The Electric Meme: A new theory of how we think by Robert Aunger, The Free Press, $27, ISBN 0743201507
AS HE observed the rich patterning of human society, the 17th-century philosopher Thomas Hobbes entertained the idea that people and their artefacts constituted the flesh of a diffuse organism. Hobbes gave his culture-creature a name: Leviathan.
Todayās cultural theorists are no less fond of biological metaphor, but they are generally less ambitious than Hobbes. They donāt talk of bodies, but of diseases.
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āLanguage is a virus,ā sang the American artist and performer Laurie Anderson, quoting American literary legend William S. Burroughs. So too, according to the proto-science of memetics, are all practices, artefacts, values or ideas ā for they all contain āmemesā, or copyable patterns of information. These extraordinary critters replicate, compete and evolve as they leap promiscuously from substrate to substrate ā that is, a book to a human brain to a song toā¦who knows what?
Robert Aunger, who organised the first academic conference dedicated to memes, is not impressed with any of this. In The Electric Meme he tests the very idea of memetics to destruction.
The trouble with virus analogies, Aunger says, is that they allow you to be intellectually lazy. For a start, actual viruses do not leap from substrate to substrate. If you wrote down the genome of a flu virus on a piece of paper and handed the paper to your friend, you wouldnāt expect them to catch flu. In reality, āthis jet-setting lifestyle,ā Aunger argues, āis not one any form of communication can sustainā.
Aunger goes on to say that when thinking about replication, abstract conceptions of information simply donāt wash. So he seeks to define precisely where memes may be found ā if in fact they exist at all. His conclusion, reached after some ferociously close argument, flies in the face of memetic theory.
Aungerās memes are electric. They live and die in an individualās brain as arrangements of electrical potentials. They are real creatures, at least as substantial as computer viruses, evolving with unreal rapidity in their neocortical substrate. They are not āideasā. The most you could say of them is that they are the building blocks of thought.
But how can you explain memesā purported ability to travel from person to person? This is vital: how else can they be responsible for culture? Now comes the less happy half of Aungerās thesis, though it is no less conscientiously argued. Memes, he says, transmit to other brains using signals. Books, poems, hairdos and all the other stuff of human culture are mere conduits for these signals.
Thereās no way round it: this argument is inadequate. It is not enough that Aungerās memes transmit copies of themselves through space by means of signals. Those signals must, in order to meet memetic dogma, leave behind them paintings, the Taj Mahal, wars, dental floss ā and everything else we can remotely call cultural.
A signal is just a signal. It canāt build its own conduit. The most it can do is convey the idea of a conduit. But where do such ideas come from? Not from memes ā Aungerās already scotched the idea that memes are ideas. So weāre left with the old answer: it takes a person to have an idea.
Aungerās book will have a major impact upon memetics. But as an explanation of culture, the model is incomplete. This is not a criticism so much as a suggestion that he might be on to something thatās the antithesis of traditional memetics, and potentially much more interesting.
Pretty much inadvertently, Aunger reveals that the apparatus of thought might inhabit the world at two concentrations: in individual brains, and in the diffuse, distributed carryings-on of society. One canāt help wondering: might culture not be a cognitive product of the distributed system? It would be a fine irony indeed if Aunger, having comprehensively trashed lazy virus metaphors, were at the same time to reawaken Hobbesās Leviathan.
- Simon Ingsās latest book is Painkillers, published by Bloomsbury