Easter Blog

A while ago I noted the propensity of scientists to comment outwith their area of expertise. We'll, I’m sticking very deliberately to an area within my expertise. I'm going to comment, as a professional scientist, on Easter - or at least one of the seminal events that gave rise to what we refer to as Easter. This might strike many as bit odd. After all Easter is a religious commemoration of certain alleged events that are claimed to have occurred sometime in the first century in the Middle East. History, with a bit of theology thrown in for good measure. But what can it have to do with science? And then there’s the central claim of Easter; the entirely implausible claim, that a dead man came back to life. Science proves that such things are impossible right?

Wrong. Science will always struggle to deal with unique events. The methods we usually apply, repeated observation, manipulation and measurement, are not appropriate. Aha the sceptic cries, what about the big bang? Clearly unique, yet also within the purvue of science. But the big bang is a hypothesis. It's currently the best explanation for current observations (for example the expanding universe around us cosmic background radiation). There might be parallels here between the resurrection of Jesus and currently observable events, but they're not quite the same.

That said, the need in science to collect and analyse data and to weigh evidence, can be applied to Easter, with the caveat that the tools employed will be those appropriate to the type of evidence available. So, given that much of the evidence is in the form of literature, the tools will be literary. If there's relevant archaeological evidence, the tools of archaeology will be used. Not surprisingly in the case of an event of central importance to saints and sceptics this kind of thing has been done extensively. Just do a Web search.

But surely someone rising from the dead is just not believable? But why not? Not believable and impossible (particularly scientifically impossible) are different types of claims. My view is that belief (and unbelief) in the resurrection of Jesus is not primarily about evidence, and it never has been. It's about will. There’s plenty of evidence. But any amount of evidence will only take anyone a certain distance.  Easter is not really about whether a given body is dead or alive, but whether a particular person is known or not. Apologetics is fine, and a worthy exercise. I indulge (am indulging?) in it myself. But it's a starting point not a destination. For the Christian (at least for this Christian) it's an obstacle clearing exercise so that the real discussion can begin. And the real discussion isn't about facts, truth, proof, argument and the rest; it's about a person whom I know. A person with whom I have a relationship just as surely as I have a relationship with my wife and weans. A person to whom I can introduce others. And here's where my other area of expertise comes into play.

I am a scientist, that's my profession. But as a person (and all scientists are also people) I have experience of relationships.  There are some people I know about and there are others I know. I know about Einstein. I know a bit more about Sherrington. But I never met either of these distinguished scientists, both of whom died before I was born. But I make this claim: I know Jesus. Of course, if like Einstein and Sherrington Jesus only died, then I am deluded. And indeed He did die in antiquity. But my claim and the testimony of my experience is that He's not dead now. I know Him.

To be clear I came to know Him long before I weighed up the evidence supporting the fact of His resurrection. And the sceptic would be right to point out that this means that there's likely to be a big risk of bias when I examine the evidence for the resurrection. But then the sceptic would have to accept the risk of bias in the opposite diction on their part. However, this does not mean that either of us is incapable of examining the evidence, and doing so fairly. It just means that we have to work at it. In my case, having considered the evidence carefully, apart from my experience of knowing the person who some claim is dead, buried and decayed, I have found the evidence entirely convincing. However, I can conceive of a situation where overwhelming evidence that counted against the resurrection might come to light and I would have to re-evaluate my position. This would be a big problem. I would have to conclude that for a long time I have been deluded. That I have been fooling myself and fundamentally misunderstanding (and misrepresenting) pertinent facts. But I accept that this is not impossible. Is the sceptic prepared to make the same commitment from their side?

But all this talk of evidence is again kind of missing the point about this being personal. I (the person who is also the scientist) know (rather than simply know about) Jesus. The same Jesus who, as we reflected on Good Friday, died on a cross, was alive a few days later, and is alive and knowable today. And I personally know Him. I don’t think I’m deluded (although I suppose that’s what a lot of deluded people say!). I think that my experience of Him is complemented by the objective evidence (ie by evidence separate from my experience), and by the experience of others both through history and now. Indeed, my experience now counts, along with the experience and witness of many others, as further evidence. Now it still might not be persuasive enough to counter the intuition and observation that normally dead people do not come back from the dead, do not walk, talk, cook breakfasts, eat fish and so on. But none of this has any logical traction on the fact that Jesus is alive, did all of these things, and is knowable today.

I know because I know Him.

Alt-facts, fake news and agnotology for beginners

I suppose like many “experts” and not a few scientists, I’ve been troubled by the apparently recent rise of alternative facts, fake news and the like. Of course it’s only apparent (rather than real) and it’s ancient not recent (see Matt 28:11-15). I’ve already discussed why the notion that complex issues are simple and that all that is needed is a dispassionate collection and analysis of facts is problematic. However, on further reflection it turns out that it’s naïve as well. In part, my reflections were stimulated by an excellent article by Tim Harford, the FT’s  Undercover Economist (“The problem with facts”; unfortunately this is behind the FT’s paywall so you won’t be able to read it without a subscription, but see this). He discusses at length how big tobacco combatted a whole slew of facts showing that their product was killing people in their thousands if not millions. They managed to delay by decades any kind of serious reckoning that would east into their profits. Sixty years on from when the evidence that smoking kills began to mount, they are still turning a pretty profit. It turns out that it’s the tobacco playbook that the likes of the Trump and Brexit campaigns have been following either intuitively or explicitly.

So how do you combat inconvenient but true facts? To quote Harford about the indisputable facts from unquestionable sources on smoking: “The indisputable facts were disputed. The unquestionable sources were questioned”. The aim? To manufacture, encourage and maintain ignorance rather than knowledge and truth, an exercise Robert Proctor, a Stanford historian, has called “agnotology”. In fact, last May, during the election campaign, then president Obama spotted this and commented on it in a speech delivered at Rutgers University. He pointed out that ignorance is not a virtue. Clearly, however, as a tactic it’s pretty effective. Look what happened come last November. It turns out that ignorance is in the interest of some people, and that truth is not an unalloyed good. So make an issue sound as complicated as you can, with certainly more than one side and preferably more than two. Question the motives of those whose facts you don’t like and give them motives if they don’t apparently have any. Destroy the notion of the seeker after truth for truth’s sake. 

Of course the problem is, and this is why these tactics are so potentially powerful, that we live in a messy world in which many issues are complicated and motives mixed. Put this together with the observation that genuine facts are tricky things to find and trickier to deal with effectively, and you begin to understand the problem. And then of course (and this is why I was being naïve) clearly there are those (like of big tobacco) whose motives are very decidedly less than pure (profit over lives). The answer can’t just be more facts, although if repeating non-facts (ie lies) gives them a deal of credibility, then repeating facts and finding new and relevant ones must count for something. It has to be a more subtle analysis that sifts the facts, looks at the sources, weighs competing motives and judges the relative importance of different outcomes.

This all takes time and effort. But maybe for democracy to function, that’s what as citizens we have to do. Investigate, collate, triangulate, think, judge. Perhaps this is not something we are prepared to do. Could it be that in complacency most of us would rather stick to narrow sources of information (our favourite web site, like-thinking friends on social media, a single newspaper or tv channel), be told what to think, be credulous about what we’re told, allow ourselves to believe alt-facts we find convenient? If democracy ceases to function, we’re heading towards something less palatable.  In this and other domains it’s time to “be adults in our thinking” (1 Cor 14:20).

A bit of Trumpian perspective

Pundits have been having a bad time. They've been badly beaten up by the people. It’s been a bad time for experts too. Ignored and even mocked. Leading up to the EU referendum in the UK, we were told that Brexit would cost us all money. It would cost jobs. There would be political, educational and cultural costs. A majority ignored the advice. Some didn't believe if. Some didn't want too. Some wilfully listened to different voices that made carefully calibrated and worded, deniable, non-promises. We embarked on an uncertain course to an uncertain destination.

I remember waking with a palpable sense of déjà vu to something else that was scarcely believable right up to the moment it actually happened. One Donald Trump won the US Presidential election. The insurgency that wasn’t really, won again. A rich insider persuaded enough voters in the US (although not a majority) that he was an outsider like them, and that he would be their man if they elected him. Post-inauguration something approaching chaos has ensued, despite claims by the President to the contrary. The “Muslim ban” that wasn’t has been stymied by the courts. He claims that his executive order was good and its implementation smooth, but that the administration had encountered a “bad court”. Courts matter in the US. There will probably, eventually, be a more conservative Supreme Court. But even then, President Trump will have no control over Justices once raised to the Supreme Court. Given that reality has a way of reasserting itself over fantasy, it remains to be seen what the effects of a more conservative court will be. And what happens when the “Mexican” wall doesn’t appear? Or when a combination of tax cuts and infrastructure spending either doesn’t happen or does happen and cripples the economy? An uncertain course is unfolding towards an uncertain destination. And how will we know what’s going on? Bad news is likely to be constantly derided as fake news. And meanwhile it looks like real fake news will be used to distract and confuse.

What has any of this got do with science? Well, it's never nice to see facts trashed and experts ignored. Mind you for the sake of full disclosure I should admit that write from the perspective of an expert (if only in eye movement control). During the US presidential campaign, Hillary Clinton said in her stump speech that she 'believed science'. At the time she was referring to issues around climate change. But this was a risky thing to do politically. It probably contributed in a small way to her democratic demise. It suited quite a lot of voters to discount the science of climate change (complicated and nuanced) in favour of the much simpler idea that their jobs and standard of living, at least over the short term, were much more important. She was also drawing a contrast with someone who claimed to know better experts, whether generals, economists or yes, scientists. And with someone whose connection with anything resembling reality appears, at least on the basis of his public pronouncements, to be tenuous. Given the Trump presidential campaign, and the early weeks of the Administration, given the misinformation on a heroic scale, insults and fantasy we’re hearing and seeing, things are not looking good.

But facts matter, there is a reality that can be usefully contrasted with fantasy. You can get away with voting for comforting fantasy for a while. There are circumstances, after all, in which it is possible to deny the reality of gravity for a little while. But in the end the reality reasserts itself. Get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and the end result is unlikely to be pretty.

As an aside it’s interesting (and humbling) to note that a reality TV star and shady businessman, has had more effect on the world, than most scientists toiling away diligently will ever have. Time will tell whether the effects are good or bad. But it’s a reminder that science the institution is limited in its influence and heavily dependent on other institutions, including cultural and political institutions. Before my science chums get sneery about the 'ordinary' folk and their choices, it's worth remembering that those are the folk science serves. And they are also the folk that, at least in the UK, fund most science via their taxes. Science has its realm, and is spectacularly successful at dealing with certain kinds of questions. But they are not the only questions that bother people, and indeed may not even be the most important ones. Whether I should vote to leave the EU, or vote for a Trump or Clinton, or beyond that how I should live, science is only part, maybe just a small part, of the picture.

When the facts change….

Over time, people change. Over time their ideas change. There are probably few of us who think the same in our 50’s as we did in our 20’s. Those currently in their 20’s will be tempted to dismiss such change as “selling out”. Those currently in their 50’s will probably shrug and call it “growing up”. With some things it doesn’t particularly matter. But changing some ideas is a big deal.

In my 20’s I spent quite a lot of time hanging about with a bunch of sparky characters in the Glasgow University Christian Union. We were, most of us, pretty sure of our ideas. Much of our thinking (and a lot of our arguing) was suffused with the certainty of youth. And this was thinking about the big stuff, like how we should live, what characteristics and attitudes we should manifest, and even our eternal destinies. But we had more than just youthful enthusiasm on our side. We felt that this certainty really sprang from a sure foundation that we had found. That foundation was both personal and objective. It was personal in the sense that it was based on a person, none other than God Himself. It was objective, because God had revealed Himself in a book that was open to all to read and respond to – the Bible. Certainty was a bit unfashionable at that time. Some condemned it as naiveté, some as stupidity. Others saw it as leading to a stifling of adventure and liberty. If anything, certainty today is even more unfashionable. At the time we had our critics who claimed this was all a bit of a phase we were going through. We would grow out of it. We would grow up. We would change our ideas.

Thirty years or so later, these reflections are prompted by the observation that a number of friends from that period have indeed changed their thinking. Some changed quickly, some slowly. Some changed superficially, some fundamentally. And maybe some of us haven’t changed much at all. The change I’m talking about is not the superficial stuff of hair presence or colour, tastes in music, or even taste in politics. I’m sure we all change in lots of ways with age, and should. What I’m talking about are our responses to those more basic issues: life, death and eternity, lifestyle, values, motives and attitudes.

Some have claimed they have indeed moved on and grown up. They weren’t wrong at the time, for that time, but it was indeed just a phase. A sort of youthful hobby that they had time for then, but not as real responsibilities accumulated. So grace, Gospel, Bible, Church, Jesus – all that kind of thing  faded from importance; like an attachment to an old childhood toy. Some have made a much stronger claim. The views they held then, certainties about Heaven and Hell, salvation and sin, Christ and cross, were just wrong. Forgivable in the young perhaps, but they know better now. It’s not that their views then aren’t appropriate now, but that those views are wrong and misconceived now, and in fact were wrong and misconceived then.

My observation is that there is also a group who, in a sense, have not changed their ideas. It’s not that they haven’t changed. For thirty years of life experience not to produce change would be tragic. But the changes are about sensitivity and nuance, not a change to basic ideas and thoughts. Perhaps an increased sense of life’s complexities, bringing a realisation of where the certainties are and where they are not. I belong to this group. And I’ve been trying to figure out why.

It’s a bit unclear who actually said “When the facts change, I change my ideas”. It has been attributed to J.M. Keyes the renowned economist. But there appears to be no record of him actually saying these words. I’ve commented previously about what slippery creatures facts are. Never-the-less, the notion here is clear. I might hold certain views based on certain things I know (or think I know). But if what I have based my thinking on changes, then by implication it’s only right that my thinking changes too. Changed premises should lead to changed conclusions. Suppose I believe that Jesus of Nazareth was not just a man (albeit a great one) but that He was God because he died and rose from the dead. Bit of a bold and contested claim I know. But suppose I find this belief (and all that flows from it) credible because I have weighed the evidence supporting it, primarily concerning an empty tomb, and found it persuasive. Then a startling new piece of evidence comes to light – say for the sake of argument the bones of Jesus of Nazareth! Not that anyone is likely to find a casket of bones conveniently labelled, whose provenance is uncontested – facts are slippery remember. But on weighing the new evidence, I conclude that it is credible, and trumps the evidence on the other side of the argument. I would have to change my thinking fundamentally.

So, now flip this around. Reflecting on the experience of many of my friends who have changed their ideas, I’m curious to know what “facts” have changed. Because to me, most of the facts on which I based my views all those years ago have not changed. I have changed. My circumstances have certainly changed. My responsibilities have changed. But the facts? My conviction that the God who is, and has revealed Himself in His Son and in His Book, remains. At various times it has been tempting to turn my back on what to me are certainties. It would have freed me to perhaps do things that at the time seemed attractive, or behave in ways that would have been pragmatic or expedient. But I would have been fooling myself. I would have been conveniently self-deluded. And although certainty is deeply unfashionable, I don’t see any point in denying that there are some things, some very important things, of which I am convinced. Things I am certain of.

Hopefully as long as the facts do not change, neither will my thinking.

Reflections from Nice

There are large collections of flowers, flags, balloons, football shirts and various other marks of remembrance both on the Promenade des Anglais and round the bandstand next to the Monument de Centenaire here in Nice.  Fully armed soldiers patrol in groups of four along the Promenade and up and down the main streets. Nice in July 2016 superficially feels a bit like Belfast 1986. But that was during a concerted campaign with a political agenda. Nice, an attack by a Tunisian resident in France, has been followed by a spate  of attacks in Germany by an Afghan asylum seeker, a bullied and anxious teenager and a failed Syrian asylum seeker who was facing deportation. All of these events were magnified by the quickly present mainstream media, amplifying the now ubiquitous social media.

Certainly if the objective in Nice was to terrorise the population, the enraged driver of that now infamous white lorry failed spectacularly. What passes in Nice for a beach is packed with quietly toasting bodies. Bikes (with both one and two wheels) still have to be negotiated by pedestrians trying to get to the beach. The cafes, restaurants and market stalls continue to do a brisk trade. Indeed, large as they are, you need to look to see the memorials to the recent attack, and can easily miss the extra security patrols. Life goes on. Reporting from the scene of one of the attacks in Germany, a BBC reporter commented that what struck him was the normality of life just a few hours after an attack. Life goes on; it has to.

Perhaps this is aided by the lack of a coherent campaign and accompanying narrative. The thing about the IRA campaign that began in the late 1960's was it had a clear cause, a strategy and a desired end-point. It provided a historical narrative as well as a contemporaneous one. The response was a "new normal", one that included both obvious and not so obvious security measures. People adjusted to a particular way of doing things that factored in an ongoing terrorist threat. It seemed to me at the time to be a bit like the way a society deals with other structural challenges like chronically high inflation or electricity only being available for a couple of hours a day. You adjust. You have to. Life goes on.

But currently, the randomness of the attacks on mainland Europe preclude this kind of adjustment. Neither the causes of them, nor the causers, have a high proportion of coherence or commonality. So the responses to them may well also be piecemeal and heterogeneous. There will be responses of course. Life goes on.

What you may ask, has any of this to do with my usual concerns of science and faith and God? Well, in the face of these recent events many of the issues I've been commenting on seem rather narrow. Not unimportant you understand, but narrow. None of them in themselves are life or death issues. No one is going to be heaping up flowers to remember them.  Of course we only have time and space to pontificate on narrow matters because of the usual absence of the kind of meaningless violence that has marked these last few weeks in continental Europe. Most of the time, in most places there is no need to look out for a deranged van driver, bomber or axe weilder. Our peace and security, a bit like good health, are perhaps things we only appreciate when they are threatened. They are worth appreciating, and maintaining. Easier said than done.

The kind of calm and space that I've enjoyed in my lifetime did not come at no cost. It may not last. The political and social stability that I've enjoyed may or may not be enjoyed by my children. But while it remains the predominant feature of my surroundings, sitting in Nice I'm reminded to make the most of it. In the words of the Apostle Paul "..making the best use of time.." (Eph 5:16). Perhaps then I'd better get back to narrower, less troubling, matters.

What is a scientist and why does it matter?

Questions are often easier to ask than to answer. So, before trying to answer this particular question, why is it worth trying to answer? Well, science is still generally seen as a good thing, and a useful way of finding things out. And scientists tend to be regarded as speaking with some authority. But this brings with it a couple of dangers.

The first is the propensity of scientists to speak outwith their area of expertise. I can speak with some authority on a number of fairly obscure topics. With all modesty, I know a thing or two about what modifies saccade latency (told you they were obscure). However, I have been known to express opinions on a range of other issues. How seriously should you take these? While I am entitled to a polite hearing and a civil response, my views should carry no more weight than yours outwith my areas of expertise and experience. If I were an economist, and we were discussing the economic implications of Brexit, then you might pay more attention (although apparently not). But if I’m an expert in eye movement control?

Science seems to have a lingering and subtle authority that has a certain cultural influence. Advertisers know this and often present their claims in a pseudoscientific way. So they will be made by a bespectacled, white-coated, grey-haired boffin. Or reference will be made to something that sounds like a scientific experiment that has been run, the results of which can inform your purchasing decision. Subtle biases are being evoked. It is probably true that these effects might be waning. And there does seem to be an anti-expert, pro-ignorance spirit abroad. This spectre was raised by President Obama in his Rutgers commencement speech recently, a speech that also specifically mentioned the merits of science. Never-the-less, if there is even a lingering authority, then those who speak as scientists will benefit from this. Time to try and answer that question.

You might think that a scientist is simply someone who has a degree with science in the title (in the UK someone with “BSc” after their name). And yet, with the advent of mass higher education, there are many thousands of science graduates who have no real practical experience of science. They’ve read about it, they’ve been exposed to some practical scientific skills, they’ve maybe learned how to review other peoples’ science. But this is some way short of actually doing science and being a scientist. And one of the real weaknesses of science education, at least in the western world, is that it is quite possible to do a science degree and at no point step back and consider what science actually is. What is “the scientific method”? Is there such a thing? Is there only one? How does one do a real experiment, as opposed to a prepared laboratory practical? A science degree should provide a basic level of scientific literacy. An understanding that might see through bogus science-type claims in the media and elsewhere. And this is useful. But can the holder really speak for science with any authority?

What about one level up, the “masters” level? Here there are various degree-types. Many of them are highly vocational in nature, preparing the student for specific tasks or careers. No harm in that. But does this qualify the holder as an expert in “science”? Interestingly, again in many of these programmes, there is no attempt to look more generally at science and how it works. Just as interesting, those that only examine the history and practice of science, are by definition not science at all. The next level up is the PhD, still the basic professional qualification in, at least, academic science. This involves doing science, and (ideally) becoming the initiator as well as the practitioner of the science concerned. So, it should involve all those elements of hypothesis generation, testing, falsification, discovery and confirmation. But this apparent breadth of experience comes at the cost of specialization. So most of the activity will probably all be concentrated on a tiny sliver of the broad endeavour that is science more generally. Specialization is a problem when making claims about science in general, as opposed to one little bit of it. I can talk for days about eye movement, but you can easily trip me up by getting me to hold forth on whether those Italian neutrinos really did go faster than the speed of light (I don't think they did)!

I suppose what I’m arguing is that we should all be very wary when we hear anyone claiming general authority to speak on behalf of “science”. In the apologetic arena, this applies equally to those speaking for or against propositions concerning the existence of God, the reliability of the Gospels and the rest. There’s no replacement for careful listening and critical thought. Factor in the specific expertise where it is relevant. So, of the discussion is about the age of rocks, you might want to give weight to a geologist. Be careful of course if they stray into the issue of when the book of Daniel was written.

There is also one place where many of these issues come together to annoy. This is in the final chapter of many popular science books written by senior scientists. The temptation is to bamboozle the reader with lots of brilliant science, both that of the author, and that of the author’s scientific heroes. Fine so far. Indeed, it’s often important and inspiring stuff. But having built up a degree of credibility and authority in the reader’s mind, often a final chapter will be slipped in that grinds various metaphysical axes well outwith the expertise of the writer. The author is, of course, entitled to hold and express such views. But what is really being perpetrated is a bit of con, whether conscious or unconscious. The hope is that the authority built up in the first part of the book, will spill over into the other stuff.

Of course, most of what I’ve been discussing has nothing to do with my area of expertise. So, you’ll have to judge for yourself whether I’m making sense.

It’s (not just) about the facts, stupid

James Carville, the architect of Bill Clinton’s successful 1992 presidential run, gets the credit (blame?) for coming up with the phrase “It’s the economy stupid”. This was designed to keep the campaign on track by keeping everyone’s attention focussed on what really mattered. Now you might think that an appropriate version of this in science might be “It’s about the facts”. After all science is all about facts – discovering and communicating them. It’s not about stuff like feelings. This is not to argue that facts are easy things to work with. It can be really hard to prise them out of the universe. Just think of the time and expense, trouble and complexity, involved in finding the Higgs Boson, of establishing as a fact that it exists. However, it turns out that even in science it’s not that simple. And beyond science, in the rest of life, if the last week in the UK has demonstrated anything, it’s that a lot of things besides facts are critical.

Definitions of the word “fact” abound. Let’s assume we mean statements about things, situations, objects, processes or people that are true. Just being able to state something (eg “Trump is a chump”) doesn’t make it a fact. Although, as an aside, it’s interesting that in the social media age, it seems that the secret to establishing something as a fact is simply to say it often enough, or to have it said by enough people. But to establish a statement as a statement of fact, there has to be some interaction with evidence, with how things actually are. This moves a statement from being an opinion to being a fact. So if a Trump did or said lots of chump-like things, then we might feel happier concluding that the statement was a statement of fact, not of opinion. Of course we have the practical problem of identifying, gathering and analysing the evidence. And this all turns out to be quite tricky.

What is going to count as relevant evidence, and who is going to decide? We tend to depend on various types of institution to decide what is and what is not relevant. So we have courts and judges and lawyers with rules to decide what’s relevant in the criminal sphere. In science, different disciplines tend to act in a similar institutional way deciding what’s relevant to a given issue. So it was particle physicists who decided the rules in determining what sort of, and what degree of evidence would be required to show that the Higgs existed and had been found. They would claim that they were guided by theories that laid out mathematical criteria for deciding what was what. But it was still a community effort. And even in physics, there’s still scope for a degree of interpretation.

But when it gets really interesting is when you realise that even once you’ve got a stone cold fact, that’s when the fun really begins. Because facts don’t exist in isolation. Every fact comes embedded in a whole bunch of contextual stuff. And it’s when both are taken together (the fact/facts and the context) that we determine whether we’re going to take a fact seriously (believe it, rely on it, act on it). Take the simple fact that “it’s raining”. If you run in to my windowless office (it’s not actually windowless, but bear with me) shouting that it’s raining, just before I leave for home, then you might expect me to pick up a brolly or put on a coat. But if I know you are a regular prankster, and you are known for never quite telling things as they are and for always having your own agenda (and if your name is Boris), even if it really is raining I might actually leave my office unprotected.

There’s also the issue of deciding between facts. It turns out that how we might interpret the same fact differs depending on context. Even in science, deciding which facts to go after, is rarely a matter of the facts themselves. Experiments guided by provisional theories (hypotheses) will prioritise some facts over others. So some are discovered, others remain hidden. And prior views (beliefs and theories) can be so powerful, even in science, that we have to guard constantly against things like confirmation bias – prioritising the facts that suit our views. Our prior commitments to theories, it turns out, can lead us to interpret the same facts in different ways. It can be so bad, that we become incapable of even communicating sensibly with adherents of other views. This has happened in science in the past, even (or perhaps particularly) in physics, the hardest of hard sciences.

This sort of thing is going on now in UK politics. We have just had a referendum that was in part about facts. Facts about the economic impact of Brexit. Facts about the numbers coming into the UK from both the EU and further afield. But how those facts were interpreted, or even whether they were accepted as facts, depended very much on the prior commitments of people. And during the campaign there developed a kind of mutual incomprehension between Remainers and Brexiteers. For many on both sides, the facts were so obvious and powerful, that communication became almost impossible. But it turned out it wasn’t just about facts at all. It was about a lot of other stuff too.

So when we come to other important facts, facts like an empty tomb for example, there’s no warrant for instant dismissal on one side, or a feeling that its implications should just be obvious on the other. There’s investigating to be done, evidence to be engaged with and carefully weighed. And an awareness of background biases and prior commitments. And if you’re tempted to feel that the facts are just so obvious that you cannot conceive of how someone can come to view that differs from yours given those facts, then go sit in a dark cool room and think again.