I've finally figured out epistemology and other big words.

When I explain psychological theory to students, I draw the analogy between theory and a computer’s operating system.  The operating system runs in the background, and for the most part, we are barely aware of it.  Yet, it influences everything we do on the computer.  Only when a PC user gets on a Mac machine (or vice-a-versa) does one become aware of the operating system.  I tell students, “You all have a theory—an operating system working in you.  You may or may not be aware of it, but you have beliefs/assumptions about why humans do what they do.  And these beliefs/assumptions affect how you approach and interact with others and how you make your way through your life.  My goal is to help you raise these assumptions to your awareness and maybe call some into question. My goal is to help you become aware of your operating system, maybe forcing you to try on another theory for a bit so you realize which one you are functioning under.”  Hold on to this story for a second, and read on.

I’ve never understood the word epistemology before.  People who dig philosophy at seminary throw the word “epistemology” around a lot.  Up to this point, when I heard it I would just roll my eyes and then figure I just wasn’t smart enough to understand it. 

Epistemology is kind of like theory.   Like psychological theory, one’s epistemological theory is also like a computer’s operating system.  You’re kind of unaware of it until somebody draws your attention to it.  Like some of my students with psychological theory, I was completely unaware I had an epistemological operating system working in my background. 

But over the last 6 months, others in my life have drawn my attention to it—asked me to get on a different operating system.  And all of a sudden I’m actually experiencing epistemology, experiencing “the study of knowledge.”  I am engaging in the activity of questioning my methods for seeking knowledge and truth.  I’m asking myself what I rely on to know what I know and what kind of evidence I need in order to make a statement of truth.  And I’m wondering whether my method is the best way, or at least the only way. 

This awakening started last summer when I found myself arguing with my Systematic Theology professor: I called into the question the ways that theologians just make stuff up without any evidence.  I could not understand this, and my professor thought it was laughable that I needed data to understand something.  The awakening lingered into this semester: My internship supervisor has questioned my method of historical criticism/analysis of the Bible, my trust in scholarly consensus, and the level of confidence I have in the scientific method and empirical evidence.

So what have I come to realize?  My training in educational psychology is rooted in this thing called “empiricism.”  I’ve known that word since I was 21—and I place a high value on it.  My skills in data-based decision-making, observational methods, and evidence-based practices have been honed.  Without even knowing it, learning these skills and absorbing these methods in my early 20s shaped how I came to view the world and how I learned to make sense of my reality, not just in my profession but in all parts of my life.  When I ask myself, “How do you know something is true?” I usually can point to experiential evidence or observable data.  This is empiricism—this thing I value so much—it’s a theory of epistemology.  Wowza!


And what else have I realized? That none of seminary made sense to me until I discovered constructivist approach to theology, thanks to a visiting professor I had the summer after my first year (Joyce Mercer from Virginia Theological Seminary).  No time to address that here, but I certainly rely on that epistemological theory also.  In short, when it comes to humans, the world, and even the Bible, I rely on empiricism.  When in comes God and theology, I rely on constructivism.  In the statement to the right, insert "God" for "world." 

I don’t necessarily think everyone needs to get this kind of awareness—truly!  Frankly, the experience of discovering epistemology isn’t very fun, and I think most people should avoid sticking themselves into some kind of box by stating “I'm a empiricist or I'm a rationalist or I’m a idealist.”  That type of thinking, for most people, is a huge waste of time and very limiting.  It impedes creativity and outside-of-the-box thinking.  Some people, like me, get caught in the trap. 

However, I do think self-awareness is always healthy.  First recognizing that people have different approaches to truth discovery and then raising questions about those methods could be a healthy process.  Why?  Awareness might help one know how he/she interacts with problems, people, and oneself.  Here are some starting questions:  What are my methods for establishing truth?  How do I know what I know?  What do I rely on when I am trying to figure out reality?

Okay, if you actually read this post to the end, come up for breath.  That was a deep.