I recently did an interview for Interalia Magazine. The first half or so is on my book The Dynamics of Transformation, and the second part is on the possibility of reconciliation and the figure of the “beautiful soul” in relation to Goethe, Hegel, Nietzsche, Deleuze, Whitehead, and feminism.
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Although it is not clear that Deleuze and Guattari were simply and unambiguously Jungians, they extensively engaged with Jung’s work in both affirmative and critical ways. For instance, in Difference and Repetition, Deleuze writes: “Was not one of the most important points of Jung’s theory already to be found here: the force of ‘questioning’ in the unconscious, the conception of the unconscious as an unconscious of ‘problems’ and ‘tasks’? Drawing out the consequences of this led Jung to the discovery of a process of differenciation more profound than the resulting oppositions.” The concern with “problems” and “differenciation” is central to Deleuze’s project in what many consider his magnum opus, and it is striking that Deleuze articulates such a strong resonance between his work and that of Jung, as Jung’s influence on Deleuze has not tended to be emphasized by scholars. Similarly, there are several passages in which Deleuze takes Jung’s side against Freud, who nominated Jung his “successor and crown prince” in 1910, and then excommunicated him around 1913 for his purported psychoanalytic heresies. One of the most revealing of these passages by Deleuze is in L’Abécédaire, recorded as a long television interview that would only air after his death, in which he discusses “a text that I adore by Jung” about Jung’s dream of descent through successive subterranean strata, at the deepest layer of which Jung finds a multiplicity of bones that Freud insists on reducing to the unity of a death-wish. Deleuze presents this encounter as a primary example of his central concepts of multiplicity and assemblage, which he portrays Jung as understanding, contrary to Freud’s egregious misunderstanding of these concepts, an instance that also finds brief mention in A Thousand Plateaus, where Deleuze and Guattari write that “Jung is in any event profounder than Freud.” Deleuze also makes positive references to Jung in Nietzsche and Philosophy, with Claire Parnet in Dialogues II, and with Guattari in Anti-Oedipus, and it even seems possible that Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of the rhizome from A Thousand Plateaus is at least partially derived from Jung’s discussion of this concept in 1961’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections.
In 1969’s The Logic of Sense, Deleuze explicitly employs the term “synchronicity,” and significant portions of that book seem to be explorations of something very much like Jungian archetypes and the subtle kind of formal causation characteristic of the late Jungian conception of synchronicity in other terms. Deleuze indirectly defines synchronicity as a form of resonant correspondence that is not merely a linear logical series operating in terms of the causes and effects of efficient causation, while Jung, in the subtitle of the book Synchronicity, defines it as “an acausal connecting principle,” both of which definitions Deleuze implicitly takes up later in the same book, in relation to the Stoics and Leibniz, in his discussion of “alogical incompatibilities and noncausal correspondences,” of which he writes that “astrology was perhaps the first important attempt to establish a theory,” as this ancient mode of thought posits a persistent formal, as opposed to efficient, causal (or perhaps quasi-causal, or even acausal) correspondence between the movements of the heavens and events in the human domain.
A decade-or-so later, in A Thousand Plateaus, the figure of Professor Challenger—who is apparently an embodiment of the assemblage of Deleuze and Guattari based on a character by Arthur Conan Doyle—is giving an obscure and difficult lecture which seems partially designed to prune back the audience (and perhaps those reading about this oddly hallucinatory presentation) to the few steadfast diehards willing to expend the extraordinary effort required to comprehend these esoteric domains, so that “the only ones left were the mathematicians, accustomed to other follies, along with a few astrologers, archaeologists, and scattered individuals.” In the same book, Deleuze and Guattari describe Jung’s approach as “integrating” any given animal image found in dream or myth “into its archetypal series,” though they express dissatisfaction with this construction, seeking further to deterritorialize Jung’s theory, which they clearly find great value in along with the Jungian approach of Gaston Bachelard in Lautréamont (about which James Hillman also wrote), to suggest that “we sorcerers” can discern that “there is still room for something else, something more secret, more subterranean” constituted in a becoming beyond the “progress or regress along a series,” which they associate with “the whole structuralist critique of the series,” a critique which “seems irrefutable.” However, later in the same text, they affirmatively quote H.P. Lovecraft’s evocation of an ascendance through n-dimensions “up to the dizzy and reachless heights of archetypal infinity” in their description of the “plane of consistency” (as opposed to the “plane of development”) which is the locus of becomings “written like sorcerers’ drawings” on that immanent plane, “the ultimate Door providing a way out” or, alternately, “the gates of the Cosmos.”
Deleuze and Guattari’s critique of the archetypes as “intrinsic qualities” rather than the conception that they advocate, in which “cosmic forces” or “expressive qualities” (which are “fictional” like the infinitesimal form of the calculus created by Leibniz) are real but nonactual formal causes characterized by their function in specific assemblages of becoming—nomadic paths enacting a vital autonomy for which particular effectuations are derivative points, so that the integral trajectory is primary and the series derived from it secondary—is already prefigured in Jung, who remained ambivalent about the archetypes’ ontological status. Thus, rather than rejecting altogether Jung’s archetypal theory, Deleuze and Guattari, like many Jungians, have refined that theory, rendering it more subtle and general by suggesting that the locus of becoming is not found primarily in the linear, sedentary series of chronological development, but in temporally nonlinear “transformational series” across scale ascending, as in Jean Gebser’s concretion of time, through increasing degrees of freedom. They seem to suggest that the integration of n-dimensional archetypal series is precisely the conceptual construction characteristic of the Leibnizian, infinitesimal version of the integral calculus, and thus that the metaphysical integration explicitly correlated with the integral calculus specifically integrates these nonlinear and nonlocal archetypal series of diachronic and synchronic resonances, which is precisely the mode of relation characteristic of Jung’s late expression of synchronicity, syncategorematically approaching the transcendental archetypal potentialities in their multiplicitous singularity.
While these discussions of Jung’s work are profound, they require a Sherlock Holmesian reading of subtle clues to decipher, a recognition that Deleuze implicitly affirms in Difference and Repetition, writing that “a book of philosophy should be in part a very particular species of detective novel,” with hints leading the reader to revelations of ultimately complex networks of intertwined relations that were formerly occluded. Deleuze, with and without Guattari, often only evokes these realms of thought, teasing the reader with references to Jung and his work in ways that cannot easily be pinned down, that remain elusive. One suspects the reason for this coyness is that, although Deleuze clearly found great value in Jung’s work, he also understood that Jungian thought has enjoyed an uneasy relationship with the main streams of academia, as Jung brilliantly and profoundly explored conceptual domains that were often beyond the pale for the dominant spheres of the twentieth century academy. However, this situation currently bears signs of a rapid shift, and the increased recognition of Deleuze and Guattari’s extended, though complex, engagement with Jung might help to carry the Swiss psychologist from the marginal frontiers of thought, where he remains the undisputed king, into the central nodes of academic discourse where Freud has long presided, at least in the humanities. In fact, Deleuze and Guattari explore most of the same uncharted domains as Jung, though their writing is so difficult and complex that only those who are paying very close attention, and in many cases who are already familiar with Jungian thought, will discern the deep resonances between these thinkers. One suspects that this was a subtle and purposive strategy by Deleuze and Guattari, which has been extraordinarily efficacious in allowing their work to occupy a central place in continental thought, while also allowing them to engage with relatively marginal Jungian concepts, winking at the Jungian cognoscenti while generally escaping the notice of those within academia who unquestioningly accept the overly hasty dismissal of Jung’s work largely instigated by Freud. Ultimately, Deleuze and Guattari implicitly seem to have understood Hillman’s admonition that “Freud and Jung are psychological masters, not that we may follow them in becoming Freudian and Jungian, but that we may follow them in becoming psychological,” though of course the same can also be said about following Deleuze and Guattari as philosophical and psychological masters.
 Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995) 317n17.
 A notable exception is Christian Kerslake’s excellent Deleuze and the Unconscious.
 Sigmund Freud and C.G. Jung, The Freud-Jung Letters (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994) 104.
 C.G. Jung, Man and His Symbols (New York: Anchor Press, 1964) 56-58.
 L’Abécédaire de Gilles Deleuze 1996. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1987) 241.
 Gilles Deleuze, Nietzsche and Philosophy (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006) 212n8.
 Gilles Deleuze and Claire Parnet, Dialogues II (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987) 80.
 Gilles Deleuze, Anti-Oedipus (New York: Penguin Classics, 2009) 46, 162, 278.
 C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections (New York: Vintage Books, 1989) 4.
 Gilles Deleuze, The Logic of Sense (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990) 120, 170-71.
 A Thousand Plateaus 43, 57, 235, 237, 250-51, 333.
 A Thousand Plateaus 306, 322-23, 380, 398, 420, 507.
 Difference and Repetition xx.
 James Hillman, Re-Visioning Psychology (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1992) xii.
I haven’t posted here in a while because I’ve been contributing articles to the American Philosophical Association blog (in addition to writing my new book and editing a few others). I’ve written five pieces (so far):
If you haven’t seen Arrival or Interstellar, I’d advise you to stop reading immediately and go watch them. What I’m about to say will spoil the surprises at the heart of both films. You’ve been warned.
Arrival and Interstellar are both about transcending temporality, one through physics and the other through language. I will suggest that these two visions of time are deeply connected and, to my mind, two of the most plausible visions of the deep nature of temporality to be found in popular culture.
In Interstellar, Matthew McConaughey’s character finds himself being drawn into a black hole. When he passes the event horizon, instead of being crushed as physicists have often speculated might happen, he enters a strange realm that resembles an infinite hall of mirrors, except that the mirrors are the book-covered walls of the library in the home where he left his daughter so that he could save humanity. As he floats around this surreal space, he realizes that the apparently fractal distribution of library walls, which appears to stretch endlessly in all directions, represents the wall of books at each point in time. Once he has this realization, he starts pushing books off the shelf to communicate with his daughter, who received his communications earlier in the narrative. It appears that this place inside a black hole is a three-dimensional representation of a four-dimensional space, and that humans of the future have created this domain as a way for him to perceive the further degree of freedom that they inhabit. These future people seem to have ascended into a higher manifold so that the fourth dimension of time described in general relativity has become something like another spatial dimension available for their exploration. For these relatively transcendent beings, presumably our descendants, moving in either direction through time is as simple as moving through space is for us.
In Arrival, Amy Adams plays a linguist who is called upon by the United States government to attempt to communicate with alien beings whose giant ships hover over various locations on the Earth. As she learns their language, a visual script depicted in organic, complex circular shapes, she discovers that these circular shapes are sentences combining numerous words that are read all at once, rather than linearly as is the case with human languages. By the end of the film, we come to understand that the very comprehension of this language changes her perception of time. Instead of perceiving one thing happening after another on a linear timeline, which reflects the linearity of human language, she experiences all of the moments of her life as spread out before her in a kind of trans-spatial terrain through which she can apparently travel at will, or perhaps her consciousness exists at all of this manifold’s points simultaneously, and she can shift her attention to different moments at will.
So in both of these films, a character is brought into a literally higher degree of freedom by beings who have developed the capacity to see time all at once as a new direction to be moved along intentionally rather than as a stream in which we are inexorably drawn from one moment to the next. Once these characters have entered this higher-dimensional state, which seems conceptually similar in both films though their depictions differ, both characters can still interact with people who inhabit the usual three dimensions of space and the linear, fixed dimension of time, but they see a far more expansive swath of reality than the normal humans with whom they come into contact. In the case of Interstellar, McConaughey’s character is sent back to his family no longer able to perceive the lower-dimensional projection of this higher dimension without the assistance of the transcendent future humans, while Amy Adams’ character in Arrival is permanently able to inhabit this higher degree of freedom through her acquisition of the alien language.
Setting aside the significant differences in the stories, these two cinematic depictions of what it would mean to transcend linear temporality seem to be plausible visions of where our current conceptual and technological trajectories are heading, a suggestion that I describe in more philosophical terms in my book The Dynamics of Transformation: Tracing an Emerging World View. As I write in the book’s introduction, the final chapter:
“advances the hypothesis that life has been a process of ascending through increasing orders of dimensionality, so that the simplest organisms, as the vanguard of life in their epoch, were able to perceive and move toward or away from sustenance in an essentially one-dimensional existence. Subsequently, plants and animals of increasing complexity were able to perceive and move in two and eventually three spatial dimensions. Finally, the mathematical description of time in general relativity as a fourth dimension suggests that the more complex animals who perceive temporality, particularly humans, are perhaps in the process of emerging into the consciousness of a more expansive manifold describable in dimensional terms. However, the fact that we generally appear to move through time in a static, linear progression (not a result of the current laws of physics but solely of their probabilistic interpretation), rather than possessing the full degree of freedom that we possess in the other three dimensions, may suggest that what we call time is actually a fraction of a dimension (i.e. a fractal dimension) and that the complete emergence of a new world view will consist in the coming to awareness of the fourth, temporal dimension as a full integer.
For a modern, rationalist sensibility, the suggestion that human history constitutes the process of coming to awareness of a fourth degree of freedom may seem absurd, the stuff of science fiction or of ungrounded new age speculation, not the subject of serious philosophical inquiry. However, as some of our greatest thinkers have suggested in various valences, this sense of absurdity may have more to do with the limitations of the conventional modern mentality than with the inherent implausibility of the idea itself. For a world view founded upon the premises that time is purely quantitative and linear, and that material and efficient causation are the only valid causal modes, the concretion of time would in fact be an irrational conclusion. For a world view, though, that accepts the ideas of formal causation, final causation, and exponential temporality into its conceptual lexicon, the concretion of time seems to be the most plausible scenario for the further development of process.
Plato, the father of philosophy, suggested that time is ‘a moving image of eternity,’ which taken at face value means that what we perceive as time is like a radically expanded reel of film, so that each still frame is a snapshot of the total situation of the cosmos at one particular point in a dimensional manifold that exceeds our current cognitive capacities to comprehend as a whole. Through this perceptual method, which Henri Bergson refers to as the ‘cinematographical mechanism of thought,’ we can trace the textures of temporality, the ups and downs, and the ins and outs of narrative development. For instance, the archetypal journey story, setting aside the complexities of frame narratives, flashbacks, and subplots, begins with the naïve, childhood embeddedness in home. Then some conflict intervenes that impels the protagonist to embark on the journey. Encounters take place along the way, consisting of all kinds of qualitative experiences, both tragic and revelatory, both languid and explosive, both violent and amorous, both expansive and contractive. And eventually the protagonist returns home transformed. This is one of the simplest forms of narrative, for which there are many convoluted permutations, alterations, and substitutions. But visualized from a spatial perspective, these qualitative temporal moments in the narrative trace a complex trajectory through time, which, if it could be seen at once in its entirety, would possess a definite shape and extension, like the lower-dimensional analogue of a three-dimensional object perceived by the denizens of a two-dimensional world. The narrative construction of time, the tracing of the qualities of temporality, is apparently a means of mapping time’s contours.
Although a number of thinkers have articulated the recognition that being constitutes a process of ascending into ever more expansive degrees of dimensionality, Jean Gebser is perhaps the theorist who has most comprehensively elaborated this idea in its details in his 1949 book, first translated into English in 1985 as The Ever-Present Origin. In this work, through a voluminous and erudite exposition of the stages of consciousness, from archaic to magic, mythical, mental, and integral, drawing on philosophy, physics, chemistry, biology, psychology, anthropology, mathematics, art history, and other disciplines, Gebser demonstrates that what we experience as time constitutes the coming to consciousness of a further degree of freedom, perhaps equivalent to something like another spatial dimension, which we have constructed in our experience as temporality.
David Bohm, a physicist who worked closely with Albert Einstein, appears to corroborate this supposition from the perspective of quantum theory in his Wholeness and the Implicate Order, published in 1980. As mentioned above, it is a peculiarity of the laws of physics as they are currently understood that the equations describing the physical universe work equally well when time is reversed, and that time is only unidirectional based on probabilistic interpretations of these laws. In fact, it is this very probabilistic interpretation about which Einstein wrote in a letter to Max Born that God ‘is not playing at dice,’ by which he appears to have meant that the probabilistic interpretation of quantum theory is merely an approximation of a more encompassing theory that would reconcile quantum mechanics and relativity. These theorists and others have gestured in various valences toward what might be described as a transcendent reality intimated in premodern religious and mystical modes, though this more expansive domain would probably not be fixed and static as it was generally supposed in various religious dispensations (at least after the volatile beginnings described in the creation myths of these traditions), but enacted through the participatory process of temporal becoming.
Beginning in 1984, astrophysicist Laurent Nottale, Director of Research at the French National Centre for Scientific Research, proposed the theory of scale relativity, which appears to be a viable candidate for the reconciliation of quantum theory and relativity based partially on fractal geometry, a geometry not available to Einstein, Gebser, or their contemporaries. Among many other features, scale relativity derives the result that time can be described in quantum mechanics as exhibiting a fractal dimensionality of .5, precisely one half of a full degree of freedom. Although this result requires more study, when fractally extrapolated from the microphysical scale to the scale of human consciousness, it may perhaps suggest that our experience of time can be described as precisely half a dimension. If this discovery holds up to further investigation, it would seem to indicate that the human mind in its perceptual and cognitive capacity is literally halfway between an animal and something like Friedrich Nietzsche’s Übermensch, the potentially higher-order entity whose eventual ingression into temporal actuality may have been intimated over the course of human history as spirits, gods, and the like. However, regardless of whether or not this precise fractional figure proves generalizable to the human measurement, perception, or construction of temporality on all scales, it appears plausible that fractal dimensionality, an idea only four decades old as of this writing, may be increasingly understood as the most accurate description of temporality in relation to spatiality.”
It has often been observed over the last few centuries that time appears to be accelerating as trains, automobiles, and airplanes have radically increased the speed of travel and concomitantly shrunk subjective distances in space. For the pioneers who crossed North America in covered wagons, this trip was a long and perilous journey, but for us it is a several-hour flight accompanied by relatively mild discomfort. Similarly, the inventions of the telegraph, the telephone, and the internet have facilitated the acceleration of communication, so that in the mid-nineteenth century, the Pony Express, combined with the limited extent of the telegraph which only went as far as St. Joseph, Missouri, was the fastest way to send a written document from the East Coast to the West, a trip that took about ten days, whereas now one can communicate almost instantaneously through satellite video conferencing with someone in Shanghai or Mozambique. However, despite the common recognition of this acceleration, the idea that this increasing speed of experience is exponential in nature does not appear to be intuitive for most people, as our brains and our conceptual tools have evolved primarily in the context of linear phenomena.
Plotted on a linear graph, this exponential progression starting with one and doubling at each integer along the horizontal axis reaches one billion in about thirty doublings.
It is unclear precisely when the quality of exponentiality was discovered, and by whom, but several persistent stories place this discovery during the first millennium C.E. in India or Persia in coincidence with the invention of Chess. A classic narrative, related by the Persian poet Ferdowsi in his epic poem “Shahnameh” sometime around 1000 C.E., tells of a mathematician named Sessa, described as the inventor of the “Game of Kings,” who pleased his king so greatly by his invention that the monarch told Sessa to name his reward. The mathematician’s request seemed simple and reasonable: place one grain of rice on the first square of a chess board, and double the number for each of the sixty-four squares, so that the second square would contain two grains, the third four grains, the fourth eight grains, and so on. The king, thinking this a rather modest request, quickly assented. However, when the king’s treasurer calculated the total after some difficulty and delay, it turned out that the king had agreed to give Sessa more than eighteen quintillion grains of rice, which amounts to about four hundred billion tons, far more than was contained in the entire kingdom, far more even than the world currently produces in a year. In some versions of the story, Sessa is put to death for his impertinence, while in others he is made the new king. However, the key point is that this exponential growth starts out seeming fairly linear, though clearly accelerating, but by the time the doublings are well into the double digits, the growth becomes startlingly explosive.
Ray Kurzweil, the inventor of such profoundly transformative and pervasive technologies as the first omni-font optical character recognition system, the first flatbed scanner, the first text-to-speech synthesizer, and the first keyboard synthesizer capable of reproducing realistic instrumental sounds, and since 2012 Director of Engineering at Google, has been one of the primary figures in applying exponentiality to the growth of technology. In his Law of Accelerating Returns, Kurzweil demonstrates that not only technology, but the evolution of life and mind for which technology appears to be an extension, has progressed exponentially, though this acceleration is only now becoming rapid enough that individuals are beginning to have an intuitive sense of it in their lifetimes. The capacity very quickly to adapt to extreme novelty is one of the most marked qualities of the human organism, so that about three decades ago as of this writing, the internet did not exist, and a few decades before that, computers were essentially glorified calculators, but we can hardly imagine living without these inventions.
Now, as Kurzweil has often pointed out, our “phones” actually contain computers that are at least a thousand times more powerful and a million times less expensive than the building-sized supercomputers of the mid-nineteen sixties, which means that our pocket devices are a billion times more capable per dollar of computation, adjusted for inflation, than the most advanced computers were fifty years ago.[i] Kurzweil places the many innovations that have led to this situation, cross-referenced to a slew of authoritative encyclopedic sources, on a graph that traces a strikingly smooth exponential curve through periods of inflation and rapid economic growth, as well as through depressions and wars. And similarly, he places on a graph the emergence of biology through the information-conserving novelty of DNA, the emergence of mind through the information conservation of neural patterns, the emergence of computational technology through the information conservation of hardware and software, and the incipient merging of biology and technology through the embeddedness of humanity in global networks and the embedding of increasingly tiny and powerful information processors in the human brain and body. Without reproducing Kurzweil’s research in detail, it must suffice to say that it is difficult to imagine a credible argument against the ineluctable mountain of data he has amassed to support his primary hypothesis. Any lingering skepticism about this phenomenon appears to be driven primarily by the hegemony of linear common sense that has been dominant in modernity. As is true of most of the concepts discussed in these pages, exponential acceleration seems to be a higher-order common-sense characteristic of the emerging mode of thought.[ii]
Exponential development through emergent stages plotted on a logarithmic graph. The figures given are approximate, representing orders of magnitude rather than precise dates, which continue to be the subject of debate.
[This post is an excerpt from The Dynamics of Transformation: Tracing an Emerging World View.]
[i] This figure will almost certainly be outdated by the time the present book is published.
[ii] The majority of arguments leveled against Kurzweil generally seem to take two forms. First, his critics often mention Kurzweil’s intention to resurrect his deceased father once technology becomes sufficiently advanced. While certainly a quirky ambition, this critique is the clearest kind of argumentum ad hominem, and thus fallacious. Just because Kurzweil holds some unconventional ambitions does not invalidate his discoveries. If we judged new theories based on the theorist’s personal eccentricities, many transformative revolutions would not have occurred, including Newtonian physics, as Isaac Newton was a truly bizarre and pugnacious individual. Second, and perhaps more plausibly, some critics have claimed that Kurzweil’s predictions are overly optimistic, that such an exponential trajectory cannot possibly continue. And it is definitely possible that some unknown factor, whether ecological catastrophe or collective human choice, will inhibit the current trajectory. However, it seems to me that such critics must bear the burden of proof, as it appears more likely that processing power will continue to follow the smooth exponential curve that it has traced for billions of years than that it will deviate from this trend, if such an exceptionally consistent movement on such a vast scale can be described as such.
Teleology, the ancient idea that processes tend to develop toward ends or purposes, has generally been denied in modernity in favor of material and efficient causation, which have been enshrined as the only valid causal modes. For most of premodernity, from astrology and divination to Judeo-Christian, Muslim, and Hindu eschatologies, to various streams of Confucian and Buddhist thought, final causation was usually interpreted as divinely ordained fate. For much of human history, people felt themselves to be parts of a vast and minutely choreographed cosmic dance acting out the will of a god or gods whose reasons were unknowable. Until the nascence of the mental mode, particularly in ancient Greek thought, the prevailing world view was one that largely precluded the idea of free will.[i] For ancient people, the supposition that one could challenge the will of the gods was hubris, a laughable arrogance unsupported by the evidence of fate’s apparent inevitability.[ii] To a great extent, the emergence of the modern mind was a reaction against this pervasive assumption of predestination in its many complex permutations, so that Descartes’ claim that the human mind, and not the mind of God, is the only thing that provides evidence of our existence (despite his attempt to reconcile this view with his Catholic faith), was a direct challenge to the hegemony of that mode of thought which located agency primarily outside the human mind. All of the ruptures, innovations, and discoveries of modernity, from the Copernican revolution to Kant’s “second Copernican revolution” to deconstructive postmodernism, can partially be described as a progressive evacuation of cosmic purpose into the human mind, which has come to be seen as the sole locus of consciousness and purpose in a purely material universe.
However, although there were numerous liminal intimations of final causation’s return percolating at the margins of the academically dominant positivism and materialism of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, including the attempt by many scientists during those centuries to reconcile science with religious belief, the idea of teleology began to reemerge in full force through the work of Hegel and the idealism that he largely mediated in the early nineteenth century. While there have been many legitimate critiques of the specific form that Hegel’s vision of final causation took, and many reactions to his role as perhaps the preeminent philosopher of that century, particularly in the Darwinian view of evolution, which carefully sought to extirpate all traces of teleology from its theory, the reemergence of final causation apparently could not be contained. In particular, the stream of thought running from William James and Henri Bergson through Alfred North Whitehead and numerous others has articulated a theory of teleology stripped of its premodern limitations by means of the profoundly rigorous analytical capacity developed in modernity. In this approach, teloi are not predetermined fates to which the individual must inevitably submit, but lures or attractors toward which individual or collective entities are magnetically drawn, though the specific forms of those entities’ ingression are not determined in advance.[iii]
Moreover, in the transrational conception of teleology, it appears possible for an individual or culture to avoid reaching its teleological destination by choosing to ignore the deeply felt affective demands that final causes make upon a body or a body politic. Odysseus, as one of the primary figures marking mentality’s nascence, through his far-flung odyssey, undergoing many trials and tribulations, was always apparently destined to return home transformed. But not all of us so completely fulfill our felt potential. Similarly, the modern mind, through its many complex and multifarious permutations, appears to be tracing a trajectory toward reunion with its ground of being in the reembrace of premodern modes of causation, though reframed and recontextualized by the individuated rational intellect. Of course, it is possible that this process may go off the rails, so to speak, though such apocalyptic scenarios seem unlikely considering the immensely long and consistent path that the vital impulse has trod thus far.
In addition to the philosophical reanimation of final causation in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, physicist Erwin Schrödinger in his 1944 book, What Is Life?, suggests a complementary force to entropy, based on the work of Ludwig Boltzmann, which may be considered a previously undiscovered law of nature variously termed “free energy,” “negative entropy,” “negentropy,” or “syntropy.”[iv] Although E = mc2 is almost certainly the best-known formula in science, it is not as well known that this formula is the positive solution to a larger formula (expressible as E2 = m2c4) that also has a negative solution (E = -mc2) in which time can be interpreted as moving in reverse, which results in syntropy. Because time may be syntropically reversed on the micro scale at which the vital processes that produce life and consciousness occur, effects could be described as preceding causes, which draw the phenomena under consideration toward more ordered states. Schrödinger, fellow Nobel Prize winner physiologist Albert Szent-Gyorgyi, and others have suggested that this counter-entropic force may be the mechanism through which something that looks very much like final causation occurs. However, despite the fact that syntropy has been affirmed in various guises by some of the most eminent scientists of the last century given its compelling theoretical and mathematical foundations, this discovery has often been ignored in the practice of science in favor of more conventional explanations (with some prominent exceptions, such as in the work of Nobel Prize-winning chemist Ilya Prigogine and philosopher Isabelle Stengers), perhaps in large part because it contravenes the prerationally adopted premise of monocausality.
[This post is an excerpt from The Dynamics of Transformation: Tracing an Emerging World View.]
[i] Whitehead writes in Process and Reality: “Modern physical science, with its dependence on the exact notions of mathematics, began with the foundation of Greek Geometry” (302).
[ii] Most ancient mythical and religious traditions exhibit an early form of compatibilism in which individuals have free will, but the gods also have foreknowledge of fate, or they control the events on Earth as they unfold, so while the idea of free will seems to have existed in germ, it was almost always superseded by divinely ordained fate until the nascent emergence of mentality in the Axial Age.
[iii] Although Immanuel Kant recognizes the efficacy of teleology in his Critique of Judgment (1790), he explicitly favors efficient causation over final causation.
[iv] Although some of the other terms are more conventional, I prefer the term “syntropy,” introduced by Nobel Prize-winning physiologist Albert Szent-Gyorgyi and mathematician Luigi Fantappie, as “negative entropy,” shortened to “negentropy,” is essentially a double negative naming a positive phenomenon, which Schrödinger aptly describes as an “awkward expression.” Entropy is a quantitative measure of lack of order, so syntropy seems the best term for a quantitative increase in order, definable as the conservation of information.