First, Ask the Right Question

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I apologize if you have been missing your “dose of strangeness from Schrag” recently, but I have struggling with the third tenet of Distilled Harmony, “Distill Complexity" for several weeks. While I usually cast Distill Complexity as the third among equals in the Distilled Harmony theory of everything, the fact that “distilled” is one of the two words that define the theory itself speaks to its importance. To distill something is to reduce it to purest state, and that is where I have been running into problems.

I’m not sure when the current object of my obsession began spinning around in my head, but when I began peppering the essay with subheadings and “note to self: bring in the part about .  .  .” I realized that any progress toward "distilling complexity" had taken flight. In hindsight that is not terribly surprising as the subject of my current consideration is "why does the universe exist?”  To release you from any suspense let me put the “spoiler” right up here at the front: The raison d'être for the universe is maximizing Harmony. I have paraphrased Dr. King's famous quote several times, because you should always steal from the very best. My version: The arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward Harmony.  

It is in trying to explain to you how I reached that conclusion where complexity rears its frustrating head.  It has become obvious that this particular distillation occurs in a number of steps, and even I am having trouble following my transitions. So that is where I will begin - cutting this kudzu-like post into more understandable pieces. The posts will probably appear separately - again in the interest of distilling complexity. This initial post I will call:

First, Ask the Right Question

I remember encountering general semantics as a young Ph.D. student in Dr. Ray Ross’s class in communication theory. Dr. Ross, who also believed in stealing from the best, would thunder, “The word is not the thing! The map is not the territory!”  Or as I chose to remember it: A description or depiction of something, no matter how artfully constructed, is necessarily different from that which is being described or depicted. [I know, I know - that sounds like the opposite of distillation, but it is for me a necessary inflation as Distilled Harmony asserts that descriptions and depictions - particularly in art and literature - can contain elements of the original. But that is for another time and another post. You see the problem I’m having?]  But Ross’s “purer” assertion [he did cite Korzybski] works better here. The map is not the territory - nor is the equation.

Two incredible minds, Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking, report agonizing about getting the math of the universe right. They have walked us down fascinating paths into the “what” of the universe. Mass, energy, black holes, wormholes, the intriguing possibility of time travel. These are glorious minds, awe inspiring intellects. It seems almost sacrilegious to assert that they may have led us to the wrong lamppost. You remember the old joke - I use it all the time:  

It's midnight.  Drunk is down on hands and knees, searching for his car keys under the lamppost.  The beat cop comes along, offers assistance and asks "Are you sure you dropped them here?”

"No, I dropped them back there," the drunk responds gesturing back into the shadows.

"Then why are you looking here?" inquires the incredulous officer.

"The light is better here."

There are a number of excellent reasons to read Richard Panek's book The 4 Percent Universe.  But the one that never fails to make me stumble, when it crosses my mind, is his well-articulated assertion that the science that defines the four percent of the universe we can currently observe and gather data from is - especially considering the academic politics that reigns it in - fairly solid. Yet, Panek observes, we cannot escape the equally solid conclusion that what we know about the remaining 96 % is, if not simply smoke and mirrors, pretty much pure guesswork that we label dark matter and dark energy because we don’t know what it is.  Equally inescapable then is the realization that even geniuses like Einstein and Hawking are looking under a very, very small lamppost.

But wait! That’s not all! We can’t forget Heisenberg. He is the guy with the cat in the box, the strange "neither dead nor alive cat." The cat we either kill or resuscitate just by peeking in the box. In Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle our observation of an event affects the event.  That being said, it seems fair to ask to what extent are our "normal” conceptions of space and time the product of "convenient observations under the nearest lamppost” which are further distorted by the very act of our observation? Does make your head spin a bit, not?

Still, front to back, side to side, up down, then-now-tomorrow - those are the easily measurable spaces in which we live our lives. Is it any wonder that the scientific method followed those precise pathways as we sought to measure and understand the world, solar system, galaxy and universe in which we live?  The telescopes get better. Scientific descriptions become ever more precise. We get better and better at defining the "what" of where we live. But remember, those assertions are somewhat of a paper tiger - and possibly a paper tiger in a Heisenberg box. Remember Panek’s  point: We can observe only 4 % of our local universe, and nothing of any other universes that may lie beyond ours.  So, are we going to trust results based on our observations of that 4 %? That makes me a tad nervous.

Think about it this way. Let's say you were conducting an experiment to determine the average height of 4th graders. You go to Local Middle School down the street from your house. You walk into the front door and ask for the closest 4th grade classroom. You go to the classroom. There are 25 students in the class. You take the first student closest to the door (1 is 4 percent of 25) and measure his or her height. The student is 4 feet 7 inches tall. And on the basis of that observation you declare that the normal height for all fourth graders in the universe is 4'7”.  This is about as flawed as an empirical design can get. Even a poet can count the ways: There may be other 4th graders elsewhere in the building, but we cannot see them, so we will call them "dark 4th graders," and ignore them. There is another public school across town in a very different neighborhood, but we don’t go there. Private schools and charter schools and gender differentiated schools all exist, catering to specific groups that may reflect taller or shorter gene pools. They too, don’t count. We stay under this 4’7” lamppost. I know, I know, that is just so wrong. But the analogy is frighteningly apt for the declarations we make about the structure of the universe based on our observations of its closest, or most observable, 4 %.

Strangely, that is not what concerns me most. Einstein and Hawking do the best they can with the available information. You cannot make-up data that you do not have. Well, you can, but eventually your articles will be “withdrawn” and you will lose your job. Scientists can only make their best observations and attempt to marry those observations to the theories best articulated in the literature. That is the scientific method. It underlies all the terrific toys and terrible weapons of our world. It is the current king of the educational mountain. STEM [Science, Technology, Engineering and Math, for those of you unfamiliar with the acronym] rules. And that is a shame, considering that the universe is vast and our lamppost is so small.  The sad reality is that despite our best efforts, a STEM-centric exploration of the cosmos not only brings us questionable results, it also stifles our exploration of other, and in my mind, more important questions.

Let me again retreat into analogy. Let us say that STEM allows us to slip the surly bonds of Earth and trek off across our 4% of the universe. In true sci-fi fashion we encounter a planet on which we find the ruins of a magnificent structure. After years of effort and amazing amounts of money, we manage to reconstruct the edifice. A tour is arranged for all of Earth’s leaders. They wander and wonder down glorious hallways, through rooms huge and magnificent, and into smaller architectural pearls.  After the tour they enjoy a banquet back at the base where the scientists and engineers have lived during the reconstruction. The Project Leader shows a holographic presentation of the entire reconstruction process - truly an engineering marvel.  After the presentation the floor is opened for questions. Much cooing and fawning results.

Another guest rises and asks, “What was it for?"

Project Leader: “Huh?"

Guest: “What was it for? Why did they build it?"

Project Leader: “Well. Ah. That’s not really my area. Maybe, George can address that. George?"

George, it appears, cannot be found.

A simplistic analogy, I admit. But the question remains. Why does the universe exist? The current obsession of the scientific community appears to be creating the equations, getting the math right that describes what the universe is. Much effort and treasure has been expended on those equations. Nonetheless, those best efforts still seem to leave us with two significant unanswered questions.

One: Can we derive, and trust, and generalize to the universe - remembering Heisenberg as we answer -  conclusions based on samples of "observational convenience” drawn from 4% of the universe? And,

Two: Even if we can put some faith in those conclusions, are we asking the right questions? Is the “What” of the universe the important issue? Should we not be far more concerned with “Why?”  And I don't mean the simple "why" of how the physical elements evolved or came together, I mean the existential why.  Why are we here? Do we have purpose? Do our lives have meaning? If you believe we are simply a by-product of the evolution of the “ what” - chemicals combining in a fortuitous accident, well, that's fine, I suppose. But for me, it's a bit of a curiosity killer, as is the other end of the great existential debate - an acritical acceptance of ancient writs that place some prophet or another center stage as the mouthpiece for the existential Godfather; who is either open-minded, compassionate and forgiving or ruthless, vicious and vindictive, depending upon your mouthpiece and text of preference.

Personally, from a Distilled Harmony perspective, I have come to believe that we are here as free-will, intentional participants in a universe that is itself sentient, and that, as I said at the beginning, bends toward Harmony.  It is a perspective that, perhaps strangely, might gain significant support were we to add some additional data into current scientific examinations of the nature of the universe. STEMites, for the most part, draw their conclusions regarding the nature of the universe within the solid boundaries of the traditional dimensions; up down, side to side, back and forth, and time - then, now and in the future. Those STEM-oriented observations and conclusions create the equations that we mistake for the universe. Interestingly, those same equations may point the way to a liberating, more encompassing view of the universe. I will share my thoughts on that expanded view with you in another post - hopefully not too far down the path into the future.

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