The problem with binaries

Binaries aren’t all bad. The tao is a representation of both a binary and a spectrum, rolled into one. Yin and Yang are opposites, yet they are also bleeding into—and contain—each other. If you cut cross-sections of the symbol, you create a spectrum moving from more yin, less yang toward more yang, less yin. Importantly, the symbol represents both how we organize the world AND how that organization always unravels. Shelley’s “Destroyer and Preserver” idea here. Derrida focused on the problem of unraveling, insisting that binary pairs in language represent the self-referential nature of concept/language. He was wrong. Binarism is built into the human organism. In fact it is the basic structure of biological organization. Male and Female; left brain and right brain; lateral symmetry of the body. Lakoff and Johnson did not mention the presence of biology in metaphor-making, but it is there. You might say that the IDEA of biology, the PATTERN, the STRUCTURE that maintains the integrity of matter in organisms, is built on binaries. And since the matter that sustains us is “recycled,” the IDEA that holds it in a PATTERN is critical to life and homeostasis.

Derrida was, as I have previously claimed, a closet positivist. He wanted absolutes of meaning, that could be attached to objects and concepts. What he found and exploited for his own ends were objects and concepts that were “slippery” since they were defined by their relationships to each other rather than by some absolute referential, individual meaning. Of course he found that! The insight is old in the East. Everything is defined by relationship. The meaning of everything depends on context. The reality of things is not the matter in them, but the “forms” of their relationships—both internal and external. This was Plato’s insight, which has been called “Idealism.” But the only way we can understand and enter relationship with the world is sensory engagement, and the material and ideational are always conjoined. So it is silly to say (and eastern religion is wrong here too) that we must “ignore” the sensual world and focus on the “reality” that lies behind, beyond, above it.

Pattern and Matter are always integrated, and Matter carries Meaning as Meaning shapes and influences Matter. Representation, mapping, modeling à physical structure, behavior, actionà further representation, mapping, modeling. The structure of creatura is built on this cycle. Genetic codes “map” the body, which develops according to those maps. Neuronal “mappings” create images in the mind based on perceptual engagement with the world. Images in the mind are given names, “mapped” once again within systems of language and meaning. All the mappings, all the coding systems, are subject to re-vision and alteration. Does chaos result? Not at all. As with language itself, the system is dynamic, changing, and yet remarkably stable. It is miraculously adaptive. We can indeed reshape our destiny.

At a basic level, metaphor and narrative are forms of “mapping the world.” We use stories and metaphorical figures of speech to organize our experience and to make it meaningful and manageable. Metaphor and narrative are much more effective than expository prose at capturing the complex, relationship-centered aspect of reality. Yet they too can limit us. Oversimplification is one of our key shortcomings. For instance, Darwin’s selection of competition (struggle for survival, survival of the fittest, and so on) as the central metaphor for describing and analyzing ecosystems. Poetry reminds us that no one set of metaphors can describe anything. Seeing things and patterns anew is refreshing and vital to our effort to understand a complex world. Narratives also get reified, turned into “the word of God” instead of stories ABOUT meaning. We seek to make facts of our interpretations and to make objects of our facts. We try to stabilize the world, when in fact we bore ourselves to death when it is too stable.

Don Juan claims that the Nagual and the Tonal are a true pair—a binary that is real rather than constructed to point at what is real. That which is known and that which is unknown; that which has been experienced and described and that which has not yet been experienced and described. The key is to be able to experience the Nagual—to get outside of our current mappings, to recognize new possibilities and meanings, to “think outside the box” (or more accurately, to perceive outside the box). Language is indeed a prison-house if we let it be one. But beyond language is sensory experience itself. Attention and focus, coupled with internal silence, can open surprising doors. That’s why so many people have meditated and practiced mind-changing disciplines over the ages. But perhaps there are also physical “boxes” that we cannot simply jump out of. The structure of our minds is what it is. We cannot see ultraviolet radiation. We cannot see light particles. We cannot feel the barrage of gamma rays hitting us moment by moment. Or can we? We have seen them in our minds, and imagined them into being. Are they “real” or “imagined”?

Consciousness

Consciousness. We all have it, and we know it is important. We are able to direct our attention, to choose courses of action, to notice differences in our environment. We are aware of ourselves as selves—perceiving creatures with distinctive characteristics and motivations. But in Western culture, consciousness has been de-emphasized because of its “subjectivity.” Since the early 20^th century, the questions of consciousness—where does it come from? How can we use it well? What does it mean to “expand” it?—have been largely avoided. Sigmund Freud broke the mind into three entities: the id, the ego, and the superego. In his model, consciousness was an ephemeral capability that was somehow involved in the battle to maintain a balanced ego in the face of the “darker” urges of the id and the cultural rules of the superego. Much of the battle was waged beneath the surface, and psychotherapy was used to make the history of the battle available for conscious deliberation and perhaps more “control.” Stream of consciousness writing explored the fragmentary and embryonic nature of our conscious minds—jumping from one idea to another, from one experience to another, making surprising connections from time to time, tempted to drift endlessly and without purpose. But for many years the questions of consciousness—which are central to the human condition—were avoided. It was seen as a personal thing that could not be readily measured except by our behaviors (B.F. Skinner’s Behaviorism eliminated it entirely in favor of studying visible behavior patterns without regard for consciousness at all). Consciousness was a preoccupation for poets and novelists and dramatists, but it was largely ignored by scientists.

Now, in the early 21^st century, a group of brave scientific thinkers have begun to explore the origins and characteristics of this vital aspect of human mindfulness. Some continue to treat consciousness as an ephemeral and unimportant part of the working of our minds. Daniel Dennett Marvin Minsky, and others explain the mind in terms of vast numbers of competing unconscious processes that are occasionally observed by, but not directed by, consciousness. But several are making the case that consciousness, though limited in many ways, is still central to the working of our minds. Antonio Damasio, for instance, has theorized that our sense of self emerges from the difference between two feedback loops in our nervous system: the body loop, which maps the state of the body at all times, and the “as if” loop, which notices possible differences in our body and the environment, and posits outcomes of those differences. Merlin Donald reminds us of the very limited scope of conscious awareness—only 15 seconds or so—but insists that consciousness is the center of brain organization, the pattern-builder that relies on memory, sensory input, and cultural records to extend the reach of the mind vastly.

Gregory Bateson does not grapple with consciousness itself, but provides a helpful framework for understanding its “job” in Mind and Nature. Consciousness is the stage on which knowledge is explored and extended. Difference is the engine that drives our perception, and consciousness is the pattern-finder and storer of significant differences. Writing enables consciousness to extend the moment of consideration vastly.

I believe that the mind organizes experience using stories—dramatic “moments” and overarching tales of meaning–and metaphors–connections between different domains of experience. Thus narrative and poetry are central to the way we think and make meaning in the world.

 

The Problem with Problem-Solving

We have an obsession with solving problems in our culture. Figure it out, fix it, and move on. Medicine has tried to do this with antibiotics and vaccines. Government tries to do it with legislation. Business tries to do it by reducing “problems” to simple monetary measures. But some problems are not to be solved; they may be remediated, or reduced, or offset by good alternatives, or simply lived with. The humanities work in this vital area of meaning, interpreting, and choice-making.

We think of problems as puzzles—clearly delineated issues awaiting rational intervention. But most human problems are much more complex. They do not allow for answers, but they require understanding and determination. Disease is a perfect example. We make much of the effort to cure disease, and that is well. But the effort to cope with disease, to work around it, or through it, is not validated by research money or academic career points. Who will really help a person with diabetes to deal with her condition successfully? What does successfully mean? Longevity only? Quality of life? Or a particular range of blood sugars?

Trying to “fix” our lives, we reduce them to compulsive behaviors. Whether through drugs, or alcohol, or monitoring of disease, or hard work without reward, we feel compelled to do something about our state of emptiness and worry and frustration. We are, for the most part, do-ers in a world that has become so overloaded with information that we are left feeling helpless and unable to take meaningful action. Neil Postman, in Amusing Ourselves to Death claims that the information-action ratio (ratio of information received to action taken in response) is rising so high that action seems to approach a limit of zero. And he is correct.

We need to redefine “problem” in such a way as to allow for intervention, for determined action, and for patience as a virtue. “Fixing” things and “solving” puzzles is fine. But some things cannot be fixed or solved. This is the domain of the humanities.

Literature, philosophy, and history provide context within which to make sense of, and deal with, human problems. Measurement is not helpful in this area. How mentally ill is this person? How bad is this person’s disease? How much motivation and desire does this person have? All of these questions refuse quantifiable answers. As much as we love numbers—test scores, statistics, and so on—we find that the numbers do very little for us when coping with the real problems of daily life. Stephen Jay Gould made this clear when he insisted that even though 90% of people with the cancer he contracted die within 3-5 years, he was going to be in the 10% that didn’t. And he was right.

The struggles of countries for identity and (often) supremacy, and of individuals for meaning and (often) success, are central to the stories of the humanities. Great works of literature, and art, and philosophy, and history, and psychology, and anthropology, and social science, shed light on these struggles. To be ready to deal with them ourselves, it helps to know that we are not the first or last to deal with them. We are unique, but connected to a tradition of human efforts to make meaning and to deal with suffering.

Judgment and taste are central to making choices. Science does not cultivate these traits. There is no hard empirical evidence for good judgment, but we know it when we see it. Does that mean we cannot try to teach it? There is no hard empirical evidence for recognizing patterns and valuing them, but does that mean we should not try to teach these things? “Objectivity” and “measure-ability” can actually dull our minds to the point where we are stupid and unable to make good choices. We seek proof that can never be found before taking action to change our situation. Smoking, global warming, and more follow this pattern. Proof is not the same thing as good choice-making. Which is more central to us from day to day?

In Descartes’ Error, Antonio Damasio reminds us that emotion is critical to good choices. Rationality is not enough. Isocrates (an opponent of Plato in ancient Greece) reminds us that we can’t know everything before taking action—the philosopher-king is a privileged myth. He claims that we should seek a “state of readiness” that cannot be measured except by our choices in the midst of real situations. Truly!