Tag: psychology

Japan-Watching: Still Dreaming: Kon Satoshi’s “Paprika” and Other Visions

by Miyamoto Yūko [宮本 裕子]

Anime (アニメ) director KON Satoshi (今 敏) died in 2010 at the age of 46, but his works remain highly influential. His final film Paprika, released 20 years ago, highlights his preoccupations with the divided self and the blurring of the lines between dreams and reality.

Dream Analysis

After starting out as a manga artist in 1985, KON Satoshi [今 敏] honed his skills in the anime production teams of OSHII Mamoru [押井 守] and ŌTOMO Katsuhiro [大友 克洋], and then made his feature-length direction debut with Perfect Blue, which was released in Japan in 1998. His fourth feature, the 2006 Paprika, is an adaptation of the novel of the same name by TSUTSUI Yasutaka [筒井 康隆]. Kon was public in his admiration of the book and he is said to have aimed to produce “something like the novel Paprika” in his previous anime. Indeed, Kon’s Paprika adaptation has many factors in common with his earlier works.

KON Satoshi [今 敏]

KON Satoshi [今 敏] in Venice in September 2006, when Paprika was showing in competition at the Venice International Film Festival. (© Reuters)

Tsutsui studied psychology at university, and motifs and ideas from Freudian and Jungian psychoanalysis feature regularly in his novels. Dream analysis plays a central role in the story in Paprika. In psychoanalysis, psychologically repressed material is thought to be banished to the unconscious before emerging in a different form in dreams. Analysis of dreams has been seen as a valuable way of resolving psychological problems by bringing the repressed matter into the open.

Paprika is set in a near-future Japan, where it is possible to monitor other people’s dreams on a screen. The main character is a therapist called Chiba Atsuko, who provides treatment via her alter ego Paprika, a dream detective. The technology is abused, however, forcing people to experience nightmares, and eventually these flood into the real world.

While Kon follows the broad outline of the original work, his adaptation incorporates numerous changes. The biggest of these is the chaotic parade of electronic goods, beckoning cats (“maneki-neko” [招き猫]), Buddhist statues, torii gates [鳥居], and other marching objects. This symbolizes nightmares spilling out of control, but there is nothing like it in Tsutsui’s book. Kon explained that the parade is made up of old-fashioned appliances and forgotten religious and traditional elements.

In Freud’s The Uncanny, he describes the titular subject as something familiar that has been estranged through repression. In the film, the members of the parade have become estranged from the conscious minds of people today, but are resurrected, and symbolize the uncanny nature of nightmares.

The parade that invades the dreams of patients. (© 2006 Madhouse/Sony Pictures Entertainment Japan, Inc.)

Integrating the Self

Alongside its Freudian elements, Kon’s Paprika shows Jungian influences. Carl Jung did not think that it was best to bring repressed aspects of the psyche under control, instead emphasizing the importance of integrating them into the self. This integration process can be seen in several of the characters.

While Konakawa, a character suffering from anxiety issues, searches through his dreams together with Paprika, he realizes that a mysterious person he repeatedly encounters is an old friend with whom he once shared the ambition of becoming a film director. This friend, who died of illness, appears in Konakawa’s dreams as his other self—the one who wanted to be a director. Konakawa overcomes his anxiety by recognizing and reconciliating with the repressed and forgotten self, represented by his old friend.

The division and antagonism between Chiba Atsuko and her alter ego Paprika are similar to those seen between Konakawa and his old friend. In the original book, Paprika was Chiba in disguise as a dream detective, but in Kon’s anime, they are like entirely different characters. In the finale, when dreams are flooding into the real world, they divide completely, existing at the same time in the same space. After this split, Chiba comes together again temporarily with the uninhibited Paprika when she no longer holds back her suppressed love for her colleague Tokita Kōsaku.

Chiba Atsuko with her divided self Paprika reflected in the glass. (© 2006 Madhouse/Sony Pictures Entertainment Japan, Inc.)

Chiba and Paprika do not divide in Tsutsui’s novel, and Konakawa’s old friend does not represent another self. This aspect of the divided self, added by Kon during the adaptation process, can be taken as a Jungian motif.

Books by the late KAWAI Hayao [河合 隼雄], renowned as a Jungian psychologist, were widely read in Japan from the 1980s until the 1990s, and Kon was among his readers. He is said to have become an avid reader of the psychologist for a time because he wanted to understand the music and lyrics of HIRASAWA Susumu (平沢 進), the former vocalist of the techno-pop band P-Model, who was influenced by Kawai. Hirasawa later created soundtracks for anime by Kon, including Paprika.

Kon also stated that he was influenced by the novels of MURAKAMI Haruki (村上 春樹), who himself developed a friendly relationship with Kawai through interviews and other encounters. Kon is said to have claimed that he was the only person who could adapt A Wild Sheep Chase [羊をめぐる冒険] and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle [ねじまき鳥クロニクル] to anime.

Kon’s Themes

The anime Paprika could be seen as a later stage in the Kawai-led Jungian psychology boom in Japan, as well as a culmination of Kon’s characteristic themes. For example, the following aspects regularly appear in Kon’s work.

First, there is the depiction of another self. These include Chiba and Paprika in Paprika, Chiyoko and the old woman who appears at key moments and symbolizes Chiyoko’s future self in Millennium Actress (2002), and idol-turned-actress Mima and the apparition of her former pop star self in Perfect Blue.

Second, there are departures from heterosexual norms. In Paprika, the title character announces the wedding of Tokita and Chiba, which maintains the existence of this free-spirited “dream detective,” so that the film deviates subtly from the typical closed ending of heterosexual marriage. The ending of Millennium Actress suggests that Chiyoko’s long search for an artist she meets in her youth is her goal in itself, rather than a romantic relationship with him. In Tokyo Godfathers [東京ゴッドファーザーズ] (2003), alongside a caricatured depiction of a transgender character, we see the struggles of heterosexual couples and their families.

The third aspect is how media and technology blur the lines between reality and the unreal world. In Paprika, the DC Mini device erodes the boundary between reality and the dreams it is used to view, while Mima’s double in Perfect Blue appears in mirrors, PC monitors, and internet browsers. In Millennium Actress, Chiyoko’s acting roles are intertwined with her real life. In Kon’s anime series Paranoia Agent [妄想代理人] (2004), rumors transform into reality through the actions of the mass media and the characters, who in themselves are a kind of media commodity.

During a scene in Paprika when Konakawa goes to the movie theater, posters for Kon’s other films are on display. This shot shows Millennium Actress and Perfect Blue. (© 2006 Madhouse/Sony Pictures Entertainment Japan, Inc.)

Robot Adventure?

While there are clearly repeating themes in Kon’s works, Dreaming Machine [夢みる機械], which remains unfinished due to his sudden death from cancer, shows signs of an apparent major change of course. At one point it was announced that another director would complete the movie, but the producer later backtracked, saying that there was no director capable of realizing Kon’s vision.

Based on the remaining materials, this appeared set to be an action-adventure story about robots hunting down precious electricity in a near-future setting when humans are extinct. Paprika was also set in the near future, but Dreaming Machine features more overtly futuristic urban landscapes. The main characters are smaller, cartoonish robots, compared with the relatively tall humans of Kon’s other films. While it seems to have been aiming for a different kind of movie in terms of both content and visuals, was this really going to be a standard adventure story, without any twists?

Kon said that one of his influences was the manga [漫画] creator MOROHOSHI Daijirō (諸星 大二郎). In a short 1974 work by Morohoshi, also called “Dreaming Machine” (“Yume miru kikai [夢みる機械]”), robots go about their daily lives in the place of humans, who dream in a form of suspended animation. Kon’s unpublished 1984 manga Toriko covered similar ground. Can it be simple coincidence that his unfinished work has the same title as Morohoshi’s manga?

Beyond what looks on the surface like a robot action adventure, in Dreaming Machine,  Kon may have planned to depict a world of cryofrozen, dreaming humans. Or perhaps the robots were intended to be controlled consciously or subconsciously by humans. This is pure speculation, but I cannot help thinking that Kon may have intended to continue his theme of technology blurring the boundaries between dreams, or fantasy, and reality.

Some people may consider it unproductive to imagine what Kon’s works may have been, but this imaginative act helps carry his vision forward. Kon’s direct and indirect influence can be found in films like Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream (2000) and Black Swan (2010), Christopher Nolan’s Inception (2010), and Edgar Wright’s Last Night in Soho (2021). While we will never see another KON Satoshi (今 敏) film, his vision lives on.

(Originally published in Japanese on July 10, 2026. Banner image from Paprika; © 2006 Madhouse/Sony Pictures Entertainment Japan, Inc.)

We Are Finite. Does This Affect What We Can Know?

§2. What Can We Know?

The theme of this section is that We Are Finite: while our knowledge of the number 3 is intimately associated with experiences of some kind or other of triples of one or another sort, surely nothing like that is the case for our knowledge of the number ω or, for that matter, the number 10101010.

To avoid misunderstanding, let me emphasize that the issue being addressed is not “How can we have knowledge of mathematical objects despite their abstractness?” but rather “How can we have knowledge of infinite mathematical objects despite their huge size and consequent remoteness from experience?” Here is what I mean by remoteness: Not only do we not have experience of infinite mathematical objects, but we do not have any experience of anything suitably like them. The number 2 bears some relation to pairs of objects. The points and lines of Euclidean geometry bear some relation to pencil points and lines. But there does not seem to be anything suitable to play any analogous role for infinite mathematical objects.

Of course infinite mathematical objects are abstract. The issue of remoteness is an addition to that of abstractness. Both are apparent epistemological difficulties caused by the distance of mathematical objects from experience.

But if we divide the problem of the abstract into two parts, the problem of the finite and the problem of the infinite, it becomes clear that the two have quite distinct features.

The problem of the abstract, in Paul Benacerraf’s words, is this [Ben73, p. 409]: “the concept of mathematical truth, as explicated, must fit into an over-all account of knowledge in a way that makes it intelligible how we have the mathematical knowledge that we have. An acceptable semantics for mathematics must fit an acceptable epistemology?” For Benacerraf, an acceptable semantics is a Platonist one, and so his problem is that of the difficulties involved in giving an acceptable account of knowledge of abstract objects. Benacerraf concentrated on a weaker version of the problem: not on accounting for the mathematical knowledge that we have but on accounting for how we can have any mathematical knowledge whatever. “The minimal requirement, then, is that a satisfactory account of mathematical truth must be consistent with the possibility that some such truths be knowable” [Ben73, p. 409]. Philosophers have tended to concentrate on the minimal requirement and to offer up solutions to the problem of the finite to solve it.

Even those skeptical about the existence of any abstract mathematical objects at all want to endorse the truism ‘2 + 2 = 4’ in some way or other that acknowledges that it is better than ‘2 + 2 = 5’ even though they may not grant that it is true. Even without an abstract number 2, one is still faced with explaining the general fact that the members of two nonoverlapping pairs form a quadruple.

Whatever one’s views about mathematical objects, it is necessary to make sense of our counting, computing, and bookkeeping activities. Skepticism about small finite mathematical objects—in particular small natural numbers is just not doubt about the acceptability in some form or other of many of the putative facts about them. Moreover, there are many stories one could tell about a source for genuine knowledge concerning some finite mathematical objects, including, as the most trivial special case, knowledge of their existence. Take, for example, small natural numbers. Various explanations of our knowledge about them might invoke the experience of time, the experience of bunches of physical objects or of patterns exhibited by them, or the sequencing of words in sentences. Other explanations might rely on the exigencies of the construction of theories of the physical world. We are faced with too many ways of accounting for our knowledge of small finite mathematical objects, not too few. For example, Parsons [Par80] showed how to account for such knowledge on the basis of our linguistic capacities, while Maddy [Mad90] showed how to do it on the basis of experiences with medium-sized physical objects.

Benacerraf’s minimal requirement can surely be met with an acceptable solution to the problem of the finite—though I make no claim to know what the actual solution is. That is a question whose answer involves detailed psychological information about how people typically actually acquire knowledge of small finite mathematical objects, and we do not yet have sufficiently detailed information to answer it. Acquisition of the number concept does, however, involve both linguistic components—learning to count aloud—and experience of medium-sized physical objects—counting them using the spoken number sequence. It is therefore likely that the actual solution involves components of both the one proposed by Parsons and the one proposed by Maddy—and probably other components as well.

In sharp contrast to the situation about ‘2 + 2 = 4’, many of those who are skeptical about the existence of infinite combinatorial collections would want to doubt or deny the Axiom of Choice—not only its truth, but its acceptability in any form whatever. General facts about the infinite are not robust in the same way that the facts of counting, computing, and bookkeeping are. Moreover, it is not at all clear what we can fall back on as a source of mathematical knowledge concerning the infinite—what can play the role that bunches and sequences of moments, objects, or words seem so well suited to play for small finite mathematical objects. It is that lack that raises the problem posed by the remoteness of the infinite: it seems that we cannot have grounds to know what we find we actually do know about the infinite.

In Chapter VIII I shall show that as a matter of fact the combinatorial infinite is not remote—it has pretty much the same kinds of ties to experience as do small natural numbers. (That may be a bit misleading see Chapter VIII for a more careful formulation.) That solves the problem of the remoteness of the infinite philosophical problems concerning infinite mathematical objects become just like the familiar ones concerning finite mathematical objects. That is important because the problems concerning finite mathematical objects are not skeptical ones—the genuine doubts about the acceptability of our theory of the infinite are refuted. It also provides the essential missing ingredient for an explanation of the grounds on which mathematicians are entitled to make claims of self-evidence. But before presenting the solution, it is necessary to become clearer on the nature of the problem.

The two Benacerrafian problems—of the finite and the infinite—are both important, and every adequate philosophy of mathematics must be compatible with solutions to them. Nonetheless, the problem of the infinite deserves special emphasis because it is in danger of being lost as the result of the huge amount of attention being devoted to the Benacerrafian problem of the abstract in its simplified guise as the problem of the finite. That loss would be most unfortunate. The problem concerning the infinite was a primary concern of the philosophy of mathematics for many years—as may be seen in the work of Brouwer and that of several philosophers discussed by Benacerraf, such as Hilbert, Gödel, and Quine.

Shaughan Lavine, Understanding the Infinite, Harvard University Press, 1994, pgs. 162-165.

You do not doubt that ‘7 – 7 = 0’, but you cannot say ‘∞ – ∞ = 0’. In math lingo, the latter is indeterminate. Does this mean we are incapable of understanding the indeterminate, or is this just the nature of the universe? Consider Eugene Wigner’s lecture, “The Unreasonable Effectiveness of Mathematics in the Natural Sciences”. He noted, “It is important to point out that the mathematical formulation of the physicist’s often crude experience leads in an uncanny number of cases to an amazingly accurate description of a large class of phenomena.”

Still, complete understanding often seems to elude us.

Monomania and the West

There have been all kinds of “voices” in the history of Western civilization. Perhaps the loudest voice is that of monomaniacs, who always claim that behind the appearance of the many is the one. If we illustrate the West, and at its roots, the intersection of Athens and Jerusalem, we see the origins of this monomania. Plato’s realm of ideas was supposed to explain everything encountered in our daily lives. His main student and rival, Aristotle, has his own competing explanation, based in biology instead of mathematics.

These monomanias in their modern counterpart in ideologies. In communism, the key to have everything is class and the resulting class struggles. Nazism revolves around race and racial conflict.

In our own era, the era of scientism, we have the idea of god replaced with Stephen Hawking’s “mind of god,” Leon Lederman’s The God Particle and KAKU Michio’s The God Equation. In the 2009 film, Angels & Demons, there’s a senior Vatican official, played by Ewan McGregor, who is absolutely outraged by the blasphemous phrase, “the god particle.”

Currently, the monomania impetus continues full-force. For example, Professor Seth Lloyd of MIT tells us that reality is the cosmos and not chaos, because all of reality together is a computer. His MIT colleague, Max Tegmark, argues in his books that the world is not explained by mathematics, but rather is mathematics. Perhaps the climax of this kind of thinking is given to us by the essay “Everything Is Computation” by Joscha Bach:

These days we see a tremendous number of significant scientific news stories, and it’s hard to say which has the highest significance. Climate models indicate that we are past crucial tipping points and irrevocably headed for a new, difficult age for our civilization. Mark van Raamsdonk expands on the work of Brian Swingle and Juan Maldacena and demonstrates how we can abolish the idea of spacetime in favor of a discrete tensor network, thus opening the way for a unified theory of physics. Bruce Conklin, George Church, and others have given us CRISPR/Cas9, a technology that holds promise for simple and ubiquitous gene editing. “Deep learning” starts to tell us how hierarchies of interconnected feature detectors can autonomously form a model of the world, learn to solve problems, and recognize speech, images, and video.

It is perhaps equally important to notice where we lack progress: Sociology fails to teach us how societies work; philosophy seems to have become infertile; the economic sciences seem ill-equipped to inform our economic and fiscal policies; psychology does not encompass the logic of our psyche; and neuroscience tells us where things happen in the brain but largely not what they are.

In my view, the 20th century’s most important addition to understanding the world is not positivist science, computer technology, spaceflight, or the foundational theories of physics.

It is the notion of computation. Computation, at its core, and as informally described as possible, is simple: Every observation yields a set of discernible differences.

These we call information. If the observation corresponds to a system that can change its state, we can describe those state changes. If we identify regularity in those state changes, we are looking at a computational system. If the regularity is completely described, we call this system an algorithm. Once a system can perform conditional state transitions and revisit earlier states, it becomes almost impossible to stop it from performing arbitrary computation. In the infinite case that is, if we allow it to make an unbounded number of state transitions and use unbounded storage for the states—it becomes a Turing machine, or a Lambda calculus, or a Post machine, or one of the many other mutually equivalent formalisms that capture universal computation.

Computational terms rephrase the idea of “causality,” something that philosophers have struggled with for centuries. Causality is the transition from one state in a computational system to the next. They also replace the concept of “mechanism” in mechanistic, or naturalistic, philosophy. Computationalism is the new mechanism, and unlike its predecessor, it is not fraught with misleading intuitions of moving parts.

Computation is different from mathematics. Mathematics turns out to be the domain of formal languages and is mostly undecidable, which is just another word for saying “uncomputable” (since decision making and proving are alternative words for computation, too). All our explorations into mathematics are computational ones, though. To compute means to actually do all the work, to move from one state to the next.

Computation changes our idea of knowledge: Instead of justified true belief, knowledge describes a local minimum in capturing regularities between observables. Knowledge is almost never static but progresses on a gradient through a state space of possible worldviews. We will no longer aspire to teach our children the truth, because, like us, they will never stop changing their minds. We will teach them how to productively change their minds, how to explore the never-ending land of insight.

A growing number of physicists understands that the universe is not mathematical but computational, and physics is in the business of finding an algorithm that can reproduce our observations. The switch from uncomputable mathematical notions (such as continuous space) makes progress possible. Climate science, molecular genetics, and AI are computational sciences. Sociology, psychology, and neuroscience are not: They still seem confused by the apparent dichotomy between mechanism (rigid moving parts) and the objects of their study. They are looking for social, behavioral, chemical, neural regularities, where they should be looking for computational ones.

Everything is computation.

Know This: Today’s Most Interesting and Important Scientific Ideas, Discoveries, and Developments, John Brockman (editor), Harper Perennial, 2017, pages 228-230.

Friedrich Nietzsche rebelled against this type of thinking the most profoundly. If scientism represents the modern, then Nietzsche was the prophet of postmodernism. Nietzsche’s famous phrase, “God is dead.” is not about a creator or divinity, but rather finality itself. There is no final explanation.

Arguments Without End: A Few Simple Examples

In the previous essay (“Is It Good to Be a Detached Observer?”), we just encountered Geyl’s phrase, “arguments without end.” Here we cover a few simple examples.

Language and the Mind

The twentieth century philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein, tells us that his purpose is “to show the fly the way out of the fly-bottle.” Where the fly is, of course, ourselves. He then tells us, that perhaps the main reason is that one is unable to free oneself from bewitchment of the mind by “language games.”

In the song “Hotel California” by the Eagles, there’s the line, “‘We are all just prisoners here / Of our own device.’” In this context, “device” could be interpreted as a bad decision.

My Body and Myself

The American philosophy professor, Samuel Todes, in his book Body and World, analyzes the human body, not as a meat-machine, but more like the silent partner of a person navigating their life. You can get a sense of this from Gabriel Marcel, when he writes:

Is my body my body, for instance, in the same sense in which I would say that my dog belongs to me? The question, let us first of all notice, of how the dog originally came into my hands is quite irrelevant here. Perhaps I found it wandering wretchedly about the streets, perhaps I bought it in a shop; I can say it is mine if nobody else puts in a claim for it—though this is still quite a negative condition of ownership. For the dog to be really, not merely nominally, mine there must exist between us a more positive set of relations. He must live, either with me, or as I, and I alone, have decided he shall live—lodged, perhaps, with a servant or a farmer; whether or not I look after him personally, I must assume the responsibility for his being looked after. And this implies something reciprocal in our relations. It is only it the dog recognizes me, obeys me, expresses by his behaviour towards me some feeling which I can interpret as affection or, at the very least, as wholesome fear, that he is really mine; I would become a laughingstock if I persisted in calling an animal that completely ignored me, that took no notice of me at all, my dog. And the mockery to which I would be exposed in such an instance is very significant. It is linked to a very positive idea of how things must be between my dog and me, before I can really say, ‘This dog is mine’.

Gabriel Marcel, The Mystery of Being, Vol. 1: Reflection & Mystery, Harper Torchbooks, 1965, page 117.

Marcel goes on to explain:

We should recall, at this point, what we said in an earlier lecture about the body; the latter is not merely an instrument, it presents us with a kind of reality which is quite different from the reality of any sort of apparatus, in so far as it, my body, is also my way of being in the world.

Marcel, page 257.

Marcel elaborates:

When I try to make clear to myself the nature of my bond with my body, it appears to me chiefly as something of which I have the use (as one has the use of a piano, a saw, or a razor); but all these uses are extensions of the initial use, which is simply the use of the body. I have real priority to my body when it is a question of active use, but none whatever when it is a question of knowledge. The use is only possible on the basis of a certain felt community. But the community is indivisible; I cannot validly say ‘I and my body.’ The difficulty arises from the fact that I think of my relation with my body on the analogy of my relation with my instruments—whereas in fact the latter presupposes the former.

Gabriel Marcel, Being and Having: An Existentialist Diary, Harper Torchbooks, 1965, page 14.

The connections between the trio of “me, myself and I” and the body is very elusive (as you may sense from your own introspection). This is another “argument without end.”

Psychology and National Moods

The great historian, George Rudé, in his book, Revolutionary Europe, 1783-1815, tries to give a believable and multifactorial explanation of the French Revolution. Based on Ernest Labrousse’s studies of the French economy during that period, Rudé gives a thoughtful and subtle analysis of how wages, prices and other factors correlated to unrest. Interestingly, he concludes on a note of French national mood:

But, of course, it needed more than economic hardship, social discontent, and the frustration of political and social ambitions to make a revolution. To give cohesion to the discontents and aspirations of widely varying social classes there had to be some unifying body of ideas, a common vocabulary, of hope and protest, something, in short, like a common “revolutionary psychology”. In the revolutions of our day, this ideological preparation has been the concern of political parties; but there were no such parties in eighteenth-century France.

George Rudé, Revolutionary Europe, 1783-1815, Wiley, 1964, page 74.

Rudé uses the phrase, “revolutionary psychology.” Apply this to our time and ask yourself, did a demagogue like Donald Trump create a revolutionary psychology, or did it cough up Trump? Notice that in the recent political tract, What’s the Matter with Kansas?, Thomas Frank makes the point that people’s sense of grievance involves not only economics, but also other psychological factors, just as Rudé does with the French Revolution.

Heidegger vs. Marx as World Watchers

Marx (1818-1883) implies that the foundation of human reality is econo-technical, and on that basis society creates thoughts and philosophies, art and poems. This explanation seems appealing when we think of the economic development of China in our time, for example, or the rise of computers and software.

In a way, Heidegger (1889-1976) turns this upside down. At the basis of world history is society producing culture. You can make a simple “cartoon” and say that for Marx, economics shapes everything, and for Heidegger culture replaces economics.

For example, in his book, What Is Called Thinking? (English translation, 1968, Harper & Row), Heidegger argues the foundation of all Western thinking and culture comes from axioms such as logos [Ancient Greek: λόγος] (from which we have logic, cosmology, psychology, epistemology, etc.), as well as legein (the Greek verb λέγειν, “to speak”).

Heidegger states (on page 204), “Without the λέγειν of that logic, modern man would have to make do without his automobile. There would be no airplanes, no turbines, no Atomic Energy Commission.”

Our MI comment on this is that any monocausal explanation of how mankind went from Neanderthal to the Manhattan skyline is completely inadequate. You must create a “double-helix” of Marx and Heidegger, adding the dimensions of surprise and unintended consequences. Without the physics concepts of emergence and complexity, we have no possibility of understanding how we got to now. In the site tagline, we use the word “composite” as a reference to this kind of deeper understanding.

Speculative Science: The Reality beyond Spacetime, with Donald Hoffman

[from The Institute of Art and Ideas Science Weekly, July 22]

Donald Hoffman famously argues that we know nothing about the truth of the world. His book, The Case Against Reality, claims the process of survival of the fittest does not require a true picture of reality. Furthermore, Hoffman claims spacetime is not fundamental. So, what lies beneath spacetime, can we know about it? And how does consciousness come into play? Join this interview with the famed cognitive psychologist and author exploring our notions of consciousness, spacetime, and what lies beneath. Hosted by Curt Jaimungal.

[watch the video]

Education and Circular Causation: Everything Causes Everything Else

The student will have seen in these educational essays the notion of “Husserl’s rhomboid”:

The great philosopher, Edmund Husserl, who died in 1938, would bring a matchbox to class and show his students they see parts and some surface area of the matchbox (a kind of rhomboid, hence the name “Husserl’s rhomboid”) but never all of it at the same time. Students can walk around the matchbox and see facets. They can twirl the matchbox but whatever they do, the students cannot “espy” or glimpse all of it except in their imaginations, once they have been exposed to all of it, side by side, facet by facet.

Gunnar Myrdal, the Swedish economist who won the Nobel Prize in 1974, has something a bit analogous when he speaks of “circular cumulative causation”:

Circular cumulative causation is a theory developed by Swedish economist Gunnar Myrdal in 1956. It is a multi-causal approach where the core variables and their linkages are delineated. The idea behind it is that a change in one form of an institution will lead to successive changes in other institutions. These changes are circular in that they continue in a cycle, many times in a negative way, in which there is no end, and cumulative in that they persist in each round. The change does not occur all at once, which would lead to chaos, rather the changes occur gradually.

Gunnar Myrdal developed the concept from Knut Wicksell and developed it with Nicholas Kaldor when they worked together at the United Nations Economic Commission for Europe.

In the characteristics relevant to an economy’s development process, Myrdal mentioned the availability of natural resources, the historical traditions of production activity, national cohesion, religions and ideologies, and economic, social and political leadership.

He writes:

“The notion of stable equilibrium is normally a false analogy to choose when constructing a theory to explain the changes in a social system.

What is wrong with the stable equilibrium assumption as applied to social reality is the very idea that a social process follows a direction—though it might move towards it in a circuitous way—towards a position which in some sense or other can be described as a state of equilibrium between forces. Behind this idea is another and still more basic assumption, namely that a change will regularly call forth a reaction in the system in the form of changes which on the whole go in the opposite direction to the first change. The idea I want to expound in this book is that, on the contrary, in the normal case there is no such a tendency towards automatic self-stabilisation in the social system. The system is by itself not moving towards any sort of balance between forces, but is constantly on the move away from such a situation. In the normal case a change does not call forth countervailing changes but, instead, supporting changes, which move the system in the same direction as the first change but much further. Because of such circular causation as a social process tends to become cumulative and often gather speed at an accelerating rate…”

(Gunnar Myrdal, Economic Theory and Underdeveloped Regions, Gerald Duckworth, 1957, pp. 12–13)

Myrdal developed further the circular cumulative causation concept and stated that it makes different assumptions from that of stable equilibrium on what can be considered the most important forces guiding the evolution of social processes. These forces characterize the dynamics of these processes in two diverse ways.

These essays that you are reading here are examples encouraging students to put causes in a kind of circle: history exists because economics exists because psychology exists because society exists because history exists. Everything is causing everything else. There isn’t a simple “linear parade.”

By way of contrast, in a person’s private life, he/she went to the dentist before buying the batteries and after having lunch. There’s a timeline of events.

In history, there are such linear timelines also: John Kennedy was assassinated before Donald Trump became president. You had breakfast before dinner. You slept before you got up in the morning.

However, processes (industrialism, migration, urbanization, inflation, etc.) are not analyzable as events like meals and one-time occurrences but are more like getting old or learning a language.

Multi-causal interpretations and circular causes get the student out of simple, “this happened and that happened” in favor of “this and that caused each other, going both ways and interacting with other pressures too.” Everything is causing and altering everything else in all directions.

COVID-19 and “Naïve Probabilism”

[from the London Mathematical Laboratory]

In the early weeks of the 2020 U.S. COVID-19 outbreak, guidance from the scientific establishment and government agencies included a number of dubious claims—masks don’t work, there’s no evidence of human-to-human transmission, and the risk to the public is low. These statements were backed by health authorities, as well as public intellectuals, but were later disavowed or disproven, and the initial under-reaction was followed by an equal overreaction and imposition of draconian restrictions on human social activities.

In a recent paper, LML Fellow Harry Crane examines how these early mis-steps ultimately contributed to higher death tolls, prolonged lockdowns, and diminished trust in science and government leadership. Even so, the organizations and individuals most responsible for misleading the public suffered little or no consequences, or even benefited from their mistakes. As he discusses, this perverse outcome can be seen as the result of authorities applying a formulaic procedure of “naïve probabilism” in facing highly uncertain and complex problems, and largely assuming that decision-making under uncertainty boils down to probability calculations and statistical analysis.

This attitude, he suggests, might be captured in a few simple “axioms of naïve probabilism”:

Axiom 1: more complex the problem, the more complicated the solution.

This idea is a hallmark of naïve decision making. The COVID-19 outbreak was highly complex, being a novel virus of uncertain origins, and spreading through the interconnected global society. But the potential usefulness of masks was not one of these complexities. The mask mistake was consequential not because masks were the antidote to COVID-19, but because they were a low cost measure the effect of which would be neutral at worst; wearing a mask can’t hurt in reducing the spread of a virus.

Yet the experts neglected common sense in favor of a more “scientific response” based on rigorous peer review and sufficient data. Two months after the initial U.S. outbreak, a study confirmed the obvious, and masks went from being strongly discouraged to being mandated by law. Precious time had been wasted, many lives lost, and the economy stalled.

Crane also considers another rule of naïve probabilism:

Axiom 2: Until proven otherwise, assume that the future will resemble the past.

In the COVID-19 pandemic, of course, there was at first no data that masks work, no data that travel restrictions work, no data of human-to-human transmission. How could there be? Yet some naïve experts took this as a reason to maintain the status quo. Indeed, many universities refused to do anything in preparation until a few cases had been detected on campus—at which point they had some data, as well as hundreds or thousands of other as yet undetected infections.

Crane touches on some of the more extreme examples of his kind of thinking, which assumes that whatever can’t be explained in terms of something that happened in the past is speculative, non-scientific and unjustifiable:

“This argument was put forward by John Ioannidis in mid-March 2020, as the pandemic outbreak was already spiralling out of control. Ioannidis wrote that COVID-19 wasn’t a ‘once-in-a-century pandemic,’ as many were saying, but rather a ‘once-in-a-century data-fiasco’. Ioannidis’s main argument was that we knew very little about the disease, its fatality rate, and the overall risks it poses to public health; and that in face of this uncertainty, we should seek data-driven policy decisions. Until the data was available, we should assume COVID-19 acts as a typical strain of the flu (a different disease entirely).”

Unfortunately, waiting for the data also means waiting too long, if it turns out that the virus turns out to be more serious. This is like waiting to hit the tree before accepting that the available data indeed supports wearing a seatbelt. Moreover, in the pandemic example, this “lack of evidence” argument ignores other evidence from before the virus entered the United States. China had locked down a city of 10 million; Italy had locked down its entire northern region, with the entire country soon to follow. There was worldwide consensus that the virus was novel, the virus was spreading fast and medical communities had no idea how to treat it. That’s data, and plenty of information to act on.

Crane goes on to consider a 3rd axiom of naïve probabilism, which aims to turn ignorance into a strength. Overall, he argues, these axioms, despite being widely used by many prominent authorities and academic experts, actually capture a set of dangerous fallacies for action in the real world.

In reality, complex problems call for simple, actionable solutions; the past doesn’t repeat indefinitely (i.e., COVID-19 was never the flu); and ignorance is not a form of wisdom. The Naïve Probabilist’s primary objective is to be accurate with high probability rather than to protect against high-consequence, low-probability outcomes. This goes against common sense principles of decision making in uncertain environments with potentially very severe consequences.

Importantly, Crane emphasizes, the hallmark of Naïve Probabilism is naïveté, not ignorance, stupidity, crudeness or other such base qualities. The typical Naïve Probabilist lacks not knowledge or refinement, but the experience and good judgment that comes from making real decisions with real consequences in the real world. The most prominent naïve probabilists are recognized (academic) experts in mathematical probability, or relatedly statistics, physics, psychology, economics, epistemology, medicine or so-called decision sciences. Moreover, and worryingly, the best known naïve probabilists are quite sophisticated, skilled in the art of influencing public policy decisions without suffering from the risks those policies impose on the rest of society.

Read the paper. [Archived PDF]

Education and the World As “Rorschach Test”

The Rorschach test is a projective psychological test in which subjects’ perceptions of inkblots are recorded and then analyzed using psychological interpretation, complex algorithms, or both. Some psychologists use this test to examine a person’s personality characteristics and emotional functioning.

It is also called “an Inkblot test.”

We use this test as a metaphor that suggests that people see what they want to see and choose to see.

Here’s an example based on the Verdi opera La Forza del Destino. The black intellectual leader, William E.B. Du Bois, sees it as a veiled racial story where Professor Niall Ferguson of Stanford/Harvard tells the story of how he emerged from a performance of the opera on the very day that Britain devalued the pound sterling in 1992.

Black Wednesday refers to September 16, 1992, when a collapse in the pound sterling forced Britain to withdraw from the European Exchange Rate Mechanism (European Monetary System).

Thus the opera, La Forza del Destino is both a Verdi opera and a kind of “raw material” for personal and private interpretation with Du Bois seeing racism and Ferguson seeing national or financial fate.

La Forza del Destino or The Power of Fate, (often translated The Force of Destiny) is an Italian opera by Giuseppe Verdi. The libretto was written by Francesco Maria Piave based on a Spanish drama, Don Álvaro o la fuerza del sino (1835), by Ángel de Saavedra, 3rd Duke of Rivas, with a scene adapted from Friedrich Schiller’s Wallensteins Lager. It was first performed in the Bolshoi Kamenny Theatre of Saint Petersburg, Russia, on 10 November, 1862 O.S. (N.S. 22 November).

(Wikipedia)

Synopsis—Act 1

The mansion of Leonora’s family, in Seville.

Don Alvaro is a young nobleman from South America (presumably Peru) who is part Indian and who has settled in Seville where he is not very well regarded.

He falls in love with Donna Leonora, the daughter of the Marquis of Calatrava, but Calatrava is determined that she shall marry only a man of the highest birth. Despite knowing her father’s aversion to Alvaro, Leonora is deeply in love with him, and she determines to give up her home and country in order to elope with him. In this endeavor, she is aided by her confidante, Curra. (Me pellegrina ed orfana—“Exiled and orphaned far from my childhood home”).

When Alvaro arrives to fetch Leonora, she hesitates: she wants to elope with him, but part of her wants to stay with her father; she eventually pulls herself together, ready for their elopement. However, the Marquis unexpectedly enters and discovers Leonora and Alvaro together. He threatens Alvaro with death, and in order to remove any suspicion as to Leonora’s purity, Alvaro surrenders himself. As he flings down his pistol, it goes off, mortally wounding the Marquis, who dies cursing his daughter.

This is the racial aspect on which W.E.B. Du Bois focuses.

Niall Ferguson, by contrast, sees a different “Rorschach inkblot” and hones in on the financial policy story which went like this:

“Soros’ Quantum Fund began a massive sell-off of pounds on Tuesday, 15 September 1992. The Exchange Rate Mechanism stated that the Bank of England was required to accept any offers to sell pounds. However, the Bank of England only accepted orders during the trading day. When the markets opened in London the next morning, the Bank of England began their attempt to prop up their currency as per the decision made by Norman Lamont and Robin Leigh-Pemberton, the then Chancellor of the Exchequer and Governor of the Bank of England respectively. They began buying orders to the amount of 300 million pounds twice before 8:30 AM to little effect.

The Bank of England’s intervention was ineffective because Soros’ Quantum Fund was dumping pounds far faster. The Bank of England continued to buy and Quantum continued to sell until Lamont told Prime Minister John Major that their pound purchasing was failing to produce results.

At 10:30 AM on 16 September, the British government announced a rise in the base interest rate from an already high 10 to 12 percent to tempt speculators to buy pounds. Despite this and a promise later the same day to raise base rates again to 15 percent, dealers kept selling pounds, convinced that the government would not stick with its promise. By 7:00 that evening, Norman Lamont, then Chancellor, announced Britain would leave the ERM and rates would remain at the new level of 12 percent; however, on the next day the interest rate was back on 10%.

It was later revealed that the decision to withdraw had been agreed at an emergency meeting during the day between Norman Lamont, Prime Minister John Major, Foreign Secretary Douglas Hurd, President of the Board of Trade Michael Heseltine, and Home Secretary Kenneth Clarke (the latter three all being staunch pro-Europeans as well as senior Cabinet Ministers), and that the interest rate hike to 15% had only been a temporary measure to prevent a rout in the pound that afternoon.”

For W.E.B. Du Bois, the story within the story of the Verdi opera is the color-line that governs the world, while Ferguson sees the story as a “dramatic” instance of financial and economic force or working out of trends that becomes a destiny.

Hence people see what they choose to see and interpreting and seeing are wrapped up in each other.

Students should assimilate this aspect of the world.

Note: one source of the Du Bois interpretation of the opera comes from the University of Chicago book, Travels in the Reich: 1933-1945 (edited by Oliver Lubrich, 2012) which has a chapter on Du Bois in Germany in the thirties where he plunges into music and opera and highlights this Verdi one.

Education and the Movies: The Issue of Political Irrationality

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie is a movie masterpiece that is enormously educational not for the particular details of the story but for the phenomenon of politics as an outlet for personal problems: The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie is a 1969 British drama film, based on the novel of the same name by Muriel Spark. Directed by Ronald Neame, it stars Maggie Smith in the title role as an unrestrained teacher at a girls’ school in 1930s Edinburgh.

Maggie Smith (whom you know from Downton Abbey as the aggressive matriarch) plays a romantically naive schoolteacher at a girl’s school in Scotland, 1930s. She has a “big time” crush on a handsome gym teacher whom she discovers in bed with one of the young girls—“Sandy” and has a kind of nervous breakdown or better, “image of the whole correctness of the world” breakdown.

The teacher sees newsreels of Mussolini in Italy and begins to think of him as a “romantic savior and ‘world-cleaner’ who will clean up the illegitimate situation at her girls’s school in Edinburgh and salvage her dignity and place and prestige and sense of how the world should be. On the one hand Miss Brodie talks about the girls of the school as ‘la crème de la crème’ but how does that comport with ‘Sandy’ and the male gym teacher sharing their beds with each other? The ‘cognitive dissonance’ (incompatibility) in Miss Brodie’s mind is causing her to break down and flee into fantasy land (i.e., Mussolini will restore the romantic world to the way it’s supposed to be). She goes deeper and deeper into this nutty vision of salvation and romantic re-balancing and at the end of the movie, ‘Sandy’ senses that she’s coming unglued and is borderline bonkers. Thus the title ‘the prime of’ can be thought of as ironical or sardonic since the teacher Miss Brodie is flipping out and ‘maps’ her romantic frustrations” onto Mussolini. This is what makes politics so dangerous (i.e., it serves as a “Rorschach test” for people’s inner irrationalities and yearnings and they “see” what they need to see).

Harold Lasswell (died in 1978) spent his life exploring politics and people’s private lives, order, sense of things, grievances, in such books as Psychopathology and Politics.  If you watch the movie The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie you will see how people use politics as a “screen” on which they project their emotions, grievances, hurts, humiliations, hysteria, anger.

Harold Dwight Lasswell (February 13, 1902 – December 18, 1978) was a leading American political scientist and communications theorist. He was a Ph.D. student at the University of Chicago, and he was a professor of law at Yale University. He served as president of the American Political Science Association (APSA), of the American Society of International Law and of the World Academy of Art and Science (WAAS).

He has been described as a “one-man university” whose “competence in, and contributions to, anthropology, communications, economics, law, philosophy, psychology, psychiatry and sociology are enough to make him a political scientist in the model of classical Greece.”

Table of Contents for Lasswell’s Psychopathology and Politics Book

Introduction
Preface
I. Life-Histories and Political Science
II. The Psychopathological Approach
III. A New Technique of Thinking
IV. The Criteria of Political Types
V. Theories of Personality Development
VI. Political Agitators
VII. Political Agitators—Continued
VIII. Political Administrators
IX. Political Convictions
X. The Politics of Prevention
XI. The Prolonged Interview and Its Objectification
XII. The Personality System and Its Substitutive Reactions
XIII. The State as a Manifold of Events
Afterthoughts—Thirty Years Later
Appendix A. Select Bibliography
Appendix B. Question List on Political Practices
Index

(2016 reprint of 1930 edition. Full facsimile of the original edition.)

First published in 1930, this classic study of personality types remains vital for the understanding of contemporary public figures. Lasswell’s pioneering application of the concepts of clinical psychology to the understanding of power brokers in politics, business, and even the church offers insights into the careers of leaders as diverse as Adolf Hitler and, arguably to more recent figures such as Richard Nixon, Donald Trump and the Clintons.

Movies should be your off-campus alternate university. You should ask yourself does this movie and Lasswell’s notions of psychopathology in politics help me understand authoritarian leaders today and such bizarre phenomena as half-dead prisoners in Stalin’s gulags bursting into tears in March 1953 when they learned of his death. Why sob over the death of the man who’s murdering you and tormenting you and your family?