I don’t know if I (sub)consciously avoided travelogues since 2020 because I would miss travel even more. But irrespective of that, there was something very poignant about the title itself, so I just had to pick it up. The good news is that it lived up to its promise. Anna Sherman does in this book what my favourite books about places do – let me travel in time and space.
The second part of the title – Meditations on Time and a City – gives a very good idea of the book’s focus. It talks about both the changes in Edo (before it came to be called Tokyo) with time, as well as its changing relationship with time itself. Like many other concepts, the Japanese have many words for time according to the context. Before its citizens started using manufactured devices to tell time, Edo’s time was told by the ringing of bells. At first, there were three, but by 1720, as the population touched a million, six more were added. And these bells are what the narrative follows.
With each, there are stories attached. Origin stories of the locality and the bell, and its journey through times good and bad – victories, wars, earthquakes, fires and so on. Nihonbashi – the Zero Point has its prison stories (prisoners let out during a fire would voluntarily return because they’d be found and killed otherwise). Asakusa has its beauty and murder story. Akasaka has the smallest bell, and love-hotel rooms which cater to any and all fetishes, with protocols that outsiders will find difficult to understand. Mejiro is home to the stone that honours the rebel samurai Chūya Marubashi. Nezu has a fascinating tale of clockmaking and how time shifted from personal to shared, and ‘the idea of time became mechanical.’ Ueno, where the battle in 1868 marked the end of the Tokugawa shogunate. A few months later, Edo would start making way for Tokyo. Where the bell-ringer knows he is probably the last of his kind. Kitasuna, where more than 700,000 bombs landed on 9-10 March 1945, and caused the deaths of more people than in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
The book did a fantastic job of transporting me to the time and place. The words somehow gave me a visceral feeling of the place, the emotions of the different people who lived there, their daily existence, the events they have gone through, and sometimes I tended to see the place as a person too – changing, shifting, sometimes slowly and sometimes suddenly. It was like walking through the lanes. The one thing that I wish the book also had was maps so I could also get a better directional sense of where these places are. I think, after this book, when I do visit Tokyo (Edo), I will see it through new eyes and old stories.
I had hoped to begin the year with a book that broadens my thinking, and Blueprint most definitely does. It is in different ways related to two books that I read recently – Behave, and The Dawn of Everything. The former was about why we behave the way we do, starting from neurotransmitters and hormones right back to evolution even before we became a species. The latter was about why our linear way of seeing the evolution of humanity is inherently flawed, and how that is increasingly being proved by archaeological evidence. Blueprint is about how our genes affect not only our bodies and behaviours, but also the ways in which we make societies. It also does a fantastic job of (granularly) showing how all this is evolution at play from a time far before we became a species.
There is another way in which Blueprint resembles Behave. The first hundred pages don’t do justice to the rest of the book. While it was the complexity in the latter, in this it’s the seeming simplicity. From the preface onwards, there is a focus on balancing a couple of diverse ideas – the universality of our shared inheritance and the uniqueness of the culture we have built and the individuals we are. The objective in the early part of the book is to illustrate the “social suite” inherent in all societies – having and recognising individual identity, love for partners and offspring, friendship, social networks, cooperation, preference for one’s own group (in-group bias), (only) mild hierarchy, and social learning and teaching. So irrespective of the origins of any particular society, it follows a blueprint that evolution has provided. There are examples in intentional, unintentional (say, shipwrecks) and artificial (experiments). Having said that, one should also be conscious of context emergence – the collective having a set of properties that might be different from the components. (an excellent example is carbon atoms creating both graphite and diamonds). An interesting point on the environment humans face – the one thing that does not vary is the presence of other humans, and this has a big impact on how we have evolved.
With this base, he moves to how our species came to prefer pair-bonding (an internal state – loving one specific mate), after cycles of polygyny and monogamy (external state and behaviour) – either “ecologically imposed” or “culturally imposed”. At a basic level, ‘the evolutionary psychology of both men and women is to exchange love for support.’ And genes ‘affect an individual’s attraction to, and choice of, particular partners.’ Pair bonding formed the basis of attachment which then spread outwards from immediate family and kin to friends and groups. An interesting exception is the Na tribe in Tibet (10000+) in which permanent relationships between a couple are forbidden. Some of their arrangements reminded me of the Sambandhams in Kerala’s matrilineal communities.
In uncertain environments, friendships work great for mutual aid and co-operation, and that’s how it probably started – as a survival hedge. Kin after all, could be completion for family resources, and sometimes kin are not sufficient for large group activities like a hunt, either in terms of numbers or skills. Additionally, because of their attention to us, our friends also make us feel engaged and wanted, something relevant today as well. And this ‘social shell’ allows us to weather difficult circumstances.
A crucial factor in ensuring non-kin co-operation is recognising and remembering individuals is important. It’s interesting to see this skill present in many primates, as well as elephants and Cetaceans. And it’s not just this skill, but reflections of emotions, cognition, morality, and other attributes like friendship, cooperation, and transmission of knowledge by social learning. The many stories of elephants are a treat.
The next part is what I found most interesting. Organisms manipulating the inanimate material around them. Christakis calls it an ‘exophenotype’ (Richard Dawkins called it an ‘extended phenotype’ earlier). Similar to birds building nests, spiders spinning webs and snails making shells. There are some mind-blowing examples of parasites that do this – fungi creating zombie ants, and snail flukes. In our case, the social suite is an exophenotype – an expression of genes outside of our bodies. And thus, our genes could affect other people too. Like animals manipulate physical objects, we affect the social environment around us!
And that is how the last sections focus on culture, and how ideas and technologies are created, and then passed on to the next generation. Genes and culture now work together on evolution. A great example is of the discovery of fire, change in eating habits, and thus a shift in the kind of dental and gastric mechanisms we have. As we gain control of the environment through our ‘culture’ (includes technology), the impact of genes might start dipping. I thought of both language and money as exophenotypes because of (respectively) the unique ability to transfer knowledge and become a universal currency that is increasingly an end and not the means, but they weren’t a part of the narrative. I was especially intrigued because he also mentions that it takes strong cultural forces to suppress the tendencies of our social suite. He does cover religion, technology and sees AI and CRISPR as phenomena that could have a massive impact.
The blurb tries to pitch the book as a solution to the current polarised environment, but I didn’t see a lot of that. What it does is show how a blueprint to create a good society indeed exists. That’s what made us the dominant species on the planet. What remains unanswered is whether we can still cooperate for our common good. It’s a fascinating read, and the numerous fantastic examples make it scientifically robust and supremely insightful.
I bought the book because it had two keywords that interested me – blockchain and China. But as the ‘stories’ went from swine to finally pearls, I realised that the title probably doesn’t do justice to the multiple themes that surface in the book and makes it, a rich and nuanced read. The introduction points us to ‘metronormativity’ – the idea that rural people and culture are ‘backward, conservative and intolerant, and that the only way to live with freedom is to leave the countryside for highly connected urban oases.’ Further, that internet, technology and media will educate and save them by allowing more experiences and chances of a better livelihood. The book is a challenge to all parts of this construct. It also pushes back on binary classifications we employ – digital/physical, natural/man-made and so on.
‘Ghosts in the Machine’ sets the context as we read about how under Deng Xiaoping in the 1980’s, the country began imagining a uniquely Chinese future, and set the ball rolling for the rise of companies like Huawei and Alibaba. In parallel, there’s the rise of TVEs (Town and Village Enterprises) over the prevalent SOEs (State Owned Enterprises), and a potential ‘agrarian transition’ that would result in industrialised agriculture, which would need lesser manpower. This would have social, environmental and political ramifications.
‘Blockchain farm in the middle of nowhere’ touches upon the surveillance state, non-explicit censorship, and ‘the shadowy unease that looms over public conversations.’. It begins with the foodsheds in Shanghai and moves to the contrast (or not) between the dangers of cost-cutting in the food industry, and the gloss of ‘blockchain chicken’ (Bubuji/GoGoChicken). The latter uses ‘a chicken Fitbit of sorts’ on the ankle of chicken which allows a buyer to know the provenance of a chicken, and even see streaming live footage that can be accesses via a QR code! But despite this, the future is uncertain because the tech is on hire, and overhead costs are high. Can blockchain make food safety records tamper-proof by creating a distributed system? Perhaps, but there are many challenges including legibility and thus, access.
In ‘When AI farms pigs’, we are introduced to Alibaba’s ET Agricultural Brain that aims to transform agriculture to ‘help create China’s pork miracle’. It brings out how, despite AI’s potential to radically help humans, the current economics of AI makes it a corporate AI model that is all about scale and efficiency.
‘Buffet Life’ explores the alternate careers that Chinese youth are taking up. Case in point – drone operators. This is backed by a (state backed) system that is now bridging the gap between urban and rural education, creating the infrastructure for it and thereby also providing new means of livelihood.
In ‘Made in China’, there is a very insightful take on what ‘innovation’ means and how it is predominantly evaluated through a Western lens. China is forging its own path in ‘innovation’, trying to break away from cheap products at industrialised scale. ‘Shanzai’ is changing its earlier connotation to an ecosystem that’s open source, and operating at hyper speed, steamrolling through the IP version favoured by the West, and forcing conversations on access and civility. The agricultural version of this approach is Rice Harmony, and its method of collective, organic rice farming. There is also the fascinating tale of Naomi Wu, a self-proclaimed cyborg, and an internet star.
‘No one can predict the future’ is as much about policing as it is about community and identity, and the difference between ‘safety’ and ‘security’. It is interesting how many people working in the domain view surveillance as a technical problem to be solved without thinking of the related consequences. There is also a mention of ‘criminal villages’, the Chinese version of India’s Jamtara.
‘Gone shopping in the mountain stronghold’ relates how ‘Rural Revitalisation’ relies on technology and the internet to build rural entrepreneurship ecosystems. The rural playbook of Taobao is a phenomenon, one that is transforming the rural landscape, literally and metaphorically. Others like JD.com and Pinduoduo are replicating this too. And thanks to this, there is a reverse migration to the village. But many of these platforms are unregulated, resulting in safety issues – everything from getting sick from food purchases to a cab driver raping and killing a passenger.
‘Welcome to my pearl party’ is the one I found most poignant. While the story is about pearl farming in China leading to an MLM sales machinery in the US, the underlying socio-cultural dimension of it – the human need for belonging and care – is what makes it an affecting read. This also features a ‘subversive’ version of Peppa Pig, or rather it becoming a mascot for those who are rebelling against the part of society which has everything and sets the rules – shehui ren culture.
While these are all set in different parts of China, there are themes that I could see were universal – ‘…the plague of being old and lonely. As younger generations leave villages, hometowns and even the country to chase after careers and jobs, and the tightening noose of inequality squeezes leisure time, the elderly are left to their own devices.”
Blockchain, and fantastic perspectives of China were indeed part of the mix, but Xiaowei Wang delivered far more. Travelogue, technology, culture and community, future and sometimes even a bit of contemplative philosophy, I really wouldn’t want to slot this book in any particular genre, and that’s probably what makes it a compelling and fulfilling read.
P.S. In the penultimate page, the author, sitting in a HongKong bar, amidst the protests, writes about reports of a zootonic disease from mainland China causing flu-like symptoms in humans causing unease because the memory of SARS still being recent!
Francis Fukuyama did a fantastic job of framing the history of geopolitics in the two-part Political Order series. At a very broad level, most people agree that liberal democracies are the best form of governance and are ‘moving towards Denmark’. However, there are critical exceptions, like Russia and China, and there has also been a revival of (hyper)nationalism. A related area is contemporary identity politics. This is what he attempts to unravel in the book.
Early in the book, he points out that liberal democracies have not solved for thymos – ‘the part of the soul that craves recognition of dignity’. Whether it’s a large nation like Russia or China, or smaller segments in US, Britain etc, the common link is an identity that they feel has not been given adequate recognition. The segments could be based on religion, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and so on. In all cases, the conflict is around an inner self whose worth and dignity is not recognised by an external world. With the modern world laying a lot of importance on authenticity, anger and hate are not far away.
The first few chapters are around the evolution of identity – from Plato’s Republic to Luther’s Protestant reformation and capacity for moral choice to which Rousseau added expression of personal experiences and feelings that were suppressed by society at large. As we moved away from agrarian societies with a strict hierarchy to technology-driven societies with multiple social classes, pluralism, diversity, and choice emerged and identity started becoming increasingly complex. By early nineteenth century, there was a fork – universal recognition of individual rights, and collective recognition. Nationalism and religion have been the largest aggregators of the latter, and he offers an excellent perspective on the parallels between Nazism and Islam fundamentalism to show how they’re grounded on the same principles.
The latter led to a narrative of a historic culture being undermined by ‘others’ around. That’s the area that everyone from Modi to Shinzo Abe to Islamic fundamentalists have exploited. Meanwhile, the former led to a ‘therapeutic society’ catering to the emotional requirements of individuals and raising self esteem. The question to any group thus becomes ‘do you want to be treated the same or different’.
The thrust in the rest of the book is about the need for dialogue and discourse and how identity politics could hamper that. There are examples of the US, EU and the solutions to their current problems around identity and politics. The good part is that the story thus far has been viewed through a multidisciplinary lens and is elegantly thought through. But the challenge that Fukuyama faces is that while there are very few arguments one can make on how the path to the current state has been framed, by definition the subject of identity is nuanced, and one could argue that it cannot be attributed to a single factor like thymos. Note, arguable only because it could be that things like economics, caste etc are dimensions of thymos.
The hope is that he writes a second part – a forward-looking one that captures how contemporary phenomena like social media, increasing wealth disparity, gender fluidity etc affects identity and its politics, and what it means to society and culture as we ‘progress’.
As almost every philosophy goes, it is a mindset and a way of life. Though we have tons of literature, perhaps the best lessons of Stoicism are offered in the way Stoics led their lives. And that’s what we get from the book – the time and lives of 26 Stoics – 25 men and 1 woman.
Named after the Stoa Poikile (painted porch) where Zeno and his disciples gathered for discussions, we follow the evolution of the philosophy and its practitioners across ancient history – Zeno (334 BC – 262 BC) to Marcus Aurelius (121 CE – 180 CE). While many of them were born in wealthy families, many others were commoners, and for Epictetus, a slave, freedom was not just a metaphor. His is the life I found most inspiring.
The core tenets of Stoicism – courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom – have remained changed, but how they have been interpreted and how much they have been adhered to is where one can draw lessons from. From being philosophers who wanted nothing to do with politics and bureaucracy, to a philosopher king, and from being persecuted by despots to being the persecutors of Christians, the contexts of Stoics changed, but there are lessons in each life.
The world has changed or remained unchanged depending on how we frame a context, but the Stoic’s focus is on self, and how to be a better person. In that sense, the philosophy has much to teach us, and help us navigate our lives.
Having read Meditations and Letters from a Stoic earlier, I can see why this book is a bestseller – it delivers accessibility very well. And thus, it’s a great place to start if you want to get familiar with the philosophy and the people who shaped it.
Quotes
‘To have but not want, to enjoy without needing.’ ‘We naturally care what people think of us; we don’t want to seem too different, so we acquire the same tastes as everyone else. We accept what the crowd does so the crowd will accept us. But in doing this, we weaken ourselves. We compromise, often without knowing it; we allow ourselves to be bought – without even the benefit of getting paid for it.’ “If a person gave away your body to some passerby, you’d be furious,”
Epictetus said, yet we so easily hand our mind over to other people, letting them inside our heads or making us feel a certain way.
