Thursday, August 12 2010

A man for our times

Why is Sherlock Holmes such an engaging character, proven so again in the BBC mini-series? He is as a sun to poor Dr bag-carrying Watson's moon (whom they tried to make interesting though his character spun off in all directions), or even Moriarty (who was played as hideous camp, which is surely too easy.)

After all, he's a self-absorbed narcissist, addicted to distractions, so evidence obsessed as to be blind to human values - in short, a 'high-functioning sociopath', as he describes himself. But isn't that it? Is it too harsh to think he's modern man distilled? Hence we find him fascinating.

Wednesday, August 11 2010

Self-help in the 15th century

I discover that the great Renaissance humanist, Marsilio Ficino, wrote a kind of self-help book, The Book of Life - though it's more allegorical than instrumental, more concerned with the soul than success (which in itself says a lot.)

He knew that the mind tends to wander off and become detached from what's happening now. That material life shines so brightly it tends to eclipse the subtler shades of our inner world. But that inner world is a microcosm that reflects the macrocosm, so attending to things externally is also to care for the soul.

And we think that mindfulness is a new western discovery! Actually, though the language is antiquated, Ficino in some ways feels more immediate than Buddhist accounts of such practice can - I suspect because Ficino does not centre it on an experience of discontent and suffering in the world, but an experience of love and a desire for what's good - his Platonist inheritance.

Tuesday, August 10 2010

Science fiction dressed up as science

More scientistic propaganda on our screens: Michio Kaku's contribution to the mini-series, Visions of the Future. It focused on artificial intelligence, and it's true: machines smarter than humans are only a question of time. We need to prepare today.

We're on the cusp of a step-change in AI, it was said; only the discipline has been on such a cusp for half a century now. We already project emotional attachments onto machines, it was noted, which is quite true - it's called fetishism - only that does not mean machines will soon actually have emotions, as Kaku seamlessly inferred. Talking of emotions, they're the key to human intelligence, one scientist revealed, as if telling a great secret; only it's a corrective, not anything new: Plato knew as much, it's just that the machinism of modern science forgot it.

It was striking how many times Kaku talked with individuals from The Singularity Institute, which exists precisely to promote such myths. (If you want to see Eliezer Yudkowsky, a chief spinner after Ray Kurzweil, being gently demolished by the sceptical mind of Robert Wright, watch this Blogging Heads.) There wasn't a single voice calling any of it into question.

I don't doubt that machines will do more for us, and grow more 'intelligent' in that limited sense: I have a smart phone too. And maybe it's just a mistake for an uptight viewer such as myself to confuse a science programme with what it really is: an hour of entertaining science fiction. Only I think it matters.

There was a moment when Kaku stared into the camera and solemnly observed that we might have made a mistake: it's not that machines will become more human, but that humans will become more like machines. That's AI's shadow, for you, and why I suspect this is propaganda of quite a dangerous sort.

Monday, August 9 2010

Religion and the New Atheism

I've a contribution in this new book:

This book brings together scholars from religious studies, science, sociology of religion, sociology of science, philosophy, and theology to engage the new atheism and place it in the context of broader scholarly discourses. This volume will serve to contextualize and critically examine the claims, arguments and goals of the new atheism so that readers can become more informed of some of the debates with which the new atheists inevitably and, at times unknowingly, engage.

Contributors include Richard Harries, Reza Aslan, Amarnath Amarasingam, Robert Platzner, Jeffrey Robbins, Christopher Rodkey, Rory Dickson, Steve Fuller, William Sims Bainbridge, William A. Stahl, Stephen Bullivant, Michael Borer, Richard Cimino, Christopher Smith, Gregory R. Peterson, Jeff Nall, Ryan Falcioni, and Mark Vernon.

Sunday, August 8 2010

Why is cosmology so popular?

It's a question I've been thinking about. Clearly, aesthetics has much to do with it: that NASA images don't carry copyright guarantees its colourful images of nebula and starfields regular front pages. More substantially, cosmology is one of the ways we ask metaphysical questions these days - where we come from, what we are, etc. You just can't do that with, say, solid state physics, so it's bound not to appeal as much - though as a science, it too has come on leaps and bounds. And perhaps there's something deeper going on in cosmology too.

A key element in cosmology concerns quantum physics, and it's that latter aspect which is explored in 137: Jung, Pauli and the Pursuit of a Scientific Obsession by Arthur I Miller. It tells the story of the great quantum physicist and the great psychologist's relationship over several decades. Pauli turned to Jung when his life was falling apart. Jung's analysis helped steady him, but the various ideas inherent in analytical psychology came to fascinate Pauli too, so that Jung came to regard him as a co-worker in the field. Eventually, they published together, though Pauli kept Jung's analysis of his dreams, and their exchange about ideas such as synchronicity, mostly from the public gaze.

Miller shows that Jung provided insights into how Pauli arrived at his great contributions, notably the exclusion principle. It required the introduction of a fourth quantum number, spin. This was highly counterintuitive since it can't be visualised, though made sense in Jung's language of archetypes and alchemy as the 3 becoming 4, the symbol of quaternity representing a state of greater wholeness than a trinity.

The broad idea seems to be this. A Jungian account of scientific intuition suggests that an imaginative leap forward occurs when an archetype constellates, that is to say an archetypal potential is instantiated in a solution to the problem concerned. Hence, the feeling of exhilaration so common in the accounts of scientific discoveries: it's not just that a problem is solved but that a truth is felt to have been revealed too. Hence too the routine thought, in physics at least, that qualities like beauty, simplicity and synthesis are important guides: they have a profound human appeal, as well as producing verifiable results.

The notion of 3 becoming 4 is rather esoteric. So perhaps a less exotic example would be the issue of complementarity - an archetype common enough in mystical ideas (light and dark, life and death, and so on), but also integral to quantum physics (particle and wave, matter and anti-matter, and so on). It wasn't just Pauli who made such associations.

Just how the physical relates to the psychological is, of course, contentious. No doubt, many would regard even the suggestion as as much rubbish. And I'm sure that quantum physics challenges its mystical interpreters as much as any adherent to a materialist philosophy of nature: the mystics are keen on notions like non-locality, for example, but tend not to be so keen on the violently destructive nature of the subatomic world; and materialism appears hardly to have noticed that matter is no longer pre-eminent in physics - it comes and goes - and that it's energy that is conserved.

When deciding where on the spectrum from mystical to materialist you fall, this quote of Pauli is very helpful: 'In my own view it is only a narrow passage of truth (no matter whether scientific or other truth) that passes between the Scylla of a blue fog of mysticism and the Charybdis of a sterile rationalism. This will always be full of pitfalls and one can fall down on both sides.'

Friday, August 6 2010

Tariq Ramadan's pluralism

A piece on the Guardian's Cif Belief looking at Tariq Ramadan's new book, The Quest for Meaning. A taster:

But perhaps the toughest characteristic of this version of pluralism is that it is not so much a political philosophy, as a philosophy of life. It relies, at its heart, on the individual and how we are going to be with others. It has political elements, such as some kind of separation between church and state, because there is always the question of power. But it's a pluralism that only works if individuals continually address themselves, and in particular recognise their own limitations, and cultivate an appropriate humility. The strange other that I encounter is important because of "what (he or she) reveals about my problems, my deafness and my blindness," Ramadan explains. Conversely, "my rejection of the other reveals the blindness that is within me: on the periphery of the 'ego', the other is an accidental threat; at the heart of the quest, the other is positive necessity."

Thursday, August 5 2010

Natural cruelty

There's a new site, The Big Questions, including articles from the likes of Paul Davies, Michael Shermer, Simon Conway Morris and, er, yours truly. My first, The Evils of Evolution. A taster:

Evolution is indeed magnificently fruitful, but it squanders, at a truly fearful rate, the life that is so supposedly valuable to God. It is possible that swallows may sing for joy as they flit across the evening sky and flying fish may leap from the waves just because they can. But the ordinary workings of evolution show nature to be both a careless butcher and a vile torturer.

Image: Bob Ainsworth

Wednesday, August 4 2010

The laughing cure

Comedy is apparently an industry resistant to austerity. It's booming. I was wondering why, and I think it must be the therapy.

Schopenhauer, the pessimist, had about the best theory I've read as to why we find things funny. It's the paradox. The comedian brings two or more incongruous thoughts together and the collision provokes a laugh. The more unexpected, the greater the effect. 'Why did the chicken cross the road?' 'Chicken' linked to 'road-crossing' guaranteed a chuckle, before the juxtaposition was killed by familiarity.

Why's this therapeutic? Isn't it just relaxing, as the physiology of laughter might suggest. Or cathartic, as suggested by the psychology. Yes, but more too. Because life itself consists in opposites colliding. It's bitter-sweet. The best jokes, then, are profoundly true, the joke making the bitter-sweet bearable. That's what the best psychotherapy offers too - only via a talking- rather than laughing-cure.

So why's comedy booming now? We must need the cure.

Tuesday, August 3 2010

The big trap of our times

Tariq Ramadan was last night talking about his new book, The Quest for Meaning, and he made an arresting comment about the emotionalism of our times - the way, for example, the protesting crowds responded to the Danish cartoons in Pakistan, where he was when those unfunny images were published. People think feeling such passion is a kind of freedom, perhaps because they are glad just to feel passionate about something. But emotionalism is, in fact, 'a trap', Ramadan said, 'the big jail of our time.'

I don't think he was thinking just about religious emotionalism, but a variety of secular manifestations too, such as that engaged with the banning of the hijab in France, another issue he remarked upon: it's frightening because it's popularist, the rhetoric that formerly belonged to the far right being deployed by a mainstream European political party.

It reminded me of a comment Justin Thacker, head of theology at the Evangelical Alliance, made to me. He remarked that, in a way, his job was to convince evangelicals, the world over, that it was OK to think about their faith, as the dominate form of evangelicalism these days is emotional. You've gotta feel it. But feeling, without thinking, has nowhere to go. Hence, again, the trap, being buffeted this way and that, like a reed in the wind - and being vulnerable to manipulation too.

Monday, August 2 2010

Yesterday, I was a dual-aspect idealist

I kept thinking about mind and matter yesterday, as you do. It started off when I ate horseradish at lunch: why does aspartic acid and allyl isothiocyanate taste so delicious? It's the chemical reaction on the tongue, my left brain replied. No, you've not heard what I'm asking, retorted the right: taste! There's no taste in chemical reactions. Where does that come from? Mind over matter.

Then, we sat outside, and as others were drinking coffee, I opened and closed my eyes very fast just to see whether, on this occasion, I'd see the instant when the green of the leaves on the trees turned green. The thing is that there's no green in 540nm wavelength electromagnetic radiation. But the trees were a magnificent green yesterday. Why? It is in our seeing. Mind over matter.

Later, I went to the gym. Twenty minutes in, and my half hour on the treadmill was becoming a trial. (Lunch, I guess.) Only then, Chaka Khan's Ain't Nobody came on the music system. Suddenly, I was back at the nightclub I first heard the track, with sound as big as the cosmos. I got a tremendous lift. The run was over with no more effort at all. Where did the energy come from? Mind over matter.

To put it more philosophically, yesterday, I was a convinced dual-aspect idealist. It seemed incontrovertible that mind is the determining stuff of the universe, shaping and changing the matter around me. Matter alone couldn't do it. Though mind alone couldn't either, as it needs the matter for its expression. Have the two together though, as part of one seamless way of being in the world, and life has all its values, rich experience and purpose.

Sunday, August 1 2010

On suspending disbelief

I've a piece in the Evening Standard, the 'Life Class' column, on ancient scepticism and Coleridge's suspended state - the source of imagination. A taster:

It is an art first named in the West by the ancient philosopher, Pyrrho of Elis. He travelled to India with Alexander the Great, and had an encounter that changed his life. At Taxila, in modern day Pakistan, he met the Gymnosophists, the ‘naked philosophers’. It was not just their literal nakedness that impressed him, but their preparedness to stand naked before the great unknowns of life. The best way to be exposed to them, Pyrrho argued, is to suspend disbelief.

He founded a group that came to be called the Sceptics, though the word then meant almost the opposite of what it means know. In Greek, it means a searcher or inquirer, not a cynic.

Saturday, July 31 2010

Just wars and modern physics

I've a piece in the Guardian about the moral import of the Wikileaks' Afghan war logs. A taster:

Let's assume the war in Afghanistan is justified, and focus on the jus in bello. One of Aquinas's major contributions was the notion of proportionality: how to assess the bad consequences of otherwise well-intended military action. Michael Walzer, a leading modern just war theorist, notes that simply not to intend the death of civilians is not enough. That's "too easy". Instead, there must be a positive commitment to saving civilian lives, rather than just killing no more than is militarily necessary. "Civilians have a right to something more," he concludes. "And if saving civilian lives means risking soldiers' lives, the risk must be accepted."

Also, two more pieces - one at Religion Dispatches, the other in the Church Times - on the recent John Polkinghorne God and physics conference. A taster from the former:

Perhaps the most arresting paper of the conference was given by the philosopher of science, and non-believer, Nancy Cartwright. She is well known for her idea that science is not as unified a discipline as scientists tend to think it is. By carefully observing how science actually proceeds, she’s concluded that it deploys a diverse range of principles and theories to describe the phenomena it does, and that these cannot be boiled down to a few, simple laws that could be melded into a ‘theory of everything.’

What this might mean for believers, she suggested (tongue half in cheek) is that God is not a law-giver, but an engineer. A deity commensurate with modern science would be one who takes the rough stuff of nature and molds it into this, and then that. A seed would be an example of this divine engineering because, all else being equal, it produces a plant. In general, if the book of science appears to be written in multiple languages, that’s perhaps because the book of nature is too.

To Cartwright’s mind, this would actually make for a more attractive notion of divinity than the traditional one she was raised with, as it’s a God who loves the mess! ‘Glory be to God for dappled things,’ wrote Gerard Manly Hopkins. Quite, she agreed.

Friday, July 30 2010

The whole problem

'While all men have a reason... not all men can give a reason.'

In a line, John Henry Newman captures the nub of the whole issue not just in faith, but psychoanalysis and indeed life itself. (Though I suppose 'all men' might just be being obstinate...)

Thursday, July 29 2010

Isolated, bound or sociable?

At one extreme, you've got the philosophers who argue that you can't know anything directly about another person's inner life, if that phrase even has meaning, but only infer what's going on in their mind by comparing it with the mind you can know directly, your own. It's an isolated, lonely existence.

Then, you've got the psychotherapists who argue that we're tied together in each others minds, be that through your family systems or, as in the groups such as one I go to, via transference or projection. It's not that you know like telepathy, but you know by shared feeling. It's a bound, relational existence.

Somewhere in between, you've the psychologists who, as in this new research, argue that sociability is essential to good mental and physical health, even dramatically affecting your mortality. The psychologists are not sure about the underlying metaphysics - are we in and out of each others heads, or merely better when bouncing along together. It's a sociable but instrumental existence.

Lonely, bound or just sociable. What's it to be?

(Image: A clip from the Charlie Chaplin silent film, 'The Bond')

Wednesday, July 28 2010

Is true friendship dying away?

I've a piece in USA Today. A taster:

Yet we know that less is more when it comes to deeper relationships. It is lonely in the crowd. A connection may only be a click away, but cultivating a good friendship takes more. It seems common sense to conclude that "friending" online nurtures shallow relationships — as the neologism "friending" itself implies.

Tuesday, July 27 2010

On the side of the angels?

Have long loved Augustine's thought, taken from Plato: human beings are 'between the beasts and the angels.'

Then, yesterday, I read Pascal's addition: 'Man is neither angel nor beast, and it is unfortunately the case that anyone trying to act the angel acts the beast.'

Monday, July 26 2010

Hope beyond good and evil

Monday's news is of the horrors of war, what with the leaks of atrocities in Afghanistan and the trial of a Khmer Rouge leader. Afghanistan is live, with us, too close. There is, though, a little distance between us and Cambodia's horror, a function of geographical and historical distance. And that makes for the different feel of the reporting today.

I only visited Cambodia as a tourist, but our guide had experienced the Khmer Rouge years. He’d argued that justice was not possible because of the scale of what’d happened: you’d have to haul a significant percentage of the population into the courts, and society would be destroyed in the process. He also remarked that people prefer to forget - only they don’t, of course. And maybe something else is possible.

That struck me, when the journalist who'd tracked down the Khmer prison chief Duch, talked of a quest not so much for Duch himself, as understanding. The great lesson, Nic Dunlop said, is that at the end of the trail you find a wizened old man who appears to be contrite about his role in some of the worst crimes of the 20th century. ‘As long as he remains a human being, and that’s what I found, there is hope.’

When there's no practical justice that can do justice to what's happened, it's as if an alternative imperative comes through: can we see what's happened in a place beyond good and evil, as it were, and with seeing, hold the horror - to comprehend a little, to punish in small part - but mostly to live on, with more awareness of the past. That’s valuable too because, as has been learnt from other atrocities, not least the European holocaust, the present carries what happened; it returns and can haunt successive generations. But what I heard Dunlop saying is that hope can return too, when individuals involved in the horror manage to commit to life still - even when perpetrators.

Saturday, July 24 2010

Scream for help in dreams

Pace, plot, effects. The psychological thriller Inception is a masterclass in them - the suspension of disbelief effortless. Plus, there's this intriguing deployment of dreams.

The film interprets them as a Freudian - focusing on Oedipal conflicts; dreams as residues from the every day; the role of wish fulfillment; the notion of the dream within a dream perhaps similar to Freud's distinction between manifest and latent content. (And I loved the doctrine that if you interfere with someone else's dreams, then their projections grow in antipathy towards you.) But I came away wondering about the big message, consciously or unconsciously embedded in the ideas-blockbuster of the summer.

I think it's to do with freedom, namely that we're far less free than we think we are. Our conscious life is, in large part, shaped by the unconscious. The question is how conscious you are of that. The film is quite clear that reality matters: to live in dreams is to lose your life, much as the addict loses their life to drugs. (In the film, dreaming is induced by mainlining opiates.) But freedom can be found by understanding the unconscious, for then you will not be split, like a fragmented dream, but know better how to live well.

Friday, July 23 2010

The secret of The Secret

Week after week after week. The Secret is persistently amongst the top ten non-fiction (I use the word advisedly) bestsellers. Why? What's with this small tome of esoteric self-help advice? I stole a look in a bookshop. And William James provided the key to unlock the secret of The Secret.

It's an example of what he called a 'mind cure', and he'd noticed a variety of mind cure movements growing in the quarter century before he gave his lectures on The Varieties of Religious Experience - which is to say that they emerged in the nineteenth century. The essential doctrine that links an otherwise diverse philosophy is that thoughts are things. So to change your thoughts is to change things as they are in the world.

That is linked to a dominant optimism - and it attracts individuals with an optimistic temperament, particularly those to whom doctrines like Christianity's original sin, or psychoanalysis's dark unconscious, seem ugly and pessimistic. That, it turns out, is a lot of people, hence the success of the various forms of mind cure - which range from the power of positive thinking, through Christian Science, to more scientifically informed versions like CBT.

The Secret appears to be just a simplified form of this mental hygiene: if your thoughts are of health or insight or wealth then before you know it, you will receive health or insight or wealth. (Similarly, to think you are ill or ill-fated is simply not to be thinking right: you are well, and will know it.) It's believed this happens because of a universal law that like attracts like. And, if you align yourself to the benign flux of life, then things can only go well.

Thursday, July 22 2010

Putting the soul back into science

The brain looks much more like the medium through which mental activity ripples, rather than the source of that mental activity itself. Natural selection can't really account for the differences between us and our evolutionary cousins, as for all the advantages that might be gained from having, say, a big brain, the disadvantages - such as that it kills mothers and infants during labour - should have prevented it. It's often celebrated that we share 98% of our genes with those said cousins, and a remarkably large percentage with sea urchins and mice to boot, only that's a problem for genetics, as there's not enough 'code' to account for the massive, manifest differences between them and us.

These are some of the mysteries that recent advances in genetics and neuroscience have deepened, and which James Le Fanu explores in Why Us? How Science Rediscovered the Mystery of Ourselves. Only, Le Fanu seeks to question that word 'advance'. Since, for all that a narrative of progress dominates the reporting of discoveries, the truth is that they have mostly served to highlight that we know less than we thought we did. Contemporary science is marked by an inverse relationship between knowledge and understanding - though perhaps only physicists acknowledge as much, with their talk of dark matter, energy and flow. Hence, expectations about what the complete human genome, or real-time scans of the brain, might deliver have fallen away.

It's clearly a book with an agenda, not just to celebrate the centrality of wonder in science - which many scientists would presumably retort never went away. But also to highlight the centrality of the non-material facts of human experience over which reductionist materialism stumbles. The vivid and liberating experience of consciousness also suggests, to Le Fanu, the need for the language of the soul, and of a natural sympathy not enmity between science and religion. Further, the apparently information rich operations of genes, and the syntactical nature of language, raises the possibility of a God-like intelligence, required as a kind of top-down, causative factor - he moots, sensibly towards the end.

As I've argued before, I don't think divine allusions serve scientific explanations well. And more generally, I did wonder whether Le Fanu overstates his case in his desire to score against his opponents. For example, the inexplicable nature of gravity, as it was to Newton - the force that bizarrely acts at a distance - is cited on a number of occasions as a paradigmatic case of the mystery of natural things. Only, General Relativity doesn't see gravity as such, but rather as an implicit feature of spacetime. You could say that just replaces one mystery with another, but I think it's important to say so. Alternatively, Le Fanu lambasts neo-Darwinism for the simplicity of its big idea - Dennett's 'universal acid' - because it is actually woefully inadequate when it comes to describing how, say, we shifted from walking on all fours to two: there are too many intermediary steps required with no obvious adaptive advantage. But then he also mocks the complexity of evolutionary mathematics as obscurantist. I felt you can't have it both ways.

What's exciting about the book, though, is the sense it leaves that we might be on the verge of a paradigm change in the biological sciences. To my mind, reductionist materialism has pretty clearly almost exhausted its explanatory powers in these fields, though it's had a great run. (That's something physicists have long had to contemplate.) We might live to see a new science emerge.

- page 2 of 90 -