Category Archives: Identity

The Bridge of Vibrating Objects

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More often than not, there is difficulty communicating between people. We have established languages, with vocabularies representing conceptual objects that we string together in a feeble attempt to lift our consciousness from ourselves and offer it to another. Some people claim the vocabulary of our language shapes our thoughts. Others instead claim that our thoughts wrestle with the clumsy limitations of linguistic representations for expression. What we do know is that our consciousness exists as certainly as another consciousness, and the avenues between them are a wilderness of language-constrained train wrecks.

In physics, the laws governing our existence are expressed as mathematical objects. We do not question whether our existence must, necessarily, obey laws. We assume that reason exists, in at least some form, at all levels, even within chaos. We tie the concept of chaos to randomness, and by doing so, we constrain existence, at least in part, with our mathematical objects. This may be a preconceived bias which limits a broader understanding, but it does impose definitions that we can utilize and manipulate within our framework of pseudo-certainty, that is a mathematical representation.

Language is a similar construct. As creatures with unique consciousness, we vibrate the air in defined ways that represent, more or less, the consciousness we are currently experiencing and wish to communicate to another consciousness. However, each consciousness exists in relative isolation from any other, much like parallel universes could be, and any communication of information between islands is fraught with potentials for error. For example, a word might not be understood in the same way on each island, or a string of words may have differing connotations that have arisen from the other consciousness’ history or bias. An even more challenging issue is the fluidity inherent within the island of each consciousness that is, by its very isolation, patently distinct within its own experiential awareness that changes, sometimes even radically, over time.

Objects we create (words or phrases) that are meant to be shared between islands have nowhere to exist, except within whatever space it is that we might label a mutually agreed-upon landscape of language. There is no metaphysical cathedral that houses the canonical truth of each object we have created, except, indirectly, by our further mutual agreement to imbue selected people with the responsibility of maintaining them, which is itself, fraught with peril. It is something, though. And it is a wonder we can communicate at all, particularly in the more abstract.

Mathematics has an easier time, at least within its foundations. The number “2″ is well understood within our intersubjective landscape. Any misunderstanding or argument between islands about the number “2″ would almost certainly be specious. This is an object that can reasonably be considered safely canonical. Even though it does not exist. I have never seen a “2″, in and of itself. But I have seen the curvy numeral written down many times, and have even determined a quantity of 2 for various things. I know — I lead a wildly abandoned life. But I would be hard-pressed to actually show you a “2″. That’s because it isn’t a thing, but rather a representation of an abstract concept. It is not really physical. Addition and subtraction are also abstract concepts, applied to other abstract concepts. As we’ve discussed earlier, mathematics is an abstraction, tied to the physical in only the most tenuous of ways through the concept of quantity. This has proven to offer us great benefits, but it can also hinder us when it is believed as a canonical representation of the totality of our existence. There is no basis for such an assumption, despite stacks of mathematics on paper.

It seems the human being is prone to adopt beliefs. This is how scientists, even physicists and mathematicians, can believe in God without violating the sanctity of their disciplines: because their disciplines arise from belief, they are accustomed to belief. The only difference between religion and science is the voracity of their self-consistency and their openness to new perspectives. These are constant challenges where religion, more often than not, falls short. But so does science. And like religion, science usually falls short when the canonical caretakers of the holy objects become more interested in their own personal perpetuation than their sacred duty toward humanity and the purity of their calling.

However, these are callings that are far removed from the more humble life we each lead as we return home at the end of the day. At home our concerns turn toward foraging for food, our feelings for the people in our lives, or having a comfy, warm bed in which to dream. While mathematics is removed from us and defined with rigor, the language of our time spent more at rest is sloppier, and is often downright messy. Some would like to bring the certainties of religion or science home with them in an attempt to impose comfort upon the messiness they might otherwise experience, but these are usually vain attempts. The messiness bleeds through. Something about us is wider than any discipline can contain. We are not entirely defined by the dominance of objects created within the outside world. We are aware of our island-hood, and the world we perceive externally is not, precisely, the sum of everything that we are, or might be. Even when we try to impose its order upon ourselves, our gut knows the difference. We will go into the applicability and validity of the discipline of psychology and neuroscience in subsequent pieces.

Language, that is extended to us from our culture, is the defining bridge to the external world. Our senses are also a bridge, but they lack any objective definitions without language. Our senses merely allow us to perceive and experience the external world. Language helps define common sensual experiences between us. The difficulty arises from the fact that our awareness is separated from the awareness that exists within other beings, and the only way we have to bridge these islands is a rickety structure composed of words. This is, perhaps, part of the appeal of mathematics — it is rigidly defined with only a small propensity for misunderstanding and error. However, mathematics is incapable of representing the spectrum that is the diversity within our inner lives. Though less prone to error, its vocabulary is utterly inadequate. We appear to be stuck with the uncertainty and error of language between us. And as an interesting aside, it is also fascinating to note that our understanding of these more pristine maths are formed through the messiness of language and what those words conceptually represent. But we’ll steer clear of that messiness for now.

Our inner experience is rarely what other people perceive. The inadequacies of language are not the only cause. Because of our uniquely individual craziness, we do not always construct language that is a true representation of our inner experience. Also, sometime we hear language differently than was intended, either because of that same uniquely individual craziness within ourselves, or the clumsiness of the person constructing the language toward us. And this is with truth as the backdrop. If we bring in the possibility of deception, we bring a wrecking ball into an already precarious and delicate environment. Unfortunately, for one reason or another, this is all too common and is the source of a great deal of the confusion that permeates our society. Deception is always willful, even when it is simply a will to ignore or disregard the validity of some known or perceived truth. In many ways, this is the worst deception of all. Silence, indifference, or disregard allows deception to perpetuate and flourish. It is selfish, and almost always meant for one’s own perceived benefit.

But what is selfishness, other than a word? How is it possible to say that selfishness is bad, when each self is their own isolated island? The answer is simple when you realize that other islands exist, and are every bit as important as your own. There are lots of people like you, living on their own crazy, isolated islands. Even when they claim they are not. Particularly when they claim they are not. And in that, paradoxically, even though we are completely isolated, we are all in the same boat. If I’m not mistaken, I think that some form of love might fit in well just there. And though love can be considered selfish, it also, paradoxically, is the furthest thing from selfishness. Isolation is, intrinsically, a lonely existence. Though some religions try, they cannot command love between islands. And deception always results in isolation. If connections are to occur, each island must, through its own self-awareness, become aware of its isolation and seek to bridge that isolation in ways that are not based in deception. Or instead, remain in isolation. Anything else is a power play through manipulation.

If a sense of mutuality can exist between islands then an awareness of isolation also exists. Some means will be sought to create bridges in the interest of that mutuality. But if a keen awareness of the isolation between islands exists, how can one possibly avoid having a more passionate response that necessitates creating the most intimate connections possible? Though this situation is rare, here we must take care to balance between the negative forces that stem from desperation and panic, against the far more positive and powerful forces that such passion can engender as a motive for the fulfillment with all its benefits of unity. And even this must be balanced against the necessity of distinction, from which the true beauty and strengths of humanity’s genius emerges. This is the beautiful aspect within the darker nature of Existentialism.

It leaves me asking, as I look out upon the world, what is really important? Between each of our islands, what bridges have we built, or allowed to be connected to us? In what ways does mutuality currently manifest itself? Is it truly proven that deception results in isolation? Does it matter to our isolation if we are the ones deceiving, or the ones being deceived? And the most difficult question of all, why does this state seem to remain, in perpetuity?

I suppose that our self awareness is one thing, while our interactions with the world is another. This is inherently deceptive. Perhaps we must do, to get what we want. It is the exchange of one price, at the cost of something else. I suppose it all depends upon the value we place on one thing or another. And now, I feel like I’m caught up in the mathematics of economies. It is an intriguing symptom.

In that warm, comfy bed of mine, though messy, I had a dream the other night. Some people say I was experiencing random firings of neurons, while other say I was “sifting” through the day’s information. Nobody can say much about the particles. I only know that I had a dream. There was a large, flat landscape seen at a distance, like the world. It ground was a reddish-brown, cracked, clay desert at twilight. Lots of people were walking about in between plastic outcroppings in the plain that were shaped like rounded tombstones, but had brightly-glowing and colorful neon symbols that flowed in pleasant designs. They densely covered the plains while people walked amongst them, absently avoiding collisions with these colorful objects. All our interactions flowed through them, yet we always avoided touching them. Circles were always the most prominent design on the tombstones.

None of this was unpleasant. However, it did make me feel a little like a radio controlled robot, and I knew that everyone else was feeling the same thing. Mountains were off far along the horizon. We knew we were a colony, of sorts, and there was nowhere else to go. As Burroughs would say, “The theater is closed.”

But I woke up and decided to write this anyway. I feel compelled. It might be love. Or maybe religion. But then again, nothing is certain. Right?

Just a bunch of words, tenuously tied to the intimate experience of our unique existence. You can see such awareness in some people. Others might never get there. Still others are terrified. It’s not easy, with such awareness, being deceptive. Unless you are completely ruthless. That is effective evil. And it exists. It is a purity of self-interest.

Mutual interest does not just happen as a by-product of self-interest. Mutual interest strikes deep into the chest. It is undeniable. It is a function of awareness. And that, in my belief, is the mountain to whose heights we must aspire. Any other basis is petty and inevitably mean.

I’ll Be Your Hero

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David and Goliath

A few of you English majors will roll your eyes at me for saying this, but I used to love reading fantasy books. Notice that, in acquiescence, I said books, not literature. Then again, I’m being disingenuous. Because I know at least one of you lit types likes fantasy, too. Your secret is safe.

Jackie’s primary complaint with fantasy is that everything is made up. Nothing is real. She found it difficult relating to fabricated worlds with their wildly absurd political systems, the over-the-top wicked or good characters, and fairies. We don’t have any fairies here.

My retort was always, “well, isn’t everything just made up here, too?” I never said it was a good retort. I was still a music major, yet to be bludgeoned to death by philosophy. At least I can take solace in knowing, that at least on some instinctual level, I was on the right track. I never managed to convince her to read any fantasy, though. Unless she sneaked it, guiltily hiding her newly found, unseemly habit from view. It wouldn’t surprise me. Her focus was Victorian Literature, after all.

I never realized when I first started reading fantasy that one of my favorite aspects was the mostly distinct separation between good and evil. Of course, a good person can get possessed by some demon temporarily, committing evil acts, but you knew they were really just a victim; a good person, who made a mistake, or things were out of their control. The heroes are often normal people who find themselves caught up in extraordinary circumstances that never appear extraordinary at the time. They usually have no intention of being a hero and even resist it. They cannot imagine themselves heroes. Nevertheless, some nugget of good within them eventually drives them to sacrifice everything; their vocation, their family life, and even their self-interested desire just to live a simple life. They sacrifice it all, to do what they know is right — to do what must be done, even though they are convinced of their own failure from the outset. This is what makes them a hero.

We are inundated with marketing, spin and double-speak. It’s no wonder we have difficulty distinguishing our heads from holes in the wall any more. I’d like to forget about the hole in the wall for a minute, and focus on your head. And heroes.

Heroes can be anyone, but they are not just anyone. Heroes are not manufactured. Most heroes never know fame. Heroes do not have to kill people, or be killed. But all heroes are willing, and often do, sacrifice or risk everything they have or hold dear, in order to do what is right. And often, doing what is right benefits others while not necessarily benefiting the hero.

All cultures I know have the concept of a hero, with much the same definition. Something deep within our nature causes us to revere heroes and gain inspiration from their example. However, it is important to keep in mind that simply having reverence for someone is not enough to make them a hero. Being inspired by someone does not make them a hero. It only means that you like them, and possibly admire what they stand for, and may even wish to shape your own life accordingly. But unless they meet the requirements of being self-sacrificial in the cause of ethical truth, they do not meet the standard of being called a hero.

Does McCain’s capture by an enemy, and his survival of the ordeal make him a hero? No. It makes him a victim, who survived to live another day. We can be inspired by the story. We can be inspired by McCain himself, as the victim who survived. Does his supposed refusal to accept an offer of freedom from this enemy, unless all the other prisoners are released, make him a hero? Possibly, weakly so. It could also make him an idiot, since he could have left the prison camp and reported back valuable intelligence to our military forces that might have brought a quicker end to his comrade’s plight. I see no heroic qualities in McCain lately, at least. Which makes me question much of this legend. I also see no heroic qualities in Obama, just to be fair.

If you are a businessman who makes an innovation and tons of money, and you make all your employees rich too, are you a hero? No. If you join the military are you a hero? No. If you kill a bunch of Iraqis or insurgents are you a hero? No. If you risk your life to save a comrade are you a hero? Yes. If you risk your life to save a member of the Taliban are you a hero? Yes. If you leave your home on a quest to truly help people in need without any particular gain for yourself, are you a hero? Yes. If you blow the whistle on your boss, despite any sense of loyalty, when they are committing an act of “evil”, and there is no other recourse? Yes. If you are a leader or politician who stands up for what is truly right, despite what it might do to your career, are you a hero? Yes.

In fantasy books, much like in life, a true hero never considers themselves to be one. It is that quality of personal disassociation that gives them the moral clarity to perform acts of heroism. They have stopped thinking about just themselves. In the end, they are not so much concerned with their own life as they are about their effect upon the world, and other people, by their actions. Nearly any selfless act taken in the name of the ethically true is an heroic act.

The tragedy is, most of our heroes carry out their monumentally important acts without any acknowledgment. It is even common that lesser people often clamor to take credit for these heroes’ sacrifices and accomplishments, when events turn out well. This may be a sad blow to a hero, but that’s okay. Because the hero knows that what was truly important, they accomplished.

This is the story of the unsung hero. It is the story of some rare and few people, who are really very much like ourselves. It may be the story of best possible thing we can do with our lives. I certainly think the world could benefit from a few more true heroes.

It certainly is not easy navigating this world we have concocted — this fantasy we live within. Yet every day we are presented with opportunities to become true heroes. It is a fundamental characteristic of heroes that they live, in a sense, outside the structures most people find themselves within. This is often what puts them at odds, or at risk. And they willingly, though sometimes hesitantly, take that step into risk, for the greater good of all. Imagine what a different world it might be if people were more willing to take that step; to become heroes. All these people, standing outside of things, in the terms they know to be truly right. Standing outside of things, but still very much within each other’s midst.

One might be tempted to ask, well, what is ethically right, and subsequently dismiss any greater potential, because any answer must be arbitary. But I don’t know if the answers are really so arbitrary. I’m not so certain we have no idea what is truly the ethically right thing. What I do know is that heroes often make excuses to delay their journey. They don’t believe they are heroes, and they do not want to be. Yet somehow, the true hero eventually takes that step. And even unsung, such acts are the stuff of legend.

An Equation, Whose Velocity is Sculptural

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If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things.

- René Descartes

This was a clever Frenchman, born in the late 1500′s. René was a philosopher and a mathematician. In fact, he invented analytic geometry, or Cartesian geometry. For some reason, truth was important to René. He is also considered the founder of modern philosophy, creating a solid intellectual basis from which the natural sciences could evolve.

René believed we must throw out all ideas that cannot be reasonably proven. Often, he toyed with more abstract mathematics as an exercise to better understand truth. In doing so, he laid the foundations that led to Newton’s calculus. He is also the origin of the phrase, “I think, therefore I am.”

Unfortunately, that phrase is not exactly mathematical. But we’ll afford him some leeway. After all, he was bringing philosophy and mathematics together in new and exciting ways, and the “why am I?” question is an oldie but a goody. However, it does bring to light a certain difficulty that we still face today.

Modern philosophers know that “Cogito ergo sum” is not, actually, a very good proof. But René was hindered in large part by not taking his own advice: doubt, as far as possible, all things. René believed that our minds exist separately from the physical world, and as such, were not really subject to ontological considerations. He did not imagine that our consciousness might arise from the physical properties of our existence. So, in a way, he was putting the cart before the horse.

This is not surprising. The duality of mind and body was a concept solidified within the minds of his contemporaries. It was both a social given, and a spiritual “truth”. Interestingly, he did not believe animals had minds. Nor did they feel pain. This was well-reasoned. He often performed vivisections upon live animals to study them. I wonder how he held to his belief, as the animals cried out and struggled. Perhaps it is one of the powers of science, that allows us to carry on in our convictions despite contrary appearances. At least when our convictions are well-reasoned.

Chris and I have had some fun discussions lately, some of which are related to consciousness and existence. There is always something refreshing about returning our attention to origins. One thing is clear, we live in very different times than René, when Western civilization was taking its first steps toward the Age of Enlightenment. They were trying to make sense of the physical within a world of the spiritual, while we are left trying to find at least some room for the spirit in a world of mathematics.

How different we have become, even those of us who claim to lead “the simple life.” Our electricity flows to us through the equations of electromagnetism. Our shoes, ropes, jackets and food containers, formed by petrochemistry. Our money, an imaginary collection of computer memory addresses, modified by equations. Our minds, altered, repaired or enhanced through specific chemicals, electricity and physical modification. The machine work within the cells of our bodies, re-programmed and turned loose by conscious design. And the very fact that my words enter your mind now, a result of quantum positions within the subatomic…

Who needs a spirit any more? When the cells of my body that somehow comprise the mind that speaks to you, are not even real, but are instead a vibrating collection of particles that both exist and do not exist. And each of them, surrounded by a vast sea of empty space. Who needs a spirit, when I am mostly insubstantial already?

When mathematics has all the answers, what is the difference, if you maximize a ledger balance or not? What does it matter, the risk assessments in war? In the collection of particles, of dust, that we are, that move out with our will, which among them is the greatest? Which is the least? Which is me? When all things are functions to be weighed and solved, playing out from their own accord, what does anything truly matter?

This abstraction, with its dehumanizing characteristics, can be attributed to the inherently metaphysical status of mathematics. It brings us far up above ourselves, where we can look back down. It is a peculiar phenomenon. In science, phenomenology is making observations that lead to some conclusion that pays no attention to how we feel things should be, nor what they actually mean. Quite differently, in philosophy, phenomenology is, in a way, the search for a bridge that might somehow lead out from just yourself, to other people, ideas or things.

In philosophy we reached a crisis of sorts with the Existentialists, after our long passage through the the Age of Reason and the Age of Enlightenment. In a sense, it carries us through the processes of logic and mathematics, then plops us down squarely into meaninglessness. We can observe the processes of our world, but in doing so we must acknowledge that these observations originate from our bodies. However, our bodies and the senses we inhabit, are limited. We may construct machines that extend our senses well beyond their limitations, but only along the narrow lines we designate as extensions, i.e., vision or sound. The question arises, is the truth of truths constrained by our physically perceptual and rationally conceptual human limitations? Such a notion is extraordinarily prejudiced and leads us to consider the absurdity that lives at the foundation of science when it purports to be anything more than an art. Art, which merely hints at truths through the tools of its trade. And like all art, what is pleasing to our aesthetic we grant validity, meditation and devotion.

Mathematics exists within its own universe. It is self-referential — self-contained. It follows a logic more pristine than our human thoughts, nestled within the gross confines of language, can achieve. In mathematics, we can determine with certainty whether something is true or not, yet this truth is only valid within the universe of mathematics. If we choose to apply the universe of mathematics to the larger reality we inhabit, we do so only with risk. The bridge between the universe of mathematics and our universe of existence is a metaphysical bridge. In other words, an atom does not work out the equations of quantum mechanics to decide its next action. Nor can we pass laws in mathematics that force the physical universe to behave in different ways. We shape, and reshape our presumptions within the universe of mathematics in an effort to conform to the phenomena we observe within our own. And in doing so, we claim the prize: physics and metaphysics merge. This is the beauty we attribute with truth. However, philosophers, except for the exceedingly naïf ones, understand that truth need not be beautiful. In fact, truth does not, necessarily, require any aesthetic at all.

In this sense, the aesthetically pleasant merging of the physical and metaphysical universe through mathematics can, at best, be considered a metaphor for truth. This metaphor is constrained by the limitations of our senses. Although science can make predictions and often control our physical universe via its metaphysical tools, it is important to remember its more artistic basis when considering the truth of truths.

As we discover an aspect of our existence, even through science, it is often our first thought to re-shape that metaphorical truth toward something even more ideal. In effect, to “correct” a part of our existence within the physics we believe we inhabit. In other words, we may discover a truth, yet even though our understanding of this truth is incomplete, we might have within our minds an improvement upon this truth, which, through our metaphysical tools, we often seek to modify into an idealized state. This is a dangerous flaw inherent within the belief of science as truth: our incomplete understanding of truth often leads us to alter that truth toward an ideal, founded upon nothing but our own prejudices or desires. This is what leads us to consider the prospect of filtering out gay babies, since they will not procreate or will be evil. This is what leads us to ethnic cleansing, based upon a system of rationality. Or war. where millions can be killed based upon probabilities or the maximization of abstract numerics which we imbue with cultural power. Or pharmaceuticals that restrict our minds within the narrow bounds of some normalized function.

Unlike other art, a strongly absolute and literal validity is bestowed upon science. This is, perhaps, why science, like all art, is often under attack by social forces who are determined to instill their own ideas of truth. There is, perhaps, some characteristic of art that we innately recognize as a metaphor for truth. This can easily threaten ideologies based upon weak tautologies. Science, even more than other arts, can threaten as a result of the profound validity we bestow upon it.

However, this power comes at a price. Unlike other arts, science is incapable of critiquing itself. In other words, science cannot question the foundations of science, within the terms of science. In this sense, as a means of determining truth, science becomes, like mathematics, a universe unto itself, self-referential and solipsistic. As such, it lives in isolation as an abstract construction as all beliefs do. We imbue science with its power through a conscious act of attribution: a belief in its indisputable access to truth. To my mind, as beliefs go, this is better than most.

Interestingly, other arts do not suffer in cold isolation like science. Then again, other arts do not claim any absolutism within their basis. What gives science its power is the same force that isolates it from us: the notion of a purely objective and utterly rational universe, despite the limitations inherent within our humanity to fully experience it.

Caught within our consciousness, we seek that which is outside ourselves. Perhaps we desire to understand ourselves within the boundaries of our own perception. Perhaps we simply wish to feel less isolated. In this way, science and the mechanics of rationalism have led us to marvel at the outside world, drawing our attention to the menagerie of pseudo-objective materials that presumably comprise our existence, while simultaneously discounting the importance and highlighting the fallibility of our own subjective experience, and hence, the subjective experiences of others, even though we sense some inherent access to truth within our own subjectivity. Science can only approach this from the outside, and we doom ourselves to conform to its edicts. However, other arts are somewhat gentler. It is a characteristic of all art that we may discover bridges between what might exist within the world, that can span, at least in part, to our experience of individuality; and across those bridges find, perhaps, something truly meaningful. This is, in part, the philosophical meaning of phenomenology.

When we look at the processes of science, we find two primary symbols: theoretical terms and observational terms. “Good” science is generally defined by observational terms linked to correspondence rules into theoretical terms. That is, theoretical entities do not exist unless they can be shown, through correspondence rules, to be connected to observation. What makes science more of an art is the recent lack of distinction between theory and observation, which correspondence rules rely upon as a given. The result is, any disconcerting observations can always, eventually, be accommodated by any theory. Science chooses theories pragmatically: those which fit best with other theories blessed into general acceptance. Observation is no longer required. This is most certainly closer to art than any truth of truths. And as such, it is as close to the truth of truths as art.

The phenomenological philosopher at the outset finds themselves trapped in the isolation of Existentialists, much like science is trapped within its own objectively solipsistic universe. However, the phenomenological philosopher finds themselves in a somewhat different landscape. We suspend any disbelief in ourselves. We assume that we, as an individual, must exist, in one way or another. And in what others might consider a leap of faith, though there are some compelling arguments otherwise, we assume that other things also exist. Even sentient things. Like, and unlike ourselves. Each of us perceives the universe through our own subjective senses. I have no access to the truth of what you see, except through the objects of language and metaphor that we build and share, both within and outside of ourselves.

A phenomenological philosopher is very skeptical of anything claimed to be an absolute object of truth existing within the shared, intersubjective experience we inhabit. However, they are not ruled out. Nor is any object in the intersubjective world blessed into the objective, as a Truth, lightly. It is here that scientists fail as philosophers. They are hasty and reckless in their determinations, with flawed claims of an objective process that is, largely, metaphysical. However, as artists, and even tortured artists, scientists are magnificent. Most scientists will perceive this as a wild accusation.

But, like all artists, an engrossment within your work can lead to a dangerous myopia. It is also the signature of genius. Any passionate pursuit leads inevitably to the darkened beauty of egoism. It is an irony that, in the endless pursuit of the objective truth, the subjective ego should flourish and grow. “The holy egoism of genius,” the The Art of Noise sang.

It leaves me wondering, when you look into the eyes of another — a stranger — and something profound between you is shared and known, without any words, without any hints, that hits at the gut… Who among us is quick to attribute the experience to an equation? Who is quick to say, this is a spiritual exchange? What we do know, is that it is a phenomenon, experienced by us all. And the meaning is to be found within each of us.

The Value of Understanding

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First Atlas Event at the LHC

It may seem I have focused on “dissing” scientists lately. The focus of my irritation is mainly limited to theoreticians who fancy themselves somewhat more than scientists, who overlap, stepping into other disciplines with flagrant disregard, without bothering to educate themselves first. In this, they commit the same transgressions they complain about. Actually, I admire their chutzpah, too.

Experimental scientists, on the other hand, rock. They are the blue collar grease monkeys that stick their fingers into the light sockets to find out what will happen. They get the job done. They are the detectives and the judges, having the final say about the theoretician’s abstract arguments, as well as their own. In general, they are a more humble lot, without necessarily being any less imaginative or knowledgeable than their theoretical counterparts. Of course, theorists, being who they are, would generally disagree. But that doesn’t matter.

There are some people who would argue that science has not improved our lives. It has. And it has done so because there are people curious about how everything around us works. We help them go about exploring their curiosity while simultaneously reaping the benefits. It is a good relationship. Unfortunately, that relationship is sometimes strained.

For example, Europe’s Large Hadron Collider has recently wandered into the mainstream’s attention. This is not altogether accidental — scientists realize their funding is largely dependent upon the goodwill of the masses. They have learned to improve their marketing skills, usually by exploiting the ever-hungry egos of theoreticians eager to be elevated to celebrity status. But in doing so, they have provided an excellent service, bringing many modern scientific questions to the attention of we lay people. It is unprecedented.

Unfortunately, being new to the multiplicity we throngs of monkeys represent, scientists appear to make a naïve assumption. That is, monkeys are reasonable. We are not. We are interested in those things which make us happy. We do not like things that make us unhappy. Reason makes scientists happy. But it does not, necessarily, make all the other monkeys happy. So, what to do? Well, let’s find some common ground. What makes everyone happy? It would be a very large orgy indeed, making everyone happy through sex and love. It would also be both impractical and messy. Perhaps the next best thing for we cute little hedonists? How about money?

The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is huge, and quite expensive. It is, in most ways, the most powerful and complex machine ever constructed, drawing upon a dizzying array of disciplines. The LHC employs thousands of people, bringing Europe once again into the forefront of high energy particle physics, and likely, physics in general. People desire to go where they will be free, and feel they have a chance at a good future. And for scientists, Europe has all the candy.

The question is, in terms of candy, how much did Europe have to pay for this massive influx of brain talent? The answer is, just about the same amount as the United States would have paid to build the Superconducting Supercollider (SSC), which would have been even more powerful and already in operation years ago. Unfortunately, it was too expensive for our tastes. Spread out over the construction time, the LHC has cost Europe approximately $1 billion per year to build. To put this in perspective, the United States is perfectly happy literally burning money on war at a rate that would build one SSC, or LHC, each and every month.

Instead, we paid just over one third the price tag for the SSC, creating the superconducting magnets, excavating over 20 miles of earth, and building the facilities in Texas. It cost us several billion dollars. However, instead of completing the project, we closed it down. The facility in Texas is now used instead as a training ground for military exercises in the “war on terror”. I can remember the day, so many years ago, when I learned the SSC was canceled. I was standing in the office of a government technology mogul at Battelle Memorial Institute, discussing a study I did on the effects the Internet would have on society; specifically government and industry. I was dumbfounded. I found it impossible understanding how Congress could cancel such an important project, particularly after spending so much money. The reasons were fascinating, and dispiriting.

England is experiencing similar debates right now concerning their financial contributions to the LHC. What I learned from the failure of the SSC is that the people making and influencing decisions are not altogether unreasoning. They make sense. However, they lack utterly any perspective that might allow them to see the oftentimes subtle, yet enormously revolutionary occurrences that inevitably spring from the pursuit of “pure science”.

Pure science is not, by definition, tied to any industry or money concern. It is the pursuit of knowledge, for the sake of knowledge. This is where all the good stuff happens. Discoveries are oftentimes unpredictable, and the consequences of those discoveries, surprising — and sometimes they are even revolutionary. As proof, most science laboratories have information systems in place that track unexpected results that can, later, be more fully explored. These systems are considered invaluable. Commercial laboratories often call these systems “Intellectual Property Management Systems”.

This represents the second reason scientists are marketing their research disciplines to the masses: it will hopefully educate the bureaucrats who determine the flow of funds. We see the debate this generates in action during a recent interview with Brain Cox, one of the newest science celebrities, on English television.

But, to our credit, the United States did go on to fund a large majority of the International Space Station. Anyone who watches the numerous astronaut interviews over the years cringes as the question inevitably arrives: “What benefit do we get out of the ISS?” At least, with each re-hash of the question, the public learns more. And in all honesty, it boils down to something very simple. The truly important stuff, we just don’t know. Yet. But maybe it’s worth finding out.

It’s natural to say, also, that money spent on colliers or space stations would be better spent feeding our poor, offering them medical services, or repairing our nation’s infrastructure. There is no ethical way to argue against that, reasonably. However, the issue is blurred when you consider that at least one-third, or possibly even one-half, of our country’s money is spent for war. Might it not be a worthy endeavor, drawing our attention toward the stars, or perhaps the inner workings of reality itself — in place of war? If we do, I suspect we might rediscover the better portions of our humanity that we seem to have misplaced.

I do speak of the hubris engendered by many theoreticians. It is hubris, imagining we can both understand and manipulate the components of reality. We may be mistaken. There may not even be components of reality to understand an manipulate, in the most fundamental sense. But I admire the theoreticians for trying, even when they do, so often, get caught within the trappings of more petty pursuits that may instead hinder scientific advancement. They are, after all, human, too.

I want to support science, for the pure sake of discovery and understanding. I want to learn from scientists, philosophers, poets, musicians, and even the consistently vexed clerk at the local 24-hour market. I don’t want to kill people. And I don’t want to be killed. I want to share what I’ve learned, too. I think, mostly, because it’s ours.

So this is what I hope, from our latest efforts, happening not within the shores of the United States. May we find things even more helpful than the observation of anti-matter annihilation within the substance of our bodies. May we find cures more useful than the directed streams of subatomic particle beams. May we find ourselves communicating even closer than quantum entanglement, through spooky actions at a distance. May we discover what gives us weight. May we learn to see new dimensions all around us. May we learn what binds us to the world. And, may we realize soon with certainty, that fundamentally we are, all of us, the same.

I know. There are issues in that. But in the interest of uniting around something besides death, how about we save taking on that problem for later. I’m inspired, Europa! Thank you.

And back at home, on our winding trails, one last thing. Good journeys to you, Mr. David Foster Wallace. Thank you, too.

Collect Me If I’m Rong

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You hear enough of my thoughts and opinions. It’s a rare treat when I get to hear yours. I think most people keep their thoughts and opinions to themselves. I choose to think this because the alternative is, that every person walking around is a hollow zombie of null thought. Well, I suppose there is another possibility. Maybe they are polite, and keep their ideas and opinions to themselves out of respect for other people.

But I don’t believe it. Silence is self-interested: doubt in oneself, and not wanting to be exposed. Or, maybe just walk around, not caring, unaffected, until something unavoidable or inescapable happens. Actually, the second is the most self-interested of all.

But I did hear from three people about the last piece I wrote called Price Check on Isle “P”. Actually four people. One person asked why I hadn’t considered the Green Party’s Cynthia McKinney‘s candidacy for President. I have no good reason — and I’ll get into that later. The other three people told me that “Isle” was spelled “Aisle”.

Now, that’s an interesting thing to tell someone who writes poetry. My response to each was that an “aisle” wasn’t nearly as self-contained and isolated as it needed to be. My previous post, which wasn’t mailed out, was actually a poem called Pretend which happened to have “aisles”, and no “isles”. Those were narrow things, in supermarkets.  But Price Check on Isle “P” wasn’t a poem. And since it wasn’t a poem, I must have made a mistake, placing a big body of land surrounded by an ocean into the middle of a store. Well, I won’t concede. Because it was a big store – a huge store. So big, in fact, that it didn’t even need entrances or exits, because the curvature of the earth would just bring you back to your starting point before you managed to walk far enough.

Now, I know you scientists. You’re thinking, that’s just silly. Why not just say it’s a store that’s as big as the world? And that’s just nonsense, because we don’t have enough resources to build something like that. Imagine the lighting bill! Unfortunately, I can’t kidnap people, blindfold them, take them across bridges, and then set them loose. Hell, I can’t even build bridges. They’re already there. I can only jump up and down, yelling and pointing, wearing pinwheels and elephant ears. It’s a good job.

Not too unlike, except for being a little bit opposite, Plato and his republic. Plato believed poets should be banished because they promoted sloppy and dangerous unreason. Now, “unreason” is actually a word. That is, it is a proper word, blessed and sanctified by whatever committee blesses and sanctifies such things. It was the proper word to use there, to portray what I meant. But it would have been the proper word, even if it wasn’t a proper word. And I would have used it. And that’s some tension.

Philosophy and poetry make uneasy bedfellows, unless they’re rolling around in that bed in your head together. Philosophy wants to be clear, rigorous and inescapable. This requires words with little ambiguity. Poetry, on the other hand, has different ideas about what clarity is, and you can come and go as you please. And as for being rigorous, well, it depends on the mood.

But, uneasy or not, Poetry and Philosophy are bedfellows. Both are concerned with the most basic essence of the subjects they deal with, not just appearances or the presently accepted “how the way things are”. In the terms of Philosophy, Philosophy is concerned with more than just the epistemological and ontological. And from Poetry, I have yet to embrace all that might be seen.

It is very narrow and short sighted to believe that Philosophy is all about logic and reasoning, while poetry is all about feeling. Poetry can, and often does, delve into the heart of matters that lies beyond both emotion and reason. And the philosopher might ask, what can possibly exist that is beyond both emotion and reason? And that philosopher might find themselves smack in the headspace of a poet, while still being a philosopher. Which, of course, through logic, epistemology, ontology and a good splattering of aesthetics, might be just a chemical sea within our gray matter — devoid of the skepticism required by the limitations of our human sense, that seeks to know itself, through limited means. And then, well, we’re mostly just back to poetry.

And no, you scientists don’t know any better. Science is the epitome of hubris. Science believes that epistemological continuity is enough to reveal an ontology when they can make empiricism fit nice and snug. Unfortunately, they just can’t see, even if by some crazy chance they happen to be right, that it just loops right back into Philosophy, landing with a thud into metaphysics. It amazes me how many scientists fancy themselves philosophers just because they run around with calculators and rulers, and can go, “see! see!”. Their domain within philosophy is narrow indeed, but it is formidable. And of course, it can be spectacularly helpful.

It’s like this: philosophers can talk about love in great depth, just like poets (if they can get past the embarrassment of being associated with a cliché). Scientists can poke at pleasure centers in the brain, and fiddle with areas of memory that might contain people we know. Or other scientists, who some scientists consider only pseudo-scientists, whatever that is, might say that you feel love for a particular person because your father was always away from home working, and that person scratches their ass just like your father did.

Or, some people might spell tomato “tomatoe”. Either way, it’s a big yummy juicy red thing. Does it matter? Well, were you supposed to imagine walking around with squishy red phalanges in your sneakers? If you’re not, then it’s up you whether the tomatoe guy is an idiot. You’ve got the tomato in your head either way. And it’s hard to tell, if you correct their spelling, will they accept it, happily corrected, and be smarter? Or will they turn into an even null-er headed zombie, even less likely speak?

Most people wouldn’t bother considering that question. They’re too happy being more clever, even in silence. At least clever in spelling. But it’s a good question to consider: how do you help someone expand into something more, without making them feel like an idiot, or get all defensive and shut everything down? Well, philosophers usually just let the scientists have their delusions of grandeur, knowing that the grandeur to which they aspire will engulf them soon enough. However, scientists have an edge. They are motivated to learn more. That’s not a widely shared human characteristic.

Yet strangely, even despite ourselves, we all do learn more, and in wildly different ways. Maybe this has something to do with those zingy pleasure centers of the brain. It feels good, even learning, when it’s something we like. The hopeful bit for me is that all of us have been surprised, at one time or another, just how pleasurable something was, that we never imagined might be. And in that spirit, maybe hope yet exists for people, who might find a way to arise from the self-interested zombie null head that presently plagues us.

We are dominated by the literal and the empirical right now. And I just told you a lie.

We believe in the literal and empirical right now. The trouble is, the literal and the empirical are not standing on solid footing. If you start asking the questions, you find the answers quickly – and those answers are, there are always more questions. And after a while, you might stop asking why this or that things is blah blah blah, and you start asking, why am I believing this? Why am I doing this? Is this really who I am? Is this who I want to be? Skepticism is a step. But I’m talking deep, personal and all-encompassing skepticism. A friggin baptism in the reexamination of everything.

And suddenly, you find out that you’re not an economist after all. Or that politics is a spider web. And it’s okay for politics to be a spider web, even when it’s literally not — but that it’s NOT okay that politics is a spider web. And Santa doesn’t like to shop. And energy is abundant. And when everything just dissolves like that, and you manage to avoid medication, maybe you might find, if you need it, that being a philosopher or a poet is something that is still okay. And in all honesty, they’re not really uneasy bedfellows. They just seem that way, when you haven’t crawled into the covers yourself. But it’s true they are very marginalized in our society. And considering our society, that is not surprising.

OK. So now I have a dirty little secret to tell, after all this. It turns out that I did not, in fact, purposefully use “Isle” instead of “Aisle”. It happened on its own. It’s also the better choice, that wasn’t a choice. Which is also the greatest thing about love, squishy, sweet and cleansing as tomatoes. And really, all kinds of other nifty little doo-dads, buried right under our noses.

Now go work your calculators on that.