The First Empiricist
“When we run over libraries, persuaded of these principles, what havoc must we make? If we take in our hand any volume of divinity or school metaphysics… Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experimental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence? No. Commit it then to the flames, for it can contain nothing but sophistry and illusion.”
David Hume dropped that bomb in 1748. He was drawing a hard line: if a book doesn’t contain either abstract reasoning about math and logic, or experimental reasoning based on observable facts, then it’s worthless — unscientific.
This idea became enormously influential. It helped shape the modern Western mind: the widespread view that real knowledge must be scientific knowledge. If you can’t measure it, test it, or prove it empirically, then it’s not scientific.
But there’s a fatal flaw in this view.
Hume’s own principle fails its own test. The claim that “only empirical evidence or math counts as knowledge” is not something demonstated in a laboratory or proven with an equation. It is itself a philosophical claim — the philosophy of empiricism. It’s metaphysics dressed up as science. By its own criteria it is not scientific.
This move doesn’t just limit what is culturally accepted as known or understood — it changes the very nature of truth and knowledge itself.
When truth is reduced only to what can be quantified and observed, it becomes cold and abstract. We’re left with formal logic and propositions and lose something far richer: coherent, relational truth. We lose the kindness in truth. The truth that exists between persons when coherence and love are two sides of the same coin — where “right relationship” is the whole of what it means to be truly logical. We lose fidelity.
Cut off that personal dimension, and objective morality stops making sense. It becomes impossible. How can there be real moral obligations in a universe that is ultimately an impersonal and merely factual machine?
This is precisely what the first empiricist accomplished in Eden.
The woman was already thinking about touching the fruit. The serpent didn’t need to give her new empirical data — he simply redirected her focus toward it.
He moved her away from God’s intimate and vulnerable truth, assuming she could take it for granted and become the judge of reality herself. He proposed that by reaching for only the natural, she would gain individual autonomy and become wise and experienced.
“You will not surely die… your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”
In that moment, the serpent offered the original version of empiricism: trust your own empirical judgment. Become the autonomous knower. Reject the authority of God’s warning and make yourself the final standard.
This is a deep contradiction: the 'subjective person' declares himself the 'objective measure' of all things. The philosophy that claims to be purely objective ends up enthroning individual subjective experience as the ultimate authority.
That same move — trading tender, personal, relational truth for cold observation is what empiricism has done to us and our culture. It doesn’t just limit knowledge. It blinds us to the personal nature of ultimate reality and leaves us empty of dignity and real meaning. Real objective purpose, meaning and the beauty of morality become impossible and eventually repugnant categories.
For some, that is actually the allure. Empiricism provides the contradictory illusion of freedom- in a cold factual world of subjective moral autonomy.
But it sacrifices tenderness, vulnerabilty, and the spirt of truth in the process. We sacrifice any real possibility of knowing God. And we sacrifice him on a cross. But its a cross he submits to in love- as a means both to atone for our error, and as a spectacle of his mercy. Even in rejection he does not condemn us, but still loves and calls us.