Moral Philosophers have developed the idea of relativism, which recognises the importance of social environment in determining beliefs. The diversity of social environments, has lead to the conclusion that there are no universal standards of good and bad, right and wrong (in other words, in the modern philosophical concept of ethics, there are no ultimate, agreed, objective, absolute standards). Such philosophers appear to spend much of their time on apologetics, but I will not be dealing with ethics in this article (save, perhaps, in the loosest sense). Rather I will be looking at the epistemological status of proof, and what processes we follow in evaluating the ontological status of evidence.

Some Philosophers of Science have also taken up the idea of relativism, maintaining that there is no such thing as an objective, ahistorical knowledge of things (things independent of the knower) and that the perceiver of an object is influenced by a societal context. Appearance and Reality are taken to be separate things, with perceptions being open to a multitude of interpretations. This is particularly applied as regards judgements concerning rival scientific theories. What is taken as better or worse in a theory will vary according to the individual and the individual's socio-historical background. Objects are taken to be a useful conception for everyday life, but in science are to be regarded as simply collections of sense data, open to interpretation. This is in contrast to the classical, rationalist view of scientific method, which maintains that science draws general conclusions from a number of separate observations of Objects, taken to provide a universal standard for objective knowledge (general absolute statements of truth). The rationalist view assumes that all rationality is the same, and all rational persons would (in theory, at least) come to agree concerning truth and knowledge, if placed on an equal footing (which is to say, granting the same level of intelligence).

If I say that I believe in the Loch Ness Monster, you might ask what evidence I have for such a belief? I might reply that my belief is based upon the documented sightings of others, or on photographic evidence. I might even claim to have seen the Loch Ness Monster myself, and on such grounds might claim that I do not simply believe in the Monster, I have a firm, empirical based knowledge of its existence. Is there anything about such a claim that differentiates it from the claim of a physicist concerning, say, the existence of atoms? In the case of atoms, one could argue that I have less direct evidence, in that I can only take the word of others that there is any such thing (although photographic images have been produced - even fuzzier than those of the Loch Ness Monster).

Identifying the difference between types of claims to knowledge has been called the problem of demarcation (Popper). Many of us would wish to distinguish between different types of statement, defining some as less reliable than others. For example, a statement that a teapot is currently in orbit around Mars. In the case of the teapot statement, how do we know whether it is accurate or inaccurate? We may be tempted to dismiss it out of hand due to its absurdity, but many things can sound absurd (quantum theory, for instance).

What is it that gives credibility to the physicist's comments on the subatomic world - comments which may be beyond the average person's understanding - and yet rules out the teapot orbiting Mars? Well, for one thing, the physicist has social standing. We take it for granted that only intelligent, rational people are clever enough to become physicists. Beyond the individual practitioner, Science itself, as an institution, has acquired great kudos in our culture. The very fact that a representative of such an institution makes a statement, lends that statement a certain culturally derived weight. We receive great benefits from our science-based technology and return the respect due to success. Therefore, if a scientist told us a teapot was in orbit around Mars, we might be more inclined to be astonished, rather than totally dismissive. If a scientist were to make the teapot statement, can we say anything else to account for the respect we would give, even to such an absurd claim? I think we can.

Because the statement came from a scientist, we would be astonished rather than totally incredulous, due to our expectation of answers. As a matter of course, we would await the scientist's explanation. We would expect the scientist to tell us how the teapot got there, and why. What's more, we would expect an understandable explanation of the method (a rocket, for instance) and a reason for the undertaking (what is the point of it?). If the scientist explained that the orbiting teapot was the result of a teleportation device, we might be impressed and understanding might begin to dawn, but we would still expect further explanation. For instance, we would want to know, why Mars? A planet currently unreached by manned flight. If the scientist explained that the teleportation device made the teleported object radio active, we might be inclined to admit this as a sort of reason for the choice of site, but we would perhaps be a little suspicious by this time. Even if the teleported object is radio active, surely it could have remained on Earth? What is the point of sending it to Mars? To test the range of the device, the scientist might say. But we would immediately want the scientist to reproduce his claimed results in a manner that would allow us to check his success. After all, we can hardly accept his claim without empirical proof - without going to Mars to see if a teapot is indeed in orbit - and this might be impracticable for some years to come. We would demand a repeat of his experimental teleportation, with witnesses (preferably other scientists), and we would also expect a great deal of mathematical theory, which could also be examined, not to mention a machine of some sort. If these things were not forthcoming, and if the scientist refused to do anything more than insist on his initial claim, we would be likely to wonder if he might not be suffering from a mental breakdown.

From this train of thought, it would seem that individual scientists cannot rely on the cultural kudos of their profession, or their own personal standing within that profession, as the ultimate proof of their claims. These factors simply prompt our respectful attention for their claims, not our acquiescence. Any claim a scientist makes must stand the examination of his or her peers, whom we expect to be able to understand what exactly lies behind the claims, in the form of consistent theory. We expect the scientific community to understand and analyse scientific claims, even if the average untrained person cannot.

If we take this a stage further, however, and say that the teleporter scientist claims that all his work (the machine and all the notes covering the theory of teleportation) was stolen by a secret government agency, we leave the province of one type of claim, and enter the province of another. The scientist is no longer making a claim that can be examined and criticised by the scientific community. He is asking for belief without any proof, apart from an explanation that amounts to no more than an excuse for a lack of evidence.

This brings us to the crux of our problem, the problem of demarcation. How can we place a firm dividing line between claims which warrant respect as provable truths, and claims which, although they may be true, may equally be, on the evidence presented or deducible by logic, false? You may well have already decided on the truth of the claims concerning teleported teapots, but for the sake of the argument, let's carry on with the example.

For many of the lines of argument we can think of which might comprehensively disprove the scientist's claims concerning the teapot, we can proceed only so far. If we ask for details of the secret government organisation, we may reasonably be told that because it is a secret organisation, the scientist naturally has no knowledge of it, of where or what it is (this is the surest dead-end). If a particular organisation is identified by the scientist as the perpetrator of the theft, and representatives of that organisation deny all knowledge of the teleporter, the scientist can simply call them liars. If we press the scientist for details of the teleporter from memory, he could throw up his hands and say that it was his life's work and one cannot simply reel off one's life's work from memory. If we pressed him further on this, he might even claim that he was brainwashed by the same secret organisation that stole his marvellous invention. Of course, his fellow scientists might press him to better effect, asking merely for the basics of this great invention, merely for a bare outline of the process of teleportation he claims to have developed. Yet, although the scientist's failure to bring forth anything new or original in the form of a coherent theory, might lead his fellow scientists to dismiss his claims, a small part of the public might be less inclined to agree with them, not being scientists, and therefore not being able (or perhaps willing) to appreciate the strength of the evidence. At this point we can say that it is likely that the majority of the public would take the word of the scientific community that there was no evidence to support the extravagant claims of the rogue scientist, but that there would always be a romantic few to whom the appeal of the conspiracy is perpetual, because it allows the imagination full reign, and teleports many marvellous thoughts from that boring area of "is not" into that grey twilight of "maybe". Let's place ourselves in this romantic minority and say that we still cling to the possibility that Smith, the teleporter inventor (let's call him Smith for convenience), is telling the truth. Is there anything left for us to do? Yes, we can talk. And talk. And talk.

We can talk on a subject that has been dropped by the majority, and has therefore become an area in which there are no experts, save ourselves. We can gain the status of the big fish in the little pond. We can even hold our own in arguments against the majority, because the ultimate rejection of Smith's claim relies on a scientific knowledge and expertise not available to most of us.

Is there anything else the romantic minority can do? Yes, they can await the first manned rocket to Mars. As long as the possibility of empirical evidence lurks in the background, an ultimate decision regarding the existence of the orbiting teapot can be deferred.

Let's say that a rocket eventually arrives at Mars and can detect no teapot. Is this the end of the matter? Hardly. Smith can answer in a number of ways. He could claim that the teapot is there, but has been missed (which might stand as an answer indefinitely). Or that the teapot experiment must have gone wrong, scattering the atoms of the teapot all around the planet, instead of reintegrating it in its proper form.

By this time, you may well be sick and tired of Mr Smith and his claims, but this train of thought has served to develop and clarify a number of the problems to do with epistemological demarcation. One problem might be stated thus: in deciding the truthfulness of a claim, what will be granted the status of evidence? Another might be, how much evidence will be adjudged sufficient to provide validation or falsification of a claim? A third might be, how do we decide when to stop? Or do we ever need to stop, in fact?

Human beings, whether they are scientists or anything else, are pragmatic. In the instance of our orbiting teapot example, if we retrace our steps and say that, although Smith cannot give us the theory behind his invention, he can give us the machine, and he then produces it and uses it to teleport a teapot in front of fellow scientists under laboratory conditions, and does so again and again – then, whether he has the mathematical calculations or not, the thing works and (leaving out radio activity) will be used, regardless of any mystery concerning its theoretical principles. Obviously, Smith's fellow scientists will expect at some point to be allowed to take the machine apart, and will expect to discover its secrets, given time enough to study it, but nevertheless, what works in practice is always acceptable proof to all rational human beings. We believe the evidence of our own senses and rationality first, the judgement of The Wise second.

In fact, recently we have begun to suspect even the judgement of The Wise, because we've found that scientists are as easy to fool as anybody else. Magicians (even amateur magicians) have fooled researchers in various areas and have later revealed how the trick was done. In the United States of America, for example, a convict tested for telekinesis later owned up that, over the years in his cell, he had developed breath control to the point where he could blow small objects about without seeming to make any effort save a mental one. He had often entertained his fellow convicts with the trick and was delighted when scientists proved as susceptible. I rule out this kind of event being accepted purely on pragmatic grounds (if the fraud had remained undetected, I mean). For one thing, the claim to such limited telekinetic powers is not of any practical use: if nothing more than a light weight object in the same room, at arm's length, is being effected, it's more practical to simply use your arm. The same conclusion can be drawn from scientific tests on Uri Geller. Regardless of the reality of supernatural powers of any type, if the powers amount to nothing more than parlour tricks, what is the point? What is the point of bending spoons with the mind when you can do it with your hands? Unless some way of discovering the source of such a power were found, and a way of increasing it, it is of no use to anybody. But the very nature claimed for such hypothetical powers, makes any such discovery highly unlikely. If offered a choice between believing in the supernatural and believing in human tricks and/or fallibility, which appears the most rational belief (the most in accordance with our experience of reality)? Whereas, in the case of the teleporter, it would be very easy to set up properly pragmatic tests, such as the teleportation of goods on a large scale. If a business could consistently use the machine to make a saving on transport costs, then this is proof by pragmatism.

Of Certainty And Logic [Top of the page]

One factor we have not considered needs to be examined. How do we know when we know? In other words, what makes us certain?

What is certainty? It is a feeling that we are convinced. This feeling may be inspired by a convincing argument which has been put to us, but the argument does not create the ability to have such a feeling. The potential to be convinced is in the brain and is an emotion which arises from within the brain. The brain is an organ which has developed through the interaction of the blind forces of nature. Needless to say, the blind forces of nature have no concern with objectivity, truth, or any thing else, seeing as they are blind forces, but we should remember that they are blind forces originating in reality.

Evolution, of course, does not build in particular, specific ideas, but of all the possible mental strategies for dealing with reality, a pattern-seeking model is the one which has survived, suggesting that a view of the universe as a patterned event is the most accurate one, pragmatically speaking. And whilst all life-forms appear to follow patterns of behaviour, the human appreciation of pattern does seem particularly strong, due to our more complex brain.

Certainty is a feeling of satisfaction which suggests completion. Speaking personally, it's usually a fleeting, momentary thing. As soon as new possibilities reveal themselves, it is replaced by a discomfort which demands further thought, towards the revival of that satisfaction. This is a continuous process. Not with everybody, I hasten to add, and not in dealing with all matters. I am fully aware that many people make up their minds on many matters and feel totally satisfied with their own conclusions, or with what they have been told, but I am asserting that all human feelings of certainty originate in the same way. This feeling is closely related to reality. It arises in response to reality.

It might be objected that, if logic and certainty are the result of the blind forces of nature, then they must be as blind as their cause. This does not necessarily follow. If this were so, then the theory of evolution itself would be illogical and unconvincing. I am only using the word "blind" to indicate a force which is not directed by an intelligence. These forces, in other words, have no purpose in mind, yet still make selections, through their very nature, through their interaction over a long time, through their power to kill selectively, without there being a selecting intelligence directing them.

If this were not so, then the human race could not originate as Darwin suggested, byway of such blind forces. If the interaction of blind forces led only to blind results, the human being could not have evolved (unless we are to regard ourselves as a blind result).

The feeling of certainty can be initiated by reality at any current moment, but the feeling itself, I suggest, is derived from the genes. Of course, this is a speculative theory, and I certainly do not mean to in any way deny that knowledge is valuable in the human context. I simply say that it cannot exist outside of that context. People know. Knowing requires a brain and some access to reality.

It might be objected that there is an element of determinism within my proposals, but I cannot see that determinism necessarily follows from what I have said. If our genes promote feelings in line with the requirements of survival, it does not necessarily follow that we must act upon such feelings, or that such feelings can only be inspired by that which is directly and simply related to survival. For example, if I experience a feeling of anger, say, it is not impossible for me to be aware of my growing anger and to contain it. The same goes for feelings of certainty. I may feel certain regarding some line of argument, yet I may still be aware that I can be mistaken, and so contain my enthusiasm. I can, by an effort of will, suspend my certainty, in order to test my lines of reasoning. I do not suggest that such testing will be totally without bias. I am aware that we have a propensity to associate our ego with the arguments we have chosen as convincing (again, I would suggest, as the result of an emotional investment in them).

The brain has been produced, like every other organ, by step by step non-random natural selection. It is my contention that one of its inbuilt survival strategies involves the creation of emotions. One of its emotions is a feeling of certainty. I suggest that one of the things Logic aims at, is the discovery of the rules of certainty. It therefore follows, that any examination of the validity of logic must take account of the evolutionary process and its results. At some point, all arguments, including the claims of Logic, rest upon axioms. It is my contention that axioms rest upon our evolved physical form and the fact that it is a shared form, enabling inter-subjectivity.

That which ensures survival, of course, must have regard to reality, seeing as it was interaction with reality which picked out the successful survival strategies in the first place. The genetic traits we have inherited are successful ways of dealing with reality, or we could not have inherited them, seeing as the ancestor who originated them would not have survived to reproduce.

It is true that, unaided, we may well feel certain, for example, that the world is flat. But once it is has been proven to us that it is round, we may feel equally certain that it is round. The quality of the feeling does not change, but what gives rise to it can. It follows that we cannot rely on this feeling alone, but I contend that this feeling made for the beginnings of logic. And probably helped us to keep going when there was no logic to provide us with answers (pre-language). The feeling shifts to new discoveries as they arise from the ashes of the old certainties. We have come a long way by this means, especially since we combined logic with experimentation. Of course, it has also led us down many a blind alley!

If we say to ourselves, "Why am I certain?" the feeling of certainty is within us. That which inspires the feeling need not be. An examination of reality can inspire the feeling, or it can be inspired by a line of argument. Quantum physics suggests many things which appear illogical - particles can pop in and out of existence in a nanosecond, particles can "smear," can appear to occupy two places at the same time. From this, it would seem that there is a limited area of operation for our assumptions. A large area, admittedly, but it does seem that the rules of physics break down at certain points. This is not to say that we should give up! I've no doubt that we will continue in a quest for greater understanding.

If my arguments in this area fail to convince anyone else, they cannot achieve anything in the way of objectivity. Objectivity is an idealised version of inter-subjectivity. If enough disinterested, intelligent people accept my argument, it will be seen as being valuable. It is a speculative line of argument, of course. Further research may reveal empirical support, or it may not.

This brings us full circle, back to our examination of the original reasons for our taking the scientist's claim more seriously than an ordinary person's as regards the orbiting teapot. The most fundamental reason (although not the sole reason) for holding that a statement is true, is that something is expected (and seen) to consistently result from holding the claim expressed in the statement. It is my contention that human beings are essentially pragmatic, granting superiority to logic only at points where such superiority will not interfere with practical considerations. This is not to say that we eschew logic in favour of mystery, merely that in areas where we are ignorant, we look at what works in practice, hoping to eventually discover logic behind the mystery, and thus to gain understanding. We always, Scientist or not, assume the freedom of rational (and, indeed, irrational) speculation on the unknown.

What will serve as evidence will depend (in part at least) on what it is we wish to prove and the means we have for proving it (the technology available). Evidence is definable as that which contributes towards rational judgement concerning some unknown. In science, such evidence will rely on facts and experimentation: facts which are assembled and interpreted towards proving or disproving a theory or claim, and experiments created with the same aim in mind. The facts exist, (they are abstractions from Reality and, within the context of that continuum, have an existence which we can mentally reflect), but the relevant facts are sought in line with our innate expectation of patterns within reality, patterns we can detect and understand. We attempt to prove our theories by holding them up against reality - by imaginative attempts at creating a correspondence between our mental conceptions and what occurs in the world. In the case of experimentation, if the conditions for a repeatable experiment can be proposed and implemented, and the results predicted by a theory prove to be accurate, this is taken as strengthening the case for the theory. But, once again, the making up of experiments is a rational process, and the experiment created is an artificial construct. The final criteria for evaluating experimental results must surely be pragmatic. Does the result fulfil expectations or not - does the theory "work" or not? What are the implications? Sometimes experimental results in conflict with a theory can be more interesting than the ones we originally sought to generate, if we have the correct attitude of mind.

It seems to me, then, that what serves as evidence will depend on a combination of factors. In the case of science, a consensus concerning standards for what will serve as evidence is derived through the rational debate and examination of scientific peers. But, as with any other group of human beings, interpretation (even with a range of agreed standards to work with) will still play a part. Whether the proffered evidence will really serve as proof, must depend ultimately on pragmatism, because what actually happens is more important than logically justifying what actually happens. What actually happens can be a life or death matter. What actually happens is Reality.

Outside the established forum of Science, in areas less rigorous regarding standards of evidence - less precise regarding the use and clarification of terms - there is far more in the way of unrestricted speculation. A more subjective rationalism fills the gap. In such areas there's less "going and seeing," less experimentation, and more in the way of persuasion towards the establishment of a belief.

The trouble is, our debate takes the form of statements, and the relations between statements, as well as their correspondence with reality, can be problematical. Many statements rely on other statements to acquire meaning and form a coherent construct. Many statements are only to be understood in the light of other statements, which in turn require definition and relation to the facts. A certain amount of circularity or infinite regress can result. In the case of scientific theories, a theory often takes the form of a massive maze of statements - although much can be done with mathematical analysis.

My conclusion, then, is that Evidence is empirical and involves the application of a pragmatic standard as the final determinant of status. But whether (and when) something is Proved or Disproved, is rational, and will only involve the application of a pragmatic standard according to the individual's beliefs concerning pragmatism. This is why it is possible to return again and again to the still unknown elements in Nature and, using new knowledge gained, and/or the technology of a new generation, to re-examine old problems in a new way. It's also the reason some people will never give up.

In science, facts are sought in line with a theory, a theory being defined as a consistent argument which offers a coherent explanation for recorded phenomenon (explaining the phenomenon with a sound argument which refers to already accepted supporting facts from other areas of knowledge). The context of accepted knowledge is very important, if we are to avoid a level of Cartesian doubt which halts all activity. However, in science there is no absolute certainty, simply a pragmatic acceptance of what works as a convincing explanation. Explanations may also predict or reveal phenomenon previously unnoticed, directing our attention to areas previously unexamined in depth. Facts do not merely count for or against the theory in question, they can also influence its alteration and development and can serve to indicate a direction for further experimentation. Unexpected results can be more instructive than those sought.

The origins of a theory may well lie in a consideration of the general body of theories which compose the core knowledge of science. This same body of accepted knowledge may well be referenced in examining factual support for the new theory. In other words, we consider new data in the light of old. Each new theory offered does not "begin again," it builds upon the past. Significant facts are not sought blindly, but in line with previously accepted facts. This "past" will also include the scientist's wider context, within a human family and a human society where standards for proof and evidence are more relaxed (allowing the freedom to theorise). From this base, we gain the freedom to extrapolate. In the formal context of science, theories which depart entirely and absolutely from the core knowledge must stand up to the most rigorous examination possible. Even then, such theories will need to offer an alternative explanation for facts previously explained. If they do not offer such an alternative, they are regarded as flawed in their current state. They must be developed to a state where they can offer such an alternative - although the new suggestions they reveal may still be considered whilst awaiting such development. It could be argued that all science is, ultimately, provisional as regards explanation.

The credence of an explanation is decided empirically. Explanations offer objective opportunities for investigations (opportunities which may be grasped or overlooked, but which do exist, regardless of the view of the investigators). They allow for checking. The checking stops when a consensus of satisfaction is generated within the scientific community, but may start again at any time, if new light is thrown upon previously accepted results (one of the objective opportunities previously overlooked may be noticed, for instance). Evidence bears interpretation. The facts are like a jigsaw puzzle in which some of the pieces (but not all) can be fitted together in various ways. The pieces themselves are objective, but their assembly, and the view of the picture formed, is another matter. The ultimate test is what actually works in reality. If my view of the picture results in nothing and yours in the discovery of a new planet, yours will receive provisional acceptance. The more your picture does in the way of practical results, the more acceptable it will be to view the jigsaw according to your view of the picture produced. An explanation is fruitful when it works with known phenomenon, so as to allow predictions which can be confirmed. Yet, because all theories and explanations are expressed in statements, and statements (at some remove or another) are descriptions of sense data, their correspondence with reality cannot be absolute (human interpretation gives a "spin" to even the most straight forward of statements). The preconceptions of the human being checking the evidence for a theory will have an influence on their conception of the particular facts to be sought to check against the theory.

As science has moved further away from the language and ideas of ordinary people, we accept what is said by scientists based upon Science's past record of success, although it should be said that scepticism towards the benefits of science has grown over the course of the last century, with its Atom bombs and its growing environmental problems. In other words, scientists discover - that is the specialisation assigned to them by our society, and a role they perhaps too readily accept. The applications of their discoveries come afterward, as a result of technology. Scientists have the same predilection for short-sightedness as the rest of the human race (philosophers included). Our pragmatic assumption that "what works, works" may well get us into big trouble, if later on we find that what has worked has created new problems to be overcome (as with the growing failure of antibiotics, for instance). The trouble is, our limited life span imposes this short-sightedness. We do not think in millions, or even thousands of years. We only see for the lives of ourselves, our children and our grandchildren. Beyond this is beyond our powers. This human limitation may well be the death of us.