by Adam Frank
There is the old story of a group of blind philosophers studying an elephant. One feels the tail and declares an elephant is like a snake. Another feels the ear and declares an elephant is like a palm frond. A third feels the foot and declares the elephant is like a tree. The relationship between the universe in and of itself and the universe each culture invents for itself is much like that between the philosophers and their elephant. Perhaps it is time to see the universe as an infinite elephant or, better yet, as a diamond with infinite facets. As culture changes it brings different facets into view. We gain a deeper understanding even as the universe in and of itself remains ultimately larger than all our accounts. In the end, it is our dialogue with the universe that matters most. Acknowledging the intertwined evolution of culture and cosmic vision does not diminish the power of science; it allows us to see more clearly our role as participants in the universe.
To put it bluntly, we can never be taken out of the narrative of creation. We are always, in some partial but essential way, its co-creators. In taking this perspective we make the most radical step of all. We begin to move away from a reflexive Copernicanism that made human beings irrelevant in the cosmos and instead recognize that there is a vital place for us—a life at the centre of the universes we manifest through the creative act of being human, creating culture and practising science.
THE FIELDS OF LEANING GRASS
The Slow Food movement was born in response to the fast-food industry. The 1986 brainchild of Italian writer Carlo Petrini, the movement was developed to protest the appearance of a McDonald’s franchise in central Rome. Slow Food was explicit in its emphasis on time and material engagement. One of the things that mattered most about eating, in the Slow Food argument, was the satisfaction that came from time spent preparing a meal, the pleasure gained from sharing that meal with others, and the impact of that meal on ecosystems through the production of its raw materials. As the Slow Food mission statement puts it: “By reawakening and training their senses, Slow Food helps people rediscover the joys of eating and understand the importance of caring where their food comes from, who makes it and how it’s made.”13
In a culture built for speed, the idea of Slow Food hit a nerve. Spreading rapidly, the Slow Food movement now claims a hundred thousand members in 132 countries. In 2004, Carlo Petrini was named one of Time magazine’s Heroes of the Year. The award, Time said, was given for “his willingness to consider that all the parameters—agricultural, industrial, commercial, ecological—constitute the real strength of Slow Food”.14
Carlo Petrini knows the accelerated time we have been born into is a cultural invention and that invented time can be changed. There are many others who have made this identification and have their own vision for how to re-create time. Some see the terrible pressures of resource depletion bearing down on us and argue for a new economy based on new models for work, production and consumption. Others look at the personal impact of our existing time and argue for personal disengagement from demands for efficiency. “Lifestyle entrepreneurs” have appeared, seeking to create business models designed not to make them rich but to set them free. Each of these movements underscores that alongside its boons, the current form of culturally invented time has created a deep current of discontent.
Examining the way cultural time and cosmic time have emerged in tandem for fifty thousand years allows us to apply a broader perspective to movements that seek a “new time”. We can first see that cosmology is not simply an abstract endeavour pursued in ivory towers. Rather, it is a vital part of finding meaning in human endeavour. We can also see that changes in cosmological visions of time accompany changes in cultural visions of time. The current precipice at which cosmological science now stands points to a coming shift in the basis of the human enterprise. The fact that new books appear almost monthly by scientists arguing for different cosmological theories beyond the Big Bang should tell us something. There is change in the air.
These changes may be subtractions just as easily as they may be additions. A culture stressed by climate change and resource depletion may find itself unable to fund the next iteration of Big Science needed to search for hidden dimensions or other universes. Alternatively, an energized pursuit of Big Science, along with new forms of material engagement, might reorder our concerns by providing new modes of energy and organization. Scientists such as Andy Albrecht see all the new cosmological visions of time as embracing a vision of temporality that is fundamentally more fluid and flexible. Perhaps one of these temporal visions will act as a seed for a human time that is also more fluid and flexible. Either way, recognizing the braiding of cultural time and cosmic time means recognizing their deep connections, and that means seeing the end of our own childhood as a species.
If, for the first time, we can recognize that our time has always been an invention, then we can ask more conscious questions about what is useful for us to invent next. If we can recognize the enigmatic entanglement between cultural time and cosmic time, we might stop looking for God in the form of “final theories” and find our rightful—and rightfully central—place in the narratives of creation. Either way we find ourselves back where we belong, at the centre of our universe—a universe suffused with meaning and potential. In recognizing the end of the beginning as we move beyond Big Bang cosmology, we might also recognize the end of our own beginning. From that vantage point we can gain a first glimpse at the beginning of our next evolutionary phase as a truly global culture whose material engagement embraces the whole planet.
In tracing the history of cosmology and culture, we have focused almost exclusively on the West, on European traditions and their impact. In looking for new metaphors that can embrace a new and proper understanding of cosmos, culture and time, we might turn to one of the cultures we have not followed. In viewing the tension between the relative world of human experience and an underlying, absolute reality—between the universe and the Universe—Buddhist philosophy emphasizes a doctrine called dependent arising.15 From its perspective, everything in the universe—every object, idea, being, event and process—depends on everything else. Nothing ever exists entirely alone This would include the universe, the mask we put on the absolute.
The image called to mind is of a wheat field after the harvest. Tall columns of bundled wheat are set upright in pairs, each resting against the other. It makes no sense to ask which is the column that rests and which is the column that supports. Each rests against the other and each requires the other for support.
The claim is often made that the more we learn about the universe, the more meaningless it appears. Seeing the meaningful encounter between human beings and the universe for what it is can, perhaps, alter this oft-criticized nihilism: “Nothing exists entirely alone.” Human beings build universes, and universes support human beings. Embedded in the world, we are the ones who look outwards, responding with effort and dedication to discover and shape what we find, honouring it all with study and inquiry. Seeing the interdependence of universes and human beings, we should not devalue our position in the cosmos even as we begin to comprehend the awe-inspiring vastness of that cosmos. Rather than make claims of final theories, perhaps we should focus on our ever-continuing dialogue with the universe. It is the dialogue that matters most, not its imagined end. It is the sacred act of inquiry wherein we gently trace the experienced outlines of an ever-greater whole. It is the dialogue that lets the brilliance of the diamond’s infinite facets shine clearly. It is the dialogue that instils within us a power and capacity that is, and always has been, saturated with meaning.
Time after time, we have never been anything other than collaborators with the universe. Always and again we have been the co-creators of a time and a cosmos that exist together with us. That is what makes our story anything but insignificant and makes our universes anything but meaningless. We have always been weaving the fabric of our experience into a culturally shared time and, in the process, have become ever more intimate with a univers
e that has always invited our participation. With each step we gain a new perspective, even if it will never be the final perspective. That is just fine. With each step we gain a deeper sense of the awe and beauty that suffuse the universe’s essential mystery. If we can trace our steps from the past and see our way clearly into the future, then certainly there is time enough for that great effort to continue with renewed clarity and purpose.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing this book has been a long journey of discovery that took me to many unexpected places and gave back much more than it asked (though it asked a lot). I am deeply indebted to the many friends and colleagues who helped me cover all that ground from the Palaeolithic hunter-gatherers to the Large Hadron Collider. Without them I would have gotten lost early and often and likely never found my way back.
Howard Yoon of Ross Yoon was the first to see that the book could be more than simply a presentation of new ideas in cosmology. I have been very lucky to have his guidance. Hilary Redmon at Free Press recognized far more than I did how much there was in the braided story of cosmos and culture, and without her the journey would not have even begun. It was a pleasure to work with an editor with an eye for detail and the biggest of big pictures. In writing the book I was very lucky to have Leonard Roberge act as editor for the first draft of the manuscript. Leonard not only helped me stay close to the narrative but also brought many excellent ideas and new perspectives on time and history to me. I am deeply grateful for his help. Sydney Tanigawa did a wonderful job honing the book’s later draft. The original illustrations for the book were done by Sameer Zavery, and it was a great pleasure watching him take my crappy sketches and turn them into gracefully executed works of art. Finally, the gods of authorship decided to smile on the project when they sent me David Panzarella as a research assistant. David was a recently graduated English student at the University of Rochester when he joined the project and was tireless first in tracking down images for the book and then in taking on the enormous task of fact-checking and footnoting the manuscript. Any errors in the text are, however, my responsibility.
In writing a book like this I called upon the help of a number of scholars who were quite generous with their time. Anthony Aveni not only helped me understand key ideas but also read over a number of chapters. Discussions with Colin Renfrew provided me with important insights into the Palaeolithic and Neolithic eras. Discussions with Peter Galison helped expand ideas on the role of time and technology. Andy Albrecht was very generous giving time for a number of discussions and reading over key chapters. His insights into the development of alternative cosmologies were critical to the book. My good friend and co-blogger Marcelo Gleiser also provided important corrections in my discussion of cosmological issues and broader philosophical issues. Lee Smolin has always been enormously helpful in discussions of issues in the frontiers of physics, and I am grateful for his generosity. I greatly benefited from discussions at various times with Bruce Balick, Woody Sullivan, Julian Barbour, Paul Steinhardt and Roberto Mangabeira Unger. I also benefited from early conversations with Sean Carroll and Jennifer Ouellette.
Some of the cosmological ideas in this book were first explored in articles I wrote for Discover magazine. I have always been lucky to work with Corey Powell there, and it was a pleasure to collaborate with Fred Guterl again. I would also like to thank everyone associated with our National Public Radio blog 13.7 Cosmos and Culture. Many times early versions of ideas appeared in posts there, and I am thankful to Wright Bryan, Eyder Peralta, Ursula Goodenough, Stuart Kaufman and Alva Noe for the help and the community. And, as always, I am grateful to K. C. Cole for her vision and her friendship.
I am greatly in debt to my friends at the University of Rochester who read over chapters of the book and gave freely of their time for discussions of everything from the nature of language to the nature of space-time. Fellow astronomer Dan Watson acted as my scientific conscience, reading over the entire manuscript and offering sharp insights. Tom Dipero of the Department of Modern Languages and Cultures looked at the book with a cultural historian’s eye and showed me aspects of my thesis that I had not seen. Alyssa Ney of the Department of Philosophy was invaluable in showing me underlying currents in the ideas I was exploring. I am also thankful to Nick Bigelow for his help and understanding. I am also indebted to Carol Latta for her help in so many forms.
Of course, all that time alone at the desk only made sense when there was something to do later on. Without the friendship and support of so many fine people I would have ended up with nothing to do on my off hours but mutter to myself and watch Battlestar Galactica reruns. If I didn’t have June Avignone and Greg Van Maneen across the street to hang out with, I would still be writing. My fellow New Jersey expats were my anchor, and I will always love them for it. Tom and Mary Slothower remain my stalwart friends through thick and thin. Jill Pallum and Tim Mooris provided much needed letting off of steam on more than one occasion. An ongoing collaboration with artist Steve Carpenter has always been a source of inspiration. Conversations with Sara Silvo always kept me sane. I am grateful to Nancy Pignot for all her kindness. And, of course, without Paul Green and Robert Pincus the whole endeavour would be pointless. Margaret King, thank you forever. Adam Turner, that goes for you too. My sister, Elisabeth Frank, was always there to lend an ear, and after all these years how wonderful is that? Hendrick Helmer provided welcome comedy when I needed it. And Ingrid Frank and George Richardson—you are, of course, my original inspiration.
To my children, Sadie Ava and Harrison David, it’s all good. Thank you for majoring in awesome. And Alana . . . I says what I mean and I mean what I says.
NOTES
PROLOGUE
1. I. Morris, Why the West Rules—for Now (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2010). The developmental “cores” described in Morris’ excellent book begin much earlier in prehistory.
CHAPTER 1: TALKING SKY, WORKING STONE AND LIVING FIELD
1. Bill Giles, “Katabatic Winds,” BBC, http://www.bbc.co.uk/weather/features/az/alphabet31.shtml (accessed August 24, 2010).
2. We cannot be sure whether the shamans of Abri Blanchard were women. But, based on archaeological evidence, women are thought to have served as shamans in other Palaeolithic groups. Barbara Tedlock, The Woman in the Shaman’s Body: Reclaiming the Feminine in Religion and Medicine (New York: Bantam, 2005), 1.
3. Paul G. Bahn and Jean Vertut, Journey Through the Ice Age (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 17; Daniel Rosenberg, “Marking Time,” Cabinet (Winter 2007).
4. Rosenberg, “Marking Time.”
5. Ibid. The fragment was discovered in 1915; Marshack came across it in 1965.
6. Marshack describes the markings as “a serpentine figure composed of 69 marks, containing some 24 changes of point or stroke. . . . When the maker had finished this notation, the full serpentine figure represented two months or ‘moons.’” Alexander Marshack, The Roots of Civilization (Mt. Kisco, NY: Moyer Bell, 1991), 45–48.
7. Other instances of prehistoric lunar time reckoning deserve consideration. Marshack details several of these relics, including a chronology. Ibid., 96–97.
8. Anthony Aveni, Empires of Time: Calendars, Clocks, and Cultures (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2002), 58; Steven Mithen, After the Ice: A Global Human History (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003), 8.
9. P. Jeffrey Brantingham, Steven L. Kuhn and Kristopher W. Kerry, The Early Upper Paleolithic Beyond Western Europe (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), xiii.
10. Aveni, Empires of Time, 58.
11. Mithen, After the Ice, 3–4, 8–9.
12. Edward McNall Burns, Western Civilizations: Their History and Their Culture (New York: W. W. Norton, 1963), 9.
13. Anthony Aveni in Empires of Time, 33–69, examines the earliest attempts at codified time in a chapter on calendars from the prehistoric era to the Greek early classical period.
14. Mithen, After the Ice, 151.
15. Ian Tattersall, “Once We Were Not Alone,” Scientific American (January 2000): 58.
16. Fred H. Smith, “Neandertal and Early Modern Human Interactions in Europe,” American Anthropologist 110, no. 2 (June 2008): 257.
17. Neanderthal man had a considerably larger brain (1,532 cm3) than anatomically modern humans (1,355 cm3). But, taking into account the larger size of Neanderthal man, the ratio of brain size to bodyweight is roughly equal, at 3.08 in Neanderthal to 3.06 in modern humans. G. L. Dusseldorp, A View to a Kill: Investigating Middle Paleolithic Subsistence Using an Optimal Foraging Perspective (Leiden: Sidestone Press, 2009), 21.
18. The upper Palaeolithic toolkit would have included hand axes, scrapers and projectile points. Iain Davidson and April Nowell, eds., Stone Tools and the Evolution of Human Cognition (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2010), 4.
19. Research suggests that despite the million-year stasis in technological development, there are larger differences within the Middle Pleistocene (780,000 to 126,000 years ago) than popularly characterized. April Nowell and Mark White, “Growing Up in Middle Pleistocene,” in Stone Tools and the Evolution of Human Cognition, ed. Iain Davidson and April Nowell (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2010), 71.
20. Steven Mithen, The Prehistory of the Mind: The Cognitive Origins of Art, Religion and Science (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1996), 43–45.
21. Renée Baillargeon, “How Do Infants Learn About the Physical World?” Current Directions in Psychological Science 3, no. 5 (1994); Elizabeth Spelke, “Nativism, Empiricism and the Origins of Knowledge,” Infant Behavior and Development 21, no. 2 (1998).
