Books are our Friends?

I’ve never counted how many books I read. I read a lot. I do read some science and the occasionally biography, but mostly it’s pure escapism, taking me to other worlds, full of magic and wonder, the kind of Sci-fi or Fantasy written by real masters; Tolkien, of course, Stephen Donaldson, Peter F Hamilton, Iain M. Banks, Robert Jordan (I’m only a little ashamed the I have in fact read the entire Wheel of Time series), Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Terry Pratchett, Greg Bear, just to name a few of my favourites. It’s the stuff I was raised on; Mum used to read to us when we were little, me and my little sister, lying quietly while she did ALL of the voices in the books. Did you know that Legolas (and all elves for that matter) spoke with an Irish accent? I credit this as the main reason I have a sharper-than-it-should-be dislike for that androgynous waif Orlando Bloom who played him in the LOTR movies.

I’ve always had this abiding respect for books, not just because I enjoy reading them, but something deeper, almost spiritual. As if they possessed some abstract quality which accorded them respect beyond their immediate worth as a work of wit and labour.

“Books are our friends,” intoned my Honoured Matre, prompted by an act of literary cruelty, namely, throwing a book across the room. “Books are our friends and you should treat them with respect.”

So here I am, almost an adult at 29 and recalling this often repeated phrase is a telling reminder that we have so many little ways in which our childhoods shapes our adulthood. But is it true, are they our friends? From one perspective, a book can be categorised with a TV; designed to take your mind elsewhere for a while. From another, a book is an argument, laying out before the reader a case for, or against, or maybe simply exploring an idea.

Ideas are not limited to your friends. Those who might wish you harm also have them. A book is a powerful conduit from one mind to the other, transmitting that most infectious of agents to the next host. With this in mind, a book takes on an eldritch light, glowing with the accumulated wealth of knowledge of its authors and makers, setting out in plain speak that which is so. A book can tell the future, it can analyse the past, it can make bold claims about the present and change the course of events. It can deceive and lie, prevaricate and dissemble, all dressed up in florid prose or techno-babble. It is a special thing, to be cherished, respected and feared.

But perhaps I wouldn’t actually call them “friends”.

Where is the faith in science?

I'm a sucker for arguments, especially ones where I think I'll do well:P. But mostly, recently, on evolution and creationism. It's been a long argument, beginning about 150 yrs ago, to be precise. All too often during arguments over evolution, I find myself being accused of faith.

Science, a cdesign proponentist might say, is simply another faith. How can you claim superiority over other faiths in terms of an ability to claim truth or untruth? Science, like Atheism, is simply another religion and shouldn't be used to form public policy, at least in so far as it disagrees with MY faith.

I would argue that not only is science not a faith, it was in fact developed as a direct reaction to the pervasion of faith through society. Royal edict was fact and law, papal revelation was immutable truth, often on pain of death. While this served to preserve the power structure of many societies, it also severely impeded the advancement of human knowledge. I say this not to judge, just to describe the circumstances. Say what you like about religion or imperialism, those mechanisms gave rise to the societies that allowed specialists like inventors and thinkers to prosper. It is ever the sweetest of ironies to see a tyrant brought low by their own hand. On that note, one of the first modern science institutions, the Royal Society, was established with the remit of specificaly excluding matters of theology purely for political reasons. You could look at this as an historical accident, but what rapidly emerged was a highly efficient way of deducing useful explanations about our world. And perhaps I'm drawing a long bow with this, but is it not a coincidence that Monarchies fade went their supposed Divine Right is questioned? Or simply ignored. I wonder if the gradual realisation that power comes from knowledge and not from birthright played any role in that.

Science isn't a faith, not in the same way as a religion is a faith. Granted we might have what I like to term "Small Faiths", where we accept things without really understanding whats going on. I have a kind of faith that my car will start tomorrow, and that I can operate it safely to drive me to work. I don't know how the car works, except in principle, but I have a small faith that it will. Everyone has these, in the assumptions of our day to day lives. Science works because during research these Small Faiths are specifically identified and excluded. Nothing that cannot be confirmed and shown objectively is permitted to contribute to the emerging explanation. Why? Because we are very, very good at deluding ourselves into believing things that are not strictly true.

I believe that science is not a faith, but actually a recognition that in ourselves is a desire and ability to percieve things in ways that are pleasing to us, even if those ways are not consistent with reality. Self delusion is an extremely powerful force in our minds; it may be a byproduct of normal sensory interpretation, like pattern detection or psychological conditioning. We ascribe significance to patterns merely because they get our attention, we assume that what we perceive is objectively real - a necessary survival instinct, I'm sure. Can I be sure that really is a leopard? Suppose I only think I see a leopard, and it's actually just the play of the -EEEERKk..... You get the idea. Science recognises this fact as an immutable part of human nature, a part of our animal heritage. As a consequence researchers are required in all cases to externalise their findings, treating them with non-subjective analyses, controlling extensively for researcher or systematic bias. Peer review is only the last step in this process, where the over- arching hypothesis that was confirmed or denied by the many confirmed facts is tested for explanatory power. Emphasis on the peer-review process shouldn't over-shadow the many smaller processes of self-editing that go in over the course of a research project, which can be as simple a thing as talking to a colleague.

If I have a faith, it isn't in facts or theories, far from it. History is too full of supposedly "known" facts being quashed for me to seriously consider anything absolutely true. Rather you might say that I do have faith in the ability of science to winnow through the ideas we dream up, finding those kernels of value in explaining our world. Today, the global effort in science research makes this faith stronger, for the wider we cast our net across the many human minds, complete with their many prejudices, the more likely we are to stumble upon those ideas that work best. If you want to particularly pedantic about it, givern that science admits we don't, as yet, know everything, you might say that science selects out of our imagination those explanatory ideas that are least wrong.

But even there, faith isn't really the right word, as faith implies (or even requires) a lack of evidence. Science created the modern world, and testament to it's power and scope couldn't be plainer. Was the design for my shiny new laptop granted by divine revelation? No, it was nutted out by the accumulated hard work, over decades, of thousands of people through the rigorous application of the principles of science.

To reiterate, the purpose of science is to tell fact from fiction, primarily via recognition of our ability to imagine anything, and perhaps more importantly, for the propensity of ideas to cross the line in our minds between what is real and what is not. Science attempts to control for this effect, to find the ideas and explanations that do, in fact, fit with the universe (or multiverse, heh) as far as we are able to measure it.

Life is a Wave

Although, right there, I got it wrong in the title. I'd stop reading now, if I were you.

It’s a strange thing, learning about reality. I’ve done a bit of science, my undergrad was pretty weird, with computer science, organic chemistry, animal behaviour, physiology, genetics, proteins, transgenics. I don’t claim to be a master of any of them, but all of them seem to rely on a very basic thing. Basic only in the sense that it is basal to life, something that underpins it, chemistry and physics as well as far as my own limited understanding of it goes. Not simple basic, but something complex and extraordinary. Something so ordinary that we do it every day, compulsively, enthusiastically at times. A driving force, perhaps The driving force of our universe.

We use Energy.

We are no less part of the universe then a rock or empty space, because what we share is the flow of energy. From where it is most concentrated, to where it is less, that is the heart-beat of our world. It won’t come as a shock to you to find out that our sun is the source of virtually all biotic energy consumed and exchanged on our planet. It is the well-spring, providing a glorious tide of energy sweeping past us, if only we had wit enough to grab it. Earth rides the wave between deep space and the surface of a stable fusion reaction suspended in space. Imagine how deeply cold the void at our backs must be, to have to sit so close to our star.

Life is a strange thing, a crossing of streams in a primordial ocean, a divine event, who can say for sure how it came to be? A strange thing indeed, this concoction of ordered chemicals, able to exist only in the barest of crevices in all the vastness of space. In brief terms, life can be described as dynamic, responsive system capable of reacting to and countering catastrophic changes to its own physical state. How is such a thing possible? Vast energies are streaming by, doing their level best to sterilise our poor planet, and yet it can coherently transmit the ability to survive over and over again, learning all the while, in a haphazard way. Life fights back against the forces of disorder, by leaching energy from the universe around it. It is a system that lowers its local entropy by raising it elsewhere, with some lost as heat. Think of that as universe tax. Everything pays it, if it wants to stay in this universe. So, if you are running low on the energy which drives your suite of chemistry, pinch it off the the other bugger and give the taxman his share.

We, the squishy beings living on the shore of the solar system, are riding our own little energy wavelet. Life, it seems, is something like a surfing competition. Except in this competition, the wave you are riding is the only one you get, and everyone has a rifle. If you wipe-out, well, best not to think about it. The idea is to try to steal other people’s waves, grabbing on to a bigger one as yours dies. At this point the metaphor gets a little stretched, but imagine instead of stealing your opponent’s wave, you add it to your own and keep surfing.

All energy used by living things comes from the decay of energy from a higher state, to a lower one, snatching a handful of the stuff as it goes past. You, squishy being, are the sum of all of the energetic reactions going on inside you right now. You are riding a waterfall of energy, directing jets of spray at your ad hoc water wheels, powering matter around you into a higher energy state. As the splashing ripples outward, new patterns are formed, turn back on themselves and pass back through you.

Life is not, in fact, a wave, it rides a wave. The wave is complex and largely unknown to us, but we use it constantly, even in the very act to thinking about its existence. David Deutsch wrote in his book, The Fabric of Reality that life is a mechanism by which the universe knows itself, by building models in our heads and in our computers. Is something like life inevitable in a complex universe? To do the observing , making sure the cat in the box is dead or alive by, in fact checking the box, so to speak. Are we the cosmic equivalent of a roadie on a rock tour, checking the mic, possibly while smoking a cigarette?

Cosmic purpose aside, if one were to be pedantic about it the matter which makes up a living organism can be considered as a type of compressed energy, with its own special standing wave. So we are a sum of a sum of waves, sticking a curved ramp into the waterfall of mana raining from our star and directing the plume of water arching high into the air, making our own little wave splash out and around us. So it seems I was wrong twice, both times proved by my arch nemesis, myself. Oh cruel irony!

It’s inevitable; our universe only has one fate. If you told me you could find a thousand different ideas about what is to come, I’d be forced to believe you, if only because of the credulity of humankind in general. The one which rings true to me is the big crunch, for purely selfish notions only and not based on any actual knowledge. It satisfies some romantic impulse in me that likes the idea of cyclical exploding and crunching universes. How many of them, do you think, would allow us to ride their waves?