In my previous post I speculated on David Berlinski's fundamental beliefs, suggesting that his particular version of agnosticism incorporates elements of a religious view of the world. I know this sort of speculation is usually futile and inconclusive, but I have been somewhat beguiled by his authorial persona and feel the need to come to a personal conclusion about his - well, his seriousness. So here are a few more thoughts.
The problem is that this very clever, cultured, worldly and sophisticated writer (who has a philosophy PhD from Princeton and a strong background in mathematics and logic) has become a darling of the 'intelligent design' movement. There have been unsubstantiated accusations that he has written anti-Darwinian tracts and courted Christian conservatives for financial gain, and that he doesn't really believe much of what he writes in this area.
Who knows? It's a hard world and people have to earn a living, and it's a fact of contemporary life that high-minded scholarly values have lost their foothold, and a commitment to truth for its own sake is widely viewed (quite rightly perhaps) as being based on self-delusion.
Actually, though, Berlinski studiously avoids endorsing religious or 'intelligent design' explanations and restricts himself to criticizing standard scientific explanations.
Is he just being a professional contrarian or is he sincere? Not always very sincere, I would suggest.
It is clear, however, that when Berlinski writes on mathematics and logic he is writing from the heart. And it's also clear that he is a mathematical Platonist. Platonism is, of course, a very respectable (and quite common) position in the philosophy of mathematics.
Indications of a dualism of mind and matter are evident in Berlinski's writings which remind me of the views of Karl Popper (who openly espoused Cartesian dualism).
Popper also suggested at one time, like Berlinski, that the notion of natural selection was vacuous. But, to his credit, Popper changed his mind on this.
I am certainly uncomfortable with Berlinski's links with the 'intelligent design' movement. I don't think he does himself any credit by associating with, allowing himself to be used by and directly and indirectly profiting from those whose religious understanding is rather less sophisticated than his own.
I am not accusing him of intellectual dishonesty. My best guess however is that he is guilty of - how shall I put it? - a certain intellectual recklessness and love of debate for its own sake. Or perhaps he is driven in these matters merely by the pleasure of baiting certain notable atheists.
The obituary he wrote for Christopher Hitchens is a gem. The picture of the two of them - Hitchens gravely ill - having a cigarette and a philosophical chat on "a forlorn hotel loading ramp" in Birmingham, Alabama will stay with me.
Does Berlinski have a hidden religious agenda? He is a mysterian like Ludwig Wittgenstein (on whom he wrote his PhD thesis), like Popper, and like Roger Penrose (to whom he refers and whose general attitude to human consciousness he shares).
Martin Gardner also comes to mind in this context. Though he lacked the academic credentials of the others I have mentioned, he, like Berlinski, was a popularizer of mathematics and a professional skeptic who wrote for a living. He was also an arch-mysterian.
Some people want answers to the big questions, and feel unsatisfied and incomplete if plausible answers are not forthcoming. Others, and Berlinski is among them, don't really want to know at all. They are exhilarated by mystery. Berlinski once observed:
"I mean, deep down we all have a sense that the world is a more mysterious or stranger place not only than we imagine it, but than we can possibly imagine."
If I'm not mistaken, Berlinski's ultimate mystery is equivalent to what medieval thinkers called deus absconditus, the hidden God.
Showing posts with label David Berlinski. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Berlinski. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Richard Dawkins on David Berlinski
I may have more to say on the strange case of David Berlinski and his religious beliefs or lack thereof in the future, not just because he is a fascinating character but also because such cases – highly intelligent people who seem to espouse a heterodox religious outlook – can sometimes challenge those of us who see ourselves as physicalists in a way more mundane believers cannot.
By way of background, this piece includes some interesting quotes from Berlinski and from Richard Dawkins.
Dawkins had asserted that anyone who claims not to believe in evolution is ignorant, stupid, insane – or wicked.
'Are there, then, any examples of anti-evolution poseurs who are not ignorant, stupid or insane, and who might be genuine candidates for the wicked category? I once shared a platform with someone called David Berlinski, who is certainly not ignorant, stupid or insane. He denies that he is a creationist, but claims strong scientific arguments against evolution (which disappointingly turn out to be the same old creationist arguments).'
Dawkins then proceeds to tell of a curious – and amusing – incident which made him 'wonder about Berlinski's motives.'
Dawkins, Berlinski, John Maynard Smith (the highly respected evolutionary biologist) and others were guest speakers at a debate. Maynard Smith spoke after Berlinski and made fun of his arguments. As the audience laughed, Berlinski stood up and raised a hand and reproached the audience, saying something like (Dawkins couldn't remember the exact words): "No, no! Don't laugh. Let Maynard Smith have his say! It's only fair!"
I love Berlinski's writings on the history of mathematics and logic; I have not yet had a close look at his comments or claims about evolution. Of course, Dawkins's talk of wickedness is silly, but I must admit that I share some of his uneasiness about the man. What does Berlinski believe?
He calls himself an agnostic but his antipathy to evolutionary theory as well as his very high regard for the Jewish scriptures and the strange presence (as imaginary characters) of cardinals and Jesuits in his historical works suggests to me that he is a believer of sorts, though a self-consciously enigmatic one.
By way of background, this piece includes some interesting quotes from Berlinski and from Richard Dawkins.
Dawkins had asserted that anyone who claims not to believe in evolution is ignorant, stupid, insane – or wicked.
'Are there, then, any examples of anti-evolution poseurs who are not ignorant, stupid or insane, and who might be genuine candidates for the wicked category? I once shared a platform with someone called David Berlinski, who is certainly not ignorant, stupid or insane. He denies that he is a creationist, but claims strong scientific arguments against evolution (which disappointingly turn out to be the same old creationist arguments).'
Dawkins then proceeds to tell of a curious – and amusing – incident which made him 'wonder about Berlinski's motives.'
Dawkins, Berlinski, John Maynard Smith (the highly respected evolutionary biologist) and others were guest speakers at a debate. Maynard Smith spoke after Berlinski and made fun of his arguments. As the audience laughed, Berlinski stood up and raised a hand and reproached the audience, saying something like (Dawkins couldn't remember the exact words): "No, no! Don't laugh. Let Maynard Smith have his say! It's only fair!"
I love Berlinski's writings on the history of mathematics and logic; I have not yet had a close look at his comments or claims about evolution. Of course, Dawkins's talk of wickedness is silly, but I must admit that I share some of his uneasiness about the man. What does Berlinski believe?
He calls himself an agnostic but his antipathy to evolutionary theory as well as his very high regard for the Jewish scriptures and the strange presence (as imaginary characters) of cardinals and Jesuits in his historical works suggests to me that he is a believer of sorts, though a self-consciously enigmatic one.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Apparitions
In David Berlinski's world, the great mathematicians and logicians of times past are alive and well, and make regular appearances in the here and now. Leibniz comes late one night to sit by Berlinski's desk and discuss his curious notion of an encyclopedia of human concepts, "his lush old-fashioned wig proving irresistible to my cats, who have come creeping from their tower to bat at it."*
And Gottlob Frege [1848-1925] somewhat surprisingly team-taught logic with Berlinski at an unnamed California college at an unspecified point of the later twentieth century:
Our classes were always well attended because logic was a prerequisite for an engineering degree, and they were, I must say, well received, Frege and I both receiving excellent if somewhat innocent standardized student evaluations, any number of students somehow saying the same thing, that while Mr. Berlinski should learn to match his ties and suits, Mr. Frege is very nice. No wonder they never complained about his clothes. Frege would dress severely, no matter the sunshine, which even in February seemed to light up every corner of the campus, wearing the same black frock coat and batwing collar that, no doubt, he had worn in Germany. You must imagine the man at the blackboard, the thick German chalk in his fingers, his back always toward our students and the logical symbols going up and down the board, the steps separated, when necessary, by heavily drawn lines.
Is Berlinski romanticizing the intellectual figures of the past in his literary fantasies? No doubt he is. But then perhaps Frege and other pioneers of logic were indeed special, and alive to the wider implications of their work in a way most contemporary logicians are not. This may be because they were wrestling with big ideas rather than merely technical elaborations of those ideas. Peter Smith has recently made the point that today's more 'advanced' logic is less philosophically interesting than the more basic stuff (in effect the work of the great pioneers).
Berlinski was taught logic by the legendary Alonzo Church, and so has in my mind a certain reflected glory, a certain aura, as he is a link to a great age of human thought. Like an old colleague and friend of mine who was taught by Willard Van Orman Quine, a fact which - quite irrationally - made me very forgiving of his many personal failings.**
One last quote...
Sometime in the fall after the spring in which Frege and I had taught logic together in California, my great friend, the logician DG took his life. He had loved someone a great deal and for a very long time, and when it was over he had only logic left and logic was not enough. He was cremated in Colma at the insistence of his wife; I watched as the conveyor belt took his coffin toward the winking red lights; there was a roar from far away as the gas-fired jets ignited, and two hours later, I was given a plain wooden box with his ashes.
I took the box with me to one of those sparse California hills, which are covered with chaparral and a few scrub oaks standing in copses.
I was about to scatter the ashes when I noticed that Frege had joined me. He was dressed, as always, in black. I opened the box and let the salt-smelling wind carry the ashes far away.
Frege looked into the middle distance. I thought he would remain silent.
"I always come for my own," he said, just before vanishing himself, leaving me alone with the smell of wild sage.
* All quotations are from Berlinski's The Advent of the Algorithm (Harcourt 2001).
** In truth, he is a good and intelligent man. (Hello John!)
And Gottlob Frege [1848-1925] somewhat surprisingly team-taught logic with Berlinski at an unnamed California college at an unspecified point of the later twentieth century:
Our classes were always well attended because logic was a prerequisite for an engineering degree, and they were, I must say, well received, Frege and I both receiving excellent if somewhat innocent standardized student evaluations, any number of students somehow saying the same thing, that while Mr. Berlinski should learn to match his ties and suits, Mr. Frege is very nice. No wonder they never complained about his clothes. Frege would dress severely, no matter the sunshine, which even in February seemed to light up every corner of the campus, wearing the same black frock coat and batwing collar that, no doubt, he had worn in Germany. You must imagine the man at the blackboard, the thick German chalk in his fingers, his back always toward our students and the logical symbols going up and down the board, the steps separated, when necessary, by heavily drawn lines.
Is Berlinski romanticizing the intellectual figures of the past in his literary fantasies? No doubt he is. But then perhaps Frege and other pioneers of logic were indeed special, and alive to the wider implications of their work in a way most contemporary logicians are not. This may be because they were wrestling with big ideas rather than merely technical elaborations of those ideas. Peter Smith has recently made the point that today's more 'advanced' logic is less philosophically interesting than the more basic stuff (in effect the work of the great pioneers).
Berlinski was taught logic by the legendary Alonzo Church, and so has in my mind a certain reflected glory, a certain aura, as he is a link to a great age of human thought. Like an old colleague and friend of mine who was taught by Willard Van Orman Quine, a fact which - quite irrationally - made me very forgiving of his many personal failings.**
One last quote...
Sometime in the fall after the spring in which Frege and I had taught logic together in California, my great friend, the logician DG took his life. He had loved someone a great deal and for a very long time, and when it was over he had only logic left and logic was not enough. He was cremated in Colma at the insistence of his wife; I watched as the conveyor belt took his coffin toward the winking red lights; there was a roar from far away as the gas-fired jets ignited, and two hours later, I was given a plain wooden box with his ashes.
I took the box with me to one of those sparse California hills, which are covered with chaparral and a few scrub oaks standing in copses.
I was about to scatter the ashes when I noticed that Frege had joined me. He was dressed, as always, in black. I opened the box and let the salt-smelling wind carry the ashes far away.
Frege looked into the middle distance. I thought he would remain silent.
"I always come for my own," he said, just before vanishing himself, leaving me alone with the smell of wild sage.
* All quotations are from Berlinski's The Advent of the Algorithm (Harcourt 2001).
** In truth, he is a good and intelligent man. (Hello John!)
Friday, May 11, 2012
The gnome of logic
David Berlinski has written with gloriously overabundant and rich rhetorical flair on the history of mathematics and logic. Here he introduces Gottlob Frege, whom he calls "the gnome of logic":
His life was bleak. Frege was born in 1848 in Wismar, which lies in the province of Mecklenberg-Schwerin. Bleak enough. This is northern Germany, the land facing the Baltic Sea. Bleaker still. It is a countryside of dark and gloomy forests, hags and elves and goblins and toadish-looking men behind the sombre trees. At night, the horned owls hoot and black-footed wolves trot restlessly along the forest paths and hunchbacks gather in darkened glens to play the clarinet.
Frege spent his entire academic career at the University of Jena, trudging like Peano in Italy up the obligatory steps of the academic ladder: a Privatdozant in 1871, and so authorized to accept students without pay, an ausserordentlicher Professor in 1879, a Professor in 1896, and thereafter a Herr Professor, the open-voweled Herr followed in conversation by the three even beats of Professor.
He was married for many years - happily, so far as I know - die gnädige Frau Frege dying along with Europe during the course of the First World War, and so darkening a personality that was already dark, lonely, crabbed, solitary, and withdrawn.
And he seems to have been - in plain fact, he was - a ferocious anti-Semite, seeing in Germany's sad, doomed, cultured German Jews an alien and unwanted presence, and, no doubt, regarding the turbulent wave of eastern European Jewry, which had washed over Germany early in the century and with outstandingly bad judgement come to rest in Leipzig or Dresden or in Weimar itself, with feelings akin to frank revulsion. Disliking Jews, Frege disliked Catholics as well, the ink of his indignation ecumenical in its nature. He was deeply devoted to the German monarchy, its preposterous and dangerous kaiser receiving from Frege the respectful sentiments that he had nowhere else to discharge. With the exceptions of Bertrand Russell, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and, to a certain extent, Edmund Husserl - a not inconsiderable trio, of course - contemporaries could not fathom his work. It was ignored when it appeared, and if philosophers and logicians now agree that Frege was the greatest of mathematical logicians, if only because he was the first, their encomiums came too late to afford him solace. He died in 1925.
And he died alone.
[From The Advent of the Algorithm (Harcourt 2001), pp. 48-49.]
His life was bleak. Frege was born in 1848 in Wismar, which lies in the province of Mecklenberg-Schwerin. Bleak enough. This is northern Germany, the land facing the Baltic Sea. Bleaker still. It is a countryside of dark and gloomy forests, hags and elves and goblins and toadish-looking men behind the sombre trees. At night, the horned owls hoot and black-footed wolves trot restlessly along the forest paths and hunchbacks gather in darkened glens to play the clarinet.
Frege spent his entire academic career at the University of Jena, trudging like Peano in Italy up the obligatory steps of the academic ladder: a Privatdozant in 1871, and so authorized to accept students without pay, an ausserordentlicher Professor in 1879, a Professor in 1896, and thereafter a Herr Professor, the open-voweled Herr followed in conversation by the three even beats of Professor.
He was married for many years - happily, so far as I know - die gnädige Frau Frege dying along with Europe during the course of the First World War, and so darkening a personality that was already dark, lonely, crabbed, solitary, and withdrawn.
And he seems to have been - in plain fact, he was - a ferocious anti-Semite, seeing in Germany's sad, doomed, cultured German Jews an alien and unwanted presence, and, no doubt, regarding the turbulent wave of eastern European Jewry, which had washed over Germany early in the century and with outstandingly bad judgement come to rest in Leipzig or Dresden or in Weimar itself, with feelings akin to frank revulsion. Disliking Jews, Frege disliked Catholics as well, the ink of his indignation ecumenical in its nature. He was deeply devoted to the German monarchy, its preposterous and dangerous kaiser receiving from Frege the respectful sentiments that he had nowhere else to discharge. With the exceptions of Bertrand Russell, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and, to a certain extent, Edmund Husserl - a not inconsiderable trio, of course - contemporaries could not fathom his work. It was ignored when it appeared, and if philosophers and logicians now agree that Frege was the greatest of mathematical logicians, if only because he was the first, their encomiums came too late to afford him solace. He died in 1925.
And he died alone.
[From The Advent of the Algorithm (Harcourt 2001), pp. 48-49.]
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