Thursday, November 15, 2012

Weeding


I have avoided weeding for a long time, but I'm beginning to grow annual vegetables, so I need to start doing it.
I dislike weeding. At one time I couldn't bear to kill the little weedies, but that's no longer the issue. I just am not good at it. It seems for every weed I pull I remove one of the seedlings I planted. And since the weeds are endless but the seedlings numbered I soon will have nothing left to weed but weeds themselves.
The weeds in my garden are largely bulb-forming plants. These are hard to remove. I pull them and they break off and just come back the next day. I pull really carefully, on days when the soil is exactly damp enough, and get a few of the bulbs out. But not enough. Crocosmia is pretty easy, I get probably one in two or even better. A quarter to a third of the three-cornered leeks. Maybe about the same for cuckoo-pint. But sour grass? One in twenty, IF the soil has been turned recently. More usually one in fifty.
Demoralizing.
I plant my little seedy things in October when the rains are due soon. I water the surface and I watch them sprout. Cute little seed leaves and soon real leaves and I can start recognizing them. Initially it looks hopeful. The bulby things are way under ground and dormant, and it takes a while for the rains to start and for the bulbs to notice it's damp and start growing and catch up.
But then I come out one morning and they're up. My seedlings are growing a few micrometers a day in the cool and damp of the autumn. But once the bulbs reach the surface - BOOM - they're growing inches overnight. Where are my cabbages? My micro beets? Hidden under a jungle of sour grass. And worse, I can't even pull these things effectively until they shade and hide my vegetable sprouts, because until they are big enough to get a good grip on them I have NO CHANCE of pulling them out by their roots. It's wasted effort, with the side effect of pulling out my baby broccoli that's tangled up with it. The results are as described above.
I know I should be sheet mulching with cardboard or newspaper and lots of nice organic matter above it, but the yard has a few native plants and I have high hopes that there are seeds in the soil of plants that I'd love to have, just waiting to appear. So in the hope that, as I take away the invasives that are crowding them, exciting native plants might emerge - as well as my fundamentally lazy attitude and utter conviction that until I am ready to establish something better I may as well leave the weeds - I leave most of my yard unmulched; scattering seeds, tucking little plants into appealing corners, and waiting for succession to transform the yard. But even where I know I am planting vegetables and know I will be fighting the weeds, it is hard for me to think ahead. I get carried away by enthusiasm. When I see the rain is on its way I go out and plant seeds, totally forgetting about laying down an impervious layer of sheet mulch.
My yard has one of the world's foremost collections of well-established toxic volunteers. So few of the weeds here are edible that I had to give up my favorite Sunday breakfast, eggs and weeds. I barely have a dandelion to my name. (Though I have been planting them when I find seeds, and they are spreading. Hooray.) In addition to the aforementioned bulbiferous weeds, I have a yard full of poke, ivy, nightshade, and two varieties of spurge.
A few of the weeds here are edible, but still not desirable. Cleavers isn't exactly toxic, but it's problematic when it gets into my socks and my longhaired cat. Burr chervil is even stickerier. the greens are too small to eat, and it's so similar to a lot of toxic apiaceae that I'm uncomfortable harvesting it.

I am encouraging the plantain, but not the dock, with its tall seed stalks that bark my shins trying to trip me. Blackberries seldom ripen here and the few berries aren't worth the thorns sprouting up everywhere. I use a few nasturtium flowers, but I don't need them covering half my yard. Fortunately nasturtium is one of the easiest plants to pull out but it drops viable seeds everywhere. And I need no more plum, I already have a forest of them. They are coming up everywhere from many years of ungathered fruit.
The three cornered leeks are edible, but the texture of bulbs is coarse and mealy, and they need a lot of washing. I cook with them when I have pulled a good quantity, but if I am growing an onion for the table there are lots of others I enjoy more. If I'm growing them as part of the ecosystem, there are several really pretty and unusual California native wild onions I'd rather have.
Poke, though toxic, is eaten, but only if picked and prepared correctly. Generally one picks it in the spring as it emerges from dormancy. But here in California it never goes dormant, so that's not a useful rule. I'd like to work with someone who has picked and eaten it as a traditional food. If you google it you will find lots of warnings about how toxic it is, and how one must boil it in three changes of water before eating it. But I suspect that's just the interwebs quoting itself. The JL Hudson catalog, which I rather trust, has a sidebar saying that anyone who insists you boil poke ought to be forced to boil their asparagus. But still, I'd feel better if I had someone show me exactly what to pick, and eat it with me the first time.

Monday, July 16, 2012

tamalpais seen as a tropical island



across the water

peaks wreathed in raincloud
shoulders of wet forest in shadow
vivid a slanted swath of sunlight on her flanks

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Shot of a lifetime, and me without my camera!

I'm driving up the onramp at Grand Avenue, after a long and circuitous attempt to find the freeway entrance.

It looks like there's a building on fire on the right just before the freeway.

I drive to the top, looking over to see what's aflame.

SEMI TRUCK ablaze. I have a red light. Totally unimpeded view. No one is in front of me at the light. No one in the lane to my right. At the head of the line of traffic coming from the right, as if about to cross my path, there's a semi with its engine on fire. Flames are shooting out of the front. Heavy black smoke. I roll up my window. The wind is blowing away from me. There are a few pedestrians watching from a distance. Doesn't look to me like a safe distance. I am wondering what to do, whether it's safe to be stopped at the light with a truck possibly about to blow up fifteen yards away. Not my usual onramp, I don't know where I'll end up if I go left. Right is totally wrong, plus it takes me closer to the truck. I sit there and stare. It's a long light. Boom! The fuel tank explodes. I jump, and thank the stars that nothing reached me. The billows of smoke triple in size and the first forty feet or more of it fills with crimson flames. The steel of the engine compartment is visibly melting away. My light turns green. I drive away, parallel to the cloud of smoke. I don't even smell anything. Then I'm gone.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

When life gives you plums

They're falling all over the yard. They bounce off the beehive. They fall on my head. (Truly. Right on my crown. I took it for a sign. I think I took it for the wrong sign.)

I'm on my hands and knees crawling through the grass picking up little red and orange cherry plums. Inch and a half fruits that look like big cherries and taste like mealy tart plums. Why am I doing this? To make plum wine.

I barely even drink. What for do I want plum wine? I can go to the store and get almost any kind of alcohol I want. In fact, I probably have on hand more hooch than I'm likely to drink in my lifetime.

And plum wine? I live in the land of the wine snob. Grape wine that is. Varietals and vintages and terroirs. Where's the snob appeal in plum? Come on, plum wine is for the backwoods. These plums are a weed. They are the local equivalent of the giant zucchini you can't give away.

Admittedly, I need to pick up the ones that are in my path. I walk all over the garden to water. I don't want to step on them and end up with the yard paved with moldy squashed plums everywhere. Nor do I want them to sprout into next year's weeds. And I hate to waste fruit. So as long as I'm filling buckets with them, I may as well use them.

It becomes a kind of sticky obsessive easter egg hunt. They're colorful and bright. I comb through the long grass and crawl into the underbrush where the neighbor cat has a nest. It looks like he has laid a clutch of little red eggs. My friends feel guilty about throwing them away. I feel guilty about spending all this time picking them up and processing them.

If I want to sit on the ground until my legs fall asleep and put things in a bucket, I could pull weeds. That at least would be a useful improvement.

You'd think I'd pick up the ones that are in my way or on the lawn and leave the ones I'm not likely to step on, but no: I feel compelled to be thorough. As long as I'm trying to use them, I want to get them all. And the hidden ones are the most fun to find. Bright red treasure, glowing like gems in the sunshine. They're irresistible.

Initially I was bending over to pick them up. Then they started falling faster. I need to sit down to reach so many without getting exhausted. Now that I've had to be away for a few days, there are dozens of plums per square foot in some parts of the yard. It's not only my compulsive tendencies that keep me picking up every one I find. I need to clear the space so that I can sit there and reach the next area. Most of them I can't even see until I'm sitting near - or, frequently, on - them. I've picked up thousands. It's getting more difficult as more of them accumulate from previous days, squashed or bird-bitten booby traps. And now that they've been there a few days, many of them can't even be picked up to throw towards the fence, where I'm less likely to walk. They're too rotten to grasp. I just have to sit in them.

But plum wine? Nobody makes wine from plums. From plums and water and sugar, perhaps. But just plums? Too thick, not sweet enough. Too much waste. I throw away almost half my volume in pomace. Well, I suppose I could make plum eau de vie with the pomace. But where do I get a still? Hmmm...

And worst of all I'm working with wild yeasts. For some loony reason, I won't do all the sensible steps of washing and cooking and sterilizing and using a proper wine yeast. I'm mashing them and letting them sit. I want to find out what I get with wild yeast. It's going to be tons of work for nothing but mold and vinegar.

But what if it works? It could be really special.

Friday, July 13, 2012

What I did on my summer vacation


This year my summer vacation happened in the spring. It was exhausting.

May 20 was the date of an annular eclipse of the sun, fully visible from locations a three hour drive from where I live. I had been looking forward to seeing it for several decades. I don't chase around the globe to view eclipses, but I do enjoy them, and have never seen a full eclipse of the sun, though I have tried. Turned out I was not going to be in California for this one. My son's graduation from medical school was the 20th. No eclipse in Vermont.

In February when I tried to plan the trip, I found out he was also getting married. But he didn't have a date yet -  actually he hadn't proposed yet, so I should please wait and not buy my tickets for a while. In late March I found out the date: May 19. "This way," he said, " I don't have to get used to one change and then another. I can adjust to them all at once."

Okay. How can I help, from this far away? Who's putting it on? Who's cooking? "Our friends are cooking. I'm sure they'd be glad to have your help." So I planned to show up a few days early, stay a few days after, see how I could make myself useful, hope my son had a little time to hang out.

When we bought the tickets my husband Nels noticed we were changing planes in New York, and having never been there, decided we must stay a few days. And I wanted to give myself a gift for the occasion, which would be a trip to see the Bay of Fundy, since we were as close to there as I was likely to ever be. The trip was becoming long and complex, with three climates and activities from formal partying to hiking.

I found nothing in ready-to-wear, and decided to have a dress made for the wedding. The time was rather tight, so I went with the first dressmaker who responded to my inquiry and was accessible. Tough process, choosing fabric, pattern, fitting, coordinating. I thought it would be ready a couple of weeks in advance. She delivered it late in the afternoon the day before we left. And it wasn't wearable. After an hour of panic, a good cry, and several phone calls, I was saved by a friend who helped me hem up the lining and modify the neckline to make it usable if not glamourous.

Just before we left home Nels got sick. He was quite droopy, sneezing and running a fever. Our ride to the airport was late. At the airport they were paging me before I reached the plane. We landed at JFK with him still feverish, eventually got a cab to town, reached our room a couple of hours later than Nels's optimistic forecast. He had wanted to make a dinner reservation before we traveled. No way. I found us a place to get dinner, excellent beer and sausages, German host and his little black children, seating outside on the sidewalk, right around the corner from our room in West Harlem. Whew! Saved. Felt better enough to walk to Riverside Drive, watch the river, and the families going home, and the rats in the ivy.

Our room was rather depressing. Our hostess was friendly enough, but the place was dilapidated, grimy, airless, and crowded. We were too tired to relocate. When we were asleep it didn't bother us. First day was beautiful, clear and bright. We walked to Cemtral Park. There we met a friend who lives in the city and was willing to show us around. We went to the Cloisters. Enjoyed the gardens, the view, the art. Saw a groundhog (my first) in the garden. Over the several days we were there we went shopping, saw big buildings, rode the subway, went to MOMA and the Metropolitan Museum (it was raining, so we didn't want to go to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, which had been our plan), and had one fabulous meal.

When I was a child I spent a lot of time looking at my mother's art books. My favorite painting in reproduction was El Greco's View of Toledo. While we were at the Met, Nels left. looking for the men's room, and in order to find each other again I said I'd go to the next room and sit down. I did so, and after a moment of just resting my feet, I looked up. Right in front of me was Toledo. Made the trip worthwhile.

The day we left was clear, so we figured we could go to the Botanic Garden on the way to the airport. Similar direction, why not? Turns out, cabs don't stop in Brooklyn. You flag them, they don't stop. By the time we figured that out and got on the subway, it was the time I would have preferred to arrive at the airport. We were not good at the subway yet, and it was full of signs telling about service changes that we didn't understand. It was difficult to carry our bags, and both scary and suspenseful. I thought I'd certainly miss the plane. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't going to miss the wedding even if I was held up a day. When we checked our bags the lady facilitated us through security and we made it to the plane.

We flew into Burlington Wednesday, had dinner with Sulei and his fiancé Sammy, and went to our room. It was a spacious quiet clean house, a useful and pleasant room. Thursday morning we went to Sulei & Sam's house and started thinking about arrangements for the wedding. The main thing I needed to do was cater the dinner. The kids expected about a hundred guests. They had bought seventy game hens, which were distributed among several refrigerators a number of miles apart. We brainstormed a menu. I drove out to collect some of them and meet the bride's mother. and stepfather Not too awkward. They wanted us to stay longer but didn't offer to feed us or anything, so we begged off and went to get dinner. Then we did a late-night grocery run, picked up an enormous quantity of food. OK. Ready to roll.

Friday, my daughter Iris and her boyfriend David had arrived. We went to pick them up. We were staying north of town, they were south of town. Turns out we had to drive to, or through, the south end of town every day, for almost everything we wanted or needed to do. Slow trip, lots of traffic. I got very tired of it, but never memorized the most efficient way to go. We all went to Sam and Sulei's and hung out. I started mixing up the marinade for the chicken. The boys, Sulei's friends from high school who were staying there, had said they wanted to cut the chickens. We waited for them to get back from the bachelor party, but eventually we had to take care of it without them. Sam and her sister Dani called all their friends who were going to help and we hustled up pots (Can I use those buckets on your porch? How dirty are they?), did another shopping run, and managed to get the cooking well started over the course of the day.

Friday night was a party at Sam's mother and stepfather's, so the cooking and other preparations had to be put on hold. Afterwards we did some more shopping.

Saturday was the big day. There was just as much cooking as there had been the day before or more, but the troops were not available. The boys to the rescue! The three young men who were staying there pitched in and made light work of chopping and stirring, and distributed the heavy pans of food to be cooked at borrowed ovens. Even with Dani's help, and she was fabulously dedicated, efficient, and helpful, I couldn't have done it without them. One of the fellows was a little too jocular for me, I got really angry with him, as it seemed he was determined to make the work impossible But the others worked around him and it all worked out.

Or almost all. I totally miscalculated the pilaf. I made way too much, and used way too much water. It was mush - enough mush for 300 people. With the help of the young folk, we tried to boil it down a little. It was a lot of work and made the kitchen too hot, but all it did was make it mushier.

One of the borrowed stock pots had a glass lid. We set it aside while stirring the pilaf. The man who was stirring heard a ticking sound. None of us could figure it out. Eventually he noticed that the lid was on the stove, and we needed to move it. He picked it up and it immediately shattered. Bang! Big scary explosion! And we had to dispose of one five gallon pot of wild rice pilaf mush because it might have broken glass in it. Never missed it, there was way too much even without it.

I was too busy cooking to go to the club and learn how the food needed to be presented. By the time I changed and arrived, ready to party, the food was all laid out randomly on the serving tables. I went to the coordinator, and asked him, wasn't he in change of bringing it out gradually so it could be kept warm? Yes, he said, if it was brought to him, and it hadn't been. So the groomsmen, in their white shirts for the ceremony carried a dozen trays of food to the kitchen to be kept warm.

The ceremony was outdoors by the lake. It was lovely. It was backlit by the sunset, so all the photos came out too dark. Everyone was gorgeous and happy. Hooray!

Afterwards, someone finally got me to sit down and eat some dinner. As I served myself I saw that we were running low on vegetables. I went to the kitchen for more, but they said there weren't any more. After some inquiry it was established that half the vegetables had not arrived, and someone went home to pick them up. Twenty pounds of vegetables and hours of work saved.

The party was great. I haven't danced that much in years. After being the only person my age on the floor for an hour or so, I finally gave up and went home early.

The next day was the graduation. Thank goodness it was indoors; it was long and the weather was stifling. I cried from start to finish and felt really foolish. I'm so proud of my son. I'm amazed at what hard workers both my kids are. People kept telling me what a wonderful man Sulei is, and how much they love him. I did a good job, and he ran with everything he was given. What a relief to have it add up and be acknowledged.

A couple of days after the graduation we flew to New Brunswick for the "vacation" part of the vacation. Boy, was that a mistake! I was so exhausted all I wanted to do was go home. But it worked out just fine. Walks and scenery and geology and time with Nels and old buildings and good beer.

While we were in Canada, Nels's mother broke her hip and was put in the hospital. Nels went through all kinds of conniptions trying to make medical decisions and contact people from the Atlantic Time Zone with a cell phone that doesn't work in Canada. She was sent home to her care facility, and put on hospice.

When it was over I went to the airport in St. John early, so as to have time for customs. But customs was in Toronto where we change planes. So we sat.

When we got off the plane in Toronto, we were told to pick up our bags and take them around the corner. We walked to baggage claim and waited until the last bags unloaded and our were not there. When we inquired, we were told there was another baggage claim we needed to go to. More walking, more standing in line. After a while in line, they pulled us out as our plane was leaving, and tried to expedite us through security. But of course they needed to pat me down along the way. I'm getting used to being paged. Made our plane. Made it to SF.

Once again we waited at baggage claim until all the bags were there. But Nels's wasn't. we talked to someone official, and she told us to sit down and wait. It was getting close to midnight. We had been up since the equivalent of 3am. Our friend was circling the airport trying to pick up up. The bag was not going to appear. I finally walked out, and they delivered the bag the next day.

Home at last! But Nels needed to go to LA to see how his mother was doing and make sure everyting was properly arranged. He wanted me to come help. We stayed home three days, gave him a little birthday party, and drove away. The trip was difficult in every way, but his mom is doing better than we first realized. And now we are really home, picking up threads from months ago, hoping to stabilize some of my projects before I foolishly leave town again.








Monday, January 23, 2012

A Critique of Sheldrake’s Morphic Resonance


Skipping the introductions for now, Sheldrake starts right in with a major misdirection. He critiques biology as primarily mechanistic. And by mechanistic he appears to mean reductionist mechanistic resulting in predictability. There is no problem with mechanism per se, all processes can be described in terms of their mechanical aspects. Few, however, can be summed up that way. It is reductionism that is the problem, the assumption that mechanistic processes are the only thing that is going on.

He is obviously no biologist. If you look at the work of such biologists as Maturana and Varela, and Warren McCulloch, the philosophers of science Isabelle Stengers and Ilya Prigogine, biosemiotician Jesper Hoffmeyer, as well as studies in ecology and population biology, you will see that a reductionist conception of biology has been thoroughly debunked for a long time.

In fact, even the notion that mechanism equates to predictability is considered out of date, ("’The more we know about our universe, the more difficult it becomes to believe in determinism.’ …According to Prigogine, determinism loses its explanatory power in the face of irreversibility and instability”. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ilya_Prigogine).

So he proceeds to debunk the straw man of reductionist biology. So what? Reductionist theory was a seventeenth century reaction to the earlier position of the Church that God’s Hand directed everything and that independent inquiry into the nature of what we and the world are constituted punishable heresy.

Then he brings in teleology, calling it purposiveness, saying that evolution can account for purposiveness, which is antithetical to any sense of Darwinism except in the tautological sense that the purpose of life is to live. He posits three possible causes that “determine the goals of the process of development.” And here he brings in for the first time without any explanation what he calls a morphogenetic field. These three “causes” are simply words made up as placeholders for phenomena we don’t understand: “vital factors”, “morphogenetic fields” “genetic programs”. All three of these are what Bateson might call “dormitive principles”; words that put us to sleep by hiding the fact that they are pointing to something undefined.



OK, now he’s talking about signal proteins transmitting locational information. And again he uses the word mechanistic. One begins to wonder what he means by mechanistic. Location is a relationship. It is information derived by an organism by evaluation of difference. The receipt or creation of information constitutes a communication; not a mechanical event but rather a mental process.

One thing he ignores here is that no individual organism exists in a vacuum. Development of form doesn’t depend on preexisting factors alone. An organism, whether developing or sustaining, exists in context. Context is complex, variable, nested. Like the turtles of Turtle Island, it’s context all the way down. Development of form always occurs in response to context. I’ll repeat that. Development is responsive. It responds to context. If the context is sufficiently wrong, the organism will not develop at all, regardless of “genetic program” or “field effects”. This ignoring of context is a major epistemological mistake. An organism may be a whole entity unto itself, but it never occurs alone. An organism cannot occur without a population, a progenitor, a niche, a food supply, a terrain, etc. One of the grave mistakes of mechanistic reductionism is to take the context of the organism out of the equation. Why should we perpetuate that error, rendering all our subsequent thought fallacious, being based on false premises?

Chapter two

Three theories of morphogenesis. How did he pick these three? Are there others?

Not only does he elide the question of what is form, he conflates form in living systems and nonliving systems and objects. Form in objects is sufficiently accounted for by the material the object is made of and the forces it has undergone. Whether you examine a river-rolled rock or an erosion pattern, the properties of stone and water, gravity and the ensuing rotation of the earth and its weather are sufficient to account for the general process, and the history of the individual iteration of the process would describe the object’s distinctiveness.

But form in organisms is a different matter. The osteopaths say "Structure governs function". But the converse is also true. The process is circular. Function governs structure by shaping it. The structure of an organism directly reflects the needs of the organism in its environment.  Pebbles are rounded by their journey downstream. But fish are rounded by water in a different way. They have evolved and are born with a shape that both records and anticipates the need to move efficiently through water. It takes no mechanical tumbling to create their streamlined form. Water shapes the way fish grow and move, and the "map" of success in moving through water that exists in the fish genome determines how is shaped.

He claims that if physical laws are active and valid in morphogenesis, then it ought to be predictable in terms of the laws of physics. In the case of nonliving objects, they are somewhat, subject of course to the aforementioned limits of prediction.

But in the case of living systems or that subset of living systems we call organisms, that’s absurd. Physical laws may be active, they are always active, but they are not controlling. The organism is controlling the process. Even if the organism did not control its own development, a sufficiently complex physical phenomenon follows the laws of chaos theory: sensitive dependence upon initial conditions would make the resultant process at least as unpredictable as the path of a hurricane, a much less complex phenomenon than the most simple organism.

He also states that morphogenesis takes place spontaneously, and likens it to a house “spontaneously” building itself. More nonsense. Even a purely “physical” model of what is occurring requires energy to do work. A house has no metabolism to power its spontaneous self-assembly, nor the independent access to two by fours and concrete. There’s nothing “spontaneous” about growth and development. They are powered by the metabolism of the organism and directed by the internal template of the organism in communication with itself and its environment. And they are made possible by the organism actively obtaining the materials with which it builds itself. Even the accretion of a crystal, though spontaneous, is not without external requirements. It depends on the correct conditions (temperature, saturation, etc.). And it is also unpredictable. Think of a snowflake, a much more simple case of molecular assembly than even an amoeba. The final form of an individual snowflake is totally predictable in that the symmetry is hexagonal and self-similar. The final form is totally unpredictable in the details of its unfoldment.

He then demolishes vitalism, another eighteenth century theory that needs no debunking except perhaps among those religious fundamentalists who are opposed to science on principle.

Then he takes on what he calls the organism model of morphogenesis, which he claims involves fields. He admits “field terminology… remained ill-defined”. In other words, they are saying, “We think there’s something there that explains the stuff we can’t understand and we don’t know what it is, so we’ll call it a field so that we don’t have to point out its physical components.” But all the fields we have previously encountered are observable in terms of the laws of physics, so field theory ought to be considered under the mechanistic model, not the organism model.

The primary problem that he sees with the organismic model is that it is descriptive rather than analytical. He apparently finds that problem insignificant and stays with this model, rather than debunking it like the former two. This allows him the heuristic conjecture of a hypothetical field, whatever that may be. He goes on to investigate how this field might work. The primary problem that I see with the organism model is that he fails to define what he considers an organism. It would appear he defines it differently than a biologist would, but in the absence of rigorous description, all one is left with is implication.

Chapter three

He talks about the world being full of forms which we perceive.

If you are familiar with Spencer-Brown’s Laws of Form you see that all form is created through the drawing of boundaries. In other words, it is perception that creates form. A boundary creates a distinction between a one and an other, between this and that. That difference does not reside in any material location, the difference is created in our mental process through abstracting a way to identify location and other properties, comparing a property in two locations, drawing the boundary. A creative act. Difference inheres in the comparison, not in the objects compared. Any “thing” has an infinity of potential differentiations in it.  Things don’t exist in themselves, a “thing” is a mental abstraction of a part of the universe based on observation of difference. Form is built of difference.

And we perceive nothing directly. All perception is mediated though our neurological patterning apparatus, and we can say nothing about what it actually “out there”. Yes, there is consensus reality, and it seems to have some fairly tight correlations, but still all perception is map, not territory. So any forms we perceive are “in” our perception, not “in” the world. Or more accurately, they are generated at the interface of our (patterned) perception and the world. That’s an interaction, not a location.

Forms are sets of relationships. Relationships between parts, relationships between perceiver and perceived.

Sheldrake is right, form cannot be measured. Form can, however, often be described numerically. But number is an artifact of counting, not of measurement. Quantity is different from number. Measurement results in quantity. Counting results in number. I would call number a perceptual archetype. Many animals have the ability to number, and it would appear that so does our developmental process. He claims that most forms cannot be represented symbolically (mathematically or verbally), that they are too complex. But plants can be described algorithmically. (c.f. http://algorithmicbotany.org/) It is not the measurements, the quantity, that can specify form, it is number, the ratios, the relationships. Life is built of relationships.

 Chapter four

At this point I am losing my ability to focus on his arguments. He seems primarily to be making statements of how the morphogenetic field would work if it existed. Many of his claims come from physics and chemistry. Those are not my fields of study, so I really can’t say much about them. But I fail to comprehend how the morphogenetic field differs from the Flying Spaghetti Monster. What happened to Occam’s Razor? Why do we need new explanatory principles? Why does he find the laws of physics to be either inadequate or of optional applicability?

I must admit I am something of a Pythagorean. I do believe that understanding the mathematical underpinnings of the world gives us insight into how this universe we are part of is constituted. But I don’t believe that it can be explained, just as a whole system cannot be fully represented by a smaller subsystem.

He says, “The morphogenetic field is part of the system-to-be. … the rest of the field is not yet … filled out”.” How does this differ from the embryo of an organism?

If morphogenetic fields cause crystals to form differently after other crystals have “shown the way”, why did not the eternal morphogenetic field preform those crystals in the first place? What does he mean by habits? My understanding of the word habit is that it means something an individual organism has learned to do so thoroughly such that it no longer requires conscious attention. The habit of using the clutch when one slows down disappears fairly easily after one learns to drive an automatic, though it may be retained as a tendency to drive with the left foot on the brake.

How is this word applied to the organization of non-living matter/energy? He seems to be positing an explanation for change that is not in itself changing, an eternal morphogenetic field that nevertheless develops habits.

If the field is eternal, what invokes it? What cancels it? If the field changes, by what process do the new habits come to take precedence over the old ones? There must be communication with it, and decisions made, and I don’t see such a process or the mechanism for it to occur. He equates a morphogenetic field with the probability structure of an atom. However the probability structure of an atom is a description, not a cause. There seems to be a general confusion between descriptions and causes in this book.

Either the morphogenetic field is eternal, in which case we are mystified as to what causes it to be active at one time or place and not another, or it is developing, in which case an action is required that, as he says, is unlike any known physical action. What is he saying? That it is impossible either way? That it has a physical action despite being physically imperceptible? That the laws of physics are selectively in abeyance? Under what circumstances are the laws of physics to be applicable? I know he doesn’t believe they are laws, but some of them appear to still be in effect. And what happens to the eternal morphogenetic field when a species goes extinct? Or when a geologic upheaval reshapes the terrain?

Chapter six

He states that, unlike amoebas or stem cells, cells that are specialized to a particular tissue do not continue to reproduce by division and growth. But they do.

In most organisms that reproduce sexually, the polarity of the zygote originates in the location of the sperm in the fertilization of the ovum.

He talks about absolute positions of things, but I’m afraid I’m clueless what that could possibly mean. All positions are relative.

He is saying that the size of a system is irrelevant, that form is scalable. That may be true of a crystal, but it is not true of an organism, in which the variables of homeostasis need to be kept within certain ranges. A twelve foot tall human of normal human exterior proportions would spontaneously overheat and probably die because the surface to volume ratio would no longer be able to sustain an appropriate temperature.

He is redefining so many words as to be incomprehensible. I had to look up morphic unit, which is defined on page 74 as a system or organism. He seems to be redefining organism to include nonliving structures.  I don’t accept that, but if I did, then why would he need the neologism morphic unit, when he is happy to use the word organism for the same thing?

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I give up. I can no longer follow his arguments. There is a world of “stuff’, matter and energy and their field effects. All we know about it is what we can observe of its regularities. We do not know, and cannot know, what it is “in itself”.  What we observe about stuff constitutes physics and chemistry. Mass, velocity, direction, oxidation number, molecular weight, electron shells, etc.  I don’t understand fields, but I know they are aspects of matter/energy, not separate from matter/energy.

Then there is the world of living things. Living things are built of stuff, but the laws of stuff are not the controlling factors in living beings. All the processes of life are mental processes. They are shaped by the receipt and transmission of information. Information is “a difference that makes a difference” to the organism or living system that is capable of receiving it. The nutrient gradient is information to an amoeba. The location the sperm entered the egg is information to the blastocyst. Gravity is information to a sprouting seed. The cotyledons don’t sink down in accordance with gravity, they push up. The seed has within it the preparedness to perceive gravity and grow its roots towards it and its leaves away from it.

Living organisms can be defined so as to be recognizable. They derive energy – metabolic, not purely kinetic, energy from an external source. They use that energy to perpetuate their far-from-thermal-equilibrium form. They reproduce. They perceive or differentiate. They have a set of feedback loops that enable them to keep a homeostasis that perpetuates their aliveness.

OK, I’m starting over.

What does Sheldrake mean by a field? A magnetic field or a gravitational field affects all bodies similarly. They are consistently observable, mathematically defined and proportional to certain measurable physical properties.

But the proposed morphic field acts selectively on some bodies but not others, at some times and not others. There is no observable regularity to the occurrence of the field. That would imply some sort of decision process at work invoking the field at some times but not others.

To me, that’s the kicker. There is no acknowledgement of the decisions involved in growth and development. The organism somehow knows which field to respond to, when and where. But no mechanism for the interaction between the organism and the field is proposed. The morphic field can be invoked to explain anything. But in its ability to explain everything, it explains nothing. It’s the same as saying it is the way it is because it is that way. In a world where anything is possible simply through the development of a habit, you have no need for science and long drawn out explanations of the mechanisms involved in life. There is no use learning how to heal a body or an ecosystem if its morphic field is going to develop new habits that negate what you know. There is no use learning to cross an ocean or build a computer if a mutating morphic field is going to change the relationship between the map and the territory when you are halfway there.

I don’t comprehend what is wrong with using the word laws to describe things we see in the universe. The concept of law may derive from fiats handed down by rulers, but that doesn’t mean that’s what we think they are, any more than pine-“apples” grow on trees. The “laws” of physics are simply observed regularities.  If he finds them friendlier calling them “habits” in private, that’s his prerogative. But in philosophic discourse it’s unfortunate, as it confuses what a habit is. Humpty Dumpty (in Alice in Wonderland) calls things what he wants to call them, claiming that makes him, not the word, master. But dominating one’s own vocabulary is not the point. Clear communication is the point. Words are only tools. Observed regularities are all we have on which to base our understanding of the world. Certainly as our knowledge and tools change our understanding of the laws changes. But that’s our understanding, not the laws. Quantum phenomena seem to follow different laws from macroscopic phenomena, and they are perhaps not easily grasped, but they are still observed regularities. Their description is probabilistic, but not random. Chaos theory, on the other hand, seems to provide much less predictability, but even given sensitive dependence on initial conditions, observable regularities occur.

My understanding is that growth is regulated at all stages by the cell’s reception and transmission of messages regarding what’s already laid down, what’s next, and what the conditions it has to cope with are. Exactly how the DNA encodes this is not clear, and I, not being a microbiologist, wouldn’t really care anyway. But the understanding occurs at the interfaces. But just as a person cooking needs the recipe and the ingredients and the tools, the cell growing needs the genetic material, the nourishment, and its own metabolism. The recipe might say if you want a lighter cake, use less butter. If the recipe is correct and you follow it you get what you want. The DNA might say if there are already four divisions between fingers, don’t divide again. If the DNA is correct and nothing interferes with the embryo’s reading and implementation of it, you get five fingers.

The physical world is not explained. Never has been. It is observed and described. The fact that there are observable regularities; laws, waves, numbers, chemical elements, crystal structures, impacts with transmission of force, substances with consistent properties seems to indicate there is something “here”. But really, we don’t know, nor can we know, what that is or how to explain it. We know what we perceive, but not how we perceive. We know some aspects of how we perceive, i.e. we create transforms or representations of what our organs of perception have encountered and compile them into a gestalt. But there’s so much more to it than that, it’s another essay entirely, and can never be complete, as the (small) consciousness can never encompass the (vastly larger) unconscious processes of living.

 Without a distinction between living systems or mind(s) and stuff or substance, I see no description of the world as I know it. And since he is not talking about the world as I know it, he does not interest me. I fail to comprehend the point, and I’m tired of picking out the bits that specifically make no sense to me within the larger story that makes no sense to me to the point that I just go Tilt. Yes he refers to important distinctions between the generally accepted mechanistic view of things and what is actually happening, but that’s really a critique of our educational system. Life is not a mechanism. Stop beating a dead horse, stop inventing an extra mechanism to explain what the known mechanisms don’t explain, and look at what makes difference possible: the ability to communicate and learn. DNA communicates with cells. Cells communicate with each other. Organisms communicate. Nerve cells communicate. Organelles communicate. They discern and respond. They transmit selectively. Decisions are being made at every level. Syntheses are occurring. None of the descriptions of morphogenetic fields explain how the control systems work. How organisms stop growing. Which of various conflicting morphogenetic fields takes effect under what conditions. How anything new is created. How evolution occurs. Biological evolution is not simple change, it is a recursive stochastic self-referential process perpetuating the tautology that this (changing) organism is part of this (changing) population that coexists with this (changing) environment.

Regarding Lamarckian inheritance, it’s problematic for a number of reasons. Perhaps the primary one is this: Sexual reproduction is in essence a fact checking operation. If my DNA and your DNA match sufficiently, our offspring will be viable. If not, we cannot procreate together. If the germ plasm of an organism is affected directly by changes in its life experience, soon the DNA would diverge too far for procreation. The breeding population of a species would shatter and cease to function, and the creatures so affected would go extinct. There is also the problem of inconsistencies in the data. Yes, fruit fly bithorax becomes more common, as a genotype able to create bithorax viably under certain stresses becomes more dominant in the population. But Jews have been circumsizing for millennia. You’d think such an unpleasant procedure would give the organism plenty of impetus to produce progeny without foreskins if possible, It hasn’t happened yet. What decides when the inheritance of acquired traits occurs?

One could consider the morphogenetic germ or morphogenetic field to be a metaphoric expression identical with what we call the chromosomes. Regardless of what constitutes it, the question is, how is it selectively applied, what causes it to be invoked or turned off?