Must we destroy in order to create?
By Teresa Macey-Dare, for the University of Cambridge, 2021: 3rd essay in a three-part portfolio on the History and Philosophy of Creativity Theory
Introduction
The traditional depiction of creation and destruction, namely in religious narratives, laid the foundations for their polarisation. Over time, a positive semantic field has developed around ‘creation’: nurture, inspiration, progress; meanwhile ‘destruction’ possesses negative connotations: wrath, malintent, suppression. However, I argue that the concepts are much more interdependent than first appearances. At the fundamental level - devoid of imposed social value - the two work antagonistically. As Pope articulates, “Every act of creation involves a corresponding act of destruction: something is ‘unbuilt’ so that something else can be ‘built’ in its place.”[1] If the Universe is a closed-system[2], then creation must be a form of destruction and vice versa. For example, the collapse of a heavy star leads to the creation of a supernova.[3] Yet, not only does one seem to lead to another (dependent on perspective)-but on a more implicit level, they contain one another. The destruction of a star creates the supernova, and yet a supernova can be defined as the stellar explosion; hence, it contains the idea of destruction within it. Similarly, as introduced by medieval theology, the idea of ‘evil’ seems implicit in that of ‘good’. This is because to discern what ‘goodness’ means, there must be an understanding of what it is not.
As introduced (in the prior essays), notions of destruction and creation play a key role in both the artistic and scientific domains. I will thus use examples from each to explore the role of self-destruction and the limiting of possibilities, followed by how rule-creation may lead to destruction. I will conclude that within a closed-system we must destroy to create, or more precisely[4], that creation always involves an element of destruction whether preceding, simultaneous to or following it.
1. Connections in a closed-system
As discussed in previous work, a closed-system view of the Universe maintains that there are a set number of objects or possibilities to be discovered. This follows from the intuitive notion that something cannot come from nothing (creation ex nihilo). Whilst commonly tied to the scientific domain, we also find parallels of this conception of our Universe within the more artistic/ religious side. For example, drawing a parallel with Empedocles’ worldview, the Buddhist doctrine of Samsara proposes a continual cycle of birth, existence, and death.[5] In this way, creation and de-creation almost become synonymous. It is important to note that Theravada Buddhism holds that one can achieve liberation through Nirvana (the enlightened state), and hence escape Samsara. This, of course, challenges the closed-system model. However, Mahayana Buddhists maintain that “Samsara is Nirvana. [...] everything in the Universe is part of us. And we are part of everything in the Universe”.[6] Buddhist practices reflect this - most notably, Tibetan sky burial. In feeding the dead to vultures, their existence or identity ceases at the same time as they become food. A source of energy follows from the destruction of life, and vice versa.[7] This interconnection is echoed in the philosophy of Berdyaev. He argues that from the perspective of humanity the Universe is becoming, meanwhile from that of God/ the Universe itself, it’s in a process of ending. Paralleling Wittgenstein’s emphasis on the role of orientation for meaning, and Nietzsche’s perspectivism, creation and destruction may be seen as two sides of the same coin. To fully demonstrate the interrelation entailed by a closed-system, I will thus explore both the question and (briefly) its inverse.
2. Destroying to create
Following from the Kantian picture of artistic creativity as rule-making, the role of the agent is often emphasised. This relationship appears to be one of dependency: creativity cannot exist without a self to channel it into some form. To embody it. This mirrors the Cartesian conception of the ‘self’ as a disembodied mind with identity over time. Though, as Hume suggests, this mind or “bundle of perceptions”[8] seems to be in continual flux, intuition leads most to assume some kind of psychological continuity. In other words, even if the only thing connecting our thoughts are the previous ones in the chain, we are - at least in part - “thinking thing[s]”[9]. It is through such cognitive capacities that we are able to create. This is only reinforced by the methodology of creative practice, often set into motion by ideation. As Hermann Obrist suggests, the purpose of art is giving “a deepened expression and intensification of the essence, instead of a hasty impression”.[10] For example, it was only after years of photography and training as an architect that Beksiński developed his iconic nightmare-esque style of painting.[11]
On a markedly postmodern note, Blanchot redefines the role of the self - provocatively suggesting that it is only through its destruction that the creation can come into being. Drawing a parallel with the act of suicide, he constructs a stark analogy; in order to actualise the art, the artist must leap into the unknown and perform a “radical reversal of self”.[12] The metaphor takes on a literal quality since suicide is quintessentially self destructive. In this way, Blanchot engages in a contradiction. This reflects and thus emphasises the grammatical and conceptual impossibility of suicide itself. Unlike common reflexives, the phrase ‘I kill myself’ involves a problematic doubling since the ‘I’ and ‘myself’ must be separable. Yet, similarly to my discussion of post-truth (see essay one), this contradiction seems to strengthen Blanchot’s argument. Adopting a dialectical approach, one may argue that it is in virtue of this tension that the creation can emerge as a novel thing. The necessity but impossibility of self-destruction leads to the actualising of creative potential. Moreover, the contradiction shines a light on the problems of Cartesian dualism. The famous “I think therefore I am”[13] involves a duplication of the self paralleling the one in the suicidal proclamation. However, Descartes does not acknowledge this and so maintains that creation is a positive act of will. Since the Cartesian picture underwrites the focus on creative agency, this too can be called into question.
Hence, Blanchot’s account not only poses a challenge to the common view, but directly undermines it. This paves the way for his suggestion that whilst the creation may occur ‘through’ me, I am not the source. As Deleuze puts it, the work is in a state of “constant genesis”[14]: it is not just an existing possibility actualised by the artist. Linking back to Kant’s idea of creative invention in essay two, the construction of rules by the artist entails a novelty in their work to an uninterpretable level. This initial ‘madness’ is a crucial feature in the processes of the artist and their work coming into being. As Bergson holds, through intuition and sympathy, the artist connects to their work to form a unified ‘thing-in-itself’. This possibility need not be prohibited by experience. Rather, through attention to the object one can nullify the self - almost synthesising the noumenal and phenomenal. In this way, Bergson highlights a possibility Kant neglects, meanwhile capturing the symbiotic relationship between the non-fixed or nullified ‘self’ doing the creating and the thing being created. Subsequently, the two are actualised; they become. Stravinsky articulates this point: “One’s nose is not made: one’s nose is. So it is with my art”.[15] Here he is rejecting the view that there is an ‘I’ who creates, and instead maintains that just as he exists or comes to be, so too does the musical work he attaches to.
As such, Blanchot’s thesis applies to both the products ie. artwork, and the process ie. artist. Through conceptual destruction of the agent, Blanchot opens the possibility for self-creation. This resonates strongly with both traditional Eastern and modern Continental philosophies. For example, ‘anatta’: the doctrine of no self, is central to Buddhist teaching. This may be narratively represented in the story of ‘King Milinda and the Chariot’.[16] By questioning which parts of a chariot are essential to its nature (ie. could not be removed), King Milinda realises that ‘chariot’ is just a label ascribed to a certain collection and organisation of parts. This can undergo change over time for example, replacing a rusty wheel. Likewise, as Chaskalson states, the ‘self’ denotes “a changing pattern of interrelationships - [...] inextricably part of a great flux of conditions”.[17] Such denial of fixity not only links to other ancient ideas (particularly those of Heraclitus) but provides the basis for Sartre’s phenomenological ontology. He posits that a ‘being-for-itself’ - something conscious of its own consciousness such as you or I, has a fundamental awareness that it is not a ‘being-in-itself’ - an object acted upon by external force alone. This recognition that we may not be something gives us radical freedom to be in any way we like; through imaginative capacities we can create our own being. Since our ability to choose[18] is prior to any fixed idea of who we are, “existence precedes essence”.[19] We are both nothing and everything at the same time. Again, this draws upon the tension at the heart of Blanchot’s account.
The idea that one must destroy to create is arguably even more central to the scientific domain. Where arts and religion may posit a metaphysical self-nullification, science operates according to a method of destruction itself. Scientists use ‘discoveries’ about the external world, to test and potentially verify theories (see essay two). In this way, data is central to their inventive pursuits. Without it they cannot create a depiction of the Universe. However, the quantification and modelling of nature as such, relies upon radical deconstruction. Take the development of atomic theory as an example. Spurred on by the Milesians, Democritus the ‘Atomist’ vouched for the existence of indivisible matter able to move, collide, and form compounds - all of which can explain the observable qualities of the world such as size and shape.[20] Some 2000 years later, Rutherford conducted his famous alpha-scattering experiment and deduced that most of the atom is, in fact, empty space.[21] Using “experiment, directed by disciplined imagination”[22] he was able to adapt and reinforce the conclusions of J.J Thompson regarding the existence of subatomic particles. ‘Disciplined’ to conform to the scientific method, Rutherford’s picture of imagination seemingly challenges that of Sartre. Yet, in hypothesising about the quantum level, Schrodinger arguably shifts back to Sartre’s idea of free imaginative scope.[23] Reflecting the prior essays, science may again be seen as connected with the narrative constructions of art.
As displayed by this timeline of development, scientific inquiry works through the observable macroscopic level all the way to the quantum. Through hypothesis and experimentation one can deconstruct reality into fundamental parts and laws, and then affirm a theory. In this way, one must destroy to create. This is reinforced by the physical destructiveness that many experiments take on: namely the large hadron collider at CERN. It was only through extreme particle acceleration and separation that the Higgs-Boson was discovered. This arguably represents the overall methodology of science. It must break things to learn about the different orders of reality. This is why time and consciousness may present problems outside the scope of scientific understanding. Secondly, on a more epistemological level, most hold the project of science to be the demystification of nature - culminating, one day, in an objective understanding of the Universe. This is illustrated by the above example since, prior to it’s quantification, the Higgs-Boson was referred to as the ‘God-particle’. On the surface this may be viewed as conceptual destruction, namely of theistic ideas. However, further investigation seems to reveal that the scientific pursuit of objectivity is intimately linked to the artistic/ religious domain.
For one, the actualising of scientific ‘discoveries’ into objective truths or probabilistic theories, involves the destruction of other possibilities. This is clearly conveyed in the development of the atomic model; future hypothesis was influenced by the given starting point (the idea of some indivisible foundational matter), and any new data used to adapt the preceding model. Hence, the old theories shaped the interpretation of new discoveries. On a grander and hyper-theoretical level, some cosmologists hold that “the creation of a ‘Universe’ involves the reduction or suppression of a potential ‘multiverse’”.[24] This seems to suggest that if all possible energy/ matter is actualised into one end state (a singular Universe), there is nothing left to comprise other Universes. Taken as such, the existence of one Universe directly involves the limiting of a coexisting plurality. Mirrored at the quantum level, perception collapses wave functions such that we can only conceive of a single possibility even if more exist at the same time. On the Copenhagen interpretation, a quantum system will remain in superposition until it is interacted with. Analogously, prior to observation, Schrodinger’s cat is both alive and dead.[25] This rings true with the experience of an artist. Upon initiating their creative process, for example, writing their first word on a page, they limit possibility. By the time the work is a complete novel, the possibility remaining is just one. This is the actualised form.
Yet the similarity between the scientific quest for objective truth and the artistic paradigm runs deeper than this. In seeking to discern facts about the external world, science aims to go beyond the observable level. This is captured by the deconstructive nature of the atomic example, and further reinforced by Husserl: “Experience by itself is not science”.[26] In its stringent use of a method designed to generate repeatable and reproducible results, scientific inquiry operates as close to a “view from nowhere”[27] as is possible. Otherwise put, the physical sciences seek to describe those things that are true for everyone, not just the people doing the research. Thus discovery and invention in the scientific domain requires self-destruction. In this way, we again must destroy to create. Nagel conveys this, through conceptualising knowledge as a “set of concentric spheres, progressively revealed as we detach gradually from the contingencies of the self”.[28] The shift from subjectivity to objectivity culminates in an understanding of science. Yet the nullification of the self within the scientific paradigm doesn’t stop here. With great advances in technology, modernity has seen the rise of artificial intelligence. Seemingly devoid of a mind (spontaneous, conscious thought) AI neither has a self nor the imaginative capacities to construct one. These possibilities must be destroyed in order to create an AI. Upon considering it as nothing more than a rule-following programme, this becomes apparent.
3. Creating to destroy
Whilst the destruction or limiting of human capacities is necessary for the creation of AI, its creation also seems to entail destruction. As such, it is a perfect example of the connection between the two found within a closed-system. Bounded within rationality, AI cannot possess an independent, spontaneous, conscious mind. However, this is founded upon two key assumptions: i) strong AI[29] could never exist, and ii) we know what a mind is. These are deeply intertwined such that those who argue for strong AI often provide a theory of mind. Most often, this is ‘functionalism’.[30] On this view the mind is a kind of ‘black box’ which receives information and produces an output in response. For example, one may laugh after hearing a joke. Since the mind is simply defined by its function (ie. the connection between inputs and outputs), it is ‘multiply realisable’. In other words, anything that performs the same role as the mind in a given system can be said to be in possession of it. This functionalist view works hand in hand with the Turing Test: a proposed method of discerning whether an AI can be classed as a thinking thing.[31] If C (human) cannot work out whether B (another human) or A (an AI) is the computer based on their responses to a text, then A has passed the test. However, both functionalism and the possibility of strong AI it entails, are subject to much debate. Linking to my primary take on AI (pure rationality), many argue that a programmed computer would be unable to draw upon experience to negotiate or improvise in complex situations.
Turing provides a response however - claiming that there is no reason why this apparently informal behaviour couldn’t be programmed.[32] If viewed as a direct programming or, in other words, coding for spontaneity, this response invariably results in a paradox. Thus, it is more likely intended as indirect programming: something arising from the set of rules like an emergent property. This echoes both my discussions of truth and invention. In turn, the objection may even support functionalism because a multiply realisable mind, whose function crucially includes judgement and spontaneity, could be generated from an AI ‘brain’. Some even contend that such results have already been achieved. For example, although Go[33] is notoriously complex, the ‘AlphaGo’ AI was able to beat a master, and what’s more, was said to play intuitively. Whilst I do not have time to explore the pitfalls of functionalism (especially it’s foundation in Cartesian Dualism), if strong AI could exist in theory, its creation in practice may be seen as a form of destruction. As illustrated by the above example, it could act with a full and heightened scope of human behaviour. In turn, it would destroy the uniqueness of humanity and hence gain control over many if not all aspects of our societies. Whilst weak AI may only destroy job opportunities, strong AI could, more worryingly, shape culture.
In a parallel way, the artistic creation of rules by the OuLiPo might entail the destruction or limiting of our culture. Through the “invention of formal procedures”[34] they sought to open up new creative possibilities by limiting those which are unproductive or generic. For example, Queneau produced a book of ten sonnets, each respectively cut into its 14 lines.[35] Consequently, the reader has the freedom to experiment with the authors ideas; recombining them into thousands of possibilities. In this way, the project of the OuLiPo is self-nullifying. As Wolff expresses: the “distribution of information processes across different subsystems [...] belies the notion of a unified self”.[36] Their product is a dynamic interaction with the audience. This continual novelty is reminiscent of the ‘constant genesis’ described by Deleuze. Furthermore, in generating the rules of their art, the OuLiPo embody the Kantian picture of the creative genius. However, this highlights that it is only in the imagination and invention of these constraints, that creativity occurs. Those who follow but do not construct them, are merely engaging in mimesis. Likewise-to-Wittgenstein’s-notion-that-the language games we play dictate the limits of thought, so too-do the artistic rules limit imaginative scope. This almost seems counterintuitive since the OuLiPo intend, and-do on a level, open up possibility. However, through developing rules they guide this potential towards a set number of forms. This is akin to the influence of previous ideas/ knowledge on the development of scientific models. In turn, the creation of restraint by the OuLiPo may be viewed as ultimately destructive.
Conclusion
As a necessary consequence of a closed-system view of the Universe, destruction must entail creation and vice versa. Mirrored in Buddhist teaching, they appear to be cyclically related. This suggests a much less polarised picture of the two concepts than their use in common speech; though a binary, they are mutually beneficial. This resonates with the linguistic idea that all concepts contain their opposites. For example, ‘good’ only has meaning if there is ‘evil’ (or even just the possibility of it). Without it, there would be nothing to discern ‘goodness’ as a thing itself, with distinctive properties. This is more clearly reflected in St. Augustine’s notion of evil as “privatio boni”[37]: the absence of good. In a similar way, through exploring both the question and its inverse, I have demonstrated the inextricable link between creation and destruction. Or - making this more linguistically apparent - creation and de-creation. By employing examples from the arts and sciences, I have highlighted and hopefully reconciled not just one, but two false dichotomies.
- [1] Pope, R. 2005, pg. 192
- [2] See essay two
- [3] Figure 3.1
- [4] Removing the implicit value of intent (destruction may not a conscious step ‘in order to’ create)
- [5] Figure 3.2
- [6] Lenz, F. date unknown
- [7] Ie. vitality destroyed in death
- [8] Hume, D. 1739 (1.4.6)
- [9] Descartes, R.1641
- [10] Albright, D. 2015, pg. 74
- [11] Figure 3.3
- [12] Blanchot, M. 1955
- [13] Descartes, R. 1637 94
- [14] Lundy, C. 2012, pg. 44
- [15] Weiss, P. 2008, pg. 389
- [16] Milinda Pañha, 200-100 BCE
- [17] Chaskalson, M. 2007
- [18] Ie. to construct our own rules
- [19] Sartre, J-P. 1948
- [20] Robinson, D. 2013, pg. 15
- [21] Figure 3.4
- [22] Rutherford, E. 1923
- [23] © Compound Chem graphic, 2016
- [24] Pope, R. 2005, pg. 192
- [25] Vaidman, L. 2018, 3.1
- [26] Husserl, E. 1917
- [27] Weeks, M. 2019, pg. 109
- [28] Weeks, M. 2019, pg. 108 - figure 3.5
- [29] Ie. AI with a mind/ conscious experience (contrast with ‘weak AI’)
- [30] Levin, J. 2018, 1.1
- [31] Levin, J. 2018, 2.2 - see figure 3.6
- [32] Oppy, G. 2020, 2.8
- [33] Chinese board game
- [34] Wolff, M. 2007, pg. 113
- [35] Figure 3.7
- [36] Wolff, M. 2007, pg. 115
- [37] St. Augustine, 400-500 AD
Bibliography:
- Albright, David. “Putting Modernism Together - Literature, Music and Painting, 1872-1927”, John Hopkins University Press (2015 Edition), ISBN: 9781421416434
- Chaskalson, Michael. “The Ocean of Interrelatedness”, Wildmind Meditation (2007 article extract) URL: https://www.wildmind.org/blogs/on-practice/chaskalson-interrelatedness
- Levin, Janet. “Functionalism”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (2018 Edition) URL: https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2018/entries/functionalism/
- Lundy, Craig. “History and Becoming: Deleuze’s Philosophy of Creativity”, Edinburgh University Press (2012 Edition) ISBN: 9780748645312
- Oppy, Graham; David, Dowe. “The Turing Test”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (2020 Edition), URL: https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2020/entries/turing-test/
- Pope, Rob. “Creativity - Theory, History, Practice”, Routledge Publishing (2005 Edition) ISBN: 9780415349161 Robinson, Dave; Groves, Judy. “Philosophy - A Graphic Guide”, Icon Books Ltd. (2013 Edition) ISBN: 978-184046-853-3
- Vaidman, Lev. “Many-Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (2018 Edition) URL: https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2018/entries/qm-manyworlds/
- Weeks, Marcus (et. al) “How Philosophy Works”, Penguin Random House (2019 Edition) ISBN: 978-0-2414-7220-0
- Weiss, Piero; Taruskin, Richard; “Music in the Western World”, Thomson Learning Inc. (2008 Edition) ISBN: 978-0-534-58599-0
- Wolff, Mark. “Rules of the Oulipian Game: Authorship and Posthuman Literature” Contemporary French and Francophone Studies 111-118 (2007 Edition) DOI: https://doi.org/10.1080/17409290601136110
Appendix:
Source: “How Philosophy Works”, pg. 109, ISBN: 978-0-2414-7220-0
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