The transformation of self in Western and Japanese narratives

[Disclaimer: This post has spoilers for The Avengers, The Dark Knight Rises, Dragonball Z and Hana-bi]

A good friend of mine, Dan Gidion, runs a blog discussing localisation issues with games and anime when transported from Japan to the West. His last piece (link at the bottom of the post) focused on this issue of self-transformation in storytelling and narratives between Japan and the West. He uses four examples of Western transformation: Cinderella, Snow White, Spiderman and the Frog Prince. All begin with nothing and live wretched lives; in an instant their fortunes are transformed and they become royalty or superheroes. The path towards a better life here is fortuitous, granted by serendipity. Dan contrasts this with the Japanese anime Dragonball Z, where the main characters must work and train hard in order to defeat their foes. They are weak at first and no match for their opponents. With hard-work and self-sacrifice however they eventually, just, topple the obstacle before them. Whilst the Western narrative grants those troubled but with pure hearts the life they deserve; the Japanese one demands great toil to resolve ones shortcomings.

Dan concludes for the Western narrative that hope is always around the corner that something will turn things around for us. The Japanese narrative posits that one is worthless without hard-work and self-inflicted hardship to become what one desires. The Western narrative then, to use my own terminology, lets us all believe we’re unique snowflakes and beautiful no matter what and deserving of a better fate; the Japanese one that without sacrifice we are nothing.

I do not necessarily disagree with this conclusion; I merely wish to add to it. One thing I am immediately struck by with the Western narrative is the concept of placing one’s fate outside of one’s hands. Spiderman did not improve his lot through endeavour but by fortune. Cinderella became a princess through chance and lived happily ever after. Charlie’s visit to the chocolate factory is another great example. The concept of striving for a better position in life is not even considered, it is as if such a thing is not possible: all one can do is hope for lady luck.

There is also the fact that these rags-to-riches stories are not exactly humble. These characters did not just get a better life for themselves; they attained positions that it is suggested most would envy (Spiderman is perhaps an exception here). It seems to suggest that those of pure heart are worthy of the highest accolades and gifts and that merely being good will be enough to grant them to you.

I am struck here by the relation towards Christianity in my analysis. Heaven is for those of purity and those who are pure are usually portrayed as the poor. Even though their life is lived in abject misery, their prize awaits once one leaves the corporeal realm and re-enter the Kingdom of Heaven. These stories, to a large extent, make Heaven in earth and grant those who ‘deserve’ it the riches they would have to wait until their death for.

A bastardised reading of Nietzsche can be applied here. The poor for Nietzsche took Christianity to their hearts as realising they would never be able to enjoy life like the upper classes, they made the poor magnanimous and noble of heart. Whilst the rich may live their lives in pleasure today, the poor’s reward awaits beyond. Such stories then seem to serve, through this reading, the purpose of representing the attainment of happiness for the deserving subject who is free of the evils of coveting power and control (Spiderman certainly fits into this last point).

Before I deal with the Japanese then, I would like to explore the concept of the ultimate sacrifice between cultures. Let me use The Avengers and The Dark Knight Rises as my examples. In both films the main characters (Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne) face the dilemma of sacrificing themselves for the greater good, which they both dutifully do. Both however survive their sacrifices to see the next day. There is a difference between the two however. Tony’s sacrifice was made with the expectation that he was to die. Bruce’s was a ruse in order to appear dead, to leave Batman as a legend and an idol: Bruce wanted out and faked his demise. The emptiness of this gesture in its transcendent sense is not explored by the somewhat overhyped director of the recent Batman trilogy. As a narrative, even Tony’s rescue after his heroic charge into death, it reveals that Western culture expects its heroes to survive to live happily ever after.

This contrasts sharply with the Japanese attitude towards sacrifice. The anime Dragonball Z features the main protagonist Goku usually die in his battles against evil only to be brought back to life to die defeating evil the next time. The film Battle Royale features the character Kawada who killed his girlfriend in the last battle royale in order to survive. Kawada proceeds to save the leading couple by placing himself in mortal danger in order to prevent them going through what he did: he subsequently succumbs to his injuries at the end of the film, happy that he has found inner peace. The film Hana-bi (another Kitano classic) features a burnt-out cop hold up a bank and murder mobsters in order to give his wife, dying of leukaemia, a few transitory moments of joy in life before her cancer and his crimes catch up with both of them: the ending of the film heavily suggests the character’s suicides. In all these cases, and there are countless more in Japanese culture, the sacrifice to find oneself or to save the day is real.

The act of placing oneself for sacrifice seems to be enough for Western audiences: the fairy-tale continues where the virtuous do not die and the pure get what they deserve, divinely if necessary. The Japanese cannot bring themselves to fake such happy endings it seems. Why though? Despite my knowledge of Japanese culture, it would be difficult to say with anything but conjecture. My conjecture however would be this. Japanese culture is wrapped up in the ephemeral, in the transitory nature of all things. Unlike, to bastardise Nietzsche again, the desire of the ancient Greeks to escape nihilism through appeal to the Apollonian, the Japanese seem to consider life as fleeting and all one’s efforts may only ever produce a moment of perfection.

Whilst in Japan I observed the cherry blossoms and wondered why the Japanese were so keen on something that has aesthetic beauty but for a few days a year. Perhaps it is this desire to create something beautiful that will soon be gone, lost like tears in rain, which leads Japanese narratives to be sombre in their storytelling; to require hard work and perhaps the ultimate sacrifice to achieve a moment’s peace in a world in a continual state of flux. Whether this is accurate or reflected within the Shinto-Buddhism which underlies Japanese morality and society is something I could not comment on. The melancholy-tinged and ephemeral nature of Japanese storytelling though perhaps does represent the antithesis of the Christian tradition which posits eternal joy for all. In this way it could be considered to defeat the life-denying tendency Nietzsche identified in the Abrahamic offshoot and leave life as the experience of the forlorn, with beauty being the few moments when one can transcend this state.

Dan’s excellent piece can be found here: http://down-the-local.blogspot.jp/2013/07/transformers-culture-in-disguise.html. His leftfield blog covers his views on how games created by and for people raised in one culture are changed and adapted for people in a different culture.

The problem with rationally-founded arguments

A great deal of critical enquiry bases itself around the notion that rational discourse is the key method to reach consensus. If all participants act with rationality, if they are allowed to voice and hear other voices, consensus can be reached. This forms the basis of some current popular social theories as well as the more liberal strand of thought which permeates discussion. Ideally, such a basis cannot really be faulted. In practise however the flaws in such an approach become apparent.

Rationality assumes that one will both reason correctly and choose the optimal method for resolving the object of discussion. If the issue is concern for one’s son’s schooling, one could reason attendance at a better school would aid his education. As limits on access to schools in the area may be in effect one may instead choose to pay for private tutoring (for example). Thus a rational conclusion to the initial problem is reached. The proposed problem though conceals the normative bias which led to the question being raised in the first place: the desire to better educate one’s son. Whilst this may seem natural, and perhaps is, the rationality presented here is contingent on an unvoiced concern which is considered as self-evident.

Rationality operates on these normative biases, voiced or not. When we raise rationality then as a mode of consensus-forming, to reach consensus implies that those taking part must either share the same norms or be brought round to sharing, or acknowledging, them. If there is no shared basis for rational discussion then there can be no consensus formed, only a tacit agreement. Furthermore the normative bias one has completely colours any other argument emanating from the otherwise rational discussion. Take smoking. One can agree with the economic and health arguments against it whilst still doing it because it is enjoyable. This is often described as hypocritical or ‘stupid’ but is neither: it is merely the highlighting of transitory joy as a bias for action rather than the more hard-nosed, and quantifiable, drawbacks to the action. All the arguments for smoking here are well reasoned and can be optimally formed to resolve the point at hand. What cannot be escaped though is the bias which colours one’s action; the only way to resolve this fully is to switch one’s observation of the problem to the normative standpoint of the rest.

This problem has hounded political thought since the days of Rousseau. Rousseau considered that society was led by a “general will” of the people which transcended mere individual desire to consider what is best generally. If one did not follow the general will one would have to be “forced to be free”. J. L. Talmon in his excellent book The Origins of Totalitarian Democracy, published in 1952, highlights how the demand for rationality and consensus quickly becomes totalitarian in this Rousseauian fashion. A demand for rationality is thus in actual practise a demand for a “general will”; a demand for all to follow the same normative basis without question. If consensus can only be reached under these conditions it seems difficult to place rationality as the foundation of meaningful discussion.

What is left then? Rationality evidently exists but it exists, in my opinion, closed off within the minds and systems that make up society. I can be brought round perhaps to another’s argument but only through understanding it on my own terms. In wider society, at the level of social system, the economy doesn’t understand climate change science but in terms of money; the law doesn’t understand governmental spying but through its legality. The systems that create society have their own rationalities through which they understand the world and the same problems and these rationalities are irreducible. A rose may smell just as sweet by any other name but to a man with a hammer every problem will always remain a nail.

The difference between action and communication

Having had writer’s block for days, a spark to light the tinder in my mind finally occurred when I was faced with a question of the difference between action and communication. The question may seem spurious but it has ramifications for how we observe the world around. If society comprises of various systems (we all know about the economy and legal systems, the path towards truth that is science can be counted as another) then what are they in relation to the actions that actually take place? Actions are actions: this should need no further elaboration. How does the action of writing a cheque though buy one a house? Why do the words of a judge condemn a man to a lifetime in prison? The communication that takes place through these actions is very different from the actions themselves. A social system is a system of communication meaning that it can only process communications. They are not ‘action’ systems: they cannot ‘do’ anything, they can only observe action and attribute meaning to it through their own rationale. This would mean that, as social systems are not action systems, they require a more nuanced understanding than the action-based logic we are used to using in the realms of reality we usually engage in.

A social system can be considered as a communicative rationality which incorporates certain mechanisms of understanding within it which operate around a central point and with a fixed medium. More specifically, it constructs these mechanisms of understanding itself which then through repeated self-reference find form. The construction of the economic system (from a hypothetical, not a historical or genealogical angle) may illuminate this process. The economy is centred on the concept of exchange with the medium of exchange being money. One can argue this and that spurious counter-argument here but this is essentially the underlying mechanism of the world’s economy. Goods and services are traded, as are various currencies whose relative values all play off against each other. The centre of the economic system is the banking system (which is an action system). We have central banks which issue currencies and attempt to manage a currency’s value through interest rates and inflationary policies, commercial banks which manage everything from investments to social security payments, and customers who take money from and place money into the commercial banks. This hierarchy of central/commercial/customer defines the banking system and the economic exchanges which take place within it. All other actions (consumers buying from private retailers, industrialists buying land, etc.) is peripheral to the banks as at some point the transactions will return to the banking system. At any rate as money has no intrinsic value and is merely a promissory the banks underwrite all economic action outside of small-scale bartering (thus the self-referentiality of communication systems: money only means something because we have a track-record of it being accepted as something). From this hypothetical then the communicative rationality of the economic system is the contemplation of an action as an economic one. To put this another way, the economic system judges actions as economic if it can describe them within the distinction of payment or non-payment and through the medium of money.

Actions though speak louder than words. No action has an intrinsic meaning; one can only assign meaning to an action through communication. A base example of this would be a thief who sells an iPhone to somebody. One can claim this is an economic communication (albeit one on the black market), a legal one (if we consider the law to deal with the distinction between legal/illegal then this is clearly illegal), or perhaps even an immoral one (if we consider morality as a system of communication). The legal system operates around the courts with its medium being legal judgements whist morality (and I hypothesize here as I am not a theologian or moral philosopher) operates around transcendental norms with its medium being (divine?) judgement. Hence the thief, depending on the communicative rationality of the system one employs to describe the action, can be described as having received a payment for a sale, conducted himself in an illegal manner and thus liable for prosecution, or an immoral heathen who has sinned. Note the action is the same in all cases, only the description has changed and thus the meaning and understanding. One can consider the thief to be all three of these descriptions but one has to consider these at different moments: one cannot hold all three descriptive candles to the action simultaneously. Depending on which meaning you wish to attribute to and communicate with also affects the future outcome of things. One can ask for a cut of the money, call the police or ask the thief to consider what sort of person they are. The communicative rationality here underwrites how the speaker deals with the situation and proceeds to voice their reaction to the observed event. Of course, one can change one’s rationality and one’s distinction (for example one may view this as a moral act as the iPhone owner was rich then switch this view back to one involving traditional morality and then decide it is a legal matter after all) but all this takes time. A phone call to the police to communicate the action is understood by the police as a legal issue and thus instigates the action of the thief being arrested. The judge’s words are a communication to the guards to keep this man at her majesty’s pleasure until such time as the courts communicate otherwise. Action leads to the need to understand the action rationally and this, if it is to be acted on, is then communicated to others who act on this communication with further actions.

There is much more to this, the notions of observation (seeing somebody pay for something) and the cybernetic principle of second-order observation (seeing that somebody has taken part in an economic communication through monetary exchange, instead of seeing an act through another competing mode of rationality) have not been mentioned for example. Neither has the notion of self-referentiality been explored (the legal system decides what is legal or not, not the economic one: this leads to systems constructing their own elements and meaning). All these though shall have to wait for another day.

Complexity and collapse: towards a systems view of society

This paper was presented on the 17^th April 2013 at the Research Seminars in Critical Thought seminar series which took place at the University of Brighton. Some minor modifications were made to its form during its presentation, the content however was unchanged.

If there is one thing that defines the contemporary world it is the lack of a grand narrative. This has become apparent in the last twenty five years through the collapse of the Soviet Union and the falsely claimed victory of liberal, free-market democracy. Not only do competing ideas of governance, economic growth and future aims play out against each other with no clear distinction between them, an increasingly globalised world makes understanding its operations more complex than ever. Whilst various theories have been proposed which try to explain the current state of affairs, they often rely on anthropocentric notions of society which struggle for universal acceptance due to global differences in culture. One emerging field which may be able to resolve some of these issues is that of systems theory.

In this exploratory paper I shall be looking at the application of systems theory to social and political thought. I shall first of all discuss the tenets of a systems approach through reference to Niklas Luhmann and Nassim Nicholas Taleb, leading me on to how a systems outlook tackles complexity and takes a more restrictive view on the possibilities of society. I shall then discuss how systems theory has explanatory potential in describing the collapse of various authoritarian governments and the robustness of democratic ones. It shall be my conclusion that a systems approach has the potential to deal with social and political issues in a novel fashion which is not reliant on abstract notions of humanity.

A systems approach to social complexity

Systems theory is an approach which aims to understand how elements with a system influence one another and act as a whole. Systems theory is essentially concerned with problem solving and views problems within the context of the whole system rather than being reduced to specific parts of that system.  It is used to deal with problems of organisational complexity, where the effects of interactions within the system are not fully known and any changes can lead to unintended consequences. Perhaps the most ambitious attempt to work this into sociology comes from Niklas Luhmann. Luhmann posits in his social systems theory that society consists of systems such as the economy, politics, law and science which all operate separately from each other, are irreducible to each other, and follow their own internal logics. These social systems interact with each other in various complex ways which can’t causally be determined. Each system sees all other systems as being part of its environment and not existing in themselves. So for the economy, scientific discoveries are only of concern if they can be monetised; for the legal system, political and economic interactions only come into question in terms of whether they are illegal or not. Social systems theory reduces complexity by separating society into a number of social systems which in turn reduce internal complexity by adapting and evolving to systemic needs.

All that exists for Luhmann are functionally differentiated social systems that continually evolve to deal with their respective environments and thus perform their own tasks more efficiently. Whilst it would be hard to deny that systems exist in society, Luhmann’s particular method argues for systems as the way in which social complexity is reduced. In the same manner that a conversation revolves around a topic, social systems are only concerned with their particular interest which allows them to ignore anything that is not pertinent. The pitfalls of trying to tie social functioning down to a prevailing ideology then are avoided at the cost of decoupling the individual from society and placing them within its environment.

Though pursuing a different aim, Nassim Nicholas Taleb is a systems thinker whose various works can be coined as proposing Black Swan theory. In contrast to the black swan problem of induction, Black Swan theory only deals with the dominant role of unexpected events in history. Black Swan events are characterised by being hard to predict through modelling due to their low probability of occurrence, regardless of whether this perception is due to cognitive biases (as in the case of the finance industry pre-2008) or due to a scientific inability to quantify low-probability/high-risk events (such as the Japanese tsunami of 2010 and the horrors at Fukushima it unleashed). Taleb in this regard makes a request of his readers that we “don’t be a turkey”. A turkey lives for a thousand days being fed by a farmer with each passing day confirming in the turkey’s eyes the farmer’s love for it. On its last day however it is sent to the pot when its confidence in its situation is maximal. The “turkey problem” is a cognitive bias as the farmer was well aware of the turkey’s fate even if the turkey wasn’t. In the same manner, as Taleb correctly spotted in 2007 when The Black Swan was published, American financiers and policymakers ignored the underlying issues in the economy and its over-optimisation; in effect becoming turkeys themselves.

The “turkey problem” is indicative of the confusion between predictable, calculable linear occurrences as seen in games, and the non-linear, complex nature of social reality where local causal trains cannot be constructed. Complex systems are misunderstood when we try to model them through linear techniques, when we try to turn all scientific and social enquiries into classical physics. Complex systems are marked by a large number of elements with a high degree of interdependence, leading to a low degree of predictability. This is why sociological theories such as rational choice theory fail as they privilege individual rationality over all other facets of society. Rational choice theory works brilliantly in textbook examples but completely fails to describe the social reality of voting: it is not rational to vote but people do it anyway. Thinking in such a manner leads to us becoming turkeys and towards the occurrence of Black Swans as we become blinded by theories which posit certain outcomes whilst ignoring the possibility of others. Taleb coins the ludic fallacy to describe such thinking: many theories reduce life to a game with identifiable odds as if social reality was simply a more complex version of Blackjack. If such linear thinking leads us towards being turkeys and our reduction of reality leads us towards having the wrong map, perhaps it is better not to have a map at all.

Without drawing out too deep a theoretical argument, it is clear that Luhmann and Taleb share common traits in their ideas on society. Both consider that society is too complex to be understood in-itself and that only a systems approach can deal with the levels of complexity present. Luhmann would share Taleb’s view that there is no map for society, only present conditions and derived from these future concerns. Whilst Luhmann however proposes a systems approach to resolve the complexity of the social, Taleb is more concerned with highlighting complexity in order to illustrate the various ways that simplistic social planning can create Black Swans. From this both argue for a restrictive view of what we can achieve in society; the unpredictability of future events coupled with the inability to fully grasp current ones leads us away from utopian dreams towards a society where we have to make the best of what we’ve got.

What does this approach offer that other social theories don’t? First of all a systems approach is anti-reductionist: it denies theories which place any system as dominant within society so classical notions of structure/superstructure, for example, are rejected for portraying various operations under the umbrella of a central control system. It also denies anthropocentric social theories which reduce society to a facet of human nature. This radical approach potentially, as thinkers like Habermas claim, leaves systems theory containing a massive normative deficit. The attack on the possibility of autonomous individuality though is not limited to systems theory; it can also be seen in the moral arguments emanating from both religious circles and humanists (Habermas included) against genetic research. Whilst such arguments need to be explored, systems theory is based on its explanatory potential and not an Enlightenment requirement for reason.

Understanding social collapse through systems

Whereas systems theory proposes a restrictive view of the social in order to manage complexity and thus to some may be of questionable use, it can be utilised in a novel fashion to give an account of the stability of democratic states. One aspect of society that is often overlooked in theory is its collapse. History is littered with examples of overturned empires and imploded states. The Soviet Union imploded, at least in the eyes of Western observers, overnight. As the historian Niall Ferguson points out, a great deal of post-hoc explanation has been written regarding the sudden collapse of this empire and its purported inevitability. The Soviet bloc did not seem on the verge in the mid-80s however. The Arab Spring arose without warning and took the world by surprise. Regardless of its final outcome, the regimes of old collapsed and are being replaced with new ones. There are various theories which can account for societal collapse, from Marxist class antagonisms to more generalised conceptions of the yearnings of people for freedom. Democratic societies though seem more resilient to social upheaval. If we consider the political systems of the world over the last thirty years, the ones that have collapsed have been authoritarian in nature. If we see such instability in authoritarian regimes, what is it about democratic societies that make them politically stable?

An answer to this can be constructed through a consideration of system equilibrium. Any system aims to maintain itself in equilibrium, within its preferred operating conditions. Within the system there is always change and flux but as long as these fluctuations do not fall outside a limit from which recovery is not possible, a system can continue to maintain itself. A system’s fragility depends on how sensitive it is to change and whether it can adapt to new environmental conditions. Fragile systems struggle to deal with unexpected environmental pressures and hence tend to collapse when such pressure is applied. The 2008 financial crisis occurred because the banking system was over-optimised for conditions that suddenly were no longer there. The fragility of the system and lack of redundancy in its operations led to an economic crisis we still feel today. The best systems, Taleb argues, are anti-fragile and benefit from environmental impacts: evolution is the best example of this. Over time life has evolved from single cells to the plethora of species we see today. It has done this by responding to environmental conditions and adapting to deal with them. While all systems then have their own agenda as it were, all wish to continue operating and thus must maintain themselves against their environment. Fragile systems which cannot react well to change struggle, anti-fragile ones try to adapt to survive better.

Taleb uses Italy as an example of a politically stable country which has had more than sixty governments since the end of the Second World War. Japan cycles through prime ministers but has some of the highest levels of social stability in the first world. Even Thatcher’s rule did not lead to political instability, revolt or revolution. The difference between these countries and authoritarian ones is the redundancy built into the political system by the lack of meaningful difference in political outcomes. In a democracy, periodic elections serve as a shock-absorber for the political system. No one party can have total control of the political system and this control is only temporary as soon both the ruling party and opposition will have to prepare for fresh elections. This allows political grievances and ideas to be aired in public in order to gain electoral support whilst limiting the possibility of large changes in social and political structure. This makes democracy anti-fragile: political parties can continually evolve with changing environmental conditions and target their policies to portions of the electorate they believe may now be susceptible to them. If political power is lost it is only a matter of time until it can be contested again and the period in opposition allows one to develop strategies for re-election without the burden of having to implement actual decisions. If you compare this to authoritarian regimes, it is evident that they are extremely fragile. They exist based on a promise for more prosperity or as guardians to external threats. When environmental conditions shift, the economy falters, or security guarantees for the populace no longer garner popular support, the pressure on the political system cannot be dissipated through the shock absorber of political dissent or the outlook to new elections. Historically speaking the only method to remain in power is to then use oppression; if this fails, like all fragile objects, the regime will shatter.

This is a view also held by Luhmann and elaborated on by Hans-Georg Moeller. The political system is not the centre of society; it does not absorb all social power or necessarily reflect any one interest. The political system enforces a dynamic social power structure. It derives its power from legitimacy, defined here as the popular acceptance of authority. Democracy works because it has an inbuilt “stability by flexibility” which allows instability to be managed by the guarantee of free elections. This has the added bonus of what Luhmann terms a “reflexivity of power relations” where the electorate, who otherwise have virtually no other political input, get to have their say. This serves to legitimise the political system in two ways. Firstly it allows the population to be placated by allowing them limited access to the political machinery through voting. Secondly it requires politicians to tailor policies to win elections and thus to please those from whom the votes are gained. Hence even in times of social upheaval like 80s Britain there was little threat to the continuation of the parliamentary system as Thatcher could be removed from power at the next election (even if it is a crying shame she wasn’t). Juxtapose this against the state of the Soviet bloc in 1989 and it is clear that the central Russian authorities no longer had any legitimacy to continue their reign. Unlike the democracies of the West, there was no structural flexibility in the Soviet system. With no predecessor government to blame and nobody to vote out, the Soviet political system, and with it its empire, collapsed.

While Luhmann’s conception of the political system is somewhat more refined than Taleb’s, both of them follow a systems logic in their description of the collapse of authoritarian regimes compared to the structural flexibility, or anti-fragile, democratic systems of the West. The complexity of the social does not lend itself to centralised political planning as such a move necessarily involves prioritising one interest over another. For Luhmann when one system interferes in another’s operations it does so only for its own purposes and by doing so almost certainly impedes the other’s actions. Thus the promise for more prosperity requires political intervention into the economy for political reasons, i.e. to gain political support through the successful enactment of a political claim. This often leads to unintended consequences, such as the implosion of the banks in 2008 due to previous government interventions artificially keeping them afloat in the name of ‘stability’. For Luhmann this overburdened systems with too many conflicting directives and increased complexity whilst reducing efficiency. For Taleb this attempt to stave off volatility for political stability led to systemic issues being concealed which exploded as a Black Swan. In a democracy if such plans fail a new party can be elected to enact a different strategy. In authoritarian regimes pressure is inevitably placed on the economy and other systems to deliver prosperity so that legitimacy can be gained.  When this prosperity does not occur or falters it places direct pressure upon the ruling clique and leads to system collapse. It should be noted that the argument for democracy is a systemic one: democracy works as it allows the system to better manage expectations, disappointments and change. From a systems point of view this is far superior to any form of government which lacks the flexibility to adapt to environmental change. Democracy’s power lies in its ability to deal with and adapt to increasing complexity, it is not derived from transcendental arguments for freedom.

Conclusion

In summary, a systems approach to society may well be able to deal with the complexity of the social world in a much more efficient manner than classical theories which rely on anthropocentric worldviews. I have discussed two systems approaches in this paper, Niklas Luhmann’s social systems theory and Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s Black Swan theory. Luhmann’s work is more sociological and posits that systems, not people, make up society. Taleb’s is more concerned with the problems of modelling complexity and the creation of systems which implode when low-probability events occur, the so-named Black Swans. In dealing with social complexity both theories believe, as Taleb put it, that there is no map for society: we must implement a much more restrictive view of what is achievable in our future planning. Whilst problems may be highlighted with the decentring of the individual in society and a potential normative deficit, systems theory can provide an explanation for the superiority of democracy which is not reliant on abstract notions of liberalism or freedom but on its ability to manage complexity and expectation. Whilst further research is required into the possibilities of a systems approach to society, the transition from narrative to function that it offers may well solve more problems than it raises.

What the content-free conversation says about communication

For years I have had a number of friends with whom I have perfected the art of the content-free conversation. Such a conversation is primarily one had in quotes and pop-culture associations where the point is more to test the other’s knowledge and see if (hopefully) it matches your own. A content-free conversation is not meaningless; every gesture and speech act is laden with symbolism, reference and assumption of understanding. A content-free conversation differs from a normal conversation as it does not serve primarily as an exchange of ideas or to elicit new information. Even the concept of a topic or theme is somewhat skewed by the highly personal nature of the exchange. The point of a content-free conversation is that the conversation itself is not had primarily to communicate any new information; it is had for having its sake and to pass the time among friends (albeit geeky ones).

What does a content-free conversation contain then if not content? It is probably best we consider what communication is first of all. Communication is generally considered as the act of conveying a message between a sender and a receiver through speech, action, or signs. The significant aspect of communication is that something is communicated rather than everything or nothing. Communication is a selection process in which the chosen message by the sender is not pre-known by the receiver so that something novel is communicated: the process must be stochastic otherwise there is nothing to communicate. Meaning however cannot be communicated as any simple understanding of semiotics will show: a sender uses words and action in order to transmit a message; even if the receiver receives these clearly how they interpret it is open to question. My personal ‘favourite’ example of this is the proclivity for American and Japanese friends of mine to give me two fingers when they want two of something from me. My enunciation of despair at their action unfortunately falls on deaf ears as for them they are merely creating a sign indicating two (and not recreating a uniquely British way of telling someone where to go). Communication then can utilise multiple ways of transmitting a message from a sender to a receiver but the sender can never attached their preferred meaning to this.

The very act of communication seems problematic from this analysis, taken in part from the introduction to Claude E. Shannon’s seminal paper A Mathematical Theory of Communication. We can however seemingly communicate meaning. When I express thoughts and opinions to a friend, or try to ask for something in a shop, I usually manage to get my wants and needs across in the end. This level of meaning cannot take place at the level of communication though, it happens concurrently with it at the level of normative expectation (i.e. at the level in which we consider what words and actions normally mean to us). This for the most part operates blind to us as it occurs without so much as a thought. The vast majority of the language I use and most of the signs and actions I perform, if performed in order to communicate, are understood second-nature to those I communicate with. All these normative relations however come into stark focus when one strays away from those who follow the same normative rules as you. The one aspect of my communication I am always brought up on from people outside of the North is my insistence on asking when I nip out if “You wan’ owt from t’ shop”. Such language is decried by my Standard English speaking friends but it is merely an example of speaking in a colloquial way which is normatively expected from where I was raised (If conversely I asked in my finest Queens “Pardon me but would you like me to buy you anything from the shop?” in the North I’d be more than stared at). This also follows with the continual misunderstanding in nuances in communication between British and Americans: truly two peoples divided by a common language. Not only are so accepted word meanings vary enough to inhibit communicative flow, cultural traits also lead to different meanings being assigned to the same actions (British cynicism vs. America arrogance exists only as a relational property in the eyes of the other, or as a difference in normativity). Normativity then, I argue, is not innate or necessarily taught but is learned as part of the background in which one is raised. When one moves away from this the underlying normative expectations in communication start to reveal themselves.

This is why, in my opinion, culture shock occurs. The cultural norms of the place you are visiting mean that even the most mundane tasks often follow different rules and hence if you do not follow them you are essentially communicating by not following them. A friend of mine who has lived in Japan for three years exhibited this when returning to England in a reverse-manner. Placing his basket on the checkout conveyor belt fully-laden he was promptly stared at by all around. In Japanese terms he was just following the normative expectation; in England he was doing the exact opposite. Our normative expectations are so ingrained that to not follow them is to communicate either one’s ignorance to them or more likely (in the given case) the assumed purposeful rejection of them. Even though no communication process was instigated, meaning was assigned to the action which instigated further communications (i.e. the question “What are you doing boy?!”).

A consolidation of all this is needed, especially as the point of this post was about content-free conversation (even if this post itself is anything but – at least in the mind of the sender of this communication). Communication takes place between a sender and a receiver with the sender sending a message that is not already know to the receiver but one that has to by its nature be devoid of inherent meaning. Meaning arises from normative expectations, be they understanding of signs/signifiers or normative expectations relating to communication. These expectations though are that ingrained that we do not notice their functioning until they stop working, as in the case of specific language uses between regions or nations and in the case of (reverse) culture-shock. It would seem that these expectations are constructed through background and experience: multicultural Britain is proof enough that it does not matter where one is ethnically or geographically from, it is the experiences one has which sets one’s normative expectations. With all this considered it is evident that the process of communication is rather difficult, in fact a great deal of it relies on Knowing Me Knowing You (a-ha!).

So, back to the content-free conversation. It is content free as all conversations are, however this one does not wish to communicate a message in a classical sense as the point of the message is not to convey information. What is being tested however is the normative expectations that the sender has on the receiver. So, when I burst into a room suitably smashed having been for a walk and gone for some time and announce, in my faux-American accent, “Hello boys!” the response I’m ideally looking for is “I’m back!”. This response (I’ll leave you to decide where it’s from to see if you can understand my normativity) indicates a successful communication as it has both elicited a reply and hence furthered communication whilst also indicating that the meaning I attached to it has been understood. These conversations, as those of you who have met me will know, can last for hours and the point of them is not to convey any novel information but to seek confirmation of a shared normativity in the realm of interests. The expectation value of communication here then is not only brought to light but is directly tested with the payoff being, if communication is successful, that you see yourselves in the eyes of the Other. Obviously this process works with all jovial conversations, be they about football, music or any shared interest. There doesn’t seem to be any other though which revels in its inanity whilst also acting to strongly reinforce a shared normative standpoint.

What’s the point then? Well with Wittgenstein throwing us forever to the mercy of language, the collapse of inherent meaning in communication and our reliance on expected normative values being shared, perhaps the content-free conversation is the best thing we have to communicate on a personal level with. Though we have the ability to share nothing and we are forever trapped within ourselves, through conversations about nothing at least we can glean from others the feeling that whilst we are not unique snowflakes there are a few in whom we can see our own reflection.

Can biology really be reduced to chemistry?

I recently posted a question on Facebook with the aim of deducing what distinguishes biology from chemistry with regards to reductionism, more specifically whether biology is just an abstracted form of chemistry or whether biology has within it a kernel which is irreducible to chemical terms. There seem to be two arguments possible here, one rejecting reductionism on complexity grounds and the other rejecting reductionism outright. I shall explore both here.

The first argument against reductionism in this sense is the argument against complexity i.e. that reducing all biology to chemistry would overburden any analysis and make it unworkable. In this argument biology is a subset of chemistry (itself a subset of the master-science physics) which is used to describe macroscopic life forms where chemistry or physics would prove too unwieldy to describe them. In this argument then there is but one scientific truth but as knowing subjects we cannot contemplate the complexity of it so we have to break down science into niches which describe what we are looking at (animals, chemicals, etc.) with the belief that physics underpins it all. It should be noted here that mathematics is applied logic and allows us to describe and model reality but it is not reality itself: this reductionism ends at physics.

The second view is that each layer of description resists reduction as it contains within it something that is missing from the descriptive level below. In this argument chemistry cannot be used to fully describe biology as chemistry misses something out from biology. It is my suggestion that entropy may be this biological kernel that cannot be reduced. Physics and chemistry are ruled by entropy: in a closed system we only see growing disorder and a tendency towards equilibrium (thermal death). Biology however studies biological systems which, whilst not closed, actively reduce entropy by creating highly ordered and complex chemical arrangements. The energy released increases the entropy of the (closed system) universe so fundamental principles are not violated. Whilst chemical processes such as crystal formation also locally reduce entropy, they lack the homeostatic properties that biological systems do: biological systems actively monitor their entropy and take measures to reduce it (or keep it in check). The most basic example of this I can think of is of mammals maintaining a constant body temperature to ensure their continued operations. A crystal can’t act to maintain itself if environmental conditions change, biological systems certainly try. The negative entropy antics of biological systems combined with their homeostatic ways seems to resist a purely chemical explanation.

If we take this to be true, it leads us to some interesting conclusions. For a start it rejects reductionism outright as unable to reduce phenomena without losing some of the understanding we have about them. If we assume this, it leads us to a question of knowledge. In the first argument we have an abstract systems theory layering of science where biology was a subset of chemistry. In the second we have biology and chemistry as two distinct scientific systems which are irreducible to one another. This would render biology as a unique discipline whilst also killing off reductionist arguments. I may be wide of the mark and missing something here, so I welcome your comments!

The three variants of nihilism in Watchmen

In the graphic novel Watchmen, there are three characters who can essentially be classed as nihilists. These are The Comedian, Rorschach and Dr Manhattan. Each of them exhibits this attribute in different ways and each of them comes to this philosophical conclusion through different paths. I’ll start by discussing the three characters and what makes them nihilists. I’ll then discuss the interplay between the three during the novel and show how this allows a further exploration of nihilistic concepts. I’ll then discuss briefly my own opinion on the characters and whether there is anything we can take from them. I’ve written this for people who are familiar with the novel (although those who’ve seen the film should be able to follow it). For those who haven’t, have a read anyway as I’ve hopefully explained the storyline just enough for any reader to follow.

The three nihilists

The Comedian

The Comedian (aka Eddie Blake) is a ‘costumed hero’, a vigilante who possesses no special powers but is physically and mentally adept at tacking crime (albeit outside the remit of legality). In between his original duty of crime fighting, Blake fights in WWII, Vietnam and in various CIA-sponsored proxy wars against communism. He is shown to be merciless, brutal and effective. He is portrayed as being not as much immoral as amoral; he admits to raping women and killing children and justifies it as acts committed during war. He is often shown wearing a yellow smiley face badge, a juxtaposition to the horror in which he is partaking. Blake though does not wear this badge in any ironic way. Blake wears it for the very reason that he is called The Comedian. He sees both the world we humans tell ourselves we live in, with society, civilisation and culture. He also partakes in the extreme negation of that during his times at war or crime fighting. Blake however doesn’t see this difference as that of ying and yang, or two sides of the same coin. Blake sees human nature as warlike and meaningless, a void which we fill by telling ourselves our civilised lives are natural and that war is an aberration. For The Comedian, this is the ultimate joke. As such, he mirrors what he sees as this comedy by fighting ostensibly for ‘freedom’ whilst destroying anything he wishes. He is the epitome of the destructive nihilist, who looks into society and seeing nothing, tears it apart. Blake ‘s attitude can be summed up perfectly when during a conversation in the 1960s he says

“It don’t matter squat because inside thirty years the nukes are gonna be flyin’ like maybugs”.

Nuclear weaponry encapsulates The Comedian’s nihilism:  no matter what society wants to be or says it is, we are all doomed.

Rorschach

Rorschach’s nihilism takes a different tone from The Comedian’s. Rorschach is another ‘costumed hero’ and in the present-day parts of the novel the only active crime fighter. Rorschach’s nihilism arises firstly from his background. He was the son of a prostitute who was sent to an orphanage at around the age of ten for violently assaulting two older children, partially blinding one. His lack of family ties led him to develop into a solitary character. Whilst working at a garment factory, he met a woman who he believed was Kitty Genovese. Kitty Genovese, a real-life figure, was an American girl who was raped and murdered outside an apartment block whilst thirty eight people watched from their windows[1]. Rorschach, sickened by the amorality of those who watched, decides to become a vigilante to prevent such things happening again. Rorschach’s breaking point though is when he is investigating the disappearance of a young girl. He tracks her down to an abandoned house and finds two Alsatians fighting over one of the girl’s bones. Rorschach kills the animals, waits for the return of the murderer, ties him up and torches the house with the murderer still inside. Rorschach’s description of this act deserves to be quoted in full:

“Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night. Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world”.

Rorschach is certainly a nihilist, yet he is a nihilist in very different ways to Blake. Rorschach has a strong sense of justice. The murder of the girl confirmed for him that there was no God or external morality. In the face of this emptiness, Rorschach decides to write his own morality upon the world; killing the rapists and child murderers of the world not because it is right, but because it is what he feels compelled to do. This is in contrast to The Comedian who sees concepts of morality as a joke and as such parodies it by becoming a national hero for butchering people on moral America’s demand. Rorschach also has a black/white view on justice, there is no place to compromise with him. Blake acts in an extreme manner with no regard to any inner morality. Whereas Rorschach is compelled by the emptiness to create something, The Comedian finds this the greatest joke of all. Rorschach lives by strict adherence to his own moral code, Blake lives through the pleasure he gets at living through the never-ending joke. Both characters then are shown to be nihilists and both extremists, yet there could be not much greater difference between their conclusions.

Dr Manhattan

The final nihilist in Watchmen is Dr Manhattan. Dr Manhattan is the only classical superhero of the group, with powers even Superman would envy. He was created however by a freak accident which destroyed his body and returned him as essentially a God. Having been a human, and a well-balanced one at that, for thirty years prior to his accident, Dr Manhattan’s nihilism arises from his newfound omnipotence and the changed perspective this brings. Dr Manhattan watches people grow older, kill and maim, wars being fought and lives being destroyed. Without the ability to die or age, Dr Manhattan questions why humans, despite their short time on Earth and fragility, have a proclivity to destroy each other. As Dr Manhattan says with regards to our warlike nature,

“They claim their labours are to build a heaven, yet their heaven is populated with horrors”.

Through living through such experiences, Dr Manhattan grows weary of the human condition and its unresolvable contradictions. He leaves to live on Mars at first and by the end of the novel he leaves the galaxy, wishing to leave humans to their own business. Dr Manhattan’s nihilism them reflects an existential angst which is felt by a human who has transcended humanity and no longer needs to fear death. Dr Manhattan deals with this through stoic reflection, indulging himself in science and discovery. Having concluded that he himself if the closest there is to a God, and without the angst of mortality hanging over him, Dr Manhattan exhibits a very different kind of nihilism to both The Comedian and Rorschach. Dr Manhattan takes the option of distancing himself from human affairs and as such is not required to make the choices the other two character do. It is clear however that Dr Manhattan’s choice is not made in the same way Rorschach or The Comedian’s is: Dr Manhattan simply chooses to stop playing the game[2].

Conclusion

The Comedian, Rorschach and Dr Manhattan then all are nihilists but come to this conclusion for very different reasons. They also draw very different conclusions from this. The Comedian sees society’s portrayal of life as a sick joke; he believes there is no meaning out there and that man is warlike. Faced with this horror, he lives his life as a parody of it: the American hero who is praised for how evil he is. Rorschach sees society as lacking morality and human beings as the architects of their own pitiful situation. Without objective morality, Rorschach creates on his own and lives his life dogmatically to it in order to give it some sort of meaning. Dr Manhattan transcends the human condition and sees the pointlessness of human conflict when human life is so short and fragile. Unable to balance the contradiction, he leaves Earth and seeks a stoic existence. The Comedian then is what I would term a “Fight Club nihilist”: the inherent contradictions of society drive him towards destruction. Having lost everything (in the sense of any societal constraints on his behaviour) he is free to do anything. Rorschach is a pseudo-Nietzschean, aiming to paint his will and morality upon society. Rorschach represents Nietzsche’s Superman, albeit one who is crazed[3]. Dr Manhattan is almost Schopenhauerian; seeking a stoic life to escape the emptiness of existence. All three reach the same conclusion, that existence is meaningless, yet all three seek different paths of dealing with this. It is this method of exploring the same philosophical concept through three interrelated characters that I think makes Watchmen one of the most philosophically interesting graphic novels out there.

The interplay of the variants of nihilism in the novel

The characters of any  novel interact and Watchmen is no different. The interactions between the three nihilists though is interesting as it illuminates the differences between them. Both Rorschach and Dr Manhattan respect The Comedian but for different reasons. Both characters believe that Blake sees the world as it is, with its inherent irresolvable contradictions, and faces it full-on. Dr Manhattan is influenced by Blake as he watches the amoral actions Blake commits in Vietnam (in particular the murder of a Vietnamese woman who is carrying his baby). This shapes Dr Manhattan’s view that humans are doomed and that very few will allow themselves to accept this. To quote Dr Manhattan,

“As I come to understand Vietnam and what it implies about the human condition, I also realise that few will permit themselves such a understanding. Blake’s different. He understands perfectly. And he doesn’t care”.

Rorschach respects Blake’s single mindedness no-compromise attitude. This links in with the Nietzschean aspect of Rorschach’s thought. Although Blake commits acts that in Rorschach’s eyes would be repugnant, Blake has the strength of character to act as he pleases. As such, Rorschach sees the Superman in Blake which he himself only gained through mental collapse. The Comedian then forms a pivot around which both Rorschach and Dr Manhattan view their own nihilism.

The only other relationship between the nihilists is between Rorschach and Dr Manhattan. At the end of the novel, Rorschach threatens to reveal a secret that if kept could save the world. The secret is that millions have just been murdered under the pretence of an alien invasion/ by Dr Manhattan (depending on whether you’ve seen the movie or read the novel). Through uniting man against a common enemy, it is hoped that nations will stop warring. If this secret is revealed however, it would almost inevitably lead to nuclear war. Rorschach, obeying his dogmatic moral code to the end, refuses to allow pragmatism to creep in and cannot allow an act to save the world if it goes against his morality. Dr Manhattan then kills Rorschach, reasoning that a fundamental lie which may perceivably end conflict is worthy of keeping secret. This reflects his nihilism which is a melancholy with human existence rather than Rorschach’s death of God or Blake’s detachment from society. Rorschach sees nothing but his own morality as worthwhile, even to the cost of his own life. Dr Manhattan sees salvation in the lie and therefore it must be protected at all costs.

It should be noted here that concerning The Comedian’s nihilism, when he found out about the secret and its consequences (the murder of millions for the hope of world peace) it led to his mental collapse. This confirms Blake’s sense of nihilism in terms of it as a reaction to society. Blake found his position as a hero the ultimate joke considering what he had done. In a way, Blake’s actions were aimed towards seeing just how far society would let him go.  Once he found out about the secret though he realises that there are some things that are no laughing matter. This represents the limits of Blake’s nihilism and perhaps his lack of amoral utilitarian thought.

The interplay between the three nihilists serves to highlight the different conclusions nihilism can lead to. The Comedian serves as a pivot for the other two characters but even he falls into conventional morality when the utilitarian trade-off of millions for billions is made. Rorschach doesn’t see utilitarianism as fitting with his world-view and hence rejects it. Dr Manhattan embraces pragmatism (stoically as ever) and kills Rorschach in order to preserve possible peace. The interplay of these three characters then, both directly and indirectly, allows their nihilist principals to be contrasted, as well as the reader to consider their situational implications.

My opinion

As will probably be clear by now,  Watchmen is one of my favourite graphic novels and as such, I should pass my own opinion on the characters. I personally would consider myself a nihilist in the Nietzschean sense; there is no God, human society is based on objectivity that does not exist and all one has is one’s own brush to paint reality with (assuming one is brave enough to escape the herd and attempt this). As such, I feel that Rorschach’s nihilism not only reflects my own but has a much stronger grounding in reality. The realisation that society is bursting at the seams, that murderers and rapists are human like the rest of us, that genocides are manufactured by those who also feel; this is what Rorschach’s nihilism encapsulates for me. It also covers what may be the masculine quality (and this is said without any positive or negative connotations) of a need to live your life by or for something.  This can be typified by the Martin Luther King quote

“A man who won’t die for something is not fit to live”.

Rorschach looks into the abyss of the fat-filled smoke and the emptiness stares back into him. To continue to live in a meaningless reality he must manufacture his own reason to live. This leads to his own extreme dogmatic thinking but it also frees him from the horrors of nothingness.

Dr Manhattan’s melancholic  nihilism is well thought out but lacks depth: it does not pose any solutions for us mere mortals for whom death is a certainty and who can’t stop playing the game of life, so to speak, whist continuing to live. Dr Manhattan’s nihilism is for me an almost poetic one, where the fragility of human life and the beauty it can contain is juxtaposed against the horrors we often fashion upon each other. Such poetic musings though do not grant a position of action bar suicide or acceptance of the ways things are. It is for this reason I compared earlier Dr Manhattan to Schopenhauer. Schopenhauer believed only an ascetic life would lead to fulfilment. This is what Dr Manhattan chooses when he leaves Earth to live forever in stoic contemplation. While this mirrors to some extent Buddhist thought and could be seen as a ‘path to salvation’ it also relies on there being something ‘out-there’, an eternal force, spirit or will which is beyond us. As such Dr Manhattan’s nihilism is irresolvable philosophically and therefore requires ignorance or a fundamental lie for resolution[4].

Finally, we have The Comedian. Blake wants to watch the world burn, his place in it is the ultimate joke and it doesn’t matter if he’s the only one laughing. Blake then represents the antithesis of Rorschach who could be considered as at least trying to ‘make the world a better place’. Blake doesn’t concern himself with such trivial matters, by definition they don’t matter. In a sense, his actions in the novel are almost a test of how far the joke can go, how extreme his actions can become whilst still being praised for them. This does mirror Fight Club’s destructive nihilism to a large extent, except that Blake is on his own with his own joke. Blake’s character then really reflects the notions of heroic action in society, how we give killers honours because they did it in the name of King and country, for justice, for peace. The contradiction between our praise for ‘our boys’ and hatred we place on the actions of opposing forces, the veiled  hypocrisy in such views: this is what I believe Blake represents. Blake then is a mirror of the lies within society which allow it to operate, of the violence men wreak so we can sleep peacefully in our beds at night[5].

Of the three characters then, I believe Rorschach is the best written. Rorschach follows a well-threaded philosophical route into nihilism and also reacts aggressively to the loss of meaning by constructing his own dogma. Dr Manhattan suffers from a disillusionment with the human condition; the contradiction between violence and beauty. Being Godlike, he does not have to face up to this dilemma as we mortals must. Hence his nihilism is almost poetic; steeped in romanticism and its loss but not really philosophical or able to grant further insight. The Comedian’s nihilism faces the contradictions in society and the role of one man in it. Seeing the void between our ideology and reality, he believes this is the biggest joke of all. As such he is more representative of our society’s framework than being a personal position. All three though allow a sharp analysis of nihilism, assuming of course you agree with their formative postulations.

Conclusion

Watchmen has a strong nihilistic trait contained within it and this is fleshed out in three main characters: The Comedian, Rorschach and Dr Manhattan. The Comedian is a ‘Fight Club nihilist’ who reacts against society and sees how far he can push it. Rorschach is a Nietzschean nihilist who sees no God and therefore creates his own moral code. Dr Manhattan is a melancholy nihilist who is angst-ridden at the contradiction between human life’s fragility and our proclivity for war. Through the story arc and interaction between the three characters (along with others), each view of nihilism is explored and juxtaposed at intervals against each other. This storytelling allows the reader to really consider the issues at stake and question why they (possibly) believe in something.

In my opinion Rorschach is the strongest character as his thinking is more philosophically grounded and also based on experience. The Comedian is interesting yet he is more a reflection of the contradictions of society than a man who reflected on his experience and made a decision. Dr Manhattan however did just this. Seeing the carnage of human existence and being detached from it, he developed a melancholic view and decided he could no longer live within human affairs. Whilst this is quite poetic, it does not represent a position of consideration for anyone who is trapped within society and is mortal. Both Blake and Dr Manhattan’s views though serve to counter the dogmatic extremism of Rorschach and show what one can become without any external referent for morality.  To quote Nietzsche (with the quote Watchmen uses as well as everyone else),

“He who fights with monsters should look into it that he himself does not become a monster”.

Watchmen then successfully covers the rise of nihilistic thought, what actions it produces and its possible consequences. Whilst it contains a wealth of other socio/political commentary I believe that these three characters and not only the best written, they also successfully tackle the question that every human being who has ever existed has asked: “Why?”.

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[1] This is now known as the bystander effect, where observers of crimes feel a diffused responsibility to act to help.

[2] Dr Manhattan does meet with Laurie on Mars and is persuaded that human life is worthwhile as there is such a tiny possibility of it occurring.  This validation doesn’t really hold true though. If my sperm didn’t win the race and eventually become me, then whoever was born instead of me would still have been as improbable as my outcome. Dr Manhattan is guilty here of the gambler’s fallacy, confusing the probability of events after they have occurred rather than looking at events to come. Such a simple error is somewhat disastrous for the novel’s attempt at validating human life, however one must not forget it is a graphic novel and not a stringent work of philosophy.

[3] This is my issue with Nolan’s interpretation of Batman. Bale’s Batman never strikes me as the nihilist who gives his life meaning by fighting crime. He seems like a lost rich boy who does it for a kick. Burton’s original with Keaton as Batman is far better in my opinion. Trapped in angst and seeming almost suicidal, Keaton’s Batman is believably borderline insane.

[4] Or of course the belief in something beyond our realm, in which case you aren’t a nihilist.

[5] The film A Few Good Men comes to mind here (as well as my paraphrased Orwell quote).

The problem with communication – part one

Niklas Luhmann, the German social theorist whose work I will have the pleasure of becoming intimate with over the next few years, believed that communication was highly improbable despite our use of it daily. Communication is something we all assume we know, although when pressed few can define it. Like many things in life, we believe we know it when we experience it even if we can’t define it. What is communication then? Communication for Luhmann is not just speech but anything that is transmitted and can be perceived as having meaning. While one immediately thinks of language as the primary form of communication, it is only one aspect of the communication process. Anything that is produced with meaning and is seen to have meaning by another is communication.

Most creations by human beings are considered to contain meaning, in the sense that person A, discovering person B’s creation, assumes person B intended to communicate something in the said creation (even if the creation was only for themselves).  Let us start this analysis with a simple scribble. When observing a toddler scribbling on paper with coloured crayons people think “I wonder what this toddler is thinking, to scribble in such a way”. One assumes that even if the toddler is not aware of the meaning of their scribbles, that something within the toddler has caused such a layout to be created, instead of another. The toddler may be unhappy and hence the scribbles are chaotic, more gentle scribbles may mean the toddler is calm. If I am travelling in a foreign country and see what to me looks like a scribble on a sign, I could well assume that this is the country’s written language before me. As such I would then assume it contains meaning, despite the fact I cannot draw this meaning out. In both cases what I see as a scribble is assumed to have meaning. It can therefore act as communication, i.e. conveying something from one person to another. From this we can consider communication to arise in almost all things people create, whether it be art, music, or language. This raises a query as to the initial point of this article: if people create communications all the time, how can it be considered improbable or in any way problematic?

The first problem with communication is the derivation of meaning from a non-communicative event. A good example here is a tribal chief, watching for the communications  of deities in the weather.  In years past a dramatic change in the weather would be understood as the gods praising or punishing the tribe; this was seen as a communication from the gods. This notion survives today in the expression “an act of God”. In virtually all modern cultures, despite the expression aforementioned, we do not consider weather cycles and natural disasters to convey any message; they are not considered as communications from a higher order. These are acts, events, yet they carry no meaning and therefore no communication.

This problem carries on in a different form into the modern day. This can be seen in the analysis of scientific discoveries by certain parties with certain agendas. The discovery of an inherently probabilistic universe at the quantum level is not a communication: it is devoid of any meaning whatsoever. Interpretations of this discovery may be made which assign meaning, however the discovery (fact) itself is meaningless. The same goes for global temperature rises and its link to global warming. Temperatures around the globe may be rising but this in itself is meaningless. It is only assigned meaning when placed within the context of something else, such as the global warming debate. In this case the facts are attached to a meaning (such as “we are causing this temperature rise through our industrial base!”). Events themselves contain no meaning then; meaning is assigned by placing an event within a context and as I have shown, mankind has had a habit of assigning meaning where none is present.

Language, once considered sacrosanct, also often fails us in our quest to communicate meaning. There are many famous cases of being misunderstood . In 1992 in America, Japanese student Yoshihiro Hattori was shot dead for trespass. When a man wielding a magnum revolver shouted “Freeze!” at him, he thought he had said please and advanced. The man then opened fire, mortally wounding Yoshihiro. An possibly apocryphal story came was published about the interactions between Rover, the beleaguered car manufacturer, and their Chinese buyers. British expressions such as “it could be worse”, “things could be better”, “things haven’t been so good recently”, etc. were all taken at face-value by the new Chinese management. It was supposedly months until the Chinese management realised the true meaning of their British staff’s analysis. One can only imagine the reaction of a Chinese official with a perfect grasp of English grammar realising to his horror the actual usage of it in colloquial speech. These can be classed as examples (and extreme ones) of miscommunication due to language naivety: meaning was completely lost. The language used by the transmitting party was not of sufficient clarity to register the correct meaning in the receiving party’s understanding.

Miscommunications occur between not only those who possess the same language but those who communicate frequently (i.e. family, friends, colleagues). There exists a multitude of phrases in the English language that are ubiquitous in their usage but, despite the seemingly solid nature of them, have rather loose meanings. The phrase “I’ll be there in five” can mean anything from five minutes to a few hours in colloquial usage. When we use this expression though we don’t usually expect it to be taken literally. We expect the other person to know that it means we’ll be there shortly, or perhaps we’re politely telling them we’re trying to avoid coming at all. People also express opinions about movies, books and other people in somewhat cryptic ways depends on who they’re talking to. I may express disdain about a book to one person but take a more conciliatory tone with another. Whilst I wish to express the same meaning in both instances (assuming I am aiming to make an honest communication of my opinion), the language I use is balanced upon the expectations of the person I am communicating with. If person A doesn’t care what I think of the book, I can be brutally honest. If person B expects me to like it, and I wish to make a honest statement, I would take a lighter tone in my disparagement. This is not only to save face; the lighter tone also serves to get my message across to person B and change their expectations. To be brutally honest here may lead person B to stubbornly refuse my opinion, question my understanding of the book, etc. In any case, language contains within it not only meaning from person A but expectation about how person B will receive the communication as meaning.

This can also be seen in the two cases I looked at previously. Both Yoshihiro and the Chinese official misunderstood the true meaning of the communications aimed at them. Yoshihiro (one assumes) would not expect a man to shoot him for merely trespassing on his garden path. The Chinese officials would have expected a candidness from the British staff that was obfuscated by British pleasantries of speech. Language then, far from being a simple way to communicate, seems to rely on pre-understood meanings and expectations that can corrupt attempts at communication between two parties.

In summary, I have discussed how communication, despite its seeming ubiquity, is actually quite a problematic subject. Communication is essentially the transmission of meaning between two parties and can be encoded in anything. Problems arise though when non-communicative events are mistaken for communications and then assigned meaning. The occurrence of natural disasters fits this as in previous times, they were seen as a message from the Gods that they were unhappy. This is also an issue in the modern era as events are considered to have intrinsic meaning whereas they only have meaning when we assign meaning to them. Language is also problematic as it relies on each party to have expectations as to what is communicated and how it is understood. Meaning it seems is a rather difficult entity to transmit.

In part two I shall discuss in further detail Luhmann’s precise issues with communication, how he proposes solving these and what sort of model of society this leads to. It could be a while for this one to surface though; Luhmann and I have a lot of time to spend with each other first.

The fundamental lie is always to oneself

Despite the claims of many, it is clear that people are not rational. Whilst many can make rational decision some of the time, we mostly act on irrational thoughts or are compelled by subconscious urges. If Freud taught us anything (and although there is debate as to what he taught us, there can be no debate as to whether he taught us anything), it is that our rationality is merely the surface reflection of the murky subconscious which dictates our moods and demands our action. This can be best illuminated through considering  the morals standards through which people live their lives.

Most people consider themselves moral but live by arbitrary rules which contradict. Examples abound. One may recycle fervently yet still take multiple long-haul flights a year. Another may preach the virtues of globalisation and immigration as a liberalising force for world society, yet march on parliament when their job is outsourced. The fascist who has an immigrant friend who is “alright, not like the rest”, the liberal who blasts American foreign policy yet is strangely mute towards the actions of China and North Korea: the list can go on. The technical term for this is cognitive polyphasia; it can be summarised as the ability to think about the same issues in contradictory terms in different situations. I would not say this condition is endemic in, or has arisen due to, the modern era. This form of doublethink is an integral part of human nature.

The result of cognitive polyphasia is cognitive dissonance. Cognitive dissonance is the feeling of discomfort we feel when our rationality is faced with the contradictions in our thought. The only way to resolve this is to alter ones thought processes in order to reduce the difference between the opposing beliefs one holds. This can be achieved through dogmatic thinking (“It is obvious that America is a special case, it must be held to higher account than anyone else”), denial of facts  (“I recycle that much, it must more than make up for my flights”) or just by refusing to acknowledge any such contradiction (“Just because I cheat on my wife from time to time doesn’t mean I don’t love/respect her”).  This process is so innate that we rarely see or appreciate its occurrence. Even if  we become aware of this process, our minds soon find ways to restore a logical balance. Nietzsche, succinct in his description of human nature as ever, sums up this procedure best: “’I have done that,’ says my memory. ‘I cannot have done that’ – says my pride, and remains adamant. At last – memory yields”.

Despite our claims for rationality, we have two processes at work within our minds which lead us to less than rational conclusions. Cognitive polyphasia allows us to hold conflicting views of the same phenomenon when viewed in different circumstances. Cognitive dissonance is the discomfort we feel when we realise this contradiction and alleviate it with self-deception. At times we allow rationality to rule and force ourselves to see our contradictions (or find ourselves in a situation where  such a decision is forced). Our contradictions may be pointed out to us and held under such a bright light of enquiry we are forced to make up our mind, as it were. The human mind though rarely has such moments of clarity and these moments, for moments they are, are fleeting and far between. Nobody wants to be told they’re wrong, especially when the stakes are as high as one’s own moral judgement. It is amazing how ingenious the mind will be when placed under duress. One will allow oneself to  believe vast errors in logic in order to maintain a veil of coherence in thinking. The cost of not self-deceiving is more than just damaging to one’s pride; it threatens the fabric of one’s professed morality.

As such we live our lives forever in contradiction; our internal demand to live by objective principals is achieved through a barely conscious self-deception when our subjective circumstances change. To cry out for an objective reality, for something real in which to base ourselves, is an element of the human condition. When reality shows us that our moral principles have no bearing to the reality in which we exist, our minds weave a sophistic tapestry so intricate we can rarely reveal it. As these acts of sophistry go on, as we weave our web of denial ever further and further, we lose sight of what the original contradiction was. The fascist cannot allow himself to see how his friendship with an immigrant contradicts his nationalist views. The liberal won’t allow herself  to see the implicit conservatism in protesting against market liberalisation, or the hypocrisy in demanding moral perfection from one state and not another. These contradictions become so buried that to unearth them would cause the very fabric of reality that the person holds to unravel. They are therefore hidden, denied not only to others but also to one’s own conscious mind. Far from being rational agents, we deceive ourselves into believing that we are rational through a process of self-deception so intricate its exposure cannot be permitted.

Human beings hold truth as the highest aim, whether this be in scientific enquiry, philosophical debate or in conversation between one’s peers. Lies are frowned upon as they are a way of deceiving and denying access to the ‘truth’ of a situation. Whilst the nature of truth (and by proxy access to it) is beyond the remit of this particular discussion, it is clear that one ostensibly seeks truth externally whilst possessing an aptitude to disguise the truth of one’s own internal contradictions. Our cries for rationality and autonomy disguise that fact that we are all irrational and all liars. Even the most honest of us holds views that they cannot square and disguises them in some way in order to restore balance. In order to restore the façade of rationality, we disguise these lies and can never let them be revealed. Perhaps in future when considering rationality and truth in contrast to those who lie this one fundamental point should be remembered: the fundamental lie is always to oneself.