At the center of the late, the great, the Ohio State, University lies a magnificent stretch of prarie called, "The Oval." It is called "The Oval" for obvious reasons: It is shaped unmistakably like a giant oval. Perhaps it was so designed to enshrine the great religious festival of Columbus, Ohio -- the playing of college football -- but, I can only guess at this. The oval stretches, along its longest axis, from east to west, from the main entrance of the university on world famous High Street, to the equally famous William Oxley Thompson Library not quite three quarters of a mile away. Standing on High Street and looking west (a common practice in nineteenth century America) one sees the glistening ten stories of the white granite library rising in the distance. When weather permits, the Oval is abuzz with activity. The throwing of frizzbies and footballs, picnicing, sun bathing, allowing your dog to piss in the grass, and the tickling of one's girlfriend are all accepted as normal.
Arranged about the north and south sides of the Oval, stand all the original buildings of the university, buildings dating back to the last decades of the nineteenth century, when the university was known as the Ohio Mechanical and Agricultural College. My particular favorite has always been Orton Hall, which once housed the department of geology, and still houses the the geology collection. I like Orton Hall for its unmistakably late victorian "wedding cake" and fortress architecture. Its massive campanile still rises some one hundred feet in the air and chimes the hour in that fashion plagarized so often from Big Ben. Lest I be remiss, I should also mention that it chimes the alma mater song of Ohio State, Carmen Ohio, another plagiarized tune, which one can find in many traditional protestant hymnals as Spanish Chant.
The geology collection inside is quite stunning for a midwestern school with humble agricultural beginnings. In particular, what has always impressed me is the massive, fossilized back armor of an ankylosaurus, mounted in the center of the one room display. At least, it was mounted there twelve years ago, the last time I visited it. As with the ten gleaming floors of the William Oxley Thompson Library, the ankylosaurus remains undiscovered by the undergraduate student body. We are, though, ranging a bit far afield from the subject of our vignette. As fine as Orton Hall is, standing on the south side of the oval, our real interest for this tale lies directly opposite, on the north side. And that interest is with University Hall.
University Hall stands on the site of the first building of the university, constructed in 1870, to house the Ohio Mechanical and Agricultural College. That building was called, oddly enough, "University Hall." In 1970, the first University Hall, a building of striking character and victorian elegance, was razed on the pretense that it was "unsafe" for further habitation. Upon its ashes was constructed the second "University Hall," a new and improved University Hall, intended, externally at least, to be a replica of the first. It failed. It still fails. It will always fail.
The important thing about University Hall is that it houses the department of philosophy. In my estimation, that's what gives any building, campus, or university its importance -- that it houses a department of philosophy, however humble it be. The philosophy department and its privately endowed library take up most of the third floor. But the really important floor of the building is the second. At the extreme west end of the floor is a large room that covers the width of the building. This room is known affectionately as the "TA room" or "TA lounge." The letters 'T', 'A' are pronounced separately and as their names. They are the abbreviation for 'Teaching Assistant', which has a marked affinity with the abbreviation 'S.O.E.', or 'Scum Of the Earth'. It is here that the philosophy graduate students have their study cubicles, formed from two five and a half foot high pieces of prefabricated plastic, set to intersect like a cross and so making for four separate study spaces with attached writing desk, book locker and chair. There are cubicles sufficient for perhaps 32 students. In the center of the room is a "lounge" area with sofa, perhaps one or two comfy chairs/love seats and a coffee table. The coffee table is generally the scene of an intense game of chess, which, if one only briefly walks in then out of the room every other day or so, gives the impression of having gone on in tag-team format for years. Once in a great while one will find a faculty member "slumming" in the lounge area and expostulating to an eager group of his novitiates, usually his teaching assistants, who have only one thought in mind -- to impress the hell out of this guy and get a great letter of recommendation. It is in this condition that, one Spring day, I chanced upon Prof Garner.
Full Professor of Philosophy, Richard Garner, specialist in moral theory and self-styled amoralist, was holding "court" in the TA room lounge area. Surrounded by some eight or nine of his TA's for philosophy 130 -- Introduction to Ethics. He was expostulating upon the rational virtues of the scientific method over and above the superstitions of religion, ouija boards and other mistakes of the great unwashed masses, when, suddenly, I walked through the door.
"Well, here's a perfect example of what I'm talking about!" Professor Garner gesticulated grandly with his left hand in my direction, his usual large and confident smile spread across his jaw from ear to ear. I was caught in mid stride, halfway from the door to my study cubicle in the north east corner of the room. I turned towards his majesty, partly in puzzlement, partly in extreme pleasure that I was now the center of attention for the entire room. (I like to hold court as much as most faculty do!) I turned towards Garner, knowing, that as my ancient nemesis, he had just launched the first salvo of our latest battle.
"I'm sorry," I said, with feigned and exagerrated surprise, "are you addressing me?" (I always like playing the innocent dupe in dialectics. It leaves me unembarrased by defeat, yet magnanimous in victory.)
"You're a perfect example of what I'm talking about!" he explained, with another grand gesture for emphasis.
Now at this point, I should explain the nature of my relationship with Prof Garner, just to stave off misrepresentations. Although we are ideological enemies of the most divergent positions, there is hardly a human being in the world who is kinder and friendlier than our professor, and, though he would deny it, moral as well. We've crossed words before, but every such skirmish has ended in a friendly smile rather than bitter wounds, without diminishing the mutual respect we have for each other. I say, "mutual respect" even though he may secretly harbor the belief that I must be a superstitious clod, since on occasion he has pointed me out as an example of someone who, though able to complete a Ph.D., has remained mysteriously immune to having "learned" anything from the philosophy faculty of the late, the great, the Ohio State, University. (Actually, what he has said to me, in front of other students, is, "See, here's someone whom we have failed to teach anything!" Which means, of course, they couldn't convert me to much more sensible ways of thinking, like logical atomism, or the verification criterion of meaning, or the warranted assertibility theory of truth, functionalism, or that Plato was just an ancient world version of Wittgenstein and other asorted fantasies.)
Well, coming back to business, I couldn't help but ask, "Pardon me, but example of what?"
"An example of someone who persists in totally unscientific beliefs despite the cultural of science and reason by which he is surrounded!" What the professor was referring to was the enlightened environment of the university, to whose indoctrination I had remained impervious.
Now this comment caused me to lower my head and scratch my chin in a manner of thoughtful puzzlement -- a manner I took pains to prolong, by affectation, so that it sank in on what was fast becoming my audience, my court. Although on the defensive, I was enjoying myself. In fact, in the give and take of dialectics, on the defensive is the best way to be, since your antagonist will stick his head out, argumenatively, and then, if you're quick on counterexample, you can cut it off before he pulls it back in. Critique is easier than positive argumentation. If I could play coy long enough, my nemesis would stretch his head right to my chopping block.
"Unscientific!!?" I feigned hurt, "Why, I've always thought of myself as quite scientific! I have a bachelor's in chemistry, and unlike many who teach chemistry, I've actually worked in the field and I dare say that makes me the most scientific person in this room!!"
"Well, that's not what I mean," enjoined the good professor, "What I mean is, you believe things that are unscientific and thoroughly discredited, scientifically."
"Like...?"
"...like the Virgin Birth, you believe in the Virgin Birth of Christ, don't you?" he said, with an air of finality, even triumphant exultation.
"Well...," I prolonged my answer, feigning that I was checking the stored memory house of my belief system, "...yes, I do believe so,...yes,...that is something I believe,...I admit it."
"Well that's just what I'm talking about," he said, with a sense of joy that was euphoric, "That is the perfect example of an unscientific belief, and anyone who believes such is unscientific!!!"
I feigned surprise, puzzlement and ignorance, all in one questioning look, "Unscientific? Why it seems perfectly normal to me. Pray tell, why is it unscientific? Compared to what some people believe around here, such as a-moralism, it seems pretty tame."
Prof Garner now exhibited what was the slightest, the ever so slightest, twinge of impatience, "What I mean is, it's a non-testable event."
This was a turning point in the battle. The enemy had turned his flank to my front, and was about to be enfiladed. You see, Prof Garner had done what, under different, less passion filled circumstances, no careful philosopher should do. He had offered me a definition of something, and what he had offered, implicitly, was a definition of the term 'scientific'. And if there is anything that philosophers and scientists alike have been notorious failures at doing over the last four hundred years, it is defining the term 'science' and all its cognates. This was all it took. I knew that the court was about to crown a new king.
"Non-testable?" I queried, "Well, that surprises me, since you pride yourself on being scientific. I would suppose that being scientific means you believe what the majority of scientists believe, don't you?"
"Well, as long as it's well established by the scientific community..."
"And so I suppose you believe in the law of conservation of matter and energy?"
"Oh, sure!"
"And let's be specific here, that by that law we mean its universal formulation, that matter and energy are neither created nor destroyed, in all the universe?"
And now Prof Garner threw his head back with a big grin aimed at the ceiling, his shoulder length grey hair sweeping over the back of the couch. He was searching for something to say in reply as his eyes busily scanned the ceiling, as if a come-back would have been written there. You see, what he realized was that with a clause like "...in all the universe" no such scientific law could ever be, even in principle, testable. As such, the law of conservation of energy and matter was now rendered eminently un-testable, and so un-scientific as well! Smelling blood, (hesistancy in your adversary always means you're close to the jugular vein) I pressed the attack.
"Or we could consider the famous law of Einstein, that nothing travels faster than light, that is, literally, not one thing in all the universe exceeds light speed..."
And now Prof Garner's gaze shot down from the ceiling and met mine directly. He had found his reply. "It's a matter of evidence, and that's how you've been twisting the point here," he said, grinning at me from ear to ear, "...evidence for the law is what's at stake, not a direct measurement, and that's what testability is about anyway, having evidence, direct or indirect for the law, claim or whatever. There's plenty of evidence to support the law of conservation, or that nothing travels faster than light, but there's no evidence to support the claim that there ever was a virgin birth." He leaned towards me as his right hand, fingers together, palm up, swept the air in front of me, from my right to left, as if to hand me my ignorance, vacuously. My come-back was instantaneous.
"But you're wrong there too, since there's plenty of evidence, in that sense, for the Virgin Birth of Christ. It's called the Bible. It contains eye witness accounts of God's interaction with man..."
Garner again threw his head back, but this time in rolling-eyed mockery of what I had just said. Or rather I should say in exasperation. "The Biiiihble!" He chimed, "How can you believe such fantastic myths? Where's the corroboration?"
"Well," I replied, "If it's corroboration you want, then you're probably prepared to throw out most history, for whose events we have only documentation which in most instances is totally uncorroborated, such as Arrian's History of Alexander, or Xenophon's Anabasis, ..."
"It's the content of the document, not it's corroboration in this case. The Bible is just too fantastic to believe..."
"Because its content is un-scientific?"
"Yes, that's exactly my point..."
Now, I believe you can see what has happened here. Prof Garner was in the position of philosophically chasing his tail. In technical terms, he had just begged the question, committed a petitio principii. You see the question was why some content of the Bible was unscientific, which led to our discussion of just what 'unscientific' meant, which led to the question of evidence, which led to the question of why the Bible couldn't count as reliable evidence because the Bible was, well, unscientific. So, you see, the virgin birth of Christ is unscientific because, well, it's unscientific, which is totally unenlightening.
"So," I continued, coyly, "The Bible, or rather the Virgin Birth is unscientific because, well, at bottom, it's unscientific, or don't you see that we've returned to the original, as of yet unanswered, question?"
"Look, Rice..." Things were getting a little hot under the collar. You can tell that whenever someone addresses you by your last name, especially when you have a one syllable name that begins with an 'r'. People can literally growl it at you. "You're just a sophist dancing around the issue. What I mean is the Virgin Birth of Christ is a one time, non-repeatable event and that's what makes it unscientific." So Prof Garner finished quite emphatically, his large inviting smile becoming a hard gaze of "here are the facts, G-damn it, believe them you little a-hole!" "Well," I thought to myself, "...my opponent is getting angry! Now for sure I have the upper hand!"
"So then," I began, knowing I had an advantage to press, "I suppose we are not to believe in the Big Bang origin of the universe, which is believed by many in the community of scientists to be a one time, non-repeatable event, nor are we to believe in the birth of Prof Garner, which by all rights that I'm aware of happened only once and is not to be repeated again, nor that we are sitting here on this particular date, at this particular time, which in itself will not be repeated again, nor..."
Now the good professor was indeed dialectically pissed. He leaned forward with a smile on his face, that kind of You- damnable- little- punk- trouble- maker- who- knows- better- but- is- just- playing- dumb- for- the- joy- of- it- if- this- weren't- so- amusing- I'd- do- some- amateur- dental- work- on- you smile. He interrupted me abruptly. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. Look out the window. Look at the Oval. A virgin birth is not something you'd expect to find on the Oval every day."
The room erupted in howls of laughter. The king's court had mutinied. The upstart usurper had total control. Up to this point, only Garner and I had been talking. Everyone else in earshot had given us their rapt attention. But now the tension was broken as the wind of laughter swept through the TA lounge. Prof Garner himself could not help but betray a huge grin, his eyes rolling back in his head with a look of exasperation that clearly said "We still can't teach this guy anything." This engagement had clearly come to an end--and, it had done so in my favor. Garner leaned forward, again beaming that large inviting smile, and offered me his hand, which I heartily shook, as I always do, and as we always do, we parted friends. I quickly concluded whatever business had brought me to the TA lounge (Another lesson for the aspiring dialectician: When you're a winner, leave the field of battle as quickly as you can. You'll be remembered as a winner.) and left, before the winds of dialectically fortune shifted against me. And I left, just as unenlightened and untaught -- yea, even unteachable -- by the healing balm of the late, the great, the Ohio State, University, as I had entered.