Deliberate Rest

A blog about getting more done by working less

Month: June 2011

Raymond Tallis on “neuromania”

One of my favorite books is Raymond Tallis’ The Hand. (Tallis is an MD and prolific author, and as his Web site shows, really knows how to accessorize.) His new book, Aping Mankind, is a critique of “the belief that brain activity is not merely a necessary but a sufficient condition for human consciousness and that consequently our everyday behaviour can be entirely understood in neural terms.” From the book’s Web page:

Tallis dismantles the idea that “we are our brains”, which has given rise to a plethora of neuro-prefixed pseudo-disciplines laying claim to explain everything from art and literature to criminality and religious belief, and shows it to be confused and fallacious, and an abuse of the prestige of science, one that sidesteps a whole range of mind–body problems.

The belief that human beings can be understood essentially in biological terms is a serious obstacle, argues Tallis, to clear thinking about what human beings are and what they might become. To explain everyday behaviour in Darwinian terms and to identify human consciousness with the activity of the evolved brain denies human uniqueness, and by minimising the differences between us and our nearest animal kin, misrepresents what we are, offering a grotesquely simplified and degrading account of humanity. We are, shows Tallis, infinitely more interesting and complex than we appear in the mirror of biologism.

Tallis has been making this argument for some time in various places. Last year he published a long article in New Atlantis on “What Neuroscience Cannot Tell Us About Ourselves.” Earlier this year he wrote a long review of Nicholas Humphreys’ and Antonio Damasio’s recent books in the New Statesman that critique both books as examples of “neuromania,” the belief that “human consciousness– from the most elementary tingle of sensation to the most sophisticated sense of self– is identical with neural activity in the human brain.” Also, Mark Vernon has a good account of a recent talk by Tallis at the RSA (which is a great institution, and which I would belong to were I not several thousand miles away from its events); the head of the RSA’s Social Brain project has a response. As Vernon puts it, the entire argument can be boiled down to the claim that

consciousness is not restricted to the brain, but is a phenomenon of the whole person and the community of persons to which belong. Bodies are part of the story, language is part of the story, history and culture is part of the story.

I spent a fair amount of time at Cambridge working through the recent literature dealing with (or at least invoking) neuroscience and attention, and numerous recent books– Carr’s The Shallows is perhaps the most notable but by no means the only example— have pointed to neuroscientific research to support their claims. The deeper I’ve gotten into the contemplative computing project, though, the less I’ve relied on neuroscience, most notably because I’ve realized I’m a lot more interested in the mind (or the extended mind) than I am the brain per se, and thus have backed away from talking so much about fMRI machines and dopamine hits. (The revelation that people are more likely to believe bad arguments if they’re dressed up with some neuroscience-sounding language also pushed me further away from using it heavily.)

Another data-point in “we’re too busy to think”

From Gregory Treverton’s recent article in the Prospect on intelligence work, this example of how the rush to production crowds out contemplation– and thus serious insight.

[T]he crown jewel of intelligence products is the President’s Daily Brief (PDB), perhaps the most expensive publication per copy since Gutenberg’s Bibles. Often caricatured as “CNN plus secrets,” much of it is material recently collected by a spy, or satellite image, or intercepted signal, plus commentary. On the British side of the ocean, there is less of a flood of current intelligence, and the assessments of the Joint Intelligence Committee are, in my experience, often thoughtful. But on both sides, the tyranny of the immediate is apparent. As one American analyst put it to me: “We used to do analysis; now we do reporting.”

The focus on the immediate, combined with the way intelligence agencies are organised, may have played some role in the failure to understand the contagion effects in the recent Arab Spring. In the US, especially, where analytic cadres are large, analysts have very specific assignments. The Egypt analysts are tightly focused on that country, perhaps even on particular aspects of it. They would not have been looking at how events in Tunisia might affect Egypt. To be fair, the media probably overstated the contagion effect of events from one Arab country to the next-but that there was some such effect seems apparent in retrospect. Worse, my bet is that if asked whether events in Tunisia might affect Egypt, even slightly, those Egypt analysts would have said “no” with more or less disdain.

AC Grayling on the decline of academic contemplation

 

It’s now rather old, but I wanted to note this piece by philosopher AC Grayling about the ways assessments are forcing universities to focus on measurable productivity at the expense of contemplation:

According to Wordsworth the world is too much with us; “getting and spending,” he says, “we lay waste our powers.” He reminds us that we need opportunities for reflection-a place apart, to think and to enquire. One might say that Sunday afternoons offer individuals a prosaic remedy for what Wordsworth laments: a chance to step aside from exigencies to consider the larger matters.

Societies likewise need their places apart, and for the same reasons. The reflective enterprise is not divorced from practicality; it offers a calm space to seek ideas, solve problems and make discoveries. What Sundays are to individuals in these respects, universities are-at least in part-to societies.

Or so they should be. They were not always so, and are at some risk of ceasing to be so, especially in the humanities, where the effects of new ways of financing universities is hastening changes that are undesirable-making it harder to realise the ideal of a liberal education.

The question this raises for me is, are there new contemplative spaces? My (admittedly small number of) friends in the clergy worry that shorter attention spans make it harder for people to listen to sermons, and more troubling, to reflect fully on moral questions or think through the often-tricky lessons of Scripture. Libraries are busy reinventing themselves as places more given over to collaboration and group work, which is rarely reflective or contemplative. So are there places that are emerging that take over some of the contemplative functions that used to be central to schools, houses of worship, and libraries?

 

Just don’t dip your iPhone in the tom ka gai

MG Siegler had a short piece a couple months ago about cellphones at the dinner table that argues that it’s not antisocial if 1) everyone is doing it, and 2) the social norm among the “it’s okay to hold your chopsticks and iPhone at the same time” crowd is that you don’t make calls or zone out, but use the device to interact with your fellow diners.

I shouldn’t have to state the obvious, but I will: using your phone in this context does not mean talking on the phone. That is still very frowned upon in restaurants for a very good reason: it’s annoying. A person talking on their phone is making noise, a person using their phone (as in surfing the web, sending texts, using apps, etc) is often doing the exact opposite….

In the situations where I go out to dinner with my peers, use of the phone often augments the conversations being had. Don’t know who won game 3 of the 1995 World Series? Don’t know who directed that movie you all saw? It’s all right there in your pocket.

But even more fascinating is when the topic of conversation now often revolves around the phones themselves — or more specifically, what is on them. Tweets, Instagrams, Belugas, etc. These all now spark new conversations or tidbits of personal connection.

And then there are the shared experiences of doing things like checking-in or Foodspotting. One person at a table doing it often trigger everyone else to as well.

Forgive me, but it’s Dinner 2.0. And again, I’m having more fun at these dinners than I ever have.

Is part of it antisocial? Sure. Can it lead to distractions if you read a work-related email that you need to respond to? Of course. But this is the way the world works now. We’re always connected and always on call. And some of us prefer it that way….

What’s more likely? In ten years, everyone goes to a restaurant and talks to one another without pulling out their phones at the table — or in ten years, the table is designed in a way to enable you to more easily use your phones? That’s an easy one.

Contemplative art at the Smithsonian

Last week I was in Washington DC, at a workshop on the future of counterinsurgency and irregular warfare. Not the most obvious moment to encounter works that provide opportunities to reflect on contemplation and technology, but life is full of surprises.

When I'm in DC, I tend to make a pilgrimage to the National Mall, and visit some of the museums. This time I checked out the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden. If the Smithsonian museums were the sisters in Pride and Prejudice, the Hirshhorn would be Mary Bennet as played by Talulah Riley: not much on the outside, but with unrealized inner depth.

I wandered downstairs to the ColorForms exhibition, and more or less stumbled into James Turrell's Milk Run. It's a room-sized piece (see below), which you enter through a completely dark little maze.


milk run, via

Once you're in the room, it takes your eyes a couple minutes to adjust, and gradually you see the piece: a set of projections against the far wall. There's a long-exposure photograph on the exhibition Web site, but it doesn't really do justice at all to the experience of being in the room.

First, because it's so faint, your eyes and brain have to work pretty hard to make sense of the piece: for example, after several minutes I found the color of the piece changing as I looked at different parts of it, and while I knew it was an optical illusion– my eyes were working overtime to put meaning to the limited number of photons it had to work with– it was a pretty compelling part of the experience. Indeed, seeing a piece that's at the edge of your vision was a cool reminder that all vision is an active thing, an interpretive act rather than a passive one. Finally, the piece demanded a contemplative attitude: the fact that you couldn't see it unless you had the patience to let your eyes adjust to the low light nicely illustrates how, in order to see some things clearly, you have to slow down and be patient.

From there, I wandered over to the National Gallery of Art's East Building. I've been a fan of I. M. Pei's building since reading about it in the Smithsonian about 30 years ago, and while Pei's work often has a slightly anonymous corporate smoothness, I still find the gallery pretty compelling.

There was a Nam June Paik exhibit in the tower, so I headed straight for that. (In my last visit to the gallery, I was completely floored by the in the tower, so I now tend to start at the top and work my way down.)

The Paik did not disappoint: the room was dominated by One Candle, Candle Projection, which dates from 1988, and has been staged several times. As the Gallery explains, it is

Each morning a candle is lit and a video camera follows its progress, casting its flickering, magnified, processed image onto the walls in myriad projections. It is a central work in Paik's oeuvre for its simultaneous embrace of media overload and Zen simplicity, participation and contemplation. By turns steady as a rock and flickering in the air currents stirred by visitors, the flame is stillness in motion, a paradox magnified by its reproduction on the walls.


via

The second major piece in the tower was Standing Buddha with Outstretched Hand (2005), a Buddha sculpture pointed at a set of video monitors that project images of the statue.


via

The two pieces together were fantastic. They didn't require the same level of physical engagement as Milk Money, in the sense that you didn't have to struggle to see them, but they were quite powerfully staged.


via

One Candle, Candle Projection nicely illustrates how you can use technology and a hyper-modern space to create a deeply contemplative environment and experience: there piece depends completely on high-resolution projectors, but the burn of the candle, and its gentle response to the presence of viewers in the room, encourage you to match its slow pace.

Paik's work reminds you that when thoughtfully designed, technologies don't have to make you hurry: there's nothing inherent in technology that demands you rush. It's all about how you use them, and how others use them to make you think about time and yourself.

Qantified self

A brief post about self-tracking and the quantified self movement on my Future 2 blog.

A critique of minimalist word processors

While looking for a replacement for Ecto (which I've used for years, but which has now become unacceptably unstable), I stumbled upon this attack on WriteRoom and the Zenware movement (which I've written about at greater length):

For just twenty-five dollars (say it with me: twenty! five! dollars!) you can purchase the most uncomfortable writing experience of your life. Every single useful option is buried under so many unnavigable menus that the extremely limited amount of customization allowed (color, font, plus a load of small tweaks) is hardly worth the effort. There are no toolbars, only one kind of statistic, and certainly no clock or other means of keeping track of time. Switching between documents is anything but intuitive, and a pain to do even once you’ve learned how to do so. It is a stiff, unyielding program, although I will admit that it does have a scrollbar….

Because everything I’ve said applies to its imitators – and, usually, worse. WriteRoom has set an infuriating trend among fullscreen editors – minimalism to a fault. A word processor should bend to the will of the writer, not force them to just “deal with” what they’re given. I’ve had a more customizable experience writing on a typewriter.

In short, fullscreen editors are awful and take refuge in their own “minimalism” to dodge the fact that they have virtually no features whatsoever. FocusWriter is the exception, a perfect example that minimalistic doesn’t mean featureless. Please, “distraction-free writing software,” get your goddamn act together. Give us something that adds to the writing experience instead of crippling it.

 

“Maybe I’ll be smarter when I have more distractions”

This is great:

Dilbert.com
click for the full size version

Personally I find an open workspace great for some kinds of work, but I'm very much the type who moves between open space, busy space, and quiet space as I need. (Participating in a conference call while sitting in an open space is bad. It's worse in a cafe. Indeed, generating and maintaining quiet is one of the unrecognized and undervalued functions of formal offices.)

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