Seeking Truth

The last few posts I've penned for this forum (here and here) have danced around the edges--and occasionally jumped up and down on--the notion that we humans are flawed, cognitively compromised, and subject to some intrinsic constraints on our ability to see, understand, communicate, and act on the truth. Though this is not a new soapbox, I hadn't realized that this notion had taken over my writing and become as strident as it had. Then a good friend asked a simple question, and I found myself wrestling with the consequences of the human cognitive silliness on which I've been recently focused and what it means for truth in general and, perfectly apropos of this forum, truth in our analytic profession.

So, what poser did my wise friend propose? He offered three alternative positions based on the existence of truth and our ability to know it:

1. There is a truth and we can grow to understand it.
2. There is a truth and we cannot understand it.
3. There is no truth for us to understand.

(Technically, I suppose there is a fourth possibility--that there is no truth and we can grow to understand it--but this isn't a particularly useful alternative to consider. As a mathematician and pedant by training and inclination, though, it is difficult to not at least acknowledge this.) 

The question is then where I fall on this list of possibilities. It's an important question, if for no other reason than where we sit is where we stand, and it becomes difficult to hypocritical to conscientiously pursue an analytic profession if we believe either two or three is the case. Strangely, though, I found this a harder question to answer than perhaps I should have, but here is where I landed:

At least with respect to the human physical and social universes with which we contend, there is an objective truth that is in some sense knowable and we, finite and flawed as we are, can discover these truths via observation, experimentation, and analysis.

In retrospect, my position on this question should have been obvious. I've been making statements that human cognition is biased and flawed, averring that this is a truth, and I believe it to be one. We can observe any number of truths in the way humans and the universe we occupy behave. I find, on refection, though that there is a limit to this idea. Specifically, we can probably never know with precision the underlying mechanisms that produce the truths we observe. We may know that cognitive biases exist and we may be able to describe their tendencies, but (speaking charitably) we are unlikely to ever have an incontrovertible cause-and-effect model to allow us to interact with and influence these tendencies in a push-button way.

So, the trouble I have with truth is that we apply truth value to the explanatory models we create. Since these models are artificial creations and not the systems themselves they must, by definition, fail to represent the system perfectly. Newtonian theories of gravity based on mass give way to relativistic theories of gravity based on energy. In some ways one is better than the other, but neither is true in a deep sense. Our models are never true in the larger sense. They may constitute the best available model. They may be "true enough" or " right in all the ways that matter." But both of these conditions are mutable and context-dependent. In a sense, I find myself intellectually drawn to the notion that truth in the contexts that matter to us professionally is an inductive question and not a deductive one.

In the end, I'm actually encouraged by this reflection, though the conclusion that models are and must be inherently flawed results in some serious consternation for this mathematician (soothed only by the clarity with which mathematicians state and evaluate our axiomatic models). I understand better what I'm seeking. I understand better the limitations involved. And, at the risk of beating a dead horse, I am more convinced of the need to put our ideas out in the world. This reflection might never have taken place if not for Admiral Stavridis and his injunction to read, think, and write.