If the people who lived in England between 500-1500 AD were to return today, they would be outraged that we call their period “The Dark Ages.” They would have a point. Any historical period that includes Columbus, Chaucer, and Saint Thomas Aquinas can hardly be labeled “dark”, with so many intellectual giants who still wow us a thousand years later with their brilliant accomplishments.
To be fair, we often called it “The Middle Ages.” But this supposed upgrade actually still downgrades it. Exactly what are these “Middle Ages” in the middle of, anyway? They are between the earlier vibrant Classical Age of the ancient Greeks and Romans and the later, equally dazzling period known as the Renaissance. Once again, this age is being labeled as that sad, unenlightened period between two shining, brilliant epochs.
No wonder, as young adults, we dreaded turning forty and being labeled “middle-aged.” Suddenly, we discovered ourselves right in the middle of our journey from birth at one end and (shudder) what awaited us at the other.
Granted, there is the term “Medieval”, which is not pejorative like “Dark” or “Middle”, but, let’s face it, it has its own problems with its very tricky spelling and its off-putting “Evil” pronunciation.
Here is an age still in great need of a better advertising label.
I’d like to introduce you to a great Medieval thinker, not nearly as famous as Chaucer or William the Conqueror, but a man whose thinking still influences modern science. He was a theologian, born in 1287 in a tiny English village, far away from the seat of great thinkers at Oxford and Cambridge. He would become known as “William of Occam”, emphasizing his lowly birthplace, to show that one born in obscurity could rise to great intellectual heights.
During his lifetime, theologians were too often engaged in impractical, pedantic, and overly intricate debates (perhaps the most memorable being their disputes over how many angels could dance on the head of a pin). And even when trying to solve practical problems, too many thinkers insisted on contemplating every possible solution, from the most straightforward to the most far-fetched.
It was William of Occam who first proposed that, when faced with competing hypotheses, the simplest, most elegant, and least complicated solution is almost always the best. He insisted that thinkers should “shave away” all other assumptions. This is why his problem-solving principle is named “Occam’s Razor.”
Perhaps you might think his logical contribution is hardly a big deal because it should be obvious that the easiest solution is usually the best. Think again. Now that social media reigns supreme, Occam’s Razor has become more essential than ever. Can we think of even one political subject of any kind where social media has not been deluged with ludicrously farfetched explanations and conspiracy theories, when in actuality, dozens of perfectly simple, more probable explanations exist?
Such paranoid thinking can also invade our personal thinking. Have you, like me, after leaving home, ever reached into your wallet or purse and discovered your credit card missing? And rather than logically assume it is back on your dresser, you panic and start convincing yourself it was stolen and, at this very moment, is being used by the despicable thief to book two first-class tickets to Bora Bora?
And now I turn to a deeply personal connection to Occam’s Razor. It became my educational philosophy from the moment I started teaching at UCLA in 1971. My graduate school professors had been smitten with needlessly complicated theories for interpreting literature: deconstructionism, post structuralism, hermeneutics,…blah-blah-blah. Their main purpose seemed not to help us understand and appreciate literature, but rather to make us feel stupid if we couldn’t follow their abstract, obscure philosophies.
When I am remembered as a teacher, I want it to be for simplifying, clarifying, and illuminating the works of great authors so that my readers appreciate them as much as I do. I always try to add anecdotes and large doses of humor, because I believe that if students enjoy what they learn, they remember it far longer.
Perhaps the modern medical profession owes William of Occam the greatest debt. As ever more sophisticated diagnostic tools become available to physicians, they often lose precious treatment time by first running too many tests to eliminate even the most remote causes. A professor at the University of Maryland School of Medicine vividly reminded his med students of the wisdom in keeping it simple. He warned them: “When you hear hoofbeats behind you, think horses, not zebras.”
Our current age is stampeding us with exotic zebras, because it is believed today that only the outrageous and bizarre will cause us to click on a news site or lure us to make a preposterous purchase. May I suggest that you slow down and “hold your horses”, symbolically cherishing their simple beauty.
Ok, that’s enough lecturing at you this morning. I have now officially gotten down off my high horse.
Email Elliot at huffam@me.com or click here