Retreat from reason

Retreat from reason

18th-century illustration of the Lighthouse of Alexandria by Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach

Originally published 11 September 2005

Is there a flight from rea­son in the Unit­ed States?

Every­where we look, sci­ence is under attack. In gov­ern­ment. In the schools. In the churches.

We are offered faith-based sub­sti­tutes. The Left Behind series of apoc­a­lyp­tic nov­els out­sells every­thing else on the shelves. Peo­ple are more inter­est­ed in astrol­o­gy than astron­o­my. Intel­li­gent design is cham­pi­oned at the high­est lev­els of gov­ern­ment. Alter­na­tive med­i­cine — faith heal­ing, home­opa­thy, ener­gy ther­a­pies, New Age heal­ing, and the like — is more pop­u­lar than ever. Scrip­ture and rev­e­la­tion are embraced as more reli­able sources of knowl­edge than any­thing we might learn empirically.

We are enter­ing, it seems, a new Dark Age. For a sub­stan­tial num­ber of our fel­low cit­i­zens, it’s as if the Enlight­en­ment nev­er happened.

Let me take you back to the Hel­lenis­tic city of Alexan­dria, at the mouth of the Nile Riv­er in Egypt, in the 3rd and 2nd cen­turies B.C. Alexan­dria was then the seat of a mag­nif­i­cent flow­er­ing of math­e­mat­i­cal and sci­en­tif­ic thought. The city wel­comed all com­ers — Eratos­thenes from Cyrene, Aristarchus from Samos, Archimedes from Sici­ly, Apol­lo­nius from Rhodes, Hip­parchus from Nicaea, Galen from Perg­a­mon, and so on — the only require­ment being an inquis­i­tive mind and a bent for explain­ing the world in terms that made no ref­er­ence to the gods.

Geog­ra­phy and astron­o­my became math­e­mat­i­cal sci­ences. Eratos­thenes mea­sured the size of the Earth. Aristarchus deduced the sizes and dis­tances of the Sun and Moon.

These spec­tac­u­lar achieve­ments get no more than pass­ing men­tion in text­books of West­ern Civ­i­liza­tion. We learn in school about the Gold­en Age of Greece and the glo­ry that was Rome, Sopho­cles, and Ovid, the Parthenon and the Pan­theon, triremes and aque­ducts, but very lit­tle of the inven­tion of sci­en­tif­ic think­ing in the white city at the mouth of the Nile.

Alexan­dria was built on a rib­bon of land between Lake Mareo­tis and the Mediter­ranean Sea. It was graced with forums, tem­ples, mar­ket­places, palaces, a dou­ble har­bor with a famous light­house, quays, ware­hous­es, and, promi­nent­ly, a muse­um (“place of the mus­es”), and the famous library over which Eratos­thenes presided. The muse­um and library were togeth­er the equiv­a­lent of a great mod­ern uni­ver­si­ty. It was the dream of the first rulers of Alexan­dria — the Ptole­mys — that the library would pos­sess a copy of every book in the known world, and with­in a cen­tu­ry hun­dreds of thou­sands of scrolls were col­lect­ed with­in its walls. By the mid­dle of the first cen­tu­ry B.C. Diodor­us of Sici­ly could say that Alexan­dria was “the first city of the civ­i­lized world, cer­tain­ly far ahead of all the rest in ele­gance and extent and rich­es and luxury.”

In his book The Greeks and the Irra­tional, the schol­ar E. R. Dodds was think­ing of the Greek cul­ture of Alexan­dria when he wrote: “Despite its lack of polit­i­cal free­dom, the soci­ety of the third cen­tu­ry B.C. was in many ways the near­est approach to an ‘open’ soci­ety that the world had yet seen, and near­er than any that would be seen again until mod­ern times.”

It was a soci­ety con­fi­dent of its pow­ers. Aris­to­tle had asked his fel­low cit­i­zens to rec­og­nize a divine spark with­in them­selves: the intel­lect. Men and women who exer­cise rea­son can live like gods, he said. For Zeno, the human intel­lect was not mere­ly akin to God, it is God, a por­tion of the divine sub­stance. Tem­ples are super­flu­ous, he said; God’s true tem­ple is the human intellect.

Of this supreme con­fi­dence in ratio­nal thought, the Alexan­dri­ans cre­at­ed a new empir­i­cal, math­e­mat­i­cal way of knowing.

But the seeds of irra­tional­i­ty were also there, embed­ded in pop­u­lar cul­ture, or per­haps embed­ded in the human soul. Soon enough, super­nat­u­ral­ism returned. Astrol­o­gy and mag­i­cal heal­ing replaced astron­o­my and med­i­cine. Cults flour­ished, ratio­nal­ists were scape­goat­ed, and sci­en­tif­ic cul­ture began to decline.

The old dualisms — mind and mat­ter, God and nature, soul and body — which the ratio­nal­ists had striv­en to over­come, reassert­ed them­selves with fresh vig­or. Dodds calls it “the return of the irrational.”

He writes: “As the intel­lec­tu­als with­drew fur­ther into a world of their own, the pop­u­lar mind was left increas­ing­ly defense­less … and left with­out guid­ance, a grow­ing num­ber relapsed with a sigh of relief into the plea­sures and com­forts of the prim­i­tive … bet­ter the rigid deter­min­ism of the astro­log­i­cal Fate than the ter­ri­fy­ing bur­den of dai­ly responsibility.”

Har­vard his­to­ri­an of sci­ence Ger­ald Holton sees a sim­i­lar­i­ty between Dodds’ descrip­tion of the decline of Greek cul­ture and the resur­gence of anti-sci­ence in our own time. Once again, astrol­o­gy, mag­i­cal heal­ing, and oth­er kinds of super­sti­tious think­ing are in ascen­dan­cy. Once again, cults flour­ish and ratio­nal­ists are scapegoated.

The Greek expe­ri­ence shows that move­ments to dele­git­imize sci­ence are always present, says Holton, ready to bend civ­i­liza­tion their way by the glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of folk belief, vio­lence, mys­ti­fi­ca­tion, and the rabid ide­olo­gies of eth­nic and nation­al­is­tic pas­sions. Dodds calls it “the fear of free­dom — the uncon­scious flight from the heavy bur­den of indi­vid­ual choice which an open soci­ety lays upon its members.”

Sci­ence can only pros­per in a free and open soci­ety, in an atmos­phere of ratio­nal skep­ti­cism where tra­di­tion­al pat­terns of thought are chal­lenged and sub­ject­ed to crit­i­cal scruti­ny. Sci­ence will only flour­ish when a peo­ple have con­fi­dence in the pow­er of the human intel­lect to make sense of the world.

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