The Last Generation

Countdown to Singularity, Image via Wikipedia

Are we the last generation of humanity?

One of the unique aspects of human consciousness is a desire to understand the nature of our reality. This has manifested itself across all domains of life: spiritual, scientific, psychological, and philosophical. As a species, we are blessed with a deep dissatisfaction with whatever our current circumstances may be, leading to a drive to improve our quality of life. This has lead to the rise and fall of civilisations and religions across the ages. Distinct from this waxing and waning of interpersonal systems has been a much more steady rise in our technological sophistication. Of course there have been hiatus, often caused by an influx of newcomers into a rigid society e.g. the arrival of the Sea Peoples leading to Bronze Age collapse, or the fall of the Roman Empire due to political infighting during a period of external pressure from the Goths. Similar patterns can be detected in civilisations across the globe. But while the collapse of societal structures have delayed technological progress, they have never been able to fully press the reset button, and so sophistication accumulates.

It has been suggested that such progress is logarithmic, leading inevitably to the development of a technological singularity at which time mankind would be able to design an artificial intelligence greater than its own. Beyond this point, such superintelligences become able to improve themselves faster than man can understand, leading to an unpredictable and rapidly-evolving future. The idea is old, stretching back to the 19th century, but has received much greater attention and publicity over the past quarter-century. Theories abound as to whether singularity is possible, and whether the implications will be transformative or apocalyptic for humanity.

What is certain is that recent technological progress has done nothing to suggest that the theory is fundamentally flawed. Almost every day brings stories of startling new discoveries. For instance, it is now possible to read what another person is thinking, at least in a very rudimentary fashion. Is it really so far-fetched to assume that at some point, the technology to do so will be refined, miniaturised and made portable?

Consider your mobile phone, and how it would have seemed the height of science fiction even 30 years ago to suggest everyone would be routinely carrying around such incredibly powerful and versatile devices. It does not seem unlikely to me that such technology would continue to advance and become so integrated into our lives that it becomes integrated into our bodies, with displays directly interfacing with our retinas. Science fiction? Only just. There are already more than a dozen electronic prosthetic retinas in various stages of development and clinical trials, with an aim of restoring sight to the blind. While still primitive, money and time have a way of solving most difficulties, and both have been made available to these devices. The next obvious step would be using such technology to augment vision, instead of merely to restore it.

Even if we do not go down the road of cybernetic implants, it seems irrefutable that our degree of technological immersion will advance in other ways. Our entertainment systems, our cars, our phones, our very ability to acquire and process new information: all are already heavily influenced by electronic networks. It seems almost irrelevant whether they become physically part of us; they are already mentally – and emotionally – part of us.

The great hope of many transhumanists is that technological singularity and our increased integration with electronic networks will lead to a form of immortality, at least of consciousness. This has the vague air of eschatological myth, albeit built upon scientific hopes rather than religious ones. One might even describe this unconscious desire for ego dominance over death as a power phantasy.

I am not so convinced; everything I see suggests we are on a path to a very different kind of existence, with potential for a signifiant degree of self-actualisation within its broader scope.

Unfortunately, I do rather suspect the transhumanists are over-optimistic on the timeline. They suggest singularity sometime around the middle of this century or a little later i.e. within my lifetime, with luck and good health. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will arrive somewhat later. I will have to make do with other ways of seeking Jungian individuation.

Strange to think that my generation may be the last to need to do so.

Archetypes, Stereotypes, and the Absence of Knowledge

Image via Wikipedia

All knowledge is ultimately self-referential, imbued with only such meaning as we choose to give it.

The archetype is a difficult idea to grasp within Jungian psychology. Archetypes are thought to exist within our psyche, being innately derived. Jung suggested that their existence is due to our connection with the collective unconscious, a broad sharing of the unconscious mind across humanity and across the aeons. While this can have spiritual overtones – and to Jung it likely did – it can also be interpreted using a less spiritual framework. Archetypes can be considered as a set of psychological memes passed down socioculturally through the generations, perhaps reinforced genetically by some basic similarities between all humans in terms of how our brains are neuroanatomically formed.

Archetypes include our Self – the person we both are and aim to be; the Shadow – those traits that lie hidden within ourselves, and often from ourselves; and the Anima/Animus – the part of our psyche that allows us to understand and communicate with the opposite sex. It’s also perhaps possible to consider our Persona – the person we project to others – as a form of archetype, although I consider it a simpler more superficial entity than the others mentioned.

When these archetypes come into contact with the world, a number of consistent mythic symbols are created to understand them. They have been referred to as symbols, motifs or archetypes-as-such. I like to think of them as Stereotypes. Stereotyping is often thought of as a bad thing these days, but in truth, the Stereotype has an important beneficial function. They are widely-held, over-simplified views but that also makes them very useful as a short-cut to understanding the world. Stereotypical forms of archetypes include the mythological motifs of the hero, the wise old man, the earth mother, and so on.

As we perceive the world around us, we do not process every situation as being fresh data. Consider: colours are not real; colour is a perception, or construct, based on the wavelength of photons hitting our retinas. Similarly, what we think of other people are also not actually real people; they are constructs based on the data we receive from those entities. We each possess a personalised understanding of who other people are, and what they mean. There is no objective reference yardstick by which to measure them. We interpret their existence both consciously through reason, and unconsciously through archetypes and stereotypes.

A careful reader might now suggest that if conscious thought and reason can allow interpretation, then this potentially provides a scientific approach to understanding. This is only true if reason itself is independent of archetypal influence. As our rules of reason are human constructs, we cannot be entirely certain that this is so. Munchhausen’s Trilemma (also known as Agrippa’s Trilemma) suggests that any line of reasoning can eventually be boiled down to one of three arguments: circular, regressive and axiomatic. Circular arguments depend on the theory and proof supporting each other, regressive arguments become a never-ending series of proofs, and axiomatic arguments are based on an assumption of correctness.

This is a difficult proposal to accept, but consider a child asking why the sky is blue. You could argue that the sky is blue because we have defined the colour we perceive it to be as blue: a circular argument that ends the debate but does not fundamentally answer the question. You could humour the child by discussing wavelengths of photons and the energy they carry, the effect that energy has on the retina, transduction mechanisms, post-processing of the transducted stimuli into perceptions, psychological constructs of perception, the concept of a construct, the meaning of a concept, and so on, without ever really getting to a final irrefutable proof. This regressive approach allows for a vast expansion of knowledge, but at some point you have to limit your field of study, or be trapped in a never-ending sequence of “but why?”s. Finally, the poor parent of our inquisitive child may simply snap, and say “it just is”: a mere axiomatic assertion of truth.

You can choose to accept any one of the three horns of trilemma and still carry out much productive work, but that does not answer the trilemma’s problem.

Jung’s archetypes and the stereotypes that result from them could be conceived of as humanity’s practical solution to the trilemma. They give us a framework for understanding ourselves, each other, and the ideas and concepts we create, without us ending up in a never-ending morass of “unknowability”. Of course, archetypal theory is in itself just as trapped by the dilemma as is any other idea (and indeed, is the trilemma itself, if you want to give yourself a headache). But it does allow us to think about who we are in a practical way, and consider who we might become.

Buddhists have the concept of sunyata or “emptiness”, which seems to my limited understanding of the term to be a similar concept. It suggests a middle way between the nihilism and anomie of nothing being provably real and the illogicallity of considering what we think of as real being necessarily true. It hints at a way of finding meaning in the emptiness by embracing it and finding oneself in that void. Jung might call that individuation, the ultimate manifestation of one’s potential self.

All knowledge is ultimately self-referential, imbued with only such meaning as we choose to give it. And what a wonderful opportunity and privilege of our humanity that is.

Merry Christmas! Or, 5 tips to staying sane over the festive season…

A puppy is for life, not just for Christmas – On the other hand, some of your more distant acquaintances (and some family!) may well only be for Christmas. Because you haven’t seen them for ages, it’s all too easy to slip straight back into last year’s arguments. If you know this happens, make a special effort to view them with fresh eyes, as if you’ve only just met. You’re unlikely to solve tensions of a lifetime over a few cold days in December; the arguments will only drag you down.

Loose lips sink ships – And nothing loosens them quicker than alcohol. If you’re already feeling irritated, a little too much liquid Christmas cheer will probably just cause you to say something you’d otherwise regret.

“I vant to be alone!” – Make time for yourself. Houses fill up over the festive period, creating less space and more friction, especially if you enjoy peace and quiet. Try going out for a walk occasionally. You never know, you might even enjoy the frosty scenery.

It’ll be lonely this Christmas… -  but if you’re on your own, or feeling lonely even around others, remember that for all the fuss, there’s nothing intrinsically special about these few days. All the cultural meaning we impart to it is man-made symbolism, created consicously & unconsciously through mutual reinforcement and over time. Christmas Day is also just the 25th of December, and New Year’s Day is just the 1st of January.

A change is gonna come – New Year’s Resolutions can sometime help move one from pre-contemplation into the contemplation phase of making changes, but unless planned carefully, they’re easily discarded making last-minute resolutions more likely to be a millstone around your neck or a reason to feel guilty about failing to make changes. So don’t make a resolution unless you’ve thought about it, and really mean it.

Feel free to add your own tips to the list!

A Very Merry Christmas & Happy New Year to everyone out there!

The Meanings of Masks

What do you see in the above image?

If you’re anything like me, your first thought is “ritual cultic mask”.

In fact, it is thought more likely to be protective headgear worn during metal-working in Bronze Age Greece. The mask is one of many I saw displayed on a recent visit to the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. It is interesting that my preconceptions/mental associations of Ancient Greece as a powerful mystical cultural source led to my assuming the mask had an equally mystical role. It’s amusing to see one’s own assumptions turned on their head; it encourages further thought.

Masks are commonly thought of as means of disguise; a way to conceal identity from detection. But in fact, they can also be used to create identity. Think of the masks used in Greek theatre or Japanese Kabuki, both designed to evoke the spirit of a character and so allow the observer to know how to react to their stage antics. Think also of Venetian carnival masks, used in a more permissory manner to give the wearer freedom from their normal responsibilities; a license to be licentious.

Masks are also commonly used in funerary rites, especially in earlier eras (though the art of the modern mortician could be thought of as continuing this ritual remaking of the dead). The Mycenean golden death mask below is also from the Athenian National Archaeological Museum, and has the rare feature of depicting the dead person with eyes open:

The death mask illustrates another role of masks: to transform the person wearing the mask into something else. The image below from the Benaki Museum in Athens is not a mask (it’s a garment buckle) but my reflection in the cabinet’s glass while taking the photo neatly replaces my own face by the Gorgon’s face (you can just about see my shirt collar below). Another masked transformation of sorts…

Masks can therefore be co-opted as disguises, as emotional guides, and as transforming agents. And of course, they are deployed in a metaphorical way during our daily lives, as we mould our words and actions to suit different circumstances, sometimes suppressing our inner thoughts to do so.

On that note, I will end by quoting American author Clifton Fadiman on the risks of our using self-created masks too often:

For most men life is a search for the proper manila envelope in which to get themselves filed.

Death and Life

Cover of Departures

In today’s world of TV on demand, there remains great value in having live television quietly on in the background of a room while busy doing something else. Just occasionally, it causes one to stumble upon something that captures the imagination and draws attention away from other tasks. Such was the happy case last night that led me to watch Departures.

The 2009 Foreign Language Oscar-winning film tells the story of a cellist, Daigo, who unexpectedly loses his orchestra job, is forced to return to his hometown, and almost accidentally finds work as a nokanshi, an “encoffiner” who is responsible for ritually preparing the body for burial.

The movie tells of his growing pride in his work as he masters the movements and techniques involved in the death ritual, and of his growing understanding of the emotional importance of his role in helping bereaved families reconnect the corpse with the living person for one last goodbye. The other threads of the movie – his relationships with his wife, his father and his neighbours – are woven beautifully together over the last 20 minutes into a poignant and uplifting climax.

I will not reveal more plot details, for fear of spoiling the movie for others who have not yet seen it, but it is a work that demonstrates something rather special about the Japanese attitude. Daigo’s developing emotions and conceptual understanding of the power of his work (despite its low social status in Japan) reveal an acceptance of death. But this is not a fatalistic outlook. Instead it is an acknowledgement of death as life. Death becomes a way of reconnecting with the living, making the dead person more alive in the memory than they were in actuality. If death is life, so too does the movie suggest that ugliness is beauty and tragedy is joy. These are not depicted as opposite sides of the same coin, which is about as close as many thoughtful Western attitudes to this topic would get, but rather that the coin has no sides.

The unity of these experiences – for Daigo, and the viewer – is what creates poignancy and hope. Death becomes not something to be overcome in a search for meaning and immortality, but something to be experienced and “done well”. This is an attitude I find both intellectually and emotionally very appealing, though it remains a harder challenge to fully live it on a deeper level.

As our societies struggle with various ethical difficulties associated with aging and dying (dementia, assisted suicide, euthanasia, etc.), Departures is brave enough to tell a different story: one of hope and fulfilment.

More on the power of clothes…

The sense of being well-dressed gives a feeling of inner tranquillity which religion is powerless to bestow.

- Miss C. F. Forbes, English writer, 1817-1911

As quoted in the The Times today (14th June), and an amusing example of synchronicity in light of my last few posts.

Mickey Mouse, Mammon, and the Pope

Disneyworld, Las Vegas, and the Vatican City. Three disparate locations; one shared phenomenon.

At Disney, it’s parade-time; in Vegas, it’s in effect as you walk onto the floor of a casino and observe the players; and in the Vatican City I saw it a week ago as the Pope was driven around St Peter’s Square.

All three places become home to communal acts of idolisation and worship. Despite different form, the essential emotional experience to participants is identical. The three locations are each overwhelmingly artificial; designed and built purely to facilitate worship. This deliberate other-worldliness is enforced by a shared obsession with pristine cleanliness within their borders, and a rigorously enforced exclusion of competing idols. Even the decor is carefully chosen to aggrandise the object of worship. The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, the tromp l’oeil clouds of Caesar’s Palace, and the fairytale castle of the Magic Kingdom all fulfil the same purpose.

It is the human condition to crave a shared spiritual experience and anyone watching the Champions League final earlier this evening saw football provide the medium, and Wembley Stadium the setting, for a similar emotional experience. It is a desire to be part of something bigger than oneself, and so achieve a sense of immortality and overcome the transience of life and the permanence of death. Religion, Mythology, Folklore, the idols of corporations (including the famous Mouse), and even more abstract concepts like Money, all fulfil this tribal need of allowing the propagation of a cultural meme to the next generation.

Later on the same day I saw the Pope, I was mulling over these ideas while sipping espresso in the Piazza Navona and watching tourists and locals go about their day. What were they really achieving? What was the fundamental meaning of all this travel and pseudo-pilgrimage? It reminded me of the concept of “bucket lists” and their wistful attempt to apply some quantitative criteria to measure the significance of a life. Is it really enough?

It’s a very human thing to want to be able to say you have achieved something in life, even it’s just to have been happy. People talk about the importance of “a good death”, sometimes equating it to a painless sudden death at an advanced age. But I rather think it’s more about achieving a sense of acceptance about death: what Erikson would describe as having enough Ego Integrity to no longer give death a sense of importance in life, and so no longer need idols to worship.

The Modern-Day Monk

It is not surprising that several guests at Friday’s Royal Wedding were anonymously quoted as “feeling jaded” yesterday. Anticipation of great events is commonly followed by a drained numbness, even if the event meets elevated expectations. Life thus passes by as a series of interspersed highs and, if not lows, mediocre neutrals. Is this the sum total of the human experience?

Man has historically found three ways to neutralise this nihilistic perspective: fame, religion and propagation.

Fame, with its associated glamour, can be fleeting or it can last a lifetime. Occasionally it outlasts its originating source and is considered worthy – or notorious – enough to be important to historical and cultural record. Whether transient or semi-permanent, its nourishment to the famous person is thin when weighed against the permanence of death. It can sustain the mind in the short-term, but is ultimately lacking.

To combat this failure of Temporal Power to assuage anomie, religion developed to offer believers escape from death, whether through reincarnation or heaven. Such Spiritual Might remains a comfort to many, channelling and guiding human emotion into soothingly predictable paths. Like Temporal Power, it offers individuals a larger sense of self that is part of a grander existence than Hobbes’ description of Man’s life as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short”.

But for many, meaningful fame is impossible (the Warhol-esque 15 minutes of reality TV or social networking hardly counts) and religious faith escapes them, or is actively shunned. Frequently, their final refuge is propagation and it is a rare parent indeed that does not think of their children as the best thing they ever did.

Creating the next generation is certainly a valuable role; I would not want to see the human species wiped out! But does it truly offer a solution to the impermanence of man? I suggest not; the real essence of even the best of parents is lost from collective memory within at most four generations. As long as the parent does not think too deeply about this inevitable historical dissipation, Familial Legacy can substitute for either Temporal Power or Spiritual Might and stave off despair at the prospect of death.

What if none of the above are to the liking of the individual, if all are thought to fail the essential test of overcoming fear of death and giving life meaning, what then?

Enter the Modern-Day Monk.

The archetype of the man who seeks spiritual enlightenment through disengagement from the world is an ancient one. We see echoes of his presence in all the major world religions, mythologies and philosophies. Traditionally, the Monk has sought physical separation from the world; either to wander alone or in the company of select fellow travellers on a similar journey. He has used asceticism as a tool to aid enlightenment. Asceticism encourages the abandonment of sensual pleasure and material wealth, deeming these to be distractions from personal growth.

The Modern-Day Monk follows a different path to individuation. It is not physical abandonment of the world that is important, but intellectual detachment. This detachment from the value systems of others (the Temporal, Spiritual and Familial spheres) nonetheless permits material and emotional engagement with the world. He is able to weigh up and measure situations and people rapidly, allowing only positive effects through to his inner self. He comes across to others as tolerant and moderate, as he has no need to be otherwise. He enjoys the world, but does not let the world rule his inner heart. And in the face of new challenges, he has an inner core of willpower – a clear sense of self – to neutralise against torment.

The more philosophically (or religiously) minded will have already identified the characteristics outlined in the preceding four sentence as the Four Cardinal Virtues: Prudence, Temperance, Justice, and Fortitude respectively. The virtues are named Cardinal for being the hinge (L. cardo) upon which rests the door of life. It is not the door to a physical retreat from the world as the first step to an afterlife. It is a system to support and enhance our human desire to be part of the world, while not being ruled by it.

The Modern-Day Monk lives well, as well as wisely.

White Hair

Don’t dye it, don’t pull it out.

Let it grow all over your head.

No medicine can stop the whiteness;

the blackness won’t last the fall.

Lay your head on a quiet pillow; hear the cicadas.

Idly incline it to watch the waters flow.

The reason we can’t rise to the broader view of life

is because, White Hair, you grieve us so.

- Xin Qiji, 864-937, as translated in The Clouds Should Know Me By Now

The immortal and transcendent is lost to us because we tend to worry so much about our mortal and temporal problems. Learning to accept our mortality and its limits paradoxically frees us from those constraints. Or at least, from the emotional impact of those constraints.

Masters of Irrational Torments

Hermes Trismegistus, Image via Wikipedia

• Ignorance
• Grief
• Lack of Self Control
• Desire
• Injustice
• Greed
• Deceit
• Envy
• Treachery
• Anger
• Rashness
• Malice

The syncretic wisdom of The Hermetica continues to play on my mind. The above is its list of Irrational Torments.

Escape from them comes through the acquisition of Wisdom, in an iterative virtuous circle of self-reflection. In scientific language, it would be a positive feedback loop.

This is a remarkably humanist viewpoint for such an old text, where knowledge of the eternal comes not in an instant but by being willing to contemplate self-improvement:

“[God] is by nature a musician,

who composes the harmony of the Cosmos

and transmits to each individual

the rhythm of their own music.

But I have noticed

that when an artist

deals with a noble theme

his lyre becomes mysteriously tuned”

This may sound mystical and abstruse, but the practical life lessons that can be drawn from thinking in this way are omnipresent.

As I type, the Augusta Masters is approaching its climax. Golf may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but to play it well requires an ability to rise above both temporal and spiritual distractions. Mind and body must operate in harmony and irrational torments set aside. Sports professionals call it “being in the zone”, where everything becomes simple because their focus is pure. But this purity of thought is applicable to every life task, and to life itself.

As the example of Tiger Woods – currently charging through the field – shows, it is not enough to apply these lessons to one aspect of life alone. His much-publicised personal difficulties reveal an unwillingness to apply a similar degree of thoughtfulness off the course. He has been quoted in the past as saying that he’s happiest when playing a round of golf, and this is not surprising. It is at these moments when he works the hardest to achieve balance.And yet he does not make the connection that this sense of balance is something he could also find in his personal life, if he applied the same degree of effort to it.

His challenge is the same as the rest of ours; to strive to be as wise in the rough as on the fairway.

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