I.
Regular readers will know that I've recently been thinking about the philosophy of absence - click here - and the call of the void: click here.
But the Great Nothing that has really captured my interest of late has nothing to do with subjective experience, but is, rather, a spherical region of space in the vicinity of the Boötes constellation, about 700 million light years from Earth, known as the Boötes Void ...
II.
To be fair, it's not quite a void, as it actually contains a number of galaxies.
However, this number is small; just a few dozen and thus significantly fewer than the approximately 2,000 galaxies that one might expect to find in an area of space of comparable size.
And let's be clear, here: the Boötes Void, discovered in 1981 by Robert Kirshner [1], is an unimaginably large area of space, with a radius just shy of 330 million light years, or 62 megaparsecs as our astronomer friends would say [2].
That makes it one of the largest known voids in the visible universe [3] and some even like to think of it as a supervoid.
III.
Of course, size isn't everything and there are plenty of smaller voids to contend with and marvel at. In fact, voids constitute around 80% of the observable universe - and don't even mention black holes [4].
Scientists hope that by studying the Boötes Void they will be able to learn more about the dark energy that drove their formation as the universe expanded. Cosmic voids also conveniently allow for the study of elementary particles known as neutrinos that freely stream across them on a massive scale.
For me, however, as a philosopher rather than an astrophysicist, why the Boötes Void and other such structures excite is because they reaffirm the inhuman scale and nature of the universe.
D. H. Lawrence hated that modern science books made him "dizzy with the sense of illimitable space" [5]. It is, he says, "the disembodied mind alone" which thrills to the thought of the "hollow void of space, where lonely stars hang in isolation" [6].
But, for me, what this dizzying and profoundly pessimistic thought does is remind one that "Nihilism is not an existential quandary but a speculative opportunity" [7]; i.e., a chance to think alien thoughts and to experience monstrous new feelings, that may or may not coincide with human interests.
When one stares at the night sky and contemplates the fact that there exists a mind-independent reality which, "despite the presumptions of human narcissism, is indifferent to our existence and oblivious to the 'values' and 'meanings' which we would drape over it in order to make it more hospitable" [8], one simply can't help smiling.
Lawrence says it's astrology rather than astronomy that gives a marvellous sense of freedom and release [9], but I simply don't agree with that.
For astrology, with its central teaching of as above, so below is an all too human practice that projects man on a cosmic scale. It is astronomy - and the speculatively material way of thinking that comes out of it - that truly provides "entry into another world, another kind of world, measured by another dimension" [10] and which reminds us that the universe "is not our or anyone's 'home', nor a particularly beneficent progenitor" [11].
Notes
[1] Whilst the American astronomer Robert Kirshner and
his team at the University of Michigan were surveying galactic redshifts
in order to create a 3D map of the universe, they discovered a huge and
largely empty region of space, which was originally called the Great
Nothing, but which is now known as the Boötes Void. Due to its size and
the fact that it does contain some galaxies, they knew it wasn't a black
hole and comparisons with the molecular cloud Barnard 68 soon made
clear it couldn't be a dark nebula either.
[2] A megaparsec (Mpc) is a unit of astronomical distance equal to one million parsecs, or roughly 3.26 million light-years. It is commonly used to measure the vast distances between galaxies and galaxy clusters, helping astronomers map the large-scale structure of the universe.
To give some idea of how big a distance 62 Mpcs is, keep in mind that the nearest galaxy to our own - the Andromeda Galaxy - is less than 1 megaparsec away or about 2.5 million light years (i.e., 15 trillion miles). Or, if you want to think of it another way, we could fit billions of galaxies the size of the Milky Way into the Boötes Void.
Of course, Lawrentians hate to think this way, sharing (or imitating) their master's horror of large numbers (meganumerophobia):
"All this modern stuff about astronomy, stars, their distances and speeds and so on, talking of billions and trillions of miles and years and so forth: it is just occult. The mind is revelling in words, the intuition and instincts are just left out, or prostituted into a sort of ecstasy [...] that lies in absurd figures such as 2,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 [...] figures which abound in modern scientific books on astronomy [...] It is all poppy-cock."
See D. H. Lawrence, 'Introduction to These Paintings', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 208.
[3] It's important to understand that the portion of the universe we can see (even with the aid of technology) is strictly limited and that the total size of the universe is unknown; it's estimated to be at least 250 times larger than the observable universe, but may, in fact, be infinitely bigger. We're basically living in a bubble and have no real idea of what lies outside.
[4] Spatial voids, of course, are fundamentally different from black holes; the lattrer are extremely dense and have powerful gravity, whilst the former are vast regions of space that are largely empty of galaxies and matter. In other words, whereas black holes are the densest objects in the universe, voids are the least dense regions, formed by the expansion of the universe.
[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'Introduction to The Dragon of the Apocalypse by Frederick Carter', in Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation, ed. Mara Kalnins (Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 46.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Ray Brassier, Nihil Unbound: Enlightenment and Extinction (Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), p. xi.
[8] Ibid.
[9] I've written about this in more detail in the post entitled 'I Would Like to Know the Stars Again: Reflections on Astronomy and Astrology in the Work of D. H. Lawrence' (28 March 2021): click here.
[10] D. H. Lawrence, 'Introduction to The Dragon of the Apocalypse by Frederick Carter', in Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation, p. 46.
[11] Ray Brassier, Nihil Unbound, p. xi.

Although this is clearly a fascinating topic, a 'mind-independent reality' is not a (verifiable) 'fact' but rather a kind of speculative metaphysical fantasy, insofar as all the human mind experiences, conceptualises or cognises is filtered through it. What the sky 'is' in itself, for example, is unknowable. It appears to us as different colours and in different degrees of atmospheric composition/turbulence etc, but an alien intelligence (or a god) might view it quite differently. As Joni Mitchell famously sang, 'I really don't know clouds at all'. However, the limits of our sensate world are, of course, what sponsors the onset of imagination where (our) reality leaves off, insofar as the imagination is not confined by space, time, or the material world.
ReplyDeleteReaders may als be interested to consult the late US poet Mark Strand's discussion of the topic of astronomy in his excellent piece 'Poetry and the World': see https://blackbird-archive.vcu.edu/v4n1/nonfiction/strand_m/world.htm
'Whenever I look into the night at the thousands of stars that can be seen with the naked eye, I am terrified. And when I think that there are billions more that I cannot see, I want to go indoors and never look up again. For me, outer space has always been a source of intense fear. It is a hugeness that is inconceivable. I stare at the night and cannot imagine that those pinholes exist light-years away, sometimes thousands and thousands of light-years away. The numbers are staggering. I cannot conceive of even one light-year. Oh, I can say "one light-year," but I can't experience it. There is a paradox in this. That is, I see what I cannot imagine, and what is true is not what I see. Clearly, my ignorance plays a role in my fear. My ignorance and my lack of language. Perhaps they are the same. I wonder what it is like for astronomers and mathematicians to look up into the night. Do they experience anything like what I do? Or do they have a language—the language of their particular disciplines—that allows them the comfortable illusion that they are on familiar terms with what is "out there"? Does the fact of their spending every day with representations (photographic and numerical) of the thousands of galaxies tend to domesticate the wilderness of space, make it, numerically at least, a conceivable reality? Or do they feel that their language removes them from actuality? I wish I knew. My own representations—if they were to exist—would veer straight into the safety zone of banality. This reminds me of what I told Jane a couple of days ago—or was it weeks?—about how most of us keep silent in response to deep feeling because we don't have the language to do justice to it. Maybe there is more to what I said than I thought at the time? But my inadequacy in dealing with the magnitude of the heavens is not quite the same as John Doe's inability to memorialze a significant event. What we share, however, is our speechlessness before experiences that are incomprehensible.'
Obviously, we do not agree on the question of whether there is or is not a mind-independent reality. One can only suggest you listen a little less to Joni Mitchell and read a little more Meillassoux.
DeleteWhat was interesting about the passage written by Strand is that he openly confesses the same kind of fears identified in Lawrence; fear of large numbers (meganumerophobia) and fear of limitlessness or infinity (apeirophobia).
One wonders if these fears are particularly common in poets (it wouldn't surprise me - as natural born idealists I can imagine they would be extra-sensitive to the fact that there's a universe beyond their imagination and power to describe in verse).
What I admire about Strand, and why I keep coming back to him, is how he honours the reality of poetic mystery (and its attachment, like Rilke, to a kind of terror). In this passage, I think what he makes clear is how, for him, it is the way astronomical magnitudes so exceed language that confounds him as a poet - as they should. The close of his piece reads as follows:
ReplyDelete'The first paragraph of the New York Times piece attempts to describe what is not visible to the naked eye, nor seen in previous closeups of the galaxies. We are told that electromagnetic waves are thousands of times more energetic than the ultraviolet light given off by lazy nebulas and placidly burning stars. This, it seems to me, is an attempt to bring the heavens down to earth, give it attitudes that we are familiar with. Yet I wonder in what way are the nebulas lazy and the stars placid. Are they that much like us? It is a comforting thought, an image that characterizes our galaxy-strewn cosmos as unthreatening. And then to draw an even greater distinction between the visible universe and its X-ray counterpart, we are told that the lazy one is a relaxing bridge match and the other is sky surfing from 30,000 feet. Such images, in an attempt to give us a sense of what is happening in space, succeed primarily in undermining its hugeness by using metaphors that tame and trivialize. Where is the truth factor if we are asked to imagine stars, nebulas, galaxies, as bridge games and sky surfing? Are we in space or back home? It may be asking too much to have journalism be as scrupulous about language as poetry, and to bring us close, as poetry does, to the mystery of what is. Journalism would have to do what it is not supposed to, which is to make up the truth. A poet wouldn't report on what he sees, he would present what he imagines. And the result might say more about the awesomeness of galaxies; and that the scale of their reality is far greater than what we in our sense-bound reality can conceive of, and that it forces us to consider the scale of our lives, our limitations, to a degree that can be traumatizing.'
As for Joni Mitchell and Meillassoux, is there a particular reason why can't listen to/read both? I'm not really a fan of (authoritarian) binary choices. Though I highly doubt Meillassoux could ever come up with anything as lyrically astonishing and rapturously saddening as the 'Blue' album. That's about as cosmic as it gets.
There is no reason why you cannot listen to Joni Mitchell and read Quentin Meillassoux.
DeleteMaking a lighthearted suggestion you listen a little less to the former and read the latter a little more closely, is not presenting you with a 'binary choice'.
I'm sure you're right to say that Mitchell is a more 'lyrically astonishing writer' than Meillassoux.
However, it's the latter who provides a powerful and provocative philosophical argument for why a mind-independent reality is more than the 'fantasy' you claim it to be.
Even if you are not interested in such an argument, one wonders why it is you would reject (or choose to ignore) the significant scientific evidence to support the inference of a mind-independent universe.
Do you not accept that the universe existed for billions of years before any form of sentient life or consciousness evolved?
If you do accept this, then doesn't it suggest that reality is not dependent on being perceived by minds.
And how do you explain the consistency of natural laws, regardless of human observation? Or the fact that there are objective cosmic phenomena?
Scientific realism may not be perfect or present the full picture, but it seems to provide a pretty good picture of how things are and I don't see how it might in any way infringe upon the 'reality of poetic mystery'.
I enjoyed the comment thread as much as the article (I have no opinion on Joni). Thank goodness we have a digital void to empty ourselves into where we can repel and attract each others orbits...
ReplyDelete