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  1. 2008.06.08 If the Stones Could Speak
  2. 2008.06.07 Send Me to Siberia
  3. 2007.11.10 Emergence : Wikipedia 번역 [진행중]

If the Stones Could Speak

Posted 2008.06.08 03:15
Searching for the Meaning of Stonehenge
By Caroline Alexander
National Geographic Contributing Writer

The first glimpse often comes from the road. Blurring past on the A303 thoroughfare that cuts heedlessly almost across the monument's very entrance, Stonehenge appears as a cluster of insignificant protrusions on the big, otherwise featureless plain; and yet, even from this profane and glancing vantage (point), the great-shouldered silhouette is so unmistakably prehistoric that the effect is momentarily of a time warp cracking onto a lost world.

  • The first glimpse often comes from the road. Blurring past on the way to
  • few, several, various / little, a large amount of, a great deal of / all, most, some, any, no, 3 1/2 of

Up close, amid the confusion of broken and standing stones, it still seems smaller than its reputation, notwithstanding the obvious feat represented by the erection of the famous sarsen stones; the largest weighs as much as 50 tons. Unique today, Stonehenge was probably also unique in its own time, some 4,500 years ago-a stone monument modeled on timber precedents. Indeed, its massive lintels are bound to their uprights by mortise-and-tenon joints taken straight from carpentry, an eloquent indication of just how radically new this hybrid monument must have been. It is this newness, this assured awareness that nothing like it had existed before, this revelatory quality, that is still palpable in its ruined stones. The people who built Stonehenge had discovered something hitherto unknown, hit upon some truth, turned a corner-there is no doubt that the purposefully placed stones are fraught with meaning.

  • The Hyndai's new car doesn't seem to be modeled on its precedents. The obvious feat represented by the unique aerodynamic design, taken straight from carpentry.

But what in fact do they mean? Despite countless theories offered over centuries, no one knows. Stonehenge is the most famous relic of prehistory in Europe and one of the best known, most contemplated monuments in the world-and we have no clear idea what the people who built it actually used it for.

  • For a time he contemplated a career as an army medical doctor. ( = to think about whether to do it or not.)
  • He was lost in the contemplation of the landscape for a while.

In the past, archaeologists sought to crack this enigma by wringing every fact they could from the stones themselves, subjecting their contours, marks, and even shadows to scrutiny. Recently, though, the search has led investigators farther afield, away from Stonehenge itself to the remains of a nearby Neolithic village on the one hand, and on the other to a craggy mountain peak in southwestern Wales. While no definitive answer has yet emerged, these two very different searches-in-progress have stirred tantalizing new possibilities.

STONEHENGE AROSE from a rich tradition of equally enigmatic structures. Henges-circular banks of earth paralleled by an internal ditch-earth barrows and mounds, circular timber structures, monoliths, and circles and horseshoes of stone were all common throughout Neolithic Britain and parts of continental Europe. (Strictly speaking, Stonehenge is not, as its name implies, a henge, because the position of its bank and ditch are reversed.) At different stages of its evolution Stonehenge reflected many of these traditions. The first certain structural stones of Stonehenge, the bluestones, which were floated, dragged, and hauled from Wales, most likely arrived sometime before 2500 B.C. The giant sarsens followed, filling out the monument, which was at some point linked by an avenue to the River Avon. Stonehenge, then, is the culmination of a dynamic evolution; the pre-stone earthworks thrown up in grassland probably embodied different beliefs than the later monument of stone that was resolutely connected to water.

Standing within the collapsed circles, it is not easy to make out the monument's original blueprint. Easier to imagine are the actions that lie behind it: the planning and engineering; the diplomacy required to negotiate transportation of stones through different territories; the logistical maneuvering to supply and equip a labor force; the ability to cajole, inspire, or compel able-bodied men to leave their animals, fields, and hunting grounds-in short, the many necessary human acts that we still recognize, although we know little about who these early Britons were, how they were organized, or what language they spoke.

We do know that some were farmers and pastoralists, and that they had long since begun the task of domesticating their landscape, making inroads into the ancient birch, pine, and hazel forests. Skeletal remains indicate that despite physically demanding lives, the people of Neolithic Britain were more lightly built than us. Their relative lack of dental decay suggests a diet low in carbohydrates, and although life expectancies are difficult to calculate, people seem, overall, to have enjoyed good health. Then as now, life held unexpected hazards. "Five to 6 percent of these populations showed massive blunt-force trauma to the crania," according to Michael Wysocki, a senior lecturer in forensic and investigative science at the University of Central Lancashire. "This was equally the case between male and female." Explanations for this trauma range from ritualized violence to the possibility that life of the era was simply brutal.

Recently, dramatic and wholly chance discoveries have provided biographical outlines of individual men. In 2002 archaeologists working on Boscombe Down, on the east side of the Avon, two and a half miles southeast of Stonehenge, unearthed two burials dated at between 2500 and 2300 B.C. They contained the remains of a 35-to-45-year-old man whose leg had been badly damaged-he would have walked with a horrific limp-and a younger relative, perhaps his son. The older man's grave contained the richest burial goods of the era found in Britain: gold jewelry for hair, copper knives, flint tools, two archer's wrist guards of polished stone, a "cushion stone" for working metal, along with pottery of the distinctive Beaker style common at the time in continental Europe but not in Britain. Chemical analysis of the tooth enamel of both men gave startling results: The younger man was from the local chalk country of Wessex; the older man, dubbed the "Amesbury Archer," came from the foothills of the Alps in the region of what is now Switzerland and Germany.

"I suppose it was inevitable," said Andrew Fitzpatrick of Wessex Archaeology, who conducted the excavation, with a wan smile, showing me a cartoon depicting Stonehenge flying a German flag. The hard facts suggest a romantic story. Migrating from Europe, with his advanced pottery and his skills in metalworking, the Archer had made good in Wessex, acquiring considerable wealth and status along with a family.

One year after the discovery of the Archer and his companion, and less than a quarter mile away, construction workers laying pipe stumbled on yet another grave from roughly the same period, this one containing the remains of seven individuals, at least four of whom were males, also apparently related and, like the Archer, not native to the area. Analysis of the premolars and molars of the three adults revealed, according to Fitzpatrick, "that they were in one place up to the age of six, and in another up to the age of thirteen." Matches for the place of infancy include northwestern Britain, Wales, or Brittany. "The larger point is not where they came from," Fitzpatrick emphasized, "it's that people of the era traveled. This is the best example of prehistoric migration in Europe yet found."

WHILE IT IS NOT FANCIFUL to speculate that these immigrants saw Stonehenge-perhaps even helped build it-remarkable new evidence has recently been unearthed about the community that surely used it. Since 2003 the Stonehenge Riverside Project, headed by Mike Parker Pearson of the University of Sheffield and five other team leaders and supported by the National Geographic Society, has been conducting a series of excavations of the wider Stonehenge landscape, focusing on a massive henge, some 1,500 feet in diameter, known as Durrington Walls. Nearly two miles northeast of Stonehenge, Durrington was known as early as 1812 and excavated in the 1960s ahead of road construction. Erosion and land use have now blurred its once formidable outlines, made of earth banks formerly as wide as one hundred feet and at least as high as ten.

In and around the giant henge were three circular timber structures whose footprints survive in traces of their postholes. Two-the Northern and Southern Circles-lay within the henge itself, while a later monument known as Woodhenge stood just outside. "There is evidence to suggest that timber circles were secretive places, their interiors hidden by screens as well as the multiplications of posts," said Alex Gibson, an authority on timber circles at the University of Bradford. Recently, inside the henge banks, the Riverside Project unearthed two structures, lofty and distinguished by individual ditches and palisades, perhaps residences of elite officials overseeing the circle, or even cult houses.

Outside the henge and under the embankment, the project excavated a cluster of seven small houses. Tentatively dated at between 2600 and 2500 B.C., they straddle a hundred-foot-wide flint-paved avenue to the Avon. Standing inside the foundation outline of one of the houses, Mike Parker Pearson pointed out domestic details, such as an oval hearth in the middle of the floor. "These are heel, or maybe buttock, marks," he said, squatting by way of demonstration beside indentations on the plaster floor. Remains of a cooking area stood to one side. Five houses show evidence of furniture, including slot marks for the edges of wooden beds. Parker Pearson waved a hand toward the dark tree fringe in the distance. Trial excavations and geophysical surveys have detected a multitude of other possible hearths in the valley. "There may be as many as 300 houses," he said, making it the largest Neolithic settlement found in Britain.

Drawing on field experience in Madagascar, Parker Pearson advocates a bold interpretation of the site and, with it, the "answer" to Stonehenge. In Malagasy culture, the ancestors are revered with stone monuments, signifying the hardening of bodies to bone and the enduring commemoration of death; wood, by contrast, which decays, is associated with transient life. Stone is ancestral and male, while wood, as Parker Pearson put it, is "soft and squishy, like women and babies." As he allows, no such gender distinction has yet been discerned in Britain, but it's the same principle underlying Western commemorative practice: "You lay flowers on the grave, then you put up a tombstone."

Guided by this model, Parker Pearson sees suggestive associations between Durrington Walls, with its defining wooden structures, and the hard monumentality of Stonehenge. Durrington has a path to the Avon that could be a ceremonial avenue, though it is just over 550 feet long, while that at Stonehenge runs a mile and three-quarters, and its processional character is defined by flanking ditches and banks.

To Parker Pearson, the contrasts are equally suggestive. Stonehenge is aligned on both the axis of the summer solstice sunrise and the winter solstice sunset, while the Southern Circle at Durrington Walls catches the winter solstice sunrise. A profusion of pottery and animal bone debris, especially of pigs, implies that Durrington Walls saw much feasting, while very little pottery has been found at Stonehenge. Scarcely any human remains have been found at Durrington, but 52 cremations and many other burials have been uncovered at Stonehenge, which may contain as many as 240-the largest Neolithic cemetery in England. Durrington, in this new theory, represents the domain of the living, and Stonehenge, the domain of the ancestral dead, with the two linked by seasonal processions along a route formed by the avenues and the river. The ashes of most of the dead would have been entrusted to the river. Other cremated remains, possibly the society's elite, were deposited ceremonially at Stonehenge itself.

"Many specialists would go along with the dead and living in a loose sort of way," said Mike Pitts, editor of the journal British Archaeology and one of the few people around today who have actually excavated at Stonehenge. It is the details of the new theory that are problematic. The assumption has always been that burial remains at Stonehenge were common only during the period of the pre-stone earthworks and timber structures, though Parker Pearson now believes they continued into the period of the stones. But environmental evidence from the immediate landscape around Stonehenge indicates the usual activities of the living, such as farming and grazing of animals, which do not seem compatible with a larger ritualized domain of the dead. And there is no agreement about when the sarsen stones arrived. Similarly, the date of the avenue leading from Stonehenge to the Avon, the necessary link between the two sites, needs to be resolved by more evidence. Filling in these gaps is crucial for any meaningful correlation of activities between the two sites.

Summing up, Pitts said of Parker Pearson's theory: "The value of this interpretation is not just the idea of linking stones and ancestors, but that it works with the entire landscape. Previous interpretations have taken the independent sites separately."

IRONICALLY, A MORE DIRECT approach to the heart of Stonehenge might lie in fieldwork far from its own landscape, miles away in a small site amid convulsed, fractured outcrops of dolerite and shale in the Preseli Mountains of southwestern Wales-the source of Stonehenge's oldest stones, the fabled bluestones. The erection of the bluestones marked a critical transition from the original timber settings toward the monument we have today. "Dusted with magic," is how one archaeologist described the famously atmospheric hills to me, in a region long known for its intriguing stone circles, dolmens, and other megalithic monuments. As long ago as 1923, specific outcrops around Carn Menyn, at the eastern end of the Preseli hills, had been identified as the bluestone source; subsequent geochemical work in 1991 refined this to roughly one square mile.

Yet for more than 80 years after the discovery of the bluestone source, "no one actually got their trowel out and did anything," said Timothy Darvill, a professor of archaeology at Bournemouth University. "It's perverse, really." Together with Geoffrey Wainwright, a distinguished authority on the Neolithic and the original excavator of Durrington Walls in the 1960s, Darvill began a systematic survey around Carn Menyn in 2001, accompanied by a small team of researchers from Bournemouth University, including Yvette Staelens, a senior lecturer. "It's a place where strange things happen," Staelens said of the hills. She described reaching the top of a sheer rock outcrop and finding a fox impaled on rock. "Guts and blood were spilling down-we think a large raptor must have dropped it. Strange things like that."

"It's a natural monument," said Wainwright, of the chaotic rock formations of columns and pillars that litter the ground. "The stones of Stonehenge didn't have to be quarried; they could be simply carried off." Up to six feet in height and four tons, the approximately 80 original bluestones-the exact number formerly located at Stonehenge is unclear-are mostly dolerite spotted with milky feldspar. Freshly cut and wet with rain, they do indeed glisten blue. Still, these are not the only striking stones within the British Isles. "Why did they bring these stones 250 miles to build Stonehenge?" Wainwright asked. "And why did they retain these stones throughout its structural history?"

So far the Preseli hills have not yielded an answer, but they do offer some clues. As Staelens recalled, on the first day Wainwright and Darvill began their field survey, Wainwright laid his hand on a rock. "And it had rock art. The pair of them were very academic blokey about the discovery. Geoff said, 'Look at this, Tim.' Tim said, 'That looks important, Geoff.' They just stood there, very British low-key."

The handful of examples they eventually discovered of the distinctive "cup mark" art, a motif of circular hollows within hollows, could be dated only very broadly at between 3800 and 2000 B.C. "We didn't get anything we could confidently put in for dating," Darvill said. This much, however, is known: Perhaps as early as 4000 B.C., people were constructing monuments in this atmospheric area where rock pinnacles seem to pierce the sky and commemorating the site with motifs associated elsewhere with "special" sites. "In Neolithic times people are going to the Preseli hills and venerating them," was how one archaeologist put it.

Whether the stones were moved to Salisbury Plain in a single, sustained campaign or an ongoing effort spread out over a generation or more is not known. Similarly, how the stones were transported has been hotly debated over the years. "That's a blue-collar question," Wainwright said, relishing what was clearly a well-rehearsed line, "and I am not an engineer." Although glacial drift may initially have worked the stones loose from the hills, an old theory that glaciers swept them onto Salisbury Plain has been discounted by modern studies; somehow people must have moved them. The shortest accepted route-by river and along the coast of Wales, across the Severn estuary, into the upper reaches of the Avon-is about 250 miles. It is impossible to judge just how remarkable a feat such transport was in its day. As Darvill points out, in continental Europe even more massive stones were being lugged around. "Increasingly, the 'unaccountable effort' argument is under attack," Darvill said. "The Grand Menhir in Brittany-what does it weigh? Three hundred and forty tons, something like that, and it was moved at least a few miles." Whether the stones were pulled by teams of men or oxen, on sleds with greased tracks, giant rollers of wood, or some other unsuspected means, Neolithic man evidently, as Darvill said, "had transportation sorted out."

Archaeologists can only speculate about the significance of the bluestones. Carn Menyn may have been a landmark charged with special meaning in a key overland route for trade or travel. Some claim the arrangement of the types of bluestone-dolerite, rhyolite, and tuff-at Stonehenge mirrors their natural arrangement on Carn Menyn. Then again, perhaps the very effort of transporting the stones or their exotic nature was the point&#mdash;a kind of statement of ability and power.

Darvill and Wainwright believe the answer lies in an old tradition. Writing in the 12th century A.D., Geoffrey of Monmouth, in his rambling, gossipy meander through the history of the kings of Britain, gave a fanciful account of how Stonehenge was carried bodily-on the orders of the wizard Merlin, no less-from Ireland to Salisbury Plain, where it was set down to be a place of healing. The story may represent oddments of tenaciously preserved folk memory garbled by a long-in this case, 3,600-year-old-oral tradition; the stones of Stonehenge were, after all, brought from a far place in the west by seemingly magical means.

Rounding out this story is an old local belief, still potent today, that attributes healing powers to springs arising in the Preseli hills. The sum of these two traditions posits Stonehenge as a kind of Lourdes of the prehistoric world. Among colleagues this healing theory has received a mixed, but cautiously interested, reception. "I mean, it's plausible," one expert said. Until further evidence comes to light, then, the trail returns to where it began, with only the most basic of hard facts: People had found something special in the Preseli hills and transported this to southern England.

AT THE TIME the bluestones arrived on what is now Salisbury Plain, the old-growth forest had been cleared for centuries into open grassland. If brought by river, the stones would have been dragged from the willow-and-sedge-lined banks of the Avon up to the site. Decoratively stippled, grooved and smoothed, the stones were erected in pairs to form a double arc and were perhaps also yoked by lintels that have since fallen away.

The old earthworks were now refashioned to highlight the northeast entrance, thus confirming the import of the monument's alignment with the solstices-an emphasis that perhaps reflected beliefs about the meaning of the stones in their location at Preseli, or perhaps the new beliefs of a changing age. At some later date the giant sarsens of hard sandstone were dragged in from the Marlborough Downs, 20 to 30 miles away. Although subsequent ages would fiddle with the internal design, the erection of the sarsens-the great broad-shouldered guardians of the smaller stones from Wales-bestowed on Stonehenge its enduring aura of unassailable assurance. Mystifying as it is to us, there is no mistaking the confident purposefulness of its massive, monumental features.

Studies conducted by Michael Allen, an expert in environmental archaeology, demonstrate that throughout the long period of Stonehenge's construction, people of the area carried on with the mundane tasks of their lives. Charcoal remains, pollens of weeds associated with crops, and, most valuably, snail shells-which can be matched to different habitats-show that the Stonehenge landscape was cleared, grazed, and farmed. Whatever its function, Stonehenge was embedded in the community it served. "I see it being used like a cathedral, or Wembley Stadium," Allen said. "Some days it was used to hold solemn rituals, other days for more ordinary gatherings."

That so much has been found so recently on this historic landscape underscores how much may yet be revealed. Projected work on the avenue could establish when it was extended to the Avon, clarifying at what stage the river became ritually linked to the monument. Cremation remains that were excavated and reburied at the monument as long ago as 1935 could benefit from rigorous new analysis with up-to-date technology. In April Timothy Darvill and Geoffrey Wainwright conducted a two-week dig inside the stone circle-the first such excavation in decades-hoping to pin down when the bluestones arrived. Their planned reexamination of skeletal remains from the Stonehenge region may indicate whether a high percentage of the people had been in need of "healing." Fieldwork already under way in the Preseli hills may yield datable burial finds, possibly shedding light on the significance of the Preseli stones.

TO ALL THOSE who seek to read the meaning of Stonehenge in its stones, ritual texts from the dawn of history offer cautionary tales. Take, for example, a random Late Bronze Age text of ritual practice from the Luwians, who lived in what is now Turkey between roughly 1700 B.C. and 800 B.C.: "Then they hold it [the sheep] out to him and he spits into its mouth twice. The Old Woman speaks as follows, 'Spit out pain and woe, the god's anger... .' Then they bring a piglet of dough and a living piglet. They wave the living piglet at some distance." It is fair to say that no diligent fieldwork or application of logic and reason could have led even a visionary archaeologist to reconstruct this ritual from artifacts like bones and ceramics. There are no texts to explain Stonehenge. Secure in its wordless prehistory, it can thus absorb a multitude of "meanings": temple to the sun-or the moon, for that matter; astronomical calendar; city of the ancestral dead; center of healing; stone representation of the gods; symbol of status and power. The heart of its mystique is, surely, that it excites in equal measure both zealous certitude and utter bafflement.

Stonehenge represented the end of the grand tradition of monument building in Neolithic England. It fell out of use around 1500 B.C., and over the centuries many of its stones toppled, broke, or were carried off-casualties of nature as well as man. From time to time reports were made about the enigmatic ruins. A first-century B.C. Greek historian, Diodorus of Sicily, cites a lost account set down three centuries earlier, which described "a magnificent precinct sacred to Apollo and a notable spherical temple" on a large island in the far north, opposite what is now France. (Apollo, intriguingly, is the god of healing.)

In more recent history Samuel Pepys, the great diarist, visited the stones in the summer of 1668, hiring horses and a guide to take him over the plain. His account still resonates today. The stones, he wrote, were "as prodigious as any tales I ever heard of them and worth going this journey to see. God knows what their use was."

Send Me to Siberia

Posted 2008.06.07 18:28
Oil transforms a Russian outpost.
It's around midnight, and the couples on the dance floor at the Palace Restaurant are gently swaying to a slow one. "Za nas, za neft-To us, to oil," the singer croons,

Wherever life sends us,
To us, to oil …
We fill our glasses to the brim.

It is Oilers' Day in the western Siberian province of Khanty-Mansi. This annual holiday, honoring the hard labor of the oil workers, the neftyaniki, falls early in September, after the worst of the summer mosquito season and before the first snowfall, in October. Hours earlier, as daylight faded, thousands crowded into a huge outdoor sports complex. A stage was framed by a deep-green backdrop of unbroken forest. Balloons were released, torches were lit, and a troupe belted out a song:

There is only one joy for us,
And this is all we need,
To wash our faces in the new oil,
Of the drilling rig.

Little wonder Russians are toasting oil: These are boom times. Global oil prices have increased tenfold since 1998, and Russia has pulled ahead of Saudi Arabia as the world's top crude oil producer. The Kremlin's budget now overflows with funds for new schools, roads, and national defense projects, and Moscow's nouveau riche are plunking down millions of dollars for mansion-scale "dachas."

The pumping heart of the boom is western Siberia's boggy oil fields, which produce around 70 percent of Russia's oil-some seven million barrels a day. For Khanty-Mansi, a territory nearly the size of France, the bonanza provides an unparalleled opportunity to create modern, even desirable living conditions in a region whose very name evokes a harsh, desolate place. Khanty-Mansi's regional capital, scene of the holiday revelries, is being rebuilt with oil-tax proceeds. The new structures include an airport terminal (once a wooden shack with an outhouse), an art museum featuring paintings by 19th-century Russian masters, and a pair of lavishly equipped boarding schools for children gifted in mathematics and the arts. Even the provincial town of Surgut, a backwater only a few decades ago, is laying out new suburbs and is plagued by traffic jams.

But the opportunity presented by oil could slip through the region's fingers. Despite the remarkable surge in oil prices, oil production in western Siberia has leveled off in recent years. Output barely rose from 2004 to 2007-a period when the rulers of the Kremlin, a cold-eyed and control-oriented crew, seized choice fields once held by private oil barons. The oligarchs, as they were known, were rapacious sorts who jousted among themselves for spoils. But they also heavily invested in the fields in order to maximize production and profits. The Kremlin, by contrast, aims to exploit oil not only as a source of national wealth, but also as a political tool for making Russia a great world power once again. Its heavy-handed tactics have made foreign investors wary and could undermine the boom-and with it Khanty-Mansi's chances for a brighter future.

WESTERN SIBERIA'S great oil deposits lie under lands that an exiled Marxist revolutionary, suffering in the gulag, once called the "waste places of the Earth." But to someone visiting by choice, oil country looks fetchingly wild and pristine. The terrain is dominated by taiga-dense forest of spindly birch, cedar, and pine-and boloto, peaty marsh that is frozen for most of the year and in spots bubbles with methane. There are no mountains and few hills, but there are numerous lakes, rivers, and streams.

Oil exploration began in earnest here in the mid-1960s. When geologists reported that large reserves of oil were waiting to be tapped, the Kremlin organized a frenzied military-style invasion of "pioneers" and bulldozers to ramp up production. Western Siberia, it turned out, had even more black gold than anyone had dreamed: More than 70 billion barrels have been pumped over the past 40 years.

In the early days "Siberia was all frontier," says Khanty-Mansi's governor, Alexander Filipenko. The governor appears older than his 58 years, with a shock of gray hair, watery eyes, and a mottled nose that has weathered its share of frost. Filipenko arrived in Khanty-Mansi in the early 1970s with orders to lay a bridge over the Ob River, which in the late 19th century was a route for squalid barges transporting prisoners to their final places of banishment. The bridge project took four years of toil under brutal conditions. Yet despite the hardships, the governor looks back at that time the way an old man might recall his first love for a beautiful young woman.

Filipenko is equally passionate about his latest project-the redevelopment of the provincial capital, Khanty-Mansiysk, a town of 60,000. He attends to every detail, and he has the funds to remake the capital to his liking. The province's oil industry generates 40 billion dollars in annual tax revenues, 4.5 billion dollars of which Khanty-Mansi gets to keep for its own use. The rest goes to Moscow.

His party background notwithstanding, Filipenko's vision is a distinctly non-Soviet one. The capital's leading architectural symbols include a shopping emporium topped by an enormous green dome in the shape of a chum, the traditional tent used by the region's indigenous people-the Khanty, Mansi, and others who herd reindeer, hunt, and fish. That symbolism would have been unthinkable in Soviet times, when the state, with its ideological cult of "the worker," denied the very idea of culturally derived identity.

When Siberia's oil lands came under development, native people were forcibly herded into villages and cut off from their hunting and fishing grounds. Following the breakup of the Soviet Union, the nomads won legal status as "aboriginal people," with the right to roam the oil fields. In spite of their new status and the architectural homage in the capital, their lot has hardly improved. Their numbers are small, about 30,000 in all; their languages are nearly extinct; and they are heavily afflicted by the scourges of contemporary Russia-AIDS, alcoholism, and tuberculosis. Some oil-tax money is being invested in medical ships that stop along the rivers to care for patients. But critics say these floating clinics diagnose disease, then leave patients with no means to get treatment.

Rural Russia is also being depopulated by the flight of young people to Moscow and other cities. To counter these trends, Filipenko has implemented ambitious plans to turn Khanty-Mansi into a place young people will choose to live in rather than leave. And this effort, he boasts, is working. He notes that Khanty-Mansi has the third highest birthrate among provinces in Russia, and unlike the country as a whole, whose population is in decline, Khanty-Mansi's has increased 18 percent since 1989, from a combination of births and immigration.

Oil composes 90 percent of the capital's economy, which is not surprising given the surge in oil prices. But it points to a problem shared by all resource-dependent economies: At some point the resource will be exhausted, and new sources of prosperity will have to be found. Recognizing the need to develop economic prospects beyond oil, Filipenko persuaded some 80 top researchers from Akademgorodok-a famed science and research town in southern Siberia created in Soviet times-to move to his regional capital to staff a new institute specializing in information technologies. The institute provides consulting services to oil companies, but it also takes on projects in unrelated fields such as nanotechnology.

It's the start of a "Silicon Taiga," says Alexander Sherbakov, a 60-year-old mathematician with a gray walrus mustache. As the era of easy oil comes to an end, he says, "we're going to grow our own scholars" by creating information-age jobs for the younger generation. Unlike investment in oil, investment in science, he says, can guarantee an everlasting bright future for the region's economy and its people.

That's undoubtedly an optimistic assessment. For one thing, the touted model, Silicon Valley, is located in temperate California. In Soviet times the Kremlin could simply order top scientists to move to remote research centers. In post-Soviet times Russia's top researchers can live and work wherever they choose, and most are choosing to live in prosperous cities such as Moscow and St. Petersburg.

WHILE THE OIL BOOM has yet to make Siberia a magnet for Russia's knowledge class, it is attracting many other newcomers: impoverished immigrants from beyond Russia's borders. Early one morning, in a vacant lot just off the highway to Filipenko's showcase capital, a group of about 15 shabbily dressed men ranging in age from their 20s to their 40s are waiting for offers of work, however menial. A white Nissan pulls up, and several of the men walk over to talk to the driver, who is looking for a few hands to dig potatoes. But his offering price, just under ten dollars a day, isn't enough, and he drives away without any takers.

These men are what Russians, borrowing a German word, call gastarbeiters-guest workers. They are nearly everywhere in Khanty-Mansi. Most are Muslims from Tajikistan, the former Soviet republic in Central Asia whose economy was shattered by civil war in the mid-1990s. They come here in spring and return home before winter arrives. It's not every day they find a job, but when they do they can earn about $20 lugging bags of cement for a construction crew or doing household cleaning. They wire funds back to their families, and their employers avoid paying taxes on the wages.

The men balk at my request to see their living quarters. One says he is ashamed to show me how he lives. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea," he says. "We are not bandits; we are civilized people. We just need work."

The men are supposed to obtain registration papers certifying their place of residence, but, as they tell me, they have no authorized place to live, bunking instead in unheated garages illegally rented to them. A work boss-a kind of Mafia figure-obtains papers for them by bribing the registration office, but those documents, listing a false address, leave the gastarbeiters at the mercy of the police. When they are found out, they're sometimes forced to pay a spot "fine" (read "bribe"), and repeat offenders may face deportation. Russia's federal government recently put the burden on employers to register the workers and check their identifications, but such measures are unlikely to stem the tide so long as the oil boom continues.

A FLOOD OF RUSSIANS from economically depressed cities west of the Urals is also swelling the oil towns of western Siberia. Forty years ago Surgut was a collection of wooden hovels, in a place where temperatures can plunge to minus 60 degrees Fahrenheit and midwinter darkness lasts for all but a few hours a day. Today Surgut is one of western Siberia's largest cities, with 300,000 people. The new arrivals are voting with their feet, a sign that Russia's new market economy is actually working.

The polish and prosperity on view in Surgut were once unthinkable in Russia's hinterlands. A combined day care and preschool the city recently remodeled with 5.2 million dollars largely from oil revenue now has a heated indoor swimming pool and hydromassage whirlpool; an animal collection with rabbits, turtles, and parrots; and a room with a small wooden stage on which colorfully costumed children diligently perform fairy tales. When weather doesn't permit outdoor exercise, the children can ride around in toy cars in a large, glass-enclosed playroom kept at a moderately chilled temperature. And then the toddlers can be soothed by a hot drink from the herbal tea bar.

I understand that the "foreigner" is being shown the finest kindergarten in town, but only so much can be faked. Stuck in Surgut's traffic jams are as many Hondas, Toyotas, and Nissans as inexpensive Russian-made Ladas. Two-car families are becoming more common with the rise in living standard.

The housing stock of a typical Russian city consists of large (and ugly) multistoried concrete apartment blocks. Surgut boasts a suburban development of single-family town houses, aimed at a new upper middle class of oil company managers, bankers, and entrepreneurs. The redbrick houses, each with its own small plot of land, are being built along a tree-lined stretch of riverfront at an average cost of $400,000. Envious townspeople coined an ironic sobriquet for the elite community: Dolina Nischikh, Valley of the Beggars.

Surgut might have fallen apart, as did some other Russian cities, in the chaos following the collapse of the Soviet Union. That it didn't is a testament to the rootedness and stability of its political and business leadership.

"I was born in Surgut, my children were born here, and my grandchildren were born here," Alexander Sidorov, the city's longtime mayor, proudly declares. Surgut's economic anchor, the oil company Surgutneftegas, Russia's fourth largest producer, is majority owned by local managers. And unlike most Russian oil barons, who rule their western Siberian empires from Moscow, Surgutneftegas's general director, billionaire Vladimir Bogdanov, makes his home in town. Though now a towering figure in Surgut, Bogdanov started out as a common neftyanik.

Surgutneftegas is using the oil boom to finance an ambitious modernization program. At the oil field management center, computer engineers have custom designed an enormous digital map to monitor and adjust the field's performance. The map displays real-time information sent by coded radio signal from pump stations, active wells, and pipelines. From this display, managers can tell how much electric power is being consumed, whether a well needs repairs, and whether a pipeline is leaking.

Protection of the environment, barely a concern in Soviet times, is becoming part of the new ethos. It's not that the oil industry has suddenly become softhearted toward flora and fauna. Rather, high oil prices provide an incentive to minimize waste, as do license agreements that include big fines for spills. Moreover, as Russian oil firms have become global players, they've also become more sensitive to international concerns about the environment. "Maintaining a good reputation is very important," says Alexey Knizhnikov of the World Wildlife Fund in Moscow. "Otherwise, doing business becomes difficult."

Lubov Malyshkina, director of the environmental department at Surgutneftegas, is a chemical engineer with an advanced degree in the science of corrosion protection and geoecology. She also serves as an elected official in the regional parliament. In Soviet times, she says, the oil ministry in Moscow, oblivious to local conditions, would send chemicals that proved useless to treat oil spills and other hazards. Now Malyshkina's department, drawing on a nearly 500-million-dollar budget, makes its own purchases. She shows me one: a Swedish-made Truxor vehicle with tanklike treads that break up oil-saturated peat so that spills can be cleaned up. The company is also investing five million dollars in a new plant for recycling old tires into fibers that can be mixed into the asphalt used to pave company roads.

One aspect of the oil industry here hasn't changed: The neftyanik's job is still hazardous and grueling. At a rig about an hour's drive from Surgut, villagers gathering mushrooms are dwarfed by massive pumps, whose rhythmic motion suggests a giant bird dipping its beak to the soil. Metal stairs slick with oil lead to a platform where a drill is boring through rock with a diamond-coated bit nearly a foot in diameter. It's noisy and the air is foul, but this is a good spot to be in winter, I'm told, because the platform is bathed in steam. The men work eight-hour shifts for up to 30 straight days, sleeping on-site in trailer wagons, then rest off-site for up to 30 days. Alcohol is strictly forbidden. Drink all you want during your rest, the men are told, but return sober.

Yet the jobs are a route to a prosperity unimaginable a few years ago. The least experienced workers get a monthly salary of $1,000, the most senior hands as much as $4,000. And there are bonuses for exceeding daily quotas. A thrifty neftyanik can save enough to purchase a flat in Surgut's apartment complexes-if not a town house in the Valley of the Beggars.

All of this is impressive, of course. But the larger question for Surgutneftegas, and every oil firm in Khanty-Mansi, is whether they can rise to the myriad political, economic, and technical challenges on the horizon. While most analysts expect western Siberia to remain the dominant source of Russia's oil for at least the next 20 years, the region's oil fields are aging. Coaxing additional barrels of oil from the ground is becoming more difficult and expensive, and maintaining production will require infusions of capital and expertise from sources outside Russia. But burdensome taxes-all gross revenues above $25 a barrel go to the federal government-and Kremlin-backed power plays have chilled the investment climate like a Siberian blizzard. One need only visit Nefteyugansk, a city of 114,000 on the Ob River about an hour's drive from Surgut, to see why.

A BLACK GUSHER of trouble is what the oil boom has been for Nefteyugansk, which has the look and feel of an unkempt industrial park. The central plaza is strewn with iron pipes, and down by the river a crumpled barrel of Shell oil floats next to a dilapidated dock. A few paces inside the gate of the town's cemetery lies the grave of Vladimir Petukhov, the burial ground's most famous resident. In 1996 the townspeople elected Petukhov as their mayor. Two years later, as he walked to work on a June morning, he was shot to death by a pair of gunmen. An etching on his black marble gravestone depicts him in a crewneck sweater and leather jacket.

For more than ten years oil has been at the center of a violent and chaotic power struggle in Nefteyugansk. The difficulties began in the mid-1990s, when a nouveau riche Moscow banker snagged one of Russia's prime oil producers-and the town's sole large employer-in a privatization auction. The banker, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, made the Nefteyugansk unit the core subsidiary in his new oil company, known as Yukos. But he antagonized the city by delaying tax payments, causing city workers to go unpaid for months. Mayor Petukhov, a former neftyanik, led public protests against the new Moscow owners, who, he said, "spit into our faces, the faces of oilers." The mayor's murder, at the age of 48, outraged the townspeople, many of whom connected the deed to his stand against Yukos. "This blood is on your hands," read anti-Yukos banners put up at city hall by Petukhov's mourners.

For five years no one was brought to justice. During this time the city was governed by a corrupt official who eventually was sent to jail for swindling oil workers out of their promised retirement homes in Russia's balmy Black Sea region. Oil prices, meanwhile, went ever higher, inflating the value of Khodorkovsky's holdings. And then the hammer came down.

In June 2003, Moscow prosecutors arrested Yukos's security chief on charges of organizing the execution of Petukhov. Four months later they arrested Khodorkovsky on charges of fraud and tax evasion. Tax authorities seized the Nefteyugansk subsidiary and handed it over to a Kremlin-controlled company called Rosneft. Khodorkovsky was convicted and carted off to jail in southeastern Siberia, where his face was slashed by an inmate. Meanwhile, the security chief was convicted in a trial heavily publicized on state television. In the latest development, prosecutors announced last February that Yukos co-owner Leonid Nevzlin also would be charged in Petukhov's murder.

Perhaps it did happen the way the government claimed, but ask folks in Nefteyugansk about the murder, and they tend to shrug and say they don't know what to believe. The coordinated elements of the Yukos affair have the whiff of a Moscow plot hatched by the KGB types in control of the Kremlin. The result, in any case, is that a cash cow-and still the town's livelihood-has passed from the hands of a Moscow oligarch into the hands of the Kremlin.

When I show up in town, Sergey Burov has been mayor for four months. He was once a deputy director for Rosneft and before that a senior manager for Yukos. He, too, is no stranger to violence: In 2005, while walking to his car in the morning, he took a bullet to the stomach. It looked like another contract job, but prosecutors closed the case without finding a culprit.

Burov is a burly man whose wide shoulders stretch his suit. He is interested in talking about the town's future, not its bloody past. In partnership with Rosneft, he tells me, the city administration has ambitious plans to redevelop Nefteyugansk. Come back in two years, he says, and I will see an entirely different town, maybe even a yacht club. After the interview his press secretary shows off an indoor sports facility with an Olympic-size swimming pool. In the central plaza, the one littered with pipe just a few days earlier, workers are starting to install brick walkways and flower beds.

Are things finally looking up for Nefteyugansk? Residents seem skeptical. "Maybe Rosneft feels better being here," Vasily Voroshilov, a 52-year-old oil well repairman, says. "But we don't feel it."

That skepticism is shared by many observers outside Russia, who say it's one thing to seize control of an oil company and quite another to run it. Says one analyst of the Kremlin's takeover of Russian oil, "You can steal a Chevy, but that doesn't mean you know how to drive it."

FOR ALL THE WEALTH that oil can produce, it is often as much a curse as a blessing for countries such as Russia. Early in the 1990s, before the oil boom, Boris Yeltsin encouraged local provinces to grab what autonomy they could. This was when Russia's potential for political pluralism and Western-style grassroots democracy looked greatest. When oil prices rose toward the end of the decade, the Kremlin realized that this source of wealth could be used to bring about a humiliated Russia's global resurgence. Salvation by oil has since become an article of national faith.

"Oil," said a 16-year-old student at Khanty-Mansiysk's school for math whizzes, "is the only way for our country to stand up, to survive." Actually, there are many ways that the Russians, a creative and educated people, can revive their country. But oil suggests national potency, and Russia's petroleum patrimony lends itself to patriotic incantations of an almost mystical kind. At the festivities on Oilers' Day one of the songs, a salute to the collective might of the neftyaniki, proclaimed, "We are the fingers pressed tightly into a fist."

"Russia's superpower status today comes from energy, not its military," says Julia Nanay, a senior director at PFC Energy, a global consultancy based in Washington, D.C. "The Kremlin determines what happens with oil in western Siberia. They want to control production and exports in order to maximize Russia's geopolitical relevance."

Just as the tsars of old exercised monopolies on valuable commodities such as fur and salt, the Kremlin wants direct control over oil-and over the oligarchs who produce it. Those who come to heel survive; those who don't risk suffering Khodorkovsky's fate, or worse.

One of the survivors is Vagit Alekperov, president of Russia's biggest private oil company, Lukoil. Starting out working on the rigs near his native Baku, Alekperov was sent to Siberia in the late 1970s to manage an oil-production team. A notoriously strict paternalist, he angered his men by banning the sale of alcohol in the village. Several of them grabbed hunting rifles and fired shots at his cabin, but Alekperov, ever the survivor, wasn't there at the time.

During the final days of the Soviet Union, Alekperov forged Lukoil from prime oil assets in western Siberia. Today the company is a global multinational with hydrocarbon reserves second only to ExxonMobil-and some 2,000 gas stations in the U.S. Though most of Lukoil's reserves are in western Siberia, Alekperov keeps his headquarters just two miles from the Kremlin. Like other survivors, he knows that he must be attentive to any change in political mood that could affect Lukoil's fortunes, for better or worse.

A distinguished-looking man with bronze skin and a crop of steel gray hair, Alekperov dresses in impeccably tailored suits. A tough guy, he can also charm. When pressed on whether oil consumers around the world should feel comfortable now that Russia has a large finger on the globe's petroleum tap, he leaned back in his chair, smiled expansively, and asked, "Do I look like a bear?" I couldn't help laughing. "We just want to make money."

Having gobbled up Yukos, might the Kremlin want to swallow Lukoil next? "I don't think either the government or the president of Russia will target such a company," Alekperov remonstrates. I decide not to mention that Khodorkovsky had told me the same thing not long before his arrest.

Lukoil's base of operations in Khanty-Mansi is the town of Kogalym. A roadside floral arrangement spells out the company's name not far from the golden domes of a Russian Orthodox cathedral and the green minaret of a mosque. At a refurbished maternity house-what Russians call a roddom-Dr. Galina Pustovit, director of the gynecology department, shows off new Western-standard medical equipment. In a country where many women deliver their babies in Soviet-era buildings reeking of sour cabbage and damp concrete, this gleaming facility rates four stars.

When I mention to Pustovit that Russia's oil industry is known for being corrupt, the doctor gives me a sharp look. "This is oil," she says, sweeping a hand around the gynecology ward. "Oilers built this hospital. All of the objects in this city have been built with oil money, including our beautiful boulevard." Don't judge us too harshly, her look says: Life in these parts has never been better.

이하는 블로그 본인이 wikipedia의 내용을 바탕으로 번역한 것입니다. 자유롭게 퍼가셔도 좋지만 출처는 밝혀주세요.

Emergence - 창발

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

For other uses see Emergence (disambiguation) and Emergency.
A termite "cathedral" mound produced by a termite colony: a classic example of emergence in nature.
A termite "cathedral" mound produced by a termite colony: a classic example of emergence in nature.
흰개미 집단에 의해 만들어진 "대성당"과도 같은 흰개미 집 흙무더기는 자연에서 볼 수 있는 전형적인 창발의 예이다.

In philosophy, systems theory and the sciences, emergence refers to the way complex systems and patterns arise out of a multiplicity of relatively simple interactions. Like intelligence in the field of AI, or agents in distributed artificial intelligence, emergence is central to the theory of complex systems and yet very controversial.

철학, 시스템 이론 및 과학에서 창발이란 많은 수의 비교적 간단한 상호작용을 통해 복잡계와 패턴이 생겨나는 방법을 의미한다. 인공지능(AI)의 영역에서 지능, 혹은 분산 인공지능에서의 agents 가 그러하듯이, 창발은 복잡계의 중심이론이지만 아직까지 논쟁이 많이 되고 있다.



[edit] Definitions

The concept behind the term has been in use since at least the time of Aristotle.[1] John Stuart Mill[2] and Julian Huxley[3] are just some of the historic luminaries who have written on the concept.

The term "emergent" was coined by the pioneer psychologist G. H. Lewes who wrote:

"Every resultant is either a sum or a difference of the co-operant forces; their sum, when their directions are the same -- their difference, when their directions are contrary. Further, every resultant is clearly traceable in its components, because these are homogeneous and commensurable. It is otherwise with emergents, when, instead of adding measurable motion to measurable motion, or things of one kind to other individuals of their kind, there is a co-operation of things of unlike kinds. The emergent is unlike its components insofar as these are incommensurable, and it cannot be reduced to their sum or their difference." (Lewes 1875, p. 412)(Blitz 1992)

Professor Jeffrey Goldstein in the School of Business at Adelphi University provides a current definition of emergence in the journal, Emergence.(Goldstein 1999). For Goldstein, emergence can be defined as: "the arising of novel and coherent structures, patterns and properties during the process of self-organization in complex systems."(Corning 2002)

Goldstein's definition can be further elaborated to describe the qualities of this definition in more detail:

"The common characteristics are: (1) radical novelty (features not previously observed in systems); (2) coherence or correlation (meaning integrated wholes that maintain themselves over some period of time); (3) A global or macro "level" (i.e. there is some property of "wholeness"); (4) it is the product of a dynamical process (it evolves); and (5) it is "ostensive" - it can be perceived. For good measure, Goldstein throws in supervenience -- downward causation." (Corning 2002)

[edit] Strong vs. weak emergence

Emergence may be generally divided into two perspectives, that of "weak emergence" and "strong emergence". Weak emergence describes new properties arising in systems as a result of the interactions at an elemental level. Emergence, in this case, is merely part of the language, or model that is needed to describe a system's behaviour.

But if, on the other hand, systems can have qualities not directly traceable to the system's components, but rather to how those components interact, and one is willing to accept that a system supervenes on its components, then it is difficult to account for an emergent property's cause. These new qualities are irreducible to the system's constituent parts (Laughlin 2005). The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. This view of emergence is called strong emergence. Some fields in which strong emergence is more widely used include etiology, epistemology and ontology.

Regarding strong emergence, Mark A. Bedau observes:

"Although strong emergence is logically possible, it is uncomfortably like magic. How does an irreducible but supervenient downward causal power arise, since by definition it cannot be due to the aggregation of the micro-level potentialities? Such causal powers would be quite unlike anything within our scientific ken. This not only indicates how they will discomfort reasonable forms of materialism. Their mysteriousness will only heighten the traditional worry that emergence entails illegitimately getting something from nothing."(Bedau 1997)

However, "the debate about whether or not the whole can be predicted from the properties of the parts misses the point. Wholes produce unique combined effects, but many of these effects may be co-determined by the context and the interactions between the whole and its environment(s)." (Corning 2002) Along that same thought, Arthur Koestler stated, "it is the synergistic effects produced by wholes that are the very cause of the evolution of complexity in nature" and used the metaphor of Janus to illustrate how the two perspectives (strong or holistic vs. weak or reductionistic) should be treated as perspectives, not exclusives, and should work together to address the issues of emergence.(Koestler 1969) Further,

"The ability to reduce everything to simple fundamental laws does not imply the ability to start from those laws and reconstruct the universe..The constructionist hypothesis breaks down when confronted with the twin difficulties of scale and complexity. At each level of complexity entirely new properties appear. Psychology is not applied biology, nor is biology applied chemistry. We can now see that the whole becomes not merely more, but very different from the sum of its parts."(Anderson 1972)

[edit] Objective or subjective quality

The properties of complexity and organization of any system are considered by Crutchfield to be subjective qualities determined by the observer.

"Defining structure and detecting the emergence of complexity in nature are inherently subjective, though essential, scientific activities. Despite the difficulties, these problems can be analysed in terms of how model-building observers infer from measurements the computational capabilities embedded in non-linear processes. An observer’s notion of what is ordered, what is random, and what is complex in its environment depends directly on its computational resources: the amount of raw measurement data, of memory, and of time available for estimation and inference. The discovery of structure in an environment depends more critically and subtly, though, on how those resources are organized. The descriptive power of the observer’s chosen (or implicit) computational model class, for example, can be an overwhelming determinant in finding regularity in data."(Crutchfield 1994)

On the other hand, Peter Corning argues "Must the synergies be perceived/observed in order to qualify as emergent effects, as some theorists claim? Most emphatically not. The synergies associated with emergence are real and measurable, even if nobody is there to observe them." (Corning 2002)

[edit] Emergence in philosophy

In philosophy, emergence is often understood to be a much stronger claim about the etiology of a system's properties. An emergent property of a system, in this context, is one that is not a property of any component of that system, but is still a feature of the system as a whole. Nicolai Hartmann, one of the first modern philosophers to write on emergence, termed this categorial novum (new category).

[edit] Emergent properties and processes

An emergent behaviour or emergent property can appear when a number of simple entities (agents) operate in an environment, forming more complex behaviours as a collective. If emergence happens over disparate size scales, then the reason is usually a causal relation across different scales. In other words there is often a form of top-down feedback in systems with emergent properties. The processes from which emergent properties result may occur in either the observed or observing system, and can commonly be identified by their patterns of accumulating change, most generally called 'growth'. Why emergent behaviours occur include: intricate causal relations across different scales and feedback, known as interconnectivity. The emergent property itself may be either very predictable or unpredictable and unprecedented, and represent a new level of the system's evolution. The complex behaviour or properties are not a property of any single such entity, nor can they easily be predicted or deduced from behaviour in the lower-level entities: they are irreducible. No physical property of an individual molecule of air would lead one to think that a large collection of them will transmit sound. The shape and behaviour of a flock of birds[1] or shoal of fish are also good examples.

One reason why emergent behaviour is hard to predict is that the number of interactions between components of a system increases combinatorially with the number of components, thus potentially allowing for many new and subtle types of behaviour to emerge. For example, the possible interactions between groups of molecules grows enormously with the number of molecules such that it is impossible for a computer to even count the number of arrangements for a system as small as 20 molecules.

On the other hand, merely having a large number of interactions is not enough by itself to guarantee emergent behaviour; many of the interactions may be negligible or irrelevant, or may cancel each other out. In some cases, a large number of interactions can in fact work against the emergence of interesting behaviour, by creating a lot of "noise" to drown out any emerging "signal"; the emergent behaviour may need to be temporarily isolated from other interactions before it reaches enough critical mass to be self-supporting. Thus it is not just the sheer number of connections between components which encourages emergence; it is also how these connections are organised. A hierarchical organisation is one example that can generate emergent behaviour (a bureaucracy may behave in a way quite different to that of the individual humans in that bureaucracy); but perhaps more interestingly, emergent behaviour can also arise from more decentralized organisational structures, such as a marketplace. In some cases, the system has to reach a combined threshold of diversity, organisation, and connectivity before emergent behaviour appears.

Unintended consequences and side effects are closely related to emergent properties. Luc Steels writes: "A component has a particular functionality but this is not recognizable as a subfunction of the global functionality. Instead a component implements a behaviour whose side effect contributes to the global functionality [...] Each behaviour has a side effect and the sum of the side effects gives the desired functionality" (Steels 1990). In other words, the global or macroscopic functionality of a system with "emergent functionality" is the sum of all "side effects", of all emergent properties and functionalities.

Systems with emergent properties or emergent structures may appear to defy entropic principles and the second law of thermodynamics, because they form and increase order despite the lack of command and central control. This is possible because open systems can extract information and order out of the environment.

Emergence helps to explain why the fallacy of division is a fallacy. According to an emergent perspective, intelligence emerges from the connections between neurons, and from this perspective it is not necessary to propose a "soul" to account for the fact that brains can be intelligent, even though the individual neurons of which they are made are not.

[edit] Emergent structures in nature

Emergent structures are patterns not created by a single event or rule. Nothing commands the system to form a pattern. Instead, the interaction of each part with its immediate surroundings causes a complex chain of processes leading to some order. One might conclude that emergent structures are more than the sum of their parts because the emergent order will not arise if the various parts are simply coexisting; the interaction of these parts is central. Emergent structures can be found in many natural phenomena, from the physical to the biological domain. For example, the shape of weather phenomena such as hurricanes are emergent structures.

It is useful to distinguish three forms of emergence structures. First-order emergence structures occurs as a result of shape interactions (for example, hydrogen bonds in water molecules lead to surface tension). Second-order emergence structures involves shape interactions played out sequentially over time (for example, changing atmospheric conditions as a snowflake falls to the ground build upon and alter its form). Finally, third-order emergence structures is a consequence of shape, time, and heritable instructions. For example, an organism's genetic code sets boundary conditions on the interaction of biological systems in space and time.

[edit] Non-living, physical systems

In physics, emergence is used to describe a property, law, or phenomenon which occurs at macroscopic scales (in space or time) but not at microscopic scales, despite the fact that a macroscopic system can be viewed as a very large ensemble of microscopic systems.

An emergent property need not be more complicated than the underlying non-emergent properties which generate it. For instance, the laws of thermodynamics are remarkably simple, even if the laws which govern the interactions between component particles are complex. The term emergence in physics is thus used not to signify complexity, but rather to distinguish which laws and concepts apply to macroscopic scales, and which ones apply to microscopic scales.

Some examples include:

  • Colour: Elementary particles have no colour; it is only when they are arranged in atoms that they absorb or emit specific wavelengths of light and can thus be said to have a colour.
  • Friction: Forces between elementary particles are conservative. However, friction emerges when considering more complex structures of matter, whose surfaces can convert mechanical energy into heat energy when rubbed against each other. Similar considerations apply to other emergent concepts in continuum mechanics such as viscosity, elasticity, tensile strength, etc.
  • Classical mechanics: The laws of classical mechanics can be said to emerge as a limiting case from the rules of quantum mechanics applied to large enough masses. This may be puzzling, because quantum mechanics is generally thought of as more complicated than classical mechanics.
  • Statistical mechanics was initially derived using the concept of a large enough ensemble that fluctuations about the most likely distribution can be all but ignored. However, small clusters do not exhibit sharp first order phase transitions such as melting, and at the boundary it is not possible to completely categorize the cluster as a liquid or solid, since these concepts are (without extra definitions) only applicable to macroscopic systems. Describing a system using statistical mechanics methods is much simpler than using a low-level atomistic approach.

Temperature is sometimes used as an example of an emergent macroscopic behaviour. In classical dynamics, a snapshot of the instantaneous momenta of a large number of particles at equilibrium is sufficient to find the average kinetic energy per degree of freedom which is proportional to the temperature. For a small number of particles the instantaneous momenta at a given time are not statistically sufficient to determine the temperature of the system. However, using the ergodic hypothesis, the temperature can still be obtained to arbitrary precision by further averaging the momenta over a long enough time.

Convection in a fluid or gas is another example of emergent macroscopic behaviour that makes sense only when considering differentials of temperature. Convection cells, particularly Bénard cells, are an example of a self-organizing system (more specifically, a dissipative system) whose structure is determined both by the constraints of the system and by random perturbations: the possible realizations of the shape and size of the cells depends on the temperature gradient as well as the nature of the fluid and shape of the container, but which configurations are actually realized is due to random perturbations (thus these systems exhibit a form of symmetry breaking).

In some theories of particle physics, even such basic structures as mass, space, and time are viewed as emergent phenomena, arising from more fundamental concepts such as the Higgs boson or strings. In some interpretations of quantum mechanics, the perception of a deterministic reality, in which all objects have a definite position, momentum, and so forth, is actually an emergent phenomenon, with the true state of matter being described instead by a wavefunction which need not have a single position or momentum. Most of the laws of physics themselves as we experience them today appear to have emerged during the course of time making emergence the most fundamental principle in the universe and raising the question of what might be the most fundamental law of physics from which all others emerged. Chemistry (including the evolution of both elements and molecules over time) can in turn be viewed as an emergent property of the laws of physics. Biology (including biological evolution) can be viewed as an emergent property of the laws of chemistry. Finally, psychology could at least theoretically be understood as an emergent property of biological laws.

[edit] Living, biological systems

Life is a major source of complexity, and evolution is the major principle or driving force behind life. In this view, evolution is the main reason for the growth of complexity in the natural world. If we speak of the emergence of complex living beings and life-forms, we refer therefore to processes of sudden changes in evolution.

Flocking is a well-known behaviour in many animal species from swarming locusts to fish and birds. Emergent structures are a common strategy found in many animal groups: colonies of ants, mounds built by termites, swarms of bees, shoals/schools of fish, flocks of birds, and herds/packs of mammals.

An example to consider in detail is an ant colony. The queen does not give direct orders and does not tell the ants what to do. Instead, each ant reacts to stimuli in the form of chemical scent from larvae, other ants, intruders, food and build up of waste, and leaves behind a chemical trail, which, in turn, provides a stimulus to other ants. Here each ant is an autonomous unit that reacts depending only on its local environment and the genetically encoded rules for its variety of ant. Despite the lack of centralized decision making, ant colonies exhibit complex behavior and have even been able to demonstrate the ability to solve geometric problems. For example, colonies routinely find the maximum distance from all colony entrances to dispose of dead bodies.

A broader example of emergent properties in biology is the combination of individual atoms to form molecules such as polypeptide chains, which in turn fold and refold to form proteins. These proteins, assuming their functional status from their spatial conformation, interact together to achieve higher biological functions and eventually create - organelles, cells, tissues, organs, organ systems, organisms. Cascade phenotype reactions, as detailed in Chaos theory, may arise from individual genes mutating respective positioning. [4] In turn, all the biological communities in the world form the biosphere, where its human participants form societies, and the complex interactions of meta-social systems such as the stock market.

[edit] Emergence in culture and engineering

Emergent processes or behaviours can be seen in many places, such as traffic patterns, cities, political systems of governance, cabal and market-dominant minority phenomena in politics and economics, organizational phenomena in computer simulations and cellular automata.

[edit] Economics

The stock market is an example of emergence on a grand scale. As a whole it precisely regulates the relative security prices of companies across the world, yet it has no leader; there is no one entity which controls the workings of the entire market. Agents, or investors, have knowledge of only a limited number of companies within their portfolio, and must follow the regulatory rules of the market and analyse the transactions individually or in large groupings. Trends and patterns emerge which are studied intensively by technical analysts.

[edit] World Wide Web

The World Wide Web (WWW) is a popular example of a decentralized system exhibiting emergent properties. There is no central organization rationing the number of links, yet the number of links pointing to each page follows a power law in which a few pages are linked to many times and most pages are seldom linked to. A related property of the network of links in the world wide web is that almost any pair of pages can be connected to each other through a relatively short chain of links. Although relatively well known now, this property was initially unexpected in an unregulated network. It is shared with many other types of networks called small-world networks.

[edit] Architecture and cities

Bangkok can be seen as a example of spontaneous order

Emergent structures appear at many different levels of organization or as spontaneous order. Emergent self-organization appears frequently in cities where no planning or zoning entity predetermines the layout of the city. (Krugman 1996, pp. 9-29) The interdisciplinary study of emergent behaviors is not generally considered a homogeneous field, but divided across its application or problem domains.

Often architects and landscapers will not design all the pathways of a complex of buildings. Instead they will let usage patterns emerge and then place pavement where pathways have become worn in.

The on-course action and vehicle progression of the 2007 Urban Challenge could possibly be regarded as an example of cybernetic emergence. Patterns of road use, nondeterministic obstacle clearance times, etc. will work together to form a complex emergent pattern that can not be deterministically planned in advance.