Biased by the local version of history, we forget that the Scientific Method is only one possible paradigm of reasoning, one that particularly suited humans who found themselves in the Age of Invention and Exploration. When the number of phenomena being discovered is large and each strengthens the fundamental theories put in place, the Scientific Method feels adequate.

The Scientific Method is — my amateur definition follows — the process of rejecting theories through observed contradictory experimental evidence. Synonymous with modern science, it can’t prove anything about the world we live in. It can only evaluate theories for how bad they are.

People tend to forget that even the Ancient Greeks — our model of scientific thought — believed in reasoning that is a combination of the supernatural (mythos) and the rational (logos). For a long time, we have overemphasized the latter, dismissing alternative approaches to understanding reality, but as science turns strange and more distant, I believe we will begin looking for a basis of our understanding that isn’t rooted strictly in observation and rejection of theories.

Science is turning strange. To see this, let’s go back to 1905. The world was a fundamentally different place. All motion in the Universe was governed by a few simple rules first formulated by Newton. Mathematicians believed that every statement about the world can be proven or disproven (shown to be false, of course). We just learned to fly. We built automobiles and submarines, harnessed electricity, and were beginning to understand radioactivity. Maxwell unified our understanding of most of physics into an elegant set of equations.

Today, our laws — even the simple laws of motion — are more complicated. Sure, at low speeds they reduce to Newton’s beautiful equations, but this nonlinearity doesn’t give us much confidence that there is no third-order consequence, and beyond, that we’re simply yet unable to detect. Perhaps the rules that govern how the universe works are unknowable. Moreover, universe is already known to be unpredictable, in addition to being possibly inscrutable. Particles are in a number of states at the same time. The more we refine our models following observations which refute our hypotheses, the more science begins to look like, well, magic. And while we don’t readily admit it, I (and I am sure you, too) feel disappointed by it.

Science is also turning more distant. Many of the advances in physics don’t concern us beyond the drama of popular science narrative. It’s unlikely we’ll directly benefit from the discovery of the Higgs particle, but even if we eventually do (after all, DVDs wouldn’t be possible without Einstein, and his revelations seemed “unpractical” enough), we are adding layers of indirection between our theories and our lives.

Instead of focusing on observations, we can listen to our intuition (what feels right?), our sense of beauty (what is elegant?), or even simply focus more on fundamental phenomena and reason about what is not easily unobservable (what is entropy, exactly? What could the underlying cause of the Universe increasing in complexity be?). Doing this would not necessarily be equivalent to a rejection of logic — I simply advocate for us to go back to the axioms that we base our knowledge base on and revisit them. Once we settle on our axioms, we should absolutely use logic to deduce truths about the world. BUt that first step is crucial in defining what kind of truths we will discover.

Why would the rejection of the Scientific Method be good for us? For one, it may actually teach us something about the universe. Instead of tweaking existing theories, which are increasing in complexity and losing their elegance, we may be able to think outside the box: take an alternative approach, rethink everything we know about the universe, and settle on a much more intuitive and legible understanding.

When a system is born, it is small and vulnerable. It makes many mistakes and may fail easily, but if it doesn’t, it adapts and quickly becomes better and grows in its capabilities. It remains easy to grasp mostly because of its size.

Over time it increases the number of degrees of freedom it can handle.

At some point the mechanics of the system become more like an art — it has enough degrees of freedom, and is stable enough to experiment with its controls. In this highly creative stage, it truly defines itself.

Size is the primary enemy of art so as the system becomes more complex and bigger, its systemization begins. The experimentation gives way to proceduralization, and as some of its outputs are deemed more valuable than others, they are commoditized.

After systemization, these systems focus narrowly on maximizing efficiency of these designated outputs.

The final stage is a natural consequence of specialization and optimization — the system begins to rely on its optimizations. Small deviations in output become costly, as are small deviations in input. Since no system exists in a vacuum, eventually every system becomes irrelevant as the world around it changes. The system dies (a death of explosion if its construction or attrition).

You have seen this evolution everywhere — companies begin their life as small startups that can likely fail but are also agile and productive. As they gain confidence in their status and stability, they begin their creative phase — a killer feature, or a risky but profitable expansion into an unlikely market. Once they turn into corporations, ad hoc work becomes proceduralized, the company is too large to quickly adapt so it focuses on what it does best. Once that’s defined, it minimizes costs. But the industry changes and the corporation, too large to change its operating models, becomes irrelevant. Just think of what happened to Blockbuster’s.

We can expand this to TV shows. A new show much catch the eye. It’s simple and has a small base of supporters. It can change rapidly based on early feedback, but it also plays with its characters to gauge viewers’ reactions. As it gets big, it is doomed to repeat the same tricks, the same lines, the same plot twists, because that’s what the viewers are used to, and it’s difficult to change in a way that doesn’t turn a large portion of the audience off. It becomes formulaic — it has its distinctive style, and it’s no longer creative. As the viewers change their tastes (or as one generation is replaced by another), the show becomes irrelevant and eventually gets cancelled.

This is also true with people, though with some parallels (for example, death means irrelevance to society; systemization means having a daily routine, having a rigid set of preferences).

The best systems can resist this progression for a long time — by remaining agile, maintaining its growth through compartmentalization and appropriate scaling, and maintaining a careful equilibrium between death of attrition (irrelevance) and death of destruction.

Or is being peaceloving a trait that comes with the sophistication of a society brought about by greater literacy, education, and made possible with better health and nutrition?

Or is it simply a fluke and future generations will be just as violent as the prior ones have been?

Are there other mediums like this for alternative forms of life? Is water a universal medium, a necessary — not just likely — indicator of life? (Even more interestingly, is it a sufficient indicator?).

There are many examples of both uses and harnessing of various forces.

As a species, we learned pretty quickly how to use the gravitational force to our advantage — taking advantage of falling down water or pushing boulders on to large, slow prey — as well as the force of the energy-filled elements such as wind or fire. In contrast, after what may seem like a long hiatus, the nineteenth century saw the first truly comprehensive example of mankind harnessing a force — namely, electricity. In the 1940s, we made progress in using the nuclear forces, but we’re far away from harnessing them (through phenomena such as fusion which mankind is hoping to make sustainable within my or your lifetimes).

What’s next? And, specifically, when will we learn to harness the gravitational forces? What will that even look like?

But does it have to be that way? First, what would the Universe look like if entropy did not increase mercilessly? Would it even be allowed to exist? If the flow of time — and thus causality — is linked to entropy, it seems that Universes without that ticking clock would be unstable, ethereal, essentially nonexistent (existence, I think, can only be defined in a knowledge base that also includes time).

Could entropy be reset? Or, in other words, what happens once the Universe reaches its maximum level of entropy (and we now know that such a maximum exists as nothing in nature is infinite — probably another implication of the existence of entropy and thus the Universe’s stability)? The Universe — its existence, history (which requires information, and thus entropy) becomes undefined. Cause and effect cease to exist. The last sigh of a dying Universe nullifies everything the Universe has ever been. The undefinable entity that is the Universe post mortem is no different than the undefinable entity that is the Universe before its birth. And in that chaos where everything is infinite, the proto-Universe has a lot of time to invent the concept of entropy all over again.

This reminds me of how I thought of an afterlife some time ago — we are immortals who one day choose to live a life of a mortal with no recollection of their former selves. If that’s the case, we might just as well enjoy our life before we return to our regular immortality.

So go ahead, destroy the Universe.

Either way, it’s a good thing for the music industry; I can hear Roger Waters sing at a concert thirty years after he recorded an album and have an authentic experience!

Science has gotten fairly obscure at this point, with strange effects that permit particles to pass through walls (but only sometimes) and that allow them to exist in multiple places at the same time. Science hypothesizes at this point that the Universe is made up of eleven or more dimensions, many of them are tiny, curled up strings. There are membranes traveling through the Universe’s five dimensions that periodically create the Big Bang. At this point, if you step back, the belief that the Universe was created by one being may begin to seem like a saner alternative. Are we stepping back and questioning what our hypotheses are or are we complacent seeing complex mathematical formulae (whose sole understanding (let alone derivation) requires years of specialized training) that govern simple world phenomena?

What if everything we know about the Universe is wrong? How does the scientific method help us jump out of a local maximum that seems to explain some of our observations but becomes prohibitively more and more complex in an attempt to patch the holes it continues to expose?

The problem is that it doesn’t.

Let’s analyze them one by one.

1. No false gods. This is a great one: it epitomizes the most unique aspect of the religion, the idea of a single God. But it transcends religion — it establishes the basis for obedience, the credibility of religion. It enables other commandments. If there was only one rule, that would be it. It’s like saying, “Rule 1: Follow all the rules,” and by emphasizing it (after all, it’s the first of the Ten Commandments) it provides a strong bond and creates shared context that’s easy to understand. This rule makes it very hard to dilute it or create offshoots: if there is only one God, you can’t create a more powerful one to win over believers (in fact, after the idea of a single God becomes so engrained in everyone, the only way to compete is to focus on God’s representative on Earth, or later vary the interpretations of God’s writings). More importantly, it centralizes power (one God means one place of worship) which becomes crucial later in the evolution of organized religion.
2. No names in vain. At first I found this a strange rule. First of all, why would anyone care if I shouted God’s name for no good reason? And if they did, why should it occupy such an important place, the second of the ten? I think just as the purpose of the first Commandment is to establish credibility, the primary purpose of the second one is to establish hierarchy. Making the name, and thus its use, special — holy, illustrates God’s place as extreme (God is no longer some minor deity). It’s an incredibly important Commandment because it shapes how religion is interpreted by its believers in everyday life — it creates God that must be feared and loved, God that demands, God that punishes. But it also justifies the organized institution behind God (after all, someone needs to be cleared to use God’s name). The focus on language as an important fabric that facilities the experience of coexistence with God is crucial too, because it further ensures the centralization of power (ensures it is focused in the hands of those who wield the Word well).
3. Honor your mother and father. This Commandment begins a series of ethical norms. It also establishes hierarchy, but unlike the previous one, it deals with a social one, not a theological one. It introduces the concept of respect and position in society. It is a strong reason why the society it creates is stable — if esteem for the elders is almost as important as esteem for God, the young will less likely revolt against the status quo. It also makes life holy: you are to respect somebody solely because of the fact that they gave you birth and brought you up.
4. Respect the Sabbath. Another Commandment that calls for respect, but it’s different in that it asks for respect of a structure (a particular schedule) rather than a deity or a person. It forces the believers to stay connected to their spirituality, to remain believers (and as history shows, the lack of a connection with the religion creates schism). This provides further stability to the religion.

   At first glance, the third and the fourth Commandments may seem reversed (wouldn’t #4 follow logically from #2?). The need for social stability and strong unbringing was probably deemed more important (and more impactful) than the need for the constancy of religious worship. After all, if you respect your parents, they can teach you the values better than a list of Commandments can.

5. Don’t kill. This is the first of the Commandments that establish social norms, and, understandably, it focuses on the importance of life (and the irreversability of death). I think the reason it’s a Commandment may have to do with the difficulty of enforcing this rule early on. I’m not sure it necessarily establishes the sanctity of life.
6. No adultery. Is it really that important? Compared with the other ones it seems strange un-lofty. It’s a norm that is certainly murky (less black-and-white than killing a person) but maybe it’s precisely why it’s been included. It creates a society with higher norms than other societies, a more civilized one. It is a rudimentary form of social protection. Of course, in addition to this, it further enables the creation of a stable, conservative society.
7. Don’t steal. The Commandment establishes the importance of property, and, again, is probably a good rule to include as coming from God as it’s fairly difficult to enforce.
8. Don’t lie. Actually, the Commandment is more specific — it tells you not to bear a false witness against your neighbor — which in my view points to the fact that not all lying is bad (a pretty progressive thought!). Truth-telling is notoriously difficult to enforce so it makes sense why it would become a Commandment.
9. Don’t desire your neighbor’s wife…. This I’ve always been baffled by. It’s a rather stringent moral rule that addresses one’s desires (rather than actions). Why curb the desires? It seems preventive, extremely conservative, doesn’t fit with the other commandments, unless one considers that actions are borne from thoughts and the Commandment is really trying to force you to think (and thus be) morally not just behave that way. Morality that’s been internalized is much stronger than one that is an outcome of fear of punishment.
10. …or any other thing. Really? Why separate it from the previous one? Was it just added because it made a nice set of 10 (a natural size since we have 10 fingers)? It seems dangerous because while desiring of another’s wife is naturally frowned upon, the rule that comes from God that penetrates all thoughts of desire, even envy, seems too stringent and as a result ineffective.

In general, the Commandments are a wonderfully condensed mixture of rules that establish the religion (in terms of its uniqueness–thus stability–but also its role in everyone’s lives, and its self-preservative properties), the social order, and moral norms. It’s not surprising that they aided in the perpetuation of a very strong and stable religion and a society intrinsically linked to it.