Central Projects, Renewal, and Heroism

Friday 01 September 2023

In several recent newsletters I have discussed some of the ways in which science can grow and expand. It seems likely that science could expand in many different ways in the future, and equally likely that it will not expand in all of the ways in which it might possibly expand, meaning that the particular form of expansion that science experiences will describe a trajectory for the development of science, and this trajectory may be different depending on historical circumstances not yet realized. We cannot at this time predict what science will become in the future. I think Popper would have agreed with this, given his argument for indeterminacy based on science, but I think that Popper also would have rejected the reasons I have for making this claim.

The idea that science is a universalist form of knowledge is an Enlightenment construction, and it is given the lie by the fact that science in the present is not one but many. The methods and the concepts and the knowledge arrived at by physics, mathematics, history, biology, psychology, and sociology are all strikingly different. One can argue — the partisan of Enlightenment universalism will argue — that science in the future will converge upon a single and universal catalog of knowledge, but this is an idealized construction, a product of an implicit Enlightenment philosophy of history, and if one rejects this philosophy, there is no reason to believe that science will converge rather than diverge in the future. I have touched on these issues in my forthcoming paper “The Develes Engynnes,” which should be appearing soon in the fall issue of the Journal of Space Philosophy. (I just sent off a revision, with some additional footnotes.) Nevertheless, there is much more to say.

We have to continually rethink science, and the foundations of science, to keep science from stagnating. If science ceases to transcend itself, if it ceases to pass through internal revolutions in its structure, then all that is built on science will also stagnate, and that means most of our contemporary civilization. I have argued that our civilization is not a properly scientific civilization because it does not take science as its central project (that honor goes to the Enlightenment), but we have rather an indifferently scientific civilization (meaning the central project’s moral indifference to science). But while not central to our civilization, science is nevertheless a foundation of our civilization, and, without it, that civilization would become a mere shadow of its former self, if it managed to survive at all.

It is, I will admit, an interesting thought experiment to contemplate what a stagnant Enlightenment civilization would look like. It necessarily would be a deeply dishonest civilization (more dishonest than our civilization at present), because the Enlightenment belief in progress has been propped up by progress in science, technology, and engineering. Take away that manifest progress, and it would be painfully obvious that we have made, and will make, little or no progress of any other kind — aesthetic, moral, social, religious, or otherwise in the context of our Enlightenment civilization. But if we had to maintain the façade of Enlightenment civilization without this manifest progress, we would have to tell ourselves that we were making great progress, in spite of appearances, hence involving us in ever more elaborate fabrications and falsifications. Instead, we have only the elaborate fabrication that scientific, technological, and engineering progress is to be credited to Enlightenment ideology, which seems palatable to most today (call it the “little white lie” of Enlightenment civilization, if you like).

In other words, science stands in need of continual renewal, and science within a scientific civilization would be in even greater need of continual renewal. In my “Science and the Hero’s Journey” forthcoming in the Encyclopedia of Heroism Studies (scheduled to be published next year) I observe the many parallels that exist between traditional mythological milieux and our contemporary milieu with its attendant science, technology, and engineering. As in the paradigmatically mythological milieu, an aging and enfeebled leadership holds desperately to power, unable or unwilling to acknowledge the barrenness of its rule; it is a realm in need of spiritual renewal, even as it rejects renewal. The young and rebellious must leave the barren realm and seek their treasure elsewhere, so that they may later return and bring this treasure, along with spiritual renewal, to their place of origin. (This is the departure and return motif that I discussed in newsletter 218.)

Every generation of science experiences this paradigmatically mythological milieu, and a hero is needed to answer this mythological need and bring spiritual renewal to the practice of science. Even a scientific civilization, then, will be fundamentally mythological in this way, and will parallel traditional civilizations in this mythological structure. I realize now that I have neglected the role of renewal in the life of a civilization’s central project. Most of my attempts to understand the development of a central project have been attempts to understand the origins and more-or-less linear development of the ideal or cluster of ideals that center a civilization.

There are several possible patterns of central project development consistent with uniform directionality. For example (and this is a non-exhaustive list I have formulated extemporaneously):

1. An ideal is initially grasped in a schematic way, and subsequent historical development fills in this schematism with concrete detail.
2. An ideal rapidly comes to development, with the subsequent history of civilization being the slow deterioration of this ideal.
3. An ideal initially posited in a particularistic form develops toward a more universal form.
4. An ideal initially posited in a given form undergoes a sequence of developmental changes and reinterpretations that grow and expand the central project.
5. An ideal develops by drawing in further ideals and joining them to itself, growing by agglomeration.

The possibility of renewal adds to the possible patterns of central project development.

Most obviously, it suggests a cyclical developmental trajectory in which an ideal posited in the optimistic youth of a civilization is slowly tarnished or lost, but is eventually recovered and restored through a process of renewal as described above. In such scenarios, civilizations pass through periods of decline or corruption, and then through periods of recovery and renewal. And certainly a long-lived civilization is likely to experience a cyclical falling away from its ideas, followed by a renewal taking the form of a return to core ideals, although perhaps also with alterations to the ideal each time it is recovered and restored.

The long history of Egyptian civilization demonstrates this in its development through the Old Kingdom, the First Intermediate Period, the Middle Kingdom, the Second Intermediate Period, the New Kingdom, the Third Intermediate Period, and the Late Period. Specialists in Egyptian art (with a subtle eye for changing forms) tell us that the quality of Egyptian art tailed off at the end of each period and was recovered when Egyptian institutions rallied. Indeed, the Egyptians themselves tell us this, as in periods of institutional dysfunction the great tombs were looted, and then during periods of recovery the Pharaohs were re-interred in royal caches. There are records of inspections of earlier tombs that tell of the admiration that these later Egyptians had for the earlier workmanship of tomb construction during its greatest periods.

During the European Middle Ages, we also can observe a cyclical falling away from ideals followed by a reaffirmation of earlier ideals. This is especially apparent in the institutions of monasticism and sainthood. During the early Middle Ages, when cities declined in population and importance, becoming largely irrelevant to European civilization, monasteries took over many of the functions previously filled by cities and their administrative institutions. A monastery was a self-contained world that reconstructed within itself the infrastructure and institutions for the ongoing necessities of life. The greatest monasteries were renowned for their arts no less than their piety. They were the result, initially, of the disciplined application of a rule of life (initially, at least, the Rule of St. Benedict) to a small body of men who subordinated themselves body and soul to the institution.

The manifest piety of a successful monastery commanded the spiritual respect of nobility and commons alike, and individuals would voluntarily and spontaneously endow a great monastery with lands, wealth, power, and possessions. As these worldly goods accrued, the monasteries became lax and corrupt, falling away from the strict observance of a rule and losing the very spiritual power that had been instrumental in bringing them success and wealth. The growth of wealthy and corrupt monasteries led to repeated demands for the spiritual renewal of monastic institutions. Perhaps the most famous of these renewals was that of St. Francis, and the Franciscans who followed him. St. Francis, we recall, came from a wealthy family, but had a religious vision and was called to restore a small, neglected church. His authenticity and spiritual zeal attracted followers, and eventually the Franciscans applied to the Papacy to have their order officially approved, which it was.

The Franciscans, following the example of their founder, talked the talk and walked the walk. Their spiritual authenticity was obvious to all in the early years of the order, with its strict discipline, and this attracted patronage and wealth. The Franciscans eventually had to involve themselves in all kinds of legal fictions that allowed them to use property given to them without legally holding title, and the Papacy was willing to facilitate this arrangement for a long time. However, it eventually came to a head, the Papacy declined to continue to indulge the Franciscans, and there was a dramatic escape under cover of night by William of Ockham (famous for his logical razor) and the general of the Franciscan order, Michael of Cesena, from the Papal court at Avignon.

Modern civilization, that is to say, civilization since the Enlightenment, has not endured for a period of time to adequately manifest this cyclicality of authenticity followed by corruption, followed in turn by renewal. However, we have seen a kind of cyclicality in the great cities that have expanded to unprecedented dimensions since the industrial revolution. Cities have grown to millions of inhabitants, their downtown cores have then decayed, with urban populations fleeing to the suburban perimeter, followed eventually by urban renewal (as it was called in the previous generation) and gentrification (as it is called by our generation). If one understands the great cities of the industrial age as the emblematic institutions of our civilization, then their cyclicality would illustrate what I have discussed above.

I don’t think that cities are the exclusive exemplar of Enlightenment civilization. There are also institutions of governance, educational and scientific institutions, etc. that are no less central to the Enlightenment ideal. Indeed, the great cities spurred by the industrial revolution came somewhat later in history than the governmental and educational institutions of the Enlightenment. Any or all of these might experience corruption and renewal, and they might experience these cycles alternately or simultaneously. To a certain extent, but not to an absolute extent, these institutions are tied to each other, and so the failure of one may entail the failure of another, but we could certainly specify conditions under which any one institution could fail in isolation from the others.

One of the key takeaways here is that spiritual renewal must be authentic, spontaneous, and sincere for it to be effective, and to command the respect of those who will willingly, indeed gladly, give their lives to an institution if it possesses moral integrity. In the midst of the pervasive phoniness that we endure today, it might be difficult to sufficiently emphasize this point. Spiritual renewal can’t be faked. The real McCoy will command respect, so of course there will be grifters who will try to play the role of the real McCoy, and while they might fool a few people for period of time, most will recognize the imposture, and will respond with revulsion, and this revulsion will further weaken the institution that can only thrive when it has true loyalty from spontaneous acclaim.