a love of humor, the absurd and knowledge I was armed and ready. That was how I became a skeptic. I was raised to be one. But what sustained me? In the beginning there was no great effort involved in maintaining my skepticism. The framework of knowledge I had started to build as a child was enough, although I would be a sad sad little man if my understanding hadn't been refined over time. 'When I was a child I spoke as a child I understood as a child I thought as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things.' It is fun to quote religious writings especially when one can redirect their original meaning, but I have a serious point.

When I was young, I thought science was RIGHT; Yes, right in capitals. I thought it was a replacement for religion. It was Hamlet, the wronged hero come to vanquish the wicked usurper from the stage with a a blade as keen as Occam's. It had all the answers. That it was right seemed obvious; self evident. Science produced results. That was the bottom line. At that time I thought science gave final answers. I thought the universe didn't play dice; that an object could only be in one place at a time. I thought nothing moved faster than light. Obviously there comes a time when you learn that none of these things are completely true. Eventually faithful science balks and rears. The steed becomes the sphinx, but instead of devouring one for incorrect answers it simply continues to riddle. The universe transforms itself from a place that can ultimately be understood, to one that offers mysteries that are seemingly impossible to intuit.

Feynman said:

'I think I can safely say that nobody understands quantum mechanics.'

Even if he was wrong, there seem to be precious few of us to give him the lie. In short, the universe is weird, fundamentally, irreconcilably weird. We can calculate it, but we aren't evolutionarily wired to get the behavior of it's current basic building blocks on a gut level. I see no evidence that convinces me that the universe isn't 'Turtles, all the way down.' Hell, universes themselves might evolve. We have to face our limitations.

There I was. Not only was the world around me made up of objects that were mostly empty space and ghostly forces, but on a fundamental level the universe only offered approximations and probabilities. On top of that I learned that I had been betrayed by words themselves. I found that I had to come to detente with the parts of post modernism that made sense to me. Scientific communication takes place using words and language. Words and language offer their own traps and inadequacies and not only for the unwary, but for everyone. Communication has a cultural context that takes part in both defining and interpreting scientific concepts. To top off all this, I found out that there is no such thing as the scientific method. There is no one set of rules to go by that can be defined as the scientific cannon for all disciplines. So what did I do?

For years, I did nothing or at least I didn't do what was required. But eventually I faced my fear. I dug into philosophy in an attempt to understand what had lead up to this mess. I felt that all of human history was involved in conspiring to make my head a maze and muddle. Because I'm a slow reader I would have found it too challenging to read every philosopher in depth, so instead I read books about philosophy in general. I read surveys of philosophy. I wanted a general outline of the evolution of critical thought. Where had we come from and where are we going? In the end I was led to a question. THE fundamental question: How do we know? Then it all made sense. Science for me is about that question and that question alone. Science is in effect the answer to that question. It isn't the answer to 'What do we know.' It is the answer to How.

So my focus changed and individual elements of knowledge faded in significance while the over all framework that I use to evaluate those facts became primary. It isn't an answer that will ever be complete or perfect, but it is an answer that I'm happy with. Now I know that if I work on my How, my What will best representation I'm likely to get of the IS. The best we can do will have to be good enough. Because good enough is the best we can do.