People and Ideas

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I have always been fascinated by the way ideas travel through people. A thought begins in one mind, is taken up by another, and is carried into a new setting where it changes shape. Something is preserved, but something unexpected is added. The result is not a straight line of influence, but a web: people, books, conversations and disciplines crossing one another until a new pattern becomes visible.

I have noted elsewhere how Martin Buber’s ideas about dialogue were taken up by the physicist David Bohm. Buber’s central insight was that human beings are formed in relationship: we do not simply meet the world as detached observers, but are shaped by the encounters we enter into. It is within the “between” that meaning originates. Bohm brought this relational philosophy into conversation with modern physics and with his own concern for collective thought. At MIT, and through later dialogue groups, these ideas helped inspire new ways of thinking about systems, ecology, organisations and creativity. In this way, ideas from an Austrian mystical philosopher flowed through a small nexus of thinkers—David Bohm, Peter Senge, and Donella Meadows—to help found both the field of ecological economics and the culture of enormous learning organisations like Microsoft and Google.

What interests me in this example is not only the ideas themselves, but the role played by an individual who becomes a point of connection. Bohm acted as a kind of nexus: someone able to hold together an almost mystical philosophy of relationship, the scientific imagination of relativity and quantum theory, and the practical need for groups to think together. Through him, ideas crossed boundaries that might otherwise have remained separate.

David Bohm

Wholeness and the Implicate Order; On Dialogue

Maurice Merleau-Ponty offers another example of this same pattern. He drew from philosophy, especially Husserl’s phenomenology and Sartre’s existentialism; from psychology, especially Kurt Koffka’s Gestalt theory; from art; and from evolutionary thought, including Pierre Teilhard de Chardin’s vision of emergence. His work can be read as an attempt to show how meaning arises not inside a sealed individual mind, but in the living relationship between body, world and others.

Merleau-Ponty’s early book, The Structure of Behaviour, was inspired by Gestalt psychology with its insistence that a whole cannot be reduced to its separate parts. His major work, Phenomenology of Perception, developed this insight further. Perception, he argued, is not a camera-like recording of the world by a disembodied mind. It is embodied. We encounter the world through movement, touch, habit, gesture and attention. We do not stand outside the world looking in; we belong to it, and it continually shapes the way we see.

Maurice Merleau-Ponty

Structure of Behaviour; Phenomenology of Perception; Invisible and Invisible

This is where Merleau-Ponty comes close to Buber. For both thinkers, meaning is relational. It is not made by an isolated subject and then projected onto a passive world. It emerges in the space between: self and other, body and environment, perceiver and perceived. The scientific revolution of relativity may have helped prepare the ground for this shift, because it made it harder to imagine reality as something viewed from nowhere. Relationship, position and perspective had become central even in the hard sciences.

In his final, unfinished book, The Visible and the Invisible, Merleau-Ponty pushed this thought further. He used the phrase “the flesh of the world” to suggest that we and the world are not two separate substances facing each other across a gap. We are made of the same fabric. To see is also to be visible; to touch is also to be touchable. In every act of perception there is a crossing-over, or what he called a chiasm: I meet the world, and the world meets me.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

The Phenomenon of Man

Teilhard de Chardin deepens this thread through his account of evolution as emergence. Although he and Merleau-Ponty never met, Merleau-Ponty discussed evolution in his lectures at the Collège de France and quoted Teilhard’s phrase that “man came silently into the world”. Both thinkers resisted a simple split between matter and spirit. Instead, they saw meaning appearing through thresholds: the physical world giving rise to chemistry, chemistry to life, life to consciousness, and consciousness to the subsequent evolution of ideas.

The common thread, then, is relationship. Ideas do not move by abstraction alone. They move through people who are alive to more than one world and able to bring those worlds into contact. Buber, Bohm, Merleau-Ponty and Teilhard each, in different ways, point beyond the isolated individual toward a more dynamic picture: meaning arises in the space between things. It is made in encounter, in perception, in dialogue, in evolution. A person becomes a nexus when they can recognise this space between, enter it with enthusiasm, and help others see what might be born there.

…. Next post: Creative Cost (the other side of encounter)

Dusein (we are brother and sister, you and I)

Heidegger’s existentialism centres on “Dasein,” or being, which he describes as something we are “thrown” into. I find Martin Buber’s view more compelling: in Ich und Du—I and Thou—meaning arises through relationship. Buber contrasts the distance of addressing others as “Sie” with the deeper relatedness of encountering them as “Du,” or “Thou.” For me, the essence of existence lies not in Dasein, but in what we might call Dusein : being with Thou.

Our brother whose heart be heaven

(Our sister, our father, mother)

Hallowed be thy pain

Our kingdoms come

When will is one

On earth as it is in heaven

…

lead us out of that isolation

Which delivers each to evil

Meaning and the Number 2

Waving

This is why, for me, the mystic number is 2.

The Question of Meaning

“Meaning is the essential feature of consciousness…” David Bohm

The first question for me is this: “Is there meaning?” This is, of course, just another way of phrasing “Why?” or “Is there purpose at all?” Surely this underlies all of living for each of us. Sometimes we confront it; sometimes we avoid it — but it is always there. Since we are inside existence, and have no rational external reference point, there can be no purely rational answer. Personally, though, it seems obvious to me that the answer is yes; but that is, in the end, an article of faith, albeit one underpinned by all of the extraordinary “coincidences” in physics that make life possible.

Let’s then take the existence of meaning as a truth. Where does it lie?

Meaning Beyond the Ego

“The dust inbreathed was a house, the wall, the wainscot, and the mouse” T. S. Eliot

It seems to me that purpose is not to be found in what Freud thought of as the “self” or Ego. This is entirely different from Jung’s definition of Self — which is much more interesting. “I”, that is, all of our “I”s, will dissolve as bodies die. At that point, their molecules will be taken up into infinite new forms, just as the body I currently inhabit is made up of atoms that have been part of infinite others — including all of those I have known: my mother, father, brothers, wife, and so on.

Nor do I believe that meaning lies solely within the material world. In fact, the more science uncovers of the “how” of quantum mechanics, the less concrete materiality really appears.

It seems to me that the frantic search for meaning within things — dialectical materialism — is a dead end, or at least a distraction. On the other hand, the material world must surely be a part of meaning. But part of what?

Meaning as Part of a Whole

“We are one, after all, you and I, together we suffer, together exist, and forever will recreate each other” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Part of a whole. All is one. Indeed, that is what “universe” means: one thing. Another way of looking at it could be that meaning is found in process — the flow of matter and energy. Perhaps: “the whole flow of energy and matter.” How, though, do we break that down into something we can get our arms around, or understand?

Maybe another way of looking at it is that the material is part of something else, partnered with… mind? Spirit? Antimatter?

Relation as the Site of Meaning

“The relation to the Thou is direct. No system of ideas, no foreknowledge, and no fancy intervene between I and Thou. The memory itself is transformed, as it plunges out of its isolation into the unity of the whole” Martin Buber

That, for me, is where Martin Buber and David Bohm come in. They each talk about meaning as lying within “relation” or “dialogue”: what lies “between”. Buber’s amazing semi-poetic meditation, I and Thou (Ich und Du), has been transformative for me. I would encourage everyone to read at least the first two pages, where he defines the “primary words” as I-It and I-Thou, as opposed to I, Thou, or It alone.

I therefore have two building blocks in my search. First: there is meaning. Second: the place to look for it is relationship.

Why Two Matters

“Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence” William Blake

And that is where number arises for me. If meaning lies in relation, then relation requires more than undivided oneness. It requires distinction, edge, and encounter: something that can meet something other than itself.

My daughter, as a teenager, told me she thought that an incredibly important concept was “boundary”, and I have been assimilating that ever since. Without boundary, nothing can be known. You need the “other” to understand yourself.

I wrote this some years ago.

“From zero to hero, the world is born with the appearance of 1. The archetypal boundary is right there in the change from nothing to all. But one is one, and all alone, and ever more shall be so. From 1 to 2, consciousness is possible: granularity and separation. We can understand existence because we have edge: a within and a without. Quantum mechanics shows that everything exists only as a cloud of possibility — until observed. It is the act of knowing that crystallises reality out of potential. Deliberately to mix language: it is witness that causes wavefunction collapse. It is consciousness that creates reality, and that is only possible when edge is born with the advent of the number 2. Duality appears to be a fundamental property of existence. Energy is the flip side of matter (E=mc²); everything is wave and particle simultaneously. Yin is nothing without yang. Ich and Du embrace, and the world unfolds.”

That is why, for me, the “mystic number” is 2. With it comes a consciousness of existence, and the possibility of relation and dialogue, which Buber and Bohm so eloquently place at the core of meaning.

So I return to the first question: is there meaning? For me, yes. It is not found in the isolated self, nor in material things alone, but in relation. And relation becomes possible only where there is boundary, distinction, and encounter.

That is why, for me, the mystic number is 2.

Finding Our Selves

Mandalas, a way of experiencing our collective unconscious?

The Collective Unconscious

Carl Jung first described the “collective unconscious” as a deeper layer beneath the individual unconscious: a shared psychic foundation that connects human beings across time. I see it as a kind of pooling between us, both now and in the past, and possibly as one gateway to a larger shared life beyond the fragility of the mind and material consciousness.

This wider reality might be understood through traditions such as Hinduism’s Brahman or Buddhism’s Nirvana: a state that can sometimes be glimpsed through meditation, prayer, love, nature, or moments of profound connection.

Archetypes, Mandalas, and Shared Images

The collective unconscious seems to speak through symbols, especially archetypes and mandalas.

  • Archetypes are powerful shared images that help explain why certain stories and films resonate so deeply. The monster in the dark of horror films, or the ecstasy of union and community in Avatar, draw on images we seem to recognise instinctively.
  • Mandalas reflect patterns of wholeness and perfection. To me, they seem closely related to the beautiful fractals of chaos theory: intricate structures that suggest an underlying order within existence.

Connection Beyond the Individual Mind

Perhaps it is only the particular mind—this temporary form of consciousness—that dies. If that separate self is, in some sense, an illusion, then connecting with the shared stream of unconscious life allows us to taste something of immortality even now.

We may touch this shared stream through prayer, meditation, closeness with loved ones, communion with nature, or even through the collective dream-world of cinema.

In that sense, perhaps the movies are right. Whatever name we give it, something like Avatar may be what awaits. May the Force be with us.

Fear and Avoidance

Lost in a wood

“Nel mezz del camin di nostra vita mi ritrovai in un selva oscura, que la diritta via era oscura” Dante

(In the middle of life I found myself in a dark wood with no obvious way out)

We believe in our thoughts, and in where they lead. The basis of reality? Yet, in fact, neuroscience shows that thinking arises from our feelings. These colour all of what we consider to be “rational”. There is a range of emotions, but at least for me the most influential is fear.

Terror leads to avoidance. We turn away from the unknown. What is obscure remains so because of our apprehensions. Consequently, unlike joy, disgust, or sadness, fear must be integrated so that we can open our eyes to a whole reality. I have found that one way to do this is to dive right in: by imagining the dreaded outcome—by plumbing the depths. At least in my experience, the fear then evaporates and new worlds open.

The first half of my life was spent with an avoided existential angst: literally a fear of non-existence. But the grief of losing my mother forced me to look into what I thought of as an abyss. I found that death is both the antithesis and the defining framework of life, just as the reverse is true. The fear of death is a surface that reflects our ego; it is no more than a narcissistic mirror at the boundary of the ocean of existence. Its reflective nature of avoidance forms a barrier to real truths. Avoidance comes from a terror which belongs to our ego. But ego itself is an illusion. Our true selves arise with and are part of eternal relationship: between each other, nature and the divine.

When probed honestly, our fear reveals itself to be a chimera—a mere confection of the ego. It is by swimming naked in the infinite sea of potential meaninglessness that the true love which underlies existence is felt, holding us eternally. At least that’s my experience, when I summon the courage and step outside my thoughts. There is glory, joy and relief in knowing, in those moments, that we belong to “All that is”: the Word existing beyond time.

The other side of fear?

Beyond fear

We believe in our thoughts, and in where they lead. The basis of reality? Yet, in fact, neuroscience shows that thinking arises from our feelings. These colour all of what we consider to be “rational”. There is a range of emotions, but at least for me the most influential is fear.

Terror leads to avoidance. We turn away from the unknown. What is obscure remains so because of our apprehensions. Consequently, unlike joy, disgust, or sadness, fear must be integrated so that we can open our eyes to a whole reality. I have found that one way to do this is to dive right in: by imagining the dreaded outcome—by plumbing the depths. At least in my experience, the fear then evaporates and new worlds open.

The first half of my life was spent with an avoided existential angst: literally a fear of non-existence. But the grief of losing my mother forced me to look into what I thought of as an abyss. I found that death is both the antithesis and the defining framework of life, just as the reverse is true. The fear of death is a surface that reflects our ego; it is no more than a narcissistic mirror at the boundary of the ocean of existence. Its reflective nature of avoidance forms a barrier to real truths. Avoidance comes from a terror which belongs to our ego. But ego itself is an illusion. Our true selves arise with and are part of eternal relationship: between each other, nature and the divine.

When probed honestly, our fear reveals itself to be a chimera—a mere confection of the ego. It is by swimming naked in the infinite sea of potential meaninglessness that the true love which underlies existence is felt, holding us eternally. At least that’s my experience, when I summon the courage and step outside my thoughts. There is glory, joy and relief in knowing, in those moments, that we belong to “All that is”: the Word existing beyond time.

Beyond fear?

We believe in our thoughts, and in where they lead. The basis of reality? Yet, in fact, neuroscience shows that thinking arises from our feelings. These colour all of what we consider to be “rational”. There is a range of emotions, but at least for me the most influential is fear.

Terror leads to avoidance. We turn away from the unknown. What is obscure remains so because of our apprehensions. Consequently, unlike joy, disgust, or sadness, fear must be integrated so that we can open our eyes to a whole reality. I have found that one way to do this is to dive right in: by imagining the dreaded outcome—by plumbing the depths. At least in my experience, the fear then evaporates and new worlds open.

The first half of my life was spent with an avoided existential angst: literally a fear of non-existence. But the grief of losing my mother forced me to look into what I thought of as an abyss. I found that death is both the antithesis and the defining framework of life, just as the reverse is true. The fear of death is a surface that reflects our ego; it is no more than a narcissistic mirror at the boundary of the ocean of existence. Its reflective nature of avoidance forms a barrier to real truths. Avoidance comes from a terror which belongs to our ego. But ego itself is an illusion. Our true selves arise with and are part of eternal relationship: between each other, nature and the divine.

When probed honestly, our fear reveals itself to be a chimera—a mere confection of the ego. It is by swimming naked in the infinite sea of potential meaninglessness that the true love which underlies existence is felt, holding us eternally. At least that’s my experience, when I summon the courage and step outside my thoughts. There is glory, joy and relief in knowing, in those moments, that we belong to “All that is”: the Word existing beyond time.

Love, Pain and Infinity

Love and pain are infinitely bound together. This is something I have realised very recently.

The way to love your children is unconditionally. This is completely true, in fact it is a truism. I have parroted that through my life. What about that word – “unconditionally? It has a sting in its tail. It means – literally boundless, infinite. If love has boundaries, then is it really not some type of deal leading back to your own needs. “I will love you until or unless…” What is that? Something glib, a sticking plaster that enables us to believe that we are connected to the beloved, whilst hiding behind our fear and our own ego. 

I have recently been confronted by searing pain arising from love. A love that I can’t control. I realise now that I have previously dealt with such grief – such as the loss of my mother, father and elder brother – by closing myself off. This was a defensive reaction I learned when I was sent to boarding school as a child. 

But, pain and love are inextricably bound together. They are different sides of a coin. Accepting both is the price of living. 

If there are no limits to love and pain – then they are both literally limitless. Infinite. The price of infinite love is the acceptance of the possibility of infinite pain.  

Why do this at all? Because unconditional love is the bedrock of authentic living. The prize is worth the price. Though the burden is too much for us in our human frailty. As Elliot says

”human kind cannot bear very much reality” Burnt Norton 

Fortunately (I truly believe) we are part of something infinitely loving, which I find in Christ. We do not have to bear the reality of infinite pain in order to express life and love. Love which underpins all existence.  It love that is  

“the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire.” Little Gidding

But then, again at least for me

“All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well” Eliot/St Julian of Norwich

Truth and AI

Roger Penrose is a Nobel prizewinning physicist. He has pointed out that “artificial intelligence” can never be conscious. He bases this not on discovery, but on a fundamental law of mathematics; an equivalent to Godels Incompleteness Theorum. No matter how fast machines calculate, they can never become conscious.

What then is consciousness?

For TS Eliot “The point of intersection of the timeless with time, is an occupation for the saint”




























”At the still point of the turning world, there the dance is” TS Eliot, Burnt Norton

“The point of intersection of the timeless With time, is an occupation for the saint” TS Eliot, Dry Salvages

”To be conscious is not to be in time”

”
“In this flow, mind and matter are not separate substances. Rather, they are different aspects of one whole and unbroken movement.” David Bohm, Wholeness and the Implicate Order