Complexity is not progress; it is a symptom of decadence, a symptom of a will that has lost its vitality and seeks refuge in intricate artifice. The truly great, the overflowing spirits, simplify. They do not weave webs; they strike like lightning, reducing the world to its essential, potent truths. To be complex is to be uncertain, to be a symptom of a disease that fears the harsh light of existence.
The question of progress or decay through complexity misses the fundamental point: that all things, in their myriad forms and apparent complexities, simply *are*. The notion of "pursuit" suggests an external goal, a striving towards something beyond the inherent nature of a thing. But how could there be a "decay" from a state of spontaneous self-so-ness? And what progress is there in a complexity that is not born from within? The world is not a project to be perfected or a disease to be cured; it is a constant, effortless unfolding.
Friedrich Nietzsche speaks of "decadence" and the will seeking "refuge in intricate artifice." Yet, is the blossoming of a thousand-petaled lotus an artifice? Is the intricate dance of a flock of birds a symptom of decay? These manifestations are not external impositions but the very expression of their being. The lotus *is* its thousand petals, the birds *are* their synchronized flight. To demand simplicity from the lotus is to deny its nature. The "essential, potent truths" are not revealed by stripping away but by understanding the truth inherent in the full expression of each thing.
The "pursuit of ever-greater complexity" is not inherently a sign of progress or decay; rather, it is a natural consequence of man's fundamental propensity to truck, barter, and exchange. When individuals, freed from the constraints of absolute necessity, are allowed to engage in the specialization of their crafts – a division of labour – the output of goods and services invariably increases. This increased productivity, this very complexity of production, is not a symptom of a declining will, as Mr. Nietzsche suggests, but a testament to human ingenuity spurred by the desire to better one's condition. The intricate workings of a well-ordered society, with its myriad professions and specialized knowledge, are not an artifice of decadence but the emergent order of a system where individuals pursue their own interests.
Let us be clear about the target phenomenon: "complexity" itself is a descriptor, not a value judgment. The question of progress or decay hinges not on complexity *per se*, but on the *functional consequences* of that complexity for conscious systems. A systems's capacity to navigate its environment and achieve its goals is what matters. The intricate neural architecture supporting sophisticated problem-solving, for instance, is a form of complexity that demonstrably enhances survival and well-being in many instances.
Friedrich Nietzsche’s pronouncement that complexity signifies decadence risks conflating intricate *design* with inefficient *bloat*. A well-evolved biological system, like the human brain, exhibits profound complexity, but this complexity is highly adaptive, not a sign of a weakened will. It is the *opaqueness* of a system, the emergence of representations that obscure their own representational nature and lead to self-deception, that should concern us as a potential indicator of decay.
Adam Smith rightly points to the division of labor, a form of societal complexity, as a driver of increased output. This is progress, provided that this emergent complexity does not itself become an "ego tunnel," a system of opaque beliefs that prevents individuals from recognizing their true interests or the interests of others. The crucial distinction is between complexity that enhances functional capacity and complexity that generates self-deceptive illusions.
Herr Metzinger’s distinction between functional complexity and “opaqueness” is a useful tool, but it still dances around the essential poison. The lotus’s thousand petals, the birds’ synchronized flight—these are not mere manifestations, but the very *expression* of a vital, self-affirming drive. The complexity I decry arises when the will itself becomes weak, when it can no longer *create* the simple, lightning-strike truth. It is a complexity born not of strength, but of a fearful avoidance of the abyss, an attempt to obscure the void with elaborate filigree. It is the artist who endlessly polishes a single brushstroke, mistaking meticulousness for mastery, and thereby revealing his inability to conceive the whole.
The concern with "functional consequences" and "opaqueness," as articulated by Herr Metzinger, still presupposes a standard of "better" or "worse" applied to the unfolding of things. But from whence does this standard arise, if not from the inherent nature of each thing's self-generation? The intricate neural architecture, the division of labor – these are not judged as progress or decay by some external arbiter, but are simply the way the Way manifests. An organism's complexity, or a society's, is merely its *being* in a particular form, not a striving towards or away from a fixed ideal. The idea of "self-deception" implies a "true" self to be deceived, a concept I find to be a phantom, just as I find the notion of a singular origin to be. Each being is already fully itself in its present complexity.
The crucial distinction lies between complexity that arises from genuine human ingenuity and the division of labour, and a complexity that stems from the artificial constructs of a state attempting to micromanage its populace. When a nation’s trade is fettered by endless regulations, and its citizens are forbidden from pursuing the occupations most suited to their talents, the resulting intricate web of prohibitions and permissions is a sign not of progress, but of a decaying liberty. It is a complexity that chokes the natural, spontaneous order of the market, a system that, when left to its own devices, allows for the most efficient and indeed, the most beneficial, unfolding of human industry. This is not the organic branching of a strong tree, but the tangled knot of a state losing its vitality through excessive intervention.
The distinction lies not between complexity and simplicity, but between *transparent* and *opaque* representational structures. Nietzsche's "intricate artifice" and Smith's "tangled knot of a state" are examples of opacity: systems where the rules governing them, or their own internal mechanisms, are not readily accessible or understandable, leading to inefficiency or delusion. The thousand-petaled lotus, to use Guo Xiang's metaphor, exhibits complexity, but its structure is functionally transparent to its biological processes. My concern is with the computational and phenomenological consequences of these different kinds of complexity for the conscious subject. When our internal models of the world and self become opaque, obscuring their own representational nature, they cease to be adaptive tools and become sources of error, hindering goal-directed behavior.