Most school children are taught that the Enlightenment was a time in which science finally shook off the fetters of the church and archaic superstition. Copernicus and Galileo are lauded among the myriad of intellectual martyrs as they tried to distinguish science from philosophical and theological presumptions—the David of facts and evidence pitted against the Goliath of faith and philosophy. Even a cursory examination of the giants of the Enlightenment, however, reveal that science and philosophy were never considered so distinct.

My previous essay briefly introduced the limits of scientific knowledge and the rise of Scientism, the modernistic belief that science is superior to other disciplines. Unlike knowledge that deals with intangibles such as religion and philosophy, hard science, we are told, deals in the realm of the observable and measurable and is therefore best suited to answer life’s most pressing questions. This belief is so pervasive that according to a recent Pew Research Study (8/2/19), Americans overwhelmingly trust scientists (86%) over other major professions, including religious leaders (57%). The majority of this surety arises from three foundational aspects of Scientism: the separation of science from philosophy, the development of the scientific method, and the idea of scientific progress.

Most school children are taught that the Enlightenment was a time in which science finally shook off the fetters of the church and archaic superstition. Copernicus and Galileo are lauded among the myriad of intellectual martyrs as they tried to distinguish science from philosophical and theological presumptions—the David of facts and evidence pitted against the Goliath of faith and philosophy. Even a cursory examination of the giants of the Enlightenment, however, reveal that science and philosophy were never considered so distinct. For most of the Enlightenment, what is now called science was referred to as “natural philosophy.” Great thinkers understood that their observations were founded upon particular philosophical (or even theological) assumptions.

One notable example was the German astronomer Johannes Kepler (1571–1630). Kepler is best known for his defense of heliocentricity in Astronomia Nova (1609) and his laws of planetary motion, outlined in Harmonices Mundi (1619). His work became the basis for much of modern physics and even laid the groundwork for Newton’s gravitational theory. While Kepler was an extraordinary scientist, his training and heart were in philosophy. In a letter to a friend written in 1619, the great mathematician begged “[do] not condemn me to the treadmill of mathematical calculations; allow me time for philosophical speculation, my only delight!”

In fact, many of Kepler’s ideas about motion are the result of his siding with Plato over Aristotle in an age-old philosophical debate. Aristotle believed that there was a disharmony between what is perceived by thought and sight and that which is tacitly known by the intellect. Since knowledge that came from sight did not rightly reflect the universals, observation could not be trusted to necessarily correspond to reality.

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