We recently watched a television show where one of the characters mentioned “Occam’s Razor.” I opined to my wife and daughter that I was a strong believer in this philosophic principle — and somewhat surprised that it was being mentioned in a television show. That led to a brief discussion of its principles, which can be boiled down to this: The simplest explanation of an event or a phenomenon is usually the best and most accurate. In other words, an explanation that requires the fewest assumptions is most likely to be correct.
Occam’s Razor is named after English friar and philosopher William of Ockham, who lived from about 1287 to 1347 in the village of that name in Surrey, England. He didn’t invent the notion but popularized it through his repeated writings. The version that stuck is Non sunt multiplicanda entia sine necessitate. For those whose Latin is rusty, that translates to “Entities are not to be multiplied without necessity.”
Ockham’s philosopher predecessors had similar versions. For example, Aristotle more than 1,600 years earlier argued that “nature operates in the shortest way possible.” Ptolemy, who came along in the first century AD, wrote that “we should not accept more causes than necessary.” William of Ockham wrote about the principle often enough to popularize it among his fellow critical thinkers.
Ockham did not label the principle that bears a version of his name. That came several centuries later. “Razor” refers to shaving away unnecessary details and overly complex explanations. I don’t know why it became Occam instead of Ockham. One less letter, perhaps?
Occam’s Razor has its limitations. A classic example concerns geocentric versus heliocentric models. The geocentric model claimed Earth was the center of the universe, and the sun and other planets revolved around it. Simple enough but wrong. Nicolaus Copernicus, known as the father of modern astronomy, is credited for developing the heliocentric theory of the solar system that we now know to be fact: Earth and the other planets and moons — even the demoted Pluto — all revolve around the sun.
Conspiracy theorists do not follow the principle of Occam’s Razor. A classic example is the decades-old belief that the moon landing was faked, somehow filmed in a television studio. For this conspiracy theory to be true, thousands of people would have had to work together and then have kept it a secret for more than a half century.
I was a paperboy for the Longview News-Journal in July 1969, when Apollo 11 landed on the moon. The paper put out an “extra” edition, which I went out peddling while pedaling my bike. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) An elderly woman, who normally bought the paper, was sitting on her front porch as I stopped by with the extra. She quickly shooed me away, saying, “That whole moon thing is made up. Ain’t nobody landed on no moon.” That might have been my first encounter with a conspiracy theorist. It certainly has not been my last.
A fellow told me the other day that NFL games were rigged, though he provided no rational explanation why he believed that. I didn’t ask why because it was clear his mind was made up. Rigging a professional football game would require athletes who are making an average of $3.2 million a year (the stars make much more, of course) to work together to blow a game or shave a score.
Occam’s Razor compels me to reject this. Rigging a game would require collusion among highly paid players, referees, coaches, etc. The chances of such a conspiracy remaining concealed are virtually nil.
Conspiracy theorists had a field day during the COVID-19 epidemic. When it comes to nearly all explanations of events, I am sticking with good old Bill Ockham: go with the simplest, most direct explanation.
It is nearly always correct.