Epistemological

philosophical study of the nature and scope of knowledge

He may have been a son; we really cannot know that for sure. He certainly didn’t behave like a son – asking for his inheritance immediately. The father’s actual words of response are not known, but the boy got his money and left.

An assumption that he spent the cash on wild living forms part of an uncorroborated accusation on behalf of the older brother, but this we know for certain: soon it was all gone. At the same time (but almost certainly there is no causal relationship between the two facts): a famine struck the land (or at least the part where the boy was dwelling at or about that time).

We are invited to believe that he probably took a job tending pigs. Perhaps he sought out the job, or maybe the pig farmer was advertising for hired help. We cannot tell how many pigs or the precise breed or even if they really were pigs at all, or their health-state, and we have no idea of the wages structure, working conditions or holiday pay arrangements, let alone any pension contributions the boy or his employer was required to make.

The animals were apparently fed on what are supposed to be pods, and they seemed appetising to the boy, briefly. Perhaps his hunger was so severe that the pods took on a disproportionate appeal… Who can tell?

There are beliefs, and there are true facts; where they meet is the kernel of knowledge; doubt is the journey.

He came to what is termed ‘his senses’, and realised his father’s hired men were being fed adequately (mostly guesswork and assumption, based on past experience), and decided to return to a place known subjectively as home.

After a considerable journey (we can assume a priori that distance was involved, on account of the use of the term ‘still a long way off’) of undisclosed length and hardship, he was seen (as previously noted) while still a long way off.

Unfortunately, although this phrase provides evidence of distance and the need for a journey, it is (ironically) perhaps the least-well-defined piece of evidence in the whole story. It could have been a matter of a few dozen yards, or several miles; without some way of testing the father’s eyesight, his ability to concentrate, and being able to measure the opportunity afforded by his vantage point in relation to the topography, we are left – not for the first time – in the realm of wild surmise.

The father ran (a term emcompassing anything from a trot to a sprint) to greet him, and the only words recorded as part of the meeting are the words the boy was not given leave to utter. The father called for shoes (sandals? moccasins?), a coat (full-length? woollen or waterproof?) and a ring (gold/silver/platinum? Set with a gem/coin/ seal?) as gifts for the boy. Then there was mention of a fatted calf in relation to its impending death by butchery. All, nearly all, most, more than half, half, many, some, few, a handful, three, two, or one (but probably not none) of the villagers were invited to attend a celebration, at which the father made a speech.

‘My son was lost but is found; he was dead but is alive.’

The reality is that the son was neither lost nor deceased. This final unreliable report again questions the testimony of the protagonists. There is, ultimately, no need to bring scepticism to the table; it is written deep into the fabric of the parable. Fallibilism has a wide embrace, in the opinion of many, but they may have got it empirically wrong.

Truth is beauty. And beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Thereby it follows that truth is relative, depending upon your view. And philosophy colours everything one believes.

So no-one really knows.