The Creative Life of Nature

The story of Ernst Haeckel, a fascinating figure in the world of late-19th century biology.

This bio tells of his love for art, how that pulled him away from science, and how eventually he learned to integrate the two. It reminds me, in a way, of the story of William James. James' first professional education was as a painter; he apprenticed with William Morris Hunt, before deciding to pursue science (in medical training and research).

What is the relationship between science and art? "Pure" science studies the beauty that nature creates. Science could be call "art appreciation" writ large, were it not that in our culture "art appreciation" sounds like a trivial pursuit.

Human art is our attempt to make our own intentional contribution to nature's beauty, to participate in nature's creative life. As such, all our paintings and drawings, all our novels and stories, all our music, etc., are the smallest fraction of a fraction of the creative work of nature. This is an important perspective to take when judging the relationship between science and art. It is understandable that we disproportionately value our intentional creations, but in doing so we risk missing a lot. Particularly when the worlds of art and science are set in opposition, rather than seen as facets of the same project in the way that Haeckel came to see them.

Basic Income Guarantee

Basic Income Guarantee - Priceonomics

Another positive after skeptical consideration take on the universal basic income.

The Future is Hot

Scorched Earth - Aeon Magazine

Continuing with today's parade of happy thoughts.

As dark as the prognosis in this article is, I think it may perhaps not be gloomy enough.

We're facing an era of increased resource wars. We already have them--it's the story of the Middle East and of the Middle Asian -stans  since at least 1980s. Just wait until the battle isn't just over energy to fuel modern civilization, but a desperate scramble for the fresh water needed for life itself.

Toss in an intensification of the already-present apocalyptic religion (not necessarily referring to one in particular--there's a bewildering buffet of old- and new-fangled options). With access to nuclear weapons. (Much of the old Soviet arsenal is in Kazakhstan, and too much of it is unaccounted for--just one example.)

Or how about the nanotechnology we may develop and deploy to address the problems? There's the "gray goo" scenario: out of malevolence, or just for the LOLZ, that technology gets hacked to destroy the matter it comes into contact with.

I would say it's more likely than not that most of life on earth, including most of humanity, won't survive the next hundred years. If we are "lucky" in a very relative sense, then humanity will carry on in either of two precarious scenarios: 1) a small contingent (closer to a million, perhaps, than the 500 million the author speculates) in enclosed communities on the cooler edge of a very hot and dying planet, or 2) a few groups taking the "Hail Mary" chance of setting out in spaceships, not knowing where they will go, or if they'll find the resources to carry on for more than a few months, but finding this chance the best of their desperate options.

I've asked myself, what is the role of philosophy, with such a prospective future? What is its point?

There are three possible answers:

1. To help preserve the work of those thinkers worth preserving. Be the librarians, promoters, and teachers, so that what they have done has a chance of being remembered and carried forward.
2. More generally, send messages, wisdom, to whoever might make it through the dark age to come. To give them whatever tools might avail them to re-build civilization, one that duly chastened by the near-destruction of everything earthly, may actually have gained enough wisdom to cooperate on building something to last.
3. To learn about and philosophize upon the vastness, the infinitude of beauty beyond the earth, that which will survive long past whatever happens on this one planet. To attest that life carries on, be it organic life on other worlds, or the inorganic "life" of those worlds themselves, or their stars, or galaxies, or of the universe itself. Maybe along the way we'll learn about nearby parallel universes, perhaps one in which we learned to love the beauty of our world rather than relentlessly defoul, devour, and destroy it.

One that I've come to believe is not an answer: seeking the conceptual tools to argue for the prevention of what is to happen (for instance, by doing environmental philosophy). For one thing, we already know what's wrong. And we already understand the human frailties, vanities, and cupidities that brought us to this place. More important, though, as James Lovelock argues and an increasing number are coming to understand: we are already past the point of no return. It's too late to break now, we're going to hit the wall.

The Fermi Paradox

The Fermi Paradox. On the search for extraterrestrial life, and why we haven't found it.

There's a lot here, a lot to ponder and chew on. So go read the article and give it some time.  I'll need to re-read it, for sure.

A couple of largely pessimistic reactions that I have:

•  The "we're fucked" option is highly likely, if not so iron-clad as the article and accompanying diagram present. Because of the following fairly straightforward logic: it's easier to be clever than wise.  Our technology will develop faster than our personal-ethical or social-political structures. Through a combination of inadvertence and malevolence, we will have the capacity to destroy ourselves before we have the restraint not to. And this will be true in principle for any sufficiently technological civilization.
• Once civilizations become interplanetary, on their way to becoming intergalactic, they will encounter, and fight with, other such. It's hard to imagine life forms that have succeeded in the competition of evolution that are not aggressively competitive for resources. It's hard to even imagine them evolving beyond instinctual xenophobia, though I think that's at least possible. In any case, the resulting conflicts may not leave many such civilizations living at the end of them. Maybe more than one in the galaxy--but maybe not many more. 

Unconditional Basic Income

There are, to my mind, two big changes to the economy needed in order to make most people's lives better as well as put a significant dent in our environmental crises. The first is to eliminate or drastically curtail the power and role of corporations. The second is to institute a universal basic income.

Regarding the latter: there are a number of natural objections that leap to mind. Most notably two: it would be so expensive that it would not be feasible, and it would leave everybody with no incentive to work.

Along with other advocates of a universal basic income, I think these intuitively plausible objections are incorrect, and that we will see empirical proof of that as more studies (or actual implementations, if they come) are put into effect. The video below discusses what the speaker believes to be the first good, reliable study of a universal basic income and how the results counteract these intuitive "myths".

Garrick Ohlsson and Rachmaninov

Last night Sandra and I went to the Eugene Symphony. The main work on the program was Rachmaninov's 3rd piano concerto (my favorite of the piano concerto repertoire) performed by Garrick Ohlsson, one of my favorite pianists.

My benchmark favorite performance has been Martha Argerich, with Riccardo Chailly conducting, readily available both on YouTube and CD.

The recording from which I "learned" the work is a bit obscure, but still a favorite of mine.

Somehow a British pianist and a bunch of Scottish musicians do a wonderful job with this epitome of Slavic pathos.

Unfortunately Eugene doesn't have a particularly compelling conductor in Danail Rachev. The orchestra itself is very good, as a couple of guest conductors have demonstrated. But Rachev seeks to play everything as loud as possible, jinning up the crescendos and snoozing through most everything else. This was particularly disastrous in Sibelius' 7th symphony, which was played before the intermission. Any sense of the work's structural integrity was chopped to bits. In the Rachmaninov, Ohlsson took a (relative to the work's baseline temperament) a more introspective approach to Argerich's above. Which led him to often being overpowered by the over-loud orchestra.

Below is a snippet from a performance where he and the conductor seemed to be more on the same page.

We also noted that he was a very gracious and friendly person. His visage beamed genuine gratitude for the enthusiastic reception from the audience.  The following clip will give a sense of his persona.

Exploring

The universe is probably littered with the one-planet graves of cultures which made the sensible economic decision that there's no good reason to go into space -- each discovered, studied, and remembered by the ones who made the irrational decision -- Randall Munroe

There is a left-wing critique of space exploration: it's too expensive, too resource-intensive, and too diverting of attention when there are (often grave) human needs to be attended to right here.

This ignores the question: what are we living for? As individuals. As a species. As nations, if we insist in continuing to divide ourselves in that manner. One of the answers we have consistently found, at least since the days that humans left their African homeland and spread out across the earth, is to explore new places, learn about them, and settle them.

The last point--the settling--points to a dark side to this tendency. We have a tendency to destroy what's already there. We should maintain our awareness of this tendency and let it temper what we do when we explore. But explore we must. It is an essential component of who we are, one of the reasons and rewards for carrying on with our lives.

On the Uses and Disadvantages of Geology for Life

I attended this lecture yesterday at the University of Oregon. Coincidentally enough, I have just started reading Nietzsche's second Untimely Meditation or Unfashionable Observation from which David Wood got his title: "On the Utility and Liability of History" in the Stanford translation, but also known in English as "On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life".

First, I want to say: Wood is steeped in contemporary Continental, particularly French, philosophy, and yet (despite that!) is a perfectly clear and comprehensible speaker. For that reason alone, I'm going to take a look at his books.

The gist of his talk was the promotion of "geological" thinking as a response to current environmental crises. While Wood looked analytically at such geological thinking--for instance, categorizing it into monumental, antiquarian, and critical variants as Nietzsche does for history--it does seem that Wood is more "pro" geology whereas Nietzsche was more "con" history. Wood did touch on the potentially oppressive and debilitating weight of geological consciousness, impeding action on environmental issues and much else. I believe that Wood felt himself to be offering a bit of an answer to such debilitation, but I also feel that I did not come away with one.

I don't know that "geology" was the most felicitous word to talk about a consciousness beyond the anthropometric. Also, a question I might have raised were there more time at the end: how to justify a focus on value at the level of the planetary? In opposition notably to that which is smaller: one's self, the nation, etc.  But also in opposition to that which is much larger: the cosmic. In view of the vastness of the universe, the fate of planet earth and its life seem to fade into true insignificance. This is a core question for Wood to address. Perhaps by making the case that there is (aesthetic?) value at each of these levels? He did mention the work of Delanda; it sounds like Delanda devalues the geologic from a cosmic perspective.

Overall, this lecture of just over an hour appeared to be a taste of a project in an early stage. I like Wood's style, his topics, and how he uses the thinkers he draws upon.

The Many Worlds Interpretation Naysayers

Regarding both the quantum and the David Lewis variants:

Aeon - Is the Many Worlds hypothesis just a fantasy?

I tend--just intuitively, but does anybody have more than wispy intuitions to go on here?--to shy away from the idea of universes (an infinitude of them?) spiraling out of every (possible?) measurement. (Though the idea provides for some interesting philosophical ponderings.) At the same time, I do think there are many, perhaps an infinitude, of other universes, some of them nearly (at least physically, if not in the details of their history) close by, in the sense suggested by (mem)brane theory.

Plant minds?

I am drawn to panpsychism, the idea that some form of mind pervades everything in the universe. Inanimate matter as well as everything we consider living. (There is the related idea from Whitehead: panexperientialism.) Drawn to it, though not convinced by it.

Staying focused on the living: if plants are considered to have minds or experience, this complicates the already complicated conversation around the ethical status of the non-human. Folks like Tom Regan have done as good a job as can be done extending Kantian deontology to animals. Pushed further, it breaks down. Infinite, absolute individual rights get us nowhere in a world where life has to consume life, and compete with life, in order to survive and propagate.

I've always felt there is a wisdom in trees. But I've been willing to consider that a mystical, imaginative fancy.  Maybe there's more to it?

Górecki

Alex Ross, my favorite music critic, writes about the completion of Polish composer Henryk Górecki's 4th symphony.

Despite the faddish fame that the 3rd symphony, "A Symphony of Sorrowful Songs", gained among a crowd looking for the next cool "spiritual" thing at a time when "Chant" also topped the charts, it is real music. When performed with true understanding, it is heartbreakingly beautiful real music. See below.

Portrait of the artist

Also see:  Post by Erie Art Museum. (Facebook)

I met Ian Brill when we were working evening shifts together at the Starbucks on the University of Pittsburgh campus. Back in, what, 2002? We've remained friends since then, as I've moved about the country and he has remained based in Pittsburgh and New York City. He has developed into quite the Renaissance man: footbag fanatic (if you call it hacky sack, he'll give you a lecture), devotee of physics and robotics, recipient of an MFA, computer programmer, musician, and as you see above, an installation artist.

I just wanted to congratulate Ian on his success. Most of all, his success in living live fully and following his muse wherever it leads.

Nietzsche on the scholars

The essence of the scholarly person...is marked by a genuine paradox: he behaves like the proudest idler upon whom fortune ever smiled, as if existence were not something hopeless and questionable, but rather a firm possession guaranteed to last forever. He sees nothing wrong in wasting one's life with questions whose answers could be important to someone already certain of eternal life. Everywhere around this heir to a few meagre hours there yawn the most terrifying abysses; at every step he should be reminded to ask: Why and to what purpose? Whither am I going? Whence do I come? But his soul is set aglow at the thought of counting the filaments of a flower or of cracking open the stones along the path, and he sinks the full weight of his attention, joy, energy, and desire into this labor.

Having myself foresworn academia--and what has been harder, foreswearing being an independent scholar doing the sort of research that academics do (though these days, mostly in what passes as their free time)--to pursue my studies where they lead and to do my own creative work, I enjoy Nietzsche's bold words. Though in calm moments I have to admit that scholarship too is of great value--or can be. It can exhibit the scientific spirit of discovery. It can be creative. And it can be helpfully pedagogic. Of course, often it's not--it is churned out to fit the demands of "publish or perish"--and almost always is crafted within the very narrow confines of what's currently considered acceptable academic opinion. (Which often requires willfully misunderstanding texts from other eras and contexts.)

Apropos of "publish or perish", Nietzsche's next words are prescient:

Now, this living paradox, this scholarly person, has recently begun in Germany to work at such a frantic pace that one must imagine scholarship as a factory in which for every delay of mere minutes the scholarly laborer is punished. Nowadays he labors as hard as the fourth estate, the slaves; he labors, his studies are no longer a calling but an affliction, he looks neither to left nor to right and passes through all the matters of life, even through those that are questionable in nature, with that half-attention or with that odious need for rest and recreation characteristic of the exhausted laborer.

(Unfashionable Observations, p. 46, Stanford edition of The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche, v. 2)

P. S. (Feb. 19):

Found the following a little further on in my reading (in "The Utility and Liability of History for Life"):

To those who tirelessly mouth the modern cries to battle and to sacrifice, "Division of labor!" "In rank and file!," we have to say clearly and bluntly: if you want to further scholarship as quickly as possible, just as the hen that you artificially force to lay eggs as quickly as possible also perishes. Granted, scholarship has been furthered at an astonishingly quick pace in the last decades, but just look at the scholars, the exhausted hens. They are truly not "harmonious" natures: they can only cackle more than ever because they are laying eggs more frequently. To be sure, the eggs have kept getting smaller (although the books have only gotten bigger).

Nietzsche on the tasks of writing

I'm reading Nietzsche's Unfashionable Observations, or what has been previously translated as the Untimely Meditations. The first of these is an extended, withering attack on one David Friedrich Strauss, who as far as I know has been completely forgotten outside of those who know about him through Nietzsche. I'm finding this essay to have a lot of contemporary relevance, because much of what Nietzsche attacked in German academia and culture in the 1870s holds true of American academia and (the tiny world of) intellectual culture today.

At this time Nietzsche was breaking free of the world of academic philological scholarship (quite possibly an unmooring and setting adrift as well). He sought to create original works worth studying, being inspired by the models of classical authors, rather than doing scholarship on the tiniest details of those classical authors as a comfortable (bourgeois!) profession (something academia no longer promises to be, but that's a story for other posts).

I liked the following quote:

Anyone who has reached his fortieth year should have the right to write an autobiography, for even the most insignificant person can have experienced and seen up close something that the thinker may find worthwhile and noteworthy. But to make a confession about one's beliefs must be considered incomparably more exacting, because it presupposes that the confessor ascribes value not only to what he has experienced, explored, or seen during his lifetime, but even to what he has believed.

As someone who has reached and even surpassed his fortieth year...

The knife in his quote is double-edged. But I will take the optimistic side of it: One who has reached "a certain age" (I don't know that there's anything sacred about forty, but, hey, it works) has experiences that are worth writing about. And even beliefs, if written about in a way incomparably more exacting.

The Inextinguishable Symphony

Carl Nielsen's 4th Symphony, The Inextinguishable

At the top of the score to his fourth symphony, Carl Nielsen wrote what has come to be his most famous quote: "Music is life, and like it, inextinguishable." As Nielsen's symphony was devoted to the spirit of what is inextinguishable, what he called "the elemental will to live", so is this blog.

I will share items from my explorations in philosophy, my love of music, and my interactions with the world of nature that speak to this elemental will.

PS. Nielsen was Danish, and uudslukkelige is "inextinguishable" in Danish. (Where is the Internet going to be in another ten years, given that all the simple and straightforward website names, email addresses, usernames, etc., are already taken?)