The book deals with the notion of Downward Causation from a wide array of perspectives, including physics, biology, psychology, social science, communication studies, text theory, and philosophy. The book includes proponents as well as opponents discussing the validity of the notion.

This essay forms part of an “elegiac symposium” on “what gets lost during paradigm shifts,” and it replies to an earlier contribution to that symposium, “Regarding Change at Ise-Jingu” by Jeffrey M. Perl (14, no. 2 [2008]: 208-20; DOI 10.1215/0961754X-2007-069]) . Andersen argues against or supplements Perl's contention that Japanese attitudes toward change differ radically from those that are standard in the West. Andersen expands on arguments made by Roland Barthes—an explicator and partisan of Japanese thought—to show that (...) at least one Greek myth (that of the unchanging ship Argo) deals with change, originality, updating, fakes, and replication in a way similar to those standard in Japanese culture. Andersen then pursues his argument, as well, with respect to works by Rodin, Sade, and Leonardo da Vinci. (shrink)

Throughout religious, scientific, and humanist literature on ideas one finds categorical subdivisions that are four in number: the four corners of the Earth, the four cardinal directions, the four proteins constituting DNA, Maxwell's four equations, Toynbee's four societies, Pythagoras’ four elements of arithmetic, Pythagoras’ four elements, Hayden White's four aspects of imagination. The list is endless. From where does the “four” come? Why not five, or six, eight, or nine? Andersen tracks back to the beginnings of arithmetic utilized in (...) the architecture of conceptual thinking. He finds the answer not only in the quadration of the human body as having four sides and giving a stabilizing structure to the brain but equally in the architecture of memory. Using the slot-theory of short-term memory processing, he demonstrates how easily the four-count comes to mind and how the brain resists moving on to five. (shrink)

This paper is both an essay and a critique. It questions whether the ancient Greeks responded to heroic or devotional sculpture in any significantly different way than people in later ages, including our own, do. Questioned, too, is whether ancient sculpture or sculpture at any time as to its coming into being can be explained by linguistics, such as, in this case, by Roman Jakobson's notion that all linguistic models are based on one of two models: either on similarity (metaphoric) (...) or on contiguity (metonymic: the name of one thing used in place of another associated with or suggested by it). (shrink)

The European Legacy, Volume 17, Issue 4, Page 517-523, July 2012.

According to the most ancient Greeks, the planet Earth was created by a battle among gods. That battle happened before human beings were put on Earth. On 11 September 2001, a battle, said to be between the god of Muslims and the god of Jews and Christians, removed 3,000 humans from the earth. "Praise Allah!" said the Muslim terrorist, "for helping us kill that many." "Thank God," said the Jew and the Christian, "for saving so many others." What a misuse (...) of religion! God does not fly airplanes and God does not save people. God does not decide who is to die and who is to be saved. God gave one thing to the human species: the capacity to make decisions and lay out a path for their life to follow. Ironic, is it not, that the architect of the World Trade Center, Minora Yamasaki, was also the architect for Saudi Arabia's King Fahed International Airport and its magnificent mosque, so beloved by Muslims of the Eastern Provinces. Ironic, too, is that a world trade center owes its history to the ancient Arabian caravansary. The ironical is what cannot be explained by cause and effect. The irony of all ironies is the slaughter of innocents in the name of God. (shrink)

This review essay emphasizes the distinction between academic art history, based ultimately on the model of scientific research, and the sort that Roberto Calasso practices in his 2009 study Tiepolo in Pink. It is difficult to locate the book's genre, and the reviewer rejects identifying it as a biography (of the sort practiced by Irving Stone, Somerset Maugham, and Dimitri Merejkovski), since Calasso, like most other writers on Tiepolo, stresses how little we know about his personality, which was elusive, and (...) about his private life, which was undramatic. What chiefly interests both Calasso and the reviewer is whether Tiepolo, whose ceiling frescoes are without gravity—their “antigravity” draws the painted figures upward—is an artist without gravitas. The reviewer supports Calasso's argument that the thirty-two etchings comprising the Capricci and Scherzi make it absurd to consider Tiepolo artistically, intellectually, or morally frivolous. “Scientific” art historians have applied the category of “decoration” to these somber etchings, with their incomprehensible allegories, but Calasso, himself an artist (a novelist), approaches these pictures without scientific prejudice. The reviewer traces the dour attitude of mainstream art historians toward Tiepolo to his rivalry for commissions in the 1760s with Anton Raphael Mengs, a representative of the rising Enlightenment cult of virtue and the austere aesthetics of a rising neoclassicism. From that time on, art historians have treated Tiepolo's work as unhealthy, lightweight, and bizarre, but this review supports Calasso's claim that his work is actually sober and moving. The review concludes that there are artists whom the narrow sensibility of standard art historians will never be able to accommodate, Tiepolo being only one among several. (shrink)

Like earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the current international monetary crisis—bank failures and a collapse of markets worldwide—was not sufficiently predictable to preempt with defensive action. One would think that history's experiences with sudden breakdowns in global economics would have taught the modern world enough lessons to assure that economic intelligence would have tightened the reins of investors and speculators over the last decade of runaway optimism. But history has never been a good teacher—better said, people have rarely been good students (...) of history's lessons in cause and effect. Still, it makes sense, as with this essay, that we look back on such financial follies of the past, as epitomized by Holland's tulipmania, and take comfort in finding that our follies are just enough different from historical ones to at least claim them as our very own. (shrink)

The essay discusses the presumption of one's singularity, the uniqueness of one's time, the picturesqueness of one actions, and the capacity of human beings, whether corporately or individually, to begin everything or indeed anything again from scratch. Such presumptions are indeed present in some varieties of contemporary fanaticism, but, more to the point, it is suggested that the feeling of doing something for the first time is the oldest feeling in the world.

This collection of essays in honor of Prof. Stig Andur Pedersen's 60th Birthday spans over a broad scope of topics, ranging from mathematical modelling over realism in philosophy of science to an analysis of apology after medical mistakes. The unusually broad range is a fair but still inadequate reflection of the work of Stig Andur Pedersen, a philosopher and scientist whose range of interests, abilities and production is itself unusually broad.