Complexity Thinking: Science in the Age of Alternative Truths

By Cornelis Pieter Pieters

Many scholars agree that we are currently living in post-ideological times, and that the role of religion and social ideology has become increasingly limited as a means to organise society. Some even talk of a 'post-truth' era, as truth itself has become suspect, and public debate has become infected with terms such as 'fake news' and 'alternative truths.' In fact, in many scientific areas the notions of truth, objectivity and fact are being questioned, and are often even considered instruments that aim to perpetuate relationships of power of elites. This book aims to take a position in these debates by looking at the often-implicit associations behind truth, objectivity, and fact. By taking a complexity-informed, dialectical approach, a more encompassing understanding of these concepts can be developed, that both respects the formidable achievements of science, while being sensitive to the critique that has been raised, most notably by postmodern thought.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398490215

Cornelis Pieter Pieters

Kees Pieters has a technical background, with degrees in information science and artificial intelligence. In 2010 he defended his PhD in Humanistic Studies on the subject of complex systems and complexity thinking. Complexity thinking is characterised by intertwining science, philosophy, methodology and professional practices. Ever since his defence he has further developed his understanding the role of patterns as precursor of information. Kees has published on topics of technology, innovation, and their impact on society. He currently lives in the beautiful medieval town of Deventer in his home country of the Netherlands.

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Cover: Complexity Thinking: Science in the Age of Alternative Truths by Cornelis Pieter Pieters

Complexity Thinking: Science in the Age of Alternative Truths

Cornelis Pieter Pieters

Austin Macauley Publishers

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

Acknowledgement

Introduction

The Path Less Taken

Chapter 1: Science in the Age of Alternative Truths

Introduction

Right-Wing Postmodernism

Suppose we Lived in a World where there is no God

Rise of the Postmoderns!

Crafty Knowledge

A Dialectic of Complexity

To Those of Faith

A Summary

Chapter 2: Complexity

Complex Systems

Complex Thought

Bridging The Gap

Scarcity

Where Are We Now?

Chapter 3: Self-Referentiality

The Science Wars

A Range of Stories

Values And Norms

A Self-Referential Scientific Methodology

Science of the Artificial

Norms, Values, Exactness and Universality

Normative Agents

Wrapping Up

Chapter 4: Uncertainty

The Knower and The Known

The Problem with Reductionism

A Deeper Look at Uncertainty

Ontological And Epistemological Confusion

Wrapping Up

Chapter 5: Patterns

The Model and the Modelled

Some Characteristics of Patterns

Independence Of Medium

Scale

Interferences

Contexts

Truth Is a Match

The Mycelium

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Uncertainty in Context

Scientific Methodology as A Context

Wrapping Up

Chapter 6: Pattern Libraries

A Pattern of Existence

A Pattern of Difference

Interaction Patterns

Filters

Convergence Inducing Process

Wrapping Up

Chapter 7: Interference

Emergence

The Method

Monty-Python Philosophy

Information Garbage

Threads

Objects And Functions

Methodological Interference

Some Thoughts on Theories

Interfaces

Ecosystems

Wrapping Up

Chapter 8: An Ethics of Complexity

The Dialectics of Ethics

Ethics And Uncertainty

A Self-Referential Ethics of Learning

Dialectics And Freedom

Chapter 9: Normative Professionalisation

Objectivity and Subjectivity

Technological Rationality and the Professions

Optimisation according to John Holland

One-armed Bandits

The Aftermath of Adaptation

Lessons for the Professions (and for Science)

Suppose We lived in a World Where there is no Objectivity?

Cooperation

Normative Professionalisation

Wrapping up

Chapter 10: Transcendence

The Pattern of Network

Symbiotic Networks

Reflection

Individuality

Intelligent Networks

Changing Norms

Wrapping Up

Epilogue

Executive Summary

Science in the Age of Alternative Truths

Table of Figures

Literature

Landmarks

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

Introduction

Acknowledgment

Start of Contents

Epilogue

List of Pages

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About the Author

Kees Pieters has a technical background, with degrees in information science and artificial intelligence. In 2010 he defended his PhD in Humanistic Studies on the subject of complex systems and complexity thinking. Complexity thinking is characterised by intertwining science, philosophy, methodology and professional practices. Ever since his defence he has further developed his understanding the role of patterns as precursor of information.

Kees has published on topics of technology, innovation, and their impact on society. He currently lives in the beautiful medieval town of Deventer in his home country of the Netherlands.

Dedication

This book is dedicated in fond memory of my co-supervisor professor, Dr Paul Cilliers, who sadly passed away one year after defending my Ph.D.

Also, I dedicate this book to my supervisor Dr Harry Kunneman, who offered me an opportunity to engage in an academic enterprise that I never considered to be possible.

I will always remember the year when Paul spent his sabbatical in the city of Utrecht, the three of us spent the summer around the St. Jans Kerkhof discussing complexity thinking, and we sometimes experienced the importance of a certain slowness while enjoying a good Belgian beer.

Copyright Information©

Cornelis Pieter Pieters 2024

The right of Cornelis Pieter Pieters to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398490192 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398490208 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781398490215 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I am sincerely grateful for Patricia Thomas for her editorial work on the first drafts of my manuscript, and mi novia Eli for her critical, decolonial thoughts on my undertaking.

My son, Roan, of course, for bearing with me during the process of writing, and my parents for their undiminished support.

Last, I am greatly appreciative of Austin Macauley Publishers for offering me the opportunity and assistance to publish this book.

Introduction

What is truth? What is fact? What is objectivity? These thoughts went through my mind as I walked past the entrance of the Museum Volkenkunde, the Dutch National Museum for Ethnology in Leiden. After entering the gateway, on the right side adjacent to the canal, you are greeted by a number of caskets on poles, which present various objects that are very common for the Dutch, such as gingerbread cookies, tulips, clogs and even a display of sex toys. All of these, the casket, pole and the displays are cast in metal and are supplemented with a description about the objects on display. These descriptions are written in the ‘objective’ manner that an anthropologist might use when describing a newly discovered indigenous tribe and they would be very informative had they not been written in the Frisian language, the second and older official language of the Netherlands. They are written in such a way that a Dutch person can still discern the meaning with a little bit of effort, as most Dutch people do not understand Frisian. This contributes to the humorous and relativising effect of the installation, which confronts Dutch visitors on their way to look at artefacts from people and tribes from all over the world and who are presented with descriptions from artefacts of their own culture as through the interpretations of an outsider.

This effect is amplified by the consistent use of the word ‘Hollander’ instead of ‘Nederlander’. Both are colloquially used to describe Dutch people, but ‘Holland’ is factually only a part of the Netherlands and so most Dutch people from outside the two provinces of North and South Holland, in which Leiden is located, do not tend to consider themselves to be a ‘Hollander’, or being ‘from Holland’. I’m not sure if this is intentional, but as most of the artefacts on display are obviously commonplace for all Dutch people, I like to think that the artist actually aims to good-naturedly mock Dutch identity by this installation. Think about this for a moment; Dutch visitors looking at the artefacts and reading about it in a semi-alien, ‘objective’ language, may immediately realise the arbitrary nature of the selection, the choices that are presented to them and the information that is provided to ‘explain’ the importance of these artefacts for Dutch culture and identity. They will immediately question these because they are innately embedded in Dutch culture and society and will recognise the whimsical associations the artist makes. With a little bit of luck, they will take this mindset with them as they walk into the building and submerge themselves in the exhibitions of the Inuit, the Ashanti, the Dayaks and the other peoples that the museum presents.

As I passed the installation when I visited the museum, I immediately realised that it covered all the topics of the book I was writing on complexity thinking. The installation shows the limitations of the ‘outsider perspective’ that many scientific enquiries still hold as an ideal; it shows the design of truths by the selections that the artist makes, something which many researchers aren’t explicitly taught and often don’t acknowledge when choosing a theoretical framework or a certain given scientific methodology. Last, but certainly not least, it demonstrates the importance of critical self-reflection on one’s own thoughts and mindset. I fear for the Dutch visitors of the museum who look at the installation and do not understand the critique that the artist aims to convey. They may enter the museum with an aim of learning something about ‘primitive’ people with ‘peculiar’ habits that a ‘modern’ society has done away with, not realising that many of these indigenous people may consider Western people to be the peculiar species in this world, with their destructive tendencies to create artificial societies, with artificial goals and who have lost so much by severing all connections with a deeper, spiritual presence of their life world.

This book, however, is not a critique on science or scientific methodology, or academic culture(s). This has been done much better by others and this topic can fill bookshelves in its own right. Even though I will sometimes refer to ‘classical’ or ‘linear’ science as a sort of archetype and often as a caricature of scientific enquiry, this is mainly used as a reference to an alternative interpretation that is developed by ‘complexity thinking’ and not as an ‘objective’ description of science, or scientific practices. These, as we can empirically observe, are as diverse and varied as any other human practice. In the end, this book aims to demonstrate the continuity with scientific practices, instead of dwelling on the differences and alleged shortcomings of the latter.

In a way, complexity thinking is to current scientific practices, what Frisian is to Dutch. There are many similarities. Sometimes the ‘outside’ perspective of a different but related language offers a means of gaining a deeper insight into what has become so commonplace in a certain culture that it is no longer questioned. Although I hasten to say that for the Dutch language, Flemish often has a better track record of being its linguistic conscience, since Flemish tends to be less susceptible to Anglo-American influences than Dutch is.

My own relationship with science is, too, that of a semi-outsider, a fringe scientist. I am a professional engineer who sometimes publishes scientific articles and therefore I have never become part of the inner circles and cultures of academia, which often puts me in a position of wondering whether I am part of this specific ‘tribe’, or firmly on the outside of it; I still partially consider a scientific conference as an interesting anthropological phenomenon, even when I am presenting research myself. This mindset also reflects back on my own engagement; am I misusing the hospitality that academia offers me by staying in the doorway, or am I a welcomed guest because I bring tidings from a different world?

I am particularly ‘tuned in’ to the fuzziness of such an in-between position. I grew up in a small village in the province of Friesland and although I am predominantly of Frisian heritage, my mother came from Utrecht and we spoke Dutch at home. This was sufficient to be considered ‘import’ by most of my friends, with which they meant ‘outsider’. In fact, people only started seeing me as being a Frisian when I moved to another province for my first job. To complicate matters, my father worked for an internationally operating company in civil engineering, so a part of my youth was spent in South America.

Not only did this introduce me to (neo-)colonial and other prejudices while being there and thereafter coming home, which were presented to me by the opinions of the Dutch about foreigners and foreign countries, but also, I might add, the ones I had (and have) myself. It also made me aware of often extremely amusing differences in other people’s perception of my identity, such as being called a provincial red-neck by someone from a nearby and in my view very provincial town, just after we had returned from visiting New York a few weeks earlier. As expressions of self-identity and especially claiming certain entitlement from this seem to have become epidemic these days, I am glad that most of the experiences with my ‘agnocultural’ identity were generally good-humoured and in our family we tended to be rather playful with these different aspects of ourselves.

It may also be worth mentioning that, although I am an engineer and proud of it, I did my PhD at the University for Humanistic Studies in Utrecht. I consider Humanistic Studies to be a form of applied philosophy and as philosophers and hard core engineers often have problems in finding common ground, to put it mildly,¹–³ this is one of those other areas where I often find myself in a fuzzy in-between. So even though I do not consider myself to be an expert in science, methodology of science, or philosophy of science, I do claim certain expertise in fluidly navigating between various worlds, where one perspective can be used to highlight another and where being part of a certain culture provides insights that an outsider will not easily comprehend, whereas the outsider is able to see the peculiarities that the insiders consider to be obvious. And this is what complexity thinking is all about.

If there is one thing that my ‘agnocultural’ experiences have taught me, it is that people who have the luxury of being settled in one specific culture often don’t realise how specific and localised their world views are. Characteristics attributed to ‘outsiders’ are often reflections of implicit norms and values that are not questioned because they are so obvious (and implicit). The general tendency is to think that the ‘other’ is peculiar in some way, while obviously something is happening in the dynamics between the observer and the observed; the specific biases and mindsets of the observer tends to highlight the differences with the ‘other’ and these differences often have a normative character, which means that they bear a relationship with values that are considered ‘normal’ by the observer. As I aim to argue later, scientific practices are not in any way exempted from this all-too-human peculiarity and therefore a methodology, or philosophy of science should pay attention to these phenomena. Sadly however, philosophy and methodology may disagree with science on many issues, but often not on the blind spots of their own practices. All these stem from a belief that by taking an outsider perspective and through careful argumentation, one is able to uncover ‘truths’ about the other and that these truths have a certain relevance, for instance because they are ‘objective’ or ‘factual’. The process of knowing, it is assumed, can simply be covered by checking if the argumentation has been performed correctly. One does therefore not have to account for the peculiarities of the human brain, social interactions, presentation and the likes. This omission leads, according to Edgar Morin, to blind knowledge; knowledge that does not account for one’s manner of knowing and sharing of knowledge.⁴

Let me exemplify this with my own introduction to this dilemma, (now) almost twenty years ago. I had just started my PhD in complexity and complex systems, in which my supervisor prof. Dr Harry Kunneman and myself were looking at a way to use this new field of enquiry to bridge the rift between the Natural Sciences and the Humanities.⁵–⁷ At the time, I felt I had a clear idea on how to approach this, until the following thought dawned on me;

"If I am studying complexity in scientific research and science is a complex activity, then a methodology or philosophy of complexity should be able to say something about itself!"

This is a self-referential approach, whereby observers observe themselves and in doing so changes their own being. Even though I am professionally quite familiar with self-referentiality, it took me the rest of my research and another decade afterwards to grasp this simple thought. It has resulted in a different way of building up an argument, it has liberated me from using only knowledge ‘accepted’ within academic discourses, but most of all it brought me to thinkers who, each in their own fields of expertise, have reached similar conclusions. This self-referential turn forced me to focus not only on subject matter (e.g., the ‘scientist’ or ‘researcher’), but on the process of getting to know something!

So here we are. This treatise is about a semi-scientist creating an installation where certain scientific practices that are considered ‘normal’ within academia are put on display, with the different, yet oddly familiar, language of complexity thinking. This particular act of artistry uses the same aloof language of the academic to describe academic practices, fully knowing that certain selections are made, certain habits are consciously highlighted and certain caricatures are presented. Above all, this is an installation where certain jokes are subtly (or not so subtly) included, for I agree with most scholars on complexity,⁴,⁸ that a good sense of humour offers one of the best preparations in this fuzzy, self-referential world that we call complexity thinking!¹

The Path Less Taken

In order to proceed we will, as complexity goes, not take a nice linear path where we first address a problem and work ourselves towards some conclusions at the end of our journey. This particular exercise is a design activity, where first a coarse model is created, which is refined in a number of iterations. With every refinement, a few new issues are tackled and added. Sometimes these are set against a certain reference, often other scientific practices, or practices of philosophy or methodology, but I would like to stress that complexity thinking is all of the above and at the same time none of them. Complexity literally means ‘that what is woven together’ and complexity thinking is all about weaving connections between models that, for historical reasons, have become confined to the strict boundaries of certain academic specialisations.⁵

Let us start with the premise; we are studying science, or scientific practices, while positioning ourselves within that realm, so basically our point of departure is that science is studying itself! This self-referential position requires us to use the full toolkit that science has to offer, from hard, formalist approaches to relativist, postmodern ones in order to describe itself; the researcher is the subject matter!

This stance already distinguishes itself from most contributions from philosophy of science, or the study of scientific methodology, because there the researcher, just as the scientist, is usually considered to take the position of an outsider looking at the goings on of the scientist.⁶—⁸ As we shall see, our path will present us with a distinction, between the ‘knower’ and the ‘known’, to paraphrase the renowned complexity thinker Edgar Morin, in which the subject matter—scientific practices—is ‘the known’, but it can only be ‘known’ if we understand how the knower is able to ‘know things’.⁴ And remember; in this particular exercise the knower and the known are in fact the same.

Confusing? Good…we are only getting started!

In the first chapter I will introduce three historical sketches, or threads, of ways that we try to make sense of our world, which culminates in the ‘science wars’ between the natural or ‘hard’ sciences on one hand and postmodern mainstreams in the social sciences and the humanities on the other. I aim to point out that in these debates certain normative positions are taken, which are presented as ‘truth’ or ‘fact’. The science wars, which can be likened to a peat fire that flares up every now and then, provide an interesting self-referential case study for the exploration we are embarking on. At the end of this chapter I will introduce a dialectical perspective that may help us to understand the dynamics between the knower and the known, in terms of Edgar Morin.

The second chapter will introduce two new threads to our design, namely the developments that lead to the research of complex systems on the one hand and complexity thinking on the other. It is a brief introduction to scientific and philosophical research on complexity and complex systems and is presented in such a way that the current distinctions (and controversies) between the natural or hard sciences, the social sciences and the Humanities start to make sense. These, I will argue, are simply the result of the complexity of ‘the known’ and implicit assumptions about the ‘knower’.

The third chapter will return to the science wars. A concise historical account of modern science aims to highlight the ‘belief system’ of its practitioners and give attention to the critique of this belief system in the Twentieth Century, especially from postmodern, ‘relativist’ stances. The main purpose of this chapter is to argue that these academic currents can be considered as two extreme positions on the notion of ‘truth’ and with the dialectical view that was presented in chapter 1, we can see these controversies as being implicit assumptions about the role of the knower in research and especially the limitations of knowing. The central thesis here is that a complex theme can never be fully known and that every model of complexity is itself a reduction of complexity

The fourth chapter will discuss a coarse model that addresses this self-referential conundrum and by consciously steering away from established academic approaches to address the problem of the knower and the ‘known’, we will be able to rethink age-old philosophical (and practical) stances of ontology, epistemology, objectivity, truth and fact. This, I aim to argue, will result in a dialectical view of truth, which is more an agreement between knower and the known, than an ontological presence of, or in the known. It is vital here to understand that, in this view, truths are designed and not ‘found’ or ‘discovered’.

In the fifth chapter I will deepen the model that was presented in the first chapter, by adding the notion of patterns. I will argue that patterns are a somewhat ignored phenomena in discussions regarding (unstructured) data and (structured) information and that understanding the interplay of patterns between (representations of) the known in the models that the knower makes, can help us to better understand why some forms of knowing are more elusive than others, even at a very fundamental level! Building on the work of Paul Cilliers, who used insights from the ‘hard’ sciences to argue the reason of staunch postmodern thinkers, who are generally considered the extreme opposite of the same ‘hard’ sciences, I aim to simplify these ideas, by bringing new insights from research from artificial intelligence and other disciplines to the table.

Chapter six will discuss pattern libraries. This methodological construct is borrowed from architecture and software engineering and will be used to introduce a few simple, but in my view fundamental, patterns of complexity thinking.

Chapter seven will introduce the notion of (methodological) interferences. These can be applied by bringing in knowledge from one domain, scientific or not, and using this knowledge to critically assess contributions from other knowledge domains. This complexity-informed technique can be ‘tweaked’ to develop an argument that is methodologically acceptable for any specific discipline, scientific or not, even though one can base the argument on references that would not be the primary choice within such a discipline. Methodological interferences are particularly useful to give voice to stakeholders who are usually excluded from scientific debate, such as professionals, practitioners or clients. It will also be argued that these interferences can prevent the formation of specialist ‘bubbles’ in a scientific culture, where like-minded people create echo-chambers without regard for developments in other areas.

In chapter eight I will discuss the ethical consequences of complexity thinking As complexity thinking understands and accepts the limitations of knowing, observation fundamentally becomes an ethical activity. The knower makes selections and educated estimates about what she includes and what she considers to be ‘details’. As a result, for a complexity thinker, an ‘objective’ or ‘neutral’ position is impossible, even if there is such a thing as an objective reality out there.

Chapter nine will explore the consequences of complexity thinking for the professions. Following the ideas of Donald Schön, it will be argued that the professions have been severely constrained by adopting the scientific method as means to professionalise their work. Not that the adoption of scientific practice is necessarily wrong, but because the notion of objectivity blends narratives of practice with that of justification, the professions were forced into a submissive role, as their own narratives could, and can, hardly live up to the ‘high grounds’ of theoretical work.⁹ I hope to argue with Schön that this never was a shortcoming of the professions, rather it was because scientific theory is currently hardly equipped to deal with the complexity of professional practices. As a result, even today the practical use of ‘objectivity’ in the professions basically at best tends to support democratisation of the work practices, rather than ‘really’ improving them. At worst, the normative distinction between objectivity and subjectivity bereaves the professions of an important means to engage with their subject matter, as subjectivity is seen as something that has to be sanctioned.

Chapter ten will discuss the notion of transcendence and give a complexity-informed argument why science does not necessarily exclude spirituality and other esoteric issues that are beyond our comprehension. The key lies yet again in a number of ontological premises which steer an argument in one way or another. The ‘pattern of network’ is introduced to explore the idea that collaborating entities can create an overarching ‘intelligence’ that is no longer comprehensible for those entities themselves. This pattern will be used to explore certain ideas of a social system.

The epilogue will be the end of this journey into complexity. We will revisit some of the themes that were discussed and hopefully the reader will have become more attuned to the way of thinking that is presented in this book. In fact, this book itself has been an exercise in self-referential methodology, that aims to be internally consistent. Upon reading the book for a second time, one may spot how certain terms or concepts are introduced, which from that point on are used to further the arguments that are made; the text creates the arguments that, in turn, create the text! One can also see this in the references that are used. Instead of providing a list of authors in a chronological fashion, this particular enterprise reiterates over the same texts, as the argument develops. For me, this is the most practical implementation of what one of the founding fathers of complexity thinking, Edgar Morin, considers this to be ‘the method’; the path in which the research emerges.⁴ These explorations are all without grave pretences and are mainly meant as exercises to demonstrate how patterns can be used to develop an argumentation and not to convey truths about subject matter. For all these topics require the dedication, time and effort of people who are willing to passionately engage with them.

Finally one more concluding remark is needed. We all know how in modern organisations ‘leaders’ at the top of the societal hierarchies rely on ‘executive summaries’ to base their decisions. Basically these are reductions of complexity that are compiled at operational levels lower in the hierarchy. Being a bit of an anarchist myself, I never understood why managers at higher strategic levels of an organisation, who claim that they have jobs with the most ‘responsibility’, get fed with increasingly simpler models, the higher you go up in the hierarchy!⁹

Complexity thinking does not follow that approach. Complexity thinkers should not pretend that complexity can be ‘wished away’ by simplifying the world around them, for instance through executive summaries. Complexity thinkers have to dare to think complex, thereby training themselves to make as accurate models as possible. Complexity is not here to please the reader, instead the reader must want to think complex! If that’s not what you want to do, then this book is not for you!

Chapter 1:

Science in the Age of

Alternative Truths

Introduction

This first chapter will present three historical sketches on how our current understanding of the notions of ‘truth’, ‘objectivity’ and ‘factuality’ developed in the West and how it has shaped the rationale and self-identity of science. As modern notions of truth are pervasive throughout society and includes amongst others journalism and law, we cannot limit this discussion to science alone. We also need to address the context in which science takes place, especially since the very notion of truth is currently under attack; from allegations to ‘fake news’ to ‘alternative truths’. At the end of this treatise, I propose an alternative understanding of truth, the dialectic of complexity, which will serve as the departure point for the rest of this book.

But first it may be worthwhile to share why I think this issue has a certain relevance and even urgency for the times we find ourselves in.

Right-Wing Postmodernism

Somewhere around 2010 a friend of mine pointed out to me the book Blinded by the Right by David Brock.¹⁰ I remember reading it with interest, as it suggested a new form of conservatism in the United States, appropriately called neoconservatism, of which the rhetoric was much less inspired by a Christian God and family values that had previously governed the Republican identity. I remember, while reading that book, that the term right-wing postmodernism flashed through my mind, seeing as I did a strong association with certain ideas on truth relativism that were developed in Continental Europe. Especially in the Sixties and the Seventies of the Twentieth Century, the absolute character of truth had been questioned and the political left in academia in Europe had exposed the power structures behind this concept. However, these relativist claims were now under critical scrutiny from the same people who had once helped to make it a popular intellectual mainstream.2 In fact, I read in Brock’s book that many of the early ‘neo-Cons’ in the United States were once radical lefties, who had become disappointed with the little impact their ideals had on the world. As capitalism seemed to wipe out all other forms of ideology,¹¹ the neo-Cons took their relativist world-views to a welcoming younger audience on the right side of the political spectrum, who did no longer adhere to the ideas of an intelligent God,¹⁰ or who felt confident that their God was equivalent to their views about Him.

At the time, my interest in the neo-Cons was far from political. Having a technical background myself, I was looking into the Science Wars, which I tend to see as an ongoing peat-fire between the natural sciences, who believe there is something as an ‘objective truth’ that can be established by ‘facts’ and especially postmodern influences in the social sciences, who are highly suspicious of such claims and who often believe that this form of rhetoric aims to maintain the power structures of elites. At the University for Humanistic Studies in Utrecht, where I was completing my PhD thesis, we were trying to see if we could bridge the divide between these oppositions and see if we could develop an intermediate ‘language’—a lingua democratica—that could help us to mediate between these opposing positions.¹²,¹³

My supervisor prof. Dr Harry Kunneman, my co-supervisor prof. Dr Paul Cilliers and myself were convinced that the emerging field of complexity might give us some clues on how to tackle this problem. It had struck me that current developments in the natural sciences had no problems with terms like uncertainty and multi-dimensional universes where ‘strings’ existed, where things could be either a wave or a particle, depending on whether or not an observer had witnessed it. However vague and complex (although mathematically consistent) these ideas were, these new insights hardly seemed to affect the methods that the natural sciences use for their endeavours, which were still strongly based on a linear approach from theory, to hypothesis, experiment and validation. I thought that if an observer can alter the manifestation of a particle, then surely the ‘scientific method’ must encounter similar quantum vagueness, where the experiment determines the outcome instead of revealing it?¹⁴

Now, at the time of writing this book in 2023, the underlying differences in world-views that fuelled the science wars have spilled over to the social and