Like “post-modernism”, “scientism” eludes me. I’s not brite enuff, I gesses.
Scientism is what believers call scientific success when they lie bleeding in the last trench against overwhelming progress – stories, opinions, hypotheses and beliefs battered and broken about the carnage wreathed to their fabrication by fact, evidence, theory and reason.
It has been claimed that there no atheists in foxholes. It appears to be true for lack of space among the vanquished theists.
Science is rooted in theories – meticulously constructed from fact. The rigour of the scientific method notwithstanding, the scientific approach is simple: the outcome of predictions based on theories are peer reviewed to either confirm or collapse the original. Progress in science, Karl Popper famously declared, is only ever made when a theory collapses, not when it is confirmed.
Belief is precariously perched upon quivering hypotheses – untested and untestable – loosely knocked up from the flotsam of ideas, convictions, impressions, assumptions, dreams and views. Progress in belief is only ever made, nobody ever infamously conceded, when the status quo is confirmed by divine machination.
It is difficult not to deride belief. It is impossible to respect pie in the sky when you die by and by.