Buddhism & Modern Psychology taught by Robert Wright for Coursera

After years of listening to lectures from The Teaching Company that I enjoyed greatly while driving here and there, I decided to give my first MOOC (Massive Open On-Line Course) a try. I opted for Robert Wright's course on Buddhism & Modern Psychology taught from Princeton, where Wright holds a position. My long-running interest in Buddhism & my acquaintance with Wright led me to this choice. Wright is not a traditional academic (I don't think that he holds a doctorate), but he's written a lot of interesting things and has been active on the internet with bloggingheadstv.com/wrighshow and other endeavors. He's about my age (okay, like most people, a bit younger), and he's curious about and committed to topics that attract me.

So the MOOC  experience: pretty good. Best of all: I can play back Wright's talks at faster than normal speech (usually 1.75x). I'm kidding? No. Even if a talking head is talking about something that interests you (it does), it can still seem way too slow when you're only looking at a computer screen (not much in the way of visuals here). When driving, regular speed is fine because of the (partially) split attention, but looking at the screen and listening to a talk that you know the basics about (vocabulary, terms of art, etc; i.e., not too much drastically new), you can go faster. 

The other thing I conclude is that MOOCs can't replace the live classroom for serious learning. Rote information: okay; but for discussion (thinking aloud with others), the discussion forums (of which there were several) don't work that well. Too many threads for me. Too slow. This is not the fault of the participants, but of the medium. The comments that I did track where sound and worthwhile, but there were so many and so many different threads. It was an overload. 

As for content, I definitely got something out of the course. I'm going to post my two essays (peer-reviewed) below to give you an idea of what I took away. Each essay garnered some criticism for wandering too far from the questions posed and that seems fair. But I decided to write about what I could synthesize and take-away, not show off knowledge of what we learned in the course (not that I'm necessarily above that). Here's the first questions and essay:

Question 2: The Buddha makes the claim, which may draw some support from modern psychology, that the self does not exist. Describe the self that the Buddha says does not exist and explain the Buddha's principal argument against it. Do you agree or disagree with the Buddha’s argument that this kind of self doesn’t exist? Or are you unable to take a position? Give two specific reasons for your view, and explain your reasons support either the existence of the self or the non-existence of the self, or why they explain why you are unable to take a position on the question.

Question 2

Self or No-Self? Does it matter? An answer to the second question must come first. The Buddha told the tale of the man shot with an arrow. Do we first inquire about the arrow before treating the injury? Thus, Buddha deflected most metaphysical inquiry. Are we and the Buddha ignoring this teaching if we go down the rabbit-hole of the Self? While dangerous, the venture is necessary.

The doctrine of No-Self is important because it relates to the fundamental doctrines of impermanency and causality. The “unsatisfactoriness”  (dukkha) of life identified in the First Noble Truth stems from impermanency. Impermanency prompts humans to grasp at experience. If the Self is real and (implicitly) permanent in a way that other experience or objects are not, then we humans will cling to the Self as our anchor against misfortune. But if the Self is as impermanent as the rest of reality, then humans will have grasped in vain in the hope of negating suffering. Buddha’s deconstructs of the Self imagined by the Upanishads. He proposes instead the Five Skandhas (sheaths) as creating the illusion of a Self. Buddha formulates a self that is created and disbursed from moment to moment just like every other form of reality. We can’t cling (successfully) to what doesn’t exist.

While the Buddha’s formulation makes some sense, so does the formulation of the Upanishads. The atman (Self) exists outside of the particular manifestations of a person. The atman represents a Self behind the person. Given the sense of continuity that most humans enjoy, this makes intuitive sense. Whether we posit a Self like the Upanishads or we follow St. Augustine in finding that the seat of the soul [or mind] is in the memory, we experience a fundamental continuity that most humans enjoy and that identifies each person to himself (or herself) and to others. (E.B. White: “Old age is a special problem for me because I've never been able to shed the mental image I have of myself - a lad of about 19.”) It is this remembered self, along with the “I” (or Freudian ego), that marks our day-to-day lives. To what extent can the Buddha’s formulation alter or end these conceptions, and to what extent should it?

Consider the problem formulated by Heraclitus: can we step into the same river twice? To break down the question, are we concerned about the water, the place, or the function (moving water from here to there)? We may think of the self as a river, a channel of experiences that tends to follow the same course, although it changes from time to time—constantly but subtly most of the time; abruptly and drastically at other times. In the course of time, a river comes into being and disappears; so with this entity we call the self. Also, the No-Self doctrine reflects that a person, like the river, is not subject to a unitary command-and-control entity. Nature, in the form of winds, rains, animals, floods, droughts, etc., changes the river. So with humans: we have only limited control over our lives (our bodies, our thoughts, our consciousness) and in such a situation we cannot identify a Self to which we can give allegiance.

The No-Self doctrine challenges Buddhism internally because of the belief in karma and reincarnation. If there isn’t a Self, then what reaps the effects that constitute karma, especially those effects thought to extend beyond a lifetime? And how does reincarnation work if not via a Self? What entity acts to create karma and to reincarnate? For these answers, we return to doctrines of change (impermanence) and causality. Our No-Self is an aggregate of shifting patterns, and it creates a dharma moment-to-moment within its space-time locale. To extend the metaphor borrowed from Heraclitus, the perceived self is the river of that delivers the water (karma) downstream (a later time). Extending the metaphor even further, we can say that our younger self sends water (karma) downstream to our older self. Our image of the self is the river that appears to have continuity. But we know that the river dries up with old age, sickness, and death. Borrowing from Augustine again, we can see that memory—whether genetic material passed down over eons or the recollections of a younger self—provides the seeming and functional continuity that we experience. We can think of the functional self as a collection of habits. Like any habit, it comes into being (time), functions within a context, and then disappears, if for no other reason than death. Would Buddha disagree that we are a collection of habits that me may notice and change from time to time? Isn’t that the point of meditation? Therefore, we cultivate our meta-awareness to influence the channels of our life.

At the end of the course lectures I wrote the following in response to two questions posed: 

3. Does modern science lend support to the logic behind Buddhist meditation practice?

4. Does modern science lend support to the moral validity of Buddhism?

 Re: Questions 3&4

First, let's stipulate that "modern science" includes the systematic, empirically-based study of shared phenomena. To participate in science, one must share a vocabulary and a set of skills. In evaluating Buddhism in light of contemporary thinking, we should include not just evolutionary psychology, but all manner of contemporary science and philosophy. With this understanding in mind, we find a great deal of support for Buddhist contentions about meditation and morality.

Buddhism for our purposes posits some key points:

The doctrine of No-Self (interior) (anatman), supports the idea that we humans have no central command and control in our brains. Plato's tripartite division of the mind (the cultural manifestation of the brain) posits that Reason controls Will & Appetite. EP  (evolutionary psychology) & modular thinking in particular reject the existence of a command and control center in our brains (and in the self that appears to the outside world). Whether we focus on the modular model or (as I prefer), we focus on McGilchrist's account of the division of the hemispheres, we agree that our brains are not built (by natural selection) with a final, authoritative center to arbitrate and rule upon conflicts within the brain/mind. The modular and hemispheric models of the brain help resolve issues of self-deception (akrasia) and self-control that plague more "rational" models of human thinking. EP argues persuasively that the brain is an environment in which different needs and values compete for resources. Sometimes a perspective "wins"; sometimes it losses. (Think of RW's doughnuts.) We are not singular, unified decision-makers contra much of classical economic thinking. Much of neuroscience and contemporary psychology strongly supports the conclusion that we don't have an ultimate decision-making function and therefore an idea of our Self as singular, constant, and essential fails.

Emptiness/sunyata. The concept of emptiness (or nothingness or formlessness) counters the concept of essentialism, the idea of an unchanging essence lurking behind a phenomena. Buddhism posits that all of reality is the result of co-dependent origination, more process than substance. This perspective, based on a radical empiricism, is one that Buddhism shares with American pragmatism (no surprise that RW cites William James), process philosophy, and even quantum mechanics. Indeed, post-modernity as a cultural phenomena provides a view of the fluidity of reality (along with its share of nonsense).

The doctrine of No-Self (exterior) as Prof. Wright describes it involves a reduction of barriers between ourselves and the world "out there". This perspective sees a fundemental unity of reality. Reports of this perspective by the meditators RW interviewed seem common. As an outgrowth of meditation, which involves perceiving the mind as an impermanent and changing reality, alters our relation to the world in which we live. This melting away of distinctions based on verbal and conceptual habits gives way to a new, unencumbered sense of reality. Concepts are habits of mind that may have been (or that may remain) useful, but in a fundamental sense, we now appreciate them as arbitrary. The seemingly fundamental perspective of Self vs. Other fades away. This, too, jibes with the best contemporary thinking: we have gained a perspective during the course of modernity that our world (the earth) is not the center of the universe, that our species was not created specially by God (thank you, Darwin), and that even space and time are relative (not to mention th mind-boggling perpsectives of quantum theories and the like). These shifts in perspective, which meditation encourages, allows us to see the world in a new light. The "us vs. them" no longer holds as great a sway as it once did. More limited worldviews become less attractive because they become less believable. In this sense, the scientific (in the broad sense) study of meditation supports a new, wider view of morality.

We can now appreciate and transcend our evolutionary heritage, something that religious and (some) philosophical traditions have been seeking to do for several millenia, especially since the Axial Age. We now better understand the evolutionary pressures and mechanisms that affect human behavior and that in our current environment may prove counter-beneficial. Indeed, we humans may serve as the first conscious creators of human life and culture on earth--if we're very wise and very lucky (longshots). This has been a millennial dream--of heaven on earth--but we can move closer to it. Buddhism, as a praxis, a way of life and understanding, draws on centuries of radical empiricism and acute conceptual thinking to help humans lead better lives. Buddhist adepts are curators of a meditative practice based on recognized principles of practice. When we combine practices of meditation with deep investigation, we perceive the world much differently. Buddhists should continue to join with scientists, trained adepts in a different field of experience, to better guide humanity into our future. 

And on peer evaluations:  About one-half of the evaluations were of little value (minimal comment) and other half were about equally divided between praise and marked criticism. Thus, it's hard to gauge what I should be doing differently. Essays by others that I read were more direct in answering the questions, and I marked them high. On the other hand, I didn't perceive much original thought in them. Nevertheless, it's worth doing and an appropriately humbling exercise. 

 

The War of Art by Steven Pressfield & Do the Work by Steven Pressfield

Procrastination is the enemy of success. I should know. I’m a procrastinator.

At various points in my life, I was a supreme procrastinator. Fortunately, unlike drink, one can be a little bit of a procrastinator unlike trying to be a little bit of a alcoholic. I could still function relatively well, but not near my greatest potential. The demands of work and life helped cure me of my worst excesses, but the tendency is still there. The problem usually revolves around things that require a lot of effort and high expectations (usually self-imposed). Some things you can put off simply because they don’t need to be done now and it’s more efficient to put them off. (“How about never? Never works for me.”) I’ve no problems with this. However, some things worth doing – like writing a blog –often get put off for no good reason.

My history as a procrastinator led me into investigations of the will and how we often fail to do what is in our best interest. I learned that the ancient Greeks had a term for this called akrasia. This refers to our ability to fail to do things that are in our best interest, or to do things that are clearly to our detriment. It is the first cousin of self-deception (which I believe the Greeks would consider a form of akrasia) and probably related in some way to the problem best identified by the Desert fathers, that of acedia, or sloth or torpor. In any event with you call it procrastination, akrasia, or anything else, it’s a real pest.

Writers are among the best procrastinators in the world. They even have a name for it: writer’s block. Something about looking at the blank page (or screen) seems to shut us down. This has probably happened to anyone who’s had to write something that they want taken seriously and that can have some ability to change the world and themselves--they will have put it off at some point. Writer Stephen Pressfield addresses this problem in his two books, The War of Art and Do the Work. Pressfield doesn’t identify procrastination as the primary problem, but he names it as a sub-set in the larger picture that he labels Resistance. He thoroughly describes and analyzes it... He knows it firsthand. Indeed, in the War of Art, Pressfield is all about Resistance and how to deal with it. Pressfield describes Resistance:

 Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance.

 Have you ever brought home a treadmill and let it gather dust in the attic? Ever quit a diet, a course of yoga, a meditation practice? Have you ever bailed out on a call to embark upon a spiritual practice, dedicate yourself to a humanitarian calling, commit your life to the service of others? Have you ever wanted to be a mother, a doctor, an advocate for the weak and helpless; to run for office, crusade for the planet, campaign for world peace, or to preserve the environment? Late at night have you experienced a vision of the person you might become, the work you could accomplish, the realized being you were meant to be? Are you a writer who doesn't write, a painter who doesn't paint, an entrepreneur who never starts a venture? Then you know what Resistance is . . . .

Resistance is the most toxic force on the planet. It is the root of more unhappiness than poverty, disease, and erectile dysfunction. To yield to Resistance deforms our spirit. It stunts us and makes us less than we are and were born to be.

Pressfield, Steven (2011-11-11). The War of Art. Black Irish Entertainment LLC. Kindle Edition.

Pressfield goes on to describe those arenas where Resistance most often manifests. Recognize any of them?

 The following is a list, in no particular order, of those activities that most commonly elicit Resistance:

1)      The pursuit of any calling in writing, painting, music, film, dance, or any creative art, however marginal or unconventional.

2)      The launching of any entrepreneurial venture or enterprise, for profit or otherwise.

3)      Any diet or health regimen.

4)      Any program of spiritual advancement.

5)      Any activity whose aim is tighter abdominals.

6)      Any course or program designed to overcome an unwholesome habit or addiction.

7)      Education of every kind.

11)      The taking of any principled stand in the face of adversity.

In other words, any act that rejects immediate gratification in favor of long-term growth, health, or integrity. Or, expressed another way, any act that derives from our higher nature instead of our lower. Any of these will elicit Resistance.

Pressfield, Steven (2011-11-11). The War of Art (p. 5-6). Black Irish Entertainment LLC. Kindle Edition.

Having read to this point, I was hooked. Pressfield’s description was like looking into a mirror. I may not be in the gutter, but I have a way to go before I could claim to have reached the point of not having to pay attention to this. 

Having defined the Devil (we can apprehend Resistance as form of evil and personify it), Pressfield goes on the catalog the wiles of the Devil, just as the Desert Fathers might have done.

RESISTANCE IS INVISIBLE. Resistance cannot be seen, touched, heard, or smelled. But it can be felt. We experience it as an energy field radiating from a work-in-potential. It's a repelling force. It's negative. Its aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work.

RESISTANCE IS INTERNAL. Resistance seems to come from outside ourselves. We locate it in spouses, jobs, bosses, kids. "Peripheral opponents," as Pat Riley used to say when he coached the Los Angeles Lakers. Resistance is not a peripheral opponent. Resistance arises from within. It is self-generated and self-perpetuated. Resistance is the enemy within.

RESISTANCE IS INSIDIOUS. Resistance will tell you anything to keep you from doing your work. It will perjure, fabricate, falsify; seduce, bully, cajole. Resistance is protean. It will assume any form, if that's what it takes to deceive you. It will reason with you like a lawyer or jam a nine-millimeter in your face like a stickup man. Resistance has no conscience. It will pledge anything to get a deal, then double-cross you as soon as your back is turned. If you take Resistance at its word, you deserve everything you get. Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.

RESISTANCE IS IMPLACABLE. Resistance is like the Alien or the Terminator or the shark in Jaws. It cannot be reasoned with. It understands nothing but power. It is an engine of destruction, programmed from the factory with one object only: to prevent us from doing our work. Resistance is implacable, intractable, indefatigable. Reduce it to a single cell and that cell will continue to attack. This is Resistance's nature. It's all it knows.

RESISTANCE IS IMPERSONAL. Resistance is not out to get you personally. It doesn't know who you are and doesn't care. Resistance is a force of nature. It acts objectively. Though it feels malevolent, Resistance in fact operates with the indifference of rain and transits the heavens by the same laws as the stars. When we marshal our forces to combat Resistance, we must remember this.

RESISTANCE IS INFALLIBLE. Like a magnetized needle floating on a surface of oil, Resistance will unfailingly point to true North — meaning that calling or action it most wants to stop us from doing. . . . . Rule of thumb: The more important a call or action is to our soul's evolution, the more Resistance we will feel toward pursuing it.

RESISTANCE IS UNIVERSAL. We're wrong if we think we're the only ones struggling with Resistance. Everyone who has a body experiences Resistance.

RESISTANCE NEVER SLEEPS Henry Fonda was still throwing up before each stage performance, even when he was seventy-five. In other words, fear doesn't go away. The warrior and the artist live by the same code of necessity, which dictates that the battle must be fought anew every day.

RESISTANCE PLAYS FOR KEEPS. Resistance's goal is not to wound or disable. Resistance aims to kill. Its target is the epicenter of our being: our genius, our soul, the unique and priceless gift we were put on earth to give and that no one else has but us. Resistance means business. When we fight it, we are in a war to the death.

RESISTANCE IS FUELED BY FEAR. Resistance has no strength of its own. Every ounce of juice it possesses comes from us. We feed it with power by our fear of it. Master that fear and we conquer Resistance.

RESISTANCE ONLY OPPOSES IN ONE DIRECTION. Resistance obstructs movement only from a lower sphere to a higher. It kicks in when we seek to pursue a calling in the arts, launch an innovative enterprise, or evolve to a higher station morally, ethically, or spiritually.

RESISTANCE IS MOST POWERFUL AT THE FINISH LINE. The danger is greatest when the finish line is in sight. At this point, Resistance knows we're about to beat it. It hits the panic button. It marshals one last assault and slams us with everything it's got.

RESISTANCE RECRUITS ALLIES. Resistance by definition is self-sabotage. But there's a parallel peril that must also be guarded against: sabotage by others. When a writer begins to overcome her Resistance — in other words, when she actually starts to write — she may find that those close to her begin acting strange. They may become moody or sullen, they may get sick; they may accuse the awakening writer of "changing," of "not being the person she was." The closer these people are to the awakening writer, the more bizarrely they will act and the more emotion they will put behind their actions. They are trying to sabotage her.

Pressfield, Steven (2011-11-11). The War of Art (pp. 6-19. Black Irish Entertainment LLC. Kindle Edition.

Okay. I must stop now, as I’ll end up including the whole book. From this description of traits, Pressfield goes on the catalog the techniques of Resistance, number one of which is—you guessed it!—procrastination. 

So what do we do with this awful thing? How do we fight the Devil? By “turning pro”.

By “turning pro” Pressfield means that you “do the work”. You show up each day and do something that you need to do to further your project. You set aside all of the crap and put on your game day face. You approach life as a warrior, as one who comes to work (even if it’s just to the typewriter on your kitchen table) ready to perform. The cure to Resistance is to turn pro and to do the work. According to Pressfield, it’s that simple, and I think that he’s right. We show up to do what we need to do just as we show up for our jobs each day and do what we need to do, only with one difference (unless you’re very fortunate): you show up for love, not just a paycheck. 

Pressfield’s list of “pro” attributes is a complete and impressive. I particularly appreciate this quote:

A professional schools herself to stand apart from her performance, even as she gives herself to it heart and soul. The Bhagavad-Gita tells us we have a right only to our labor, not to the fruits of our labor. All the warrior can give is his life; all the athlete can do is leave everything on the field.

Pressfield, Steven (2011-11-11). The War of Art (p. 88). Black Irish Entertainment LLC. Kindle Edition.

Although I didn’t see it quoted in the book, I’m sure he’d give the nod to Theodore Roosevelt’s “The Man in the Arena” speech as well. 

Part 3 deals with “allies”, those forces that come to the aid of the pro. Pressfield in this regard sounds a bit like Castaneda’s Don Juan, but he has a point. As the saying goes, “God helps them that help themselves”. So it is in these situations. Pressfield shares this quote:

Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would not otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man would have dreamed would come his way. I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets: "Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, magic, and power in it. Begin it now."

— W. H. Murray, The Scottish Himalayan Expedition

Pressfield, Steven (2011-11-11). The War of Art (p. 122). Black Irish Entertainment LLC. Kindle Edition.

This part is more speculative, based on religious intuition and Jungian psychology, but it makes sense and gives a larger perspective to Pressfield’s project. He outlines a Jungian distinction between the Ego and Self in a battle between the small “I” that clings to the status quo and the “I” that represents creation and fulfillment. It’s not just our little battle, but it's part of a larger cosmic conflict. Regardless of the degree of credence you give to this perspective, it taps into some of the most potent and evocative archetypes of human kind in order to situate our struggles. 

Having defined Resistance and how we can slay the dragon, Pressfield takes a more practical bent in Do the Work (but this isn’t to suggest that The War of Art isn’t practical: to the contrary, it’s immensely practical, but Do the Work is more of a playbook). You now know what you have to do, this goes into how to do it more effectively and with greater clarity. 

In fact, early in the book, Pressfield lists traits now mentioned in the earlier book, those traits that aid us:

Our Allies Enough for now about the antagonists arrayed against us. Let’s consider the champions on our side:

• Stupidity
• Stubbornness
• Blind faith
• Passion
• Assistance (the opposite of Resistance)
• Friends and family

Pressfield, Steven (2011-04-20). Do the Work (Kindle Locations 130-134). AmazonEncore. Kindle Edition.

Pressfield breaks down the artistic process with for closer examination. He starts at the beginning and shares this suggestion: “Don’t prepare. Begin.” (Kindle Location 172). Pressfield discusses a number of practical tips to aid the process and to overcome the guiles of Resistance. For instance, he addresses one of my weaknesses, research; you know, just one more case or law review article to make sure of such and such before I start to write. But Pressfield nails it:

Do research early or late. Don’t stop working. Never do research in prime working time. Research can be fun. It can be seductive. That’s its danger. We need it, we love it. But we must never forget that research can become Resistance. Soak up what you need to fill in the gaps. Keep working.

Pressfield, Steven (2011-04-20). Do the Work (Kindle Locations 315-317). AmazonEncore. Kindle Edition.

Yup. He’s got it figured. 

Pressfield offers an extended quote from Marianne Williamson on “the fear of success”, which he argues is foremost among our fears and actually much more intimidating that the fear of failure (which simple allows the status quo to continue). Williamson writes:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you . We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Pressfield, Steven (2011-04-20). Do the Work (Kindle Locations 717-722). AmazonEncore. Kindle Edition.

Pressfield (via Williamson) doesn’t encourage us to play small ball. 

These books are insightful and encouraging. Light reading in one sense, not long, not complex. But they go for the jugular and if you have any endeavor that creates Resistance (such as Life), you’ll likely benefit from these works.

The Ministry of Fear by Graham Greene

During the War, with London threatened nightly by German bombers, a lonely man, Arthur Rowe, went to a small festival. He went into the fortune-teller’s tent and the turbaned lady gave him a winning tip on the wonderful homemade cake, a cake made with eggs. Thus begins what seems like a mundane tale. Of course, this is Graham Greene, and the main character Arthur Rowe isn’t just a lonely man, he’s a man with a past. Rowe awakens from his ongoing lethargy when someone later tries to get the cake away from him.

Greene wrote what he called “entertainments” as opposed to what he considered his more serious novels. The distinction that Greene makes about his works seems too abrupt. While The Ministry of Fear isn’t as weighty as its immediate predecessor, The Power & the Glory, or the book that follows it, The Heart of the Matter (considered two of Greene’s finest works), but it nevertheless has plenty of depth along with intrigue and thrills. Even in a mere “entertainment”, Greene touches upon love, pity, fear, and guilt. Greene provides quick but definitive sketches of the characters that play a minor role, while his main characters receive the depth of treatment of which he is capable.

When reading this book, I thought that it would have made a perfect Hitchcock movie. (Hitchcock and Greene were roughly peers, although I don’t know of Hitchcock ever making a movie from a Greene book or script.) Upon investigating, I did learn that Fritz Lang did make a movie of the book starring Ray Milland, released in 1944. (I could see Ralph Fiennes playing the lead today.) Greene’s novels work scene by scene and are so well etched that they do convert effectively to screenplays. (Two excellent Greene stories turned to screenplays—done by Greene himself—are The Third Man and The Fallen Idol, both directed by Carol Reed.) I couldn’t find a copy to download, but the reviews of the film seemed good, and I suspect it would convert well.

If you’re looking for a thriller-plus, you’d be hard pressed to find a better book. The Ministry of Fear strikes the right balance between intrigue and deeper themes. It’s another excellent adventure in Greeneland.

The Master & His Emissary: The Divided Brain & the Making of the Modern World by Iain McGilchrist

Growing up in America as a member of the Baby Boom generation, I know that I’ve lived in the best place and the best time in the history of the world—or at least very close to it. Canada, some European countries, Australia, and later Japan can lay some claims to being the best places ever, but suffice it to say that I’ve been lucky. Yet, despite all the material comfort and security that my country and culture have allowed me, there’s still a sense that things aren’t as they should be. The twentieth century is full of contradictions: untold wealth and prosperity interrupted by horrific wars; deep economic depressions despite the existence of all the ingredients of prosperity; the threat of nuclear annihilation; a culture that sometimes seems alien to human concerns; and civilizations that degrade the natural environment with wanton indifference. Thus, despite my good fortune, I’ve been sympathetic to critiques of contemporary culture. My introduction to such a critique came from Theodore Roszak’s The Making of a Counter-Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition (1969), which I was assigned to read in my freshman year in college for my course “Introduction to Political Theory.” From that introduction, I went on to read the likes of Hannah Arendt, Lewis Mumford, Jacques Ellul, Phillip Rieff, the Frankfurt School, Jürgen Habermas, William Irwin Thompson, Wendell Berry, and others. I’ve found resonance with critiques of contemporary Western culture. And much of Asia and other developing regions have adopted Western culture, especially its economics and technology. I hasten to add that I’m well acquainted and sympathetic to the champions of our contemporary world, too, and as this is also “the best of times.” I appreciate the positive perspective as well as the negative.

I mention all this because now I have now encountered a new diagnosis and critique of many of the problems of Western culture that strikes me as uniquely insightful and truly ingenious.

College literature professor turned psychiatrist, Iain McGilchrist, has written a two-part book about the anatomical split in our brains and how that split in functions affects how we perceive the world and creates our culture. According to McGilchrist, we can consider our culture from the perspective of the different functions of the two different hemispheres of the brain. (For some further background, see my earlier post about McGilchrist’s RSA Animate presentation and the book he wrote as a follow-up to this masterwork under review here.) In the first part of the book, McGilchrist focuses on anatomical and functional details of the brain, with the well-known but often misunderstood division of the left and right hemispheres. The split is not, as first thought, a neat division of language and logic on the left versus vision, music, and feeling on the right. Functions for each of these skills draw on both sides of the brain. However, the brain is divided and is different on each side. In fact, it doesn’t even sit symmetrically within the cranium: it’s torqued (Yanklovian torque) as if someone had twisted it slightly from the bottom so that the right front is slightly larger than its left counterpart, and the left posterior just a bit larger than its right counterpart. Also, the two sides are joined by a bridge, the corpus callosum, which serves as the gatekeeper that regulates the traffic between the two halves. This (rather narrow) bridge provides a clue about the division of functions within the brain. The gatekeeper often performs its most important work when it inhibits traffic between the two halves. Why? Because each half has its own outlook or way of perceiving the world.

McGilchrist spends much of the book examining the two different ways each side of the brain perceives the world: the right deals with living, dynamic, unique, and context-dependent portions of the environment. The left side deals with (and creates) the static, still, and minutely focused parts of our attention. Each side has evolved to deal with two different needs. The two hemispheres of the brain cooperate, but their perspectives are mostly separate. Thus, language involves both sides of the brain, but the left side, with its emphasis on static, detailed information dominates vocabulary and syntax issues. Thus, while an impulse toward speech may originate in the right brain, those impulses must pass to the left side to obtain full expression. Here is where stroke victims and the subjects of split-brain surgeries (severing the corpus callosum to alleviate epileptic seizures) provide amazing clues about the different functions of the two hemispheres. McGilchrist wades through this research to deepen our understanding and appreciation of these issues.

But if the book were only a catalog of “our amazing divided brain!” it would prove exciting but not profound. The profundity value of the book comes from McGilchrist’s ability to trace the effects of this division of the brain into daily life, especially into a portrait of its influence on the formal culture of the West. (He doesn’t address Eastern culture, begging off for lack of acquaintance.) McGilchrist’s knowledge of Western culture, chiefly literary and philosophical culture, is impressive. McGilchrist argues that Western culture since the Enlightenment, and especially after the Romantic reaction to the Enlightenment, has been dominated by a left-brain perspective. The left-brain focuses on the static, the manufactured (i.e., the not living, not organic), and that which we can manipulate and control and which therefore pays easily identifiable dividends. The left-side also prefers the literal to the metaphoric and the artificial to the natural. 

McGilchrist finds this especially true in the 20th-century when examining contemporary literature and philosophy, as well as the broader cultural milieu. McGilchrist locates times in Western cultural history when attitudes, beliefs, and practices reflected in the two different perspectives and functions of the brain were balanced, such as in Periclean Athens and the Renaissance. Problems arose early, on the other hand, when the pre-Socratics, such as Heraclitus, with his emphasis on flux and change, were shunted aside by Plato and Aristotle, who preferred the static and established  “reason” as the ideal. Indeed, from Plato through Kant, Western philosophy emphasized the left-hemisphere perspective (with some exception for Spinoza: “Spinoza was one of the few philosophers, apart from Pascal, between Plato and Hegel to have a strong sense of the right-hemisphere world.” McGilchrist, Iain (2010-08-16). The Master and His Emissary (Kindle Locations 3804-3805). Yale University Press. Kindle Edition.). In the broader culture, religion offered a good deal of counter-balance to the left-sidedness of philosophy. McGilchrist argues that with Hegel, philosophy begins to take a corrective turn. McGilchrist, following Leon Sass, agrues that modern culture displays many of the traits of schizophrenia. Publisher’s Weekly writes of Sass’s book Madness and Modernism: Insanity in the Light of Modern Art, Literature, and Thought:

Does the schizophrenic's chaotic inner world resemble modern art and literature? Sass, a clinical psychologist and Rutgers professor, argues that schizophrenia and modernism display striking affinities: fragmentation, defiance of authority, multiple viewpoints, self-referentiality and rejection of the external world for an omnipotent self or, alternately, a total loss of self. While the parallels he draws often seem superficial, there is much to ponder in Sass's notion that schizophrenia's core traits are exaggerations of tendencies fostered by our culture. 

As this quote suggests, McGilchrist, following Sass, finds striking resemblances that McGilchrist identifies as a manifestation of a left-brain perspective run awry. Identifying and counter-acting this trend is a defining part of McGilchrist’s project. He writes:

Hegel, along with Heraclitus and Heidegger, has a particular place in the unfolding story of the relationship between the cerebral hemispheres, in that, it seems to me, his philosophy actually tries to express the mind's intuition of its own structure – if you like, the mind cognising itself. His spirit is like an unseen presence in this book, and it is necessary to devote a few pages to his heroic attempts to articulate, in relation to the structure of the mind or spirit (Geist), what lies almost beyond articulation, even now that we have knowledge of the structure of the brain. 

McGilchrist, Iain. The Master and His Emissary (Kindle Locations 5477-5481). Yale University Press. Kindle Edition.

Along with Hegel, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Heidegger, and Wittgenstein, among German-language philosophers, receive extended and sympathetic treatment (demonstrating that McGilchrist willingly suffers through some dense and challenging prose to retrieve nuggets of insight). Also receiving favorable treatment and consideration are lesser-known figures like Husserl, Scheler, and Merleau-Ponty: each gives voice and insight into the function of the right brain. Finally, McGilchrist considers the American pragmatists, John Dewey and William James, for their useful perspectives on philosophy and the organic nature of reality.  

My choice of the Nietzschean fable of the Master and his emissary suggests that right at the heart of the relationship between the hemispheres I see a power struggle between two unequal entities, and moreover one in which the inferior, dependent party (the left hemisphere) starts to see itself as of primary importance.

Id. at 5481-5483.

Is all of this worth the effort? I think so. It’s a very valid and live issue, I believe. How we view our world, what perspectives we take, will change the course of our actions. If we do in fact give predominance to the left-brain perspective, we will reap consequences that will likely backfire on us. Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, we have loosed its magic on the world, but we have lost control. We need the Master, the living world of the right brain, to come to the rescue.

The Unknown Known: What You Didn't Know You Didn't Know: A Film by Errol Morris

“My goodness, what should we think of such a film?” I can hear Donald Rumsfeld saying it now. His good-natured, awe-shucks language serves as a veneer on this most ambitious and arrogant man. 

For those of you who may have forgotten, Donald Rumsfeld served as the U.S. Secretary of Defense for George W. Bush. On the filming and questioning end, we have the acclaimed documentary filmmaker Errol Morris, whose documentary The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert McNamara is among my favorite films. Indeed, I savored the anticipation of comparing the McNamara experience with Rumsfeld’s, but the comparison fell flat.

Someone likened McNamara to the Flying Dutchman, sailing from port to port in search of redemption. In The Fog of War, we see McNamara trying to come to terms with the tragedy of Vietnam, the tragedy of Lyndon Johnson, the harrowing experience of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the loss of innocence (if that’s the right term) caused by the assassination of JFK. He came across as genuine and conflicted—not an evil man. He believed in his calling, and he remained loyal to the memory of the two presidents under whom he served. McNamara did only one stint in government: Secretary of Defense for Kennedy and Johnson (excluding military service in WWII for the Army Air Corps under Curtis LeMay) .

Rumsfeld doesn’t generate sympathy; he generates perplexity. His smile and charm are like the smile of the Cheshire Cat: he hides behind it. Morris lets us know that when Rumsfeld took the helm at the Pentagon for the second time (he held the job under Gerald Ford as well) he had the reputation of a consummate Washington player. One gets the sense from his resume and from keeping pals like Dick Cheney that he never went into anything naively.

We learn in the film that Rumsfeld is a memo-maker, writing notes to himself and others incessantly. “Snowflakes”, he (or someone) came to call them. He thinks on paper, or at least seems to think. But here's the enigma: the man who tried to reason out his votes as a young congressman appears immune to real reflection—at least by the time that he’s serving in the Bush Administration. One takes away from the film no admission of misjudgment or mistake and only a cursory admission of uncertainty about the whole Iraq War undertaking.

 
I’ve read recently about human reasoning as a vehicle for persuasion rather than a process for reaching truth. Sperber and Mercier have proposed the Argumentative Theory of Reason that claims that humans developed reasoning skills to persuade others. (Their paper here and summaries here & here.)  In a group with open discussion and the ability to examine and criticize others, reasoning can work well. However, when we attempt to reason on our own, our reasoning goes astray under the influence of the confirmation bias and other self-interested motives. Iain McGilchrist in his RSA Animate short and in his book The Master and His Emissary makes a related point about the brain. McGilchrist argues that the right brain, which perceives experience in context and dynamically, is undercut by the static, abstract, and tightly focused left-brain that is dominant (but not exclusive) in the production of language. McGilchrist writes: 

Sequential analytic ‘processing’ also makes the left hemisphere the hemisphere par excellence of sequential discourse, and that gives it the most extraordinary advantage in being heard. It is like being the Berlusconi of the brain, a political heavyweight who has control of the media. Speech is possible from the right hemisphere, but it is usually very limited. We have seen that thought probably originates in the right hemisphere, but the left hemisphere has most syntax and most of the lexicon, which makes it very much the controller of the ‘word’ in general. Coupled with its preference for classification, analysis and sequential thinking, this makes it very powerful in constructing an argument.

McGilchrist, Iain (2010-08-16). The Master and His Emissary (Kindle Locations 6099-6104). Yale University Press. Kindle Edition.

I mention this because watching this film seems to lend so much support to this perspective. In appearance and in language (oral and written), Rumsfeld comes across as the consummate thinker and reflector, but in reality, it’s all so much bull shit. He makes no connection between the realities in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Guantanamo and his words. In print and briefly in the film, Morris notes that Rumsfeld was very taken with the issue of Pearl Harbor and how the Japanese were able to attack U.S. bases when the U.S. knew that an attack was likely. (In articles appearing in the New York Times, Morris further discusses Rumsfeld’s interest in the work of Roberta Wohlstetter and Thomas Schelling about Pearl Harbor.) In fact, we learn that in July 2001 Rumsfeld wrote a memo about how such an event might occur again and (presumably) how to avoid it. But he makes no substantive connection with the events of 9/11. This happened on his watch. One plane crashed into his Pentagon. All words, no connections.

The film takes its title from one of Rumsfeld’s most famous utterances. You must watch to the end of the film to unpack what he said and then attempt to figure out what he means. In the end, it just seems to have been words, words, words.

At the conclusion of The Fog of War I felt sympathy for McNamara and I said to friends at the theatre, “they should send this to the Bush Administration”. I don’t think anyone in the Bush Administration watched that film before heading off into the war in Iraq. Alas, at the end of The Unknown Known, I can't feel sympathy for Rumsfeld. I feel sorry for us. I think we got suckered.