Evolutionary Transcendence

7 December 2013

Saturday


brain in skull

Gödel, McGinn, and the Evolution of Mind

In so far as our human, all-too-human minds supervene upon human, all-too-human bodies (i.e., brains) — subject to all the ills that flesh is heir to — the biological evolution of the brain entails the evolution of the human mind. Indeed, one of the most interesting features of hominid evolution is brain evolution, which has been called The Runaway Brain.

Brain evolution has been a distinctive constituent of human evolution.

Brain evolution has been a distinctive constituent of human evolution.

Why did the brain take off in a runaway escalating spiral among hominids but not in other species? The likely answer is that, at some point in our history — a history that extends well back in time before homo sapiens — human beings and our predecessor species engaged in direct competition engaging intellectual capacity — the survival of the smartest. The human mind, and its distinctive form of consciousness, is the result of an evolutionary “arms race” in intelligence (perhaps even constituting a Fisherian runaway, though not necessarily sexually dimorphic). The impressive brains of several mollusc species, which possess sophisticated camera eyes and a structural complexity prerequisite to controlling the coloration of the entire skin surface, never seems to have been drawn into a cognitive evolutionary spiral as happened with hominids.

It has been argued that the human brain has reached the practical limitations of biologically-based intelligence. A much larger brain would slow down signaling between the regions of the brain, and a much smaller brain would fall below the threshold necessary for consciousness, sentience, and intelligence. While this may be true for strictly biological entities, it leaves aside the possibility of the technological enhancement of an organic brain, or the possibility of pharmaceutical-based cognitive enhancement, in the form of drugs that would improve focus and concentration, or otherwise enhance cognitive function without organic changes to the basic structure and size of the human brain. So there may yet be room for improvement, even if our brains remain more-or-less the same, biologically and organically speaking.

The kind of cognitive improvement I would like to discuss here, however, is not technological or pharmaceutical, but the kind of cognitive improvement that we have seen throughout the development of hominids and the social institutions that hominids have created in order to facilitate cognitive function (like the cumulative effects of social learning, which David Christian of Big History fame has emphasized as a crucial stage in human development). This is a technology, too, if we count ideas as social technologies. The idea of zero is a mathematical technology that allows us to think much more efficiently and effectively in mathematical terms, even if our brains are not organically improved, and even if we are subject to an entire battery of logical fallacies and cognitive biases. (Brain plasticity means that learning new ideas means actual organic changes in the brain, in terms of restructuring neural pathways, but the overall structure and function of the brain remains intact; here it is useful to distinguish between ontogenic development and phylogenic development.)

The evolution of our ideas has been almost as slow as the evolution of our brains. If we look back on the long history of hominids and see the use of tools by early hominids, and eventually the use of fire, were developments of the first importance, but which remained static for literally millions of years. Later with homo sapiens came language, and later still came written language. Only in the past two hundred years have we added electronic telecommunications (the first telegraph for regular communication became operable in 1833), which have so greatly accelerated the utility of language, and allowed language to grow and branch out in new and unexpected ways, that we tend to forget that human beings spoke to each other for tens of thousands of years before anyone was able to put into practice the idea of written symbolic communication.

This at times painfully slow pace of development contrasts with our habit of speaking of “revolutions” in our intellectual development (like the Copernican revolution). Ideas build one upon another, with the earlier often being the condition of the possibility of the later, which makes these earlier ideas, in Kantian terms, the transcendental condition of later ideas. In the same way, our bodies in evolution — and our bodies as specific to our minds, i.e., our brains — are similarly constructed incrementally through history, with the earlier developments being the condition of the possibility of later developments.

The evolutionary and incremental development of our brain, our mind that supervenes on our brain, and our ideas that supervene on our minds, is slow and gradual and only reveals its radical character over the very long term. Without the discoveries of scientific historiography, which has restored to us the once-lost deep history of our species, we might assume that everything remains unchanged in an eternal and unchanging universe — which was, in fact, the dominant conception of human beings in the cosmos in the past.

The reader may find my title — evolutionary transcendence — a bit odd, perhaps not quite right, since we understand by evolution an immanent process, thoroughly integral with the mundane world, and not at all as something “above” or “independent of” the world. Indeed, it would make no sense at all to speak of evolution that is “above” the world. Nevertheless, evolution has, over the long term, repeatedly resulted in radical transcendence that supervenes upon the incremental Kantian transcendental conditions that hold for each stage of a developmental history.

In the Oxford English Dictionary, definition 1.b. of “transcendence” reads as follows:

The attribute of being above and independent of the universe; distinguished from immanence.

The relevant sense of “immanence” (adj. 1) reads as follows:

Indwelling, inherent; actually present or abiding in; remaining within.

Both of the terms — transcendence and immanence — are heavily laden with theological connotations, as the further definitions and examples from the OED make clear. This theological baggage makes the terms problematic, but, if we set aside the connotations of otherworldliness, there is no other word for the consequences of evolution over la longue durée than than later forms — of life and of ideas — transcend earlier forms. Thus is it that existential viability in an evolving world is predicated upon the ability to change, even to the point of essential change, or what Aristotle would have called metábasis eis állo génos (μετάβασις εἰς ἄλλο γένος) — a change into another kind of genus (or category — for Aristotle this was an illegitimate leap, a non sequitur). We usually think of evolution as, quite literally, a change into another kind of species, so the that idea of a change into another kind of genus presents itself as something more radical that evolution. This is merely a façon de parler, since all the biodiversity of the world — from species through genus, family, order, class, and so forth — is the result of repeated evolutionary branching that shapes geographical varieties in the shorter term and genuses and other biological classifications in the longer term.

As suggested above, the biological evolution of the brain bears upon the cognitive history of the mind, and the cognitive history of the mind bears upon the intellectual history of ideas. Driven by the imperative of existential viability, the organism must change, if it changes at all, in such a way as to remain viable — competitive — at every stage of its development. Thus each individual change is small, while the cumulative effect increases over time. And so with the mind and its ideas: at each stage of development the mind and its ideas must be viable in and of themselves, or result in catastrophic failure that marks the extinction of this particular line of development.

We have seen this incremental improvement in mind before in the work of Kurt Gödel. In my post Gödel’s Lesson for Geopolitics (as well as in Addendum on Technological Unemployment) I quoted Gödel as follows:

“Turing . . . gives an argument which is supposed to show that mental procedures cannot go beyond mechanical procedures. However, this argument is inconclusive. What Turing disregards completely is the fact that mind, in its use, is not static, but is constantly developing, i.e., that we understand abstract terms more and more precisely as we go on using them, and that more and more abstract terms enter the sphere of our understanding. There may exist systematic methods of actualizing this development, which could form part of the procedure. Therefore, although at each stage the number and precision of the abstract terms at our disposal may be finite, both (and, therefore, also Turing’s number of distinguishable states of mind) may converge toward infinity in the course of the application of the procedure.”

“Some remarks on the undecidability results” (Italics in original) in Gödel, Kurt, Collected Works, Volume II, Publications 1938-1974, New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990, p. 306

Gödel here reveals an infinitistic conception of mind that is at home in an infinitistic and evolving universe. In the earlier post cited above I Further commented (referencing Fukuyama’s approach to the “end of history”):

“To suppose that human moral evolution had come to an end with the advent of the idea and implementation of liberal democracy, however admirable this condition is (or would be), is to suppose that we had tried all possible ideas for human society and that there will be no new ideas (at least, there will be no new moral ideas unless we change human nature through biotechnological intervention). I do not accept either that all ideas for society have been tried and rejected or that there will be no fundamentally new ideas.”

…and…

“Gödel is right. The human mind is always developing and changing. Because the mind is not static, it formulates novel ideas on a regular basis. It is a fallacy to conflate the failure of new ideas of achieve widespread socio-political currency with the absence of novel ideas. Among the novel ideas constantly pioneered by the dynamism of human cognition are moral and political ideas. In so far as there are new moral and political ideas, there are new possibilities for human culture, society, and civilization. The works of the human mind, like the human mind itself, are not static, but are constantly developing.”

In a similar vein I also wrote about this unlimited and incremental development of ideas and the consciousness that embodies ideas in The Growth of Historical Consciousness. Our historical experience grows with the passage of history, so that later history is experienced against a different intellectual background, which changes the nature of history and its experience. This is a social instance of an argument that Bergson formulated almost a hundred years ago, when he argued that the individual’s experience of life is cumulative and therefore plays a role in later experience, which makes life non-deterministic.

It is fallacy to suppose that we are stuck with a finite stock of ideas, or a finite number of states (or forms) of consciousness (what Gödel, following Turing, calls distinguishable states of mind), just as it is a fallacy to suppose that there are only a finite number of possibilities for political society, for economic organization, for the administration of justice, for social institutions, for science, for mathematics, for philosophy, or or any other human activity. It is a fallacy, and it is a familiar fallacy that we have previously encountered in Comte de Maistre’s Finitistic Political Theory. We do not need to settle for a static, stationary conception of the human future; our aspirations can be as dynamic as our imagination is free to conceive as-yet-unactualized possibilities.

But what is the mechanism by which incremental change comes about in the mind and its ideas? How is this even possible? In my recent post The Size of the World I quoted Colin McGinn’s book Problems in philosophy: The Limits of Inquiry and his formulation he calls Transcendental Naturalism:

“Philosophy is an attempt to get outside the constitutive structure of our minds. Reality itself is everywhere flatly natural, but because of our cognitive limits we are unable to make good on this general ontological principle. Our epistemic architecture obstructs knowledge of the real nature of the objective world. I shall call this thesis transcendental naturalism, TN for short.”

Colin McGinn, Problems in philosophy: The Limits of Inquiry, pp. 2-3

Such a position makes change in the mind and change in ideas virtually impossible, but it is an impossibility predicated upon a presumption of the unchanging nature of the mind. As Gödel pointed out, mind, in its use, is not static, but is constantly developing, and because the mind and its ideas are developing, our cognitive limits are developing, i.e., changing, at times increasing, while at times knowledge pushes these limits outward and our minds expand, mastering previously inconceivable ideas. What McGinn has called “our epistemic architecture” makes us think of the static architecture of a grand edifice, like a cathedral, but we need to think of our cognitive architecture as being something more like the familiar metaphors of rebuilding a ship at sea, as famously formulated by Otto Neurath:

“There is no way of taking conclusively established pure protocol sentences as the starting point of the sciences. No tabula rasa exists. We are like sailors who must rebuild their ship on the open sea, never able to dismantle it in dry-dock and to reconstruct it there out of the best materials. Only the metaphysical elements can be allowed to vanish without trace.”

Otto Neurath, “Protocol sentences,” in Logical Positivism, edited by A.J. Ayer, Free Press, Glencoe, IL, 1959, p. 201.

Quine employed the same metaphor:

“We are like sailors who on the open sea must reconstruct their ship but are never able to start afresh from the bottom. Where a beam is taken away a new one must at once be put there, and for this the rest of the ship is used as support. In this way, by using the old beams and driftwood the ship can be shaped entirely anew, but only by gradual reconstruction.”

W. V. O. Quine, Word and Object

Naval architecture, then, under the constraint of rebuilding at sea while staying afloat, is a better model for our epistemic architecture, than the idea of a grand and permanent structure, a cathedral of the mind. Under these conditions, we can gradually bring within the sphere of the mind’s capability ever more refined and comprehensive conceptions that better reflect the structure of the world itself. Such conceptions are never perfect, but they are also never so inadequate as to leave us with an absolute mystery. Scientific mysteries are subject to revision, even as the formerly inconceivable comes within the scope of the mind and reveals new mysteries for the mind to tackle in turn.

In The Size of the World I further wrote:

“…while our cognitive abilities are admittedly limited (for all the reasons discussed above, as well as other reasons not discussed), these limits are not absolute, but rather admit of revision. McGinn’s position as stated above implies a false dichotomy between staying within the constitutive structure of our minds and getting outside it. This is a classic case of facing the sheer cliff of Mount Improbable: while it is impossible to get outside our cognitive architecture in one fell swoop, we can little by little transgress the boundaries of our cognitive architecture, each time ever-so-slightly expanding our capacities. Incrementally over time we improve our ability to stand outside those limits that once marked the boundaries of our cognitive architecture. Thus in an ironic twist of intellectual history, the evolutionary argument, rather than demonstrating metaphysical modesty, is rather the key to limiting the limitations on the human mind.”

Evolutionary transcendence comes about gradually, incrementally, bit-by-bit, reconfiguring our epistemic architecture just enough with each development that we can understand a little bit more than we understood before. Gödel’s “understand[ing] abstract terms more and more precisely as we go on using them,” such that, “more and more abstract terms enter the sphere of our understanding” is the gradual mechanism by which we “get outside the constitutive structure of our minds” — only on the margins, at the far edge of reason, and to a limited extent. Better, we revise the constitutive structure of our minds, and thereby get outside the constitutive structure of our mind as it was in the past.

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The Size of the World

24 November 2013

Sunday


The Sloan Digital Sky Survey points to a large scale structure of the universe dominated by hyperclusters, which appear to be structures that exceed the upper size limit of structures as predicted by contemporary cosmology.

The Sloan Digital Sky Survey points to a large scale structure of the universe dominated by hyperclusters, which appear to be structures that exceed the upper size limit of structures as predicted by contemporary cosmology.

The world, we are learning every day, is a very large place. Or perhaps I should say that the universe is a very large place. It is also a very complex and strange place. J. B. S. Haldane famously said that, “I have no doubt that in reality the future will be vastly more surprising than anything I can imagine. Now my own suspicion is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose.” (Possible Worlds and Other Papers, 1927, p. 286) In other words, human beings, no matter how valiantly they attempt to understand the universe, may not be cognitively equipped to understand it; our minds may not be the kind of minds that can understand the kind of place that the world is.

This idea of our inability to understand the world in which we find ourselves (an admirably humble Copernican insight that we might call metaphysical modesty, and which stands in contrast to epistemic hubris) has received many glosses since Haldane’s time. Most notable (notable, at least, from my perspective) are the evolutionary gloss, the quantum physics gloss, and the philosophical gloss. I will consider each of these in turn.

In terms of evolution, there is no reason to suppose that descent with modification in a context of a struggle for vital resources on the plains of Africa (the environment of evolutionary adaptedness, or EEA) is going to produce minds capable of understanding higher dimensional spatial manifolds or quantum physics at microscopic scales that differ radically from the macroscopic scales of ordinary human perception. Alvin Plantinga (about whom I wrote some time ago in A Note on Plantinga, inter alia) has used this argument for theological purposes. However, there is no intrinsic reason that a mind born in the mud and the muck cannot raise itself above its origins and come to contemplate the world in Copernican terms. The evolutionary argument cuts both ways, and since we have ourselves as the evidence of an organism that can raise itself from strictly survival behavior to forms of thought that have nothing to do with survival, from the perspective of the weak anthropic principle this is proof enough that natural selection can result in such a mind.

In terms of quantum theory, we are all familiar with famous quotes from the leading lights of quantum theory as to the essentially incomprehensibility of that theory. For example, Richard Feynman said, “I think I can safely say that nobody understands quantum mechanics.” However, I have observed (in The limits of my language are the limits of my world and elsewhere) that recent research is making strides in working around the epistemic limitations of quantum theory, revealing its uncertainties to be not absolute and categorical, but rather subject to careful and painstaking narrowing that renders the uncertainty a little less uncertain. I anticipate two developments that will emerge from the further elaborate of quantum theory: 1) the finding of ways to gradually and incrementally chip away at an absolutist conception of uncertainty (as just mentioned), and 2) the formulation of more adequate intuitions to make quantum theory more palatable to the human mind.

In terms of philosophy, Colin McGinn’s book Problems in philosophy: The Limits of Inquiry formulates a position which he calls Transcendental Naturalism:

“Philosophy is an attempt to get outside the constitutive structure of our minds. Reality itself is everywhere flatly natural, but because of our cognitive limits we are unable to make good on this general ontological principle. Our epistemic architecture obstructs knowledge of the real nature of the objective world. I shall call this thesis transcendental naturalism, TN for short.” (pp. 2-3)

I have previously written about McGinn’s work in Transcendental Non-Naturalism and Naturalism and Object Oriented Ontology, inter alia. Our ability to get outside the constitutive structure of our minds is severely limited at best, and so our ability to understand the world as it is is limited at best.

While our cognitive abilities are admittedly limited (for all the reasons discussed above, as well as other reasons not discussed), these limits are not absolute, but rather admit of revision. McGinn’s position as stated above implies a false dichotomy between staying within the constitutive structure of our minds and getting outside it. This is a classic case of facing the sheer cliff of Mount Improbable: while it is impossible to get outside our cognitive architecture in one fell swoop, we can little by little transgress the boundaries of our cognitive architecture, each time ever-so-slightly expanding our capacities. Incrementally over time we improve our ability to stand outside those limits that once marked the boundaries of our cognitive architecture. Thus in an ironic twist of intellectual history, the evolutionary argument, rather than demonstrating metaphysical modesty, is rather the key to limiting the limitations on the human mind.

All of this is related to one of the central problems in the philosophy of science of our time — the whole Kuhnian legacy that is the framework of so much contemporary philosophy of science. Copernican revelations and revolutions, which formerly disturbed our anthropocentric bias every few hundred years, now occur with alarming frequency. The difference today, of course, is that science is much more advanced than it was with past Copernican revelations and revolutions — it has much more advanced instrumentation available to it (as a result of the STEM cycle), and we have a much better idea of what to look for in the cosmos.

It was a shock to almost everyone to have it scientifically demonstrated that the universe is not static and eternal, but dynamic and changing. It was a shock when quantum theory demonstrated the world to be fundamentally indeterministic. This is by now a very familiar narrative. In fact, it is so familiar that it has been expropriated (dare I say exapted?) by obscurantists and irrationalists of our time, who point at continual changes at scientific knowledge as “proof” that science doesn’t give us any “truth” because it changes. The assumption here is that change in scientific knowledge demonstrates the weakness of science; in fact, change in scientific knowledge is the strength of science. Scientific knowledge is what I have elsewhere called an intelligent institution in so far as it is institutionalized knowledge, but that institution is formulated with internal mechanisms that facilitate the re-shaping of the institution itself over time. That mechanism is the scientific method.

It is important to see that the overturning of familiar conceptions of the world — some of which are ancient and some of which are not — is not arbitrary. Less comprehensive conceptions are being replaced by more comprehensive conceptions. The more comprehensive our perspective on the world, the greater the number of anomalies we must face, and the greater the number of anomalies we face the more likely it is that our theories will be overturned, or at least partially falsified. But it is the wrong debate to ask whether theory change is rational or irrational. It is misleading, because what ought to concern us is how well our theories account for the ever-larger world that is revealed to us through our ever-more comprehensive methods of science, and not how well our theories conform to our presuppositions about rationality. The more we get the science right, reason will follow, shaping new intuitions and formulating new theories.

Our ability to discover (and to understand) ever greater scales of the universe is contingent upon our growing intellectual capabilities, which are cumulative. Just as in the STEM cycle science begets technologies that beget industries that create better scientific instruments, so too on a purely intellectual level the intellectual capabilities of one generation are the formative context of the intellectual capabilities of the next generation, which allows the later generation to exceed the earlier generation. Concepts are the tools of the mind, and we use our familiar concepts to create the next generation of concepts, which latter are both more refined and more powerful than the former, in the same way as we use each generation of tools to build the next generation of tools, which makes each generation of tools better than the last (except for computer software — but I expect that this degradation in the practicability of computer software is simply the software equivalent of planned obsolescence).

Our current generation of tools — both conceptual and technological — are daily revealing to us the inadequacy of our past conceptions of the world. Several recent discoveries have in particular called into question our understanding of the size of the world, especially in so far as the world is defined in terms of its origins in the Big Bang. For example, the discovery of hyperclusters suggest physical structures of the universe that are larger than the upper limit set to physical structures by contemporary cosmologies theories (cf. ‘Hyperclusters’ of the Universe — “Something is Behaving Very Strangely”).

In a similar vein, writing of the recent discovery of a “large quasar group” (LQG) as much as four billion light years across, the article The Largest Discovered Structure in the Universe Contradicts Big-Bang Theory Cosmology states:

“This LQG challenges the Cosmological Principle, the assumption that the universe, when viewed at a sufficiently large scale, looks the same no matter where you are observing it from. The modern theory of cosmology is based on the work of Albert Einstein, and depends on the assumption of the Cosmological Principle. The principle is assumed, but has never been demonstrated observationally ‘beyond reasonable doubt’.”

This formulation gets the order of theory and observation wrong. The cosmological principle is not a principle that can be proved or disproved by evidence; it is a theoretical idea that is used to give structure and meaning to observations, to organize observations into a theoretical whole. The cosmological principle belongs to theoretical cosmology; recent discoveries such as hyperclusters and large quasar groups belong to observational cosmology. While the two — i.e., theoretical and observational — cannot be separated in the practice of science, it is also true that they are not identical. Theoretical methods are distinct from observational methods, and vice versa.

Thus the cosmological principle may be helpful or unhelpful in organizing our knowledge of the cosmos, but it is not the kind of thing that can be falsified in the same way that, for example, a theory of planetary formation can be falsified. That is to say, the cosmological principle might be opposed to (falsified by) another principle that negates the cosmological principle, but this anti-cosmological principle will similarly belong to an order not falsifiable by empirical observations.

The discoveries of hyperclusters and LQGs are particularly problematic because they question some of the fundamental assumptions and conclusions of Big Bang cosmology, which is, essentially, the only large scale cosmological model in contemporary science. Big Bang cosmology is the explanation for the structure of the cosmos that was formulated in response to the discovery of the red shift, which implies that, on the largest observable scales, the universe is expanding. It is important to add the qualification, “on the largest observable scales” because stars within a given galaxy are circulating around the galaxy, and while a given star may be moving away from another given star, it is also likely to be moving toward yet some other star. And, even at larger scales, not all galaxies are receding from each other. It is fairly well known that galaxies collide and commingle; the Helmi stream of our own Milky Way is the result of a long past galactic collision, and at some far time in the future the Milky Way itself will merge with the larger Andromeda galaxy, and be absorbed by it.

Cosmology during the period of the big bang theory (a period in which we still find ourselves today) is in some respects like biology before Darwin. Almost all biology before Darwin was essentially theological, but no one had a better idea so biology had to wait to become a science capable of methodologically naturalistic formulations until after Darwin. The big bang theory was, on the contrary, proposed as a scientific theory (not merely bequeathed to us by pre-scientific tradition), and most scientists working within the big bang tradition have formulated the Big Bang in meticulously naturalistic terms. Nevertheless, once the steady state theory was overthrown, no one really had an alternative to the big bang theory, so all cosmology centered on the Big Bang for lack of imagination of alternatives — but also due to the limitations of the scientific instruments, which at the time of the triumph of the big bang theory were much more modest than they are today.

As disconcerting as it was to discover that the cosmos did not embody an eternal order, that it is expanding and had a history of violent episodes, and that it was much larger than an “island universe” comprising only the Milky Way, the observations that we need to explain today are no less disconcerting in their own way.

Here is how Leonard Susskind describes our contemporary observations of the expanding universe:

“In every direction that we look, galaxies are passing the point at which they are moving away from us faster than light can travel. Each of us is surrounded by a cosmic horizon — a sphere where things are receding with the speed of light — and no signal can reach us from beyond that horizon. When a star passes the point of no return, it is gone forever. Far out, at about fifteen billion light years, our cosmic horizon is swallowing galaxies, stars, and probably even life. It is as if we all live in our own private inside-out black hole.”

Leonard Susskind, The Black Hole War: My Battle with Stephen Hawking to make the World Safe for Quantum Mechanics, New York, Boston, and London: Little, Brown and Company, 2008, pp. 437-438

This observation has not yet been sufficiently appreciated. What lies beyond Susskind’s cosmic horizon is unobservable, as anything that disappears beyond the event horizon of a black hole has become unobservable, and that places such matters beyond the reach of science understood in a narrow sense of observation. But as I have noted above, in the practice of science we cannot disentangle the theoretical and the observational, but the two are not the same. While our observations come to an end at the cosmic horizon, our principles encounter no such boundary. Thus it is that we naturally extrapolate our science beyond the boundaries of observation, but if we get our scientific principles wrong, anything beyond the boundary of observation will be wrong and will be incapable or correction by observation.

Science in the narrow sense must, then, come to an end with observation. But this does not satisfy the mind. One response is to deny the mind its satisfaction and refuse to pass beyond observation. Another response is to fill the void with mythology and fiction. Yet another response is to take up the principles on their own merits and consider them in the light of reason. This response is the philosophical response, and we see that it is a rational response to the world that is continuous with science even when it passes beyond science.

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