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“Rather than resort to apologetics for your information go to the source. SCRIPTURE”

Who was it that said, “The difference between a leftist and a conservative is that a leftist reads Marx and Engels, while a conservative *understands* Marx and Engels?”

Very similar to the difference between protestants and Catholics.

You won’t read this, but I’m going to post it anyway.

Once upon a time there were some computer science students whose professor gave them a number-crunching problem that would require a computer to perform a certain number of computations. The only kind of computer they had, though, would wear out and stop functioning before it completed more than a tiny fraction of the computations required.

Clearly, if they were ever going to get their solution, the students were going to have to use successive generations of computers, transferring their accumulated work product from each old computer to a new one.

No single one of these computers could ever start from scratch and finish the problem, because it would break before it executed that many instructions.

Now, there were some students from the psychology department in that class (because it was a requirement) who didn’t understand the magnitude or even the essence of the problem. They didn’t have the technical background to understand the professor’s explanation, but they’d done well in psychology and so presumed themselves to be bright.

The professor told them that these computers just weren’t fast enough to do that many computations before they broke down, and that there was no way that software could overcome that limitation. But they didn’t understand the professor’s highly technical explanation of the reasons for that fact (not having taken Computer Science 101, 102, 201, or 202), and so they wrote it off as “computer science dogma.” They wondered if the problem was that the professor was not bright enough to come up with software that would do it, or not open-minded enough to try.

But they knew that they themselves were open-minded and bright, so they decided to give it a try despite the professor’s admonitions.

One of the psychology students wrote some software, ran it, and announced that the answer is “Tuesday.” The professor just sighed. He believed it was important for students to work through things themselves, so he didn’t say a word.

And another one wrote and ran his own software, and announced that the answer is “banana cream pie.” Still the professor remained silent. “Don’t step on their initiative and curiosity,” he thought.

A third one didn’t write any software, but that notwithstanding, announced that the answer is “37.” When the professor asked him why he thought that was the answer, he said, “It was simple. I just subtracted Tuesday from banana cream pie.” (Stolen from Gary Mule Deer)

At the same time, another group—the computer science majors—just got down to work with the algorithms they got from the professor, and kept crunching. Over time, and over generations of computers, they made more and more progress.

Oh, they made mistakes. Transposition errors and typos in coding cost them time, and caused them to have to go back and rerun entire sections of the problem. Since they saw that they were making mistakes, some of these students took responsibility for checking their solutions for mistakes and correcting them. As the generations of computers passed, their mistakes became fewer, and correctly solved segments of the solution built up.

At this point, the professor took a long sabbatical. In his absence, his authority became tenuous. Soon a malicious TA happened along and saw the students working without supervision. It just so happened that he hated the professor, because the professor had him up on charges of plagiarizing his thesis.

“Time for a little revenge,” thinks the TA, rubbing his hands together, Micawber as Micawber ever was.

He wandered in and sized up the group. Then he came alongside “Tuesday,” “Banana Cream Pie,” “37,” and their crowd, and he whispered to them, conspiratorially, as though he were taking them into his confidence, that the professor was just trying to hold them back with his algorithm and by telling them one computer can’t solve the problem.

The professor was none too intelligent, he told them, and was jealous of bright young students like them. “Get rid of that outdated old algorithm and learn to think outside the box,” he said, sincerity dripping from every pore, “and you’ll pass that dumb professor like he was standing still.”

He laughed at the computer science majors still pursuing the professor’s methodology. He called them “dupes” and “idiots.” The psychology students were immensely pleased and flattered that the TA saw them as superior to the other students, and to see that here, too, they were members of a small elite.

“Computer science majors can’t think for themselves,” he said. “They’re indoctrinated. But you guys, you guys are better than that. You’re smarter than that. You can do it on your own. Never mind what the professor said, and never mind those guys over there in the corner mindlessly flogging that outdated algorithm.”

Their vanity thus stoked, the now-disgruntled psychology students resolve to “think for themselves.”

“Tuesday” announced that he was “thinking for himself before anyone was talking about thinking for himself,” and insisted that his answer was the right one. “Banana Cream Pie” told him that his algorithm was full of infinitely recursive loops (though he himself had only the vaguest notion what “recursive” meant), and that the only complete and correct answer was “banana cream pie.”

“37” laughed at them both for their “dogmatism,” and pointed out, quite correctly, that he had incorporated both their “partial solutions” into his more sophisticated answer.

The argument became heated, and soon the three of them stormed out of the lab with their factions to found their own “progressive computer science centers” based on their own answers.

The computer science majors just kept crunching away with the professor’s algorithm and successive generations of computers. In time, while they still didn’t have the entirety of the solution, they had what seemed to be a significant portion of it.

Outside the department, though, the fractiousness of the split-off factions was creating some ill will. Their bickering among themselves was unseemly, and the advocates of one position or another managed to offend a good number of people. Soon enough, some of their adherents came to find “Tuesday” or “banana cream pie” or even “37” to be ultimately unsatisfying as complete solutions. In time, the very words “computer science” acquired a negative connotation in some circles.

As the weeks passed, those most hostile to the noisy and fractious psychology-students-turned-computer-science-prophets began to create a picture of computer science that incorporated only the most unflattering aspects of the behavior of these three factions.

“Banana Creme Pie insists that his solution is the only correct one,” though true enough, became, “All computer scientists insist that their solutions are the only ones, even though they come up with many conflicting solutions.”

“37 mocks the other two factions for holding to their own answers,” though true enough, became, “All computer scientists mock and are intolerant of those who disagree.”

“Tuesday thinks that the fact that he was first with his solution means that it must be the correct one,” though true enough, became, “All computer scientists rely solely on antiquity for the authority of their solutions.”

“Neither BCP nor 37 nor Tuesday can offer proof that his solution is the correct one,” though true enough, became “No computer scientist can offer any satisfactory proof for any part of any of his solutions.”

Soon, these axioms were widely accepted. The malicious TA was thoroughly tickled to contemplate the mess the professor would find upon his return.

Some of the disaffected adherents of BCP, 37, and Tuesday came to repudiate computer science altogether, claiming that no computational activity was actually taking place inside those metal cases. “The computer scientists sneak in at night and flip switches that make the numbers they want appear on the screens,” they claimed. “It’s all a fraud.” Many of those in the larger student body were persuaded by this, though they themselves had never operated a computer. Those who had earlier accepted the four axioms listed above were the easiest to persuade.

The computer science department was dismayed by all this. They knew that actual computation was taking place, and that proofs for many things were available, but the hostile and disaffected seemed unwilling to do the hard work necessary to understand the proofs. If an easily understood explanation was not forthcoming on a moment’s notice, they had a tendency to seize on that lack with wrathful glee and tout it as further proof that “there is no proof.”

Some of the computer science professors, distressed by these developments, sought to open a dialogue with those of good faith in the university community at large. They arranged a demonstration involving those students who were (still) using the professor’s (remember him?) algorithm to crunch numbers and work toward the answer to the problem. Those who accepted their invitation included the thoroughly disgruntled, who were really just there to heckle, the strongly skeptical, and those who were reserving judgment.

A thoroughly disgruntled professor from the Department of Analytical Pornography asked the first question.

“Banana Creme Pie, 37, and Tuesday all claim to be in possession of the truth regarding computer science, yet they contradict each other. How, in light of that fact, can computer science be considered credible?”

The computer science majors turned on the skinniest and nerdiest among them and gave him noogies and wedgies until he agreed to answer. Tugging at the seat of his trousers and pawing at his hair, he stepped forward and began.

“We have found in our computations that BCP, 37, and Tuesday are part of the entire picture, yet as we move toward greater understanding, it has become apparent that no one of them encompasses the whole.”

“So!” interrupted the thoroughly disgruntled professor of analytical pornography. “You claim to ‘know’ that none of these three is correct, and you claim greater knowledge for yourself. It’s just as I thought. I’ll have no part of this. This is just another faction claiming to be in possession of truths they can’t substantiate.”

As he stormed from the room, the nerdiest CS major piped up in his reedy little voice, “But sir, if you’ll just look at...”

The disgruntled professor spat over his shoulder, “I don’t need to look at anything a pack of computer science zealots have to show. I know the four axioms. I’ve seen that the other three couldn’t prove a thing, and neither can you.” And he was gone, no doubt to calm himself with a spot of analytical pornography, or pornographic analysis, or some such thing. The rest of the thoroughly disgruntled faction followed him out.

One of the strongly skeptical broke the silence that followed their exit. “What is it you wanted to show him? I’m skeptical, but open-minded enough to look at what you have.” So the students showed the group the sections of their computations that proved BCP, 37, and Tuesday.

“But how can these three contradictory propositions all be true?” demanded the strongly skeptical professor, who was quite proud (and deservedly so) of his logical mind. “That you are able to demonstrate proofs of three contradictory propositions using the same methodology suggests to me only that the thoroughly disgruntled are correct: these numbers are not being generated mathematically by a machine employing an algorithm. You are sneaking in here and supplying whatever numbers you need to make it come out right. That’s the only explanation that fits all the facts.”

And he too turned to storm from the room, albeit with more dignity than the disgruntled professor of analytical pornography. As he did, the now un-wedgied nerd tried again.

“Wait, sir. It is only an apparent contradiction. When viewed in the larger context of...”

The strongly skeptical professor stopped, turned, and pointed his beard and his finger at the student. “Stop! Don’t speak to me of ‘apparent contradictions.’ I learned the ins and outs of logic while your father was still in diapers. Three contradictory propositions cannot, logically, all be correct. Ergo, anything that appears to demonstrate that fact is fraudulent. Ipso facto, Q.E.D., and there’s an end to it.” And out he went, his dignified faction of strongly skeptical and thoroughly logical deep thinkers on his heels.

Next, with a truly awe-inspiring display of tolerance, the senior man among those who were reserving judgment—who were all that was left—smiled and said, “Students, you don’t seem to have a leg to stand on, but as long as you claim to have something to show, we will hear you out. How is this apparent contradiction to be resolved?”

The nerdiest computer science major was so deeply distressed by his failure to convince that he gave himself a wedgie and refused to continue. His roommate continued in his stead.

“Sir, an apparent contradiction, by definition, only appears to be a contradiction. In fact, when viewed in the context of our entire body of work, it can be seen that BCP, 37, and Tuesday are actually complementary and easily coexist. If you will, sirs, look here, here, and here.” Some of the reserved-judgment crowd nodded in comprehension, but others appeared baffled, and even angry. “I don’t see it,” they muttered, and “What’s he talking about?”

The roommate tried again to explain the proofs, but some of the baffled and angry remained...well, baffled and angry. “You say the computer shows these proofs, but that’s just second-hand,” they complained. “I didn’t see anything happening inside the computer. The computer didn’t speak to me. Why should I believe that the computer proved these things just on your say-so?”

“Ah,” thought the roommate. “Since they didn’t see the process from the beginning, since they didn’t load the software and input the numbers and see the data emerge from the silicon, they doubt that it ever happened. They’re making it a matter of my credibility.”

“Sirs, here is the algorithm. Here are our initial numbers. If our algorithm is correct and operating on these data as we say, then we should have gotten these results at this point, and this point, and this point. If you will look, you will see that the results are as predicted.”

“But that’s hindsight now,” complained the baffled and angry. “Anyone could have set up the numbers to predict something that’s already happened. That proves nothing. Why, we ourselves could invent any number of alternative explanations that are as credible as your unsupported word.”

“But the computer...” began the roommate.

“What computer?” retorted the B&A crowd. “That’s a box. You say that there are computations taking place in there, but how do we know that? You haven’t shown us anything we couldn’t have dummied up ourselves.”

The computer science majors went into a huddle, which was pretty unpleasant because they’d been living in the computer lab without showers for seven months. Much to their mutual relief, they quickly came up with a plan and broke the huddle.

“Dear B&A sirs, if you wish, I will tutor you through basic computer science, help you to understand the inner workings of computers, teach you how to program your own computer, and help you run experiments that will show you conclusively that computations are taking place inside your computer.”

“Brainwash us, you mean!” erupted the angriest of the B&A crowd (which, if you’ll recall, was originally a subset of the reserved-judgment group). “Fill us full of your closed-minded computer science dogma until we can’t think for ourselves any more. Fie upon thee, varlets. I hie me hence.” (He was from the Drama Department, and had been thoroughly enjoying the role of one who reserves judgment—until faced with the prospect of a laborious and time-consuming exploration of a subject that scared him senseless.)

“All right,” said the roommate, “If that’s asking too much, we will make predictions which, if correct, will demonstrate the functioning of our algorithm. If the algorithm is able to predict future events, then that will demonstrate that computations are taking place inside the computer.”

“All right,” someone shouted. “Predict what I’m going to have for dinner.”

“No, no, this algorithm doesn’t allow that. We can, however, predict many of the effects a policy like, say, divorce-on-demand will have on a society, over time.”

“Over how much time?”

“Oh, four or five generations. Maybe six.”

Half the B&A crowd were livid, the other half mocking. “We can’t stand around here for six generations waiting for your ‘proofs’ to materialize. You’re just stalling for time, trying to cover up the fact that you haven’t got a thing.”

Then, for the first time, the computer science majors received the support of some of their guests.

“Now, wait a minute,” said some of the reserved-judgment group who hadn’t gone B&A. “See here, and here? The algorithm has predicted these and those effects in the past, and that’s just what happened.”

“We already said that those figures could be dummied up,” cried the B&A crowd. “We didn’t see them generated. We didn’t see them input. And we certainly didn’t see any computations taking place inside this steel box they say is a computer.”

“Well,” retorted one of the RJ group, “I had a computer science class, and I input numbers, and I saw the results come out in real time. So I think this is genuine.”

“Second-hand! Second-hand! Hearsay! Why should we believe you? You were duped. You’re easily led. There’s no real evidence here, no proof at all. Five or six generations, indeed. Who do you think you’re trying to con? I’ll believe it when the sides of the computer case become transparent and I can look inside and see computations being executed for myself, and not a minute before.” And the B&A wrapped themselves in their bafflement and anger and went in search of the thoroughly disgruntled, whom they rightly suspected would still be fuming about the ‘fraud’ perpetrated by the computer science majors, and would welcome additions to their ranks.

“I didn’t want to say anything before,” said a short, quiet, habitually judgment-reserved professor of comparative feminology, “but a computer once helped me to get out of a terrible bind. My finances were in such a mess, and I didn’t know where to turn. But I heard about software that generates a financial plan for a person based on his individual circumstances, so I bought it, and I input all my financial data, and out came a plan based on my mortgage, my salary, my credit-card debt. I stuck to the plan, and sure enough—inside a year, I was solvent again.”

He took out a handkerchief, removed his glasses, and daubed at his eyes.

“Yes, yes, the skeptics among you will say, ‘coincidence.’ But it wasn’t. I input the data. I saw the plan come out. I followed it, and I saw the results. I know as surely as I know anything that computations really do take place inside those steel cases.”

Some of the reserved-judgment group seemed embarrassed by the show of emotion, if not by their colleague’s expression of judgment not reserved. Others were more receptive, and came near to him, asking, “Why didn’t you say anything until now? Why did you keep it a secret?”

“Well, with all the anti-computer-science sentiment on campus these days, I didn’t want to become a target of ridicule—or worse. Besides, it is rather personal.”

With that, the participants broke up into little conversations of two or three or four, and began to sort themselves out according to similarity of opinion. The demonstration was at an end. The computer science majors went back to their successive generations of computers, and there they are still.

Some of the last participants wended their way homeward with judgment still safely reserved. Some were tilted slightly toward or against the reality of computer functionality. But some were convinced by the evidence, by personal experience, or by some permutation of these, that computers really do execute computations inside those cases, even if you can’t see it directly. You can, they reasoned, see the effects, and if you are willing, if you are not afraid, you can reason from these effects to their necessary cause.

Those who followed reason as far as that found that a grand surprise awaited: once one accepts that computers really do function, one can not only see them working directly all around one, but finds that they will often bestow undeserved blessings upon one.

And they continue to do this despite the thorough disgruntlement of the thoroughly disgruntled, the strong skepticism of the strongly skeptical, and the reserved judgment of the reflexively undecided.

Yesterday He helped me.
Today He did the same.
How long will this continue?
Forever, praise His Name.

For those who skipped to this point, protestants are those trying to perform these calculations using a single computer—a single lifetime—which is quite impossible, while the Catholic Church continues to pass its results on to every new generation to continue and build on. They have necessarily completed and recorded the results of far more of these computations than any protestant could in the single lifetime allotted to us all. That impossibility is how we know that “sola scriptura” is an invention of Satan.