Book #11: Market Forces, by Richard K. Morgan

Richard K. Morgan’s new novel, Market Forces, came in from Amazon last week, and I needed a break from non-fiction. I’d been a huge fan of his first novel, Altered Carbon, and (apart from the ending) Broken Angels, his second book. Market Forces, I’m sad to say, was good but nowhere near Morgan’s best work.

The premise is a dystopian future where “free market” economics and globalization has led to Western investment houses “investing” in global insurgencies, and running entire countries in the same fashion that Goldman Sachs might manage an IPO today. Executives at these investment houses practice a harsh social Darwinism in the most literal sense possible — gaining an account or promotion is the fruit of victory in combat with one’s peers. “Come to work with blood on your wheels, or don’t come at all” is the motto of the new corporate warrior.

Sadly, the gladitoral theme overshadows much else that might be interesting about this particular dystopia, and the book lacks the subtlety of Altered Carbon in projecting consequences of current social trends. Leaving this aside, however, Morgan continues to write in a fast-paced staccato style, reminiscent of early Gibson or Stephenson, and was a great diversion.

And it was a lot less daunting than the three massive volumes of Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle, which continue to mock me from the “todo” stacks…

Book #10: Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, by Richard Rorty

I’ve already posted quite a bit on Rorty’s books, and why they resonate so strongly with me.  Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity is no exception. CIS serves as a book-length summary of his argument that if we deny a fixed, essentialist notion of human nature, we must see moral philosophers, social theorists, and much of literature as simply providing vocabularies and arguments for how societies can or should respond to historical contingency.  If we accept that moral philosophy cannot give us ultimate truth, but only good arguments to use in discussions with each other, and if we accept that science can tell us pragmatically how things work, but not what decisions we should make, then Rorty’s approach to liberal social hope is both necessary and compelling. 

For me, the most compelling section of the book is Rorty’s reading of Orwell’s dual accomplishments in 1984.  On the surface, and for the first two thirds of 1984, what Orwell is doing is redescribing totalitarian, Stalinist Russia.  This redescription is obviously meant to serve as a cautionary tale to those liberals who, prior to WWII, were fascinated with the fantasy (rather than the reality) of Stalin’s "worker’s paradise."  In Rorty’s view, Orwell’s first great accomplishment in 1984 was dispelling the myth that liberal social hopes depended upon the success of the Leninist-Stalinist social experiment.  He did so, not by demolishing Marxist theory or arguing (as Hayek would) that freedom and economic planning were incompatible, but by sensitizing his readers

to a set of excuses for cruelty which had been put into circulation by a particular group — the use of the rhetoric of "human equality" by intellectuals who had allied themselves with a spectacularly successful criminal gang.

If this is all that Orwell accomplished in 1984, then his critics would have a reasonable case that Orwell’s work will not age well, and along with most dystopic fiction, may be ephemeral in the literary sense.  Fortunately, in creating the character of O’Brien, Orwell ensures that 1984 will retain its value long after Soviet Russia has the same kind of historical immediacy to our descendants that the Kaiser’s Germany has in our time.  In Rorty’s view:

Orwell was not the first person to suggest that small gangs of criminals might get control of modern states and, thanks to modern technology, stay in control forever.  But he was the first to ask how intellectuals in such states might conceive of themselves, once it had become clear that liberal ideals had no relation to a possible human future.  O’Brien is his answer to that question.

We are accustomed to viewing Stalin and his ilk as "moral monsters," men for whom the "natural" moral sense did not exist and who therefore represent an aberration.  And certainly such men are moral monsters, but the deep message of 1984 is that we cannot prevent such men from developing again so long as we solely consider them aberrations or deviations from a "natural" moral order.  For Orwell, in the characters of O’Brien and Winston Smith, is demonstrating the importance of historical contingency and the malleability of our world views given that contingency.  In Rorty’s view, Orwell’s importance is that he:

helps us see that it just happened that rule in Europe passed into the hands of people who pitied the humiliated and dreamed of human equality, and that it may just happen that the world will wind up being ruled by people who lack any such sentiments or ideas….The triumph of Oligarchical Collectivism, if it comes, will not come because people are basically bad, or really are not brothers, or really have no natural rights, any more than Christianity and political liberalism have triumphed (to the extent they have) because people are basically good, or really are brothers, or really do have natural rights.  History may create and empower people like O’Brien as a result of the same kind of accidents that have prevented those people from existing until recently — the same sort of accidents that created and empowered people like J.S. Mill and Orwell himself.

This is an important point, one whose relevance extends well beyond evaluating a specific, dystopian vision of society, or even our fascination for dystopias in general.  Rorty’s argument goes to the heart of why those who believe in the basic liberal project must reject the notion that there is a specific,  "natural" way to describe our efforts.  Rights-based discourse is powerful, but no more "natural" a way of describing liberal hopes than articulating specific and local reasons for our solidarity as people.   I take this point to be congruent with the notion (held by Berlin and Gray) that liberalism, in order to continue to grow and function in a multicultural world, must shed aspects of Enlightenment rationalism, in particular those parts which would suggest that there is a single, universal rationale for liberal hopes and projects.  Instead, what liberals must share is simply the realization that we are the lucky inheritors of a political tradition which is unique and valuable, but also the outgrowth of historical circumstances which may not repeat themselves everywhere in the future.  Part of our job as liberals is to stop assuming that liberal freedoms will always exist, or that democracy and liberal freedoms are synonymous, and that our task is simply to figure out how to win elections; instead, we must also consider how structural trends in our society and economy, historical accidents, as well as the discourse of our intellectuals, may serve to either perpetuate or snuff out the liberal experiment in melding freedom and equality.

Book #9: What Makes Biology Unique? by Ernst Mayr

Following the death of Ernst Mayr last month, I decided to read his last book, What Makes Biology Unique? The book consists of a set of essays arranged to form a coherent look at what makes biology different from the physical sciences Unfortunately, if you’ve read Mayr’s previous works, and in particular Toward a New Philosophy of Biology, little in this most recent collection will be new material.

For me, the gems of this most recent collection were chapters 3 and 4, on teleology and the difference between analysis and reductionism, respectively. In many ways, these two chapter illustrate problems within biological explanation, albeit problems which are polar opposites. Teleology, in particular, does not receive enough attention. Working biologists today rarely succumb to finalist arguments that particular structures are “goal directed,” but the entire “Intelligent Design” movement is an attempt to reintroduce finalism or what Mayr calls “cosmic teleology” to the explanation of biological origins. Mayr demolishes finalism by analyzing the five senses in which teleology can manifest in biological explanation, and shows how entirely legitimate notions such as teleonomy (the expression of a stored purposive program, such as DNA/development) can easily be mistaken for the ontological idea that there is an inherent “goal” or “direction” to evolution. From such a belief, it is a short distance indeed to the notion that such a direction must be given by a “designer” who guides the overall process. In moving from teleonomy to cosmic teleology, and thence to the need for a designer, we move from the realm of falsifiable science to speculation and faith. One of Darwin’s greatest gifts, reinforced by Mayr and others, is confidence that the world need not have an overall “direction” or “purpose” for it to be explainable and comprehensible.

Chapter four reminds us of the opposite problem: that taking things apart into smaller pieces (analysis) can, and often does, get mistaken for the ontological position that explanation is only found by theorizing about the smallest scale entities we can know. The latter position, reductionism, is rampant in post-Cartesian science. Chemistry is explained only by reducing it to physics, and macroscopic physics is explicable only in light of particle physics and quantum theory. In biology, reductionism has been abetted by the spectacular success of molecular methods, which would seem to suggest that “real” explanations in biology must be biochemical and molecular. Mayr reminds us that we must not confuse the method — analysis — with reductionism, which is more akin to a faith. Each science, and in particular biology, is rife with “emergent” properties which arise through the novel organization of smaller parts, and cannot be simply reduced to a description of the smaller parts. Ultimately, emergence is what necessitates an autonomous biology, one that cannot be simply reduced to an interestingly complex branch of chemistry or biophysics — but one that can utilize and leverage analysis at smaller scales when appropriate.

Recent and Interesting Wines

I’ve had several interesting wines lately, at several events. My friend Bryan was in town last week, so a group of us went to Cafe Campagne, pretty much my home-away-from-home and the scene of many a wine dinner. Starting with a 96 Brocard Les Clos Chablis from my cellar (good, creamy, less crisp and minerally on the palate than I like), we followed with a superb 1985 Verset Cornas (wine of the night), a 1988 Tempier Bandol Migoua, and a 1983 Beaucastel (in fine shape). The Tempier was excellent but understated, and really should have been drunk by itself instead of in the brash company of the Cornas and Chateauneuf. Dsc00273_1 The wine is in no danger of being too mature, and can be held awhile longer in good storage. The 1983 Beaucastel, on the other hand, seems to be getting fairly mature and will need to be drunk at some point — the incredible 1981 is already fading and is no longer at its heights. If you have 1983, make sure you drink them before they begin to fade.

Saturday night, with a long-standing group of friends, we tried a number of wines, but the highlights were a Cristom 1996 Pinot Marjorie Vineyard, a Barnard-Griffin Syrah port, and oddly enough, a fascinating Cognac made by expatriate Norwegians that was slightly spicier and sweeter than Hennessy. 

Yesterday, a couple of us kicked back for a Sunday afternoon tasting. Just the highlights. The Zilliken Saarburger Rausch 2003 Spatlese is super tasty, sweet and spritzy, but also flabby and lacking in acidity and definition. A beautiful Fevre 2002 Chablis Clos was a tad oaky on the palate but otherwise incredibly crisp with good minerality. Normally I don’t buy the more expensive Fevre Chablis because he uses new oak, but I do buy the basic AOC Chablis for everyday wine and it’s a terrific bargain. In the reds category, I brought the Ramonet Chassagne-Montrachet 2002, which was good basic Burgundy for $35 retail, but lacking in the substance you’d want to let it age. My friend Vinny brought an absolutely terrific bottle of Joguet Chinon 2002 Cuvee de la Cure. Along with the Chave (see below) this was my wine of the day. The Texier 2000 Hermitage smelled a bit like Chave, which made sense given that Chave apparently sold Texier some juice or grapes that year. This was followed by a spectacular 1980 Chave Hermitage from Marc, who’d never tried the vintage. The wine was definitely mature but had a delicate, spicy nose with a hint of coffee but still plenty of character. A wonderful way to end the tasting. A few more wines were lurking in the interstices, but these are my personal highlights.

(yes, the picture is the 1988 Tempier La Louffe, but I didn’t have a picture of the Migoua bottle.  Bonus points if you know La Louffe or have any you’d like to sell)

Road to Reality

Roadtoreality I just received Sir Roger Penrose’s new book, The Road to Reality from Amazon. This long-awaited book purports to be, as the subtitle says, "A complete guide to the laws of the universe." That’s a bit of an exaggeration, since it’s really about physics and the associated math needed to represent it, but I guess we’ll forgive Penrose a bit of reductionism. And including chemistry or biology would have been a bit much anyhow — the tome weighs in at 1100 pages just with physics and math.

The first 16 chapters (!) cover the mathematical background of modern physics, from Euclid through symmetry groups and calculus on manifolds.  The remainder of the book starts at space-time and moves through modern physics, hitting cosmology on the way and ending up at string and twistor theory. 

I can’t wait to start reading.  I have a feeling that when I do, my progress on the 50 Book Challenge will slow down a bit, so I think I’ll finish several of the current "in progress" stack before cracking it again. 

Book #8: The Escape from Hunger and Premature Death, 1700-2100 by Robert William Fogel

Catching up a bit now. Book #8 was a small but terrific book by Robert William Fogel, who documents the truly meteoric rise in human life expectancy from 1700 to the present, and projects these trends through the 21st century. Fogel shared the Nobel Prize in Economics in 1993 with Douglass North, for renewing research into economic history by introducing quantitative methods and economic theory to explain institutional change.

Escape from Hunger and Premature Death documents the rapidity and extent of the changes that have occurred since the Industrial Revolution in the basic quality of human life (as measured by nutritional adequacy, life expectancy, and morphological statistics). The data do more than simply document this revolutionary change, however. Given that much of the increase in life expectancy in the United States is actually a 20th century phenomenon, which accelerates throughout the century, it’s easy to appreciate why we now face hard choices about how to structure social safety nets. These are choices which previous generations didn’t face in quite the same way, since the full effects of improved nutrition, control over infectious disease, and improved health care (especially in childhood) had not yet made themselves felt.

I also finished Fogel’s book with renewed sense of the true gap between the poorest regions of the world and the industrialized West — the gap between us is increasingly not “quantitative”, in the sense that they simply have “less” of what we have; instead, continued dire poverty in many regions of the world has resulted in a bimodal population, where rich industrialized countries have serious biomedical advantages over poor regions. The increasingly “qualitative” nature of this gap makes it all the more urgent to listen to folks like Amartya Sen and determine how we can steer a “middle path” where economic globalization can help these regions without destroying the economies of the West and triggering serious economic conflicts within the western democracies.