Showing posts with label what the bleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label what the bleep. Show all posts

Friday, 10 October 2014

What the Bleep Do We Know!?


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What the Bleep Do We Know!?
Bleep lg.jpg
Promotional poster.
Directed byWilliam Arntz
Betsy Chasse
Mark Vicente
Produced byWilliam Arntz
Betsy Chasse
Mark Vicente
Written byWilliam Arntz
Matthew Hoffman
Betsy Chasse
Mark Vicente
CinematographyDavid Bridges
Mark Vicente
Edited byJonathan Shaw
Production
company
Distributed byRoadside Attractions
Release dates
  • April 23, 2004 (2004-04-23) (Phoenix)
  • June 18, 2004 (2004-06-18) (LA)
  • September 10, 2004 (2004-09-10) (NY)
Running time109 minutes
CountryUnited States
LanguageEnglish
Spanish
German
Box office$15,998,178
What the Bleep Do We Know!? (stylized as What tнē #$*! D̄ө ωΣ (k)πow!? and What the #$*! Do We Know!?) is a 2004 film that combines documentary-style interviews, computer-animated graphics, and a narrative that posits a spiritual connection between quantum physics and consciousness. The plot follows the story of a photographer as she encounters emotional and existential obstacles in her life and begins to consider the idea that individual and group consciousness can influence the material world. Her experiences are offered by the filmmakers to illustrate the movie's thesis about quantum physics and consciousness. The 2004 theatrical release of the film was followed by a substantially changed, extended DVD version in 2006.
Bleep was conceived and its production funded by William Arntz, who co-directed the film along with Betsy Chasse and Mark Vicente; all three were students of Ramtha's School of Enlightenment. A moderately low-budget independent film, it was promoted using viral marketing methods and opened in art-house theaters in the western United States, winning several independent film awards before being picked up by a major distributor and eventually grossing over $10 million.
The film has been criticized for both misrepresenting science and containing pseudoscience and has been described as a case of quantum mysticism.


Synopsis[edit]

Filmed in Portland, Oregon, What the Bleep Do We Know[1] presents a viewpoint of the physical universe and human life within it, with connections to neuroscience and quantum physics. Some ideas discussed in the film are:
  • The universe is best seen as constructed from thought (or ideas) rather than from matter.
  • "Empty space" is not empty.
  • Matter is not solid. Electrons pop in and out of existence and it is unknown where they disappear to.
  • Beliefs about who one is and what is real are a direct cause of oneself and of one's own realities.
  • Peptides manufactured in the brain can cause a bodily reaction to emotion.
In the narrative segments of the movie, Marlee Matlin portrays Amanda, a photographer who plays the role of everywoman as she experiences her life from startlingly new and different perspectives.
In the documentary segments of the film, interviewees discuss the roots and meaning of Amanda's experiences. The comments focus primarily on a single theme: We create our own reality. The director, William Arntz, has described What the Bleep as a movie for the "metaphysical left".[2]

Cast[edit]

Production[edit]

The film includes over four hundred visual effects shots[3] —a very large shot count for an independent, privately financed film. Budget constraints required an international effort. Work was split between Toronto-based Mr. X Inc., Lost Boys Studios in Vancouver, and Atomic Visual Effects in Cape Town, South Africa.[4] The visual effects team, led by Evan Jacobs, worked closely with the filmmakers to create visual metaphors that would capture the essence of the film's technical subjects with attention to aesthetic detail.[4]
The wedding was filmed in St. Patrick's Catholic Church, which was built in 1888 and is in northwest Portland. St. Patrick's is not a Polish parish, as was shown in the movie; historically it has had a primarily Irish congregation. Some of the interviews were filmed on the Campus of the University of Washington in Seattle. Most notably, the grand staircase and reading room of Suzzallo Library, the quad, and the front of Denny Hall were used as interview locations.

Promotion[edit]

Lacking the funding and resources of the typical Hollywood film, the filmmakers relied on "guerrilla marketing" first to get the film into theaters, and then to attract audiences. This has led to accusations, both formal and informal, directed towards the film's proponents, of spamming online message boards and forums with many thinly veiled promotional posts. Initially, the film was released in only two theaters: one in Yelm, Washington (the home of the producers, which is also the home of Ramtha), and the other the Bagdad Theater in Portland, Oregon, where it was filmed. Within several weeks, the film had appeared in a dozen or more theaters (mostly in the western United States), and within six months it had made its way into 200 theaters across the US.[5]
According to the makers of the film, "Bleep" is an expurgation of "fuck". William Arntz has referred to the film as "WTFDWK" in a message to Bleep's street team.[6]
The Institute of Noetic Sciences, a New Age research organization that "explores phenomena that do not necessarily fit conventional scientific models", has supported What the Bleep Do We Know!? and published a study guide.[7]

Reception[edit]

According to Publishers Weekly, the movie was one of the sleeper hits of 2004, as "word-of-mouth and strategic marketing kept it in theaters for an entire year." The article states that the domestic gross exceeded $10 million, described as not bad for a low-budget documentary, and that the DVD release attained even more significant success with over a million units shipped in the first six months following its release in March 2005.[5] Foreign gross added another $5 million for a worldwide gross of nearly $16 million.[8]
In the Publishers Weekly article, publicist Linda Rienecker of New Page Books says that she sees the film's success as part of a wider phenomenon, stating "A large part of the population is seeking spiritual connections, and they have the whole world to choose from now".[5] Author Barrie Dolnick adds that "people don't want to learn how to do one thing. They'll take a little bit of Buddhism, a little bit of veganism, a little bit of astrology... They're coming into the marketplace hungry for direction, but they don't want some person who claims to have all the answers. They want suggestions, not formulas."[5] The same article quotes Bill Pfau, Advertising Manager of Inner Traditions, as saying "More and more ideas from the New Age community have become accepted into the mainstream."
Film critics offered mixed reviews as seen on the movie review website Rotten Tomatoes, where it was classified as "Rotten", with an average score of 4.6/10 based on 74 reviews.[9] In his review of the movie, Dave Kehr of the New York Times described the "transition from quantum mechanics to cognitive therapy" as "plausible", but stated also that "the subsequent leap—from cognitive therapy into large, hazy spiritual beliefs—isn't as effectively executed. Suddenly people who were talking about subatomic particles are alluding to alternate universes and cosmic forces, all of which can be harnessed in the interest of making Ms. Matlin's character feel better about her thighs."[10]

New Age community reaction[edit]

What the Bleep Do We Know!? has been described as "a kind of New Age answer to The Passion of the Christ and other films that adhere to traditional religious teachings."[2] It offers alternative spirituality views characteristic of New Age philosophy, including critiques of traditional religion's moral values.[11]

Academic reaction[edit]

Scientists who have reviewed What the Bleep Do We Know!? have described distinct assertions made in the film as pseudoscience.[12][13] Lisa Randall refers to the film as "the bane of scientists".[14] Amongst the assertions in the film that have been challenged are that water molecules can be influenced by thought (as popularized by Masaru Emoto), that meditation can reduce violent crime rates,[15] and that quantum physics implies that "consciousness is the ground of all being." The film was also discussed in a letter published in Physics Today that challenges how physics is taught, saying teaching fails to "expose the mysteries physics has encountered [and] reveal the limits of our understanding". In the letter, the authors write: "the movie illustrates the uncertainty principle with a bouncing basketball being in several places at once. There's nothing wrong with that. It's recognized as pedagogical exaggeration. But the movie gradually moves to quantum 'insights' that lead a woman to toss away her antidepressant medication, to the quantum channeling of Ramtha, the 35,000-year-old Lemurian warrior, and on to even greater nonsense." It went on to say that "Most laypeople cannot tell where the quantum physics ends and the quantum nonsense begins, and many are susceptible to being misguided," and that "a physics student may be unable to convincingly confront unjustified extrapolations of quantum mechanics," a shortcoming which the authors attribute to the current teaching of quantum mechanics, in which "we tacitly deny the mysteries physics has encountered".[12]
Richard Dawkins stated that "the authors seem undecided whether their theme is quantum theory or consciousness. Both are indeed mysterious, and their genuine mystery needs none of the hype with which this film relentlessly and noisily belabours us", concluding that the film is "tosh". Professor Clive Greated wrote that "thinking on neurology and addiction are covered in some detail but, unfortunately, early references in the film to quantum physics are not followed through, leading to a confused message". Despite his caveats, he recommends that people see the movie, stating: "I hope it develops into a cult movie in the UK as it has in the US. Science and engineering are important for our future, and anything that engages the public can only be a good thing." Simon Singh called it pseudoscience and said the suggestion "that if observing water changes its molecular structure, and if we are 90% water, then by observing ourselves we can change at a fundamental level via the laws of quantum physics" was "ridiculous balderdash". According to João Magueijo, professor in theoretical physics at Imperial College, the film deliberately misquotes science.[13] The American Chemical Society's review criticizes the film as a "pseudoscientific docudrama", saying "Among the more outlandish assertions are that people can travel backward in time, and that matter is actually thought."[15]
Bernie Hobbs, a science writer with ABC Science Online, explains why the movie is wrong about quantum physics and reality: "The observer effect of quantum physics isn't about people or reality. It comes from the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, and it's about the limitations of trying to measure the position and momentum of subatomic particles... this only applies to sub-atomic particles—a rock doesn't need you to bump into it to exist. It's there. The sub-atomic particles that make up the atoms that make up the rock are there too." Hobbs also discusses Hagelin's experiment with Transcendental Meditation and the Washington DC rate of violent crime, saying that "the number of murders actually went up". Hobbs also disputed the film's use of the ten percent myth.[16]
David Albert, a philosopher of physics who appears in the film, has accused the filmmakers of selectively editing his interview to make it appear that he endorses the film's thesis that quantum mechanics is linked with consciousness. He says he is "profoundly unsympathetic to attempts at linking quantum mechanics with consciousness".[17] These issues relate to the so-called Quantum mind-body problem.
In the film, during a discussion of the influence of experience on perception, Candace Pert notes a story, which she says she believes is true, of Native Americans being unable to see Columbus's ships because they were outside their experience. According to an article in Fortean Times by David Hambling, the origins of this story likely involved the voyages of Captain James Cook, not Columbus, and an account related by Robert Hughes which said Cook's ships were "...complex and unfamiliar as to defy the natives' understanding". Hambling says it is likely that both the Hughes account and the story told by Pert were exaggerations of the records left by Captain Cook and the botanist Joseph Banks. Historians believe the Native Americans likely saw the ships but ignored them as posing no immediate danger.[18]
Skeptic James Randi described the film as "a fantasy docudrama" and "[a] rampant example of abuse by charlatans and cults".[19] Eric Scerri in a review for Committee for Skeptical Inquiry dismisses it as "a hodgepodge of all kinds of crackpot nonsense," where "science [is] distorted and sensationalized".[20] A BBC reviewer described it as "a documentary aimed at the totally gullible".[21]
According to Margaret Wertheim, "History abounds with religious enthusiasts who have read spiritual portent into the arrangement of the planets, the vacuum of space, electromagnetic waves and the big bang. But no scientific discovery has proved so ripe for spiritual projection as the theories of quantum physics, replete with their quixotic qualities of uncertainty, simultaneity and parallelism." Wertheim continues that the movie "abandons itself entirely to the ecstasies of quantum mysticism, finding in this aleatory description of nature the key to spiritual transformation. As one of the film’s characters gushes early in the proceedings, 'The moment we acknowledge the quantum self, we say that somebody has become enlightened'. A moment in which 'the mathematical formalisms of quantum mechanics [...] are stripped of all empirical content and reduced to a set of syrupy nostrums'."[22]
Journalist John Gorenfeld, writing in Salon, notes that the film's three directors are students of Ramtha's School of Enlightenment, which he says has been described as a cult.[17]

Book adaptation and sequel film[edit]

In mid-2005, the filmmakers worked with HCI Books to expand on the film's themes in a book titled What the Bleep Do We Know!?—Discovering the Endless Possibilities of Your Everyday Reality. HCI president Peter Vegso stated that in regard to this book, "What the Bleep is the quantum leap in the New Age world," and "by marrying science and spirituality, it is the foundation of future thought."[5]
On August 1, 2006 What the Bleep! Down the Rabbit Hole - Quantum Edition multi-disc DVD set was released, containing two extended versions of What the Bleep Do We Know!?, with over 15 hours of material on 6 DVD sides.

Featured individuals[edit]

The film features several interviewees for the documentary portion, including:

Awards[edit]

See also[edit]

References[edit]

  1. Jump up ^ http://www.glbtglobal.com/apps/videos/videos/show/16959713-what-the-bleep-do-we-know-?fb_action_ids=10151173920837848&fb_action_types=og.likes&fb_source=aggregation&fb_aggregation_id=288381481237582
  2. ^ Jump up to: a b Benedicta Cipolla "'Bleep' Film Challenges Traditional Religion, Attracts Following", beliefnet.com. Accessed 2007-12-30.
  3. Jump up ^ "Visual Effects / Animation". whatthebleep.com. Retrieved 2010-07-21. [dubious ]
  4. ^ Jump up to: a b "Cinefex article detailing the visual effects for the film". 
  5. ^ Jump up to: a b c d e Ron Hogan (9/5/2005). "New Age: What the Bleep? Categories conflate, confound, connect". Publishers Weekly. Retrieved 2007-12-28.  [dead link]
  6. Jump up ^ Our power is in our ability to decide - Can you? Ideas Coaching
  7. Jump up ^ Institute of Noetic Sciences. What the Bleep Do We Know!? Study Guide
  8. Jump up ^ Box office results from Box Office Mojo retrieved August 3, 2010
  9. Jump up ^ What the Bleep Do We Know? Movie Reviews, Pictures - Rotten Tomatoes
  10. Jump up ^ Kehr, Dave (2004-09-10). "A Lesson in Harnessing Good Vibes". New York Times. Retrieved 2008-01-06. 
  11. Jump up ^ "'What the #$*!'makes 'Bleep'so popular". Fort Worth Star Telegram. 2005-01-22. 
  12. ^ Jump up to: a b Kuttner, Fred; Rosenblum, Bruce (November 2006). "Teaching physics mysteries versus pseudoscience". Physics Today (American Institute of Physics) 59 (11): 14. Bibcode:2006PhT....59k..14K. doi:10.1063/1.2435631. 
  13. ^ Jump up to: a b "The minds boggle". The Guardian Unlimited
  14. Jump up ^ Randall, Lisa. Knocking on heaven's door : how physics and scientific thinking illuminate the universe and the modern world (1st ed. ed.). New York: Ecco. p. 10. ISBN 978-0-06-172372-8. 
  15. ^ Jump up to: a b Wilson, Elizabeth (2005-01-13). "What the Bleep Do We Know?!". American Chemical Society. Retrieved 2007-12-19. 
  16. Jump up ^ What the Bleep are they On About?! Australian Broadcasting Corporation
  17. ^ Jump up to: a b Gorenfeld, John (2004-09-16). ""Bleep" of faith". Salon. Retrieved 2006-11-29. 
  18. Jump up ^ David Hambling, "I see no ships: Questioning perceptual blindness", Fortean Times, February 2007.
  19. ^ Jump up to: a b 2004 Pigasus awards James Randi Educational Foundation
  20. Jump up ^ Review by Eric Scerri of the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry
  21. Jump up ^ Review at BBC Movies
  22. Jump up ^ Margaret Wertheim, "Quantum Mysticism" at the Wayback Machine (archived March 16, 2008), LA Weekly, June 10, 2004. Accessed 2010-07-21.
  23. Jump up ^ Mone, Gregory (October 2004). "Cult Science Dressing Up Mysticism as Quantum Physics". Popular Science. Retrieved 2008-02-17. 
  24. Jump up ^ Dr. Joe Dispenza from "What the Bleep do we Know" - Beyond the Ordinary Dot Net
  25. Jump up ^ "Third Annual Awards - 2004 Films". Ashland Independent Film Festival. ashlandfilm.org. Retrieved 2010-07-21. 
  26. Jump up ^ "DC Independent Film Festival". DC Independent Film Festival. dciff.org. Retrieved 2010-07-21. 
  27. Jump up ^ Baccil, Pat (2004-08-11). "What the... Bleep.... Do We Know the Docu Drama". Press XTVWorld (press.xtvworld.com). Retrieved 2010-07-21. 
  28. ^ Jump up to: a b Patchen, Nancy (2004-10-17). "What the 'Bleep' Do We Know?". Boloji. boloji.com. Retrieved 2010-07-21. 
  29. Jump up ^ "2004 Remi Winners:". worldfest.org. WorldFest-Houston International Film Festival. Retrieved 2010-07-21. 

Further reading[edit]

External links[edit]

Embrace the unexplained




Blogger Ref http://www.p2pfoundation.net/Multi-Dimensional_Science
The following is from the What The Bleep film site

Visions of the Impossible

How ‘fantastic’ stories unlock the nature of consciousness

By Jeffrey J. Kripal The greatest taboo among serious intellectuals of the century just behind us,in fact, proved to be none of the “transgressions” itemized by postmodern thinkers: It was, rather, the heresy of challenging a materialist worldview. —Victoria Nelson, The Secret Life of Puppets (2002) Consider two impossible tales. Scene 1. Mark Twain was famous for mocking every orthodoxy and convention, including, it turns out, the conventions of space and time. As he relates the events in his diaries, Twain and his brother Henry were working on the riverboat Pennsylvania in June 1858. While they were in port in St. Louis, the writer had a dream:
In the morning, when I awoke I had been dreaming, and the dream was so vivid, so like reality, that it deceived me, and I thought it was real. In the dream I had seen Henry a corpse. He lay in a metallic burial case. He was dressed in a suit of my clothing, and on his breast lay a great bouquet of flowers, mainly white roses, with a red rose in the centre.
Twain awoke, got dressed, and prepared to go view the casket. He was walking to the house where he thought the casket lay before he realized “that there was nothing real about this—it was only a dream.” Alas, it was not. A few weeks later, Henry was badly burned in a boiler explosion and then accidentally killed when some young doctors gave him an overdose of opium for the pain. Normally the dead were buried in a simple pine coffin, but some women had raised $60 to put Henry in a metal one. Twain explains what happened next:
When I came back and entered the dead-room Henry lay in that open case, and he was dressed in a suit of my clothing. He had borrowed it without my knowledge during our last sojourn in St. Louis; and I recognized instantly that my dream of several weeks before was here exactly reproduced, so far as these details went—and I think I missed one detail; but that one was immediately supplied, for just then an elderly lady entered the place with a large bouquet consisting mainly of white roses, and in the center of it was a red rose, and she laid it on his breast.
Who would not be permanently marked, at once inspired and haunted, by such a series of events? Who of us, if this were our dream and our brother, could honestly dismiss it as a series of coincidences? Twain could not. He was obsessed with such moments in his life, of which there were many. In 1878 he described some of them in an essay and even theorized how they worked. But he could not bring himself to publish it, as he feared “the public would treat the thing as a joke whereas I was in earnest.” He offered the essay to the North American Review on the condition that it be published anonymously. The magazine refused to do so. Finally, Twain published the article in Harper’s, in two installments: “Mental Telegraphy: A Manuscript With a History” (1891) and “Mental Telegraphy Again” (1895).
Mental telegraphy. The technological metaphor points to Twain’s conviction that such events were connected to the acts of reading and writing. Indeed, he suspected that whatever processes this mental telegraphy involved had some relationship to the sources of his literary powers. The “manuscript with a history” of the first essay’s title refers to a detailed plotline for a story about some Nevada silver mines that one day came blazing into his mind. Twain came to believe that he had received this idea from a friend 3,000 miles away through mental telegraphy.
Scene 2. The American forensic pathologist Janis Amatuzio’s book Beyond Knowing is filled with extraordinary stories of impossible things that routinely happen around death. Here is one such tale.
It began one night when Amatuzio encountered a very troubled hospital chaplain, who asked her if she knew how they had found the body of a young man recently killed in a car accident. Amatuzio replied that her records showed that the Coon Rapids Police Department had recovered the body in a frozen creek bed at 4:45 a.m.
“No,” the man replied. “Do you know how they really found him?” The chaplain then explained how he had spoken with the dead man’s wife, who related a vivid dream she’d had that night of her husband standing next to her bed, apologizing and explaining that he had been in a car accident, and that his car was in a ditch where it could not be seen from the road. She awoke immediately, at 4:20, and called the police to tell them that her husband had been in a car accident not far from their home, and that his car was in a ravine that could not be seen from the road. They recovered the body 20 minutes later.
Most scholars have no idea what to do with such poignant, powerful stories, other than to dismiss them with lazy words like “anecdote” or “coincidence.” Or perhaps we could study their textual histories and show that they are not as straightforward as they seem. That would be a relief.
As with the heads of Hercules’ Lernaean Hydra, however, with every story we so decapitate, three more, or three thousand more, appear. We are swimming in a sea of such stories, if only we could recognize our situation. We do not know how many such stories there might be, much less what they might mean. We do not know because we have never really tried to find out. Why, after all, would we study something that does not exist? “Water?” the fish asks. “What’s water?”
It is worse than that, though. It is not just that we are told that such things, which happen all the time, cannot happen at all. It is that there are subtle, and not so subtle, punishments in place for those who take such events seriously—that is, for those who let the Hydra stand. Note that both stories feature a kind of professional fear. Twain struggled for years with whether to own his experiences in print. Even the hospital chaplain was shaken to the core by what he encountered. Clearly these events violate something basic about our worldview and our established ways of knowing. That is why Amatuzio titled her book Beyond Knowing.
It is not just our fault, though. There are fundamental ambiguities inherent in the experiences themselves, ambiguities that make it difficult to put and keep these experiences on our academic tables. To start with, these things are not things. Nor are they replicable or measurable. And then there is the key role that the human imagination plays in these visions.
I have recounted two fairly straightforward, empirical cases, but the records are filled with more difficult, that is, more symbolic or outright mythical accounts whose strangeness would boggle even the most generous minds. Finally, the recounting of even the empirical cases is often changed in small ways (missing an important detail or supplying a nonexistent one), which suggests that these visions are accurate anomalous cognitions that have been “filled in” with imagined details—mixtures of trick and truth.
The early-Victorian researchers had it right: They called dreams like the two with which I began “veridical hallucinations,” or hallucinations corresponding to real events.
We are not very good at such paradoxical ways of thinking today. We tend to think of the imagined as imaginary, that is, made up, fanciful. But something else is shining through, at least in these extreme cases. Somehow Twain’s dreaming imagination knew that his brother would be dead in a few weeks—it even knew what kind of bouquet would sit on his brother’s breathless chest. Similarly, the wife’s dream-vision knew that her husband had just been killed and where his body lay. In those events, words like “imagined” and “real,” “inside” and “outside,” “subject” and “object,” “mental” and “material” cease to have much meaning. And yet such words name the most basic structures of our knowing.
Or not knowing.
Both stories are about a kind of traumatic transcendence, a visionary warping of space and time effected by the gravity of intense human suffering. Even these most basic “categories of the understanding,” as Immanuel Kant called them, surrender their reign before the needs of the human heart. Much as Kant argued, these appear to be our own cognitive filters, not some perfect reflection of what is really there, or, dare I add, of what we are really capable.
There was more to Kant’s fundamental insight than philosophical precision. On August 10, 1763, the philosopher marveled (in a private letter) at the clairvoyant abilities of the Swedish scientist-seer Emanuel Swedenborg, who, in 1756, related to some dinner guests, in Gothenburg, the precise details of a fire advancing in a southern suburb of Stockholm, 50 miles away. From 6 to 8 in the evening, he reported on the fire’s advance until it was finally put out, just three doors from his own house. In the next few days, Swedenborg’s account was investigated and confirmed by the political authorities after the news spread and the governor got involved.
But here is the catch: Kant may have clearly accepted in private the empirical truth of such an extraordinary event, but he mocked and made fun of Swedenborg in public. There is that professional fear again.
Debunkers misunderstand such stories as the soon-to-be-dead brother, the appearance of the fatal-car-accident victim, and the advancing fire—all of which happened under extreme circumstances—when they ask, with a sneer, why all psychics do not get rich on the stock market, or why robust psychic phenomena cannot be made to appear in the controlled laboratory.
Putting aside for the moment the fact that psychics sometimes do get rich, and that statistically significant but humble forms of psychic phenomena do in fact appear in laboratories, the answer to why robust events like those of Twain, the widowed wife, and the Stockholm fire do not appear in the lab is simple: There is no trauma, love, or loss there. No one is in danger or dying. Your neighborhood is not on fire. The professional debunker’s insistence, then, that the phenomena play by his rules and appear for all to see in a safe and sterile laboratory is little more than a mark of his own ignorance of the nature of the phenomena in question. To play by those rules is like trying to study the stars at midday. It is like going to the North Pole to study those legendary beasts called zebras. No doubt just anecdotes.
Context matters. Methods that rely on or favor extreme conditions are employed in science all the time to discover and demonstrate knowledge. As Aldous Huxley pointed out long ago in his own defense of “mystical” experiences suggestive of spirit or soul, we have no reason to deduce that water is composed of two gases glued together by invisible forces. We know this only by exposing water to extreme conditions, by traumatizing it, and then by detecting and measuring the gases with technology that no ordinary person possesses or understands. The situation is eerily analogous with impossible scenarios like those of Twain, the wife, and the Swedish seer. They are generally available only in traumatic situations, when the human being is being “boiled” in illness, stroke, coma, danger, or near-death.
Allow me to update Huxley. Nothing in our everyday experience gives us any reason to suppose that matter is not material, that it is made up of bizarre forms of energy that violate, very much like spirit, all of our normal notions of space, time, and causality. Yet when we subject matter to certain drastic conditions, like the Large Hadron Collider, near Geneva, Switzerland, then we can see that matter is not material at all. But—and this is the key—we can get to that point only through a great deal of physical violence, a violence so extreme and so precise that it cost billions of dollars and decades of preparation to inflict and then analyze it.
Because we’ve invested our energy, time, and money in particle physics, we are finding out all sorts of impossible things. But we will not invest those resources in the study of anomalous states of cognition and consciousness, and so we continue to work with the most banal models of mind—materialist and mechanistic ones. While it is true that some brain research has gone beyond assuming that “mind equals brain” and that the psyche works like, or is, a computer, we are still afraid of the likelihood that we are every bit as bizarre as the quantum world, and that we possess fantastic capacities that we have allowed ourselves to imagine only in science fiction, fantasy literature, and comic books.
Take my own discipline, the history of religions, which is filled with countless tales that make my two opening stories look ordinary. We are told endlessly, and quite correctly, that religious experience of every sort is “constructed” by local languages, ritual practices, and institutions. We thus insist on “contextualizing” every experience and event, which means locking them down tight to a particular physical point in space-time and so not allowing them to inform how we understand other obviously similar experiences and events at other points of space-time.
For example, individuals have been seeing dead loved ones (or loved ones about to die at a distance) for millennia, which suggests strongly that experiences like those of Twain, the widowed wife, and Swedenborg are very much a part of our world and not simply constructed by culture. Such comparisons are deeply suspect these days, mostly because they end up suggesting something at work in history that is not strictly materialist—like a mind that knows what is going to happen before it happens, or a departed soul that appears to his sleeping wife.
In the same vein, we are told, again quite correctly, that religion is about power and politics, or economics, or patriarchy, or empire and colonial oppression, or psychological projection, or the denial of death, or—now the latest—cognitive templates, evolutionary adaptation, and computerlike synapses. And ultimately, of course, what religion is really about is nothing, since we are nothing but meaningless, statistically organized matter bouncing around in empty, dead space.
In the rules of this materialist game, the scholar of religion can never take seriously what makes an experience or expression religious, since that would involve some truly fantastic vision of human nature and destiny, some transhuman divinization, some mental telegraphy, dreamlike soul, clairvoyant seer, or cosmic consciousness. All of that is taken off the table, in principle, as inappropriate to the academic project. And then we are told that there is nothing “religious” about religion, which, of course, is true, since we have just discounted all of that other stuff.
We have conscious intellectuals telling us that consciousness does not really exist as such.
Our present flatland models have rendered human nature something like the protagonist Scott Carey in the film The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957). With every passing decade, human nature gets tinier and tinier and less and less significant. In a few more years, maybe we’ll just blip out of existence (like poor Scott at the end of the film), reduced to nothing more than cognitive modules, replicating DNA, quantum-sensitive microtubules in the synapses of the brain, or whatever. We are constantly reminded of the “death of the subject” and told repeatedly that we are basically walking corpses with computers on top—in effect, technological zombies, moist robots, meat puppets. We are in the ridiculous situation of having conscious intellectuals tell us that consciousness does not really exist as such, that there is nothing to it except cognitive grids, software loops, and warm brain matter. If this were not so patently absurd and depressing, it would be funny.
Humanists have paid a heavy price for their shrinking act. We are more or less ignored now by both the general public and our colleagues in the natural sciences, whose disciplines, of course, make no sense at all outside of universal observations, and who often work from bold cosmic visions, wildly counterintuitive models (think ghostlike multiverses and teleporting particles), and evolutionary spans of time that make our “histories” look insignificant and boring by comparison.
I am aware, of course, that there are signs of life in the humanities. I am thinking in particular of the development of “big history” in historiography and of the new materialisms, vitalisms, and panpsychisms of contemporary philosophy, as evident in Thomas Nagel’s recent well-publicized doubts about the adequacy of neo-Darwinian materialism, expressed in his book Mind and Cosmos.
These are all positive signs, but I wonder if they are bold enough. A new materialism is, after all, still materialism, and the big histories remain allergic to any hint that human beings may be more than historical beings. In short, these new moves still keep the game-changing evidence off the table.
I also wonder if there are good reasons for ignoring the humanities. Why, after all, should anyone listen to the truth claims of a set of disciplines whose central arguments often boil down to the claim that the only truth is that there is no truth; that all efforts toward truth are nothing more than power grabs; and that all deep conversation across cultural and temporal boundaries is essentially illusory—that we are all, in effect, locked into our local language games, condemned to watching shadows in our heads, which are going nowhere and mean nothing?
I am chained to that brain floor like everyone else. I am making no certain metaphysical claims here, although I am pointing out that our present ones have erased huge swaths of the human experience and, by so doing, have impoverished our thinking. I have not, like Plato’s hero, escaped from the cave of the senses and seen the sun of mind outside. But over the past three decades, I have read and spoken with many who have described some hint or gleam of exactly such a shining intellect.
I suggest a way out of our present impasse: We should put these extreme narratives, these impossible stories, in the middle of our academic table. I would also like to make a wager, here and now, that once we put these currently rejected forms of knowledge on our academic table, things that were once impossible to imagine will soon become possible not only to imagine but also to think, theorize, and even test. I am betting, in other words, that we actually need these so-called impossible things to come up with better answers to our most pressing questions, including the biggest question of all: the nature of consciousness.
Toward this same end, I propose that we reimagine the humanities as the study of consciousness coded in culture. I am not suggesting that we can study consciousness directly, or that any ego can ever know what consciousness is in itself. I understand that we can study consciousness only as it is reflected and refracted in cultural artifacts, like texts, art objects, languages, and social institutions, or, as the cognitive scientists have it, in cognition.
But I think it matters a great deal whether we are willing to imagine that consciousness might exist in its own right and may well be more than a function of brain matter or local historical and cultural processes. Even the admission of this possibility would be enough to bring the humanities back to consciousness and humanists back to the academic table as central and valued participants. The humanities would no longer be, as my Rice University colleague Timothy Morton puts it, “candy sprinkles” on the cake of scientism. Quite the contrary: Our texts, our narratives, and our methods of interpretation would function as guiding ideals, as pointers to where anyone interested in the nature of mind might go for answers.
After all, consciousness is the fundamental ground of all that we know or ever will know. It is the ground of all of the sciences, all of the arts, all of the social sciences, all of the humanities, indeed all human knowledge and experience. Moreover, as far as we can tell, this presence is sui generis. It is its own thing. We know of nothing else like it in the universe, and anything we might know later we will know only through this same consciousness. Many want to claim the exact opposite, that consciousness is not its own thing, is reducible to warm, wet tissue and brainhood. But no one has come close to showing how that might work. Probably because it doesn’t.
Abroad historical perspective might help here. As scholars like the American literary critic Victoria Nelson, in The Secret Life of Puppets, or the Dutch historian Wouter Hanegraaff, in Esotericism and the Academy, have demonstrated, Western intellectual history has seen immense swings back and forth between Platonism and Aristotelianism: between a philosophy rooted in mystical and visionary experience (a Platonism that helped produce, among other things, the conviction that profound mathematical and philosophical truths are “remembered” or “discovered” and not “constructed”) and an empirical rationalism that bases its knowledge on sense data and linear logic. With the rise of science, rational empiricism has been dominant for the past few centuries.
The solution is not simply to swing back to some kind of pure Platonism, but to effect a synthesis of the two modes of knowing. The sciences are a big help here, for two reasons. First, because they can challenge humanists to abandon their absolute constructivism, and second, because the sciences have utterly failed to explain consciousness.
We now have two models of the brain and its relationship to mind, an Aristotelian one and a Platonic one, both of which fit the neuroscientific data well enough: the reigning production model (mind equals brain), and the much older but now suppressed transmission or filter model (mind is experienced through or mediated, shaped, reduced, or translated by brain but exists in its own right “outside” the skull cavity).
Whether we can eventually address both the hard problem of consciousness and its elaborate coding in human culture hinges on whether we can integrate the Aristotelian and Platonic models, resisting an either-or solution. So far we have not been able to resist. The rules of what gets counted in academe are defined by the dominance of the production model and the suppression of the transmission model. In short, today Plato may admire Aristotle, but Aristotle sneers at Plato.
That is probably not the end of the story, though. Consider the musings of one contemporary neuroscientist, David Eagleman, who teaches and does research at the Baylor College of Medicine. At the end of his bookIncognito, Eagleman turns to the question of the soul and expresses reservations about promissory materialism, the commonly heard claim that, although we do not yet know how to explain mind through material processes, we eventually will. Indeed, everything will eventually be explained in a materialist framework, because everything is only matter.
Maybe, Eagleman concludes. Or maybe not. It is extremely unlikely that we just happen to be living at the moment when all things will soon be explained. Previous generations claimed the same, and they were all quite wrong. The likelier scenario, he observes, is that the more we learn about the brain and consciousness, the stranger, not simpler, things will get. Here is where one of his thought experiments comes in. A parable:
Imagine that you are a Kalahari Bushman and that you stumble upon a transistor radio in the sand. You might pick it up, twiddle the knobs, and suddenly, to your surprise, hear voices streaming out of this strange little box. … Now let’s say you begin a careful, scientific study of what causes the voices. You notice that each time you pull out the green wire, the voices stop. When you put the wire back on its contact, the voices begin again. … You come to a clear conclusion: The voices depend entirely on the integrity of the circuitry. At some point, a young person asks you how some simple loops of electrical signals can engender music and conversations, and you admit that you don’t know—but you insist that your science is about to crack that problem at any moment.
Assuming that you are truly isolated, what you do not know is pretty much everything that you need to know: radio waves, electromagnetism, distant cities, radio stations, and modern civilization—everything outside the radio box. You would not have the capacity to even imagine such things. And if you could, Eagleman says, “you have no technology to demonstrate the existence of the waves, and everyone justifiably points out that the onus is on you to convince them.” You could convince almost no one, and you yourself would probably reject the existence of such mysterious, spiritlike waves. You would become a “radio materialist.” Eagleman points out at the end of his book: “I’m not asserting that the brain is like a radio, but I am pointing out that it could be true. There is nothing in our current science that rules this out.”
Countless clues suggest that the human brain may function as an imperfect receiver of some transhuman signal.
William James, Henri Bergson, and Aldous Huxley all argued the same long before Eagleman. Bergson even used the same radio analogy. This is where the historian of religions—this one, anyway—steps in. There are, after all, countless other clues in the history of religions that rule the radio theory in, and that suggest, though hardly prove, that the human brain may function as a super-evolved neurological radio or television and, in rare but revealing moments when the channel suddenly “switches,” as an imperfect receiver of some transhuman signal that simply does not play by the rules as we know them.
Although it relies on an imperfect technological metaphor, the beauty of the radio or transmission model is that it is symmetrical, intellectually generous, and—above all—capable of demonstrating what we actually see in the historical data, when we really look. It is symmetrical and generous in the sense that it affirms everything we have been doing for the past century or so in the humanities and the sciences (all that Aristotelian stuff about the body and the brain), and it puts back on the table much of the evidence that we have taken off as impossible or nonexistent (all that Platonic stuff about the human spirit). In this same generous, symmetrical spirit, it is not that materialism is wrong. It is that it is half-right.
Such a radio model certainly has no problem understanding how Mark Twain could have known about his brother’s imminent funeral, why a wife could know about her husband’s distant car wreck, or why a Swedish scientist could track a fire 50 miles away. The mind can know things distant in space and time because it is not limited to space or time. Mind is not “in” the radio or brain box. The payoff here is immense: The impossible suddenly becomes possible. Indeed, it becomes predictable.
What we have been doing for the past few centuries is studying the construction and workings of the physical radio. But the radio was built for the radio signal (and vice versa). How can we understand the one without the other? It is time to come to terms with both. It is time to invite Plato back to the table—to restore the humanities to consciousness. The rest will follow.
Jeffrey J. Kripal is a professor of religious studies at Rice University. He is the author, most recently (with Ata Anzali, Andrea R. Jain, and Erin Prophet), of the textbook Comparing Religions: Coming to Terms (Wiley, 2014).
What the Bleep Do We Know!?



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