Logical Positivism and Scientific Research

Response to Language, Truth and Logic by AJ Ayer
The Nature of Science
Ayer makes the argument that empirical science must serve as the basis of all claims, as it is through empirical science—evidence obtained through the use of the five senses—that one knows reality. Ayer (1990) asks, “What valid process of reasoning can possibly lead [one] to the conception of a transcendent reality?” (p. 4). The answer he provides is that there is no valid process: “Surely from empirical premises nothing whatsoever concerning the properties, or even the existence, of anything super empirical can legitimately be inferred” (Ayer, 1990, p. 4). Ayer’s approach to science, however, is firmly rooted in the traditions fostered during the Age of Reason; prior to that, it was widely accepted that metaphysical reality could be ascertained through the use of logical suppositions. I myself believe there are a number of ways to know the world and to explore. The accumulation of objective data is one way—but there is also the subjective experience, which is gathered in qualitative research, that helps to deepen our understanding of phenomena. I do not discount qualitative research simply because it cannot be backed up by quantitative data or because some do not view it as empirically sound research. If one looks closely at any type of research, controlling for variables and bracketing out bias can be nearly impossible to achieve perfectly. I view the argument made by Ayer regarding metaphysics to be somewhat limited in the same way. For Ayer, the basis of metaphysics is faulty and full of logical missteps. For me, I view metaphysics as something that can be approached logically, as a science, and I do not reject it on the basis that Ayer provides in the outset of the book.
I believe that empirical science can definitely help us to understand the world better, but I also think that metaphysical science can do the same, as it is concerned with the logic of the good, what it is, how it should be pursued, and so on. To assert that there is no verifiable proof of the transcendent reality of the good is to, in my opinion, ignore the piles of evidence—qualitative though it may be—that speak to the existence of the transcendental realities. I am not swayed by empirical evidence alone, nor do I think the world can only be understood by facts and more facts. Dickens argued against such a perspective in Hard Times—and that, to me, has as much validity in the world as any empirical evidence.
The Nature of Facts
I am not opposed to facts, and I appreciate Ayer’s framing of the nature of the nature of facts. His perspective is illuminated by the need for all sentences to be verifiable—but this is quite simply too much to ask, even of the field of science. In research, myriad studies are published, full of facts and empirical evidence—quantitative data that is analyzed and presented via whatever interpretive lens the researcher uses for drawing conclusions. Many of these studies will contradict one another, whether they are on the effects of radiation therapy on the heart or whether they are on the effects of genetically modified corn when consumed by rats. Sample, sample size, research design, and so on—all of it will play a part in the outcome of the study—but so too does bias and the perspective from which the researcher is operating. Not all researchers will present their bias or perspective at the outset. They will hide their orientation and use language that fools the reader of the study into thinking that here is a perfectly objective researcher whose soul interest is in conducting a test and communicating the results. But things are never so simple as that. Otherwise, how could one researcher show that GMO causes cancer and another researcher show that it does not? How could one researcher present data indicating that high fructose corn syrup is a factor in the prevalence of diabetes in the U.S. while another researcher claims that it bears no association to diabetes whatsoever? Researchers should try to be as objective as possible, but I find that they approach the nature of the nature of facts just as subjectively as anyone else because, ultimately, we are all dealing with our own subjective experiences of input—whether we are dealing with them in our mind or through our senses.
How We Understand the World and Ourselves
Ayer (1990) states “that our intellects are unequal to the task of carrying out very abstract processes of reasoning without the assistance of intuition” (p. 46). I can agree with this statement. However, I do not view it as problematic. Ayer does—and he suggests as much when he states, “the power of logic and mathematics to surprise us depends, like their usefulness, on the limitations of our reason” (p. 48). I must ask why I must think of logic and mathematics in terms of a visceral thrill—the thrill of surprise—or why I can only be surprised by something new? On the contrary, the surprise comes from application of the logic and the mathematical formula in the act of creation. Creation is what thrills. We understand the world and ourselves via this creative impulse—it is, after all, what brought us into the world in the first place. Can love be quantified? It is an abstraction and surely it is one that is intuited. People base their whole lives on pursuing it—but does the lack of empirical evidence explaining the process of love make it less valid than a mathematical expression?
We understand ourselves and the world because we experience it, because we reflect on it, we think about it, and we engage with it. The problem of insisting too much on facts, on quantitative data, to make sense of the world and of ourselves, is that it discounts the humbling reality of our unique position in the world: we are but travelers here. A traveler passes through: he cannot stay. For all his words and works spoken or achieved in this world, he is destined for elsewhere. This reality presents certain questions to the mind. I am not inclined to dismiss these questions simply because I do not wish to accept any argument that fails to convincingly support itself with proofs.
Participating in the Community of Scientific Researchers
All the different perspectives gather together in the room of my mind, like party guests. Some I enjoy more than others. Some I would like to spend more time with—but at the end of the night, they all must go and I am left alone with myself to think and reflect. There is work to do the next day, so my time is limited. Whom shall I call on the weekend? Who is available? There are, in other words, limitations that apply to research. As one who aims to participate in the community of scientific researchers, I understand that we are limited in terms of time, capacity, scope. We are limited, too, in terms of what appeals to us—we prefer to indulge certain perspectives—why? One could surely spend a lifetime studying oneself and it should not be considered a waste of time.
Ayer (1990) also points out our limitations: “it is plain that in making any given prediction we are able to consider only a limited set of data; what we do not take into account, we assume that we are entitled to ignore as irrelevant” (p. 103). His point, of course, is that we are not entitled to ignore that which we do not take into account. Assumptions lead to bad science. Participating in the community of scientific researchers is not something to take lightly. One has to be as aware of oneself as one is aware of others, the research design, the data collection tools, the data analysis methods, the theoretical perspective one is using to approach the subject, and so on. All of it matters. Science is really a holistic field—it leaves nothing out. It considers all things. Researchers have access to both quantitative and qualitative data—and both are important because both help us to understand.
Conclusion
What I conclude, therefore, is that researchers have a duty to observe and report. The observations they make should be stated without pretense: bias must be bracketed out by telling the audience, the reader, the associate of the perspective which one enjoys. One should help to erase any doubt, any confusion. Just because one is a researcher or a member of the scientific community does not mean one must be a logical positivist. It does not mean that one must reject the existence of a transcendental reality. It is quite possible that people make use of the good all the time without ever acknowledging its existence because they do not want to admit its demands upon their lives. One can benefit from the existence of reality without ever really coming to fully know it just as a child benefits from the work of a father, who provides shelter and food for the child. The child does not fully understand how he is cared for—but he benefits from it.
A researcher should approach the field of inquiry with humility—that is what I conclude from these readings and from Ayer (1990) in particularly. I find Ayer’s (1990) work to be interesting and informative, and even if I disagree with his perspective, I can still appreciate it and learn from it. To keep myself from reacting poorly to it, however, I must maintain a posture of humility because it does me no good to think that I know more than Ayer or to imagine that I am correct in my particular perspective or approach to things. The true scientist, like the true philosopher, loves to ask questions—because it is in asking questions that we can begin to eke out answers, even if they do not fully satisfy. The process of thinking, of acting, of engaging with the world is what makes the field of science come alive.
Affirming Assumptions and Challenging Them
Whatever assumptions are hiding within me, I do not quite know. I do not like to discount anything or anyone as irrelevant, so I do not assume much. Some things I believe I know—such as the existence of a transcendental reality. Some things I think are not contrary to scientific research—such as the acknowledgment of such a reality. Ayer may disagree, but we are coming from two different traditions. He objects to rationalism, but I feel that ultimately he is a rationalist. I, perhaps, lean more towards the romantic side of life, and I do not think that will stunt my approach to scientific inquiry. I enjoy the creative aspects of life and learning. I enjoy the passion, the feeling, the mystery of what it means. I find the focus on geometrical patterns and shapes and mathematical formulas to be interesting—but it is not where my enthusiasm lies. Does that mean I cannot be a valid researcher? I don’t believe so. I am quite confident that many scientific researchers share my enthusiasms and my perspective. Why shouldn’t they? Life is full of so much wonder that to focus wholly on the numbers, the facts, the empirical data is to miss some of the most telling aspects of the world and ourselves—the quality of life, the qualitative nature of things. I did not feel overwhelmingly challenged by Ayer’s arguments, nor did I feel that anything I believe was overwhelmingly affirmed. Ayer used a great deal of words—but to get to the essence of what he said, I think I would have to engage in a great deal of eidetic reduction and imaginative variation to point it out.

References
Ayer, A. J. (1990). Language, truth and logic. NY: Penguin.