On Free Will

If we define free will as a singular ‘agent self’ making conscious decisions that define the totality of what we do and who we are; then free will is something we do not possess. We did not choose our parents, or the time in which our consciousness entered this reality. We didn’t get to choose the long ancestral lineage that shaped our individual nature. Nor did we get to choose the environment around us that helped shape our growth. Our brains have a default mode, and subconscious mechanisms that deterministically inform our decisions and actions. In the grand view of the universe, everything is unfolding in a great causal chain rolling forward since the big bang; or whatever came before it. If we look back on our lives at major decision points or actions, could we have done any different than we did? If we think about it honestly, the shadow of a deterministic existence begins to loom large over our lives.

Yet if we define free will in such a manner that describes a level of control over our lives and decisions, then we might be able to lay claim to its existence. Philosopher Dan Dennett has said that ‘human beings are parts of the universe that can control their trajectory to a degree’. He uses the example of a boulder rolling down a mountain versus a skier going down a mountain. The boulder rolls down the mountain determined, yet uncontrolled. While the skier goes down the mountain deterministically as well; yet in a controlled manner. I tend to think of it this way: as persons embedded in the wide causal network of reality, we resemble a rowboat in a vast roiling ocean. Our motion and direction is largely determined by the waves and currents. Yet if we are able to stick oars into the water, we can begin to steer or control our movement to a certain degree. While falling short of becoming a fully autonomous agent separate from the sea, we can become a navigator able to orient in a certain direction.

In Robert Wright’s 2017 book, ‘Why Buddhism is True: The Science and Philosophy of Meditation and Enlightenment’, he offers up a theoretical description of how our minds work based on brain research and study. Wright’s description of the ‘modular mind’ concept seems to open the door to the control conception of free will. The modular mind concept is one where the mind is seen to be composed of specialized ‘modules’. Operating at an unconscious level, these different modules size up situations, compete, collaborate, and shape our conscious behavior. Better described as a network rather than separate compartments, different modules have different aims or goals. One module might be aimed to satiate hunger, while another might be aimed at gaining social status. As we evolved from primitive creatures to our modern selves, evolution added more and more modules to our brains to deal with the growing complexity of our everyday existence.

The view of the modular mind sees our subconscious as a place where the modules are in constant stimulation and activation. The notions and thoughts that bubble up into our conscious minds are the ones that have escaped the theoretical ‘mosh pit’ in the modular arena. Because of this, Wright describes our conscious selves as ‘less like presidents (calling the shots), and more like speakers of the house presiding over votes and announcing the outcome’. We don’t control the votes in our mind, we just kind of preside over the discussion. This description of the modular mind reinforces our absence of maximal free will. If a brain we did not choose is making uncontrolled decisions at a level before our conscious awareness, it’s hard to make an argument for true, maximal free will.

An extreme example of modular determinism would be an instance where we are moved into a state of great anger or great physical attraction. In either case, a reactionary module or mating module sends such a strong feeling into our consciousness that we are overcome by it. The feeling is so overwhelming, we have no choice but to get swept up in it and consumed by it. This is as deterministic as it gets, a mental state where any hope of control has fallen by the wayside. Yet in our everyday lives, the situations we encounter usually generate less passionate feelings. We usually exist in a state where we weigh multiple options when making a decision. Or we feel different feelings competing as we deliberate on the best path forward. This mental place where we have the ability to weigh or examine our feelings is the place where the control notion of free will can find its home.

One of the main points of Wright’s book is that through Buddhist philosophy and especially mindfulness meditation, we can reduce the influence of harmful feelings generated by the modules in our brains. In other words, we can take a measure of control, or use the oars in our metaphorical boats to steer ourselves through the sea of determinism. In a simplistic description, mindfulness meditation can allow an individual to gain a distance from their feelings. Feelings arise from the modular mess as kind of separate entities, untethered from an immediate behavioral response. It is through this separation that the individual can allow the feeling to pass without it taking control of their consciousness. So feelings like hatred, anxiety, or jealousy lose their power and influence. The modules in the mind that bring them into consciousness also weaken. In this light it is easy to see why mindfulness meditation can be useful for issues of addiction and trauma.

The broad point in all this is that mindfulness meditation clearly offers a measure of control over our lives. This doesn’t mean that it is the only method of control. But it does mean that since there is at least one pathway to control, the 'free will as control' notion can be justified. To be sure, if one insists on subscribing to the maximal definition of free will, then even the act of mindfulness meditation could be seen as falling under the whims of a deterministic universe. For under this view, all our actions can be regressed to some initial set of causation. Yet in a practical, real world sense, the control notion of free will seems more appropriate. It allows space for individuals to navigate reality with the hope that they can make better choices. Yet it also allows space for compassion towards others suffering their overall deterministic fate. This kind of compatibilism would seem to be more useful to us than the traditional, yet antiquated notion of free will in Western culture.

This traditional notion of free will derives from the ideas of third century philosopher St. Augustine of Hippo. As described by Jay Garfield (among many others) in his book, ‘Losing Ourselves’, Augustine’s notion of free will was conceived in order to ‘absolve God of moral responsibility for the fall of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden’. Augustine was worried that if God was an omnipotent supreme being, then he could have prevented Adam and Eve from sinning. But since God didn’t prevent their sin from happening, he could be held morally responsible for their transgressions. Thus, if God was indeed responsible for the actions of Adam and Eve, he would be wrong for expelling them from the Garden of Eden for a sin he himself could have prevented. Augustine’s solution for this religious conundrum was to conceive of the notion of individual free will. A kind of free will that stands separate from all external causation and serves as a faculty all individuals have. In this light, Adam and Eve were solely responsible for their actions, and God was off the hook. Remarkably, this theological construction survived to inform the philosophical, moral, and legal foundations of our modern society. For example, the American criminal justice system frequently operates under the premise that individuals are solely responsible for their actions. As with Augustine’s version of Adam and Eve, the actions of modern ‘criminals’ are seen as products of individual will; free of external causation.

Considering Augustine’s version of free will is wrong, it seems bizarre at this point to continue to allow it to inform so much of our society and thinking. A society with budding artificial intelligence, nuclear technology, and knowledge of quantum mechanics probably shouldn’t be using 3rd century religious thinking as a foundation for moral judgments. Yet this notion of free will is so entrenched within our thinking, I’m not sure how change could be possible. It makes things a lot easier to simply assign blame to individuals for their actions and move on. However, this black and white map doesn’t actually reflect the more nuanced territory underneath. The reality of which is a place where we are determined in a broad sense, yet have opportunities to exercise measures of control. The more we recognize this, the more compassion we can have for others, and ourselves.

A Case For Art and 'The Good'

It’s hard to define why certain things stick in our memory, and why other things do not. Beyond our control, various points or moments in our lives tend to cement themselves as ever present in our mental landscape. They sit there like a book tucked away on a bookshelf. Always there to be referred to or analyzed. For me, one such moment occurred during my first end of semester critique while in graduate school at Brooklyn College in 2011. The crowd evaluating my work at the time consisted mostly of professors and other professional artists that were invited to participate. The pointed discussion centered around two paintings that I had created amid the charged atmosphere in New York City (and the country) due to Occupy Wall Street, and the wake of the 2008 financial crisis. Yet amid all the comments and verbal arrows lobbed by those in attendance, there was one that always stuck with me. Towards the end of the session, a guest artist in attendance suggested that I should be ‘more cynical’. I assumed this person meant the comment in a kind of overall metaphysical way. Basically it meant that some of the things I had said or tried to depict had ‘too much’ authentic feeling behind them. In his view, I was appealing too much to what some might call ‘The Good’.

At the time, I knew the comment was off the mark. Yet I had neither the chance amid the rapid fire discussion, nor the philosophical coherence to counter it. The person who made the comment was drawing from the well of postmodern cynicism and deconstruction. While I had just begun to draw from the well of metamodern feeling, though I didn’t realize it at the time. The paintings I presented were full of cynicism for the current political and economic moment. Yet they also contained elements of humanistic feeling and dignity. The call for me to be ‘more cynical’ was basically a rejection of the dualism or oscillation that resided in the work. It was a call to negate The Good, and embrace a simplistic, yet seductive cynicism. I guess the person making the comment didn’t realize that having come of age in the 1990’s, I had been there and done that already. It’s no coincidence that my generation invented the modern iteration of the mass school shooting. For bottomed out cynicism turned towards nihilism wasn’t a philosophical journey for many in my generation; it was the reality of how we lived in the world.

I suppose if I’m going to make a case for the importance of The Good, I should probably illustrate some philosophical examples first. In the view of the ‘give me more cynicism’ guy, The Good is probably seen as a kind of kitschy, naive, modernist formulation. In fact, he’d probably argue that The Good doesn’t even really exist; and he’d probably hand-wave away any appeal to authentic feeling - especially in art.

For the ancient Greek philosopher Plato, The Good was the eternal, ‘ideal form’ that was the ultimate goal or aim of human life. The Good was the ‘sun’ that lit the way for humanity to see the truth about the world. It flowed through the virtues of individuals, all the way through to the nature and character of the state they inhabited. For Plato’s student, Aristotle, The Good was a more practical conception. Aristotle saw The Good as a kind of real world ‘happiness’, or ‘human flourishing’. This real world, ‘highest good’ for Aristotle consisted of human activity in accordance with reason and virtue. Whereas Plato saw The Good as something the human soul could reach through contemplation, Aristotle saw The Good as a practical matter that human beings might be able to achieve through cultivated activities and habits.

In Buddhist thought, The Good might be seen as an individual reaching a state of enlightenment, or contentment. A state where the individual has realized a state of detachment from their sense of self, and the spontaneous desires that enter their mind. Along with this state of enlightenment might come a sense of inner and outer compassion, that could lead to a broader good. That is to say, a group of individuals enlightened by a Buddhist sense of The Good would form a community that embodied The Good in itself. Interestingly, this idea of The Good being interlocked with the individual and their wider community, is embodied by the African philosophy, ‘Ubuntu’. For practitioners of Ubuntu, The Good is represented by the notion of ‘I am we’. The Good embodies the quality of the relationships between individuals and others. Things like compassion, cooperation, forgiveness, collective well being, and friendship could be seen as populating an Ubuntu conception of The Good.

These philosophical notions of The Good deal with the totality of human life. They address the largest questions about our short time on this planet. What is our purpose in life? How can our lives be meaningful and ‘happy’? How does The Good function in our metaphysical reality or collective existence? Clearly, the practice of philosophical inquiry goes hand in hand with discourse surrounding The Good. For unpacking and dissecting the true nature of The Good is a primary task of philosophy. In artistic mediums like literature, film, or music; The Good has always been a necessary subject. Stories or songs about human existence (fictional or not) must deal with The Good in some manner. Yet for visual art, like painting or sculpture, The Good isn’t a straightforward concept. It is neither a necessary subject of inquiry like in philosophy - nor is it an inherent narrative aspect of the creative product, like in literature, film, or music.

For visual art in the past, The Good could be seen as being tied to older notions of 'truth', or ‘beauty'. Think Michaelangelo's, 'David', or Claude Monet's 'Water Lilies' paintings. The pure formal wonder of these works could be seen as participating in an ideal Platonic form of 'beauty’. Though Plato himself saw art as a mere (and inferior) imitation of ideal forms or essences; for our purposes, the general point stands. The Good, for many centuries as it related to art, was directly connected to the formal aspects of the work. The technical mastery of the artist was the main vehicle for portraying The Good. Even as abstract art began to gain prominence in the 20th century, The Good was still reflected in the formal excellence of the work. This could be seen as viewers were moved by the ephemeral beauty of works like those from Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, or Helen Frankenthaler.

Yet as the age of postmodern deconstruction (and eventual cynicism) took hold in the 1960’s, visual art became less focused on formal dynamics, and more focused on institutional and societal critique. Artists began to engage the hypocritical morality, racial discrimination, technological advancement, existential emptiness, and emerging mass media culture of the time. It was the beginning of a metaphysical reality that was moving away from condensed, linear progression, towards increasing complexity and uncertainty. And it was the beginning of the end for the mental vice grip that the WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant) ruling class held over the rest of society. The 1967 film, ‘The Graduate’ was a brilliant illustration of this. Especially in the scene where recent college graduate Dustin Hoffman gets told by a member of the WASP ‘old guard’ that he should consider an exciting future in ‘plastics’. The uninterested, detached look on Hoffman’s face served as an apt metaphor for a generation that had no use for the stale, traditional structure of the society they were entering.

Unfortunately, this justified rejection of the ruling class status quo brought with it an unintended casualty; the idea of The Good itself. For The Good became associated with things like the false, ‘patriotic’ narratives used to justify the Vietnam War. Or the oppressive, religious ideological constructs that curtailed the rights of women or the LGBT community. Even the seductive advertising, and dehumanizing greed of unfettered capitalism became identified with a nefarious form of The Good. In other words, The Good was seen as a kind of empty vessel of propaganda. Something that was used by those in power to control, and undermine the rest of society. Of course the ruling elite of the time were not exemplifying the true nature of The Good, but this mattered little. The ruling institutions that projected the false notions of The Good were still some of the few institutions in society that put forth an idea of The Good. This meant that when younger generations (including artists) sought to destroy the mirage being presented to them, they accidentally destroyed the benign idea of The Good, along with the false notions. Much of contemporary art then became not only antithetical to notions surrounding The Good, it became antithetical to the idea of The Good itself.

As the decades went by, contemporary art and society at large began to be warped by the advancement of unfettered capitalism. By the late 1980’s, the void created by the ideological deconstruction of the 1960’s had been filled by capitalism itself. The Good was now increasingly defined by what kind of job you obtained, and the material objects you accumulated. The 1987 Oliver Stone movie, ‘Wall Street’ coined a famous line that summed up the era nicely: ‘greed is good’. Business, economic profits, and ‘professionalism’ defined the contours of what it meant to live ‘the good life’. Consciously or not, contemporary art began to be taken in by the gravity of economic hedonism. Thus the art world embraced its own false form of The Good. One that ironically embodied many of the things that artists and activists had been moved to attack and deconstruct in the 1960’s.

Yet by the 1990’s it became evident that there was a significant problem with capitalism filling the well that The Good was intended to be drawn from. In philosophical language, it might be seen as a ‘category mistake’. That is to say, capitalism was an economic system intended to generate wealth. It was never meant to function as something that human beings gave their lives away to, or something that provided meaning and existential fulfillment. Capitalism was basically a tool that human beings created to allow for the greatest amount of pathways to true meaning, or The Good. But contained within itself, capitalism was utterly empty of genuine human meaning, or true manifestations of The Good. In fact, untethered, or unfettered capitalism stoked sentiments in the human mind that were the very opposite of The Good. It was no mistake that greed, hedonism, and existential cynicism reigned during the 90’s amid the rubble of past (flawed) traditions. This metaphysical equation was captured supremely by what many regard as the peak of postmodern storytelling; the HBO television show, ‘The Sopranos’ (1999-2007).

By the end of the first decade of the 21st century, it had become clear that the experiment of capitalism masquerading as The Good had run its course. The financial collapse of 2008 had revealed the true nature of a capitalist economic system left to its own ends. Greed was not ‘good’ anymore; instead it was a wrecking ball that crushed the middle class on down to the poor. The justified cynicism that followed the economic downturn was reminiscent of postmodern social reactions of the past. Yet there was an added sensibility that made it different. Embodied by former US President Barack Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign, there was also a kind of tempered ‘hope’ or optimism. People were angry, but they were also open to meaningful change and purpose. For younger generations especially, there was a feeling of the need to tear things down. But there was also the yearning to build something meaningful in its place. In other words, there was a desire for a new, and true conception of The Good.

This desire for a true conception of The Good is nothing new, in fact it is inherent to human nature. If the idea of The Good is replaced with the notion of ‘meaning’, then Viktor Frankl’s ‘will to meaning’ comes to mind. As human beings, we are oriented to doing things that we believe will give us meaning in life. Things like the will to power or the will to pleasure fall under the ‘meaning umbrella’, as they are pursued by individuals with the hope they will fill what Frankl described as the ‘existential vacuum’. Think about capitalism becoming a false form of The Good. The greed and hedonism that was unleashed captured the minds of individuals because they seemed like pathways to meaning and purpose. The same could be said for never ending postmodern cynicism and deconstruction. The very act of embodying the postmodern outlook became a way to create purpose and meaning in the lives of those that felt disaffected.

In the wake of the 2008 financial crisis, it seemed like this inherent human desire for The Good had aligned with true conceptions of The Good. That is to say our inherent desire for The Good had finally realigned with things that were actually meaningful and fulfilling. False conveyors of The Good like greed or hedonism still maintained their allure. But true reservoirs of The Good like community, meaningful work, family, healthy ‘spirituality’, human dignity, love, grace, and compassion became recognizable aims. It also seemed like there was a kind of subconscious realization that The Good was a critical cornerstone of certain political and social causes. This was illustrated poetically by David Simon in HBO television shows like ‘The Wire’ (2002-2008) or ‘Treme’ (2010-2013). Simon showed how we cared about things like poverty, racial injustice, economic injustice, education inequality, or drug addiction because they created a deficit of The Good. The absence of The Good created by these societal ills was the reason we cared about fixing them.

So as I sat in that room back in 2011 at Brooklyn College during my critique; this was the water I was sitting in. As I was requested to be ‘more cynical’, I was already in a place where cynicism had run its course. I knew there probably wasn’t a ‘God’ in the sky, at least how human religion had conceived. Yet I knew that there was spiritual nature to our existence that dealt with love, grace, and things beyond our comprehension. I didn’t believe in some kind of naive ‘kumbaya’ feeling that would solve all of the problems in society. Yet I did believe that things like friendship, compassion, brotherhood, and understanding were essential to human flourishing. I knew that previous conceptions of ‘traditional values’ were pretty much bullshit. But I also knew that as human beings, in order to thrive, we needed certain moral structures to refer to. Basically I knew that the time I was living in wasn’t one of unbridled cynicism. It was a time where cynicism remained; yet it was also juxtaposed, and increasingly oscillated with, ideas surrounding The Good.

To deny The Good as a part of our reality is to deny a part of reality itself. Therefore, if one wants to capture or reflect the reality human beings experience through art; The Good must be considered in some form. This doesn't mean one should engage in naive sophistry about earnest human feeling. But it also doesn't mean earnest feeling should be negated or cast aside. The Good should be considered in terms of the way it functions in our consciousness. Our minds know The Good is real, and we yearn for it. We recognize the absence of The Good in terms of situations concerning injustice and inequality. We experience The Good in fleeting moments; and sometimes we try to chase it through false means. Unbridled cynicism doesn’t reflect the reality of the human condition, nor does it reflect the metamodern nature of our current times. The question for the artist who seeks to capture our current moment is not whether to engage with The Good. Rather it’s how to engage with The Good in a way that reflects its true nature.

The Problem With AI 'Art' Generators

Recent advancements in ‘artwork’ created by artificial intelligence have generated much excitement and discussion. Social media feeds have been filled with AI images generated from simple text based prompts. Users can produce slick, stylized, ‘artwork’ based on their favorite music lyrics, sci-fi fantasy descriptions, or random illustration requests. The visual or technical quality of artificial pictures has advanced to the point that they have now achieved commercial value. As the technology and image quality continues to improve, individuals will probably buy AI generated ‘art’ to suit their decorative or creative tastes. While corporations will most likely use the technology for advertisements, and publications might seek to use it for editorial illustrations. Yet the problem with this artificial ‘art’ revolution is the same as those that flow from most of our digital, technological advancements. The new technology just arrives on the scene of humanity, without any time for consideration about its impact on society, or discussion about its proper use.

It should be noted that I’m using the word ‘artwork’ in quotations when discussing the products of AI image generation. For I don’t believe that the images generated by the current iteration of AI programs should be considered art. True artwork is a product of self awareness and consciousness. A conscious creature perceives the world, applies the subjective nature of their mind, and creates an image or object derived from their mental processes. As of today, even the latest AI has not achieved self awareness or consciousness yet. AI image generators use processes that are more akin to those of a mechanical bread maker than a sentient creative being. For example, the AI image system ‘DALL-E 2’ uses a process called ‘diffusion’, which is a kind of digital programming that learns how to build images via dot and pattern recognition. Just as with the mechanical bread maker, there is no creativity at play. A human mind decides what ingredients to input into the machine, and out comes whatever bread (or images) they desire.

To be sure, the machine learning and algorithms that lie behind the latest AI image creation programs are more advanced than the straight forward engineering of a mechanical bread maker. Yet the basic principle remains the same. Both the mechanical bread maker and the AI image generator are tools designed to make a human task more efficient and easier. Both tools allow a task to be completed by a ‘non-expert’. Meaning the average person could perform the task of baking bread or creating an illustration without the help of a baker or artist. Yet this kind of technological efficiency comes at a price. Not a price that is measured by markets or interest rates, but one that is measured by human consciousness; or some would say, the human soul.

One day in the future, the improvement in self driving technology will remove the need for taxi drivers, limo drivers, or truck drivers. For the millions of people employed in these professions, this technological advancement will require them to find a new way to make a living. One would think that such an economic upheaval would only take place after meticulous planning and consideration. Yet ‘planning and consideration’ for such an event would only flow from a value (or moral) structure that has humanistic considerations. But in our ideologically atomized, techno-centric world, the dominant value structure is capitalism itself. And of course, capitalism is great for generating wealth and spurring technological advancement. But it was never intended to function as a wholesale, societal organizing system. Think of it this way. In Western countries where capitalism has become the dominant value structure, city development has moved steadily away from humanistic considerations. Instead of urban development that creates livable, multi-class neighborhoods; land and buildings are used as tools to generate the maximum amount of profit.

This is the terrain that AI automation will operate in; unfettered capitalism versus concerns surrounding human or social capital. There has been no discussion or planning about the human consequences of unleashing advanced AI image generators on the world. Not to mention the fact that every image generator had to be ‘trained’ on existing images. As of December 2022, two of the more advanced AI image tools (DALL-E 2 and Midjourney) have not made their initial program training datasets public. It defies belief that within datasets consisting of potentially billions of images, that there weren’t many that were used without permission. But what can be done now? The cat is out of the bag. Artists and photographers throughout history have unwittingly contributed to creating a technology that will try to render much of their future tradecraft obsolete. 

Visual artists engaged in painting or ‘contemporary art making’ seem to be safe for now. That is until a fully conscious AI is able to apply paint to a canvas or create sculptures through subjective introspection. Yet for commercial artists and illustrators, there is a tsunami coming. Straddling the world of art and capitalism, they are especially vulnerable to an unsympathetic technological revolution. As AI image technology progresses, corporations and publications will find it hard to avoid the seduction of efficiency. Why deal with artists or handmade art when you can generate a slick illustration from your home computer or office? Just buy a one year subscription to an AI image generator like it was an Adobe graphics program, and generate any kind of image you can imagine.

Existing artists and illustrators can still fight to copyright their styles and designs. And I imagine publications like The New Yorker, or The New York Times will always value human made illustrations. But what will the world be like for the commercial artists of the future? How will they be able to compete with super advanced AI image generators that can conjure up any design or style they could ever think of? How will future generations of art directors or marketing directors not grow up to embrace the technology simply by circumstance? That is to say, every generation embraces the technology of its day like it is just normal, or ‘good’. A young person born today can never turn away from the smartphone or social media. Just as my generation could not have turned away from video games, cable television, or compact discs.

One phrase or line of thought I refer to often is the saying that the ‘medium is the message’. Coined by the great Marshall McLuhan, the phrase indicates McLuhan’s formulation that the contents of a given medium matter less than the overall effect a medium has on society. This sentiment seems more than accurate when thinking about AI image generation. The products, or creations of non conscious AI image generators will be nothing more than shiny, empty items. The images will be no more than trinkets of efficiency that ultimately grease the wheel of capitalism and business. Yet the overall impact of AI image generation mediums on society will be immense. And herein lies the problem. We are never able to plan or consider the effects of the technological mediums we unleash; because we become so hypnotized by their contents.

As the creator of the AI image generator, DALL-E 2, the company ‘OpenAI’ seems poised for Wall Street fueled, investor backed, financial success. Yet the primary driver of OpenAI’s growth is not DALL-E 2, but its artificial intelligence chat-bot or ‘smart’ search engine, ‘ChatGPT’. One could think of ChatGPT as an intelligent, conversational, Google search engine. Input any text prompt, or inquiry you can think of, and you will get an answer. It can even write ‘poetry’, or essays, which will no doubt send tremors through the writing community in the years ahead. In light of the disruption ChatGPT’s sister program DALL-E 2 will cause to human artmaking, I thought I might as well ask ChatGPT a few questions about the consequences that AI image generation could have on human society.

Here are the three questions I asked ChatGPT, and its responses:

What are some of the negative impacts on humanity as a result of art that is created by artificial intelligence?

There are a few potential negative impacts of art created by artificial intelligence that are worth considering:

Loss of jobs: As AI becomes more advanced, it may be able to create art that is indistinguishable from that created by humans. This could lead to the displacement of human artists, who may struggle to find work in a market that values human-created art less.

Ethical concerns: Some people may have ethical concerns about the use of AI to create art, particularly if the AI is generating content that is inappropriate or offensive.

Loss of human touch: Some people may argue that art created by AI lacks the human touch or emotion that is present in art created by humans. This could lead to a decrease in the value that society places on art.

Intellectual property issues: There may also be issues around who owns the intellectual property rights to art created by AI. If the AI is generating original works of art, it is unclear who should be credited as the creator and who should be entitled to any profits generated by the sale of the art.

What will happen to the profession of commercial illustration as illustrations created by artificial intelligence become more common?

It is possible that the use of AI to create illustrations could lead to the displacement of some human commercial illustrators, particularly if the AI is able to generate high-quality illustrations at a lower cost and faster turnaround time than humans. However, it is also possible that the use of AI could open up new opportunities for human illustrators. For example, human illustrators may be able to specialize in creating more complex or nuanced illustrations that are beyond the capabilities of current AI systems, or they may be able to use AI as a tool to help them create illustrations more efficiently. Ultimately, the impact of AI on the field of commercial illustration will depend on how the technology is developed and adopted.

Since human society revolves around capitalism, does it care about the negative effects that come with automation via artificial intelligence?

Capitalism is an economic system in which private individuals and businesses own and control the means of production and distribution of goods and services, and prices are determined by supply and demand. The primary goal of capitalism is to generate profit, and as a result, businesses may be motivated to adopt new technologies, including AI, if they believe it will help them to increase their profits. This can lead to automation, including the displacement of human workers by machines or AI systems, as businesses seek to reduce labor costs and increase efficiency.

While the adoption of AI and automation can bring many benefits, such as increased efficiency and productivity, it can also have negative impacts, including the displacement of human workers. It is up to society to decide how to balance the benefits and costs of AI and automation and to put in place policies and regulations that can mitigate some of the negative impacts.

This noble, final concept articulated by ChatGPT is one that society has already failed to heed when it comes to illustrators and commercial artists. If there was a slogan for AI fueled capitalism, it might be ‘shit out of luck’ followed by a middle finger emoji. Because that seems to be where all this is headed. Our future AI tools will emerge without little warning or consideration for their human consequences. Similar to the way social media emerged and crashed our national discourse. Except the consequences that flow from our AI tools will affect the very soul of the human beings they impact. They will take aim at what makes life meaningful for many, and what makes this human life, ‘human’ for some.

On Hoffman's Theory of Conscious Agents and Morality

Previously, I wrote about how human consciousness itself might be able to be used as the foundation of a modern, universal morality. Most of my theorizing centered around the fact that our reality is determined by the nature of our consciousness. From this notion I deduced that each human consciousness has a kind of ‘world making’ value, thus giving it an inherent quality that deserves respect, dignity, and freedom. Much of my theorizing drew from the work of University of California professor Donald Hoffman. Yet in my previous writing I did not try and probe how Hoffman’s central claim could relate to any modern, universal moral construct. Hoffman’s central claim is that not only does consciousness determine our reality, but that consciousness is the fundamental property that underlies reality itself.

For Hoffman, consciousness isn’t an emergent phenomenon that arises from neurons and brains. Instead it’s reality itself that emerges from the fundamental nature of consciousness. Everything from quantum mechanics, the fabric of space-time, and everything we encounter every day; it’s all just a data structure that only exists when we perceive it. Hoffman sees objects and space-time as simply ‘species-specific, perceptual adaptations’. This basically means that as a species, in order to survive, we evolved not to see true reality, but a ‘reality’ that would enable our evolutionary fitness.

Hoffman likes to use the example of a computer desktop as an analogy for how his theory can be understood. Alluding to the ‘desktop interface’ analogy, Hoffman says, ‘space and time are the desktop of our perceptual interface, and three-dimensional objects are icons on that desktop’. In paraphrasing Hoffman’s analogy, think of it this way. You can take a text file on your desktop and edit it, move it into a folder, or move it to the trash can. All the files and folders on your desktop can be manipulated, and are very useful to complete various tasks in an efficient manner. Yet ask yourself, are they true? The visual properties of the desktop icons (position, shape, color) do not resemble the true properties of the file. The file doesn’t really have a color, nor is it ‘located’ wherever it seems on the desktop. As Hoffman states, the ‘bits of the file could be spread widely’ over the computer’s memory.

Hoffman makes the point that to even ‘ask if the properties of the icons are true is to make a category error, and to completely misunderstand the purpose of the interface’. The correct question is whether the icon is ‘usefully related to the file’, not whether it is a true representation of the file. In Hoffman’s view, the icons, as with the objects in our reality, are intended to ‘hide the truth’ in a way that allows us to interact with the interface in an efficient manner. He makes the point that we would never accomplish anything on a computer if we had to ‘see the complexity of the integrated circuits, voltages, and magnetic fields that are busy behind the scenes’ every time we engage an icon on the desktop. 

As Hoffman states, this ‘interface’ view of reality carries along with it the notion that ‘space-time and three-dimensional objects have no causal powers and do not exist unperceived’. This mind bending proposition then means that one would have to find a new foundation for the world that lies beyond the interface. This is where Hoffman turns to consciousness itself. In this manner, I believe Hoffman is intimating that ‘consciousness’ is an infinite reality, with almost infinite possibilities. And that our species specific consciousness is one small manifestation of countless possible manifestations. Though I could be wrong about this particular part of Hoffman’s theory, the basic principle is this: consciousness is just assumed to ‘exist’, and the world we inhabit is entirely made of what Hoffman calls ‘conscious agents’.

Hoffman defines his term ‘conscious agents’ as a kind of probability space where one conscious experience leads to another. Within the probability space are three intuitive frameworks: perception, decision, action. Through these three processes, a conscious agent interacts with the world, causing an experience. The conscious agent then chooses what action to take based on the experience, interacts with the world through the decided upon action, and (via the action) ends up effecting the state of the world. Hoffman assumes conscious experiences like the smell of garlic or the feel of hot water are fundamental. He says, ‘they just exist, in the way most assume space-time exists’. This probabilistic relationship between conscious experiences can be seen as maybe an infinite space. Hoffman has already begun to try and prove his theory with advanced mathematics. He is very aware that for his conscious agent theory to be true, it must be shown to be able to create our physical world.

Following the math of his theory has led Hoffman to some interesting places; and in my view, spurs interesting thoughts about consciousness as the moral axiom. When you do the math explaining just fifty conscious agents, you arrive at an ‘object’ that is insanely complicated. But then remember, in Hoffman’s framework, when this ‘object’ is projected all the way into space-time it becomes a trivial product of our perceptions. Now imagine this: if just fifty conscious agents create an ‘insanely complicated object’, what does that mean for an infinite number of conscious agents? According to Hoffman, the math says that multiple conscious agents (whether interacting or not) satisfy the definition of a single conscious agent. This means that Hoffman’s calculations point to there being one, infinite conscious agent that contains all conscious experiences, and exists prior to experience. A timeless field that is the ‘potential for all experiences, and requires no experience to exist’.

Amazingly, Hoffman’s mathematical conception aligns with various spiritual conceptions of God, and even some historical, philosophical conceptions of ‘The One’. For the ancient philosopher Plotinus, ‘The One’ was the ‘uncaused, cause’ of everything in the universe. Deriving from the ancient Greek philosopher Plato, Plotinus saw ‘The One’ as a kind of singular object that contained within it an infinite complexity. Around 500 years earlier, Plato’s student Aristotle covered similar ground by conceiving of an ‘unmoved mover’. Aristotle’s unmoved mover was his conception of the ‘first cause’ for all the movement throughout the universe. Each of these historical notions point to a ‘being’ or ‘thing’ that exists in some kind of infinite manner beyond our idea of conscious experience.

Hoffman makes no claims about God, or any kind of spiritual aspect to his theory of conscious agents. Ultimately, the math will lead where the math leads. Either he will be able to test, and simulate enough aspects of his theory for it to gain serious traction as an answer to the fundamental nature of our reality, or he won’t. Yet for the rest of this writing, I would like to assume that Hoffman’s theory is true. If consciousness is indeed fundamental. If there really is an infinite ‘field’, or ‘object’ that contains the ingredients for every single conscious experience - what does that mean for a consciousness based conception of morality? It would seem that a moral framework that uses consciousness as its axiom would be bolstered by the discovery that our reality is built off of consciousness itself.

If human consciousness has a direct connection to the ‘one’, infinite conscious agent that lies beyond our conception; does that not signify that each form of human consciousness has inherent worth? Does it not show that the primary (and fundamental) quality of human consciousness should take precedence over our secondary differences like skin color, ethnicity, or nationality? And does it not lend credence to the idea that each form of human consciousness deserves the greatest opportunity possible to have ‘good’ conscious experiences? If the one infinite conscious agent contains the ingredients for all the experiences humans know to be ‘morally good’; would we be wrong to map some kind of moral construct onto this field that lies beyond experience?

It should be noted that there is a bit of a contradiction in labeling conscious experiences ‘good’ or ‘bad’ within an idea framework that says our perceptions are false. One can make the argument that there is no experience that is really ‘good’ or ‘bad’ for a form of consciousness that has no direct access to reality. This line of thinking would presume that the moral judgements we make about human experiences are just subjective products of our evolution. Yet I don’t believe we need to deconstruct our moral experiences to such a degree. For this thought experiment I’m just going to assume things like murder, racism, and starvation are bad - and things like love, friendship, and empathy are good. At this point in human history, despite the fact our reality is dependent on our perceptions; we have a pretty good understanding of which moral experiences make us feel good, and those of which that make us feel bad. In my view, this is what matters most.

The question then becomes what could one say about the moral nature of ‘good’ conscious experiences that are derived from an omnipotent conscious agent. Does our moral perception of the experience track all the way back to its fundamental source? That is to say, does the one conscious agent have some kind of inherent moral structure? And if there is such an inherent moral structure within the one conscious agent, does that lay down a justification for moral frameworks that call for human beings to behave in a certain way towards each other? After all, if there is an inherent moral structure to the one conscious agent that contains all experiences; then it would seem that our own moral structure should align with manifesting the ‘good’ conscious experiences contained within the ‘one’.

The theory of conscious agents opens the door for a rational foundation for a universal morality. A morality based on the importance of ‘world creating’ human consciousness, and the moral quality of our conscious experiences. Throughout human history we have had various conceptions of moral frameworks that appeal to things like love, grace, empathy, compassion, charity, understanding, and friendship. Yet drilling down to their ideological basement has led to either a supernatural being, or our own human intuition about the world.

Take for example, the African moral or sociological conception of ‘Ubuntu’. Expounded upon by human rights giants like Nelson Mandela, or the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Ubuntu could be seen as an ideological framework that says human consciousness finds its value in other human consciousness’. In Tutu’s words, ‘a person, is a person, through other persons’. Ubuntu also recognizes the primary (and universal) quality of human consciousness, along with the moral qualities of our conscious experiences. Ethical constructs arising from Ubuntu thought center around what an individual can do for others and their community. In other words, ethical concerns surrounding Ubuntu entail what kind of moral experiences we bring about in other human consciousness’.

I believe Hoffman’s theory of conscious agents could provide solid ground for a universal moral framework like Ubuntu. If it is ever proven mathematically to be true, Hoffman’s theory could prove to be the long awaited construct that bridges the rational and the scientific, to the realm of spiritual contemplation. And maybe, just maybe, it could provide a pathway for humanity to finally put its tribal, secondary differences aside, and recognize the universal primacy and importance of human consciousness itself.

The Metamodern MCU

There has been much discussion in recent years about whether the success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) has damaged or warped the movie industry. Legendary filmmaker Martin Scorsese opined that MCU movies are closer to ‘theme parks’ than the ‘cinema’ he grew up to love and appreciate. Quentin Tarantino complained that MCU movies seem to be the only films that generate ‘any kind of excitement amongst a fan base, or even for the studio making them’. Tarantino also lamented the ‘death of the movie star’; a phenomenon he partially attributed to the MCU’s success. In his view, the star of a Marvel movie is the iconic character (Captain America, Thor, Spider Man, etc); not the actor playing the role. Whether one agrees or disagrees with criticisms of the MCU that echo those of Scorsese or Tarantino, there is one fact that is indisputable. The MCU has been wildly successful, and made a boatload of money over its lifetime (around $25 billion). Putting artistic criticisms aside, one has to wonder why the MCU has resonated so widely and deeply with the general public.

There are practical and down to earth reasons for the wide cultural success of the MCU. The visual experience that each MCU movie delivers aligns with the cost of a trip to the modern movie theater. If a middle or working class family of four is going to pay close to $70.00 per theater trip; they expect a special effects laden spectacle in return. Martin Scorsese’s ‘theme park’ remark shouldn’t just apply to the MCU movies; it should apply to the theaters they play in as well. The average movie goer isn’t keen to part with their hard earned money for an experience they could have on their 55 inch flat screen television at home. The explosion of on demand viewing, streaming sites, and quality television productions have brought Scorsese’s beloved ‘cinema’ into the living room of every modern home on earth.

But beyond these pragmatic considerations for the MCU’s success lies a more ephemeral one. There is something about the metaphysics behind the MCU that aligns with the metaphysics of our current times. If we take it to be true that we live in a time of metamodernism, then it might be the metamodern nature of the MCU that has helped it connect with such a wide popular audience. Whether it’s the overall structure of MCU storytelling, the oscillation between earnest feeling and cynicism in MCU narratives, the ‘existential arcs’ of individual characters, or an overall feeling of what writer Greg Dember coined ‘ironesty’ - the MCU has captivated audiences through metamodern influence.

The fact that the MCU is structured in a way that creates a shared world and narrative over multiple creative properties isn’t new to comic book readers. Yet this kind of interconnected storytelling has offered a new experience for film audiences. The atomization, yet connectivity of the MCU mirrors the atomized, yet digitally connected nature of our metamodern times. Disparate narrative threads or characters, combine, and overlap through various stories. The combination and construction that the MCU uses to build an overarching storyline displays metamodern sensibilities. The average movie goer in 1990 had a mind that was accustomed to consuming straightforward, isolated narratives. But the average movie goer in 2022 has a mind that has been conditioned by our digital technologies. A mind that is attuned to apprehend multiple points of focus, or consume disparate streams of information; is a mind primed for entertainment that reflects its mental habits. The structure of the MCU is like a language that speaks to the metamodern nature of how our minds now consume news or entertainment.

The emotional structure of the MCU also reflects metamodern sentiments that have arisen in the wake of postmodernism. The emotional pillars of the first ten years of MCU storytelling could be seen as Steve Rogers (Captain America) and Tony Stark (Iron Man). Rogers embodied a kitschy, naive, modernist outlook. While Stark embodied a more cynical, ironic, postmodern detachment. Over the course of ten years, the outlooks of both characters oscillated and clashed with one another. And the individual arcs of each character swung between earnest hope, and cynical despair.

Entire MCU movies themselves often oscillate between authentic human emotion and sardonic humor. Characters in MCU narratives often wisecrack their way through dealing with world ending or universe destroying threats. Yet amid the over the top, grand stakes narratives are the smaller, more personal tribulations of the individual characters. Whether or not one is moved by the earnest, personal emotion in MCU narratives; it is the earnest attempt at conveying that emotion which evokes metamodernism. The MCU portrayed a superhuman demigod (Thor) as someone who is forced to deal with extreme grief and depression. It portrayed a cynical, angry talking raccoon (Rocket Raccoon) as a creature that is moved to cry for his friends, and experiences a moment of divine illumination filled with authentic love. It even treated the main villain of its first ten years (Thanos) as someone who wasn’t purely evil; but was an individual who was motivated by an authentic (yet twisted) desire to ‘save’ all living creatures from themselves.

Many of the MCU characters display aspects of an existential crisis, or the ‘existential vacuum’. They search for personal meaning amid circumstances that have left their world confused or scrambled. This search for meaning aligns with how many people feel today in the post-postmodern era. It also aligns with metamodern creativity, as much of it involves how to find or create authentic meaning and experience. In the MCU, much of the ‘authentic meaning creation’ happens as the characters join together, put aside their differences, and work towards a common goal. The individual ‘Avengers’ don’t simply join together in harmony and triumph over evil. They have to negotiate their different personalities, beliefs, and shortcomings in order to create something greater. This resonates with the general public because it reflects a certain modern emotional experience they can relate to.

The overall sensibility of the MCU is one of ‘ironesty’. As mentioned earlier, the term was coined by writer Greg Dember. ‘Ironesty’ means ‘the braiding together of irony and sincerity into a unified aesthetic expression’. The MCU often embraces the silliness of the whole superhero genre through self reflective humor. Yet even the most absurd aspects of certain characters are embraced with a measure of sincerity. In 2022’s ‘Black Panther: Wakanda Forever’, the main antagonist in the film (Namor) was based off of a comic book character who lives underwater, has pointy ears, and can fly with little wings on his ankles. The director of the film, Ryan Coogler, said he stayed true to the absurd character design because he thought that in ‘making these types of movies, you’ve got to lean into the weird stuff, or you risk missing what makes it fun’.

Yet underlying all the wisecracking and absurdity, the MCU is grounded in sincere, honest feeling. A prime example of this was the way Coogler’s ‘Wakanda Forever’ served as a sincere and honest tribute to recently deceased actor Chadwick Boseman. As the original actor to play the Black Panther role, Boseman’s tragic real life passing was incorporated into the fictional storyline for ‘Wakanda Forever’. The result was a narrative that stirred deep feelings of authentic grief and mourning. For the audience had connected not just with the Black Panther character, but the real life actor that portrayed it. This connection between the audience, the MCU characters, and the actors who play the characters, serves as the foundation that the MCU’s ‘ironest’ storytelling is built upon.

In recent years the MCU has become a victim of its own success. Its corporate overlord, The Walt Disney Corporation, has pushed quantity over quality. New characters and storylines have been introduced. Yet they haven’t had quite the emotional connection to audiences as the narratives defining the MCU’s first ten years. Ironically, the recent MCU ‘multiverse’ narrative mirrors what can be seen as physical aspects of metamodernism. Multiple intersecting universes, multiple intersecting timelines, and multiple versions of single characters; all remind me of what I have described as the ‘metamodern hypergraph’. The MCU’s ‘multiverse saga’ is liquid modernity turned into a pop culture, blockbuster, spectacle. Yet despite the structural metamodern undertones of the MCU’s multiversal turn, its future success will still depend on its ability to evoke earnest emotions in its audiences. For in the post-postmodern age of metamodern metaphysics, movie audiences have shown a preference for entertainment that not only stimulates their visual senses, but bares its heart as well.

Ready Player Elon

In its ideal form, Twitter would simply be the highway our digital consciousness drives down. Open to all, and with minimal tolls, this digital roadway would provide quick transport to wherever our minds desired to travel. Clear rules and regulations would be established to ensure the safety of all travelers. Yet the freedom of inquiry, creativity, thought, and speech would be emphasized. The user would have the freedom to curate their own experience; much like they do in the real world. Increased functionality would allow the user even more options for speaking to who they choose, and avoiding those they dislike. Like navigating a vast city, the user would determine which corners of the ‘Twitterverse’ they deemed safe, and which corners they deemed unwise to visit. In its ideal form, Twitter could be the central digital pathway that moves through liquid modernity and connects the metamodern hypergraph.

In the ‘Ready Player One’ science fiction books by Ernest Cline, the stories revolve around a virtual reality world called the ‘OASIS’. While advanced technology had allowed the OASIS to become a realistic virtual world in itself; it was the nature or spirit of the OASIS that is relevant to discussing what Twitter could be. The OASIS functioned as an open, digital universe. One whose reality seemed to be defined by its users as much as it was by its original creator. There were rules, and a certain amount of structure to keep things functioning smoothly. Yet the ultimate driver, and creator of the digital OASIS experience was the same as the real world - human consciousness. The OASIS allowed human consciousness to expand in ways that were impossible in the solid, material world.

This seems to be in line with the philosophical thinking of new Twitter CEO, Elon Musk. He has spoken and tweeted about the need to ‘expand the scope and scale’ of human consciousness. Whatever one thinks of his personality or politics, it’s hard to deny that his efforts toward creating efficient space travel have not moved humanity in this direction. Musk has called Twitter the world’s ‘de facto public town square’. He sees Twitter as the world's digital meeting place for discourse, thought, and creativity. Musk has not said this, but he might see the next evolution of human consciousness as a finalized version of his company, Neuralink. Humanity would merge with digital technology through brain implants, which would then allow for expanded human consciousness. In this reality, a platform like Twitter could connect us all; and we could interact without speaking a word, holding a phone, or touching a keyboard.

Yet like the OASIS in ‘Ready Player One’, the idea of humanity’s consciousness being completely merged with our digital machines is a long way off from being reality. The question for our current times is whether Twitter can become the primary digital communication pathway through our liquid modernity. As of now, platforms like Instagram, Facebook, or TikTok occupy distinct ‘mental lanes’ on our digital highway. An individual might have an account on each platform, and switch between them depending on what they wanted to say, share, or view. But what if there was a platform that was able to combine the best of all platforms, and attract the mental habits of most individuals? What if there was a platform so encompassing and flexible, that users eventually felt fulfilled to use it for all their digital communication? This was the fictional reality of the OASIS, yet I think it should be the goal for whatever version of Twitter Elon Musk is looking to create.

Unfortunately, there might be an inherent contradiction in Musk’s plans. I do believe he genuinely wanted Twitter to become a benevolent ‘digital town square’ before he purchased it. Yet the amount of financial leverage he had to incur to make the purchase might ultimately undermine any of his noble aims. For one has to ask the question whether the nature of corporate profit making and the nature of a truly ‘humanistic’, open digital platform can coexist. The nature of corporate power and profit considerations ultimately move corporate enterprises away from humanistic considerations. Examples of this would be the private healthcare system in the United States, the behavior of large multinational oil companies, or the failings of Facebook. Musk’s purchase of Twitter was a little like an individual overpaying for every road within a given state or country. The individual might repair all the roads, bridges, and tunnels. Yet in order to keep things afloat financially, they might have to charge tolls or create profit mechanisms that begin to harm the public good.

This leads one to consider what might be the ultimate nature of any modern day ‘OASIS-like’ platform that connects us all. It might need to have a public works foundation like the highway system, electric grid, or pre digital phone lines. Yet this public foundation would allow for private innovation, invention, and risk taking. This description sounds like the internet itself, yet it might have to apply to any all encompassing social media platform as well. This would mean the internet would be its own utility like, open platform; alongside any unified social media platform. Otherwise, humanity will continue to disperse its consciousness amid multiple platforms. Or eventually, through corporate consolidation; all our digital, social communications might be controlled by one individual or corporation.

Much has been rightly made of the corrosive effect ‘social media’ or our digital communications have had on public discourse, and human society in general. It is true that our digital platforms act as shortcuts to trigger our toxic evolutionary responses like tribalism, hedonism, envy, or status seeking. Yet it is also true that these platforms, and our need to use them, are not going anywhere anytime soon; they are here to stay. The hope is that as generations come and go, humanity will slowly gain control over its inherent evolutionary impulses versus the dynamic, digital stimulation of digital communication. Elon Musk probably sees his efforts to reform Twitter as an effort to unleash and (ultimately) merge human consciousness with our digital reality. The only question is whether the nature of the money that allowed him to buy Twitter will ultimately prevent him from fulfilling its promise.

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*Afterword as of March 2023: Sadly it’s become clear that Elon Musk has taken hard lines on political and social issues that have destroyed any hope he would be a benevolent creator of a new communication platform. Ironically, his mind seems to have been warped by the very platform he sought to ‘save’. Regardless, the hope still remains that one day in the future, someone will create a platform that meets our modern moment and works towards the true expansion of the human mind.

Downstream From the Oligarchy

At this point I’ve pretty much given up hope on most major political parties, whether they be American or Canadian. Yet it should be noted that some are clearly much worse than others. The Republican Party in the United States has become a rolling shitshow of religious fundamentalism, anti-democratic actions, conspiracy fantasies, and cults of personality. Whatever sense of honor, duty, or normality that resided in the party decades ago was finally erased with the presidency of Donald Trump. In Canadian politics, the People’s Party of Canada (PPC) doesn’t have nearly the same influence or power as the Republicans in the United States. Yet they seek to feed and stir the same ‘Trumpian’ populist anger based in the worst aspects of human nature. The PPC specializes in xenophobic politics and exploiting tribal impulses wherever they can find them.

But even if we remove these two parties from consideration, the major political party landscape for the average American or Canadian still looks uncertain at best. The choice for the average voter is increasingly an oligarchic popularity contest rather than choosing a fellow citizen to represent their interests. Over the past 40 years in democratic, capitalist countries like America and Canada, there has been significant economic separation within the populace. The elite ‘ruling class’ now consists of mostly highly educated individuals who move through professions in politics, government, academia, high finance, private industry, media, and entertainment. Many move through revolving doors (with muddled interests), between serving ‘the people’ in government, and corporate jobs bringing personal enrichment. Think Peter Orszag becoming director of the Office of Management and Budget for former US President Barack Obama in 2008, only to join the financial behemoth Citigroup in 2011. Or Jay Carney, who went from Time Magazine reporter, to Obama White House Press Secretary, then CNN commentator, and finally to Amazon corporate honcho. 

Even if we discount the riches the political ruling class makes by transitioning to jobs in private industry, their government income still illustrates their separation from the average citizen. As of 2022 the starting salary for a member of the US Congress was $174,000. According to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, as of the third quarter of 2022 the average salary for American workers was $54,000. In Canada, as of 2019, members of parliament received a base salary of $178,000 per year. While the average total Canadian household income in 2019 was $70,000. And of course, these government base salaries don’t include added perks such as healthcare, pensions, travel expenses, or food.

The economic separation achieved by the ruling elites has also brought with it degrees of cultural separation and resentment. The notion of cultural separation is a bit trickier to describe than the straightforward facts of income and wealth. Yet in a very reductive sense, it means that the ruling class has more in common with each other than they do with members of the middle class on down. While this seems to be an obvious observation, it is important for two reasons. First, because the cultural commonality among the ruling class is apparent regardless of political ideology. This means that the political elite, regardless of their political leanings, find themselves united in their disconnect from the lives of the citizens they are supposed to represent. And secondly, this ruling class cultural separation is important because it represents something that wasn’t always the case. 

In the United States at least, there was a time when the cultural chasm between the ruling class and the rest of society was not as wide as it is today. Before the financial deregulation of the 1980’s and 1990’s, the ‘financial industry’ was more of a service industry than a high flying vehicle of unfettered capitalism. Sure you could make a nice living, but not the hedge fund, ‘professional sports team buying’ nice living. There was a time when major media wasn’t a place that mimicked the world of glamor and entertainment. Rather it was a profession that sought to hold the powerful accountable, instead of trying to join them at the table. And there was a time when politicians, despite wealth and status, still had cultural connections to the average citizen. This is not to say there was no cultural separation in years past. It is simply to say that the divide was much less before the time of liquid modernity.

Much of the populist fervor in our current times is fueled in part by bitter resentment towards the ruling class. Political movements and candidates on both sides of the aisle in the United States have sought to channel this resentment towards their political ends. During the 2016 US Presidential campaign, Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, and then candidate Donald Trump appealed to many of the same voters. This would seem counterintuitive as Sanders’ ideas trended towards left wing socialism; while Trump’s entire mode of being channeled right wing fascism. Yet to a certain American voter, they both appealed to the same thing: resentment towards the ‘elite’ who have screwed over the average citizen, year after year, decade after decade. It didn’t matter whether the prescriptions for the resentment were politically far left or right. The only thing that mattered was whether a political leader was seen as authentically acknowledging the resentment that existed, and promising actions to remedy it.

In the winter of 2022, this resentment towards the ruling class became apparent beyond the borders of the United States. The eyes of the world became fixated on Ottawa, Ontario as truck drivers and protestors descended upon, and occupied Canada’s capital city. The general message about what motivated the uprising was ‘covid vaccine mandates’. Though the notion of vaccine mandates had become a bit of a right wing strawman, they were indeed a real issue for truck drivers crossing the Canadian border with the United States. Yet it became clear as the occupation wore on, that the common thread among the cast of capitol squatters was resentment. Resentment that was embodied by the current Prime Minister of Canada, Justin Trudeau. The ‘Fuck Trudeau’ flags and signs that were on display were not signifiers of a crowd that was hungry, poor, or oppressed. They were signifiers of anger towards a Prime Minister who had become the perceived embodiment of a political and cultural elite who were out of touch, gilded, and corrupt.

While the ‘rebellion’ in Ottawa didn’t really accomplish anything, it illustrated the problem with anger fueled protests towards an out of touch ruling class. Fueled by emotion rather than rational demands, they become catch-all bins for extreme actors and trend towards violence. Rather than sober, steady movements for a certain measure of economic fairness, the tribal instincts of ‘the mob’ define the contours of the movement. Like an individual captured by jealous rage, ‘anger fulfillment’ becomes the only motivating factor. Yet there is an interesting paradox contained within the mob’s desire for a pound of ruling class flesh. While their actions lead to pain and suffering, the first cause or impetus for their actions is authentic in its malign nature. That is to say, an economically oppressive ruling class deserves to be opposed, but it very often breeds mob opposition by its very nature. Basically, this means that one of the nasty, inherent byproducts of economic inequality and cultural separation is eventual populist, mob anger. Wholesale, national revolution where a government is overthrown is the extreme example of this. The violence and suffering that comes with violent revolution can be seen as justified if it is in response to a truly oppressive authoritarian government, or ruling class. Yet it represents a painful and uncertain outcome that might have been avoided if some kind of basic economic fairness had been maintained throughout the society.

In the United States we have seen the toxic brew of an out of touch ruling class, economic inequality, and resentment help open the door for ‘Trumpism’. Trumpism meaning the authoritarian, conspiracy fueled, cult of personality surrounding former president Donald Trump. Yet in another corrosive paradox, the same toxic brew that helped usher in Trumpism can lead to apathy among the citizenry in recognizing its existential threat. When Democratic Party leaders rightfully warn about the dangers Trumpism poses towards American democracy, oftentimes their pleas fall on deaf ears. For as members of the disconnected ruling class, their appeals to ‘save the nation’ can sound naive and hollow. Almost as if they were those of a distant relative who calls out of nowhere needing help - but for a situation they brought upon themselves.

Sadly, there is no greater example of this ruling class, ‘sound the alarm for democracy’ disconnect than former US President Barack Obama. If you are reading this and not captured by ideological fervor; you probably have a measure of respect for the former president. You recognize he is a smart, good man, who does want what is best for the United States, and the world. Yet if you are objective, you would also agree that along with Obama’s rise to the presidency, he rose to the center of the ruling class. Obama had barely finished paying off his college student loans before he was elected to the Senate in 2005. But through book deals, Netflix production deals, and corporate speaking fees; Obama’s post presidency saw him completely removed from any connection to the average working American. Now a multi millionaire, Obama has more in common with a conservative member of the elite than he does with an average shift worker grinding away at an Amazon warehouse. Remember, through cultural and economic separation, the ruling class has more in common with each other than they do with the rest of society.

In hindsight, Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign could probably be described as ‘good populism’. The 2008 financial crisis had left voters angry and confused. Yet much like New York Senator Robert F. Kennedy in 1968, Obama sought to channel national dismay into a campaign based on positivity, hope, and change. Obama appealed to the ‘better angels’ of humanity. Common themes of his political philosophy were ‘yes we can’, and ‘out of many, we are one’. He sought to unite the country and bring measures of economic fairness through cooperation and good faith. He sought to cool the anger and tribal impulses of the populace by the elevation of reason and rhetoric. His first inauguration was one of the last relatively bi-partisan, multi-class ‘good’ moments the United States will probably have for a long time. If you ever want a shock to the system, watch the video of Obama’s first swearing in, take notice of the atmosphere, and contrast it to our current reality.

Yet despite the hopeful promise of Obama’s presidency, the ultimate trajectory of its place in American life was cemented early on. Immediately after his election in 2008, Obama was faced with handling the catastrophic fallout from the recent financial crisis. A crisis that was brought on by the greed and fraud of the financial members of the ruling class on Wall Street. Billions of dollars in bailouts had to be handed out by the government to financial giants like American International Group (AIG), Bank of America, and Citigroup. This meant that the US government was essentially saving the perpetrators of the financial crime because they were ‘too big to fail’. The financial ruling class had gambled and lost, but their entanglement with the US and world economy insured they would still win. Meanwhile, the average American worker was condemned to lose, through no fault of their own.

Despite all this, Obama still had a chance to bring about fundamental change. Though the Wall Street elite had been saved financially, they were brought to their proverbial ‘knees’ so to speak. They were in no position to oppose drastic government action to tilt the economic playing field back towards the middle class on down. As reported by the Frontline PBS news series, then president-elect Obama’s choice in who he wanted to manage the financial crisis would be an early signifier of how he wanted to deal with the matter. Was he looking to maintain the status quo of the ruling class? Or was he looking to weaponize his recent campaign of ‘good populism’ and seek to drastically alter the economic structure of the country? Obama’s choice seemingly came down to two individuals. Former Chairman of the Federal Reserve Paul Volcker, who was heavily in favor of tough regulation of the financial industry. And then President of the New York Federal Reserve Tim Geithner, who saw the financial system as something to be protected, rather than reformed and rebuilt. As his administration took power, Obama chose Geithner to be his Treasury Secretary, and also brought in former President Bill Clinton’s Treasury Secretary, Larry Summers as his chief economic advisor. Ironically, Summers had recently made millions from a Wall Street hedge fund, and substantial income from speaking engagements with financial institutions.

Yet despite his insider, ruling class status, Summers moved towards the position that some of the too big to fail banks needed to be broken up and restructured. He wanted to create a precedent that illustrated accountability. That even if you are ‘too big to fail’; if you gamble and lose, you don’t get to survive - you cease to exist without taking the rest of the country down with you. However, Tim Geithner did not agree with Summers’ proposal. As mentioned before, Geithner was intent on preserving the status quo, rather than ushering in great change. President Obama held a six hour meeting where Summers and others interrogated Geithner’s plan to ‘go easy’ on the financial institutions that had caused the economic collapse. Obama listened, and without telegraphing his final decision, he summoned the leaders of the major financial institutions to the White House two weeks later. 

According to Frontline, as the bankers entered the meeting, they ‘feared they would have to accept dramatic reforms’. Maybe a ban on ‘too big to fail’, or a ‘limit on executive compensation’. And maybe even a requirement they ‘refinance mortgages for underwater homeowners’. The power dynamics of this moment were completely in favor of populist reform. The financial titans of the ruling class were laid low as they came to meet a popular new president amid burning resentment, and anger in the populace. Speaking of the meeting later, former Bank of America leader Ken Lewis stated that Obama had an early message for him and his fellow bank executives. Obama told the bank CEOs that his administration was the only thing standing between them and ‘the pitchforks’. Yet after that initial warning, Obama sought to moderate the discussion, steering it away from confrontation. He spoke of the situation surrounding the banks as a ‘public relations’, or a ‘political problem’. It became apparent that Obama was choosing the ‘Geithner’ path over the ‘Summers’ path. He was choosing caution and the status quo over turbulent, yet necessary reformation. He was choosing a path that helped lead the United States to the place it is today. A place where the ruling class is so separated from the rest of society, that American democracy itself has shown signs of faltering.  

As described in A.C. Grayling’s ‘The History of Philosophy’, the ancient Greek philosopher Plato once contemplated which forms of government (or societal structure) were ideal, and which were not. He saw ‘aristocracy’ as the highest or best form of government, while tyranny was defined as the worst. Aristocracy in Plato’s thinking meant rule by virtuous, wise, and knowledgeable individuals. In this situation, the virtues of the ruling class would guide them towards putting their own interests aside, and acting in the best interests of the entire populace. Basically, this ‘virtuous aristocracy’ would be enlightened enough to control their hedonistic appetites, and not take advantage of their powerful position. Between the two extremes of aristocracy and tyranny, Plato saw various other forms of government; each one becoming worse than the other.

One step down from aristocracy was ‘timocracy’. Timocracy in Plato’s mind meant rule not by those with virtue, but by those seeking notoriety, glory, and conquest. The appetite for these ‘false virtues’ would lead those in power astray, and oriented towards self interest. This orientation would bring about wealth seeking, status seeking, rivalry, and conflict. Thus timocracy would quickly descend into oligarchy. Oligarchy in this sense meaning minority rule by a small, rich elite, over the rest of the population. For as those at the top of the timocracy accumulated wealth through their desire for status and conquest; hedonism would be unleashed. Pleasure, luxury, indulgence, and power would become the virtues of a new, wealthy, oligarchic class. This would result in a ruling elite who were decadent and out of touch with the majority of the populace.

For Plato, the final stop before tyranny was ‘democracy’. Democracy in Plato’s thinking meant the populist uprising and destruction of the oligarchic class. Motivated by envy and resentment, the citizenry would take power through violence and discord. Yet with no real ability to govern, the populist uprising would descend into anarchy. As anarchy took hold, the citizenry would turn towards a strongman to rise and restore order. As the strongman seized control, the citizenry would feel relief at first. Yet slowly the citizenry would begin to realize they had descended into the worst form of government: the final tyrannical rung on Plato’s governmental ladder.

If we were to compare our current times to Plato’s descriptions, it would seem the United States is in the late stages of oligarchy, flirting with a descent towards ‘democracy’. An out of touch, wealthy elite has spurred populist challenges from the political left and political right. As a consequence, spasms of anarchy and creeping authoritarianism shake the democratic, Constitutional order. As of this writing, Trumpism has faced broad electoral defeat in the 2022 midterm elections. Yet the center, and engine of Trumpism, Donald Trump himself, seems poised to launch another bid for the presidency. Trump, by design or nature, seeks to create the ‘anarchy’ Plato conceived of in order to establish himself as the authoritarian remedy. I believe he will ultimately fail, and finally exit the US political scene in some form or another. Yet the economic and cultural separation in the nation that allowed his rise will remain. Which means the door will remain open for the next populist demagogue. And most likely, the next one will be a bit more intelligent and capable of manifesting their bad intentions than the flawed, orange-faced, con man from Queens, New York.

'The Wire' as a Bridge to the Metamodern

There was a time in the early 2000’s when HBO was producing four of the most iconic postmodern television shows of all time. ‘The Sopranos’, ‘The Wire’, ‘Six Feet Under’, and ‘Deadwood’ were each benchmarks for the kind of television storytelling we see today. All four dealt with cynicism, and the suffering that can surround the human condition. Some of the suffering was dealt with in a physical sense, while much of it was psychological. Psychological in terms of what Viktor Frankl called, the ‘existential vacuum’. Many of the characters in each show were searching for personal meaning in worlds where there were few remaining traditions, or overall structures to guide them. Each show reflected the metaphysics of the day through various narratives and elements. It was a time when postmodern feelings were peaking, and beginning their turn towards metamodernism. None of the four shows were metamodern in their overall presentation, yet each show did contain moments of earnest, authentic human feeling.

Out of all the four shows, ‘The Wire’ seemed to go the furthest in bridging the postmodern, to the metamodern. David Simon (the creator of ‘The Wire’) shed light on the underlying nature of the Baltimore crime drama in various interviews he gave during its run on HBO. Paraphrasing an answer he gave in 2004, Simon said that the show was ‘cynical about institutions, and their capacity to serve the needs of the individual’. But in terms of the characters in the show, Simon didn’t think the storytelling was ‘cynical at all’. In fact he felt there was ‘a great deal of humanist affection’ throughout. Within the show, the structure of these two sets of feelings was more of juxtaposition, than the oscillation that is a hallmark of metamodern storytelling. Varying degrees of institutional rot served as overarching backdrops during each season. While the dignity and humanity of the characters served as windows into a realm that was separate from the dilapidated world around them.

This juxtaposition of feelings was evident within the first moments of the first scene of the show. The scene opens with blood trails, and a dead body on the concrete of Baltimore’s inner city. Detectives pick up bullet shell casings, young children watch from a nearby stoop, and policemen survey the scene while writing reports. On another stoop near the murder scene, a white homicide detective sits next to a young African American man who apparently knew the murder victim. The detective asks the young man what the victim’s name was, and the young man replies, ‘Snot’. The detective quizzically asks, ‘you called the guy Snot?’. To which the young man replies, ‘Snot-Boogie’. The detective then says, ‘this kid who’s mama went to the trouble to Christen him Omar Isiah Betts; he forgets his jacket, his nose starts running, and some asshole instead of giving him a Kleenex calls him Snot, so he’s Snot forever - doesn’t seem fair’. The young man then replies, ‘Life just be that way I guess’.

The detective then begins to move towards the more pressing matter of who actually shot Snot in cold blood. Reluctant at first, the young man looks over sadly at his dead friend and says, ‘motherfucker ain’t have to put no cap in him though’. The detective replies, ‘definitely not’. The young man then says, ‘I mean he could have whooped his ass like we always whooped his ass’. To which the detective replies, ‘I agree with you’. The young man continues by saying, ‘how you gonna kill Snot, Snot been doing the same thing since how long’. The young man then proceeds to tell the detective how every Friday night him and his friends would shoot dice in the alleyway. He recalls how Snot would play too, until the money in the pot grew and grew. But then, every time, Snot would grab the money in the pot and try to make a run for it.

Upon hearing this, the detective says, ‘let me understand you, every Friday night, you and your boys would shoot craps right. And every Friday night, your pal Snot-Boogie, he’d wait until there was cash on the ground, then grab the money and run away?’. The young man nods without saying anything and the detective responds, ‘you let him do that?’. The young man then tells the detective that they would catch him and beat him up, but nothing past that. With a befuddled look on his face, the detective asks, ‘if every time Snot-Boogie would grab the money and run away, why’d you even let him in the game? If Snot-Boogie always stole the money, why’d you let him play?’. The young man replies, ‘we got to…it’s America man’. And with that, the detective smirks in acknowledgment, and the camera shifts to show the two sitting on a stoop in the background. While in the foreground Snot-Boogie lays dead on the pavement; with his eyes still open. The scene then cuts to the show’s familiar opening credits.

The feeling this scene conveys sets the stage for all five seasons of the show. Amid the overall structure of postmodern institutional decay and hopelessness, the humanity of the characters showed through every minute of every scene. There was a sense of ‘hopeless hope’ that dominated the show's sensibility; which seems very metamodern in hindsight. Whether it was the corrupt urban destruction of the drug war, the failings of the inner city school system, or the decimation of local newspapers - it was all juxtaposed by the dignity of the characters amid these dysfunctional systems. Whether it was a drug dealer, a police chief, a mayor, or a homeless addict; all were portrayed as profoundly human. The characters in the show were not simply empty avatars intended to carry a reductive postmodern, or modernist narrative. Their feelings and consciousness were constant reminders of why the world around them was so deflating and cynical.

This is what made the show a very important bridge between postmodern and metamodern sensibilities. The earnest portrayal of human feeling, and an earnest yearning for ‘the good’. ‘The good’ in this case meaning truth, authentic human meaning, and love. These sorts of constructs are anathema to postmodern narratives, and used as naive veneers in modernist narratives. Yet in metamodernism, they are treated as simply real. There to be acknowledged as true parts of the metaphysical water we all swim in, and the human condition. The humanity of the characters was almost like an alarm going off during the duration of the show. As if to say, ‘there is something wrong here, and this human feeling is showing you why and how’.

It’s an interesting coincidence that the show ended in 2008. For it was former United States President Barack Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign that could be seen as the beginning of the metamodern age. Some of Obama’s campaign slogans were literally ‘hope’ and ‘change’. The age of postmodernism had crested with the September 11th, 2001 terrorist attacks, the Iraq War, and the 2008 financial crisis. The metaphysical mood of the country was one of confusion and despair. The anger that resides in the country today was brewing, but was still mixed with a sense of genuine bewilderment from the events of the decade. There was a lot of ‘hopeless hope’ to go around, just as ‘The Wire’ had depicted. People yearned for something they knew was probably lost, yet they felt inspired to reach for it anyway. This was the essence that Obama’s campaign embodied.

The final moments of ‘The Wire’ were an apt metaphor for the show’s position as a bridge between the postmodern and the metamodern. The detective who appeared in the very first scene discussed earlier, is depicted driving back to Baltimore city as a literal and metaphorical end to his journey. Ironically, he stops on an actual ‘bridge’ or highway overpass to gaze at the city and reflect before he returns. The detective’s actions have weight because the arc of his character throughout the five seasons had mirrored the path of the show. His journey was one of earnest humanity blanketed with overriding cynicism, yet motivated by ‘the good’. Motivated by the ‘hopeless hope’ he could make things right.

As he looks out over the city, the familiar song that opens every show, ‘Way Down in the Hole’ written by Tom Waits plays. Each season of ‘The Wire’ had a different version recorded of the song. For this ending scene, the original recording from the first season plays as a way to signal to the viewer that they are back where they started. A montage of various characters who have survived to the end of the show begins. Since the viewer has a connection to each of the characters by now, each character that appears evokes personal feelings. Each character is seen moving forward with their life, yet the overarching theme is that in the grand scheme of things; nothing has really changed. The overarching institutional dysfunction that all these human beings have been maneuvering in is still in place. 

In the last moments of the montage, the portrayals of the fictional characters in the show are replaced with real life snippets of people and places in Baltimore’s inner city. This removes any notion that ‘The Wire’ was a purely postmodern venture. The inclusion of actual people who go through the actual things the show depicted is an indicator of the show’s humanistic heart. The show was not simply made to entertain, it was made to reflect the reality of its time. David Simon once called the show 'a love letter to Baltimore'. It was this love that I believe led to 'The Wire' being a cultural bridge between the postmodern and the metamodern. A time of semi-coherent 'hopeless hope' before the advent of true liquid modernity, metamodernism, or the metamodern hypergraph. A time where the earnest and the cynical remained in juxtaposition, rather than oscillation or combination. A time when individuals still looked towards the old pathways to meaning, not realizing yet that they were gone for good.

Art 'Of its Time'; A Causal Examination

In a philosophical sense, a metaphysical outlook can be taken as one’s view on the nature of reality. From this outlook then flows philosophical views on things like ethics, epistemology, or the human mind. In my view, certain modes of artistic creation flow from metaphysical constructs as well. Yet unlike a philosopher directly trying to define an unseen metaphysic, the artist is more apt to use feelings or intuition as guides to create things that bring metaphysical formulations to life. The causal nature of this process can fall anywhere between total determinism, or (seemingly) conscious, freely decided action. That is to say, one artist might be moved overwhelmingly by an uncanny feeling to paint a certain way. While another artist might examine the same uncanny feeling in a more rational or intellectual manner first; then proceed towards a creative undertaking.

This then begs the question, is art ‘of its time’ a product simply deriving from the metaphysics of the day; or is it an active interrogation of the metaphysical water the artist is swimming in? It would seem, at least initially, that the feelings that emerge in the consciousness of the artist are determined by the nature of the world around them. That is to say, like all humans, the artist doesn’t control the initial thoughts and feelings that pop into consciousness. This mental process was touched upon in Robert Wright’s recent book, ‘Why Buddhism is True: The Science and Philosophy of Meditation and Enlightenment’. In his book, Wright goes into detail about the interaction between our emergent feelings, our ‘modular’ minds, and how evolution has shaped the process of our decision making. 

Wright maps out the human predicament of our actions being largely determined by an external causal network and our internal evolutionary programming. His discourse centers on how Buddhist philosophy, and more importantly, meditation can be seen as remedies to our modern situation. Yet in terms of this writing, it is Wright's basic description of how we as humans must 'detach' from our feelings in order to better understand them which seems relevant. This mode of 'feeling observation' is the basic action of mindfulness meditation. This action of acknowledging our feelings, yet maintaining a certain distance in order to better judge them, seems to mirror the tension or oscillation that many artists experience.

The causal chain outside, and inside the mind of the artist seems to flow something like this: the metaphysics of the day lead to feeling, which then leads to acknowledgement, which finally leads to action. The greatest variable in the process would be the mental space concerning ‘acknowledgement’. Some artists might be keen to let their emergent feelings move directly into action. While other artists might ponder the origin and nature of their feelings before moving forward. There is no right way to go about this process of course. And there are certainly more shades of gray involved than black and white determinations. Yet I do think this is the basic framework in which art ‘of its time’ is created. If one were to look for artists whose creativity seemed to embody this process, there would be no shortage of candidates. Yet there are two that remain close to my heart for differing reasons. One is Andy Warhol, whose mastery captured the metaphysics of his time like few have before or since. The other is the late Vito Acconci, who was a contemporary of Warhol, and my professor at Brooklyn College.

During pretty much all of my conversations with Vito, we would discuss the metaphysics of the day. Although I’m pretty sure Vito would hate the word ‘metaphysics’, so I’ll just say that we tried to make sense of what the fuck was actually happening in the convoluted world around us. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was percolating with thoughts that I would eventually decipher as metamodern. Vito would often say of his own work decades ago that he just ‘wanted to be of his time’. This sentiment is why I think I gravitated towards his thinking. Though we were very different in our creative output; we both sought to acknowledge and inspect the feelings the outside world had spurred within us. It was not enough to simply ride metaphysical waves to a destination. We needed to examine where the wave was coming from and where it was taking us.

Some of the first lectures Vito gave our class were survey’s of his life’s work. Around 73 years old at the time, yet still vibrant and inquisitive; Vito would click through slides of his art while ruminating on his thoughts and inspirations. I recorded the audio of a portion of this, and still have it today. Like many in his generation, Vito was raised in the shadow of religion, but quickly saw no use for it by the time he came of age in the 1960’s. The age of modernist metaphysics (that had seen its apogee in the years after the end of World War II) was quickly coming apart as a new generation looked to deconstruct what was outdated and unjust. Authority wasn’t to be blindly followed anymore, it was to be questioned. Traditions weren’t to be heeded simply because they existed. Instead they were to be examined and discarded like expired milk. Society was going to be torn down and remade; the only question was how.

By the end of the 1960’s and the beginning of the 1970’s; political assassinations, civil unrest, and the Vietnam War had left their imprint on American society. The metaphysics of the day influencing the mind of Vito were those of deconstruction, feelings of cynicism, and finding new pathways to meaning. In 1969 Vito created a work called, ‘Following Piece’. The work entailed Vito finding a random person on the streets of New York City, and following them everywhere he could until they entered a private space. During his lecture, when speaking about the inspiration for the piece, Vito would say he was thinking, ‘how do I connect, how do I connect with the world around me, with people around me’. This seems like an apt metaphor for a time in which the old ‘rules and ways’ about how, and who you could connect with were discarded. Which then raises the existential question: how does one connect with the world if nothing in the world tells them how anymore?

Vito would go on to talk about an exhibition in 1970 he was invited to participate in at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The show was titled, ‘Information’, and Vito described it as the first show in New York (and maybe the United States) that was trying to ‘come to grips’ with what was coming to be known as ‘so called conceptual art’. Upon being invited to participate, Vito described thinking he thought museums were ‘totally opposite’ to what he wanted to do. He would say he wanted his work to be in ‘everyday space’, and that ‘museums seemed to be the enemy; (and that) museums seemed to be a specialized place’. Again, this shows how Vito was internalizing the metaphysics of the day. By 1970, institutions, whether they were the federal government, the church, or the military; they had all lost their veneer of virtue. All concentrated institutional power, including museums, were to be treated with suspicion.

Vito’s piece in the exhibition was a work called ‘Surface Area’. The installation consisted of a table with a plastic, open top container. For the duration of the show, Vito arranged that his mail be delivered to the Museum of Modern Art. This meant that instead of simply fetching his mail from his Manhattan building lobby, he would have to ride the subway to the museum; and ‘perform’ some action with the mail at the installed table. Vito called this an important work for his thinking because it made him realize that maybe instead of thinking about exhibitions, maybe he should be thinking about ‘doing an activity that would result in something he needed’ (or wanted). For Vito the act had become ‘the art’. He had transported a mundane, everyday task to a place that was reserved for ‘special’ things and people. The metaphysics of the day were spurring feelings of subversion and a search for personal meaning. Vito’s acknowledgment of these feelings led him to take physical actions in response. Actions that will forever be known as vanguards of conceptual and performance art.

While the feelings that emerge in the consciousness of the artist can spur physical action. They can also spur formal innovation. A little less than ten years before Vito Acconci began to crystalize the metaphysics of the day through action; Andy Warhol began to capture the metaphysics of the day through silkscreen and photography. The early 1960’s were a time when the ‘mass media’ society we know today began to come into formation. The television was becoming a media force despite its black and white visual limitations. National news began to change from modernist, idealistic narratives to realistic, unvarnished communication. And celebrities were reaching their full status as idols showered with dehumanizing love and ridicule. Warhol was able to fully detach and observe his feelings about the changing times. Yet despite his view from a position of nowhere, he still felt attached to the metaphysics of the day. Around 1963 Warhol would tell a newspaper reporter, ‘I feel very much a part of my times, of my culture - as much a part of it as rockets or television’.

Warhol’s early use of the silkscreen technique captured the effect that the television medium was having on the minds of individuals. Warhol brought to life Marshall McLuhan’s famous phrase, ‘the medium is the message’. McLuhan’s phrase articulated that the effect a medium has on society matters more than its content. Warhol’s silkscreens captured the unseen metaphysical effect of television and revealed its existence. The medium was the message in Warhol’s silkscreens. Yet it was his chosen content depicted through the silkscreen medium that fully cemented his work as ‘of its time’.

On August 4th, 1962 the famed actress and star Marilyn Monroe overdosed on barbiturates and died in Los Angeles. Her death was reported by the media as a suicide. Warhol, acting on the suggestion of a friend, immediately decided to make Monroe the subject of his next silkscreen paintings. The natural imperfections in the silkscreen process mirrored the dark side of fame and American ‘star culture’ that Monroe’s death represented. The blocks of color layered with the black and white photo mirrored the mental image the average citizen had of Monroe. After all, they had never met her, but they ‘knew’ her through print and film images. The overall feeling the Marilyn works evoked was one of ‘metaphysical storytelling’. Almost as if they were telling the viewer; ‘you loved her, you made her, yet you didn’t really know (or care for) her; and we all probably contributed to her death’.

A little over a year after Marilyn Monroe’s death, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in November of 1963 would mark the unofficial end of American modernist innocence. As a seismic historical and cultural event, the assassination of President Kennedy was also one of the first instances of collective mass media fueled mourning. Every newspaper, radio, and television news program was devoted to covering the murder of the young President. This would seem appropriate given the enormity of the event. Yet for Warhol, from his detached position of metaphysical observation, he saw something different. He observed the feelings that were being stoked within himself, and in the masses at large. In the aftermath of the assassination, Warhol would say, ‘he (Kennedy) was handsome, young, smart, but it didn’t bother me that much that he was dead - what bothered me was the way television and radio were programming everybody to feel so sad. It seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get away from the thing.’

From a humanistic standpoint, Warhol’s detachment could be seen as cold. Yet it did allow him to see the aftermath of the assassination as it was happening from the outside looking in; rather than simply being swept away by the feelings of the day. This led him to create a series of paintings depicting Kennedy’s widow, Jacqueline Kennedy. The works captured some of the same fleeting notions of fame and illusion that his Marilyn Monroe works captured. Yet it was their window into the voyeuristic grief the country was experiencing that might have been their greatest power. Jacqueline Kennedy was an avatar for the ‘glamor fantasy’ of the Kennedy presidency; and she became an avatar for the country’s mourning after her husband’s killing. In his piece, ‘Nine Jackies’ Warhol captured the essence of her transition while again mirroring the television medium that was engrossing the minds of the masses. His use of distinct, yet low resolution, black and white imagery mimicked the mental images retained in the public consciousness. If Warhol did indeed believe the minds of the masses were being ‘programmed’ by mass media, this was his way of revealing the source code.

It seems hard to argue that both Warhol and Vito Acconci were not just products of their time, but projectors of it. They each were able to maintain a certain distance from their feelings and examine their origin. The question for our current times is how does our atomized, de-centralized reality correspond to this process of feeling detachment?  During Warhol’s and Acconci’s time, there was really only ‘one reality’. That is to say, as I have discussed before, the metaphysical nature of their time was condensed; while the metaphysics of today are scattered and nonlinear. This then raises the question, when an artist of today detaches and examines the root cause of their feelings; are they drilling down into the nature of reality as whole, or just their portion of it? Maybe there are two sets of feelings to be examined now. One set deriving from the atomized nature of overall reality itself. And one set deriving from our own digitally backed reality within the overall structure. In any case, it would seem that the causal chain of an external metaphysical reality spurring feelings; that are then acknowledged by the artist, is a bit more complicated in this time of metamodernism. Our feelings often lead us astray in terms of the nature of the world around us. If we are indeed dealing with two sets of feelings now, the modern artist needs to be wary of the illusions or falsehoods that can come by mistaking one set for the other.

Consciousness as the Moral Axiom

In 1963, the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. was jailed in Birmingham, Alabama for leading a civil rights protest march without a permit. Following his arrest, he was criticized by eight moderate, white clergymen for activities that they saw as ‘unwise’ and ‘untimely’. This prompted King to respond in writing with what would later come to be known as the seminal, ‘Letter From Birmingham Jail’. Part of King’s response in his letter was an answer to the white clergy’s unease over his ‘willingness to break laws’. King addressed the seeming paradox of organizing an ‘unlawful’ march to advocate for the implementation of desegregation laws by raising the notion of ‘just’ and ‘unjust’ laws. King would write that, ‘a just law is a man-made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law’.

King would continue by referencing the Christian theologian and philosopher Thomas Aquinas. Drawing from Aquinas, King would write, ‘an unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust’. King would go on to give more pragmatic or practical examples of the difference between ‘just’ and ‘unjust’ laws. Yet the foundation of the moral philosophy underpinning his arguments remained the same. In the realm of morality, the final arbiter of what was right, true, and good, was King’s notion of ‘God’. A God that contained an inherent and eternal goodness; that radiated throughout the reality we experience.

In the 1960’s, this religious underpinning for moral arguments worked well for King and the civil rights movement as whole. It worked because American society at the time was metaphysically aligned with King’s religion. ‘Metaphysically aligned’ meaning that the cultural upheaval and change of the 1960’s hadn’t taken hold yet. The old culture and traditions that contained impactful religious belief were still around. This meant that whether it was the President in the Oval Office, or a bus driver in Chicago; a moral appeal based in Christian metaphysics was recognized as being ‘true’. The idea that God was casting final judgment on the actions and laws of humankind was as true as the sun rising every morning, or winter changing into spring.

Yet King’s appeals, while rooted in Christianity, seemed to work for another reason. They worked because they were just ‘right’. Right in an intuitive human sense, separate from any religious underpinning. Even back then, I suspect many Amercians who were not blinded by tribal hatred would have acknowledged that it is simply wrong to deny a group of people equal rights based on their skin color. They would have known in an inherent, almost unconscious manner that turning fire hoses on peaceful protestors violated some unseen moral truth. At the end of the day, they wouldn’t need a moral appeal to God, or even a legal argument invoking Constitutional rights. At a certain level of human intuition, they knew that what was right was ‘right’, and what was wrong was ‘wrong’.

In our present day, we seem to rely heavily on this basic human intuition reading of morality. With the fading of religion as an overarching metaphysical force, and the advent of liquid modernity and the metamodern hypergraph; a broadly agreed upon foundation for moral judgments is nowhere to be found. There are still plenty of individuals who use religion as the source of their moral philosophy. Though unlike Martin Luther King Jr., these folks tend to use religion as an empty facade to simply justify their personal biases or tribal impulses. In lieu of religion, there are others who look to the written law for moral guidance. Whether that means the Constitution, state laws, or Supreme Court decisions. Yet these legal formulations can never be seen as ‘foundational’ moral truths. For they are secondary products of moral or political philosophy.

For many (especially younger), liberal leaning individuals, it seems that the basic human intuition reading of morality has risen to a dominant position. When dealing with the moral issues of the day (police brutality, women’s reproductive rights, indigenous reconciliation, etc); many on the left loudly advocate for noble and correct positions. Yet through no fault of their own, their moral judgments have no ‘first cause’. This is to say that a moral judgment that is derived from a liberal political philosophy, while it might be correct, is drawing from a well of secondary causes. Remember for Martin Luther King Jr., his moral philosophy could be drilled all the way down to the first cause, which for him was, ‘God’.

Yet almost sixty years after King’s ‘Letter From Birmingham Jail’, it is not feasible or practical to attempt to root a universal moral philosophy in the Christian religion. The time of liquid modernity or the metamodern hypergraph is not one where a single religious view can (or should) be used as a first cause for a moral philosophy that covers all of humanity. This then begs the question, what could be used as a first cause for moral reasoning in our current times? What could we point to when we advocate for economic justice, minority rights, or freedom for those that suffer under dictatorship? What foundational axiom could we point to when we intuitively feel something is right and good? In my view, the first cause for a modern universal moral philosophy is consciousness itself.

It cannot be argued that consciousness is not a universal quality across human kind. The ‘lights are on’ for all of us so to speak. And of course this raises all the perpetually maddening questions about consciousness. What does it mean for the ‘lights to be on’? Why do we experience anything at all? How does consciousness relate to the rest of the universe, or quantum mechanics? For the issue at hand I believe we can set aside these weighty questions and focus on a single, seemingly certain aspect of consciousness. The fact that the reality you and I experience is dependent on the nature of human consciousness. In fact not only is our reality dependent on it, one might say our consciousness ‘creates’ it.

University of California professor Donald Hoffman is one of the most prominent ‘consciousness centric’ thinkers of the day. ‘Consciousness centric’ meaning Hoffman’s theory of everything, his theory of what lies at the true foundation of reality, is consciousness based. Hoffman likes to use the phrase, ‘spacetime is doomed’ as a reference to a growing scientific consensus that the physics surrounding space and time are not the base level building blocks of reality they were once assumed to be. This new scientific terrain has opened the door for exciting new theories about what lies beyond spacetime. Hoffman’s theory on how consciousness might relate to what is fundamental to our physical existence is bold and interesting. Yet in reference to this writing about a potential first cause for universal morality, it’s Hoffman’s description of how our consciousness evolved to define our reality which is important.

In describing the reality we experience via our conscious perception, Hoffman says that, ‘whatever reality is, it is not what you see. What you see is just an adaptive fiction’. While profound in its implications, Hoffman’s statement seems rather obvious when one begins to ponder it. You or I can only visually perceive a narrow range of the electromagnetic spectrum. We cannot perceive radio waves, gamma waves, or ultraviolet light. Our hearing is limited to a range of certain frequencies, while our vision allows us to only see a certain distance. In addition to the physical limitations of our perceptual systems, there are the deterministically embedded ‘essences’ our consciousness maps onto reality as well.

‘Essences’ meaning certain judgements about objects or aspects of our reality that have been programmed into us via evolution. An example of this would be if you were hiking in the woods and a snake suddenly slithered across your trail. You would immediately freeze, and act with a heightened sense of alert and trepidation. Not because you learned to fear snakes through television or school. But because over tens of thousands of years, your primitive ancestors evolved to associate snakes with ‘danger’. Yet the snake in itself is not dangerous, it is just an organism operating on its own level of evolution and consciousness. But to us humans, in the reality that is defined by our mode of consciousness, the snake is a threat to our survival.

This kind of thinking can be applied to physical phenomena as well. For example, if the temperature outside of your house dropped to -60 degrees Fahrenheit, that would be ‘too cold’ for a human being to survive over a long period of time. Yet -60 degrees Fahrenheit is not ‘too cold’ in its essence. It is just too cold for how our physical bodies have ended up through evolution. The same thing could be said for temperatures that are ‘too hot’, air that is too thin to breath, or substances that are ‘toxic’ to the human body. All of the essences that we subscribe to these things are determined by how we evolved to survive as a species. The feelings and thoughts we have about them are guides to keep us alive. They are not indicators or signals that reveal the true nature of the reality around us.

One more way to think about the ‘consciousness creates reality’ notion is to try and imagine things from the perspective of other living creatures. For example, the robust auditory system of dolphins that allows for underwater echolocation must create a completely ‘alien’ form of reality compared to our own. Or how about the Mantis shrimp which possesses the world’s most complex visual system. These tiny creatures have sixteen photoreceptors in their eyes, while we humans have only three. This allows them to see UV light, visible light, polarized light, and retain the honor as the only creature known to be able to see circularly polarized light. One could debate whether this little shrimp is ‘conscious’, yet it cannot be argued that its visual experience doesn’t create a completely different reality than the one you and I see. And just imagine for a second if we were someday able to genetically or mechanically alter our vision to trend more towards the capabilities of creatures like the Mantis shrimp. The reality we experience would change. But not because our external, objective reality had changed, but because our consciousness had been altered.

The point to all this is that it seems clear that the reality we experience is contingent on the nature of our consciousness. And in my view that means there is something inherently important and sacred about consciousness itself. Every piece of art or music. Every person or event. Every story, emotion, invention, family, or place; it all depends on human consciousness. The world we inhabit is not inherently special, it is special because our minds create it. Every single human being helps build our reality through their own consciousness. Thus each human being carries with them an inherent right to dignity, respect, and freedom. There is no hierarchy to human consciousness. That is to say, the universality of human consciousness demands that no form of human consciousness be viewed (or treated) as better than another.

In this time of liquid modernity, when traditions have melted away; religious formulations of morality seem better suited for personal reflection than broad philosophical application. In the metamodern hypergraph, moral appeals deriving from ‘God’ are just personal belief systems bouncing around untethered from the broader reality. When issues or dilemmas involving moral arguments arise, subjectivity reigns supreme amid the chaos of clashing perspectives. Frequently we know what is ‘right’, but have no real philosophical way to root our judgment. Pragmatism or utilitarianism very often rise to the occasion as ways to justify some kind of universal moral outlook. Yet in my view, if we truly want to find an axiom, or first cause for a morality that we can universally apply during liquid modernity and beyond - we need look no further than the consciousness you, and I, and every other human being has evolved to share.

The Individual and the Metamodern Hypergraph

‘A hypergraph is, instead of saying there is a connection between a pair of things, we say there are connections between any number of things. Instead of having two points connected by an edge, you say three points are all associated with a hyper edge.’ - Stephen Wolfram

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In my view, there is an aspect to metamodernism that is physical in nature. Physical in relation to the structure of our reality. If this is taken to be true, it would mean that the concept of metamodernism doesn’t just serve as a kind of metaphysical metaphor, but partly as a descriptive notion of our material reality. Our digital connections function as a kind of lattice work underlying our subconscious (and conscious) experience. Metamodern oscillation, combination, feeling, entertainment, news, and information; it all flows through this lattice work. It might be no coincidence then that the entropy of metamodern metaphysics resembles the entropy of the physical reality underneath. If one were to view this through the lens of the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle’s ‘four causes’, the ‘material’ cause  of our metamodern reality would be the physical electronic systems and machines that we use. The ‘efficient’ cause (force or action) would be the agency of individuals while they use technology. While the ‘formal cause’ (ideal form), or ‘final cause’ (purpose) wouldn’t really apply. For there is no ideal form or final purpose for a metaphysical reality unless an active ‘God’ is considered a creator. And in my opinion, this is not the case (at least in the traditional religious sense). However, one could make the argument that in considering the physical aspect of metamodernism, the formal and final cause could be seen to relate to some notion of pure or ideal connectivity.

So if we have this metamodern metaphysical construct, that has kind of two parts, one abstract, and one physical, how best can one conceive of it? One possible way is through the concept of a ‘hypergraph’. In particular, the notion of a hypergraph as expressed by Stephen Wolfram, and The Wolfram Physics Project. Wolfram’s hypergraph is an attempt to discover a ‘theory of everything’, or discover the very nature of physical reality itself. This bold venture seeks to describe the ingredients and processes that gives rise to space, time, quantum mechanics, and every other aspect of our vast universe. If there is a creator somewhere who cooked up this universe we inhabit, Wolfram is trying to decipher its ingredients and recipes.

For our purposes however, it is not important that we get into the weeds of Wolfram’s scientific theory. Nor is it possible, considering my scientific aptitude reached its limit while almost failing high school level physics. Yet as a visual (and conceptual) allegory for our metamodern reality, only a surface description or understanding is needed.

Via various ‘points’ and ‘rules’, Wolfram’s hypergraph is constantly growing and changing. Branchlike structures flow and interact with each other. The relationships between aspects of the hypergraph lead to more hypergraphs describing the relationships. It is a deep, rich, organic-like structure that layers complexity upon complexity. Something changes, which causes something else, which affects a group of things, and so on. Wolfram’s theory supposes that the physical reality you and I perceive rests upon the constructs of this miniscule (yet massively complex) hypergraph. A visual conception of which can be seen here:

Credit: Wolfram Physics Project

Imagine then for a moment that the visual of the hypergraph represented not our unseen foundational, scientific materialist reality; but represented our abstract metaphysical reality, as well as our physical digital reality. The branchlike structures would be mostly our digital connections; but ‘pre digital’ ones as well (things like oratory, the written word, etc). While every aspect of our reality; every individual, every news item, every book, religion, emotion, historical fact, artistic movement, geographic location, or scientific discovery - it would all exist within various points of the hypergraph. Our digital connections would ignite the causal relationships across the hypergraph, and add layers of complexity. This would show our reality flowing and changing with no real center. In other words, the hypergraph would give us liquid modernity visualized. Thus, one might call it the ‘metamodern hypergraph’.

If we viewed time in a linear fashion in reference to the metamodern hypergraph, the inception of its current iteration would probably be around the 1960’s. Before this time any visual conception of reality would be a concentrated line or thread. Just a condensed linear progression forward, like a laser beam moving from one point to another. But by the time the cultural revolutions of the 60’s began to take place, the condensed thread or laser would begin to splinter. Slowly at first, then accelerated by the financial deregulation, changing media landscape, and the birth of the internet in the 1980’s and 1990’s. Yet the metamodern hypergraph wouldn’t take it’s current form until the advent of the smartphone, and the introduction of social media. These are the markers that propelled the metamodern hypergraph into accelerating entropy.

We occupy space in the hypergraph in a basic physical way. And though we have more ways than ever to travel in a physical sense, it is our minds that can move across the hypergraph at light speed. Like a spacecraft jumping across the galaxy from one star system to another, our minds can move from one perceptual experience to the next. We can cue up entertainment and historical items from throughout history. We can interact with people from around the globe at a moment's notice. We can consume news and information any which way we like, at any time. We can study religion, philosophy, cooking, woodworking, and everything in between. The metamodern hypergraph pulsates with streams of information and experiences. Yet this is all they are, naked substances, not tethered to any overarching meaning or truth.

There might be cohesive philosophical, or mental streams within the hypergraph. Like various religions or political constructs. But over time, as new generations come of age, it seems less likely that individuals will remain tethered to any of these. They are ‘free to roam’ so to speak. Free to construct their metaphysical reality as they see fit. This opens the door to the downside of our minds traversing the metamodern hypergraph. For we might indulge our curiosity and search out a historical item. Yet we might be consuming something out of context that reinforces our biases. Instead of interacting with people around the globe in a positive manner; our digital discourse might devolve into impulse fueled tribalism. We might consume reams of news and information, but without any way of knowing what is true or false. And we might learn things online whether the person teaching us is qualified or giving proper instruction.

It’s almost as if a young mind enters the hypergraph tabula rasa, or a ‘blank slate’. The only lasting guides being the basic elements of human nature. This unfortunate status would mean an individual is guided by their ‘passions’. Passions (human impulses) that lead one towards hedonism or tribalism. Remember there is no transcendent structure to guide the mind through the hypergraph, and mitigate the passions. Thus, human nature becomes a disproportionate causal actor within the hypergraph itself. Tribalism and hedonism become lenses through which reality presents itself. And the very human act of trying to fill the existential vacuum becomes a futile adventure. One where the physical body is stuck in place, but the mind roams the hypergraph in search of soulful nourishment that seems nowhere to be found. This situation then begs the question, how does an individual properly engage the metamodern hypergraph? How does one orient themselves, figure out what is true, and find meaning or transcendence?

Long ago, the ancient Greek philosopher Plato came up with an allegory to describe how an individual can start to know the ‘true reality’ of their existence. Described as ‘Plato’s cave’, the allegory describes the soul of an individual as being trapped within a body, which is in turn trapped within a cave. The body of the individual is forced to face the wall of the cave, while behind them a fire burns towards the exit. Via the flames, shadows and flickering images appear on the wall in front of the individual. The images constantly change, are untethered, undefined, and removed from actual reality. These images represent the world of ‘changing appearances’ or false perceptions. For our purposes they will represent what an individual sees from their position within the metamodern hypergraph.

Plato would describe a notion called ‘dialectic’, which could be taken loosely as a form of reasoning. A kind of recollection and contemplation of first principles or ‘essences’. A way for the individual trapped in the cave to realize their predicament, and eventually emerge from the cave and know true reality. This line of thinking would seem to make sense when applied to the individual positioned within the metamodern hypergraph. In order for them to understand and contemplate the true nature of reality, they would need some process or mechanism that enabled them to ‘leave the cave’. Something that enabled them to step as far away from the hypergraph as possible, and observe it in its totality. What then, would this modern form of dialectic look like?

The first act for an individual would have to be a realization that their perception is confined by their position in the hypergraph. A simple example of this would be when someone who has been indoctrinated into a certain religious belief is able to step outside of those mental confines and realize the broader philosophical world around them. Yet once the individual realizes their confinement, where can they venture to? What kind of territory lies outside of ‘the cave’ or away from the metamodern hypergraph?

The terrain on the outskirts of the metamodern hypergraph would have to be one of universals and first principles. Ideas and notions that are as ‘true’ as possible, and that have seemed to survive throughout the time human beings have existed on this planet. If an individual is able to enter this mental terrain, and use its vantage point to observe the metamodern hypergraph, I believe they can begin to positively navigate their way through the hypergraph itself. The individual can begin to make sense of things, do their best to figure out what is true, and find meaning or moments of transcendence. In order to find where to go, the individual needs to move to a position that has a view from nowhere.

The hard part in this metaphysical discussion comes when we arrive at the place where first principles and ‘true’ universals need to be defined. It is not the role for me or any other one person to define such things. Maybe a group of philosophers or thinkers could come to some viable conclusions that carried weight. But for the sake of this thought experiment, I will describe some of the first principles and universal truths that I feel are elemental enough to be used as one ventures out from the metamodern hypergraph. But again, this is an attempt done with humility, not one done with certainty or absolute clarity.

The first universal I can see is what Victor Frankl described as the human ‘will to meaning’. As I have discussed ealier, Frankl articulated his view that all humans are meaning-seeking creatures. That our lives are oriented towards this notion, and that we are driven by it. This notion seems very elemental and true in my eyes. In addition, the four realms of existence where we as humans derive authentic meaning seem to have remained constant over thousands of years. Those being, family, vocation, religion, and community.

Another universal that has sadly seemed to stand the test of time and human experience is that ‘more powerful human beings tend to abuse less powerful human beings’. Regardless of race, class, or any other secondary qualities, power in itself has a universal quality. It has its own universal energy that defines human interaction. This is not so much to think of power in the nietzschean sense, as a kind of driving force in humans. But more as a naked causal actor that emerges through different physical juxtapositions. This notion of power has more to do with sheer physical majorities or superior technology than psychological motivation. This concept also relates to the seemingly universal principle that when power is concentrated at the top of a hierarchical structure; it tends to be abused.

From a moral standpoint, the phrase from the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. that humans should be ‘judged by the content of their character and not the color of their skin’ seems like a valid first principle. It’s very hard for me to come up with a counter argument that says, ‘hey, I think it would be better if we as humans judged people by their race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation’. Contained in King’s phrase is the notion that all human beings are deserving of dignity and respect. Again, it’s very hard for me to see how this can be invalid as a true universal principle. It also seems to be a principle that is essential for us to learn if we are to overcome our tribal impulses.

From an epistemological standpoint, one would take these (and other) first principles or themes, and use them to begin to gain knowledge and understanding about what they encounter as they traverse the metamodern hypergraph. They would act as an anchor or tethering line that would always allow an individual to retrace their steps, and find their way ‘home’ so to speak. They would allow the individual to have a certain structure to their experience, and provide a way to fill the existential vacuum. If we thought of this notion in terms of liquid modernity, the use of first principles and universals would be like using a ship to navigate the sea instead of simply being swept from current to current. Notions of truth, meaning, and understanding could emerge via an individual’s use of a certain kind of reasoning. And it is this use of ‘reason’, that I see as another universal, in that all human beings are capable of it.

I do not mean reason as a purely analytical function where one weighs empirical data and facts. But in a more human sense; one where the mind begins to control the passions. A mental place where the individual begins to realize their predicament in the metamodern hypergraph, internalize some first principles, and realize how their passions are stoked by the digital landscape. One could see this as a kind of ‘awakening’ or ‘enlightenment’. I am not a fan of this description, for it can become reductionist or sensationalized. But I cannot deny it does fit when one thinks about an individual realizing their broader reality.

As far as I can see, the metamodern hypergraph is not going anywhere anytime soon. Nor is the age of metamodernism. The German philosopher Hegel described a concept of ideas or history in terms of ‘thesis, antithesis, synthesis’. The thesis comes forward, which is pushed back on or refuted by the antithesis, which then results in a combination, or ‘synthesis’ of both. This concept seems to mirror the progression of modernism, postmodernism, and metamodernism. With modernism being the thesis, postmodernism the antithesis reaction, and metamodernism the synthesis of both. Considering this formulation along with the fact that metamodernism is partially a physical manifestation of our digital network, it would seem that the metamodern landscape will have some staying power.

If we do not destroy ourselves, I could see in the far future something like a ‘pan-modernism’, an all encompassing, unified reality. One where humans have merged with their digital creations to a point where instead of having to navigate reality, reality navigates through us. This would be a world of indistinguishable virtual reality, digital-human mind implants, the ability to upload consciousness, etc. But until then, we as individuals are stuck within our primitive human forms amid the metamodern hypergraph. If we are to survive and flourish, a general recognition of our predicament is needed, along with some broad agreement on prescriptions or ways of being. Otherwise, I fear our inherent tribalism and hedonism will lead to conflict, disaster, and unwarranted suffering. And maybe even our ultimate demise.

Canelo-Golovkin 3: Wartime

There are moments in boxing when the trajectory of time, history, and personality converge to create a moment of combustion. Whether it’s age or styles, personal motivation or bad blood, there are times when two fighters meet at the proverbial ‘crossroads’ in the ring. Both men have decided the result of their encounter will end violently for one of them. There will be no strategic boxing to a decision victory, or trying to ‘outthink’ their opponent. Eventually they know that the question of the day will have to be settled by one method only; war. In light of world events I mean ‘war’ in the boxing sense of course. A pitched, violent battle of wills where one man’s physical body will give out while his soul yearns to carry on. I could be wrong, but this is where I believe the third bout between current undisputed super middleweight champion Canelo Alvarez and current middleweight champion Gennadiy ‘GGG’ Golovkin is headed.

The sport of boxing has seen the flow of events coalesce into a combustible force before. Two older fights that come to mind are the 1975 heavyweight championship bout between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier (The Thrilla in Manilla), or the singular middleweight explosion in 1985 between Marvin Hagler and Tommy Hearns (The War). Each fight had bad blood stewing, and fighters who were willing and determined to leave everything in the ring. Fate had brought each man to the point where they knew they weren’t just entering a standard boxing match, but were instead moving towards an inflection point or paradigm shift.

In more recent times we’ve seen bouts like the fourth and final meeting between Manny Pacquiao and Juan Manuel Marquez in 2012. Or the third and seemingly final heavyweight championship fight between Tyson Fury and Deontay Wilder in 2021. Both fights had a measure of historical bad blood. But it was a combination of age, styles, and individual wills that led each fight to evolve towards a certain brutal drama.

Pacquiao and Marquez meshed perfectly stylistically. With Pacquiao's default mode being high powered offense, and Marquez's default mode being that of a deadly precise counter puncher. But it was their inner decision to bring finality to their rivalry that fueled their memorable clash. Their individual will's ruled the day. The same could be said for Tyson Fury and Deontay Wilder. Fury had decided that the only way to truly beat Wilder's nuclear punching power was to bully him into submission. And like Pacquiao and Marquez, the individual will's of Fury and Wilder had determined that their rivalry would come to an end, one way or another.

On September 17th, Canelo Alvarez and Gennadiy Golovkin will carry on the lineage of boxing's fated clashes. Stylistically, neither fighter is at the age, or has shown a recent fighting temperament that would suggest they will move, or 'dance' around the ring. Golovkin has always moved forward with measured aggression against his opponents. While Canelo, as he has marched up the weight classes, has evolved into a bully type power puncher. This leads me to believe that eventually this fight will end up in the proverbial 'phone booth'. Where the two men stand face to face and deliver pain until the body or mind of one is forced to break.

As for individual will and bad blood; the staredown between the two fighters during a June press conference served as a visual metaphor for their personal distaste. The fighters started about two feet apart from one another, yet Canelo almost immediately moved his face to within six inches of Golovkin’s face. The fighters would be locked in an icy staredown for over a minute, with Canelo trying to keep his gaze on Golovkin even as they parted ways for the obligatory photo op. From observing the encounter, it seemed that Canelo held an inner anger and determination. While Golovkin looked ready to meet Canelo’s rage with a detached, yet resolute response. In other words, the individual wills of the two men seemed aligned and in agreement that this third encounter between them would have a measure of finality.

The promoter of the bout, Matchroom Boxing’s Eddie Hearn, asked Canelo during the speaking portion of the press conference if this fight was ‘personal’ for him. Canelo responded by saying, ‘It’s personal for me, because he talks a lot of things, and you guys know, that’s why (it’s) personal, and I just can’t wait to be in the ring’. Canelo would go on to add that he saw Golovkin as basically two faced, someone who will only say certain things when they are not in the same room. Canelo would say of Golovkin, ‘he pretends to be a nice guy, but he’s an asshole; just be a man and say what you say’. In terms of his outlook for the fight, Canelo would say not only did he want to end the career of Golovkin, he saw the only way to finish the fight was by knocking Golovkin out. I think it is safe to say Canelo’s opinion and approach to Golovkin qualifies as bad blood.

Golovkin for his part, is naturally more reserved and detached emotionally when it comes to fighting. When asked if he took this third encounter with Canelo personally, he said, ‘I do not take this as personal, I think this is sport. I am who I am, I do not try to be like two different guys, like it’s been said, I go out to box. If he has something personal against me, I believe it is his problem, not mine’. Yet in a later interview with Yahoo Sports, Golovkin would say he ‘stood by’ his past words criticizing Canelo for failing a 2018 drug test that Canelo insisted was due to tainted meat in Mexico. Golovkin also conveyed veiled resentment for what he sees as the special treatment Canelo has received during the promotion for the fight, and the favorable judging he received in the first two fights between them.

If one were to compare Canelo and Golovkin to fictional characters, Sonny and Michael Corelone from ‘The Godfather’ would be a good juxtaposition. Sonny, like Canelo, wore his emotions on his sleeve. His temper rose frequently towards those that he felt wronged him, and he was quick to take slights as personal insults. Michael on the other hand was cool and detached like Golovkin. Yet beneath the calm exterior was a plotting, ruthless killer who felt revenge was better delivered in a cold calculating manner than with loud bravado. Both Sonny and Michael were eager for vengeance, they just sought to destroy their enemies by different means. On September 17th, Canelo Alvarez and Gennadiy Golovkin will bring their different demeanors into the ring. Yet coming along with them will be all the historical and personal ingredients that can combine for a memorable night of boxing. So when the bell rings to signify the opening of the first round, it might not just be time for a fight - it might be time for war.

The Looming DeSantis

If it’s not clear to you by now that former president Donald Trump is a threat to the healthy functioning of American democracy, then I’m not really sure what more can be done to convince you. Maybe it would take Trump coming out and declaring his intention to crown himself president for life if he were to occupy the oval office again. But make no mistake, even if you don’t believe it, Trump has shown all of us exactly who he is. The only question that remains is how those that come after him in the Republican Party will deal with the political climate he’s left behind.

When historians look back at Trump’s time at the center of American politics, they might see something even more significant than his spurring of violence on January 6th 2021, or his friendly dealings with foreign dictators like Vladimir Putin. Trump’s constant assault on the press, his trashing of democratic norms, and his disdain for the institutions of democratic government have created a kind of ‘meta-political’ paradigm shift. This basically means that Trump’s autocratic behavior, even though it didn’t succeed, has created a new political landscape. One where elections can be constantly challenged, laws can be ignored, and violence is seen as a justified means to political ends. When it is all said and done, Trump’s greatest impact on American democracy might not be attempting its destruction, but paving the way for its unraveling.

In the 2020 book, ‘Mortal Republic: How Rome Fell Into Tyranny’, historian Edward J. Watts shows how Rome’s republic crumbled bit by bit, leader by leader over decades. Political and cultural norms faded, stabilizing customs were discarded, and political violence slowly became normalized. This kind of ‘birds eye’ view of historical drift is only really possible with centuries of hindsight. Yet this is precisely the kind of notion I believe historians will see when they look back on the current situation in the United States. Like a historical character out of Watt’s book, Donald Trump has opened the door for a truly malign actor to capitalize on the democratic vacuum he will eventually leave in the Republican Party.

As of now, it seems a fait accompli that Florida governor Ron DeSantis is the heir apparent to Trump’s hold on the Republican Party. Assuming DeSantis wins his upcoming reelection contest, he will be the favorite to become the Republican Party’s presidential nominee in 2024, or 2028. Recently profiled by Dexter Filkins in the New Yorker, DeSantis has a sterling resume: educated at Yale and Harvard despite a working class background, an accomplished athlete through college, and a military veteran who served in Iraq. Unlike Donald Trump, DeSantis can retain information, focus on important matters, and make strategic plans. Yet unfortunately, just like Trump, DeSantis seems motivated by resentment and intoxicated with wielding concentrated power. In other words, the great fear now is that DeSantis could turn out to be a smart, capable version of his orange faced predecessor.

DeSantis has seemingly embraced the ‘Trumpian’ way of governance. He relishes battling the press in the manner Trump did so effectively. That is to say effective in such a way as creating an ‘enemy’ to battle, conquer, and rally his followers in opposition. Authoritarians need a great ideological enemy to focus mass rage. Think Emmanuel Goldstein in George Orwell’s novel, ‘1984’. The list of mainstream media failings is long, yet it doesn’t preclude the fact that DeSantis and others are now using ‘the media’ as a propaganda strawman. As the ‘Inner Party’ knew in Orwell’s tale, DeSantis knows the power that anger and fear can have over a citizenry.

He has taken up arms in the culture wars of the day. Passing vague legislation to regulate gender discussion in schools, battling a ‘woke’ Disney corporation, and making a show of dismissing a Florida State Attorney that didn’t ideologically tow the party line. All of this could be seen as cynical positioning for a future presidential run. After all, if the Republican Party has become a cult of personality around Donald Trump; then the best way to take control of the party would be to mimic the personality of Donald Trump. This begs the question, is DeSantis a true MAGA believer? Or is he just playing a role to get ahead.

What would DeSantis do if he were to win the Republican nomination, and the presidency, running in the mold of Donald Trump. Would he remain within the norms of democratic government despite its weakened state? Or would he give in to his worst impulses and take advantage of the guardrails Trump left in shambles. Would he speak the truth to his millions of loyal followers about the sanctity of American elections, even if he lost? Or would he continue to feed Trump’s ‘big lie’ that the system is rigged if your chosen Republican candidate faces defeat.

I think if this were thirty years ago, Ron DeSantis would be a typical Bush-like Republican. Lots of shitty policies, but a certain fidelity to the Constitution, the rule of law, etc. But in 2022 DeSantis has the levers of authoritarianism at his disposal. Will he be able to resist them? As Edward Watts showed us, when individuals arrive on the historical scene amid the winds of authoritarian creep, very often their impulses get the best of them. I fear DeSantis will be no different.