Book Review: "Man V. Nature" by Diane Cook

Man V. Nature (2014)
Diane Cook
257 pages

What a delightfully strange brew author Diane Cook has created for readers in the short stories she has written for her collection Man V. Nature. Over the course of these dozen tales we discover twisted realities that seem at once wildly far-fetched and yet unnervingly plausible, and into which Cook thrusts her protagonists, leaving them to flounder and struggle as twists of fate force them into confrontation with realities they resist giving in to. Ultimately, none escape the devastating consequences of their strange circumstances unscathed.

Ten of the stories are set in what amount to dystopic alternate realities. Rather than post-apocalyptic societies in ruins, however, Cook conjures worlds that for the most part appear much like that of our present day, altered with only with a particular, if crucial corruption to the social or natural order.

In the lead story Moving On, for example, those who become widows or widowers must sell their homes and possessions and move into shelters, with separate buildings for women and men. Once there, guidance counselors encourage them to quickly move past their loss, and to learn new skills that will improve their chances of being selected as mates again, and so allow them to rejoin society. As the story opens, a widow prepares her house for sale, unwillingly submitting to the forced closure society imposes on her. In this world, the thoughtless consolation to someone who has lost a spouse --- “you have so much to look forward to, focus on your future” --- has become a legislated coercion, requiring her to forget her past life with her husband and all it contained, and look only to what comes next.

In that story Cook provides no explanation as to the origin of this social system centered on shelters for those who have lost a spouse. And in fact in all of the stories collected here such details were clearly beside the point. The dystopias she creates generally have no viable explanation that could support either the manner of their origin or the durability of their status quo --- the disorder she imagines seems to exist in a world like the ones found in the old TV show The Twilight Zone: a peculiar alternative reality fashioned within an otherwise familiar and normally functioning society or world, set-up to explore the implications of some element of human nature by taking it to a logical extreme.

Thus it is in the story Somebody’s Baby, in which a couple arrive home with their newborn to find a man lurking outside their house. We soon learn that the strange man appears regularly in the neighborhood, stalking the houses of families with babies, waiting for a lapse of a mother’s attention in order to kidnap her child. The new mother is shocked to find that her neighbors see the situation as an unavoidable reality. Parents work, food and health care seem readily available, everything in the society appears to be functioning normally, but the women in her neighborhood simply accept that they will lose some of their children to the kidnapper, as if it is a natural part of life, like a natural disaster, or an infection; they don’t move out, they don’t physically confront the man, they don’t seem to have recourse to some broader authority.

Similarly, The Mast Year opens benignly enough, describing a woman who has a period of success in her life, both at work and in finding a wonderful husband. Then one day shortly thereafter, she arrives home to find people camping outside her house, and, over the days and weeks that follow, she watches fitfully as their numbers continue to grow. It turns out that they are hoping for some of her success to rub off on them. Again the larger society seems to be functioning normally, but the woman and her husband apparently have no way to prevent or counter the invasion of their property. They must simply find some accommodation with the situation as it exists.

And so it goes in many of the stories in this collection --- understanding the origin for or the internal consistency of the settings is not the point. Rather, Cook uses the dystopic twists in these stories to create an extreme situation into which to place her character (or characters). The heart of these stories, then, lies in each character’s reaction to the particular challenges they must grapple with --- how will they struggle forward in the face of an implacable reality?

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Book Review: "21 Lessons for the 21st Century" by Yuval Noah Harari

21 Lessons for the 21st Century (2018)
Yuval Noah Harari (1976)
372 pages

With the end of the Cold War in 1990 a kind of euphoria swept through the West, a potent belief that Western political, economic and cultural values had prevailed over Communism, vanquishing the final contender to the throne and so becoming not only the dominant, but in fact the only rational order around which civilization needed to construct itself. Certainly challenges remained to be addressed in the world, but it was felt that these could and would be surmounted as democracy and capitalism spread globally to those last outposts of darkness that still resisted its blessings.

What a difference a couple of decades makes.

As China pursues a broad range of political and economic strategies that directly challenge U.S. status as the sole, global superpower, and Russia reasserts itself militarily on the world stage in such places as Syria and Ukraine, much of the West has descended into a crippling malaise. Though globalization has brought about a significant reduction in global poverty levels, and a prolonged period of relative peace, citizens in the U.S. and Europe have seen domestic inequality increase dramatically, and many feel left behind by the impacts of free trade and immigration policies --- they watch their economic situation deteriorate, and perceive their cultural values to be under threat. In response, countries in the West have experienced a rise in populism and nativism, leading to an increasing domestic political divisiveness that has put Western governments on their heels. This has made it difficult for them not only to counter the advances of China and Russia, but, more broadly, to take the lead in addressing challenges to mankind’s future that increasingly require global solutions.

Why has liberal democracy suddenly gone from appearing to be the only viable order, to a system apparently incapable of dealing with not only current day challenges, but also the even greater threats that lie seemingly just over the horizon? And what are those coming challenges, and how will they change the world as we know it? Finally, and perhaps most importantly, if the current social and political structures are not up to the task, what potential alternatives should be considered?

Based on his study of mankind’s origins and evolution, historian and author Yuval Noah Harari explores these pressing questions in his timely and thought-provoking book 21 Lessons for the 21st Century. In it he argues that the very advantage that not only separated Homo Sapiens from the rest of the animal kingdom but also catapulted us over all other human species --- the ability and in fact need to create stories --- he now sees as shackling us in the face of global problems. This gives him profound concerns for our future, and over his 21 Lessons, on topics ranging from the concrete, such as Work, Nationalism, and War, to the abstract, such as Liberty, Humility and Justice, he makes a clarion call for humankind to recognize the shortcomings and challenges of our innate behaviors, and how these have prevented us from addressing the existential crises he sees bearing down upon us.

Harari opens the book with a lesson that sets the stage for the reminder of the book, by describing the spreading Disillusionment with economic and political structures, a situation evident in the West through the strengthening politics of populism and nativism, but visible also in various forms elsewhere in the world. He notes that although

by the early 1990’s, thinkers and politicians alike hailed ‘the end of History’ … and that the refurbished liberal package of democracy, human rights, free markets, and government welfare services remained the only game in town [that, in fact,] history has not ended. (11)

Although the liberal story has not been completely rejected, he argues that many people have concluded that globalization has been detrimental to them, and so have turned inward to embrace nationalist policies.

Harari describes other systems of governing that have arisen to challenge the Western liberal order, in Russia or China for example, but finds none of these alternatives to have proven themselves attractive solutions. Thus in a sense humanity, as a global people, has lost the plot: human communities, built around the stories we tell ourselves, at this point have no global story that binds us together. (The impact of this ‘loss of story’ in the U.S. has been eloquently described by the historian Vincent Harding.)

And having such stories has been fundamental to our development as a species, as Harari himself explored in detail in his deeply engaging book Sapiens, from a few years ago. In that work he begins at the Big Bang, pushes quickly forward to the rise of humankind, and then examines in detail the history of our evolution through to the present day. Instead of describing the rise and fall of empires and peoples, he focuses on how Homo Sapiens ‘won out’ over other human species, and how the development of civilization occurred, from the agricultural revolution to ever larger communities that eventually became empires and finally nation-states. (My review of Sapiens linked to at right.)

What becomes clear in that earlier work is that it has been the unique ability to imagine and tell stories that allowed Homo Sapiens to develop much larger cooperative communities than could other human species who did not possess this ability, allowing it to dominate and finally eliminate those other species, who were often physically stronger as individuals. In 21 Lessons, he centers on the limitations of this benefit that arise as we, Homo Sapiens, attempt to create binding, agreed-to stories at the level of global communities.

One of the challenges we face today in this regard can be understood by recognizing the striking reality of how slowly our progress as a species has in fact proceeded historically: a ‘timeline of history’ that prefaces Sapiens shows that our species evolved in East Africa some 200,000 years ago; that the Cognitive Revolution with its emergence of fictive language and so stories occurred some 70,000 years ago; that the agricultural revolution began perhaps 12,000 years ago; and the industrial revolution some 200 years ago. I don’t recall now where, but I’ve read or heard someone point out the vast expanses of time in between the early events in that timeline, which imply that many thousands of generations lived and died in nearly the same circumstances, and with nearly the same understanding of the world, as their distant ancestors. Progress did occur, but for long millennia it came imperceptibly slowly indeed.

Suddenly, in the last century or so, and especially in the last few decades, humans confront unprecedented changes even within the span of a single generation. And, as Harari points out in lessons on Work, Liberty and Equality, even more dramatic and consequential changes await in our immediate future. He foresees, in particular, “biotech” and “infotech” revolutions that “could restructure not just economies and societies, but our very bodies and minds” (7)

Specifically, with such physical and mental enhancements likely affordable only to some few, with advances in artificial intelligence making many, if not most, workers irrelevant, and with the increasing importance of data as both an economic asset and a means of control over individuals and so entire populations, he foresees an ever more dramatic and irreversible growth in inequality. As a consequence, according to Harari, inequality will rise to such unprecedented levels that the current social compacts --- already fragile --- collapse entirely, as the biologically enhanced super-rich isolate themselves ever more completely from the rest of humanity, who will no longer be needed to perform work, and so will discover themselves to have become irrelevant.

Avoiding such a dystopian future requires addressing the risks associated with these coming biotech and infotech revolutions now, before they occur. Unfortunately Harari sees little chance of humanity coming together to address them. He argues that --- just as for climate change --- solutions for these coming issues implemented at a local or national level will prove insufficient and ineffective. These problems require globally coordinated solutions, and yet, for the reasons Harari goes on to explore in the book, the current-day expression of many human traits and characteristics developed through the long millennia of our evolution conspire against our working together to develop a globally coordinated response.

Over several lessons, Harari looks in detail at some of the challenges to achieving the required global coordination, beginning with our social and political structures. In Community he points out, for example, the disorienting impact of social media on people, as they withdraw from psychologically vital physical connections into isolating digital ones. His discussion on Civilization repudiates the concept of a “clash of civilizations,” arguing in fact against the entire “thesis [that] humankind is inherently divided into diverse civilizations whose members view the world in irreconcilable ways” (93); he concludes that this widespread belief in the fundamental existence of such a divide reinforces separation between cultures and hinders making common cause. Similarly, in Nationalism and Religion, he examines how the separation into tribes that comes with these sentiments and ideologies, and the associated creation of the idea of ‘the other,’ again prevent us from coming together to address global challenges.

Having thoroughly discredited the concept of a clash of civilizations, Harari uses his lesson on Immigration to present a nuanced exploration of what could be referred to as the ‘clash of cultures’ that occurs as immigrants move across borders. He opens by acknowledging that immigrants can bring cultural patterns of behavior that conflict with the norms of their host country, but argues that while some of these foreign cultural behaviors can reasonably by found to be unacceptable and even abhorrent in the host country, others are simply different, neither better nor worse. Thus, he concludes:

It would be wrong to tar all anti-immigrationists as “fascists,” just as it would be wrong to depict all pro-immigrationists as committed to “cultural suicide.” Therefore, the debate over immigration should not be conducted as an uncompromising struggle over some nonnegotiable moral imperative. Rather, it must be a discussion between two legitimate political positions. (156) 

A refreshing lesson indeed for these partisan times, in which both sides of the immigration debate seem hell-bent on giving no quarter to their opponents, always assuming the worst possible motives.

In the third section of lessons, Harari shifts his focus from the weaknesses that make current-day institutional structures ineffective for addressing global problems, to the human fears and blindnesses that have similar impact. The ability of Terrorism, for example, to generate fear far beyond the demonstrably limited extent of its actual reach, results in a paralysis that diverts attention from more consequential dangers. (Harari does acknowledge the potential for dirty bombs and other more destructive attacks, but at the same time points out that those are, up to now --- fortunately --- hypothetical.)

More broadly, in lessons on Humility, God, and Secularism, Harari argues that the human tendency toward dogmatic certainty about the value and accuracy of our beliefs relative to those of others leads to tension and conflict between people and peoples that cripples the ability to be open and willing to work toward global solutions. Even secularists, he notes, fall victim to a hardening of their beliefs, a violent aversion to those who believe differently.

Harari’s lesson on War initially seems to offer a ray of hope. He describes war as having become a low-profit affair as economies have become more global and so the success or failure of nations more intertwined. Even here, however, he has sobering concerns, summarized in the concluding section of the lesson, entitled “The March of Folly”, a phrase clearly borrowed from the title of Barbara Tuchman’s brilliant book of the same name, which detailed several examples in which human folly led to war from the ancient world to recent times. In a similar vein, Harari writes:

We should never underestimate human stupidity. … [It] is one of the most important forces in history, yet we often tend to discount it. … Even if war is catastrophic for everyone, no god and no law of nature protects us from human stupidity. (182-183)

Harari’s comments here have striking parallels to sentiments expressed by Barack Obama, as captured by one of his speech writers, Ben Rhodes, in his book The World As It Is: A Memoir of the Obama White House.   Rhodes quotes Obama as telling him: “After I was reelected,” he said, “I pulled together a group of presidential historians that I have in from time to time. … They made the point that the most important thing a president can do on foreign policy is avoid a costly error.” … The lesson? “Don’t do stupid shit,” he told us, tapping on the table in front of him. (277, Rhodes) Some lessons are indeed straight-forward, if not, apparently, always easy to follow. (My review of Rhodes' book linked to at right.)

Having described what he sees as the coming technology challenges, and examined the shortcomings of our institutional and social structures in rallying to address them, Harari shifts to an exploration of the difficulty for us individually to even understand “the truth about the world” (219), much less know how to engage to address complex global problems. In his lesson on Ignorance, he notes that the increasing flood of available information necessarily leads to a filtering by leaders in political, technological and social power structures, to make their situation more manageable. This same filtering, however, often blinds these leaders to important facts, and prevents consideration of new, potentially beneficial ideas and approaches. It becomes a catch-22 for leaders and others interested in bringing about change: stay engaged in existing organizations and institutions and lose out on finding potentially critical new ideas, or shift to a place “in the margins” (226) to discover new ideas, but in so doing lose the leverage to act.

We face a similar challenge, according to Harari, in our sense of and attempts to achieve Justice. Built to comprehend justice at the level of individuals or small communities, we struggle to deal with what justice means --- what it demands of us in a moral sense --- when whole societies or nations are, for example, afflicted by a natural disaster or fall into turmoil. Harari describes methods we commonly resort to in comprehending these distant crises --- such as allowing an individual tragedy to stand in for the larger, too complex catastrophe, or resorting to conspiracy theories that blame a small group. But, these methods and others simply represent crutches that attempt to simplify the unfathomable complexity, and so inevitably fail to provide an understanding of how justice can be accomplished, particularly in global settings.

In the final section of lessons, Harari explores ways in which people can attempt to find a path through the complexity of modern life and global problems. Education seems like an obvious answer, but he argues that the pace of change makes that an imperfect solution. In the 15-20 years of education that will today supposedly prepare a child for adulthood, the world will change nearly unimaginably, particularly with the bio- and info-tech explosions Harari sees coming. How then to choose what to study, he asks, how to decide what will be important a decade or more hence?

Given that reality, the education that Harari finds most critical is an understanding of oneself, as a kind of inoculation against the already building tidal wave of the information economy and society. As companies and governments assemble ever more comprehensive databases of detail about our lives --- our purchases, our queries, our very movements through the world --- they develop a revealing window into our body’s health, our mind’s thoughts, and our innermost desires, including things we may not ourselves be aware of. When the path of least resistance is to simply accept what the algorithms present us based on what they figure out we want, or knowingly manipulate us into wanting, will we simply give in to it, or will we have the self-awareness and motivation to find our own path through it?

Unfortunately, Harari thoroughly dismantles the most comfortable and easy source of attempting to know oneself, that of finding a Meaning for life in one of the many stories humankind has created over the millennia to explain our existence. Religious traditions --- the dominant few or the myriad ancient versions --- and more recent political ‘isms’ are but stories that have tried to provide humankind the motivation to follow a particular path, or even just go on living. Whatever partial benefits these stories may have provided for particular communities at particular times, Harari deftly dissects them to reveal their inadequacies in dealing with our current situation in the world, and the global challenges that need addressed.

Harari’s work as a historian finally comes full circle in the lesson on Meaning. As described earlier, his book Sapiens convincingly demonstrated how the ability to create stories --- fictions about the world, how it is and how it could be, how we are related to our community and how we differ from others --- gave Homo Sapiens the decisive edge over other species of humans. However, this ancient evolutionary heritage, as so much else from what natural selection instilled in us, now works against us, or at least comes up short in the face of current-day realities. And so, in his final lesson, Harari writes “if you want to know the truth about the universe, about the meaning of life … the answer isn’t a story.” (313)

This failure of our evolutionary heritage Harari describes has fascinating ties to the arguments that author Richard Wright makes in his book Why Buddhism Is True. In that work, Wright focuses on the naturalistic aspects of Buddhism (as opposed to what he refers to as ‘the “supernatural” or more exotically metaphysical parts [such as] reincarnation’ (xiii, Wright)), demonstrating how the conclusions of current-day evolutionary psychology and neuroscience resonate strongly with Buddhist teachings now several millennia old.

Evolutionary psychologists have discovered myriad ways in which our thought patterns and processes, originating in the survival instincts of the earliest forms of life and molded in Homo Sapiens in the ancient environment of the savanna, fail us as we try to navigate the rapidly changing world of our present. In particular, they have concluded that our decision making processes are principally driven by our feelings, and that though these feeling can be informed by reason, they are largely out of our conscious control. Not only does this impact our ability to make decisions based on logical, rational choices, but also leaves us open to the kind of manipulation Harari laments, whether in our consumer choices or our political decisions. Perhaps more damningly, Wright points out research that shows that our feelings also color our interpretation and understanding of reality as we perceive it through our senses. (My review of Wright’s book linked to at right. )


The ties to Wright’s book deepen in Harari’s final lesson, in which he admits that, after 20 lessons describing the global challenges we face, the shortcomings of our political and social structures, and of ourselves, he owes it to the reader to “explain how somebody so skeptical can still manage to wake up cheerful in the morning.” (314) In Meditation, after acknowledging that his solution may not work for everyone, he introduces a bit about his personal history, saying that:

as a teenage I was restless and troubled …. I didn’t understand why there was so much suffering in the world and in my own life, and what could be done about it. (314)

Eventually, in his mid-twenties, a friend convinced him to try meditation, and for Harari this has become the path to an understanding of the source of his suffering, and human suffering more broadly. He has discovered that he “knew almost nothing about [his] mind, and … had very little control over it.” (316) Through meditation he has not only begun to understand himself, he says, but also “humans in general.” (317) These concepts about overcoming suffering are central to Wright’s exploration in Why Buddhism Is True of the doctrines and practices of naturalistic Buddhism, and how strongly they align with what scientists are discovering about human behavior.

Harari acknowledges that meditation will not, in and of itself, solve climate change, or the challenges presented by the burgeoning bio-tech and info-tech revolutions. Instead, Harari argues, it can give us an awareness of ourselves and others, an ability to see through the ever more complex and irresistible stories being created by companies and institutions to funnel us along particular paths of their choosing, stories that threaten to prevent us not only from opening up to the full reality of what is at stake, but also from pursuing potential solutions outside the limited set presented to us. But the time for starting this journey to self-awareness is now, he warns, before things have progressed too far for us to be able to recover.

We have seen countries around the world descend into civil war and genocide in the last decades. And now, in the liberal democracies of the West, we watch populations turn against themselves in increasingly partisan disputes between groups that embrace globalism and others that struggle with its impacts and so turn to a powerful mix of populism and nationalism. Advances in information technology allow powerful private and governmental interests to corrupt the presentation of facts and truth, and brazen politicians make truth itself seem mold-able and untrustworthy.

It becomes increasingly difficult not only to know which sources to trust, but also to make sense of events, or how to react to them, how to begin to work to understand and finally improve our future. Into this confusion, Yuval Noah Harari’s 21 Lessons for the 21st Century offers a concise and engaging exploration of the issues humankind faces, the existing social and political structures and human psychology and behaviors that limit our ability to respond, and the resulting threat to our future. His solution --- meditation --- may seem at once too limited and too pat, but it has the benefit of addressing something more fundamental than would a prescriptive list of policy solutions. It could be, finally, that the way to solve a difficult issue --- one with a lot of momentum and resistance to change --- is not to attack it directly but rather to change the thing behind the problem that hinders its solution, and so create an environment, a reality, in which the solution to the main problem becomes, if not inevitable, at least visible.

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Harari recently discussed his book 21 Lessons with Sam Harris, on Harris’ Waking Up podcast entitled The Edge of Humanity, linked to at right.




In her article Tech C.E.O.s Are in Love With Their Principal Doomsayer, journalist Nellie Bowles makes the surprising revelation that a number of the leaders in the technology industries about which Harari expresses his most dire concerns have embraced his message. (The New York Times, 9 November 2018)


In his novel East, West, author Mohsin Hamid offers an engaging look at the immigration issue. Told around the journey of a couple escaping their homeland as it descends into civil war, Hamid envisions the impact on the world of suddenly having all borders become circumventable. (A link to my review of East, West at right.)


Author Johann Hari provides fascinating insight into the issues Harari explores in his lesson on Community, and in particular the destructive impacts of social isolation, in his discussion with Sam Harris, on Harris’ Waking Up podcast entitled Addiction, Depression, and a Meaningful Life, linked to at left.



The 21 lessons that make up Harari's book are listed on the back cover, each with a few words that encapsulate the central idea.  (Click to enlarge.)

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Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Book Review: "Eon" by Greg Bear

Eon (1985)
Greg Bear (1951)
504 pages

I came across Greg Bear’s science fiction novel Eon on a shelf of used books at a local secondhand store a few months ago. I recognized Bear as a well-known sci-fi author, and the summary tease on the back cover sounded intriguing, so I figured I’d give it a go. The story certainly didn’t disappoint.

It opens as astronomers discover a huge, roughly cylindrical asteroid heading toward Earth. They are surprised to discover that it’s on a course to go into orbit around Earth, which it turns out, as one of the lead characters notes in the opening pages, “is not a fluke.” Further analysis reveals the asteroid to have half its expected mass, and when the Stone, as it comes to be called, finally goes into Earth-orbit, the US and their NATO allies quickly launch an expedition to figure out why; also important for them is to claim first rights of exploration.

Once on the Stone, the scientists quickly discover the explanation for the missing mass: the interior has been hollowed out and replaced by a series of constructed chambers, including a pair that contain huge, abandoned cities. As they find ways to access information from the empty, but still functioning city libraries, and come to understand the origin of the Stone’s builders, the surprises begin multiplying for the scientists, quickly overwhelming their ability to process and accept the reality of what they are learning.

The psychological challenges mount when they learn from the library information that the nations of Earth could be on the verge of a devastating nuclear war. As US and NATO politicians back on Earth frantically try to prevent the conflict, while at the same time keeping the public, and other governments, in the dark about what has been found on the Stone, tensions climb. For the scientists on the Stone, however, even the horrifying knowledge about an apparently inevitable war pales in comparison to what they learn as they move deeper into the Stone, making discoveries with even more staggering implications for the future of humanity.

Bear’s ambition in the novel encompasses vast expanses of time, and also space. As one of the characters points out late in the book, “an [eon] is indeed a billion years. But the Greeks who coined the world were not so specific. They used it as a pointer to eternity, the lifetime of the universe, far more than a billion years. It was also the personification of a god’s cycle of time.” (415) In his story, Bear eventually points toward eternity, borrowing heavily from the cutting edge physics of multiple universes and their potential implications, as well as exploring the logical implications of current technological and biological advances on the future of humanity. In that sense, his story ages well, if anything seeming even more plausible now than when he originally wrote it in the early 1980’s.

That said, his detailed explanations (through his characters) of the mysteries of the Stone --- how it came to be formed, how its wondrous technologies function, where its builders have gone --- can be tough sledding at times. I tend to be a stickler when I read for making sure that explanations make sense to me, and are consistently applied with the book, so I tried to following the particulars of his descriptions. In the end, however, I must admit that I gradually gave up on the details of the physics and biology explanations, and focused instead on the action-adventure aspect of the story.

The seemingly up-to-the-minute physics in the story contrast sharply, however, with how dated the political outlook in the plot has become since its publication in 1985. Bear set the story in the early 2000’s --- so, for a current day reader, in our past --- and one of its central conflicts is the extension of mid-20th century cold war tensions and conflicts into space, between the US dominated NATO coalition and the Soviet Union. Eon was first published six years before the fall of the Soviet Union, and Bear could hardly have been expected to anticipate what no one else did. Unfortunately, for all the wild physics and technology, it is the constant references to the hardline Soviet political and military protocols of the cold war that a current-day reader trips over, since that reality --- the political officers accompanying the military leadership, for example, and the distrust and in-fighting between them --- feels the most “unreal."

Ultimately, however, these are minor quibbles. Read past the detailed descriptions of the physics and biology that support the stunning world Bear has created, and imagine as an alternative history the translation into space of the deadly cold war game of cat-and-mouse US and Soviet forces, and a reader has no problem enjoying the wild ride of a plot that Bear has created.

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Book Review: "The World As It Is" by Ben Rhodes

The World As It Is (2018)
Ben Rhodes (1977)
450 pages

Ben Rhodes worked for Barack Obama for ten years, joining his presidential campaign staff in 2007, and then staying on through the eight years of his administration. Initially brought in as a foreign policy advisor, Rhodes eventually became deputy national security advisor; in addition, he worked on the communications team to coordinate talking points for the administration, and as a lead speech writer for the president. This last activity --- crafting speeches that reflected Obama’s values and goals --- brought him into profound and on-going contact with the president.

In his memoir The World As It Is, Rhodes explores his experiences working for and with Obama. Over the course of the book it becomes clear that Rhodes’ time in the White House working on foreign policy issues had significant and enduring impacts on his thinking about the role of American influence in the world, and especially its limits. In an administration buffeted by an escalating series of foreign crises, Rhodes repeatedly confronted the complexity a president faces in deciding when and where and how to exert American influence. Perhaps most importantly, given the reality of our current moment, he was treated to an up-close look at the damaging consequences of the increasingly acrimonious partisan divide in the U.S. on the government’s ability to exercise American influence in addressing even critical issues and potentially existential threats.

To anyone who has even casually followed the news of the past decade, the broad events that Rhodes covers will all ring familiar: the recession the Obama administration inherited; Obama’s speech in Cairo and his being awarded the Nobel Prize; the on-going conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan and the death of Bin Laden; the Arab Spring and resulting regime changes in Libya and Egypt, including the deaths of the consulate members in Benghazi and the political circus that followed; the civil war in Syria; nuclear treaty negotiations with Iran; and the opening to Cuba. For all of these events and others, Rhodes takes us behind the scenes to provide a fascinating glimpse into the struggles Obama, the administration and Rhodes himself faced in attempting to balance the competing and often conflicting interests of what they wanted to achieve, and the political realities both in the US and globally.

The inside look at Obama and his time in office represents the obvious draw of the book --- a point not lost on whoever chose the subtitle: A Memoir of the Obama White House. As interesting as the up-close view of Obama is, however, the ultimately more engaging and illuminating aspect of the book is looking-in as Rhodes himself grapples with the various crises the administration faced, and the potential responses to them. The complexity of these particular, concrete situations forced him to deeply examine, and at times to reconsider, the beliefs he brought with him to the job.

Of course, Rhodes dealt with these complexities from his position on Obama’s staff, and so not carrying the weight of owning the decision. He was nonetheless acutely aware that what he said --- or chose not to say --- could have direct impact on the decisions Obama would make, and so, at some level, on the course of history. Through his experiences the challenges faced by a conscientious member of an administration become evident; they must perform the difficult balancing act of presenting a president with opinions based on their personal convictions and beliefs, while recognizing the constraints of the politically possible and also adapting to the president’s general directions and policies. And, for someone in a speechwriting role as Rhodes was, understanding these distinctions, and working within them, was particularly relevant. (As it is, more broadly, for those now serving in the administration of Obama’s successor.)

Perhaps not surprisingly, the strain of his years working in the administration, and the challenges it posed to his thinking about what is achievable, is evident in the before and after pictures we see among the photos he includes with the book. Rhodes clearly ages as much as we have become accustomed to seeing a president age in office.

And, in fact, the book represents a kind of autobiographical coming of age story. Rhodes was in New York City on 9/11, and found his ideological reluctance regarding U.S. military engagement abroad tested as he watched:

the second plane hit, stared at the plumes of smoke ballooning into the sky, and then watched the first tower crumble to the ground. … The moment Colin Powell made his case for war [in Iraq] to the United Nations, I was on board. (7-8)

His support for the Iraq war came to be tested a few years later, however, when he was invited to join the Iraq Study Group, led by James Baker and Lee Hamilton. What he learned during that work, which included trips to Iraq to see first-hand the consequences of the decision to go to war, led him to conclude that his support for the war had been a mistake, and to re-embrace his fundamental position as “a liberal, skeptical of military adventurism in our history.” (7) He came to decide that he, and many others, had been fooled and misled into going along with the drumbeat for war.

Rhodes entered the White House, then, with his left-of-center views strengthened, and his broad ideological alignment with Obama served him well in his speech-writing role. Helpful too, he found, was his degree in fiction writing. This aspect of any politician’s job, the need to be able to tell a convincing story of what they believe and how they plan to achieve it, was highlighted by Obama to Rhodes late in the administration, at a moment when Rhodes’ education as fiction writer was being used as a knock against him. He recalls the implication being spread in the press as having been that he was writing more fiction than truth into Obama’s speeches.

As this unfolded, Obama happened to be reading Yuval Noah Harari’s engaging and powerful book Sapiens, in which Harari describes how the ability to tell stories became the critical differentiating factor catapulting Homo Sapiens over other human species. (My review of it linked to at right.) Aware of the attacks Rhodes was experiencing, Obama mentioned Harari’s book to him, and noted that, indeed, “storytelling … that’s our job.” (372) Certainly Rhodes seems to have been highly effective at helping craft the points Obama wanted to get across, the stories he wanted and needed to tell.

(For whatever reason, Rhodes does not point out that this kind of fiction, or “storytelling”, was used effectively, including on Rhodes himself, in the run up to the Iraq War that he described earlier in the book and I referred to above in the quote regarding Colin Powell’s presentation at the UN. It would hardly be surprising to discover that those who accused Rhodes of telling fictional stories in the Obama administration were perfectly comfortable with the fictions the Bush administration told regarding Iraq. One person’s fiction is another person’s effective storytelling…)

More problematic for Rhodes, particularly early in the administration, was finding the courage to push forward his opinions in meetings that often contained senior, more highly-placed staff members. As he describes it:

[I entered as] a thirty-year-old closer to a life of part-time work, shared apartments, and partying than my middle-aged counterparts [in the administration who were] decades into respectability. (33)

Initially his hesitation was due largely to his relative youth among a group of older and more experienced advisors. Later, however, even as he grew more confident of his place and found his voice, he confronted a more difficult impediment --- a deepening realization of the complexity of converting his ideological beliefs into reality. As he watched Obama wrestle with foreign policy challenges in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Egypt, Iran, Cuba, Syria and elsewhere, Rhodes came to recognize the tricky combination of US and global political realities, as well as local and regional tensions, which seem to conspire to tie a president’s hands at every turn.

Entering office with intentions of expanding and strengthening U.S. relations around the world, Obama often found himself forced to react to international events and crises, with generally few if any good options. And given an up-close view of these realities, Rhodes gradually found his own ideological certainties embattled. The resulting internal conflicts he had to work through deepened his appreciation for Obama’s ability to navigate these minefields, but also left him questioning the certainty of his own opinions.

Rhodes’ descriptions of Obama’s reactions to and handling of these foreign crises offer little in the way of new information about these events, but we are treated to Rhodes’ insider view of the political maneuvering that surrounded them. Recalling the unending Republican investigations into the tragedy in Benghazi for example, Rhodes presents the mundane reality behind statements made by Obama and his staff in the wake of those events, and his view of the hysteria and hyperbole these statements led to during the seemingly unending series of congressional hearings that followed.

More generally, the administration became increasingly buffeted by the political maneuverings and attacks that characterized the deepening polarization in the U.S., and, along with Obama and the rest of the staff, Rhodes suffered the consequences. He includes among the photos in the book a screenshot of a disgusting piece of hate-mail he received; viewing such personal attacks in the context of the fractured and fractions political divisiveness that plays out daily in public and private life, it is little wonder that his experience in the administration has left him lamenting the breakdown in civil discourse in the U.S., the ability to find any points of compromise.

It seem seems evident that Rhodes wrote the book in part as a chance to set the record straight about events for which he was attacked directly, and, more broadly, for which his colleagues or Obama came under what he found to be unreasonable attack. Of course, there is little chance that his book will change anyone’s fundamental beliefs about Obama, his administration or its policies --- the divisions are too deep at this point. Nonetheless, The World As It Is provides a fascinating glimpse into the workings of our government, and into Obama the man as opposed to the public figure we saw during his presidency.

Most especially, however, we witness the challenging reality of a presidential staff member attempting to put their ideological beliefs into practice while faced with the need to make concrete decisions having powerful ramifications and often uncertain consequences. We walk away with a healthy respect for the difficulties these staff members face, and for their willingness to take up the challenge.

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Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Book Review: "Out in the Open" by Jesús Carrasco

Out in the Open (2013)
Jesús Carrasco (1972)
226 pages

One pleasure while reading is the serendipitous discovery of connections to what one has learned before, in books, podcasts or elsewhere. Triggered by a particular scene, setting or discussion, or perhaps more generally by the developing story, an image or scene or plot or idea from an earlier piece will burst forth out of some corner of memory, adding depth and breadth to what one is currently reading. Just such connections occurred to me repeatedly in Jesús Carrasco’s gripping --- and devastating --- novel Out in the Open.

A boy lies silently in a hole in the dirt of an olive orchard as the story opens. Covered by the twigs and branches that he has pulled over his hiding place, he listens intently to the calls of the men from his village searching for him. One of these men, the bailiff, strikes particular fear in the boy, for reasons that only become apparent as the story develops. The boy’s dogged determination to avoid capture despite the many hours he must endure in his tiny, damp burro hint at these dreadful realities that have motivated his drastic action.

When the men eventually give up, and the boy feels he has waited long enough to be certain that the last of them has left, he emerges from his hole and walks out of the grove, leaving his family and village behind. Beyond having dug his hiding place in advance, and brought along a little food, he has but the vaguest of plans. Heading north in search of a new life, he walks in the direction of the North Star, in part to keep from walking in circles, and in part seeking out an imagined promise land, far from the misery of his present life.

And we soon learn that that misery goes far beyond the personal trials the boy faces at home. The broader region of the unnamed country in which the boy lives has suffered from a fearsome and extended drought that, in the short lifetime of the boy, has left his village isolated and impoverished. Never before having been farther from home than to the neighboring olive grove, the boy walks out onto parched and barren plains driven as much by fear as hope.

Alone and all too soon at the end of his food and strength, the boy finally catches the break he needs, stumbling across an old goatherd who takes him in. Having never known anyone who could be fully trusted, the boy warms only slowly to the old man, initially remaining with him more out of desperation than preference. His reticence gradually softens, however, as it becomes clear that his pursuers will not abandon their prey without a fight, and he his need for the goatherd deepens. Ultimately the pair bond around their fight for survival as they move on across the desolate countryside.

Carrasco tells the story from the point of view of the boy; a youth of uncertain age, he clearly does not yet have the strength of a young man, yet he has learned some work skills, and so could be perhaps ten or twelve years old. Though hardened by the ugly experiences that precipitated his decision to run away, the boy remains in many ways innocent and naïve, with little knowledge of the outside world, and so telling the story through his eyes allows Carrasco to keep many of the details vague. Though there are hints that point to the story being set in Carrasco’s native Spain, nothing clearly pinpoints the location. The old goatherd is for his part also of uncertain age and without a back story, and the bailiff and those of his posse appear simply as a kind of merciless evil rolling out over an equally unforgiving landscape.

The causes and extent of the drought also remain unclear, again a reality that the boy simply recognizes as a fact of his existence, its origins unimportant to his current dilemma. He does clearly recognize, however, the breakdown in order that has resulted from so many having left the region, with any external authority either non-existent or at best unconcerned with life in the village or the region in general. Those who have stayed have been abandon to their own devices.

Though as the story opens it can be natural to assume that it takes place in the past, as the extent of the devastation to the environment and the dissolution of society become clear, the novel takes on a bit of the flavor of an imagined apocalyptic future, such as in Cormac McCarthy’s novel The Road. Not quite McCarthy’s nuclear winter, certainly, but nonetheless, a youth and a man, fighting for survival as they travel across a bleak and barren landscape in the hope of a better life.

Returning to the theme with which I opened this review, several other novels, beyond The Road, also struck parallels. I recently read Mick Kitson’s Sal (my review linked to at right), which features as its title character a young girl escaping a similar nightmare to what the boy faces, though
she flees into a mountainous reserve in Scotland that seems almost idyllic in comparison to the devastated landscape through which the boy passes. Then too, as compared to the boy, Sal has had (or managed to obtain) the resources necessary to carefully plan her escape, and she has a take-no-prisoners attitude that could not be more different from the boy, whose strict --- by implication religious --- upbringing leave him questioning any impulse to fight back. In both books, however, young lives upended by an abusive home life take courage in hand and seek out a better life.

In Anna Kavan’s Ice (my review linked to at left), apocalyptic weather changes create an unforgiving dystopia, though a frozen dessert not a parched one, and clearly on a global scale in this case, without the promise of escape that motivates the boy’s path northward in Carrasco’s novel. The two novels also share the uncertainties introduced by an unreliable narrator, though for entirely different reasons, as well as settings and characters that remain unspecified and vague. For both Carrasco and Kavan, the intent in their novels seems to be to focus a reader tightly on the psychological story of the main characters by stripping away as much as possible details of place and time.

Like Carrasco’s story, J.M.G. LeClézio’s Desert (my review linked to at right) tells of a flight across an arid and unforgiving landscape, though in LeClézio’s novel a tribe flees a marauding army. For LeClézio, however, while the desert can be unforgiving, he also makes clear the magnificent beauty to be found there, particularly in his descriptions of the light in the desert. For the boy in Carrasco’s story, the barren land he crosses seems to offer no redeeming virtues, and the sunlight is simply a danger to be survived. Nevertheless, however beautiful the desert LeClézio’s characters pass through, they share with the boy and his companion the goatherd harrowing lives, with a thin and uncertain line between life and death, as they escape from natural and human forces that seem equally merciless.

In Out In the Open, Carrasco has written a powerful story that will haunt a reader both with the horrors faced by an innocent boy, and more broadly with the implications of a world in which changes in climate have laid waste to entire regions of the globe, leaving governments unable to uniformly exercise the structures and controls fundamental to maintain the civilization so many have come to see as a natural birthright.

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Book Review: "Why Buddhism Is True" by Robert Wright

Why Buddhism Is True (2017)
Robert Wright (1957)
321 pages

Despite whatever in-roads mindfulness training has made into corporate wellness programs, telling someone that you practice meditation continues to carry a strong whiff of the exotic, a lingering connection to a kind of hippie, counter-cultural lifestyle --- and its links to eastern spiritual practices such as Buddhism only seem to deepen many people’s skepticism. Even as a vocal subgroup in the West herald it as a cure for anxiety-fueled lifestyles overflowing with stress, the idea of meditation still prompts many people to ask: ‘is there a there there?'

In his book Why Buddhism Is True, journalist Robert Wright explores recent developments in a variety of scientific disciplines that have led him to answer that question with an unequivocal Yes. He draws, in particular, on the latest understandings in psychology and neuroscience, and uses his own experiences while learning meditation practice to explore the connections between the findings in these disciplines and the teachings of Buddhism. Of course there are limits to these connections, and in an opening note he makes clear the specific aspects of Buddhism that he finds to have scientific backing:

I’m not talking about the “supernatural” or more exotically metaphysical parts of Buddhism --- reincarnation, for example --- but rather about the naturalistic parts: ideas that fall squarely within modern psychology and philosophy. That said, I am talking about some of Buddhism’s more extraordinary, even radical, claims --- claims that, if you take them seriously, could revolutionize your view of yourself and the world. This book is intended to get you to take these claims seriously. (xiii)

Much of the evidence central to Wright’s argument in favor of a scientific underpinning to Buddhism’s naturalistic teachings comes from the field of evolutionary psychology; Wright reported on the research in this field --- and its surprising implications --- in an earlier work, The Moral Animal: Evolutionary Psychology and Everyday Life. In his present book he summarizes evolutionary psychology’s main thesis as that the existence of the biological imperative driving a human being to pass on its genes into the next generation has guided not just our physical evolution, but also the evolution of our “mental traits --- [the] structures and algorithms that are built into the brain and shape our everyday experience.” (3) More critically, beyond an understanding of the mechanisms through which the human brain has developed, evolutionary psychologists have examined the resulting impact on the brain’s function; their findings have led Wright to the conclusion that “the human brain was designed --- by natural selection --- to mislead, even enslave us.” (3)

In his study and practice of meditation, and in particular of the naturalistic aspects of Buddhist thought, Wright discovered that Buddhism had already over two thousand years ago come to a similar understanding, describing these “misleading” and “enslaving” characteristics of our ways of thinking, and identifying them as delusions that negatively impact the way we live our lives. In response, Buddhism developed practices and taught methods to enable people to recognize the harm in these natural thought processes, and so see through the resulting delusions, thus freeing themselves from the damaging behavior that has arisen as a result of human biological and environmental history.

Wright’s approach in the book is to evaluate Buddhist teachings in the context of modern scientific findings, and so explore, as stated in his subtitle, The Science and Philosophy of Meditation and Enlightenment.

After prefacing with what he refers to as “some careful qualification” (xiii) --- clarifying his scope and basic terminology --- Wright opens the book by recalling the ‘red pill / blue pill’ meme from the movie The Matrix, the idea of a person choosing either to see reality as it is, or, conversely, choosing to ignore it and so continue on in delusion. He makes the connection between that modern meme’s popular representation of people blinkered by willful delusion and the ancient Buddhist doctrines that identified this same condition several millennia ago; he then demonstrates its implications through examples of destructive ways of thinking most all of us commonly exhibit. Using his own experiences learning to meditate, he also explores how the Buddhist practice of meditation can lead a person to recognize, and free themselves, of these harmful delusions.

The remainder of the book elaborates and expands on these connections, describing findings from evolutionary psychology, clarifying them through examples of everyday human behavior and thought patterns, and then linking them to the teachings of Buddhism. By returning repeatedly to what he has learned from meditation retreats and through discussions with meditation teachers, Wright grounds the discussion in concrete experiences, and ultimately demonstrates the ways in which he has benefited from what he has learned along the way to developing a daily meditation practice.

For a hint into one of the central themes of the book, return again to the statement I quoted earlier, in which Wright noted this conclusion from his understanding of evolutionary psychology: “the human brain was designed --- by natural selection --- to mislead, even enslave us.” By boiling that statement down to its fundamental relationship, that “the human brain … enslaves us,” we discover a dichotomy of significant consequence, one that Wright finds to be fundamental to the learnings from both Buddhism and modern psychology: that “the human brain” and “us” are not the same thing.

But, if “we” are not centered in the human brain, then who, or what, are “we”? This distinction is key to Buddhist teachings, and has become a point of increasing focus for psychologists and neuroscientists. Much of Wright’s discussion revolves around this point --- how evolution has trained us to believe that our thoughts and decisions originate from a central place within us, a rational actor guiding our behavior. It turns out to be the principle delusion; how have we come to believe it?

Wright describes an important aspect in evolution’s training of our behavior as having been the use of feelings to guide our thoughts and actions: feelings of attraction lead an organism toward things useful to its survival, while feelings of aversion cause an organism to avoid things dangerous to it. For human beings, this evolutionary path has been found by psychologists to have a consequence that is non-intuitive: the decisions we make are not the outcome of rational deliberations --- a series of thoughts that involve a weighing of pros and cons --- but rather are based on a kind of weighing out of feelings.

In response to these findings, psychologists have proposed a description of the mind as modular, as “composed of lots of specialized modules --- modules for sizing up situations and reacting to them --- and it’s the interplay among these modules that shapes [one’s] behavior.” (86) (These modules are not considered to be separate physical areas of the brain; rather, the function of a particular module can be distributed across different parts of the brain.) The critical point is how these modules are activated: according to Wright the current thinking is that “it’s feelings that “decide” which module will be in charge for the time being,” (96) with the strongest feeling winning out.

Wright points out that “these feelings may be informed by reason,” (123) however, he also describes tests that have shown how easily our feelings can be manipulated, either by incidental events, such as how tired or hungry we are, or through intentional influences, as any good advertising agent knows. A consequence of this manipulation is that our decisions --- which feeling wins out --- can be very situation dependent, and often impacted by unconscious influences. And, to complete the delusion of control, evolution has trained us to be ready if someone asks us why we decided as we did: psychology experiments have shown that we quickly and unconsciously create a logical set of reasons that give our decision a rational sheen.

Thus, according to evolutionary psychology, what we perceive of as a thoughtful process of rationally considering competing objectives before deciding how to proceed consists instead of a competition of feelings with much of their basis in how natural selection trained our species millennia ago, in an environment radically different form the one in which most of us operate today.

As an example Wright points out that the tendency for road rage can be seen as arising out of “the desire to punish people who treat your unfairly or show you disrespect [and] is deeply human.” (31) He argues that while such a reaction may have been “attractive … in a small hunter-gatherer village” (31), in which you needed to prove to your aggressor and the entire village that you were not someone to be taken advantage of, it makes little sense

on a modern highway [when] the disrespectful driver you [instinctively] feel like punishing is someone you’ll never see again, and so are all the drivers who might witness any revenge you wreak. (31) 

Yet so many succumb to it, and even those who don’t would be hard pressed not to admit to at least fleetingly contemplating such a reaction from time to time.

Perhaps even more profound and surprising, however, than the role feelings play in human decision making is evolutionary psychology’s understanding of how feelings impact our view of reality. Borrowing a term from Buddhism to describe this idea, Wright notes that our feelings about something or someone define for us the essence of that thing or person. Our perception of reality, then, is not somehow logically built up from the characteristics that we observe with our senses at a particular moment, but rather by the feelings we have about what we are observing. These feelings can range from intense attraction through neutral to intense aversion, and can, of course, also vary depending on circumstances.

Wright gives a variety of examples and psychological experiments that support these findings, but to adapt one of his simplest personal anecdotes to my own experience: the purple-flowering weed that I find an evil pest as I do violent battle with it each summer in my garden has at other times appeared to me as a colorful and beautiful flower in roadside ditches, before it dawned on me it was the same plant; my feelings are clearly impacted by more than the plant’s specific characteristics.

In a more consequential sense, Wright touches on the dramatic implications this can have for our perception and treatment of other human beings, as we react to them not based on who they are as individuals, but instead to a large extent on previously formed feelings of the group to which we identify them as belonging. Thus, he concludes:

From natural selection’s point of view, the whole point of perception is to process information that has relevance to the organism’s Darwinian interests --- that is, to its chances of getting its genes spread. And organisms register this relevance by assigning positive or negative values to the perceived information. We are designed to judge things and to encode those judgments in feelings. (161)

Of course, as Wright point out, some such reactions remain appropriate: the instinctual fear triggered by seeing something that even just looks like a snake can still be beneficial at the moment we cross paths with an actual snake. Many such reactions constitute, however, what Wright refers to as obsolete urges, attractions or aversions that once served an appropriate purpose, but in our modern environment lead to inappropriate or even dangerous behavior --- behavior that can now actually be counter-productive to natural selection’s original goal of getting our genes into the next generation.

As part of tying these findings from modern psychology to the naturalistic teachings in Buddhism, Wright examines the Buddhist concepts of not-self and emptiness.

He explains the term not-self as the

Buddhist idea that the self … is an illusion [and that] the “you” that you think of as thinking your thoughts, feeling your feelings, and making your decisions doesn’t really exist. (24)

He describes the fundamental idea here as related to people’s belief that within themselves there is a CEO, a central place in the brain that is in control, makes decisions and takes action.

Wright notes that the Buddha, in his Discourse on the Not-Self, argued that if one looks for such a self within one’s body and experience, it cannot be found. The Buddha stated that a key element to the idea of a self is the idea of having control, and listed five principal areas, or aggregates, of our body where such control could exist: the physical body, basic feelings, perceptions, mental formations (emotions, thoughts, inclinations, habits, decisions), and consciousness. He then went on to argue that none of these, if we examine them closely, can be found to have actual control. Thus, for example, we cannot control that our bodies not be afflicted in some way, we cannot control that our feelings not be a certain way, and so on. Of course, we have the impression (the delusion, in Buddhist teaching) that control can be exercised over these areas, but full control remains unachievable. (60-61)

Wright goes on to show how this ancient concept of the non-existence of the self as outlined by the teachings of the Buddha aligns closely to the modular theory of the modular mind as understood by modern psychology, and described above. Thus both Buddhism and modern evolutionary psychology describe our decision making function as being the result of processes for which no central coordination point, or self, can be found.

As challenging as it may be to understand the not-self, a second fundamental idea of Buddhism that can seem even more radical is the concept of emptiness. Wright acknowledges its complexity by calling it

a subtle idea that is hard to capture in a few words (or in many words) but certainly holds at a minimum that the things we see when we look out on the world have less in the way of distinct and substantial existence than they seem to have. (24)

Instead, Buddhist teachings argue that the essence that we find in objects is one that we impose on them, that is, an illusion that we create in order to make sense of the world around us. Wright explores this concept of emptiness through his study of Buddhism, and his own experiences meditating, to help a reader interpret the Buddhist understandings --- plural --- of this concept.

He then proceeds to explore the scientific basis for the Buddhist concept of emptiness. A clear such connection is again the critical impact of our feelings on our thoughts, and so on how we view the world. Also tied to it are results from psychology and neuroscience that have demonstrated the ways in which our brain processes the information coming in from our senses, in part by thinning out a surprising amount of it. This significantly reduced set of information is then used by our brain to build for us a model of reality, one constructed in a way that is heavily influenced by our feelings and expectations about objects, and that results in a model we are strongly motivated to consider, to believe, is ‘reality.'

Summarizing these concepts, Wright notes:

If you put these two fundamental Buddhist ideas together --- the idea of non-self and the idea of emptiness --- you have a radical proposition: neither the world inside you nor the world outside you is anything like it seems. (25) 

Thus, according to Buddhism our natural perception of ourselves and our experience of our environment are delusions. And this concept is supported by findings in modern psychology and neuroscience, even if psychologists might choose a different word than ‘delusion’ to describe it.

As surprising as such a conclusion may be, the devil is actually in its implications, because it turns out that Buddhism teaches that these delusions are not harmless --- instead they lead us to experience what Buddhists call dukkah, which translates as suffering, or ‘unsatisfactoriness’. This suffering arises, according to Buddhist thought because of

tanha, a word usually translated as “thirst” or “craving” and sometimes as “desire” … [and specifically] the unquenchability of tanha, the fact that attaining our desires always leaves us unsatisfied, thirsting for more of the same or thirsting for something new. (209) 

Critically, Wright explains, Buddhism includes within tanha both

the desire for things you find pleasant … [but also] the desire to be free of things you find unpleasant… not just attraction to alluring things but also aversion to off-putting things. (209)

To avoid suffering, the Buddha argues that we must free ourselves of the “three poisons [of] greed, hatred and delusion” (212). Wright explains that these ‘poisons’ are intimately related to the concepts of tanha, not-self and emptiness. Beginning with greed and hatred, he notes that:

greed refers not just to greed in the sense of thirst for material possessions but also to thirst in a more general sense: to any grasping attraction to things. And the word for hatred can mean not just negative feelings toward people but negative feelings toward anything --- all feelings of aversion. (213)

The third poison, delusion, can be understood at two levels, according to Wright. The first of these comes from the Buddhist idea that tanha, desire, is “tightly bound up with the sense of self” (213), in that the feeling of attraction or aversion to something necessarily reinforces our delusion of self, a self that wants to be satisfied. It is precisely this delusion of self, according to Buddhism, that leads us to suffer from the first two poisons, of greed and hatred. More broadly, however, delusion comes about from our

illusion of essence …. Our intuition that things have essence … is shaped by the feelings that infiltrate our perception of these things. On close inspection, these feelings would tend to be either positive or negative, involving either attraction to things, a kind of craving for them, or aversion to things. (213)

All of these findings and understandings, finally, point to the purpose of meditation. Buddhism developed meditation practice as a method to enable us to free ourselves from our delusions. Through meditation, according to Buddhist thought, we can strip reality of the feelings we impose on it --- feelings that lead us to believe that a self exists, and to give reality a particular essence. By freeing ourselves from being controlled by our feelings, we overcome our delusions, liberate ourselves from desire (tanha) and, so from suffering (dukkha).

And lest one conclude that recognizing and overcoming delusion and its impact on our view of reality means that we will no longer feel pleasure or pain, Wright argues the contrary. He writes that, based on his own experience and that of teachers of meditation he has interviewed,

one virtue of mindfulness meditation is that experiencing your feelings with care and clarity, rather than following them reflexively and uncritically, lets you choose which ones to follow --- like, say, joy, delight, and love. (192) 

More concretely, when you see a lovely sunset, you will simply be able to enjoy it’s beauty, you won’t find your mind being carried off by distracting and unproductive thoughts that might otherwise have held sway in the moment.

The physicist Carlo Rovelli made a similar observation about quantum mechanics and particle theory in <u>Seven Brief Lessons on Physics</u> a beautifully written book on physics, of course, but also philosophy and history, all told in a prose that sings on the page; my review of that book is linked to at right.  In a short passage that contains all the wonder of our cosmos, he makes clear that understanding that everything is just particles in transformation does not take anything away from the beauty of nature.  He explained in the following exchange with Krista Tippett on her show <i>On Being</i> (also linked to at right):

Ms. Tippett: I want to read another passage from your writing: “A handful of types of elementary particles, which vibrate and fluctuate constantly between existence and non-existence and swarm in space, even when it seems that nothing is there, combine together to infinity like the letters of a cosmic alphabet to tell the immense history of galaxies, of the innumerable stars, of sunlight, of mountain, woods, and fields of grain, of the smiling faces of the young at parties, and of the night sky studded with stars.” [p.37]

Mr. Rovelli: Thank you for reading this. I think what I wanted to convey is the sense that, if you think that reality is just quantum fields — or atoms, nothing else — it does not mean that it’s dry. It means that there is, out of that, space for incredible complexity, including the galaxies, the woods, the forest, and including our own emotions, our own complexity as human beings. To think that the scientific description of the world, [that] it’s basically right, that there’s nothing else to it — that does not mean denying the complexity of what we are. To the opposite, it means bringing together, in a unitary way, what we know about the world.

Wright sprinkles a generous helping of his own experiences learning to meditate, including attending meditation retreats, and gradually building a daily meditation routine. His accounts provide a reader with concrete examples to how meditation can lead one to a better understanding of the Buddhist teaching he discusses. But, perhaps as important, the chronicle of his journey gives readers who may be little more familiar with meditation then a mindfulness training course at work a peek behind the curtain at what happens on meditation retreats, what it means to develop a daily meditation practice, and a concrete idea of the potential benefits, even if one remains far from the ultimate state of enlightenment and nirvana.

Wright points out that he is “a naturally bad meditator” (16) and has “attention deficit disorder” (17), making him, he argues, an ideal candidate to explore the potential for most anyone to benefit from meditation. And it’s clear that as he gains experience meditating he does find benefits. The successes he does have do not come without struggles and uncertainty, and he acknowledges toward the end of the book that he remains far from the most profound level of enlightenment Buddhism professes to offer. But even reading about the challenges he has faced provides insight into what one can expect form starting one’s own meditation practice, and the assurance that it’s not necessarily supposed to come easy. And, it makes the success he does find in the practice he develops seem that much more possible for a reader to reasonably hope for.

Wright has written an engaging and illuminating book, drawing clear parallels between concepts of evolutionary psychology and neuroscience developed in recent decades, and Buddhist teachings now millennia old. He brings a wonderfully light touch to the subject, while including enough of the details and experimental evidence to give his work a solid foundation. By including his own experiences learning to meditate, he helps ground the discussion for the reader. We learn that he suffers from a similar set of foibles and anxieties as most all of us, and through his willingness to share them and their consequences on his meditation practice, he has created a fascinating and enjoyable read from start to finish.

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Robert Wright has appeared on several radio programs and podcasts, including:


In a wide-ranging discussion, he spoke with Sam Harris on the Waking Up podcast, linked to at right.

An interesting point he makes on the show (and again in the On the Media interview linked to below) is regarding 'success' in meditating.  When meditating, one is generally told to begin by concentrating, say, on one's breath to help empty one's mind of thoughts; then, if one notices oneself to be distracted by some random thought that occurs, to bring oneself back to ones focus on the breath.  For people new to meditation, the occurrence of a distracting thought can seem like a failure to sustain meditation, but Wright argues just the opposite: the recognition that one has become distracted is actually a success, and in fact an important one, because it indicates that one is beginning to become more aware of one's thoughts, and when one becomes distracted, and this can carry over positively to one's life beyond meditation.


As a part of an On The Media episode from late 2017, linked to at left, he discussed how mindfulness can help one avoid outrage fatigue in this time of apparent political calamity.

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Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Book Review: "Ice" by Anna Kavan

Ice (1967)
Anna Kavan (1901-1968)
193 pages

The narrator of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice describes a world on the brink of apocalypse, some unspecified scientific overreach having unleashed a wave of cold that threatens to bury the Earth under steadily advancing mountains of ice. He proves, however, to be undaunted by this spreading destruction and the dystopian world that results, as he doggedly pursues a girl who had captured his attention years before. Such is his preoccupation with this girl of his dreams that for him the collapse of the physical world, and with it civilization, only barely registers --- an inconvenience interfering with his pursuit.

He recalls his bitter disappointment when the girl left him in their youth for another man. In the intervening years, his disenchantment has transformed into a bipolar obsession for her that leaves him swinging wildly between deep concern for her well-being, and imagining her subjected to extreme violence. This internal confusion becomes apparent in his relationship with her: each time he finds her she rejects him so strenuously that he eventually gets fed up with her and leaves to get on with his life --- only to be helplessly drawn back to searching for her again, at seemingly any cost to his welfare or sanity.

The narrator complicates our understanding of these events already in the opening pages of the novel, however, giving us fair warning of his general unreliability: “Reality had always been something of an unknown quantity to me.” (4) A few paragraphs later he reveals that he was so impacted by the girl having left him that his “drugs prescribed for [headaches and insomnia have] produced horrible dreams … not confined to sleep only.” (6)

These nightmarish visions introduce a surreal aspect to the story, as they come upon him without warning. In the middle of describing some scene --- driving down the road, walking through a town or simply considering what to do next --- his description will suddenly descend, without warning, into a startlingly bleak and often violent subsequent sequence of events. Then, just as abruptly, he will shift back to the actual present and continue narrating his story, without any acknowledgement of the disturbing digression that has occurred.

Our only clue to his mind’s shifts from reality into “horrible dreams” is the sudden recognition of the outlandishness of what he is describing. The effect is very much like the tendency for a person’s thoughts to be suddenly derailed by concern about some potentially bad outcome to what is happening, eventually followed by a sudden snap back to reality. The difference lies in watching someone outside ourselves head down the rabbit hole, and the extreme desolation and brutality of the resulting hallucinations.

These visions impact not only his relationship with the girl, but also with a character known as the Warden, with whom the narrator finds himself grappling for much of the story. The leader of a small nation, the Warden has taken the woman in, and seems to have a profound dominance over her. Though the narrator and the Warden both express a desire to protect her, they also both infantilize and patronize the “girl”, as the narrator refers to her. At one point the Warden states coldly that “she only needs training … to be taught toughness, in life and in bed.” (153) For his part, the narrator rationalizes to himself that the girl in fact wants the awful treatment she receives, telling us: “Something in her demanded victimization and terror, so she corrupted my dreams, led me into dark places I had no wish to explore.” (82)

The narrator, despite his claimed aversion to being led to such “dark places [he] had no wish to explore,” more often seems to find pleasure in the fervid fantasies he has of the girl: “Like a perverted child she ran past, soliciting me with big eyes, tempting me with the pleasure of watching her pain, elaborating the worst imaginings of my desire.” (165) And, over the course of his repeated skirmishes with the Warden, from whom he is ostensibly trying to save the girl, the narrator even begins to identify with the Warden and his harsh treatment of her, saying at one point: “I suddenly felt an indestructible affinity with him, a sort of blood-contract, generating confusion, so that I began to wonder if there were two of us…” (85)

The girl herself barely has a voice in the story, and what little we do learn about her comes to us through a narrator of uncertain credibility. The men in the story who purport to have her best interests in mind show little concern for what she might be thinking or feeling or wanting. They use their own self-serving image of her as an excuse to treat her cruelly, rationalizing their resulting harshness as not only for her own good, but as what she in fact desires. Thus Kavan portrays the girl as little more than a pawn trapped in a misogynist nightmare.

After a bit of a slow start to establish the back story, and to introduce the narrator’s questionable hold on reality, the novel races ahead at a feverish pace. The surreal aspect of the narrator’s nightmarish visions pervade the novel, even those parts in which he has not apparently lost his hold on reality. Other than the Warden, Kavan gives no one a name or even title, and leaves the locations in the story vague and largely unidentifiable; in addition, whether in her descriptions of the disaster destroying the world, or her portrayal of the cat and mouse game between the narrator and the Warden, she presents the story with a kind of high contrast imagery. The result has a bit of a feel of the written equivalent of a glossy graphic novel.

Ice seduces a reader with the powerful force of the narrator’s fearsome obsession for the girl. Following him as he relentlessly pursues the girl through a disintegrating world leaves us with a powerful sense of vertigo, as we are forced to cling --- with the narrator --- to a tenuous and elusive reality.

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Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf