27 Mar 2019
Last weekend I attended Startup Weekend Oxford: Fintech Edition. It was the third startup weekend I’ve attended, having been to one in Oxford two years ago and one in London late last year. I love them — each time I’ve been, I’ve met really lovely people, and had fun working on really cool ideas. This time the team that I was a part of won first prize!
Our team, the judges and the organisers
What is a Startup Weekend?
Startup Weekends are organised by Techstars in partnership with Google for Entrepreneurs. Over a weekend, 50-80 people self-organise into small teams, come up with a startup idea, validate the idea, and pitch it.
Despite the weekend being full-on, it has a defined structure. (In comparison, hackathons, in my experience, are twenty-four hours of solid coding).
On Friday, everyone arrives, mingles, has some food and drink, and is invited to pitch an idea for a startup that they haven’t yet worked on. People vote on the ideas, and the top 7 (or so) are chosen. Everyone forms into teams: one team per idea. with people they’ve never met before. On Friday night, throughout Saturday, and on Sunday morning, the team works on the idea: coming up with a prototype, a business plan, a growth strategy, and putting it all into a pitch deck.
On Saturday there are workshops. There are about how to validate a problem, pitching, growth strategies and so on. There are also mentors from related industries, who have lots of experience and so can answer questions and offer advice.
On Sunday, all the teams pitch (for just 5 minutes!) to a panel of judges. Each team is judged on three criteria: (i) the validation of the problem and the innovation of the solution, (ii) the execution of the solution, and (iii) the business model. Then the winners are announced. And then, beer.
Getting a team together
I didn’t pitch an idea at the previous two startup weekends I went to. I actually ended up being on teams working on social enterprises at both. The first one was a ‘pledge-swapping’ app, where users could meet other socially-minded users and commit to (for example) going vegetarian for a week in excahnge for signing up to the Labour party membership. The second idea was about encouraging people to boycott brands that had bad human rights practices and offer ethical alternatives.
Photo of me answering a question from the judges at Startup Weekend Oxford 2017.
So this time around I was keen to pitch an idea, but didn’t have anything fleshed out. But I did, however, have a (macro) problem that I thought needed solving. Renting is crazy expensive (especially when living in London in your early 20s) and saving enough to get onto the property ladder while paying so much in rent is nearly impossible.
Unlike most pitches, I didn’t pitch a solution. I had no sexy app in mind to solve this problem. I did, however, have a concept in mind that could be used: property guardianship.
In brief, a property guardian is someone who enters into an agreement with a company to live in an otherwise unoccupied building. Property guardian is not an officially recognised term; it is used to denote a resident who doesn’t have a lease agreement so is technically not a ‘tenant’. The company who owns the building saves huge amounts in insurance and empty building tax (in some cases a £110k p.a. bill dropped to £15k p.a.) and the guardian gets to live cheaply in a non-residential building. The buildings could be anything, from office blocks to disused hospitals. Often they have no furniture, and only have running water and a smoke alarm.
People pitching usually say who they want to join their team: designers, developers, marketers, and so on. I just asked for anyone who was keen to research the problem as much as possible, and see if we could find a solution. My pitch got enough votes and eventually we formed a team of 7.
The inital idea
Friday evening was spent doing a brain dump of all potential ideas. Saturday was spent doing a lot of research. There were lots of problems; one we kept coming back to was that potential property guardians don’t know what their legal rights as a guardian would be. We thought of pitching an app that compared different property guardian companies; an app that made it really easy to sign up and apply, and get NFC powered key access to a building; an app that targeted international students looking to live cheaply…
But all our research showed that none of these had a business case.
There are 40 or so companies that offer property guardianships, and only 7000 guardians in the UK. One company had a waiting list of 2000 people. The market was both small and crowded. Moreover, the appeal had disappeared: when these properties first appeared in the early 2000s, places could be ‘rented’ for a third of what normal rent was. Now the cost is basically the same, but you don’t get the same guarantees or provisions that a retner would. There are horror stories of deposits never being returned, guardians having to vacate within 24 hours, and more.
The nail in the coffin came when one of our team tracked down a journalist who had lived as a property guardian in multiple properties in the last ten years, and had written a piece about it in The Times. He told us that we really had no business case. Because of the rising cost to be a property guardian, our startup would make so little money running a service on top. And in his opinion, the whole scheme would “eat it’s own tail” and disappear in a matter of years.
We didn’t really have anywhere to go with the idea. It sounded great: 24,000 commerical properties in London alone are empty, and 11,000 of those have been empty for 2+ years (source). But we had nothing unique, and no way to convince those property owners that a person needing somewhere to cheap to live was better than a good security system until they could be sold.
So, on Saturday evening, three quarters of the way into the competition, we decided to scrap everything we’d done and start afresh.
## Episode IV
We ‘pivoted’. We came up with and refined a new idea: simplifying co-buying a house.
Groups of friends in their early 20s who are already renting together can save money by jointly buying a property and paying a mortgage together, and then, in four or five years time, they can sell it and buy somewhere else by themselves or with their significant other.
This is already possible to do, but people don’t do it, because it’s not easy. There are lots of difficult ‘what if’ questions. What if someone wants to get married and leaves? What if someone goes bankrupt and I’m held liable? What if two people want to buy out another person’s share?
Our app would show people explicitly what happens in these various scenarios, removing any worries, and would also show the savings made by not paying rent and by potential increase (or decrease) of the property’s value. The company would initially be profitable by gaining referral fees from conveyancers and mortgage brokers, and could eventually branch out into subsidiary revenue streams.
Although this idea focussed on a completely different problem, it solves the same macro problem: rent is expensive; how do I pay less rent?
Our team scrambled together a pitch deck, some figures to size the market and present a business case to show it was viable, we put together a quick prototype with Figma (I <3 Figma), and we pitched it. And we won!
The weekend was a blast. I already knew from previous startup weekends that the best startups have to actually solve a problem, instead of just creating a solution for a problem that no one has. But I never expected to pivot away from an idea so late into the competition, but still be able to end up winning.
Other lessons: a good pitch and a good prototype really make all the difference. Each team only had five minutes to communicate what we’d spent the whole weekend working on, so at the end of it all, it really came down to selling what we’d done to the judges, and getting them to believe in our idea.
I feel super lucky to have worked alongside such an amazing team throughout. We all listened to each other, worked collaboratively, and bounced ideas off each other. It was this that eventually allowing us to land on something really great.
Stay tuned for more info about our startup-in-progress!
PS: Matt also did a write-up about our team at Startup Weekend; you can read it here.
27 Aug 2018
This blogpost was first published on the u2tuition blog. If you want to learn more about Kant, I recommend watching or listening to this lecture series by Dan Robinson.
Immanuel Kant was a German philosopher who was born in 1724 and lived until 1804. He was also one of the most important philosophers who has ever lived. His contributions to the study of metaphysics (questions relating to the nature of reality) and the study epistemology (questions relating to knowledge) have had a profound influence on all philosophers who came after him.
This is all because he went about philosophy in a unique way. Before Kant, philosophers had tried to answer questions such as: what is the soul? Is all matter made of the same substance? What can we have knowledge of? And does God exist?
Kant instead begun by asking a more fundamental question, which he claims has to be answered before asking any other questions. This question is: how do we attain knowledge of the world? What conditions must be satisfied in order to have any knowledge at all? Only when we have an answer to this question can further questions be asked about the nature of the world. Kant’s answer to this question, and the consequences of his answer, form his ‘critical philosophy.’1
The main idea is this: instead of humans passively receiving information from the world around us via the sensory data collected by the sense organs, the human mind instead actively plays a part in shaping the world that we experience. This means that everything which we experience does not come to us already shaped. Instead, we play a part in shaping how our experiences are structured.
This idea is not that controversial: current researchers in neuroscience and psychology agree with this. Anil Seth, a cognitive neuroscientist and the co-director of the Sackler Centre for Consciousness Science, describes it as your brain ‘hallucinating’ the conscious reality you experience.2
It also makes sense of our understanding of how animals perceive the world. Consider two animals: dogs and flies. Dogs are red-green colour-blind, so cannot perceive the same range of visible light that humans can. Flies experience the world in a way we are thoroughly unable to comprehend, as they have prismatic vision, so only experience a ‘prismatic’ word.3
An example of one of the specific ways in which Kant thinks we shape the world is to do with causal relations. According to Kant, we only ever perceive two events as being causally related because we sculpt them as being causally related. (This view of causality is meant to solve Hume’s famous problem of causality;5 Kant claims that it was Hume who awoke him from his “dogmatic slumber”).
A consequence of this is that all we ever experience is a world of appearances. We never directly experience any kind of objective reality, which Kant refers to as the world as it is in itself (or Ding an sich).6 This view is controversial, but it allows Kant to provide a solution to a problem that raged between the greatest philosophers in the centuries preceding him.
The Greatest Dilemma In All Human Thought
Before Kant, there were two conflicting answers to the question: what can you know using the pure faculty of reason? Think about this for a moment. If you were sat in an armchair with your eyes closed, could you know anything? What would you be justified in claiming knowledge of?
Before we answer let me introduce a distinction between four types of knowledge:7
- Knowledge that is analytic doesn’t introduce anything new which isn’t already contained within the meaning of the words. The propositions “all triangles have three sides” and “this bachelor is an unmarried man” are examples of analytic propositions.
- Knowledge that is synthetic adds something to a concept. For example, the propositions “the grass is green” or “tomorrow it will rain” are both synthetic propositions, as new knowledge is gained.
- Knowledge that is a posteriori is derived from sense experience. The above example “the grass is green” is a posteriori, as we come to know it by looking at the grass.
- Knowledge that is a priori is derived from reason alone. One example would be the claim “god is supremely good;” if a person were to know that proposition, they wouldn’t be able to know it via experience, so would know it a priori.
The rationalist philosophers (Descartes, Leibniz, Spinoza and others) thought we could have synthetic a priori knowledge. This meant that we would be able to know things only by using our faculty of reason. Descartes’ famous Meditations make use of this. From his armchair, Descartes conducts a thought experiment: what if everything we experience is an illusion caused by an evil demon? He claims that this isn’t the case, by a series of steps that only use his faculty of reason. He first realises that he is a thinking being (this is the famous “I think, therefore I am,” which is often called the cogito). He then reasons that, as he clearly and distinctly knows that he is a thinking thing, anything he thinks clearly and distinctly must be true. He continues to reason in a similar way, to reach conclusions about the existence of God and the nature of his soul. All of this is done without any appeal to the world of experience. It all happens from his armchair.
The empiricist philosophers (Hume, Locke, Berkeley and others) thought that we could not have synthetic a priori knowledge. Hume famously writes in the Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (12:34) “Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experimental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence? No. Commit it then to the flames: for it can contain nothing but sophistry and illusion.” By this he means that we only allowed to claim knowledge of truths that are synthetic a posteriori or analytic a priori, and nothing else.
This leaves us in this situation:
||Rationalist: yes / Empiricist: no
||Rationalist: yes / Empiricist: yes
||Rationalist: yes / Empiricist: yes
Synthetic a priori truths are ones that we can’t get from external experience, but still increase our knowledge. Answers to metaphysical questions, like what is the nature of the world, or can events cause other events, or does God exist, are all synthetic a priori. It is supremely important that we are able to give answers to such questions instead of just remaining sceptical about them; if we can’t give answers, all of metaphysical enquiry is doomed, as Hume thought it was. But the rationalist solution is no good either – there clearly seems to be something wrong with laying claim to grand ideas about God and the world purely using reason.
Kant provides an incredibly clever solution to this problem. Instead of siding with either the rationalists or the empiricists, he synthesises their two answers into one position, claiming that the two sets of philosophers before him were just “wrestling with shadows.”
Quick recap of earlier: Kant’s great idea was that we actively shape the world we experience. Sensations don’t passively arrive to us fully formed, entering our brain; instead our brain creates our reality. As he writes, “up to now it ha[d] been assumed that all cognition must conform to the objects… let us now assume that he objects must conform to our cognition [of them].” The direction of explanation changes: instead of the limits of what we experience being the limits of our cognition, it is the limits of our cognition itself that become the limits of what we can experience. The world we experience is thus only a world of appearances, and not an underlying objective reality.
This gives Kant an answer to what we can know solely by using our faculty of pure reason:
Our experience of objects is known a priori. This is because we shape that experience using categories which are innate, i.e. using part of our faculty of reason.8 This experience is also synthetic, as having knowledge of objects in the world is gaining new knowledge. So Kant disagrees with the empiricists: we can have synthetic a priori knowledge.
Our knowledge is limited to what we can experience. Because we shape what we experience, we can never know anything beyond the world of appearance. So, while Kant thinks we can have synthetic a priori knowledge, he still disagrees with the rationalists. This is because he denies that we can know anything about God, the soul, and so on. There are limits to what we can know because of how we know things.
Kant’s synthesis thus provides a way out of this grand dilemma.
How This Has Impacted Everything Since
Before Kant, philosophers and scientists were roughly the same thing. They both investigated the nature of the world. But during and after Kant’s time, new scientific and mathematical methods were being developed. This led to the distinction between philosophy and science becoming stronger. The job of the philosopher became to support science, by finding a ground that justified all the discoveries of the scientist.
Kant was writing in the time of Newton. Newton was making leaps and bounds in the fields of mathematics and science; meanwhile, the philosophers were unable to even know whether one event had caused another. Kant’s project was thus incredibly important at that time. His writing was hunting for a metaphysical system that was able to ground the objectivity required by the scientists.
*Could there be a more consequential philosophical project? Kant’s ideas about the world respect the cognitive and perceptual resources that come to bear on every knowledge claim that we make. His ideas provide a metaphysical analysis that manages to accommodate the unique stamp of human cognition, without lapsing into rampant subjectivity. And most importantly, Kant’s project is able to inform the sciences on what precisely it is that makes the sciences successful.
I stand in the garden, observing the beautiful yellow sunflowers that have just bloomed. A honeybee is alongside me. The peak spectral sensitivity of normal human vision is 555 nanometres, whereas honeybees have three types of photoreceptor that all peak in the ultraviolet range of light. I.e., honeybees can see thing that are outside the range of what we have anthropocentrically refer to as ‘visible light.’ The honeybee sees nothing that is yellow. I see nothing that is ultraviolet. Are we both hallucinating? No – we both perceive something that really does exist. Kant’s argument is what allows us to explain that objectivity of shared experience, while also retaining the uniquely human subjectivity that we bring to the situation. Building on this, all of science is possible.
1 Kant’s philosophy is called the ‘critical philosophy’ because he proposes it across the three Critiques, namely the Critique of Pure Reason (1781/87), the Critique of Practical Reason (1788) and the Critique of the Power of Judgment (1790).
2 See Seth’s TED Talk for more information: https://www.ted.com/talks/anil_seth_how_your_brain_hallucinates_your_conscious_reality
3 We know that creatures different from humans experience the world differently by examining their sense organs. However, we can never really know what the conscious experience of another creature is like. This is related to the hard problem of consciousness. For more on this, see Thomas Nagel’s brief essay on ‘What Is It Like to Be A Bat?’
4 According to Kant, the way that we ‘shape’ or ‘mould’ our experience is done using a set of innately held categories that are schematised. Kant was incredibly precise about this list of categories and how we derive them from a set of logical forms. This has led some to accuse him of an unnecessary “architectonic mania” – meaning that he subdivides things excessively and irrationally, trying to find patterns that aren’t really there.
5 According to Hume, causality is a habit of the mind, fabricated out of repeated experiences. When we experience two events repeatedly occurring together, we assume that one event causes the other, just because of habit. There is no deeper ‘causal power.’
6 Claiming that objects are in some way dependent on our mind is a stance known as idealism. Kant’s idealism is different from Berkleian idealism, however. For Berkeley, all objects exist in the mind. For Kant, objects still exist physically, but the conditions of our experience of those objects is mind-dependent. This results in his idealism being labelled transcendental idealism, as transcendental means relating to preconditions of experience.
7 To be precise, when Kant writes about these distinctions, they apply to judgements (Urteil) about our cognition (Erkenntnis). Cognition is slightly different to what Kant calls knowledge (Wissen) – however, for our purposes these finer details aren’t relevant.
8 Here I am simplifying again; Kant uses the word ‘reason’ in a very specific way differently to how I write about it here, but which isn’t relevant to our purposes.
30 Jul 2018
I recently completed my degree at the University of Oxford. My undergraduate and masters were combined, so I’m only getting one degree, instead of a BA and a Masters separately. The degree title is Master of Computer Science and Philosophy.
The fourth year of the course was split into three parts. One third was a 20,000 word thesis; I wrote it comparing an aspect of Advaita Vedanta (maya or avidya) in the writings of Adi Sankaracharya, with a very similar idea in the philosophy of a German 18th century philosopher called Schopenhauer.
I have included an extract of my thesis below. If you want to read the full thing, please don’t hesitate to message me!
The other two thirds were two modules. For each, I had to sit a 3h45m exam and submit a 5,000 word extended essay. My exams ended up being on the same day (🙁), so a few weeks ago I sat 7h30m of exams in one day, with a small break in the middle for lunch. Below are some photos of me finishing those exams.
End of a long day of exams
My tutor, Peter, who was the reason I made it through my degree
In this thesis, I compare two philosophers: the 19th century, post-Kantian philosopher Schopenhauer, and Sankara, an ancient Indian philosopher from the 8th century. I examine their respective theories of representation and the arguments that they each give in defence. Sankara’s theory is that the world which we experience is illusory in nature, resulting from an individual’s ignorance (avidya) of their true nature. Schopenhauer’s theory is a type of idealism, labelled by him as the ‘representation’ aspect of the world, or the ‘world as representation.’
Examining the relationship between two philosophies can proceed in different ways. The first is by questioning whether one developed under the influence of the other. This is done by examining historical and textual evidence. The second is a comparative approach. This is done through a critical analysis of the arguments used to defend each philosophy; the strategies or flaws of each is used to strengthen or attack the other. Such a comparison can be undertaken without historical consideration. Much has been written on the influence of Indian philosophy on Schopenhauer’s writings; this thesis instead proceeds using a comparative approach.1
I aim to analytically discuss and evaluate arguments given by Schopenhauer and Sankara. Their respective styles of writing present a challenge: they write in different contexts and are guided by different motives. Here I aim to bring out the essence of their philosophical works in a way which allows them to be dissected and to be compared with each other: in the first part, I do this by enumerating the key tenets of their theories; in the second part, I do this by syllogising their arguments into premises, allowing for an examination of validity and assumptions made.
Schopenhauer had a lot in common with Indian philosophy. Magee writes that “[t]here is nothing controversial in saying that of the major figures in Western philosophy, Schopenhauer is the one who has most in common with Eastern thought.”2 Choosing Sankara to compare him to is due to his influence and reputation. He is credited with establishing and unifying large sections Hindu philosophy,3 and is labelled as one of the founding fathers of Advaita Vedanta.4 His writings attempt to systematise early Hindu ideas; he also defends these ideas using methods of reasoning found in the earlier Buddhist Mādhyamika philosophy.5 Furthermore, a comparative study of schools of philosophy can only be done meaningfully when working within a limited scope. There exists a huge range of Indian thought, and so by focussing specifically on Sankara’s writings and the Advaita Vedanta school, this discussion can take place.
I choose to focus on theories of representation due to their continuing relevance in philosophy. A theory of representation explains all experience of the empirical world by positing that we perceive one thing which is merely a representation of something else.6 Both Sankara and Schopenhauer claim that all we ever do perceive are representations; the underlying ultimate reality is something else entirely. Questioning whether our world of everyday objects could be unreal is something that challenges philosophers even now. Moreover, it is a question that has a relevance beyond philosophy: it inspires and challenges poets, artists and authors.
The Indian philosophical texts which Schopenhauer read were only available to him in a double-translation: from the original Sanskrit into Persian, and then into Latin. These translations are considered to be outdated and inaccurate.7 Thus, to facilitate the most accurate comparison, the primary sources I refer to are contemporary translations into English of both Sankara’s and Schopenhauer’s writings.8
Translations given will prioritise philosophical clarity over accuracy of translation. Key Sanskrit terms will be transliterated and provided alongside their translation into English.9 After their first use, I use English translations. The exception to this is my use of the term avidya; as I explain in Section 4, it does not have a direct translation. Many Sanskrit terms have different meanings depending on context, and hence warrant different translations depending on the school of philosophy they are used in; in what follows I give the translation appropriate to their use in Advaita Vedanta.
This thesis proceeds in two parts: the first part examines the two theories, and the second part examines the arguments given to defend the theories. In the first part, Sections 2 and 3 cover the backgrounds of Sankara and Schopenhauer in detail, providing a context for each of their theories. Sections 4 and 5 then explain each of their respective theories of representation, and Section 6 notes similarities and differences between the theories when examined in themselves. In the second part, Section 7 enumerates the arguments given by each to argue in favour of the theories; from this list, I choose five arguments to examine. Section 8 examines one of the arguments used by Schopenhauer, namely the dream argument, and Section 9 examines two similar arguments made by Sankara. Then, Section 10 examines another one of the arguments that Schopenhauer uses, namely the argument from causality, and Section 11 examines a similar argument from Sankara. Section 12 concludes with a summary of my findings.
My examination reveals that, as Schopenhauer himself claimed, the two positions really are very close, to the extent that they even make use of structurally similar arguments. My conclusion lists a number of similarities and differences.
Concerning the theories when examined in themselves, I argue that they are, in essence, identical, and that the main differences are about the knowability of the ultimate reality and Schopenhauer’s pessimism.
Concerning the arguments given to defend their theories, I list certain structural similarities in their styles of arguing, as well as uncovering one fundamental difference: Schopenhauer’s arguments start from examining the limits of one’s experience of the empirical world; from this, he draws conclusions about the thing-in-itself. Sankara, however, starts from assumptions about the nature of ultimate reality, and uses these to draw conclusions about our experiences of the empirical world.
1 See Berger (2004) and App (2006 and 2014) for more on the question of influence.
2 Magee, 1987: 316. By ‘Eastern thought,’ Magee is referring specifically to Hindu and Buddhist philosophy. 3 Kruijf and Sahoo, 2014: 105
4 Bartley, 2015: 180
5 Alston, 2004: 1, 23-26
6 A theory of representation could also propose that we perceive through representations instead of perceiving representations. In both cases, the point is that we don’t directly perceive an underlying thing as it is in itself.
7 Here I am primarily referring to Anquetil-Duperron’s Oupnek’hat, a Latin translation of the Persian Sirr-i Akbar, which in turn was a translation of fifty of the Upaniṣads. App (2006) argues that Schopenhauer’s first encounter with Indian philosophy was actually with a translation of the Bhagavad Gītā by Majer. For more, see Cross, 2013: 9-36 and App, 2006.
8 Primarily, I use the 6-volume Sankara Source Book by A. J. Alston, and the translation of both volumes of The World as Will and Representation by E. F. J. Payne. In the List of References, I provide a note on abbreviations used for primary sources.
9 A pronunciation guide for transliterated Sanskrit can be found in Bartley, 2005: 303.
16 Jul 2018
Last weekend, I went to the first day of FutureFest with a friend. FutureFest is a conference organised by Nesta about what the future will be like. It had loads of talks and panel sessions, filled with academics, politicians, artists and musicians, as well as interactive art installations and other exhibits. I wanted to write a brief summary of some of the cool things I saw in order to remember them.
The Garden was an installation by London Glades (a pair of ‘ecological landscape designers’) about re-imagining humanity’s relationship with nature, and redefining the idea of ‘rewilding.’. And oh what a cool installation it was. Especially considering they’d built the whole thing indoors at Tobacco Docks for the weekend.
The installation was divided into four sections: detached, unresolved, inspired and balanced. Visitors could amble through, and throughout the day, tours of the garden as well as short talks were being given in the garden. (One talk was by Åsmund Asdal, the co-ordinator of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault! If you haven’t heard of the Seed Vault then you gotta listen to this podcast about it).
The first section, ‘detached,’ had remnants of man-made constructions, like concrete motorway barriers and lopsided bus stops, that were slowly decaying away. It had ‘pioneer species,’ which is the name given to the first plants on the scene. These are annuals, and are what in a garden we think of as weeds, but are actually the plants all around us. They are the plants that start getting some compost going.
The next section was full of tension. Nature in the UK if left alone wants to become a forest, so here we saw pioneer species continuing to build towards that. But the relationship between people and nature was unresolved. There is a tension, coming from humanity’s need to control things. ‘Rewilding’ in terms of removing all human elements and replacing them solely with ‘natural’ elements is not the future. Some kind of balance is needed.
The third section was nature’s newly emerged forest; nature had reclaimed this area. The floor was damp, the soundscape had no human sounds in it. All 7 layers of the forest were present. Was this the future we wanted?
The last layer was harmony. It looked similar to the previous layer, in that it was totally wild. But there was an aesthetic quality to it, a warmth. It had been designed by humans and was very much a part of the urban landscape, rather than part of the ‘wild’. The abundance of trees and layered canopies held a secret: every plant was edible in some form and permaculture. There was a wealth of biodiversity; perennials were growing rather than annuals. The soundscape featured all the sounds from nature, paired with children laughing. This section embraced the fact that we as humans are nature. This was the vision of an ecologically-centred city.
Other cool things, in brief:
- Akala spoke about Britain’s identity crisis, the lessons we can learn from history, and why he is optimistic
- There was a powerful, frightening and kind of really cool exhibit called the Black Box Bellagio, where you could trade in your personal data for casino chips (more about this here)
- Guerilla Science and the Sackler Centre for Consciousness Science had an interactive exhibit called Escape to Reality about consciousness and neuroscience
- Lydia Nicholas did a great comedy set, where she pointed out that obviously insects are going to taste gross when cooked by rich white men
- CrimeForce: LoveTeam used audience decisions about the future of pop music and political unrest to envision an episode of a police procedural, in which a member of hit boyband LoveTeam was murdered
- Bec Hill did her thing, she’s great, you should watch her videos here
- We went to panels and talks about gig economy in the near-future (i.e. when Deliveroo and Uber models for jobs are ruining lives, before universal basic income takes over), robots, humanity 2.0 / transhumanism and more
30 Sep 2017
While working at Long Lake Camp for the Arts, where I taught magic to 8 - 16 year old kids for two and a half months, I wrote out five rules of magic for the kids.
These were by no means objective rules; instead were just ones I’d written myself. I wrote these specifically for helping 8 - 16 year olds learn how to perform magic well, and to match the tricks I was teaching.
Most wanted to learn card tricks, presumably due to my background in card magic and the prevalence of card magic in the media. As much as possible I tried to avoid mathematical tricks — while often self-working and therefore easy for children to learn, they have the tendency to be quite dry.
Tricks where cards were treated less as cards (i.e. where the suit / value of the card was important) and were treated more like ordinary objects were ideal. The main thing I was pushing was telling good stories, and giving reasons for doing the things that had to be done for the magic. Hence, avoiding dealing three piles of 7 cards and all that bs.
As a side note, a trick which was great for this was David Jade’s Static. It ticks all the boxes; it:
- required some basic sleight of hand (namely learning a swing cut)
- involved creating a simple gimmick
- gave the kids a special prop to look after (responsibility + also exciting to have a secret prop!)
- was open-ended enough so that they could come up for their own story as to why the deck moves
- was a crazy powerful trick, that still used just a deck of cards, but looks miraculous when done right
If you’re a magician and don’t do a haunted deck trick, I can’t recommend this one enough. It’s so much less fiddly than the ‘classic’ way of doing a haunted deck and is totally hands-off when done on a table; you can even do it as a rising card in your own hand (like Eoin O’Hare’s Sleeper). A really, really great trick.
Anyway, back to the rules. They were:
Don’t tell anyone the secrets!
Practice lots! Knowing how a trick works doesn’t mean you can do it.
Magic isn’t really real! It’s all about acting well.
Give a reason for why you do your tricks.
Center your tricks around a magical focal point. (If you can’t think of one, try snapping your fingers or blowing!)
I hope it’s clear how these tried to encourage the kids to give their magic performance a motivation or justification. We had lots of fun stories about Dr Strange and Himalayan monks and Matilda for the haunted deck plot.
Here I want to focus on rule 3.
“Magic isn’t real” isn’t something you’d normally think to teach children. But we had a lot of fun with it. Like all the above rules, it made them think more about why they were performing, and how to act as if it were real. Walking around the camp we also had some fun: we’d show people my hands were empty, cup them together, get someone to put their hands on my hands, get more people to join in, eventually gathering a big crowd. Then do a big, loud dramatic countdown, and then, at zero, shout ‘magic isn’t real!’ and run off.
Sometimes the kids were gutted by rule 3. I think everyone is when they find out that magic isn’t real. But it was important to have it in there, so that they realised they needed to act instead of just doing-the-moves. They came to realise that they themselves had to believe in the magic they did, in order for their audiences to believe in it.
But since coming home I’ve been reading some of my notes and books, and found an essay in a pamphlet by Benjamin Earl about real magic.
Earl advocates a paradigm shift. He suggests making
He defines real magic by the following assumptions. We must assume that:
He also advocates developing language that is compatible with these assumptions.
His full post can be found here. I find this really interesting. It challenges the commonly held view that we, as magicians, have to be liars or have to deceive people. We can be genuine: not only in creating a genuine sense of wonder in our spectators, but in having the genuine belief that what the sense of wonder stems from is something really real.
Does this mean going so far as to be honest about methodology? Earl discusses Chan Canasta, and a contemporary example comes from how Penn and Teller present. Apparently
Food for thought.
I’ve got more to say on this, linking it to notions of ‘real’ with a capital ‘R,’ i.e. a metaphysical thing-in-itself, and one of my favourite passages of philosophy, ‘How the true world finally became an error.’ But will save all that for another time.
Thanks for reading!