Tag: Highlight

Can there be a scientific form of spirituality?

Reading | Psychology

Jonathan Dinsmore, M.S. | 2024-09-15

In the span of human culture and individual uniqueness, countless things are believed, from commonplace to cosmic, many of which directly contradict one another, at times within the same individual. A belief strongly held in one thing often prevents the belief in another, even when the latter seems more apparently true. What should be the tipping point for dropping an existing belief in favor of another? Almost as numerous as beliefs are the criteria for belief, how we assess the things we have seen or heard in order to determine what we should believe as a result. For some, a Holy text is the first and last piece of evidence they need for an unshakeable belief, while for others, only the most stringent scientific evidence is worthy of sway.

If there is one lesson we should hope to have taken away from the transformative rise of science in modern culture, it might be the usefulness of taking great care in how we ascribe belief. The primary differentiator between all previous ways of thinking and the scientific way, which includes not just the institution of science itself but scientifically oriented thinking more broadly, is a certain humility in what we think we know, at least in principle, if not always in practice. This has to do with a different, more conservative approach to inferential thinking, or how we extrapolate from our existing knowledge and experiences:

IF this (is what I know/experience/observe) –> THEN that (must be the case)

Understanding our propensity for engaging in faulty inferential thinking, and therefore the necessity of a prudent and frugal approach to same, is the fundamental insight that serves as the rationale for submitting conceptual models to the acid test of meticulous investigation and experimental testing, which I regard as the essence of science.

The error of many previous belief systems and their unwarranted certainty in concepts we now understand to be false, in some cases absurd, can primarily be attributed to insufficient inferential caution, with some other contributing factors. Examples abound: the “humours” of early modern medicine, the geocentric model of the universe, the belief in phrenology, the once-accepted notion of spontaneous generation, and any number of theological speculations. In each case, unjustified extrapolations from existing observations or knowledge (supposed or actual) can be seen as the primary contributor to error. Although it is also possible to have too much inferential caution, as I consider to be the case in scientism, it would be foolish to deny the overall significance of this insight. The advancements it has facilitated in the areas of knowledge and technical capabilities for the human species, as well as impact on global culture, make its significance impossible to deny.

The significance of inferential caution or prudence to our quest for valid knowledge forces a question: What is the appropriate balance? How generously or frugally should beliefs be granted from our experiences and observations? Just how much evidence should we require  to change a belief? What approach will maximize both the accuracy and scope of our knowledge? In other words, how can we get inferential thinking right, or optimize our approach to it?

Accuracy rather than scope has been the priority in the scientific endeavor broadly, and not without reason. Much of scientific progress in the material domain is attributable to it. However, the relentless focus on accuracy has resulted in certain attitudes and beliefs that also limit scope. Inherently, when one determines that only the most stringent form of evidence is permissible, one also decides that only a limited scope of phenomena is knowable; taken to its logical conclusion, this results in doubting even the most intimate brute fact of one’s own awareness, as in eliminative materialism. In contrast to this extreme of inferential caution, the extreme of deficit is no more desirable. On the other hand, when there is too little caution, belief is ascribed willy-nilly, resulting in a proliferation of erroneous beliefs and, ultimately, outright delusion.

It stands to reason, therefore, that, somewhere between these two extremes, there is an ideal epistemic balance. Expanding the scope of knowing necessitates the consideration of types of evidence beyond what is currently considered valid within academic science and philosophy, which means that doing so without wandering into the delusional territory of inferential laxity is the primary challenge. In other words, for those of us who see value in venturing beyond the boundaries of evidence typically considered academically and scientifically valid to expand the scope of our knowing, doing so without losing the invaluable principle of epistemic prudence is our chief obstacle, aside from perhaps social stigma from the materialist orthodoxy.

Such careful expansion of scope without sacrificing accuracy should be the goal of those who desire a form of spirituality that is maximally intellectually viable, in an age when the value of a scientific approach to thinking is so well established. Increased interest among scientists, academics, and the secular laity in topics such as Buddhism and other Eastern philosophies, nondualism, psychedelic medicine, panpsychism, idealism, simulation theory, contemplative practices, psi phenomena, and related topics can all be considered indications of a certain ripeness and reaching for just such a rational and scientifically compatible form of spirituality. Still, as yet, no definite crystallization of such has been widely accepted.

This is why I aspire here to suggest a way forward in creating a foundation for a shared empirical spirituality, that is, a rational spiritual philosophy that operates in the same fundamental spirit as scientific thinking, utilizing experience (of all kinds) and sound reasoning in determining how belief may be responsibly ascribed to things beyond those that are regularly and repeatably observable with our senses and sense-enhancing instruments. Sound reasoning is the key here, and I consider the proper calibration of inferential caution to be the key principle in successfully moving forward with such an endeavor. Sound reasoning for an intellectually viable empirical spirituality is critical, and I suggest that it is more-or-less a question of getting inferential caution right, of finding the proper balance that will prevent us from going either off the “woo” deep end, or being locked into nihilistic skeptical paralysis.

There have been some in recent years who have sought to promote the concept of “secular spirituality,” and so it may be warranted here to point out the difference between this and the empirical spirituality proposed here. For the most part, this has been proposed in response to a recognition of the value of spirituality, but an unwillingness to contradict materialist commitments, and engage in the types of beliefs perhaps essential to spirituality, particularly the reality of a spiritual domain of existence, and a spiritual self that is ultimately independent of body and brain. This attempt to create spirituality without spirit I regard as profoundly misguided, and actually the opposite of what I propose here. Secular spirituality, like “celibate sexuality,” seems to be borne of the idea that by adopting a title, one may gain the benefits of a thing, even if excluding all (or nearly all) that is beneficial about that thing. By this principle, lazy exercise, gagged discussion, parked racing, indoor camping, and blindfolded sightseeing all likewise deserve our consideration.

The goal of the empirical spirituality I advocate here, on the other hand, is specifically to bring a scientifically minded approach to metaphysical beliefs. This is the opposite of secular spirituality as so conceived, because the latter seeks to harvest spiritual concepts and practices in such a way that drains them of their essence, ensuring only a husk will remain. While one approach has decided from the beginning what is real and true (materialism), the other is borne of intellectual humility and curiosity. If we recognize our ignorance but desire valid knowledge, then the chief goal must be to carefully sort through the evidence and determine what ideas and phenomena within that vast and somewhat heterogenous domain of human life we call spirituality may be regarded as valid according to empirical criteria.

This will inevitably involve the consideration of that category of experiences that has been given so many titles: altered, nonordinary, transcendent, anomalous, spiritual, exceptional, and others. Such rare and profound experiences seem to form the likely source of most or all spiritual beliefs, from the enlightenment of individuals like the Buddha to encounters with angels or deities like those of Moses and Mohammed, and the alleged revelations they brought. As such, careful analysis of such experiences, historical but especially contemporary, under the preface that at least some of them may in fact be glimpses beyond the realm of ordinary physical life, should form a central aspect of the endeavor.

These experiences and the inferences that have been drawn from them are multitudinous, and may seem like a cacophony of contradictions, if all must be regarded equally. However, if taking a scientific approach geared toward conceptually approximating a singular reality, there is little reason to so regard them, and this is a critical point. Knowing what we do of mental illness, hallucination, delusional thinking, and inferential foolhardiness, it is perhaps inevitable that many experiences that are thought to be revelatory by the experiencers may in fact be hallucinatory, hoaxes, or delusory inferences. This is of course the conviction of the materialist regarding all such experiences, but to reject this sweeping premature conclusion is not to reject that it must be true in many cases, and to varying extents, for that seems inevitable. This implies, naturally, that some alleged glimpses may be more veridical than others, and many not at all, regardless of if they are thought of as such; in fact, this must be the case.

Hence the importance of careful study of, and even more careful inferential reasoning about, these experiences, particularly in weighing their evidential value, and considering how to construct metaphysical models of reality based on them. Of course, there are other areas of science and other knowledge disciplines that may likewise factor into our consideration. However, the goal here is to expand cautiously from the bedrock of certainty represented by scientific knowledge of the physical universe, the regularities of the world around us that are most well-established, to that which, though less certain, we feel we may have good enough reason to take seriously as probable metaphysical realities beyond. As such, we should proceed from the strongest evidence to the weakest, as best we can.

Different individuals may of course have differing ideas of what constitutes the strongest evidence, but this is not a problem if we apply the criteria to this area that we would to any other. That is, evidence should be weighed according to the degree to which it contradicts the null hypothesis or default assumption, which in the case of these experiences, can be thought of as the hallucinatory-hoax-delusion hypothesis. So, those experiences that are most implausible as hallucinations, hoaxes, or delusions have the strongest probability of being veridical. Since not all experiences have equal implausibility in this regard, it naturally follows that a hierarchy would result, in which those experiences with the greatest probability of veridicality play the greatest role in shaping what metaphysical phenomena we infer to be real, or what we may choose to believe, in an ongoing critical assessment of metaphysical models.

What makes an experience implausible as a hallucination, hoax, or delusion? Some examples will serve to illustrate. In my view, the experiential category that is most contradictive of this null hypothesis is veridical perceptions that could not have happened by the typical sensory means, especially when occurring via an experience whose content has clear and direct metaphysical implications. This is exemplified by perceptions of distant or otherwise inaccessible events that are later verified by third parties during out-of-body experiences, and even more so when occurring at a time that the heart and brain were flatlined, as in some near-death experiences (NDEs). This phenomenon is in principle impossible to explain under the current materialist model, beyond cynical hoax accusations. The only other explanation to which a wary skeptic might retreat is the psi hypothesis, in which case not only is psi acknowledged, but one must explain why psi is occurring under conditions of minimal or nonexistent brain activity.

Another phenomenon that is difficult to explain in terms of hallucination, and therefore carries a heavy evidential weight, is experiences that contain very similar and specific content, despite the experiencers not knowing one another, and there being no common cultural source of such content that might be supposed to have mutually informed their experiences, if they were indeed hallucinatory. Again, NDEs stand out as an exemplar in this regard as well, since they contain remarkably similar content, despite occurring to a variety of NDE-naïve people from a variety of backgrounds, religious or secular beliefs, and under a variety of (typically near-death) conditions. In this, a much lower level of variety is present than would be expected if the experiences were purely hallucinatory, which raises the question of how such similarity occurred if they were.

Another consideration, as just alluded to, is the degree to which the experience occurs to those who are not seeking it, who are no more inclined to mental instability than the general population, and who come from a variety of cultural backgrounds, holding a variety of beliefs. The less reasons we have to think that a person’s own mind was conjuring the experience up according to its existing beliefs and predispositions, which should be another source of variety if they are indeed hallucinatory, the more reason we have to think it was not so conjured. This follows a similar logic to that involved in considering the same patterns of thinking and behavior across many cultures as evidence of their heritable biological origin, in evolutionary psychology.

To be completely clear, what is suggested here is a continuous assessment of probable metaphysical models, perhaps according to Bayesian principles, in light of a rigorous assessment of experiential evidence of such, in toto. In this assessment, those models indicated by the strongest forms of evidence are assigned the greatest probability. New evidence is then considered in light of that probability structure, as is the formulation of metaphysical beliefs, just as is the case with forming physical beliefs from the experiential evidence of physical science.

In terms of how we may ensure a prudent inferential approach once we begin reasoning about these implications, the main issue is simply a hallmark of good critical thinking, to avoid making unwarranted inferences or jumping to conclusions. For instance, in the presence of many who experience a dark void and think it to be the ultimate reality, and those who experience an ocean of light and think it to be the ultimate, there is no need to throw up one’s hands at the problem. The key insight is that both parties are simply making unwarranted inferences, since no individual experience should give anyone any great sense of confidence about something as grand as ultimate reality. At least, not to any degree that would justify asserting such as a view others should adopt. Furthermore, in a metaphysical model involving layers to reality and consciousness, it is possible for many such domains of existence to have ontological status (to be real) simultaneously, and to leave the status of ultimacy as an open question that is unlikely to be definitively answered.

These are some of the chief considerations that might inform our analysis, to which many more can and should be added. The point here is not to outline a definitive list of such, but rather to introduce the method of analysis via some of its clearest examples. It may not surprise the reader at this point to know that I personally find NDEs the most convincing form of experiential evidence, and therefore consider them a primary indicator of what may be beyond the physical as we know it. Others may think another type of nonordinary experience weightier evidence, and I would welcome them to make their case as to why.

Regardless of such inevitable disagreements, like those in mainstream science, a common method of assessment can to some extent unite all who engage in such an endeavor. This is because we are capable of recognizing and sharing a common goal and general method of achieving it, despite the specific implementation and interpretation varying between individuals or camps. Again, this is exemplified quite well by the scientific community, and other legitimate knowledge disciplines for that matter, and so establishing a comparable shared framework is apropos to an expansion of empirical investigation into the metaphysical domain.

This would represent a path forward that may be walked with perhaps less of the wariness of foolishness that currently prevents many scientifically minded people from directly pursuing spirituality, despite their yearning and indirectly reaching for it in various ways. On the other side, the body of people who have embraced spirituality may find a way that is more balanced and structured than the somewhat haphazard approach so commonplace in that subculture, at least for those who may see the value in avoiding foolishness. Like science, this is really a formalization and systematization of a way of reasoning that many of us already do more informally in our own individual spirituality or philosophizing. The difference here is that it may facilitate our thinking systematically together on this topic, in such a way as to construct plausible metaphysical models grounded in evidence and critical analysis.

Science and spirituality are both undeniably significant to humanity, and there are many who are outside traditional religious institutions, perhaps the majority of that category, who feel that between the radical poles of militant skepticism and new age woo, there must be a better, more balanced way. Many already attempt to strike that balance in their own personal philosophy and spirituality. However, by establishing standards and principles for thinking together systematically on this topic, as with so many other pursuits that benefit from that approach, we will likely find a swifter approximation of the truth of the matter together.

Is reality made of language? The amazing connection between linguistic and physical structures

Reading | Metaphysics

Dr. Ludwig Sachs | 2024-09-01

As I have shown in previous articles,¹ from a psychoanalytical perspective, our mental processes appear to be organized like linguistic structures. These semantic structures, consisting of signifiers, shape not only our individual perception, but also our entire life. The concept of meaning plays a central role here, including in our interaction with the world and the way we give meaning to our lives.

On the other hand, analytic idealism argues that the fundamental substance of reality is of a mental nature and that physical phenomena are to be understood as manifestations of mental processes. This view suggests that there is a profound self-similarity between the various manifestations of mental processes—from the most subtle thoughts to the tangiest material phenomena. This also requires us to question the nature of meaning.

 

Structural psychoanalysis and the construction of meaning: metonymy and metaphor

The structures of our language, which function as directly accessible carriers of meaning, reveal remarkable parallels to physical systems in their complexity and dynamics. These parallels enable a deeper understanding of reality and show how fundamental, language-like or semantic patterns shape the structure of the world itself.

In structural psychoanalysis, which was significantly influenced by Jacques Lacan,² the concepts of metonymy and metaphor play a central role in the analysis of linguistic structures and the mental.

Metonymy is often understood as a ‘horizontal’ chaining and refers to the diachronic (temporal) arrangement of signifiers, e.g. letters and words arranged in a sequence. This arrangement determines the meaning of a statement. A change in this sequence can change the meaning significantly.

In contrast to this is metaphor, which stands for the ‘vertical’ chaining of signifiers and adds a synchronic dimension. This vertical level adds further levels of meaning and illustrates that meanings always refer to other meanings and never directly to the thing itself. The concept of metaphor shows the complexity of meaning formation, as the connection of signifiers creates a kind of barrier that prevents direct access to the signified (the meaning).

Another important element in this concept is the ‘point de capiton,’ the quilting point, which has the function of fixing the meaning within the chain of signifiers. This ‘quilting point’ is crucial as it retroactively determines the overall meaning of a statement and shows how the end of a signifier chain can fix the meaning of the entire message, for example the period at the end of this sentence.

 

Basic concepts of quantum physics

In quantum physics, some fundamental concepts³ play a central role that make it possible to understand and predict the behavior of subatomic particles. These concepts are not only important in physics, but also offer interesting connections to other sciences and philosophy.

A system in quantum mechanics is defined as any part of reality that can be, in some operational sense, isolated from the rest of the world and made the object of investigation. Systems can contain subsystems, which increases the complexity and variety of possible investigations. A simple example of a system is an electron in an atom, which can be considered and analyzed separately.

The state of a system in quantum mechanics describes its properties at a certain point in time. The state is fundamental to understanding its potential behaviors and the results of measurements. In quantum mechanics, the state is often described by a wave function that indicates the probability of measuring certain properties. This state description is essential for understanding how systems react and evolve in response to external influences.

Observables are measurable properties of a system that play a central role in quantum mechanics. They can relate to global properties of the entire system or locally to subsystems. The measurement of observables provides specific data about the state of the system. Examples of observables are the position, momentum and energy of a particle. These quantities can be determined by appropriate experiments and provide important information about the system.

Measurement is the act of observing and obtaining data about a system. In quantum mechanics, every measurement changes the state of the system, which leads to one of the fundamental and often considered paradoxical properties of this theory. This phenomenon is known as the collapse of the wave function, in which the state of the system changes from a superposition of many possibilities into a single, measured state. The outcome of a measurement depends on the state of the system and cannot be completely predicted, which gives quantum mechanics its probabilistic nature.

 

Integration of quantum concepts and linguistic structures

Looking at these concepts allows us to draw connections to other theoretical frameworks such as structural psychoanalysis and analytic idealism and thereby develop a more comprehensive understanding of reality.

The definition of a system in quantum mechanics has a direct counterpart in the structuring of linguistic phenomena. In linguistic analysis, a chain of signifiers, such as a sentence or a section of text, can be regarded as a system that can have different states. These states correspond to different meanings or interpretations that result from the specific arrangement and combination of words.

Similar to quantum mechanics, where systems can be subdivided into subsystems to refine the investigation, parts of a signifier chain can also be considered separately in order to analyze their specific contributions to meaning within a larger textual context. This possibility of a segmented analysis reflects the complexity and deep structure of both physical and linguistic systems.

In linguistic analysis, the term ‘state’ refers to the momentary interpretation or understanding derived from a chain of signifiers. Signifiers are the specific elements of language, such as words or letters, which together construct certain meanings. This notion of state is comparable to the concept in quantum mechanics, where the state of a system defines its properties at a given time and largely determines how the system behaves and what results can be expected from measurements.

In both domains—quantum physics and linguistics—knowledge of the state essentially determines the expectations of an interaction or observation. In the field of language, the understanding of the meaning structure of a text—i.e., its ‘state’—influences how this text is interpreted. This interpretation can change when new information is added or the context in which the chain of signifiers is analyzed changes. This is similar to a change of state in quantum mechanics, which can be induced by a measurement, whereby the measurement result changes the previous understanding of the system.

 

The analogy between local and global observables

In quantum physics, a distinction is made between local and global observables, which provide insights into the structure and behavior of systems. Local observables refer to specific, isolatable properties or states within a subsystem, while global observables describe the properties of the system as a whole and provide insights that result from the totality of the system components.

A similar distinction can be found in linguistics, where local observables can correspond to individual sentences, words or letters within a text sequence. These local elements are often embedded in and influenced by higher-level structures of the text in which they appear. Global observables in language correspond to the overall system of the text or discourse, whose structure and overarching themes shape the interpretation and meaning of the individual local elements.

 

Measurement and construction of meaning

In the context of language analysis, ‘measurement’ takes place through the interpretation of the signifier chain. The aforementioned ‘point de capiton,’ the ‘quilting point,’ plays a crucial role as a fixing point that (apparently) closes the meaning of an expression. Similar to a measurement in quantum physics, which changes the state of a system, the interpretation of a text can also modify the original meaning. However, the apparent fixation caused by the quilting point is in the end illusionary, as it only temporarily brings the differential reference structure of the signifiers to a halt.

This dynamic interaction between observation and state can be applied to quantum physics as well as to linguistic and psychological processes. In both areas, it can be seen that the fixation of meaning or state always depends on the specific conditions of measurement or interpretation and thus represents a kind of illusionary stabilization in a sea of potentialities.

 

Structures of linguistic analysis: diachronic and synchronic chains

As already mentioned, in linguistics and in structural psychoanalysis in particular, a distinction is made between the diachronic (‘horizontal’) and the synchronic (‘vertical’) chain, which together form the complex fabric of language structure. The diachronic chain refers, so to speak, to the conscious, sequential flow of language. Here, words and sentences are arranged in a logical and temporal sequence. This structure can be directly measured and consciously comprehended, as it is presented in an explicit and linear form that is easy to follow.

In contrast to this is the synchronic chain, which is based on deeper connections between different elements of the language. These connections are manifested through the metaphorical function. The synchronic chain is less obvious and often eludes immediate comprehension because it operates on a more complex level. This level is rich in cultural, historical and contextual meanings that go far beyond the simple sequence of words and thus open up a deeper dimension of language analysis.

The distinction between these two chains is crucial for understanding how language-like structures influence our mental processes. While the diachronic chain represents the surface of our linguistic expression, the synchronic chain holds the latent structures that are the real force behind our linguistic creativity and metaphorical expression. These latent and mostly unconscious structures include not only individual or personal content, but are also deeply rooted in collective cultural and historical patterns that shape our interpretation of texts and our expression.

 

Structural parallels in quantum mechanics and language analysis

In quantum mechanics, we find analogous concepts to the distinction between diachronic and synchronic chains in language structure, expressed through the relationship between causality and acausality, and between facticity and potentiality.

Causality in quantum mechanics is similar to the diachronic chain in linguistics. In classical physics, events are regarded as causal sequences in which the states are clearly determined by previous events and form a measurable, deterministic sequence. This corresponds to the sequential nature of the diachronic chain, in which each word or sentence construction is based on logical and temporally sequential connections.

In quantum mechanics, however, there are phenomena such as entanglement that cannot be explained by local causality principles. Entangled particles influence each other in a way that is independent of spatial distance and without any recognizable causal connection. This type of acausal connection mirrors the synchronic chain in language structure, where deeper, metaphorical or symbolic relationships exist that are not directly apparent from the linear sequence of words.

Facticity in quantum mechanics refers to the measured state of a system that reflects a concrete, measurable property. This is comparable to the explicit meaning captured in the diachronic analysis of a text. Potentiality, on the other hand, includes the totality of all possible states that a quantum mechanical system can assume before a measurement, represented by the wave function. This range of possibilities corresponds to the variety of meanings and interpretations that are present in the synchronic chain before an (apparently) final interpretation is fixed by the ‘point de capiton.’

 

Limits to the transmission of information

In linguistics, the diachronic structure manifests itself through the sequential arrangement of words and sentences that build on each other causally and enable a direct transfer of information. This structure is analogous to measurable, causal states in quantum mechanics, where events take place in a predictable sequence. The ‘quilting point’ in structural psychoanalysis enables a temporary fixation and apparent transmission of meaning within this causal chain. This transmission appears concrete and measurable, but is ultimately a constructed and interpretative effect—in the language of structural psychoanalysis, it is imaginary.

The synchronic structure, represented in language by metaphors and symbolic language, reflects a deeper level of meaning linkage that is not limited by linear causality. This structure is comparable to quantum entanglement, where particle states are linked in a way that does not allow for direct, causal transmission of information, as described by the ‘no-communication theorem’⁴ of quantum information theory. In structural psychoanalysis, the concept of the ‘barrier’ between signifier and signified forms a similar boundary, as it prevents a direct transmission of unambiguous meaning and keeps communication on an interpretative and ambiguous level.

Diachronic and synchronic analysis in language and quantum physics shows that, while information transmission in causal structures appears possible, it is ultimately dependent on interpretative processes, which in turn are influenced by contextual factors. Acausal structures, on the other hand, offer a rich field of potential meanings that do not allow direct or unambiguous transmission. These insights highlight the complex mechanisms of meaning and information construction in both disciplines and emphasize the profound interconnectedness of language, thought and reality that challenge our conventional understanding of reality.

 

Quantum ontology and the structure of reality

In quantum ontology, especially as described by Hartmann Römer,⁵ observables are not mere mathematical constructs that describe certain measurable properties of a physical system, but rather fundamental components that structure our understanding of reality. These observables are closely linked to propositions, which represent the actual knowledge about the states of a system. Each proposition indicates what result the measurement of a particular observable could produce. They are therefore dependent on the observables, as they would have no meaning without them.

The relationship between observables and propositions shows that they form a connection that is essential for the description of physical states and for understanding the structure and dynamics of the quantum world. Römer describes this connection as a “propositional ontology,” in which the world is not defined by fixed facts, but by propositions: statements that represent potential truths.

 

Dualism of observables and the ‘Ur alternatives’

The observables in Römer’s description are dualistic and similar to Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker’s “Ur alternatives,”⁶ which are based on fundamental yes/no choices. This binary structure is mirrored in the differential and discrete nature of the unconscious as presented in structural psychoanalysis. The unconscious is described as a structure of signifiers that is not defined by its own substance, but by its relation to and difference from other signifiers.

 

Epistemic cut

In Hartmann Römer’s study of quantum ontology, Heisenberg’s cut is emphasized as a fundamental separation line within epistemology. This epistemic cut, which lies irrevocably between the recognizing subject and the object to be recognized, reveals the fundamental limits of our knowledge. According to Römer, the recognized is always located beyond this cut, whereby the recognizing instance can never fully grasp itself and remains limited to the role of a “transcendental subject” that cannot transcend its own basis of knowledge.

 

Archetypes, signifiers and observables: a structural similarity

In his research, Hartmann Römer discusses the interesting parallelism between Carl Jung’s archetypes and the observables of quantum physics. Römer argues that both archetypes and observables are structurally positioned, so to speak, on the cutting edge of the epistemic cut, the boundary that separates the recognizing subject from the recognized. He states that observables and propositions are to be understood as the constituent elements of the quantum world that exist primarily potentially rather than factually. These are beyond the conventional subjective-objective duality and represent entanglement-like relationships of similarity at the most general level.

Römer’s analysis of archetypes as expressions of the potentiality and complementarity of quantum observables shows the profound structural similarity between these concepts. The characteristic ambivalence of archetypes reflects the dualistic nature of observables and illustrates the complex interaction of structure and subject.

In structural psychoanalysis, Heisenberg’s cut is illustrated by the interaction of the signifier with the order of the real¹, similar to a plowshare plowing through the soil. This illustrates how the signifier excavates the signified (the meaning) from the real and how the subject is structured in a language-like manner. Such a dynamic also reflects the constitutive split of the subject, a split based on a traumatic experience and primal repression. This, in turn, leads to a dynamic of lack and desire that persists without a halt and reveals the real as the logically impossible and unsymbolizable.

 

The interweaving of language, psyche and physics

The interweaving of language, psyche and physics, as revealed by structural psychoanalysis, analytical idealism and quantum ontology, shows that these disciplines have deep structural parallels. Examining these parallels allows us to develop a broader and deeper understanding of reality that encompasses both physical and psychological dimensions. Recognizing that reality is shaped by complex and often counterintuitive processes that challenge our conventional understanding of causality and determinism can lead to new approaches and perspectives in science and philosophy.

 

Perspective of Formalization

To further formalize the theoretical considerations and connections between language, psyche, and physical reality, various mathematical concepts can be employed. One of the most innovative and promising tools is the use of perfectoid spaces.⁷

Perfectoid spaces, introduced by Peter Scholze, who was awarded the Fields Medal in 2018, are a highly abstract concept from modern algebraic geometry and offer extensive possibilities for modeling complex structures. In our context, perfectoid spaces could be used to capture and analyze both the dynamic and static aspects of linguistic and psychic structures.

The consideration of p-adic numbers, which form the basis for perfectoid spaces, allows for modeling complex structures and self-similarities that reflect the differential nature of signifiers in structural psychoanalysis. The p-adic numbers provide a representation where the classical continuum is questioned, similar to how the concept of self-identity is problematized in psychoanalysis. Both concepts work with structures that cannot be represented by a simple, continuous line but by a complex interplay and interaction of elements connected on different levels. Thus, p-adic numbers reflect the fractal and self-referential properties of signifier structures. These mathematical concepts provide a suitable foundation to formally capture and analyze the connections between language, psyche, and physical reality, particularly concerning the fractal and self-referential properties of these structures.

 

Conclusion

The investigation of the profound parallels between language, psyche, and physical reality, as illuminated by structural psychoanalysis, analytical idealism, and quantum ontology, shows us that these disciplines cannot be considered in isolation. Examining these interdisciplinary approaches enables a more comprehensive understanding of reality and highlights the complex mechanisms that shape our consciousness and perception.

Continued exploration of these interfaces will improve our ability to understand the nature of reality, meaning, and consciousness, and to further uncover the deep connections that interweave these domains. This opens doors to new perspectives that can fundamentally expand our knowledge and interactions with the world.

 

Bibliography

1. https://www.essentiafoundation.org/the-subject-beyond-the-i-on-structural-psychoanalysis/reading/
   https://www.essentiafoundation.org/metabolism-is-what-the-unconscious-mind-looks-like/reading/
2. e.g. https://www.lacanonline.com/ or https://lacan-entziffern.de/ (German)
3. Filk, T., Römer, H. Generalized Quantum Theory: Overview and Latest Developments. Axiomathes 21, 211–220 (2011). https://doi.org/10.1007/s10516-010-9136-6
4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No-communication_theorem
5. Quanten, Komplementarität und Verschränkung in der Lebenswelt. Verallgemeinerte Quantentheorie, Lit Verlag Münster, ISBN 978-3-643-5378-4 https://www.anomalistik.de/images/pdf/schriften/perspektiven7_inhalt.pdf (free download)
6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Friedrich_von_Weizs%C3%A4cker
7. https://youtu.be/RApkRqoiZ1I?si=9rYnIYKzSulDns7N (an illustrative introduction to the topic)

The fallacy of scientific realism: does anything go?

Reading | Epistemology

Robert Hamilton, B.Sc. | 2024-08-18

Introduction

Does God exist? What is consciousness? How can we know what is real?

Questions such as these have always perplexed humanity and, despite the great advances made over recent centuries in understanding the behavior of the world around us, we seem to be no closer to answering these core questions about the nature of existence.

In my new book Anything Goes: A Philosophical Approach to Answering the God Question,¹ I argue that, paradoxically, answers to these questions can only be obtained once we recognize that no knowledge of the true structure of reality is possible. This implies that claims about the structure of reality can only be credible when viewed as models that describe the way our experience of the world behaves. These models then become our de facto reality.

 

The world is a model

Perhaps the popular notion of how science progresses is that we are gradually getting closer to the truth about the nature of the world around us. As time has gone on, scientific advances have been made and we have reached the stage where Einstein’s General Relativity and the Standard Model of particle physics give us a nearly complete description of the universe. We just need some clever physicists to iron out a few wrinkles like dark matter and dark energy in a Theory of Everything, and then we will have arrived at the Truth of how reality is structured.

The naivety in this belief was highlighted by 20^th century philosopher of science Karl Popper, when he pointed out that scientific theories can never be proven to be true. Rather, they are working assumptions about the way the world is, which are supported by the evidence—until they aren’t. Newton’s theory of gravity was thought to be true until anomalies, such as the precession of the perihelion of the planet Mercury, were discovered. Instead, it is Einstein’s theory that provides the correct answer. This raises the possibility that, if we manage to come up with a Theory of Everything, who is to say that one day we will not conduct an experiment or make an observation that contradicts this theory? For this reason, even if physicists were to discover the true structure of reality, they could never know it. “Okay”, one might say, “although we would never know that we had reached the truth, at least we can say that our current theories are ‘more true’ than the previous ones.” This view is known as Convergent Realism and was attacked in a 1981 paper by the philosopher Larry Laudan.² Although Einstein’s theory provides only very slightly different results to Newton’s at the everyday level, the way it characterizes the universe is completely different. Newton’s theory is set in the common-sense world of three-dimensional space and a separate conception of time. Einstein’s theory is based on the notion of curved four-dimensional spacetime. Who can say what the universe will look like according to the next theory? Quantum mechanics raises the possibility that cats, in a sense, can be alive and dead at the same time and that the building blocks of our universe can be both waves and particles. Might it be that the true nature of the universe is just as weird and perhaps even beyond our ability to comprehend?

Ultimately, scientific theories are models of the way the universe works. Scientists, such as the renowned physicist Richard Feynman, readily point out that scientific models do not give us the ‘why,’ only the ‘what.’² They allow us to understand the universe in terms of its behavior—we can use them to predict how the macroscopic objects of our experience, such as tables, stars and light bulbs, behave. They do this by characterizing the universe in a way that helps us get to grips with it. But, as humans, we just do not have the tools to find out what the universe is ‘really like.’

 

The map is the territory

Now comes the plot twist. The surprising but unavoidable consequence of this is that the structure or make-up of this reality that we are modelling is, in a sense, irrelevant. If its structure is unknowable, then reality can only affect us through its behavior. And so it is only reality’s behavior that matters. It is reality’s behavior that we are modelling and a good model will predict its behavior well. But if reality’s structure is fundamentally elusive, then it will forever remain a shadowy mysterious thing lying behind the veil. It is only the structure and objects of our models that can be known to us. These are the things that we live by and that give our lives meaning. And so these are the only objects that can be considered ‘real’ in any meaningful sense—if the objects of our models are not real, then nothing is real.

What we have here, I would argue, is a case akin to The Emperor’s New Clothes. Many scientists and physicists are aware that all of our understanding is in terms of our models, but perhaps avoid engaging with the implications of this, because it is unnecessary for day-to-day work and raises difficult questions. We cling to the idea that there must be a ‘right answer’ out there, because if there isn’t, then, well, doesn’t everything fall apart? Where are the standards of correctness? What is to stop us from just claiming that whatever we like is true? I argue in Part III of my book that these worries are unfounded. Although its structure is unknowable, reality does behave in a certain way. And so not all models are created equal.

 

Anything goes?

I like to call this way of thinking the ‘Anything Goes’ method, because with no knowable reality to assess our models against, the only standard of correctness is a consideration of whether your model produces sensible results. And there is more to modelling reality than the laws of physics. Even the idea that there is some kind of external reality that is the source of our experiences is part of a model that gives us an explanation for why our experiences behave in the way they do [Editor’s note: some physicists are now questioning even the assumption of a shared external reality]. Ultimately, each of us needs to find a way of making sense of our experiences in a manner that works for us. In that sense, anything goes [Editor’s note: Essentia Foundation does not endorse this conclusion].

 

Applications

I suggest that this way of thinking is revolutionary. Once we recognize that it’s all a matter of perspective—that there are no disembodied facts about the universe in any useful sense—we can make progress in all sorts of areas that have previously proved intractable. Does God exist? It depends on your model. Is Schrödinger’s Cat alive or dead? Well, from whose perspective? Schrödinger’s or the cat’s? How would we tell if an AI attained consciousness? To answer this question, we need to consider what it means to say that an entity that only exists as part of your model of reality might have a mind of its own. We may go on to consider whether Solipsism could be true, what it’s like to be a bat, and whether you could be a brain in a vat. All these questions and more are addressed in my book.

 

Notes

¹ See www.anythinggoesmetaphysics.com for further discussion on these issues.

² The original paper, ‘A Confutation of Convergent Realism’ (Larry Laudan, March 1981, Philosophy of Science Vol. 48, No. 1), Harding and Rosenberg’s reply ‘In Defense of Convergent Realism’ (Clyde L. Hardin and Alexander Rosenberg, December 1982, Philosophy of Science Vol. 49, No. 4) and Laudan’s response ‘Realism with the Real’ (Larry Laudan, March 1984, Philosophy of Science Vol. 51, No. 1) can all be found online.

³ The inimitable Richard Feynman talks about how hard it is to make sense of what physics tells us about world at around the 21-minute mark in this video: http://vega.org.uk/video/programme/45.

The broad horizons of Ecstatic Naturalism

Reading | Metaphysics

Asher Walden, PhD | 2024-08-04

Ecstatic Naturalism is a philosophical perspective based on the work of the contemporary philosopher and theologian Robert Corrington. In metaphysical scope, it sits side by side with Pantheism, Whiteheadian Panentheism, Panpsychism, and Analytic Idealism. Like many readers and authors associated with Essentia, it is committed to the idea of world philosophy, a modern approach to philosophical analysis that benefits not only from the Judeo-Greek traditions of Europe, but also Indian, Chinese, and even Shamanic traditions. Generally speaking, I see Ecstatic Naturalism as an attempt to formulate the most generic possible account of the foundational ideas that live at the heart of various historical forms of Non-Dualism. Corrington in particular has gradually incorporated more explicitly Theosophical and Advaita Vedanta perspectives, while my own approach is more heavily influenced by Neo-Confucian and Zen Buddhist perspectives, and so bears a closer affinity to the Kyoto School. My hope is that this approach will be of interest and benefit to the Essentia community. The purpose of this essay is to give a brief overview of some of the basic ideas of Ecstatic Naturalism, with some attention given to points of tension between EN and Analytic Idealism.

As in Kastrup’s work, the starting point is the division within nature between Nature Naturing (Schopenhauer’s Will, the Unruly Ground of Being, Nothingness) and Nature Natured (Schopenhauer’s Representation, beings, the innumerable manifested orders of the world) [Editor’s note: this is a translation of Spinoza’s natura naturans—the underlying organizing force that shapes the world—and natura naturata—the world as perceived by the senses]. The term ‘nature’ in Ecstatic Naturalism clearly refers not merely to the material world and its physical laws (which are part of Nature Natured), but to the entirety of what is. Nature is whatever is, in whatever way: from mountains and rivers, to chairs, tables and microwaves, to desires and dreams, to numbers and language, to dominions, powers, potencies and spirits, to the various orders, domains, horizons, and contexts within which any of the previous categories obtain. The basic idea is that nature is, really by definition, too vast in scope and diversity to be summarized by a neat ontological summary such as ‘everything is mind.’

In relation to the dizzying infinity of the contemplation of this nature, the ontological distinction provides the beginnings of a framework in which to orient ourselves. Consciousness as such plays a pivotal role, not just epistemologically, but metaphysically as well. The realms of Nature Natured are orderly, meaningful, and most of all, knowable. Thus, again by definition, Nature Natured is that which in principle can be known to beings such as ourselves. Following a trajectory laid by Kant, Schopenhauer, and Rorty, we can say that if it is knowable, it must be the kind of thing that can be known. And the only kind of thing that can be known is knowledge. It must be ideal or mind-y in substance. Thus, the basic orderliness of nature is that order ‘given’ to it by consciousness: space, time, and the categories. Ecstatic Naturalism does not say that mind is all there is (How could we know that?). But it does not rest at the edge of the Kantian precipice either. The primary way in which it moves past Kant, and even Schopenhauer, is by means of the betweenness structures that bridge the divide from Nature Naturing into Nature Natured.

These structures are the channels or modes by which the raw energies and potencies of Nature Naturing fuel, support, and generally pervade the orders of Nature Natured. We experience them as ‘ordinary’ things, relations, images, and events that are supercharged with emotional and metaphysical meaning and import. In other words, we experience them as sacred. A song, painting, or sunset is experienced (in a specific time and place) as not only beautiful, but intrinsically valuable. If the aesthetic and semiotic energy has ways to ground itself in the orders of the world in stable and anti-entropic ways, by means of good culture and good practices of integration, then they form a powerful wellspring of meaning, joy, and enlightened human community. If the psychic energy overpowers cultural or personal modes of integration, they may be not only destructive, but positively demonic.

Human consciousness stands at the border of the ontological divide. It is comparable to the location of the eye with respect to visual field. The eye has that which is in front of it, comprising all that can be seen. But the eye also has that which is behind it at any given time. Humans have a spatially-structured imagination, the mind’s eye, by which we can visualize that which is outside the visual range. Just so, the phenomenal self stands at the focal point between that of which it is or may be conscious (the orders of Nature Natured) and that which exists behind or beneath. But just as we have a visual imagination that allows a kind of epistemic access to that which is unseen, we also have a secondary self, a ‘higher’ or metaphysical self, which allows access to the betweenness structures that bridge the ontological divide. The ego self, or the ego dimension of the self, observes the icon, sunset, or purely imagined object in the ordinary fashion, while the deeper self experiences the flow of energy that takes the former perception as a channel or container.

Just as water takes the shape of the riverbed, pipe or glass that holds it, the sacred takes the shape of the phenomenal object that is then experienced as, and indeed is, sacred. Ecstatic practices (intensive meditation, drumming, lucid dreaming, active imagination, psychedelics, contemplative prayer, archery, etc.) train and attune the mind to deepen, stabilize, and open up these channels. Can any perceptual object be a container for the sacred in this way? Yes and no. Larger cups hold more water. The largest phenomenal containers for sacred energy are called the Archetypes. For this reason, the Archetypes provide the best available epistemic access to the character, potencies, and/or functioning of Nature Naturing.

To be clear, images of the archetypes are fully in and of Nature Natured. They are experienced in the familiar perceptual ways in which we experience things, relations, and events in the world as representation. Yet, when they become translucent to the intense light of Nature Naturing, they provide indirect clues about those aspects of the latter that are in some sense knowable to us. To the extent that they are knowable to us, just as in the case of ordinary objects of perception, they obey principles or logical laws that are ideal or mental in character. The archetypes are not structured by time, space and the categories, but they do have a logical structure of their own. That structure, in turn, gives us epistemic access to the human personal and collective unconscious. And insofar as the human unconscious is the non-local location of Nature Naturing within the human process, we have indirect access to the ‘how’ of Nature Naturing.

Images, icons and myths are not intrinsically sacred. Neither is the Unruly Ground of Being. Nature naturing is not God. Yet, when the human observer is appropriately situated with respect to the image, in the context of emotional and practical needs and desires that tend to pull the self into entropic disarray, the image may be experienced as sacred, pouring forth anti-entropic energies that are felt as not only spiritual in nature, but spiritualizing, lifting the self up out of the fully immanent travails of ego-based striving. But that numinous energy does not come from the image. Actually, it comes from the wellspring of Nature Naturing deep within of collective/cosmic unconscious, and is projected (in the familiar modality of psychic projection) into the object. So the ultimate source of the numinous is not the image, nor the (personal) unconscious, but Nature Naturing. The archetypes are the channel, the bridge that maintains a continuous logical structure in all these different orders: from the Unruly Ground, through the collective and then the personal unconscious, out into perceptual reality, then reflected back to the conscious self. Not just any shape, image, gestalt, or topology has the robustness to obtain in all these different orders—never mind maintain the internal cohesiveness to not only survive but bear the weight of such powerful psychic energy; the ones that do teach us about the relations between the different spheres. Thus, Ecstatic Naturalism allows for a greater refinement of our ontological apparatus. Instead of being limited to two basic parts of Nature, we also have the ability to categorize the archetypes into natural kinds, which in turn reflect the basic spheres or dimensions of how the energies and potencies of Nature Naturing become gradually condensed or crystalized into the orders of Nature Natured.

The shared mistake of Panpsychism and Idealism is to take human consciousness as the norm or standard, and then project that definition of (phenomenal) consciousness out into the rest of reality. This is the kind of anthropomorphism that makes those doctrines suspicious. Ecstatic naturalism argues that human explicit self-consciousness is one species of a much larger category. We can’t say much, or at least, not as much as we would like, about that broader category. We know what the colors of the visible spectrum look like. What would we say to someone who asked, what would microwaves look like if we could see them? We know about the kinds of interests and motivations that drive human life. As to other forms of life, the more distant they are from the human in environment and structure, the less capable we are of imagining them. We could say, as a matter of definition, that everything that is, is consciousness. But the price would be to admit that we only know what consciousness is in the human context. Thus, we could say that other powers and potencies that dwell within, and emerge from, the unruly ground of being are conscious in substance: but we would not know what that means. No doubt certain aspects of that singular plurality of consciousness would be more or less continuous with the energies that are funneled through the archetypes into human realms; but what about others? Thus, despite its very close affinity to Analytic Idealism, Ecstatic Naturalism remains methodologically committed to Jamesian pluralism.

Human consciousness is just an outpost or ordinal location of the Divine Mind. In some respects, each sentience is a ‘part’ of the cosmic mind, like so many distributed micro-processors in a single computational architecture. But in certain respects, the entirety of consciousness is present in any of its token locations (though not normally available to ordinary consciousness, thankfully—that would be very distracting). The relation between consciousness and the unconscious as it appears in the ontological divide on the one hand, and in the human mind on the other, does a lot of the heavy lifting. Humans can and do peel back the divide between the phenomenal consciousness of their external and internal life-world and the energies of the unconscious. The Archetypes are the channels by which those energies flow out from the unconscious of nature itself into the manifested orders of the world. Some percentage of those arrive within the human horizon; others, no doubt, land on other shores elsewhere, or shipwreck along the way.

Clearly, not all of reality is accessible to and for human consciousness. Just as our planet occupies a tiny and insignificant corner of one galaxy among billions, human consciousness is one tiny branch of the Great Tree that is Nature Natured in its inconceivable vastness. Nevertheless, it is a branch of that tree. How many archetypes are there? Countless. Do they depend on us for their existence? It seems unlikely. Yet, certain ones of them seem very closely tied to distinctively human processes, like childbirth, aging, teaching, and playing. To the extent that other animals, aliens, and discarnate transdimensional explorers participate in these same modes of being, they are dependent upon, and constrained by, the same archetypes that rule over the human realm. But what other archetypes rule over their worlds, or how, we cannot say.

 

Selected Works on Ecstatic Naturalism:

Corrington, Robert. Nature’s Religion. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1997.

Corrington, Robert. A Semiotic Theory of Philosophy and Religion. Cambridge University Press, 2001.

Corrington Robert. Deep Pantheism: Towards a New Transcendentalism. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2016.

Niemoczynski, Leon J. & Nguyen, Nam T. (eds.) A Philosophy of Sacred Nature: Prospects for Ecstatic Naturalism. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2014.

Non-dualism in ancient Greece? Dionysus as infinite, eternal conscious life

Reading | Mythology

Michael Asher, BA, FRSL | 2024-07-21

In Dona Tartt’s postmodern Gothic masterpiece The Secret History (1992) Richard Papen, a young Californian from a modest background, joins a band of undergraduates studying classics at a prestigious college in Vermont. Richard later discovers that members of the group, led by the formidably intellectual Henry, have managed to raise the ancient Greek god Dionysos, and in a frenzied bacchanalian dash across neighbouring fields, have murdered a local farmer. Bunny, a member of the group excluded from the ritual, finds out the truth and proceeds to blackmail the others. Drawn in by Henry, Richard becomes an accessory to the murder of Bunny, whom the group pushes over a cliff. None of the students is charged with the murders, though Henry later shoots himself dead, having first killed the band’s only female member, Camilla.

For many readers, The Secret History may be their first introduction to Dionysos, the mysterious Olympian deity who seems to be acquiring increasing significance in these times. Tartt, a classics student, is said to have based the novel on Euripides’ play Bacchae, first performed in Athens in about 406 BC—the only ancient Greek drama to feature Dionysos as the main character. The theme of The Secret History, though—the tension between control and chaos—comes from Tartt’s study of Friedrich Nietzsche’s 1872 work The Birth of Tragedy, in which Nietzsche proposes a contradiction between Apollonian and Dionysian influences, that is, between control and chaos respectively. Though some Hellenic scholars rejected Nietzsche’s thesis from the outset, it dominated the twentieth century zeitgeist to the extent that the most terrible wars in history were frequently described as Dionysian.

It is this Nietzschean concept of Dionysos—as an embodiment of the incipient chaos lurking under the veneer of civilization, waiting to explode, and sometimes exploding—that Tartt has taken up in The Secret History. Her theme is, in fact, an endorsement of the foundation myth of industrial society: the view of civilization as a valiant defender holding back the savage beast lurking in every human, which, if not diverted, may burst forth and destroy society itself. As one of Tartt’s characters puts it, “those powerful old forces will mass and strengthen until they are violent enough to break free … often strong enough to sweep the will away entirely” [1].

This view is, of course, a take on Thomas Hobbes’s pronouncement in Leviathan (1651) that life in a state of nature is a war of all against all—solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short—a condition of chaos that can, conveniently for the authorities, only be prevented by submission to a sovereign power. Even today this is the vision of reality most people hold, despite the fact that, with the growing chaos in the world in the face of ever tighter control structures, it begins to look suspiciously anaemic. With regard to Tartt’s novel in particular, as Maria Grip has astutely pointed out,

it might not be as simple as saying that control versus chaos is presented in The Secret History. I would instead argue that it is rather the idea of having control that ultimately is the creator of the chaos. From this point of view, chaos is born out of different aspects of control rather than working as an antithesis to it. [2]

In other words, while Tartt’s intention may have been to express the Nietzschean opposition between Apollonian control and Dionysian chaos, what is actually being demonstrated here—albeit inadvertently—is the fact that chaos is the product of the Apollonian lust to control.

Interest in the Dionysian has proliferated in recent times, with hundreds of new books, articles and academic papers appearing on the subject. Edith Hall has pointed out that more Greek tragedy—including Bacchae—has been staged over the past decades than at any other period since classical times. “Translated, adapted, staged, sung, danced, parodied, filmed, enacted,” she has written, it “has proved magnetic to writers and directors searching for new ways in which to pose questions to contemporary society” [3]. The Dionysos featured in these studies and performances, though, is, by and large, not the mad, destructive god of Tartt and Nietzsche. It is the Dionysos whom, among scores of other names, the ancient Greeks called The Undivided: non-death, the nondual, the force of life.

Scholar Carl Kerenyi—who collaborated with Jung on his archetypes theory—was perhaps the first modern to rediscover the full nature of Dionysos. Karenyi was keen to make a distinction between authentic Greek myths and the way these myths had been misused to create modern myths—notably by writers like Nietzsche [4]. On a visit to the ruins of the ancient Greek theatre at Cumae in southern Italy in 1931—almost sixty years after The Birth of Tragedy—Kerenyi had an epiphany. He had already accepted that Dionysos represented wine, ecstasy, and animalism—and theatre—but was also aware that there were more representations of this god in myth, image, and ritual expression than any other divinity in the Greek pantheon. This suggested a central importance beyond the limits of his apparent roles.

Examining the stones of the ancient theatre—how they had been cracked and overgrown by tangled tree-roots, and hemmed in by bushes and vines—Karenyi had a sudden sense that Dionysos was still present. These vines and bushes were in essence the same that had existed here in ancient times, and this essence, he felt, was Dionysos. Or rather, Dionysos was the immanent and transcendent life force of which the trees, vines and everything else—including animals and humans—were manifestations. This, he thought, explained the crucial role of Dionysos in ancient Greek culture: the god, he concluded, was no less than the archetypal image of zoe, indestructible life.

In his book Dionysos: Archetypal Image of Indestructible Life, published years later, Karenyi points out that, although in Latin there is only one word for life—vita—in Ancient Greek there are two: bios and zoe. While bios (as in biology) means finite or individual life, zoe (as in zoology) means infinite or indestructible life. Bios applies to the characterized life of an individual being, which may be summed up in biography, but zoe, being infinite and eternal, cannot be described or summarized: it is, in other words, the ontological primitive. “Since the basis of every individuation is represented by zoe,” Kristof Fenyesi has written, “the core of experience concerning zoe cannot embrace the experience of evanescence or ceasing. Death always happens on the level of bios, individual life, and not on the level of zoe, which serves as a basis for all individual bios.” Death (thanatos) is, in a spiritual sense, zoe’s opposite, so zoe might be referred to as non-death. This is why, as Fenyesi puts it, “the notion of soul, that is psyche, is not associated with bios, but zoe” [5]. To use a familiar analogy from nondualism, zoe is the ocean and bios the waves. The waves are transitory modes of the ocean, distinguishable from it but not separate. Thanatos is a transformation that occurs when the wave dissolves and merges back into the ocean, from which it was never actually separate in the first place.

If, far from being a symbol of chaos, Dionysos was, in fact, as James Hillman has put it, the Soul of Nature [6], how could Nietzsche have got it wrong? And if Dona Tartt really based her Dionysos in The Secret History on Bacchae, what interpretation of that play gave the impression that Dionysos was a quite different entity? “The overcoming of the Nietzschean conception of Dionysos … has now become fact,” wrote Darisusz Karlowicz in 2021, three decades after The Secret History. “The image of a mad, barbaric … god of myth … is being replaced by a picture (much closer to historical reality) of … a god whose action may consolidate order and give peace” [7].

In Bacchae, Dionysos appears in Thebes, disguised as a mortal, accompanied by a band of women followers, the Bacchae. His purpose is to confront the king, Pentheus, who has refused to acknowledge his divinity. Dionysos has already driven the women of Thebes—including Pentheus’s mother, Agave—into a frenzy, causing them to leave their domestic duties and dash off into the mountains to celebrate him in song and dance, becoming maenads, or wild women. Pentheus has Dionysos thrown into jail, but the god escapes effortlessly, causing the royal house to collapse in the process. Dionysos then tempts Pentheus to go and spy on the maenads in the mountains, dressed in female garb. Watching the wild women from a tree, the king is torn to pieces, his unknowing mother Agave being his foremost assailant. Agave brings the remains of Pentheus’s body back, believing it to be that of a lion, and is devastated when she realizes that it is her son.

Many modern scholars have regarded the play as morally ambiguous, and its theme as an unresolved contradiction. What concerns them mostly is the degree of violence and cruelty Dionysos appears to display. Donald Mastronarde has referred to this as a tragic dilemma: “One must both acknowledge Dionysos’s divinity,” he wrote, “and recognize the god’s potential for cruel violence and amoral excess” [8]. The Apollonian view of the Dionysian is the perspective of industrial civilization, in which materialism—the narrative of the left-hemisphere or ego—is dominant, with its individualist and literalist character. In this view, the king—Pentheus—is a hero defending the status quo—the polis—against a foreign religious cult, the acceptance of which is likely to lead to the breakdown of all boundaries, the materialist conception of chaos. As Richard Seaford has pointed out, though, there is no real dilemma here. “If you reject or try to suppress Dionysos, he may cruelly destroy you,” he has written, “and so you should acknowledge him. It is only a dilemma if in acknowledging him there are bad consequences, which there are not” [9].

Seaford has explained that Bacchae is best understood in terms of its context: fourth century BC Athens. This was a precarious time for the Athenian state, deeply enmeshed as it was in the war with Sparta, which would ultimately lead to its downfall. In this milieu, Dionysos—The God Who Comes—appears as a warning against hybris (hubris), the state of ego-exaltation as displayed by Pentheus the turannos (tyrant), whose family has seized control by force. Autocratic, violent, impious, and lacking in self-control, Pentheus proposes slaughtering the maenads as if they were wild animals, despite the fact that they comprise the entire adult female population of the polis, including his own mother. In attemping to exert absolute control over the community—in effect, over nature—Pentheus himself has created the moral vacuum into which his nemesis—Dionysos—is bound to enter. To the Athenian audience, Dionysos would not have been the stranger he appears in Pentheus’s eyes, but the principal of the Eleusinian mysteries, the secret, life-affirming rite-of-passage at the heart of their official religion. Pentheus, though, sees Dionysos only as a threat to his personal power, and rejects his claim to be acknowledged as divine. The violence and apparent cruelty Pentheus and his family suffer as a result of this rejection is symbolic, a graphic representation of their karma, the mental agony that ultimately results from the violation of the sacred. The violent episodes “are not to be taken literally in terms of themselves,” James Hillman has written, “but as horror stories within the entirety of the psychic process” [10].

So again, if the original Dionysis of Greek myth—a Being of Light—is not the fantasy god of Nietzsche and his student, Tartt, where did their idea of the dark Dionysian come from? For the answer, we have to look first to Christianity, which, from its inception as an official religion, regarded the Dionysian cult as its main rival. Dionysos’s messianic nature, as witnessed in Bacchae, as well as many other aspects of the Dionysos myth, are so close to the Christ-story as to suggest syncretism. Christian clipping eventually pared Dionysos down to the devil—complete with goat’s horns—and the Dionysian to the demonic. The Dionysian orgazein—the sacred celebration of zoe in song and dance—became, in Christian hype, the orgy, a profane party involving drunkenness and sexual licence. This trope—James Hillman calls it black maenadism—emerges in late medieval Europe as the witches’ sabbath: it is in precisely these terms that Pentheus imagines the behaviour of the maenads in Bacchae. In the play, though, there is no evidence that the wild women do more than abandon their domestic tasks and celebrate Dionysos with music and dancing. The carnal frenzy Tartt’s characters invoke in The Secret History is closer to black maenadism than to its authentic counterpart, and her Dionysos is closer to the Christian devil.

The second aspect of the Nietzschean Dionysos-as-Chaos story is a case of mistaken identity. Nineteenth-century “notions of Dionysos come principally from scholars working in … German,” Hillman wrote, “Dionysos is conflated with Wotan and the fear of Dionysos is confounded with justifiable dread from that primordial German shadow, Wotan. Dionysian … consciousness is distorted by the Wotanic perspective” [11]. Noting that Wotan stands for devils, pagan distractions, and destruction of culture, Hillman also records that Jung himself was aware of the tendency to conflate Dionysos with Wotan. “In Nietzsche’s biography,” Jung wrote, “you will find irreducible proof that the god he meant was really Wotan, but … he called him Dionysos” [12]. It is not Dionysos, but Wotan, the dominating, aggressive, all-masculine warrior-god, with his ego-exulting, Apollonian aspect—hybris—who actually characterizes the great and terrible wars and genocides of the twentieth century.

If Dionysos appeared in person in the Athenian psyche—that is, for the first time as the main character in a public drama—at such a perilous period in Athenian history, is it a coincidence that he has appeared at a parallel time in ours? Historians of the theatre, such as Edith Hall, date the epiphany of Dionysos in the modern age to Dionysos in ‘69, an adaptation of Bacchae staged in New York in 1968, said to be the first ever public performance of Euripides’ play in America. Ironically, or perhaps intentionally, this was the same historical moment when Dionysos’s Nietzschean rival, Apollo, reached his modern apotheosis in the Apollo 11 moon-landing (July 1969) —for some, the never-to-be-repeated apex of industrial civilization.

If the peak of anything is the moment in which its antithesis appears, we may be at the beginning of an age that is truly Dionysian. Drawing on the work of Karenyi and others, James Hillman has pointed to Dionysos as the archetype of a rejuvenated nondualist paradigm. The Apollonian weltanschauung (worldview), with its dismemberment of wholeness into separate objects, its war-mentality, its warrior-hero cult, its misogyny, and its ever-more-drastic attempts to control and exploit nature, has inevitably led to the current meta-crisis—that is, to world chaos. “What we have been calling consciousness all these years,” Hillman has written, “is really the Apollonian mode as hardened by the hero into a strong ego and which has predetermined the Dionysian in terms of its own bias” [13]—i.e., as chaos.

The Dionysos of Bacchae comes not to drive people insane—as Pentheus sees it—but with the shocking revelation that those who reject the nondual Dionysian consciousness are more mad than those who accept it. The frenzy of the god’s maenad celebrants is not, as Tartt has it in The Secret History, a homicidal insanity fuelled by drugs and sex, but the ecstasy of liberation from the madness of a life that has severed them from nature, the divine, and their own spirit. “The faithful of … Dionysus seek contact with those forces which animate both the infrahuman and suprahuman,” Alain Danielou writes in his book Gods of Love and Ecstasy, “and lead to a refusal of the politics, ambitions and limitations of ordinary social life. This does not involve simply a recognition of world harmony, but also an active participation in an experience which surpasses and upsets the order of material life” [14]. Upsetting the order of material life, from the Apollonian point of view, is chaos. From the Dionysian side, though, it is awakening to zoe: to the knowledge that there is, in fact, a higher and more potent order than that imposed by tyrants.

Dionysos is not a warrior hero of the Apollonian type. Appearing even in Bacchae as an effeminate male, he is mostly a god of women. Though his main task is to liberate the feminine, this implies more than the emancipation of the female sex. It means freedom for what Hillman has called the psychological feminine, including the feminine aspect of men—the anima—which has for too long cowered under the Apollonian shadow. It is surely the application of Wotanic-Apollonian traits of aggression, and lust for power—the psychological masculine—that have brought about the current chaos. Susan Rowland, author of Remembering Dionysos, has suggested that Dionysos might be considered a masculine form of the Earth Mother. While the Earth goddess is regarded as feminine in that she is the mother of all things, Rowland says, she is actually undivided into the binary of male and female: she is potentially both but effectively neither. As a goddess, she is not the exclusive property of women: she belongs to all. In a similar way, Dionysos, though regarded as masculine, contains much of the Earth Mother within his being, and possesses a fluidity that could be construed as combining both genders [15]. It is perhaps in this sense that the ancient Greeks regarded Dionysos as The Undivided—the archetype of the web of connectedness, of zoe, through whom the essential nonduality of consciousness can be expressed [16].

 

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Citations

1. Tartt, Secret History, 40-41.
2. Grip, Control in Secret History, 2.
3. Hall, Dionysos since ‘69, p. 2.
4. Fenyvesi, Biopolitics, p. 3.
5. Ibid.
6. Hillman, Myth of Analysis, p. 269.
7. Dorozewski & Karlowicz, Dionysos & Politics, p. 3.
8. Seaford, in Dorozewski & Karlowicz, Dionysos & Politics, p. 36.
9. Ibid.
10. Hillman, Myth, p. 278.
11. Ibid., p. 268.
12. Ibid., p. 267.
13. Ibid., p. 290.
14. Danielou, Gods, p. 24.
15. Rowland, Dionysus: Revisioning Psychology & Literature in Jung & Hillman—Susan Rowland, Earth Climate Dreams (youtube.com).
16. Rowland, Remembering, p. 174.