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You are home.
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Image source: NASA (Suomi Satellite, January 4, 2012)
At Evolution News and Views, IDer William Dembski reflects on the problem of explanatory continuity:
Science is not merely about discovering continuities in nature that can be described by a seamless naturalistic story. Sure, areas of science are like that. But science also presents us with discontinuities that resist naturalistic just-so stories. The most widely cited of these is the singularity of the Big Bang. A singularity is a discontinuity for which explanations in terms of ordinary physical processes break down.
It’s not that scientific investigation stops at a singularity. It’s just that the usual way of doing science, looking to ordinary processes that we’ve seen active in other contexts, no longer works. Granted, it is no explanation of a singularity merely to say “God did it.” But a singularity can be studied on its own terms, and the natural forces that may have played a role on either side of it may be studied and their inability to bridge the gap may also be assessed. Such singularities, proponents of intelligent design argue, have happened throughout the history of life. Life presents us with numerous singularities, everything from the Cambrian explosion to the emergence of some (but not all) novel proteins.
I think that William Dembski’s observations here are fair ones. There are moments in history where jaw-dropping disjunctures occur (the Big Bang itself, life, and consciousness are three obvious ones). They arrive unexpected and seem to be products of unique, even otherworldly (transcendent) processes.
In fact, there’s something downright messianic about some past events. Were there John the Baptists preceding these, we would not have believed any of them:
These are such things as DMT-induced psychedelic trips are made on, but they all came to pass; they really, really happened. For Dembski, these historical disjunctures make the resurrection of Jesus seem downright plausible.
It’s nice to think the universe might not be done delivering flabbergasting surprises. Those who have dialed into DMT report that their consciousness appears to be taken out of their bodies to exotic cosmic realms. And I can’t help but think of Steve Jobs’s dying words:
Oh, wow! Oh, wow! Oh, wow!
What makes you so sure there’s only one world?
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Maybe hope—even hope that death is not the last word—should “spring eternal” because the cosmos springs.
I don’t like the look or feel of the new Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington D.C. For one, he looks fat, and he wasn’t particularly fat. And there’s something weirdly Maoist about it—a throwback to 20th century communist propaganda art. It simply doesn’t have the feel of sculpture suited to a democratic country.
I know that Lincoln is oversized on the Mall, but there’s just something wrong about this King depiction. I can’t put my finger on it.
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Image source: Wikipedia Commons.
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UPDATE: Curiously, the sculptor is Chinese, not an American. His name is Lei Yixin. And he went to art school in the years immediately following the Cultural Revolution. Here’s the sculptor before his totalitarian-feeling, overwrought production.
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Can we start over?
Image Source: Wikipedia Commons.
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UPDATE II: I think I’m able to articulate my objection to the memorial a bit more clearly after letting my repulsion percolate a bit:
King looks like he has a police state backing him rather than before him.
Put another way, King looks like the static guarantor of a new, officially sanctioned and monolithic, status quo, not the contrarian outsider that he, in fact, was, stepping forward against an unjust system. This is King appropriated by bureaucratic elites tone deaf to both art and nonconformity; the overpowering guardian of a closed door, blocking it; not one who persistently sought entrance.
King’s models were Tolstoy, Thoreau, Gandhi, and Jesus. Can anyone imagine these figures memorialized in such a pose and on so ridiculous a scale? The sculptor’s own casual and human stance in the above photo is much more in keeping with King’s general demeanor than the statue itself.
I actually find this charming and life affirming.
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In the context of this post, the above Amadeus clip should make sense momentarily. But what I really want to direct your attention to, after you read my set up comments here, is the below video by Massimo Pigliucci.
Pigliucci does an admirable job explaining why it’s important, when arguing, that you keep an eye on your coherence.
If, for example, you argue for the existence of ESP (extrasensory perception), one would also hope that you have some plausible physical theory that accounts for it.
For instance, let’s say you believe that a gifted psychic, using her ESP, can know, at this very instant—and by intuition alone—an event going on in Mongolia. Let’s also say you believe that nothing, including information, can travel faster than the speed of light. If so, you had better think again about the truth of either:
If you don’t, you’re not being especially coherent in your beliefs; you’re treating them as one would a visit to a buffet. You’re mesmerized by the sight of a little of this, a little of that, but in no particular order:
Why can’t I have two mouths? I like the look of the salad and the dessert and—however inelegant—I want to hold them both right now, on the same plate!
Of course, if you don’t have the energy for reconciling your desires or beliefs with one another, there’s always that universally human and ever handy device for being happy anyway: cognitive dissonance.
And masturbation.
Here’s Pigliucci:
In the below video is some shameless demagogic grandstanding on the part of Mitt Romney. In it, he tells an Occupy protester that his concerns are not American.
The exchange says a lot about Romney.
The Occupy protester asks him about the genuineness of Romney’s public spiritedness: what did he ever really do throughout his business career that benefited the 99%? This clearly hits a nerve with Romney, and he replies by changing the subject to an obfuscating false alternative: America, love it or leave it.
This ignores the middle ground (and the middle class). Romney implies that his business dealings are simply beyond question, and that the protester—if he doesn’t like the rules of the economic game as they are currently set in America—should move to North Korea, Cuba, Russia, or China and then “I’m glad to hear all about it”—how great one of those places is and how well its model works (presumably from a distance of thousands of miles).
This is how low Romney will go to win the Republican nomination—aping Newt Gingrich’s flippant and alienating style, and thereby giving sanction to the worst knee-jerk, anti-dialogue, and anti-intellectual impulses of the far right. It’s why Romney may well find his hold on the Republican nomination slip away from him.
To echo Harry Truman from another context, if you give Republican voters a choice between a demagogue and a demagogue, they’ll pick the demagogue every time. Romney is the fake demagogue; Gingrich the real thing.
Score Republican votes to the Gingrich column here.
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And here’s his exciting website.
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What strikes me about this clip (apart from its humor) is Casey’s fundamentally religious intuition: the reason the Green Bay Packers lost to the New York Giants on Sunday is because the ritual guaranteeing success was not followed perfectly—with total purity. Casey’s green jersey needed to be perfect and her nails needed to be perfect (the green not tainted by things like sparkles).
What underlies Casey’s theory of why the Packers lost is akin to the Israelites attributing their exile into Babylon to a failure of sufficiently holding to the religion of Yahweh and the rituals of His temple in Jerusalem. In times of stress, humans often attribute their misfortunes to failures of appeasement—failures to conscientiously please, in every detail, the powers that have overwhelming control over their lives. In childhood, this is mommy and daddy. In adulthood, this is God (or the gods).
In this particular case, Casey was trying to manipulate the magic football-daddy-god that presides over the NFL, the god of Packer fate. But she wasn’t pure enough. Her offering was not received. Her sister Megan, like Eve in the Garden of Eden, tempted Casey away from the ritual purity the god demands, and to catastrophic effect. She is now awash in despair. Her Packers, cast out of Super Bowl contention, are in exile. She turns for comfort to yet another god, Dionysus. Casey’s impious and ironic sister, perhaps an atheist, smirks at her ridiculous and excessive religiosity, but also plays the saintly role of designated driver.
An exceptionally clear explanation of the famous “Schrodinger’s Cat” thought experiment:
Philosopher John Searle thinks not.
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And literary critic Stanley Fish, writing in the New York Times, appears to agree with Searle, offering the following as a key distinction between himself and a computer:
[I]ts procedures do not track my practice. I am not self-consciously generating a pattern of statistical frequencies. I am producing words that have been chosen because they contribute to the realization of a governing idea or a compositional plan. In fact, to say that the computer is wrong is to give it more credit than it deserves; for right and wrong are not what it does; what it does is count (faster than I or anyone else could) and match. What it doesn’t do is begin with an awareness of a situation and an overall purpose and look around for likely courses of action within that awareness. That is because, as the philosopher Hubert Dreyfus explained almost 40 years ago, a “computer is not in a situation” (“What Computers Can’t Do”); it has no holistic sense of context and no ability to survey possibilities from a contextual perspective; it doesn’t begin with what Wittgenstein terms a “form of life,” but must build up a form of life, a world, from the only thing it has and is, “bits of context-free, completely determinate data.” And since the data, no matter how large in quantity, can never add up to a context and will always remain discrete bits, the world can never be built.
What most strikes me in Fish’s observation is this: human beings are always in a situation. That’s the foundation for every gesture of storytelling, and it’s also what makes us human (and not computers).
Here’s some more from Fish:
[W]e don’t walk around putting discrete items together until they add up to a context; we walk around with a contextual sense — a sense of where we are and what’s at stake and what our resources are — already in place; we inhabit worldly spaces already organized by purposes, projects and expectations. The computer inhabits nothing and has no purposes and because it has no purposes it cannot alter its present (wholly predetermined) “behavior” when it fails to advance the purposes it doesn’t have. When as human beings we determine that “the data coming in make no sense” relative to what we want to do, we can, Dreyfus explains “try a new total hypothesis,” begin afresh. A computer, in contrast, “could at best be programmed to try out a series of hypotheses to see which best fit the fixed data.”
This is why I would say that Aristotle’s notion of telos as a reason for why things happen in the world is still a relevant concept—at least when it comes to humans. We have beliefs, make choices, and have purposes that (at least appear to) transcend the processes of determinate things like computers (and the rest of the universe at large).
Maybe we really are de trop in the sense of being something excessive—greater than the sum of the universe’s determinate parts; free souls coming from God, who is our home (to echo Wordsworth’s Ode: Intimations of Immortality, lines 58-71):
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He
Beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy; [...]
Presumably, no computer will ever consciously see or experience anything, let alone joy.
So why are we here?